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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 4.2k

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect..” he intones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

“Even if it is a girl?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

9 months later

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

But it was all worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

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

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

Which to you both, they are.

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bosbas · 7 months ago

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Chapter 3: it was all by design

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 1.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, morally grey daphne ??, slow burn!!!, anthony being a SIMPPPP (i love it)

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

June 2, 1812 - As you walked into Lady Danbury's ballroom, your hands were gripping the skirt of your dress to keep them from trembling. Tonight was the night you were going to ask Anthony to court you. You were asking him. It was an absurd concept at best, a lady asking a gentleman to court. But you'd already come this far, asking him to dance and all, so you supposed it wasn't that large of a jump from one thing to the next.

It wasn't real, you kept reminding yourself. It was just a way to give Daphne the season she deserved. And Anthony had absolutely no interest in marriage anyway, so he would surely not particularly mind when you ended things with him.

Besides, you were fairly certain he only saw you as a sister, much like Daphne, so it was doubtful he’d even be amenable to the prospect of starting a courtship with you. It was taking a lot of mental work to convince yourself that this would be fine.

But at the end of the day, you had your own reputation to think about. As much as you enjoyed spending time with Anthony at high society balls, you knew it wasn't the best for your image if you were constantly seen dancing with a man who wasn't courting you. Someone was bound to think that something was wrong with you. Several people had asked you already, actually.

So, you smoothed your skirts and steeled your nerves. This was the best option for Daphne. And for you if you wanted to keep spending as much time with Anthony as you were now.

Looking around the ballroom, your eyes met the eldest Bridgerton's.

His eyes immediately lit up, blinking as he took in your impressive ballgown and elbow-length gloves. Quickly, he started walking toward you, practically tripping over Cressida Cowper's train because he was in such a rush.

“Good evening, Lady L/N,” he bowed, putting on the stuffy voice you’d heard him use with his mother’s friends.

“Good evening, Viscount,” you responded, playing along with him.

He flashed you the most charming smile you had ever seen, and you understood completely why the ladies of the ton swooned over him. If you had his charisma and good looks, you’d probably be a rake, too.

“Fancy a dance tonight?” he asked casually, his hand reaching out to softly touch your dance-card-clad wrist.

“I suppose I do,” you responded, flashing him a vibrant smile. The nerves you had felt a few minutes ago had practically evaporated, leaving only room for excitement as Anthony interwove his fingers with yours and led you to the dance floor.

A few minutes after the dance had begun, you caught a glimpse of Daphne and Mr Norwood looking completely smitten with one another. It quickly reminded you of your goal for the night. If Daphne was going to marry Mr Norwood then you needed to bite the bullet and get this over with right now.

As you were staring intently at your best friend and the man she wanted to marry, your brow furrowed and lips pursed, you felt Anthony's warm breath close to your ear.

“What’s on your mind?” he whispered softly, sensing your mind was elsewhere.

Having spent so much time with you in the past few weeks, Anthony had grown accustomed to your quirks and knew that you weren’t being your usual self.

You froze. It was now or never.

“Um… Well… I was just thinking about how our dancing every night looks. To other people I mean. Given that we’re not courting,” you babbled, unable to meet the eyes of the man in front of you.

Confused, Anthony continued, “Is this about what I said the other night? About only being able to dance so many times?”

“No, not at all,” you reassured him. If you two did end up courting, you didn’t ever want him to think he was at fault. “Just some comments I’ve heard from ladies around the ton, you know how they are. They ask me questions I don’t particularly know the answer to,” you said dismissively.

“And you’re worried about how this will affect you in the future, as an unmarried lady?”

“Well… yes,” you responded lamely. Although everything you had said up to this point was true, you were still unable to meet his eyes, the guilt of deceiving him eating away at you.

Anthony knit his eyebrows together in confusion. Hadn’t you physically recoiled at the thought of courting him just a few days ago when he said it as a joke?

Regardless, he mulled over what you had said. He knew you fairly well, and even though you weren’t usually bothered by a bit of gossip (you were spending time with him even though he was the world’s biggest rake, for heaven’s sake), he understood your hesitation.

“Does this mean you want me to properly court you?” he asked gently, not wanting to scare you off again.

Perhaps it was the sincerity in Anthony’s voice, or just you realizing the gravity of the situation, but you immediately tensed up.

“No, I don’t think so,” you started slowly, torn between helping Daphne and protecting yourself. But you had already made your choice. You loved your best friend, but not to the point of breaking all social decorum and asking a man to court you. “Not at all,” you laughed airily. “I know you’re not looking to marry, and honestly neither am I. It was just a silly comment, my apologies.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

You cursed Daphne’s brother for being so perceptive. How on earth could he tell exactly what you were feeling?

“I don’t know,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. God, this would be so much easier if you had feelings for him and wanted to court him. Then you could just say yes and stop feeling so guilty.

Seeing how torn you were, Anthony decided to let the subject lie. The season was still only beginning, and there would be yet time to figure out what exactly was going on between you.

However, letting the subject lie decidedly did not mean that he would stop thinking about it. In fact, it was the only thing he thought about for the rest of the night, completely missing an almost inappropriate kiss Mr Norwood left on Daphne’s hand.

---

Anthony hadn’t stopped thinking about the possibility of properly courting you the following morning. He sat in his sunroom, rereading the same paragraph for the sixth time as he tried to focus on anything other than your anxiety-filled eyes the previous night.

“Y/N was looking rather lovely last night,” commented Daphne offhandedly as she worked on her needlepoint.

“What?” said Anthony, startled out of his thoughts. He’d completely forgotten his sister was in the room with him, too.

“Y/N, last night, looking lovely,” repeated Daphne, covertly looking at her brother as he remembered what you were wearing at Lady Danbury’s ball.

“Err… I suppose she did look rather fetching, yes,” he responded awkwardly, shuffling the newspaper on his lap to another page.

Then, looking at his sister suspiciously, he added, “But I wasn’t looking to get married this year, Daphne.”

You had told her about how you’d been unable to ask Anthony to court, of course. You had apologized profusely, but Daphne would hear none of it. Reassuring you that it was no problem, really, and that she understood your hesitation completely, Daphne had decided to shift her focus to her brother. It was true, a woman asking a man to dance was completely taboo, and it probably wouldn’t even have worked. So, although you hadn’t outright asked Anthony to court, you had certainly gotten the closest to it that a woman in polite society could. Now all he needed was a little push.

“Neither was Y/N, to my understanding,” she responded, keeping her tone light and her eyes on her thread and needle.

“It doesn’t matter,” Anthony waved dismissively. “She’s said it herself, I’m the biggest rake in Mayfair. Getting involved in her would only hurt her image in the long run.”

“Don’t be daft,” laughed Daphne. “You’re a Bridgerton. Rake or not, I doubt any association with you would taint her image in the slightest. She’s been involved with us for years! She’s my best friend, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Anthony humphed, annoyed that his little sister was making sense. Stubbornly, he continued, “Exactly, it’s not a good idea to bring feelings into a courtship, anyway. She’s been a friend of the family for ages.”

Daphne shrugged, slowly becoming more supportive of her best friend courting her brother, whether it was under false pretenses or not. “I certainly wouldn’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

After a pause, she added, “And how do you know the feelings are there? That’s what a courtship is for, isn’t it?”

She was in quite a similar situation herself, though she could never tell Anthony lest he completely lose his mind.

Daphne looked up at her brother, almost seeing the gears in his mind turning.

“Do you really think I should?” he asked, setting down the newspaper beside him.

