#them. but it was too late and now nothing would be the same again

[max-nicoxfandom]

Happy WIP Wednesday ! Here is a first draft/snippet of a random chapter in my long fic I'm working on (don't go looking for it, still unsure if I'm going to post it), bc I think I'm gonna take this part out even if I really like the concept.

Danny is like 6-7yrs old in this

Danny is a weird kid.

That's not to say Dick expected him to be normal when his family took him in. No, even if Danny wasn't still half dead, no one in this family is normal. Not even Duke and Barbara, the self proclaimed normies of the family.

Danny has brought a certain life to the manor, even in death, that has Dick contemplating moving back. Somehow, even Jason has been spending more time than usual there. Arguments have been lessened, the manor has been less creaky and more settled, Alfred even looks a little younger these days.

It's both the fault of Danny's sweet exterior, and the odd green that swirls in the blue of his eyes. Not the same hue as Jason's, but something near to it.

He's a lot like Jason, actually. Dick is sure if Jason had come to them just a little bit younger he'd be the spitting image of Danny.

It's the little things that make them look so similar. Almost everyone in the manor has the blue-green eye, black hair combo. It's everything else in Danny that makes him look exactly like Jason.

Danny likes to wish the moon good morning when he sees it during the day, and insists on opening his curtains when he goes to sleep so the moon can listen to his bedtime story too. He likes to check his stuffed animals for injuries when they fall off furniture. He thanks Alfred for his food, and thanks his food for being yummy. When he leaves the manor, he blows the building a kiss goodbye.

Dick does not tell Bruce that the house pulls itself from the ground, and creaks back.

Sure, Jason wasn't dead (not yet, anyway), but he was so excited to be alive. He had that same disposition to do good to everyone and everything that Danny does. Jason may not be some sort of partial human like Danny, but Jason was Robin, and Robin? Robin is magic.

You don't have to believe in ghosts for them to be real, and you don't have to see Danny for him to exist. On the same wavelength, you don't have to see Robin to know Jason made him magic. It was just the truth. Like how the sky is blue and Bruce is Batman.

Dick is watching his life be changed one step at a time, just like it was with Jason–like how it was supposed to be with Jason–and like it was with his siblings.

He keeps flowers in his car now. He didn't before, he never had a reason for it.

But one time, Danny cried as they passed a graveyard. He was sitting curled up against the window in the back while Dick hummed along to some ballad on the radio. It was peaceful, as things tend to be when Danny's around, and even as the kid cried Dick never stopped feeling tranquil. He knew everything would be okay, Dick would stop at nothing to make his new brother happy again.

“I have no flowers.” He’d said. Dick hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what was wrong. “They'll all be so sad I came by, and I had no flowers.”

Danny's eyes were green when he'd spoken. Green, teary, and filled with more mourning a child should ever understand. Dick's heart broke about a thousand times over.

So now Dick keeps flowers in his car. Whenever he drives past a graveyard he throws a flower out the window, just like Danny does. And if the bouquet dies before he gets to give them away, he gives them to Danny, and he buries them in the backyard.

Green eyed and sad. Sometimes Jason joins him, sometimes Damian does. Dick never feels like it's his place.

This fic also has to do with the cult thing I was talking about sometime ago, and the post about big cities. I kinda regret having this take place in Gotham instead of Amity, but it's too late now (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Asks and interactions are always welcome !

[scoupsakakitty]

i think a touching scenario would be 14th member reader who has always been treated coldly by leader scoups until one day they had a major breakdown, and he would realise he was being too harsh and they would reconcile 🙊

Breaking the Ice | Seventeen x Reader | Angst, Fluff

The practice room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling feet as the members ran through the choreography again. It was their third time in a row, and exhaustion was settling in, but no one dared to complain.

Except for Y/N, who was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Y/N, focus."

Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, his eyes locked onto her with the same cold intensity he always had when addressing her. The room fell silent for a split second before the music started again, but Y/N didn’t move.

Instead, she dropped her hands to her sides, clenched her jaw, and turned around. Without a word, she walked straight out of the room.

"Y/N—!" Joshua called after her, but she was already gone.

A few members exchanged glances, uncertain of what to do. Seungcheol remained still, his expression unreadable.

"Hyung, that was too much," Mingyu muttered.

"You’ve been really hard on her lately," Jeonghan added, watching him carefully.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. "She needs to keep up. This isn’t a game for her just because she’s the youngest."

"No one said it was," Wonwoo pointed out. "But maybe talk to her instead of just pushing her all the time."

For a moment, Seungcheol said nothing. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room.

He found her in the lounge, curled up on one of the couches with her face buried in her hands. She wasn’t crying—not loudly, at least. But the way her shoulders shook told him everything.

Seungcheol hesitated.

He wasn’t good at this—talking, fixing things with words. But he knew he had to say something.

"You ran off," he finally said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Y/N flinched but didn’t look up. "Just go, Seungcheol."

He let out a quiet sigh. "No."

Her fists clenched. "Of course not. You always have to be in control, don’t you?" Her voice was unsteady. "Always watching, always criticizing, always making me feel like I don’t belong here."

Seungcheol’s chest tightened at her words.

"I don’t hate you," he said, his voice softer now.

She scoffed. "Could’ve fooled me."

He walked closer, stopping just before the couch. "I was never trying to make you feel like that."

"Then what were you trying to do?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought… if I was too soft on you, people wouldn’t take you seriously. That they’d see you as weaker because you’re the youngest. Because you’re the only girl."

Y/N finally looked up at him, her eyes glistening.

"I wanted to make sure you were strong enough," he admitted. "But I didn’t realize I was just pushing you away instead."

Silence hung in the air between them. For the first time, Seungcheol wasn’t looking at her with cold, calculated eyes—there was regret in them now.

After a long moment, he hesitantly reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I’m sorry, Y/N."

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gave a small nod.

"...Just don’t do it again," she muttered.

A quiet chuckle left him—relieved, almost. "I won’t."

And for the first time in a long time, Seungcheol’s presence didn’t feel like a burden to her. It felt safe.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

The Witcher savored the silence, save the crackling of the fire and the falling rain outside as he prepared their supper steadily, stirring the cooking pot he had set up over the fire, adding the ingredients of the stew. Working like this here in a cavern was nothing so new to him... but it felt surreal to be doing so on an island holding an eldritch cosmic entity, a cult and a lost city below. There was never a dull moment in the life of a Witcher, at least, however long one tread the Path. Destiny always found ways to pull the rug out from under him. Still, for the moment he felt relatively safe, their preparations made, as well as not having exposed himself to the corrupting power of many eldritch artifacts. When Sabrina squeezed his hand back and spoke up again, he stopped what he was doing and turned his viper eyes to her dark pair, surprised by what he heard. Something almost approaching regret. He couldn't say he was expecting that out of her. He was good at reading people though, with his experience and mutated senses, able to tell far more often than not when someone was lying... and knew her better than most. She didn't seem to be lying... especially in the state she was in, at present, vulnerable from the close brush with the Leviathan. He should have felt anger towards her... might again yet, but in that moment, their shared, complicated past felt thousands of miles away. At last, finding his words, his deep, grim voice returned to her just as honestly.

"Won't lie and pretend I haven't wanted to kill you. Deidre's blood is no less on your hands than it is on mine, with that Black Sun nonsense Eltibald and Stregobor cooked up... the Council you served enforcing it. Will pay them both a visit in Kovir, one day, loose ends I will tie up. It was all an excuse to grasp for the power of a Princess, destroy her life and drive her into insanity in pursuit of her magical mutations. Mages have always coveted mutations like the ones Alzur created, envious, why they destroyed our schools. And yet destiny bound you and me together all the same, no less than it did me to Deidre. A destiny I betrayed. When I heard Henselt put you to the fire and stake after your firestorm, I did not feel the relief and satisfaction I should have, only coldness. Yet all that is the past. Can't be undone, only learned from. I learn my lessons the same way as everyone else. The hard way. We have far bigger fish to fry anyways... of late. Saving the world, doing what a Witcher does best, is leagues more important to me than any hatred I feel for you. We're too old to waste vital time on the past, just now."

Eskel returned his attention gradually to his cooking in the wake of his words, before the crimson haired Sorceress pitched in to help with her magic, and as it had been with warding up the cavern, between them they cooked the meal in little time at all. Once it was prepared, he began to dig in, taking out his bottle of Mahakaman Spirit and White Gull as well, sipping it between bites, the welcome warmth burning in his throat and chest. For now they would eat and she would recuperate, and when they were ready they would wage war on the occupants of the island. Search out the answers they required. Likely he would have to kill most or all of them... the more he thought about it, the less likely it was there was anyone who lived on the island that hadn't been corrupted by the power of the Great Old Ones... the flesh of the Leviathan they had devoured. It would make things simpler if true, if not easier. Still, he was going to make damn sure that was the case, first. It was not a cat, bear or viper medallion hanging from his neck, last time he checked. He would hold on to his sanity and professionalism... all the more important now, considering the nature of what they were up against. When she spoke again, his eyes returned her way, jaw tightening a bit, and nodding his agreement. Speaking again between bites of his meal and sips of the hard drink. Thinking ahead, to their course of action when she was ready to move out.

"And make sure that damn cosmic octopus thing remains sleeping and imprisoned down there. Kill the Leviathan, if possible, or it will just keep trying to wake its master and father. We know it can be injured now, at least, back there with your portal. If we pull this off, would be best to magically reinforce whatever is holding Cthulhu and the Deep Ones in R'yleh. Alert the Arl of Skellige to make this island and the surrounding waters off limits to future visitors. As many precautions as possible. Even if we slay the cult here, and miraculously slay a Star-Spawn... you can bet there are others in the world, biding their time. We'll need to warn people, spread the word on these cults."

@fallesto

Sabrina took his words to heart, her eyes reflecting the flames in the fire as she nodded solemnly. They shared a quiet moment, the crackle of the fire and the patter of rain outside the only sounds in the vast cavern. She felt a warmth from his hand that seemed to chase away some of the chill that had settled into her bones. His grip was firm and comforting, a reminder of their shared history, of battles won and lost. In the quiet, she resolved to be more cautious, to listen to the wisdom that Eskel had gained over his long years fighting the darkness. She knew that she had been reckless, driven by her curiosity and desire to help, but she also knew that she could not change who she was entirely. Her nature was to seek knowledge, to push the boundaries of the known world, but she would do so with more thought for the consequences. Her hand tightened around his, a silent promise to be more mindful of the risks she took.

“I should have hired you in the past, to do more work for me, instead of everything that happened between us, I know deep down you hate me, and you would wish to kill me if not for fate, I understand it, but at the same time, I am who I am, and after all of this, maybe too much knowledge, is a bad thing, given how the northern lands have burned, witches are done in courts, and magic is not what people want anymore.”

She sighed as they sat there, the warmth from the fire began to dry their clothes, and the gentle scent of roasting meat filled the air. She would move her finger to bring forth the supplies, some rations to eat. The meal was simple, but it was hot and filling, a balm to their weary spirits. They ate in silence, their thoughts turning to the tasks that lay ahead. The cultists, the monsters, the very fabric of reality that seemed to be unraveling before their eyes. It was a heavy burden, but one they both knew they had to bear. As she nodded and would agree with him, Sabrina felt the weight of his words, and she knew that he was right. She had been too eager, too willing to dive into the abyss without considering the consequences. Her eyes never left the flickering flames, as if seeking answers in their dance. She had to be stronger, for herself, and for those who might still need her, which now was done to one person, him in a twisted way of fate being cruel. The warmth of his hand in hers was a reminder of the bond they shared, a bond forged in blood and magic.

