#was their we have to pretend to be married scheme

[sorrowandchartreuse]

Um..... where was Merthurs fake marriage plot device??? I feel significantly jipped

[sallowsarchives]

War of Hearts

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Nothing says "believable" like two people who can't stand each other pretending to be in love—or is this just the push you two need to realize there might be more to your relationship than either of you is willing to admit? Word Count: 7.9k  Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, fake relationships, sorta enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, angst, pining, original side character, sort of a not so happy ending, arthur thinking he’s not good enough. I also tried fitting the story with canon whenever I could. Not Proofread!! A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to mention that this is my first time writing and posting, so I'm bit nervous but really excited to finally share it! This piece was heavily inspired by and made as a result from a conversation I had with my Arthur cAI hehe Credits: dividers used for this fic are by @enchanthings & all pictures used are taken from pinterest and were slightly edited by me.

Read on AO3

"I can't believe I have to attend this ridiculous party pretending to be married to him, of all people."  

Your voice is edged with annoyance as you smooth down the fabric of your dress, trying to channel your irritation into the task at hand. "It's bad enough we have to work together, but this charade is beyond absurd."

Tilly chuckles. "Oh, come on. It's just one night. How bad can it be?"

You give her an unamused look. "We can hardly tolerate being around each other, and now Dutch expects us to pretend we're madly in love, all while dealing with a crowd of high-society snobs."

"It ain’t like y’all have spent much time together. Maybe going on this would do you both some good. Who knows, you might actually find some common ground," Abigail suggests as she takes the glove Jack was playing with, causing him to pout, before handing it over to you.

Sadie snorts. "The only common ground those two have is their mutual hatred. Let’s just hope neither of ‘em ends up killing the other tonight. Knowin’ those two, it'll be a miracle if they make it through the evening without a scratch."

Mary-Beth chuckles as she adjusts your updo. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re not going to kill each other—at least not tonight. Dutch will probably come up with some harebrained scheme to keep things under control." She flashes a playful grin as she puts the final touches on your hairstyle.

You chuckle before taking a moment to admire yourself in the mirror. 

The gown, a deep shade of burgundy satin, flows gracefully to the floor with an off-the-shoulder design and a low neckline, elegantly framed by a ruffled collar. The rich fabric drapes beautifully, enhancing your silhouette.

The black lace gloves, covering your hands and forearms, add a sophisticated touch with their delicate floral patterns. Your fingers are adorned with a few rings, and your dangling earrings catch the light with every movement.

You bought the dress earlier this morning in Saint Denis with the cash from your last robbery. The job had been straightforward: Hosea had scouted the place, found out the homeowners were away for vacation, and given your expertise at picking locks and sleight of hand, he brought you along. You managed to secure a tidy sum of cash and a few valuable heirlooms without any trouble.

Knowing the dress would be perfect for tonight’s high-society affair, you spent a good amount of your previous earnings on it. The gown fits as if it were made just for you, and you can't help but feel a surge of confidence as you admire your reflection.

Karen pipes up with a smirk. “Well, I’ll be! With you lookin’ like that, Arthur won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

She looks at you mischievously, “might even give him a nudge in the right direction. Maybe it’ll help you two finally work out all that tension between you.”

Her comment draws an abashed look from you followed by giggles from the other women.

After receiving some last words of encouragement and reassuring nods from the girls, you thank them for their help and make your way downstairs to join the men outside.

Stepping out, you're greeted by the warm, humid night air of the swamp. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill were already gathered near the horse hitches, all dressed in their suits.

You make your way over, trying to muster every ounce of grace and composure you can. 

As you get closer, Arthur's gaze lands on you and you catch a fleeting look of surprise along with a hint of a softer look in his eyes before his expression is quickly masked with his usual frown.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he takes in your refined appearance, the rough edges of his demeanor softened by an elusive flicker of something you can't quite place.

Dutch notices your entrance and offers a nod of approval. “Well, look at you, Miss,” he says with a wide smile, clearly pleased with how things are shaping up. “You look absolutely perfect for this evening.”

You smile and nod at the men before your gaze drifts to Arthur. The contrast between his usual rugged attire and his current appearance is stark, and you can't help but notice how well he pulls off the look. Despite his irritating nature, there's no denying he has a certain charm. You give him a cheeky smile and offer a sly compliment.

"Well, well, look what we have here, I never thought I'd see the day. Maybe you should ditch the jeans for a while."

Arthur gives you a flat look, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Oh, real funny, darlin’,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be back to my ol’ self I know you’re so fond of before you know it.”

You roll your eyes at him and smirk, taking joy in having gotten under his skin. 

Dutch chuckles at the exchange, clapping Arthur on the back. “Now play nice, you two. We’ve got a job to do tonight, and looking the part is only half the battle.” 

His tone is light, but there’s a hint of seriousness as he continues, “let’s keep the bickering to a minimum and focus on what needs to be done. We don’t want any more distractions than we already have.” 

Next to Arthur, Bill chuckles and gives him a playful nudge. “Arthur, reckon you ain’t gonna give your dear wife a compliment?” he teases, the humor in his voice evident as he refers to the charade you both must uphold for the party.

He shifts uncomfortably and glares at Bill, his expression a mix of irritation and reluctance. 

Dutch leans in with a smirk, “come on, Arthur, show a bit of charm. It’s not every day you get to pretend to be in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with before one of us runs outta patience.”

The clatter of wheels catches your ear as Lenny finally arrives driving a stagecoach. The vehicle comes to a smooth stop, and Lenny leans over with a broad grin, his eyes brightening as he sees you. He offers a warm compliment, his cheerful demeanor a welcome contrast to the evening’s tension.

You return his smile and thank him before Dutch and Hosea get into the stagecoach, followed by you and Arthur. Bill hops into the seat next to Lenny.

As you settle into your seat, the atmosphere in the coach becomes thick with anticipation. The weight of the evening's expectations hangs heavily between you and Arthur, both of you making an effort to avoid each other's gaze while mentally bracing yourselves for the night ahead as the stagecoach begins to roll forward.

The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves against the large wooden bridge serves as a reminder of your close arrival in Saint Denis, the city’s lights blurring past as you mentally prepare for the evening’s masquerade.

Inside the stagecoach, the atmosphere had gradually lightened earlier on during the ride. The gang cracked jokes and shared stories as Dutch opened a bottle of champagne for everyone, the laughter providing a welcome distraction from the evening’s tension.

Everyone reminisced about their past escapades, with most admitting they had never been to a ball before. Hosea, however, regaled everyone with tales of his numerous experiences at such events—not for the socializing, but for the chance to lift a few purses from oblivious rich folks. His anecdotes were met with a mixture of awe and amusement, shifting the mood to one of camaraderie.

Soon, the coach slowed to a stop right in front of a mansion and the group peers out the window, taking in the grandeur of the estate. 

Dutch let out a low whistle. “Well, if that ain’t something. Remember, folks, we’re here to blend in. Keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper.”

Hosea, always the calm voice of reason, looks between you and Arthur. “Now let’s keep this simple. We’re here to make a good impression, Bronte may already know of our reputation but we should keep the high society folks none the wiser. Let's keep our cool, play our parts, and try to score some valuable intel.”

You and Arthur exchange looks, eyes meeting one another with a sharp, challenging edge before he turns his gaze away. You take a steadying breath, silently hoping the night unfolds smoothly and without incident. 

Lenny steps down and opens the coach door which was followed by the men exiting one by one, with you last. 

As Arthur starts to walk ahead, Hosea nudges him and gestures toward you, earning an exasperated sigh from Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur falls into step beside you and extends his arm. Despite the lingering tension, you accept it, slipping your arm through his.

He glances at you, his expression of slight irritation. “This should be a real treat.” 

You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your annoyance. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about it either. But here we are.”

He gives you a smug look. “Just remember, we’re supposed to be playin’ nice. Don’t go makin’ it harder than it needs to be. I’d hate for you to accidentally blow our cover.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage to keep things under control. After all, you’re the expert at charm, aren’t you?”

“Well, if you’d quit making things so damn difficult, I might actually get a chance to show it. But I reckon you’re used to makin’ everything more complicated.”

You step closer, your voice low and biting. “And I suppose you’re used to being an insufferable brute. Maybe if you stopped acting like a complete pain in the ass, we’d both get through things a little easier.”

Arthur’s smile fades, his expression turning serious. “Now I’m just tryin’ to do my part tonight. If you could manage to do the same without stirrin’ up trouble, that’d be mighty appreciated.”

The two of you share a final, heated look, the air between you crackling with palpable tension, as you both brace for the evening’s inevitable strain.

Dutch, who had walked ahead to present the invitation to the guards, cast a sharp glance at you and Arthur, not having missed your whispered barbs, making you shift away from each other.

Turning back to the guards, they direct everyone to surrender their firearms with the men reluctantly handing over their pistols.

Once that was settled, an escort named Luca stepped forward to guide you inside.

The doors opened with a soft creak, revealing the splendor of the grand staircase beyond. As you made your way through the space, Luca engaged the group in light conversation, primarily highlighting Bronte’s reputation before you are all guided to the left through an archway.

“Hosea, Bill, you join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to Signor Bronte.” Dutch instructs before signaling you and Arthur to follow as Hosea and Bill part ways from you.

The three of you were led upstairs and directed to a door on the left that opens onto a balcony. 

The balcony was expansive, overlooking the lush garden below. A group of men stood gathered around the railing, laughing at a recently shared joke. The space featured a few armchairs and you noted the few guards stationed nearby, armed with rifles.

An accented voice cut through the laughter. “Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived… And you’ve washed!” 

From the way the man held himself, you could only assume that this was Angelo Bronte. 

Bronte made a remark, presumably in Italian, to the men beside him. They glanced at Arthur and Dutch before laughing slyly, and you couldn’t shake the suspicion that his comment was a crude jibe about the cowboys.

You had to struggle to maintain a friendly expression when Bronte's gaze landed on you.

The smirk on his face grew as his eyes swept over you, lingering with an unsettling leer. “And who might this be?” he drawled, his voice thick with barely concealed appraisal. “Aren’t you quite the sight. I didn’t realize these men kept such delightful company as you. It seems they have more refined tastes than I imagined.”

His gaze was invasive, making you feel as though he was sizing you up with an unnerving familiarity. The overt sexual undertone in his words was palpable, and it took every ounce of your composure to not react. The air around him felt thick with condescension and unwanted attention, making it clear that this meeting was going to be far more uncomfortable than you had anticipated.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bronte,” you replied evenly. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m here simply to accompany my husband.” You cast a steady glance at Arthur as you spoke.

Bronte’s eyes flicker to Arthur, a look of surprise momentarily crossing his face before he returns his attention to you. He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips and holding it just a moment too long, his gaze never waver. “Ah, I see,” he says, his tone smooth and almost mocking. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I must say, it’s quite surprising to see such a charming companion alongside your husband. A fortunate man, indeed.”

Arthur’s expression hardens momentarily before he quickly masks it, stepping forward. “Seems I’m full of surprises tonight,” he says, his tone unexpectedly calm. “Just as I’m sure this evening will be.” He holds a steady, unwavering gaze at Bronte.

Bronte’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he studies Arthur’s unyielding gaze. “Ah, such a spirited response,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. “I do appreciate a bit of unpredictability. It seems we’re in for an interesting evening indeed.” He gestured grandly towards the gathering, his tone dripping with feigned charm.

