#I hope we all can get along :3

[oneeyedsparrow]

Hello TG Tumblr! 👋

Hiya! I’m looking for other Tokyo Ghoul mutuals on here. I have an OC named Arthur Finch, who I ship with Kaneki Ken and looking for others to talk to and share my work with. I’m currently trying to work on a TG doujinshi. So hopefully I’ll be able to share that later. 

[aprito]

sos month day 16: like fire / like water wanted to redraw something from 2015 and remembered how badly i wanted to replay the game this is based on. tldr battle ninja island everyone is alive and cant die for some reason. platonic extremely jaded old man sewercidal sasori x zero nerve no respect for male authority figures teenage brat sakura is too good to pass up. dial that shit up to 200%. basically the worst month ever for the both of them

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[seahydra]

Living the dream 💐☀️🌸🌷 ... I finally took my wife out to the garden like I've wanted to :]

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

You say "Sun/Moon arranged to be married to someone that's rude to them" I hear "Sun/Moon arranged to be married to Eclipse, when all of them would much rather marry Reader"

THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE MOST CHAOTIC TAKE FOR THE BETROTHED-BUT-IN-LOVE-WITH-A-SERVANT AU THERE COULD POSSIBLY BE. ONE WHOLEASS IDIOT STUPIDING THEIR WAY THROUGH LIFE WHILE THREE WHOLEASS MORONS ARE FRANTICALLY GOOGLING ‘how to tell my crush that I only want to elope with them and forget all about my engagement and live happily with them in a small cottage in the country side for the rest of our lives’

[apostatehamster]

just going through the izzy hands tags for now to feel less alone with feelings i cannot truly put anywhere

i've seen many character deaths, i am basically used to my fav characters dying, but something about this particular death feels so very cruel, considering all that happened this season and the show's usually more lighthearted tone.

especially as it's being sold as something beautiful and 'necessary' and then pushed aside for a slapped on happy ending that rang very hollow, to me at least

[zhongrin]

◆

— fin.

alrighty, i will be cuddling the shit out of a certain dragon after this but before that, a small bonus (read: silly doodles) because we all need therapy after all that (or at least i do) -

1:

2:

"i had a nightmare."

"but i just went to buy milk-"

/silly

3:

we both have separation anxiety now so that's that 👍🏻

[the-greek-mythos-project]

The Greek Mythos Project: What We Accept Within Submissions

Hello everyone, it is once again Camila here and I am writing this post because I decided I should probably clarify things sooner than later. I know I and quite a few other lovely people can struggle with open barriers within things, especially in such a large and "imposing" project, so I decided to write down the general specifics of things to lessen everyone's anxiety. This can and will definitely be improved if we are given more information/questions/asked for clarification so feel free to check every once in a while or reach out if you don't see a specific question you have answered. This is once again here to promote better communication within things and break down this large project to more manageable things. So, let's get into it!

[Note: This post will go from the broader, more unspecific, topics to the smaller, more specific ones so feel free to scroll down or up as you please :)]

The Biggest Thing First! One Singular POV. This is something that I, Camila, want for the project and therefore, it will be the most enforced thing within here. Don't worry, though! We will be releasing a Second Work alongside this main project consisting of things that didn't quite fit into the original project, such as works that aren't exactly (or at all) one POV but still want to be recognized or OC pieces that are like reincarnations of various gods/mortals/characters which I'll get into later. So you work has a place with us, I promise you <3.

Anyway, back to the One Singular POV thing. It genuinely does not matter whether the piece is First Person, Second Person, Third Person, or something within those parameters as long as the setting, scene, thoughts, and work are being described in that one character's thoughts/experiences. A great example of this in Third Person is in the Heroes of Olympus by Rick Riordan, a popular YA Book Series centering around Greek Mythology in a Modern Setting told by their Demigod Children, where the narrative is in Third Person POV but it only ever follows whoever's POV it's in. Such as we do see the character's actual name and "he/she/they" instead of "I" but we're not privy to anything other than what the character is experiencing.

