#day 9: confession

[angelizs]

[Club Activities - part 2]

Summary: Crowley keeps knocking at your door, quite literally, wanting to hear your club choice. You might as well get this over with.

Notes: gn!reader, humor, it's kinda long, reader is oblivious, mentions of minor injuries but in a funny way dw, it's the looong overdue pt2

Part: 1.0 / 2 (you're here!) / 2.5 (soon!)

"So, have you decided?"

Crowley stands by the doorway. He looks completely normal, a pleasant smile plastered on his lips. You blink, sluggish, resisting the urge to slam the door on his face.

"It's five a.m. on a sunday."

"Yes, that's correct, good to see you're keeping up with the passage of time."

You feel there's a jab aimed at you for taking your time on choosing a club. Or on answering the door. In your defense, Grim was sleeping on top of you and you didn't want to disturb his sleep. Nor yours. You were hoping the Headmaster would just give up and leave you alone, but instead he only knocked louder. 

"Well?"

"Uh..." You take a bit to remember the first thing he said. "No, I still have some meetings to go to."

"Were the sports clubs not to your liking? I'm sure you'd do well in one, should you put your efforts on it."

"Nah, I'll pass."

"I see. Then, you'll tell me your decision by the end of the week, yes?"

"Since when did we agree on this." It was a question, but with your drowsy state it just fell flat.

"Since now, of course! I was very kind to let you take so much time to chose a club, but you must understand I'm under some pressure as well to make sure you'll have the best possible education here. We can't afford to lose too much time!"

You blink again, your brain still sleepy. "Oh. Alright."

Crowley claps his hands in an excited manner. "Wonderful! I'll be eagerly waiting for your decision, then!"

Only as you watch his retreating back getting farther away that it finally registers just what you agreed on. You groan, closing the door and leaning against it.

Well, nothing to do about it now. You should really get onto it, anyway. Still, your break will be missed.

Film Research Club (Vil, Ortho platonically)

You had finally left the sports clubs behind, time to try something new, like arts!

Since you've worked with Vil at the SDC, you were already used to his strict personality and thought you'd be able to handle yourself pretty well. You might not have that much experience with acting but you did know how to pretend everything was ok and your life wasn't falling apart, so you think you might have potential.

It was quite surprising to see Ortho there, but the sight of your friend's welcoming eyes and cheer made you feel relieved, relaxing amidst the Pomefiore students. They were intimidating, though in a different way the guys from the Spelldrive club were. The latter looked like they could easily beat you to a pulp, while the former looked like they'd give you a disgusted stare and call you a peasant in such a condescending tone you'd implode on spot. They were all very pretty as well, but you wouldn't let that make you self conscious since you knew no one could beat Vil anyway.

Speaking of, Vil himself comes to speak with you and explain about the club with a professional conduct as he says that Crowley had warned him of your special situation and that he'd let you help out, since they always needed extra hands on deck. You got hopeful at that, perhaps it was time for you to shine and discover a hiden talent of yours! These daydreams are soon crushed as Vil puts you on backstage duty and turns around, having something or other to talk about with the other members.

Well. That was... not what you were expecting. Ortho explains that in order to enter the club as an actor, you must audition beforehand and prove yourself worthy. That makes sense, you guess, so you accept it with grace. Backstage work might not be as exciting as being on the actual stage, but you had Ortho by your side to make sure things won't be too dull. And a side of you wants to make Vil proud of your work, so you suck it up and ask Ortho to lead the way.

Ortho shows you around the set you'll be working on for the day. It's one of Pomefiore's dorm ballrooms, and it's huge. You look in awe at everything, even though it's a bit plain in terms of furniture, it's quite detailed. In moments like this you remember Pomefiore's dorm is a castle, as you feel the royalty emanating from the ceiling, with it's luxurious chandeliers, to the walls, with it's intricate golden patterns, even at the floor, by it's quality.

He teaches you how to operate the lights and sound for a bit while the actors decide on what they'll film that day. You feel just the tiniest bit of jealousy at them, especially because Vil seems to be very focused on everything they say. Ortho must notice this (of course he would), and tries to cheer you up. After all, you're his friend! He doesn't want you to feel bored at the club when there are so many insteresting things to do!

You move from the more technical parts and go to the storage room, where they keep most of the props and extra accessories. You explore it, looking at everything but not touching, not wanting to get in trouble if you break anything on accident. As you're looking at an old mirror, Ortho picks up one of the pink cowboy hats and puts it on your head. It looks goofy, not matching with your uniform at all, and it makes you laugh.

You retaliate by putting a pirate hat full of colorful feathers that's way too big on him. It slides down and covers his eyes, making him look like a little kid trying on their sibling's clothes. Not to mention the feathers, that also clash with his body's design. You both laugh and go to different directions, trying to find more things to put on.

Ortho ends up with a vivid red sash wrapped around his waist and a wooden rod in hands, while you've got a pink feather scarf around your neck and a hollow steel rod in hands. You stare down at each other from your sides of the room, pretending you're on one of those western cowboy movies, even acting like it too. You drawl out something about the town not being big enough for the two of you. Ortho goes along, putting up the worst pirate accent with his robotic voice and telling you to prepared to be boarded.

Between giggles, the two of you meet at the middle, your rods clashing as if they were swords. You make exaggerated moviments that would be impratical in any fight while dropping the most cliche lines you can think of. Ortho dodges your attacks in slow motion and retributes with his own, making it seem more like some funny dance than a sword fight.

You were having so much fun you kind of forgot you were there to do a job. You're quickly reminded as the door suddenly opens and you, startled, let the steel rod slip from your hands mid attack and hit the wall with a loud clang. There stands Vil, hands on his hips as he stares at the two of you with one arched eyebrow, an unimpressed look on his face even after almost being hit right on it. You're not looking the most dignified, with your whole attire. Nor is Ortho, which helps you to not feel alone on the receiving end of Vil's judgment.

The three of you leave the props behind and return to the main area. More precisely, to the actors' dressing room part. It's not an actual separate room, but rather a space of the ballroom reserved for this. Most have put on their costumes and are adjusting the finer details, Vil instructs you to help them while he sets up the stage.

You try your best, but every actor sends you a glare as you approach them, making you turn on your heels and try another one. And another. And another. You're not feeling very helpful. How you wish you could just ignore it like Ortho does. The only thing you actually do is helping zip up some clothes when they can't reach their backs and do it themselves. You don't dare to touch their hair or you feel they'd explode you with their minds. There is one instance when you have to lace a guy into a corset, but you get a bit confused with all the laces. Maybe it's like tying a shoe? You pull on it with too much force at first, leading him to complain at you the entire time. In your defense, you've never done this before! You tie it up with a cute lace at the end to make up for it and scurry away before he could release more of his wrath upon you. You settle on following Ortho around like a lost puppy.

Finally, everyone finishes up and you move to the middle of the room, where the scene will be taking place. From what you gather, the movie they are making is about a royal family that's having their heir assume the throne, but there's a plot against him going behind the scenes. The main character seems to be corset guy, who still glares at you whenever you pass by his camp of vision, much to your (un)luck.

Ortho leads you to the first place he showed, since they'd start recording soon. You watch him work with the lights, turning them on dramatically as they start the scene and making it follow the main lead as he monologues about his woes of assuming such a big responsability and how he feels between the sea of people present. The actor does a good job, good enogh to appease Vil, who watches attentively near the camera. The thing is, he's trying to replicate a foreign accent and that, combined with his melodramatic lines, makes you have to stifle a laugh.

You try your best to stay quiet and pay attention to the story, but some of the lines and the way they dramatically deliver them sound so silly you can't help but giggle in your palm. Ortho looks at you inquisitively, tilting his head and trying to understand what you found so funny. You whisper an explanation to him, making him see the words in a different manner. As you laugh, he laughs along discretely, both of you having fun again.

Vil motions for you to keep your volume down, as to not disturb the actors and break their concentration, and you send him a thumbs up. Still, you keep on reacting, even mouthing their words with exaggerated facial expressions. Ortho seems much more interested in what you have to show than the lights, since he misses some of his cues and gets it later or sooner than intended. Which is also funny, since the confused looks on the background actors' faces are very entertaining. 

It comes to a point in which you're holding in your laughter so much you're a bit out of air, and you end up bumping into one of the controls, making the background music change suddenly, from a calm waltz to an action scenesque one. Your startled eyes meet Ortho's, and in true friendship fashion you both burst out laughing. Vil cuts the filming and strides up on you two, reprimanding you once again, and you feel like a guilty puppy being scolded by their owner. You must look like that too, since he sighs like an overworked mother and takes pity on you, deciding on something else for you to do and leave Ortho to do his job without distractions.

Vil gives you the role of an extra to play, just for you to have an idle conversation with the protagonist that won't last even five minutes. He shows you exactly how the scene should go, taking hold of your hand to conduct a dance and dropping casual chatter with you, looking you in the eyes, with a conduct that's so charming you're sure you feel your heart skip a beat (too bad it's just acting though). You feel like you can do that as well, so you hurry to change into one of the formal outfits and repeat the line Vil told you over and over again in your head, heart beating way too fast.

There is just one thing you didn't count on: you apparently have a bad case of stage fright. Or perhaps it's happening especifically because you know Vil will be watching you like a hawk. As you position yourself amidst the other extras, you feel your heartbeat accelerating and your hands start to sweat. You try to relax your tense shoulders and clear your throat, looking at the floor to steady yourself.