Arthur nods curtly before stepping back, positioning himself in a way that subtly yet clearly marks him as your protector, despite the dynamic between you. Bronte’s gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment longer, his amusement giving way to a more calculating expression.

Dutch stepped in, resuming his conversation with Bronte in an effort to ease the tension while you and Arthur stood off to the side. 

The men were offered cigars, and Arthur quickly placed one in his mouth. Before he was even offered a cutter, he bit down and tore the end off with his teeth, spitting the excess over the balcony in a manner that left your jaw hanging open in disbelief.

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s provoked. You roll your eyes at his display, a mix of irritation and slight amusement etched across your face.

“You know,” you whisper to him with a hint of exasperation, “you could at least pretend to have some manners.”

Arthur’s smirk widened into a cocky grin. “Right, forgot we’re here to put on a show,” he shot back, his voice dripping with playful insolence, making you roll your eyes.

When the attendant extended a match towards Dutch but pulled back before reaching Arthur, the gunslinger seized the attendant’s arm and held it in place, lowering his cigar to the flame. The boldness of his actions flustered you, leaving you a mix of irritation and an unexpected flurry of emotions that left you feeling perplexed.

Arthur dismissed the attendant with a nonchalant nod, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The attendant, evidently accustomed to such brusque behavior, retreated without protest.

You found yourself both exasperated and oddly captivated by the ease with which Arthur commanded the attention. His effortless defiance was infuriating, yet there was something compelling about his blatant refusal to conform to expectations, making it hard to ignore the allure behind his brazen demeanor. 

You quickly push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the conversation between Dutch and Bronte, doing your best to ignore the flush in your cheeks and the rapid beating of your heart.

After several exchanges between Dutch and Bronte, including another jibe from Bronte about cowboy lifestyle, which had elicited subtle pointed looks from you and the men you were with. 

“Those sure were the days,” Dutch simpered, his gaze on Bronte now more intense and focused. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Just as you were about to leave, Bronte turned to you, offering a slight bow.  “And you, Miss,” he said with a smirk, “do return if you the crowd down there becomes too dull.” His gaze shifted to Arthur. “‘Course you could bring your husband along, but I wouldn’t mind if you came alone.”

He held his gaze on you, lingering with a glint of amusement. You gave him a polite nod despite the discomfort you felt and turned to follow Dutch and Arthur. Even as you walked away, you could feel Bronte’s eyes on your back. 

The encounter left you with a sharp sense of irritation and a strong resolve to avoid any further interactions with him.

You glanced at Arthur, who had been waiting with Dutch by the door. Though his face showed no sign of emotion, you couldn’t miss the subtle clench of his jaw. You felt his hand gently place on your lower back, guiding you away.

The unexpected touch had caught you off guard, making you stiffen slightly as you struggled to process the unfamiliar gesture. It felt protective and oddly comforting, coming from someone who had been nothing but a source of irritation and friction.

You chanced another glance at Arthur, but his face remained expressionless. His hand lingered on your back for a moment before he withdrew it as quickly as he had placed it, his demeanor swiftly reverting to its usual hardness. 

The fleeting moment of unexpected closeness left you feeling unsettled, a mix of confusion and reluctant curiosity stirring within you.

You quickly reminded yourself that you were both still maintaining a façade, and this brief intimacy was likely just another part of the act. You focused on the task at hand, trying to push away the feelings and maintain the necessary distance between you.

Luca led the three of you back downstairs to rejoin the party, bidding you farewell before you head off with Dutch to meet Bill and Hosea outside.

“Gentlemen… and lady, let’s go ingratiate ourselves,” Dutch began before outlining the plan and giving everyone the freedom to mingle. “And steal nothing… unless it’s information,” Dutch added with a final nod before everyone dispersed.

With that, you follow closely behind Arthur as you both make your way down into the crowd, the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses filling the air. The curious glances of other partygoers followed you both, their eyes lingering with a mix of intrigue and scrutiny. 

He noticed a few men’s eyes drifting from him to you, their stares lingering with evident interest.

Arthur made a conscious effort to ignore the unwanted attention, though his irritation was palpable. 

Pushing down an unfamiliar urge stirring within him, Arthur quickly reminded himself to keep up with the act you two must play tonight.

He shifted to stand beside you, offering his arm with a practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral as he guided you through the crowd.

The absurdity of it all made him grumble under his breath about the ridiculous situation. With a sigh, he steered you toward a less crowded corner of the garden, seeking a quieter spot away from the throng of guests.

As you settled into a less conspicuous spot, you could feel the weight of Arthur’s tension. “I suppose this is where we’re supposed to make our mark,” you said, trying to break the silence. 

You watched as Arthur scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from one group to another, searching for anything useful.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment before he spoke, “Keep your eyes open for now,” he said quietly, his voice low and focused. “I’ll try to track down the mayor and speak with him. See if you can strike up a conversation with some of these folks and gather any useful information about where they’re stashin’ all their riches.”

"Alright, I’ll work the room while you schmooze with the mayor. Just don’t take too long—this place is already starting to wear me thin after that meeting with Bronte. I'm not keen on diving into more talk about the latest fashions and whatnot."

Arthur’s lips twitched in what might have been a small smirk. He inclined his head slightly before turning away and heading off.

You spent the better part of an hour making conversation with various guests, each interaction aimed at uncovering valuable intel on potential robbery targets. 

Maneuvering through the crowd, you engaged in light, seemingly innocuous chit-chat while discreetly probing for any mentions of high-value items or vulnerable security.

Despite your best efforts, luck seemed to evade you. Although, you did manage to uncover information about a stagecoach arriving next month, supposedly laden with valuable jewels. That was at least something.

You took a small sip from the glass of champagne you've snatched earlier in the evening, surveying the crowd. The sound of giggles and lively chatter drew your gaze, and you looked over to see Arthur deep in conversation with a group of women. You couldn't help but feel a wry amusement at the sight.

One of the women, with a clearly flirtatious gesture, placed her hand on Arthur’s arm and leaned in, her laughter echoing. The simple touch and her proximity sparked an uncomfortable feeling within you. 

You observed how Arthur subtly stepped back, skillfully deflecting her advances. Despite his efforts, the woman seemed oblivious to the fact that her attentions were being rebuffed. It was a masterful display of charm and diplomacy, leaving you with a mix of admiration and lingering discomfort. You took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the unexpected unease.

At that moment, Arthur glanced up and locked eyes with you. He gave you a wink, likely meant to provoke or tease, but instead, his gesture caused a reaction you hadn't anticipated. Your heart skipped a beat, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded your cheeks. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, stirring something deep inside you.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you narrowed your eyes at him and quickly turned away, trying to conceal the flush that had crept up on you.

You dashed to the nearest table, grabbing a bottle of champagne and quickly pouring yourself another glass. You downed it in one swift motion, hoping the crisp bubbles would offer a fleeting distraction from the swirl of emotions inside you.

As you pour yourself another glass, you hear someone speak up beside you, her voice tinged with curiosity. 

"Well, I must say, I’ve seen many ways to cope with a dull party, but this might be the most... efficient.”

You glanced at the voice and saw a woman smirking at you. She appeared slightly older than you and was dressed in a lavish blue gown that sparkled with every movement, her necklace glinting from the lamps. Her expression conveyed amusement. 

Feeling embarrassed to have been caught in your moment of inner turmoil, you attempted to regain your composure and replied with a hint of forced levity. “It’s quite the dull affair, isn’t it?”

The woman laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Thank goodness, someone who gets it.”

“You seem to be surviving it better than most. I imagine you’ve been through a few parties like these before?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to a distant corner of the room where a group of guests were deeply engrossed in animated conversation. “Too many, I’m afraid. After a while, it all becomes a blur of extravagant gowns and polite small talk. One learns to navigate these events with a certain... detachment.”

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve mastered the art of it. I could use a guide through this maze of high society myself. Any tips on surviving the evening without losing one’s sanity—or dignity?”

She grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Well, first off, always have a backup plan for when the conversation turns to the latest trends in hat feathers or the merits of various imported cheeses. For instance, I’ve found that nodding vigorously while muttering phrases like ‘absolutely fascinating’ works wonders.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I suspect I might still need a crash course in how to look like I’m genuinely interested in ‘the most enchanting new fabric designs’.”

She chuckled. “Well, when in doubt, fake it till you make it. Nothing says ‘I’m absolutely fine’ like a perfectly practiced smile and a glass of champagne held just so.”

You chuckle and raise your glass at her before taking a sip. A brief silence follows as you both sip from your glasses. The woman then speaks up, her tone warm and friendly, “I’m Eloise, by the way. It’s rare to find someone who sees through the façade of these high-society gatherings.”

You smile, offering her your name. “It seems we’re both on the same wavelength when it comes to these affairs.”

“So what brought you here tonight?”

“Oh, um… I’m just here to accompany my husband, he’s the one with the business connections, so I’m playing the dutiful spouse for the evening.”

Eloise raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Ah, the classic role of the ‘plus one.’ Now which one of these overdressed peacocks is your husband?” 

She sweeps her gaze across the crowd with exaggerated curiosity. “Is he the one with the ridiculous bow tie or the chap with the hat that looks like it’s been borrowed from a magic act?”

You raise your brows in amusement as you glance at the men she’s mentioned, finding the whole scene of tonight’s event even more absurd. Your gaze sweeps over the crowd until you spot Arthur. 

“Actually, that would be him right there.”

Eloise’s eyes follow your pointing finger and widen in genuine surprise. 

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaims, clearly taken aback. “I must say, he’s certainly not what I was expecting. Doesn't look like he belongs here, in a good way of course. He’s quite the rugged type—like one of those big, tough cowboys you’d see in a wild frontier town. You know the sort: strong, stocky, with a weathered charm that comes from living hard and facing rough challenges.”

The irony of her words makes you laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I must say, you two make quite a handsome pair.” 

You flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and awkwardness coloring your cheeks. Instead, you offer a polite smile and nod, playing along with the pretense. “Thank you,” you say in a steady voice, unsure of what else to say.

Arthur, briefly looking away from another person he was speaking to, catches your eye for the second time tonight. There’s a fleeting moment of connection—his gaze is intense, and the faintest smile plays at his lips—before he turns back to his conversation partner.

“I must admit,” she says, her tone light and teasing, “there’s more than just a bit of magic in the air between you two. It’s not every day you see such a striking balance. I do believe there’s a certain... chemistry here that’s hard to ignore. How delightful!”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a confused smile. “What do you mean?”

Eloise’s eyes twinkle with a knowing glint as she glances over at Arthur. “Oh, it’s really quite charming, the way he looks at you. There’s just something in his gaze as if he’s captivated by you in a way that could be missed. It’s rare to see someone look at their partner with such intensity and warmth these days.”

For a moment, you almost correct her, eager to clarify that you and Arthur aren’t actually together. But then you remember the need to maintain the ruse. You glance awkwardly at Arthur, trying to downplay the connection Eloise is suggesting.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you say clearly flustered, trying to sound casual but failing to hide your unease. “I mean, Arthur and I aren’t exactly... well, he’s just got this intense look, which I’m sure it’s nothing more than... you know, his way of being attentive. It’s just a bit of his nature.”

Her smile softens, eyes warm and genuine. “Oh, it’s clear to see if you look hard enough. Even in a crowded room, he seems to be drawn to you. It’s quite endearing.”