“If you want,” she responded flippantly, knowing Anthony had already made up his mind.

“Oh my word, it’s almost afternoon!” exclaimed Anthony, looking at the grandfather clock on the other side of the sunroom. “I should go now, I suppose. What if someone else has already come to call on her? Am I too late?”

Daphne, highly amused at her brother’s sudden sense of urgency, laughed. “Only one way to find out…”

But Anthony didn’t hear her response, already rushing out of the room to grab his coat so he could go call on you. Properly. Like a gentleman. For the first time.

And funnily enough, Anthony felt no fear, no anxiety, no dread. Nothing that he usually felt when thinking about courtship and marriage. He was simply excited to see you.

—

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no-phrogs-in-hats · 3 months ago

Text

A Night Out (On the Couch) !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha x Avenger!Reader

Word count: 4,800

Content warning(s): MDNI, smut, couch sex, body insecurities (reader)

Summary: After three months of baby vomit and sleepless nights, there's only one solution you and Agatha have to finally relax: have the Avengers and co. babysit your daughter while the two of you go out for the night--or change your minds and crash on the couch instead.

A/N: Hi, I think I'm gonna crash out. When I originally posted this, I forgot to add a scene that I really wanted in. So I deleted it...but not before I accidentally deleted my entire fucking masterlist. So, I will be canceling all of my plans tomorrow and making a new one.

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Ao3

Tip Jar💕

You can’t remember a time in your life when you were happier.

She’s the center of your universe, even through your exhaustion the past three months. Every coo, every babble and smile, makes it feel like you’re holding the sun. You watch Agatha every morning with her, blowing raspberries on her cheek and making her laugh. You watch her rock your daughter to sleep and it feels like you’ve fallen in love all over again.

Even tonight, at three in the morning, when Daphne refuses to fall asleep. Laying on your front, on top of your strewn sheets and completely spent, you can see into the nursery from your side of the bed. The side of your face is pressed into the pillow, but you still watch with your one open eye as Agatha sits in the cushioned rocking chair.

Her eyes are closed and her head rests against the back of the chair. In her arms, with Agatha patting her back gently, is a fussing Daphne. Her hands hold on to Agatha’s nightshirt tightly as her whimpers slowly quiet.

Soon, after two hours, a feeding, and a diaper change, Daphne’s laid back down in her crib. Agatha sneaks out of the room, cringing as she closes the door, and leaves a sliver open. She falls back into bed beside you with a groan and you turn over to face her.

“I love you,” you mumble.

She gives you a sleepy smile and opens her eyes, voice raspy in her pillow as she mutters, “I love you too.”

“You know we haven’t been alone since the nail salon,” you say.

“When you refused to go to the hospital because you wanted them to finish your pedicure?” she asks quietly, cracking a smile.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “And you had Wanda buy a similar color before visiting so you could finish it for me while I was in labor.”

“And then you promptly kicked everyone out,” Agatha hums.

“Hm…yeah…” You look over her tired face, eyes shut as your hand rests on her waist. “You know,” you begin, “next Saturday is gonna be thirteen weeks…”

Agatha cracks open the eye that isn’t buried in her pillow. “And the doctor said six to eight weeks.”

“Mhm…”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Agatha mutters.

“When I go out with Wanda in the afternoon, I ask if the team can all take Daphne for a night so we can go out and then come back here and have sex for the first time in over three months?” you suggest.

“That’s a little more detailed than I was gonna say,” Agatha giggles, “but, yeah.”

When you get home from lunch with Wanda, you barely recognize the house–the kitchen counters are spotless, the floors are free of toys, the kitchen table is clear of baby bottles and breakfast dishes from that morning, and there’s even a Christmas scented candle burning.

When you walk through the open French doors of the living room, Agatha’s sitting on the couch. The TV is on as she reads and on the floor next to her is Daphne in her baby swing.

“I see you two were very busy while I was gone,” you smile, shrugging off your coat and draping it over a chair.

Agatha looks behind her and smiles when she sees you. As you lean down to kiss her, she shrugs, “Daphne wasn’t much help, but I forgive her.”

“Thank you for cleaning the house,” you mumble, and kiss her softly. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Agatha kisses you again, “Of course. What did Wanda say?”

“She said that they’d be happy to watch her for a night,” you say.

“A whole night?” Agatha scoffs.

You nod and sit down beside her, being welcomed with her arm around your shoulders. “She said the whole night–that Daphne will sleep in her room. And she even called Tony and he loves the idea of a sleepover.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Agatha sighs. “Are we actually leaving our three month old baby with those people for a whole night?”

“If they’re responsible enough to save the human race from alien invasions, I think they’re responsible enough to watch our daughter,” you say as you trail kisses from her shoulder up to her cheek.

Agatha turns her head to give you a wary look, “Are they, though?”

The following Saturday could not come soon enough. You can’t remember the last time you had a proper night out–a night with wine and dry martinis, tight dresses with black lingerie underneath, and Agatha’s hand never leaving your thigh as a man tries to flirt with you.

You craved these nights again, but now, you’re sifting through the long-forgotten lingerie and lace panties sitting in your dresser. Your stomach churns as you dig through the drawer in a bath towel with your hair and makeup done.

Everything is so revealing–and of course it is. It’s supposed to be, and quite frankly, the both of you love the more revealing sets. But you feel sick looking at them, and when you look up at the cheval mirror in your walk-in closet, you feel sick looking at yourself.

Agatha walks in, already dressed, but hair still a mess. You barely register her as she speaks, “I called the restaurant and confirmed the reservations. We should prob–Are you okay?”

You look up from the collection of underwear and bras and lacey lingerie and see Agatha standing beside you. “Um…yeah.”

Her eyebrows scrunch and she leans against the dresser. “No, you’re not. What’s the matter?”

Her voice is soft as you turn towards her, avoiding eye contact like your life depends on it. “I don’t know…” you mumble, huffing in frustration, because you truly don’t know how to word it. “I just…don’t feel…pretty or something.”

“Why?” she asks softly, and you can hear the hurt in her voice.

“I don’t know,” you say again. “It’s everything, maybe? The huge scar doesn’t help.”

“I want you to turn around,” she says, and you do. Agatha’s hands guide you to the standing mirror and when you stop in front of it she sighs. Her hands come to the top of your towel, “Can I take this off?” she asks.

You give a slight nod of your head. “Yeah.”

The towel drops, leaving you exposed for her, and you have the urge to hide. Agatha continues to stand behind you as her hands rest on your lower abdomen and her eyes make contact with yours in the mirror.

“In the room next to us is a happy, healthy baby girl. And in the past three months, she has brought nothing but happiness to our lives.” Her voice is soft, but stern. “This isn’t just some random scar you got from fighting some alien or other supernatural thing. You brought a life into this world. You gave us our daughter.”

Agatha’s lips skim over your neck, placing soft kisses to the exposed skin as you lean into her embrace. “And when I look at you, and I see the stretch marks and that scar…” Her hands clasp yours, running your fingers over the raised skin of the scar on your belly. “...All I can think about is how beautiful you are, and how much I love you, and how grateful I am for the both of you, every single day.”

She punctuates her last three words with a kiss to your shoulder, neck, and cheek after each one. Your lips tremble and you sniffle, wiping away a stray tear. “Stop, don’t make me cry,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna redo my makeup.”

You turn in her arms and hug her tightly. You pull away and give her a wet, tearful kiss. Your thumbs caress her cheeks as you hold her face in your hands. “Thank you,” you say, voice cracking. “I love you.”

“You don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to,” Agatha says, and kisses you softly. “And if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to have sex tonight.”