As your cue approaches, you move closer to the corset guy, whose attention snaps at you as soon as you enter his vision field. Even if his face looks polite, like a prince, you can feel the glare he's still sending your way, just on a more subdued level this time. You can also feel the stares of the others on your back and your tongue seems to have been tied. Your head comes up with a blank when you try to remember what Vil told you to say. Oh, this is not good. Why did this have to be so nerve wracking?

Time passes slowly, seconds feels like hours as the protagonist waits expectantly for your words. Trying to not disappoint, you blurt out a joke improvisation line, like the ones you see on movies sometimes. Unfortunately, your sense of humor is vastly different from Pomefiore's students', and the joke falls so flat everyone has to take a moment to recover. You wish for the ground to swallow you as Vil yells a "Cut!" and the other actors look judgmentally in your way. Maybe if you close your eyes it will go away? You can still hear the other's whispering, and although you don't understand what exactly they're saying, you can only guess they're mocking you. Welp, guess it's time to become a hermit at ramshackle and never show your face at school ever again!

It takes only a minute, but as soon as Vil has recomposed himself he commands everyone to be quiet. You open your eyes again, gathering all your courage to see the disappointed look on his face, but you're surprised that's not what greets you. Instead, Vil's got a nasty glare that's sharp enough to cut a man, and it's not directed at you at all! Vil procceds to reprimand the rest of the cast for being so inelegant as to make fun of a begginer and even mocks their need to feel superior. You've never felt more grateful for him in your life, maybe you can still go to classes after that, since no one will dare to mess with you and risk his wrath.

As the others look ashamed for being yelled at by their leader, Vil pulls you aside and tells you that maybe it's better to try something else if your stage fright is going to affect your performance so much. He sounds strict as always, but he has an almost soft look in his eyes as he congratulates you for trying to overcome that fear and that you did well enough for someone with no experience. You feel a lot better after that and thank him sincerely, promising to give it your all at whatever other job you can do to help! He smiles at your enthusiasm and it's as if the clouds have parted ways for the sun to shine. (The other club members look amazed, as they've never seen such a soft smile on Vil's face before.)

He then asks you if you know how to work with a camera. If taking pics with Cater to post on Magicam counts then yes, you do have some experience with it. Vil says he's got the perfect job for you: being part of the camera crew and helping to film everything. You accept, after all, how hard can it be, really?

Apparently, a lot. Vil had just left out a little detail from this job: you'd be filming the aerial angle of this scene. Which meant using Kalim's magic carpet. As you recall, you're not the most adept at riding it, flashbacks from winter vacation entering in your mind. Still, you had promised Vil you'd help on this, and you weren't sure if he'd find you another thing to do or get your complaining the wrong way, so you decide to give it a try anyway.

You wobble on it, camera propped up on your shoulder and secured by a sling strap just in case you losen your hold on it. (Which is very likely). Surprisingly, you manage to get the carpet off the ground without many complications, so things are looking up (quite literally)! And then comes the part where you have to guide it and you're almost thrown out of a window with the force it makes a turn. Your grip on it tightens and you try to wrestle it into submission, with little success.

Things procced like this, you trying to learn how to drive the carpet while making turns on the air and holding on for your life. (And making sure the camera is safe. You don't want a repeat of the chandelier accident from the start of the year, so you're not taking any chances). Anything you might have tried to film is probably so shaky and blurry it isn't even usable, but you have more important matters to worry about.

That goes on until you make a particularly sharp turn, causing the carpet to lose control and go spiraling straight to the floor. Luckly, you manage to land on a convenientely placed couch (has that been there before?) and doesn't get much hurt. You're clutching the camera to your chest in a protective manner, so it isn't damaged either. At least, not much, but it isn't anything the Ignihyde guys can't fix.

Vil and Ortho are by your side in an instant, asking if you're alright. Vil extends his hand and pulls you up like a gentleman, fixing your hair softly. He's really close to your face and you can feel your heart beating faster, though you're not sure if it's due to that or the adrenaline of the fall. Ortho reassures you that not even him got the hang of piloting the carpet, as it seems to only actually obey Kalim, and that you did your best!

You really did try, so you can safely say you won't discover any hidden acting talent any time soon. Time to check out other clubs. 

(Ortho tells you to drop by another time at practice and watch the recording with him, since he had a lot of fun! Vil tells you that should you wish and work hard for it, you may have potential and he'd be willing to help you reach it. You agree, since it was very nice to visit and, most of all, to get to see Vil on his element like this. There's an added bonus of you not having ended up at the infirmary as well, which is enough to put the club on a positive light in your books. It's a bit sad that's the standard, but oh well, nothing to do about it.)

Science Club (Trey, Rook)

Alright, art may not be for you, but maybe science is! Or... whatever it is that they do in this club.

It's a bit intimidating since there are way too many people there, more than you've seen in any other club. What could they possibly be doing to attract this many people?

Rook, as observant as ever, notices you before you've even set foot inside the lab, coming close to greet you and ask if you were going to join them for the day. You relutanctly agree, staying close to his side as he leads you deeper into the room, opening the path. You make sure to not bump into anyone and cause an accident.

Trey is at one of the work tables at the back, sharing it with Rook. He sends a calming smile your way and explains that it's a club with a vast variety of activities, as long as they're not of the physical sort. You sigh in relief, listening to him reciting things such as plant cultivation and chemistry experiments. You already have to do those things on your regular classes, so you're confident in your ability of succeding for once. Rook adds that this flexibility in activity has attracted many people, creating a beauté diversity of members. (Trey explains that there's a lot of odd people as he side eyes Rook).

You sit with them, since you don't know anyone else. Rook goes on about the experiment he'll be doing this time, something that will leave a beautiful impact and stay on the mind of anyone looking. It sounds a lot like what happens when you partner up with Ace and Deuce at alchemy class, that is, stuff is about to be blown up. You scoot closer to Trey.

Taking pity on you, Trey reminds Rook that there's an ingredient missing, since they had used all from the lab's storage on their last class, and offers to get it at the botanical garden for him, inviting you to come along. You jump at the opportunity, agreeing and getting up to follow him. Rook thanks his generosity and explains that there's no way a gentleman like him would leave all the hard work onto the two of you, so he follows along. Trey looks a bit annoyed, but you only wanted to get out of being roped into a crazy experiment so you don't mind much, as long as you keep Rook away from any potential explosive plants.

The fresh air from the gardens is much better than the stuffy feeling from the crowded lab, and you take a deep breath to appreciate it. Trey takes you to the temperate zone, the path filled with beautiful flowers of all colors and scents. The sound of the little river below you only adds to the pleasant atmosphere, the sun rays warming up your skin and soul. It's wonderful. You'd like it if your club classes were to take place there. It might be enough to convince you to join, the nature so full of life energizing your mood, a smile blooming on your face.

You pass by an area that has thicker vegetation and stands out from the whole, attracting your curiosity, so you ask Trey what could be there. He warns you to not wander to that side of the garden, as there were carnivorous plants being cultivated by the third years. You wave him off, saying you had those back in your world and they were pretty harmless. Trey looks at you in doubt, but decides to not question it, aceptting your answer and going back to his search for the missing ingredient. 

Since you have no idea what you should be looking for, you leave the boys to it, deciding to observe the flowers instead. Distracted, you end up getting farther away from them, the flora enticing you and putting you under a spell, demanding your attention. It's not until you bump into a tall... something, that you realize how far you had gone. You lift up your head, wondering if you had bumped into a tree, only to find two open hinged lobes dripping with sap closing on your face.

A scream gets caught in your throat as you take in the gigantic carnivorous plant in front of you, that's only coming closer. You didn't know that when Trey had mentioned them, he didn't explain that they aren't like the one from your world at all. Not only were they huge, but also seemed ready to eat a human at any given chance.

You're pulled by someone behind you, falling into a secure chest and feeling strong arms embracing your waist as the plant's jaw's close into the air where you were just a second ago. The sigh you let out shakes your whole body and you let your weight be supported by your saviour. You find out his identity soon enough, as a familiar voice by your ear calls you chéri and asks if you were fine.

After thanking Rook, he guides you to the main area of the garden with a protective hand behind your back, making sure you wouldn't stumble into any more potential dangerous plants, as he goes on about how they were "the hunters of the natural world" and how "such danger has it's own alluring charm, non?" You don't catch the glint in his eyes as he asks the question, too busy trying to get your heart beat back into a normal rhythm. 

Trey scolds you lightly for ignoring his advice, but he seems busier trying to equilibrate the plants he harvested in his arms and glaring at Rook, probably for leaving him alone to do all the work. Rook stays unbothered, putting his hands on your shoulders and staying close as he directs you to the exit, his usual smile stamped on his face.

As you put the fresh ingredients near the others that Rook had selected earlier, you notice some strawberries in the mix. You shot a questioning stare at Trey, making him laugh and explain he took the chance to harvest some of his hand grown special strawberries. He takes some from your hands, brushing your fingers together before lifting them up to inspect closely. The strawberries are a beautiful shade of red, making you salivate only by looking at them. Trey has a contemplative expression as he murmurs he should use them as soon as possible in order to make the best use of their ripeness.

