#he just makes the choice to leave her and his entire childhood behind and no one else knows why

[fractaljockey]

thinking about loz oot and how saria potentially doesnt learn that link isnt kokiri, and how all she knows is the boy she loves has left her and been changed by forces outside of either of their control, and link, having just learned that he will age and die, has to leave her and the lost woods knowing he might never return and that its for the best. if he stayed she would have to watch him grow old and be kicked out and eventually die while she remains the same, frozen for eternity.

[spidrgirl]

childhood best friends to lovers

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Pairing: Miles Morales 1610 x female reader !

Synopsis: miles being in love with you since you guys were kids.

Genre: fluff

Word count: 2361

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His earliest memory consists of the taste of cherry flavored blowpops, the scent of strawberry lotion and wild mango shampoo, and the feeling of your soft, warm lips pressed against his.

He remembers it as if it were yesterday. The two of you had been playing outside for what felt like hours while "The mothers" (as you guys had playfully called your mothers) scolded you for running in and out of the house.

After another trip of doing exactly that—going into the house for a drink of water and quickly running back outside—Rio stopped you two and gave you the choice of staying outside, or coming inside.

you smiled brightly and assured her that you would stay outside and play until you were finally ready to come in for the day.

"Of course tia," you had agreed, "we'll stay outside and play until it's curfew! We won't come in anymore, I promise!"

And with that, you grabbed Miles' hand and ran outside to the farthest end of your street, where the neighborhood park was.

"Betcha can't beat me in a race there and back," he taunted, pointing at a large pin oak tree that stood near the back of the park. It's dark green leaves slightly brightened by the glistening sun shining down on them.

"Can too!" you exclaimed, eagerly accepting his challenge.

Miles gave you a sly grin and ran to the sandbox, which was then quickly assigned to be the starting line, with you quickly chasing behind him, your hair blowing against your face in the soft breeze.

You perched yourself at the sandbox with Miles right next to you, ready to take off and kick his butt in what was sure to be another easy round of you beating him in a race.

"On your mark…" Miles said slowly, glancing over at you to make sure you were ready, his eyes flickering with something you couldn't quite determine but making you smile anyway.

"get set…"

"Oh, hurry up Miles!" You playfully groaned, rolling your eyes at his obvious trolling.

"GO!" Miles exclaimed, and the two of you took off running towards the pin oak tree,taunting and mocking each other the entire time.

"You're slow!" You shouted breathlessly.

"You're one to talk; you are literally reminding me of a turtle right now!" Miles shot back with another big smile, sprinting to the tree as fast as he could.

When he neared the tree, though, Miles slowed down and let you pass him up—not too obviously, but just enough to let you think that he had gotten tired or that you were simply too fast for him to beat.

The truth was, Miles was much faster and stronger than you and could have easily run the race, but he always let you take the first place trophy. He enjoyed seeing you brag about how fast you were or how good you were, knowing it was only possible because of his own loss.

Because of this, you won the race and wasted no time bragging about your well deserved and expected win, completely oblivious to the fact that he had let you win this time, and all the other times that came before this.

"Ha! I beat you, Miles; you owe me a soda!" You smiled at him, flashing a row of white baby teeth with the one on the side missing.

"Oh, please," he rolled his eyes playfully, "you cheated. I would've beat you but you ran before I even said go."

You laughed at his comment and slid down the tree's thick trunk to cool down, grateful for the shade the large branches and leaves provided against the relentless July heat. Beads of sweat were starting to form on your face from the heat waves rising from the hot asphalt, and you were almost certain you were going to die of "hotness."

"Whatever, you still owe me a soda." you cooed, letting out a deep sigh and resting your head on his shoulder, hot and tired from all that running you just did.

"I don't have a soda..but I got this," he said breathlessly, pulling a cherry blowpop from his pocket stowed away from earlier.

You took it from his fingers without another word and popped it into your mouth, immediately feeling a rush of dopamine from the sugary taste of the candy.

Miles gazed over at you, resting on his shoulder and mindlessly sucking on the blowpop, silently taking the chance to admire your beauty. Even though you were just an eight-year-old girl, you were already so beautiful, and this was something everyone seemed to know but you.

Miles was reminded of this fact whenever he took the chance to sneakily take longing looks at your soft pink lips, long dark eyelashes, iridescent eyes, and that soft hair that always seemed to glow in the sun. He loved all these small details about you, but was too young to understand what this meant to him yet. So he kept them to himself, storing it for later.

A while later, you lifted your head from his shoulder, and although it was plenty hot outside, he immediately missed your warmth. He wanted you to rest on him again, perhaps come even closer, but he wouldn't press the issue.

He thought of you and what he wanted for a quick moment before he was snapped out of his thoughts when you looked up at him with a soft smile and asked him if he thought that you guys would be friends forever.

"Of course we will. We are best friends forever, remember?" He replied, fanning his flushed face.

"Yeah, but what if we get older and make new friends? You'll probably forget all about me and have way more fun with them." You countered, eyes wide, with the thought of growing up without your best friend.

"But I wouldn't, cause you're my number one girl for life. I would make other friends, but they would never come close to me as close as you are to me. I promise." He said.

As if to emphasize his words, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, almost feather-light, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You felt a strange fluttering in your chest, like butterflies were trapped inside. You didn't understand what was happening, but it felt nice.

Just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, he leaned in even closer. His lips were just inches from yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. Time seemed to stand still as you waited for him to make his move, but you were unsure of what that move was yet.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were soft and warm against yours, and they sent a rush of heat through your entire body. He remembered the taste of the cherry-flavored lollipop on your lips and the softness and warmth of your skin. Time seemed to stand still as you kissed under the shade of the tree, the soft summer air caressing your skin.

He inhaled the scent of what was sure to be shampoo, its sweet, fruity smell making him only want to smell more of it. He counted to five in his head because it's what he had seen all the other kids do in the movies when they kissed, and when he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed from the heat and the kiss. He smiled down at you, his amber eyes sparkling in the sunlight with something he was sure to love.

And this is when he knew that he was in love with you.

...

Now, eight years later, when he was sixteen and you were fifteen and a half --you always liked to point out whenever Miles teased you for your age difference--,Miles couldn't help but wonder if you remembered that day.

Did you remember the feeling of his lips on yours? The feeling of his skin pressing against yours? The sweet, innocent smiles that happened after that kiss?

Miles couldn't help but think of that moment as he lay on his bed, the sunlight streaming in through the window casting a warm glow across your face. Your hair was spread out around you like a halo of gold, and your eyes were closed as you lay on your stomach, lazily flipping through a fashion magazine.

He couldn't help but stare at you. Since you had gotten older, you had started to fill in nicely. Places where you weren't so curvy back then had started to fill in, and he couldn't help but take in every detail—every curve of your body, every freckle on your skin.

When he looked at you like this, he just knew he wanted to kiss you again. No, he didn't want to kiss you again, he needed to kiss you again. To feel your lips against his, to taste your sweet breath on his tongue.

"What do you think about this dress?" you asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. He blinked, coming back to reality, and forced a smile. "It's really pretty," he mumbled, trying to focus on what you were saying, although his mind felt scattered with thoughts he knew he shouldn't have.

You smiled back at him, and in that moment, he felt like everything was alright. He felt like he could forget about kissing you and how much it hurt to be so close to you yet so far away. He felt like he could finally breathe.

But then you leaned over to pick up your water bottle, and as you did, your shirt rose up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin at your hip. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make his heart race and his palms grow sweaty. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to feel your skin against his own.

"So, do you think I should get my nails done in that color?" You continued, gesturing to a pretty shade of pink on the page of the magazine. The pink had reminded him of that one hello kitty girl you liked, my Melanie? but he didn't have time to think about it for too long before he forced himself to look at the page and focus on your words.

But all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you again, to feel the softness of your lips against his. He swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat. "Um, yeah, that color would look really good on you," he managed to say. "You should totally do it."

Sensing the tension in the air, you look up at him and find him staring back at you with something that can only be described as love in his eyes. A blush crept up on your face, and you tried to clear your throat. The tension between you was growing thicker as you both struggled to maintain eye contact.

Finally, you decide to break it, glancing down at your magazine and pretending to focus on the pictures. "Well, I guess I'll have to ask Mom what she thinks."

Miles nods, pretending not to notice the awkwardness between you. "Yeah, maybe you should." He mumbles, swallowing hard, feeling the urge to reach out and touch you growing stronger by the second. He forces himself to stay still and focus on anything but these feelings, though.

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. You both know what happened, you both felt things that neither of you were sure were supposed to be felt, but neither of you dared to acknowledge them. It's as if you're both afraid that if you say anything, it will make it real, make it permanent.

But Miles couldn't take this anymore. He needed you, and he knew what he needed to do in this moment.

Miles clears his throat, looking away from you for a moment, focusing on a spot across the room. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. Then, without warning, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours.

It's a soft kiss at first, tentative and unsure, but as you respond, your fingers softly trailing up his shoulders and your lips meeting his exactly how they needed to, it becomes something else.

His hands find their way to your face, cradling your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. You taste like cherry lip gloss and it instantly reminds him of the cherry blowpop flavored kiss the two of you had shared years ago.

But now, the two of you were older. Kissing meant more than just some innocent, childlike crush thing. Kissing meant more, and in this moment, he knows that he's never wanted anything more than to be able to taste you, to feel your lips against his, to breathe in the scent of your mango shampoo-scented hair.

You pull away for a moment to catch your breath, but he still holds you close to him. Savoring the closeness between you two, he whispers sweet things against your lips, whispering all of the things he's been wanting to say since he was eight years old.

"I love you, like, really, love you" he whispers, his eyes closed and his fingers tracing your cheeks and sliding up into your hair, gently touching the soft strands.

I love you too, Miles. I always have" You mumble back, your hands resting on his shoulders and your lips still softly brushing against his.

You pull away for real this time, slowly opening your eyes and seeing something you've never seen before. You see a depth of an emotion that you didn't even know existed. You see love. Not the puppy-love of your childhood, but the mature, true love that only comes from years of knowing someone and realizing just how much they mean to you.

So, you kiss him again. This time, with a passion that Miles knows he'll be getting for the rest of his life.

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tags::

[vaguely-concerned]

listen I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore but on this playthrough of DA2 I found myself once more entranced and heartbroken to see hawke reenact their relationship with their mother with the entire cursed city of kirkwall. you can never do enough for leandra, and you can never do enough for kirkwall. leandra is proud of you, and kirkwall uplifts its champion, but no matter how hard you try for them you can't fix everything there that's broken, no one could, and even the fact that anyone would feel the burning responsibility to take that task on is a huge warning sign on its own. leandra will easily allow you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of the family's continued well-being again and again, even when she'll beg you to spare the twins from the same thing. it's such a sad, painfully realistic thing because I truly don't think leandra meant to fuck up her kids, and yet she primed her oldest for an abusive toxic codependent relationship with an entire ongoing dumpster fire of a city state better than she ever could have if she had meant to.

I think what leandra actually, deep down wants from you is something you can never ever give her and that is cruel to ask of anyone, but especially your kid -- to bring her back to a time when she was happy. to reclaim when you were all happy, when nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed, before malcolm died, before you had to leave behind bethany or carver's broken body on the ground. to get her childhood back from where she left it and found it all gone and in ruins when she returned. 'this is all your fault'. this is the tragedy of parenthood sometimes I think, that capacity to define a life: she said that once, in a moment of profound pain, and she probably wouldn't have said it under other circumstances and she apologizes later, but now hawke has to live with that forever. leandra can't bear her own emotions without letting them spill over onto someone else so she won't have to hold the discomfort of them anymore, and hawke is left to shoulder that burden and responsibility again and again, handed the impossible task of making it all okay again, somehow -- of stopping anything bad from ever happening again in the Nr 1 Bad Things Constantly Happening capital of thedas.

and then at the same time there's the mirror of how varric's whole family wants orzammar back (and to him orzammar is just a ghost he's seen in their eyes -- there's something in his voice when he says 'That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him' that gets me every time, how much he understands that he doesn't understand and how lonely that makes him among them, and on top of it all he's frustrated and ashamed and sad that he just doesn't get it and can't meet them on it -- like it's a betrayal that he actually belongs up here, when varric wants so badly to be loyal), just as the hawkes want happiness back. (I don't think it's Lothering in itself that longing is for, it's for being together. Lothering was just the place they stayed the longest.) they're all in exile, even as they try to make a new home out of that exile.

(varric and hawke's real 🤝 quality across all personalities, affinities and choices is 'parentified child' lmao. so much of varric's character makes perfect sense once you know he grew up supporting a mother who was an emotionally volatile alcoholic, honestly. between varric, the hawkes, isabela, seb if you have him and merrill's whole Situation with marethari I feel like DA2 covertly is to mommy issues what ME2 is to daddy issues fjsdjfa)

basically I think I'm trying to pick apart exactly why the fact that leandra is clearly proud of hawke and tells them so several times doesn't feel like it helps at all, almost feels more like a cage even though it's clearly meant well? and what I'm getting is that it's because my sense of what hawke actually needs, in general but especially from a parent, isn't admiration or approval but to be loved and supported and understood. I don't believe leandra ever quite understands them, and it scares her because it makes her think she maybe never even understood malcolm. (that's the subtext of a lot of what leandra will say about him in legacy, at least. he's slipping away from her as the years pass after his death and she fears she never really had him in the first place, if he had secrets like these.) she consistently treats her oldest more like a partner or peer than as her child, which considering hawke is always described as being very similar to their father… I mean I totally see how that could be easy to slip into for her after he died especially, but it doesn't make it any less fucked up or unfair.

the real leandra in legacy is. she is SO absurdly self-centered, if you really pay attention. I don't want to keep dunking on her because I don't think she's like this on purpose, but it boggles my mind. if you do the quest in act 1 she gets so upset and overwhelmed that the kids just sort of sit there like :( at the end, which adds to the trend that through the game you constantly see hawke comforting leandra, and you pretty much never see leandra comforting hawke, beyond some light vaguely encouraging comments in passing. if you do legacy in act 2 while she's still alive hawke comes to her, tentatively asking if malcolm ever spoke to her about any of it -- clearly requesting some sort of emotional support or help to make sense of it. she then expresses her side of it, but never once does she say anything to the effect of 'hey that was a lot to go through, are you okay after all that?'.

instead she essentially hands them the responsibility of having a good life, to repay what malcolm did for all of them. and in theory that's not the worst takeaway I suppose, malcolm probably would want them all to be happy, but in the moment it only feels like more expectation heaped upon you somehow? especially since you don't really get to express anything about how it made you feel before she goes to the 'ah no use complaining' zone (after SHE got to express her grief at feeling like she's losing more and more of that old life, and hawke barely got to say anything fhsfalkjfs). in general she really doesn't do much like. parenting, does she haha. there is so much love there in that relationship, and yet so little comfort. Oh, those days. All of us, in that simple place. Well, that's neither here nor there, is it. This life, we have to make the best of it. And thanks to you, and him, I will. Oh well, mum, I'm uh. I'm glad you feel better after that, at least. Nice to be of service.

it's varric's ghost-leandra who actually acknowledges what a burden hawke has taken on, that shows an understanding of why they're doing it, acknowledges the loss they've been through and also reassures them in their sense of belonging that still can't be taken from them, despite it all -- The best of him is still with you. The best of all of us. It's what makes you try so hard. You'll always have that. We'll always be family. (you can't take 'loved' away, huh.) you get a bit more of a reconciliation/reconnection between hawke and their dad's memory by being reminded he got like this too, you know (implicitly you're not alone). varric through leandra is the one who tells them what they probably would have wanted and needed to hear from a parent right then -- It's going to be alright. that's what Hawke, The Champion means to everyone else, and for once they get to be the one to hear it. except only in a kind dream that never really happened. I. it. hmmmmmm. crushing. that is crushing. but also so incredibly tender from varric's side, and so moving to me that he's seen all this stuff and so desperately wants to give them that comfort. anyway DA2 is about love in some of the realest and thus messiest and most human ways I've ever seen and it makes my brain go wild it's my favorite game of all time goodnight

[ak319]

Hello, I love your writing so much, if you can do so, could you please write a Yandere!Arthur Morgan x infant daughter reader where he's a papa bear to her, and he finds out she's being bullied by other kids in school. Ofc familial /platonic please

Thank you and hope you have a great day!

AN: moi heart AGH! Cute!! Tsym btw! (^///^) Warnings/MDNI: None, jus' fluff fluff nd' fluff! A little angst, bullying +++ Arthur is 30, Modern AU🍼 tag list: @nayykura @shackspossum @whalecage

Arthur's ears perked at the sound of your soft burp, a tiny noise that brought a tired but satisfied smile to his face. Finally. One of the trickiest tasks, but one he wouldn’t trade for the world. He adjusted his grip on you, gently patting your small back, his broad hand covering you almost entirely. Rocking in his old chair, the rhythmic creak matching his soft coos and steady breathing, he lulled you into a peaceful slumber, and before long, he drifted off too.

After a long, grueling day this was what grounded him. You were his balm, his anchor, the only thing keeping him steady after everything he’d been through. Holding you brought him a peace he never thought he’d feel again.

Stirring awake, he carefully laid you on the bed, making sure to stack pillows securely on the empty side. Then he stretched out beside you, his rugged face softening as he traced the curve of your cheek with a rough, calloused finger. He couldn’t resist placing featherlight kisses on your tiny forehead and rosy cheeks, his heart swelling with a love so fierce and pure it almost hurt

He couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. Just you, him, and this quiet farmhouse nestled in a peaceful community. The same family farmhouse he had nearly sold, back when everything seemed simpler, before life turned upside down.

Then he almost lost it all. Your mother, his wife (M/N), taken from him in a senseless tragedy during his time as a cop. The memory still felt like a jagged wound, one that would never fully heal. By some miracle, you had been spared, untouched by the violence that claimed her. God knows what he would have done if… if something had happened to you too. The thought alone twisted his stomach into knots. He knew he wouldn’t have survived it, he would’ve lost himself entirely.

So, he made a choice. He left it all behind after ensuring the culprits got caught and sentenced. The city, the job, the chaos. He packed up what was left of his life and came here, to the farm. Away from those dangerous, vengeful people who had shattered his family.

He wasn’t alone in the transition. His childhood best friend, John, stood by his side, helping him find his footing in this new chapter. With John’s support, he rebuilt, trading badges and bullets for the quiet rhythm of rural life. Now, he works from home as a graphic designer, balancing his new career with the role that means the most to him: being your father.

The move to the farmhouse was no easy feat, but Arthur didn’t care about the logistics, his top priority was you. Arthur let only Abigail watch over you while he handled the chaos of packing and unpacking. He didn’t trust babysitters, no way in hell. He’d heard enough horror stories from folks and read about things in the news that made his blood boil. The idea of leaving you with a stranger wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unthinkable.

The only person he trusted was Abigail. “You’re family, and you’ve got Jack, so you know how it is,” he’d said when asking her to keep an eye on you. His version of breathing was checking in every ten minutes, asking Abigail if you’d eaten, slept, or cried. Even when he knew you were safe, his mind wouldn’t rest until he saw you again.

The farm itself had seen its fair share of upgrades, some subtle, others impossible to miss. The once-simple property now stood fortified with long, reinforced fences and modern electric security gates. The kind designed to deliver a harmless but sharp jolt to anything attempting to breach them, ensuring no unwelcome visitors, human or otherwise, made it in.

Security cameras were mounted everywhere, their lenses scanning every corner of the property without missing a spot. Arthur had spent weeks installing them, triple-checking blind spots until there were none.

And for those thinking of trying their luck? Booby traps, carefully concealed and strategically placed, added an extra layer of insurance. He hadn’t been sure at first, was that going too far?--but the idea of anyone getting past his defenses to threaten you erased any hesitation.

Inside, the house was an entirely different kind of fortress. Childproofing was everywhere, every sharp corner was padded, and cabinets latched tight.

Then there was the basement. What was once a dusty, forgotten space had been transformed into a stockpile, his grandfather’s old cavalry arsenal, now fully restocked and meticulously maintained. The weapons had been relics from a long-forgotten outlaw era, but Arthur saw them as a necessity. A last resort. If anyone dared to cross that line, they’d find out the hard way what kind of man they were dealing with.

Because nothing, nothing, was more important than keeping you safe.

❀˖°

“Hey--no, no-" Arthur picked you up, his glare faltering under the effort to stay stern. “You don’t claw or brawl with Pa’ on this matter, miss.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement as your legs thrashed in the air. 'Aren't you a tiny feral adorable kid---no be strict , Arthur-'

' “You, ma’am, are going in the tub-”

“WAIT! I’ll go myself!” you blurted, words tumbling out so fast they were practically gibberish. But Arthur, seasoned in the art of decoding your toddler babble, understood every syllable.

“Fine,” he huffed, setting you back down and straightening up with his hands on his hips. He gave you a look that screamed, I’m watching you.

Your eyes darted everywhere but to him. “Um-kay!,” you muttered with exaggerated determination, shuffling your feet as if preparing for the world’s longest journey.

“1,” you started.

“2…”

“um..4? 3-”

“You ain’t counting to ten for the tenth time, young lady. That’s it.” Before you could stage another dramatic delay, he swooped you up mid-mock-Olympian stance and plopped you straight into the tub.

“NOOOOOOO! NOT FAIR! you wailed, your indignation echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Nothing’s fair in baths and bedtimes,” he said with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Bunny.”

❀˖°

Arthur set the plates and a steaming dish of soup and garlic bread on the table, his ears perking up as your voice carried in through the open window, accompanied by Mouse’s sharp barks. His German shepherd was stationed outside, a necessity for security, Arthur didn’t trust Mouse’s temperament indoors, and keeping the dog outside served as both a deterrent and a watchful guardian.

He glanced out and spotted you with a ball, your tiny frame dwarfed by the expanse of the yard. His jaw tightened. What’d I say about being out at this hour?

He stalked to the lawn without hesitation, his boots crunching against the gravel. He scooped you up without warning, setting you on his hip like you weighed nothing.

“When it’s near dusk, you are to be inside, you get inside without me needing to remind and call you every time,” he said, his voice firm, though not unkind. “Why do I always have to repeat myself?”

“I was gonna come, Pa’!” you protested, squirming slightly. Jeez, he needs to loosen up sometimes.

Arthur stopped, fixing you with a look that left no room for argument. “Some things I say are meant to be words on stone, you hear me? No arguing, Bug.”

He set you down gently but guided you firmly toward the house, casting one last glance at the fence and Mouse, whose ears twitched as if sensing Arthur’s unease.

❀˖°

The early morning mist still clung to the fields as Arthur loaded up the old truck, a fishing pole in the back, tackle box rattling as he slid it into place. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and fresh earth mingling with the faint smell of dew on the grass. You sat in the passenger seat, your legs swinging with excitement as you clutched your little fishing hat, a hand-me-down from Arthur that was still a bit too big for your head.

The drive to the lake was peaceful, the old truck rumbling along the dirt road as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. The lake, just a short distance from the farm, was quiet this time of morning, still and calm, with only the occasional ripple as the wind stirred the water.

Arthur parked the truck by the shore and hopped out, stretching his arms over his head. He opened the back, grabbing your tiny fishing rod first, a smaller one he had made sure to get just for you. He handed it over, his large hands carefully guiding yours to the handle.

“You know what to do, Bug?” he asked, crouching down to your level, his tone soft but serious.

You nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “I throw it in, wait, then reel it in, Pa’!”

“Good girl,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “But remember, patience is key. The fish don’t always bite right away.”