You scoff, “Oh, no, we’re having sex tonight.”

It’s been at least a month since you had been to Stark Tower. As Agatha carries the carseat, the diaper bag and mobile crib are being carried by you. The elevator doors open to the lounge and you’re met with a lot more people than you expected.

Yes there are the usual ones there–Tony, Pepper, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Wanda and Billy, Nat, Clint, and Bruce. But, as you approach the group and you’re greeted, you note Thor, Loki, Peter Parker, Yelena–who you haven’t seen since your wedding, and Steven.

“You know that she’s only three months old,” you say, hugging Wanda. “You don’t need this many people to babysit.”

Natasha pulls you in for a hug, “Well, Yelena’s here for the holidays. I don’t know why everyone else is here though.”

“Well, I forgot to plan our holiday party,” Tony shrugs. “So why not make babysitting a huge affair?”

On the sofa, you sit with Wanda, going over everything you’ve written down. “Okay, this is her feeding schedule. She’s slowly starting to sleep through the night, but she’ll usually wake up around two. If she does, there’s formula in the bag, and there are enough diapers to last you a lifetime.”

You hand her the paper after looking over it again. “Everything’s written down in detail, so you shouldn’t have too many questions–oh, when burping her, sit her up in your lap and do it. She’s already been fed, so she should be fine.” You huff, racking your brain for anything you can think of. “I think that’s it. Aga–? What are you doing?”

When you look up, Agatha’s strutting over with a glass of prosecco in one hand and holding Daphne in her other arm. “What?” she asks, and takes a large sip of her wine.

You stand up and take Daphne from her arm and smile fondly at her, shaking your head. “Nothing, my dear.”

With a big kiss on Daphne’s cheek, you hand her over to Wanda, and Agatha sighs, “You’re the only one here that I relatively trust with my child, Maximoff. Maybe Romanoff too,” she shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Wanda blinks up at her and nods, “Umm…right. Okay. Go have fun! We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

New York City is freezing. When you walk into the restaurant that’s only a few blocks away, you’re immediately met with warmth. Holiday decorations line the walls and tables, and with Christmas being only five days away, you can hear the faint sound of Frank Sinatra’s carols overhead.

The main thing you notice, though, is how crowded it is. You expected it for one of the hottest restaurants in Midtown, but the energy is overwhelming, and you’re already growing tired of it.

Without turning towards her, you lean in close so Agatha can hear you. “Hey…Um…I know this was my idea…”

“But we should ditch this place and go back home instead?” Agatha says, and it’s like she can read your mind–and after 120 years, she might as well be able to. “Yeah, I agree. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

When you walk through the door of your house, you’ve never felt more relaxed. It’s quieter than it’s ever been.

When you’re finally in your comfy clothes again and all bits of makeup are washed from your face, you head to the kitchen and throw a frozen pizza in the oven. When you return to the living room with a bottle of wine and two glasses, Agatha is on her knees making a fire in the hearth.

“This is so much better,” you sigh, popping the cork out and pouring yourself and Agatha a glass. “It’s only 5pm, it’s pitch black out, and we’re already in our pajamas.”

Agatha stands up, also in her comfiest pair of clothes and makeup-less. She takes her glass of wine from you and clinks it against yours. “You always do have the brightest ideas, my love,” she smiles, and winks before giving you a kiss.

__________

Thor leans back in his chair, squinting his eyes as he watches Wanda play with Daphne on her toy mat. “So, what do we even do with a baby?”

“There’s a Saturday night football game tonight,” Steve says. “We could have her join us.”

“What kind of beer do you think she likes?” Yelena asks, watching the baby closely.

Wanda looks up from the floor at them, eyes stern. “We are not giving her a beer!”

“Maybe, like a cheap Bud Light?” Yelena suggests.

Tony scoffs, “Have you seen her mothers? That baby doesn’t have anything cheap. Y/N’s from Ireland, right? I’d say…probably a nice Irish ale.”

“Maybe a stout?” Thor suggests.

Clint, who’s sharing a bottle of whiskey with Tony, looks at Daphne, thinking hard. “What about an IPA? Something fruity maybe?”

“Oh, so because her parents are lesbians, that automatically makes her a fruity beer person?” Nat says accusingly.

Clint’s eyes widen, hands going up in defense. “Woah! That is not what I’m saying at all!”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Nat snickers. “I’m just messing with you.”

__________

Agatha takes a seat beside you on the sofa and sets down two plates of pizza on the coffee table. “Should we watch a horrible, cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie?”

“What a good idea!” you chirp, leaning into her side. “We are both so smart.”

As predicted the movie sucks, but you love it anyway. You can’t help but feel your heart swell as you take in your surroundings.

The ornament on the Christmas tree in the bay window sticks out the most–homemade, made of clay, and featuring Daphne’s tiny handprints with the words ‘First Christmas 2031’ below. The room is warm and the only light comes from the fireplace and the Christmas tree.

Your mind races, though. The silence becomes unnerving at one point. You’re so used to hearing the sound of crying or laughing, or even the sound of a baby swing going, and you become anxious quickly.

“I’m gonna go call Wanda,” you say.

And as you try to stand up, Agatha’s arms pull you down. “No you’re not.”

“But what if there’s something wrong?” you whine.

Agatha wraps you entirely in her embrace, holding you tightly so you can’t escape. “ If there’s something wrong, Wanda will call us,” she says, pressing a kiss to your temple as she holds you against her front. “This night is for us. Stop stressing, drink some wine, and watch the crappy movie.”

__________

The Bills are down by six points and no one is happy.

Empty bottles and cans of beer sit on the coffee table as everyone sits in the lounge watching anxiously.

On the floor, Nat, Wamda, and Billy sit with Daphne who lays on her toy mat. She stares up in awe at the bright toys that dangle overhead, feet kicking and hands reaching out for them.

“For a three month old, she has some pretty thick hair,” Wanda notes.

Billy nods. “We could totally style it tomorrow morning.”

“But the curls are so cute,” Nat says.

The excitement in the room fluctuates as one of the running backs takes possession of the ball. Steve stands up and Tony, Peter, Bruce, and Yelena follow. They cheer at the screen as the running back gets closer to the end zone with a player from the opposite team hot on his trail.

40 yard line, then 30, then 20, and then–Daphne sneezes, and the channel changes.

Loki, who was sitting in his armchair, looking bored out of his mind, cackles as everyone yells and jeers.

“What the fuck just happened?” Steve yells.

Tony frantically looks around on the couch. “Who has the remote?”

Suspicious, Wanda, Nat, and Billy all look down at her and she smiles.

And then she sneezes again–and the toy beside her turns into a flower and she lets out a squeal.

The three of them look at each other with wide eyes, and the room’s gone quiet. When they look up, everyone’s eyes have landed on the baby.

“Did she just–?”

“The baby changed the channel, didn’t she?” Steve asks, hands on his hips as he glares at Daphne.

Billy’s eyes widen in a panic. “Oh, gods, Agatha’s gonna be pissed that she wasn’t here for this. I mean–this is the first time, right?”

“They’re both going to be pissed!” Wanda panics. “The child of two witches just showed her first signs of magic! It’s a huge deal!”

__________

Wrapped in a blanket, you manage to calm your anxious thoughts. Agatha, who holds you tightly against her side, begins running her fingers over your exposed waist.

You shiver beneath her touch and see out of the corner of your eye, her lips curling into a grin. Her hand slips beneath your sweatpants, squeezing at your hip.