That is what I am asking for, and I am asking for this mostly for myself!) As we all may know by now, this project was created because I--Camila--took one look at my goal to rewrite the entirety of Greek Mythology in my search to learn more about the Greek Myths, was like "yeah... no," and then proceeded to make this public with the intent to bring out those niche writers, gain a community, make friends, and generally learn more about the various communities and ideas surrounding such a vast and deep thing such as Greek Mythology (remember, people not only know this across the globe, but across centuries. It's not just our ideas and the original texts, it's the Roman Empire's thoughts, the Rise of Christianity, all of our forefathers, and even those who we have read dissecting these things and creating academic papers or other works. It's just so interesting how much character and change and even how much influence various things have had on our modern perceptions). But, this is also a Project, this is also mine, and so I am very politely asking for it to be One POV of a Greek Mythological Character--However Niche They May Be--Only.

Thank you so much for understanding and, again, I will be hosting a Secondary Fic for all the things that don't quite fit under this Main Project but may still want to have the recognition/community that this comes with <3.

Note!! Because this post ended up being a little long and would be hard to properly organize going further, the rest of it will be comprised in reblogs <33

[vampvelvet]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how I've been doing better mentally these past few weeks and a lot of it boiled down to things people have been telling me my whole life. I mean, I had gone through traumatic events some years ago which caused depression. then I fell into a codependent friendship which has worsened my mental state. only now that I have backed out of that friendship and started to think more about myself and how I feel, did I figure out how to keep myself going well.

I found hobbies im interested in, I've been using music I adore to keep my spirits up, I've been getting outside more, getting more exercise, using my phone less, living more in the moment, diversifying my friendships, taking time for myself, etc etc etc

and seeing myself improving in these ways makes me feel optimistic, thinking, these are the things that helped me, they can help you too! it's easy to get excited about that.

but none of those things were the solution to my problem. those were parts of healing, ways to keep my rhythm, ways to give me energy when I feel like going back to what I typically do when I'm depressed.

but they weren't *the solution*. and that made me realize why only now I'm following all this advice that I had been given to me for years and years. why people get so cynical and annoyed when others try to motivate them into getting out of their depression. because staying inside, staying sedentary, overusing phones, avoiding socializing, etc- those things aren't the cause of issues, they're the *symptoms*. and when someone is in a terrible mental state they're not going to realize/notice/care about the things that they're using to cope with their lives.

I don't know what the solution is. everyone's lives are different. for me, it was getting out of a codependent friendship. I don't have the answers. but it's going to be something bigger than just 'getting out more'.

people have to see the future on their own. there are moments when people realize that they have to take their life into their own hands. nothing is easy, but things can get better.

long rant in the tags if you're interested. take care <3

[ayahachitwister]

I used my Josh cup for coffee today, but I feel like he cursed it 😭 I kept finding grounds in my second cup

Ah well. It’s lunch time now anyway, so time to switch to water or something DX’

[be-good-to-bugs]

DONT stay up for 21 hours its a horrible idea

[prettyg1irlstears]

i js saw ur pillow princess reader x rafe blurb n its amazing !!

but how would rafe x gf!reader be when rafes friends have been bringing up about how it feels good when ‘the girl takes charge’ but she gets upset n self conscious cs she literally cant, shes js a pillow princess at heart !! she wld constantly ask rafe if shes good enough in bed, if its fine she cant ride him like his friends have been showing off :(((

first of all thank you!!<33 second of all i’m so sorry if i’m answering late, but i hope you’ll like it<3

softbf!rafe x sub!reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you’re in the large living room of tannyhill, a pretty sundress on while sitting of your boyfriend’s lap, listening to the conversation between him and his mates.

you were telling rafe that you’ll come tomorrow, that it’s fine if he wants to have a ‘all bro evening’, but rafe insisted on you staying, so you did, because you’re his good girl.

so here you are, playing with rafe’s fingers as the boys don’t bother to acknowledge or respect your presence and talk about their girls.

