#i am so present for ALL OF IT and i cannot wait

[some-triangles]

Having really soaked in the Deltarune over the past month (a month which, coincidentally or not, has been a rough one for my mental health) I am wondering if I've just been mashing my face against something that's triggering me.

This line of thought started with the realization that Deltarune is, at this point, a horror game. It's specifically a game about horror games, but you can't make a deconstruction without recapitulating the thing itself, and it's particularly interested in games as repositories for a particular kind of childhood fear. The fear is something like: the thing that is supposed to be keeping you safe will not keep you safe, and the thing that is supposed to be maintaining the boundaries is broken. Something exists that cannot be understood and it has the capacity to unmake you. Eventually, it will.

That's the horror game as it presents to Noelle, who's living a life that is supposed to be normal and is using these spaces to explore the secrets that are being kept from her. Then there's Kris. Deltarune is a story about childhood trauma and alienation, and Kris is such a brilliant tabula rasa that you can attach your own experiences to them from any direction you want. Does Kris have the same alphabet disorder as you? There's a reading for that. Was Kris abused, abandoned? They were certainly adopted. Divorce kid, bullied? Check and check. Gender trouble, molestation? Well, there is a man behind the tree, and you can talk to him by following the dirty girls and boys. Dissociation, depersonalization, memory loss, emotional dysregulation, and all the other fun CPTSD symptoms? Right there on the screen.

So you have a torrent of existential dread as it manifests through the kind of video games one played in the 90s, piped in through the perspective of the kind of kid you might have been in the 90s, in a video game that is itself an extended homage to video games from the 90s. Gee, I wonder if this is contributing to all the existential dread I've been feeling recently? I guess I could stop looking at it, but it's also my current fixation, and so all the internal and external machines are primed to feed me more of it. Whoops!

To be fair, I asked for this. I wanted the candy-coated tone of the first chapter to coagulate and get, for lack of a better word, darker. There is some truth in there that needs excavating. At this point we're just following it further into the void, but that's appropriate for this stage of the overall story. All I want to know is how many years I need to wait for the catharsis - another thing that reminds me uncomfortably of the real world and my place in it. But even in that, there's something to hold on to, because if I want to find out, I have to stick around.

[hiironoo]

DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

"I would bring Olympus down for you" he whispered, it was hard to believe such delicate and soft words could come out the proclaimed ruthless prince. So she sighed, "I do not need Olympus, i need your heart, your devotion." Love and devotion was easy when it was for Zoe. She was his breath of fresh air. Something so simple and yet so needed.

The moon looks lovely does it not daisy? I visited the agora near your home, i went to sell some stuff with my father, trade and found a very special gift for you. A wooden ship, to remind you of the time i nearly drowned you. Your precious Pearl

I found myself looking towards the sea. I smiled, i have never felt more repulsed at myself. You see Pearls? You turned me soft. I will not forgive this. . . unless you visit me where the sea meets land. Then i will think of forgiving you for weakening your future King and Husband. Your future husband

Husband? You have yet to meet my father and you speak of marriage. Catch me a fish the size of your two hand and i shall think of even allowing you to court me. I will be at there waiting for you. Your precious pearl

Ha! You have grown bolder. A quality you, as my future queen, must have. Make sure you bring that present for your future husband, and i do not condone tardiness. Your future husband

You did not show. Where are you? It is rude to keep you husband waiting. Your future husband

Pearl, it has been weeks since i have heard from you. It seems i cannot keep going to our spot, wait for me. My father is on his rampage due to my disinterest in the court. Do you not see what you've done to me. Rendered a king into a lovesick puppy. Write back. Your future husband

It has been a year, Zoe. You have won this silly game of yours. You have made me sick. I am disgusted. Is this what you wanted? What your true intentions were since the beginning, make me fall in love as deep as the big blue sea and then leave as if nothing happened? You have made me a pathetic man. I hate you. . . Forgive me, i did not mean it. Zoe, I beg, not as a prince of a future king, as your lover, come back. Your daisy.

I saw you at the agota. Who is that man, your lover perhaps. Have you forgotten about me? Have you forgotten our promise, is that it? Two years did we sneak out and met, two years did we exchange all those, now bittersweet, memories? Two years of my total devotion. Is that it. You must have thought me to be ashamed of falling in love with you, a fishers daughter, when all you wanted was our love to be known? I will shout so loud it will reach Olympus. Chrysanthos

Do you truly think I have forgotten. About you?

ib: me

letters between me and my daisy, Chrysanthos! yes the angst is needed bc it’s important in my dr.

[futuristicdoormats789]

is anyone actually fucking ready for terror camp because you all realize jared harris and liam garrigan are gonna be right there and we're all just gonna have to be normal about it

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

WHAT DA HECKKKK MAC!!! UR A BIRTHDAY GUY!!!! HOLY SHIT. OLD!!! time 2 put u in a retirement home!!!! IT'S UR DAY OF BIRTH I AM THROWING U A PARTY RN 🎉🥳🎉 TIME 2 HIT THE PINATA 🪄 🪅 CANDY!! 🍭 🍬 🍫 TIME 4 PRESENTS 🎁🎁🎁 CAKE TIME 🧁 BIRTHDAY BOY GETS A CROWN 👑 BLOW OUT THE CANDLES 🧨🧨🧨 <<couldn't find any candles so i got these weird red sticks instead!! i think they're sparklers!! :3

oh fuck i love sparklers-!

[monicaalexandraaa]

SAM !!!!!! This part is soooooo good!! The whole story has been amazing. Your attention to detail and the way you brought so much life into all the characters is incredible. I love this group so much🥰Another incredible story and another story that I hope people take the time to read. You are a gem!!🩷🩷

Pucking Rookie VI

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8.5k words

From me: last part for now 💕 thank you for all the support on this 😍

Warnings: violence Kael, some injuries, anger, some fluff and reassurance.

Summary: She is trying her hardest to keep Harry out; but would it be that bad to let him in?

Has Harry mentioned how much he hates Kael Crowe?

Harry had his hands in his pockets while they skated alongside each other. With gloves on her hands, she held them out slightly at her sides for balance. From someone looking at her, she probably still looked like a toddler when she skated. But she didn’t need Harry to skate backward in front of her anymore, which was a win in her book.

The chill in the air made her nose red and she looked so cute. She was all bundled, nice and warm. Harry wanted to find mistletoe even though it was well past Christmas. Granted, he would have done just about anything to kiss her. She bit her lip when she concentrated, especially while skating. The same expression when she focused on the eye piece of her camera making sure the picture would turn out perfectly. Harry swore his smile was going to split his face in half just looking at her.

Unlike her, Harry looked so at ease. She loved seeing him on his used skates, the ones that he clearly had for years and weren’t for the show of his games and because of his sponsors. He looked so tranquil and happy. The ice was his happy place. It almost seemed more natural for him to be on skates than it did on solid ground.

Also unlike Harry, she was not smiling. Especially not smiling like the joy was going to burst out of him like a princess singing a song.

“Y’look more comfortable on y’skates.”

“Mm,” she shrugged. “It’s getting easier.”

Harry noted that she had seemed a bit more introverted the last couple of days—a little more withdrawn. Something was clearly bothering her, and he couldn’t quite place it himself. Callie flirting with her didn’t even faze her (although it certainly fazed Harry). When she directed the guys to pose, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t joke about Asher’s good side (or lack thereof, in Harry’s opinion—especially when Asher insisted that she tell him he had a good side). At The Locker Room she didn’t laugh as much, and she didn’t invite Harry inside when he made sure she got home safely. “Rookie, is something wrong?”

“No.”

But she answered way too quickly. Immediately, Harry did an about face, turned to skate in front of her, gliding backwards so effortlessly. One eyebrow quirked up in question. “Talk t’me, Rookie,” he encouraged.

She took a deep breath. “We’re going to play The Wolves,” she reminded him. Harry had seen the schedule; he knew the game was coming up.

What did that have to do with anything? “Yeah,” he nodded. “So?”

She stopped skating, executing her little stop perfectly. Harry was so proud of her abilities and how much better she had gotten with practice over the last couple of months. Still, she looked upset. She rolled her lips into her mouth as she worked through whatever was going through her brain. “I don’t want you to get into it with Kael.”

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Is that what you’re worried ‘bout? Why you’ve been so quiet the last few days?” She shrugged and looked away from his face. “Rookie, do y’think distancing yourself from me for a couple of shitty days is going t’make me less likely t’fight that sorry excuse for a man?” She glanced at him briefly, her cheeks turning pink under his assumption. His very correct assumption. “Bunny,” he frowned.

She sighed heavily. “It’s just... you’ll get in trouble, and I don’t want that, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I can barely handle it when you get checked into the boards. I’m always worried you have a concussion,” she grumbled.

Harry felt a tug in his chest over her sweet words. “You like me, Rookie," he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She glared at him. “Shut up, I do not.”

“You care about me.”

“I care about you the same way I care about Niall or..." he was praying she wouldn't say it. But she was feisty--one of Harry's favoirte things about her; so of course she was going to say it. "...Kian.”

He scoffed and narrowed his eyes at her. The flirtatious smile left his mouth. “S’not the same way y’care ‘bout Callie, Rookie. Not even a little.”

“You’re so ridiculous about Kian, Harry.”

“Stop calling him that. And quit distracting me,” he grumbled. Taking a deep breath he shook his head of thoughts regarding his least favorite teammate (which was a real shame because other than Niall, Harry loved Callie). Sighing, he smirked again as he watched her avoid his eyes. “You like me, Bunny.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Of course I like you Harry,” she rolled her eyes as she mumbled the sentiment.

“Yeah, but you like-like me.”

“Are you six?”

He ignored her fake insult and leaned in to peck her cheek. “I like-like you too,” he whispered in her ear.

She shoved him gently, but her cheeks remained flushed with color. “You’re insane.”

He took her hand and tugged her toward him to continue skating. “I don’t care ‘bout Crowe,” he said quietly. “I don’t want y’worrying ‘bout me over him. The last time we saw him... hopefully that got the message across,” he squeezed her hand. It was nice to pull her along now that she could skate better. He liked holding her hand. Touching her in general was one of his favorite past times. “M’worried ‘bout you seeing him again.”

“Well, I’m going to wear my number eleven jersey,” she smiled brightly at the thought. Harry thought he had won MVP, the championship game, all rolled into one. “So maybe you’re right. Maybe he’ll get the message.”

The face-splitting grin was back. “Yeah?” He spun again so he was in front of her, this time he pulled her flush against him. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. “Didn’t think y’would be one t’make someone intentionally jealous.”

She shrugged. “If you don’t want to be part of my plan, I could always wear Niall’s jersey, or Lang’s, or even Cal—”

“Do not finish that thought, Rookie,” he growled and pressed her face into his body where she laughed silently against him, shaking as she giggled. “You’re mine.”

*

The arena where The Glacier Wolves played truly felt like enemy territory. There was something palpable in the air; you could practically taste the venom coming from both teams. The last time they played, the whole team was pissed at Kael. She tried to keep her distance, but she felt the stares of the guys coming from every angle. Harry’s name and number were all over her body. She kept to herself staying by the media and press at the other end of the rink so that she wouldn’t distract the team.

“Is she good?” Charlie asked Harry.

Harry glanced toward the other end, finding her immediately in black and silver. “Think so,” he shrugged hoping it wouldn't be too obvious he was in love with his coach's niece.

“Styles,” Charlie’s voice was deeper somehow, filled with intensity. Harry looked at his coach. Instantly he swallowed nervously, seeing the seriousness on his face that clearly had nothing to do with hockey.

“Coach?”

“You’re going to take care of her?”

“With my life, sir,” Harry vowed.

Charlie ran a hand over his face and then through his hair as he pushed it back. Harry could see the anxiety all over his face. “You hurt one hair on her head, I’ll bench you for the rest of your career.”

Harry smirked and nodded. That wouldn't be a problem. Harry would welcome it. Plus, he appreciated the approval. “That seems fair t’me.”

“If you hit Crowe a little too hard today, I’ll look the other way. Or chip in on the fine.”

Harry smiled brightly. “You got it, Coach.”

*

Kael found Harry on the ice almost as soon as the game started. Both started essentially in the same position as the puck was dropped between Asher and Kael’s teammate. It was the matchup of the league. Every news outlet was talking about it leading up to the game. Two of the biggest names in hockey. Old rivals playing against one another just like old times. The shit-talking that ensued made him crazy but he tried to keep his cool for her.

Each time he was checked into the boards, he remembered her sweet face saying she worried about him. Harry didn’t want a single penalty (well, that wasn’t true. He wanted to knock every single one of Crowe’s teeth out). Instead, he caught a glimpse of her at the glass the camera lens pressed through the cutout for the media. His jersey with his name and number all over her.

He wasn’t going to fight Crowe.

Fortunately, Harry’s team was having a hell of a time doing it on his behalf. Collectively there had been almost one full period worth of penalties. Callie cheered from the penalty box when Asher laid Crowe into the boards. Their level-headed captain even got sent to the box for two minutes with a smile on his face. Niall didn’t let a single one of Crowe’s shots get past him. And maybe Niall tripped him up when he got too close to the net.

As such, the Chargers played short-handed almost the entire second period, yet they were still winning at the second intermission.

It didn’t stop Crowe from his onslaught of shit-talking despite being down. He told Harry how terrible he was, how shitty his stick handling was, and that he kept missing obvious shots. All his comments seemed to be a projection of how terrible he was playing and perhaps it was because the pretty photographer wearing Harry’s jersey added it to the mind games in Kael's head.

Maybe Harry would have to rethink the whole jealousy ploy she had going on. It was a nice touch (especially when he wasn’t subject to the feeling).

Harry smirked as he stood across from Crowe while they dropped the puck. Almost immediately Crowe slashed at him. Earning zero penalties and no looks from the ref. Harry growled but remained calm. He was only keeping calm for her and only her. Otherwise, he would have added himself to the penalty box. It would mean more to Crowe than it did to Harry if he lashed out about the pretty photographer.

There was only a minute left in the game and Crowe’s team was down by two, so it was sure as hell a win in the Chargers book. But Harry wasn’t celebrating until the piece of shit was off the ice.

With no one in the Wolves’ net, Harry stole the puck away from Kael and slapped it directly into the back of the net. He grinned brightly as his team cheered and tackled him, pressing him into the glass right near the pretty girl who had the camera pressed to her face. He winked at her amidst the madness and Harry couldn’t help but notice how big her smile—not even the camera obstructed how joyful she looked.

As the buzzer signaled the end of the game, Harry and his team skated for their bench. They were happy to win, but they were all thrilled to get off the enemy’s ice.

“Enjoy my sloppy seconds Styles.”

Harry could take the comments about his effort, his ability, his looks, anything.

But he would not, under any circumstance, take criticism about the lovely girl at the other end of the ice.

Harry skated right in front of Crowe standing almost the same height as him, marveling happily at how he was a couple inches taller than his opponent. “What the fuck did you say, Crowe?”

“Harry!” Niall shouted skating back onto the ice almost instantly. Camera flashes from every angle ensued.

“Styles!” Ray shouted from nearby.

“It’s not just talent and ability you want from me, you have to take my girl?”

“She’s not yours, you piece of shit,” Harry was gripping his stick tight, talking through gritted teeth.

“Harry!” She screamed—her voice was far away but Harry could pick it out of a sea of people.

“You couldn’t find your own girl, had to take mine. Don’t worry, I stretched her out for you. She’s a good lay—” Harry dropped his stick and gloves with a quiet thunk on the ice. By then his teammates made it to him, Callie and Asher lunged for him holding him back.

“Crowe, walk the fuck away!” Asher snapped. Harry pushed against him as he got in the fray; he could only imagine what the announcers were saying as they watched two of the top players in the league get dangerously close to fighting after the game had ended.

“Charlie!” She shouted, her voice was closer but not close enough.

“Harry don’t do it,” Callie begged. “Walk away," he tried to plead calmly. "Go get her and you can take her—”

“That’s right listen to every one of your teammates and that naggy bitc—”

Right as he clenched his hands into fists, he felt her soft, delicate fingers wrapping around his hands. She was on the ice. Unsteady and standing in front of him in just her boots. “Hey, look at me,” she begged her eyes a bit wild.

“Bunny—” He started his teeth clenched together. "Get out--"

“Cute, well you got one thing right, Styles. She’s a dumb little puck bunny.”

She shoved Harry as much as she could while he tried to get away from her gentle touch. “Sweetheart,” Asher warned.

Crowe laughed. “You sleeping with the whole team, baby? One whole team to replace me?”

She spun on her heel, nearly sliding to the ground, but Harry caught her by the elbow because he was certain his first priority would always be to take care of her no matter what. “Your problem is with me, Kael,” she snapped. “So, if you’re going to pick fights, pick it with the person you have an actual problem with, you coward.”

“I’m not the one calling you a puck bunny, baby. They are. You must like it if they all call you one,” he teased with a shrug. He knew she didn’t. She said it all the time while they dated. “That’s what you get for riding dick like it’s your job, Bunny,” his tone was antagonizing. Who was he trying to get a rise out of? Was it Harry? It couldn’t have been. Harry was already pissed. Was it her? Maybe. She already hated him.

“Get off the fucking ice!” Charlie shouted.

No one moved. Except Harry who was dying to get his hands on Kael.

Kael took his helmet off and looked at her. “You’re nothing but a groupie, baby. When Harry’s done with you, you’ll come crawling back. You have nothing.”

She was shaking, perhaps as badly as the rest of the team was. She wanted to smack him across his stupid fucking face, but she was trying to remain composed with so many cameras on her. This was already going to be a PR nightmare, and it was all her fault. Although she was sure none of the guys would care, it bothered her. Just another reason to add to how she fucked with the team’s energy and made everything different since her arrival.

“Kael, just stop. Leave me alone,” she hissed.

“Or what, baby?” He taunted. “Your group of fuck buddies will go after me?”

“Watch it,” Harry snarled still straining against Callie and Asher.

“Let’s go,” she whispered, pushing her hands into Harry's chest behind her. He slid backwards a little to create more space between them. “This isn’t worth it,” she said loud enough for Kael to hear.

However, he wasn't accepting their escape. Their way to take the higher ground. But before she could get away, Kael grabbed her arm, hard.

Time seemed to stop for a moment. Truly, suspended in disbelief as she gasped. "Ow, Kael!” She yelped.

“Oh, fuck no,” Harry growled lowly.

“Shit,” Callie grabbed at Harry harder and yanked him back before he could kill Crowe on a live broadcast.

Niall and Lang stepped forward as Asher helped Callie hold Harry back. “Let go of her fucking wrist, Crowe,” Niall said putting a hand on her back.

“You have two seconds to let go of her,” Lang added at the same time.

“Let fucking go of me,” Harry thrashed against his teammates.

She bent awkwardly trying to get her arm back, gasping at the pressure he pitted against her so effortlessly. “HEY!” It was Ray who shouted. “That’s enough! Crowe, let go of my niece or I’ll kill you!”

But Charlie was already on the move, next to Crowe in the blink of an eye. He was shorter than the bulky, built hockey player on skates by a head or maybe even two. Without hesitation he reached for Kael’s neck as if he were the same height and pressed on the space between his neck and clavicle. Within seconds, Kael was gasping, he dropped her arm instantly.

There wasn’t a break in his movements, everything fluid like he was skating on the ice as Charlie shoved his niece backwards making her lose her balance, but Harry caught her just before she hit the ground. “Everyone off the fucking ice!” Coach yelled.

Harry had never been so relieved to have her in his embrace as he skated off the ice, pushing her forward quickly even though he wanted to kill Kael.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart?” Callie asked.

“Shut the fuck up, Callie,” Harry snarled.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“Jesus, Styles, I just wanted—”

“Shut. Up.  Don’t ever get in my way like that Calloway, not when she’s—”

“Harry,” she repeated stronger as she nearly had to race to catch up to them on their long legs—even with skates. She grabbed his hand, still balled into a shaking fist. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “Kian isn’t the bad guy here,” she reminded him. Harry glared at his teammate, shoulders heaving with each angry breath. After a moment he nodded, his jaw flexing tautly as he did.

“Sorry, Callie,” she whispered, squeezing his arm which made Harry huff out a breath and look away. He strongly considered snapping his stick in half. Again.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. We all get a little crazy about you,” he smirked. “Harry,” he nodded and headed into the locker room. She turned to Harry to remind him that his teammates weren’t the problem, ever.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked, catching up as they stopped in front of the locker room.

Harry stared at her unsurely waiting for her answer with bated breath. She nodded, putting on a brave face. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?” Harry asked, taking a heaving breath. His hands were still shaking at his sides.

She nodded. “I’m fine,” because she was. There might be a bruise on her arm from the grip he had, but she wasn’t in pain anymore. He didn’t break anything (which was a horrifying thought) but it wasn’t any less true. “Please go change, I want to get out of here,” she urged. Harry’s eyes flicked to Charlie before he went into the locker room after his teammates. She twisted her wrist once he was out of sight. Charlie narrowed his eyes at the movement.

“Are you—”

Quickly with an awful realization, she touched her neck. “Oh fuck, I left my camera,” she grumbled rubbing her hand over her face.

Charlie was staring at her just as unsurely. “I’ll have someone go get it.”

“No, it’s fine,” she shook her head. “I need the walk, the air,” she sighed.

“I have a press conference. I can skip it. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Positive. I’m sorry I caused all this,” she frowned. “I really feel like you didn’t ask for any of this with the team.”

“Hey Sweetheart?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I always hated Crowe,” he smiled. “You were way too good for him. If the whole team got in trouble for hurting him, well, that would be worth it in my book. If he ever touches you again, I think the whole team will kill him.”

“Well, we have a whole season to prepare for that,” she smirked sadly. “Thank you, Uncle Charlie.”

“Anything for you Sweetheart. Go take a few breaths,” he squeezed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Wish you slapped him; you earned it,” he winked over his shoulder as he headed for the media room.

She smiled and took several deep breaths calming herself as much as she could as she walked back down the tunnel to the rink. She had been in the very arena hundreds of times. It never felt like home. Not the way The Arctic Chargers arena felt. In a shorter amount of time at that. The idea that she had ever thought she could live her life in this arena feeling like she was less was crazy. Especially when Harry and the entire team made her feel so important.

She said hello and waved to people she recognized from her days spent watching Kael. Her new media friends said hello as well. She waved to the man driving the Zamboni and snagged her camera off the visiting bench that she dropped there when she saw Kael antagonizing Harry from across the rink. She couldn’t believe she nearly lost it in all the commotion; but she supposed for Harry, it was worth it. It could have been a lot worse.

Following Charlie’s advice, she continued breathing deeply. Hoping to calm herself from the inside out. She was glad she didn’t hit Kael. As much as she wanted to. With her luck, he would have pressed charges or something. It would have played right into his act.

Hopefully everyone saw the way he grabbed her wrist.

For several seconds, she sat on the bench, her head between her knees breathing and collecting herself. Harry looked murderous. She hoped he showered and felt better. She would have to thank Callie and Asher again for holding him back before he did something terrible.

Sighing, she stood, headed for the locker room once more. Relieved there would once more be a whole year between now and the next game she would have to see Kael next season. She was going to forget about any of her stuff at their old apartment. He could have it. It didn’t matter. As long as she had her camera, she could make everything else work. She looked at the screen to continue calming herself. As soon as the boys were ready, they would head to the hotel and get some sleep before a red eye flight home. Her hotel room bed sounded like heaven (even if it was going to be missing a number eleven in her blankets).

She was so ready for this day to be over.

Right as she exited the tunnel and headed down the hall toward the locker room, she was shoved against the wall, hard. She didn’t know how the guys got checked into the boards all the time. Even with padding on that had to have hurt—and multiple times? Forget it. She felt an ache all over her back. The air in her lungs was displaced and she moaned as she tried to breathe through it. It felt like her body was one giant bruise in a matter of seconds.