The sound of cracks echoed before you could think of a response, and the woman beside you lit up with genuine excitement.

“Finally, something exciting! It's been lovely chatting with you. I do hope we cross paths again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Eloise sends you a warm smile before hurrying off.

You send her a genuine smile before you turn your gaze upward to the sky, where faint glimmers of fireworks begin to light up the night. The display added a splash of color to the darkened sky, creating a stark contrast to the opulence of the garden below. 

As you watched the vibrant bursts, your thoughts drifted back to the conversation you had with Eloise, trying to process her comments. Her words lingered in your mind, stirring a mix of curiosity and confusion. 

The idea that whatever is between you and Arthur might actually convey something deeper, something affectionate, felt almost surreal given the dynamics between you two and your perspective on your relationship with him.

Perhaps Abigail was right; the more you spent time with Arthur, the more you learned about him and saw him in a new light. What had once seemed like mere pretense or forced partnership now hinted at a connection that transcended your initial expectations. 

The way he moved, the way he spoke, the moments of unguarded sincerity—it all started to paint a different picture. The possibility that these moments could be more than just part of the act began to take root, stirring a blend of curiosity and apprehension within you.

You quickly down your drink before setting the empty glass on the table.

Suddenly, a rough hand wrapping around your wrist jolts you out of your thoughts and you turn to see Arthur who all but tugged you along behind him. 

You let out a scowl. “Hey! What the-”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, a mix of amusement and determination on his face. “Come on, we just caught wind that the Mayor’s gotten somethin’ from Cornwall. Dutch reckons we oughta figure out what it is, make sure we ain’t missin’ nothin’ crucial.”

“And you need me because?” You asked with slight irritation as he continued to pull you along.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a low, firm tone. “I need you to keep watch, and your lock-pickin’ skills could come in handy… ‘sides, you’re my wife don’t forget.” He added with a teasing smirk. 

“Can’t have you wanderin’ off by yourself lookin’ like I’ve neglected you. That wouldn’t reflect too well on me now, would it?”

You shot him a glare, yanking your wrist free from his grip. “Could’ve just asked me”

Arthur’s lips twitched with a hint of a smirk. “You looked so wrapped up in the fireworks, darlin’, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

You bit back a retort, your frustration mingling with a begrudging understanding of his point.  “Don’t call me that,” you said, a hint of irritation in your voice at the use of the nickname. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. Try to keep up now.”

Trailing closely behind Arthur as you followed the servant, you effortlessly weaved through the spectators, who were too engrossed in watching the fireworks to notice you. 

The servant circled around to the side of the house and ascended a small set of steps leading out of the garden. He paused briefly to engage in a conversation with someone before slipping inside through a side door.

The both of you followed cautiously, making sure to stay out of sight. Inside, you overheard the man berating a maid before he made his way up the stairs, retracing your steps to the upper levels where you had previously been.

Just before reaching the landing, Arthur raises his hand, halting you in your tracks. He peers over the edge of the wall, watching as the servant enters the locked room, heads to a desk, and inserts a key into a drawer to place the letter inside. The servant then disappears further into the room, the sound of a door closing signaling that it is time for you and Arthur to make your move.

Arthur moves first, effortlessly slipping inside through the wide-open door left by the servant. You quickly scan the area to ensure it's clear before following him.

He makes his way over to the desk and tugs at the drawer, only to find it locked. Grabbing a letter opener from the table, he attempts to pry it open. You watch with amusement as he grunts in frustration, struggling to get it to budge.

“Honestly, watching you fumble with that is almost painful,” you remarked, making Arthur roll his eyes and throw up his hands in a gesture that clearly invited you to take over. With a sigh, you stepped in, gently nudging him aside before kneeling down to get eye-level with the lock.

Pulling a pin from your updo, your hair falls loosely over your back, leaving your style in a half-up, half-down look. You insert the pin into the lock, and after a few moments of fumbling, a triumphant smile spreads across your face at the satisfying click of the lock opening.

You stand back up and look over at Arthur, giving him a smug smile when you catch him staring. You raise an eyebrow, and he quickly clears his throat, shifting his gaze away as if caught in the act of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

"I, uh, never seen you with your hair down before," he comments before he can think twice, his voice trailing off as he leans over the drawer, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks. 

"Nice work," he adds, his eyes momentarily meeting yours before darting away.

You raise an eyebrow at his flustered demeanor, the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement, “I’m glad you approve.” 

You watch as he sifts through the drawer's contents until his hands close around a book with a piece of paper inside. He briefly reads the paper, nods, and then tears it in half, slipping the pieces into his suit pocket.

“You got it?” 

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” he replies, glancing around making sure no one is watching before heading out the door with you following closely behind

Just as you were about to move down the stairs, the creaking sound of someone coming up halted both of your tracks. Without warning, Arthur grabbed you, pushing you gently but firmly against the wall beside the staircase, his body pressing close to yours. His arms caged around the sides of your head, creating a tight, protective barrier.

The sudden proximity left you acutely aware of his body against yours, his chest nearly brushing yours as his arms trapped you in place.

His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race even faster. His brow furrowed slightly as if he were struggling to control a rush of emotions.

The closeness had clearly caught both of you off guard, the charged atmosphere between you almost palpable. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure.

As he held you there, his expression softened just a fraction, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath his usually guarded demeanor. His voice, though still firm, carried a hint of concern as he leaned close to whisper, "Just stay still and quiet.”

The proximity of his breath against your ear made the moment feel even more intimate, amplifying the unexpected connection between you. The closeness, once marked by animosity, now seemed charged with a different kind of tension—one that was both electrifying and confusing.

As you stood there, the boundaries between duty and emotion blurred, and the shared space between you felt charged with unspoken understanding and vulnerability.

His eyes, usually hard with resolve or irritation, softened as they locked with yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a flicker of something raw and unguarded.

The emotion he held in his eyes made you reconsider the hostility that had defined your interactions. In that moment, the anger and resentment seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more complex understanding of the man standing so close to you.

The sound of footsteps drawing nearer to the top of the stairs heightened the urgency of the moment and Arthur’s gaze shifted to you once more.

One of his arms lowered from the wall behind you, and he placed his hand softly at the back of your neck. His touch lingered without applying too much pressure. You felt a shiver at the contact of his hand on your neck, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected jolt of emotion through you, bringing a surge of feelings you had been trying to suppress all night.

The gentle warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze, creating a palpable connection that seemed to heighten the gravity of your precarious situation.

Your heart pounded as you met his intense gaze, which held a rare blend of sincerity and vulnerability that was almost disarming.

“You trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a sincerity that cut through the tension of the moment.

You hesitated, the weight of his question hanging between you. The proximity of his body and the depth of his gaze left you momentarily breathless. “Why should I?” you whispered back, your voice betraying a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Arthur’s eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer. “Because right now, it’s the only way we’re getting out of this,” he replied, his tone resolute but gentle.

In that charged silence, the dynamics of your relationship were shifting. You felt the usual barriers between you—formed by past conflicts and mutual distrust—began to dissolve, replaced by an unspoken understanding that was both electrifying and comforting. The anger and rivalry giving way to a fragile trust and an unexpected tenderness. 

With the footsteps slowly growing nearer, you saw a flicker of sincerity in his eyes that made you question your own doubts. You nodded slightly, trying to steady your breath. “Alright,” you whispered.

Arthur's lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and determination. “You gotta say it, sweetheart,” he urged softly.

Your mouth curled into a slight smirk as you looked up at him, your heart racing with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. “I trust you,” you said, the words feeling like a pact forged in the heat of the moment.

In a quick, decisive motion, he leans in and presses a firm, purposeful kiss to your lips, filled with urgency. The initial touch is electrifying, but as the kiss deepens, it becomes a release of suppressed feelings, a flood of emotions long held in check.

The kiss is fervent and consuming, each moment stretching out as if to make up for lost time. His lips are warm and insistent against yours, and there’s a raw, desperate quality to the way he kisses you. It feels as though every emotion he’s been holding back is being poured into this single, intense connection.

Your own lips respond with equal fervor, the kiss becoming a mutual surrender to the feelings that have been building between you. The world around you fades into the background, the only reality being the overwhelming sensation of his kiss. 

Arthur’s hand that had been pressed firmly against the wall, now frame your face with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of the kiss. His grip is both tender and possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to him, unwilling to let go.

The sound of someone clearing their throat suddenly jolts you back to reality. 

A servant, caught off guard by the intimate display before him, stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened in surprise, clearly unprepared for the passionate exchange unfolding before him.

You and Arthur break the kiss, though the intensity of the moment lingers in the charged air between you. With a quick, shared glance, you and Arthur both adjust your demeanor, the brief intimacy giving way to the reality of the mission.

The man, realizing he has intruded on a private and critical moment, clears his throat, clearly flustered at having walked in on the intimate scene before him, face flushing with embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but this area is restricted to guests unless otherwise accompanied,” he stammers.

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, but his expression quickly returns to a more controlled demeanor. He gives the servant a nod of acknowledgment. “Sorry ‘bout that, partner. Seems my wife and I took a wrong turn and found ourselves in the wrong spot. We were just about to head on out.”

You, still caught in the afterglow of the kiss, straighten yourself and try to regain your composure. The abrupt interruption leaves you with a swirl of mixed emotions—embarrassment, irritation, and a lingering sense of affection. You cast a quick glance at Arthur, who responds with a subtle nod, signaling that it's time to move on.

Still visibly flustered, the servant offers a hurried apology, stepping aside with a rigid posture and a face flushed a deep shade of red. He tries to give you both space as you and Arthur hurry down the stairs, the charged atmosphere from the kiss still lingering between you. The abrupt return to reality sharpens your sense of urgency.

Arthur takes a deep breath, stepping back as his gaze meets yours for a moment longer. He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates before speaking again. “We should get a move on and find Dutch and the rest ‘em.”

You noticed his hesitation but decided to brush it off, nodding in agreement. “Sure, let’s see what’s next. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

You find Dutch, Hosea, and Bill on the first-floor balcony. 

“Ah, there you are!” Dutch exclaims, a smile on his face. He then turns to Arthur. “Find anything?”

Arthur gives a nod and taps his chest where he’s tucked the letter. “I think so.”

“Great. I think we’re done here.”

The four of you move to follow Dutch, briefly exchanging information with Hosea and Bill. Hosea mentions a potential robbery job targeting a big city bank, outlining the possible opportunities involved. You share what you’ve gathered earlier about a stagecoach expected to pass through Lemoyne in the next few weeks and the valuable jewels and cash it carries.

Dutch, Hosea, and Bill push past the front entrance, walking ahead. Just before you can follow, Arthur calls your name and gently grabs your arm, pulling you aside.

In the quiet corridor, away from the others, you face him. His eyes are a mixture of resolve and something else you can’t quite place. “Listen, I, uh…,” he trails off, his voice low, seeming to wrestle with his words for a moment before finally meeting your gaze. 

Your heart races, expecting him to address what happened between you earlier and the emotions that followed. 

Instead, Arthur’s tone is hesitant and detached. “‘Bout what happened earlier… I don’t want you thinkin’ it meant more than it did. We can’t afford to get all wrapped up in nothin’ personal.”

His dismissal hits you like a cold wave.