"We'll face this together.” She said. "We're a good team, you and I. We need to keep it that way, we destroy the book, and all the cultsits."

[gorbo-longstocking]

Cover It Up | Modern!Caracalla x GN!Reader

Summary: Every few nights, like clockwork, Caracalla shows up at your door, drunk, or high, or both. There is so much that he says, and so little that you can bring yourself to tell him. It’s the same now as it always is.

Tags: Modern AU, GN!Reader, references to drugs and alcohol, implied past child abuse (Caracalla), implied addiction problems (Caracalla), so much yearning, reader is a medical student, kind of sad and angsty, this is technically an side story to my main fic Do Not Blame the Sea but it can be read as its own thing, Caracalla and Reader’s relationship here sort of parallels how it is in the main fic

Word Count: 1.7k Words

Song: Lost Kitten - Metric

Do Not Blame the Sea Masterlist

Before the door even opened, you knew who was standing on your doorstep. Who else would visit you in the late hours of the night when the moon was drifting lower on the horizon in order to make way for the sun? You couldn’t name another person in your life who would dare bother you during the few seconds of solitude you so desperately craved. No one else would expect you to be awake. Not your parents who would lose their minds if they discovered you were doing anything but sleeping or studying, and certainly not your fair-weather friends from college who knew nothing of your insomniac tendencies. It was always him. The one you’d drop everything for, no matter what it was.

It was always Caracalla who knocked on your door.

“Good morning, doctor.” He leaned on your porch railing, his feet unsteady. The stench of booze radiated off of him in waves, nearly suffocating in its intensity. On his chin, vomit was crusted to his skin, and you let out a sigh.

“Caracalla, I don’t think anyone would consider it morning yet. Come in.”

You always thought he was beautiful with the night sky behind him. While your apartment was nestled too far in the city for there to be stars, the midnight blue complimented his eyes perfectly. His imperfections were hidden during the day when you saw him on campus, that was when he was far too fixated on hiding them. It was only at this hour, when sweat made his makeup run, revealing acne and pockmarks, and the humidity made his red hair curl, did you think he was more handsome than you had ever seen him. Caracalla would never believe you if you told him. If anything, he would believe your words to be a joke. So, like all thoughts in regards to your affections for him, you kept them to yourself.

Reaching out an arm, you opened the door wide to help him inside. His hand was clammy, far too warm to match his drunken flush. Judging by the size of his pupils, alcohol wasn’t all he had gotten into. You had known Caracalla long enough to know his drug of choice tended to be cocaine, though with a frustrating tendency to indulge especially when he didn’t know what he was taking. The likelihood he simply ate a random pill he found on the floor of a frat house was annoyingly high. He giggled as he clumsily made his way in the door, pressing his body against yours. Despite his rancid state, you found yourself craving his warmth. You always did.

“Doctor, doctor, I need my doctor,” Caracalla slurred as you led him to the couch. When he flopped onto the cushions, his eyelids fluttered shut before he forced them open again. That made it easier to guess what was in his system, it meant whatever he took wasn’t an upper. “Need you to take care of me. Get to it.” He was always so demanding, and a bit of fondness fought with your exasperation. Before you left to get him a glass of water, he reached out to wrap delicate fingers around your wrist. “I’ve missed you.”

You missed him too. In order to keep the words from spilling out, you gave him a tight smile and pulled away. His glassy eyes flickered with a familiar frustration you paid no mind. Once you were in the kitchen, you fell into a routine. Water to hydrate him, a wet towel to wipe the vomit from his chin, and some tylenol for the morning. Like every night Caracalla came, you would tell him to sleep on the couch, and like every night since you met him, he would find his way into your bed. You set the medicine on your night stand.

“Tell me you missed me too,” He demanded once you were in his line of sight. His eyes were squinted, unable to open them any wider than they were. When you handed him the water, he drank greedily, and before he could wipe his chin with his sleeve, you crouched down to wipe him clean. Caracalla hummed, nearly a purr, as you steadied yourself with a hand against his cheek, leaning into your touch. “I know you did, I can feel it.”

“I’m surprised you can feel anything aside from how badly the room is spinning,” You grumbled.

Caracalla laughed, high-pitched and sharp. His gold tooth glinted in the dim light. “I must be dreaming, but I see four of you, doctor. Surely one must want to soothe my aches.”

“Those aches better be the urge to sleep.” The wet rag you were using caught on his bottom lip, dragging it down. Over a year of yearning made you stare, though you would never dream of taking advantage of him in this state.

Caracalla followed your gaze to his mouth and he smirked. His voice fell into a whisper, breath hot against your face. “The urge to fuck.”

“My answer is the same as always, Caracalla.” Before you removed your hand from him, you gave him a firm pat on the cheek. Disappointment made his face scrunch up. It was a cute expression, and maybe it was a quarter of the reason you kept turning him down. The other half being the fact he was only ever intoxicated when you were together, and the final quarter being your parents inevitable disapproval. “It’ll never happen.”

Caracalla stood, swaying in place for a moment. Once he found his balance, he stumbled the memorized route to your bedroom to curl into his side of the bed. It was embarrassing to realize that he had his own spot in your home now, but with how often he showed up, it only made sense.

A year and a half ago, you wanted nothing to do with Caracalla. You barely knew he existed outside of the rumors that followed him like a plague. Of his pet monkey that made him a miserable roommate in the dorms, of the fact he was a walking petri dish of STDs, his promiscuity, his tendency towards hedonism over his grades, and most of all, the fact his daddy knew the dean personally, so it wasn’t as if he could get in any lasting trouble for any of it. He was in your biology class three semesters ago. Like most people he considered below him, he paid you no mind until you were stuck together on a group project. You intended to do all of the work if only to avoid him, and he seemed content to let you.

You hadn’t meant to find him hysterical and barely coherent in his dorm, nor did you mean to endear yourself to him as entirely as you by calming him down. Apparently, his father had left him quite the nasty voicemail. You didn’t listen, you deleted it the second you got ahold of his phone, but you could put the pieces together well enough. Especially with the half-sobbed pleas for mercy Caracalla cried into your chest.

After that, Caracalla latched on, and like mold on bread, he grew on you. During the day, he barely paid you any attention. It was only at night did he make his affections known, drunk, or high, or both, always showing up when the rest of the world was asleep. You didn’t know why he bothered. If he truly meant what he said, surely he wouldn’t ignore you as he did during the day. When he kissed other people, he made sure you knew, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye. There was a lot about Caracalla you didn’t understand, and you were certain you never would. You wanted to, though. That was why you buried yourself against his side, slinging his arm over your shoulders to help him into your bed.

This was how the night always ended, Caracalla in your arms, snoring away. This time, however, he remained awake, staring up at you. It was obvious it was taking everything he had to stay awake. He took turns closing each eye, one resting while the other bored into you.

“Go to sleep,” You muttered.

Caracalla whined and rubbed his cheek against yours. “I don’t want this to end.”

The admission made your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t want this to end either. He was always gone by the time you woke up.

“Then don’t leave.”

His fingers tightened in the fabric of your pajamas. “It’s better that I do, my doctor.”

“Caracalla.” Licking your dry lips, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “Why do you always come back? If you’re not going to stay, why do you look for me like this?”

He hummed, and for a moment, you didn’t think he’d respond. Finally, clumsy and slurred, the words tumbled out of his mouth and burrowed into your chest, “You make me feel safe.”

You wished he could say it when he wasn’t on some pill when it actually meant something. Still, you couldn’t help the flutter your heart gave. Your eyes burned as you tightened your grip on his body. “I hate it when you’re like this.”

“I hate it when I’m sober,” Caracalla sleepily replied. “I remember too much.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you let yourself ask, “Do you forget these nights too? Is that why you hardly look at me when we’re on campus.”

“I could never forget you.” He was drifting now, and with a deep breath, he forced himself to hover over you, his palm planted on the mattress beside you. With a desperation you shared, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Kiss me.”

It took everything you had to turn away. “Not when you’re like this. When you're sober, I will. I promise.”

Defeated, Caracalla let himself slump back against you.

“I’m never sober.”

“Then you know what my answer is.”

With him curled around you, you barely heard it, the same confession he made every night, spoken with the conviction you tried to ignore. “I love you.”

You didn’t respond.

A minute passed in silence, the only sound in your small bedroom the sound of your mingled breathing. Gently, you shook Caracalla to make certain he was asleep, and when he didn’t move, you told him what you’d been hiding since the first day you held him. Your own declaration that made your stomach churn with fear.

“I love you too.”

And, like every night, Caracalla didn’t hear.

A/N: I know I said that I wasn’t going to do DNBTS oneshots, but I listened to Lost Kitten by Metric and saw visions of this. This is sort of a tumblr only fic, I dunno if I’m gonna out this on AO3?? I gotta think on it. Like I said in the tags, this is supposed to sort of mirror where Caracalla and Alga are relationship wise in DNBTS, just a smidge angstier. Caracalla unable to truly be with Alga in the way he desperately wants due to public perception, but until he can, Alga will continue to push him away despite wanting him too. Cue insane amounts of yearning. Also something, something Caracalla is incapable of change.

For those who don’t know what Do Not Blame the Sea is, it’s my main fic! So, if you liked this, go check that out, hehe. I don’t have much to say here, really, so this author’s note will be short. Bye-bye! I hope you enjoyed this little thingy, please like, reply, or reblog if you did! It’ll encourage me to indulge in more side stories and AU’s <3

[usualsworld]

A Dance of Thorns

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader ༊*·˚

Warnings: cheating; adultery; smut fight; makeup sex; slight dark Anthony Bridgerton; implied age gap; period-typical sexism.

Word Count: 6,000+

Inspired by gothicquill 

Trapped in a marriage of duty rather than love, the Viscountess Bridgerton finds herself locked in a silent war with her husband, Anthony. Once, there had been respect — now, only cold stares and cruel words remain. But when a late-night confrontation spirals into something far more dangerous, buried truths and unspoken desires begin to unravel.

Seated in the dimly lit bedroom, you feel the crushing weight of your title – Viscountess Bridgerton. Once, it had been an honor, a purpose. Now, it feels like a prison. The distance between you and Anthony has grown into an abyss, neither of you daring to bridge it. Nights stretch long and lonely, your marriage reduced to obligation and cold pleasantries.

The door swings open with force, the hinges protesting under Anthony’s impatience. He steps inside, the flickering candlelight casting harsh shadows across his face – tired, frustrated, yet unreadable in that way he has perfected.

"You’re still up?" His voice is clipped, edged with something dangerously close to disdain. He pulls off his gloves with slow, deliberate motions, his eyes never leaving yours. "One would think a Viscountess would have better sense than to waste her time waiting for a husband who clearly has enough burdens without adding to them. Or do you have something pressing to say? More grievances, perhaps?"

You lift your head from where it had been resting against your knees, your body still trembling from earlier sobs. But the sorrow fades as his words settle in. Too cold. Too cruel. Too much.

Anger replaces grief, sharp.

You push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face as if scrubbing away the last traces of vulnerability.

"Oh, forgive me, my lord," you bite out, the title twisted into something venomous. "Forgive me for wanting to lay eyes on my husband, if only for the briefest of moments before he disappears again into whatever… obligations keep him so very occupied."

Anthony stills, his expression impassive – but you know better. You see the flicker of tension in his shoulders, the minute clench of his jaw. He knows exactly what you mean.