Kael held her in place. His eyes dark and his face expressionless. “You’re a lot more vulnerable without a hockey team behind you.”

She gaped, as he easily yanked her camera from her grip and dropped it to the ground. Her eyes watered at the sound of all the mechanical pieces cracking. She whimpered. “Kael,” she gasped as the air slowly returned. “Let me go.”

“You were good for my image, baby,” he crooned. “Didn’t you like living the luxurious lifestyle?” He skimmed the back of his finger along her cheek. Other than a helmet and gloves, he was still in all his gear, skates, and pads, so he towered imposingly over her. She whimpered again. “You have no power here,” he reminded her pinning her in place by pressing close to her. If anyone walked by, they would think it was just a heated form of foreplay. His legs caged her in. His body holding her in place.

His hand closed around her throat.

“Stop,” she begged squirming to get away from him.

“You’re pathetic. You think just because your uncle is a coach and your new boyfriend is a sorry excuse of a look-a-like for me that you can do whatever you want,” his voice was low, threatening. If it wasn’t immediately following a game maybe someone would have seen the interaction. But instead, the players were in the locker room, coaches in the media room, other workers in the arena. It was just the pair of them. “You’re nothing, baby. You’ve got nothing.”

He was good. Waiting until she was most vulnerable. Even if she was lucky enough for someone to come by, she was certain he made it so he didn’t look like he was harming her or speaking terrible things to her.

But she was right there. Hearing every menacing word. Every word meant to cut her deeper than any physical harm he could cause her. “You’re nothing but a groupie, baby. You’ll always be a dumb puck bunny.”

“Please,” she croaked, gasping for breath. Her squirming wasn’t enough, he was too strong, and Lord knew how long until the boys would come out of the locker room and Charlie out of the press conference. No one was coming to her rescue.

She clawed at his arms, but the pads protected him. Everything was protected which seemed like a metaphor she couldn’t quite put together right now.

Everything except the hand on her throat.

She bent her head at an awkward angle allowing air to flow just enough. Thrashing against his hold hoping he would slip just a bit. He didn’t notice she was trying to reach for his hand. He must have assumed she was trying to escape. It didn’t have to be a lot she just needed something to give.

When it did finally give, she wasted no time. His hand moved just enough so that she could bend her neck completely. Once she could, she bit down as hard as she could on his finger.

She bit so hard that she tasted blood.

“What the fuck!” He growled yanking away instinctively. She didn’t waste a second and bolted. He was on skates, and she was in her boots so for once in an ice arena she had the speed advantage, and she wasn’t going to lose that.

Without really noticing where her feet carried her, the locker room burst open before her. She couldn’t even see because her eyes were blurred over with tears. She choked out a sob as the door shut behind her.

“Bunny?” Harry sounded concerned, curious, and confused all in one little word that she hated so much (especially right now) but loved when Harry said it.

“Oh hell,” Asher whispered. It was quiet then, no one moving, or speaking.

“Harry?” She cried, unable to see as she wiped uselessly at her face to rid herself of the tears and she pressed her other hand to the top of her chest trying to stop her heart from flying out of her ribcage and soothe the ache and burn of knowing his hand was on her neck. The other hand went to her mouth. Her face tilted down, and her hair fell in front of her face.

If the team was naked, she wouldn’t even know. Her vision wasn’t clear enough to see an inch in front of her.

“Bunny?” He repeated, his voice closer, his hands gently caressing her face. A massive juxtaposition to how Kael held her moments before. “Kitten,” he turned her neck ever so gently inspecting every inch of her face. “What happened?”

“H-he broke m-my camera,” she sniffled and swiped at her eyes. With a little more clarity, she could see Harry was half undressed, just his practice jersey and compression pants on him. He was sweaty and never looked hotter and she was a goddamn wreck.

“I’ll kill him,” but it was Niall who growled out the sentiment. Before another word could be uttered, she heard the locker-room door open.

“Oh fuck,” Lang was quick to follow.

“Bunny,” Harry crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “Kitten, what happened?” He repeated. She shook her head, her cries catching in her throat again. She buried her face into his chest and sobbed. Harry cupped the back of her head, curling around her protectively the way he always seemed to when she cried. “Fuck, Bunny,” he frowned. His lips found her ear. “Did he touch you?” He asked.

She nodded. The rest of the team must have already anticipated what she was upset over, because it was even quieter than when she entered. She felt Harry start shaking again. It started from the center of his body outward. She imagined his toes were shaking. Fully vibrating with anger. “I’m gonna kill him,” Harry’s voice was so low and so terrifying she shivered.

“Please don’t leave me,” she sniffled.

He groaned and tightened his grip on her. “Y’killing me, Rookie,” he mumbled.

“I just want to go home, please,” she begged her voice breaking.

His heart broke. “We’re heading to the hotel soon, and I’ll drive y’home when we land, Bunny, I promise,” he assured her. The thought of leaving her alone was repulsive. Almost as much as this whole moment with Kael.

“No... take me home with you,” she whispered.

Well, if there was one way to keep him sane, he supposed that would be it. “Take you home?” He repeated. “My home?”

She nodded. “Please, I don’t want to be away from you.”

Make that, two ways to keep him sane.

*

She refused to say what he did specifically. He didn’t do anything but hold her in the hotel bed until the team left in the middle of the night for their red eye flight. He sat next to her on the bus and the plane, carrying her stuff and wincing every time she sniffled. He combed his fingers through her hair, refusing to let go of her for anything other than the bathroom. He made sure she drank enough water and had medicine for all the aches she endured.

Charlie was fuming in his seat. Between what happened and her lack of response about what happened, he may have sent Harry several messages regarding how he would enjoy going to jail if Harry hurt her. He ignored those messages for the time being. But he did pay attention to the one where Charlie said he was looking into getting the security footage pulled before Kael could swipe it from the arena.

The team had no problem messaging Kael. The coward left before anyone could find him. Niall found her camera shattered to bits on the floor. Callie pulled the memory card from the wreck but there wasn’t anything that could be done to save the equipment.

Except of course, Harry ordered her a new, top-of-the-line camera while she showered in his bathroom.

After what felt like hours but was only maybe half at most, she finally exited the bathroom. Harry turned from lying on his bed to sitting on the edge watching her immediately. Her eyes were red-rimmed, hair damp. She looked adorable even when she was sad, and it was so unfair. She was wearing a T-shirt Harry pulled from one of his drawers. It had the Chargers logo across the front, and he wished more than anything it had his name on the back.

“Did that help?” He asked.

She nodded but held the towel out to him. “I don’t know where to put this,” she avoided his gaze which had to be next to impossible because Harry couldn’t tear his away from her. He took the towel and tossed it toward the corner of the room where his hamper lived, although he hadn’t done laundry in a week, and so the towel fell off the side to the pile beside it.

“Bunny,” he murmured. “Look at me please,” he whispered.

She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m so embarrassed, I’ll cry again.”

“Y’have nothing t’be embarrassed ‘bout, Rookie, love,” his voice was gentle, he reached for her hip and pulled her toward him, opening his legs so she fit between his thighs. “What did he do?” He asked, keeping one hand on her hip and the other traveled up her arm, cupped the side of her neck and slid along to her face.

“You’ll get mad,” she whispered.

“M’already mad, kitten,” he reminded her.

“What is with you and the animal names?” Her voice was soft.

“You’re an adorable creature, Bunny, I don’t have a choice,” he smirked, spoke just as quietly as she did, but not falling for her dodging what he wanted to know. “Don’t distract me,” he brushed his fingertips softly along the outline of her face.

“You’ll be mad at me.”

“Never, Rookie. M’never mad at you,” he hoped he sounded as reassuring as he wanted to be. It was true. He was never mad at her.

“I bit his finger,” she mumbled. “Really hard.”

Harry tilted his head. “You what?”

“He...” she swallowed and pressed her face into the space of his shoulder and neck hiding. “He was choking me,” her voice was so quiet Harry had to strain to hear it. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the anger to stay at bay so she wouldn’t be scared. “And I couldn’t move and... and I just needed the right angle, so I bit his finger. Really hard. I tasted blood,” she explained.

Harry chuckled despite everything. “Good girl,” he pulled her to him and squeezed her tight. “And y’came t’me?” he mumbled thoughtfully cupping her face watching her eyes. He brushed his thumb along her cheek. It was selfish of him to ask when she was hurt. But he couldn't help it. She was his whole world whether she knew it or not and he needed to know.

“I didn’t want anyone else,” her skin turned the slightest pink. “Is that okay?”

Harry’s heart softened. “Yeah, Bunny. S’really okay,” he assured her, then he pulled her back against his shoulder, tucking her into his embrace. “The guys couldn’t find him... the coward,” he snipped.

Harry felt a smile on her lips warm his skin. He grinned half-heartedly and swayed her gently. “For the best,” she admitted. “I like your room,” she whispered glancing around. “Maybe I will take it.”

“S’fine with me,” he shrugged.

She stared at him pointedly. “I don’t want to live here for free.”

“Oh, come on, Rookie I have a hundred rooms with nothing in them.”

“I won’t live here for free.”

“Fine, but you’re not paying rent-prices. Y’can buy groceries or pay the electric bill. Or maybe the Internet bill. But not all three.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re keeping the car.”

“Certifiable.”

*

“Harry, are you awake?” She whispered.

“Mmm,” he hummed sleepily. Her soft voice in his bed was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. It was the first time they slept in his bed. Harry was a lot of things, and it was evident that possessive was a major one. He loved sleeping in her tiny bed when there was no room, so she always ended up burrowing into his side. Still, there something about having her in his room, his bed, wrapped in his blankets that made the Neanderthalic part of his mind undeniably happy. He kept space between them, as he always tried to maintain when they shared a bed. But he felt a compulsion to hold her hand between them as he stared at the ceiling unable to sleep thinking about how much he hated someone who hurt the pretty woman beside him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Bunny,” he whispered quietly shaking his head. “Y’never have t’thank me. Not for that.”

“I do though,” she sounded like she was nodding. “I don’t know why you like me so much. Like... from the start... and still. I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t think s’true. And does that matter from the start?”

“I don’t know... it never really happened to me before...” she trailed off. “Kael and I were just around each other for a while—got to know each other and it made sense. Then we were together for a really long time... I never had someone just like me for me, right away without knowing anything else about me. I guess I’m just worried that if... if you do like me—and I do believe you when you say you do—it will change because it changed for him. I’m not that special, you know? I’m not a celebrity. I just take pictures and—”

Harry sighed, if he was visible in the night, she would see him rolling his eyes at the ceiling and shaking his head. “Y’know I had a bunch of contacts for women for all the different cities we visit, right?” He interrupted. It wasn’t the best segue in conversation, and it probably wasn’t a nice thing to hear when he was trying to convince her he liked her infinitely more than he ever liked anybody. Especially after the day she had.

There was a slight pause. If she said something like that to Harry, he would be jealous for days and would probably have to break another hockey stick. So, he was well aware he needed to give her a second to think through her emotions. “Yeah...?” Her voice was quiet again. Unsure.

He reached beside him for his phone on his nightstand. He unlocked it, turned the brightness down, blinking awkwardly against it so he wouldn’t hurt her eyes as well. He opened his messages and handed it to her.

There were a good number of unsaved numbers listed in the threads. Many had the same start of each message previewed before clicking on it. I am deleting your number because I’ve met—

“Harry,” she said softly.

“Open one,” he offered.

She shook her head. “Harry, you didn’t do anything—I don’t want to go through—”

He reached over and tapped on one of the messages.

—a really lovely girl and I want to take it seriously. I won’t be contacting you anymore... You were a great person to know. I wish you all the best. Xx Harry

“Harry,” she whispered breathlessly.

Only some had answered. From what she could see, most who had responded thought it was sweet; they understood where he was coming from, it was kind of him to reach out and not leave them hanging. Some were less happy for him but since they all knew what they signed up for, none appeared to be outright angry or derisive. Harry took his phone back and opened his contacts. If the unsaved numbers were to be believed, he should have had plenty more contacts listed. Instead, it was just teammates, coaches, his family.

And hers. Rookie 📷🐇

She bit her lip.

“I think ‘ve been waiting for you, Rookie, love. I never wanted someone more,” he put his phone back. “M’not kidding. I’ll wait forever,” he promised. She felt her face crumple in half. Emotional over and in complete disbelief that someone so kind and sweet was willing to wait for her when he could truly have anyone he wanted. Someone way more talented and beautiful than her. "Go t'sleep, Bunny," he whispered softly and pressed a kiss to her temple. "We can talk 'bout it tomorrow."

*

Harry made sure she had everything she needed for the day; he snuck into her phone to turn her alarm off. He put a note on the bedside table. No work today. Enjoy playing hooky, Bunny. But please stay so I can see you when I come home. She wished she had her camera so she could take a picture of the note, but her phone would suffice for now. She dreaded the thought of purchasing a new camera. But she needed to deal with one thing at a time. First of which meant breakfast and coffee. She headed to the kitchen after using the bathroom.

The doorbell rang at the exact same time. She peered through the window and saw a man in a black shirt with a green apron. She tilted her head. “Rookie?” He asked tentatively.

“Uh... yeah?”

“Here you go,” he handed her a drink—her favorite coffee and the man left.

She blinked. “How many times have you been here?”

“I was instructed to come every half hour with a fresh drink and wait five minutes until you answered,” he explained backing toward his car. She smirked sipping it. It was delicious.

“Did he pay you at least?” She called tapping her fingers against the plastic.

“Excessively!” He shouted with a grin, pulling his door closed. She smiled, closed the front door, locked it, before heading for the living room sipping her favorite kind of coffee from her favorite guy.

*

She heard the garage door open around five and the door creak from the mudroom attached to the garage to the house.

“Do you like chicken noodle soup?” She asked. “I know that sounds silly, because it’s a classic. But because it’s a classic, there was a time when I was in high school, and I swear I was sick for a month and all I ate was chicken noodle soup. I haven’t had any since, I think. But on a whim, I had some last week, and it was literally the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten,” she explained while Harry took his shoes off. She grabbed the bread she was toasting out of the oven, and she smiled as he slowly made his way to the kitchen.

He looked around the room for a moment. “Did y’clean?” He asked ignoring her rant about soup, he ran his finger along the thin side table that was directly next to the counter. It looked dusted, and the little trinkets were placed back on the table just so.

She smiled sheepishly and nodded. “I know you hate when I do stuff like this, but I was really bored. I shouldn’t be allowed to have a day off. Idle minds, you know? I also figured you must not have time to clean often with your schedule. This place isn’t even that dirty, and I think I’m the one that tracks in all the snow and dirt from the pond,” she explained.

He stared at her as she spoke, dropped his small duffle bag beside him.

She blinked at his weird stance as she stirred the soup in the big pot she was using. “Are you mad?”

His gaze was unmoving from her face. He tilted his head toward the laundry room, the sound of the dryer humming from the hallway. “And laundry?” He asked.

Now she felt like she was in trouble. “Well... you had a mountain of it in your room and I was finished cleaning. Which meant I was about to go insane due to boredom again,” she shrugged. “You’re mad,” she frowned. “I was just trying to do something nice.”

“Dishes?” He jutted his chin toward the empty sink.

“That’s on you for leaving them. You know I love dishes.”

“Grocery shopping?” He hummed.

“I figured if I’m going to live here, I may as well chip in since you won’t let me pay for—”

“What’s this?” He asked looking at the picture frames face down on the kitchen table. He picked one up and inspected it. She had selected several photos. Some of the team, some from her series of photo. There was even one of Marc and Michael. But naturally, the one he picked up was one of the photos from the gallery night.

Harry’s arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting on her hip. While she looked at the woman holding his phone camera, Harry was gazing down at her. His smile was full of adoration. She picked it to be framed because even though the camera didn’t get a look at his pretty green eyes for one photo (which was truly a loss), she felt like the most beautiful thing in the world with the way he looked at her.

“Oh, I thought they were cute pictures, and we could put them—” Harry put the frame down, turned toward the stove and flicked the burner off. “Harry...? What are you—”

He then faced her; he slid his hands along both of her cheeks. Gently, he tilted her neck, so her eyes met his. “My pretty, pretty Bunny,” he murmured brushing the tip of his nose against hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Whatever smart remark she was going to make about him being bossy or extra was stuck on her tongue. His gaze dropped to her lips and then she was overwhelmed by the color green again. Her face felt hot with a blush that she couldn't stop and she was only seconds ahead of what his intention was. “Y’can tell me t’stop, Rookie, love. I don’t want t’rush it.”

“Please don’t stop,” she whispered.

“Oh Bunny, y’never have t’beg for me, ever,” his voice was deep, gravelly. Filled with desire and wanting.

And he wanted her.

Harry had waited a very long time to kiss her. But these last few seconds leading to their first kiss felt like a literal eternity, but finally his lips met hers.

She moaned softly, a quiet almost-whimper, nearly the exact moment his mouth touched hers. He was so gentle; it felt like his lips were hardly moving and the drag of his mouth was so sinful she could feel it burning. It burned her lips and every other inch of her skin. Her mind was so entranced with the feel of Harry’s lips between hers, the way his tongue slipped gently along the seam of her mouth, carefully coaxing her open so he could get a better taste of her.

Harry knew she would taste delicious. He didn’t know it was going to be so instantly addictive. But he shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was a little unsure how it happened—too distracted by the feeling of the prettiest man in hockey kissing her, but she was lifted to the counter, her legs around his waist. His hips flush against the edge of the counter. With one hand, he cupped the back of her head, his fingers winding in her hair. The other was at the small of her back, pulling her toward him.

“God Bunny,” he groaned and peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “I’ve wanted this for s'long.” She shivered feeling overwhelmed with his desire. Harry had a way of making her feel special and she should have known kissing him wasn’t going to be the exception. She was nearly out of breath and didn’t know how Harry could keep kissing her. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered into her throat.

“Harry,” she whispered.

He moaned. “Oh, Rookie, y’say m’name like that m’gonna be done for. What d’you want, Bunny? Y’can have whatever y’want... anything. S’yours.”

She laughed silently, her shoulders shaking as his mouth worked across her collarbone to the other side of her throat. He was so tender and intentional in his kisses of where Kael hurt her, and he took all that pain away. “Nothing, I just... like—”

He groaned again and brought her lips back to his, kissing her so passionately it ached. “I like you so much, Bunny,” he whispered, his mouth dragging along her skin. “I don’t want you t’go. Please don’t close yourself off from me. I’ll do anything.”

She felt bad that he felt like he had to beg for her attention. He had it, and he always had it. If she was honest, since the very first time she met him. “I won’t, I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed and pulled her toward him. He wrapped his arms beneath her, supporting her weight and carried her to his room.

“Harry, baby, you gotta slow down,” she giggled.

He moaned or growled. Perhaps a little of both. He tucked his face into her neck again. “Y’call me baby, m’not gonna live.”

She laughed. “Oh, you have to.”

Carefully he laid her back on his mattress. Yeah, he slept beside her the night before. He had snuggled with her in her own bed several times as well. This was different. This was all her walls finally down. Her vulnerability and trust were on full display. Harry was the luckiest man in the world to witness it. To be trusted to take care of her. He didn’t know how anyone could betray such a sweet, perfect person.

“M’gonna kiss every inch of you,” he promised.

“You’ve been awfully patient, Harry. Don’t you want to jump to the good stuff?” Her cheeks warmed once more as she asked.

He shook his head. “No, not even a little. I want every single second of you. Every single kiss. I’d wait forever for you, Bunny.”

She didn’t deserve him, but she would happily keep him. “You’re too good,” she whispered cupping his face and stroking her thumbs along his cheeks. He rested his forehead against hers as he hovered beside her.

“M’not Rookie. You’re too good. Exceptionally intelligent, creative, and deliriously beautiful. My schedule is all kinds of fucked,” he reminded her. “I never had a girlfriend because I can only give you five months.

She smiled. “I’m literally with the team all the time, Harry.”

“But when y’open your studio, y’won’t be.”

“I’m not opening a studio,” she laughed shaking her head, her nose bumping his.

He rolled his eyes. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and very much wanted to make her come all over him. But this was important to him because she was the most important thing to him. “Of course you are, Rookie. Y’have too much talent t’be wasting it on a group of rowdy hockey players.”

There was a wave of pride that bloomed over her. His unwavering support and constant belief in her. She grinned. “Harry Styles," she sighed. "You’re incredible. Number one twice for sure.”

He chuckled softly, ducking his gaze slightly at her compliment. It meant more than any other time he heard it because this was her saying it. “Thanks, Bunny,” he smiled and kissed her again lingering and holding her face in his hands like he never wanted to let go. “You’re pucking perfect.”

--

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[breitzbachbea]

Tbh had trouble choosing BUT. Irish Problems goes so supremely hard

Awww, thank you Ashley!

I must say, I don't have much love for the actual text these days. I have much love for the project, what it kickstarted and that I managed to finish it. But the actual text ...

I am glad you enjoy it still, though! And I am having SUCH a blast with the rewrite, I cannot wait to be able to share it with the world in a year or two!!

[ranboolivesaysstuff]

HEY! Just because I am now 20 I think having something to kind of re establish boundaries would be good! Considering the ones I put all those times ago have changed :D GENERAL RULES! Do not be racist, sexist, homophobic, antisemitic, ableist, or discriminatory against anyone for any reason. Please if someone is calling you out for things you have done or said, please self-reflect and take the proper steps to change or remove yourself from the community. If you see something you do not like, and it IS MADE WORSE BY BRINGING ATTENTION TO IT, THEN IGNORE IT! Bringing attention to problems that just arent really problems with either the community or me in general are not worth it! Please use common sense when thinking about what/what not to engage with! I personally wish that people in the community do NOT engage with people who just obviously do not like me! Chances are they want a reaction from it so it is MUCH better to just not argue with someone whos mind you will not change! ALLOW CRITICISM OF ME AND MY CONTENT! IF YOU DONT AGREE OR DONT LIKE THEN DO NOT ARGUE ABOUT IT!!!! ALL IT WILL DO IS CAUSE UNESSICARY DRAMA!!! DO NOT make ANY comments or content about me that is explicitly sexual. I completely understand that lately there have been bits due to the changes in how I’ve been presenting myself and how I’ve been presenting more femininely, but that does not allow anyone to use that as an excuse to sexualize any features and such that are more feminine or masculine. Remember that femininity is not sexual and should not be seen or created as such just because its there! (for example, the Vtuber costume and chat being overly weird over the added boobs where there was no need for it). DO NOT draw me in ways that are sexual either, such as highlighting any aspects in a sexual way, or making the content something sexual. I am completely okay with being drawn as any body type, masculine presenting or feminine presenting, as long as you stick to this! PLEASE DO NOT SPECULATE ABOUT MY PERSONAL LIFE!!! Making jokes about certain topics CAN be fine, but a line is crossed when it becomes a legitimate speculation or if a joke is said when I have expressed my discomfort! RESPECT MY FRIENDS!!! All of my friends are their own, incredible people. And they do not deserve to be lumped in or referred to as JUST "my friend". Be respectful in their chats even when im not there, and be respectful to all of them everywhere else! IF SOMEONE IS TRYING TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU MAY BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG PLEASE LISTEN!!! There has been a lot of times in which I have seen people be unwilling to change in the face of a genuine discussion, and that is not something I want in the community! I should NOT have to police every single thing because it should NOT take me saying something in order to change your mind! As my words are not worth more or less when it comes to a lot of subjects! And lastly, do good. Whenever you have the ability to. BE POSITIVE!!! The hater mindset is very draining and can be very toxic to both you and the people around you, so highlight the good instead of the bad if you have the ability to! I am so incredibly proud of how far this community has come, and I cannot wait for the future!!! I have spent some time writing this, but it may not be perfect, so I will update this as time goes on and I think of more, or if something needs to be SUPER cleared up, but for now these are the main ones! I will NOT be updating this after every little thing however, as I do not want you guys to feel like the only way that something is wrong is if I talk about it! As you guys should be able to sustain yourself as a community without my consistent input! Imma go enjoy my birthday by eating a pizza :) thank you all!