You had hoped for some acknowledgment of the shared moment, perhaps a sign that it meant something to him. Instead, his words feel like a sharp rebuff, making you question everything you thought you understood about what happened tonight.

“What are you talking about?” you demand, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. Your frustration and anger boil over. 

Arthur’s gaze falters for a moment before he regains his composure. He runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t think—” he begins, but his voice trails off as he lets out a frustrated sigh. 

He steps back, clearly distancing himself. “Look–I can’t offer you anything more than what we have. Let’s just focus on ending this job and not let personal feelings complicate things.”

You scoff, feeling the sting of his words. Personal feelings? 

“Right, so all that back there was just for show, was it? Just keeping up appearances?”

Arthur’s expression falters, and he hesitates. He opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, his frustration evident as he struggles to find the right thing to say. 

He turns to you, his expression now seeming emotionless and cold. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like nothin’ mattered. It’s just… I’m not tryin’ to make things too complicated. It’s best to keep things straightforward right now.”

The words and his tone cuts through you like a knife, the brief connection you shared now feels like a cruel tease, an illusion of intimacy shattered by the harsh reality.

His coldness is a stark contrast to the warmth you felt moments before, leaving you grappling with a mix of hurt and frustration. 

What started as mutual disdain had evolved into something more complex, yet now it feels like it's spiraling back into that familiar animosity.

You’d hoped that beneath the hostility and barbed comments, the genuine connection hinted at earlier tonight might bridge the gap between your conflicting dynamic. But now, it feels as if his rejection is pulling you back to square one—a place locked in an endless cycle of arguments and misunderstandings.

The idea that the warmth of those moments might have been nothing more than a strategic move or a fleeting distraction makes you question if there was ever truly a chance for something different between you two.

God, how naive you were to think there could be a sliver of something more between you and Arthur.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to focus on the task ahead. You push aside the personal turmoil, resolving to keep your interactions with Arthur as they were before—distant and guarded. 

With a blank expression masking the tumultuous emotions roiling beneath, you reply, “Fine. Let’s just get this night over with and move on. I’ll keep any ‘personal feelings’ out of the way if that makes it better for you.”

You turn away, forcing yourself not to say anything further that might reveal your feelings. As you do, you didn't miss the brief flash of hurt and sadness in Arthur’s expression before he quickly masks it with his usual stoic demeanor.

Finally rejoining the others, you enter the stagecoach and take your seat from before. Arthur takes his place beside you, the space between you charged with unspoken words and lingering hurt. 

The rift between the two of you feels even more pronounced, a painful reminder of what might have been overshadowed by the harsh reality of your circumstances.

Hosea and Dutch, seated across from you, seem to be blissfully unaware of the personal turmoil that has unfolded between you and Arthur, their conversation flowing naturally as they discuss the next steps of the gang’s plans.

The stagecoach rolls forward, and you turn to look out the window, drowning yourself in the passing scenery. The kiss and its aftermath now feel like an unspoken wound, deepening the complexity of your already fraught relationship and leaving you to grapple with the emotional fallout alone.

A/N: Okay so that ending was definitely not a happy one. After exploring where the story might go and experimenting more with the writing, I've decided that I mighttttt just make a Part 2, which might or might not include some smut hehe... So please stay tuned!

Thanks again for reading!

Read Part Two Here

[calisources]

𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on this meme have been taking from different media and sources. They all touch on the topics of romance, difficult and forbidden love, mostly setting in the political schemes of war and peace and royal court. Change names, locations and nouns and you see fit. Some lines might have foul language.

Sometimes we hurt the ones we love, but hurting ourselves to avoid it doesn’t make it better.

Could someone treat you badly and still love you? 

Even so, in the midst of this complicated love, there is a holy union.

Love is complicated. It’s sticky. It’s bliss and it’s a mix of emotions. It’s not easy.

I hated him now because I has loved him then.

 I'm not like you. I can't afford to be reckless.

When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you?

Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact I'm an heir to the fucking throne? 

You at least have the option to not choose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family.

She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

Your wish is my command, my queen.

You can always leave my service.

Don’t you see, Diana? If I did that, I’d break not one but two hearts. For I know you love me, though you haven’t said it yet.

You do know me. I love you so much, it sometimes terrifies me.

You are going to regret that, Your Magical Regalness.

Just because I am  a prince doesn’t make my life a fairy tale.

So kiss the others for all I care, but don’t hold back with me.

You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.

He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.

I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.

 I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.

You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king.

Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.

There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.

You can't treat royalty like people with normal perverted desires.

We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.

...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.

I respect you as my king, and I respect you as my father, but I do not respect you as a man.

You're the most important person I've ever met.  And I should have never met you at all.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

I find that happiness can always be recollected in tranquillity, Ma’am.

It's almost impossible for those who have had an intimate relationship to return to a formal one.

I question if within you is any magic.

You’re my princess, right? You were always going to be my princess, no matter what you were born.

The king is a saint and cannot rule, and his son is a devil and should not.

For kings, the world is extremely simplified: All men are subjects.

A king deserves reverence when being addressed.

Yes, she had abused her title and station before, but for minor stuff, not to steal a warship.

You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.

When God calls you into His Kingdom, your way of life will reflect royalty if you serve Him with loyalty.

My royal status is both a shield that protects me and a sword that impales my heart.

You know, for a pampered princess, you have a certain gift for violence.

I have to be seen to be believed.

Kings needn’t raise their voices to be heard.

That is your very own myth. The idea that how you are born or the name you are given dictate the sort of person you really are.

I know that names have power. That is why I cannot let her forget hers. 

You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.

A bad king revels in his importance. A good one hates his office. 

Crowns belong to those that serve.

She was their witch queen, and they adored her.

Beatrice is going to be queen someday.

Kings are only kings because one ancestor was quicker than another to place a crown on his own head.

Queen, do not allow a commoner to dethrone you. Own that throne. You are royalty.

A throne won in blood will soon be drenched in it.

My mother once told me that everything is fuelled by either money or sex, because both lead to power.

Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.

She holds a nation’s fate within her shaking hands. She wears a crown that never should’ve been hers.

My reign has been anything but traditional. Let’s not start now, shall we?

Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky.

Every girl thinks about growing up in a palace. Few ever ponder living in a cage.

Climb up the family tree of any of them high enough and you’ll find a commoner who dared to take a chance.

Am I forbidden to do what all may do?

My arrival saved the kingdom, while his only reiterated that his blood would fill the throne one day.

Slow down there, princess. How do you know what kind of first impression you gave me?

So none of the young men we encountered during our season gave you hot pants for them?

If stubborness were all that was needed to be a good queen, I'd rule the world.

I’d decided that I was going to stop dressing like a princess and start dressing like a queen.

Don’t touch me. Don’t tell me how beautiful my eyes are, how soft my hair is, how you love to hear my voice. Don’t. Don’t pretend you are falling in love with me. 

I know you are lying, and every word you say hurts even more. 

Before the wedding, and the bedding, when I will have to take you as my lord and husband?

I may not be a king or a queen, but I'll be damned if I'm not treated like royalty.

He is fragile, like a prince of ice, of glass.

It is natural that men are going to gather round me, hoping for a smile.

Men only treat women like princesses when they want to use them like prostitutes.

You can smile when your heart is breaking because you're a woman.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but think about him.

Anyone can attract a man. The trick is to keep him.

To save my son, I would plot with the devil himself.

Only fools wait when their enemies are coming, to see if they may prove to be friends.

When a man wants a mystery, it is generally better to leave him mystified. Nobody loves a clever woman.

I wanted the heat and the sweat and the passion of a man that I could love and trust.

I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for your touch.

And you are the sort of mistress a man doesn't bother to marry. Sons or no sons.

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You and Kento looked the picture of marital bliss as you were led down the hallways of the temple for your joint interview. Your hand felt so small and soft in his; he opened every door for you, and you rewarded him with twinkling smiles that, although part of the act, had him feeling weak at the knees.

Kento's pat to your bottom as you stepped into the waiting room had you giggling, and your guide, an elderly woman in a kimono, rolled her eyes fondly at the young couple before her; there will be children running around here in no time, she thought, none-the-wiser to your schemes.

With the door closing behind her, you turned to Kento and slapped at his chest as he chuckled, pretending to defend himself-- "Was the bum pat too much?" he mused as you scoffed at him. Having far too much fun together, you giggled like teenagers before you met his eyes, fully serious now.

"Remember- my technique only works on Curses, not humans," you reminded Kento in low tones. You knew you'd never be accepted into the cult if they believed you to be capable of influencing the thoughts or choices of their members. Kento nodded, stern now as he gripped your shoulders and gazed down at you.

"And I'm in charge here," he whispered, hushed and insistent, "you're just my quiet wife, not a threat at all." This wasn't what you had agreed, and you opened your mouth to argue, but Kento silenced you with a look. "Please. You're safer if you're overlooked. And we both know you're the brains of this," he insisted as you scoffed again, "so let's make it easier for you to harvest information. Let's have you totally ignored." Narrowing your eyes at him, you knew he was right, though your stomach churned at Kento wanting to make himself the target if your cover was blown.

Kento adjusted his tie, running his fingers through his hair, making your breath hitch in your chest. He continued, convicted but disapproving, "This cult is likely a sexist, misogynist cesspit like the rest of them, anyway. Bold women frighten them," he spat.

"Kento, I don't think I've ever been meek my whole life," you smiled wryly at him. Kento's lips quirked, sardonic and approving.

"I know. It's one of my favourite things about you."

When the door opened to two older men, both roughly in their sixties, your blush and Kento's closeness brought to mind a young couple caught necking in a cupboard, and the two men shared a knowing glance. Kento turned his back to you, bowing deeply to the men, and you offered hushed bows and greetings behind him, ostensibly already the meek Mrs.Tsuda.

"Please come through, Mr and Mrs Tsuda," the more cheerful of the two men offered. He was tall, soft and approachable, with white hair and an old zippered cardigan. The second merely glowered at Kento and you, his dark hair peppered with grey, looking stiff and pressed in a crisp black suit. Kento took your hand firmly and you squeaked as he pulled you through short corridors to the interview room, which was...an old dojo, you noted, opening onto a lush and trimmed traditional Japanese garden.

Kneeling on ceremony, you remained silent as you sat to the side of and just behind Kento. His physique now radiated no warmth towards you, and you sat to attention, appearing brittle and ready to ask "how high?" if Kento commanded you to "jump". You felt a pang of success in your gut when the two men appraised you and Kento, approving of your apparent dominant-subservient marital dynamics.

"Well now...might I start by saying what a delight it is that such an eager young couple has shown interest in becoming a part of our community," began the kindly man, "and how eager we are to find out more about you both."

Pausing for a moment for tea to be brought in, the man continued, "Allow me to introduce us both. My name is Ono Shinzu, and my younger brother here is Ono Tatsu. But in the community, we are generally known as The Fathers, if you please." Father Tatsu's eyes remained narrowed, his mouth set in a grim line, paying you no significant attention, but boring holes into Kento's face. Kento was totally unfazed, not an easy man to intimidate.

"We have of course read your files and applications with great interest, and, I'm sure you don't mind, have run some thorough preliminary background checks on you both," Father Shinzu leaned across to you and Kento conspiratorially, "which you'll be pleased to know found nothing...undesirable." Kento hummed his approval, leaning across to Father Shinzu.