“bro, my girl’s wildin’ when she takes charge,” kelce boasted, smirking as he took a swing of his beer. “doin’ all the work, feels so good.”

your chest tugs anxiously, slightly squeezing rafe’s fingers as you listen.

“yea i feel ya, man,” topper adds, grinning as he high-fives kelce. “wish you could see the way sarah moves on me ‘cause like goddamn..”

you feel yourself getting uncomfortable, partly because they’re talking about their girlfriends like they were a piece of meat, but mostly because you know you’ll forever be a pillow princess.

“yo, top,” rafe feels jow uncomfortable you are, stroking your silky hair lovingly, thinking it’s just because the conversation’s too much for you. “it’s my sister, man, don’t be gross,”

“sorry bro, not my fault she’s freaky,” topper sneers, kelce chuckling along with him.

you withdrawn a little bit, nuzzling into rafe’s chest as your mind runs a marathon. you were never able to take charge, especially in bed. you and rafe tried it a few times, but you always get all shy and embarrassed, just simply not finding it in yourself to be dominant. but now, after you heard the boys’ conversation, you feel even worse than ever.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“you okay, baby?” rafe asks you softly. the boys have already left, you’re now helping rafe clean the beer cans and pizza boxes. he has noticed something’s off — he always does.

“mm good ray, just tired.” you fake a yawn and give him a small smile.

that seems to make rafe calmer, maybe he just doesn’t want to press you. he comes over to you, placing his hands on your waist. “can we still do sum’ or are you like really tired?”

you chuckle and look up at him. “no we can still do something.” because even though you still feel bad, you can still feel a little wet spot making itself in your panties just from that one simple sentence.

rafe smiles and kisses you, his hands moving from your waist to squeeze your butt. “alright let’s get to bed, hm?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you thought it would make your mind go elsewhere, like always, but even when you’re a moaning mess under the muscular body of your boyfriend, you’re still thinking about it.

“what’s the matter, bunny?” rafe grunts into your neck as he kisses it, giving you long and deep thrusts.

“n-no, no!” you let out in a whimper, squeezing his shoulders. “please don’t stop.”

rafe smirks, slowing his pace even more as he bites on a soft spot of your neck. “then what is it?”

you whimper at that, but you can’t keep your worries inside anymore. “am i good enough for you?” as soon as these words leave your mouth, rafe stops, stilling inside of you, making you let out a small whimper of disapproval.

“baby.. baby look at me, will ya?” he gently takes your chin in his hand, making you look up into his eyes.

you look, his hand caressing your cheek as you look up at him with those puppy eyes of yours.

“why would you ask that?” he asks, his voice soft as he has no idea where this is coming from. “of course you are, you always were and always will, baby.”

“because i can’t ride you.. can’t make you feel good..” you say quietly, tears welling up in your eyes. “mm sorry rafe, i just can’t..”

“hey, hey, look at me, baby..” he makes you look at him again, his hands running through your hair and caressing your cheek. “that’s perfectly fine, bunny. you’re perfect, i swear to god,”

you’re looking into his eyes, nervously playing with his curtain bangs. “are you sure? ‘cause i felt really bad earlier..”

rafe chuckles a little, kissing your forehead. “baby, don’t listen to those two pricks. can’t appreciate their girls like i can apprexiate mine.”

he kisses your lips softly, slowly starting to move inside you again. “i love you being my little pillow princess.” he grunts at the movements, earning a tiny moan from you. “wouldn’t change for anything, baby.”

“you mean it..?” you ask, leaving out tiny whimpers as he moves slowly yet deeply, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“absolutely,” he whispers, kissing your lips while leaving out small moans. “don’t have any idea what you do to me like this.”

“alright..” you feel a shy smile growing on your lips, tugging on his hair as his tip hits that one spot inside you. “r-rafe.. please.. faster..”

“faster, yeah?” rafe smirks, increasing his pace, holding the side of your neck, earning sweet little moans from you that make his cock twitch inside of you.