[sixx-sixx-sixx]

LADY BRIDGERTON - Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader (smut)

Summary: Reader has been married to Anthony Bridgerton for too long, it feels, although it has only been a few years. In that short time, not only has he only touched her naked body once, but he comes home most nights smelling of sweat and another woman’s perfume. Lady Whistledown has caught wind of this, and the gossip sends Lady Bridgerton over the edge. Anthony takes the time to give his wife exactly what she’s asking for.

Warnings: smut; badly written smut lol; infidelity; arguments about infidelity; possibly out of character anthony; I’ve only watched season 1 of Bridgerton; breeding kink; unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it but this is a married couple); female reader/use of she/her pronouns; as always, proofread to the best of my ability

“Do you wish to make a fool of me?” Anthony leaned down to whisper in his young wife’s ear, a firm hand grabbing her elbow as he interrupted her conversation with a young man from Russia, or Hungary. He didn’t pay much mind to the boy so much as the woman who bore his last name, fully aware of the way she had been subtly flirting with many men that night. Taking count of the glasses of bubbles she had — she was nursing her fourth flute, Anthony had decided it was enough.

Don’t make a scene.

Lady Bridgerton felt an intense urge to strike her husband across his cheek, how dare he accuse her of making a fool out of him. All evening she had overheard whispers of Anthony’s name from nasty gossipers. The young Bridgertons had been the central characters in the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. Rumor has it that Lord Bridgerton had continued an affair with a certain singer, without bothering to hide it from his young wife. Even worse? Lady Bridgerton knew, as they all knew, and never seemed to let the truth affect how she presented herself to those around her.

“Would you like me to answer that truthfully, my dear husband?” She turned her gaze towards him, her eyes alight with a burning fury towards the unfaithful man she had devoted her life to. She jerked her arm away from his grip and started to lift the glass to her painted lips. Anthony grabbed the dainty piece of glass and shook his head, “I think you’ve had enough. It’s time for you to go home.”

A bitter laugh escaped her mouth before she could stop it, as a few heads turned to observe the titular couple. “If that is your wish, Mr. Bridgerton.” She turned on her heel and started to make her way out to the cold air, cursing herself for leaving her coat in the carriage. She didn’t even bother to wait for her husband to catch up as she informed the valet they would be leaving.

The carriage ride to the estate wasn’t anything special. She would sit and seethe in silence during the ride, her eyes burning a hole through Anthony’s forehead as he sat across from her. The argument began once the couple was behind the safety of their bedroom door, standing in front of each other with defenses up. “We have been married for two years, Anthony! Two years and the only time you have touched me was on our wedding night. Yet every night you come home, to OUR bed, smelling like some whore’s perfume! I am left to listen to the ton gossip about MY empty bed!” She nearly hissed the words to punctuate her accusations. Anthony had never seen such an outburst from the young woman, she had never spoken to him like that before. She was standing before him, the drinks she had at the ball fueling her anger and simultaneously allowing the anger to sober her head.

“I know that I wasn’t who you wanted to marry, I understand that this was just a beneficial arrangement for you. But I expect that as the woman who now holds your family name, who will one day bear your children, that you could at the very least respect me!” She was angry that he had just stood there and watched her yell, but at the same time, she wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“You cannot expect me to be a dutiful wife and lady if you refuse to grant me at least the tiniest shred of dignity. You, sir, make a fool of yourself, I am merely seeking that same kind of attention you seek from Siena.” Her voice dripped with sickly sweet venom as she spat the woman’s name.

Anthony allowed the woman to speak her mind on his infidelity, finally admitting to himself that he had been unfair to her. He frequently came into their room in the middle of the night when he expected the woman to be asleep. In the beginning of the marriage, he had at least tried to hide the evidence, changing his clothes before he climbed under the blankets next to her. Now, she was accustomed to him laying down beside her without even taking off the shirt that was stained with Siena’s stage makeup and that reeked of her pungent perfume.

“I do not understand, Anthony. I can come to terms with a loveless marriage, but I am so exhausted by knowing you’re giving her that kind of attention, and I have remained loyal to you despite the obvious signs of your affair-“ her rant was abruptly cut short when Anthony floated over to her, his hands gripping her cheeks with fervor as he crashed his lips to hers. Taking only a moment to stand in shock, she pressed her lips back against his, her hand reaching to grip onto the front of his overcoat. Desperately reaching for more, trying to edge him closer to their bed but ultimately allowing him full control over her mind, body and soul. She let out a disappointed whimper when his lips parted from hers, his face inches from her own.

“What is it that you want from me, woman? You wish for me to touch you the way I touch her? Or do you believe my hands to be too stained?” She hated how close his lips were, desperately trying to reach forward as he spoke his mind. She didn’t really care how improper the words sounded as they came from his mouth, because she DID want him to touch her- not just touch, she wanted him to fuck her the way he fucked his mistress.

She took a moment to find her words, not expecting her confrontation to lead to this moment. “Anthony, I am your wife. All I want is for you to- to fuck me the way a husband fucks his wife.”

Understanding that he had a year’s worth of missing passion to make up for, and seeing that deep down he had no other choice than to obey the woman before him, he easily obliged. In this moment, Siena didn’t exist to him. He was purely focused on making sure his duties as a husband were thoroughly taken care of. Tonight, he would go to sleep smelling of his wife’s soft scent, making sure to cover the woman in marks of his affection.

Little time was wasted in getting their clothes off. A mess of hands clashing together to try and undo buttons and layers and loops, the couple grasping at each other as though they were desperate for the other as a life source.

Anthony paused for a moment to admire his lady’s body in the soft candlelight, letting his hands first run over the delectable curve of her hips, trailing up her sides before settling on her supple breasts.

“I’m sorry that I have spent so long torturing you, making you only imagine my hands touching you like this. I promise, my lady, I will do a much better job at attending to whatever it is you wish from me.” Anthony promised as his eyes stayed locked with hers. Her pupils were blown wide, and he realized he didn’t even know what color her irises were meant to be. He told himself he’d be a better husband to her after this, wanting to ensure her place in society as his wife. He’d fuck her full of his seed tonight, and every night after that, to make sure that Lady Whistledown could never accuse him of neglecting his wife’s desires again.

“Please, my lord, please--“ Lady Bridgerton sounded deliciously desperate, and it excited Anthony in a way that he had never experienced in his years-long affairs with Siena. It spurred him to plunge his cock deeper into his wife, his hand pushing her thigh down to her shoulder as he positioned her to angle himself deeper. She would probably think about the pressure against her cervix for the rest of her life, praying to God that she’d be able to experience this side of her husband for the rest of their lives together.

“What is it that you want, Lady Bridgerton? Tell me with words, my love, I want to hear you say it.” In this close position he could make sure she could look into his eyes to see he was genuine in this moment.

She was surprised at his stamina and determination tonight, focused more on her body than chasing his own release. A complete contrast to their wedding night, she felt like he treated the consummation as a chore. This was a much, much better experience. She had lost count of the times he had made her cum tonight, and the ways he had coaxed her orgasms from her.

“Anthony- Christ! Please don’t stop, want you to fuck me full til i’m round with your child-“ her voice was ragged and on the verge of giving out after not holding back a single sound. She didn’t care how pathetic she sounded begging for what seemed like the bare minimum from her husband.

Anthony leaned down to capture her lips in a messy kiss, reaching down to grab her hand that was tangled in the sheets beneath her. He caught any noises that escaped her, the sounds muffled against his own mouth, moving to hold her hand above her head. She clutched at his hand and whimpered his name as his hips stilled after a few sloppy thrusts, thick ropes coating her walls.

Anthony stayed put for a moment so as to not waste a drop, pulling his lips from hers before ghosting them over the hammering pulse in her neck. He gently maneuvered her pliable body into a resting position, slowly pulling himself from her and getting up from the bed.

After he had gently cleaned up the mess he had made of the woman, Anthony peppered soft kisses over her stomach as he made his way up to lay down next to her. She instantly curled into his chest and closed her eyes, taking her time in coming down from the cloud she was on. She could feel his fingers gently combing through her mussed hair, the sensation slowly bringing her back to earth.

“Are you alright, Lady Bridgerton?” Anthony spoke softly to not spook her, his arms locked safely around her keeping her pressed to his body. Her lips quirked into a smile and he took notice of the way her cheek dimpled, his thumb moving to stroke over the small impression.

“I am absolutely content, Lord Bridgerton.” She opened her eyes to look up at her husband’s face. Anthony smiled as he kissed her again, a kiss so tender that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I may not be the perfect husband, but I vow to do better by you. I will end things with Siena and tend to the parts of you that I’ve been neglectful of.” Anthony made a promise to her after he had pulled away. His wife reached up to grab his hand in hers, moving it to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles before she spoke.

“You can use all of the sweet words that you want, you’ll still have to prove yourself with actions.” She squeezed his hand gently, “But I think this has been good start.”

[mageofmadness]

PUPPY CALEB GOING INTO RUT

(2.1k) ૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ nsfw [18+] includes: puppy!caleb, fem!reader, rut, knotting, slight a/b/o themes (kind of, not really), dirty talk, pet names, creampie and breeding kink, messy, wet, 'n sick as always. questionable puppy hybrid dynamics but it’s porn so the how doesn’t really matter, right?

caleb loves nothing more than being your mutt. your puppy boy.

he belongs to you, and by your side is where he’s meant to stay. if you’re somewhere, best believe he’s standing close behind with an arm around your waist or a hand on the back of your neck. he’s territorial, something others have picked up on and caleb felt bad about it until you admitted how much it turns you on. how much you love it. crave it, too. how much you don’t care about what everyone else thinks, and how jealous you get over others looking at and admiring what is yours.

the chain around his neck might as well be a collar with his owner's information on it, and he never misses an opportunity to show you who he belongs to.

sure, you tease him sometimes for his inclinations. caleb can’t help it though—that he can smell when you’re sweetest and your body needs him the most. when he can sense how wet you're going to be before his fingers ever find your needy, little clit. every month, towards the end of the last week, he finds himself waking up and calling off work. caleb lets them know he won't be in for a few days, and he shoots off a text to your work as well, letting them know the same thing on your behalf.

[7:21 am] i’m so sorry, i’m feeling under the weather and am not going to be able to come into the office today. i’ve got a doctor's appointment later and will send you an update with what they say.

caleb is sensitive when going into rut. he needs you here, by his side, and you cannot stray.

he always has a bit of lingering guilt, looking at you curled up in bed. sweet and innocent, asleep in one of his old t-shirts and a raggedy pair of underwear from ages ago. soft skin that stretches for miles and fading bruises from the past week on your thighs and hips. you look so…precious. small. docile and perfect for him. it makes spit collect in his mouth, even more so than usual.

sometimes, he can’t help but fall back asleep, waiting for you to get up. if he’s lucky, caleb rouses later to you petting his ears. your fingers combing through his hair, brushing over the scruff of his neck, and all of it makes him shiver. caleb wakes from sleep hot and hurting, near drooling and whimpering from the ache trapped in his sweatpants and the way your fingers dance where he’s most sensitive.

you always ask if he wants to play, always ask what he needs, and the way caleb buries his head in the crook of your neck, rutting his aching cock against your hip, tells you enough. you sigh, turning around in bed and slipping your hand into his boxers.

caleb can’t help but bite.

he tries to be gentle, he really does, but when your warm fingers are wrapped around his cock and you’re letting him sloppily jerk his hips, he can't help but groan. he can't help but growl, low in his throat, as sticky pre-come slides over your knuckles.

caleb can’t help that he likes when his owner scolds him. says, in that tone of voice you get, “no biting, don’t make me get the leash.”

“bad dog.”

he whines. caleb hates the leash and the way it keeps you from him. the way he comes so hard when it’s wrapped around his throat and you tug just right as he spills inside of you. it’s pathetic, but how else is he meant to show you that he’s yours? what better way than to let you use the leash to bury his cock that much further into your pussy, kissing your cervix and using him however you see fit.

“m’a good dog,” he pants, begging for you to understand. “m’sorry baby, i–i can’t help it. i promise, ngh. wanna be your good boy, please.”

“i need to fill you up…fuck you sloppy. oh fuck.”

caleb can hardly breathe when you turn around, letting the blankets fall so he can see the way you present for him. knees in the mattress, back arched and ass up. he swallows, yanking your underwear down and tossing it away.

“show puppy where you want it, baby. m’too dumb to remember. need to know where you want it, sweetheart. show me your little hole.”

he watches in awe as you move to spread yourself. giving him a perfect view of your tight holes. caleb moans, excitement making him shake from how you’re going to look after he’s done with you. swollen and over-sensitive. red and slick from the abuse of his cock stretching you open and apart for hours. he runs a hand over the small of your back, squeezing your waist before he can’t help himself any longer and slips a single finger into your pussy.

feeling how wet you are, how needy you are for him. how one finger doesn’t seem to be enough. caleb leans closer, letting his breath ghost over your fluttering hole as he tugs it open. he fits another finger inside, spreads them wide and feels you shake. inspecting your perfect pussy, still just as perfect, to make sure it’s ready for him.

“you're so good to me, thank you, honey. so good for puppy. ‘m so, so lucky,” his words trail off as he plays with your sticky mess. seeing how far he can stretch you open before you whine and start to writhe. “always make puppy feel so good, can i make you feel good, sweetheart? please?”

“where do you want it?” he asks, brushing his thumb over your other hole. pawing at you as he bites his lip, knowing the first day of his rut is too rough. he can’t. caleb often loses himself, and he doesn’t want to hurt you with how wide he’d like to stuff every hole you have. how bad he wants to watch your tight ass take his cock. he knows it would feel like heaven.

still, he asks, “which hole, baby? c’mon, tell me where you need it.”

“m’pussy,” you whimper, pressing back into his prodding fingers.

“here? like this?” caleb asks, rutting his sticky pre-come mess against the back of your thighs, groaning when the tip of his cock catches on your cunt and you jump. “how does my girl want it?” he asks, leaning over and crowding you, whispering into your ear. “tell me, baby. you know i’ll give you whatever you want. anything you need, honey, it’s yours.”

caleb’s favorite thing is the lip you give him right before you slip under. right before you give in to the thick weight of his cock that’s too deep, when you’re meeting his thrusts, greedy about every inch of him and how it’s yours. how it’s only meant to be buried deep inside of you, driving you wild and dirty.

“h-harder,” you demand. “don’t tell me you dont know how to use that puppy cock.”

it always turns to begging in the end, though.

depending on how well he fucked you the night before and how sensitive you are from that. how well you slept or how much you feel like being a brat today. caleb lives for the moment he feels your hips settle, when there’s no resistance as he slams his cock into you over and over and you take it like such a good girl. the best girl. the sticky sound of your pussy wanting this so much it’s dripping onto the sheets. it drives you crazy but that’s when he loses himself, too.

when you’re babbling and whimpering. praising him, “m–my good boy. such a good boy, so–so good for me. p–please, hngh. please, can i come? i cant…i–i cant—”

he lives for your praise. he’d die by it.

“you take it so well, fuck. so good. wish…wish you’d let me let me knot you,” caleb pants. letting the fantasy take hold. he’s dreamed of it, but as much as you beg for it, he doesn’t want to hurt you. but right now, “oh, fuck. please, can i? know you can take it. it would feel so good sweetheart, please let me. please, please…i need it.”

you give in, immediately clawing at the sheets when you feel him begin to swell. caleb starts to feel the resistance and can’t help but curse, watching the filthy sight before him. your cunt struggling to take what he has for you, the way it stretches and you whimper but cannot help but fuck back, trying to swallow his knot whole.

it’s a tight fit and it looks like it hurts, but the way you beg for more makes him see stars and the look he sees on your face when you glance back, blindly throwing a hand behind you to search for him, teary-eyed and gone but no less determined to take it, is beautiful. you’re beautiful, from the blush on your cheeks, the sweat sticking to your skin, all the way to the thighs that shake from the stretch.

when his knot pops inside, when caleb feels it settle inside of your warm walls, twitching and coming around him, caleb actually loses his mind. 

“fuckin’ made for this, look at that. you took it so easy, honey. should have known it would fit perfect, you’re my princess after all, huh?”

“you want more? i think you do. sounds like you do, baby. wish you could see what ‘m seeing right now. don’t know if this pussy will ever be tight again.”

caleb's voice is rough as he whispers in your ear, "that's okay, though. good thing i like you like this, hm? i love it when you're a messy girl and oh, don't cry baby. 'm right here, yeah? right here, you feel me?"

you’re gone, and caleb does what he does best—takes care of you. he presses his chest to your sweaty back, protects you from the world as he fucks into you hard and fast. like an animal. unable to move too much from being locked by the knot, it bullies against your swollen cervix with every thrust.

“we just need to fill you up, see?” he pants, feeling the way your walls milk him as he swallows his groans. as he bites down the need to use teeth. caleb kisses away tears as they fall down your cheeks. “can you be good and take it all for puppy? yes? oh, it feels good? fuck, hah, baby. you have no idea. i…i—“

“not a drop—i don’t want a single drop to spill from this pussy, you hear me?”

“I know, i know. you’re all stretched open and sloppy, but you can do that for me, can’t you? it’s all for you, baby. please, hngh, oh fuck. take it. there you go baby, yeah. squeeze and tighten up. no messes.”

when he finally spills inside of you, when he feels his come settle deep in your cunt, right where it needs to be, caleb is out of breath and burning hot. 

“s–so tight,” he hisses. “being so good for me, sweetheart. shh, im almost done, just a little longer. i’ve got a little bit more for you, baby. you’ve gotta take it...need you to take it f’me.”

“no, no,” he tsks when you start to squirm. “no moving or it won’t stick, princess.”

“good princesses let their puppies fill them up, right? they let them breed them full. you’re so good to me, baby. so good letting me take care of this pussy when i need her.”

caleb loves letting his cock hold you down, buried to the hilt as you sigh and clench from the overuse. moaning about how it feels so good. so warm and thank you and when you panic the moment he goes to pull out, whining like a bitch in heat for the cock that just ruined you, he can’t help but laugh softly.

caleb licks and bites, taking the time to sneakily nip at your skin when he can finally pull all the way out. his cock gives a pathetic twitch at the sight of your hole. sticky and drooling, too. fluttering, trying to close around nothing, and certainly not as tight as it had been that morning. gaping slightly.

caleb traces a gentle finger around the rim as he places a kiss on your lower back, feeling you jolt. he watches as his come slowly begins to dribble out over his fingers, and sighs.

“i told you not a drop, baby. what’s all this drooling out of your pussy?”

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ. 226.171.198 245.214.227

[fastandcarlos]

The Littlest Surprise : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: when your lack of presence around the paddock is noted, fans start to speculate. little do they know the real reason for your disappearance…

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

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liked by ynusername, carlossainz55 and 2,483,608 others

charles_leclerc: always a joy to have my beautiful niece and nephew at the race and enjoy my biggest fans cheering me on ❤️🏎️

328,605 comments

username1: wondering at what point yn actually decides to show her face again…

carlossainz55: and there i was thinking you were waving up at me 💔

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 when you’re as cute as these two I’ll consider it 😘

username2: some support yn is constantly leaving you at races alone

username3: how come the whole family managed to be there apart from yn 🙃

maxverstappen1: it must be easy being the cool uncle with all that money to your name!

username4: the best uncle is gonna make the best dad too one day 😭

oscarpiastri: how come cousin oscar didn’t get to meet these cool guys!?

charles_leclerc: @/oscarpiastri they only wanna meet the cool drivers 😂

landonorris: @/charles_leclerc you shoulda brought them over to me then 😎

username5: I don’t wanna be that person, but it’s been a long time since we saw yn on the feed…

pierregasly: it was so nice to see them both this weekend 🫶🏻

username6: can we all just calm down, I’m sure yn and charles are fine!!

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liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 3,693,127 others

charles_leclerc: the race of dreams, so proud of how the whole team performed this weekend 🏆❤️

372,579 comments

landonorris: super race my friend, enjoy the celebrations 🎉

username7: a whole podium and still no sight of yn anywhere 🤔

username8: anyone thought that yn might just be busy??

maxverstappen1: btw I let you have this one 😂

charles_leclerc: @/maxverstappen1 yeah sure you did… 😂😂😂

username9: congratulations charles, so deserved this weekend 🏆

username10: at least the team is there to celebrate with you 🙄

carlossainz55: ik how much this means to you, couldn’t be happier for you brother ☺️

username11: I’m sure yn and charles will celebrate together, with privacy…

username12: I’m so proud of you winning your home race!!

arthur_leclerc: I’ve got the perfect plans for this evening don’t worry about a thing 🤔

charles_leclerc: @/arthur_leclerc that immediately makes me worry 😬

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liked by arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 2,979,261 others

charles_leclerc: enjoying the off season with my favourite people. just a reminder to mind your business during this off season, there’s nothing to worry about with me 🤍🌊

276,318 comments

username13: charles really telling us to mind our damn business 😂

oscarpiastri: if you need anything you know where I am!

username14: hoping this is charles’ way of telling us him and yn are fine 🙏🏻

landonorris: couldn’t agree with you more 👏🏻

username15: I always knew you guys would be alright!!

carlossainz55: I’ve got your backs always ☺️

danielricciardo: sending you both good vibes for the summer ☀️

username16: enjoy the break charles and the peace and quiet for a while!

arthur_leclerc: getting ready for the best summer ever 💪🏻

username17: hope you and yn get to have the rest you deserve ☀️

carmenmmundt: if yn needs me, I’m only a phone call away ❤️

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liked by charles_leclerc, iamrebeccad and 538,708 others

ynusername: we’ve been keeping a little secret. charles and i are so proud to tell you that baby leclerc will be with us in the new year. it’s been a far from easy process but we’re so excited 👼💞

32,129 comments

charles_leclerc: you’ve been so incredibly strong, I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of you ❤️

username18: ah I’m so happy for you guys ☺️☺️☺️

username19: so pleased to hear you’re on the mend yn 💞💞

arthur_leclerc: present and ready to be the coolest uncle in the world 🎉

username20: I’m so ready for charles’ dad era!!!!

lilymhe: cannot wait to visit you and get all the baby cuddles in the world soon 👼

username21: shout out to all the people sending congratulations who were convinced they’d broken up 🙄

carlossainz55: I’m gonna be back at ferrari every week making sure I visit now 😂

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 can williams offer you an adorable baby like we can??

username22: this is the best news ever, cannot believe my fave duo are going to be parents…

pierregasly: ik just how much you guys have wanted this, couldn’t be happier for you both!!

username23: I’ve been dreaming of a post like this for so long and now it’s finally true 😭

oscarpiastri: buzzing to welcome another leclerc into our family 😂🫶🏻

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liked by oscarpiastri, pierregasly and 3,126,084 others

charles_leclerc: making sure to capture all the moments with my best friend and bump 📸

427,102 comments

landonorris: the caption said best friend…but I wasn’t on this trip with you??

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris do I have to explain this to you??

username24: it’s not fair how two expecting parents can be so cute ☺️

ynusername: thank you for choosing the photo where I don’t look like a swollen mess 😘

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername you look breathtaking in every photo I have of you!

username25: I bet charles’ camera roll is absolutely adorable rn 😭

arthur_leclerc: you better be taking care of the best sister in law in the world!!