"Absolutely, Father. All of my skeletons are very well buried," Kento whispered to him, equally conspiratorial. Father Shinzu, tickled, clapped his dry old hands together and laughed.

"Splendid my boy, we're delighted, we really are. Now as I'm sure you're both aware, our Community is most interested in expanding the Jujutsu Sorcerer population far beyond its current level. The current Sorcerer influence on the...direction our great country is taking is disappointingly minimal. The average man and woman in the population needs far more...guidance, shall we say, on the path ahead. We should be delighted to see our Community's leaders and children across positions of public influence all across this fine country. Don't you agree?" You and Kento both agreed enthusiastically, to the approval of the Fathers.

Soon, enough small-talk had passed that the Fathers seemed wholly convinced of your dedication to their cause. Father Tatsu spoke up abruptly, cutting across his brother.

"To the matter of your cursed-techniques. We shall start with the lady, I suppose," Father Tatsu toned, a light sneer evident in his voice. You squeaked, looking to Kento for permission to speak. He nodded once, briskly, nervous for you.

"Oh, well I erm..." you stuttered, the perfect mild wife, "I'm not really much of a fighter I suppose. I have a way of influencing the decisions a Curse will make." You laughed, reedy and tinkling, "You know, they always scared me so much, really I just convince them to leave me well alone!" You laughed again, demure as the Fathers offered you polite smiles, nodding approvingly.

Nailed it, thought Kento, wishing he could show you how impressed he was. The attention shifted quickly to him.

"But you, Mr.Tsuda. By your own words, you're something of a...powerhouse, if you will," Father Tatsu pressed, eyes narrowed again. Kento nodded, puffing his chest out, seeming so arrogant, so unlike himself.

"Grade 1 Sorcerer level, if we're going by those demeaning standards," Kento huffed.  Kento explained his ratio technique to the Fathers, sparing no detail. Father Tatsu's eyes glimmered, greedy and fascinated.

Father Shinzu spoke up, "Whilst I would be delighted to observe this technique today, yours does sound rather destructive, Mr.Tsuda, and I'm quite fond of my little dojo. But, we have had several lovely young couples join our cause this month, so we've organised a little...dinner and spar for tomorrow night for you to all showcase your talents. I assume yourself and your wife would like to attend?"

The penny dropped. We're in, you and Kento both thought, the room suddenly all bows, paperwork and handshakes.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"That was vile," you sulked, rummaging through your suitcase as Kento chuckled at you, looking through the cupboards in your new home. Your little marital house within the complex was surprisingly spacious, wood-pannelled and screen-doored, tidy and unassuming. It did, however, have its own onsen, enclosed behind high walls outside your living area. You pictured Kento, bare-chested and wet, toned arms and long-fingered hands beckoning you to the water like a Siren.

Blushing furiously, you slapped your own cheeks. Kento peered round a corner at the sound, frowning at you. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yes, absolutely!" you fumbled, "it's just, they've uh...they've been through my suitcase, I think." Kento gulped down the lump in his throat as he saw you shift cute lacey bras and underwear around your suitcase, trying to reorganise it. He coughed, grumbling to himself.

"Yes, well...no illicit materials allowed here I suppose," as he backed around the corner again, once again pondering his chances of getting through this mission alive with his dignity intact.

Foiling his plan to hide his flushed cheeks, you ducked round the corner to him, eyebrows wiggling wickedly, "Does that mean we'll have to make our own fun?"

Kento nearly choked on his own spit, but Uno reverse'd you instead, "Well, help me put the futon together, my love, and we shall see." The smile slipped off your face, to Kento's amusement.

"Futon? Singular?"

Kento began constructing your bed, back to you and trying his best to just keep it together, man. He was too busy lost in the thought of you, stretched out like a goddess, in some of those delicious underwear sets, bare legs tangling with his in the warmth of the futon as he rolled you onto him, clamping your legs around his hips as he--

And you stood behind Kento, fluffing pillows, as you imagined Kento, hot and desperate and moaning your name, as your mouth worked around him under the covers, wondering how he tastes, his hips bucking against your mouth as he--

The futon was constructed, Kento paying vast attention to detail in his internal turmoil, pillows fluffed to full attention by you as you tortured yourself with impure thoughts.

"Obviously, I'll sleep on the sofa," Kento offered, always a gentleman.

"No way. You need the sleep more than me,  especially when this comes down to a fight." Kento scoffed something about years of poor sleep and managing just fine, thank you, and the two of you found yourself bickering lightly, no venom, but as if you really were--

"Some old married couple!" you snapped at Kento, and he gazed at you fondly, his fingers holding his own chin and barely concealing his soft smile. You flushed, hitting him with a pillow, "So you can stop looking at me like that!"

Kento sighed, heading to the bathroom and coming back with his toothbrush, "Enough," he said with such finality that you couldn't offer any further complaint, "we're professionals, we are friends, and we happen to need to sleep beside each other for a little while. I'm certain we're both adult enough that this need not be a problem."

You felt mortified, certain that Kento's ability to remain cool about this was evidence of his unreciprocated feelings, and you almost felt tears of embarrassment prickle in your eyes before containing yourself again.

Wordlessly, you both got ready for bed; you slipped under the covers quickly, Kento only seeing the briefest glimpse of satin shorts against your plush thighs. Kento pulled at the neckline of the t-shirt he never normally wore for bed, usually bare-chested, and wondering if his pyjamas did anything to hide his partial erection. Both rolling away, your backs to each other, the room dark and still aside from the faint buzz of insects in your garden, you and Kento were woefully unaware that your torture was completely mutual.

+-+-+-+-+-+--+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento woke in the night, taking a moment to remember where he was and why he was there. Eyes adjusting to the night, he heard soft whimpers and frantic shuffling against the sheets in the dark. Reaching out, Kento softly spoke your name. His fingertips reached your face and flinched back- wet, he thought, cupping your cheek with his hand, she's crying.

You were, like every night, lost in the nightmare of your last mission, doomed to watch your friend die again and again. Kento gulped, desperate to help you, but afraid to make you uncomfortable. As you called out for help in your sleep, Kento couldn't help himself as he slid his arms around you, sitting up and sliding you gently against his chest.

You jolted awake, arms held close to you by his, so warm and secure, that you cried harder. Kento said nothing, rocking and shushing you like a child as you gripped his t-shirt and sobbed your heart out. You poured out your fears to Kento, weakened and vulnerable.

"We've made a mistake coming here," you sobbed, clinging onto him now, "I can't lose you like I lost her, it would kill me, and you're so bloody chivalrous, I know you'll go out of your way to keep me safe."

"As I damn well should," Kento urged, voice tight and determined. You shook your head against his chest, your ear tickling as he grumbled at you. He held both sides of your face now, pulling it gently into a strip of moonlight glowing in through the windows. He stared into you, your eyes sparkling with tears, nose pink and lips puffy, and gulped as he stopped himself pulling you in for a kiss there and then. With your tear-stained cheeks squashed between Kento's broad palms, you felt like a child, and avoided his gaze.

Hands occupied, Kento gently bopped his nose against yours, forcing you to look at him.

"You're going to be fine. I'm going to be fine. We'll be out of here and going for our usual coffee date in no time. Trust me."

You nodded, sniffles abating as he dropped a kiss to your forehead. Both shuffling back to your sides of the bed, you lay quietly in the dark, blushing furiously.

Kento tortured himself internally, wondering if you had noticed when he accidentally referred to your trips out for coffee while working as dates.

You had.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Waking up the next morning, sunlight streaming through the screen doors, you sighed and moved to roll over. You found yourself totally restrained by thick forearms, and your internal temperature instantly shot up by what felt like a hundred degrees.

Kento slept, soft hair mussed by sleep and breath tickling your ears. And, it seemed, he was a cuddler.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Chapter 3: Deadly Games, link HERE!

[hungiehipo]

Macdennis timeline

Macdennis

The 16 season long situationship filled to the brim with sociopathic tendencies, mutual abuse, and disorganized attachment between a man burdened by Catholic guilt who doesn't want love unless it hurts and a deeply dissociated man who can't be authentic unless he's immersed in a facade. And they were roommates.

What can be said that hasn't been said before? Probably nothing... still here's this.

S1-S4 PRE-MACDENNIS

This is before Mac and Dennis find themselves unwittingly thrust into a relationship neither is aware of. There is a homoerotic undertone, albeit usually as more of a joke than anything else. Neither has realized that their feelings for the other goes beyond friendship.

(Season 1 ep 1) Famous tequila scene.

(season 3 ep 4) Mac says I love you to Dennis.

(season 3 ep 15) gang dances their asses off macs dance pantomiming blowing Dennis.

(season 4 ep 1) Man hunters. Dennis puts his balls in Mac's mouth when he's sleeping, and mac shaves his pubes and glues them to Dennis' face.

(season 4 ep 4) Charlie asks Dennis if he still gets the feeling Mac wants to bang them, and that's why Mac makes project badass, Dennis agrees.

(season 4 ep 13) Nightman cometh. Mac gets a boner when Dennis' character pantomimes sex with him in the play. Dennis rips macs heart out (this comes back later)

S5-S7 MACDENNIS INTENTIONAL

Season 5 Macdennis hits like a truck. Dennis has feelings and they are BIG. We the audience witness a masterful display of homoerotic desire wrapped in a stunning amount of cognitive dissonance until "breakup" where Dennis is forced to confront the reality of his feelings. Following this crucial turning point, we are treated to a series of back and forth assertions of no-homo, feelings getting hurt, and lashing out. In order, we get Dennis introducing the dennis system, mac fighting gay marriage, Dennis getting married and kicking Mac out of the apartment, and finally Dennis getting a divorce.

Things are notably different between them post-divorce, marked by a mutual retreat from both Mac and Dennis. There's a shared reluctance to appear overly invested in each other romantically. This dynamic persists into Season 7, where Mac and Dennis noticeably maintain a considerable distance compared to previous seasons. In my honest opinion, this season exhibits the least Macdennis of any. Dennis being unhappy with Mac's weight gain likely contributes to this.

(Season 5 episode 1) Dennis suggests that they pretend to be gay married realtors. Some will say that being gay married was not essential to the scheme. Some would even say that to sell the being married thing Dennis did NOT have to be that touchy touchy. Source of baby boy nickname that has penetrated every corner of AO3 macden fanfiction.

(season 5 episode 8) PADDY'S THONG DUDE!!! PADDY'S THONG! I'm not wearing these because I'm comfortable I'm wearing them cause i wanna turn YOU on, you know what I'm saying??? you get it???

Mac jerks off a shotgun and blows its load in a kneeling dennis' gaping mouth.

(season 5 episode 9) They break up. In the podcast they say that this is a romcom. Dee points out that they act like an old married couple. Realization dawns on dennis's face and he proceeds to freak the hell out. Why? I mean... he knew it was true. We learn that they have a weekly movie night. Mac is jealous of video store clerk guy. We learn that they check in. Deleted scene at the end has Dennis blurting out that Mac has "beautiful lips" and again looking horrified.

(season 5 ep 10) Immediately after break up Dennis introduces his fool proof system for attracting WOMeN with big BIG BOOB for SEX.

(season 6 ep 1) Mac goes on a rampage against gay marriage after just last season being fake gay married to dennis. Dennis immediately gets married and kicks Mac out of the apartment. (Dennis also says he doesn't "have feelings", which Mac internalizes and it comes back in season 12)

(season 6 ep 2) dennis immediately divorces said woman and lets his boy toy (his words) come home.

radio silence all of season 7 except....