“don’t need ya to take charge, baby..” he lets out a pretty moan into your ear. “js’ fucking you like this is enough for me to go absolutely crazy.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[pumpyrunah]

[Important Update 10/05/2024]

TLDR: Please help a trans disabled venezuelan person of color help their father appeal for an USA parole so the economic crisis doesn't eat their asses alive

[alt title: Maduro bastardo vas a caer imbécil]

I speak from complete honesty when I say that I wish I didn't have to come to this, but the situation here due to the economic crisis seems to just get worse each day, and we strongly fear that regardless of the outcome of either country's elections around the corner, the possibility to leave to the USA and work for a better situation than here will be cutted entirely from our possibilities. This week I spoke longly with my father and we got to the conclusion of saving and helping as much as everyone can to help him appeal for a parole, stay with trusted relatives in Miami, and work to help things over here a little better.

I'm currently working trying to keep things at bay as much as possible. But my relatives at Miami estimate that in order for my father to emigrate safely we'll need At least 8 Thousand, not to mention all the external spends in basic services, food, and others in the meantime we save as much as possible to help him move in the nearest future before the elections of either country

Because of this. Along with any donations anyone wishes to make, I'm currently offering semi-traditional doodles in this rendering style at $30

You have no idea how much anyone helps by even simply sharing this post as much as possible, thinking on the future has been really exhausting and I'm open to working for anything in order to disperse my mind. I hope I explained myself as best as I could, if anyone has any doubts then please don't doubt in contacting me through DMs or Ask prefferible to avoid bot flagging.

PPAL

KO-FI

( $30 / $10000 )

(Original post before date under readmore)

---------------------------------------

Well hey there! I used to be ghonrenoki but either the growt in traction or the high amount of ask and messages flagged my past blog as a robot :^)

I'm a venezuelan disabled trans artist still in urgent financial help over here. I don't want to repeat myself of be too personal, but essentially our car's wheels broke and we now have a new urgent thing to assist, so that's why after consulting friends and clients I elevated a little the goal and comm prices.

If you have the chance, please consider making a donation, buying a commission, or just helping me by rebloging this post is more than enough! <3

( $150 / $2000 )

[rosyblooom]

love (to hate) u | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader A/N: hey! love this idea sm!! hope it's as u imagined :)

Twitch

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 121,004 others

yourusername me and my bestie 🥰❤️ (fyi max this is OUR cat now)

view all 1,489 comments

username so what i'm seeing is if i punch lando we'll be besties??

username I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE (sry lan) username bye💀💀

landonorris What a loser...

landonorris A cat is your best friend now?🤣

yourusername wdym everybody knows it's cats>everyone else>lando 🤭 username damn😭 username take a shot everytime lando and y/n make digs at each other, i dare you username lol no thanks i choose life

username AHH BOTH OF YOU ARE CUTE AF LYYY <333

maxfewtrell You mean my cat?

yourusername **OUR cat 🔫🙂

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: Best night with the gang ❤️ ]

[ tagged: maxfewtrell + more ]

Twitter

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 11,903 others

f1gossipofficial Y/N L/N was spotted today by fans attending the Australia Grand Prix alongside Oscar Piastri. Despite her and Lando Norris famously not getting along, it comes as quite a surprise to see her accompanying his teammate, especially considering their shared friend circles.

Who knows, maybe there's a relationship announcement on the horizon?👀

view all 919 comments

username Y/N 100% KNOWS WHAT SHE'S DOING LOOL

username she's so 😭 still gonna stan tho !!

username bruh they're literally friends

username oscar and y/n??? i would like to see it pls🙂‍↕️

username imagine having ur number 1 opp not only in the paddock but also in ur fucking garage like💀

username such nasty work omfg

username BREAKING MY SILENCE ‼️ they have the opportunity to pull the biggest enemies to lovers in todays day and age if they rlly wanted to👀

username lord there y'all go again... username i want whatever the hell u're fucking smoking cause what😀

username wait did he break up with lily???