You suggest him to make a strawberry tart with them and offers your help, on the light price of getting to eat it as well. He smiles and agrees to your proposal, telling you to follow him to the kitchens. You do, happily so as you carry some of the strawberries in your arms, leaving Rook to take care of the potions experiment. Really, you feel like you've killed two birds with one stone, so you pat yourself on the back for doing a good job.

Back at the first month of classes, you remember cooking with Trey, Ace, Deuce and Grim, and how much fun you had, despite the circumstances. With the group reduced to two, it might be more toilsome, but you were confident it would be worth it.

Trey finds an extra apron for you, tying it himself to make sure it would stay in place. He gently explains the steps to prepare the ingredients, helping you whenever you didn't understand something. It was quite nice, seeing Trey look so in his element, an unconscious soft expression on his face, as if he was enjoying himself. It's domestic, even, how you dance around each other in the kitchen, passing bowls and cutlery back and forth. He is good humored as he recalls stories from the club, making you laugh whenever he bemoans Rook's experiments.

The stories he tells are very captivating, so much so that you don't look at the recipe book, doing the steps on automatic. Once or twice you almost spill what you were mixing or use too much force to cut something, but it's salvageable every time, so you don't comment on it. You leave the crust on the oven for a bit too much, but it's only slightly charred, so you're pretty sure it's still edible. One of the flour bags slips from your hands and falls on the sink, covering your face in flour powder. Trey helps you clean up, but he's laughing at you and your now white hair. It comes to the point in which you're mixing the crème pâtissière and you get too close to the stove, making the ends of your sleeves to catch on fire. Trey quickly puts it out and runs your arm under cold water. The crème ends up a bit too lumpy, since neither of you were stirring it for a while, but it's not too bad.

Alright, maybe you're not the best at cooking. Still, arranging the strawberries in a circle on top of the tart was pretty fun. The last thing left to do is to let it cool. You lick your lips thinking about eating it once it's ready. You're about to help Trey clean the mess you've made in the kitchen when Rook bursts through the door, looking excited. He tells you there's no time to explain and takes you by the hand, dragging you back to the laboratory. You send Trey your best regards and wish him luck in cleaning everything alone. He sends you a pitying look back.

You should wish yourself some luck as well, since the motive for Rook to have brought you to the lab was for you to help him with the new formula he thought for his experiment. He explains that the one he was trying didn't have it's desired effects, as you could clearly see from the scorch marks on the table you were sitting before. He says that for the new formula, he'll need help to get the ingredients prepared and handed over, since he couldn't stop stirring it until everything was added in. You don't know how he came up with this solution, and honestly? You don't want to know.

Having no other choice, you agree to help him. He reminds you to put your gloves and safety googles on before starting, making a comment on how your cute apron would do as your lab coat. After getting into place, you follow all of Rook's instructions, preparing and handing over the ingredients he asks for. You have no idea what it is that he's going for, as your potions classes are still on a basic and more theorical level, but you decide to trust that he, as your upperclassman, knows what he's doing.

Dread pools on your gut as you watch the ingredients going into the cauldron. There's a hissing sound and bubbles emerge from the deep purple concotion. You have no time to react as Rook thows his arm in front of you just in time for the explosion to take place. You grip onto the table tightly and manage to stay upright, thanking the Sevens for your safety googles. If it were not for them, your entire face would be covered in a sparkling purple powder, some getting into your hair as well. Rook laughs and tells you that you shine bright like the sun. You look on unamused. Trey appears, having heard the explosion, and sighs, clearly being too used to this happening. He tells you and Rook to clean up as he starts to clean your mess, bless him.

Rook takes you to the nearest bathroom available, both of you trying to wash the explosion's results off. It has stuck like glue, and you have to splash your face with the cold water over and over for it to go away. You think there's still some of it on your hair, but can't bring yourself to care much. The apron wasn't enough to cover your body, so your clothes weren't spared either. Rook doesn't comment on it, but you can see him looking at you funny by the corner of your eye.

As you enter the lab, you see that the students that stayed after the first explosion had left. Rook wonders out loud on why they didn't like the innovation of his experiment, sighing as he goes on about the beauty of curiosity. You and Trey exchange glances as you clean everything together. You feel like you stayed way past the club's scheduled time and your arms hurt from moping the floor. At least you get to share your wonky strawberry tart. It doesn't taste as good as Trey's usual ones do, but you like it. You can't decide if it was worth all the trouble though.

Grim laughs at you once you get back to Ramshackle, your face is itching for the rest of the day, there's some sparkles in your hair for the rest of the week, your slightly burnt arm won't stop aching, you sent your clothes' laundry bill for Rook to pay. As much as you respect scientific advances, you feel that being involved in the research isn't for you (nor the cooking). Time to check out other clubs.

(Rook keeps approaching you at the halls to update you on how he's thought of possible changes to make the potion work. Trey comments he liked having company in the kitchen and help for cleaning up for once. They aren't very subtle. You don't even have to agree to visit the club again another time, as Rook has already volunteered you as his lab assistant and Trey has gifted you a recipe book with markings on which recipes you'll try to bake next. Guess you have no other choice but to go back now.)

Pop Music Club (Cater, Kalim, Lilia)

And back to the arts you go. But this time, instead of performing, how about playing some music? Joining the school band might be fun!

You're surprised to only find three people in the club. All the others had a bunch of people, but in this one, once you enter the classroom you're met with three of your friends hanging out in a couch. Why was there a couch in this classroom in the first place!?

It's not just three random people, either. It's the chillest and most extroverted people of the school, the ones that got along with everyone and were very popular. They whip their head so fast to the direction of the door once you enter you get a little worried for their necks. They seem elated to have a visitor, so you suppose this won't be so bad, even if you don't feel confident enough to play an instrument in front of other people.

Kalim jumps at you and envelops you in a big hug, a smile shining on his face as usual. Lilia pats you on the back, pushing you closer to the center of the room and welcoming you. Cater takes out his phone and takes a selfie with everyone, declaring it would go viral to have the cutest people of the school all together in one place and gushing over how many likes he'd get. They sure are a lively bunch.

Lilia plops you down on the couch, telling you to feel at home and winking. There's a center table with food containers in front of you, Kalim offers you a bite, explaining they made the snacks to bring to their club meetings, and Cater proposes to make it a culinary competition, in which you'd judge which one was the best. You were pretty sure you had left the cooking behind at the science club, what did it even had to do with music? Well, you weren't going to complain about getting free food!

Cater insists you try his first, a round tupperware with fried corn tortilla chips and guacamole in a dipping bowl at the center. It looks amazing, making your mouth water a bit. You take one of the chips, lightly lower it on the dip and take a bite. It's overall very good, the consistency and the crispness are wonderful, there's just one little problem: it's very spicy. Very spicy. Not the "oh no there's a tiny bit of spice in my otherwise bland food" type but the "my eyes are burning my thorat is burning my stomach is burning I'm going to burn from the inside out" type. And that's how you feel as you fan your face and drink the water Kalim brings you, though it only makes the burning worse, spreading it throughout your mouth and making your eyes water. Lilia appears upside down, hanging from the ceiling and scaring you, and offers you a glass of milk instead. You gratefully take it and chug it down as quick as you can.

Once you've calmed down, Lilia explains how he keeps milk around for Cater's food, that's way too spicy for his liking. Cater looks at you with puppy eyes, asking if you liked the chilli peppers he added to the recipe. You didn't, not really. It would be one thing to add some, sure, but it's like there's more pepper than anything else. You weakly smile at him and explain apologetically that it might not suit your tastes so much. Cater seems a bit down, but he only shrugs and jokingly says that not everyone can have good taste.

Kalim bounces up to you next, shoving his container in front of your face and telling you to try it. He proudly says he made it all without Jamil's help and that he hopes you'll like it. You look at the fried dumplings, remembering it's a sweet called awameh. It looks good as well, although a bit burnt, nothing that would stop you from eating it. You take one, getting surprised by how crunchy they ended up being, the sweetness exploding in your tongue. It would be very good, but you have the impression Kalim must have used the wrong measure of the ingredients. Yes, it was sweet, but it was way too sweet. Not only that, the sugar mixed with the cinnamon on the syrup also left you thirsty, as you downed another cup of water. It was like cinnamon was impregnated on your mouth, there was definetly too much.

While you accept your tongue will never be the same after the combo of strong flavours, Kalim reveals he tried to follow one of Jamil's mom's recipes for it, declaring it to be the best he's ever proved. He just got a bit confused when taking the measures for some ingredients, but he was proud of his work! You make a mental note to try to eat one of Jamil's awameh later, sure that it would taste delicious, and compliments Kalim on his efforts, suggesting gently to ask for help next time he has trouble with it.

The last one is Lilia, and you start dreading what might be hidden on his container. He seems preppy that someone will get to try his food, telling you that he's the one that cooks dinner at Diasomnia and how Silver and Sebek love his food. Cater and Kalim look at you with pity, shaking their heads. You've heard of Lilia's infamous cooking skills before, so you have to mentally prepare yourself before looking at what he prepared. It's... uh... something alright. Though it's unrecognizable, a dark glob that just looks sticky and burnt after the point. Your desperate look does nothing for Cater and Kalim to try to save you, as they look away furtively.