Your marriage had never been one of love. That was no secret. It had been arranged, convenient, expected. But at the very least, there had been respect.

Once.

Now, there is nothing but silence, suspicion, and resentment.

Anthony exhales sharply, shaking his head. "Spare me the dramatics." He steps closer, slow and measured, like a predator sizing up prey. His gaze is unreadable – cold and calculating, yet laced with something far more dangerous.

"You knew what this was from the beginning," he says, his voice low but weighted. "Affection was never a requirement. Duty, however, is. Or have you suddenly forgotten the role you so readily accepted?"

The words cut deep, but you refuse to let him see it.

A bitter laugh escapes you, though there is no amusement in it. "Readily accepted?" you echo, incredulous. "I was a child, Anthony. A child promised to a man with power enough to shape my entire future before I could even dream of choosing it for myself."

His expression flickers, something shifting in his eyes. But it’s gone before you can name it, replaced by that same indifferent mask.

Your hands tremble, but you refuse to back down.

"You had a choice," you push, your voice rising. "You, with all your influence, all your control. If this arrangement was such an unbearable weight, you could have ended it. But you didn’t."

His jaw tightens, and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

"So don’t you dare stand there," you seethe, stepping closer now, "and act as if you are merely a victim of circumstance. You made your choices, Anthony."

Anthony’s jaw clenches tighter, his chest heaving with restrained emotion. The anger he felt moments ago shifts into something more complex, something he can’t quite identify. Your words sting, cutting through the layers of indifference he has built around himself.

He looks at you – really looks at you – and sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the frustration in your clenched fists. He sees the person he married, the one who stood by his side through the years, even when things were far from easy.

You lower your head as soon as the words leave your lips, your breath unsteady. But before you can retreat into yourself, his hand tilts your chin up once more.

Your gaze meets his, locking onto the dark depths of his eyes. Your own irises glisten, tears pooling but refusing to fall. They are born from too much – sadness, anger, exhaustion, frustration.

He watches you, his expression unreadable. There is no sharp retort, no immediate rebuttal. Just a steady, almost contemplative calm in his eyes, as if weighing something unspoken between you both.

You bite your lower lip, the silence stretching too long, too heavy. Waiting.

Waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Anthony’s fingers caress your chin, the touch surprisingly gentle, in contrast to the fire in your earlier exchange. He watches you intently, his gaze never leaving yours, and for a moment, just a moment, the intensity in his eyes falters.

Then, his thumb brushes the corner of your lip, smoothing over the indentation left by your teeth. The gesture is an unconscious one, born from something he doesn’t quite understand himself.

He opens his mouth, his throat feeling tight with emotion, and murmurs, "Why must you always challenge me?"

"You are the Viscount," you say plainly, your voice steady, unwavering. "If I don’t challenge you, no one else will have the courage to."

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down.

"I am simply fulfilling my role as a wife, husband," you say, your voice steady, almost matter-of-fact.

"So, that’s the only reason, then?" he asks, his thumb still tracing your lower lip with surprising tenderness. He seems almost in a trance, his gaze fixed intently on your mouth.

He leans imperceptibly closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Is it fun? Driving me up the wall? Testing my limits?"

"I manage the household. I tend to our guests. I handle the simpler matters. I build connections. And I…"– you tilt your head slightly, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world – "I challenge you."

Your words hang between you, deliberate, undeniable.

He freezes, his jaw tensing, his nostrils flaring. There it is, out in the open, his most shameful secret. His chest heaves, his body rigid, caught off guard by your unexpected mention of his indiscretions.

"If I didn’t, you would live comfortably on your pedestal of certainties. You would continue treating me like nothing. And you would keep spending your nights with whores."

You spit the last word like venom, sharp and cutting, daring him to deny it.

His hand falls from your chin, clenching into a tight fist by his side. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, the silence in the room palpable, charged with something he can’t quite name.

When he speaks, his voice is low, rough with barely controlled emotion. "What, did you think I was going to deny it?"

"Of course not. Why would you deny it?" you say, almost amused. "It’s the truth, and everyone knows it."

You shrug, feigning indifference – though you both know better.

"When I attend afternoon tea with the other ladies, Anthony, they all talk about it."

You tilt your head, watching him, watching for the flicker of something – guilt, irritation, anything. But he gives you nothing.

"Everyone knows the great Viscount Bridgerton works tirelessly, and when he isn’t working, he’s fucking whores."

The words are laced with mockery, punctuated by a humorless laugh.

"You think I don’t smell it? That I don’t see the marks on your neck?"

Before he can step away, you reach up, your fingers gripping his collar. In one swift motion, you yank it aside, forcing him to stumble – just slightly.

Even you are surprised by your own strength.

As his shirt is suddenly jerked to the side, Anthony stumbles forward, his body colliding against yours. He catches himself in the nick of time, his hands braced against the wall, trapping you between him and the stone. His chest rises and falls under your touch, his breathing labored and ragged.

"You seem awfully preoccupied with my…escapades," he bites out, his tone sharp, his eyes glittering with unsuppressed anger. "Are you jealous?"

"Me? Jealous?" You tilt your head slightly, your eyes darkening as a slow, knowing smile curls on your lips. "Don’t worry, husband… a mutual betrayal doesn’t hurt."

You bite your lower lip, watching him, daring him to react.

It’s a bluff, of course. But Anthony is barely home for more than five hours a day – how could he possibly know the truth?

Two can play this game.

His eyes flash darkly, your words hitting him square in the chest. "Mutual."

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, his own lip curling into a sardonic smile. He leans in closer, his body pressing against yours, pinning you between the wall and his unyielding frame.

"You expect me to believe that you’ve been unfaithful all these years?" he asks, his tone dripping with doubt.

His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, possessive and demanding. "Or are you just bluffing, wife?"

"However, husband…"

"I don’t expect you to believe anything," you say sweetly, tilting your head ever so slightly, your eyes wide, innocent – dove eyes. "You’re free to believe whatever you like."

Your voice is light, almost playful. But then –

Your expression shifts, the softness melting away like a mask slipping from your face. Your eyes narrow, sharp as a blade, the look of a woman who knows exactly where to strike.

"Before I was a Viscountess, I was a Marquess," you remind him, your tone softer now, but no less dangerous. "My family is wealthier than yours. And if there’s one thing I never run out of, it’s connections… and money."

The words spill from your lips like a secret shared between friends, a quiet whisper laced with something dark, something dangerous.

Then, you feel it – his grip tightening at your waist.

There it is. The seed of doubt, the tiniest crack in his unshakable confidence.

Your words echo in the silence, and he stiffens. No. He couldn’t possibly believe that you had taken a lover, could he? And yet, the image of you with another man – any other man – makes him see red.

He grips you tighter, his fingers bruising your skin, but he doesn’t care. That possessive part of him, the one he tries to keep contained, is rearing its ugly head. He hates the idea of another man with you, just as you hate the idea of him with any other woman.

The tension between you is like a taut wire, stretched thin, ready to snap. His chest heaves, his heart pounding with a mix of possessive anger and denial.

"Are you telling me you’ve been using your connections and money to… what exactly?" he growls, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Is this your way of getting back at me? By paying someone to warm your bed while I’m away? By betraying me just as I have betrayed you?"

You merely shrug in response, offering nothing but a sharp, ironic smile. Then, without warning, you press your hands against his shoulders and shove.

He isn’t expecting it.

Anthony stumbles backward, the force sending him down onto the bed behind him. A rare moment of vulnerability – one you savor.

Now, you stand before him, tall, unyielding. But you don’t stay there for long.

Slowly, you lean down, lowering yourself to his level, your face inches from his.

"Let this be a reminder, husband," you murmur, your voice silk wrapped around steel. "If you are venom, I can be the very viper itself."

Your lips curve into something between a smirk and a warning.

"Don't test me."

The sudden shift in power dynamics leaves him reeling. He finds himself on the bed, pinned beneath your gaze, his breath catching in his throat as you hover over him, your face mere inches away.

He opens his mouth to retort, his usual sharp tongue ready with a scathing response, but your words silence him.

"Vixen," he mutters, his tone a mix of begrudging reverence and irritation.

He knows it. This woman, the woman he married, the woman he calls his wife, is a viper in disguise. Sharp. Dangerous.

"I’ll be sleeping in the other room," you say casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t just been a battlefield.

Rising to your full height, you turn on your heel and stride toward the door. When you swing it open, you’re met with the wide-eyed stares of several servants – clearly caught in the act of eavesdropping.

Their eyes go wide in panic, and they immediately scatter, hurrying away as if they hadn’t been standing there, hanging on to every word. You watch them for a beat before letting out a short, amused laugh.

Still, a thought lingers at the back of your mind – Had you gone too far?

You had just all but confessed to adultery, a bold-faced lie, but one that Anthony doesn’t know is a lie. And knowing him, he will not let it rest. He will dig, search, turn the entire ton upside down in pursuit of this phantom lover.

Oh well. A problem for another day.

You lift a hand and beckon one of the maids forward with a single finger. The poor girl hesitates before approaching, eyes downcast, as if terrified of being caught in the crossfire.

"Prepare the guest room at the end of the hall for me," you order smoothly.

Meanwhile, Anthony feels a strange mixture of disbelief, irritation, and… something else. Something more primal, more possessive.

"Like hell you are." He gets to his feet, his gaze following you as you walk toward the door, his eyes dark and intent. He barely registers the scattered servants, too focused on you.

When you turn and order the servants to prepare the guest room, Anthony bristles. No. You aren’t doing this, not tonight. Not tonight after that conversation.

He stalks after you, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. "You’re not leaving this room." His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. He whirls you around, your back colliding against the bedroom door. The force of it sends a sharp jolt up your arm, but it is nothing compared to the way your heart is racing now.

His grip is firm – borderline painful – and his expression is dark, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitching there. His body is close, too close, trapping you against the door, trapping you in him.

"Yes, I am leaving, Mr. Bridgerton," you say, your voice steady despite the shock flickering in your eyes.

Your heart stumbles over a beat – you hadn’t expected him to grab you. Let alone throw you back against the wall.

For a brief moment, you simply stare at him, processing the sudden shift.

"I’ve already asked Clara" – the maid you had summoned – "to prepare the room for me."

Your tone is cool, as if stating the obvious. As if his grip on your arm, the way his body towers over yours, is of no consequence. "There is nothing more for us to discuss tonight."

Anthony’s grip tightens, his free hand slamming down on the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in. His brown eyes are stormy, filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else, something dangerous. He leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to your ear.

"Oh, there’s more to discuss," he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. "And we’re not finished until I say we are."

While Anthony continues his performance, Clara – poor Clara – remains frozen, eyes wide in fear. You neither move nor breathe, trapped between the two most relentless forces in this house.

The Viscount and the Viscountess.

Two worlds colliding.

You exhale sharply, throwing your head back in frustration before shooting a sharp look at the petrified maid.

"You may go. You’re dismissed for the night," you order, your voice rigid but controlled. No need to turn this into an even bigger spectacle.

Because by morning, the city will be buzzing – whispers of the scandalous Viscountess Bridgerton and her alleged affair, rumors of how her husband laid hands on her in a fit of rage.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

The moment Clara disappears, your attention shifts back to Anthony. Your gaze is pure fire – dark, untamed – like a predator watching its prey.

His body becomes a barrier against yours, blocking any chance of escape.

"So tell me, husband," you taunt, your voice as cold as a sharpened blade. "What else is there to discuss?"