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: why would a man be there?? 🤨]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

Twitter

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landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: My lucky charm ❤️🙏 ]

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxfewtrell and 509,886 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername alright fun's over, congrats bby xxx (happy now oscar?)

view all 7,942 comments

oscarpiastri As you can all see, we are NOT dating

yourusername oscar i'm sry😭😭 oscarpiastri 😑 username aw man...😞

username Y'ALL ARE GOING TO FUCKING JAIL

landonorris Us 🤝 the drama

yourusername 🤭🩷 username match made in fucking hell😭 you guys are SICK

username WAIT WHAT? lemme move my bang and read this shit again cause wtf

username oh! 😀

username s(he) be(lie)ve(d)😓

username theyre both liars smh

username I TRUSTED YOU😭💔

username this whole time ppl were clowning me and i was right all along?🧍‍♀️IVE BEEN SAYING THERE'S SEXUAL TENSION OMFG

username on behalf of literally everyone i'd like to apologise babe. shoulda never doubted you x username lando and y/n need to apologise to u cause they played us all🤡

username you guys are fake as shit, but ig you're cute or whatever🙄

0:09 ㅇ──────────── 3:17

[luvrxbunny]

little spider

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Innocence

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader knows nothing about sex or feelings of arousal, clothed clit-rubbing? cum in pants, small feelings of embarrassment (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.3k

A/N: sorry im late but im kinda proud of this one so i hope it was worth the wait! <3

Miguel didn’t think he’d end up in this position, nowhere in his wildest, most perverted fantasies did he think that this would actually be the outcome of him recruiting you but… here we are. 

You were assigned by the higher-ups to learn from him, they thought you had potential, and honestly? Miguel hated you when he met you, he felt like they were punishing him for something, that assigning him this raw recruit was just a flaunt of power. You didn't even have a suit he had to make you one, a trial suit first, to make sure all your vitals were good, to track your movements and decide what suit material would be best- or if you would have a digital one like him. 

During the weeks of his monitoring of your vitals, he began to grow a bit fond of you. You were an adorable recruit and eager to please, you were thoughtful and always gave your all, something he really appreciates. One other thing he noticed about you… your dopamine levels were elevated around him, along with your estradiol and testosterone. He ignores it when he’s writing his reports, he tells himself that he doesn’t report it because the higher-ups don't need to know, not because he knows they’d make you transfer… He should’ve requested it the first time he noticed it but the thought of you, his sweet, innocent spider, all turned on just from being around him? It ignited something in him. 

He updated your suit, saying that the data he was receiving wasn't enough, he made you wear the suit as he replaced the chip and tried to hide the smile in his voice when your spine straightened under his touch. The new chip could give him real-time tracking of all your vitals, but he set his watch to alert him anytime certain hormones spiked… estradiol and testosterone. So he conducted a little experiment over the following weeks, he’d lean into you more when you speak, holding your eye contact, he even broke out the smirk he used to use on girls when he was younger, and it worked on you. 

His watch vibrated every time he was near you, if he walked up to you, it started being an alert to when you were near, it’d go off before you’ve even approached him, he’d walk into a room and it’d go off before he even saw you. It started to have an effect on him, he started to feel a spark in his stomach every time it went off, every time he’d meet your eyes and you’d have that expression he’d grown to know so well. That weak, almost pleading- yet confused look in your eyes and the sheer panic before tearing them away from his. He started having to grip whatever was in his hands as tightly as he could to control himself when you’re breathing would stutter after he complimented you on your work. 

He started getting hard reviewing your logs after spending the day with you, watching your heart rate stay elevated, spiking along with your hormones, he can see your breathing pattern, and how irregular it is compared to when you’re not with him. How high your body temperature was… the main areas of heat. On his more weak days, he’s gotten himself off to the diagram of you, with the burning red spot between your legs as the focus of his fantasies. 

Now you’re here, avoiding his gaze as his watch vibrates like crazy. “Miguel?” He looks at you again, trying to keep his gaze neutral, hopefully, to make this a bit easier on you… and him. “Yes?” 