You gave him a mock serious look, puffing out your chest. “I can be patient.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled your hair before picking up his own rod. Together, you both walked to the edge of the water, the soft crunch of grass underfoot. He demonstrated how to cast his line, showing you the way to swing the rod before releasing it into the water. You watched carefully, eyes focused on the movement, and then it was your turn.

Arthur stood behind you, guiding your hands as you swung the rod and released the line, the soft splash of it hitting the water echoing in the quiet morning. You let out a little cheer, stepping back to wait.

“Good job, Bug. Now we wait.”

You sat down on the grassy shore, your legs dangling, and Arthur followed suit, sitting close enough that he could keep an eye on you but still giving you the space to enjoy the moment. The world seemed so still here, only the sounds of the water lapping gently at the shore and the occasional bird call filling the air.

Minutes passed. Arthur cast his line again, his concentration on the ripples in the water, but he always kept an ear out for you. You were so quiet, so focused on the task at hand, that he couldn’t help but smile.

“Pa’?” you asked after a while, your voice soft but curious.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can we do this every month!?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, his chest tight with love. “Of course, Bug. We’ll always fish together, whenever you want.”

You beamed, your little fingers still wrapped around the fishing rod, staring out at the lake with a peaceful contentment that mirrored his own.

And then, as if on cue, there was a tug on the line. You gasped, your eyes wide, and Arthur was there in a flash, his strong hands guiding yours as you struggled to reel it in.

“Got it, Bug! Reel it in, slow and steady. You’ve got this.”

You grinned, your little arms straining against the weight of the fish, the excitement in your eyes contagious. Arthur stood close, his hands still hovering just in case, but he could see you were doing it all on your own.

With a final pull, you brought the fish to the shore, Arthur helping you hold it up for a brief moment, both of you staring at the wriggling catch.

“We did it!” you cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

Arthur laughed, lifting you up into his arms. “You did it, Bug. You caught the first one. I’m proud of you.”

You giggled, your face flushed with happiness. “We’re gonna have fish for lunch! YAY!👹 "

Arthur laughed, holding you close. “Yeah, we will. And we’re gonna have a lot more days just like this.”

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you both spent the rest of the morning fishing, the peaceful quiet of the lake wrapping around you like a blanket. Every now and then, Arthur would catch a fish of his own, but it was clear which one of you was the real star of the day.

❀˖°

One evening, as usual, Arthur sat at his desk, working on his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused face. You were sitting nearby, playing quietly, but after a moment, you turned to him, your small brow furrowed in thought.

“Pa,” you asked, your voice soft but filled with curiosity, “why don’t I have a mommy like Jack? Like the ones on T. V. ?”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this question, dreading it, but he knew it was time to answer. He paused for a moment, setting his laptop aside, and turned to face you, his expression gentle.

“Well, Bug,” he started, his voice warm and tender, “you know how some kids have two parents, right? They’re like a big team, helpin' each other out. But you,” he said with a wink, “you’re extra special. Sometimes, God decides one parent is all a kid needs. Just one, but that one’s enough to love ‘em, protect ‘em, and make sure they’re always happy.”

He leaned down to your level, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “And that’s you, sweetheart. You got me, and I got you. We’re a team too, just the two of us.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. Arthur ruffled your hair affectionately, the worry in his chest easing as he saw you begin to understand.

“Some kids might need a bigger team, but not you. You’re my girl, and I’m all you need, ain’t that right?”

You nodded slowly, your eyes lighting up with trust and love. Arthur smiled, his heart full. “You don’t need a mommy to be loved, Bug. You’ve got all the love you could ever need, right here with me.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, feeling your little arms wrap around him. “And I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what.”

❀˖°

Arthur couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. One moment, it seemed like you were still a tiny thing, curled up in his arms, and now, the time had come to enroll you in school. He didn't want to let you go. He'd kept you close, always close, and the thought of someone else seeing you, taking care of you, made a cold knot form in his stomach. But he knew John was right. You needed to make friends. You needed to grow.

"Y/N needs to learn how to be around other kids, Arthur," John had said, his voice filled with that well-meaning confidence. "Jack goes to the same school too, so it'll be fine. It's just school. Let her have a chance."

Arthur had reluctantly agreed. He trusted John, mostly, and if Jack was there, well... that was a bit of relief. Still, the idea of you being away from him, surrounded by others, made his chest tighten. He was used to keeping you safe, keeping you all to himself. The thought of someone else influencing you, teaching you things....but he would do this for you.

And so, with his heart heavy but his determination set, Arthur had filled out the papers and enrolled you in school. He kept telling himself it was for your own good, that it would help you grow, make you more confident. Even if it was hard to admit, you were growing up, and he had to let you experience the world outside the walls of their home.

But Arthur knew something else, too. You were shy. You didn't like being around other people, especially strangers. He'd always been there to protect you, to shield you from the world outside. But now, the world would be coming to you.

As he walked you to school for the first time, his hand lingering a little too long on your shoulder, he whispered softly, "You stick close to brother Jack, alright? If you need any help, you go to him. You don’t need anyone else. Just him, just me, and you. No one else matters."

You gave him a shy nod, looking up at him with those wide eyes that always seemed to need reassurance. Arthur smiled down at you, brushing a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long.

"Good girl. And don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”

❀˖°

“You eat your lunch today?” Arthur asked, his tone casual but observant, as you stood in front of him with your hands tucked behind your back.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Uh-huh!”

Arthur opened the lunchbox, finding it spotless inside, not a crumb left. For a moment, he felt a spark of pride, was he really lucky enough to have a kid who finished her lunch every single day? But then, something about your overly innocent expression made him pause. He set the lunchbox down and folded his arms, tilting his head.

“So,” he said, setting the lunchbox down and crossing his arms, “how was it?”

“Hmm?” You glanced up at him.

“The sandwich,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “Was it good?”

“Oh, yeah!” you said too brightly. “Really yummy.”

Arthur tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What did I make again? Just slipped my mind.”

“Uh… peanut butter and jam?” you mumbled.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, though his expression stayed calm. He crouched down to your level, his presence steady and unyielding. “You sure about that, darlin’? Because I know I packed you a chicken and cheese sandwich this mornin’.”

You froze, the color draining from your face.

He sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Now, you and I both know you didn’t eat that sandwich. So why don’t you go on and tell me what really happened?”

You looked down at your shoes, your voice trembling. “I… I was going to eat it, but some kids… they took it.”

Arthur’s heart sank, though his expression remained calm for your sake. He reached out and gently lifted your chin so you had to meet his eyes. “They took it?”

You nodded, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. “I told them to stop, but… but they wouldn’t give it back. They laughed and said it wasn’t m-ine anymore.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Bug,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, “you listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, gets to treat you like that. You understand?”

You sniffled, nodding against his shoulder.

“They got names, these kids?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with a steel promise that this wasn’t going to be ignored.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. Then, in a barely audible whisper, you murmured a few names.

Arthur nodded, his jaw tightening. “Alright. I’ll deal with ‘em. You ain’t gotta worry about that anymore.”

As he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers brushed against a faint redness across your skin. He stilled, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”

You instinctively tried to pull your hand away, but Arthur held it gently, his thumb brushing over the red mark. “Bug,” he said, his tone dropping to that low, firm register that always made you listen. “Who did this to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you sniffled. “It... it was the teacher,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Arthur blinked, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “The teacher?” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm, though you could feel the storm brewing beneath it.

“I told her about the kids taking my lunch,” you explained, your words coming in halting gasps. “She... she said I was tattling and hit me with a ruler for ‘causing trouble.’”

Arthur’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but only for a moment.

Arthur stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Get your shoes on, Bug. We’re going to the school.”

“But-”

"No buts. No one lays a hand on my girl, now c'mon, Pa’s got somethin’ he needs to take care of."

The sound of Arthur’s boots echoed ominously in the otherwise quiet hallway as he strode toward the principal’s office, his expression carved from stone. His hand hovered protectively over your shoulder as he guided you along.

The principal looked up as Arthur entered, his usual composure faltering at the sight of the respectable ex-cop's stormy glare.

“Mr. Morgan,” the principal began, forcing a tight smile, “is there-”

Arthur didn’t wait for pleasantries. “There a reason my daughter came home with a red welt on her hand?” he demanded, his voice low but seething.

The principal blinked, momentarily caught off guard “I--I’m not sure what you mean-”

“She told me her teacher hit her,” Arthur interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut. “With a ruler. After she reported kids stealin’ her lunch. That’s what I mean.”

“Well, if a teacher disciplined her, I’m sure-”

Arthur stepped forward, leaning over the desk, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think layin’ a hand on my girl is ‘discipline’? You call ignorin’ the bullies and punishin’ the victim a job well done?

“We have rules about-”

Arthur leaned forward, his presence towering even as he kept his voice level. “You got rules about discipline, huh? How about rules about protectin’ kids?! Or do you only enforce the ones that let you blame the victim!?”

“Mr. Morgan, I understand you’re upset-”

“Upset doesn’t cover it,” Arthur snapped, his voice rising slightly. “My girl’s been comin’ home hungry because you let bullies run wild. And now she’s got a bruise on her arm because she finally got tired of takin’ it? You think that’s how you run a school? By punishin’ the one kid who’s just tryin’ to eat her damn lunch in peace? Because if that’s how you run this place, we got a bigger problem than I thought.”

The principal held up his hands, visibly nervous. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan, we take such incidents seriously. I’ll speak to the teacher and-”

“No, you’ll do more than SPEAK!" Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, you’ll make sure she’s held accountable. And while you’re at it, you’ll deal with those bullies, too. My daughter’s been hungry three times this week because of them, and now she’s got a mark on her hand for speakin’ up?! That ends today.”

“Of course, of course,” the principal stammered. “I’ll handle it immediately.”

Arthur straightened, his gaze never wavering. “You’d better. You’re gonna deal with those bullies and that damned teacher, properly. And you’re gonna make damn sure no one here ever lays a hand on my daughter again. Otherwise, I’ll be takin’ this to the school board, the police, and anyone else who’ll listen. You got no idea what I can do. You got me? You’ll be answerin’ to me."

He turned, placing a reassuring hand on your back as he guided you out of the office. As soon as you were outside, he crouched down and looked you in the eye.

“You did the right thing, Bug,” he said softly. “And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you leave dealin’ with grown-ups to me, alright? Nobody’s gonna hurt you again.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes as he pulled you into a hug.

“Now, let’s go home,” he said, ruffling your hair. “We’ll make somethin’ good for dinner and figure out how to make sure this never happens again.

❀˖°

“So... no school?” you asked hesitantly, peering up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and sighed. “No, Bug. You’re still gonna study--but at home, alright?”

He could already hear John’s voice nagging in his head, telling him he was being too overprotective, that keeping you out of school might isolate you further. But Arthur dismissed it. You were still so young, still figuring out the world, and he decided what was best for you. Nobody else.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he brushed a hand over your hair. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you go back there to get hurt again. Not by kids who don’t know how to act, not by some teacher who should’ve never had a classroom in the first place. You’re my responsibility, and I ain’t lettin’ anybody mess with you like that. Ever again.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the bed. His words felt like a shield wrapping around you, and you trusted him entirely.

Arthur watched you settle, his jaw tightening slightly as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. He’d been right on the edge of losing it, of storming over to those kids’ homes and making their parents pay the price and make them understand what it meant to raise decent human beings. And that teacher? Though fired, it still didn’t sit right with him. The thought of her laying a hand on you made his blood boil. It had taken every cell to control to not blow her brains out.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on you instead of the anger that threatened to bubble over. “I’ll teach you myself,” he said, his tone lighter now as he tried to make you smile. “We don’t need teachers like that, anyway. I’ll make sure you learn plenty, and we’ll even have fun doin’ it.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“Really,” he said, tugging the blanket up around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now, you get some rest, Bug. We’ll figure out all the details in the mornin’.”

❀˖°

After finishing up the dishes and double checking all the doors, Arthur made his way back to your room. He found you sitting at your small desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with intense concentration.

"What’re you workin’ on, Bug?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, a hint of shyness in your eyes. "A thank-you card," you said quietly.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. "For who?"

"For you." You held up the paper, a drawing of you and him making a cake. Above it, in your wobbly handwriting, it read: "Thank you for being my Pa."

Arthur froze, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped closer, kneeling beside you to get a better look. "Well, I’ll be..." he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "That’s real nice, darlin’. Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day."

You smiled, a little bashful but proud. "You always take care of me. So, I wanted to make something for you too."

Arthur reached out and gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "You don’t ever have to thank me for that, sweetheart. Lookin’ after you? That’s the best thing I’ll ever do."

You nuzzled into his chest, your small arms wrapping around his neck. "Still. Love you, Pa."

"I love you more, Bug. Always and forever."

[bosbas]

Chapter 7: you search in every maiden's bed for something greater

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, misogyny (not by anyone relevant dw), idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, mentions of sex and drinking

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: errr.... it's going to get worse before it gets better. sorry in advance

June 19, 1814 - Perhaps word of this author's disappointment by the ton's lack of happenings has reached Bridgerton ears. Whispers around the ton indicate that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton has been packing his belongings for an extended duration, leading one to speculate if this departure is more than a fleeting journey. The observant eyes of society are left to wonder about the purpose behind such preparations and whether, in the midst of packing, the second Bidgerton son is inadvertently leaving behind not only his material possessions but also a potential union with a certain Miss Beaumont.

Benedict was just about done packing, disappointed that his upcoming trip had been pointed out in the ton's gossip column. He was hoping to slip out relatively quietly, not needing further speculation on why he was leaving you, an undoubted topic of conversation for Lady Whistledown. The very reason he was leaving was for your sake, and he didn't want anyone making his own absence harder for you. 

The past days had been nothing short of agonizing for more than a few reasons. Ben knew his mother was disappointed in him for leaving, not immune to her sad stares and soft sighs, but he just couldn't go on like this. If he ignored his feelings, he knew he wanted you to find a husband, just as you had asked him to let you do. But he couldn't ignore his feelings. Not entirely, at least. Benedict was going half insane watching you dance with eager suitors and hearing you talk about the exotic and beautiful bouquets you had later received from them. He could barely sleep, plagued by thoughts of someone else making you laugh, and the dull ache in his chest had become a permanent fixture. 

His art studio felt cold and empty now, rarely graced by your warm and lively presence. Ben couldn't find it in himself to spend the hours he used to in there, missing your animated commentary as you read whichever book you had taken from the Bridgerton library that day. He had barely been able to paint at all recently, inside or outside his studio, frustrated that every single sketch or painting he started was in some manner related to you. Worse, he found he had little to no inspiration for new works without you by his side. Every single aspect of his life was completely turned upside down by your absence. Even the moon looked different. He could not look at the stars at night without remembering how your eyes looked at night, reflecting the soft starlight in the sky. 

So he was leaving. Perhaps it was a cowardly thing to do, but Benedict was desperate to regain some sense of normalcy in his life. He knew he couldn't have you, but he couldn't watch someone else have you, either. The only viable choice he saw was to go away, back to the countryside. Of course, his family saw right through his weak excuse of "needing time away to work on his art," but at least no one had the sense to confront him about it. Yet still, the truth lingered in the look of pity he received from Anthony and Colin and the quietly exasperated "Are you joking?" he heard Francesca whisper to Hyacinth. 

Ben had come to see you a few days ago and broken the news, and you had barely been able to concentrate since. Even though you had established some distance from your best friend, you still relished in the comfort of his nearby presence. You knew that even if you had a dreadful dance at a ball, one quick smile from Ben could immediately heal your stepped-on feet and put you in a better mood. 

But you supposed him leaving was for the best. At the moment, you weren't seriously considering any suitors yet. No longer having Benedict by your side might end up being more beneficial to you, even if your eyes were constantly filled with unshed tears and your lower lip was raw from nervous biting at the thought of him away in the country for months on end. You supposed you would have to move on from him, laying your feelings to rest. That was the whole point, was it not? Benedict would leave, and you would stop wishing every man you talked to was him. 

You were in your garden now, hiding in your usual spot behind the rose bushes with your nose stuck in a book in an attempt to evade your mother's call to practice your needlepoint. With Benedict leaving tomorrow, you reasoned that you should be excused from mind-numbing activities such as sewing due to your emotional distress. Unfortunately, your mother did not share this opinion, and you were forced into hiding to escape her demands. 

Hearing footsteps coming your way, you shrunk further behind the bushes, hoping you hadn't been caught and could spare another five minutes of peace. 

"Y/N Beaumont, come out of there this instant. You cannot simply avoid me when you don't want to play the pianoforte," came Benedict's voice from above you, taking on a high-pitched voice as he attempted to imitate your mother when she was frustrated with her children. You instantly relaxed, bursting into laughter.

"You are so evil! I thought I had actually been caught out. Although my mother wants me to practice needlepoint instead of pianoforte this time," you said as you rolled your eyes, playfully hitting his arm as he sat beside you. 

Ben laughed, shaking his head and snatching your book from your hands, leafing through it absentmindedly. "Hmmm, I figured it was something like that. I came into your house and saw the Countess quite exasperated, asking me if I knew where you were hiding," he said. Seeing your widening eyes, he quickly continued, "Oh, but don't worry. I would never betray you like that. The rose bush stays between us."

"Well, since you're leaving tomorrow, you very well could have revealed the hiding spot and escaped an untimely death," you retorted. Although you meant it as a joke, you couldn't help the break in your voice as you took in the reality of Benedict leaving for the countryside. You wrapped your arms around one of his, resting your head on his shoulder. You were breaking every rule you had established for your friendship, but you didn't care anymore.

Sighing deeply, Benedict placed his hand on top of yours. He could easily sense the pain behind your playful dig and couldn't help feeling the same way. Not finding the strength to continue the faux-playful exchange, Ben simply placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Either way, I could never. You're still my best friend. Always have been, always will be, Y/N Beaumont." 

You could feel a wave of tears welling in your eyes, starting to flow as you softly said your next words. "I know. I'm going to miss you, Benedict Bridgerton."

He looked down at you, feeling a fondness so fierce he felt the prickling of tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat, wanting desperately to end this chapter of your lives on a good note. He grabbed your hands and stood you up so you were facing him. He could barely stand the sight of your tear-stained face, beautiful as ever despite your reddened eyes. A few quiet moments passed between you, both of you attempting to regain composure, but the pain of losing the other made it entirely impossible. 

He was still holding on to your hands, thumbs rubbing softly up and down in the way he had always done. But this time, they did not bring you comfort. Instead, you burst into tears, closing the short distance between you and sobbing into his chest, not caring that your tears might ruin his clothes. To be loved was to be changed, after all, and God did you love him.

Wrapping his arms tightly around you as you sobbed, Benedict was at a loss. He couldn't fathom what life would be like after you, barely remembering what it had been before you. To willingly walk away from this, from you in his arms, from your shared intimacy, from the unbreakable bond the two of you had formed over two decades... he had to be insane. Yet he had no choice, as the past few weeks had shown. All Ben could do was rub a comforting hand on your back as you cried, murmuring sweet nothings in an effort to alleviate the excruciating pain he knew you were feeling as well. 

Finally, he spoke. "I'm going to miss you more, Y/N. And I'm so sorry. I never wanted it to end like this. I never wanted it to end at all, actually." 

Feeling another kiss at the top of your head, you lifted your head to look him in the eyes. You were no longer sobbing, just sniffling as tears ran down your face. "Me neither," you choked out, eyes still on him. You wanted to take in as much of him as you could before he left. You wanted his face burned into your mind forever, leaving a permanent mark you could never get rid of. 

As you sniffled again, you felt him pull you into his chest, hearing him say softly, "It's going to be alright, darling." He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, pulling you back again to look you in the eyes. He then followed a delicate trail, pressing soft kisses between your furrowed brows, on the tip of your nose, and along the tear-streaked canvas of your cheeks. Then, hesitantly, he reached your lips. 

His eyes were intense, heavy with emotion, as you felt his lips hovering above yours. You had never been kissed before, but you would so easily forgo social norms if he just closed the distance between you. You were inches apart, breath intermingling, eyes boring into each other. You could feel the palpable electricity between you, a mix of fear and familiarity. In that suspended moment, your heart beating with his, anticipation hung thick in the air. You were about to cross a precipice of intimacy you never had before, finally acting on the pressure that had been building for years. You wanted him so badly, and you could tell he wanted you, too. At least right now. Desire was running through you in a way it never had before, and you wondered whether the sort of itch you were feeling right now was the same one Ben talked about when he explained the night of the marriage. Is this the itch that would be scratched? You understood what he meant now, needing him so desperately to touch his lips to yours, to bring you the relief you sought in him. Benedict moved a fraction of an inch closer to you, and you drew your breath in anticipation, lips forming into a smile. 

Yet suddenly, Benedict groaned and abruptly withdrew as if an unseen force compelled him to sever the burgeoning connection. Pushing you away in more senses than one, he roughly rubbed his face with his hands. You could tell he was in a state of complete panic. Hurt and confused, you watched him rub his eyes frustratedly, refusing to meet your gaze.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry," he stammered, a haunted look in his eyes betraying the fear of losing all the meticulously constructed defenses he had placed between you. "I don't know what came over me. That was so not right. I just—" His words stumbled, a confession hanging unspoken in the charged air between you.

You couldn't stop yourself from flinching, understanding the implications of his words. You supposed it should never have been like this. The two of you were best friends, after all. But you were desperate for him to look at you and give away some of what he was thinking, needing any sort of reassurance, so you reached out, softly gripping his bicep. "It's alright, Ben. I know you didn't—"

But he cut you off, his head shaking in fervent denial, avoiding your pleading eyes. "No, it's not. I'm sorry. Look, I should go; I still need to finish packing. But I'll come by early tomorrow morning to say goodbye if you're awake."

Without granting you a lingering look, he turned away, leaving you alone in the garden where you had played together as children, where your friendship had once blossomed. Tears ran unobstructed down your cheeks, and your heart broke cleanly in two. 

---

You found yourself promenading alongside Mr Henri Deschamps in Hyde Park once again, politely nodding every time he looked to you for reassurance that his talk about hunting was not, in fact, the most boring thing you had ever heard in your life. And it wasn't, but you were inclined to think that it was pretty close. Nevertheless, you liked Mr Deschamps more than most other suitors, enjoying the philosophical debates the two of you would sometimes engage in. 

Henri was from France but had come to England with his younger sister to see her married off last season. Although he was successful in this endeavor, he liked England so much that he chose to stay and find a wife for himself. Still, you were a tad fearful that Henri would want to return to France when, and if, the two of you were married. He had been courting you for a short time, only a couple of weeks. Still, you were careful in expressing your desire and taking it slow, despite thinking that you would probably end up marrying him if all kept going the same way it was now. 

All things considered, Mr Deschamps was an adequate match for you. He was intellectually stimulating at times, came from a good background to be able to provide for you, and he wasn't bad-looking either. Besides, his accent was fun to listen to even when his words were not. It had been nearly three weeks since Benedict had left for the country, and though you missed him terribly, you were having a much easier time actually thinking of your suitors as potential husbands instead of fun ways to pass time before you spoke to Ben next. 

Hearing Henri mention something related to a book you were currently reading, you perked up, excited. "Actually, I read that—" you started, only to be interrupted by the man at your side. 

"Ah, of course, you read this, you read that. When does it stop, Miss Beaumont? You are always reading something. Men do not want this. We want an obedient wife who will not cause us any more stress than we have in life. We want a wife who will give us heirs quickly and who will listen to what we say," came Mr Deschamps' interjection. You were stunned, frozen in your spot, but he grabbed your arm and continued speaking as he dragged you with him. 