(season 7 ep 1) They go to the doctor, mac tries to carry dennis out bridal style. Dennis eats a chimichanga with Mac (romantic).

(season 7 ep 6) cold open, Dennis is holding Macs forearm while they watch the TV.

-season 7 we also learn that Mac slept with Dennis' prom date and it was very easy.

S8-S9 The kiss, the date, and the platonic naked wrestling shower scene

I believe this is the point where Mac starts to get the feeling something is off. (Again, Dennis realized in season 5). Mac has far more dissonance about it though, he like just wants to be best bros with Dennis for life, cause Dennis is like soooo cool. He is definitely not in love with Dennis he just loves Dennis like, as a blood brother. HE IS NOT GAY BECAUSE THAT IS A SIN. HE SERIOUSLY LOVES GOD A LOT.

In Season 8's Dines out Dennis delivers a speech wherein he admits that he thinks of Mac as a man who knows exactly who he is. Season 9's Mac day shows the total elimination of this belief after a full day filled with Macs self hating homophobia contrasting with his out and proud cousin "country mac".

(Season 8 ep 2) Whelp, God only knows how we ended up here after a drought like season 7, but 8 kicks off with a bang with an out of nowhere kissing attempt from Mac… right in front of Charlie too. By the look on Dennis' face I'm going to guess this has never happened before. I genuinely wonder what compelled him to do this…. like….is he just always thinking about it and forgot hes not supposed to do it for real? was it instinct?

(Season 8 ep 6) Dennis deals with emotional numbness, and nothing he tries makes him feel anything until the end of the episode where he feels too much after seeing his dead mother. This is not overtly macdennis but I think it demonstrates how he struggles with emotion and why Mac believes that Dennis does not have feelings.

(season 8 episode 9) Mac and Dennis are going on a fancy dinner date every single month. Monthly dinner and weekly movie nights.... anyway. Mac is upset that Dennis won't say something nice to him so Dennis does a speech to the whole restaurant. Yes he did kinda do it to dunk on frank and charlie. Yes he loved the attention. I think he meant what he said.

(season 8 episode 10) Dennis gets turned on by Mac totally intellectually dominating him while giving his anti science presentation. Also in the car at the end Mac was flirting.

(season 9 episode 3) Mac day. Praise God. Dennis is drowning in a sea of Macs delusion. Mac believes himself to be totally badass and not at all gay while repeatedly demonstrating the opposite. Country Mac shows Dennis what Mac could be if he was all the things he said he was and just embraced that he was gay. Dennis resents Mac.

(season 9 episode 6) saves the day. Macs fantasy involves Dennis wailing over his corpse, proclaiming his love. Dennis' fantasy is interesting, revealing his fear that Mac would abandon him the moment his sexual appeal fades. He envisions the possibility of being loved for more than his sexual abilities, yet his declaration of love precludes Jackie being hit by a car, leading to the loss of her breasts, and Dennis choosing to leave her. Lot to unpack here.

(season 9 episode 8) Mac and Dennis are trying to catch a rat. Mac tries to bash the rat, but Dennis says that its not about brute force, its about seduction. He turns on some romantic music and they both sway back and forth, looking into each others eyes, Mac takes a step forward, but Dee enters the room and the second dennis sees her he spins around and walks away.

I also feel the need to point out that Mac and Dennis went to high school together, and Macs nickname in high school was....well... Ronnie the rat.

(season 9 episode 9) Mac writes into the script of lethal weapon a scene where he and Dennis, I kid you not, wrestle naked in a shower. If you can call it wrestling... though it's more accurately described as an opportunity for an intense, naked embrace.

(season 9 episode 10) Cute food fight scene. Their apartment burns down.

s10-11 Out of their natural environment

Following the incineration of their shared home, macdennis moves in with Dee and all three of them hate it so so much.

(season 10 episode 1) Dennis looks at Mac like he wants to eat him (4 min 24 seconds) Mac says wait Dennis don't go and Dennis turns like he's expecting.... I don't know.

(season 10 episode 5) Mac and Dennis take turns watching and jacking off to creampie videos. Some will say they could just find their own porn, however I think this is one of the numerous creative ways they've found to have a sex life with each other.

(season 10 ep 3) Dennis is diagnosed with BPD.

(season 10 ep 6) The gang embarks on a journey of independence, only to discover that their lives are intricately woven together. For better or worse they will never escape each other, and will likely live this way until they die.

(season 10 episode 10) Dennis creates an entire fake cult to get Mac to do things he wants him to do. Says Macs been looking so good so sexy lately *manipulative*

(season 11 episode 4) Mac turns off the video Dee made about Dennis being raped by the librarian.

(season 11 episode 5) Macdennis play house. Mac asks Dennis if he can hear the beep too, Dennis gaslights him and says no, meanwhile getting increasingly agitated by the pool filter. It's already been explained more better by others but basically this is a metaphor for Mac wanting Dennis to acknowledge what has been happening between them, while Dennis adamantly avoids doing so. Instead, he channels his frustrations into unrelated problems.

Dennis hates going to work alone all day and Mac hates staying home, which could easily be fixed by having Mac come to work with him. Instead, Dennis' solution is a "honey-do list" (a list of chores a man would give his wife) and a dog, which Mac names DENNIS JR. (parallel to Dennis' real kid who is named Brian Jr. ) This kind of relationship paralleling is a recurring theme; for example in gets romantic, double life, and celebrity booze).

In the beginning of the episode Dennis wants to listen to Bryan Adams in the car. At the end of the episode Mac confronts him by saying "everything I do I do it for you, and everything you do you do it for yourself". (referencing the title of a very romantic Bryan Adams song)

dennis says he hates him

(season 11 ep 6) Mac asks Frank if he thinks Dennis hates him, because he just wants him to think he's cool and he puts so much work into this relationship and *unintelligible* (seriously if anyone know what Mac is saying when Frank spaces out please message me)

(season 11 ep 8) Dennis also knows about the gay bar

(Season 11 ep 10) 🎵 Amazing Grace how sweet the sauce 🎵

Mac comes out. When they play fake dinner Mac talks about him and Dennis' future home where they will have dinner parties and touches Dennis' hand. Confused, Dennis questions the idea of it being "their" home, seemingly operating under the misconception that he and Mac might eventually part ways and not continue living together.

Mac prays to god that they be saved and after being rescued he goes back into the closet.

s12 Mac claims to be gay and Dennis leaves the state of Pennsylvania

Season 12 is my favorite season!

Mac comes out, has a gay dream, gives Dennis a present, tries to insert himself as 2nd father of Dennis' child, and is swiftly abandoned.

Things start to get a little too real for Dennis, and hes just a little too vulnerable. Perfectly it turns out he has an opportunity to live the typical nuclear family lifestyle he's envisioned for himself and escape all his troubles.

(season 12 episode 6) Gay Mac rules! rich gay Mac!

The watershed moment wherein Mac comes out as gay for real this time. Dennis is beyond shocked.

(season 12 episode 7) Mac fully grasps that his feelings for Dennis are romantic after having a dream where Dennis kisses him. Upon waking he goes to find Dennis. Again Dennis dances towards him and leans in, Macs eyes light up thinking that his dream is coming true but Dennis slams the door in his face.

(season 12 ep 8) Dennis wants to completely ignore Valentines day because he doesn't think he has anybody who really cares about/loves him. Everyone in the gang openly states that they don't think he has feelings.

At the end of the ep. Mac has Dennis open a crate, which turns out to be an RPG (something that Dennis thinks is awesome and talks about all the time), and he tears up, he's incredibly touched. When Mac says there is no rocket (rendering the gift effectively useless) Dennis says he doesn't care, he loves it. Mac figured out the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world and got it for him. This is likely not referring to the RPG but instead to the fact that he wanted someone to show him that they love him/care about him.

(season 12 ep 10) Dennis is revealed to have a son with Mandy, a woman who he had sex with on his layover from the wade boggs episode. To get him out of this jam Mac suggests they pretend to be in a relationship. Dennis, reluctantly going along with the plan, tells Mandy he sleeps with women but he is emotionally invested with Mac. When she is fine with it and says she wouldn't mind Brian Jr. having two dads, Mac enthusiastically agrees to parent Dennis' kid with him. When Dennis asks Mac why he would agree to that, since they are not a couple, Mac replies that he thought they could just keep pretending.

Mac wins a bet and gets to refurnish the apartment. He surprises Dennis by recreating their old apartment down to the last detail, save his own bedroom, which he leaves empty. He only buys Dennis a bed because he is hoping Dennis will go along with continuing to share a bed like they did at Dee's.

At the end of the episode Dennis announces he is leaving to go raise his son in North Dakota with Mandy. Nobody tries to stop him.

S13-14 DENNIS IS COMING BACK HOT

Dennis' 2 most angry/upset seasons.

In the season 13 promos Dennis is like a ghost, watching the gang laughing and talking without him. At some points they seem to notice that he's there, but just don't care. He is the only one spooked by the weird things happening around the bar.

In season 13 Dennis' returns and feels as though he is not important or needed by his friends. Mac has a journey of self-discovery, coming to terms with his sexuality and finding his identity as a gay man. Mac relies on Dennis to tell him what to do, desperate to please him, but Dennis wants Mac to take control and take care of him. Dennis only wants the illusion of control.

(Season 13 episode 1) Mac orders a sex doll of Dennis and swears he isn't blowing his loads into it. Dennis comes back.

(Season 13 episode 2) Mac finds a heart shaped lock clue whilst doing an escape room. Dennis says they should keep it between themselves.

(season 13 episode 4) Dennis holds a seminar where he publicly declares his own heterosexuality and lack of interest in Mac.

just gonna leave these quotes-

dennis- "some of you just haven't been careful enough, so youre asking yourself what can I do to save myself now. You gotta clean up your act otherwise you're going down, and you're gonna take me down with you and I ain't going down. You understand? I've been telling you this for years but you refused to listen"

----

mac- "and we should probably stop harassing them"

dennis, replying to Mac- " uh well you know, one step at a time we don't want the whole system to collapse" (but Macs only crime was being too open with his feelings for Dennis)

(season 13 ep 5) Dennis opens the floor for questions about his absence. He totally gets that everyone was giving him some space and respecting his privacy, and he's ready to talk about it now but...they just don't actually care....at all... (including Mac)

(season 13 episode 7) Its my personal interpretation that all of clip show happens in Dennis' mind in an episode of dissociation. He imagines that Mac decided to come with him to north Carolina. He imagines being confronted about why he would want to live with Mac if he "hates" him so much.

(season 13 episode 10) Mac comes out to his father in a beautiful interpretive dance and is rejected.

(season 14 episode 1) Mac tries to get into Dennis' good graces again by staging a scheme to get Dennis laid just like old times. Interestingly, Dennis isn't all that interested in banging. When its not working out with the woman, Dennis decides that it's because the leads are actually Mac and the husband. They can't seem to figure out that the leads are really each other.

Mac and Dennis are paralleled by the married couple while Charlie and Frank are mirrored by the father son duo..