“Are we still going to Lilia’s for Yule tomorrow?” she asks, acting like her touches are completely innocent.

You swallow and nod your head, looking straight at the TV, but having no clue what’s even going on. “Mhm…And on Christmas we’ll be…going over to the…uhhh…” Her touch becomes more distracting and you lose focus. The urge becomes too much and you’re on her lap in less than a second.

It’s a desperate, messy kiss. A kiss you haven’t shared in months–it’s tongue, it’s teeth, it’s spit clinging to your lips, and not wanting to pull away even to breathe.

When you do pull away, you’re panting into each other's mouths. Your head falls onto her shoulder as she chuckles, “That took a lot longer than I thought it would. The second you suggested we come home instead, I knew what you were thinking.”

You sit up straight and furrow your eyebrows. “It’s been less than two hours.”

“Again,” Agatha says, “that took a lot longer than I thought it would.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “Shut up and kiss me.”

You can feel her smile into the heated kiss. She pulls away, lips hovering over yours and her eyes dark. “Do you want me to touch you?” she mutters, hands kneading at your hips and waist.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathe. Standing on your knees, you lean back and strip yourself of your shirt, tossing it onto the floor. “Right here, on this couch.”

Agatha’s hands run up and down your torso. As her lips skim over the bare skin, she looks up at you with more hunger than you had ever seen before. “Fuck, I love you.”

Your lips are against hers instantly, and her hands slide under your thighs. She flips you onto your back and you squeal into the kiss, giggling as her lips attack your neck. Agatha lays in between your spread legs, blanket tangled around you and lips wandering.

When Agatha removes your pants and throws them on the other side of the room, her lips return, kissing every inch of your bare skin. She brushes over your lower abdomen as she makes her way down, and looks up at you through heavy eyelids.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs.

You can feel your cheeks heat up as Agatha slowly pulls your underwear down. She presses a kiss to clit and runs a finger through your folds, not giving you exactly what you want.

“What do you say?” Agatha asks softly.

You huff. “Stop fucking teasing, Agatha, please!”

“What do you say?” she asks again, more firm this time.

“Please!” you beg, already trembling. “Fuck, Agatha, please!”

She rewards you with a slow lick up your slit, circling her tongue over your clit as you moan. You mumble curses under your breath. The feeling of her mouth on you for the time in over three months is overwhelming.

Agatha goes slowly, only going faster when you moan and beg for more. It is unbelievable how fast it builds. One of your hands clutches the blanket that’s twisted around you both while the other holds hers tightly. Your head is tipped back as you sob in pleasure, hips rocking against her mouth.

You hear her inhale deeply, moaning against you as you tremble. “You taste even better than I fucking remember,” she breathes. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

You let out a strangled gasp, followed by a loud moan, “Fuck, yes! Yes, don’t stop–Agatha, fuck!”

“Cum for me, baby,” she says, slipping her fingers inside of you and curing them quickly as you moan loudly. You’re on the verge of screaming as you shake underneath her, back arching and hands finding something to grab onto.

She smiles as she holds you down, tongue not letting up. “That’s it! Good girl!”

Your chest is heaving as she crawls over you, licking her fingers clean. You pull her down and kiss her hard. When you pull away, you’re both huffing into each other’s mouths “I love you so fucking much.”

__________

It’s halfway through the third quarter of the Bills game and no one is paying attention.

“Thank god she can’t crawl yet.”

“The coffee table is now a tree stump! It doesn’t matter if she can crawl yet!”

“I think it might be a little telling if she’s turning Thor’s beer into a can of Coke…”

Wanda spends most of her time going around the lounge, undoing the magic that Daphne’s unintentionally performed. But with each object she reverts, another one is changed. And then, the crying starts.

A lamp becomes a coat rack.

An empty bottle of beer turns into a cup.

A bookshelf becomes a dollhouse.

And as Daphne cries and waves her hands and kicks her feet, it seems like every motion she does causes more and more chaos. Everyone takes turns trying to rock her and calm her down, but nothing seems to work and the furniture and decoration continue to change.

She squirms in Billy’s hold as he gets anxious. He ends up passing her off to Tony who waves one of her toys in her face–which, of course, doesn’t work.

“Okay, I’m out of ideas,” he says.

“Seriously?” Yelena says, raising an eyebrow. “You have a whole lab of nanotechnology and the highest IQ here, and you’re out of ideas on how to calm down a baby?”

“The kid’s got the temperament of Agatha Harkness!” he snaps, still rocking Daphne in his arms.

“He’s got a point,” Billy shrugs.

Peter, who stands there awkwardly, pipes up, “Maybe we should just call them–?”

“No!” Wanda shouts from across the room. She turns a lemon back into the pot plant it originally was and rushes over. The only sound now is Daphne’s shrieks, and Wanda takes her carefully from Tony. She holds her against her shoulder, bouncing and patting her back gently.

“We are not calling them,” she says, giving everyone in the room a stern look. “This is the equivalent of…first steps or first words. Okay?” She huffs, clearly frustrated by the whole situation. “This is their first night alone in three months. And I’m sure they would feel awful if they knew this happened the first time they left her. We are not telling either of them!”

__________

A new, better, movie plays on the TV now. You both lay on the couch, naked and tangled in the soft blanket as the fire in the hearth crackles.

Agatha, who holds you in her arms, runs her hand over your exposed thigh. She presses soft kisses to your bare shoulder and lets out a hum, “I’ve been thinking.”

You giggle and place a kiss on the arm that’s sprawled out under your head and hanging over the couch. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Agatha says again, chuckling as she kisses you shoulder. “I know you said that we should wait a few years, but I was thinking that…maybe in like…a year, I could go back to working–part time, of course.”

You turn your head and grin. “Without me?” When you turn back over, your face is smug. You wrap Agatha’s arms around you and hum. “My, my, Mrs. Harkness! You’ve grown to love our family!”

“I have not–I’m not–!”

“I would’ve assumed you wanted to work again because we have a daughter to feed and clothe,” you say, “but Tony has us on a monthly stipend.”

You hear Agatha let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, fine, yes. I have grown to like being…an Avenger–as much as I hate being called that.”

“Because you don’t like being thought of as a goody-two-shoes,” you tease.

Lacing your fingers with hers, you turn your head to press a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “If you want to go back, I support you. It’s an important job. You protect the city.” You press a kiss to her lips now. “You protect us. And I am so proud of how far you’ve come.”

__________

For the first time in three months, you’re woken up by nothing–not an alarm, not a baby crying, nothing.

When you wake up, Agatha’s arm is slung over your waist and her bare legs are tangled with yours in the sheets. She groans behind you and rolls onto her back. You follow her, curling in her side as she stretches.

“I think that was the best sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life,” you mumble.

Agatha hums and her hand rests in your hair. “What time is it?”

“I dunno,” you sigh. “I don’t care.”

Smiling, Agatha leans over and checks her phone before pulling you back into her arms. “It’s almost ten.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “When was the last time we woke up after eight?”

After getting cleaned up and getting dressed, you head to your favorite brunch spot. It’s sunny and there’s a dusting of snow on the ground from the previous night. By the time you’re finished with brunch, it’s nearly one. The drive to Stark Tower takes less than ten minutes, and soon, you find yourself in the kitchen, smiling brightly as you take Daphne in your arms.

As Agatha presses a kiss to her cheek, you ask Wanda, “Was she any trouble?”

There’s a noticeable hesitation in her voice. “No, not at all!”

Agatha’s eyes narrow. “You hesitated.”

“No, I didn’t,” Wanda insists.