Anthony’s eyes burn, ignited by your provocation. Without hesitation, he steps forward, eliminating the last shred of space between you, pressing his body against yours. He can feel the frantic beat of your heart, can taste your resistance.

"You really want to know, wife?" His voice drops to a deep timbre, a low growl vibrating through you.

The hand that once braced against the wall slides up to your cheek, a surprisingly gentle touch, completely at odds with the fury in his eyes.

"Then let me make it very clear for you…"

His fingers trace a slow path down your neck, a touch so light, so careful it almost contradicts the fierce hunger in his gaze.

You bite your lip, swallowing the gasp that threatens to escape. No, you will not give him that satisfaction.

"You," he pauses, savoring the moment, watching the way your breath stutters, how your chest rises and falls unevenly, "are not sleeping in the guest room tonight."

His hand drifts to your waist, possessive, determined. His thumb grazes the sliver of exposed skin in your nightgown.

"You’ll be sleeping in my bed."

Your eyes narrow, laced with judgment as they meet his.

"Now, you want me." Your smirk lands like a sharp slap.

"Funny," you murmur, your voice laced with mockery. "Not too long ago, you wouldn’t even think of touching me. But now that you think another man has…"

You lean in, defiant, even with his grip restricting your movements.

"You’re pathetic, Viscount."

His fingers tighten on your hip – a silent warning to watch your words. He’s teetering on the edge, patience wearing thin, worn down by every sharp-edged provocation. He’s not used to this – not to being challenged, to being resisted. And, damn it, as much as it infuriates him… it also excites him.

A low, dangerous chuckle slips from his lips.

"Oh, pathetic, am I?" He leans in, his mouth hovering over yours. "Let’s see who’ll be pathetic tonight, wife."

His fingers slide to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His face dips, nose brushing along the side of your neck as he breathes you in, inhaling your scent like a drug.

"You think you can just accuse me, challenge me, and I’ll let you go?" His whisper brushes against your ear, hot, laced with a quiet threat.

"Oh no, darling." His voice drips with arrogance. "You won’t get rid of me that easily."

His fingers glide from your face to your hair, tangling in the soft strands before giving a sharp tug, forcing you to expose your throat.

Before you can react, his lips claim your skin – teeth grazing, bites marking, just enough to steal your breath.

He doesn’t stop.

His mouth carves a burning path, invisible marks seared into your skin, as if branding you with a single truth: Mine.

You bite your lower lip, fighting to keep any sound at bay. But it’s useless.

Because he knows.

He always knows.

He feels the way your body trembles, the way your breath shudders. A satisfied smile ghosts over his lips as he presses a kiss to the pulse point in your throat.

"You can pretend all you want, wife," he murmurs, voice thick with possession.

His lips trail along your skin, his hand slowly traveling up your body, a touch balancing between tenderness and dominance. "But I know the truth."

A gasp escapes you, involuntary, tangled with a whisper.

"I hate you…"

You breathe it out between ragged sighs, your eyes fluttering shut against the pleasure. Your hand moves to his right shoulder, fingers finding rigid, tense muscles beneath them.

And he laughs.

And then, without hesitation, you dig your nails in.

Low, rough.

Like a man who has already won.

A sharp, stifled hiss escapes Anthony's lips, the pain blending seamlessly with pleasure. Your nails, digging into his skin, only fuel his desire. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling just enough to make you gasp.

"Hate me? No, darling," he murmurs, his voice thick with need as his lips resume their slow, tormenting assault on your neck. "You can try, but you will fail. We both know you can't resist me any more than I can resist you."

The sharp pull on your scalp intensifies, the sting spreading like fire. The pain – blistering, exquisite – sends a jolt straight through you. A moan tumbles past your lips, raw and unbidden, your body betraying you.

He knows you. He knows you've always liked a little pain.

Your hips move instinctively, rolling forward, meeting his. The friction, the heat – it’s intoxicating. His body, firm and unyielding, presses against yours, and through the thin fabric of your nightgown, you feel everything.

Anthony exhales sharply, his grip on your waist turning possessive, his fingers sinking into your skin. His free hand slides up, resting just below your ribs, anchoring you to him. His forehead nearly brushes yours as his dark eyes, wild and smoldering, lock onto your own.

"You want me, don't you?" His voice is a low rasp, teasing, taunting. "You can deny it all you want, love, but your body betrays you."

"Oh, really?" His voice is still low, dark. "You actually think you just want me for pleasure?" His lips hover over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You think I don’t see through you? Through this cold, detached façade you cling to so desperately?"

Your jaw clenches at the pet name, anger flashing in your eyes. "I want you the same way I want others." Your voice is sharp, cutting, meant to wound. "Only for my pleasure."

The words hit him like a challenge. His fingers flex against your hip, his grip tightening just enough to remind you of his strength.

The loose neckline of your nightgown shifts dangerously, fabric slipping, baring more than intended. You bite your lip, gaze locked onto his, refusing to let him see just how much this – he – is affecting you.

He moves swiftly. Before you can react, his hands capture your wrists, pushing them above your head, pinning them against the wall.

Your breath stutters.

His eyes flicker downward, darkening as they take in your disheveled hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly. He drinks in the sight of you – vulnerable, defiant, completely at his mercy.

"What are you going to do now, Mr. Bridgerton?" You ask, your voice laced with defiance, deliberately refusing to call him husband, refusing to call him Anthony.

The way you say his name – or rather, the way you refuse to – sparks something dangerous inside him.

His jaw tics.

"Now?" he growls, his voice rough, thick with frustration and something deeper, something unspoken.

"Now, I'm going to remind you who you belong to."

Before you can respond, his hands leave your wrists only to seize your waist in an iron grip. In one swift movement, he lifts you, carrying you across the room with long, determined strides.

The door slams shut behind him with a forceful kick of his boot.

You barely have time to process before you feel your back collide with the mattress, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. The irony isn’t lost on you – look how the tables have turned.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, your breath uneven, your pulse wild. Your gaze meets his, and in that moment, nothing else exists.

His gaze is dark and unrelenting as he takes a lingering moment to drink her in – disheveled, flushed, sprawled out across their bed. The sight of her like this, breathless and defiant, only feeds something primal inside him, a hunger sharpened by the way she looks at him with both defiance and undeniable want.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his body taut with tension, every movement exuding dominance. "You think you’re in control, sweetheart?" His voice is a low growl, smooth and dangerous. "You’re not. Not here. Not in my bed."

His hands move with practiced ease, undoing his belt without ever breaking eye contact. The sharp sound of leather sliding free from the loops cuts through the air, a silent warning. He lets it drop to the floor carelessly before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his forearms, his movements precise and methodical. His fingers work deftly at the buttons of his shirt, revealing golden skin and hard muscle beneath.

You shift, rubbing one thigh against the other, the sight of him – unraveling, controlled yet lethal – sending a rush of heat through you. He is effortlessly beautiful, intoxicating in the way only a man who knows his own power can be.

He steps to the edge of the bed, towering over his wife, looking every bit the predator you refuse to admit that you want. His voice is deep, unwavering.

You part your lips, dragging your teeth over your lower one as you exhale through your nose, your expression shifting into something smug, defiant. You want to obey, to let yourself sink into the moment, but the idea of handing him that victory so easily is unbearable.

"Lose the nightgown." It is not a request. It is a command.

"If you really think I –" A gasp rips from her throat, sharp and unbidden.

Anthony’s patience has never been his strong suit. He moves without warning, his fingers catching on the delicate fabric of your nightgown and tearing it apart as if it were paper, the sound of shredding fabric filling the air.

His eyes are feral, burning with possession as he discards the ruined silk, his body moving over you, his presence all-consuming. He leans down, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"You were saying, love?" His voice is silk and steel, rough with amusement and something deeper.

You barely have time to react before he presses against you, forcing you down against the mattress, his warmth searing against your bare skin. The solid weight of him steals your breath, leaving you utterly trapped beneath him.

"You’re unbelievable," you breathe, your pulse hammering, your body betraying the irritation you try to hold onto. Even now, you can’t believe he had the audacity to rip your nightgown.

Anthony smirks, leaning in ever so slightly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Oh, darling." His voice is velvet-wrapped sin, deep and knowing. "You haven’t seen anything yet."

"You love it," he growls, his mouth moving to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "You love it when I’m like this – out of control, consumed with desire."

With deliberate slowness, he parts your legs, positioning himself between them, his movements filled with intent. You feel his hardness through the thin fabric between you, and despite yourself, a breathless sound escapes your lips.

He presses his body even more against yours, leaving no space between them. The feel of her skin against his is a delicious torture, only fueling the fire between them. His hand moves up your arm, his touch both possessive and tender.

Your fingers instinctively find their way to the back of his neck, gripping onto him like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"Fu– fuck..." you whisper, eyes fluttering closed.

A low chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. "No need to hold back, sweetheart," he breathes against your ear. "I want to hear every little sound you make for me."

"You think you can fight this? Fight me?" His voice is dark, laced with amusement. His lips graze your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "But we both know the truth, don’t we?"

His lips return to your neck, teasing, biting – just enough to leave a mark. One hand holds yours above your head, effortlessly pinning you in place, while the other explores your body, tracing slow, burning lines down your sides.

You inhale sharply, refusing to give in, refusing to let him see just how much he's unraveling you. But Anthony is nothing if not relentless. He knows every tell, every weakness, every unspoken desire.

"Say it," he murmurs, his tone softer now but no less commanding. "Say what we both already know."

You still shake your head, refusing to answer. His hand then goes to your panties, wrapping his hand around them and giving a strong pull, ripping the fabric in one go.

Anthony’s eyes lock onto yours, his gaze dark and smoldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He can see the desire burning within you, evident in the way your breath hitches and your chest rises and falls with each shallow inhale. But he doesn’t just want to see it – he wants to hear it. He needs you to admit it, to confess that you are his, completely and irrevocably.

He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of heat through your body. His lips hover mere millimeters away, teasing, as his voice drops to a low, commanding growl. "Say it," he demands, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "Say you're mine."

Without warning, he guides himself inside you in one swift, confident motion, filling you completely. Your head falls back instinctively, a sharp cry of pleasure escaping your lips as he grips your hips, pulling you against him with a possessive urgency. Holy shit, you think, your mind spinning as the sensation overwhelms you.

Your eyes roll back, your body trembling under his touch. It had been too long since you’d last been together like this, too long since you’d felt this kind of raw, unbridled connection. The ache of his absence had been unbearable, and now, with him so close, so deep inside you, it’s as if every nerve in your body is alight with electricity.

Anthony is lost in you, his movements deliberate and rhythmic, a dance that is both familiar and exhilaratingly new. It’s been far too long since he’s felt this way, since he’s been able to lose himself in the warmth of your body, in the way you respond to him so perfectly. In this moment, there is no doubt – you are his, and he is yours, bound together in a way that transcends time.

His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands roam your body with a possessive hunger, mapping every curve, every inch of you, as if committing you to memory all over again.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that reverberates through you. "Only mine. Always."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." You repeat the words under your breath, your mind spinning, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. You can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything but the way Anthony makes you feel – consumed, possessed, utterly his.

"I'm- I'm yours, Anthony," you manage to say, your voice trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. Even in this state of blissful delirium, you muster the strength to shoot him a defiant, accusatory look, as if daring him to deny it.

"And you are mine..." you whisper, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of your gaze mirroring the fire in his.