Aceppting your fate, you take one of the spoons Lilia brought and take the smallest bite possible while he stares at you attentively. It tastes foul, as expected, as if something had died in your mouth. You resist the urge to gag, trying to go for a smile and ending up with a grimace instead. It's horrible, there's no other way to describe it. All the rumors don't do it justice, it's way worse than what they say. You suspect you will get food poisoning later, as you down another glass of water. At least you're keeping yourself hydrated. Lilia seems to either not notice or pretend he didn't, as he keeps his cheery attitude and asks if you liked it. You nod weakly, hoping it would be enough for him to not force you to take another bite. He mercifully looks satisfied with the answer and you sigh with relief.

In the end you tell them you don't know which one was the best (you side eye Lilia's, thinking on how you knew which one was the worst at least). They don't look disappointed, content in having you prove their food as each munchs on their own snacks happily. You wonder how they manage to do it. Suddenly you miss Trey's baking and the wonky strawberry tart you've made.

As everyone sits together, Cater puts on some electropop song on the background that reminds you of the famous vocaloids from your world. You have an epiphany that Cater would listen to Hatsune Miku. You're not sure what to do with that information, staying quiet in shock as the other three talk between themselves. You remember him mentioning something like it when you went to do the SDC auditions, but you had other things to worry about and it must have slipped your mind. Once you've recomposed yourself, you ask what the food had to do with music, since the question had been burning in your mind for some time (not as much as your tongue burned tho).

They explain that the pop music club doen't really do much music, as the name suggests, they mostly just hang around to chat and chill. It has gotten them in a bit of trouble with the Headmaster, as they don't do anything that could actually be considered a club activity, causing him to have threatened to disband the club. Not to mention there's no new members for a while, no matter how much they try to attract more students. You consider joining this one just to spite Crowley. They clarify that they do play their instruments every once in a while to cover some song, but with their different music tastes they never reach an agreement on what to play most of the time.

You're curious on how they might sound as a band, sure it would be a chaotic but entertaining sight. You would ask to see this, if it was not for Cater excitedly declaring it's "gossiping time". They put on elevator music to play at the background and huddle close together, leaving a spot open for you to join their little circle, as if you were about to be in into the school's secrets. And that's exactly what happens, as the three of them seem to know about everyone and everything that goes on Night Raven College. There's so much drama you've never heard about, and you feel you know way too much about the lives of people you've never even met, but it's nice to create conspiracy theories about what would happen next in the soap opera that was other people's lives.

The topic changes to Magicam, since you were lowkey stalking the boy that had caused a ruckus in the cafeteria the past days. Cater likes his account's aesthetic, saying it passes the bad boy vibes he has, and whines about their club's magicam page. You weren't aware they even had one, so you ask to see it. It's... not what you were expecting. They might as well not have an account, since there are no photos other than their icon, which was the symbol of the club. Cater complains that they couldn't come to an agreement on how the page should look and were too lazy to try to work something out, so it has stayed like that for months.

Since you know how much he cares about this stuff, you offer your help! After all, it could be a lot of fun, and it'd feel as if you're the manager of the club. Cater lightens up with joy, throwing his arms around you and bringing you close to affectionately rub his cheeck on the top of your head, thanking you for being such a prestative underclassman. You enter your business mode, thinking on how you could go about this. It makes sense to promote the club doing something other than hanging out, so you tell them to pick up their instruments and pose.

You go around them and try many different angles. Kalim and Lilia have fun doing weird poses that makes very clear they aren't playing at all, but there's a charming genuine smile on their faces. Cater poses with his guitar like a professional, making captivating facial expressions that make even you swoon, only encouraging him to make different ones. He could be a model, you think, with how he knows all the right ways to smile at the camera and tilts his head just so to make him look cute and alluring at the same time, fingers skillfully positioned at the eletric guitar's chords, eyes lidded, hair messy deliberately, body facing forwards with confidence. He has everything to ace the rockstar persona, at least in looks.

You try taking some of them together as an unit, but none pleases you enough. There's something missing, but you can't quite put your finger on what. You give his cellphone back as you ponder about it. Cater looks through the photos, commenting how one looks "super cool~" and in the other he's "slaying". He decides it'd be a great moment to take advantage of his cuteness streak to take a photo with everyone together, yourself included. Cater drapes his arm around your shoulders and keeps you close to him, cheek coming to rest at your forehead. Kalim and Lilia make poses behind you two, laughing at how silly they look with all the filters Cater tries on. 

He ends up telling you to decide which photo looked better, as he couldn't chose just one, something like: "any photo with you would look cute, of course I can't chose!" You look through all of them, but only one gets your eyes, the only without a filter. Everyone looks genuinely happy, making your heart warm. Cater's is not looking at the camera itself, but slightly to the side, where you are, with such a soft expression you can't help but be endeared by it. It's him, not a forced smile and exaggerated pose, just Cater, happy. That's what the other pictures were missing. 

You show it to him, insisting it's the best and should be the first photo on the club's Magicam page. He pouts about the lack of filter, saying how the other ones look much cuter, but you explain that you like the real him much more than any filter, since nothing could ever come close to the real deal, no filter in the world could make him justice. You're very genuine with it too, since it's the truth. Cater stares at you, caught by surprise, and turns his face away from you, ears tinted pink, taking a minute to recompose himself, leaving you confused. Lilia looks on knowingly, smirking at him. You weren't alone in your confusion, as Kalim seemed to be just as clueless as you.

Your argument manages to convince him, though, as he soon comes up with an eye catching description and posts it, grumbling that you should be happy now. You are, actually, so you simply smile at him, giggling at his playful eye roll. Only after the picture was already posted and you entered on your own account that you notice your eyes were closed. You yelp and try to convince Cater to change it to another one, but he refuses, telling that you were the one that chose it so you should stick with it, sticking his tongue out at you in a childsh manner. You whine some more before giving up. Cater seemed really content with the choice, if the soft smile on his face as he glanced at it meant anything, so you let it be, resigning to your fate. You weren't even a member, so you hoped you wouldn't attract that much attention. (You really hoped Ace wouldn't find it, otherwise you'd never hear the end of it.)

He suddenly gets an idea to decorate the classroom to make it look more "magicamable", dragging Lilia with him to get the decorations. Lilia whispers something to him that makes him glance back at you with a red face, quickly scurrying away and leaving you and Kalim to look on in confusion. How weird, what had gotten into him? 

At that moment, the playlist shuffles, coming up with a song that has a very upkeep beat. Kalim jumps in excitement, saying that was his favorite song and he couldn't not dance to it. You can't help jumping your leg and moving your head to the beat, swaying to the contagious rhthym. Kalim notices and extends his hands in your direction, inviting you to dance with him. You know you're nowhere near his skill level and you'd look clumsy compared to his fluid moviments, but his earnestness convinces you to give it a try. You were sure he wouldn't make fun of you, so why not have a good time too?

Hand in hand, the two of you move together, not completly in sync, but in a rhythm that feels right, that's only yours. It's nice, seeing his content expression up close, foreheads almost touching, feet following the other's steps, hips swaying together. You spin once, laughing, he spins once, grinning wildly. You're lost in the trance of the hypnotizing beat of Kalim's heart.

The song gradually comes to a stop, making both of you calm down too. Kalim has one hand on your waist, the other still holding yours. You hold onto his shoulder, your noses touch, breaths coming in puffs, his eyes crinkle and it's warm, he's warm. Your chest follows his in it's rise and fall, your stomach does pirouettes, to the point you're dizzy, your cheeks feel hot. You start worrying you might have really gotten food poisoning from Lilia's cooking.

Before either of you say anything else, the sound of Cater's giggle burst your bubble, bringing you back to the real world. You whip your head to the door, watching as Lilia and Cater giggle deviously, Cater's fingers working fast on his cellphone's keyboard. You separate from Kalim's burning touch, your hands suddenly feeling cold, and stride up to them, demanding to look at what they found so funny. Lilia shows you, on his own phone, a videoclip of you and Kalim dancing together, nearing the end of the song. Your focus is initially on Kalim, as he glows, movements showing years of expertise, it's... beautiful. Then your gaze averts to yourself, and how, like you suspected, you were looking goofy near him, not matching the tempo at all.

You whine up at Cater again, asking him to delete the stories he posted, but he refuses, saying it was way too precious to miss. You lightly hit his chest and look up your lashes at him, pouting. His teasing expression falters, as if you were on the brink of convincing him. Lilia pulls you away and explains it was only on close friends anyway, so you needn't worry about the whole school seeing it. Kalim agrees that the video is very nice, beaming as he watches you two having fun. You sigh and give up, not having the heart to be a killjoy.

Lilia and Cater's hands are empty of any decorations, so you question them about it. Cater frowns exaggeratedly, drowning on dramatically on how they couldn't find any and how it was such a pity. Lilia covers his hand to hide a giggle, only making the action more obvious. Cater glares at him subtly. Kalim notices how the club's reserved time is almost coming to an end, deciding that to make a grand finale you should play an instrument, after all they should at least pretend they did something club related for you to report back to the Headmaster. And it'd be a lot of fun for you to play with them!

Lilia claps his hands together, agreeing it would be a most gleeful experience. He insists on teaching you how to play the bass, not wanting to hear whether you already knew how to or not. He gives you the instrument and shows how to hold it in the right way, trying to teach a few chords. It's a bit difficult to understand the confusing terms he uses, so he sighs and comes behind you, taking your hands in his and doing the movements, pressing his chest against your back, his deep voice right by your ear as he explains. You can't pay attention to it all, for some reason. You kind of feel dizzy again. Perhaps it's the food poisoning for real this time?