“Yes, you did,” Agatha says, slowly pointing at her. “You hesitated. Why did you hesitate?” Wanda doesn’t answer and Agatha looks around at everyone sitting around the table. “Somebody better start talking.”

Her eyes land on Billy, who sits there awkwardly. When she says his name, he startles and she grins. “Why is your mother hesitating?”

Wanda sighs. “Okay…last night, she showed her first signs…of magic.”

The whole room is quiet. Your breath catches and Agatha looks at you. “What? Why wouldn’t you wanna tell us?” you ask.

“Well, it’s an important moment,” Wanda says. “I didn’t want us to take that away from you.”

“I mean, that’s not the only milestone she’ll have,” you shrug. “It is a little disappointing that we weren’t here for it, but magic is unpredictable. I didn’t start until I was five, and Agatha didn’t start until she was three.”

“Quite frankly, we weren’t expecting it to be this early,” Agatha says, running her finger over Daphne’s soft cheek. “Both of us lost the bet. I have to admit, though, I am disappointed I didn’t get to see the havoc she wreaked.”

__________

The Yule celebrations have ended. The sun set hours ago and the world around you has gone quiet. But there’s one sound in your world that you love more than anything.

The dim light of the lamps cast shadows on the walls. You lay on your side facing Agatha, and in between the two of you on your bed is Daphne, giggling away as she shakes a toy around. Agatha is enchanted by her–she hasn’t looked away from her once. And you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fallen under the same spell.

Even with the sun down, she brings more light to your life than any star could.

“She is the most perfect thing in the world,” Agatha mumbles.

You watch with a smile as she accidentally throws the toy toward Agatha’s face. Agatha clutches her nose after taking the full brunt of the throw and you giggle.

As your hand rubs comfortingly over Agatha’s hip and waist, you don’t even see Daphne trying to reach for the toy–until Agatha glances down and gasps.

Following her gaze, you look down and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

As Daphne reaches for the toy, she struggles and becomes fussy, but at the center of her tiny palm is a small ball of purple light.

“It’s purple,” Agatha says, and she sits up quickly. “She’s trying to use magic. It’s purple.”

When you sit up, tears are forming in both of your eyes. Agatha picks Daphne up and presses a teary kiss to her cheek. “It’s purple,” she says again.

As Agatha holds Daphne against her shoulder, your arms go around them both. Your hand rubs gently up and down Daphne’s back as you wipe away Agatha’s tears and kiss her cheek.

You sit there, holding each other quietly. And with a sniffle and a watery laugh, you press a final kiss to Agatha’s temple, muttering, “It’s purple.”

#kathryn hahn #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #fanfiction #smut #agatha harkness smut

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piastappies · 1 year ago

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ᯓᡣ𐭩 FORTS AND DADDY TIME! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. oscar piastri x leclerc!wife!reader

summary. when you need to stay at work for longer than expected, you leave oscar with your daughter. when you come home earlier than your husband thought, the cutest scene plays in front of you.

notes. tysm for loving my previous dad!oscar fic!!! this one’s also not proofread but lets pretend like there is not a single mistake in here 😙😙😙

days like this were the hardest, especially with the thought of oscar’s summer break inevitable ending occupying your mind. every year, you wanted to make sure you had spent the maximum time with him and chloe, before parting your ways for a while again. going back to the office, while you were spending the precious time with your husband and daughter, was something you hated, mostly, because chloe was the biggest daddy’s girl on earth. some people might’ve gotten jealous over the fact that they’re not their baby’s favorite parent, but you loved watching oscar interact with chloe.

but honestly, leaving them alone was still a bit of a stressful situation for you and your emotions were all over the place as you tried writing down all the necessary things just in case oscsr forgets, which wasn’t likely to happen, but still — you wanted to be more than sure.

“baby, i know how to look after chloe.” oscar laughed softly, his arms wrapped around your waist as he stood behind, placing a single kiss on your neck. “we’re gonna have much fun today, right, squish?” he asked, when the little girl leaned on his leg, looking up at the two of you with a sweet smile. she nodded eagerly, earning a small chuckle from you.

“i good girl.” chloe replied confidently, wrapping her arms around oscar’s leg, wanting to stay as close to him as possible, despite it was you the one leaving (even if it was for a few long hours). “mommy good girl, too! and daddy good girl, too too!” the two of you had to stifle a laugh as your daughter praised you on being good girls.

a few minutes later, quite a couple of reassuring words from your husband, a few wet, sloppy kisses on your cheeks and a literal push out of the door and oscar was left with your little squish. at first everything was calm, chloe was sprawled out on the carpet, playing with her little’s pet shops collection, making a little voice-over, while your husband was preparing a strawberry smoothie for her.

though, before he knew it, he was dressed in one of your dresses, wearing a plastic tiara on his head with stickers plastered all over his cheeks, while sitting at chloe’s small, colourful table with some of her favorite plushies (a panda named jimmy, a koala named arty [after her favorite uncle], ginny the giraffe and daphne the dolphin).

“c’mon, princess squish, do a spin for daddy.” oscar smiled, watching as his daughter did a spin. he helped her get into her purple tutu dress, put a tiara and a few hair clips in the strands of her blond hair. to make her princess tea party experience even better, he took some of your eyeshadow palettes and put some on her to match her purple dress.

“i so pretty, daddy!” she squeaked happily, doing a little dance. “tea?” she asks as she plops down on her dad’s lap, pouring a pretend tea into his pink cup. “tasty, tasty.” she nodded, taking a sip.

“yeah, you’re my pretty princess, squish.” oscar chuckled, earning himself one of the most beautiful views in the world — his daughter grinning, showing him her baby teeth. your husband couldn’t help but to grin back at her, feeling her little arms wrap around his neck as she went in for a hug.

oscar was a sucker for moment like those, as much as he wished you were there to witness it, he loved spending time with chloe, seeing her grow up every day, noticing those slight changes in the way she constructed her sentences and how the incoherent babbling started to turn into actual words and sentences. he was counting down the days till she was old enough to not tire you out whenever on a flight, so he could see her happy face after a race and to show her the beauties of the world on a free day. god, she was the the most important person in the world for him in a way he could drop everything to make sure she was happy.

his heart ached painfully, every time he was away from you and chloe for longer than a few days and with his hectic schedule. everything seemed to be a lot better, when his lucky charms were next to him.

the princess tea party went on for almost another hour until the princess hosting it started to slowly get tired and tired, snuggling up to him after they finished cleaning everything up. it took them some time, because she had to give each of her plushies a few kisses before placing them in her bed, tucking them in. “you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you, baby?” he chuckled, watching her as he leaned on the doorframe of her room.

she tilted her head with a tiny smile as she ran towards her dad, unfortunately, she tripped on the edge of the carpet, scraping her knees at the friction as she fell. tears started falling down her cheeks in an instant and oscar’s heart broke in half. he knew accidents happen all the time, but he wasn’t prepared for one involving his daughter, when he was all alone, even if it was just a small scratch.

“shh, hey, what’s with the fuss?” he asked in a calm voice, gently picking her up. your husband placed a few soft kisses on chloe’s wet cheek to calm her down. “s’okay, daddy’s gonna take care of your ouchie.” he reassured as she nuzzled her teary face against his neck, sniffling quietly.

“fait mal, daddy.” she sniffled. oscar was glad that once in a while, your brothers wanted to mess with him and spoke only in french before chloe was born, so he could pick up on what his daughter was saying. hurts.