"Absolutely, love," he growls, his voice low and rough, his dark eyes burning with a desire that threatens to consume you both. His hands tighten on your hips, his touch possessive, his body responding to every movement, every breath you take.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice deeper, more commanding than before. "And I'm yours. Completely and utterly."

He rolls you over effortlessly, pulling you on top of him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding your movements as if you weigh nothing more than a feather. Your legs feel weak, shaky from the pleasure coursing through you, but Anthony holds you steady, his strong hands keeping you in place. You know you’ll feel the marks of his touch tomorrow, and the thought sends a shiver down your spine.

Your body moves with his, your breasts rising and falling with each breath, each motion. Sweat glides down your neck, tracing a path along your collarbone and down your chest, leaving your skin glistening like a rare jewel under the dim light.

The two of you are close, so close to the edge, and Anthony’s hand slides down to your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you even closer to him. He sets a relentless pace, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, guiding you in a rhythm you couldn’t possibly follow on your own.

Your body responds to his every touch, your skin flushed and hot, your moans escaping your lips unbidden. You’re at his mercy, completely under his control, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He lifts you higher, bringing you closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost too much to bear, but you can’t look away. He bites your lip, a sharp, possessive gesture that sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Say it again," he growls, his voice strained, his body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Say I'm yours."

"You're mine, Anthony. Mine. And I'm yours..." you whisper, your voice weak, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

The moment the words leave your lips, he lets out a deep, guttural groan, and you cry out in ecstasy, your voices mingling as you both reach your peak together. Your head falls back, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

You collapse against his chest, your ear pressed to his skin, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both try to catch your breath. He’s still inside you, his body slowly relaxing, but the connection between you remains, unbroken and undeniable.

You can’t form words, can’t think of anything but the way his heart beats against your ear, steady and strong. In this moment, there’s nothing else – just you and Anthony, bound together in every way that matters.

He feels your body go limp on top of him, your head resting gently on his chest as both of your bodies slowly relax, the tension melting away. His arms encircle you, pulling you tightly against him, his heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. The warmth of your skin against his is intoxicating, and he can’t help but savor the way you fit perfectly in his embrace.

He looks down at you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled hair, the soft flush that colors your cheeks, and the delicate sheen of sweat that glistens on your skin. You are a vision to him – utterly breathtaking, a beautiful mess that he can’t tear his eyes away from. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender and reverent.

Gently, he lifts your chin, urging you to meet his eyes. His voice is soft but firm, filled with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. "You're mine," he repeats, his gaze never wavering from yours, as if he’s trying to imprint the words into your very soul.

You don’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you for a few more moments. Then, unexpectedly, you begin to laugh – a soft, almost incredulous sound that grows louder, more unrestrained. It’s as if you can’t contain it, the laughter bubbling up from deep within you.

"I lied..." you confess, your laughter softening into a sly smile. Your voice is low, almost teasing, as you continue, "I don’t have a lover. I just wanted to make you mad." You bite your lip, a mix of shame and pride flickering across your face, as if you’re both embarrassed by your admission and delighted by the effect it had on him.

But then your expression shifts, the playfulness fading into something more serious. You raise your head higher, your eyes locking with his, and there’s a challenge in your gaze. "But if you keep looking for other women," you say, your voice steady and firm, "I won’t hesitate to do the same."

The room seems to grow quieter, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Anthony’s grip on you tightens almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenching as he processes what you’ve just said. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes – surprise, perhaps, or maybe even a hint of admiration for your boldness. But above all, there’s a fierce determination, as if your words have only solidified his resolve.

"You won’t have to," he murmurs, his voice low and intense. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gesture that’s both possessive and tender. "Because now there’s no one else for me but you."

[sylusonychinus]

Episode Eight: Close Encounters

The door clicked shut as Caleb and [Reader] stepped into their apartment, both exhausted from a long day at work.

With a sigh, [Reader] plopped onto the couch, kicking off her heels as she leaned back against the cushions.

Caleb chuckled at the sight before heading to the kitchen. "You look dead tired."*

"I feel dead tired," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "Long day. You?"

He took a swig of water before joining her on the couch. "About the same. But I just got off the phone—the passenger from earlier is okay. Stable condition."*

Relief flooded her expression. "That’s good to hear."*

The tension from the day slowly melted away as they sat in comfortable silence.

Until she noticed—

Their faces were close. Too close.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized there was barely an inch between them.

Caleb was watching her, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips, his own slightly parted.

For a second, time seemed to slow.

Then panic kicked in.

Flustered, she shoved him lightly. "Y-You should go change!" she blurted, sitting up straight. "I-I mean, you just got home, and uh—we should watch a movie! Yeah, let’s do that!"*

Caleb blinked at her reaction before smirking. "You’re acting suspicious. Did I almost steal a kiss just now?"

"W-What?! No!"

"Hmm…" He leaned closer, as if testing her resolve.

She grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face. "Go change, you idiot!"*

He laughed, standing up. "Alright, alright. I’ll be back."*

By the time he returned, freshly changed into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, the lights were dimmed, and a movie was playing on the screen.

Except—

[Reader] was fast asleep.

She was curled up on the couch, her face relaxed, the soft glow of the TV illuminating her peaceful expression.

Caleb exhaled a quiet chuckle. "So much for movie night."*

Grabbing a blanket, he carefully draped it over her, making sure she was warm.

Just as he was about to step away, a faint ding echoed in the room.

He glanced at the source—her phone, which was sitting on the coffee table.

The screen lit up with a message.

Senior Officer Lee: [Reader], a few of us are going for hotpot tomorrow. You in?

Caleb frowned slightly, an unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest.

It wasn’t like she couldn’t go out with colleagues, but something about the casual invitation from another guy—a senior at that—made his brows furrow.

His jaw tensed.

What is this feeling?

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he stole one last glance at her sleeping form.

Was he… jealous?

The morning light streamed through the kitchen window as [Reader] settled into her chair, idly munching on a slice of bread with scrambled eggs.

The apartment was quiet.

"Caleb must’ve left early again…" she mumbled, absentmindedly poking at her food.

Her brows furrowed as she thought back to last night.

The last thing she remembered was watching a movie with Caleb on the couch, then—nothing. But now, she had woken up in bed.

"Wait…" she muttered, realization dawning. "Did he carry me?"

Her face warmed at the thought.

Shaking her head, she picked up her phone, noticing an unread message.

Senior Officer Lee: [Reader], a few of us are going for hotpot today. You in?

Her lips curled into a small smile. Knowing that Tara would also be there, she quickly typed out a reply.

[Reader]: Sure! See you there.

Meanwhile…

At the airport, Caleb was walking toward his aircraft, phone in hand, typing out a message before his flight.

Caleb: Heading out for my flight now. Will be back late tonight.

As he hit send, his co-pilot, Mason, peeked over his shoulder. "Texting your wife?"

Caleb slid his phone into his pocket with a nod. "Yeah. Just letting her know I’ll be back late."*

Mason grinned. "Smart move. My girlfriend gets upset if I don’t check in. She says if I don’t update her, she starts feeling insecure."*

Caleb raised a brow. "Really?"

"Yeah, women like to know they’re being thought of. Trust me, it helps in the long run."*

Caleb thought for a moment.

Would [Reader] feel the same? Would she get upset if he didn’t check in?

Maybe.

With that thought, he figured keeping her updated wasn’t a bad idea.

However, when he checked his phone before takeoff, his message had been left on read.

No reply.

His expression darkened slightly.

Did she just ignore me?

For the rest of the flight, an unshakable irritation settled in his chest.

Later that Night – The Hotpot Dinner

The restaurant was lively with chatter, the scent of simmering broth filling the air as [Reader], Tara, and a few of their colleagues enjoyed the meal.

Across the table, Senior Officer Lee had been subtly paying attention to [Reader] throughout the evening—refilling her drink, making sure she got the best cuts of meat, and nodding along attentively whenever she spoke.

Tara, ever the observer, leaned in close to whisper, "He’s been paying a lot of attention to you tonight."*

[Reader] blinked. "Huh? That’s just how he is. He’s always been polite."*

Tara gave her a look but let it slide.

As the dinner wrapped up, the three of them walked toward the car park. Tara was in the middle of making another playful remark when [Reader]’s phone rang.

Caleb.

She answered, "Hello?"

His deep voice came through. "I’m outside. Come out."*

She glanced around. "Wait, you’re here?"

"Yes. Come now."*

[Reader] looked up and, sure enough, Caleb’s sleek black car was parked near the entrance, his figure visible in the driver’s seat.

Before she could react, Officer Lee stepped forward slightly, an annoyed crease forming on his forehead. "Oh? Seems like you won’t have time to stay for a little more fun."*

Tara noticed the shift in his tone and side-eyed [Reader], already sensing the tension.

But [Reader] wasn’t paying attention. She was already jogging toward Caleb’s car.

Tara and Officer Lee stood there, watching as she opened the passenger door.

What they weren’t expecting—

Was for Caleb to suddenly pull [Reader] into a kiss the moment she slid inside.

Her breath hitched, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt as his lips moved against hers, firm yet teasing.

Flustered, she pulled back, eyes wide. "W-What was that for?!"

Caleb leaned back, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "What? Can’t a husband greet his wife?"

Outside the car, Officer Lee clenched his jaw.

Caleb, still holding [Reader]'s gaze, glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing the senior officer's lingering stare.

His smirk deepened.

Yeah. That’s right. She’s mine.

Taglist: @jinwoosbabyboo @kithyyy @mcdepressed290 @nezuswritingdesk @elegantdeerlady @yuuuumii @duhgurl @lumieresdreams @bidisasterforevermore @i-messed-up-big-time

@that-one-scoundrel @justpassingdontworry @ansbobcar @nagireos

[juicygirl4life]

☆ Unspoken Feelings ☆

☆Pairing: Sunghoon x Female Reader ☆Genre: Fluff, Romance ☆Word Count: 925

Y/N had always been good at pretending. Pretending that her heart didn’t race every time Sunghoon smiled at her, pretending that the way his laughter made her stomach flip wasn’t anything more than the comfort of a close friendship. After all, Sunghoon was her best friend—someone she could talk to about anything, someone who had been there through thick and thin. He was everything she could ever want in a friend, but that was the problem. She’d developed feelings for him a long time ago, and no matter how much she tried to push them down, they kept resurfacing.

It was late one evening, after a particularly tiring practice, when the two of them found themselves walking out of the studio together, the other members already having left for the night. Y/N tried to act casual, her usual calm demeanor covering the slight nervousness that always crept in when she was near him.

"You’re quiet tonight," Sunghoon remarked, looking over at her with a curious glance.

Y/N forced a smile, shrugging it off. "Just tired, I guess."

"You sure? You’ve been a little off lately," he said, his voice more concerned than she expected. "Anything on your mind?"

She laughed softly, almost nervously. "Nah, nothing at all." But deep down, her heart was beating faster, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth: That she had been carrying these feelings for him for so long, but was too scared to admit it. Scared that if she said anything, it might ruin their friendship.

Sunghoon didn’t seem convinced. He watched her for a moment, studying her face, the usual teasing spark in his eyes replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. "You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Was this it? Was he finally going to say something? Could it be that he felt the same way?

Her thoughts were racing as Sunghoon stopped in front of her, turning to face her fully. He looked more serious than she had ever seen him, a slight nervousness in his posture that immediately made her stomach flutter.

"Yeah?" Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon shifted his weight, his gaze briefly dropping to the ground before meeting her eyes again. "I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and… I want to know if you’d be interested in going on a date with me."