His fingers guide yours along the strings, gently pressing on the right spots, strumming the chords at the bridge. He murmurs the instructions, voice ressonating like the low pitch of the instrument, hot breath tickling your skin. You let him do as he pleases, dazed. The simple notes ring in your ears, lulling you into calmness, eyes closing as you let your sensations take the wheel, the frequency making your heart vibrate in your chest, as if dancing along, your head floating in the clouds.

It's all good and well until Lilia starts singing along. Or whatever it is that he calls "singing". In reality, he starts screaming some punk-rock lyrics right by your ear. Your heart jumps so quickly you swear you almost had an arrhythmia, your soul leaving your body for a second. Your eyes snap open so fast the lights from the classroom blind you and make black spots appear in your vision. You elbow Lilia in your surprise, thankfully making him stop trying to burst your eardrums. You get away, taking off the strap of the bass and giving it back to him. You think that's enough practicing for now.

Later on the day you confirm your food poisoning suspicions to be true. You've gained a new found respect for Sebek for enduring the poison Lilia calls cooking everyday and still managing to keep that impressive disposition of his. At least you helped the pop music club get more followers on magicam and spread their word out there. A bunch of people sign up to know the club, so you're all really happy! You felt like you've done a good job. (In the next week, the people arrive and see no sight of you, only of the dynamic trio. They don't show up again, leaving the members number back to it's original three.)

It was pretty fun, all things considered. You didn't get hurt other than in your pride and your social image, so it's a win in your books. Still, you're not sure you could handle their energetic and chaotic personalities combined like this evey week and risk getting deaf or suffering stomach failure. Time to check out other clubs.

(Cater comments on how the photos you took together got the most likes, insisting you come over again for a photoshoot. Kalim says he's got new songs to dance with you and that he's asked Jamil to help him cook for the next club meeting. Lilia tells you that you still have to take some more bass lessons to get the hang of it. Well, you suppose you could pass by sometime to be in the know about what goes on at the school and to get to prove Jamil's cooking. And to enjoy your friend's company, of course!)

Masterlist

#twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #trey clover x reader #rook hunt x reader #cater diamond x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #kalim al asim x reader #ortho shroud #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #new tumblr user angelizs lore drop: I used to be part of the theater club back at school #I did two years of it. I miss acting sm #Ortho and MC are the besties ever #Rook and Trey act like rivals from a shoujo manga lmao #I was inspired by the culinary crucible and decided to make MC suffer the same thing they make the judges go through: Lilia's cooking #oh and also by Lilia's ceremonial robes vignette #I've been dying to prove some awameh it looks so yummy. I want it too !!!!!!! #now I have smth to confess. I've had this written since 9/3. but once I've reached the board games club I got into a writer's block #and I wanted to post all the other clubs at once so I tried to write it and couldn't come up with anything good #and that's why I took so long to post pt2. bc I don't have the board games club written yet to this day 🤡 #I'll try to write smth I'm satisfied with for them! until then pls enjoy pt2! #wonderland wonder

[mattzerella-sticks]

No but imagine Buck-and-Eddie as roommates AND Buck still dating Tommy by end of s7/beginning of s8.

#9-1-1 on abc #911 on abc #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan 'buck' buckley #buddie #buckeddie #buck x eddie #tommy kinard #bucktommy #gay eddie diaz #bi buck #911 is a DRAMA i WANT eddie to be jealous #i want him and buck to get so domestic but also have buck spend more time with tommy so that eddie begins to feel left out and crashes dates #i want Eddie figuring out he's gay and in love with Buck and trying to keep both secret #i want Eddie coming out to the team + Buck mirroring Buck's coming out #i want Buck and Tommy trying to set Eddie up and Tommy picking up on Eddie's feelings #i want Tommy calling Eddie out on his feelings and says he isn't backing down #i want men FIGHTING over evan buckley #i want eddie to confess to Buck in the worst way possible buck has to spend the next few days couch surfing bc he doesn't know what to do #and of course he ends up with eddie but also maybe we get bucktommeddie #like we have a whole other SEASON we get to enjoy i would be so disappointed if we skip all the good build up just to cut to buddie together

[cocoabubbelle-newblog]

SCOGUE-“Tember”

Day “5”: [🌊🪨🔥💨] Avatar: The Last Airbender

Cocoabubbelle ATLA wasn’t part of the prompt list yes it is [now] shush

#shenanigans #i liiiiiive #scogue #scogue-tember #otp: sensory deprivation #scott x rogue #rogue x scott #xmen evolution #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender netflix #natla #confession: I actually enjoyed natla as much as the original one! #x men rogue #x men cyclops #originally was going to make Rogue a Kyoshi warrior but then I looked at the folds of the clothes and noped away immediately #style of eyeshadow semi alludes to kyoshi if you squint a bit 😅 #gave her suki’s earth nation border patrol outfit instead #couldn’t decide between aang’s or sokka’s fn disguise for Scott so I gave a little bit of both 😆 #why rogue = earth bender and scott = fire bender? #cause she can be stubborn and he can be a hothead obvs #nothing to do with rogue mostly wearing green and cyke’s optic blasts look closer to fire than any other element nope totally not the reaso #my art #my artwork #edit: not me titling this as day 9 instead of 5 #HA #I wish 💀

[kbius6]

I'm bitches

Made this on day 9 of Seven's route because I kept crying and like to make dumb crap when upset. Also chose that picture because it's one of my favorites.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeyoung #saeyoung choi #mystic messenger 707 #luciel mystic messenger #that story mode after the confessions chat on day 9 BROKE me #i think I cried for five minutes straight 🙃

[finncakes]

now that one of the conversations i invented 50 versions of has actually happened...if i think hard enough about it they will kiss. autism powers.

#ashrym #not tagging the main tag cause idk bro #but literally mentally was like 'would if ashton checked on orym. would they notice orym isn't doing good and check on him.' #and look what happened. autism powers...engage: make those guys do some really homosexual shit #one day orym will kiss ashton on the forehead/cheek i know it i know it in my heart #i know everyone is excited abt m 9 reuinion. i watched a little bit but i am sorry i guess b ells he lls is my fave group. #the way i got :DDDDDD hearing travis immitate chet and liam reference orym #i am. insane abt them. #anyway posting this and IMMIDIATELY covering it with other stuff LOL #edit: happy to inform that i have been doing my part thinking abt them 100 years. 50000 different confessions. thinking so hard abt it.

[amaru2020]

CAN I GET A HELL YEAH

BUMBLBEY KISS AFTER ALL. THESE. YEARS 🎉 We all knew it was coming but come on that was beautiful

#rwby vol9 #rwby yang #rwby blake #rwby bumbleby #rwby spoiler tag #rwby spoilers #spoilers #rwby vol 9 spoilers #bumbleby is canon #rwby volume 9 #blake x yang #I knew it would happen but OH MY GOD WAS IT AMAZING TO SEE #AND it happened so beautifully too #definetly in my top 5 sapphic confessions #back from the dead to screech about my favorite Rwby ship since day 1 getting a kiss #though with all the fanart and fiction (myself included) I forget it hasn’t actually been confirmed till now

[haus-seeblick]

"The One With the Hexed Handcuffs"

(Suptober Days 9 & 10 - Vintage & Enchanted)

Rating: Mature

Sam and Castiel get magically handcuffed together. They're chill about it, but Dean grapples with his strange reaction to seeing them so cozy with one another. Could it mean something about his own feelings toward Cas? It takes a very awkward few days for him to figure it out.

Read under the cut, or on ao3 here!

“Was this a coven of hoarders?” Sam complains as he lugs yet another box of dusty items out of the secluded cabin. Morning mist plays around his boots as he stomps across the damp grass toward Baby. 

Dean follows him with his own armful of stuff, wrapped securely in a bedsheet so none of it touches his skin. Something sharp digs into his forearm and he adjusts his stance. “At least Rowena’s minions took care of the witches. I really didn’t feel like gettin’ hexed today.” 

The Impala’s backseat is piled high with the coven’s enormous stash of (all undoubtedly cursed) items by the time they take off. Before they leave, they ward the cabin from prying eyes just as a precaution, and it disappears from view before them as Dean backs Baby away down the bumpy forest road. 

“Ugh, this is gonna be days of inventory,” he grumbles. “We gotta make a snack pit stop. And we’re out of coffee.” 

Sam nods as he makes notes on a scrap of paper. “I called Cas earlier. He’s gonna meet us at the Bunker. You know how fast he is at cataloging.”

“He picked up the phone?” Dean hopes his voice doesn’t betray his surprise. “Thought he was on that werewolf hunt with Claire.” 

 Sam shrugs. “Guess they wrapped it up last night.”

“Well. Cool.” Rain starts to patter against the windshield as Dean pulls Baby onto the highway. “Guess we’ll see him, then.” 