“i know, squish.” he sighed, gently sitting her down on the couch, telling his baby to sit still, while she tried to wipe away her flowing cheeks. he sprayed antiseptic on her scratches, holding her hand with his free one. a small gasp left his daughter’s lips as the spray coated her ouchies. “such a brave, girl.” he coaxed, placing two band-aids on her disinfected knees (with puppies, of course). when her face was no longer in tears, a sad pout appeared on her lips, making oscar’s stomach turn.

“how about, we make a blanket fort and watch some cartoon before you go to sleep, hm?” he suggested, the pout disappearing in a second, being replaced my a grin. a blanket fort? that sounds super cool. he pulled a few chairs together, putting a blanket on top of it as chloe’s eyes widened in shock and excitement.

the final product was breathtaking, at least for chloe, because oscar did everything he could to make the blanket fort look magical as he put pillows on the floor, put up lights and brought his ipad to play chloe’s favorite movie.

before he knew it, his little girl was curled up against his side, his hand gently moving up and down against her back as her head rested on the side of his chest. her eyes were slowly closing, but she wanted to stay in the fort and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with a tantrum of a sleepy, cranky little girl.

when you came back from work, the apartment looked clean, as if oscar sedated your little ball of energy and hired a cleaning company. that was your thought process, until you noticed a blanket fort in the living room and your heart melted like a chocolate in a water bath. you quietly took off your shoes and tiptoed to the fort, peaking inside. seeing the view completely shattered your heart in the most positive way possible.

“you’re back already?” oscar asked quietly, not wanting to disturb chloe’s sleep as she was laying down on his chest. “thought it’d take a little longer.” he smiled affectionately at you.

“think there’s some room for me?” your mouth curled into a small beam as he nodded, quickly taking a spot next to him, finally noticing that he’s wearing one of your dresses and you had to stiffle a laugh.

oscar noticed your expression and groaned quietly. “we had a princess party.” he explained, though the pretend angered look quickly dissolved, replaced by a playful smile. “your daughter didn’t let me be a prince, so i had to stole one of your dresses. i’ll show you the photos tomorrow morning.” he kissed your temple as you snuggled up closer, your hand gently rubbing chloe’s back.

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ginkgo-phyta · 1 year ago

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HI EVERYONE.

i miss you all. i miss writing. life has not been kind to me these last few months lol but im trying to get back into writing. not sure when i'll be able to flesh anything out enough to post, but i am trying!

just hard bc for some reason i feel like i need to write out all this plot (or unnecessary info, rlly) before getting to the point of my pieces but honestly that gets tiring...AH!

just dropping by to let yall know im thinking of yall and will be back soon :D

#daphne babbles #i realize i never posted the smut i promised bc i never finished it lol- havent been in the smut writing mood so idk when i'll get it out #but i will try!

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dayichor · 5 months ago

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TOLERATE IT, anthony bridgerton

one; just emma

masterlist

wp; blueichor / ao3; daybluems

"You must be jesting, my lord."

Anthony does not even glance up from his desk. "I was not aware we were ever close enough to engage in jest, my lady."

Emma ignores the jibe, "How can you engage Daphne to Berbrooke?"

You were present when I discussed the matter with Mother and Daphne. I do not believe I need to repeat myself."

"My lord, Lord Berbrooke is quite the boor—surely you cannot believe she will find fulfilment in such a match."

"Did mother send you here?" He scowls, "Does she think you, of all people, will be able to change my mind?"

"Of course not! I—"

"And how do you mean she would not be fulfilled? Berbrooke is of good social standing, has no financial problems, and is perfectly capable of providing a fulfilling life for Daphne."

"Fulfilled, like we are?"

He finally lays down his quill, voice low and dark when he replies, "You have never had any shortcomings since our—"

"But are we happy, Anthony?"

He baulks, unaccustomed to hearing his name from her lips. Emma's eyes, usually gleaming with tears of frustration when talking with him, are surprisingly dry.

"I know you are not a heartless man, my lord," she continues, "You dearly care for your family— it is just that you do not consider me a part of it. So please," She rises out of her chair, "Don't do this."

Anthony pointedly looks away as she leaves his study.

✑─────

"Emma!" Violet Bridgerton rushes to her daughter-in-law as soon as she enters the room, "How did it..." her voice trails off at the sight of her expression, "I see..."

Emma musters a wan smile. "I am sorry, Violet. I could not be of more use."

"Oh, don't be silly, dearest, it was wrong for me to assume you could persuade Anthony when we could not."

It was spoken with good intentions, but that did not mean Emma's chest stung any less. It had become common knowledge for the entire Bridgerton family, as well as the house help, that the Viscount and the Viscountess did not have a good relationship.

Still, she plasters a smile upon her lips and holds pearls to Daphne's neck as she dresses for the evening's ball. "What do you think, Rose?" She hums to Daphne's maid, "Don't these go well with her frock?"

The housekeeper suddenly bursts in.

"Oh good heavens, what is it, Mrs Wilson?"

"The queen, ma'am!" She wheezes— and is immediately met with a babble of excited exclaims. "Her majesty's royal stationery!" she finally gasps out, "She has written to you, my lady!"

The room instantly falls silent, eagerly watching as Violet reads the letter. "I am invited to private tea with the queen in two days time." She happily reaches a hand to Daphne, "Never mind the pearls, you shall wear the family diamonds tonight."

The rest of the girls in the room immediately huddle around the letter in awe, but it is only Emma who has to fake her grin, as she catches a glimpse of the letter's address.

To the Viscountess Lady Violet Bridgerton.

Oh, how lovely. Even the queen does not acknowledge her as the Viscountess.

It's only Daphne that notices, and the only one who gives her shoulder a quick and comforting squeeze.

✑─────

Daphne has both Anthony and Emma linked on either arm as they enter the ball.

"Oh, here comes the Duke, Daphne!" Emma whispers into her ear, smiling at the way her sister-in-law's eyes immediately seem to brighten.

"A dance, Miss Bridgerton?" The Duke approaches with Lady Danbury.

Anthony immediately scowls to say an angry remark, but Lady Danbury is quick to swoop in, "I shall need someone else to seek me a glass of rataffia, then. Lord Bridgerton, do me the honour?"

"...Of course, Lady Danbury."

And she plucks him away like a vulture.

Emma gives Daphne an encouraging squeeze before she giggles and hurries off with the Dufee before Anthony can pester them again.

Emma awkwardly moves off to the side as the music starts, and young couples begin to fill the dance floor.

She smiles as she spots Daphone and the Duke waltzing together. Well, if she really was to marry Nigel Berbrooke, she supposes it is best that Daphne could dance and enjoy her life while she could. Emma never quite really had that privilege. Anthony had proposed to her within merely days of her debut, and, well, he was not really much of the dancing type. She had been elated back then, so happy to marry the boy — now man — that she had played together with in her childhood.

The Bridgertons' Aubery Hall and the Jeanwoods' Cranbrook Manor were just a short walk from each other. Their families, just like them, had been close— until the tragic event that led to Edmund Bridgerton's demise.

Anthony had become extremely busy since then as the new Viscount, and they rarely saw each other, especially since the Bridgertons moved nearer to society.

Emma had thought he had forgotten all about her and their childhood companionship until he randomly came up to her house days after her debut and proposed.

She's so absorbed in her reminiscent that she does not notice the figure approaching her.

"Sister," Emma startles at Benedict's voice, "Would you like to Dance?"

"Anthony has been swept up by our mother," He grins as they begin their steps, "He's just looking for an opportunity to interrupt Daphne. I daresay he has never been more insufferable."

Emma laughs, "I cannot say I pity him."