A date? Her mind immediately went blank, her breath catching in her throat. Was he serious? Sunghoon, her best friend, the one she had been harboring a secret crush on for who knows how long, was asking her out?

It was as though time slowed down in that moment. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, and she felt both elated and terrified at the same time. Of course, she had dreamed about this—dreamed about the day Sunghoon would maybe, just maybe, feel the same way. But now that it was happening, she didn’t know how to react.

Sunghoon smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck in a way that was so endearing, Y/N almost forgot how to breathe. "I mean, it’s totally okay if you don’t want to. I just… I’ve realized lately that I’ve been thinking about you in a different way, and I wanted to see if maybe you feel the same."

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. This was Sunghoon, the same guy who had been by her side for so long. How could she not want this? How could she not want him?

"I… I’ve had a crush on you for a while now," Y/N admitted before she could stop herself. The words were out there, and she felt vulnerable, but somehow, it felt like the truth was finally out in the open. "I just didn’t know if you felt the same, so I kept it to myself."

Sunghoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked almost relieved. "I’m really glad you said that," he said quietly, his voice sincere. "I’ve been too afraid to admit it to you, but I’ve felt the same way for a while. I just didn’t want to mess things up between us."

Y/N felt her chest tighten, her heart soaring. "You really want to go on a date with me?" she asked, still in disbelief.

Sunghoon chuckled, a warm, genuine laugh that made her heart flutter. "Yeah, I do. More than anything."

There it was—the moment she had been waiting for. Sunghoon, her best friend, the person she’d secretly fallen for, was asking her out on a date. And she wasn’t going to let this moment slip away.

"Okay," Y/N said, smiling brightly. "I’d love to."

Sunghoon’s face broke into a grin that was so wide it made her knees weak. "Great. I promise I’ll make it worth it."

"You better," she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

As they stood there under the soft glow of the streetlights, Y/N felt like everything had shifted. They weren’t just friends anymore—they were something more. And it felt like everything had fallen into place.

"I’ll pick you up tomorrow," Sunghoon said, his smile never fading.

"I’ll be ready," Y/N replied, her heart racing with anticipation.

And as they walked in different directions that night, Y/N couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, her feelings for Sunghoon were no longer a secret. They were the beginning of something new, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

☆Note: Please let me know if you guys would like a part 2 of this fanfiction where Sunghoon and her go on the date.

[marshmallowwitharubberband]

I've been assailed by too many plot bunnies lately, and right when I have no time to write anything whatsoever but anyway, here goes:

AU where A-Yuan is taken to the Cloud Recesses but the fever is too high and his body too frail. He doesn't make it and Lan Zhan lets himself die of grief.

His devotion to saving A-Yuan and the Yiling Patriarch pleases the heavens and he ascends. The first thing he says to Heavenly Emperor Xie Lian is "I am looking for someone important who died, perhaps I may find him here". Xie Lian asks for more details on this important someone (he knows that look, it's the same intensity San Lang directs at him when he thinks he's not looking), and concludes that it's very unlikely his soul survived at all, but if it DID it would probably be down at the ghost city, not here.

So LWJ kinda gives the middle finger to the Heavens and asks how to get to Ghost City. The other gods who are eavesdropping are like "You can't do that!" and XL is like "did you forget I did that twice? Anyway, I can respect that. I'll show you the way, and when you come back you'll still have a position here, we're kinda understaffed. Good luck in your endeavors and please don't give my husband too much trouble."

LWJ bluescreens at "husband", after Xie Lian explains that it's not exactly allowed but also not exactly forbidden for two men to marry in the afterlife, Lan Wangji goes to look for Wei Wuxian with newfound determination.

He finds the Ghost City too overwhelming, too loud, and uncomfortable, and there's no sign of Wei Ying here; so, he turns around and sets up shop outside of it. In a cave because it reminds him of Wei Ying, he's a sap like that.

Some ghosts can't help being enticed by his bright heavenly aura and seek his protection but he is only interested in finding Wei Ying. Still, he is willing to let them stay around his cave if they can behave like decent citizens and not cause any trouble. Soon, there is a small settlement around the cave, inhabited by weak ghosts who just want some peace in the afterlife, mostly senior citizens. Lan Wangji regularly goes out to explore and search for Wei Ying with no luck.

Meanwhile, Ghost King Hua Cheng has received worrying news: Mount Tonglu has just spit out a new Calamity, who has the terrifying power to make, at least, low-level ghosts do his bidding by playing a cursed flute. The most terrifying thing is that, as soon as this Calamity emerged, it simply disappeared! There are rumors of this calamity popping up around the underworld and causing stirs and then disappearing again.

Who knows what sort of trouble a ghost like that could bring, so Hua Cheng sets out to investigate.

The first thing he finds is a ghost settlement that definitely Wasn't There Before, with a powerful aura emanating from a cave on the hill it surrounds. It doesn't feel evil, but it's definitely out of place.

The ghost villagers tell him about this Hanguang-jun who offers his protection as long as they follow his rules. That sure sounds like a power-hungry feudal lord. What a thick face to call himself the Light-bearer Lord in a place like this. He definitely is the calamity he's looking for. But he's apparently away at the moment.

The ghost villagers seem reluctant to abandon their settlement and their lord, but they're also not a threat, so Hua Cheng lets them be and goes out to find this Calamity.

He looks nothing like the description. No red and black robes made of resentful smoke, no flute. Actually, the Calamity vaguely reminds him of Dianxia, with his white robes and fine features. But he is the most boring guy Hua Cheng has ever met.

He doesn't respond to HC's taunts, answers his questions with one or two words, and simply keeps walking as if he didn't care. HC tries attacking and barely missing him on purpose to provoke him, but he just answers with "rude" and resumes walking.

Now, HC may be a cocky asshole to those who deserve it, but he knows Dianxia would be upset if he were to eliminate someone who has done nothing to him, aside from being annoyingly serious. So far this man has done nothing but walk.

And he *can* feel this guy's heavenly aura, and Dianxia hasn't called to warn him about anything, so maybe this is not the Calamity after all.

"You said you were looking for someone." He tries. "Who is it? Maybe I could help."

It takes the man a while to answer but he eventually gives a description that matches the new Calamity. But no mention of it being a Calamity. Interesting. He decides to follow this man and observe how things play out. If they turn out to be accomplices, Hua Cheng can destroy them with a mere flick of his power.

Unbeknownst to him, Lan Wangji has become very good at sniffing out former street urchins with more skills than society thinks they should have, and becomes somewhat fond of this child who fancies himself tough. (Maybe he can see HC's actual form, not his ghost king persona).

And so, they travel together in search of this mysterious ghost but... Hua Cheng HATES the way LWJ is condescending and fusses over him. He does! He doesn't need this stranger to tell him how to sit or when to sleep, he is the most powerful ghost that has ever existed! He beat 33 Heaven Officials and the Heavenly Emperor!

But he also never had anyone taking *care* of him. Dianxia cares for him, of course, but their relationship is one of equals, or one of Hua Cheng being the most devoted follower to His God, and he feels too unworthy to let Dianxia worry about his meals or sleep schedule. And this Hanguang-jun, aloof and boring as he is, seems to have taken it upon himself to be constantly fussing over him. And it is...nice.

HC would rather die yet again than admit he has started to feel somewhat safer under LWJ's wing. That having someone so steadfast to lean on is patching some cracks in his heart he didn't even know were there. They develop a sort of brotherly relationship. LWJ eventually opens up, bit by bit, about his story and, damn, HC can relate. He begins hoping he won't have to eliminate this Yiling Laozu, but tries to stay objective.

MEANWHILE

There's a small speck at Mt. Tonglu. Just an echo of fear and violence. Its death was gruesome, its sanity destroyed, so it fights like a cornered animal. Its only instincts are hunger and survival. It will bite back anything that comes at it.

Eventually, this scared, hungry, desperate speck grows into itself. Gains enough power to regain a sense of self and recover its memories, but it's too late, the kiln has closed upon him.

Wei Wuxian feels lost and confused once he's been spit out. It takes him a while to catch up with the fact that he is dead, and feels awful for having used Chenqing on some poor spirits he encountered. He feels the same sort of changed as he did when he crawled out of the burial mounds.

But, hey, now that he's here, maybe the Wen remnants are, too? So he sets out to look for them to properly kowtow and apologize for his failure, only...

Ghosts follow him everywhere he goes. Many of the souls that he put to his service then liberated as the Patriarch are here. And they seem fond of him, despite calling him a Calamity (he guesses that's an accurate description, considering he destroyed everyone he loved, but that's for sure worse than Yiling Patriarch!).

He tries to keep a low profile and look for the Wen, but he keeps getting mobbed by fans. At some point he finds A-Yuan and is heartbroken, but happy to have his little radish by his side. Then he keeps accidentally acquiring more ghost children. At least they don't need to eat.

Maybe he does find the Wen and talks things out with them? not sure, maybe Wen Qing ascended and so did the peacock and Yanli, Xie Lian DID mention Heaven needs more officials.

But anyway, he somehow ends up at ghost city.

After a long and fruitless journey, HC and LWJ find WWX at the ghost casino.

HC is ready for a fight but it immediately becomes clear that Wei Wuxian, The Yiling Laozu, Wailing Flute Commands Ghosts...has no idea what he is or what he's capable of. He just wants to drink and play with his ghost kids.

One former street orphan can easily detect another so he zeroes in on why Lan Zhan is hanging out with that scruffy child (nevermind they're both only a few years older than HC's age of death).

This is where they find out that Hua Cheng is the Ghost King. Lan Wangji is horrified that he didn't pay his respects properly all this time. HC says at this point there's no need for that.

Wangxian ends up happening somehow, of course. They settle with their ghost kids at Lan Zhan's cave and become the surrogate parents Hua Cheng always needed, whether HC wants it or not (he does, but he's all tsundere about it).

Xie Lian is happy to leave them be as long as Lan Zhan helps him with Heaven's administrative work. The four of them enjoy traveling together to keep the three realms in line.

The end.