"Men do not want a woman who is smarter than them, Miss Beaumont. How about you stick to your good qualities, oui? You are very beautiful, but no one will ever marry you if you keep discussing books. No one wants to hear about books," he finished, sending you a pointed look.

You could barely believe what you were hearing. "But—," you tried, only to be interrupted by Mr Deschamps once again. 

"But— But— But—," he mocked cruelly. "But nothing, Miss Beaumont. This is the truth, yet you still argue with me. It is the same in France as it is here: women should not argue with men. You would do well to remember that." 

You wrenched your arm out of his grasp, appalled by his egregious behavior. He rolled his eyes at your reaction, turning around and throwing his hands up in the air, clearly exasperated. You angrily stared after him as your mother, who had been walking a few paces behind the two of you, caught up. 

"What in the world was that? I cannot believe he spoke to you in such a disrespectful manner and in front of everyone, at that," she exclaimed, fuming. Clearly, she had heard at least some of your conversation. You could only shake your head in disbelief, still reeling from Henri's sudden outburst. He had effectively squashed your hopes of ever finding an appropriate husband in under three minutes. It would have been impressive if it didn't leave you so hopeless.

---

Far from the hubbub of the city, Benedict lay in his messy bed, staring at the now-empty spot beside him, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through his half-open curtains. With ever-deepening bags under his eyes and a dwindling excitement about life, he grappled with a reality he never thought he would confront. The echoes of your shared dreams from your youthful days mocked him, a poignant reminder of a time when marriage felt like a distant concept.

This had become somewhat of a routine by now. Benedict had taken to finding solace in the arms of various women, seeking momentary distraction from the ache in his heart. With each encounter, it became glaringly evident that physical intimacy offered no relief from the unending yearning he felt for you and your friendship, forever changed by his choices. 

Loneliness enveloped him each time the women left, a feeling he had become all too familiar with in the past few weeks. He barely slept, opting instead to imagine your life back in the city, full of exciting balls and surrounded by the warmth of your family. And his, he supposed. But most of all, he couldn't help the painful thoughts of you with another man, discussing your favorite books, or forming inside jokes with one another. 

He was comforted only by the fact that he had not yet received a wedding invitation. Surely Benedict would have been invited to the momentous occasion had you finally found someone to spend forever with. However, the comfort he felt from this was significantly overshadowed by the implications of your inevitable wedding. One last goodbye. A proper goodbye, this time. Here, in the countryside, he could theoretically return to you anytime. But once you were married, you would be gone forever, and the wanting he felt now would only multiply, consuming him entirely. 

In the quiet hours before dawn, he often wondered if the past could be revisited, a past where the two of you made plans to get married. The idea of a marriage where he was free to pursue his artistic endeavors and you continued your literary pursuits lingered in his thoughts every single night. It seemed that he was only interested in marriage if it was an arrangement similar to the one you had dreamt up as children, and the chances of attaining that were slim to none. Benedict found himself yearning for a simplicity that had been lost in the complexities of adulthood. With you married off, he would have to find a wife eventually. But perhaps he did not want to marry at all. Maybe he would stay a bachelor, making vows to his art rather than a woman he knew could never compare to you. 

For now, he continued his escapades. In the long run, he was not confident that this would help him forget you or forget the fierce love you inspired in him, but he was desperate for any way to stop thinking about you, if only for a few hours. So he indulged, going to raucous gatherings, mainly populated by artists. People used their canvases at these parties as a means of liberation, but he only used them to mask his true feelings. He could momentarily quiet his mind, painting and dancing and drinking before he eventually came crashing down to reality. 

—

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[chishiyasleftnut]

Hi everyone ＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／This is another fic I wrote in the middle of the night, but I couldn't get the scenario out of my head haha. It's not smutty at all, but I want to experiment a bit with different genres. I hope you'll all like it! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

2+1

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Genre: Fluff w/ mild angst. Warnings: Minor existential dread, mentioning of abortions. Pairing: Dad!Chishiya x fem!reader.

Plot: After a long day at work, dad!Chishiya contemplates about his new role as a father. Is he even cut out for the job?

1140 words. 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Chishiya had never seen himself as the father type. Perhaps it was the subconscious fear of becoming like his own father - distant and uncaring - that kept him from wilfully pursuing that path. However, despite his best efforts to prevent it, you had managed to accidentally become pregnant and he had had to come to terms with the scary reality of fatherhood. 

It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Sure, the little creature was awfully noisy and smelly at times, but he had to admit that she was also kinda cute. Did the positives outweigh the negatives? He wasn’t sure. But he knew he didn’t completely hate being a parent as much as he originally feared.

Luckily, Chishiya was earning enough money to secure you a long maternity leave, allowing you to bond well with your baby in a way Chishiya never would. He had accepted that and somewhat found peace with the fact that he wasn’t expected to be as close to the tiny being as you were. It was easier to handle having to accept that he was the secondary caregiver and not the primary.

Another benefit of his job were the long hours, which gave him a much-needed break from dealing with home life. He had always used his work as a coping mechanism to deal with every small, negative thing life threw at him, but it was only after becoming a dad that he realised that that’s what his own father did too. It scared him to admit that he shared more than just blood with the man who had been so distant his entire childhood. However, he tried to shake the feeling and convinced himself that he was taking extra shifts to afford your maternity leave. Mh, yes. That was 100% why.

Despite desperately seeking a sanction from the reality of his newfound status as a dad, a part of him was always looking forward to coming home. And so he did this night, stepping into your shared apartment, which was only lit up by the moon shining luminously through the big and modern windows. The apartment, which long ago had been only sparsely decorated (just as he liked it), was now covered in proof of your child’s existence; no matter where he looked, he saw baby toys, neatly folded onesies, and an array of pacifiers in every colour possible.

Trying his best to ignore the way his once tidy apartment had changed, he walked with tired steps through the apartment until he got to the master bedroom. Slowly, he opened the door, mindful of the way it creaked so as not to disturb you or the little human sleeping safely in her comfortable crib next to your bed.

For a while, he stood still in the doorway, examining the way you and your baby’s breathing were synchronised, as if you had become one with one another. Although he would never admit it, he envied you - envied the way you so easily let this helpless child into your heart and how you so naturally took care of her every need in a way that Chishiya couldn’t make sense of.

It was those quiet moments that assured him that you made the right choice in keeping the child. Of course you had discussed the possibility of getting an abortion, but now that your daughter was in front of you - living, breathing, feeling - neither of you would want it any other way. How silly of you two to even consider any other option, he thought with a small smile creeping up on his lips.

With gentle steps, he walked into the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him before approaching the bed. Despite how silent he was attempting to be, you regrettably woke up. He hated when he woke you up after a night shift - now more than ever. As a doctor, he was well aware of how desperately a new mother needed rest, and he hated taking that away from you for even a moment.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered while climbing into bed next to you, still dressed in his hospital scrubs. “It’s just me.”

By instinct, you turned around to examine the small child, unable to fall back to sleep yourself until you had assured her that she was safely asleep. Luckily, she was, her chest rising and falling at just the right speed. He admired your natural dedication to ensuring your offspring’s safety and comfort. It always looked like second nature to you; like you were never, not even when asleep, not aware of how your daughter was doing.

Chishiya moved to embrace you, hugging you from behind and burrowing his face into your neck, taking in your scent. And that’s when he realised that work wasn’t his sanctuary; this was. It wouldn’t be easy for him to rearrange his mindset, but he knew he had to try. While you had never complained, he was well aware of how much being the prime caretaker of a newborn was taking a toll on you. You never got a full night’s rest anymore, surviving on napping throughout the day whenever the baby miraculously fell asleep.

That would have to change, and he knew it. No, he not only knew it; he wanted it to change. He wanted to be a better father and partner than his own dad was, and that started with reducing his work hours.

“I’m taking next week off,” he mumbled into the small hairs on your neck, unsure if you were even awake and listening to him. If he was honest, he wasn’t even sure if the comment was directed at you or if he just needed to say it aloud to believe it himself.

To his surprise, you hummed and scooted even closer to him, gently affirming to him that you were listening. Perhaps tomorrow, when he inevitably has to repeat the very same sentence, he will get a more enthusiastic response.

He could only hope that you were just as excited about the new change as he was. Still, he hoped you were without the deep fear that was echoing through his entire being - the fear of failure, of not being good enough for the sweet, innocent baby that was laying just half a metre away from the two of you.

In the last seconds before he slipped into unconsciousness, Chishiya, for the first time, found peace in his new role as a father, coming to terms with the fear of not being enough for the almost doll-like little girl that lay peacefully so close to him.

After all, very few great things were accomplished without fear and worry, and there was no doubt in his mind that this truly was a great thing. He could and would change. The two of you had turned into three, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[shadeysprings]

A Toast to New Beginnings

—Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary — Reconnecting with your childhood best friend was supposed to be a wonderful experience—until it wasn't.

Warnings — noncon/dubcon, drugging, implied kidnapping, childhood best friends to lovers with a dark twist, possessive Bucky and more that I could have forgotten.

Word Count — 1.7K

A/N — My second entry for @thebasementspouses The 12 Men of Christmas Writing Challenge. And it was such a thrill to write for Bucky again. As soon as I was able to choose what item to pair with him, my mind just went berserk. I mean, how could you not?!

Shoutout to my beta @sgt-seabass. But all mistakes are mine alone.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

“It’s really good to see you again, Bucky.”

The smile you give him is mirrored on his face as he takes your empty plate, stacks it with his, and places them in the sink.

It’s been years since you last saw him, years since you ran away from home and established a new life in the city. You thought he would be angry for leaving him, your only friend in your small town, after you had both promised to be there for each other no matter what.

Though life back then was tough and unpredictable. And as a teenager, it gave you no choice but to leave everything behind, to escape the hardships. Including him.

The years seem to have worn on him with the way he’s grown. You couldn’t believe that this is the same Bucky you knew who roughed up the kids that made fun of you, and stole lollipops from the local store just because you wanted them. He was reckless back then, a bad boy as the old women called him. But now, he seems like an entirely different person and yet at the same time familiar. Like home.

Gone is the long hair you’ve always known him to have, recalling how he beat up the boys who teased him for it, and loved how his mother would comb it out for him despite saying how much he disliked it. Now, his hair is neatly trimmed with the shadow of his beard just kissing his face. He’s also grown bigger; muscles bulged from his shoulders and arms, almost making his navy henley shirt too tight for him. 

Guilt suddenly swirls around you, twiddling your fingers together as you remain seated at table and watch him tidy up the kitchen. You even take the time to observe his apartment—a complete bachelor’s pad. But you can’t help but notice the small touches he’s added that reminds you of his childhood home.

He’s never brought up the past once since you met last week by chance at the grocery store. Never once has he shown any emotions of betrayal for what you’ve done. But with you, it’s all you’ve been thinking about after parting ways and agreeing to his invitation to reconnect.

“You remember my mama’s eggnog back then?” He says, disrupting your train of thought, a smile still ever present on his lips when you look up at him.

You smile once more, the memory washing over you like a wave. “How can I forget? She always made mine with chocolate.”

“You always were her favorite,” he laughs heartily. “Liked you more than her own son.”

“Well, she always did want a girl. And I’m the closest thing to a daughter she’ll ever have,” you say with equal mirth.

“Yeah, yeah. Go sit on the couch.” Bucky instructs with a playful inflection in his voice.  You stand from the dining table, already making your way to the living room. “I’ll bring you a mug before I give you your present.”

“Present?” That surprises you.

Taking a seat on the couch, you finally notice a small red box sitting on the low coffee table, your name written on the card. You didn’t know he was preparing something for you, and you came to his place empty handed. If the situation were different, if this were to happen in the past, you would have teased each other about it. But with so much time wedged between the both of you, you can’t help but feel another bout of remorse and realize how much things have changed.

“Here you go.” 

You look up at Bucky and take the offered mug, the warmth radiating in your palms. He joins you on the couch, a mug for himself in his hand, and a smile grazes his face when he takes a sip. His blue eyes cast over at you, curiosity present. 

“You’re sad.” He says, turning in his seat to face you completely. “Did something upset you?”

Placing your drink on the table, you clasp your hands tight and stare blankly into nothing. Of course something upset you. Everything since Bucky came back into your life upset you. It wasn’t because he was part of the past you wanted to forget but more so because you abandoned him.

Yet here he is, making you meals and your favorite drink, the gift adding to the pain that you desperately keep hiding deep in your chest. 

“Bucky— I—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” You look over at him when he interrupts, his mug now sitting beside yours. “You did what you had to do, I know. It took time to accept it, but I eventually did.” His hands then envelop yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. There’s a slight smile on his face, the same one that always brought you comfort whenever something troubled you. 

Slowly, he reaches over to give your cheek a gentle pinch, ultimately making you chuckle at the childish gesture. Your mug is placed between your palms, and he takes his all the same, sipping on it before nodding in your direction. 

“Go on. Mama’s eggnog always makes you feel better during the holidays,” he urges. 

“Well, she always made mine special,” you respond, sticking your tongue out playfully at him, and take a heavy gulp of the warm beverage. But your face twists when you swallow, a sour aftertaste scattering on the surface of your tongue that makes you look at your mug, then at Bucky. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks in concern.

“No,” you say, trying to appease him, but the cough you release lets him know otherwise. “Just— I don’t remember it being this bitter.”

“Shit. I must have added too much cinnamon in it.” There’s a frown on his lips as he stands from his seat, holding his hand out for the mug. “I can make you a new one if you like. Probably hold back on the cinnamon this time.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” You tell him, schooling your features as you take another sip. “It’s still good. But maybe I can have a glass of water with it?”

“Already on it.” 

You take another mouthful as he leaves for the kitchen, hoping to get used to the bitter aftertaste. But it’s an endeavor you stop, placing the mug back on the coffee table and instead reaching out for the red box to guess its contents. 

But your heart begins to beat at a rapid pace, hands shaking uncontrollably, and you gasp when you feel your muscles tighten then loosen altogether, making you lean back against the cushions of the couch like a wilted flower as you try to decipher what’s happening. You try to call for Bucky to help you in your mysterious ordeal, but no matter how hard you try, no words leave your lips. And in just a matter of seconds, you’re rendered helpless and incapacitated. 

Your eyes widen when you see Bucky return, eyes cast down on you as he sets the glass of water beside your mug. He says nothing, not even questioning how you’ve come to be this way, yet there seems to be no sense of urgency permeating through him. And instead, he lets out a chuckle when he takes your legs from the floor and lifts them up to the couch. 

“Well, what do you know! It does have a fast reaction time,” he says with a grin, taking a seat at your side and reaching over to caress your face.

What? He did this on purpose? But why?

Confusion runs wildly in your head as tears stream down your cheeks. You feel nothing yet everything all at once; the sound of his heavy breaths when he leans closer, the heat that flutters on your skin when he grazes his fingertips against it, and the sight of his intense stare, how the blue of his eyes grow bolder, the concern and, dare you say, love in them earlier replaced with hunger, possessiveness and something darker.

“After years of waiting, I finally have you, my Dove.” 

That name. 

It’s been years since you’ve heard it. And it was only him and his mother who called you as such. The name that used to bring you joy each time you heard it. Yet now, it elicits fear in your chest.

Sapphire orbs bores into your eyes while his hand caresses your cheek. “Unlike before, I won’t let you go that easily.” His hand snakes down to your neck, then lower to your breast, taking a tit in his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “In all honesty, you did this to yourself. If you never left me, we would never be in this situation. We could have been married. Living a simple life on the outskirts of town. Maybe even here in the city.” Releasing your breast, he pushes his hand lower, skating down your blouse and stopping just at the edge of your jeans. With deft hands, he undoes the button and pulls down the zip, your chest pounding as you foresee the coming events, wanting to kick him away from you—but it’s no use.

You no longer see your childhood best friend, your protector through the years. What you see is a stranger, a monster, here to haunt you through the next.

He’s strong, pulling the fabric off your thighs and tossing them haphazardly to the ground. He then stands, eyes raking over your body, and you’re once more stricken with fear when he starts to undo his pants. 

“Now, I’ll make sure that you never leave me,” he continues, kicking his pants away and taking your legs in his hands, lifting them over his shoulders as he kneels before you. 

You do nothing but watch in horror and feel his ministrations when he pushes your panties aside and presses his thumb against your clit. He rolls it slowly, teasing, dampening your cunt with each stroke he makes, pulling at the pleasure you desperately tamp down, but all your efforts are useless with your body subdued.

He lines his cock against your cunt, feeling the way he rubs the tip against your folds, taunting to penetrate at any moment. 

“This time, I’ll make sure we’ll be together forever.”

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette allowed Luka to lead her through the forest, his tiny hand holding her even tinier one. Looking down, she could admire the black of his nails, wishing she could match him yet knowing that her mother would tell her it's "impractical," whatever that word meant.

But that was okay. Having met Luka around a year ago, she was just happy to spend time with him and go on whatever adventures they could get away with in their childhood. His grip was unwavering and, despite its gentleness, she truly felt as if no one could pull her away from him if they tried.

Her feet were a little unsteady as they walked, but he went slow enough that it didn't hinder either of them. Whether he did it on purpose or not, she was thankful for him, only having a bully back at home to deal with rather than any kind of friends.

"Almost there," Luka announced, though quiet enough that it might've been him muttering to himself rather than her. There was a tinge of excitement she could detect in his voice, a sure sign that he'd been anticipating this just as much as her.

The forest was so thick and the trees were so tall that barely any light could show through the leaves. Anywhere patches of sun did show through, tiny flowers were growing, and the two of them slowed or changed course so as to not to step on them even if it made the trip longer.

But finally, Marinette saw light coming from the gaps between the tree trunks, her pace picking up eagerly.

She initially flinched when her eyes had to adjust to the light, but that was how she knew they'd arrived. A village, right in the middle of festivities, laid itself out in front of them, people walking around and talking amongst themselves without batting an eye at them. Fairy lights - which she understood as a magical form of light that grew brighter the closer to nighttime it got - were strewn about everywhere, only giving off a faint shimmer in the pinkish, purplish tint of the afternoon.

"Luka!" she exclaimed in a hush whisper, shaking his arm. "It worked! You did it!"

He beamed at her. "You did it too. Our clothes would look weird if you didn't."

She blushed at the praise, unconsciously gripping his arm tight. Where she'd come from, the types of clothes they'd needed would've been entirely worthless, so it was rare to hear anyone praise her knowledge (as much knowledge as a child could absorb anyway) on the subject. She was simply fascinated by such attire and went through all the necessary research to make sure they'd blend right in.

Coming during festivities was intentional, as everyone would be too busy having fun to pay attention to them. It was also a good excuse for Luka not to have to dye the blue highlights in his hair black, which Marinette insisted he shouldn't have to because they were too pretty to hide. There, highlights in one's hair were just seen as a fun, colorful, and temporary thing to do for the festival.

In other words, they were just two kids wandering through a village like they belonged there, and no one would concern themselves with them unless they appeared truly lost. Marinette involuntarily puffed her chest out, wanting to appear confident in the face of any curious eyes.

Luka giggled next to her, imitating the pose. "Where do you wanna go?"

"Hm?" She glanced at him, then their surroundings. Dodging people would be difficult given their heights in comparison to adults, but she suspected that would change as the day progressed. Furthermore, while the villagers were clearly taken by the festival, she was taken by everything, having never been in such a place before.

Grinning, she said only half-jokingly, "Everywhere!"

—————

Playing by ear, as Luka might've put it, 'everywhere' started with a stand that seemed to be boasting about some sort of game: a typical choice for children, but very new for them. The person behind it was highly enthusiastic, waving at anyone who even glanced their way. It was funny, so they were drawn to it.

"Hey there, boy and girl!" the person greeted with a clap of their hands. "Do one of you want to play? Every customer's first game is free, and if you win then you get anything here as a prize!"

Behind them were shelves lined with handcrafted plushies, pillows, and tiny wooden figurines. Marinette turned to Luka to check his interest, but he looked oddly unimpressed with the display.

Still wanting to try anyway, Marinette climbed up onto the stool in front of the stand and bopped the counter with both hands. "I'll play! Um, how do I play?"

The person smiled, pulling out a few cards shaped like leaves and placing them upside-down along the counter, muttering something as they went. Behind them, Marinette took in the main attraction that she assumed must be the "game": a fake tree that had six "levels," each level designated by a single hole with a branch coming out the bottom of it. She blinked, wondering what the connection was, then looked down at the cards and noticed that there were also six of them.

Touching one experimentally, it didn't move but flashed orange and let out an awful (albeit brief) noise. She scrunched her nose up in displeasure, reminded of the sound of her bully's whining.

"My little friend can explain the rest," the person behind the stand added, looking over at the tree.

One of the holes on the lower half flashed green, a small fairy emerging from it and landing gracefully on the branch. They bowed, waving to their captivated audience of two and explaining, "We'll give you one minute to play. I'll be hiding in the tree and pop out of each hole at random to stand on the branch. You need to touch the card that matches it when that happens."

Marinette remembered then that the hole the fairy had come out of was green. Staring at it, it was the third hole from the bottom, and the card that flashed orange was second to the left. It must've been like a rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The cards hadn't actually been leaves either, they were shaped like the fairy's wings.

The fairy smiled knowingly at her understanding of the game. "I'll go slow for the first thirty seconds, but don't expect me to go easy on you after that just because you're a child."

She pouted, leaning forward in determination with her hands hovering over the cards. The fairy slipped back into the game's tree and the person nearby raised a hand, a wordless gesture to tell her to prepare.

"Ready?" they asked. At her nod, they counted down, "Three... two... one... go!"

They threw their hand down and the fairy immediately popped out from the hole that flashed yellow. Marinette followed by smacking the third card, which let out a pleasant 'ding' noise this time rather than a bad one. When the fairy slipped back in, it took a few seconds before they popped out of another hole, this time blue. Marinette hit the second-to-last card that time.

The game went on like that as the fairy had promised, a consistent rhythm of them popping out for a second, disappearing, and popping out somewhere else. She followed their movements easily enough, going from green to red to purple and then green again.

So far, so good. With each affirming 'ding', a strip of color was added to the fairies wings, corresponding with the color of the hole they'd left.

Then, the thirty seconds passed and things started to speed up. The fairy wasn't waiting as long this time whenever they went back inside the tree, so Marinette had to be quicker with her taps. It was also a little more tricky as it wasn't guaranteed to be a different color anymore: sometimes she had to hit orange twice in a row.

Despite Luka's disinterest in the prizes, she could feel his interest in her playing. His eyes never left the cards under her hands and she was starting to feel the pressure. She really wanted to win and impress him.

Ten seconds left. The fairy wasn't messing around anymore and the timing became more erratic. They barely popped out at all before going back in and Marinette was expected to know where the cards were now, no longer having the time to look down at them to check.

Orange, purple, green, green, and then green again. Red, blue, orange—!

Marinette's hand flew up in the air in shock as the unpleasant whine signified a failure. She blinked rapidly, needing a second to realize what had happened: that, in her panic, she hit yellow instead.

The holes all flashed at once, then slowly dimmed with a fading whirring noise to signify the end of the game. She'd lost, and even worse was that she could see the colored strips along the fairy's wings as they emerged to perch on one of the branches. All the colors she had tapped went along the whole of the wings - disregarding how tacky it looked - barring the very end, which was just barely uncolored.

"You did your best, kid," the person at the stand complimented, leaning on the counter. They appeared genuinely impressed. "I don't think anyone here has gotten as far as you on their first try. Do you want to go again?"

Marinette's competitive side wanted to push for another round, but she didn't have that much money on her. It seemed like such a waste to use it up on something she might not win.