"Serves him right," Benedict grins again, "Truly, he ought to be dancing with you instead of hovering over Daphne."

Emma's smile dies from her lips, "I—"

"Benedict!" Anthony suddenly approaches, seemingly having successfully escaped his mother, "Go dance with your sister."

"What! Why? I'm in the middle of a dance with Emma—"

"It's just Emma," He glares, giving his brother a nudge, "Go."

Benedict scoffs and gives Emma an apologetic book before he scurries off to Daphne.

Emma frowns and whips her head to her husband, "My Lord, I—" But he has already walked away. Why does she even try?

Emma sighed and walked to the drinks table to fetch herself some lemonade.

It's not even before a sip that she spots why Anthony had made Benedict interfere with Daphne and the Duke's dancing.

She rushes to Daphne and pulls her from Benedict, "Daph— your brother— he's talking with Berbrooke and the Duke—"

Daphne rushes off, and Emma sighs and leans against the wall as she watches. She was so, so tired.

"Well, that seems to be the general reaction of all women when dealing with Anthony nowadays."

She chuckles at Benedict's remark, "He is who he is, I suppose,"

A silence falls upon them.

"...Would you like to dance again, sister? To take your mind off things?"

"Oh, thank you, Benedict, but I'm alright. I think your brother will likely want us to leave after... whatever has happened. I shall go find him for us."

"Ah, presumably the best idea. Mother's probably drunk off her rockers by now."

Emma finds her husband trapped in conversation with Lady Cowper.

Anthony may be horrible to her, but even he did not deserve that.

"And where is your wife tonight, Lord Bridgerton?"

"She is around, Lady Cowper," Emma can see weariness forming on Anthony's head as she approaches.

"Oh, is that so? I have yet to see you dance with anyone this evening! I should think my Cressida has some space left on her dance card—"

Emma quickly interjects at that, "Good evening, Lady Cowper. Did I hear you mention my name?"

"Lady Bridgerton! Well, Lord Bridgerton here was looking a little lonely while you were off dancing with other gentlemen, so I was just offering my Cressida."

There's a beat of silence as Emma waits for Anthony to say something.

It is not ever rewarded. She clears her throat, "No need, Lady Cowper. We were just departing."

"Hm, pity. Lord Bridgerton could've used some relaxation before he left."

She is too tired to deal with this. She flashes a tightlipped smile as she pulls away to the door with Anthony.

"How cunning, my lady," he sneers the moment they are outside.

"Oh, now you find your voice," Emma retorts, her nails digging into his arm sleeve.

"Pardon?"

She shoves him away and looks at him with enough incredulousness to make the people around them stare subtly.

"I thought a noble such as you would've defended the woman he loves."

"Do you really think that I love you?"

"No, but it would be nice if you could at least pretend in front of others."

"Oh," His voice is jeering as he scoffs, "Not only are you cunning, but to be this shameless—"

Emma purses her lips as she snaps her away her head away, "I think I shall travel in your mother's carriage tonight." She strides out the door, ignoring the hushed whispers around her.

Anthony clenches his teeth as he enters his own carriage alone.

"Straight home, my lord?"

"No." He exhales, loosening his vest. "Take me to my club."

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #contract marriage #enemies to lovers #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x original character #anthony bridgerton x original female character #childhood friends

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squinch-depraved · 9 months ago

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pls pls pls pls pls schlatt with single mum reader

so. i'm in love with this idea and if this does well enough i might turn it into a series but for now here's how you meet plsss let me know if you guys want more of this omg

he met you doing interviews for a video on the street

normally this was the worst part of the job, only redeemed by the fact that he got to see women like you walk by every now and then

he didn't plan on stopping you, you had a kid with you so of course he understood that you didn't want to be bothered, let alone filmed

but you literally waltzed up to the microphone and just started bantering with him??

schlatt was so caught off guard he could barely keep up with your witty remarks as you debated the best toppings for a hot dog

no matter what he said, you retorted something better

until you turned to your daughter and asked her what she thought

and he lowered the mic down to her only for her to whisper,

"chechup."

schlatt broke out into a grin and turned to the camera, repeating the word and wrapping up the shot

he was so glad you stuck around until he could talk to you again, hoping you found him at least half as attractive as he found you

but you just wanted to know where you could find the footage once it was done

"lemme do you one better, i'll send you the unedited stuff of you, too! can i get your email?"

you rolled your eyes, smiling slightly and taking his phone from him to type your contact information

his eyes light up when he scans the screen once you hand it back; you left him your number as well!

"just blur daphne's face and shoot me a text before the video goes up. nice to meet you...?"

"uh. schlatt! it's schlatt," he replied, sliding his phone into his pocket and reaching to return your handshake

"y/n. thanks for letting us talk to you, daphy wanted to be on camera really bad. she wants to be a movie star one day, right daph?"

"yeah..." the girl whispered again, a bit louder than before

"but also a singer and a dancer." she spoke at a normal volume this time

"wow, that's ambitious. what kind of movies are you gonna make?"

you opened your mouth to answer swiftly and then leave, but daphne started babbling

"mama always tells me i should make funny movies because i'm funnier than i could ever know, but i really wanna make scary movies, because, guess what? i can scream really loud, listen-"

you clamped a hand over her mouth just in time, and schlatt laughed

"i am- i'm so sorry, she literally never talks to people, we're working on it, daphne you cannot just scream like that!!"

he was still laughing

why was he not disturbed?

"sorry, no, you guys are fine! she's hilarious, man, your mom's right."

you relaxed a bit, not used to this kind of reaction, and eased into a conversation with him

he ended up taking you two to get hot dogs and tried daphne's order

even pretended to like it for her

once it was time for you two to get going, he got you into a cab and waved bye to you both through the window

walked back to his friends unable to stop thinking about you

little did he know you were thinking about him for the rest of the day and all night

you would never trust someone like him around daphy, but he actually got her to talk??

you can barely get her to talk sometimes

and he was really cute...

he didn't seem overly interested in her, it looked more like he was there for you but didn't mind that you and your daughter came as a package deal

so maybe you should text him. at the very least, sleep on it

it had been a while since you had let yourself try to be happy in this way, and you already knew he got along great with daphne

you fell asleep thinking about what you would wear next time you saw him

#x reader #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut

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antinousletmehit · 6 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 10 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇sighhh Raphael chapter

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The garden of the Skiaphos palace was a picturesque haven, with blooming flowers and the gentle hum of bees creating an almost serene atmosphere. Y/N sat on a stone bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching as Adonis babbled on a soft blanket spread over the grass. He kicked his chubby legs and grabbed at the petals of nearby flowers, giggling as the breeze tousled his little curls.

Though the scene was peaceful, her heart was heavy. The chains around her wrists had been removed for the time being, but she could still feel the phantom weight of them. She glanced at Adonis, forcing a small smile to keep herself composed. He was her only solace here, her reason for enduring this nightmare.

The sound of soft footsteps drew her attention, and she looked up to see Daphne, Endymion’s wife, approaching with a kind expression on her face. Her golden hair shone in the sunlight, and her delicate features radiated warmth. She carried a small bundle of white flowers in her hand. “Y/n,” Daphne greeted gently, her voice like a soothing melody. “May I sit with you?”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Of course.” Daphne gracefully lowered herself onto the bench beside her, arranging her skirts neatly. She placed the flowers in her lap, then turned to Pandora with a soft smile.

“I thought you might like some company,” Daphne said, her tone careful. “You looked so lost in thought.”

Her lips curved into a faint, polite smile. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

Daphne studied her for a moment before speaking again, her voice laced with empathy. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y/n. I know this… situation is difficult. Raphael… he can be intense.”