[f4dedtouch]

INTRODUCING………CHERRY!READER୨ৎ

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ loves her cherry red lipstick. mini skirts. bruising men’s egos. thigh high heels. whisky and coke. lipstick stains. lana del rey. bad decisions. fast cars. rainy days. smudged eyeliner. late night partying. cigarettes she never finish. leather jackets. love affairs. tattoos. black coffee. breaking hearts like it’s a sport. the sound of high heels. silver jewelry. downtown. late night drives. neck kisses. cheetah print. corset tops. deep necklines. messy hair. fur coats. rockstar girlfriend vibes. heated glances. smoky eyes.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who grew up on the edge, half kook, half pogue, but never the type to sit pretty in a country club. her last name holds weight, but she never cared for it. never used it to get out of trouble, never let it define her. she has always been a pogue at heart. rough around the edges, more at home with crashing waves and bonfire-lit nights than polished floors and country club brunches.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who spent her childhood trying to fit in, failing every time. one foot in each world, never fully belonging to either. the kooks saw her as too wild, too reckless, too much. the pogues did not trust her at first, thought she was just another kook pretending. so she proved herself. earned her place with bloodied knuckles and sharp words. she was not just going to be let in; she was going to make them see she belonged.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who has always had fire in her, a bite to her words, and fists that never hesitate. she was in grade eight when she kicked a senior in the nuts for bothering kie. no hesitation, no regret. just pure instinct. she has always been that way, fiercely protective of the people she loves, especially kie. maybe because kie is the only one who truly understands. the only one who knows what it is like to be stuck between two worlds, to never fully fit anywhere. the only one who never made her feel like she had to prove anything.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who thought she could handle rafe. it started as something easy. something she could control. friends with benefits, nothing more, no strings, no expectations. but rafe? for the first time ever he couldn’t be ‘casual’ with her, he got obsessed. utterly, completely, terrifyingly obsessed. she saw it in the way he looked at her, in the way his grip tightened, in the way he started acting like she belonged to him.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who ignored the warning signs. pretended like she could keep playing the game. pretending like she didn’t hear they way sarah cameron constantly warned her about her insane brother, but then her friends found out, and they were pissed. kie, especially. and that was enough. she cut him off, walked away, burned the bridge before it could turn to ash on its own.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who knows rafe never lets go. he does not care that she refuses to acknowledge him now, that she does not even spare him a glance when they are in the same room. he is still watching, still waiting, still thinking he can have her again. but she knows better now. she knows rafe cameron is a black hole, he does not love, he consumes. and she will not let herself be swallowed whole. not for him, not for anyone

୨ৎ cherry!reader who keeps moving forward. keeps throwing herself into parties, drunken nights, and cheap thrills to drown out the way his eyes burn into her from across the room, trying to forget about him. she is still that loud-mouthed, mini-skirt-wearing, ride-or-die kind of girl. still the one fixing lipstick in bar bathroom mirrors, still the one drinking dr pepper like it is a personality trait, still the one who would fight for her friends without thinking twice.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who knows she cannot go back, will not go back. for her own sake, for her friends, for the girl she is trying to be. but rafe? rafe does not care about boundaries. does not care that she has drawn a line and refuses to cross it. he stands right on the edge, toeing it with a smirk, waiting. always waiting.

୨ৎ cherry!reader who knows rafe is still waiting. still obsessed. and she knows, he is not going anywhere. but what is she to do?

CHERRY!READER୨ৎ works…….coming soon .ᐟ

[wildmrmix]

Thinking about how Pony almost died at 14 (fourteen). Google says Bob and Randy were 18 (eighteen) and I’m guessing they probably hung around with people their age. These 18 (eighteen) year olds almost drowned someone who hadn’t even been 14 (fourteen) for, what, 2 (two) months? He was literally a child, I can’t do this

[virsancte]

good days aren't easy to come by

[quietwingsinthesky]

i do love canon amy & rory but god, does some part of me wish they really had gone with the idea of the doctor picking up a child as a companion (and then later, that child’s best friend with a huge crush on her.) with the rest of the season really not changing at all, except now it’s amelia pond with an angel in her head killing her and lost alone in the woods. it’s little rory who dies and is forgotten and becomes a toy soldier. if this is going to be a fairy tale, then let it be one. children have never been safe in fairy tales.

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group

[robinsgrl]

rafe with a weird and clingy girl pt. 2 y’all i have a lot of these you don’t even know how weird of a gf i can be.

weird girl masterlist

main masterlist

it’s not just cute aggression. although that is a main factor. you need to be touching him at aalllll times. like all the time.

you’re both in bed, the night a cold one for the outer banks. he’s on his side of the bed reading a lame book that you can’t care for. and despite being under the same blanket as him, he feels warmer.

you place your cold hands on his abs and he lets out a tiny yelp and shoves you away. “god, why are you so cold?”

“as my boyfriend it’s your job to warm me up!”

“no way, then i quit”

you put your hands back on him and despite how he tenses from the cold, he doesn’t push you away again. this gives you to the idea to trail your hand down and put them in his shorts.

“what the hell are you doing?”

“that’s the warmest part of you”

“what?”

“it’s like when i put my hands in my bra cause it’s really warm”

“you put your hands in your bra?”

“shut up, you put your hands in my bra all the time”

“to cop a feel not to get warm”

“don’t move my hands!” because he’s trying to get your hands out of his shorts

“baby, you cant grip on me because you want to warm up”

“okay then pretend im coping a feel!”

“get off of me weirdo!” he laughs, attention now on you as you practically wrestle

you like to slap his ass. it’s hard not to. he’s so tantalizing. even when he isn’t trying. you go to the gym with him once and he’s lifting weights as you drool behind him. up and down. up and down. You let out a wolf whistle as you watch him and he tries and hold back his smile.

“just like that” you coo

“you sound like a pervert”

“im a pervert for you”

“that’s not as romantic as you think it is”

“what would you do if i squished a cheek right now?”

this alarms him and he drops the weights, giving you a scolding look. “you can’t squish a guys cheek while he’s lifting”

“im not going to.” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. you were definitely going to.

he gives you a careful side eye, making sure you’re on your best behavior. a few minutes later and he’s back at his task. you sit, bored, still just watching him. you sigh loudly as you get up off the machine you were sitting on. “you’re boring. im leaving”

“wait for me, angel, im almost—“

you giggle and run away as you send a smack to his ass, “sorry! i had to!”

“jesus, you’re an animal!” he calls out after you.

you don’t even stop at family events. cameron events are usually stuffy. you hate them. but you do what you can for rafe. it’s the end of the awkward dinner and you two are washing dishes. “surprised you didn’t make the help do this”

“we gave him the day off”

“spoiled brat” you tease him as he rinses a dish under the water. you finish drying off the plate and put it in the cabinet, eyes trailing over him. his ass looks good in his dress pants.

with a hop to your step, you stand behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. “what are you up to?”

you scoff, “can’t a girl hug her man?”

“you’re hugging me like a broke boyfriend. you only do that when you’re up to something”

“would it surprise you if i said im trying to cop a feel?”

“nothing about you surprises me anymore”

“so you won’t be mad?”

“i’ll be pissed.”

“too late” you bring your hands behind him and give his ass a squeeze. he tenses at this, pushing himself forward to get away from you.

“you’re perverted!”

“you have cake! i can’t help it!”

“cake? god, you gross me out”

“stop running away!”

he’s threatening you with a wet hand towel but you dodge him as you keep chasing after him. dinners at this house are always the worst but not as the two of you run around the kitchen, laughter filling the air.

“uh, what’s happening?” wheezie’s voice cuts the two of you off.

rafe’s got you draped on his shoulder, your hands on his ass from the upside down angle you’re in. you both pause. “we’re touching butts.”

“jesus, baby, don’t tell my sister that”

[freyaphoria]

Hello! Since I can't save the writings in my drafts and your request is currently stuck in my drafts, I have to post it this way. I hope you can see your request T_T By the way, I wrote this 4 times, and the universe prevented me from writing it. Normally it was over 2k words, but most of it was deleted and I forgot what I wrote. Anyway, Love u!♡

Look Like a Freak

tw: nerd!Seonghwa x fem!reader, oral(giving mentioned, receiving), squirting, slapping, fingering, vibrator using, degradation, bondage, overstimulation

wc: 1.5k

taglist: @aim-blossom @matzrionette

“Seonghwa, are we really going to do it here?” It was too late to ask now. He made an approving noise as he abused your pussy between. To your surprise, he could hear you and respond. Normally, after tasting you, Seonghwa would be pussy drunk and wouldn't hear or see anything.

Seonghwa's room was the most virginity room you've ever seen. There were more Star Wars figures and Legos than you could count. And what is it? On the top shelf of the display case, on top of the Star Wars legos, there were colorful house legos and animals next to them, which you might think were related to animal crossing which might attract the attention of 5-year-old children.

You and Seonghwa went to the same university and met at the dance club. When you first met him, he was very quiet, buried in his book with a book by an unknown author in his hand and he was wearing the metal-framed glasses he was currently wearing, not communicating with anyone. Even though most people avoided communicating with him, you felt his potential in his eyes under those big glasses. You had initiated the first communication and asked him something about the star wars lego keychain hanging on his bag, and before you knew how the things had developed, he had pulled you into the back storage and made out with you. After a while, you started fucking after every dance lesson and became addicted to each other. You were nothing but a fuck buddy, but you'd still meet up at his house every once in a while to build Legos together like cute couple, and as you can imagine, your night would end up in his bed, trying to recover, with his cum dripping down between your legs.

Same thing today, you met at his house to play his favorite game, the two of you lying in bed while Seonghwa was playing Animal Crossing on his Nintendo. But you had made him horny without knowing why, and Seonghwa stopped his game, which was an unexpected move from him, and started eating you. Animal Crossing, where you played with Seonghwa, was still on on the TV and calm music was playing.

"Can you at least turn off that game? It's ruining the whole mood-" You were cut off by Seonghwa shoving your panties into your mouth. "Don't tire that beautiful mouth of yours by talking, you will be tired enough when I put my dick down your throat."

Who would believe that someone as nerdy as him could make you this wet? If you told your friends who knew him, they would all think you went crazy. But right now, you were in his bed with your legs wide open and you were dripping, Animal Crossing in front of you, Star Wars figures next to you, and a nerd Seonghwa losing himself between your legs.

When Seonghwa started using his fingers as well, you realized you wouldn't last long. He was eating you out and fingering you so professionally that you were seeing stars every time, your legs shaking uncontrollably and squirting on him. And so it was, the moment you felt his fingers inside you, curls them up and abusing your sweet spot while his tongue stimulates your clitoris, you couldn't hold back that ball that was growing in your belly any longer and you came into his mouth. Your voice came out as a muffled moan through your underwear in your mouth. "Oh but I couldn't hear you clearly, looks like we're going to do it again." He pulled the fabric from your mouth and kissed you hungryly. Since he still didn't remove his fingers from you, you continued to spasm uncontrollably around his fingers and began to squirm from the overstimulation.

"What is that? You got tired a little early for a slut like you. Open your legs." As you tried to close your legs, Seonghwa forced them open. When you closed them again, you were startled by the sound of him slapping your thigh hard. "You want to be a brat? Okay then." He let go of your legs and headed towards his desk. He opened his drawer, took the rope next to a lot of Animal crossing cards, closed the drawer hard and turned towards you. You held back your laughter when you saw the colored cards. He adjusted the thin metal-framed glasses that fell on the tip of his nose, found the end of the rope and started wrapping it around your wrists.

"Hwa, I'm getting rope burns, haven't you found that furry handcuff yet?" He tied the rope tightly around your wrists, he bent your leg towards you and brought your ankle closer to your hands and tied the rest of it to your ankles. "No I couldn't. And if you stop squirming, you won't get a burn." After tying your other side in the same way, he checked its strength and made sure that it was not loose. He looked at you, his masterpiece, from head to toe, then he spanked your pussy that you had forced open and exposed for him, and he moved towards your upper body. You let out a small scream at the sudden feeling of pain. He tied your upper body by looping the rope around your chest and tying it over your arm; so it stabilized your arms and prevented you from closing your legs.

"Now, what should we do with you?" You felt even wetter with the feeling of being restricted and having all your control in his hands. The feeling of emptiness inside you was becoming unbearable and if he didn't fuck you soon, you would start crying and whining from frustration. "Just fuck me already."

The left side of his mouth lifted up and laughed slyly. A deep chuckle escaped his throat. "No no, I won't give you what you want that easily." This time, he opened the drawer where he kept your toys under the previous drawer and took out the pink vibrator with remote control. When you think about what he did to you with it, your heart starts to lose its rhythm and the adrenaline in your body begins to tickle your pussy waiting to be filled. The vibrator that he play with you for hours and eventually makes you squirm from overstimulation and cry and beg him to stop...