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc you’re only saying that cause I’m pregnant 😂

username26: I wish I could pull off pregnancy as well as yn omg

username27: the cutest set of photos I’ve ever seen in my life

maxverstappen1: make the most of all the peace and quiet whilst you still can!!

username28: now this just makes me feel incredibly single 💔

username29: this is the definition of living the dream now

carlossainz55: can’t believe you guys went out on the boat without me 😭

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liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt and 688,329 others

ynusername: one last race for me for the season, charles has officially now put me on house rest until the baby arrives 😂❤️

69,271 comments

username30: get plenty of rest baby mama… you deserve it!

charles_leclerc: forever cheering me on, see you at home soon 💕

username31: thank you for always being by charles’ side ❤️🏎️

georgerussell63: make sure if you need anything you give carmen a call!!

username32: what are we going to do without you in the paddock?? 😭

iamrebeccad: can’t believe we’re never gonna be in the same paddock again 💔

ynusername: @/iamrebecad I promise to come and visit as soon as I’m back 💞

username33: I can just imagine charles refusing to even let you lift a finger too!

username34: counting down til baby leclerc arrives now 🥺

lewishamilton: looking forward to being right beside you next year and babysitting 😂😂

username35: pls make sure you get plenty of rest, make the most of sleep whilst you can!!

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liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri and 2,787,134 others

charles_leclerc: making sure to not let these two idiots feel left out as we prepare for the baby to arrive…turns out they are actually quite needy 😂🥺

427,098 comments

username36: I love how needy the leclerc boys are ❤️❤️

arthur_leclerc: I will be round your house every single day don’t you worry 😂

charles_leclerc: @/arthur_leclerc changing the locks as we speak!

username37: they’re definitely not gonna be left out, they’re never gonna leave your side 😂

landonorris: I feel like I’m looking at promo for the next boy band or something… 🤮

username38: not emotionally prepared for these photos…

ynusername: my three favourite human beings 🫶🏻

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername I better be the number one!!

username39: I love the bond these guys have 🥺

oscarpiastri: seems you were forgetting an important part of the family here 🤔

username40: bet charles is secretly hoping for a boy to add to this trio!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55 and 693,172 others

ynusername: btw charles has been using this holiday to practice everything he knows about babies and doing nothing else 😂 according to him he’s perfect 🥺

57,183 comments

username41: the baby isn’t even here yet but I already know charles is gonna be the cutest dad in the world

carlossainz55: rebecca says these photos have got her in her feels…so kindly stop 😩

ynusername: @/carlossainz55: bets it’s you guys next 🥳

username42: look at how much of a natural he is 😭

pierregasly: btw he’s not stopped telling me how excited he is to become a dad 😂

username43: my heart can’t cope with the dad feels rn

charles_leclerc: thanks for flexing how good of an uncle I am 💪🏻

username44: thank you yn for blessing my timeline with these 🙏🏻

landonorris: were these just an excuse to post topless charles again???

username45: if you ask me, charles is most definitely perfect 😂

username46: can the baby just hurry up and arrive now pls…

lilymhe: you just wait until it’s your baby he’s holding instead 🥲

ynusername: @/lilymhe I cannot wait 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 4,329,059 others

charles_leclerc: we are so happy to share that our baby boy is here…mum and son are doing amazing and i’ve just about stopped crying for now 🥺💕

576,301 comments

username47: crying. screaming. throwing up.

arthur_leclerc: I’ve never been prouder of the two of you than I am right now!!

username48: congratulations charles and yn, we’re so happy for you 🥺

oscarpiastri: welcome to the family little one 🥺😂

username49: another boy to add to the leclerc family 🥳

scuderiaferrari: welcome to the newest member of the tifosi ❤️🏎️

landonorris: I’ve been refreshing my feed all day 😂 so glad he’s here and healthy 💕

username50: his little face, I can’t cope with how cute he is 😭

carmenmmundt: glad to hear mum and baby are good, get plenty of rest you three 😘

pierregasly: it’s not fair, how do you guys manage to make such cute babies!?

username51: can already tell this dude is gonna be a heartbreaker one day!

lewishamilton: so pleased he’s here safely, congrats you two!!

username52: he’s finally here omg 🥺

carlossainz55: could not be happier for you guys, cannot wait to meet little man 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[raven-dor]

you're my savior

in which anthony bridgerton’s childhood best friend is desperately in love with him…

PAIRING: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader, platonic!bridgertons x reader

WARNINGS: given last name (Kinsley), typical sexism of the era, PINING, avoiding the inevitable, oblivious Anthony, angst, fluff, kissing, fluff ending!!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

🎶 : sailor song - gigi perez

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - this is a personal fav of mine!! it's also a long one, so have fun!!

Dearest reader, the time has come to place our bets for the upcoming social season. Consider the household of the Baron Featherington. Three misses foisted upon the marriage market like sorrowful sows by their tasteless, tactless mama. Far better odds might exist in the household of the widowed Viscountess Bridgerton. A shockingly prolific family noted for its bounty of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.

Your father extended his hand, guiding you out of the carriage. You smiled gratefully, kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Papa."

"Of course, my darling."

Your mother hooked her arm through his, eyes full of adoration. "Shall we head inside, mon cheri?"

"Lead the way, my love."

The castle was magnificent as always, with flowers draped on every surface, and ushers waiting behind every door. Your father led you through to the main hall, his voice carrying as he greeted the young lord. "Viscount Bridgerton!"

"Lord Kinsley.” Anthony showed no sign of embarrassment or disdain for your father’s enthusiasm; in fact, he welcomed it. “I cannot recall how many times I have asked you to call me Anthony."

"As you wish." The older man laughed. "My lord."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at your father. Your mother apologized to Anthony, hugging him as tightly as she hugged you. "It is his nature, to tease you.” She stepped back, holding his hands in hers. “And how are you?”

“Well, my lady.” He smiled, practically begging to be saved when his eyes met yours. “Very well.” 

You hid your laughter behind your hand, shaking your head in disapproval. "My lord." Your mother moved aside, allowing you to greet your lifelong friend.

“So formal today, Miss Kinsley.”

"You know very well I cannot smack you in front of the Queen.” You whispered. “Must you tease me so?”

The Viscount laughed, hooking his arm through yours. “Those poor Featherington girls.”

You frowned, watching as Penelope, Prudence, and Phillipa were practically marched towards the Queen. You held back a gasp as Prudence fainted in front of the Queen, the room erupting into chaos. Leaning over, you whispered in Anthony’s ear. “I assume Lady Featherington is hoping this is all a dream.” 

Anthony laughed. "I imagine this is her nightmare."

"Miss Daphne Bridgerton, presented by her mother, the Right Honorable, Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton." The doors opened slowly, Daphne almost gliding through them.

"She looks beautiful." You leaned into Anthony’s side, smiling brightly. "Don't you think?"

He looked down, his heart skipping. You looked radiant, the pale blue dress brought out your features wonderfully. It did not go unnoticed by him that you were wearing his family's colors, something he found pride in for some odd reason. “Yes. Yes, she does.” 

She bowed deeply, the entire room holding their breaths as the Queen stood, placing her finger beneath Daphne's chin. "Flawless, my dear." 

You grinned, squeezing Anthony's arm tighter. He winced, hissing from the pain. "Christ. You are more excited for my dear sister than I am."

You lay haphazardly on Daphne’s bed, smiling as you watched the Bridgeton women gossip around you. Moments like this made you long for siblings, for some sort of companion. You supposed the Bridgertons filled that longing by making you a part of their antics - whether you wanted to or not. 

You had known Anthony since you were a mere two years of age, meeting the young boy when your family had moved in those many years ago. You’d been there when each of the Bridgerton children was brought into this world, you’d been there when Edmund died, you’d been there when Anthony became the lord of their family, and you had been there with your mother when Lady Bridgerton gave birth to Hyacinth. 

"You absolutely sparkled, sister."

Daphne was the very picture of grace, brushing off her sister’s kind words. "Come now. I merely simpered and minced in a pretty dress like everyone else.” 

You scoffed. “Not exactly like everyone else, you were perfection itself."

Eloise sighed. "Oh, I shall need to go and visit with Penelope. Her presentation was anything but... what was it the Queen called you again?"

Daphne blushed, slipping into her dress. "Flawless. Or some such thing. Trust, I was astonished Her Majesty offered me, out of two hundred young ladies present, a most gracious remark."

"Yes, it was quite a distinction. And now, 200 young ladies have a common adversary. I wish you luck, sister."

"Eloise!" Daphne gasped. 

Eloise did not look shocked by her sister’s outburst, and you had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to rile her sister into a frenzy. “What? It is true.” 

“My success on the marriage mart influences all of your prospects. We will all need to find love one day. Indeed, a love as pure as what Mama and Papa once shared, if we are so fortunate. I merely hope I am able to continue such a grand tradition.”

Violet burst through the door, the maids trailing behind her, each carrying at least three boxes. “Your dresses have arrived.” The rest of the girls followed after Daphne, who had practically raced toward the new arrivals. 

Eloise stayed in her chair, staring at you curiously. “Surely you agree with me?”

“Eloise.” You gave her a pointed look. “Why must you tease your sister so?” 

“It is all in good fun,” Eloise grumbled, crossing her arms. 

You sighed, slipping off the bed, holding your hand out to the younger girl. "You know I wholeheartedly agree. The marriage market is no honorable arena. It is a bloodbath indeed."

Eloise laughed, putting her hand in yours. "I wish I were like you."

"How so?” You tilted your head. 

“You can flout about undetected, without fear of your mama forcing you to attend fitting after fitting.” 

You laughed, nudging her arm. “If it is any consolation, I wish I were you.” You walked through the doorway, gazing at the dozens of dresses laid out for Daphne to peruse at her pleasure. 

"Why would you want to be like me?" Eloise smirked, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. "To be young? I didn't take you to be so vain, Kinsley."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You know what I meant." You looked out at the room full of Bridgertons, watching with a concealed envy you hardly ever let show. "That, that is what I meant." 

Eloise squeezed your hand. "You do have that. We are family, you and I." 

"Yes, well..." You shoved Eloise towards the dresses, laughing at her disgusted face. "Enough chatter. Try one of these exquisite gowns on. I demand it." 

Eloise glared, sticking her tongue out as she grabbed the latest gossip column. "Mary Edgecombe, now the Countess of Fulton, apparently spent the last year living in a cottage hundreds of miles away from her Earl. It says it all right here."

Violet sighed. "Do not tell me it is yet another scandal sheet. Eloise-"

"No, no. This one is different. This one lists subjects by name, in full."

Hyacinth jumped. "Let me see!"

"Just wait-"

Francesca stared at the paper. "Lady Whistledown?"

"Do we know a Lady Whistledown?"

"Surely, Lady Whistledown cannot be her true name." Daphne glanced at the scandal sheet.

"What does it say, dearest?"

"She loathes the fact that we've been named alphabetically, oldest to youngest."

"Your father and I found it orderly."

"Lady Whistledown finds banality."

You rolled your eyes. "Lady Whistledown sounds like a bored old hag."

Violet gave you a disappointed look, raising a single eyebrow. "I may not be your mother, but I am sure she does not allow you to use that kind of language."

You instantly cowered under her gaze, smiling guiltily. "Yes, Violet."

"The papers were distributed around town today without charge."

"Without charge? What kind of author-" Violet gasped, holding Daphne's hand. "Well, at least she has one thing right. She has named Daphne this season's Incomparable. She calls you a diamond of the first water.” The older woman sighed, smiling to herself. “Well, how lovely."

You clapped your hands, grabbing the attention of the room. “I'm afraid I must be off. My mother will be wondering where I am."

Daphne smiled. "Will you be at the ball tonight?"

"Of course I will, Daph."

You waved goodbye once more before traipsing down the stairs towards Anthony’s study.

You watched as he worked or tried to, at least. He kept staring at his father’s pocket watch, distracting himself from his duties. And you kept getting distracted by how perfect he looked in the midday light. Ridding yourself of those outlandish thoughts, you pushed the door the rest of the way open, leaning against its frame. "Waiting for someone, my lord?"

"It’s you." He glared playfully. "Please, come in."

"You seem to be in a mood." You stood in front of his desk, wiggling your eyebrows. “Is dear Sienna denying your visits?"

“When I tell you things in confidence, that does not mean you may bring them up every waking moment.” 

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "I think that is exactly what that means, my dear Anthony. Friends tease; it is in their nature."

His eyes were heavy, as if he found offense with your statement. Still, he said nothing of it, leaning forward in his chair. “Shall you be in attendance at the Danbury Ball as well?”

“I would not miss it. Even if I wished not to attend, you know as well as I that my mother would require it. She is determined to find me a husband by the end of this season.”

Anthony looked unempathetic, feigning pity. “What a horrible life to lead. I seem to recall more than one man proposing to you over the years.”

You crossed your arms. “And what a horrible friend you are. You know very well I would wait centuries if that meant finding a love half as fulfilling as my mother and father’s. You do not seem to understand how horrible these men, your peers, truly are. If I had told Benedict, he would have at least tried to-”

“Well, I am not Benedict.” His tone was harsh, all inclinations of humor leaving his face as he sat back, his gaze returning to his paperwork. “Save me a dance.”

You nodded, wishing you could stay just a moment longer. “It is humorous.”

He looked up, taking the bait you had laid. “What is?” 

“That you believed I had not already done so.” You smiled, leaning across the desk and kissing his cheek. “Don’t be late.” 

The Danbury ball, as it had been every year before, was the very picture of elegance, the ultimate beginning to your seventh season on the market. Your dress was pale pink, practically white, with draping fabric that billowed when you walked. Your mother had chosen it herself, stating that if this gown did not attract suitors, she had no idea what would.

You smiled at Daphne, leaning over to your mother, who was locked in some conversation with a lord whose name you didn’t care to learn. “The Bridgertons are calling me over, Mama. Excuse me.” You hadn’t bothered to wait for permission, skirting across the room as you expertly avoided eye contact with any eager young lord in need of a wife. 

Anthony smirked, shaking his head at your antics. “Ms. Kinsley.”

“Lord Bridgerton.” You curtsied. “Lady Bridgerton.” 

Violet smiled. “Are you enjoying the ball, dear?” 

You nodded. “It is quite exquisite.” Looking over at the newly debuted girl, you forced yourself not to laugh at her overwhelmed expression, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Relax your shoulders, Daph. You look as if you forgot how to breathe.” Daphne smiled gratefully, releasing the tension she hadn't even realized she was holding. “It is not so bad, the balls and picnics.” You hooked your arm through Anthony's as if it was second nature, muttering under your breath. "Unless you get stuck with some boring lord like-"

"Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton." Ambrose sighed, smiling faintly. "Lord Bridgerton."

"Are you not forgetting someone?" Anthony’s voice was harsh, clipped as he gestured toward you. Ambrose nodded, extending the courtesy of a quick smile. 

"Miss Kinsley."

Violet smiled. "I believe you have already met my daughter, Daphne, Lord Ambrose."

He nodded. "Yes! We met at your brother's levee."

"If I recall, my lord, you had just won your first race at Newmarket."

Anthony smiled condescendingly at the lord in front of him. "His first and only, I believe."

"Well..." Daphne looked back at the visibly embarrassed lord. "In that case, let us hope your lordship has found yourself a new horse."

"I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you at our club lately, Ambrose. Should it have anything to do with the unpaid balance you left on our betting books winter last?"

Ambrose practically gulped, walking away without another word, leaving Daphne and Violet standing in uncomfortable silence. Anthony turned to his mother and sister, that terrible all all-knowing look on his face. "Ambrose is a cheat."

“I did not realize.”

"Well, how could you have done? It's the very reason I am here, sister. Now, let us take a turn about the room."

You felt as if this was a conversation best left to family. While you had grown up together, this was not your place. You began to slip your arm out of Anthony’s, whispering. "I should get back to my mother-"

"Do you really want to be stuck in a meaningless conversation with a boring lord?" Anthony scoffed, pulling you closer to him, closer than what many of the ton deemed proper. You choked on your breath, heart stopping at the gesture. "I am saving you from a night of misery."

You rolled your eyes, Anthony quickly reminding you of his arrogance. "How charitable of you."

Daphne interrupted, pointing towards a blond man dancing. "He is rather pleasing."

"He is here to shuffle about hunting fortunes. Trust Mr. Lewis knows of your sizable dowry. Leave him be." 

She frowned, pointing towards another man. "I presume you know him too?"

"Mr. Worthington. Second son. We shall find better."

You nudged Anthony’s side, signalling that he should ease up on the girl. “Anthony, you are going to scare her.” 

“I am merely warning her about the-”

"Anthony, Daph, Miss Kinsley!" Benedict waved from across the room, pushing his way across. You grinned, wiggling your arm out of Anthony's hold to greet him. 

It was not missed by Lady Bridgerton or Daphne how Anthony’s face fell from the loss. 

“Benedict! How are you?”

He brought your right hand up to his lips, kissing the back gently. "Better now that you are here."

You laughed, smacking him lightly with your fan. “You flatter me.”

Anthony glared at Benedict, shaking his head. “Benedict, do not flirt with our dear friend.”

“Why not?”

"Because I said so, that is-"

Colin interrupted. "Did mother tell you yet? About my tour? I'm to begin in Greece."

"Greece, how adventurous, Colin."

You grinned. "Greece is wonderful this time of year; you will have a wonderful time, I'm sure."

Anthony's eyes practically fell out of their sockets, grabbing your hand and making a run for it. “On guard!”

Lady Danbury approached, laughing. “Too late. I already noted you.” She turned to Daphne, smiling. “Miss Bridgerton, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason I've yet to see you on the dance floor?”

Anthony jumped in. "All in good time, Lady Danbury."

The older woman glared at Anthony, leaning towards Daphne. "You poor thing."

You laughed, agreeing with the lady wholeheartedly. "I thank the lord every day I do not have an older brother."

Benedict nudged you, faux frowning. "If only I had been born one year earlier."

"And from different parents." You shook your head, laughing. "The sentiment is there." You turned to Anthony, who was still staring down every eligible young man in the room who had their sights set on his sister. “I believe I saved you a dance.”

“Do not think you can save Daphne by distracting me.”

You raised an eyebrow, an easy sort of smile gracing your lips. “Do I distract you so easily, Lord Bridgerton?” 

His cheeks flushed, and he rolled his eyes. “Come along then.” Still holding your hand from when he tried to escape Lady Danbury, he led you through the crowd, stopping at the center of the dance floor.

A simple waltz rang through the room, the kind that even children knew. Anthony lowered his lips to your ear, shivers running down your spine as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in. "We have not danced in quite some time."

You whispered, not trusting your voice to remain stable. “The last time you asked me to dance, I believe we were in your study." Your smile fell slightly at the thought of him erasing the memory from his mind. "Remember?"

His gaze softened, his fingers pressing into your waist as he pulled you even closer, closer than one should be for a waltz. "How could I forget?"

"It was a rather odd waltz." You retorted, desperate to break the tension. "There was no music after all."

He laughed, a look gracing his face you hadn’t seen in some time, since before his father’s passing. Peace, pure, unadultered peace, perhaps with a sprinkle of mischief. "Such a difficult woman to please." 

"I am not." You glared at him, hating the way he made you feel, the way your stomach twisted when he looked at you the way he often did. "Anthony-"

"You are not a hard woman to please?" His smirk grew into a boyish grin. "What an inappropriate thing to-"

“Do not finish that sentence, Anthony Bridgerton.” You scoffed. “What happened to being a gentleman?” The conductor bowed, the waltz ending what seemed out of nowhere. Or perhaps, you would later tell yourself, it was because you got lost in Anthony Bridgerton’s eyes for the umpteenth time. You curtsied, walking away from the Viscount with your nose in the air. 

He chased after you, walking a mere step behind you. "I forget what being a gentleman is when I am around you." You knew he was jesting, but the way he had said it caused your stomach to twist and your cheeks to grow hot. 

"Please." You pulled your fan out, desperate to save face. "Save your theatrics for Sienna."

"You bring up Sienna quite often." He practically jumped in front of you, a dangerous look in his eyes. "Are you perhaps jealous?"

You scoffed, grabbing a glass of champagne from the table beside you, taking a large sip. "You are the most indignant man I have ever had the displeasure of-" Your eyes drifted over his shoulder, squinting. "Is that Basset?"

"Basset?" Anthony whipped around, grinning at the sight of his best friend. "Basset!"

"Bridgerton!" The Duke smiled kindly at you, bowing. "Miss Kinsley."

"Simon, it’s wonderful to see you."

"Old friend. I heard news of your father.” Anthony had a look of astonishment on his face. “Deuce, take it, you are no longer Basset."

"I shall always-"

"Hastings! The Duke of Hastings, now known for evermore."

Daphne tilted her head. "The Duke of Hastings, is it?"

You jumped. Daphne had shown up out of nowhere. Anthony nodded. "Right, Hastings, this is my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Daphne, Hastings, and I know each other from our days at Oxford, days we shall not soon forget."

"Yes. As I am well aware of the company you keep, brother, I am certain your days with His Grace were most civilized indeed."

You coughed, trying to cover up a laugh that had unfortunately spilled from your lips.

"Hastings, we shall need to get together properly. I expect to see you at our club then."

Simon nodded. "Indeed. Evening Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton. Miss Kinsley."

Every week since your two families, the Bridgerton’s and the Kinsley’s, had come to know each other, you had had dinner.

This week was no exception, walking behind your parents as the butler escorted you to the dining room. Your father hugged Violet quickly, running after the youngest Bridgertons, who had been trying to attack him while he’d been distracted. 

Your mother laughed, shaking her head affectionately. "I believe my husband will never mature, Violet."

"I believe you would be right, Elisabeth." Violet sighed, her eyes drifting from her typically light-hearted nature to one of melancholy. "Shall we take our seats?"

Ever since his father’s death, Anthony had taken his seat, and for just as long, you had been sitting on his right. It was fitting, your mother would say when you whined. ‘You will marry, I know it.’ That is when you would scoff, shaking your head.

Now, you secretly wish your mother were correct. 

“For all we know, Whistledown may be some interloper living in Bloomsbury of all places."

Benedict rolled his eyes at his brother. "And what should be so terrible about Bloomsbury? That the people there actually work for a living?"

"She does seem to be someone with access."

"Who knows if Whistledown is even a she?"

Anthony nodded, taking a bite of his dinner. "Good point."

You scoffed, leaning forward in your chair. "You all are forgetting one crucial detail."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, waiting for your apparent revelation. "And what is that?"

You smirked, teasingly pointing at him with your fork. "Men do not possess the capacity to remember such details."

Eloise nodded vigorously. "Because she is simply too good to be anyone but a man?"

Anthony sighed. "I must say, you are not a good influence on my sisters."

"Well, I think it is rather obvious that the writer is Lady Danbury."

"Lady Danbury enjoys sharing her insults with society directly. She would never bother herself writing them all down."

Hyacinth spoke up. "Could it be Lady Featherington?"

The table fell into thunderous laughter. "No!"

"You have yet to read what Whistledown writes of the Featherington's, little sister." Eloise pointed out.

Hyacinth sat back, frowning. "I was just trying to help."

"And you were doing wonderfully, Hyacinth." You smiled warmly. "It is not your fault that you are normal and uneducated on such trivial nonsense, unlike Eloise." The girl rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at you. "Some say your sister is obsessed."

"I am not obsessed. Simply curious." She said as she stabbed a potato rather harshly.

"I'm only teasing, Eloise. I am equally curious as to who the author is. Wouldn’t it be spectacular if it were-" 

"Hastings! I am most excited that you decided to join us this evening. It was most spontaneous of you."

You glared, muttering under your breath. “I was not finished.” Anthony paid you no heed, staring at his friend with a curious look in his eye. 

"Not at all. With Lady Danbury accepting your dear mother's gracious invitation on my behalf, well. However, could I have declined?"

You laughed, covering your mouth with your wine glass, whispering. "What a matchmaker your mother is."

Anthony scowled. "Do not remind me."

You once again found yourself peeking through the cracked door of Anthony’s study. You smiled to yourself as his face came into view, admiring him from afar. He was quite handsome, with his terribly witty look, his dark features, and his kind eyes. You stepped closer, about to enter the study, when Lady Bridgerton’s voice cut through the silence.

"I was under the impression that the two of you are good friends."

"We are good friends. That is why I know that he is certain of never getting married."

Violet sighed. "Well, you must understand that all men make that assertion. Your father-"

Anthony snapped, looking up from his ledgers. "Do not bring Father into this. Even if he were in want of a wife, you would most certainly not have the duke anywhere near Daphne."