Her smile faltered, and she glanced down at her hands. “That’s an understatement.”

Adonis let out a happy squeal, and Daphne leaned forward to tickle his tummy, eliciting a fit of giggles. She glanced back at y/n, her expression softening. “He’s a beautiful boy. You must be so proud.”

“I am,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on her son. “He’s my everything.”

Daphne reached out and gently placed a hand on Pandora’s arm. “You’re stronger than you know, y/n. And you’re not as alone as you think.”

She looked at her, surprised by the sincerity in her words. “Why are you being so kind to me? I’m your husband’s brother’s… prisoner.” The word felt bitter on her tongue.

Daphne’s eyes softened further. “Because I can see how much you’re hurting. And because I don’t agree with what Raphael has done. Endymion doesn’t either, though he’s too proud to openly say it.”

Her throat tightened, and she looked away, blinking back tears. “I just want to go home. I want Adonis to grow up in Ithaca, with his father and his family. Not… not here, in this gilded cage.”

Daphne’s grip on her arm tightened slightly, a gesture of solidarity. “I can’t promise anything, but… I’ll do what I can to help you. You don’t deserve this.”

She finally turned to look at her, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Daphne gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Just hold on. You’re stronger than he thinks. And so is Adonis.”

As the two women sat together, she felt, for the first time in a long while, a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her going, for now. The peaceful ambiance of the garden shifted as the heavy sound of boots against stone announced Raphael’s arrival. Y/n immediately stiffened, her hands balling into fists in her lap as she caught sight of him striding towards them. Daphne, who was still seated beside her, also straightened, her warm expression cooling at the sight of her brother-in-law.

Raphael’s calico hair shone in the sunlight, but his piercing gaze was anything but warm. He carried himself with his usual air of authority, his lips twitching into a smirk as his eyes landed on y/‘ and then darted to Daphne. “Daphne,” he said smoothly, his voice low and laced with an edge of menace only someone attuned to him would recognize. “I didn’t realize I’d invited you for a chat with my wife.”

Daphne raised her chin slightly, her demeanor calm and unflinching despite the unspoken warning. “I was simply keeping her company. It’s a beautiful day, after all.”

Raphael’s smirk widened, but his eyes remained cold. “It is, isn’t it? But I believe my wife and I have some… private matters to discuss. Don’t let me keep you from your duties.”

Daphne hesitated, glancing briefly at y/n, who avoided her gaze. Finally, with a measured nod, she stood, smoothing her skirts. “Of course. Y/n, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”With one last pointed glance at Raphael, Daphne left, her footsteps fading into the distance.

The silence that followed was suffocating. She kept her gaze on Adonis, who was still happily babbling and playing with a flower he’d managed to pluck from the ground. Raphael broke the silence by settling down on the bench beside her. He didn’t say anything at first, just watching her with a sly grin. Then, to her horror, he shifted, laying his head boldly in her lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as he got comfortable. “You smell like spring, little birdie. Like fresh flowers and sunshine.”

She stiffened, her entire body rigid as she clenched her jaw. “Get off of me,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice low to avoid alarming Adonis.

Raphael chuckled, the sound dark and rich. “But I’m so comfortable here. Besides,” he opened one eye, glancing up at her with a mocking smile, “aren’t wives supposed to indulge their husbands? You wouldn’t want me to be uncomfortable, would you?” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something that would make the situation worse.

As if sensing her frustration, Raphael’s smirk grew. He reached up, brushing his fingers against her wrist, making her flinch. “You know,” he drawled, his tone suddenly dropping to something lower, darker, “Adonis is such a sweet boy. But one child isn’t enough to secure a legacy, don’t you think?”

Her blood ran cold, and she froze, her breath hitching. Raphael’s grin turned wicked as he tilted his head slightly, looking up at her with those sharp, unyielding eyes. “What do you say, little birdie? Should we work on giving Adonis a sibling? A little girl, maybe, with your eyes and my charm.”

Her stomach churned in disgust, and she pushed at his shoulder. “You’re disgusting,” she spat, glaring down at him.

Raphael only laughed, the sound low and menacing. He caught her hand easily, gripping it tightly as he sat up. His face was mere inches from hers now, and his voice dropped to a whisper, dripping with mockery. “You’ll come around eventually, my love. After all, what choice do you have?”

Her glare was fierce, but the subtle tremble in her hands betrayed her fear. Raphael leaned back, satisfied with her silence, and stood. He adjusted his sleeves and gave her a smug smile.

“Enjoy the sunshine, y/n. It suits you.”

With that, he walked off, leaving her shaking with anger and despair. Adonis’s soft giggles broke her spiraling thoughts, and she looked at her son, forcing herself to keep it together, for him.

——

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the grand windows, casting silvery beams across the bed where y/n lay beside Raphael. She had her back turned to him, clutching the edge of the sheet tightly in her sleep, trying to carve out as much space between them as possible. Adonis was in his crib across the room, his quiet breathing the only sound filling the stillness of the night.

Suddenly, Raphael stirred beside her, his breaths quickening, and his fingers twitching against the sheets. His face contorted in distress, his usual arrogance replaced with vulnerability as he muttered incoherent words under his breath. A low, strangled sound escaped him, and he jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving. For a moment, he stared into the dark room, disoriented, his heart pounding. The nightmare clung to him, the shadows in the corners of the room feeling oppressive. Unable to shake the fear, he turned to the one person he never admitted he sought comfort from.

“Y/n,” he muttered hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly. He reached out and shook her shoulder gently at first, then more insistently. “Y/n, wake up.”

She stirred, groaning softly as her body shifted in the bed. “What…?” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. “Raphael, what are you doing? It’s the middle of the night…”

Ignoring her confusion, he sat up and pulled her toward him, laying his head against her chest. She froze for a moment, startled by the sudden closeness, her half asleep mind struggling to catch up. “Raphael?” she asked groggily, her voice tinged with both annoyance and worry. “What’s going on? What are you—?”

“Shh,” he cut her off, his voice unusually quiet. His arms wrapped around her waist tightly, as though she might vanish if he let go. His face buried against her chest, and she could feel the rapid rise and fall of his breaths. “Just… stay like this. Don’t move.”

She blinked, still trying to process the situation. Her body stiffened under his hold, but the vulnerability in his voice threw her off guard. This wasn’t the arrogant, controlling man she had come to know, this was something else entirely. She glanced down at him, seeing the faint sheen of sweat on his brow and the tension in his usually composed features. “Did you have a nightmare?” she asked softly, her voice cautious. She didn’t want to provoke him, especially not in this state.

He didn’t answer right away, his fingers clutching at her nightdress as he let out a shaky exhale. Finally, he muttered, “It doesn’t matter. Just… stay here.” She hesitated, torn between pushing him off and letting him stay like this. A part of her felt pity, though she quickly squashed the feeling. Instead, she let her hand rest lightly on his back, unsure of what else to do.

The minutes stretched on, and gradually, his breathing slowed, his grip on her loosening slightly. “You’re warm,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You always feel so warm.” She didn’t respond, staring up at the ceiling with a mix of exhaustion and frustration. She didn’t want to be his solace, he didn’t deserve it. Yet here he was, clinging to her like a lifeline, and she was too tired to fight him off.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, and she realized he had fallen asleep again, still curled against her. She sighed quietly, her mind racing even as her body remained still. Whatever nightmare had haunted him, she didn’t care to know. All she knew was that this fragile moment was fleeting, and by morning, he would return to being the man she despised.

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