"...No," she replied reluctantly, the frown evident in her voice. She hopped down from the stool, disappointed, but a clattering noise from that same stool made her look back.

Luka had gotten up onto it, raising a hand and insisting, "I want a try."

That was weird to her. It made sense for him to watch her play, but not for him to play if he didn't even want any prizes. Granted, if the first try was always free, there at least wasn't any harm in trying either.

The fairy fluttered their wings, the strips of color evaporating off as if they'd never been there in the first place, then they happily slipped back into the nearest hole. Marinette watched on curiously as the countdown was repeated, wanting to see how well her best friend would do.

The game began, Luka watching each hole carefully and looking down when he needed to. Red, green, yellow, all carefully tapped as he kept his focus on the fairy. Normally, Luka wasn't as good with games as she was, but Marinette supposed he could've been playing just to play. Maybe it looked like fun.

Thirty seconds passed by successfully, meaning it was time to speed up again. Much to Marinette's surprise, Luka dropped his eyes fully to the cards on the counter, no longer looking at the fairy anymore. That, reasonably speaking, seemed in every way a losing strategy, but the first tap Luka made went off cleanly.

Then the second, then the third, and before long she realized that whatever he was doing was working. Purple, blue, yellow, yellow, orange, and he wasn't even breaking a sweat. Marinette gripped the counter in anticipation, unable to count the exact seconds but feeling the time pass in the back of her head.

She got on her tiptoes, wanting to cheer him on but afraid of throwing him off if she did. Her ankles ached from the awkward position, but she didn't even notice in the heat of the moment.

He was getting close to where she'd been, which could be gauged by the fairy picking up their pace. Marinette watched the cards light up under Luka's touches, seeing the hole of the tree flash right before it out of the corner of her eyes. She felt so tense that it was almost like she was the one playing, and she wondered if that was what it was like for Luka watching her earlier.

The one difference was that, with one, final tap on the blue card, he beat the game. She gasped, watching the final flash of the tree as the fairy flew out with strips of color going all along their wings, signifying his victory.

The person behind the stand staggered backwards, putting a hand to their chest in awe. "Wow! Congratulations! You did great!"

The fairy even clapped for him, nodding along to the praise.

Luka didn't particularly acknowledge the victory until Marinette awkwardly hopped up onto one of the horizontal pieces on the lower part of the stool, squeezing Luka in celebration. "That was so cool!"

He had to lean away to avoid the stool toppling over, but he happily returned the hug with one arm. "Thanks, but I got it from seeing you play first."

"Then we both got it!" she corrected. She didn't know if he was telling the truth, but she wouldn't complain if it joined the two of them together in some way.

The person at the stand gave them a few more seconds to themselves, then gestured at the shelves behind them to ask, "So? What kind of prize do you want?"

Luka narrowed his eyes at the prizes, looking all over without committing to any of them. It was taking him longer to pick something than it did for him to play, but slowly, his gaze dropped down and he pointed with his free arm. "That."

Marinette squinted, leaning forward a bit, and saw what he'd requested when the person raised their arm up confusedly. On their wrist was a spiral bracelet wrapping around half their forearm in the colors of the rainbow.

"This?" They waved him off. "This isn't one of our prizes. Those are on the shelves back there."

They jabbed a thumb behind them, but Luka wasn't deterred. "You said we could have anything here as a prize."

"...Ah—?"

They were baffled, then jerked their head towards their fairy companion, who'd suddenly burst into laughter at what was going on.

"Aw, just give it to him!" they said, wings fluttering in tune with their giggles. "He just won a second time against us with that!"

The person snorted, having not expected any of this today, but relented and slipped the bracelet off. "Alright, you little sneak. A deal's a deal."

Luka accepted the bracelet, giving it a final look before holding it out to Marinette. With a soft smile, he said, "Here."

"Oooo~" Keeping one arm around him, she held the bracelet up to the sky with the other, watching the colors shift depending on how the light was hitting it. "It's neat!"

She went to hand it back to him, but Luka's hand had dropped into his lap, curled into a fist so she couldn't. A beat of silence passed, which is how long she'd needed for it to click with her.

"W-wha—" She let go of him, losing her balance on the stool. The drop wasn't at all high, so her feet hit the ground without a stumble. "But why?"

He cast a glance at the shelves. "You can't take any of those home."

So he'd thought about giving her a gift all along? That's why he looked at the shelves like that? And that wasn't even what she meant!

"But..." She stopped short, staring down at the bracelet again and running her fingers over its surface. She'd already been planning to get Luka something anyway, and she had wanted a souvenir from her experience there. Wouldn't the souvenir being from Luka make it all the more special?

Wordlessly, she accepted the gift by putting it on herself. It was too large for her own arm, so she slipped it onto one of her legs instead, wiggling the leg experimentally to make sure it wouldn't fall off. By the time she'd confirmed it, Luka had hopped off the stool so they could continue on their way.

Holding his hand so as to not get lost (one of the few lessons from her parents that she was actually following at the moment), she walked alongside him and asked, "How'd you do that anyway?"

He gave her a curious glance, clueless.

"What you did!" She waved back at the stand. "You beat it without looking!"

"Mmm..." He tilted his head. "But I heard it."

"Huh?"

He made a flapping motion with his free hand. "I heard the wings echoing in the tree, and they stopped when they got to a hole."

He could hear the wings flapping in the tree and know which hole the fairy would come out of from the way he heard it echo and stop?!

Marinette exhaled in disbelief, leaning against him. "But you're my best friend, so I already thought you were the best!" Looking up at him, she genuinely asked, "Does that make you my best best friend now?"

Luka let out a small noise, covering his mouth in a rare show of embarrassment. "It was just a game."

"No it wasn't! 'Cause you won it for me!"

He relented to her point after enough pressing.

—————

Marinette totally, definitely hadn't been searching for one, but one of their next stops was a store that just so happened to have toys in the window. There was a sound of a bell as they walked in and she peered up at it, wondering if someone must've hung it there as a prank to annoy whoever worked there.

Regardless, she had a mission and dismissed the thought to eye the store. Her grip on Luka's hand tightened in determination, but then she noted that she wouldn't be able to secretly buy him anything if she clung to him. She'd even need her other hand to properly inspect the quality of whatever she was buying.

"I'm gonna go over here," she told him, letting go of him to point in a random direction.

"Okay." He nodded, immediately heading there and misinterpreting her entirely.

"A-ah, wait, wait!" She hurried to get in front of him and pressed against his chest with her hands to stop him. "I mean, we should play hide-and-seek, so I'll go over there to count!"

He stared at her, then looked around as she had done earlier, though for very different reasons. Thankfully, the store was big enough, having more than enough shelves, clothing racks, and random objects to either hide around or hide behind. She even saw a few plushes even bigger than her that would make for a good hiding place, though she questioned how a giant would fit into the store to buy one.

"I'll go hide," Luka agreed after an agonizing few seconds. He turned away, getting ready to walk, but stopped to look over his shoulder at her in confusion.

Right, she needed to go count.

Marinette headed off in the direction she'd pointed to, trying not to be obvious about staring at the things she passed on the way. Some of them were candy and snacks, but she didn't want to give Luka anything that wouldn't last. She didn't want to buy him any of the children's books either, because if they were called children's books then that meant it wouldn't be a gift for him when he wasn't a child anymore.

For the time being, she squatted down at the edge of one of the many shelves and covered her eyes, making due on the lie by counting aloud. Faintly, she could hear Luka's footsteps getting further away, straining her ears to hear them over her own voice until she was certain he was far enough from her.

By then, she carefully trailed off her counting until there was nothing but silence, freeing her to stand up and start exploring for a gift. If Luka saw her before he found a hiding spot, she could always claim that she never said how long she would count for.

Finding a balance between eyeing the toys she saw and looking out for anything dangerously Luka-colored, she went down an aisle at a time. Occasionally, she would stop to pick something up, like a pair of two squishy ladybugs forming a ball together, or a slug that made a funny clicking sound when she wiggled it, but nothing was calling to her as a gift for him. She knew Luka was a sweetheart and would like anything offered to him, but that wasn't a reason to not try.

As she tried to imagine what a "perfect gift" for Luka would even be like, she caught sight of something pink and blue on one of the shelves. She hurried over and, while she was briefly disappointed that it was only the back of the packaging that was blue, the pink color screamed her which made it serve as a good reminder of who this potential gift to Luka came from.

It was a clam shell. Marinette ran her fingertip along the ridges and noted that there was a little clip or force of some kind keeping it shut. It opened with a little effort, but nothing was inside; according to the advertisement, it was made to hold something, though didn't specify what.

Luka was someone who could use something to hold things. Eyeing the inside of the clam, she saw that there were even little slits that he could perhaps use for guitar picks. That might not've been the intention of the maker had in mind when they designed such a thing, but they didn't specify beyond "something," and guitar picks would be multiple somethings! Genius!

Taking the clam off the shelf, she ran through the store as fast as her little legs would carry her. She almost tripped and went face-first into the floor, but the sheer importance of the moment kept her upright.

Understanding enough about stores to know that she had to go to the cashier, she took one last wary look for any sign of Luka before handing them the clam. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the few coins she had, which were gathered meticulously over many days on the beach. She still recalled waiting for everyone to leave so she could look for coins they may have dropped, wanting to be ready in case something like this ever happened.

Giving them up to the cashier, they confirmed the price of the clam and returned it to her, as well as a single coin. The packaging had been taken off at her request, so she could fully take in the sight of the little storage clam and the nice weight it had.

Thankful for the deep pockets in the jacket she had, she slipped it inside, doubly thankful that the poofy design allowed for the clam's bulk to not be that noticeable. Then, with all that checked and confirmed, she set off to look for Luka.

By her estimation, it hadn't been that long since their game had started and she'd kept her eyes out for him the whole time, so she felt good about him not being suspicious that she'd been up to anything. Grinning to herself, she daydreamed about his potential reaction while searching for him between shelves and behind the giant plushies.

Tauntingly, she raised a hand to the side of her mouth and called, "Luuuuka~" She looked left, then right. "I'm gonna find y—"

She stopped when a rustling noise caught her attention, her focus shifting to one of the circular clothing racks that had fancy festival wear. Two pieces of clothing were pushed aside, Luka slowly stepping out from the gap he made.

Marinette blinked. They made eye contact and he froze halfway out of his hiding spot, a few confused seconds passing by before they both realized what happened.

He was so used to coming to her when she called his name that he did so without thinking.

Luka bowed his head, ashamed of having ruined their game. "Sorry."

Giggling, Marinette made her way over to him and snatched up his hand. It made her happy, knowing that they could both act silly together. "It's okay! My hand was lonely anyway!"

It wasn't a lie even if she'd planned to return to him casually. Things just felt better when he was around and she hadn't wanted to separate in the first place.

—————

Even over the hustle and bustle of the crowd as the afternoon began to transition to evening, Marinette could still hear the grumbling of Luka's stomach. She stopped, eyeing the source of the sound, and Luka turned to look at her.

"What?"

"Ah... I'm hungry," she told him. "Can we eat?"

An actual lie that time, but she'd been down this road before to know that it was necessary. They'd gotten into loops enough times of noticing that the other was hungry, the other insisting not to worry about it, and back and forth until finally they both decided to eat together. In retrospect, Luka may have given the same lie to her in the past.

It just seemed like such a waste to miss out on potential playtime to eat, but at least now they could have food they hadn't tried before.

Luka agreed, so they set about finding something they wanted. There were plenty of people down the streets waving around food and shouting out what she presumed was the name of it, but the two of them couldn't really make sense of it. Food there was so different from what they were used to that they probably wouldn't recognize anything anyway.

They debated on whether they should risk their money on chance, but then they heard the familiar word "blueberry" and looked over. Luka was a forest dweller and often brought Marinette fruit that he picked, so they both knew what those were.

In the woman's hands, however, were tiny round things that Marinette didn't recognize. They were closer to baby blue than the dark purplish-blue she was used to on blueberries, which confused her brain entirely as they did smell like blueberries. At Luka's asking, the woman listed off a few rough ingredients and the general process of baking them, but it all sounded like random words mashed together barring "blueberries" and "eggs."

"Here." She put her handful of treats back in the container she had them in, pulling out one in each hand and offering it to them. "Cuties like you can have one for free as a taste test."

Marinette exchanged a glance with Luka. She wasn't sure what the criteria was that the lady was using, but she could agree that he was cute: calm, quiet, and always with something sweet to say whenever he did speak.

"Okay," Marinette began, only to not take the one offered to her and point at Luka instead, "but Luka has to give it to me."

He didn't ask why, accepting both treats and holding one up to her mouth. Catching the woman's confused stare on her, Marinette felt compelled to explain anyway.

"My maman and papa told me not to take sweets from strangers, but Luka's not a stranger."

With that, she opened her mouth and let Luka slip the treat in at the same time he fed himself. The taste of blueberry filled her mouth as she bit down, the treat so tiny that she could only bite a few times before it was largely crumbs. The outside had been crisp, but inside it was soft and a little chewy, her tongue getting the full force of the fruit she would still insist it didn't look like.

She put a hand to her lips, letting out a tiny, pleased noise at the flavor, and heard something similar from Luka. It was an easy choice from there to buy it, though she already imagined that the single coin she had wouldn't buy much.

Luka, on the other hand, still had coins of his own. While she'd found hers on the beach, he sometimes found some that forest visitors had dropped, or those snatched up by birds and placed in nests for their shine. He bought enough that the both of them would've struggled to hold them even if they used both of their hands, but the woman settled the two piles onto edible pink paper for them, neatly crimped and folded so as to contain them well.

Walking off with the treats, they found a quiet place to sit and got to eating. Marinette imagined that her parents might have complained about her eating so much of something sweet, but it had fruit in it and it was a "treat" day anyway. They deserved to spoil themselves instead of thinking about such things.

"Why do all kids like sweet stuff?" she wondered aloud. "Some adults do too."

Luka hummed, not able to answer at first when his mouth was full. He swallowed, then guessed, "Maybe they have a spell on 'em?"

She looked down, eyes narrowed in suspicion as she poked the top of the pile. Nothing happened, at least beyond the treats moving from the little push. "All sweets? Do they wanna be eaten that bad?"

He shrugged, still mulling it over, and she took the time to shove a palmful into her mouth.

"What if we have the spell?" he suggested. "So it's not the sweets, and sometimes the spell goes away when we grow up?"

"So we're cursed when we get born?" She nodded along, invested in the hot new theory he just dropped. "I bet your mom could cure us. She's good with magic and potions."

"Mm." He stopped eating to consider that, lightly prodding and moving around the treats he still had, then countered, "But it'd be sad not to like these anymore."

"Yeah," she solemnly agreed. That was the trick of such a curse, she supposed, because why would someone want to take away how good sweets tasted?

The conversation lulled off as they dedicated themselves to enjoying the treats, cursed or otherwise. Marinette even tore a corner of the paper to taste, noting the strawberry undertones, and got an idea. With just a few, precious blueberry bites left, she curled the paper around them and shoved the whole thing directly into her mouth, flooding it with the taste of both berries at once.

Luka was wide-eyed at the motion, but not in any negative way. Rather, he thought it was an amazing idea and went about imitating her, slightly clumsier with curling the paper but it didn't affect the taste.

With any hunger satiated, they dusted off their hands like they'd done a hard day's work, then returned to enjoying the festivities.

—————

Neither of them were used to walking for so long. Knowing that, it was inevitable that their legs would start to tire, but the two of them had left it as a problem for their future selves.

Except now, though thankfully late in their adventure, the future had arrived and they reluctantly accepted that they had to rest. They searched for a quiet place where few people would be and settled on a library, having not even realized how much it was to deal with the crowd of people outside until they were away from it all.

A single librarian stood behind the front desk, idly sorting things they couldn't quite see. On the corner of the desk was a container of candy, either bribing material or congratulatory rewards for kids to read more, but they ignored them to traverse the rest of the library.

The rows of bookshelves almost felt like a maze of knowledge, but they eventually made it to a comfy little spot in a corner. There was a table, chairs, and a few books that were either abandoned or recommended for those who may've come by. Curious, Marinette grabbed one of the books to look at, but scowled when the cover showed blond hair that looked all too similar to her bully's.

Definitely abandoned books.

Luka was tired enough that he didn't even bother pulling out one of the chairs to sit on, opting to plop down on the floor and lean against the wall. Sympathetic, Marinette left the book re-abandoned on the table and went over to kneel at his side.

"You should sleep if you're tired," she encouraged.

He yawned, though tried to hide it with his hands. "There's a lot we didn't do yet."

She tapped her chin in thought. "Well... we didn't sleep yet? I can read you a story too."

Before he could answer, she pushed herself up and walked away to a small rack of more child-friendly books than the ones on the table. Their thinness made it perfect for her hands to hold comfortably, and she returned to Luka with a smile.

Then, considering something, she put the book down on Luka's lap and retrieved the heavier book she'd hated from the table. Dropping it next to their little spot, she sat down next to him and picked the thinner book back up.

"This one's to read," she explained, then pointed to the one she'd dropped. "That's for keeping you safe if anyone tries to wake you up."

He giggled at the exaggerated motion she made of whacking someone with the book. "I thought books were for learning things."

It was playful, but Marinette huffed and replied anyway, "They'll learn not to wake you up."

And that was that. She leaned against the wall with him, their bodies bumping together comfortably as she opened the book to the first page. Her ability to read aloud wasn't perfect and she stumbled on a couple words she'd seen but never spoken before, yet Luka didn't complain.

Eventually, she felt him relax against her, looking over to see that his eyes were shut and his breathing had slowed. She debated with herself on continuing to read, but the book didn't seem as fun when they weren't looking at it together.

Her eyelids drooped, the letters blurring as the sleepiness started to take her too. She had promised to protect Luka while he napped, but she could already hear his voice in her head, telling her that she couldn't protect him if she didn't protect herself first.

Making a compromise with herself, she turned further towards him, settling the book on his lap and placing her hands atop it. His scent was familiar as she snuggled against him and, if she really focused on it, she could still smell the flowers they had picked and put on each other the other day.

The scent on her, unfortunately, had probably washed off by then, but that was fine. They still had the memories even if the scent didn't linger, and that thought lulled her fully into secure slumber.

—————

"Hey... hey there, come on," a gentle, deep voice said. "Wake up."

Marinette whined, glaring off at nothing as she slowly opened her eyes, then lifted her head up towards the source of the wake-up call. It was the librarian, who looked worriedly down at the both of them, just out of whacking distance.

"I wanted to let you two sleep, but it's getting late," he told her. "Aren't your parents worried about you?"

Honestly? Probably not. Her parents were nice but didn't have much of a hands-on approach - probably assumed she lost track of time somewhere - whereas Luka's mom was fully aware where they were and what they were doing. She looked outside to get an estimate of the time, the fairy lights hung just outside the window glowing as bright as ever.

Because it was as late as ever.

Marinette jolted, eyes wide open as she turned to Luka. She didn't even have time to wonder if she'd have to whack herself for trying to wake him, too panicked as she grabbed his shoulder and gave him a shake.

"Luka! Luka, Luka!"

He groaned as he stirred from her efforts. His body was sluggish and might've fallen over had she not had a firm grip on him. "M-Marinette...?"

"It's late!" she cried out. "Late late!"

He blinked slowly at her, because normally it being "late late" wouldn't be a concern for either of them. However, his brain finally caught up and he became wide awake in an instant, pushing himself to his feet as the book fell from his lap to the floor. "We have to go!"

"Yeah!" She hurriedly gathered the two books to set them on the table, barely giving the librarian a "thank you" before her hand grabbed Luka's and they were off. The little corner they'd taken minutes to find after coming in through the front door took only seconds to backtrack from, the two of them working as a tiny unit to force the door open as fast as possible with their free hands.

Ignoring any glances they might've gotten from adults, they ran around and past anyone they could. Occasionally, they might've bumped something or someone, taking up more space from being side-by-side as they were, but their grip on each other was solid and they refused to let go of each other even for convenience.

Before long, they headed back into the forest, Marinette allowing Luka to lead since he was the one who knew the way. Swerving around trees and ducking under branches, it was clear that he was trying to take the quickest route possible.

It was hard to gauge the time anymore, the moon completely out of sight due to the vast foliage above them. Still, Marinette could catch them smell of the ocean, so she felt they could still make it before—

"Ah—!"

She fell forward, Luka stumbling along with her as they both hit the ground. She raised her head to apologize, certain that her legs had finally given out, but then she looked behind her.

In place of her legs was her mermaid tail, bright pink and shimmering like it'd never left. The only evidence that she'd gone to a human village at all was the bracelet she'd put on, which nicely fit right above the fins at the end. She turned her head back to Luka and, sure enough, his naga tail had come back as well.

There was only one conclusion to draw: that the potions his mother had given them had worn off. She groaned, mentally cursing her luck that they'd turned back just before they got to the ocean. To Luka, it was hardly a problem so long as they were out of the village where they could no longer be seen, but not so much with Marinette.

She wiggled her tail and tried to push herself up, but to no avail. She couldn't move on land like he did, only awkwardly crawl or drag herself.

"Marinette," Luka called, fretting. He looked her over worriedly for injuries and reached for her arm when he found none. "Here, hold onto me."

She pouted as he helped her up and guided her hand to his shoulder. "I'm gonna be heavy."

"Nu-uh," he huffed, like it was a personal offense to him if he couldn't lift her.

Slowly, she slipped both of her arms around his neck while he grabbed her waist, straightening up and reorienting the both of them. He kept one hand at her back, the other supporting her tail so they could continue on their way.

She still protested, but he didn't complain, grunt, or show any signs that he was bothered on their way back to the beach. The trees slowly made way for vast skies and pink sand, but she clung a little tighter to him even as she stared out at the familiar sights that should've been home.

They both readied themselves, Luka's arms tensing while she prepared herself to leap. With one precise, strong toss, he threw her upwards and she flung in an arc to land safely back in the water. The crisp, clear world aboveground turned blurry when she looked up, the water distorting it into shapes she knew weren't real.

Popping her head back up above the surface, she looked out at Luka, who had made himself comfortable on the beach. He was leaning back, his hands almost lost in the sand and supporting him as he tried to catch his breath.

"Sorry," she murmured.

He raised a brow at her, puzzled, then offered her a smile. "I had fun."

He'd changed the subject, not even acknowledging the apology like he truly didn't need it. Marinette mirrored the smile back at him, agreeing, "Me too. Maybe we can go again?"

The immediate nod was reassuring. Though it ended rather stressfully, that didn't take away from the experience overall.

She also noticed then that their clothes from the waist up had stayed on: one more happy reminder of their secret adventure. She grinned wider, gripping her jacket and pulling it tight against herself, but something ridged, large, and round nudged at her side as she did.

Gasping, her eyes lit up in recognition. She twisted, awkwardly fighting the wet fabric and the drag of the water to reach into the pocket. "Oh, um, Luka, I got..."

Sand shifted nearby as Luka came closer to her, the tide just barely missing him. Marinette retrieved the clam and swam closer, struggling a bit with the shore but managing to find a comfortable place where she could "sit."

"Here! It's for you!" she exclaimed, holding the clam out to him. It was wet, but a quality enough product that it wasn't damaged or worn from it. "I bought it at the store we went to."

He gaped at her, leaning forward to take a closer look. Nearly losing his balance, he thrust his hands into the wet sand and hovered over the gift while she presented it to him. "Really? For me?"

"For you!" she echoed. Popping the clam open, she pointed at the slits on the inside and explained, "You can hold things inside, like your guitar picks! Neat, right?"