"I am fully subscribed to the belief that reformed rakes make the very best of husbands."

"He will not make her happy! Daphne deserves better. And I know that you think you are solving the problem, but you are not. That is all I shall say about the matter."

"The duke will be joining us as our guest at Vauxhall tomorrow evening. Now, I admit, it was not easy to convince him to come-"

"You overstep."

"She is my eldest daughter."

"Yet she is my responsibility, as are you."

Violet scoffed. "Responsibility?"

"Do not make this any more difficult than it already is."

Violet continued. "I wish to know something, Anthony. Tonight, when you leave this study that you continue to keep at your family home, are you to return to your bachelor lodgings across the square, or will you pay a visit to a certain soprano that you tend to in an apartment that you pay for on the other side of town?" 

You gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth. 

"You like to speak of responsibility. My dear son! Of duty? Pray, tell, what should you know of it? You must ask yourself, are you merely an older brother, or are you the man of this house?"

Violet stormed out of the study, and you tried your best to look as if you’d just happened upon the hallway, that you had not, in fact, been eavesdropping the entirety of their conversation. Anthony’s face was in his hands as you entered. 

"Mother, please leave me-"

"Anthony." You frowned, shutting the door gently behind you. "Are you quite alright?" He shrugged, finding it difficult to form words. You walked behind the desk, sitting directly in front of him. “Do not become cross with me.”

"Why would I be cross at you?" He tilted his head.

You reached out, holding his hands gently in yours. Your thumb caressed the back of his palm, your eyes trailing up from your joined hands to his eyes. "Anthony..."

"Not you, too." He sounded properly exhausted, simply dropping your hold as he walked toward the fire. That was somehow worse than him ripping his hands out of yours.  

You followed after him, crossing your arms. “I am merely saying that your mother has a point. You are a great Viscount, but you could-”

"I'm not my father."

You felt as if the very air you breathed had been pulled from your lungs. Your voice was soft as you spoke. "I know that."

“Then why does she keep insisting that I be-"

"I know that it feels as if she is putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, but she is trying to help you." You could not fight the urge to hold him any longer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you.” You whispered, heart skipping. “As do I.” 

He turned around, pulling your hand from his shoulder and holding it in his. “Promise me something.”

You decided to humor him, nodding. "Anything."

"Do not ever leave me." His eyes held a longing, a want for everything to remain the same. You pitied him. Eventually, you would marry, and now that you had accepted that you and Anthony were never to be, that would mean you would cease to see him.

"I will try my best."

He shook his head and pulled you closer, your breaths intermingling as his eyes darted to your lips every so often. You so longed to jump up, to pull his lips to yours. “I do not know what I would do if I lost you.”

“Anthony, please.” You put a hand on his cheek, smiling as he leaned into your touch. “You would be fine-”

"I do not believe I would." He leaned down, your breath hitching as he laid his forehead against yours. "In fact, I know I would not."

You laughed, falling into the trap of domestic bliss. "Anthony, I will marry eventually. You and I will no longer see each other." 

He scoffed. "Pray tell, what possessed you to ruin my dream? Humor me." 

"Dream?” You raised your eyebrow, smiling giddily. “What dream is that?" His finger pressed against your lips, and you stopped, thanking the lord for the dim lighting the room provided. Hopefully, he could not see how wide your pupils were, your shallow breaths, your burning cheeks.

“It will not happen.” 

You raised your eyebrow once more, this time in offense. “Am I that difficult on the eye?” 

He laughed. “Do not fish for compliments. You know you are exquisite.” You sighed, stepping back. It all became too much, this complimenting, his dream, him. He tightened his hold on your hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Where are you off to?” 

“I should be going, Anthony. It is late-” 

“You always stay this late.” He frowned. “Is something-” 

“Dearest!” Your mother’s voice rang through the house, and your eyes widened, pulling away from the Viscount. “Dearest, we are leaving!” 

You would later thank your mother for her help. Curtsying quickly, you darted out of the study, racing down the steps. “Goodbye, my lord.” 

You hadn’t intended on seeing him here, of all places. You were surprised, in truth, that Anthony still frequented the library. It was gorgeous, and even though you were no student, the librarian still allowed you to frequent the aisles from time to time. You could be found here in truth, just sitting, enjoying the silence. The solitude. 

When you saw his ever familiar frame and you jumped, hiding behind an endcap in the hopes he’d missed you. You groaned when he’d called out your name, squeezing your eyes shut. He whispered your name again, and you took a deep breath, stepping out to face the man you’d been avoiding. 

“Lord Bridgerton, how wonderful to see you.” 

“I would say the same-” He took his hat off, smirking. “But it seems you have been avoiding me as of late.” 

“I do not know what you mean.” You scoffed, walking past him, desperate to escape. “If you’ll excuse me-” 

“Why?” He asked, following after you. “You have not been attending our dinners.” 

“I haven’t been feeling well.” 

“Oh?” He frowned, stepping in front of you. Reaching up, he placed the back of his hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. Your eyes widened, and you stepped around him. He squinted, watching you with interest. “You seem well.”

“I am.” You nodded. “I am now.” He kept looking at you, kept trying to understand you. “Can you stop staring at me?” Your cheeks felt hot. “It is unbecoming.” 

“I have missed you.” He whispered. “May I call on you?” 

You scoffed. “Call on me? Anthony, you have been in my home more times than I care to count. You do not need to call on me.” 

“I know.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “I will see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Anthony…” Your eyes trailed down to his hand, which was still holding your wrist. “I’m afraid I have the time reserved.” 

“Reserved?” He tilted his head, voice becoming hostile. “Reserved for what?” 

“For whom.” You corrected, hating that this conversation was occurring, in public, no less. “It is for Lord Goring.” 

“Lord Goring?” Anthony yelled, drawing the attention of the many students strewn throughout the hall. “Lord Goring? That man is twice your age-”

“His wife recently died, and he is kind.” You hissed. “We are going on a promenade.” Anthony stood before you, fuming silently. You frowned, curtsying quickly. “Goodbye, Lord Bridgerton.”

You’d practically flown down the steps, you walking pace closer to a light run. You hadn’t bothered to look behind you, too scared that Anthony would be there, following after you. 

“Miss Kinsley!”

Of course, he had followed you. You kept your pace, refusing to give in and turn around. 

“Miss Kinsley!” You gasped, turning to your side to see Anthony following after you in his carriage. The many lords and ladies walking on the street gasped, staring at the couple. “Let me bring you home, please.” 

“That would be most improper, my lord.” You hissed, eyes wide. “I enjoy a nice walk.” 

“As do I.” Anthony was not giving up. ��If you like, I can escort you home.” 

You glared, crossing your arms. “You are the most arrogant, outlandish, pig-headed-” 

“Are you quite finished?” He raised an eyebrow. “Mother is expecting me for luncheon.” 

You wanted to scream. Gathering your skirts in your hands, you climbed into the carriage, shutting the door behind you harshly. “I cannot stand you.” 

“Funny enough, I cannot stand you either.” He looked thoroughly entertained. “Yet here I am…” 

“Here you are.” You were now hugging yourself, knee bouncing nervously. And Anthony… he had not stopped staring at you, watching you with a fascination you had never seen before. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” His voice was soft. 

“Staring at me with such a-” You met his eyes, voice going weak. “Turn your eyes away from me if you can.” 

“That is the problem.” He leaned forward, whispering. “I do not think that’s possible.”

“Why?” You wished the carriage could go faster. “Is there something on my face that you have yet to tell me?” 

“Can I not admire you?” He smiled. “You are beautiful.” 

You gasped. “Do not say such things.” 

“It is true.” His smile had not left his face. “I am not a fool.” 

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, a small laugh leaving you before you could think.

“Do you believe me to be a fool?” When you did not answer, he smirked. “I know why you have been avoiding me, Miss Kinsley.” 

“Do tell.” 

The ever-familiar scene of your two houses came into view as the carriage slowed, Anthony’s voice confident. “You have fallen in love with me.” 

“You are wrong.” You didn’t know what you wanted to do: smack him or kiss him. “I have not fallen in love with you.” 

He laughed, holding your hand as you descended the carriage steps. “Whatever you say, my love.” 

“My love?” You rolled your eyes, smiling kindly at the servants you passed as you walked through the Bridgerton’s house. “I am not your-” Your eyes widened as Anthony led you into the parlor, the entirety of his family present. “Anthony?” 

Anthony brought you into the middle of the room, hooking his arm through yours. “I have an announcement.” 

Eloise peeked out from behind her book, grinning when she saw you. “Miss Kinsley!” 

Violet stood beside Francesca, who was currently playing the piano forte. “What is the announcement, dear?” 

“Miss Kinsley and I are to be wed.” The room erupted into chaos, all congratulating you while you stared at Anthony, frozen in shock. He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “I may have forgotten a rather important detail.” 

You laughed. “I believe you may have.” 

“Forgive me.” Lowering himself to one knee, he held your hands delicately in his, eyes desperately staring into yours. “Miss Kinsley, will you do me the honor of-” 

“Yes.” You nodded, eyes wide with tears. You leaned down, kissing his cheek. “Anthony, you must know that I’ve loved you for quite some time.” 

He stood, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You must know something as well.” 

You smiled. “And what is that?” 

“I have loved you for quite some time as well.” 

Violet was simply sobbing as she watched the two interact. “Anthony, you must give her your father’s ring.” Pulling the delicate thing off her finger, she placed it in Anthony’s palm, tears streaming down her face. “I always wished- Your mother and I wanted this for- Oh!” She sobbed again, pulling you both into a strong hug. “I am overjoyed!” 

Eloise laughed as you silently begged her for help. “I told you you were family, dear sister.” 

“They will be wondering where I am, Anthony.” You looked nervously toward the door. “Now that we are engaged, they will not allow this sort of-” 

“You are quite tense, my love.” He laughed, placing one hand on your waist, the other on your cheek. “Our wedding is in three days time, surely they will not mind-” 

“My father now believes that every time we have been alone before this was-” Your cheeks felt hot. “Was an attempt on your part to seduce me.” Anthony laughed, actually laughed at your statement. You, on the other hand, did not find this situation remotely as humorous. “It is not amusing in the slightest, Anthony.” 

“I find it amusing.” He whispered, leaning down until his nose nudged yours. “May I kiss you?” 

“You kissed me when I entered your office.” You raised an eyebrow. “Are you so desperate-” You gasped as Anthony pulled you impossibly close. 

“I have a whole lifetime to remedy, for delaying the inevitable, for keeping us apart.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “Do you not enjoy it, kissing?” 

You scoffed. “I never said that-” 

“Good.” He smiled. 

“But yo-” Your eyes fluttered shut, his lips colliding against yours passionately. It seemed a whole eternity passed before either of you let go, your breath heavy as you parted. “You interrupted me.” 

“I am sorry.” 

You shrugged, kissing the corner of his mouth. “As long as you promise to interrupt me as you just did for the rest of our lives…” Your voice was warm, full of adoration for your future husband. “Then I do not mind.” 

“Well then,” He grinned, eyes falling to your lips once more. “Your wish is my command, Lady Bridgerton.” 

taglist: @esmereldafloyd @linnygirl09

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[ddejavvu]

hiccup casual dominance haddock gently chastising reader who cannot stop biting the skin around their fingers……. (i love ur blog and ur writing btw<3)

the way he grabs astrid's arms and shakes her in the second movie. mhm mhm.

--

It's something mindless, the gnawing of your teeth at the sharp edge of your finger. You have a habit of biting the skin around your nails, and this one seems to have regrown from the last time you'd severed it. It's something you'd felt with the pad of your thumb and raised to your mouth without thinking, but Hiccup notices it like it's a lit neon sign.

"Hey!" He snaps, still bent over his workbench but no longer focused on the patches of leather he's sewing together. He says nothing more, and your hand lowers unconsciously from your mouth when you raise your head to look at him. You're semi-alarmed: there's really no good reason to be yelling in a forge, it usually means something is on fire. But Grump is very much asleep in the corner, and the flames have gone out.

"What?" You ask, truly stumped. You're not trying to be obtuse, your arm halfway raised to your mouth simply doesn't register.

Hiccup raises one eyebrow- you wonder whether he's gotten his sass from Stoick or Valka, because he's got buckets of it, and he flicks his eyes pointedly downwards towards your hand, then back up at your face, unimpressed.

You mirror his gaze, realizing that your eyes fall upon the mangled skin around your ring finger's nail.

"Oh. Shit," You mumble, shame heating your cheeks. You always feel like such a baby when someone points out your bad habit, but you know Hiccup isn't trying to tease you, so you jam your hand into your lap, smearing away saliva on your pants.

"You're gonna make yourself bleed." Hiccup's voice is gentle but pointed, "Again."

You neglect to tell him that the one time he'd witnessed your teeth grind too far into the meat of your finger- enough to draw blood, hadn't been the first nor the last time you'd bled. It's not the norm, but it's not the outlier either. You merely bite your tongue, waiting for further reprimands, or for gracious silence.

He's a kind man, so he grants you the latter. But as soon as the embarrassment clears from your head, you forget all about the incident, and you become immersed in the pages of your book once more.

Off-kilter stomping, one-part boot and one-part metal peg, is all the warning you get before your hands are snatched away from you, one pulled from your lap and the other from your mouth.

You're already rushing out a, 'Sorry, sorry, sorry!' but he won't let your hand go when you tug at it. He holds it firmly in his own, his brow set in a stern frown. He looks like his father's namesake, and you foresee him being a very intimidating chief one day- if perhaps he can pile on some meat to his bones.

"Stop biting your fingers." He says, shaking your arms gently with each word, "I have eagle eyes. You forget, I have to watch Toothless constantly to make sure he doesn't steal my leg right out from under me."

Toothless's great head raises from where it had been sleepily resting on the wood floor, and he presents his disdain for Hiccup's terrible accusations in the form of a testy huff.

"I notice everything." Hiccup promises, his eyes boring into yours, "You're never gonna be able to sneak it past me."

"I'm not trying to sneak it past you!" You swear, shame once again licking at the inside of your chest. You try not to whine, but your voice takes on a hint of hopelessness, "I'm- it just happens, I don't know! I don't think about doing it, and I don't do it on purpose, it just happens! It's like breathing! How am I supposed to stop doing it when I don't even do it on purpose?"

"I will help you stop." Hiccup decides, the frown on his features softening as your desperation bleeds through, "It's okay, I'll- we'll figure something out. Like gloves!" He brightens, "Leather gloves, I can make them, that way they'll stop you from biting at your actual finger. And then it'll force you to think about it, and slowly you'll stop doing it altogether. Or something that tastes bad on your fingers. I could ask Astrid to make some of her yaknog- that stuff's thick enough to be a paste. I can spread it on your fingertips and then you'll be deterred by just the smell. Or- or a restraint! I could chain some cuffs to the bench," Hiccup gestures at the slab of wood you're sitting on, "And you can have just enough give to read your book, but not to reach for your face."

"Hold on," You stop him, knowing his mind is filling with glorious, terrible ideas, "You want to handcuff me and chain me to the bench?"

Hiccup's face shifts, clarity dawning on his bright features and dimming them, "Okay, that one- you're right, that's not my best idea."

"I don't want yaknog on my hands either," You grimace, "Can we just- try the gloves?"

"Yeah. The gloves." Hiccup nods, squeezing your hands with finality, but only releasing one- the one you'd spared. He keeps the freshly-bitten fingers in his own hand, peering worriedly at the skin to spot any blood. When he finds none, he drags your hand to his mouth, kissing gently over the side of your finger before finally letting you have it back.

"I'll start on your gloves right away," He goes back to his workbench, sliding his previous project to the side, "Snotlout is just gonna have to wait for his new saddle. As long as Hookfang doesn't burn through the one he's got, he'll be fine for a few more days. But you need those gloves now." Hiccup stares pointedly at you from across the room, "For now, please try not to bite your fingers. Or I'll sick Toothless on you."

Big green eyes stare at you with interest from across the room, but the dragon won't pounce without Hiccup's command. You'd rather like to keep breathing clean air and not fish breath, so you tuck your hands beneath your thighs on the bench, electing to only remove one to turn a page of your book.

"Perfect," Hiccup grins, a hint of pride in his smile as he grabs for a fresh panel of leather, "I'll have your gloves done in no time."

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Eleven: shear

tw: none

“What?”

It’s the only word your jittery mind can think to spew as you stare at John Price, shirtless, cornering you at your most vulnerable. Caging you like livestock. Like prey. Soft candlelight illuminates his skin—the pallid flesh that rarely sees the light of day, and the sunkissed forearms that flex as he stalks forward—but you know what lies beneath this superficial layer. This human-like facade that he so strongly carries upon his shoulders, like Jesus Christ carrying the cross that would bring his own demise. 

Masks can only stretch so far. They can cover the hair, the face, the body—but it cannot cover the soul. 

It cannot cover the cerulean of his eyes or the glint that betrays what he usually suppresses. 

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” he assures. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

There it is—finally. Your question flies off of your tongue, half-cocked and rigid as your fingers press into your shoulders, desperately attempting to save what little shreds of dignity you’re able to cling to. You watch with parted lips as John cuts through the numbra of the room, boots hitting heavy on the floor as he approaches the vanity. Sinking into the tub, you watch him from over the rim as he retrieves the washbasin. His hands cup it from the bottom, dwarfing the bowl, as he tilts his head. 

“Laswell had to step away for a moment to sort some business downstairs, and the boys all left. While I’m waiting, I figured we could visit.” He lifts the washbasin as if toasting a drink to you. “That, and I am in desperate need of a shave, little lamb.” 

Panic rises in your throat to strangle you as he steps closer, quickly closing the gap that lies between the two of you as he approaches the tub. Your hands flail, desperately covering your breasts with one arm and your sex with the other. You are shorn. Splayed out and on display, a lamb with no voice to bleat. 

Your eyes widen far enough in your skull to cause you discomfort as you witness John sink the washbasin in your bathwater, submerging it until it is full, then retrieving it. Thick drops of water splash back down as he pours out the excess, knuckles shining with thick gloss like dew. Before he returns to the vanity, he pauses to chuckle as he stares down at the bowl, then looks at you with a glistening gaze. 

“She sure went all out for you, didn’t she?” he says as he pulls a rose petal from the bowl and presents it between his forefinger and thumb. 

Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, you watch in silence as John’s lips part. His fingers move between his teeth, pressing the rose petal into his mouth before humming, seemingly content with the flavor. You blink, flabbergasted as you watch his Adam’s apple bob while he swallows, consuming one of the few gifts you’ve been given in this ruthless world. 

“You have no courtesy!” you snap, the disconnect between your tongue and brain finally mending as your frustration boils over. 

“Sweetheart, I sincerely hope it hasn’t taken you this long to figure that much out,” John quips dully. 

Just as you go to disparage him again, John turns his back to you and you find your throat going uncharacteristically dry. Not even the dim candlelight can smother the divots in his skin—the long scars that wind like roads on a map, each with a dead end. They’re grotesque, and considerably out of place. Though John Price is a man to be reckoned with—a strong, wayward stranger who does not fear the barrel of a gun nor clenched fists—these marks are out of place on him. These were not earned through some unspeakable battle, some glorious fight. 

This was endured. This was scarcely survived. 

John plops himself down at the vanity where the candles illuminate every curve of his chest and the dark pavonine of his eyes. He makes quick work of the supplies laid out before him; complimentary items of a straight razor, clippers, and a shaving bar. He wets his face with your bathwater before lathering up the soap to apply to his throat and the apples of his cheeks, and you find yourself memorized by the strange ritual. 

You’re brought back in time several years as you watch John’s fingers glide along the flat side of the razor. When she was still alive, your mother would shave your father’s face for him on the front porch when the weather permitted. Neither of them would speak a word to one another for the duration of it. Simple gestures. Heavy sighs. Your mother would grip his face and move his head into the positions that were required to ensure she never nicked his skin—it was the only time you ever saw your father relent to anyone. 

It was the only time you ever saw a shepherd submit to his lamb. 

When it came to cleaning up the tender skin that lay along his throat, your mother always paused. Lips pressing together, eyes surveying the area, you always thought she was nervous. Scared to cause your father harm where the skin is thinnest; where the blood runs thickest. 

Now that you think of it, her thumb always pressed along the back of the blade, almost longingly. As if it were more than just a razor. A knife. 

A weapon. 

“Laswell is working on getting you a dedicated room here,” John says as he lets the foam sit on his skin. He looks strange, suddenly aged with the soap turning his facial hair white like the powdering of flour on sourdough bread. “Something a little long term until you’re able to get a place of your own. Or a husband. Whichever comes first.” 

It is a great feat for you to hold back the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Oh, how clever of you,” you mutter. 

“She’s also hosting us for dinner at her house tonight. Consider it a welcome to Grand Hollow party,” John continues as if you never spat at him at all. “I volunteered you to help with the food preparations. Figured you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Anything to get away from you.” 

John’s mirth is warm, and soft like worn leather. You watch him from the safety of your tub as he begins to work away at himself with a razor, ridding himself of the overgrown patches of hair that plague his throat and too high up on his cheeks. His neck contorts and his hand pulls the skin taut, leaving no room for his skin to catch; to knick. It’s hard to ignore the way rigid muscle moves beneath thick flesh—how his biceps curl and veins pop—but you force your gaze away in favor of bathing yourself. 

You decide that if you pretend that John Price isn’t here to witness you like this, then it’s not as much of a sin as it is. You are not being witnessed in some holy way—only bathing while a dog grooms himself on the other side of the room. Lathering your skin in more soap than is necessary, you pray that the suds that gather along the water’s surface is enough to shroud your body from impudent, prying eyes. 

Neither of you speak to one another as you complete your respective tasks, though you realize it’s difficult to keep your gaze where it ought to be. Wandering through wisps of steam, you watch him. He cleans up well—as much as you hate to admit it. Beard trimmed and shaped, his jawline grows rigid, and his eyes seem brighter. He is less wild; a tamed creature. 

As much as a wolf can be tamed, anyway. 

“Your gaze is heavy, Lamb,” John hums. Using the provided hand towel, he cleans his face of any remaining foam, wiping himself clean, before tossing it back onto the vanity and twisting to you. Somehow, his eyes feel sharper—enough to draw blood. “If your right eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it away.”

Baffled at his quote, you shake your head. “What? No, no I’d never,” you say as if insulted he would ever insinuate you would look at him in such a lascivious manner. Despite the humidity in the air, your mouth goes dry as he leans his elbow on the vanity, spine curling forward, body shrinking. “No I… forgive me, I know it isn’t right, but your back is very… peculiar.” 

Despite the weight of your words, John doesn’t flinch. Instead, he nods before leaning back to look in the mirror and continue grooming himself. Like an animal licking old wounds, he runs his fingers along his hair, smoothing down the inky strands before humming. 

“Yes. A gift from my father.” 

Stunned by his words, you blink as if that will change the course of the past, but it doesn’t. He’s still here in front of you, the most wounded you’ve ever seen him. He attempts to hold himself together, to not fall apart at the seams of each scar that lines his skin, but you see right through it. It’s the first time John Price has refused to look at you.

He’s never relented before, not like this. 

“Your father?” you repeat, nearly tripping on your words. 

John nods. “A belt if I was lucky. The buckle, if I wasn’t. His cigars when he was bored.” 

Each word he speaks brings about unwanted visions—a terrible make-believe reality that leaves a sour taste on your tongue. “Why would he do such a thing?” 

Finally—finally—John looks at you. His gaze is the softest you’ve ever seen, yet his lips are tight as he smiles. “Same reason your daddy did what he did to you. Some men love a silly book more than they do their own blood.”

Floorboards squeaking beneath his weight, John stands before stalking towards you. He does not bear his teeth at you, and still your heart thunders in your chest worse than summer rain or a horse galloping in haste. Once more your hands move to cover your body in an effort to conceal yourself, but John does not seem at all interested in your body. 