The prospect of their enormous task suddenly doesn’t seem like such a drag anymore. 

~~~~~~

Dean’s eyes burn and he rubs them for the umpteenth time this evening. Finishing up the documentation of the vials he just packed away, he slips his hands back into the heavy, warded gloves they use for inventory and dives back into the box in front of him. 

Beside him, Castiel lifts a pair of tweezers and inspects them with a squint. “Dean, what do you think — simple personal hygiene product or cursed object?” he asks, waving the tweezers at him. 

Dean takes them and mutters a revelation incantation. Nothing happens, and he purses his lips. “Dunno. Do we wanna risk it?”

“I’d rather not be magically pinched,” Castiel admits, and the tweezers go into the warded box at their feet. Castiel makes a note of them in their log. 

Across the table, Sam yawns. “Ugh, I’m about ready to call it a night. Gonna do one more, I think.” He tugs a pair of old handcuffs out of his box. “Oh, damn.” 

Dean laughs. “Kinky witches.”

The cuffs are obviously vintage; tarnished gold and with more of a horseshoe shape than modern ones. They glint in the light as they dangle from Sam’s gloved fingers. He inspects them and mutters a few incantations, but nothing happens. 

“Hmm. There’s a symbol on each of them, looks like intertwined hearts, but I haven’t seen it before.” 

Cas and Dean lean over the table to look, and Dean sketches out the double-heart pattern onto a notepad for reference.

“Hey Cas, can you hold these for a sec? I’m gonna grab the spell inspection potion.” Sam holds the handcuffs out and Cas reaches across the table. He grasps the other side of the cuffs, and—

A bang. A blinding purple light. 

Dean throws an arm over his face and gropes for Cas through the glimmering mist left in the wake of the light. Sam coughs and Dean’s eyes burn as his hand finds Cas’ arm. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam splutters. “Cas? Oh— Cas. I— uh—” 

The mist thins, and Dean squints at the scene in front of him. Cas is sprawled across the table, left arm still extended out to Sam, but his hand is limp, and around his wrist, just above the glove, is the handcuff. The other side is attached to Sam’s right wrist. As they all watch, the handcuffs glow once more, then dim. 

“Um,” Castiel says. He weakly shakes his arm. The chain clinks. “It appears we’re stuck.”

“How’d that even happen?” Sam asks, brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Are you?”

Sam shakes his head. “I feel fine. The metal’s not affecting my skin, either. We can probably take off our gloves.” 

“What kinda enchantment does that?” Dean wonders, watching as Sam and Cas slide off their heavy gloves. 

“I wonder if it’s just what it seems — a really powerful restraining spell built into the locking mechanism.” Sam fumbles for a spellbook just out of his reach, then pauses and looks up at Cas. “You might want to scoot over here. Looks like we’re gonna have to stick close for a bit.”

“Of course.” Castiel stands, and, one arm still stretched across the table, maneuvers himself and his chair away from Dean and around to the other side, to settle in next to Sam. Their arms rest next to each other on the table, knuckles practically touching, and Dean— Dean just stares. 

He’s not sure why, exactly, he’s getting heartburn from the sight of his brother cozying up to Cas. They’re cursed. But then Sam twists slightly in his chair and reaches behind him for something, and the whole long line of his back leans against Cas’ arm and chest. 

Dean’s knee hits the table with a resounding thud. “Let’s break this damn curse,” he blurts loudly. 

Cas and Sam both look at him. 

“That’s the plan,” Sam says, with a lingering side-eye that clearly says what’s your problem? “But we got lucky. Of the curses we could’ve been hit with, this one’s not bad at all.”

“No,” Castiel agrees. “I don’t mind being stuck to you for a while.”

Dean has never dived into research so quickly. 

~~~~~~

They find nothing. Two long hours pass with them flipping through tome after tome, Dean retrieving books from the library at Sam’s request so he and Cas don’t have to navigate moving together too much. They find no sign of the strange heart symbol, and no other counter-incantations meant for locking spells yield any results.

Midnight crawls by, and Sam eventually rubs his eyes with his free hand. “Man, I need to sleep or I’ll be useless tomorrow.”

Castiel nods and yawns as well. “That last hunt with Claire exhausted me.”

“Let’s call it a night, then.” Sam closes his book. 

Dean watches them with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. “But, uh— sleeping. Where. How?”

“My bed’s plenty big,” Sam tells him, very slowly, as if explaining something to a child. Then he turns to Cas with raised eyebrows. “Unless you prefer your room, of course, Cas.”

“I have no preference,” Cas responds pleasantly.

Dean sputters. “But— Eileen—”

“—is at Donna’s for at least another three days,” Sam interrupts. “And why would she care? Stop being weird.” 

He and Cas navigate pushing their chairs back and standing up simultaneously. Sam has to walk with shorter strides than usual to match Cas’, and they wobble to the door.  

“We can grab your pillow on our way. We’ll probably have to share a blanket since— well.” Sam lifts their closely connected wrists. “But my comforter’s pretty big.”

He and Cas leave the room together, bidding Dean goodnight on their way, and Dean stands there and watches them go with a half-assed wave.

Two more hours pass before his vision’s officially too blurry to keep reading. 

The crack under Sam’s bedroom door is dark when he passes by, and something twists, cold and sour, in his chest.

~~~~~~

It’s been nearly three months since Jack pulled Cas out of the Empty, the culmination of months of negotiations, fruitless break-in attempts, and every type of summoning ritual Dean and Sam could cook up. Dean’s still not totally sure how Jack convinced the Entity to release Cas, but one morning the young God appeared in their kitchen, with a semi-unconscious — and human — Castiel slumped against him. 

After the initial round of shock and exclamations, they revived Cas in the infirmary. When his blue eyes finally blinked open and he frowned with that trademark confusion, that’s when the joy set in — the utter, breath-shaking joy that had Dean hugging Cas harder and longer than he’d ever dared before. He pressed his face into Cas’ neck and clutched at the back of his shirt and kind of laugh-sobbed while Cas wound his arms around him and squeezed back. 

Jack had to take off, eventually, but not before Sam and Dean reminded him to check in once in a while. They then quickly made sure Cas’ room was ready for him (Dean hadn’t gone in there since— well. It was dusty). That first night, Cas slept fourteen hours straight. 

They fell into a relaxed routine, with Castiel relearning how to be human, and Dean and Sam taking a pause on hunting to simply spend time with the friend they’d tried so long to save. They watched countless movies, Dean taught Cas how to make burgers, they visited Jody and Donna and the girls (Claire was the first call Dean made after Cas returned, and she hugged him nearly as hard as Dean had). 

It was the most content Dean’s ever been. Of course, Castiel’s last words hummed in the back of his mind, a constant echo that he studiously avoided talking about, but Cas didn’t mention anything either, so Dean figured that somehow, miraculously, he’d been spared having to bare any of his confused heart. He could just enjoy this time with the person he— anyway. Cas was finally here. That's all Dean wanted.

Cas did say that happiness was in just being, after all. That worked out well for Dean, who wasn’t sure what he wanted with Cas. Being seemed easy enough, for now. 

Then, one morning, Claire called Cas and asked if he'd be interested in hunting with her for a bit. Kaia was taking a short break, and Jody wouldn’t let Claire hunt without a partner. Cas, of course, was touched that Claire thought of him and agreed right away. 

Dean wasn’t gonna stand in the way of that, now was he? So he plastered on a supportive mask and put together a bag of weapons for Cas, even as heart plummeted. 

He knew it had been too good to be true. Castiel never stayed. He was stupid to think it might’ve been different this time. Silly.

Dean handed Cas a duffel bag, patted him on the shoulder, and sent him on his way.

They’ve seen him twice since then. 

~~~~~~

“Morning, Dean,” Sam says as footsteps shuffle into the kitchen. Dean’s slumped at the table, hands wrapped around a hot mug of coffee and head resting on an open book. “Did you stay up all night?”

“I got my four hours,” Dean mutters against the page. 

Sam makes a sound that’s half sigh, half snort. “You know me and Cas are fine, right? This isn’t a life or death case. You can sleep.”

Dean cracks open his eyes and glares at his brother, who’s leaning against the counter, shoulder-to-shoulder with a sleep-rumpled Castiel. They’re each holding a mug in their non-manacled hand. 

“I just want to give you your freedom, is that so bad?”

“I appreciate the effort,” Cas says with a small smile. His hair’s wild, and Dean realizes with a sick pang that he’s wearing different pants from last night. Visions of him and Sam getting changed while attached by a six-inch-long chain flash vividly and unbidden through his brain. 

God, why hadn’t Sam handed him the cuffs? Better yet, why hadn’t Dean found them, and then handed them to Cas—

Oh.

Dean freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. 

Well. That explains the heartburn. 

"Dean? You good?" Sam's voice floats through the rushing in Dean's ears. 

Just having an existential crisis about the man who confessed his love to me, that's all.

"Yep. So good." The words sound forced as fuck, but it's the best he can do. "Any ideas on how to tackle this today? Really haven't found anything in the lore." 

The handcuffed duo shuffle over to the table, and Sam grabs a chair to place it right up next to Cas’. They settle in next to each other, forearms touching. Dean chugs some coffee.

“We’re not sure,” Cas says. “We talked about it last night, and tried some more manual techniques as well, but at this point it’s unclear what the enchantment even is.”

Trying very hard to push the thought of Sam and Cas engaging in nighttime manual techniques, Dean gets up to start a batch of pancakes. “Can we get in touch with Rowena? She tipped us off about the coven in the first place.”