Though, when she looked at it again, she wondered if it was really enough for her best friend, who'd been upgraded just that day to best best friend. A storage container was nice, but was giving someone an empty one equivalent to giving them a gift box with nothing inside? Surely there was something she could put in it.

An idea struck a moment later, Marinette pulling back and turning the inside of the clam towards her. Raising it to her lips, she kissed the inner part of the top for good luck before slamming the clam shut with a satisfying click, wanting to make sure the luck didn't have a chance to escape.

That way, she figured, the bottom could store his guitar picks and the top could store the good luck. It was taking full advantage of all the space inside.

Holding it carefully with both hands, she extended her arms towards him with a hopeful smile. "Do you like it?"

He was speechless, having not expected to get any gift that day beyond his time with her. His lips pressed together in a pout, wobbly with emotion as he raised a hand to take the gift from her.

However, he stopped short, noticing the wet sand still caking his hand. Unwilling to touch her gift with dirty hands, he reached into the water to flap his hands about inside to try and clean them. While that did most of the job, he remained dissatisfied and grabbed at his jacket, pulling it off to wipe his hands on it.

Throwing the jacket-turned-towel aside, he finally took the clam from her and cradled it to his chest. Marinette's heart ached pleasantly, seeing that it was already something precious to him.

"Thanks. I love it," he whispered.

They stayed there for just a minute longer in each other's company, no longer fearing any time limit urging them into action. Their friendship was powerful despite only a year of knowing each other, of having to meet in secret at the shore when no one else was around, of Luka's mother "stealing" Marinette away to show her their home when viable, and of risky adventures created through human disguises.

There would inevitably be a time in the future where they wouldn't be able to do it anymore. They would get older, busier, and it would be harder to keep meeting on the shore. Even further in the future, one of them may even have to make a choice to ensure they never part again.

But in the blissful innocence of childhood, they could simply enjoy their time together.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

The Tragedy of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen's story is one of tragedy, she is put into a series of impossible situations and finally was killed for the crime of being a woman and wanting her birthright. This fact is something that TG stans are obsessed with trying to minimize or completely erase. Since they're usually exclusively show fans, I'm going to go through show Rhaenyra's life until we hit the end of season 1 (this is a long one so bear with me).

Rhaenyra spent her entire childhood being told she was less than for being a girl and her father killed her mother in pursuit of a son because of this belief. When Viserys finally recognizes her worth, she then has to deal with the misogynistic lords and their lack of respect towards her. Her ideas and opinions are dismissed in the SC, including Otto who fucking suggested making her heir, and they outright send her off like a child when she becomes too unruly for them.

Then after all this, Viserys marries her only friend, thus removing what's left of her support system after Daemon is banished. Alicent also went behind Rhaenyra's back to seduce Viserys. Sure, it was what her father told her, that doesn't mean it wasn't a shitty thing to do. Especially since she let Rhaenyra believe Viserys was going to marry Laena, thus causing her to be massively blindsided by the announcement. Of course Rhaenyra felt she couldn't trust Alicent, of course she felt betrayed, and Alicent never explained why she did it. This obviously drove a massive wedge in their friendship.

Things only get worse for Rhaenyra when Aegon is born. Now the lords who had no respect for her, including the fucking Hand, are clamoring for Rhaenyra to be disinherited. Sure, Viserys keeps her as heir, but does little to reinforce to HER that he isn't considering replacing her. He practically ignores her for the majority of episode 3 until he gets angry with her for not wanting to be his political pawn. Alicent isn't helping matters by never acknowledging the change in dynamic in their relationship, she's the queen consort now, a position she worked to get behind Rhaenyra's back. No things aren't the same, they never will be, Alicent acting like Rhaenyra should just treat her like normal is unrealistic and totally dismisses Rhaenyra's feelings.

Rhaenyra has a completely understandable fear of marriage and childbirth, considering what happened to her mother. Yet Viserys is insisting she marry, and sure, she can choose her own husband, but from her perspective that's basically being allowed to choose your own execution method. And there is also an underlying caveat: Viserys has to approve the match.

In the midst of all this, Daemon finally returns, the one person who completely understands Rhaenyra. He offers her the first scrap of true consideration and then expresses actual interest in her at the brothel. However, he leaves her in the brothel, so, drunk and alone, she stumbles into the arms of her only remaining friend. A man who willingly and eagerly slept with his drunk charge and thought that it entitled him to marrying her. After this, we see that caveat I mentioned come into play when Viserys rejects Daemon's proposal without consulting Rhaenyra, if he truly meant for it to be her choice, he would have let her have the final say.

So now her uncle is once again taken away, her former friend now hates her for not telling her a potentially damaging secret, and her former protector hates her for rejecting to run away with him. And to top it all off, she's now being forced to marry her openly gay cousin to fix the mistake Viserys made when he married Alicent. Then at her wedding, Alicent finishes of what's left of their friendship by declaring war on her and Criston kills Laenor's lover and allies with Alicent.

During the time jump, we know Alicent constantly undermined and abused Rhaenyra. She flouted her power at every turn, factionalized the nobles, taught her sons that Rhaenyra and her sons were beneath them, and shot down any of her opinions in the SC even to the detriment of the kingdom. We know from a deleted scene that Rhaenyra pursued a relationship with Aegon, yet she doesn't have any kind of connection to her siblings later on, meaning that someone must have put a stop to any bonding. After all, why would Aegon and his siblings be willing to usurp Rhaenyra if they had a good relationship? We also know from Laenor's "I thought we were past this" in ep six that Alicent constantly pressed the bastard issue even though Laenor, Corlys, and Viserys acknowledging them as legitimate made them so.

The issue of the Velaryon boys clearly shows how Rhaenyra was thrust into an impossible situation: she needed heirs and Laenor couldn't provide. By choosing Harwin, Rhaenyra was able to have three sons and have a loving relationship (as far as we know). But of course, this small happiness didn't last, as Harwin was sent away and murdered alongside his father by Larys. Before this, Alicent's abuse finally drives Rhaenyra to Dragonstone, by the way, Viserys never did anything to help Rhaenyra against Alicent.

Things finally seem to be looking up for Rhaenyra when she marries Daemon after Laena's funeral. She at last has a steadfast ally in the face of the greens and someone who genuinely loves her. She has two sons by him, her other children are growing up safe and happy alongside her stepdaughters who have integrated well into their new family.

Alas, after six years, she is dragged back into the greens' shit show when they decide to bring up the resolved matter of the Driftmark succession. This marks the beginning of the end for her happiness. Viserys dies and the greens usurp her crown, the news of which sends her into an early labor, killing her daughter. Now Rhaenyra is faced again with an impossible choice: go to war for her throne or bend the knee and risk being killed alongside her children (something the greens were already planning). We know which one she picks, and she's right in this: it's her throne, the greens are usurpers and traitors, end of story. But the greens then murder her son, Lucerys, when he was on a peaceful mission as a messenger.

Rhaenyra has now lost two children to the greens, and in the ensuing war, loses Viserys II (though he was alive unbeknownst to her), Jacaerys, and Joffery. Her stepdaughter, Baela, becomes a captive of the greens, Rhaena is being sheltered in the Vale, and her husband dies killing Aemond. The war takes away everything she loves except her son, Aegon III. She then has to flee KL after six months due to the rioting small folk and betrayal among her council (Corlys is a bitch). When she arrives on Dragonstone, she is seized by her brother's men and burned and eaten alive in front of her son by her usurper brother.

This is the story of a woman tormented throughout her life by the fact that she is a woman. She is undermined and abused as heir, usurped, and killed all for the crime of her gender, plain and simple. TG can try to deny it, but the story is clear, despite Condal and Hess' meddling. And if I see anyone saying that Rhaenyra is bad because she isn't a feminist, that doesn't matter (and that's not a true assessment), her reign sets a precedent for female inheritance in the Seven Kingdoms, that's still important in the long run. She is a tragic character, GRRM has made it clear the usurpation would have happened no matter what Rhaenyra did, she was doomed from the start.

[shadowisles-writes]

High Society 🎩 Elucien Week Day 4

A/N: I struggled hard with finding ideas for today’s prompt and eventually settled for focusing on Lucien’s heritage as a future High Lord. I've been reading angst lately so you’ll have to forgive me for incorporating that in my writing today! I swear it gets happy… eventually. (Apologies for typos I wrote this one in a rush <3) And thank you @damedechance for your help on this one!!

Word count: 2955

@elucienweekofficial

The scandal was contained The bullet had just grazed At all costs, keep your good name You don’t get to tell me you feel bad. - Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me, Taylor Swift

Heir to the Day Court. That was who he was, not Beron’s failure of a seventh son, nor the Spring Court courtier who had abandoned his post and turned over to the court that should have been his enemy. Lucien huffed a laugh that was almost a sob and lifted the bottle of liquor to his lips.

The ceiling of his childhood bedroom hadn’t changed, it was still the same sage green he had picked so many years ago. A soothing color, his mother had smiled at his choice at the time, but it only seemed to mock him now. There was nothing soothing about the Autumn Court and the smell of damp leaves, or the forest green curtains he used to hide behind when Beron was in one of his moods.

Beron was dead, but the entire place still had Lucien on edge since he had stepped foot in it. Only the steady stream of alcohol infusing into his blood with every gulp relaxed him enough to lay back on the old carpet and stare at the ceiling as he tried and failed to process everything that had happened.

A knock came on the door, followed by the still familiar squeak of the hinges. “Lucien,” his mother said his name with a softness he hadn’t heard in years.

“Get out,” he gritted out, pushing up on his elbow just enough to be able to take two heavy gulps of the liquor. The bottle was getting too close to empty, but he’d fix that when he found the energy to care about something other than making himself numb.

“I’m sorry,” she walked in anyway, the black of her skirts visible from the corner of his eye when she took a seat at the foot of his bed.

Mourning clothes. Lucien almost barked a laugh. Was anyone in this court truly mourning that monster? Or were they all still putting on a show for no one’s benefit? He kept himself silent, though, knowing better than to snap at his mother after she took the brunt of Beron’s wrath for his sons more times than any of them would ever know. Except Lucien wasn’t Beron’s son, he was a bastard who had never belonged to this court in the first place.

His mother shifted and cleared her throat, “Lucien, you have to understand—”

“Get out!” He interrupted before she could explain anything.

Lucien didn’t care for explanations, not when he had lived his whole life as a lie, not when the entire room was spinning around him. His mother said nothing more, but he heard her sharp breath in response to his anger before she got up and left him alone to wallow. Being alone was what he was used to, anyway. Everyone around him had some sort of family, some sort of unbreakable friendship, but Lucien was alone.

His own mate didn’t want him. His human friends were happier when they were left alone to fuck all over their little house. Tamlin would never forgive him. Feyre might never forgive him either, after all that had happened to her, and the rest of her court only tolerated him because she handed out the invitations.

A wave of self-disgust washed over him and made his stomach churn. It took one spasm of his body for Lucien to surge up and into the bathroom, where he fell to his knees and emptied his guts into the toilet bowl.

“A little pathetic for a future High Lord, don’t you think?” Eris said from somewhere behind him.

He must have been more inebriated than he thought if he hadn’t heard him come in, but Eris had always been skilled at sneaking up on people. It was something all the Vanserras were good at, after being raised in a house where they were constantly walking on eggshells. Except Lucien wasn’t a Vanserra, of course.

“Fuck you,” Lucien managed before the rest of the alcohol had to make its way out of his stomach.

Eris made a disgusted noise and Lucien would have cursed at him again if he could. When he was done, his chest shuddered with a couple of breaths before he deemed it safe to sit with his back against the edge of the tub.

“What do you want?” He asked Eris as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“You don’t think you’re being a little dramatic?” His half brother leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest like he had any power to scold him.

Eris might have just become High Lord, but he was the asshole Lucien grew up around before anything else.

“I wish I’d thrown up on your shoes,” he said. His head was still spinning, and he could barely keep his eyes focused on anything. Closing them made the spinning worse, which forced Lucien to sort of squint as he waited for the feeling to pass.

“Classy,” Eris rolled his eyes. “And a great way to speak to the High Lord you’ll have to ally with someday,”

“Helion’s nowhere near death,” Lucien reached for the edge of the toilet bowl in anticipation of another wave of nausea, “Or are you planning on killing every father figure in my life?”

“Like anyone in this damn house wanted to see Beron alive for another minute.” Eris cursed and gagged quietly as Lucien threw up again, mostly dry heaving over the toilet bowl because as sick as he felt, there was nothing left in his stomach. “Get your shit together,”

“Get my—” Lucien’s words got cut off by another fit of nausea. “Fuck you,” was all he managed to croak as he settled against the bathtub again.

“All I’m saying is—”

“Fuck you,” Lucien interrupted again and watched the tips of Eris’ ears turn red with anger. Nothing like a little brother—half-brother—to get on his nerves. “It’s only been hours why can’t you just let me—” fall apart, would probably have been the rest of his sentence if something hadn’t clicked in his brain at that moment.

The room briefly stopped spinning, and Lucien pushed himself to sit up straight. “You weren’t even surprised.” Anger bubbled inside of him, heightened by the alcohol still coursing through him.

“Lucien,” Eris said his name like a warning, and it was all he needed to confirm what he had already guessed.

“You knew,” he accused. “How long?”

“It’s not that simple,”

Lucien was yelling now, “How fucking long?”

His broken voice rang in his ears, making his head hurt as his question was only met by silence. Since he was born, then. Lucien wished he could be sick again so he wouldn’t have to keep looking at Eris.

“So you, and mother.” Lucien croaked. “Who else?”

“No one else,” Eris answered quickly, this time. “Beron pretended not to know, it would have been a public embarrassment.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

Eris had the decency to look uncomfortable for a passing moment before he crouched in front of Lucien and handed him a damp towel. “Do you think he would have let her live, if anyone else knew?”

“Helion could have made himself useful,”

“You’re an idealistic fool if you believe there was anything he could have done for her. There are laws—”

“What about me?” Lucien seethed. “What about telling me that there was somewhere I could have gone that wouldn’t have to be fucking exile,”

“Tamlin was your friend,”

“Tamlin has the same anger issues Beron does, you’re the fool if you believe depending on him was a good thing.” Eris quieted at that, and something almost like pity shone in his eyes. It was enough to enrage Lucien once again. “And fuck you,” he grasped the first thing near him to throw at Eris.

His aim was shit when he was drunk, but he was close to his target and the bar of soap made a dull thud against Eris’ head.

“You little—”

“Get out!” Lucien yelled with enough anger that Eris simply stood up straight, kicked the soap out of his path and strode out of the room without another word.

Finally alone. Lucien’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened once again to squint when the spinning in his head became too much. It was uncomfortable enough to make him groan, but anything was better than being sober and having to deal with all of his feelings. Hopefully with enough silence, he’d find just enough strength to winnow out of this nightmare of a court before the sun rose again.

Choosing where to go was more of a dilemma when Lucien could stand again. He had washed the scent of alcohol from his skin, but he still felt like he’d gotten run over by several horses when he stepped out of the wards of the house and winnowed away from Autumn.

For the first time since he had started working for the Night Court, he abused his privilege and ability to get through the shields of Feyre’s home without warning. He barged into the living room in the middle of their afternoon, finding her and her mate sitting on the floor with their child. The last time he had been here, Nyx was crawling all over the floor, now, he was taking small steps in between his parents.

“Lucien!” Feyre exclaimed as she scooped her son up in her arms and stood. “We didn’t expect you today, what brings you here? You look—”

“Like shit,” Rhysand finished for his wife before she could find a nicer way to phrase it.

“Rhys!” She hissed as she covered the child’s ears, but it was already too late.

“Shit!” Nyx exclaimed with a laugh. When Rhys couldn’t contain his own chuckle, he did it again. “Shit!”

“Oh gods,” Feyre glared at her husband and adjusted the wriggling child on her hip.

“I need to know how long you’ve known,” Lucien interrupted their little family scene with more venom than necessary.

Rhys picked up on his anger and seamlessly threw a shield around his child and wife. “Known about what?” He asked Lucien calmly and took a small step to set himself in front of his family.

“About Helion being my father.”

The thud of a brutish Illyrian landing just outside the window had become familiar enough to Lucien that he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “Really?” He rolled his eyes at Feyre. “I come here for a conversation and this is what you do?”

“Sorry,” she cringed.

“No we’re not,” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey there little Vanserra,” Cassian grinned as he walked into the scene, knowingly using the name Lucien hated without realizing how big of a slip it was that day.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop using that one,” Lucien didn’t bother greeting him back. “Apparently, it’s Spell-Cleaver now.”

“What?” Cassian looked over at Rhys, and a few beats passed as they conversed silently.

Lucien threw his hands up and began to pace the length of the room. “At least one person was as surprised as me by this whole mess.”

“I guessed it,” Feyre admitted. “It was during the war and we had so much going on, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That stopped him in his tracks with a sarcastic laugh. “It’s wonderful how many excuses everyone has been able to make up about this in the past few days.”

“What do you want us to say?” Rhys asked, still calm as ever.

“Feyre, what in the world is—” Elain stopped in her tracks halfway down the stairs. “Lucien,” she greeted with a nod as her cheeks turned bright red.

She seemed to hesitate between running back up or walking the rest of the way down for several seconds before she settled on joining everyone in the living room.

“My lady,” Lucien murmured and pulled himself together enough to bow.

“Well it’s a party now,” Cassian coughed out, though a glare from Feyre was enough to shut him up. If anything, he should be the one to empathize with a male struggling to get attention from his mate.

“Well,” Feyre said. “Why don’t we all sit down for some tea?”

Lucien—who had shown up for answers but with absolutely no plan of what to do next—couldn’t refuse even if there was nothing he wanted less. He stood there, as Cassian sprawled himself in one of the chairs while Feyre left the room and Rhys busied himself with his son.

“Are you alright?” A small hand rested on his arm, and Lucien froze. “You look…”

“I’m sorry,” he tried to tuck strands of hair that fell in his face back to look pulled together, but he was still a mess. “I am alright, thank you for asking.”

“Come,” she gave his sleeve a slight tug and disappeared into the corridor without anyone else noticing.

Either Rhys was now ignoring him, or he was done considering him a threat, because he didn’t even glance up as Lucien slipped away after his mate until they were in the sunlight between the rose bushes of her garden. Feeling the warmth of it on his skin soothed him enough for him to take a deep breath, but something was tight in his chest as he remained aware of his mate watching his every move.

“Better than having to sit in there for tea, isn’t it?” Elain brushed her fingers over one of the roses.

“Yes, thank you,” Lucien had always loved nature, he felt at his best when he was outside, and he should have known that winnowing from house to house couldn’t do him any good.

“You don’t look alright,” she eventually looked up from her flowers to let her gaze run over him.

Lucien did the same, starting at his feet to take in the wrinkles in his usually immaculate clothes. He didn’t need a mirror to know his face was hardly any better with the hangover headache still pounding at his temples.

“I just found out that the High Lord of the Day Court and my mother had an affair, and that my existence is the result of it,” he dropped the news without ceremony and watched Elain’s eyes widen as she stilled. “You didn’t know,” he could tell her surprise was genuine and she shook her head.

“Of course not, how would I have known that?”

 Lucien tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Apparently, your sister and her mate found out long before I did.”

“And they said nothing?” Elain’s question was soon answered by his silence. “I’m sorry, that must be… do you know what you’re going to do now?”

“Not a single idea,” he shrugged and meant for it to be casual, but it only made her look more worried.

“Does Helion know?”

“I don’t know that either,”

Elain nodded and smoothed her hands down her dress. “That could be a good place to start, if you’re ready to find out.”

Lucien picked a leaf off a bush and sighed, “I can’t just waltz into his court and—”

“Your court,” Elain corrected.

“What?”

“It’s your court.” She repeated. “I’ve watched you bounce from one place to another for months… what if this is where you’re supposed to go?”

And there it was, the one fear that had brought Lucien to the Night Court instead of Day.  “But what if it’s not?”

“I may not know you very well,” Elain started hesitantly, “But I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. The Day Court could be worth a try, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Start a diplomatic incident between the court I’m emissary for and the one I should supposedly belong to?” Lucien guessed.

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and that sound alone might have been enough to put his heart back together. “Feyre and Rhysand are good friends with Helion, I doubt he’d cause any trouble regarding that.”

“You sound like you know him too,”

“I’ve been to his court,” Elain admitted. “He’s very nice, and it’s a beautiful place.”

“You’re right, I should go,” Lucien sighed. “But what if he did know?”

She walked a few steps ahead of him, deeper into the garden and around the house, where a wooden bench waited for her to sit on. “I doubt it, I know a feeling is not much to work from but… I don’t know, I really don’t think he does.”

“Elain,” Lucien looked amused as he took the spot next to her. “You’re a Seer, I’d trust your feelings.”

“I, ah, I’m still not sure what that’s supposed to mean,” Elain shrugged and adjusted the fabric of her dress on her lap. “I tried to find out more, in the library, but it hasn’t been that helpful.”

“Have you tried the Day Court? It is known for its scholars and collection of knowledge, I’m sure someone could help you there,”

At that, she actually laughed. “I thought I was trying to convince you to go.”

“Maybe we should both go,” Lucien said before he could stop himself, and Elain quickly looked away from him to stare in the distance instead.

“Lucien…”

Her gaze had fallen to her lap, and he immediately regretted his lack of filter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should go, find out what you need to, and maybe… if you stay, maybe I could come visit, in a little while,” Elain met his eyes again, something like hope shining on her face.

It was subtle, but it was there, and for the first time in weeks Lucien genuinely smiled. “I would like that, wherever I am.”

[resident-gay-bitch]

Regulus’ heart breaks as he stands there, just behind the willow tree, watching James and Sirius roll around on the grass, play fighting in their own little world.

Of course he left him. Of course James would pick Sirius over Regulus, wouldn’t everyone? Regulus has never been picked first. Not once.

Not by his parents, who ignored him throughout his entire childhood to focus on framing Sirius as the perfect son and heir.

Not by Sirius, who ran away, picking James to be his brother and not bothering to ask Regulus to tag along.

Not in team games, where students would pick through the class one by one, and Regulus would be one of the last few standing.

Not by his friends, who all would chose their partners, or the other people in the group first. He joined last, it’s only fair.

Not even by the lizard who inhabits his dorm room, who picks the three other boys to crawl over to first, every time.

And certainly not by James.

He thought, for once, the cycle might be broken. He thought, for once, someone would pick him first. He’d get chosen over someone else, just once.

He should have known better.

He should have known that the moment Sirius found out about he and James sneaking around in dark corridors and whispering sweet words to each other, James would have to pick.

He was foolish to think James would pick him over Sirius. He was foolish to think that James would pick him over anyone.

And as Lily, with her fiery red hair pulled back into braids, comes marching over to the boys, snatching James up by his collar and earning herself a cheek kiss, Regulus realises he should have seen that coming too.

Not even two weeks has passed since Regulus placed second to his brother, as he does in fucking everything, and James has already moved on.

Regulus would never be anyone’s first choice, he should have known better.

He knows better now.

It’s not until three months later that Regulus finally shatters from it. The crushing weight of never being enough, never being someone’s first choice.

It’s Slytherin against Ravenclaw for the quidditch cup, and there in the crowd, he spots his brother and James.

They’re decked out in silver and blue, and they don’t look at Regulus, not even once.

Barty finds him in the showers, once the entire teams cleared out. He’s dressed in a confusing mix of blue and green, for his own house and his friends.

Hes crying. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever cried this hard before. The water is pouring down over his head, and he’s still fully dressed in his uniform.

Slytherin lost. He lost them the match, because he was more focused on trying to catch James or Sirius looking his way just once than getting the snitch. They didn’t, and he lost.