His voice is smooth as cocoa butter and you can feel his gaze burning into you. He started this heat inside you, one you’d never encountered before. It starts when you see him in the morning and doesn’t stop until you struggle to sleep- or at least it used to. But recently it’s been non-stop, a constant distraction that you can’t pinpoint, it feels like it’s in your hips, stomach, chest, and thighs all at once. It feels like it’s in his breath when it fans over your face, it's in his eyes when they lock with yours, and somehow on his fingertips when they brush over any part of you. You’ve spent hours a night trying to figure out what you can do about it, you’ve thought about even asking Lyla but decided the risk of her telling Miguel was far too great.  

This past week it’s just been building on it’s self, almost unbearable with Miguel’s new immersive training. He takes you away to some deserted, closed-off place and trains you with no distractions, giving you nothing to focus on other than him and forcing him to give all his attention to you. Miguel’s attention, his gaze is what causes the most… pain. That’s what it’s become, a dull, numb, thrumming at the base of your stomach, like an itch you can’t scratch that just becomes a nuisance. You couldn’t handle it anymore and if you asked Lyla she’d just tell Miguel- so why not just ask him directly? 

So here you are, avoiding his gaze because you’ve spent the entire day with him, building enough fire inside you- you don’t need to add any more. “I think…” You take a breath and turn to him a bit before forcing the words out. “There’s something wrong with me.” He puts his clipboard down, his concern, and his thick, veiny hand that comes into view piles onto the heat over-taking your bloodstream. He takes his glasses off and sits back in his chair, reaching his leg out to pull a chair beside you closer to him. You dare a glance at him and try not to collapse at his gaze, at the way his hair moves over his face for a moment as he motions for you to sit in the provided chair.

You sigh and sit down, your legs pressed tightly together, your palms resting on your thighs and your eyes focused on the back of your hands. You stay silent, your mind racing, your body warming further at the feeling of his eyes on you. “What’s wrong, little spider?” You suppress a shiver at the nickname as goosebumps rise over your skin, it’s been a problem since he picked it. “I’m hot.” The words shoot out of your mouth before you can second-guess them again. Miguel chuckles a bit, sending embarrassment through your body, sits back in his chair, and crosses his arms, prompting you to go on. 

“I can’t fix it. There’s… someone.” Miguel pretends he doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to him. “For some reason, something about them just- “ You pause for a moment, truly baffled by the way you feel, trying to find some way to explain it. “They just do something to me and it won’t stop.” Your words start to sound frantic, a bit panicked. Miguel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to examine your expression. “It’s like there's a low- like a low vibration- or a frequency? Like the ones that are so low you can barely hear but you can sorta feel them? It’s like that but- but deep inside me.”

Your eyes close and eyebrows furrow as you describe the feeling to him. He tries to keep his breathing even as he hardens uncontrollably under the suit. You don’t even realize what you’re confessing to him. “Like it’s in my bones, Miguel.” You add emphasis, your hands digging into the material of your suit before raising your head to meet his eyes, hoping he understands the state you’re in. He’s almost dizzy at the way his blood rushes to his cock. He holds your gaze and tries to convey a baffled, thoughtful expression as he tries to calm himself. 

“That’s- That’s odd. Yeah, um.” He takes a few deep breaths before sitting back again, unable to stay in your space any longer. “Do- Can you tell me who’s causing it? Perhaps it’s a side effect of their powers?” Your spine straightens and you shake your head at him gently. You twist your fingers in the fabric of your suit and your feet play with each other on the lab floor. “H-have you heard of any powers like that?” You ask him, a hopeful look in your eyes. 

Clever girl.

“No, I haven't.” He sits back, spreads his legs, and runs his hands down his thighs and back with a sigh. He holds back a smirk when his watch vibrates and he hears you take a sharp breath. “I- I don’t know what to do anymore. It- I can barely sleep.” You sound distraught, broken, and tired. He’d be the messed up one if he didn't help you… Right?

“I mean… I can try running some tests?” He offers, he keeps his tone light, trying to keep his dark desires off your radar. You perk up at his offer, already up and out of your seat, standing in front of him with a smile. He keeps his eyes on you, trying to ignore the way your scent is assaulting his nose, giving away how badly you need him. “You think we could?”