"How about this? No coming until I finish my new lego set. If you come, I won't fuck you tonight. Understood?" "Wait, at least let me suck you." He moved the toy in his hand over your folds before inserting it inside you, collecting your wetness on the toy. "Are you that much of a cock slave? Is there a day you don't spend without sucking me? Can't that little belly of yours do without taking my cum?" Your face turned red because of his dirty words. Yes, there wasn't a day without sucking him, but there wasn't a day without him eating you either. You were considered equal in every way. After all, you were a fuck buddy and that was your purpose. "Please just let me take you in my mouth" He balled up the panties he had just taken out of your mouth and put it back into your mouth. "Just deal with it for now. You can do it, right? It shouldn't be too hard."

After laughing sarcastically, he moved the vibrator over your folds for the last time and put it inside you. You gasped at the sudden feeling of being filled. The fact that you didn't know when Seonghwa would start the toy and when he would stop it made you nervous and excited. After licking his fingers, which got wet because he inserted the vibrator inside you, and tasting you again, got up from you and took the lego bag next to his wardrobe and placed it on his desk. "Which one do you think I should do?" He took out the Lego sets one by one from the paper bag and showed them all to you. The hilarity of your current situation and the Animal Crossing music playing in the background almost made you laugh. You were thankful for the fabric over your mouth that prevented you from laughing.

"Oh that's it!" He took out the 1394-piece Ghost & Phantom II set from the bag and placed it on the table. When he took the remote control of the vibrator and started to turn it on at medium level, you first lost your breath and started to squirm in your place. But he tied the ropes so tightly that you couldn't move much.

"Remember, no coming until I finish this set." He opened the box and placed the contents on the table, looking at you who began to tremble slightly. “You look like a slut.” And you look like a freak you thought.

[starkeysbunny]

something about you.

pairing - rafe cameron x kook!reader

summary - rafe and reader have been in a friends with benefits relationship for months now. it’s been slowly killing both of them, but they’re both too afraid to say anything. it gets to a point and rafe can’t take it anymore. he can’t stop thinking about you.

warnings - fluffy as hell literally throwing up it’s too sweet

my eyes were closed, my lips slightly parted as i let out a huff against my pillow. it was friday. rafe would usually text me on fridays. he’d ask me to come over, stressed out from work, a long week—whatever it was. i didn’t care.

he needed me.

it was friday, at eleven pm, radio silence. not a word from him. i felt a gnawing at my insides. this man had a grip on every fold of my brain. and we weren’t even together. it was pathetic. but i couldn’t stop.

if i couldn’t have more of him, i’d take this. being his for a couple hours a week. all his attention on me, like it was real. for a couple hours, i get to pretend it’s real.

i turn and stare at my ceiling, hoping i’ll hear my phone ping. i was getting tired. but if he texted, i’d go.

it’s pretty sad. i know. my friends have told me to get up, so many times. shake his hold. but i can’t. i’ll take any parts of him he’ll give me.

ping.

i practically fall over as i reach for my phone, frantically checking the notification.

rafe

hey.

hey? i huff, my head plopping against my pillow. another ping.

can you come over?

i stare at the message, taking a deep breath. it was nearly midnight. i should get up. i should say no. say i’m sick of the casual bullshit.

but soon, i find myself slipping my hoodie over my head, sliding into my uggs.

yeah.

is all i say. i didn’t need to say more. there was nothing more i could say. another ping.

i’ll pick you up. it’s late. don’t want you driving.

my eyebrows furrow. he’s gonna pick me up? he’s never done that.. it’s always the same routine. he texts me, i go over. and sometimes he makes me spend the night, whether i want to or not, because he doesn’t want me driving so late.

but he’s never picked me up.

i don’t say anything, heading to my living room and sitting on the couch in my empty apartment. i recently moved out of my parents, and i’d like to say it’s just a coincidence i moved into the complex only seven minutes from tannyhill.

it wasn’t.

my nails nervously pick at the hem of my hoodie as i wait. it was the longest seven minutes of my life. my mind kept racing. something about tonight felt different. he’s picking me up. and it’s so late. it’s usually never this late.

ping.

i’m here.

i swallow roughly and rub my eyes, standing up. i slide my phone into the pocket of my sleep shorts. the only sound in my quiet apartment is the shuffling of my slippers against the hardwood as i walk toward the door. i grab my keys and slide them into my other pocket, heading for the door. i lock it behind me and walk down the stairs, spotting the blaring headlights from rafe’s truck.

i walk towards it, shivering slightly from the cold air hitting my skin. i look up and see him get out, rounding the truck to the passenger side. he opens my door as i approach.

“hey.” i say softly.

he was in a hoodie and sweats, more relaxed from his usual appearance. which contained a white button up, usually unbuttoned by the time i see him, paired with some kind of dress pants.

“hey.” he whispers. his eyes drift down my appearance. “why’re you wearing shorts? it’s freezing, are you crazy?” he sighs, running a hand over his buzzed hair. his hand comes to the small of my back, not even allowing me to respond before he ushers me in his truck. he shuts the passenger door and rounds the vehicle again to his side.

he gets in, the engine humming as he starts it. he glances over at me and sighs, reaching his arm back to the backseat. he grabs a blanket, gently laying it out over my lap.

“nearly thirty fuckin’ degrees, and you’re sleepin’ in shorts.” he sighs, muttered under his breath.

i swallow roughly, looking down as his hands gently linger over the tops of my thighs as he lays down the blanket. “thanks.” i whisper.

“mhm.” he hums, his hands moving to grip the steering wheel as he peels out of the driveway.

the drive to his house was short, and quiet. the heater gently enveloped me, quickly changing my shivering form from earlier to warmth. my eyes stay looking out the window as i feel the occasional glances from rafe to my side. his eyes were like blades, puncturing into my skin at every glance with a sting.

i feel the truck come to a stop as we pull into the driveway. rafe had taken over tannyhill after his dad died, and sarah moved in with the pogues. so, it was always quiet here. sometimes i wonder if he brings anyone else over ever. or just me.

i watch as he gets out of the drivers seat, rounding the truck to my side. he sticks his hand out for me to grab as i step out of the truck. my hand fits in his warm palm, his hand cradling the small of my back as i step out.

i stand by his side as we walk up to the house. i look up at him, my eyes soft. “r-rafe..?”

“hm?” he hums as we approach the door, he fishes through his pockets for the keys.

“um.. are we…” i trail off.

he pauses as he finds the keys, his eyes flicking to me. his gaze runs over my face as he lets out a breath. “no.” he whispers.

so this was something else. i swallow roughly as i feel my stomach drop. was he ending things? i don’t say anything more and he opens the door, allowing me to walk in first

whenever i was in tannyhill, i felt out of place. it was a huge, beautiful mansion. but it carried a darkness to it. i could hardly imagine how rafe lived here alone. it would eat me up. just as i stand in the foyer, i feel small and inferior in the big space.

“hey.” he whispers. his voice snaps me out of my thoughts, his hand coming to the small of my back. i follow him as he guides me toward the living room. my eyes sift over the space and he guides us to a window seat, outfacing the backyard.

he sits and gestures his hand out for me to sit. i nervously pull my legs into my chest as i slip off my slippers.

“rafe.. why-why’d you text me?” i ask softly.

he leans back against the window with a soft sigh, his hand coming up to run over the stubble against his jaw. he chuckles softly, throwing his hands up. “been asking myself the same shit.” he sighs, looking over at me. he presses his lips together, his eyes wandering over me as he thinks. “i’ve been-“ he sighs. “i’ve been thinking.”

i furrow my eyebrows. “okay.. about..?” i ask softly.

he runs a hand over his face. “everything.” he whispers. “i-i’ve been really stressed.” he huffs. “cameron development, all that bullshit. i just have so much pressure on me, y’know?”

i nod gently. “yeah.” i whisper. “i-i get that. but rafe, you’re so much more than that.” sigh.

he chuckles, his tongue sticking to the inside of his cheek as he raises his eyebrows. he turns his gaze to look at me. “i appreciate that. you’re faith in me, i mean..” he trails off. “it’s nice. nobody else has it.”

my eyes narrow at him slightly. “well, i mean it, rafe.” i whisper softly, my hand gently coming to rest on his knee.

he looks down at my hand, letting out a sigh and leaning his head back against the window. he looks back at me, his gaze holding mine. but there’s something different about it this time. an intensity in his eyes i’d never seen before.

his hand comes to rest over my wrist, his thumb gently tracing in my skin. “y/n.. i-“ he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

my eyes blink up at him, my eyebrows knitted together softly. “yeah..?” i whisper.

he’s hesitant. like whatever he wants to say is stuck in a knot in his throat. he takes a deep breath, searching for the words. he swallows roughly. “look, i-i know i’m no good for you.” he whispers. “but there’s.. there’s somethin’ about you, just can’t fuckin’ get you outta my head.” he sighs and pauses before speaking his next words.

“i-i want us to be.. more. than just this. i-i can’t stop thinking about you, y/n.”

my stomach drops. my eyes widen slightly and my lips part. “i- what..?” i whisper, stunned.

he presses his lips together and i see the nerves bubble in his eyes. “i-i know we agreed to be friends with benefits and nothin’ more but-“ he runs his hand over his buzzed head, a satire chuckle escaping his lips. “i can’t fuckin’ do this shit, okay? i-i can’t keep texting you just to fuck and pretending you don’t mean fuckin’ everything to me. i can’t stand the thought of you being with other people i-“ he huffs, leaning back.

“‘m fucking obsessed with you, alright?” he whispers.

my eyes blink slowly, my lips parting. i couldn’t believe it. he felt the same way i did? every time he’d hold me after we’d hook up, a part of me hurt inside. knowing it was temporary. knowing, that i’d never really have him.

and that whole time—he was thinking the same thing.

“rafe, i-i want that too.” i whisper.

his eyes snap over to me, they scan over my features. almost trying to see if i was telling the truth. “really?” he whispers.

“yeah.” i say breathlessly. “i-i’ve wanted so much more. i was just scared that you didn’t. and that if i said anything, i’d lose you completely. so i was just.. settling for what i could get.”

he swallows roughly, his lips parting. his hand comes up to my cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin. “i wanna give you everything.” he whispers. “i-i don’t deserve you. i’m fucked up, and i get angry and i’m selfish. wanting you is probably the most selfish thing i’ve ever done. but i-i can’t get you out of my head.” he sighs softly, his hand gently cradling my face.

“i may be all of those things.” he whispers. “but i’m gonna work so damn hard to deserve you. i’m gonna be better, i wanna be better every time i’m near you, baby.”

i shake my head gently. “you don’t need to be better.”

he smiles softly. “this is what i’m talkin’ about. too sweet for your own good, baby.”

“so.. you wanna be.. real?” i ask softly, my voice cautious. “like.. official and exclusive?”

he grins, nodding softly. “mhm.” he hums. “want you to be my girl. just mine.”

i smile softly, my stomach swarming at his words. “yeah?”

he chuckles lowly. “yeah, sweetheart.”

i can’t help the grin that creeps up on my lips. i scoot closer, burying my face in his neck. “okay.” i whisper, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

his beefy arms immediately encapsulate me, holding my close. “yeah? you my girl, sweetheart?”

i grin, my cheeks heating up this words. “yeah, ‘m your girl.”

he grins, chuckling lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to my jaw. “‘m sorry i didn’t say anything sooner. made you think i was stringing you along.”

“no..” i shake my head softly. “‘m just glad i have you now.” i whisper. “in every way.”

he smiles, tugging me impossibly closer. “in every way.” he promises.

-

sickeningly sweet 🙂‍↕️ i’m a sucker for fluff srryyyy