Barty clearly doesn’t know how to handle this. The lowest he’s ever seen Regulus would have been prior to an exam he stressed himself out about. Besides, Barty has always been a little awkward when handling emotions.

Regulus tries to tell him to leave him be, he really does. But his words get all chocked up in his throat and he can’t get out much more than a wail or a sob. It fucking hurts.

“What’s the matter, Black?” Barty asks, switching the water off before crouching down in front of him, “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hey?”

“I-I’ll never be… good enough.” Regulus confesses. He’s never said it out loud before. He’s not a vulnerable person, he doesn’t do this. He knows better than to let out his sob story to someone, they can hold it over him one day. But he can’t help himself, he finds. He needs to get it off his chest before it rips him open, “I’ll never… b-be enough.”

Barty’s silent for a while, clearly unsure of what to say. It only makes Regulus sob more. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hides his head in his hand, and he fucking cries. He’s sure if anyone’s still out side, they’d hear it, but Barty locked the door when he came in. At least that’s something.

“I can never be enough.” Regulus sobs again, and this time Barty kicks into action.

He’s still awkward about it, Regulus can tell, he probably has better things to do than listen to Regulus cry as well, which only makes this worse. He pushes Regulus’ sopping hair out of his face and pats his face dry with the end of his Slytherin scarf before hauling them both to their feet.

“Who told ya that?” Barty asks, pulling his wand out to try his hand at a drying spell. It mostly works, so Regulus can’t complain.

“I don’t have to be told something to know it, Barty.” Regulus sniffles, wiping his eyes. They sting, and he knows he looks terrible, but there’s no use in worrying about that now.

“Well… I think, if you haven’t been told, it can’t be true.” Barty shrugs, tucking his wand back in his pocket.

“Fine.” Regulus nods, “My entire fucking family has told me then, on several occasions.”

“Oh.” Barty stills, and he has a look on his face of utter confusion.

Regulus shakes his head and goes to walk for the door, but he winces when he puts pressure on his ankle. He fell on it weirdly, midway through the match when he was knocked off his broom. It didn’t bother him before, but it does now.

“You hurt?” Barty asks, and Regulus nods.

Silently, Barty reaches out and wraps his arm around Regulus’ waist. He flinches at first, startled by the slightly intimate touch, but then Barty pulls Regulus to shift his weight, and he relaxes into it a little. Together, they walk back across the field, Barty carrying Regulus’ broom, and half of Regulus’ weight, and make their way back to the castle.

It’s oddly silent.

It’s always quiet, between them. Regulus isn’t much of a talker, and when Barty runs out of stupid things to say he goes quiet and people watches. He usually watches Regulus, since they’re always together, something that took a while to get used to. Barty really likes to watch Regulus read, it makes him a little self conscious of any strange expressions he might be making.

But it’s a strange sort of quiet now. It’s silent. Regulus isn’t talking, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he feels ashamed for breaking down like that. He doesn’t just break down. Men don’t fucking break down. Especially not in front of people like that. He feels embarrassed that Barty found him.

Well, he’s grateful it was Barty over anyone else, seeing as though they’re supposed to be close friends, Merlin forbid Sirius found him. But it’s still uncomfortable.

The only friend any of them have that likes to talk about feelings is Pandora. Regulus assumed this was because she was a girl, at first, however, Dorcas doesn’t like talking about them either. Pandoras just strange like that, she cares about people in odd ways. Sometimes it’s nice, but mostly it’s terrifying.

Barty looks like he wants to talk. He also looks like he wants to watch Regulus, but every time he turns his head to do so he probably sees the red rimming of Regulus’ eyes and finds something much uglier than usual. It only makes Regulus feel all the more ashamed.

Barty starts whistling. It’s not his regular noise filling whistles either, it’s his uncomfortable whistling. He doesn’t want to be here, Regulus can tell. Merlin, he needs to get away.

“Going back to your dorm?” Barty asks as they round a corridor in the castle.

Regulus nods, “Is Evan-“

“He’s there.” Barty says, “Cas too… dunno about Dora, she’s always off with the fairies. If she’s not hugging Dorcas about their loss then I dunno where she is.”

Regulus goes tense, “I don’t want them to see me.”

Barty stops and swallows, “Okay… how about my dorm then? My roommates are all down by the lake. They snagged some firewhisky.”

“Okay.” Regulus agrees, because he has no where else to go.

Once settled in Barty’s dorm, Regulus changes into more comfortable clothes. Plaid pyjama pants and a green knitted sweater he knows is his own that went “missing” last year. He doesn’t question it, Barty’s strange like that. He likes to collect things, and especially Regulus’ things.

They’re both sitting on his bed, Regulus tucked up under the covers and Barty sitting on the other end. He’s flipping through one of his dorm mates magazines and whistling to himself, his regular whistling again. It calms Regulus a bit.

Lying there, stuck with his own thoughts, he can’t hide from the images that pop into his mind every time he closes his eyes. All of Sirius and James, all of them examples where Regulus placed last.

There’s so many it’s hard to filter out which ones are new and which ones are old.

They all hurt just the same.

“Whatcha crying about now?” Barty asks, looking over at Regulus. He didn’t even realise he was crying again, but he is. “Did I do something wrong? I’ll fix it, whatever. Get ya whatever you need, promise.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Regulus sniffles, rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling. Barty’s stuck posters up there, muggle ones of girls on motorcycles and punk bands, just to piss off his dad. “I’m just…”

“Go on.” Barty asks, sitting up now, cross legged and attentive. “There’s no one here, just me. Promise I’ll never tell.”

Regulus sighs and fiddles with his fingers, “I don’t need your pity, Barty. I’ve survived this long, I can survive some more.”

“Yeah, but you’re crying.” He says, and Regulus glares at him. “What? I ain’t seen you cry before, it’s weird. I know it’s really gotta be botherin ya if you’re crying like this. What would Dora say?”

“She’d probably try to hug me and make me cry more.” Regulus offers.

“Do you want… me to- uhm, hug you?”

“No.” Regulus glares at him. “I don’t want your pity, I said.”

“It’s not my pity, Regulus!” Barty splutters, “It’s a bloody hug. Dora says there really good for ya! I love her hugs, you know. Get ‘em all the time. I- I know I’m no Pandora but… I mean, I can offer ya a real bony one.”

Regulus snickers and looks back up at the roof, “No thanks. That’s weird.”

“Is it?” Barty asks, “Cause… cause I’ve been listening to what she’s sayin and… I think it would be nice.”

“If I hugged you right now?” Regulus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah… and other times.” Barty shrugged, “I dunno, might be dumb but… we’re supposed to be friends, ya know? Friends hug. Cas hates ‘em, unless they’re from Dora, but Evan and I hug sometimes.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not trying to.” Barty frowned, “I just… I care about you, I suppose.”

Regulus swallowed. The only person who’s said that before has been Pandora, but she cares about everyone.

Barty… well, he doesn’t care about much at all. He cares about so little, that Regulus thought the only thing he probably cared about was pissing off his dad and Pandora herself. But apparently that’s not true.

Regulus doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to hurt himself by believing that he could be one of the very few things Barty has come to care about.

But they’re friends, and Barty watches him a lot, and collects Regulus’ things, and helps him when he cries, and offers to hug him.

Now Regulus is crying for a whole other reason.

“One hug?” Barty offers, sticking out his arms, “I’ll make it so quick and if you hate it we don’t ever have to do it again.”

Regulus contemplates it. He doesn’t remember the last time he was hugged.

He knows the last good one was Pandora, maybe last year, when they were leaving for summer. Quick and carefree. The last bad one, that was James. Not that it was bad at the time, but it hurts to think about now. It was false stability and ended in heartbreak. The last time he was hugged to be soothed though? His mind takes him back to Sirius, when they were still little.

“Fine.” Regulus mutters, sitting up under the covers, “But make it quick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Barty nods and moves in, “Sorry if I’m uncomfortable.”

Regulus nods and sits very still as Barty wraps himself around Regulus’ shoulders. It’s awkward, to say the least. They’ve never done this before, and they’re going about it very strangely.

“Reg… you gotta relax a bit.”

“How am I supposed to relax when I have a boney man attached to me?”

Barty scoffs and squeezes him a little tighter, “Just put your head on my shoulder, orrite. Relax, just for a second.”

Regulus huffs but does it anyway. He leans his head over to rest on Barty’ shoulder and drops his own, and… oh, it’s nice. It’s actually really, really nice. Barty’s soothing his back, and twisting his finger around the end of Regulus’ hair. And it’s nice.

He can’t even feel Barty’s ribs poking him or anything. It’s really, really cosy.

Regulus pushes him away, wiping his tears.

Barty gives him a guilty smile, “Terrible?”

“No.” Regulus sniffles, “It was actually grossly nice.”

Barty snickers and nods his head, “Well, if you ever need another hug, I’ll give ya as many as ya kneed.”

“Thanks.”

“No problems, Black.”

Regulus fiddles with the ends of his sleeve, refusing to look up at Barty, who he knows is sitting there and staring. He’s so quiet, when he stares. It’s as if any noise Barty makes would ruin his ability to set his full attention solely on Regulus.

It’s so strange. He’s so strange.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Regulus mumbles.

“What, that we hugged?” Barty laughs.

“No.” He scoffs, “What I said before, wanker. In the showers.”

“Oh.” Barty nods, “Well, I wasn’t gonna anyway. Course not, Reg. I know you. I know you hate people knowing your business.”

Regulus nods, “You really wouldn’t have told anyone? Not even Dora?”

“Cross my heart.” Barty smiles, doing just that, “I know she’s my best friend, but you are too. It means something, you know?”

“Oh.” Regulus mumbles.

Barty can only laugh at him, and Regulus turns a little pink.

“Can I… no, don’t worry about it.”

“No, go on.” Barty offers, “It’s just you and me.”

Regulus sighs, “I just… I’m tired of not being good enough, Barty.”

“I dunno what you mean, Black. You’re bloody brilliant.” Barty says, flopping down on his back like a starfish, “You shoulda been in Ravenclaw with your smarts, and not to mention your skills as a seeker. You’re top of the class, Reggie, course you’re good enough.”

Regulus thinks Barty will never understand how much that singular sentence fucking means to him, even if he tries to explain it. It stings, how good it feels to hear it. He never has. Not once.

“Not just in school, Barty. Everywhere else.” Regulus mumbles, wiping his teary eyes. They’re stinging again, and he really doesn’t want to cry, but he knows he will. It’s so stupid. “Everything else. I’m just…”

Barty rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow to look at Regulus, “Like, with your family?”

Regulus nods, chewing on a hangnail.

“Yeah, I get that.” Barty sighs, “Is this about… those who must not be named?”

Regulus closes his eyes to compose himself, and nods again.

“Right.” Barty says, “Did Sirius do something? You know he barked at me the other day, like a fucking dog. So I’ll go hex him, happily, if you want?”

“No, Barty. Don’t.” Regulus shook his head, “He didn’t… I… they both just…”

“Go on.” Barty said softly, softer than Regulus has ever heard him speak before as he slowly sits up to get level with him.

“I’ll always be second best.” Regulus mutters, and then he starts crying again. Hot tears down his cheeks, redness in his eyes, stuttering over himself as he shakes.

“Oh, Reg…”

“He- he just picked James, over his own blood brother. Every time it’s James and… and I… and James just… I loved him. I loved him Barty, I was in love with him. I think part of me still is, but… he, he picked Sirius too. He picked Sirius, and Lily, because she’s just… she’s so pretty, and smart, and she’s got everything that I’ve got but, she’s just… she’s just so much better.” Regulus heaved, pressing a hand to his chest, “Everywhere, I see it everywhere. Not just with them, but mostly, I- I’ll never… I’ve never been someone’s first choice, Barty. Ever. And I don’t think I ever will be. No one picks me just because they can.”

His shoulders shake as he cries, his breath short and stuttered. When Barty reaches out in offer for another hug, Regulus falls forward into his arms, head pressed against his friends chest.

It feels so safe there, to be cradled in Barty’s arms, it’s warm. He cries a puddle through his sweater, but Barty doesn’t seem to mind.

“Shh, Reggie.” Barry sooths, lightly scratching his nails over Regulus’ back and sifting his fingers through his hair. “Just breathe, love. Just breathe.”

Regulus follows his command, taking deep breaths and timing them with the rise and fall of Barty’s chest beneath his head. He relaxes there, letting his eyes fall shut, and Barty continues to rub his back and play with his hair.

“I’m so tired.” Regulus mumbles through the last of his tears, “I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that.”

“That’s okay.” Barty laughs softly, “How about we lie down?”

“Isn’t that weird?” Regulus asks.

“Isn’t everything I do weird?”

Regulus shrugs and follows when Barty pulls him down to lay against the pillows. Barty slips under the covers with him, and pulls Regulus’ head against his chest again. Bartys heart is beating faster than it should be, but Regulus ignores it and wiggles around until he’s comfortable.

Once again, Barty strokes his back and scratches his scalp, and folds himself into Regulus a little.

He presses a little kiss to the top of Regulus’ head, and his heartbeat speeds up rapidly.

Regulus tenses, “Why is your heart beating like that, Barty? Are you okay? Did I make you uncomfortable?” He questions, already coming up with a million terrible reasons for it. He’s been so stupidly selfish about his own problems he didn’t even notice how uncomfortable he’s made his supposed best friend.

“No…” Barty half follows as Regulus sits up, leaning back on his elbows, “No, Reg. Obviously not.”

Regulus’ shoulders relax a little, “Well, then what is it?”

Barty looks away, “Come on, don’t tease, Reggie. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not teasing.” He shakes his head, “What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, obviously.” Barty snickers, “Come on, we can just… we can forget about it by tomorrow if it’s weird.

“What’s weird, Crouch?” Regulus pressed, “I don’t understand.”

Barty looked at him for a moment, eyebrows drawn together in the middle, and his mouth slowly fell open, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Regulus asked.

“About me…”

“About you… what?” Regulus shook his head.

“About…” Barty sighed, shaking his head in delirium. He laughed, at himself, mostly, which only confused Regulus more, “Everyone said it was obvious. I just thought we both… I thought we had an understanding. That we’d both ignore it and go on with our lives.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Barty?” Regulus asked, shoving at his chest.

“Oi!” Barty snickered, “That I… well… I thought you knew you’d be my first choice for everything.”

Regulus froze, scowling at him for a moment, “Don’t tease-“

“Not teasing, Reggie.” Barty looked away, taking a short breath. “Look, if it’s… if it’s too weird, I get it. But, I’m okay pretending, if you want.”

“P-pretending?” Regulus whispered.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, sitting up and loosely hugging his knees, “Pretending I’m not in love with you.”

Regulus didn’t have an answer for that. He was truely wound speechless. Barty… loves him?

“I meant it… I’d pick- I’d pick you over everything else in this world. I really mean it, Reggie. I promise.” Barty mumbled, “You’re my first pick, always have been.”

Regulus’ heart stops in his chest for a moment. His throat hurts and his eyes sting again. Regulus doesn’t think he’s cried as much as he has today through his entire life, including when he was a baby.

He can’t help it, crying again. Because Regulus believes him. Barty’s always been devastatingly honest, even at the worst of times. So why would he lie about this? And he looks so earnest, sounds it too. He sounds like he really, truely means it.

No ones ever picked Regulus first, besides Barty Crouch Jr, who has a collection of Regulus’ things, and who stares at him unashamedly, and consoles Regulus when he cries even if it makes him uncomfortable.

And Regulus has been too self centred to ever notice.

But Barty is in love with him, and by the sounds of it he has been for a while. Apparently everyone knows it.

He thinks about it for a moment, while he sobs and cries and heaves. Barty does all that he can to soothe him, reaching out to wipe away tears, and hold him, and rub his arms and back.

Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever felt as safe as he doesn’t when he’s around Barty. Which is an odd thing to realise, because Barty is kind of a loose cannon. He’s violent, and angry, and snarky and rude. But with Regulus he’s always… well, he’s funny, and he can still be a little rude sometimes, but he’s also kind and generous and a little odd.

Regulus now realises all that oddness he’s noticed is just things Barty does that signals he’s in love with him. But Regulus has never noticed, he’s never looked to see how Barty doesn’t do all these very things with other people.

He’s Barty’s first choice.

And now that he thinks of it, Barty might just be his.

He’s the only person Regulus trusts to see him like this. Not even Pandora could, as much as he loves her. Regulus just hates being vulnerable. But he supposed it’s a little different with Barty, because he’s always been a little vulnerable with Regulus.

It’s comforting, to say the least, to have confirmation that he’s wanted. That he’s cared for. That he’s somebodies first choice.

And Barty loves him, which is strange. He’s never looked at Barty in that way before. And sure, Barty makes plenty of jokes about finding Regulus fit and wanting to snog him and so on and so forth, but he’s never thought too deeply about it.

He does that with other people, doesn’t he?

Now that Regulus thinks about it, he definitely doesn’t do it as much as he does it to Regulus.

Barty pulls away, rubbing up and down Regulus’ biceps, as he gives a nervous smile. It’s crooked, like most of Barty’s smiles, but this time Regulus really notices it.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird, I dunno what to do, Reggie.” Barty tries, “How do I stop you crying?”

Regulus sniffled and blinked his tears away slowly, refusing to cry anymore. His cheeks are all wet and sticky, and his eyes fucking ache, as well as his throat, but he’s not thinking about that.

“Do you really mean that?” Regulus sniffles, and he blinks away a few more tears, “Me being your first choice?”

“Of course, why would I lie about that, Reg. It clearly means a lot to you- I just… I thought you knew.”

Regulus scrunches up his nose, “Well, why would I cry about how I’m no one’s first choice if I knew I was yours?”

Barty’s quiet for a moment. He retracts his hands and ducks his head to mumble, “I just thought… well I thought I didn’t really matter, at the end of it all.” He shrugged, “I’d do anything for you- I already have, you know, and… I just… I thought you knew. And I thought it didn’t matter to you because… well, I’m the same, I suppose. I don’t think anyone’s picked me first either.”

“You still… even thinking that I just- I just didn’t care about you, or your feelings or… or anything at all, you still…” Regulus scrunched up his nose, ducking his head to catch Barty’s eye, “You still would have picked me first?”

Barty nodded, “Done anything for you.”

“Oh.” Regulus whispered, shaking his head, “Barty…”

“Yeah?” Barty asked, swallowing a large lump in his throat.

Regulus kisses him. No thoughts, no warnings, no nothing at all. He just leans forward and kisses him right on the mouth.

Barty pulls away first, almost immediately, wide eyed and startled, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“I don’t know.” Regulus muttered, touching his lips, “You just… I… you love me, and… fuck, Barty. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.” Barty nodded, there’s water in his eyes now, and Regulus can tell he’s trying to hold it back, “And you just kissed me. Please don’t- don’t do that. I’m… I can’t handle that, Reg. I can handle us being friends, even though it’s driving me mad, but… I just- I can’t-“

“Well, don’t you want to be more?”

“Fucking hell, Regulus.” Barty leers back.

“What?” Regulus scoffs.

“You can’t just fucking… don’t say that.” He shakes his head, taking a moment to compose himself, “Don’t be stupid, orrite. I can’t fucking… I love you, Reggie. I can’t handle… possibilities because I’m just… I’m gonna drive myself crazy thinking about them. And that’s not good.”

“I’ve never had someone love me before, Barty.” Regulus whispers, “I’ve never had someone… I want- I want to chose you too. You’re my best friend, and I already do choose you. But I want to do it more. I want to… please?”

“I don’t understand, Reg.” Barty whispered back.

Regulus took his hand, smoothing his fingers over Barty’s rigid knuckles. They’re rough and scarred, just as they always are. Just as Regulus knows them to be.

“I don’t really either, Barty.” He admits, “I never knew you felt that way, and I’ve never thought about it- you- us. I’ve never thought about us like that before, but I… I can picture it.”

Barty closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Barty. I don’t want to lead you on. I want to try. Don’t you want to try?”

Barty keeps his eyes sealed shut and he shakes his head no, “What happens when you get bored of me? What- what happens when Potter comes crawling back to you? What happens when you realise I’m fucking… more insane than you thought? I’d- don’t tempt me, Regulus, because I meant what I said, I’d do anything for you.” Barty’s breath trembles, “I’d kill him, I’d kill them both. I’d kill all of them, just to make you happy. So you never feel like a second choice to them ever again- I- I mean it, Regulus.”

“I know.” Regulus breaths, and it scares him, what Barty’s saying, because he does know. It’s not just words. But those words aren’t the part that scare him, it’s the fact that he likes it that does. It makes him want. “I know, Barty. And I know that if I hurt you, truly, truly hurt you like this, you’d make my life a living hell. I know.”

“What about Potter?” Barty asks, trying to mask tears of his own, “Don’t you love him?”

“Maybe.” Regulus admits, regretfully so, “But I don’t want to. He’d never… he could never love me the way you could anyway. The way that I need.”

“And how do you need it?”

“To be your first choice.” Regulus whispered, “How do you need it, Barty?”

Barty took a deep breath, thinking about it for a moment. He looked up at Regulus with a pout and hopeful eyes, “I just want to be good enough for love before anything else.”

Regulus smiles, “You are.”

Barty shakes his head.

“You are.” Regulus confirms, “To me, you are.”

Barty sniffles, “Do you love me… like that?”

Regulus sighs, “N… no.” He scolds himself for the truth, because it seems to shatter Barty’s heart to pieces. “But I want to, Barty… I want to love you the way you do me. And I think I will. You just have to let me.”

“Really?” Barty sobs.

Regulus nods, “Will you let me?”

Barty nods and leans back in, and Regulus kisses him again. They both had wet cheeks, and headaches, and heartaches from crying, but they kiss anyway. And Regulus cries again, for hopefully the last time, because Barty kisses like he never wants to stop.

Regulus has never been kissed like that before.

Regulus has never been loved before.

He thinks with Barty, he might just be enough.

★ ★ ★

Bartylus shippers unite.

This one’s so angsty I’m sorry but I can’t help it and yerr Reggie kinda has misogynistic views which is gross but it’s the fucking 70’s and look at his parents. I USUALLY write them all to be better than that and not arseholes but I wanted to make this one hurt.

Also I don’t think I’ve written from Reggie’s pov before sooooo that was interesting.

Idk I liked this. Let me know your thoughts :)

Read here on ao3

If you want to read more of my stuff you can find it all here :))

Tagging everyone that expressed interest in the angsty bartylus one shot lmao: @lapassemirroir @mayflywrites @garlicbread4ever @moonyluv-s @managingmischeif @stxr-bxy @the-lionsheart @crimsonlovebartylus

[aria-greenhoodie]

Yknow I was mentioning “A World Without Wordgirl” earlier to my boyfriend and it’s honestly such a fucked up episode if you think about its implications for more than like, 2 seconds.

Like, Becky Botsford aka Wordgirl is 10 YEARS OLD and she has to CONSTANTLY leave behind her friends and family and miss out on fun, normal kid activities to take care of some mess a (usually grown-ass) villain made. We see this happen in plenty of other episodes, but “A World Without Wordgirl” makes it even more obvious.