Gentle fingers that smell of warm wood brush against your bare shoulder before traversing down your arm. Your vision tunnels as you stare up at John, utterly helpless, bending to his whim as he removes your arm from the tub. You whine, and if he hears it he at least has the decency to ignore the sound as he takes your hand into his, thumbing over your knuckles one by one. 

“But you already know all about that, don’t you, love?” he muses, eyes picking apart the scars on your hands. “Preaching to the choir, so to speak.” 

Blinking, you look at where your hands are joined. He holds you similarly to how he did when you first met, collapsed next to their campfire, fresh tears still on your cheeks. “I don’t think our situations are comparable. Daddy never… never did anything like that to me.” 

“Maybe not,” John hums. When he releases your hand, his fingers trail back up your arm, over your shoulder, and along your collarbone. As he dips between your breasts—tracing your sternum—you nearly shriek. Instead of doing anything nefarious, he grabs your necklace. “Is that why you still hold onto this? Your silly god? Because you think that torment wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been?” 

You look down at yourself—at where his fingers hold the only memento that remains of your mother. “It’s my mama’s. It was, anyway. Consumption took her away from me when I was a kid. Daddy locked her up and never let me see her. Said she was too sick, and that I’d… only make it worse. This is all I have left of her. That’s why I keep it.” 

John drops the necklace back against your chest. “Do you think she went to heaven? That she’s up singing with the angels?” 

His question is facetious—and still you answer. “I hope so.” 

It’s not the correct answer. It’s the type of answer that would have your father bending you over his lap and spanking you bare with a spoon if he heard such a thing ever leave your mouth. But it’s not wrong—it’s the truth that burns in your heart where grief and hope coalesces into poison. Tongue wetting your lips, you look up at John, and you’re not sure if you’re comforted by the softness in his eyes or not. 

“I hope so,” you repeat. “I don’t think I could handle it if there was any other answer. If there’s nothing for her.” 

The two of you stare at one another for so long you think the world may have stopped moving. Wide eyes study you as if gauging how far he would have to spread his maw in order to fit you all in, to grind you between his molars until nothing but dust remains. Instead, he hums, and turns his back to you. 

“Enjoy your bath, Lamb. Don’t feel as if you have to rush.” He stoops downward, fingers snatching his discarded shirt before slipping his arms back through the sleeves and buttoning it up properly. “When you’re finished, come find Laswell and I downstairs. We’ll put you to work.” 

You’re hardly able to get a confirmation out of your throat before John flees through the door, shutting it tight behind you as if he suddenly cares about your privacy. Your bath suddenly falls quiet without a wolf to howl next to you. Swallowing the tears that threaten to surface and strangle you, you find your hand reaching up for your necklace. You clutch it close to your chest as you mull John’s words over in your mind. 

You suppose that—after all—the two of you are not too different. Both of you cry to the same moon in some capacity. 

The water has gone cold by the time you finish scrubbing yourself clean of all things that ail you. Dirt, grime, the rage of your father. When you pat yourself dry, you throw yourself into a new chemise before donning a sky blue dress and fixing yourself in the vanity. You appear like a whole new woman. Tidy, standing tall, and without a scab in sight. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you look like your mother. 

When you arrive back downstairs, you notice a glaring disturbance in the crowd that was not present when you had cut through previously. A maid huffs over what appears to be the splintered remains of a chair and fine china while a man in ragged clothes nurses a bloody nose at the bar. The chatter has quieted to dainty whispers, and everyone’s eyes shift uncomfortably the moment you enter. Deciding to keep your mouth sewn shut, you return to the back of the hotel to find John, just as you were instructed. 

Yet you hardly arrive at the door and raise your hand to knock before you’re stopped in your tracks. Hushed tones, biting words—desperation. Chagrin bleeds through the seams of the door heavy and thick like crude oil, and just as noisome. It chokes you. Freezes you in place and pries your ears open. 

“I’m sorry, John, but I can’t help you. You’re on your own for this one.” 

“Please. I need something. Someone. Just for the trip. None of the boys or I will be able to step a foot into that bank without alerting everyone in the whole goddamn town.” 

You’ve never heard John like this before; pleading. Begging. The tone sounds odd coming from him, the man who’s never been denied anything for the entirety that you’ve known him. The man who takes what he wants because he simply won’t take no for an answer. 

“Things between Shepherd and I are already shaky as is. If I send one of my own with you, at best he’ll send their head home with you, at worst he’ll level this entire building to the ground,” Laswell says, staying steadfast in her denial. 

“Don’t you understand?” He’s almost yelling, now. Words sharp like a knife, booming just as loud as the rifle he taught you to shoot—he breaths. Exhales loud enough for you to hear it. “Kate, if we break into that bank you won’t have to worry about Shepherd anymore. None of us will! This tyranny of his in Blackpeak will be over!” 

“He’s gotten stronger since you left. His manpower? Twice than what you remember it being. If you go into that city, you’ll die there, John. You, Simon, Johnny, Kyle—you’ll be lucky to return in coffins, if at all.” 

“You know better than to underestimate me,” John snaps. 

Silence. Aching, tangible quietness. It’s enough for you to hear the very blood dragging through your veins, slow and steady, like waves upon a rocky lake shore. 

“Your days of being the hero are over, John. You and I both know that. I’ll take Lamb off your hands, but I’ve got something worth sticking around for, now. I can’t throw that all away in the name of vengeance,” Laswell says firmly. 

The integrity of the upright guides them, but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them. 

You’ve lingered too long; listened where you shouldn’t. Swallowing, you step away from the door as if you can run from the words you’ve heard, but you’re frozen in place as they rattle in your brain like screams echoing off of cave walls. Bank. Shepherd. Blackpeak. 

Well, that’s none of your business, now is it, sweetheart? 

Before you can betray them any further, you finally muster the strength to knock on the door. Silence falls faster than rain on the other side, and then feet approach. Laswell opens the door, and you sheepishly stare at her, shame evident on your face. She does nothing more than blink at you before crossing her arms. 

“John says you’re interested in helping prepare for dinner tonight,” she says. 

Eyes glancing past her, you find him sitting at the table. He leans far back in his seat with his fingers running over his freshly trimmed beard, but he does not look at you. Disappointment radiates off of him like steam from boiled water—you’re surprised he’s not as scarlet red as burning coals. 

“Yes,” you say with a decisive nod. 

“Good. Come on, let’s get you settled.” 

John does not speak a word to you as you’re led away from the door and out the building. As you step foot back onto the streets of Grand Hollow, Laswell gives you a quick rundown of your task, but most of her words seem to flow in one ear and out the other. 

Cart… Lottie… dinner… 

Your mind spins—you can feel the very earth give way beneath your feet. There are too many people around you, too many smells. All the love of a small town has vanished but the filth remains. Beggars line several corners on the street, children peddle newspapers, women sneak men into shady buildings—Everything is grey. Terribly grey with man made structures, stone lined streets, russet brown buildings—where are the flowers? Like the ones your mother planted? You begin to think it may have been better to stay home. At least your father’s violence is predictable, and the streets smell familiar. 

“Hey, are you listening to me?” 

Laswell’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into your body. You’re standing on the corner of a street with a topless carriage awaiting you. Blinking, you bring your attention to the woman before you and swallow. 

“Sorry, I…”

“I understand. Must be a lot for a country bumpkin like you to take in,” Laswell humors. Giving you a soft smile, she gestures to the carriage behind her. “My driver will take you to the house. You’ll find Lottie there, and I’m sure she’ll have plenty of work for you to do. The boys and I will be back around six for supper.” 

You nod. “Yes. Alright, that will work. Thank you so much, again. For everything.” 

Uninterested in your praises, she waves you off and motions for you to climb into the carriage. The driver does not turn to greet you, but nods when Laswell barks portarla a casa. Sighing, you settle back into the seat just as the horses begin to move forward, jostling the carriage as the wheels squeak into motion. 

Just as you turn your head to watch Laswell fade away into the crowd, something catches your eye. Parchment. Thick paper. Black ink. There, sketched into a small box, you see the unmistakable features of John’s face pinned to a wooden board. The curve of his nose, the budding apples of his cheeks, the sharp cut of his beard—the only thing missing is the hue of his eyes. That blue that contends with the sky above your head and all the paintings you’ve ever seen of the sea. He’s nestled between various other pieces of paper that jitter in the wind, and the confusion almost makes it impossible to decipher what the poster even is. 

But then, you see it. The words. Your stomach twists as you read them—over and over and over again—before the carriage takes you too far and it fades in the distance. 

WANTED: JOHN PRICE DEAD OR ALIVE FOR THE BLACKPEAK COAL MINE SLAUGHTER

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[arcadia-smith]

New territory.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: intimacy is completely new territory for you, but you are willing to explore it with Simon. Feelings and connecting is new for Simon, but he'll get into it because of you.

Word count: just under 2k

Warning: 18+, sex.

Note: This was a request. And I am sad that it was made anonymously, so I cannot tag the person. Idea was great and I have like three different versions of this in my notes, so I might be posting all of them at some point. This one I had trouble with the ending actually. Also, not proofread or anything, so I'm sorry if it's messy, but I couldn't let this idea go to waste.

"Still on for tonight?"

"Yeah, Si. Pick me up at 7"

"It's a date then."

You tossed your phone onto the bed, shifting your attention back to the mirror.

Black lace bra, matching panties. Your eyes flicked to the red set draped over the chair.

You were overthinking this. Did Simon even care if your underwear matched? If it was expensive? The books said he would, so you’d gone out and bought multiple sets—delicate, pricey, and, if you were being honest, not the most comfortable.

Your boobs felt squished, lifted too high, and the panties clung in all the wrong places, riding up betweed your ass cheeks every time you moved. But then remembering how his eyes widened and a little comment spilled out of his mouth "Love the flowers, luv" when he saw your other panties the first time you let him undress you, even now, thinking about it, made you blush and get embarrassed.

You couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks. Even cancelled a few dates with Simon, thinking he'd make fun of them every time he saw you, but he never mentioned your flower pattern panties again.

You met him about seven months ago. In a bar. You weren’t sure what made him cross the room and sit beside you, but conversation came easy—lighthearted banter, a little flirting. When he offered to walk you home, you panicked. Played up your drunkenness, hoping he’d lose interest.

He didn’t.

Instead, he called a cab, made sure you got in safely, and asked for your number.

The next morning, you woke up to a text from him. And just like that, you started talking.

This—whatever it was—was uncharted territory for you. The touches, the teasing, the way he looked at you. And the intimacy that followed.

Pretty soon you found out that Simon wasn't a man for softness.

Sex, to him, had always been an outlet—nothing more than sweat and heat, hands grasping without tenderness, a way to escape his own head for a while. He was used to bodies tangled together, voices rough and demanding, the kind of urgency that burned fast and left nothing behind.

But months spent getting to know you made him experience new things too. He developed a need to be careful, to handle you like something precious.

And fuck, he wanted to.

He wanted to be gentle, to savor every shaky breath you gave him, every soft sigh against his skin. He wanted to be good for you.

By the time seven rolled around, you were ready, though your hands fidgeted against your thighs as you waited. The sound of a truck pulling up outside had your stomach flipping, and you grabbed your purse, smoothing your dress before heading out.

Simon leaned against the hood of his truck, arms crossed, his ever-present balaclava pulled up just enough to show the curve of his mouth. His gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate, before he pushed off the hood and opened the passenger door for you.

"You look nice," he murmured as you slid into the seat.

Your heart stuttered a little at the low timbre of his voice.

"Thanks, Si."

The evening had been nice—dinner, easy conversation, and the kind of quiet moments that never felt awkward with Simon. The weather was mild enough for a walk afterward, his hand warm around yours as you strolled side by side.

Then came the question.

"Wanna crash at my place?"

Simon gave your fingers a gentle squeeze, his voice steady but softer than usual. "I mean... I leave in two days. Another month gone. Wouldn’t mind spending as much time with you as I can."

You knew what he was really saying. What the night would likely lead to. And just like that, your mind started spinning, already getting ahead of itself.

Kneeling in front of you, his hands found your thighs, thumbs brushing slow, soothing circles

Simon kissed your knee, an innocent touch, but he felt the way your breath hitched, how your fingers curled into the sheets. Every little reaction you had made his stomach tighten with something foreign, something deeper than just want.

He guided you through each step, letting you explore, letting you learn.

The first time you kissed him with intent, it stole his breath. The first time your hands hesitantly traced the scars on his chest, he had to fight the instinct to pull away. And the first time you let him undress you—slowly, carefully, with whispered reassurances—he realized he had never truly been with someone before.

Not like this.

He had never felt someone’s trust settle so heavily against his skin. Never known what it was like to be needed in a way that wasn’t just physical.

You were beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved over you, inside you. Everything was new to you, and he had been patient, slow, careful. He tried to keep his hands gentle, but his patience frayed when you let out a soft sound of pleasure. His grip tightened, his kisses grew rougher, and he flipped you onto your stomach before you could even react.

"Stay just like that," he murmured, the authority in his voice instinctual.

You froze beneath him.

It wasn’t fear, but uncertainty. He didn’t notice—not right away. He was too caught up in the heat of it, too used to doing this with someone who already knew how rough he could get.

He guided himself to your entrance, his broad chest pressing firmly against your back, pinning you into the plush mattress beneath you.

The moment he pushed inside, he didn’t grant your body much time to adjust before his hips began to move, each thrust deep and unrelenting. His teeth found your shoulder, biting down- hard.

Then he hit that one spot, the one that sent a sharp, twisting sensation through you—not the kind that made your toes curl in pleasure, but something else entirely. A cry tore from your lips before you could stop it.

One moment you were on your stomach, the next you were on your back, now facing him.

“Thought you wanted this. You can take it.” he muttered, the words slipping out without thought.

It was something he might have said to someone else before. To someone who didn’t care how impersonal it sounded. But you weren’t someone else.

It was instinct, the way he shifted, the way his grip tightened just a little too much, the way his teeth caught against your throat with just a bit too much bite. His voice dropped into something darker, rougher, a sharp contrast to the tenderness he’d started with.

The way you stiffened, the way your breath hitched in a way that wasn’t pleasure. And then—

“Stop.”

It was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to cut through the haze in his head.

His heart stopped.

Your hands were on his chest now, pushing lightly. Not frantic, not afraid, just firm. A boundary.

Fuck.

He moved off you immediately, sitting back, giving you space. His pulse pounded in his ears, a sharp rush of self-recrimination. He ran a hand over his face, breathing hard, stomach twisting at the thought that he’d hurt you.

You were breathing just as heavily, pulling the sheets up around yourself. Your eyes weren’t filled with fear—thank God—but there was something hesitant there, something uncertain, and it gutted him.

"Shit," Simon rasped, scrubbing a hand down his face.

You didn’t say anything right away, just curled into yourself slightly, the sheets gathered around your body like armor. You weren’t scared—he could see that, could feel it—but the hesitation in your eyes cut deeper than any blade ever had.

"I’m sorry." His voice was hoarse, rough. "I—fuck, I didn’t mean—"

"I know." You exhaled, slow, controlled. Not placating, not brushing it off. Just... steady.

That steadiness was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to look at you, to meet your gaze instead of looking away like a coward. "I shouldn’t have—"

"I just... need a minute." Your fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles going white. "It was just... too much."

He nodded, throat tight. Too much. Not rejection. Not fear. Just a line he’d crossed without realizing it.

Simon had never had to think about these things before—never had to learn softness. He'd spent years taking what was offered, using, being used. This—you—were different. And he’d fucked it up.

He nodded and shifted back further, giving you as much space as you needed. He’d wait. However long it took.

Because you were worth it.

You stayed like that for a while—silent, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. Simon didn’t push, didn’t say a word, just kept his distance, watching you with an intensity that seemed to strip away every last bit of pretense.

Finally, you shifted, drawing in a slow, steady breath. The sheets rustled as you pulled them tighter around you, but your body language softened, just a little.

"I’m okay," you said, your voice a little shaky but grounded. "I just... I need to feel like it's me you want, not just...” You paused. “Not just... whatever you’re used to.”

The air in the room seemed to shift. The words hit Simon like a hammer to the chest, the weight of them settling deeply in his stomach. He had spent so long in a world where everything was physical, where touch had no meaning beyond the moment—it was a reality he’d never questioned, until now. Until you.

"I want you," he said, his voice more vulnerable than ever before. "I want you, not... anything else. I fucked up, and I’m sorry."

To be honest, Simon had no idea what to say, how to make you understand, how to reassure you that you weren’t just another fleeting thing in his life, at least not anymore, not since he'd gotten to know you.

You quietly slipped out of bed, wrapping the sheets around your body. "I'll just... be a minute," you whispered, picking up your clothes as you made your way toward the bathroom.

As the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, Simon buried his face in his palms. "Great job, Riley," he muttered to himself.

What felt like an eternity to Simon passed in silence before you finally emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. His gaze locked onto you, waiting for something — anything.

"You want me to take you home?" His voice was uncertain, a trace of fear creeping in.

You shook your head slowly, realizing just how this must look like to him. "No... no, I still want to spend time with you... just not... doing that."

Simon nodded, but it wasn’t the relief of understanding that he felt. Instead, for the first time in his life, he was gripped by an overwhelming fear — the fear that you might leave, that no one would be waiting for him when he returned from deployment. That after this night, once you're out the door in the morning, you might never want to see him.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 17

<<<Previous Next>>>

Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, as if surprised by the boldness of your declaration. But then something softened in his expression, the ever-present sharpness in his eyes giving way to something quieter.

"Ah," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "So it would seem."

You let out a small laugh, barely more than an exhale, but still, he noticed. His lips curled ever so slightly...a ghost of a smile, fleeting yet unmistakable. "If I were immortal," you continued, shifting in your seat, "I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with myself."

He hummed in thought. "An eternity of choices can be as paralyzing as having none at all," he admitted. "Some crumble beneath it. Others rise."

"And you?" You found yourself asking before you could second-guess it. "Have you… crumbled or risen?" His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes, something deep, something distant.

"I am still here," he said simply. It wasn’t an answer, not really. But maybe it was the only one that mattered. You bit your lip, fingers curling slightly over the edge of your parchment.

Now or never. "Do you… do you know what a Soul Jam is?" His gaze sharpened in an instant. He did not startle easily, but there was a shift in the air, subtle yet unmistakable.

"That," he said, "is not a question many dare to ask." Your throat felt dry, but you pressed on.

"I know you have one. I’ve known for a while, but I-" You hesitated, suddenly acutely aware of how ridiculous this must sound. "I wasn’t brave enough to ask." Silence stretched between you for a long moment, heavy yet not suffocating. He studied you, and for once, you did not shrink under his gaze.

"Knowledge is a burden as much as it is a gift," he finally said. "You must be certain you wish to bear it."

You swallowed. "I am." He considered you for a moment longer before nodding. Slowly, he lifted a hand, and between his fingertips, something shimmered into existence a small, radiant fragment, casting a glow like captured starlight….it came from that mysterious gem…was that it? What gave immortality?.

"The Light of Knowledge," he murmured. "That is what this is called. What I am called." You stared, unable to tear your eyes away. "It’s beautiful." He let out a quiet breath of amusement. "It is what it is." Your mind whirled with questions, but one surfaced before the others. "Are there… others? Like you?"

His fingers closed over the fragment, and the light faded. "There are four others," he admitted. "Mystic Flour, Silent Salt, Burning Spice, and Eternal Sugar."

Your brow furrowed. "Are they… your friends?"

He hesitated. "...We are bound by what we are," he said at last. "That does not always mean we walk the same path." Something in his voice some quiet weight made your chest ache.

"Do you miss them?" He did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it. "One cannot miss what was never truly theirs to keep."

You weren’t sure what you had expected, but it hadn’t been that. "That sounds lonely," you whispered. He looked at you then, something unreadable in his gaze. "Perhaps," he said.

"But not all things are meant to be shared." And yet, you couldn’t help but think, just for a moment, that maybe, he had shared something with you.

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment longer before exhaling softly. Then, with a measured grace, he closed his book and rested his hands over it. “If you wish to avoid the evening crowds,” he said, his tone shifting back to something more composed, more certain, “you should head to dinner soon. Your friends will be waiting.”

You blinked, momentarily pulled from the weight of your conversation. “Oh. Right.” You glanced at the dimming sky beyond the arched windows, realizing just how much time had slipped away.

“I almost forgot.” He tilted his head slightly, a knowing look in his eyes. “That much was evident.” You huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real bite. Your mind was still caught in the echoes of his words, in the light that had glowed between his fingers like something too vast to be comprehended. He had given you a glimpse of something sacred, something most would never even think to ask about. And yet, here he was, returning to the present as if he hadn’t just peeled back a veil between the known and the unknown.

As you gathered your things, you hesitated. "Do you-" You stopped yourself before the question could fully form. His sharp eyes flickered with curiosity. “Do I…?” You shook your head, tightening your grip on your parchment.

“Never mind.” For a moment, you thought he might press you for an answer, but he only hummed in amusement. “So mysterious,” he mused. “And yet, you call me enigmatic.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in it.

If anything, it felt lighter than before less like standing at the edge of something vast and unknowable, more like standing beside someone who understood. As you turned to leave, his voice followed you, quiet yet firm. “You should not keep them waiting.” You nodded, stepping toward the door, but before you could take another step, you paused. “Shadow Milk?”

He arched a brow at the sound of his name, an ever-present air of amusement in his expression. “…Thank you,” you said, the words simple but sincere. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, just as you reached the door, his voice came, softer than before. “Enjoy your dinner.” You stepped out into the dimly lit halls, the warmth of his words lingering in your chest. Your friends would be waiting.

You stepped out of the Scholar’s Wing, the cool evening air doing little to ease the warmth lingering in your face. You had seen it…you had seen it.

A dusting of warmth across his ears, brief but unmistakable. Shadow Milk Cookie composed; enigmatic, unreadable Shadow Milk Cookie had blushed. You pressed a hand against your cheek, trying to steady your breath as you made your way toward the dining hall. The weight of his words still clung to you, curling around your thoughts like ink staining parchment. "If it were you… then I suppose… waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing."

You shook your head, trying to clear it. It was just an answer, spoken in jest...wasn’t it? He had turned it on you, after all, as he always did. But that flicker of warmth… the way his ears betrayed him… You bit the inside of your cheek. If you weren’t careful, you were going to overthink this all night. The hum of the dining hall reached your ears as you approached, the familiar scent of warm food breaking you from your thoughts. As expected, your friends were already gathered at your usual table, their trays half-filled with whatever the academy kitchens had deemed edible today. You barely had time to settle into your seat before Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, sharp-eyed and grinning.

“What is that look on your face?” she teased, nudging your arm. “That’s not just an oh, class was interesting today smile. That’s a someone just said something that turned your brain into melted fondue smile.”

You tried...tried to school your expression into something neutral, but the way Chai Latte’s eyes lit up told you that you had already failed. “I don’t have a look,” you muttered, picking up your fork as if your dinner could somehow shield you from her scrutiny. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arched a brow. “You kind of do.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a knowing hum. “Indeed.” You groaned, letting your forehead drop onto the table for a moment. “Can I just eat before getting interrogated?”

Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her hand. “I knew something happened,” she sang, leaning a little closer. “Was it the Sage? It was the Sage, wasn’t it?” You stiffened.

Chai Latte gasped, eyes sparkling. “Oh my stars, it was!” You scowled, jabbing your fork at your food with a little too much force. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she mused, utterly delighted. “You’ve got that look, you never get that look.”

Earl Grey Cookie exchanged a glance with Hazelnut Biscotti, a quiet understanding passing between them. Chai Latte, however, was already in full-on gossip mode, and there was no stopping her now. “What did he say?” she pressed, nudging your tray aside as if it was completely unimportant. “Did he compliment your work? Give you some grand scholarly wisdom? Finally confess his undying admiration for you?”