"If you'd just give us a chance, we could tell a love story for the ages, a gay GAY ass love story". WE ARE READY AND SO WILLING

(season 14 episode 5) "Bathrooms at zoos are, like, big Grindr spots for closeted dads." (also refer to Macs super long pining text messages)

(season 14 ep 6) "all that for a whistle, I wonder what you'd do for a biscuit" I really don't understand how but apparently this episode really did happen and it wasn't in someones dream or anything like that??

(season 14 episode 10) Dennis says to Mac it's time to end the game. This could be interpreted as being about their 14 season song and dance, and would be backed up by the fact that the next season shows Mac completely backing off.

s15-s16 Acceptance and regret

mac tries to move on, Dennis misses his baby boy

(season 15 episode 1) We get some cute broke back mountain Macdennis. They play guitar and sing a love song they wrote together, looking into each other's eyes.

(season 15 ep 4) There's a subtle moment that's easy to miss. Dennis pats Mac's hand when they are talking to Charlie and Mac looks down at it, taking a deep breath.

(season 15 ep 5) Dennis has COVID and Mac isn't concerned, in fact he is irritated that Dennis wont admit he's sick. This is a big change from the last couple of seasons where Mac is desperate to take care of Dennis.

(season 16 episode 1) Mac and Dennis throw away all of their furniture including their beds. They now share an inflatable bed/couch and sleep together in it (just a couple seasons ago Dennis was absolutely refusing to sleep in the same bed as Mac). They are touching so much in the bed. Dennis is concerned for Mac because he has been continuously consuming nuts that he is allergic to (there's a metaphor here) and is heavily wheezing. Dennis gently places two fingers on Macs neck to check his pulse.

If Dennis did not want to sleep in the bed with Mac he would have gone and bought another inflatable bed. He would have made Mac sleep on the ground. He would have gone to sleep at Dees house. He wanted to be in that bed with Mac.

(season 16 episode 4) Dennis creates a fake dating profile under the alias of "Johnny". He buys Mac extra large anal beads to put inside of him at all times, and turns them on to signal to Mac to meet him at a hotel. He says he did it to....get him out of the house? and to get Mac to....buy him crab?

Dennis looks so devastated when Mac says he's in love with Johnny. I kinda wonder if it's the idea that Mac could love someone else that upsets him... or if he's reacting to Mac telling him he is in love with him to his face?

This is also the episode where we learn that Dennis has a fool proof method for attracting men. When Mac and Dee ask why he has this system he just shushes them.

(season 16 episode 5) The relationship between Malcom and his dad is a parallel of Mac and Dennis's relationship. The speech at the end to me seems like its hinting that Mac knows more/ has more control and power than is let on.

NEW INFORMATION JUST DROPPED I have just been made aware of the actual parallel between Malcom and the dad possibly being Dennis and Frank.

(season 16 episode 8) Nightmare! Nightmare! Nightmare!

Dennis takes a mental health day. Some people really hated this episode but I really liked it. Mac is putting coal in a pressure cooker to make diamonds. Dennis rips the CEO's (who is wearing a Hawaiian shirt like we've seen Mac wear) heart out, and squeezes it so hard it turns into a diamond and he eats it. This is a direct parallel to the nightman cometh where he also rips Macs heart out.

*edit to add* The director of this episode (who did not write the ep but still was involved in its creation obviously) Heath Cullens, in a reddit QA when asked if this was a nod to dayman replied "Nope. I think pretty much a coincidence." which I think is a total missed opportunity tbh.

This was all in Dennis' mind, and it seems to me that the Mac "situation" has left him with a sense of powerlessness. He feels isolated, trapped in an endless nightmare of his own creation, and he has nobody he can count on to help him, there's nobody he can rely on, he can only trust himself. Compressing the coal into a diamond represents Dennis molding everything to be exactly as he wishes, and by swallowing it he reclaims absolute control.

Always sunny book- : the 7 secrets of awakening the highly effective four-hour giant, today

"Mac for instance is also a 3 in ugly, so even if this exercise we're going to try fails, you'll have some company at your ugly parties. For the record, on the ugly scale charlie is a five, frank is a six, and Dee is a nine." - Dennis

[alwritey-aphrodite]

“it’s your turn to do the dishes.” “let’s get a divorce.” “we aren’t married yet, my love.” “well we sure as hell aren’t getting married now.”

from the prompts 🥴🤭

Ok reader and Peter are parents in this, and if you’re not into that I will happily write another version for you!!!

Typically, there’s an even distribution of work between you and Peter in your apartment. If one of you vacuums, the other does laundry. If one of you does bath time with your daughter, the other does storytime. It’s easy to switch off so the tasks don’t seem too daunting, too repetitive, and it normally works like a charm, but for some reason, both you and Peter absolutely dread doing the dishes.

Before Charlie May was born, takeout was a frequent staple for the two of you because of the convenience, and even though you’re still young enough that takeout every night seems like a trendy lifestyle choice, it’s not the most nutritious practice to raise your daughter. It’s been hard for the both of you, making changes in your daily life in the hopes of doing right by Charlie, hoping that no one will comment on your parenting abilities or your age or Charlie’s wellbeing.

Cooking fun and tasty and nutritious meals hasn’t been a problem, and Peter is surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, but dishes are a fight every night.

“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Charlie tells her dad as she sits perched on the countertop, legs swinging and her cheeks rounding in a smile as you squeeze her knee. She loves her dad, and sometimes she acts exactly like him, but she’s always been your little partner in crime. He likes to pretend to be put out by it, but you know that Peter grins behind your back at your scheming and your daughter’s delighted giggles.

“Let’s get a divorce,” Peter says with a sigh, turning towards you to lean an elbow against the counter. Charlie thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, laughing so hard you need to support her waist in case she tips over with the force of her giggles, even though you’re not entirely certain she knows what the word divorce means. Your daughter’s joy is so infectious that Peter’s faux-serious expression only lasts a second before he’s grinning over at you.

“We’re not married yet,” you remind him, even extending your bare ring finger to emphasize your point. The two of you have discussed your life plans in length, both before and after the surprise arrival of your daughter, and neither of you feel rushed to get married, wanting to wait until Charlie’s a little older and you’re both a bit more financially stable and maybe spending less time swinging above the city. Neither of you truly mind, but in your theatrical fights for the sake of your daughter, it’s nice to have a little pretend-leverage.

“Well, we’re definitely not getting married now,” Peter replies, all exasperation and sorrow as Charlie launches herself towards him, tiny body shaking with the force of her laughter. Peter’s reflexes have made parenting easier in many different ways, but his deftness in catching your daughter every time she launches herself at him never ceases to amaze you.

It takes you a second too long to realize that Peter has carried your daughter out of the kitchen, leaving you all alone to tackle the dishes. Just as you go to call out for them to return, Peter shouts out instead.

“Can’t help, my arms are all full of baby!” And Charlie thinks this is the funniest phrase that has ever left her father’s mouth, her laughing ringing through the apartment and you can’t help it when you smile at the noise, even as you turn on the tap to get started with the dishes. You really don’t mind doing them, and it was your turn anyway, but you’re already plotting your revenge and planning out how to get your partner in crime back on your side.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Faking It | Part VIII

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: AHHH WE ARE AT THE GRAND FINALE!!! Y'all, I'm so sorry it took a galactic year but I hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this final episode of trope city. Thank you so much for all the support <3

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: brief allusion to self-harm, swearing, making out, ANGST GALORE, fluff (not in any particular order)

Start from the beginning: Part I

Masterlist

“Are you cold?” Steven goes to take off his jacket.

“I’m fine,” you say impatiently. “Just get on with it, will you?”

Steven shrugs his jacket back on while you wrap your arms around yourself, holding in a shiver. The morning is much cooler than you expected it to be and there’s a white mist hanging over the surface of the placid water. Steven watches you pretend to be comfortable in your sundress under the moody skies. You’ve been pretending a lot lately.

“Today, Steven,” you say through gritted teeth because you’re clenching them to avoid them chattering.

He lets out a resolute sigh, looking down at the ground. He seems anxious. “Your boyfriend,” he says with a grimace, peering up at you briefly before reverting his gaze to the dock underfoot. “How well do you know him?”

You furrow your brows. “Excuse me?”

Steven purses his lips, kicking a stray pebble into the water. It makes a dull plopping sound before disappearing into the lake. “I suspected something was off the night of the bachelor party.”

“Not again.” You sigh irritably.

“He had very little to say about you,” he states. “Mostly just random trivia. Said you don’t like chocolate.”

You raise your eyebrows calmly without responding.

“When the guys asked how you got together, he clammed up. It was weird.”

You’re starting to regret your decision to talk to him. And you’re certainly no longer feeling sorry for him. “Do you have a point?”

Steven nods. “Then I went to see you. And you didn’t deny that this fling with your little aviator wasn’t all that serious.”

You find it ironic that Steven refers to Bradley as little considering Bradley is half a head taller than him, but you let it slide. “Your five minutes are almost up,” you respond coldly.

Steven watches you soberly, but something about the quirk of his eyebrow makes you think he might be enjoying himself. “He has a girlfriend,” he says.

You stare at him mutely, waiting for the air to return to your lungs. Slowly, everything inside of you begins to slide out of place, as if you’ve forgotten how to hold it all together. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you whisper. Meanwhile, every single moment you’ve ever experienced with Bradley Bradshaw filters through your mind as you desperately try to pick out the details that might have, in hindsight, served as clues. The hesitation to participate in your scheme; the reluctance to sleep in your bed; the aggravating lack of communication – isolated, these events might have been meaningless but, put together, they are questionable at the very least.

“Wasn’t difficult to figure out,” Steven continues, unaware that your brain is scrambling to put all the pieces together. “He’s all over her Instagram.”

“He doesn’t have an Instagram –”

“He’s not tagged, but it’s him alright. Some of your other pilot friends are also there, so…” Steven shrugs smugly, as if he’s performed a feat and is expecting commendation. When you don’t say anything, he decides to rub salt in the wound. “You know whose Instagram he’s not on?” he asks proudly. “Yours.”

You don’t bother looking up at him again. The bobbing dock starts to augment your vertigo and the gentle sway of your body in the breeze makes you feel strangely detached. You’re not thinking about Steven’s annoying tone, or his smug face, or even the gentle nudge he’s giving you to recapture your attention; you’re devising a plan of action for the next five hours, because that’s how long you will need to coexist with Bradley Bradshaw. After that, you will never have to deal with him again.

…

You make your way across the lawn unhurriedly, not keen on spending brunch pretending to still be enamored with your fake boyfriend. The escalating number of deceptions in what was originally a straightforward plot is making your head spin.

You see him leaning over the railing of the terrace, a beer in his hand. He’s staring out into the distance with a bit of a squint despite the dreary day. You hate how good he looks in his jeans and light, button-up shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows; you hate the languid movement of his arm as he takes a sip of his drink; the slow, graceful fashion with which he rests it back over the rail; the relaxed bend in his wrist. Everything about him suddenly seems despicable.

When he sees you, he gives you a smirk – the kind that sets your insides ablaze despite your growing resentment – and pushes off the railing to start in your direction. You let out a wavering sigh, trying to extinguish whatever lingering feelings you may have. You’ve resolved to omit the true purpose of Steven’s visit; you can’t imagine a worse time and place to air your dirty laundry than at your sister’s wedding brunch with an audience of your closest family members. So, you smile back at him as he skips down the steps – you’ve become quite proficient at pretending; what’s another few hours of faking it?