It’s this kid’s BIRTHDAY, and her parents decided to go all out for her. They brought her best friends, got her a bouncy castle, got her ponies to ride, did all these really sweet and amazing things for their daughter, but she didn’t get to enjoy ANY of it because she kept having to zoom off and fight crime as Wordgirl. She’s just a KID! She is a 5th grader for goodness sake, she shouldn’t be sacrificing her BIRTHDAY, the single most exciting and highly-anticipated day of the year for a kid, to clean up after criminals that the local law enforcement couldn’t handle. And she isn’t forced to interrupt her party once, no, she’s forced to interrupt her own fun SEVERAL TIMES to the point that every single nice thing her parents did for her she misses, doesn’t get to enjoy any of it. So of course, she’s so fed-up by the end of the day, so tired of having to pick up after everyone, she makes the wish that she wasn’t Wordgirl, and that Wordgirl never existed… just like ANY EXASPERATED 10 YEAR OLD MAY DO IF THEY WERE IN HER SITUATION!

And what is she given in response to her extremely understandable angst? SHE IS IMMEDIATELY SCARED STRAIGHT BY EVERYTHING AROUND HER FUNDAMENTALLY CHANGING DUE TO WORDGIRL BEING ERASED FROM EXISTENCE (courtesy of electrified magic birthday cake).

In the universe without her, CHUCK of all villains is running the city, allowing the other villains to run amok as well, under his rule (sans Twobrains). Becky is shown that if she DOESN’T continue to sacrifice every single nice thing that happens to her in order to clean up messes that ADULT LAW ENFORCEMENT SHOULD BE HANDLING, the city will fall to villainous hands. She’s shown that she HAS to be a savior, a protector, a hero above anything else. She’s not allowed to be a kid, she’s not allowed to have a carefree childhood and leave larger issues to the adults, she’s not allowed to enjoy herself without the anxiety of another crime taking place that she has to stop.

And you know, this would be bad enough if this was the only episode that touched on this, but it ISN’T. This type of shit has happened to her SO MANY TIMES. The people of Fair City are absolutely HELPLESS without her, a 10 YEAR OLD GIRL. she’s not allowed to be a kid for more than 5 seconds without hearing some alarm in the distance! Sure, she chose to be a super hero, but she made that choice when she was still VERY YOUNG, and even if it was her choice, it’s still completely unfair that her entire childhood is marred by constant interruptions from villains and constant anxiety in anticipation of the next crime, not to mention the physical danger she’s put in nearly every day by (again, usually GROWN-ASS) villains who hold no care for her well-being!

She doesn’t even have a trusted adult figure to really confide in, either. The only adult who knows her secret identity (as far as I’ve gotten in the show) is her grandfather, but he doesn’t live with the Botsfords and seems to be perfectly ok with his granddaughter throwing herself into dangerous situations for the sake of others. Sure, later in the show Scoops figures out her identity, and I’m pretty sure Violet does too (Haven’t gotten that far yet though), and while it’s great that she has peers to confide in after all this time, she still really needs an adult in her life who can shield her from some of the sacrifices she feels forced to make.

I know this is a kids show and her being frustrated with villain interruptions is usually played up for laughs, but as an adult watching the show I can’t help but feel kinda angry on her behalf at the adults around her if I think about it too hard. Yes, she’s capable and strong, but that doesn’t mean that the adults in her life shouldn’t be protecting her anyway. Has no adult in Fair City worried about Wordgirl, the 10-year-old heroine? Has none of the local law enforcement questioned why they keep letting a 5th grader do their jobs for them?? I guess it’s in-character of cops to be incompetent and selfish, that’s definitely realistic, but what about the other adults who know Wordgirl? Hell, Sally Botsford, Becky’s own MOM, has said she sees Wordgirl almost like a daughter, but she still has little to no problem with her constantly being the city’s only defense against crime both big and small. Sure, Kid Math is now able to help out, BUT HE’S JUST A KID TOO! And Becky/Wordgirl is still doing a LOT of the work! She’s never even had a proper mentor who knew of her superheroism. Her LAST hero-mentor was fucking MISS POWER, and we all know how that turned out.

This is why I’ve been writing a fic about Becky (and Tobey because I’m a sucker for Tobecky) 15 years after canon dealing with her mixed-up feelings about her childhood and her superheroism. It must be such an angering, terrifying feeling to grow up thinking that you can’t be allowed to be a KID, to have FUN for too long, because a villain might rob a bank, or steal an artifact, or turn the city into cheese, or WHATEVER. Imagine Becky as an adult, imagine the anger she must feel, and the guilt because of that anger. Someone give this kid a hug and a proper mentor figure. And some THERAPY.

[sleepdeprivedblond]

About a Hero and a Villain who are time traveling

In this one, Hero (she) and Villain (he) are childhood friends who turned into enemies. Hero works for The Bureau and can travel only in the past while Villain can also travel to the future. Villain has seen things he cannot tell, but he keeps using the knowledge against Hero whenever he can.

Anyway, enjoy!

______________________________☆______________________________

Villain approached Hero. He was calm, the awful kind of calm that meant he had important things to say.

-You have questions, and I respect that. But I have inquiries, and you are the answer to them.

Hero sighed. She didn’t even try to hide it. She was already tired of the conversation they were about to have.

-Don't even try to ask me anything.

-You know I have to. This does not depend on me. 

When Hero looked at Villain, she saw something else. Something new. Deep in his eyes, there was fear. Hero shivered.

But this was about her, too. An answer was expected of her, and she didn’t want to give any.

-Just don't. She pleaded.

Villain didn’t look away when he said:

-I have no choice. 

-We always have a choice. Hero didn’t think before she snapped.

-Easy for you to say, you only have questions. 

Hero thought she would snap again, more violently. She could already see herself punching Villain in the face, make him meet the wall behind him with a cry. Instead of letting her fists slam his face, she spoke again.

-Easy? My entire life depends on the answers I will give you, it is not easy to be aware of that. 

-Your life has already been written, I am the living proof of it. 

There it was again. That sentence. Like it was engraved in Villain’s soul, like the knowledge he bore made a difference in everyone’s life. Hero had spent lifetimes trying to understand what he had seen, to make him see that his own perception could be biased. Time traveling always was.

-Then what? She asked. You may ask questions but I shall not? 

-Not what I want, but what is necessary. Yes. 

Hero bit her tongue. She already knew that arguing was pointless. But Villain seemed particularly inclined to talk to her, and it was too rare for her not to try.

-I do not want that either. 

-I know, we are the same after all. 

She shivered. Not the same way as she did before. This time, she felt herself blushing as well.

They had been friends, long ago. And she still remembered too much.

-And yet, you will insist. 

-I will not insist. I will force you to answer me, and I have ways of making one talk you do not even suspect. But that would be a spoiler. 

There it was. The smile Villain had never gotten rid of. He still looked the same, and Hero could swear that the grinning boy she spent her entire childhood with never really left.

-Are you talking about torture? 

-You know I am. 

Hero looked away. So much for good old memories.

-Then why not do it right now? Right here? We are alone together, you could. 

The thought was not as unpleasant as it should have been, and Villain’s answer was not either.

-This is my last resort, and you know it. 

-Maybe. But I also know I have little patience. 

It was true. Hero was not sure that she could hold onto her resolve for much longer. She wanted to go, to leave his company as fast as possible, to forget the ghost he had become.

-Maybe you grow into it. He tried with a shrug.

-I doubt it. 

-And you are right, I have as much patience as you do, if not less. He added. When will you answer my questions? 

She sighed, heavier than before. She didn’t mind hiding it anymore.

-What will my answers give you? 

-Power. 

The answer surprised her. Hero knew that he was working with the enemies she had swore to destroy. She hadn’t imagined Villain craving it for himself.

-Over whom? 

-Myself. People. 

-What kind of people? 

The look he sent Hero was one of no appeal. Villain answered in a darker voice:

-The wrong ones. 

-Who. 

It was not a question. She wanted names.

-People you do not need to worry about just yet. I am handling the situation, just like you will handle the situation in a few decades. There is nothing to worry about. 

Hero hated it. She hated the idea that Villain knew things she didn’t, knew a version of her that was so different she wouldn’t see it coming. She gritted her teeth.

-Are you even from the same universe as me? She asked instead of punching him in the face. Time traveling can cause splitting into reality. 

-You seem so sure of yourself on the topic. 

Villain smirked. He knew she didn’t.

-I have been reading. She said as she looked away.

There it was again, the fact that he had more knowledge than she did.

-I know. 

The familiarity in his voice woke something in Hero’s mind, something that was annihilated when Villain added:

-And you believe everything you read. 

-I do not! She protested.

-The thing is, I know this is the same reality. The same universe. 

The thought almost made her head spin, it always did. She focused back on the conversation.

-How? She frowned.

-I know you, I know myself. Perhaps you do not yet, but that will come. Soon. 

His eyes changed for a fraction of seconds. He looked like he had always had. Like himself. Like the Villain Hero had fallen in love with, so many years ago.

-What questions do you want to ask me? 

She didn’t know what had pushed her to go back to this discussion.

-When did this and that happen. Most of them are based on details. 

It could be about anything. Literally. Hero inhaled shakily. Something in her told her that she could not escape this time.

-How will that even help you? 

-Trust me, it will. 

[yanderecrazysie]

Hello! I've been a fan of your works for almost a year now since I happened to come across your Wattpad account.

Can you do a Yandere Kenma x Reader?

Wherein Kenma pretends to be sick or have a poor health just so reader will prioritize him over others? They're childhood friends and no matter how nice Reader is to others, no one seem to last by her side for long. She doesn't have any other choice but to stick with Kenma. Who knows the truth he is hiding?

A Wattpadian! This concept is so mysterious, I love it!

Title: Drift

Pairings: Kozume Kenma x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes

Summary: You keep trying to branch out, but everyone seems to drift away. All you have left is your sickly friend.

drift

/verb/

move passively, aimlessly, or involuntarily into a certain situation or condition:

Some days, it felt like you were lost at sea. Like you were on a raft floating on the ocean, no land in sight. Sometimes it soothed you to think of the gentle waves and endless water. Other times, you felt the crushing loneliness and helplessness as though you were really there.

Right now, you felt the latter.

“Sorry, (Y/n), I just don’t have time to hang out with you anymore.” Your friend said before they practically ran away from you.

At least this friend had the decency to give you an excuse. The others had all ghosted you- not returning your texts or calls. Either avoiding you in real life or disappearing off the map entirely.

What was weirder, they always acted almost afraid of you.

You weren’t a scary person, if anything you were too nice for your own good. You were a doormat, used to people taking advantage of your kindness. Yet your friends and acquaintances would suddenly avoid you like you had caught the plague.

Where had they all gone? And why?

As if on cue, your phone began to ring. You picked it up and answered the call, holding the cell phone close to your ear to hear whoever was on the other end. The voice belonged to the exact person you suspected it did.

“(Y/n),” your friend, Kenma, sighed into the phone, “I’m not doing well today. You’ll visit me after your classes, won’t you?”

“Of course, Kenma!” You replied immediately, “I’ll be there as soon as possible. I hope you feel better.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, a little cough ringing out through the phone’s speakers before he hung up.

You stifled a sigh as you placed your phone in your pocket. Kenma was your only remaining friend now, the only person that had stayed by your side all this time, but he was very needy. It didn’t help that he’d gotten badly sick with something that just wouldn’t go away.

You were the type to dote on the ill, but it was sometimes exhausting caring for Kenma. His symptoms never went away, no matter what you did. He insisted that only you could help him, that only you could make him feel better, but it felt like too big of a responsibility for you.

Still, it was the least you could do when he didn’t leave you behind like everyone else, right?

When it was nothing but you and the ocean, sharing a raft could be more tiring than being alone on one.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You pushed Kenma’s blond hair up so you could mop his forehead with a wet washcloth. The cool cloth wiped the sweat from his brow and cooled his warm face. His cheeks were flushed slightly, but that symptom only started when you started attending to him.

“Have you taken your temperature yet?” You asked.

Kenma picked up a thermometer from the nightstand and showed it to you. A fever, like always, even though he never felt feverish to the touch. You frowned pityingly down at him.

“I’ll change your sheets out, okay? Then we can watch something together.”

Kenma gave you a smile and allowed you to remove the blankets from his bed, replacing them with clean sheets and tucking him into them. To anyone else, this smile looked like a pained one, one to show that he was thankful even though he was so sick.

If only Kenma was actually sick.

The truth was, he had been sick, for a little while. The way you had cared for him while he was sick awakened something in him. Your soft little hands touching his heated skin? Your kind face smiling down at him with pity and care?

How could you expect him to let go of that?

And dropping out of college had its advantages. That way, he had plenty of time to get ahold of your “friends” without you knowing.

He’d never let you find out that he was faking his illness. Nor that he was the one scaring away everyone you knew.

Right now, all you had was him and him alone. 

He just had to keep it that way.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 30

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/149566579

She was growing to like Shady Belle, or rather, disliking it less. If she were given a choice, she would have gladly returned to the former two spots, but the ride to work was considerably shorter and work was getting busier, so there was at least that.

Ecco hadn’t acknowledged her since the last incident. She had been on edge for a long time, but as he continued to ignore her day after day, her wariness had passed. Just as she was getting lulled by safety, thinking whatever happened had been it and that wasn’t so bad after all, he showed up at her station as if he could read her mind.

“Go to my office, Savigne.”

She froze and broke out in cold sweat. Several moments she lingered, unable to make her feet move. Even though nobody was paying attention, she felt like everyone knew, that all of Saint Denis knew and talked behind her back. She felt deep shame despite not having done anything at all as she slowly walked up the stairs. When she arrived at his office, it was empty. There was only one chair. So she waited, standing across from his desk. 

A minute passed. Then two. Then ten. After twenty minutes she checked her pocket watch and wondered if she was going crazy, if she had dreamed up the entire thing. She watched the slow, tedious crawl of the hands of the watch. Thirty minutes. She vacillated between going back down and waiting on. Maybe he had forgotten? Maybe he was sidetracked? She remained rooted, too afraid to go against his word. Her feet hurt from standing all day but there was nowhere to sit down, so she stood on. The days were shorter now, she watched the window darken and looked at her watch again. Forty-two minutes. He must have forgotten she told herself. I’ll wait five more minutes and then I’ll leave. 

Five minutes later she thought what's another five minutes. She shuffled on her feet and timidly eyed the desk. The temptation to lean against it was overwhelming. The pain on her feet moved up to her lower back. Next time she checked the time, it was an hour. She went to the door and looked out. Chef Ecco was nowhere to be seen. Again she thought she should leave. It was getting late and she was tired. And yet, she returned to the room and stood around. The fear of offending Chef Ecco even more than she had and inviting his ire intimidated her. He was already clearly displeased with her and he could fire her. Then she would eat into her savings and her savings were for the cabin. 

The notion of the cabin gave her strength and she ignored the pain pulsing in her lower back by going over recipes in her head. When she ran out of those she wanted to check the time again but didn’t, afraid to see how late it was. The room got dark. She didn’t know if she should turn on the gas lamp so she stood there in the dark for what felt like hours as the pain in her legs became unbearable. She felt shamefully weak and small, debating how she could allow herself to be treated like this and counter-debating that after all the waiting she had done, it would be foolish to leave now.

Saint Denis transformed outside the window as the arc lights in the streets flickered on. She started to fall into a dreamy state of mind where she hung in limbo, separate from everything. She thought about her childhood and all the orphanages she'd been through and the friends she had lost contact with one way or another and Sister Rodriguez and Sister DuBois and her ex flames, her ex bosses - the entire arc of her life that had started with her carried off the ship with only a tattered book and a photo pressed between the pages, cared for and fed by strangers to now: the chapter where she had somehow, some way managed to find her own family. Sometimes, when she was tense like she was now, she liked to construct imaginary moments in her head. Like introducing Arthur to her parents. Who - because she conveniently could 'remember' them however she wanted - were funny and mischivieous and warm. She imagined helping her mom in the kitchen but her mom would be the superior cook, teaching Savigne the best tricks while her dad opened the door and there was Arthur, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Scratch that, that didn't look right at all. Maybe a box of sweets? No, not right either. More like with a deer slung over his shoulder? God, that sounded absurd. 

When she heard the door close behind her she jumped and broke out of her reverie. She looked over her shoulder and saw his silhouette standing by the door, a shadow against other shadows. He didn’t light the lamp and he didn’t move. There was a long silence.

He didn’t apologize, but simply said “Good.”

She turned back to stare at the window. “I need to go home,” she said finally, a tad irritated. “My boyfriend…”

“I want to talk about your future prospects,” was the smooth interjection.

She heard the rustle of clothes behind her and for a moment panicked, thinking he was undressing. She was terrified to look, and so she didn’t. Her heart was thumping in her chest. When he glided to stand right behind her she felt herself start to tremble.

“You’re a good cook Savigne,” was the sigh in her ear. “But that’s not enough. Good cooks are a dime a dozen.”

She cleared her throat but when she tried to speak, her voice was gone.

She flinched when she felt his hand on her upper left arm, light and ephemeral, crawling up to her neckline to casually tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t move!” he ordered when she tried to shift away and she froze with the low command. She hated the idea that he could feel her tremble.

“Do you like it here?” was the same mild question he had asked her the first time and it triggered something in her, as if she was a lab rat, conditioned for it.

Not anymore, she thought but what she said was “I’m learning a lot, Chef.” 

He chuckled at her answer, fingers brushing over the shell of her ear as she resisted the urge to slap his hand away.

“Have you learned that everything has a price?”

She wasn't sure how to answer this loaded question and for long moments just watched the dust motes lazily dance in the beam of light that was coming from the streetlamp.

“I need to go home,” she droned again finally, feeling short of breath. “My partner will be worried.”

She couldn't see his face as he stood behind her left shoulder but sensed the flare up of his anger. A huff of disappointment as he shifted to her right. She held very still as fingers spidered down her chest, lightly circled a breast. Suddenly a flash of the Murfree incident sparked in her mind and it was like a gut punch. These two men touching her against her will overlapped and for a moment a sense of dislocation and confusion washed over her and she wasn’t sure where she stood in space and time. 

“When you’re here, be here,” he snarled and the feeling passed as the present solidified. 

She felt his palm ghost down her breast and bile rose in her throat as her shuddering intensified. The slow, deep intake of a breath behind her right ear told her that he enjoyed her discomfort. 

“I have an excellent job for you,” he muttered as he came around to stand before her. His hands, deceptively strong after years of kneading and scrunching and molding, held her waist, before they traveled up. His breath smelled of peppermint as he puffed in her face and she had a distant thought that she would hate the scent from here on throughout her life.

Then something very strange happened - Savigne felt herself fracture into two.

She stood there as he gently palmed her breasts, sensitive and swollen with her expected period, revolted at herself for letting it happen but too hypnotized to act. 

But she was also outside the window, screaming mutely and beating on the glass to wake herself up. 

His lips moved but she didn't hear him. What she heard was the smack of the palms on the window pane - tha thump, tha thump, tha thump - a deep, primal sound she heard whooshing and beating in her ears.

Only when the hands on her breasts clenched and a needle sharp pain jolted through her, did she manage to whimper and take in a shuddering breath and the cotton in her ears fell off. The world became louder, sharper, warmer.

“…good,” she caught the last bit of the sentence cooed softly in her ear.

She stood swaying on her feet, trying to gather her thoughts when he idly stepped around her and disappeared behind her back.

A match was struck and the light that flicked on in the room startled her and hurt her eyes.

Footsteps approached, then passed her as Ecco walked around his desk and sat in his chair. 

He huffed at the paperwork piled on his desk and casually checked the folders, stacking them up in their proper order. She watched him, marveling how she had thought him handsome and charming. He looked slimy and dirty, beads of sweat lined up on his greasy mustache; hair caked stiff with pomade, littered with specks of dandruff.

“This job I have for you…” he sighed, distracted by the folder in his hand. “There is this ball coming up. I was invited to cook for it. And I’m going to pick a few people to come along…” His dark eyes turned up to her, dull and lifeless. “Interested?”

She felt incapable of speech but someone did it for her and she heard herself stupidly say “A ball?”

He nodded. “Extra money.”

She blinked at him. The speed with which he entered and left his moods intimidated and unbalanced her because she never knew what he would do a moment later, and she suspected that this was intentional. Very little with Chef Ecco, after all, was accidental. The precision and mastery of his meals, of his plating, of the set up of his menu - all things practiced and perfected through years of observation and mastery. This was no different to him than cooking she realized - something to be done with excellence and unsentimental perfection.

“Good money,” he pushed, taking her silence as hesitation.

Whoever was working her vocal cords, did it again:

“I never cooked for a ball before.”

He waved her argument away, all amicable smiles and easy banter. “Same thing. Easier if you ask me. Lots of cold hors d’ouvres and whatnot, so a lot of the cooking happens ahead of time. Lots of pastries. You’re good at those.”

“If you say so, chef,” she droned listlessly.

“I know you are,” he said warmly. “I actually have something particular in mind. Something…more traditional. Something a bit more Italian. Anyone can make a pie,” he said with mild disdain, “I want a desert that’s more unique.”

“Like what?” It was a surreal experience - hearing herself speak but not doing the talking. Like listening to her own voice on a gramophone but having no memory of the recording.

“How is your frutta martorana game?”

“I haven’t made that…in ages,” she heard herself concede.

“You’ll be great, I know it,” he waved her discomfort away. “You’re great at anything you set your mind to.” The warmth of his voice bolstered the idea that she was dreaming because surely this couldn't be the same man from minutes ago?

She felt her facial muscles strain as her mouth was pulled into a smile. “Where is this ball?”

“Mr. Bronte’s mansion.” The panes of her face moved and whatever expression that resulted in, made him ask “You know him?”

“I know of him.” She heard the tone of wariness in her own voice but he didn’t. 

“Important man,” he said and she noticed his nod of approval. “Anyhow, I mean to surprise him with something from the motherland. What do you think?”

“I think it’ll hit the mark,” Savigne said and her voice sounded muffled to her ears, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “Especially if he’s Sicilian.”

He smiled conspiratorially when he replied: “I think so too.”

Then a jolt of her inner voice: Refuse.

“I…” she cleared her throat, “I’m not sure if I’m the right choice for the job, chef.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said dismissively, thumbing through the folder again.

Don’t take this as payment for what he did.

“Why, what did he do?” she thought morosely and the memory of minutes ago flared up in her. She was alarmed by how efficiently and quickly she had managed to rugsweep it.

Refuse!

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

He blinked up at her. 

“But what about the cabin?” she thought helplessly. “He said good money.”

Her inner voice was sharp like barbwire she had curled a fist on: REFUSE!

“I’m not a good fit,” she said with more determination.

His eyes hardened at her rejection and her breath caught in her throat. “Nonsense,” he said, giving her a weighed look, “You’re perfect. You will accept. I don’t do charity, you earned it.” He looked her a long moment, eyes boring into her, daring her to argue and to her own horror, proud as she imagined herself to be, she wilted under that stare like a child. Not that long ago she had believed Dutch to be intimidating, but when the moment came, she had easily stood up to, spoken back at Dutch. Ecco, not so much.

“Yes, chef,” she whispered at last.

He nodded curtly. “I stocked up marzipan. Practice until the ball. Now go.”

She dreamily marched out of the room on stiff legs and found herself in the street. Then she walked around for a while, her mind blank and dim, turning random corners, brushing against strangers. When she found a deserted alley she doubled over and threw up. One half was horrified to be vomiting in public like some drunkard, but the other half felt relieved as if she had thrown up all the dirt and ugliness and she was clean again. She stumbled away in shame and found a fountain and washed her mouth and her face. Then she walked some more and as she walked, like the focus of a pair of binoculars being adjusted until the image became crisp, her shattered halves glided over one another and solidified into one person again. 

When she looked up, she was surprised that she was standing across the door of the steakhouse. She stood there for a long time, watching the door, unsure what to do. 

Go home, said her inner voice eventually. It’s late.

She knew it to be true but still hesitated with indecision.