You choked on your drink. “Chai!” She beamed. You glared, but your heart was still unsteady in your chest. Because even if he hadn’t confessed anything, even if it had only been a fleeting moment… You had seen him blush. And that? That was enough to keep you starstruck for the rest of the night.

Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So,” she drawled, stirring her tea with a lazy flick of her wrist. “Are you finally going to tell us what’s had you all tied up in knots lately?” You nearly choked on your drink. “I’m not-” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. “You’re not what?”

“Knotted up,” you muttered, avoiding their gazes. Earl Grey Cookie gave you a pointed look. “You’ve been distracted for days.” He adjusted his glasses.

“And given your history of not being forthcoming, I’d wager we’re about to hear something interesting.”

Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “Oh, I love interesting things.”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, fine. You win.” Chai Latte practically vibrated with excitement.

“We always win.” You inhaled deeply. “It’s about what I told you before. The story I heard in the Ghost City.”

That got their attention. The playful air around the table shifted ever so slightly just enough for you to feel the weight of their curiosity settle in. “The Storyteller’s Circle,” Earl Grey Cookie murmured, recalling the night with ease.

You nodded. “The one about the lovers who could only meet every hundred years.” Your fingers traced the rim of your cup as you spoke. “I told the Sage of Truth about it.”

Hazelnut Biscotti’s gaze sharpened. “And?” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. But there was no stopping now. So you told them. You told them how Shadow Milk Cookie had listened, the way his golden eyes had flickered with something unreadable as you spoke. How he had gone quiet, not in dismissal, but in deep thought. How, for once, you felt like you had given him something to ponder. And then you told them what he had said. "If it were you… then I suppose… waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing." The silence that followed was immediate. Heavy. Chai Latte Cookie’s lips parted, but no words came out. That was how you knew you had actually stunned her into speechlessness. Hazelnut Biscotti let out a low, impressed whistle.

Earl Grey Cookie merely blinked, but his silence was just as telling. Then, Chai Latte exploded. “Oh, stars above!” She all but launched forward, gripping your arm. “He said that?!” You squirmed under her intense gaze. “It wasn't it’s not...”

Hazelnut Biscotti smirked. “Don’t even try to downplay it. That wasn’t just some offhand remark.”

Earl Grey Cookie hummed. “It was deliberate.”

You swallowed hard. “I know.” 

Chai Latte Cookie released you only to clasp her hands over her heart dramatically. “Imagine waiting a hundred years just to see someone again,” she sighed, echoing her own words from that night. Then she snapped upright, eyes locking onto yours.

“That’s romantic!” You felt your face heat. “It’s not-”

“It is,” Hazelnut Biscotti interrupted, grinning. “And you know it.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Okay, but he-he turned it around on me! He asked if I was testing his patience or trying to ‘unravel the heart of the Sage of Truth.’”

Chai Latte gasped. “And what did you say?” Your ears burned. “I told him I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” The silence that followed was deafening. Earl Grey Cookie exhaled slowly.

“I see.” Hazelnut Biscotti raised a brow. “And what did he say to that?” Your heart pounded just thinking about it.

“He just… looked at me.” You swallowed. “And then he said, who indeed?” Chai Latte Cookie slammed her hands on the table.

“I’M GOING TO SCREAM.”

You groaned. “Don’t!”

Hazelnut Biscotti let out an amused chuckle, but his eyes were sharp. “That’s not nothing.” Earl Grey Cookie nodded. “That’s a man who doesn’t waste words.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I know.” Chai Latte Cookie gripped your hands, her gaze searching yours.

“And you...how do you feel about it?” You froze. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey Cookie both went silent, watching you carefully. Your heart hammered in your chest. How did you feel? You thought about the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way his golden eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. The way his words always challenged you but never dismissed you. How, when he looked at you, it wasn’t just as the Sage of Truth. It was as Shadow Milk Cookie. Your throat tightened.

Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your hands gently. “Hey,” she murmured, quieter this time. “You can say it.” You inhaled sharply. And then, barely above a whisper “…Maybe my heart does beat for him. Not just as the Sage of Truth.” You swallowed, voice trembling as you admitted finally, finally “But as Shadow Milk Cookie.” For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Chai Latte Cookie let out a quiet, breathless laugh. One of understanding. Hazelnut Biscotti smiled, almost knowingly. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Well then,” Chai Latte murmured, her voice filled with something warm, something fond. “I think you might be in trouble.”

You stared into your cup, watching the way the liquid rippled as your fingers trembled against the ceramic. It felt as though the weight of your own words was still settling over you, the truth finally spoken aloud yet leaving you with an entirely new set of uncertainties. Because now that you had admitted it to yourself, to them, there was another question lingering, one that twisted deep in your chest, coiling tighter with each passing second.

Would he...could he ever feel the same? Your breath hitched. The thought alone sent a shiver down your spine. Shadow Milk Cookie was… immortal. The Sage of Truth. A beacon of knowledge and wisdom, untethered by time in the way you were. He was beyond mere admiration, beyond simple affection. And you what were you to him, truly? A passing curiosity? A fleeting source of entertainment? A scholar fumbling at his feet, desperate to understand the vastness of the world he had already grasped long ago? Doubt gnawed at you.

“What if…” Your voice came out hoarse, uncertain. “What if it doesn’t matter how I feel?”

Chai Latte Cookie’s brows knitted together. “What?”

You swallowed. “He’s immortal,” you whispered. “And I’m just-” You gestured vaguely to yourself. “He’ll live through centuries. I’m nothing but a brief moment to him.” Earl Grey Cookie exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flickering toward Hazelnut Biscotti, who frowned but said nothing.

Chai Latte Cookie, however, did not let go of your hands. Instead, she squeezed them tighter. “You don’t know that,” she said softly. “Not for sure.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Don’t I?” Your mind spiraled, recalling every conversation, every moment you had spent with him.

“You said it yourselves he doesn’t waste words. And he’s patient. Incredibly patient. He has all the time in the world to humor a struggling scholar like me. But when that time runs out” Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to say it. “When I’m gone, he’ll still be here. He’ll keep seeking truth, keep moving forward, just as he always has.” The words tasted bitter. “And one day, I’ll just be… another story.” A soft exhale.

Chai Latte Cookie’s hands tightened around yours. Hazelnut Biscotti’s voice was low, steady. “Are you afraid of being forgotten?”

You hesitated. “Not forgotten,” you murmured. “Just… insignificant.” Chai Latte Cookie’s expression twisted hurt, as if she could feel the ache in your chest as her own.

Hazelnut Biscotti hummed thoughtfully. “Funny,” he mused, resting his chin against his palm. “That’s not the impression I got from him at all.”

You blinked. “What?”

Earl Grey Cookie nodded, adjusting his glasses. “We told you already. He’s deliberate. And if he didn’t care. if he saw you as just another fleeting moment, he would not entertain the idea of waiting a century. For you.”

Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head. “I mean, think about it.” Her voice was softer now, more careful. “He didn’t have to say that. He didn’t have to answer that way at all.”

Hazelnut Biscotti smirked. “And yet, he did.”

Your breath stilled. “But,” you rasped, “he did turn it around on me. He asked if I was trying to unravel him. What if I am just a curiosity to him? A scholar to test, an equation to solve?”

Chai Latte Cookie exhaled. “Then ask him,” she said simply.

You flinched. “What?”

“Ask him,” she repeated, searching your gaze. “If you’re so afraid of being insignificant of being nothing more than a passing thought ask him.” Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Talk to him,”

Earl Grey Cookie agreed. “He is not a man who plays games with his words. If he does not mean something, he will make it clear.” Hazelnut Biscotti grinned.

“And if he does mean it?” You asked meekly.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well. I suppose you’ll have your answer then, won’t you?”

Your stomach twisted. Could you really do that? Could you really stand before the Sage of Truth, before Shadow Milk Cookie and ask him outright what you meant to him? You weren’t sure. But one thing was certain. You had to know. Chai Latte Cookie, ever the observant friend, must have noticed the way your expression had faltered; the way your fingers had tensed around your cup, the way doubt had taken root in your heart despite their reassurances. She sighed, shaking her head, before nudging your arm playfully.

“Oh, don’t look so gloomy,” she chided, though her voice carried none of its usual mischief.

“I knew we shouldn’t have let you stew on all that nonsense from yesterday.”

You blinked. “What?” Chai Latte pursed her lips before exhaling, her teasing demeanor slipping into something softer. “Listen, I was the one who said all those things about immortality and how fleeting our lives are, but that was just to ground you, not discourage you.”

She poked your forehead lightly, as if trying to knock some sense into you. “I didn’t mean to make you think you didn’t have a chance.” You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked.

“Told you they’d come around.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses. “It was never about whether or not you should feel this way,” he added. “Only about making sure you understood the weight of it.”

Chai Latte Cookie nodded. “And for that, I am sorry,” she admitted, offering you a sheepish smile. “But let me tell you something, okay?” She leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Even an immortal like him one so patient, so distant, so wrapped in his eternal search for truth at some point, he would have to fall, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Chai Latte tilted her head, watching you carefully. “You make him think, you challenge him in ways he doesn’t expect. And maybe that’s new for him. Maybe that’s different.”

She grinned. “And different is dangerous. Even for him.”

Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled. “Especially for him.”

Earl Grey simply hummed in agreement. Your heart pounded. The thought of it the idea that Shadow Milk Cookie was not as untouchable as you had thought, that even he might not be immune to the emotions that tangled so messily within you, sent your mind reeling. Could it be true? Could he truly? You swallowed hard. “Then I’ll ask, I don’t know when…but I’ll ask” you murmured, more to yourself than to them. Chai Latte’s eyes softened. “Good,” she whispered. “You deserve to know.”

The night wrapped around you like a silken cocoon, dreams slipping in and out of reach like the ebb and flow of the astral river beyond the Academy’s grand halls. Yet even in sleep, your thoughts tangled with golden eyes and words spun in careful riddles who indeed? By the time morning arrived, light spilled through your window, golden and unrelenting. You blinked blearily at the ceiling, heart still caught somewhere between waking and the memory of yesterday’s conversation. Even an immortal like him would have to fall someday. Your friends had a way of speaking truths you hadn’t dared voice aloud. But today was not for lingering in thought. Today was for routine. The moment you realized the time, panic surged through you.

Tearing yourself from the warmth of your blankets, you rushed through your morning preparations with the urgency of someone narrowly escaping disaster.

The halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy were already alive with the quiet hum of morning conversation, the faint scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air.

Your stomach, however, had only one thought in mind. By the time you skidded into the dining hall, slightly breathless, your eyes immediately landed on the familiar sight of honey-drizzled waffles and freshly cut pineapple, golden in the morning light. Your favorite. For once, fortune favored you.

Balancing your tray with careful precision, you wove through the throngs of students before settling into your usual seat beside your friends. The conversation at the table was already flowing, words slipping past you in a comfortable rhythm as you eagerly took your first bite, the familiar sweetness grounding you.

And then you heard words you wish you could unhear. “…Professor Almond Cookie’s exam next week,” Earl Grey Cookie was saying, his tone casual, as if the very sentence did not send your mind into immediate ruin. The world froze. Your fork halted midway to your mouth.

Your stomach turned cold. “…What exam?” The words left your lips in a breathless whisper, barely audible over the morning chatter. Chai Latte Cookie, mid-sip of her tea, nearly choked. She set her cup down with exaggerated care, blinking at you.

“Please, please tell me you’re joking.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. “You did study for it, right?” Your mind was a blank slate. A vast, unforgiving void where surely there should have been notes, recollections, some indication that you had not simply walked into impending doom. But there was nothing. Not a single page of memory turned in your favor.

Perhaps it was the anxiety…Earl Grey Cookie regarded you with his usual, piercing stare. “Don’t tell me you” Your head hit the table with a dull thud. “I forgot.” Chai Latte let out a long, suffering sigh. “Oh, honey.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled, shaking his head. “This is going to be fun.” Fun. Fun was not the word you would have chosen. The waffles had never tasted so bittersweet.

You groaned into the wooden table, muffling a barely restrained why does the universe hate me? against its surface. Chai Latte Cookie patted your back, equal parts sympathy and amusement in her touch. “Hey, at least you remembered now instead of the night before the exam.” That wasn’t exactly comforting. Lifting your head just enough to peek at them, you croaked out, “What’s it even on?”

Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, ever the diligent scholar. “Professor Almond Cookie mentioned it multiple times,” he said, though there was no true malice in his tone, just that sharp, perceptive edge of his. “It’s covering everything from our last three lectures: the fundamental applications of enchanted sigils, the properties of shifting hexes, and the historical cases of spell miscalculations leading to catastrophic failures.”

Your stomach dropped. You had definitely not studied for that. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whistled. “Oof. Yeah, you might want to start reviewing immediately.” Chai Latte Cookie nodded sagely. “Good thing you have your standing appointment with the Sage of Truth.”

You groaned again. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, smirking over her tea. “And so will he when you show up looking like you’ve forgotten what words are.”

Hazelnut Biscotti grinned. “Do you think he already knows you forgot? Maybe he foresaw this exact moment and is just waiting to see how you’ll react.”

You shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Earl Grey Cookie hummed, tapping his fingers against his book. “Regardless, you should use your time wisely. That exam is extensive, and you’ll need a structured review plan if you want to pass.” Your fingers curled around your cup, mind already racing ahead. Shadow Milk Cookie would definitely help. You already had an established time to meet, after all. But the thought of admitting yet another failure in the presence of him…You exhaled, steadying yourself. There was no avoiding it. If you wanted to stand a chance, you needed his guidance. Even if it meant unraveling yourself before the Sage of Truth once more. Getting to lecture felt like impending doom you took your breakfast with you. The only anecdote to get you through the morning.

Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture had already begun, but you were still lost in the remnants of your breakfast. The honey-drizzled waffles melted on your tongue with just the right balance of sweetness, the crisp edges giving way to the warm, soft center. And the pineapple perfectly ripe, bursting with a tangy sweetness had been a gift from the heavens themselves. You weren’t about to let such a rare treat go to waste. So there you sat, half-tuned into the lecture, half-devoted to savoring every last bite.

“now, let’s review the foundational principles behind sigil layering,” Professor Almond Custard droned, pacing at the front of the hall. The familiar scratch of quills against parchment surrounded you, your classmates diligently taking notes as the professor gestured toward a series of complex sigils drawn across the enchanted blackboard.

“These are fundamental to understanding the structure of shifting hexes, and thus will be a focal point in next week’s exam.” You nearly choked on your last bite of waffle. The exam. You knew about it now, of course but that didn’t mean you were prepared. Swallowing hastily, you cast a panicked glance toward your friends. Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, sipped her tea with the air of someone entirely unbothered.

When she caught your expression, she raised a brow, lips curving into an all-too-knowing smirk. Earl Grey Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, sitting just ahead, were already scribbling notes, perfectly composed. Earl Grey, ever perceptive, didn’t even need to look to know you were struggling. “You should be writing this down,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. You fumbled for your quill. Right. Professor Almond Custard continued, his voice steady and practiced. “Now, who can explain why improper sigil placement in hexes leads to instability?”

A few hands went up. You shoved the last piece of pineapple into your mouth, hurriedly swallowing as you tried to force your mind to focus. You had an appointment with Shadow Milk Cookie later. You would fix this. You’d ask him to go over everything sigils, hexes, historical catastrophes. You would prepare. But for now…You needed to at least pretend you knew what was going on.

The moment your eyes landed on the sigils scrawled across the blackboard, everything clicked into place. The elegant curves, the precise intersections, the delicate but deliberate layering it was all familiar to you now. You had spent hours under Shadow Milk Cookie’s careful instruction, tracing these very symbols beneath the warm glow of candlelight, his voice a steady guide through the labyrinth of knowledge. Preparation alone wasn’t enough, of course.

Knowledge required application, understanding beyond rote memorization. But as the professor continued his explanation, you found yourself keeping pace. The connections formed naturally, like puzzle pieces slotting into place. You exhaled, steadying yourself. You knew this. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie turned slightly, as if checking on you. When he saw the recognition in your gaze, he gave a small nod of approval before refocusing on his notes. Chai Latte Cookie, ever observant, smirked knowingly beside you. She nudged your arm just enough to make you roll your eyes.

"See?" she murmured under her breath. "Told you he makes a difference." You said nothing, but the warmth in your chest spoke volumes. Still, one thing was certain no amount of familiarity with the material would change the fact that you needed to prove your understanding. And that meant making the most of your session with Shadow Milk Cookie later. You had no intention of disappointing him.

You would not-could not disappoint him. Not after yesterday. Not after his words, his unwavering belief in you, his golden eyes watching you not just as a scholar, but as you. The weight of his voice still echoed in your mind, the way he had considered your words so carefully before offering his own. "If it were you… then I suppose… waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing."

A century. A hundred years. An eternity compressed into something so simple, so effortless, as if time itself could bend beneath the weight of a promise unspoken. Your heart tightened, but not in fear. No, this was something else. Something warmer. Something that burned, pushing you forward, making you want to be better not just for yourself, but for the one who had come to guide you.

You kept your focus locked on Professor Almond Custard’s lecture, barely sparing a glance at your half-eaten honey-drizzled waffles and pineapple slices. Normally, the sweetness would have held your attention, but now the symbols before you demanded your full awareness. Sigils layered in meticulous arrays sprawled across the board, shifting in meaning with every line the professor added. Some students furrowed their brows, their quills scratching hastily against parchment as they tried to keep up.

But you? You could see it now. Each stroke, each arrangement it made sense. Not long ago, this level of understanding would have felt out of reach, the logic slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to grasp it. But today, the pieces fit together seamlessly, as if something deep within you had finally unlocked.

Shadow Milk Cookie had been right. The realization filled you with a quiet sort of pride, the kind that settled deep in your bones rather than bursting to the surface. You straightened in your seat, your notes no longer frantic but measured, deliberate. You were going to prove yourself.

Even so, preparation was not enough. If you wanted to truly master this, if you wanted to stand before Professor Almond Custard’s exam next week with certainty, you needed more time. More refinement. More of him. The thought cemented itself before you even finished considering it. You would have to skip lab today. The decision wasn’t made lightly. You valued your grades, and while lab sections were important, they were not weighted nearly as much as the main course. You could afford to drop your lowest lab score, but you couldn’t afford to let your overall comprehension suffer. Not when you had the opportunity to sharpen your understanding under Shadow Milk Cookie’s guidance.

But that meant one thing, apologizing to Chai Latte Cookie. The moment the lecture concluded, you turned toward her, already wincing. "Chai, I"

She held up a hand, already grinning. “You’re skipping lab to go study with the Sage, aren’t you?”

You groaned. “I hate how well you know me.”

She laughed, waving off your concern. “Please, I knew the moment you actually paid attention today instead of zoning out that you were going to pull something like this.”

You sighed. “I am sorry, though. I know we had a system...” Chai Latte Cookie linked her arm through yours with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, woe is me, abandoned by my beloved lab partner in my time of need.”

Then, she winked. “Don’t worry, I can handle it. I’ll tell Professor Star Anise you got sick.”

Guilt tugged at you. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she said without hesitation. “Besides, let’s be real you’re way more stressed about that exam than the lab. And if studying with him makes you feel like you can handle it, then go.”

You exhaled, relief washing over you. “Thank you, Chai. Seriously.” She nudged your side playfully. “Just make sure you don’t get too distracted.”

Heat bloomed across your cheeks. “Chai!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been gathering his materials nearby, snorted. “She’s not wrong, though.” You buried your face in your hands. “Not helping.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely adjusted his glasses. “If anything, it’s a practical choice. The Sage of Truth is an invaluable resource.”

He paused, then added, “But Chai does make a fair point. Try to keep your thoughts academic.” You groaned, swiping up your books before your friends could torment you any further.

“I am studying, I’ll have you know.”

Chai Latte Cookie grinned, tilting her head. “Oh, of course you are.” With one last sigh, you turned to leave, the weight of their knowing glances trailing after you.

But even their teasing couldn’t overshadow the anticipation building in your chest. Afternoon would come soon enough. And he would be waiting. The Scholar’s Wing loomed before you, its towering spires and arched windows casting long shadows across the courtyard. You had never rushed here like this before...never felt this level of urgency gnawing at your ribs, making every step feel both too fast and not fast enough.

You were early. Far too early. You knew it. You had actively chosen to be early, skipping your lab section entirely. Chai Latte Cookie had understood, even encouraged it, but that didn’t stop the lingering guilt from creeping up your spine. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were making the right choice. That this mattered more. That he mattered more.

No, not like that. You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought before it could take root. It wasn’t about him. It was about the exam. About needing to prepare. About not wanting to disappoint the one scholar in this academy whose respect you had begun to crave. …And yet, your feet carried you just a little too quickly to his door. Your heart, beat a little too fast for this to be just about studying. You inhaled sharply, pressed your hands against the heavy wooden door, and stepped inside. The scent of parchment, aged ink, and a faint trace of something celestial greeted you like moonlight and old libraries. And there, seated at his desk, was him. Shadow Milk Cookie glanced up, golden eyes flickering with recognition then mild surprise. He wasn’t expecting you. He shouldn’t have been expecting you.

His brows lifted ever so slightly. “You’re early.” There was something pointed in his tone, not unkind, but certainly knowing. His gaze flickered toward the enchanted hourglass on his desk. “You should be in lab right now.”

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. You had known this would come up, and yet, under his piercing gaze, it was somehow ten times harder to explain yourself. Still, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze. His brilliant, knowing, endlessly patient gaze.

“I need your help more than the lab.” A beat of silence passed. Then another. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his golden eyes sharp yet unreadable, as if weighing the truth of your words. Then, with a quiet sigh, he set down his quill and leaned back ever so slightly in his chair.

“Very well,” he murmured, amusement ghosting the edge of his voice. “You have my undivided attention. Now,” his eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist “tell me everything.” You exhaled slowly, trying to steady the anxious energy thrumming beneath your skin. Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes watched you. Calm, steady, waiting. His patience was endless, yet somehow, that only made it harder to find the words.

You clenched your hands at your sides, then finally admitted, “It’s about Professor Almond Custard’s exam.” You hesitated, heart pounding, before adding, “I’ve been coming to your tutoring sessions. I’ve been paying attention. I’ve done the readings, the exercises you’ve seen me do them.” You exhaled sharply. “But I’m still worried I won’t do well.”

His expression didn’t change no pity, no irritation, only quiet understanding. His hands folded over the open pages of his research tome, and when he spoke, his voice was as composed and deliberate as ever. “You doubt yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “I just” Your fingers curled into fists, frustration creeping into your voice. “I know I’ve improved. I feel like I’ve improved. But what if it’s not enough? What if I think I understand everything, but when the exam comes, my mind just-just shuts down?” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you in silence for a moment, as if carefully unraveling each layer of your doubt.

Then, slowly, he gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.” You hesitated only a moment before obeying, settling into the chair and setting your bag on your lap. He rested his elbow on his desk, fingers poised lightly against his cheek, watching you with that same unreadable gaze. “Show me,” he said simply. Your brows furrowed. “Show you…?”

“Your notes. Your understanding. Show me what you have learned.” Right. Of course. You fumbled with your bag, pulling out your notebook and flipping to the most recent pages, filled with meticulously copied sigils, dense theories, and rewritten formulas.

The ink was smudged in places where you had rewritten sections too many times, where frustration had nearly won, where self-doubt had whispered that none of it would stick. Shadow Milk Cookie took the notebook with careful hands, his fingers barely grazing the edges of the parchment. His gaze flickered over the pages, absorbing every word, every correction, every hastily scrawled margin note. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally “This is good.” The words were so unexpected, so decisive, that your breath hitched. You blinked at him, mouth opening slightly, but no sound came out. He turned a page. “Your sigil work is precise. Your understanding of transmutation is solid. Even your margin notes show an active engagement with the material.” He tapped a section where you had underlined a key theorem three times. “This is not the work of someone who has learned nothing.”