He nods and stands up, walking over to his lab table and clearing a few things. His head is already running wild with fantasies, ideas of what he could do to you, what he could teach you, how good he could make you feel. “Yeah, of course. C’mere, pequeña araña” You were already walking to him but your pace stutters and his watch vibrates when the nickname slips out. He truly didn’t mean to, he had gotten a bit too deep in his fantasies, and when your voice broke through he didn’t get fully pulled out. He’s never called you that in Spanish, not to your face at least, it’s fallen from his lips a few times before though, when he’s alone with his hand wrapped around his cock. But your reaction dissuades any fear that had shot through him before and he can’t help the smirk that makes its way on his face. 

You’re standing silently beside him, wringing your hands together and he doesn’t think you even notice the way your thighs keep clenching together. “Get on the table.” His tone is teasing, a grin on his face as you jump and scramble onto the tabletop. You lay on your back and look over at Miguel, feeling that heat rage through you at the look on his face. It’s dark and- wanting. It’s confusing. 

He takes a deep breath and your fingers try to dig into the metal table top as he walks to you. “Okay. I’m going to examine your body a bit, press into some muscles, some pressure points to see if maybe it’s a physical trigger. Is that okay with you?” Your chest is already rising and falling more rapidly at the thought, the promise of Miguel’s hands on you. You nod at him stiffly, trying to stay normal and calm as he holds your eye contact, nodding along with you. A small smile graces his face before he walks around and presses his palm into your hairline, pushing your head down to rest on the table as he stands north of you. 

His hands press into your shoulders and your eyes shut tight. He can feel all your muscles tense and his watch vibrates, he sneaks a peak at his and sees the huge spike in almost all your vitals. His cock twitches in his suit at your obvious need but he brushes it aside, if he rushes into this he might scare you off and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if that happens. He may lose his mind. He moves his hands to your biceps, massaging them tightly as little whines slip into your breaths, only audible to his ears. 

He walks back to the side of the tables and your eyes stay shut. He massages the softness of your sides and his breathing kicks up a bit once he gets to your hips. He takes his time with them, admiring the way you fit into his hands and how you subconsciously tilt them toward him. His thighs jump as his cock begins to leak, dripping precum down them. He takes a deep, shaky breath and forces himself to move on. He forced himself to move on, he was trying to take it slow, hopefully, you’d realize where you need him and ask for it. But your thighs spread open when he massages the outside and his hands dive for the inner before he can think it through. 

You gasp, you sit up with your eyes wide and your hands gripping his wrists. You don’t do anything though, he expects you to pull his hands away but it feels more like you’re holding him there, stopping- or attempting to stop him from pulling away. So of course he doesn't. He stares into your eyes as you search his, trying to figure out if he realizes the way that made you feel, if your cover was blown, if he wants to stop but he looks expectant, like he’s waiting for something. So you loosen your grip. “That’s- I think that’s- ” You’re nodding at him lightly, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say because for some reason your brain has stopped working. 

“Yeah?” Your heart stutters at his tone and the tilt of his head as he says it. Your thighs tense around his hand for a moment before you try to calm down, un-tense them but they can’t help the way they tremble with anticipation. You’re nodding at him more frantically and his eyelids flutter. “Okay.” He takes one hand out from between your thighs and rests it on your lower back as his other hand keeps massaging, slowly moving up your inner thigh and the sensations grow more intense the higher he gets. 

Your eyes shut and your hands grip his wrists again, not pulling away, just holding him. Your eyes shut and your hips tilt into his hand, getting him so close to your pussy that he can feel the heat radiating off of her. You feel some sort of shame twinge in your belly, dampening the more intense feelings that Miguel was causing. What if this was wrong? What if you aren’t supposed to feel like this with him, without him knowing… Maybe you should stop. 