“I’ll try a blood call later,” Sam says, taking a sip from his mug. “Oh, Cas, I thought of a spell that can get us out of our shirts without having to cut them. And after breakfast we should figure out how to take a shower like this.”

Dean cracks an egg so hard that some droplets fly straight off the counter. As he starts beating the pancake batter, he sends a fervent, pleading prayer down to Hell that Rowena will come put him out of his misery. 

~~~~~~

Turns out Hell’s busy these days, or some shit, because Rowena does not answer Sam’s various attempts to make contact. Two days pass, and Dean is slowly reaching the end of his rope. Everywhere he goes, it’s Cas and Sam on the couch, Cas and Sam sharing a blanket, Cas and Sam in the backseat. They brush their teeth side by side, lean into one another at the table after a long evening of research, and Dean even catches Sam adjusting the collar of Cas’ shirt a couple times. 

He can’t stop his stupid brain from imagining what it’d be like if he were in Sam’s place. Sleeping in the same bed as Cas, that dark hair just inches from his own, feeling the blanket rise and fall with Cas’ breaths. Having Cas next to him all the time — watching movies, cooking dinner, working on Baby in the garage. Knowing Cas wouldn’t take off at any second.

The more he watches them, the more he thinks. And the more he thinks, the more he panics.

At this point, he’s past denying to himself that he wants Cas — not just in being, but in being together, in having, goddammit. And that means that if he ever wants a shot at happiness, he’s gonna have to talk to Cas. Gonna have to try to reciprocate, in his own ungraceful way, what Cas said to him. And hope that it’ll be enough.

On the third morning, they’re back in the library again, Cas on the phone with Claire to see if she can ask around about the heart symbol, Dean texting with Eileen about the same thing (Eileen finds the whole situation hilarious and expresses deep regret that she’s not there to witness it), and Sam hunched over his copper summoning bowl once more, muttering at the rippling surface of his own blood and trying to get through to Rowena. 

For his part, Dean has taken to avoiding looking at Cas and Sam as much as possible, just to quiet the bitter surges in his gut whenever he sees them. 

He’s about to suggest they break for an early lunch, when there’s a poof across the room, followed by a saccharine “Well, hello, boys.”

They all startle and look up to see Rowena striding towards them, her long red gown gliding behind her. “Haven’t you gotten yourselves into a pickle?”

“Rowena, finally, ” Sam says in relief. He and Cas lift their shackled hands. “Any chance you know how to get us out of these?”

“Hello to you too, Samuel,” Rowena says primly, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. She bops Cas on the nose with her index finger and leaves him blinking in confusion. Dean gets a wave and a wink, which he returns with a small sarcastic smile.

Rowena then lifts the chain of the handcuffs with perfectly manicured fingers and inspects it. “Hmm. It appears you have stumbled upon an item from my personal collection!” She laughs airily. “Ah, these cuffs have seen many a delightful dalliance…”

“That means you can open ‘em, right?” Dean interrupts, trying very hard to ignore the implications.

Rowena tuts at him and traces the heart symbol. “Unfortunately… no.” 

“What?” Sam furrows his brow. “What’s it going to take?”

“Well,” Rowena says, drawn-out and exaggerated, as she takes a seat on the edge of the table. “You see, I used these for rather particular, intimate activities, and to ensure that I’d have a fulfilling night, the restrained party would have to— how do I put this delicately?” She taps her chin. “Well, they would have to reach a peak of satisfaction before the handcuffs would release them.”

Dean feels like the chair’s been kicked out from under him. “Oh, hell no.”

Cas just squints. “The handcuffs unlock upon orgasm?”

“Yes, dearie.” Rowena nods. “Of course, they were meant for use by one individual at a time, so I can’t say if you and Sammy will need to ring the bell simultaneously, if you will, or if one of you achieving org—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sam blurts, harried, cheeks flaming. His eyes dart over at Dean, who’s sitting there glued in place, not breathing. “Um. Oh, god. Okay. Cas, I think we should— we should go to my room, and— and figure out logistics, and then— then just forget this ever happened.”

Cas nods gravely, though he also glances at Dean, and there’s something in his eyes like… regret? “Yes. We’ll forget about it after.”

They each take a breath, then stand up together, much more graceful now that they’ve practiced for a few days. Sam looks ill, like he’s on his way to witness an execution. Dean’s brain wars between shouting at them to stop and simply ceasing to function, and it seems like option two is winning out. 

They make it three steps toward the door before Rowena suddenly breaks out into peals of laughter, torso shaking and head thrown back. “Oh, boys, you are so gullible.” 

All three of them stare at her. Dean’s heart pounds amid his confusion. Rowena just shakes her head with mirth. “That was a fun little experiment. Now come here. Of course I have keys to my own handcuffs.” She produces a chain from her cleavage, on which dangles a key with the same heart-symbol. 

“You’re kidding me,” Sam says, flat and unamused. Dean finally breathes again.

“Oh, forgive me a bit of amusing torture. It’s ingrained now, with my new job.” Rowena beckons them over and lines up the head of the key with the symbol on the cuffs. They glow purple again, and with a click, Sam and Cas are free. They quickly step apart, rubbing at their wrists.

“That last part was unnecessary,” Castiel says. “But thank you for getting us out of this predicament.”

“Cas is a lot more charitable than me,” Dean nearly growls. 

“Oh, Dean.” Rowena tucks the key, and somehow the handcuffs, back into her cleavage. “I hope you learned something from all this.” She winks again, and then with another poof, she’s gone.

The three of them stand there and stare at each other for a long, long moment. Then Sam lets out a huge breath, slaps his thigh, and says, “All right. I’m going to Donna’s. No offense, Cas, but I’m ready for some space.”

“None taken,” Cas says mildly. “Tell her and Eileen hello from me.”

“See ya,” Sam mutters awkwardly to Dean as he passes, and Dean grunts in return.

And then it’s just Dean and Cas. 

“That was strange,” Cas comments as he cleans away Sam’s bowl and starts to organize the books strewn across the table. “I’m glad I didn’t have to orgasm in front of Sam.”

Dean, slightly strangled, just says, “You’re glad?”

Cas tilts his head at him. “Of course. You’re the only one with whom I’m interested in engaging in sexual activities.” 

Dean can do nothing but nod blankly, tiny jerks of the chin, as he processes. 

Cas said "I love you." And he also wants to have sex. Both of those things. 

"You gotta stick around if you want that," Dean says, before his brain catches up. Well, Cas has laid out his cards pretty damn clearly. Dean can probably stand to reveal some of his hand.

Cas' lips curl into a pleased smile. "Luckily, my time hunting with Claire has come to an end."

"You're comin' back?" An embarrassing little edge of hope creeps into Dean's voice. He leans against the table as Cas skirts around the chairs and stops right in front of him. They're nearly chest-to-chest; Dean can feel Cas' body heat through their t-shirts. His shoulders really are broad. Dean flushes. 

"You want me to stay?" Cas murmurs, voice deep and rough.

Maybe Dean can still work up to the talking part of all of this. It seems like Cas is on board to start this thing, and Dean's not about to pass up. So he settles for sharing the first of his confessions.

"Yeah," he breathes. "I do." 

#suptober22 #destiel fanfic #crack & humor #sam & castiel friendship #disaster dean winchester #rowena macleod #post-confession #dean's brain melts at the barest imagining of sastiel #is it gay to want to be handcuffed to your buddy so he doesn't leave you? #suptober day 9 #suptober day 10

[bisekcual]

quotes from wips that are driving me ballistic by the way

#id in alt #text #the first one is long forgotten rue and wuvvy. the second is an episode 9 coda that i didn't develop enough yet but is based around #the idea that like. because rue's confession is wrapped in with their defense of their actions regarding grabalba's engagement #hob can't take it seriously or believe them. he thinks he's being lied to and manipulated and grapples with that feeling #and the knowledge that the very person he now feels that from is the one that cautioned him to take care of himself days ago. #anyway. the amount of fic i could write rn were it not for the sleepy tired

[babyboybuckley]

I have been SO GOOD about not making a batshit insane 911/Lucifer crossover but now they're investigating a murder and the victim lived in Bucks apartment... yeah sorry I gotta do it now

#imagine... buck 1.0 sleeps with lucifer #and gets some unexpected help when eddie is in trouble one day... #or athena shows up to a scene with a detective who brought her annoyingly handsome consultant... #lucifer mojos buck and eddie into confessing feelings.... #idk guys it could be fucking hilarious #9 1 1 #911 tv show #evan Buckley #Lucifer #lucifer tv show

[empress-of-hugs]

Priests and Conjurors are of the same trade

Click the title to read on AO3

House strides into the impressive building without so much as a glance at the intricate stained glass windows or the ornate pillars. He ignores the way his cane taps on the marble floors and how every step he takes echoes in perpetuity. He draws up to the stately figure dressed in solemn black with only a flash of the purest white at the collar. “Father,” House says, his voice bellowing through the cavernous space. “I know I remember I told you to rest. Is your god so almighty that a little walking pneumonia isn’t going to slow you down? Because if that’s the case, you might wanna phone him up and tell him he’s slacking.” 

The large man smiles just barely. “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength but with your testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it. One Corinthians, verses ten to thirteen.” 

House rolls his eyes. “Let it not be said that he who is stubborn and without proper rest could possibly blame his doctor. Me, just now. Verse something or other.” 

Father Moren’s smile widens just a little. “I will rest soon, Doctor House. After I take care of a few more things.” He turns, carefully dusting a ledge behind him. 

“You’re infecting other people, you know!” House says as he leans in, supporting his weight with his cane. “You should be lying down, you know, since you have walking pneumonia.” 