Heat crept up your neck. “But what if” He lifted a hand ever so slightly, a silent request for pause. You clamped your mouth shut. His golden eyes met yours. “You say you understand these concepts in tutoring. You apply them correctly here, in your notes. And yet, you fear they will abandon you in the moment of the exam.”

You swallowed, nodding stiffly. His gaze softened. “You have come far. You know that, do you not?”

You hesitated. “I… I do.” “You are not here because you lack understanding.” His voice was gentle, but certain. “You are here because you fear that understanding will not be enough.”

Your throat tightened. “…Yes.” Shadow Milk Cookie set the notebook down and laced his fingers together, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then, he let out a quiet hum. “Then let us put your fear to rest.” You blinked. “What?” His lips quirked upward, just slightly. “You came early, seeking more time to prepare.” He gestured to the notebook. “So we shall prepare.” Something in your chest loosened, just a little.

You nodded, more eager than you expected to be. “Okay.”

He leaned forward slightly, his presence calm, assured unshakable. “We will begin with transmutation theory. Walk me through the process, as you would in the exam.” You inhaled deeply, flipping to the appropriate page in your notes. You can do this. Because this time, you weren’t alone. You took a steadying breath, letting the familiar symbols and words in your notes ground you. Shadow Milk Cookie remained silent, watching with that ever-patient gaze, his hands still folded before him as if he had all the time in the world. It was reassuring and terrifying all at once.

Start simple. Build from there. “Okay,” you began, fingers tracing the inked lines on the parchment. “Transmutation theory. The fundamental principle is the conversion of one form of magic into another an alteration, not creation. That’s the first distinction. You can’t make something from nothing. There has to be an initial essence to manipulate.”

He gave a slow nod. “And the primary laws governing this?” You swallowed, flipping back to an earlier section in your notes where the core tenets of transmutation were outlined. “Right. There are three foundational laws: the Law of Equivalence, the Law of Conservation, and the Law of Stability.”

You tapped the first one. “The Law of Equivalence states that the magical properties of the original substance must match or be proportionate to the intended outcome. If they don’t, the transmutation fails or worse, backfires.”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in approval. “And the Law of Conservation?”

You nodded, growing more confident. “Magic doesn’t vanish it shifts. The amount of energy present before the transmutation must equal the amount after. If there’s excess energy, it needs to be redirected somewhere, or else it destabilizes the process.” His golden gaze flickered with something unreadable. “And if too much energy is lost?”

“The transmutation weakens or fails entirely.” You exhaled sharply. “Which ties into the Law of Stability. Any transmutation must be performed within a stable magical field, or external interference, whether intentional or environmental, can disrupt the process.”

Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Good.”

Your breath caught. Good. He didn’t often say that. Normally, he made you prove it. Testing, challenging, guiding you to the right answer only when you’d struggled long enough to earn it. But this time, he accepted your answer without further questioning, without the usual probing remarks meant to push you further. Because of yesterday. Because of that moment his words, your words, the shift in the air between you. You swallowed, pushing forward before your thoughts could spiral.

“Applying these laws, transmutation can be classified into structured and unstructured forms. Structured transmutation follows predetermined matrices, sigils, arrays, written formulas; whereas unstructured relies purely on raw magical control and adaptability.”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded. “And which is more volatile?” “Unstructured,” you answered without hesitation. “Since it lacks an anchor, it requires immense focus and magical control to maintain stability. Structured transmutation is more rigid but far safer.”

He let the answer settle before prompting, “And which does Professor Almond Custard favor?”

You hesitated. “…Unstructured.” His brows raised ever so slightly. You groaned. “Which is so unfair. Because we’ve only been doing structured transmutation in class. Why even give us matrices to practice if he’s going to expect us to-”

“A test of adaptability,” Shadow Milk Cookie interrupted smoothly, his voice calm in contrast to your growing frustration.

“Knowledge is valuable, but so is application.”

You sighed. “I know. I just wish it wasn’t something that could literally backfire if I mess it up.”

His gaze softened, not in amusement, not in challenge, but in something quieter, something reassuring. “Then let us ensure you do not.” The tension in your shoulders eased just a little.

You nodded. “Right. Okay.” You flipped to the next section in your notes, running a finger along the lines of dense writing. “Then there’s dynamic elemental interplay. When transmutation involves shifting one element into another. The closer two elements are on the magical spectrum, the easier the transition. The further apart, the more energy it takes.”

He gestured for you to continue. “For example,” you said, “changing water to ice is relatively simple because they’re closely related. But changing fire to water is significantly harder because you’re dealing with opposing natures.” Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head. “And how does one mitigate the instability of such a transmutation?” You hesitated, running through what you knew before carefully answering, “By either introducing a stabilizing agent like an intermediary element or by reinforcing the magical field to reduce external interference.”

The corner of his lips quirked up not quite a smile, but something close. “You are well-prepared.” There it was again. The validation, unprompted, freely given.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You stared at him, thrown for a moment. “I-I mean, I think so?” His golden eyes held yours, steady and certain. “I do not say things without reason.” Your throat tightened. The weight of his words, the certainty of them, settled over you like warmth against the ever-present chill of doubt.

Slowly, he closed your notebook, his fingers lingering briefly on the worn parchment. “You know these theories. You have studied them well. Your fear is not of failure, but of your own doubt.”

You lowered your gaze, pressing your lips together.

“I just… I don’t want to disappoint-” You cut yourself off, the words catching in your throat. Disappoint who? Your professor? Yourself? Or the one sitting before you now, the one whose praise so rare, so measured had somehow become something you craved? Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was softer when he spoke again.

“You will not.” You swallowed hard, looking up at him. He held your gaze for a long moment before nodding toward your notes. “Shall we continue?” You inhaled deeply. Then, steadier this time “Yes.” The study session stretched on, the rhythmic back-and-forth between you and Shadow Milk Cookie settling into a steady flow. He posed questions, sometimes leading, sometimes deliberately vague, testing how far you could reach before he guided you toward the right answer. When you faltered, he gave you just enough space to find your footing again.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but the frustration that had knotted your shoulders at the start had long since melted away. The theories, the laws, the formulas they all wove together with a clarity that had eluded you before. Perhaps it was his patience, or maybe just the way he spoke, each word deliberate, measured, filled with an unwavering certainty that left no room for doubt. The parchment beneath your fingers blurred slightly as you fought to keep up with your own notes, scrawling down key insights between spoken explanations.

Your hand was starting to cramp, your thoughts teetering on the edge of exhaustion, when “That is enough for now.” You blinked, the abrupt statement pulling you out of your concentrated haze. Shadow Milk Cookie reached forward, closing your notebook with an air of finality.

“…What?” You frowned, still processing the sudden shift. “It is time for lunch,” he said, rising from his seat with the same unhurried grace he always carried.

“You will need more fuel if you wish to continue studying effectively.” You stared at him. Shadow Milk Cookie, calling for a break? Not you, not after growing too tired to focus or feeling your stomach protest from neglecting to eat. Him.

“…Huh.” You leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re the one stopping for a break? That’s new.” A flicker of amusement passed through his golden gaze.

“You act as though I do not eat.”

“Do you?” you shot back, half-teasing. “Because sometimes I wonder.”

His lips quirked not quite a smile, but close. “Come.” You hesitated only briefly before sighing and rising from your chair, stretching your stiff limbs. “Fine, fine.” You cast a last glance at your notes before following him toward the dining hall. The lingering warmth of his earlier praise still echoed in your mind.

As you walked alongside Shadow Milk Cookie, the air between you was… comfortable. Perhaps it was the lingering ease of having successfully navigated the study session, or maybe it was simply the quiet certainty of his presence. Either way, you found yourself talking about nothing in particular, just filling the space with whatever crossed your mind.

“So, do you think transmutation could work on food?” you mused, half-serious. “Like, if I got tired of my soup and wanted it to be cake instead?”

Shadow Milk Cookie glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You would require a base element with similar magical properties. Soup and cake are… incompatible.”

You snorted. “That’s the part you take issue with? Not the fact that I’m trying to turn my lunch into dessert?” He hummed, folding his hands behind his back.

“A questionable use of magic, but not impossible.” You grinned, letting the conversation wander further. “Alright, then what about transmuting dreams? If you could alter them, make them into something tangible-”

“An imprecise science,” he mused. “Dreams lack a stable form. To transmute them would require first anchoring them in reality.”

“So, basically, I’d have to bottle a dream first?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

You sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to abandon my dream of dream transmutation, then.” A soft huff of amusement escaped him. “A paradoxical statement.”

The back-and-forth continued as you made your way to the dining hall, your questions becoming more ridiculous, more aimless anything to keep talking, anything to keep his attention just a little longer. Not that he seemed to mind.

He answered each question with the same patience as always, as if indulging your nonsense was just as important as discussing transmutation theory. The early afternoon air clung to your skin, cool and thick with the scent of rain that had yet to fall. The floating lanterns that lined the Academy’s walkways flickered with a gentle, wavering light, their glow catching in the golden thread embroidered along his sleeves.

The two of you walked in step though, in truth, it was you who matched his pace, trailing just half a step behind, resisting the urge to look up at him every time the warm lantern light reflected in his golden eyes.

Shadow Milk Cookie was always composed, always poised in that effortless way that only someone like him could be. And yet, you swore you saw something flicker across his face whenever you spoke something fleeting, something you were never quite fast enough to catch. Your hand twitched by your side, fingers curling, then uncurling, before you gave in and reached out.

Not his hand, no you weren’t that bold. But the sleeve of his robes, the fine fabric slipping between your fingers like water. He didn’t stop walking, but he turned his head slightly, just enough to let you see the quiet curiosity in his expression. Not surprised, not alarmed only watching.

Waiting. Your heart pounded. “Wait,” you said, but you didn’t slow your steps. “Just… I need to ask something.” There was no hesitation.

“Then ask.” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You scrambled for something before the moment slipped from your grasp. “Do you think the moon ever wishes it could touch the sun?”

A slow blink. Then, a soft hum. “A rather poetic notion.” You let out a nervous laugh, gaze fixed ahead. “You didn’t answer.”

“I was considering my response.” A pause. “Do you believe it does?”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Hm.” He tilted his head slightly. “And why is that?”

“Because…” You hesitated, tightening your hold on his sleeve. “Because it’s always chasing after it. And yet, no matter how close it gets, it can never reach it.” His expression did not change, but something in his gaze sharpened, as though he could see right through you.

You pressed on before you lost your nerve. “And what about rivers?” you asked, voice just a little too breathless. “Do you think they ever get tired of flowing forward?” His lips parted slightly, as if the question had genuinely caught him off guard. You didn’t give him time to answer.

“What about echoes? Do you think they feel lonely, only ever repeating what they hear?”

A soft exhale. “What are you truly asking?” Your throat went dry. You had walked this path to the dining halls a hundred times before, but now, the distance felt immeasurable. Every step, every moment, stretched longer than it should have. You glanced up at him, at the serene, unreadable expression he always wore. He was so calm, so unaffected, as if nothing in this world could ever shake him.

But you had seen the way his brows furrowed when you asked too many questions, the way he tilted his head when your words gave him pause. You had seen him think had seen the exact moment when something you said left him considering.

Maybe that was why you spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “And… what about yesterday?” His steps slowed just a fraction. You pressed forward. “You said something to me. Something I don’t understand.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, the lantern light casting long shadows across his face. "Then ask me again.” Your pulse pounded. "You said I was the question you didn't want to answer."

A pause. He did not look away, nor did he interrupt. So you kept going. “But that doesn’t make sense. You always have answers. You don’t waste words, you don’t leave things unresolved. And if you ever refuse to answer something, it’s only because you already know the truth, and you just don’t want to say it out loud.”

His eyes gleamed. A breath. "Perhaps," he murmured.

"Then why?" Your grip on his sleeve tightened. “Why won’t you answer me?” Silence. You hated it. You hated how he could leave things hanging in the air like that how he could make you feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying. His expression remained still, but there was something else now something restrained. As if he were weighing his words with the utmost care, ensuring that whatever left his lips would not be something he would regret.

Finally, he spoke. "Because some truths,” he said, voice quiet, “once spoken, cannot be taken back.” Your breath hitched. Your fingers, still gripping his sleeve, trembled.

"But I-" You swallowed hard. "I deserve to know." A flicker of something, something just beneath the surface, something almost unreadable. Then, so softly it barely reached your ears, "Yes," he admitted. "You do."

The entrance to the dining hall loomed just ahead. The warmth of it, the voices of other students, the scent of fresh bread and tea it all pressed against the edges of this moment, threatening to shatter the fragile silence between you. But still, he did not move. Still, his gaze did not waver.

“…Not yet though,” he murmured at last. The words settled between you like an unfinished sentence, like a book missing its final page. Your grip on his sleeve loosened, but you didn’t step away. The doors to the dining hall stood open before you. The world beyond this quiet moment beckoned. And yet, you could not move. Not yet. Your fingers curled loosely around the fabric of his sleeve, a fragile tether between you and the only answer you sought. You barely realized you had stopped walking until you felt the shift the absence of movement, the pause of your breath. Shadow Milk Cookie did not pull away.

A/N I know it's an odd spot to stop But I didn't feel well enough to finish the scene so ch 18 will be a little longer...I feel horrible and sorry y'all this was supposed to be out on friday but yknow I got cursed by the heavens or whatever

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[yaseraphine]

pick a card 7 - what do your guardian angels want to tell you ?

masterlist / ko-fi

This is a general reading. Take what resonates, leave the rest.

Pile 1

Ace of Wands, Ace of Cups, Ace of Swords, 2 of Wands

“I am divinely protected at all times “

First off, I feel like you are at a time in your life where you are beginning a lot of things. There is this fresh energy coming up in your reading, but it is filled with nostalgia and bitterness. Maybe you’re moving out, changing jobs or switching careers, or you just started living your "dream life". Despite all the blessings that are currently flowing in your life, I feel like you are looking back at the road you traveled, the rocky journey that you had to go through to get what you have with many regrets. You know you should be happy since you got what you wanted but you can’t help yourself from feeling bittersweet. I am getting that one lyric from the song “Free” of the movie Barbie The Princess and the Pauper : “You would think that I'm so lucky / That I have so many things / I'm realizing that every present comes with strings”. You might be realizing the real hardships and downsides of that dream. You probably idealized a career path, a city, a relationship, to be honest it could be anything. You always wanted to try this thing out, you put it on a pedestal for a long time, it was at the top of your bucket list but…now that you’ve done it, gotten it or tried it, you realize it really wasn’t all that great. It’s like you deceived yourself with these high expectations and the fall of the realization is pretty brutal. Maybe you had this thought process where you thought “once I have this, I will finally be happy !” or “once I live in x city, I will finally be able to start this new life and accomplish my moodboard!”. Overall, you might be feeling a bit empty, pretty much still shocked from this unexpected turn of events. 

What your guardian angels want to tell you is that you are divinely protected at all times. They know you are disappointed and totally understand your pain. However, they want to reassure you and tell you this was all part of the process and the journey. This was a lesson for you to understand that you cannot wait to obtain something specific to be happy or be fulfilled in your life. You have to be grateful with your current life no matter what. They want to tell you that happiness is a daily practice to commit yourself to. Not something you gain after a string of bad luck. Happiness is not transactional, it flows, it’s alive, it needs the nourishment of love. Of the love you have within yourself and towards life, humanity and Nature as a whole. 

Sextile : A combination of tension and flow, potential and a rewarding situation, Saturn : Feel restricted, experience struggle, learn hard work and patience and Earth : Persistence, patience and practicality

You grow through what you go through

What your guardian angels want to tell you is that struggle is part of life, disappointment is part of life. They want to remind you that you do not always get what you want. Sometimes, the Universe decides to give you something else, to redirect your energy somewhere else. That way you can get what you need, and not what you desire. That thing that you so desperately wanted, that city that you idealized, that career path that you put on a pedestal, that major and university that you overly romanticized : this was all a plan from your angels to bring you down a bit, to ground you here on earth. Dreaming is great, dreaming is good but you went too high in dreamland. So high that it blurred out some really important truths about this specific thing. Maybe you did not expect to be so homesick, if you moved out. You thought getting out of the old city you were in, or moving out of your parents’ house would set you free and give you peace of mind. But it did not. You physically moved but your soul still carries the hurt and trauma that you experienced back there. The hurt didn’t stay there, it moved out with you. And it is because that hurt is in you, not there. Not back home. The hurt is still there once you get that dream Chanel bag you’ve been saving for months now. The hurt is still there once you get that romantic partner. Anyways, you get what I am trying to say. 

Our spirit need the nourishment that unconditional love bestows upon us, without which we weather away and suffer

Overall, they want to tell you it is totally okay to be disappointed and hurt. It is also okay to sometimes desire material things, or more superficial things. They just want you to be less idealistic and look at the facts more before committing to an idea or project. 

thank you for reading until the end pile 1 ! lots of love <3

Pile 2

5 of Wands, 6 of Wands, Page of Cups, King of Cups, King of Wands, 8 of Cups 

You don’t drown by falling in the water, you drown by staying there.

There is already, just from the quotes, a pretty clear energy for your pile. Your guardian angels want to tell you that bathing in self-loathing and hatred won’t lead you anywhere. I think we all have our moments where we have a hard time moving on from some things, some events that happened to us, especially when they were completely unfair. It is hard to not cling to the resentment, anger and sadness from it all. It is hard to not center our lives around these events that traumatized us. And your guardian angels know really well that you went through unfair painful situations. They know it is hard to move on. They know it is important to acknowledge our negative emotions as much as we acknowledge our positive ones. But, despite that, they still want to tell you there is no use in staying in this dark place anymore. They want you to realize that your pain is valid and completely legitimate. But, something being legitimate doesn’t make it okay to do if it is hurting you in the long run. Your negative emotions should have their place, just like your positive ones, but they shouldn’t take over your life and be the central energy of it. They shouldn’t be the driving force of your daily life.

But you cannot grow if you are bitter...

Your guardian angels want to tell you to move on from this/ese negative experience(s). They are telling you that you can take your time, to purge all the negative emotions slowly but surely. They want to tell you to love yourself, to be gentle with yourself in the process. They want to tell you to not resist this change as “you cannot grow if you are bitter”. They want you to go out more, see the sun, observe nature and its beauty. And, even if you are suffering from depression, they still want to tell you they are proud of you for all the progress you’ve made overtime, and all the progress you are going to make in the future. They want to tell you to try practicing gratitude : every day try to find a thing you are grateful for, try to watch wholesome content on the internet. If it is necessary, uninstall certain anxiety-inducing and hate-filled apps such as X / Twitter, avoid doom scrolling and identify what happens after you do it : how do you really feel ? 

Trust the magic of new beginnings !

House one : Individuality, self-image and approach to life, Pisces : Intimacy, Intuition and compassion

You guardian angels want you to focus on yourself, on what you like and on what brings you peace. They want you to flow, to be more compassionate towards yourself. They want you to share your cup more with others, to allow love to flow in your life more. Say more yes to hang outs, reconnect with art and music. Try to make lists of your favorite albums of all time, and why ? How did you discover this album ? How much would you rate it out of 10 ? Make lists of your favorite singers, musicians, poets, writers, painters, artists,.. Learn about certain art movements. If you can, go to museums more often. Sit on the benches and stare at a painting, observe its finest details. This is where you will find pieces of yourself. You are inside each creation, each sculpture, each drawing, each touch of paint. 

Go to the theater if you can, watch some movies, look at the characters, how they live their emotions. Your guardian angels just overall want you to find a way to reconnect with all types of arts as this will help you soothe the pain and purge the poison of the past hurt. 

Pile 2, this is a beautiful energy you got here <3 This goes extremely well with the current North node in Pisces, more compassion and art in your life will help you cope better. Merge souls with the beauty of art (the sentence technically does not make sense but I felt called to write it like that), this will heal your broken heart a bit.

thank you for reading until the end pile 2 ! lots of love <3

Pile 3

King of Swords, The World, The Devil, 5 of Pentacles, 9 of Wands

TW : mentions of addiction, EDs, …. This reading could be extremely triggering to some people. If you’re sensitive, do not read this please. Be responsible and take care of yourself first.

Flowers need time to bloom… So do you.

Right off the bat, your energy is quite similar to pile’s 2 energy as you have one quote in common, and another one that almost fell too. So, if you felt drawn to reading this pile initially, go ahead and read it, you might find some messages you resonate with.

Now, when shuffling for your cards, the first card that fell was the King of Swords, and then it was followed by two pairs of cards. Even though I asked for 3 cards, 5 cards fell. I find that especially interesting as the first pair of cards that fell together were The World and The Devil, two major arcanas and then the other two were the 5 of Pentacles and the 9 of Wands. Pile 3, are you starting to stop a bad habit ? a toxic addiction ? There is this feeling that you are starting to make peace with the fact that you might actually have a problem. It could be related to anything but I feel it is some type of addiction : a phone addiction, a food addiction, a music addiction, a shopping addiction, a smoking addiction,... I feel your energy is quite fearful and in panic, like you know the truth but you’re avoiding it. I think the fear comes from the fact that you don’t know how to stop the cycle of addiction. There is this dreadful feeling surrounding the idea of having to start to commit yourself to getting better. You feel like there are too many steps ahead in getting better and you don’t know where to start. You are overwhelmed by the journey to “recovery” that awaits you.

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people.  (Carl Jung)

What your spirit guides (interesting how you were the only pile i felt more called towards the “spirit guide” appellation rather than “guardian angels”. I do think there is a difference between the two : one is more here to guide you and give clues on how to advance in your journey, the others are here to protect and encourage you in your journey). Pile 3, I do not want to be harsh, especially since you are struggling and getting criticized is definitely not the healthiest thing to do but you do need some type of guidance more than just “protection”. Your spirit guides are coming to me because they see you and they are a bit disappointed. I feel like your spirit guides have pretty prominent Saturnian energies. Really no bs, cold and they tell the harsh truth. No sugar coating. There is one prominent masculine energy that is overtaking this reading. I heard “Father”. Maybe your own father, or an uncle, generally a pretty authoritative masculine energy is aware of your issue and they are at a point where they are really frustrated to see you struggle. Maybe you’ve been repeating this cycle for years now and you recently relapsed on an addiction so you are scared that this masculine energy will find out. Well, Pile 3, they already suspect that something is wrong and they want to tell you that it’s okay. Yes, they are a bit disappointed to see you suffering from this and going back and forth with this addiction. But, they still want to tell you they love you. They value you. They see all this potential in you. They know you will surpass this. even your friends are coming up in this reading. They are concerned for you but they know you will come out victorious from this. Generally speaking, people and your spirit guides want to tell you that you’ve got this and that they are always here for you. I physically feel a wave of love in my body, like the feeling that you get when you hug someone you genuinely love and that loves you back. Pile 3, this is amazing. Know that you are not alone <3

Trust the magic of new beginnings. 

Venus : Give and receive love, Sextile : A combination of tension and flow, potential and a rewarding situation. 

What your spirit guides and guardian angels want to tell you is that you are surrounded by love. Don’t reject the love you receive from your family, your friends,... Let it flow. They are helping you to get out of this toxic cycle of addiction by sending true and genuine love your way. Your guardian angels and spirit guides are teaming up to send you a supportive circle that will help you heal throughout this journey. Even if it’s hard when you’re not doing great and trying to survive, try to give back the love you receive. And, even if it is sometimes hard to do it, it’s okay, your loving circle will totally understand this and know that even if they give 90% and receive 30%, they don’t mind because they understand your situation. They know you are not trying to take advantage of them and that deep down you feel guilty for being so demanding. They know pile 3, so, let yourself love and be loved back <3

/!\ If your problem is really serious, go consult a professional if you can. I am a bit concerned for some of you here. Isolating yourself could be really detrimental. Go to institutions or associations,.. Anything that could help you in your situation. I believe in you pile 3, you will go past this eventually. /!\

thank you for reading until the end pile 3 ! lots of love <3

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆stay blessed everyone⋆.˚🦋༘⋆