Miguel moves further up and all those thoughts scatter from your head immediately. His watch vibrates again and a noise shoots out of your mouth- one you’ve never heard before as your body folds over and your head rests on his shoulder. You shut your eyes tight and take a slow, deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry, I-” He cuts you off. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m here, right?” He’s nodding at you, comforting and reassuring as his hand leaves your back to cradle your head. “You’re okay. I wanna help you, cariño.” Another noise leaves you at the nickname and his hand grips into your hair for a moment before sliding down to your neck and pulls your head away from his shoulder. He pushes your head against his for a moment, letting out a soft groan before letting go and pushing his fingers against your plush lips. 

“How’s that, honey?” His hand settles back on your lower back as you whine and your hands move up his arm, gripping his biceps now and pulling yourself closer to him. “Miguel.” His eyes roll back at how you sound, desperate, breathless, and gone. Your hips are grinding into his fingers and they aren’t even on your clit yet. They’re pressing against your hole through your lips and your suit, he’s keeping his fingertips flat against you so he doesn’t slip inside. 

He’s trying to ignore the mess he’s making in his pants, watching your tense face change into a relieved one, your eyebrows pulling inward as your lips part beautifully, releasing a shaky moan as he reangles his fingers to your clit. His hands are shaking as he tries to calm himself down, one of your hands slides up his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before gripping onto his shoulder and pulling him down, closer to your face. His eyes are fixed on your expression, taking everything in, every twitch and quiver, the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips before a whimper punches out of you. 

You’re ruining him and you’re none the wiser. Your hand slides up to his neck and you push your forehead against his, like he did earlier. His eyes roll back before he forces them to you again, moving his fingers over you clit faster when your thighs begin to shake around his wrist. “I think-” Your voice comes out as a whimper and he groans into you. Your fingers grip into his hair and his cock cries against him. “Something… Miguel.” 

The way you say his name fucks with him. It’s prettier than he ever could’ve imagined, he has to lean forward and press his throbbing cock against the edge of the table for relief. You’ve got him feeling like he could die, like he could implode if he doesn’t have you, if after this you realize what you need but get it somewhere else? It’ll be over for him. Your hand readjusts its grip in his hair, becoming more frantic as your spine straightens and your thighs close on his hands. “Miguel? I-” You cut yourself off with a moan and your head falls to his shoulder again, blocking your face from his view.

“No, no.” He brings his hand to the back of your neck again. “Let me see, amor.” He pulls you away from his shoulder and you moan at the nickname. Once again, it didn’t mean to slip out but you’ve got his head so cloudy he can’t help it. You’re moaning his name on repeat, like a warning and he’s pulsing at the thought, the promise of getting to see you cum, for him. His eyes can’t look away from you, he can’t see anything but your face, the way your brows furrow as you tense, and your nails dig into his arms, leaving reminders for later. He watches how you bite your lip before your jaw drops into an ‘O’ shape and his name falls from your lips one more time as a debauched cry. 

He keeps his eyes open, watching you cum for him, how your lips form around his name again and again. He wants to collapse, fall to his knees with how much you’re turning him on but he needs to watch you. He forces himself to keep his eyes on you, ignoring the way they want to roll back at how he’s flooding his pants. His hips twitch against the edge of the table as he cums for you, with you. His mind zeros into the way he can feel your clit pulsing underneath his finger tips, how breathless you sound, trying to keep up with the noises he’s forcing from you. His stomach tenses painfully as his cock unloads more cum onto himself. You sound like an angel, crying out for him. He can’t help the way he dives for you, pulling you in to kiss him and swallowing every moan you’ll give him. 

You whine into his mouth as his fingers slow down over your clit, your other hand meets the first in his hair and you keep his lips on yours. He keeps kissing you until you calm down and your breathing evens out. His hand comes from between your thighs and rubs your legs until you pull back from his lips. You have a bashful, embarrassed look on your face and it brings the largest smile that you’ve ever seen to his face. “Was that okay, pequeña araña?” You whine and pull him in for a hug, nodding into his shoulder as he chuckles and wraps his arms around you as you begin to giggle against him.      

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[fayes-fics]

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 

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