It was nothing. You're fine. Go home to your family.

The word mushroomed a deep feeling of warmth and safety in her gut and she turned around towards the stables to pick up Cricket.

Whenever she was late, he would sit by the main camp fire because it was right across the horses and today was no different. He jumped up and strode over when she rode in. 

"Was 'bout to ride out for ya," he said when he arrived. "Yer late."

She turned around and hugged him tightly and he stiffened a little with surprise. Embracing him all the way out by their distant tent used to make him uncomfortable, now he merely tensed up here in full view of the gang and it made her inexplicably but also immeasurably happy.

"Woman, yer drunk again?"

"No," she chuckled into his chest.

He gripped her shoulders and held her out to look at her face. He must have smelled the droplets of vomit on her clothes. "Ya got sick?"

“Threw up,” she sighed. “Did a lot of tasting today. Something I ate must have been off.” If he heard her lie, he didn't push. Instead he pulled the saddle off Cricket as she fed him an apple. Then he took the basket from her and strolled alongside her to their tent.

She thought about telling him about the ball but she knew he wasn't going to like it and she didn't have the energy to fight him about it tonight. “How was your day?” she asked instead.

“Fine,” was his typical stoic retort.

"My back is hurting something fierce," she sighed, giving him a side eye. "A massage would be nice."

"That so?" he grinned.

"But someone has to clean me up first."

He hummed with amusement. 

"Think you can help me with that?"

"I can try, ma'am."

The next day Chef Ecco was gone out of town and Savigne burst with so much joy at the news, she got into a work frenzy. It was as if she had twice the energy to spare as she chopped and whisked and shucked, food appearing in front of her like magic. One of the plates she prepared as a suggestion for the upcoming winter menu was so brilliant, the sous chef came over and inspected it from all angles and praised her until she turned red. She grinned self consciously, shy but proud and Sarah gave her a ‘well done’ smile from her station which boosted her spirits further.

Then she left Antoine’s and headed right to the market and shopped until her basket grew heavy. She saw a little dirty kitten in a corner and cried a little, then almost lost her head in a heated argument with the butcher, then went to pick up Cricket and found herself prattling to Jebediah about how to make remoulade, all the while ignoring the deep confusion and disinterest in his face.

That evening she cooked Arthur meatloaf and sat watching him eat with gusto after her own meal was done.

“Do you chew? Like, at all?” she said with a mixture of concern and disgust. 

He grunted and nodded in confirmation, her sarcasm lost on him.

She sighed and watched the gang idle about, feeling antsy and restless and brimming. In her mind, she was gearing up to have a fight with him because she knew he wasn't going to like her cooking for Bronte and just then the universe decided to trip her:

“Bronte’s gonna have a ball in a few days.” he said around his food. “‘M tellin’ ya so you don’ spin tales in that head o’yours when ya see me all fancy.”

She blinked at him, stupefied. “W-what?” was all she managed a long while later.

He ran his tongue along his teeth and took a sip from his whiskey before he clarified: “‘M goin’ to some silly ball. Don’ want ya to think 'm meetin' a woman or some other nonsense cause I cleaned up.”

“First of all..." she said coolly "...I don't have a single jealous bone in my body." She ignored the dry side eye he gave her. "And second, I guess I'll see you there!"

"How d'ya mean?"

“I have been asked to cook for the ball," she gloated and sat back in her chair. He gave her a sharp look and swallowed his food. “What?” she said with unease when he remained quiet.

“Waitin’ for ya to say you refused.”

“What!? I can’t refuse.”

His eyebrows rose. “Said you was asked, didn’ ya?”

“It’s not that kind of asking,” was her annoyed answer. “I was politely told.” When he didn’t divert his gaze: “What now?”

“Aint’ a good idea.”

She huffed in disbelief. “You just told me you’re going yourself!”

He completely breezed over that point. “Ya don’ wanna mingle with these folks, Savigne.”

“Who’s mingling? I’m just going to be in the kitchen, cooking food.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yer excused,” he said around his food after he stuffed an enormous piece of meatloaf into his mouth.

There was a long silence as she watched him chew with disbelief. “You know, it’s sort of amazing, your hypocrisy.” She enjoyed his startled pause. “Are you seriously telling me you’re going but I can’t?” Her anger sizzled.

His eyes flicked at her. “This man took Jack.”

“You think I hit my head or something? I know he took Jack.”

He continued his dinner for a few moments. “Then ya know it ain’t safe.”

“How come you’re going, anyway?”

“Was invited. With Dutch and others.”

She blinked again and almost laughed because he had to be joking. When he ate on as if it was perfectly normal, she said “Are you serious?”

He did his ‘sure, why wouldn’t I be?’ shrug. 

“The man who took Jack invited you guys to a ball?”

He hummed in affirmation. Still maddeningly eating. Her temper flared up properly.

“And you accepted?”

“Dutch wants to go,” he said, taking a sip from his whiskey. “Thinks we can…find something for us there.”

She gaped at him as he refilled his bowl.

First of all, that meatloaf was heavy and rich and a third bowl was obscene.

Second, and more importantly, he actually had the audacity to ask her not to attend while he himself was going to…what were the words he used… ‘mingle with these folks’.

A few moments later he did a double take at her face. 

“Y’alright?”

“Actually no,” she sputtered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.

“What’s the ma-”

“The matter is that you’ve been lecturing me on not getting mixed up with these people and you’re actually going to the damn ball!”

“Woman, I ain’t goin’ cause I wanna,” was his exasperated response.

“Same,” she quipped and crossed her arms.

“Ain’t the same.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth but she was faster: 

“I tell you why,” she spoke over him. “You’re a damn hypocrite, that’s why!” she hissed. She hated how hot it was here. How stifling. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

He seemed surprised at the fervor of her reaction and slowly put down his fork. 

“Now listen here…” He cleared his throat and took a moment to grab the napkin to wipe his beard. 

“No! Who cares what your explanation is? You’re a hypocrite. You’ll say this and then you’ll turn around and say that!” She glared at the campfire. People still lighting fires in this heat was also obscene.

He looked at her a long moment. Eyed his meatloaf with longing and then looked at her again. She wanted to strangle him for that alone. 

“I don’ like doin’ it,” he said, softer, with a timbre of appeasement as if she was a horse he was trying to calm down. It flared the fire in her hotter. 

“Who said I was?! It’s my damn job!”

“Fair. But...”

“But what?” God she wished he would say something outrageous. That fork was tempting her to grab it and stick it in his hand.

He gave out a frustrated sigh and tried a different angle: “Savigne. Darlin’…”

“Oh this should be good.”

“…don’ wanna worry ‘bout ya when ‘m on a job.”

“Sounds like a you problem to me.”

“Sure,” he said patiently. “But yer my woman and-”

“Arthur Morgan,” she growled as she felt the pulse starting to beat behind her eyes, “Do you actually think that means you can tell me what to do?”

“Course not,” he scoffed. A moment later: “Kinda.” He sighed at the glare he gave her. “Yer safety is my job, ‘member?”

“This is not a treasure hunt,” she hissed. “Or living alone in a cabin. I’m going to a god damn ball as a cook.”

“This man as dangerous as them Murfrees,” he growled. “More!”

“I’m around a dangerous man all day every day!” she said with some heat.

There was a moment of silence. “The hell that mean?”

She quickly looked away.

“Savigne?”

“I was talking about the gang. I mean you. Technically.” she mumbled a while later.

He leaned back in his chair. “Was you now?” was his narrow eyed question. Given the circumstances, that save was nothing but spectacular and yet Arthur Morgan didn’t buy it. He sat there like a bloodhound who had caught a whiff and was about to put his nose down to track it.

“You know what,” she flustered and rose up. “You go on and eat your meatloaf.” She turned towards the trees.

“The hell ya goin’?”

“Going for a walk,” she yelled over her shoulder and ran off before he could sink his teeth into the problem and shake it out of her.

"God damn hypocrite," she seethed, stalking through the dark forest, working herself up. "The problem", she mumbled as she pushed branches out of the way and tripped on roots, "is men." The more she thought on it, the more apparent it seemed. At the root of all her problems: men. Infuriating, despicable, outrageous men. Mr. Rochester? Man. Murfrees? Men. Bronte? Man. Dutch? Man.

Ecco her mind whispered and she flinched at the thought, then quickly stuffed it away.

She fanned herself, feeling all hot and bothered. Her head swam and there was an odd pulse between her legs. She wished her period would finally come so she could be done with it. For weeks now she had been stuck on this ridiculous Ferris wheel, going round and round from angry to aroused to anxious to elevated.

"Men are the problem,” she muttered. “They’re not good for anything.”

An image flashed in her mind of Arthur thrusting into her, his eyes devouring her as the table under her creaked furiously.

She halted and cleared her throat. "Okay now," she mumbled, "pull yourself together, what the hell? 

"The problem is men", she started again but then she remembered the feeling of his trigger finger inside her, brushing her sensitive spot and making her shiver.

She stopped, panting with confusion and a little horrified at the coiling in her gut.

"No, no, no, no," she hissed. "The problem is…"

The way he had moaned her name when she was on her knees, pleasuring him on his birthday.

She felt herself get wet and gasped with disbelief.

Suddenly she heard his running foot falls behind her. 

"Savigne!"

She dived into the thicket, slowly so the bushes won't shiver and crawled around as carefully as she could. 

"Ya gonna make me hunt you down?" he called, amused, and he already sounded closer. “Ain’t gonna take long, tell ya that.”

Silence. She stood stock still. The ego of this man, she thought, incensed.

"Last chance, Savigne," he drawled, closer still.

Even from here she could hear the grin in his voice and it did make the coil in her gut shiver. She listened to the crunching of his steps draw near and softened her breath. Moments later his boots appeared in her sights.

"So be it," he chuckled darkly.

He dropped down to his haunches, back turned to her and inspected the ground. This made her very uneasy and she almost jumped up to protest that it’s unfair. She hadn't taken tracks into consideration!

A moment later he rose up and walked off her field of vision. She took a silent breath of relief. She was about to move on but then thought that he was way too quiet. Maybe he was waiting for her to pop out? So she sat there, listening with utmost attention to the deep silence. Her hands closed on a thick stick and she carefully hefted it, rose just a little and threw it far to her right. The crunch of steps heading in that direction made her grin and she slowly slithered through the undergrowth in the opposite direction.

Idiot, she thought and shook her head. That was the thing about men, they always pranced around like they ruled the world but…She stopped in her tracks. Men did actually rule the world. Whatever, she thought, that’s not the point.

She emerged a while later and peeked up carefully to look behind her. Nothing. She smugly brushed her skirts and turned around with a grin on her face and almost screamed with surprise. He was standing right there, one shoulder pressed against the tree, arms crossed, hips angled away. She gawked at him then morosely turned to the direction she came from in disbelief, then turned back to him again.

“Ya know,” he drawled, eyes locking to hers, “that was kinda embarrassingly easy.”

“You cheated!” she yelped.

“That so?”

“Yeah, you tracked me! Doesn’t fucking count!”

He chuckled and bounced off the tree. “Next time,” he said lowly, “maybe don’ stomp so hard ya leave tracks.”

“You god damn…” she hissed as she marched towards him. The fact that he was utterly unfazed by her menacing approach irritated her to no end. “…smug…cocky…conceited…” He merely straightened to loom over her, rolling his shoulders, visibly amused by her fury. “…man!” she spat.

It was hard to say which one of them was more shocked when she found herself gripping the lapels of his shirt to pull him down and crushing her lips against his. He froze with surprise for a moment, then - always a man who never rebuked her advances - swung his arms around her and kissed her back just as aggressively, lips and tongue moving ferociously against hers.

“I’m going to that ball,” she hissed and grabbed his hair and jerked his head lower as she kissed him again. He grunted with the pain but followed her command, hands grasping her waist to crush her against him.

“The hell y’are,” he grunted as he walked her backwards and threw her against the tree.

She felt a shudder run through her from head to toe as her hands flew to his gun belt. “You don’t give a damn about what I want, do you?” she growled as she reached for his trousers next and almost yanked the buttons off in her haste to undo them while his hands hungrily clutched her breasts and his mouth descended on hers.

“Course I care,” he snarled but his breath hitched as she fell to her knees in front of him and immediately took him in her mouth. He flinched with surprise and couldn’t avoid the loud moan that escaped his lips. His cock stiffened in her mouth and she hummed with pleasure, gliding her lips up the shaft to take him deeper. One of his hands flew to the tree to support himself as a shiver went down his legs while the other tangled with her hair, undecided between drawing her closer and pushing her away. The decision was made for him when her nails raked the back of his thighs as she twirled her tongue around his swelling head and then proceeded to swallow him to the hilt while he moaned again and hissed a Christsakes above her. She moaned too, feeling the burn of the fire between her legs and the wetness soaking her bloomers. 

She sucked harder, setting a ruthless pace as he squirmed above her and his moans grew louder than he usually allowed himself to be. “Christ!…woman…oh…jeeeesus…ah…Savigne…damn”. It was like music to her ears, especially the soft cry that he let loose every time the tip of her tongue touched under his swollen head. She felt besotted with lust, absolutely drenched in it, she felt like she could fuck him till morning and then some. Her head was swimming and her cunt was aflame. Arthur was writhing above her, stunned and reduced to a blabbering mess and she felt like she would come just by listening to the sounds he was making. The power she held over him at that moment was like fiery whiskey, going straight to her head.

She gasped with surprise and disappointment when he pushed her off and roughly grabbed her arm to pull her up. She was turned around and shoved against the tree. “Lies! You don’t fucking care,” she stammered as hands pulled up her skirt and ripped off her bloomers.

“Woman…” he growled into her ear as his fingers found her dripping folds. Her ass was pulled back harshly and she tried to steady herself, gripping the bark as he groaned and immediately pushed into her. She was so wet, he glided in smoothly despite his size. He gasped her name and swelled bigger in her with excitement.

“…would burn the world for ya,” he sighed in her ear, kissing her neck as he pulled out almost completely before the next sharp thrust that made her whimper.

This rendered her speechless for a moment and when she flustered and tried to come up with something witty, his hands pulled up her thighs, lifting her to the tip of her toes as he fucked the breath out of her lungs. She merely managed a raspy cry of ecstasy as he gently bit her neck and increased his pace. In the back of her mind there was a certain pride to have driven him this wild because even at his neediest, Arthur had never taken her rough like this. She bit into her lip to muffle herself and mewled with the pleasure, feeling every nerve in her body light up with fire. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better he angled her slightly, making her eyes roll back and her toes curl and a few more smacks later she was undone as her mind turned white with the force of her orgasm. 

He whispered a curse as his motions became more vigorous and desperate and soon followed her, the pitch of his gasps rising as he emptied himself into her. Her eyelids fluttered and the sharp sensation of rapture spread through her before it slowly dulled like a forest fire that had run out of trees to burn. She listened to the drumming of her heartbeat in her ears, her head still swimming in ecstasy. He carefully lowered her back on her feet, then steadied her with a light grip on her hips as she almost toppled, her legs still shaking. His panting behind her was loud in the hushed forest. 

A few moments later he asked her if she was okay and she gasped a ‘yes’ as her hands crawled up the tree to straighten herself. He pulled his trousers back up and buttoned them, still breathing hard before he turned her around to look at her face. His thumb glided over her lower lip that she had punctured with her bite and his eyes, still churning and stormy, locked on hers before he lowered his forehead on hers. His harsh exhalations plumed down her face as he pressed her against himself with his hand on her lower back. 

“Savigne…” he managed between the puffs, “...ya possessed?”

“I think so,” she whispered, struggling to catch her breath, too. “Sorry.”

He scoffed, then kissed her temple. “Aint…complainin’…but…hate it when ya…run off.”

“Didn’t look…like you…hated it,” she wheezed. 

He chuckled lowly and retrieved his gun belt from the ground with a grunt. She looked around, suddenly anxious if they had been far enough away from camp. The forest looked dark and empty. She couldn’t hear the camp either but that meant little as her pulse was beating in her ears. She wiped her hands over her face, moist from the humidity and the sweat and tried to push her hair back into shape. Then she gathered her torn bloomers, gave him a pointed look that earned her a shrug and a grin and stuffed them into the pocket of her skirt. 

“You owe me…underwear.” she panted. 

“Me?” he said, running his fingers through his wild hair. “This is all…on you.”

She groaned, now feeling abashed as she was coming down from that insane lust spike.

He chuckled at her state and took her hand, kissed her palm as he led her back. Their walk back was understandably a lot slower and calmer and went on for longer than she expected. They had managed to get pretty far with their furious chase so that was good at least. She beat her skirts to free any dust and debris. She saw the gated entrance of Shady Belle and wasn’t pleased that they had returned this way.

“You think they’ll know when they see us?”

He gave her a look. “I would.”

She groaned again, tried to tame her hair once more as he grinned wider at her discomfort.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t followed me,” she hissed, annoyed by his nonchalance. 

“Course I followed,” he scoffed. “Ya ran like a wild beast. Sides…you know ya would have got lost.”

That much was true. 

“Ya cookin’ somethin’ in the food or what?” he asked, the grin on his face broadening. 

“Funny,” she said drily, then couldn’t help but click her tongue at his expression. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

He just smirked. His eyes were warm and she was somewhat taken aback to see unmistakable love in them. Of course by now, having gotten to know him as well as she did, she knew Arthur loved her. But he loved her in his own way – he never said it, nor did he show it in the usual ways people do. The expression of his affection for her was a lot more subtle, more reserved and complicated. 

If she had been asked to explain it, she would have said that she knew he loved her because at times it felt supernatural how well he read her and it wasn’t hard to follow that he only read her as well as he did because he paid attention to her. Nobody paid this much attention to someone if they didn’t care enough about them. 

But rarely did she see it in his gaze as obviously as she did at that moment. It set her heart aflame.

They were close to the camp now. She retrieved her hand and smacked him on the forearm. “Stop. Grinning. Like. A. Fool!” she hissed. 

“Am a fool,” he shrugged, still grinning.

She clicked her tongue again in distaste and dared a glance at the gang as they turned to stroll towards their tent. They seemed to be occupied but you couldn’t trust this lot – they saw more than they let on and had way too much idle time on their hands to share the things between each other that they had missed. 

He was sauntering as if he had returned from some gallant deed and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his silliness. When they arrived at the table, his third meatloaf bowl was empty.

She glanced at his face and the stupefied vexation she found there made her erupt in chortles. She clamped her hand over her mouth when he gave her a baleful glance but the chortles devolved into cackles behind her palm.  

“Thought you was done with that,” John called from a distance. 

“You a stray or somethin’?” Arthur barked. “Eatin’ other people’s food?”

Savigne felt the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes.

John just shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. “Came to look for ya…food was just sittin’ there.”

Arthur gave her another side eye as she stood there, laughing and dabbing the tears off her eyes with her sleeves. He grabbed the back of the chair and slammed it to the ground hard before he sat down to pull his whiskey in front of him. 

“How come ya didn’ steal the whiskey too, ya mooch!” he yelled, his eyes hard on John. 

“I got whiskey,” John said dismissively.

“Unbelievable!” Arthur hissed.

“Was getting’ cold and all,” John tried and was cut off by Arthur’s sharp gaze. “You was gone,” he tried again, flustered.

“I like it cold, why I left it ya fool!” Savigne had just gained control over her cackling and almost broke into laughter again at that blatant lie.

“Sorry Savigne,” the other man called over. “It was delicious.”

She nodded in acceptance of the compliment as Arthur’s withering gaze made him finally scurry away. 

She fell into her chair, exhausted from bickering and running and fucking and laughing and this time it was him who clicked his tongue at her amusement. 

“This here your fault,” he said, annoyed.

“What!? Why?”

“Yer feedin’ these sponges and now we can’t leave food out no more. Too many god damn coons about.” 

She chuckled at that. “All I did was give them an extra pizza pie. Also, stop crying - that was your third bowl. I’ll make you more tomorrow,” she said, wiping the remnant of tears off her face.

He grumbled something incomprehensible as she sank on the other chair. In the distance, Javier strummed his guitar.

“I’m still going,” she said a while later.

“Guess ‘m gonna have to keep an eye on ya,”  he huffed. Then: “I want lazan ya.”

She grinned at the way he said it. “Okay.”

He seemed mollified as he drank his whiskey and she sat with him, placed a hand on his and watched the Moon rise.

[tainted-sweet-meats]

Personal oc for my fursonas universe Rodney He is a canon best friend of both my Sona Nish, their Doppelgänger( Nishou) and eventually pretty boi ( sasha) in the end..

Sneak peak info of him from my fursonas universe page that is not published publically

Read more under the cut to know about him vvvvvv

Full name: Rodney Ramirez Coding: Dominican/Jamaican Gender/ sexuality: cis/ bisexual (non-commitment) Pronouns: He/him Size: 6"5' Species: Rooster BirthPlace/Birthday: Jamaica/ Aug 23rd Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Age: 35

Voiceclaim: N/A

personality music

N/A

Info: Rodney is more kin with Nishou than they are Nish. He is one of Nishou's best friends and while he is aware of Nishou entirely, it does not bother him in the slightest.  However, in that same breath, Rodney can be seen interacting with Nish being flirty, or even passing his openness with them as friends. He seems to be highly interested in Nish, not fully romantic but there is obvious physical lust and curiosity. Though Nishou tells him to stay away from his original vessel for his own personal reasons. Rodney thinks good competition between men never hurt anyone. Nor will anyone stand in his way when he wants something or someone. He tends to go behind his friend's back in order to get to the original vessel. He seems haughty and aloof beyond his flirtations, and his intentions aren't really known. which in a way allures the original but also irritates them. While the original and he may romp from time to time, there is nothing too serious going on. There is a sinister air about Rodney that Nish does not fully trust, so their interactions stay solely on the fun. That sinister air is Rodney's connection to their doppel.

Rodney however does not care to be wrapped up in the drama that concerns both Nish and Nishou. He never alludes to either the original or doppel's whereabouts if they ask him. He is more of the type to enjoy how things playout for the good or dangerously bad. If challenged he will not think twice about getting rid of you. There is a reason why he and Nishou connect so well. Never challenge him or disrespect him, he will make sure you regret your actions fully.

Rodney beyond his connections to the doppel has a very dueled nature due to his cultural upbringing. He also lost his mother in his teen years due to a violent disease. As a result of his mother's passing his father took out his sadness and aggression on him. It is hard for Rodney to fully become connected to anyone due to the one person he loved the most leaving his life permanently. There was nothing for him to do, to control the said situation to keep his mother around. Rodney fears connection of any kind.. be it friendship, intimacy, or long-term relationships. He feels, in the end, you will leave him, be it your choice or something natural that he can not physically stop.

Rodney has his own issues beyond childhood trauma that even he can become mentally mudded with. While he vents to Nish about them, he will not go as far as to leave himself emotionally vulnerable. Even if he knows you will never harm him, he just won't trust anyone enough to give you that control over him. Beyond all, his life experience and his culture play a part in his mentality as well. His father stating " A man who cries is weak and is no son of his" has stuck with him throughout his life. You will never see Rodney cry or break down...instead he uses sex, drugs, and liquor as a form of escapism. At best his escapism within kink is one the original vessel will always be confused with. He believes if he consents to pain from time to time that he has some sense of control. A form of control he never had prior. Though he understands this isn't safe for him at best he could care less. Essentially he uses others as a form of self-harm.

Rodney sports a serrated switchblade he nicknamed Regina. He also refers to his blade as she/her. He uses it for fun with lovers as well as protection if anyone tries to step to him sideways. While he's a great physical fighter he enjoys the fear weaponry induces when introduced in a brawl.