Father Moren does not turn around, quoting what House is certain is yet another phrase from his holy book; it seems to be the only way the old man is capable of communicating, something House finds utterly detestable. “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” House shakes his head and turns around, he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. The only reason he even came to check in on the priest is that Wilson bet him fifty bucks that the guy would’ve taken House’s advice; obviously, he had to prove Wilson wrong. “If you don’t go and lie down soon, your body is most likely going to do it for you. Should I stick around to call the ambulance or does your god have that covered too?” 

The priest doesn’t respond, instead focusing on his task; wiping away dust from yet another ledge. Every now and then, a ghastly cough escapes him. House watches him for a few moments before turning and walking back down the aisle. There is no point in trying to convince a man that stubborn. He should know, he’s even more stubborn. 

About halfway down the aisle, he realizes he needs to sit down. His leg is hurting; a throbbing, stabbing pain that takes over his entire world. He looks back for a moment, not really wanting to sit down in the pews. There are few people in the church, some praying, others doing menial chores or simply existing in the space. House wants to be no part of this crowd. 

He spots a curtain, from which a small breeze comes through. It parts the deep-purple fabric, revealing a simple but comfortable-looking chair in the relative peace of a small, closed-off space. Without thought, House sets out for it. 

He sits, closing the curtain behind him. A small wooden booth surrounds him, a lattice-covered window to his left. A confessional, House suddenly understands. It doesn’t matter. No one will be here this time of day, he’s sure. After taking two Vicodin, he leans his head on the grip of his cane. For a few, blissful seconds he finds some manner of peace, but then the window is suddenly pulled open further and the shadow of another person blocks most of the light that once spilled through. Through a haze of pain, House mutters something unintelligible. 

The person on the other side hesitates for only a moment before a quiet but familiar voice rolls over House. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have committed the sin of fornication with my colleague. I went over to her house with the intention to see how she was doing after an accident at work. I… I have no real recollection of how it happened, but… we, we fornicated. Also, I have committed the sin of masturbation and pornography. I searched out pornographic images that resemble a man I have strong but confusing feelings for. Possibly I committed the sin of homosexuality, though I might have to get back to you on that…” The voice trails off into nothingness and House sits frozen in his chair. 

“My son,” he says gravely, deepening his voice as best he can. “Who have you fornicated with?” 

“Her name is Cameron, Father. Allison is her first name, but I never call her that. I called her that when we – err, using her last name felt strange in that moment. Also, we used a condom, which, I mean, given the circumstances…”

House waits for a moment, but no words follow. “Tell me,” he says simply, “of these ‘circumstances’.” 

“She… at the time we thought she might’ve contracted HIV.”

“And you still did her?” House couldn’t stop the words from coming out. He wondered if Chase recognized his voice, but as the younger man muttered some useless explanation he realized he hadn’t. House raised his eyebrows. “And this man you have all these confusing feelings for, what’s his name?” 

Chase hesitated. “Father? You’ve never asked these kinds of questions before.” 

“That’s because I didn’t really care before. But your immortal soul is at stake here, pay attention. What’s his name?” 

“Forman,” Chase said quickly. “Eric Foreman. He… he also works with Cameron and myself.” 

“And you wanna do him, too?” 

“I’m… not certain. Parts of me do want to, I believe. Otherwise I’d have no reason to seek out images of men that resemble him.” 

“You have no reason to seek out those images anyway,” House says confidently. “You see him every day.” 

“I see him… clothed,” Chase murmurs. “The images I seek out… are different.” 

House smiles. “You could always ask him to pose in the nude. Maybe he could use the extra money? After all, you’re rich.”

“Father,” Chase sighs, “I’ve told you this. My father is rich; I may be a doctor but that doesn’t automatically make me rich. I can’t afford to pay any more than I already am.” 

House deepens his voice. "Well, that's a shame, my son. God's forgiveness relies on your contribution to His church." 

"God's forgiveness isn't for sale!" Chase protests. 

House raises his eyebrows. "It is if you aren't actually sorry. If you'd honestly feel bad about what you did you wouldn't have to bribe the Almighty."

Chase sighs. "Alright, I'll pay for the children’s summer camp."

"Just so we're clear, you aren't sorry?"

Another sigh escapes the younger man. "I'll consider being sorry. But for now… I just wish Foreman would look at me." 

House smiles to himself. "You pay for the summer camp and I'll ask God to make that happen."

After Chase has left,  House toys with his cane. "Foreman," he mutters. "Chase and Foreman… this could be fun."

#domaystic2023 #domaystic day 9 #Prompt: mistaken identity #sfw #house md #greg house #gregory house #robert chase #confessions #humor #fanfiction #fanfic #house md fanfiction

[birdsreallydontsing]

debut has a special place in my heart

#confession debut isnt last in my album rankings #i dont even like country music #kind of? #its so good #i love debut #so underrated </3 #claiming my spot as an og debut STAN before debut tv is announced #nobody will ever get debut like i do #cold as you is so underrated #and marys song #i think ill actually die when she plays marys song as a surprise song #and ttwas #i love her little accent #she sounds so young #debut is so cute 💚 #debut is green fight me #not like bright green #but like green with a lil teal #she said i was 7 and you were 9 #i have a friend who's 2 days older than me and she was born on the 7th so whenever i play marys song and i hear that im like ITS US #conclusion: i love debut

[tom4jc]

March 1, 2024 Verse Of The Day

View On WordPress

#1 John 1:9 #confess sin #God Is Faithful #God Is Just #God Will Cleanse #God Will Forgive #remove unrighteousness #Verse of the Day

[dwuerch-blog]

What is it Like to be You?

We’ve all played “ice breaker” games with a group of people who we may know very little about. It’s a great way to get to know each other in a very open environment. But, instead of the usual questions: “What do you do for fun? What was your most embarrassing moment? What was your favorite vacation?”, what if this question were asked: “What is it like to be you?” I assure you – it would depend…

View On WordPress

#1 Corinthians 2:9 #being you #blessed life #blog #christian #facebook #faith confession #faith-filled #family #good health #hallelujah voice #healthy #heavenly #ice breaker #inspiration #one day at a time #Proverbs 3:5-6 #romans 4:17 #scripture #trust in the lord #upbeat

[absent-minded-daydreamer]

Prayer:

God, I confess that I have not always been the person You’ve created me to be. I sometimes fail to love You with my whole heart, mind, and soul. I do not always love my neighbors as You love them. Please forgive me, God. Transform my heart and renew my mind so that I can draw closer to You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

(YouVersion Bible app)

#christian blog #christian #christianity #english #YouVersion #Bible app #vers of the day #1 John #1 John 1 : 9 #Confess your sins to Him #He will forgive you #May you all have a lovely day further❤🤍

[saraswritingtipps]

Writing a romance scene between friends-turned-lovers

1. Build Tension and Chemistry:

Start by creating a strong foundation of emotional connection and chemistry between the characters. Show the reader why these friends are perfect for each other.

2. Use Inner Monologue:

Reveal the characters' inner thoughts and feelings. Allow readers to see their internal struggle and realization that their friendship has transformed into something more.

3. Subtle Gestures and Glances:

Describe subtle physical cues such as lingering touches, longing glances, or an accidental brush of hands. These small actions can speak volumes about the characters' growing attraction.

4. Dialogue:

Develop natural and engaging dialogue that reflects the characters' personalities. Use humor, vulnerability, and sincerity in their conversations to convey the depth of their emotions.

5. Setting and Mood:

Choose an appropriate setting that complements the romantic mood. Consider factors like lighting, ambiance, and the time of day to enhance the atmosphere.

6. Build Anticipation:

Slowly escalate the tension and anticipation as the characters become aware of their changing feelings. Tease the readers by delaying the moment of confession or physical intimacy.

7. Show Vulnerability:

Let your characters open up to each other, sharing their fears and insecurities. Vulnerability can be a powerful tool in a romance scene, making the characters relatable and endearing.

8. Physical Descriptions:

Provide sensory details when describing the characters' physical appearances. Highlight what makes each character attractive in the eyes of the other.

9. Create Realistic Obstacles:

Introduce obstacles or doubts that challenge the characters' path from friendship to romance. Overcoming these obstacles can make the relationship feel more genuine.

10. Build to the Climax:

Slowly build the scene to its climax, whether it's a passionate kiss, a confession of love, or another significant moment. Make it emotionally charged and meaningful.

11. Emotional Impact:

Ensure that the scene evokes a strong emotional response from the readers. Let them feel the characters' joy, relief, and excitement as the friendship evolves into romance.

12. Aftermath:

Show the aftermath of the romantic scene. How do the characters feel afterward? What changes in their relationship? What are their hopes and fears for the future?

13. Consistency:

Maintain consistency with the characters' personalities and the development of their relationship. Ensure that their actions and words align with their established traits and the progression of their bond.

#writing #writer on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #character development #writer tumblr #writblr #writing advice #oc character #writing help #romantic gestures #romantic scenarios #best friends to lovers

[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys! #2k notes #2k notes holy crap you guys! #3k notes #3k notes WOAH that's amazing you guys