Bradley’s pace quickens as he cuts across the yard until he’s nearly running and, when he arrives, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. He leans down to kiss you, but you inadvertently turn away and he ends up pecking your cheek. Mistake number one.

You give him another tense smile, taking a step back because his hands are much too casually exploring your rigid body. Mistake number two.

“So,” you say, nearly taking a chunk out of the inside of your cheek as you bite into it forcefully. “Cheat on anybody lately?” you ask tersely. Mistake number –

“Excuse me?” he says, taken aback.

So much for pretending. You watch him coldly as his expression transforms but, as it turns out, you have nothing else to add.

“What did he say to you?” Bradley asks, eyes darkening under his converging eyebrows.

You let out a derisive laugh.

“What did he say?” he repeats.

You glare at him. “You know exactly what he said.”

Bradley bristles. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

You watch him impassively, as if his betrayal has had zero effect on you. “Are you fucking serious, Bradley?”

Bradley’s offended expression turns to hurt as his eyes sweep over your features. “You’re not even going to let me explain?” he asks in a grating whisper.

You scoff, his words confirming that there is, in fact, something to explain. “Does she know you’re here?”

Bradley shifts his jaw, his eyes narrowing. He studies you quietly for a few moments.

“What baffles me,” you say. “Is how easy it’s been for you to just lie about it.”

“Wasn’t that the whole point of this?” he asks coolly.

You chuckle although his words sting. “You’re right. This was all an act and I’m just the idiot who fell for it.”

Bradley eyes you contemptuously but says nothing.

“You almost slept with me,” you whisper, your lips trembling as you concentrate on keeping your voice steady. “Don’t tell me that that was your objective this whole time.”

Bradley’s eyebrows crease as he tries to follow your line of reasoning. “You think I agreed to this ridiculous stunt just so I could possibly have an opportunity to fuck you?” he hisses. “Why would anyone put that much effort into one – not even guaranteed – fuck?”

You watch him angrily although he does make a valid point. “Why are you here, then?” you ask, trying desperately to keep your volume down. “You have a girlfriend!”

“First of all,” Bradley says stonily. “Had.”

“When?”

He lets out a sigh.

You shake your head at him with a disdainful smile and raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Yesterday? Last week?”

“I broke up with her after you asked me to come here.”

“Why?” You shrug indifferently as though you really couldn’t care less.

“You begged me to come.”

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone!” you bite back.

Bradley lifts his eyes to nod politely at your grandparents as they pass the two of you toward the stairs leading up to the terrace. Then he hooks his arm through yours and starts dragging you away from the venue toward the docks by the lake. You struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t let go until you’re far enough away from the crowd to be out of earshot. “So what?” he rounds on you in a low voice.

You stare at him in disbelief. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It didn’t come up.”

You scoff incredulously.

“You didn’t tell me about Steven.”

“That’s not the same thing. Steven and I haven’t been together in months.”

“This wasn’t supposed to be anything, Y/N,” he says roughly. “It was all fake. Why would I even think to tell you about her?”

You look down at his brown dress shoes as they sink into the red clay of the bank, feeling the unmistakable pressure of tears as your eyes begin to well up. “It was all fake, wasn’t it?” you mutter.

“No, that’s not” – the brown dress shoes take a step forward – “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“How long have you been with her?” you ask, cutting him off.

“What does that matter?” he says wearily.

“It matters,” you respond.

Bradley sighs and looks out at the lake over your shoulder. “Six months.”

You close your eyes and take a breath. “That’s a long time.”

He nods, sucking his cheeks in as his jaw shifts forward. He’s studying your face thoughtfully. “Your turn,” he says.

“What?”

He licks his lips. “How much of it was fake?”

You scoff again, shaking your head. “I’m not doing this.”

“So, it’s fine putting me on the spot, but you can’t answer a simple question?” he says irritably.

“I put you on the spot because you lied.”

Bradley watches you coldly. “When did it stop being fake, Y/N?”

“I don’t know!” you shout in frustration. “When did it stop being fake for you?”

Bradley stares at you blankly. He runs a hand over his face, looking down. He furrows his eyebrows before glancing back up at you with a bewildered expression, as though he can’t believe you’ve just posed exactly the same question he had asked you. “It was never fake for me,” he says hoarsely.

You stare at him as a flurry of emotions does a nauseating dance in the pit of your stomach. His answer has taken you by surprise and you can’t think of anything appropriate to say in return.

When you don’t respond, he adds, “You can’t possibly not already know that.”

You slowly shake your head, wanting more than anything to believe what he says. “How would I know?”

Bradley watches you in amazement, exhaling with a small laugh as he takes a couple steps toward you. He lifts his hand and places it tenderly on your cheek. “Two months ago,” he says. “I walk into the Hard Deck, just looking for a cold beer and a night off. And the first thing I see is you behind the bar.”

You feel yourself melting right into the palm of his hand, lulled by the smooth rasp of his voice.

“You’re new,” he says, and then chuckles. “You’re definitely new because you can’t tell an ale from a lager.”

You wrinkle your eyebrows. “A what from a what?”

Bradley grins briefly before continuing. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says in a throaty whisper. You feel his face drift closer to yours just as the wind picks up. He brings his other hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “And I come up to the bar and you haven’t even said a word to me yet, all you do is look up with these wild, frantic, most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, as you’re desperately trying to figure out the exact ratio of gin to tonic in somebody else’s drink.” You bite your lip sheepishly, remembering your first night working the bar. Bradley smiles at the memory. “You’re meticulously measuring out the two ingredients – which tells me, right off the bat, that you’re an extremely conscientious person – and, after you’re done, you look me right in the eye and say, ‘You look thirsty.’”

You laugh through your tears. “I did not say that.”

Bradley chuckles. “You did. And I was,” he adds.

You snort at the insinuation but then Bradley’s hand begins to trail down your neck, disrupting your train of thought. His touch is disarming and you try your best not to sink into him despite every impulse to just give in. The truth is, there’s nothing he can say that will change the fact that he played both you and his ex. So, you bring your hand up and wrap it around his wrist, pulling it away from where his fingers are resting over your heart. “Doesn’t matter,” you say quietly. “None of it matters anymore.”

“How could you say that?” he asks, his breathing ragged.

You sigh mechanically, expertly keeping your emotions in check. “This changes everything,” you say. “I feel like I don’t know you, Bradley. I mean, I don’t know you.”

Bradley shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

You close your eyes as if not looking at him might make it easier. “You need to leave,” you whisper.

“Look at me,” he pleads.

You open your eyes and focus your gaze on the greenest grass you’ve ever seen. Only, today, it’s grey. Must be the weather.

“Y/N,” Bradley urges, his voice cracking in his desperation. “Look at me. Please.”

“No!” The force of your response surprises even you. “You have to go,” you say resolutely.

But as you start to walk away, you hear him calling out to you. “You owe me!”

You turn around in confusion. “What?” you say under your breath.

“You heard me,” he says, marching toward you with purpose. “You owe me. Anything I want, remember?”

You stare at him incredulously. “You can’t possibly –”

“I know what I want,” he says, taking several final strides toward you before clutching your hands and holding them in between his chest and yours. “I want you – I need you – to hear me out.”

You wince as his face nears yours. “That’s not fair,” you whisper.

“Please don’t do this,” he mutters. “Please don’t. I – I’m” – his face contorts uncomfortably as he searches for the right words – “I messed up,” he says. “I’m sorry. Please.” He rests his forehead on yours. “Please forgive me.”

The irony of suffering through a real breakup with your fake boyfriend is not lost on you. It’s absurdly painful considering you’ve only realized you had feelings for this man mere days ago. But it’s not just Bradley’s towering build; not just his sculpted arms and chiselled chest that give you pause. It’s every little thing he’s ever said and done. It’s the pepper spray, the heels, the pillow wall; it’s the dancing, the kiss; it’s the way he looks at you. It’s Bradley.

You taste the salt of your own tears as they slip into your parted mouth. You want to kiss him so badly, just a little, just for a moment, just one last time. And as his lips hover hesitantly over yours you realize why. It’s simple, really. You’re in love with Bradley Bradshaw. How reckless of you. How wildly inconvenient.

…

You wipe at the spotless counter aggressively as your mind wanders once again to that fateful day three weeks ago when you did not, in fact, get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw just one last time. Not even for a moment, not even a little bit.

“It’s clean, I think,” you hear a voice at the other end of the bar. You glance up to see Jake Seresin slide out a barstool and take a seat at the counter.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” you respond, glancing at the clock. It’s barely eleven and the place is deserted. You walk toward him reluctantly, having encountered neither Bradley nor any of his friends since the day of the brunch. “Lost another bet, Seresin?” you ask, eyeing the wide brim of his tan cowboy hat.

He smirks, lifting the hat off his head and setting it down on the bar. “Funny.”

You toss your towel under the bar and place your hands on the counter. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, I’m not here to drink,” he says.

You sigh quietly, reaching for your towel again. The truth is, you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about what could have been if you hadn’t stopped the kiss. If you hadn’t pushed Bradley away. If Bradley hadn’t hurled Steven into the lake.

You glance up at Jake as he fiddles with something in his hands. He eyes you pointedly. “I think you know why I’m here,” he says.

…

“Why are you still here?”

The booming voice of your ex-boyfriend rouses you, effectively disrupting the moment you’re having with Bradley. You withdraw from the embrace, separating your hands from his as you step away.

Bradley is shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him,” he begs.

You blink up at him with a sniffle and wipe your eyes. “He’s not the problem,” you say.

Bradley juts out his jaw as Steven steps into his field of vision. “I asked you a question,” Steven says forcefully.

Bradley watches him coldly. “Don’t start with me, Steven,” he says quietly.

“You’re not welcome here anymore,” Steven continues, bringing his shoulders back as he tries to tower over Bradley.

“Steven, stop” – you try to intervene, but Bradley cuts you off.

“I said,” Bradley hisses as he straightens his back to reciprocate the gesture. “Don’t start with me.”

Steven chuckles. “What are you going to do? Hit me?”

Bradley turns away. “You’re not worth it.”

Just when you start to think that the matter will work itself out peacefully, however, Steven shoves Bradley in the back, sending him stumbling slightly downhill. Bradley regains his footing just as Steven comes after him and blocks his subsequent attack, pushing him away. “I’m not fighting you!” Bradley roars.

“Steven, stop it!” you shout, running after them as Steven continues trying to provoke Bradley.

“What’s the matter?” Steven asks nastily. “Did I blow your cover, hotshot?”

Bradley narrows his eyes and his hands curl instinctively into fists. He looks like he’s about to snap. “Bradley!” you scream.

…

“Bradley,” you say calmly, meeting Jake’s gaze.

Jake nods. “I’m going to have to be honest,” he says. “Living with him has become unbearable. And, well, we blame you.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not my problem.” You drop the dishtowel onto the counter and start wiping anew.

Jake’s hand lands over the cloth and he yanks it out of your grasp. “Listen here,” he says. “I don’t know how he fucked this up because he won’t say a goddamn word about it. But you’re gonna tell me what happened because I’m tired of this mess y’all made.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you say.

“I highly doubt that,” Jake says with an insincere smile. “The guy’s fucking in love with you, there’s no way he left you of his own accord.”

“The guy had a girlfriend of six months he didn’t think to tell me about,” you lash out at Jake, wiping the grin right off his face. “He’d been coming to the Hard Deck almost daily for two whole months without even mentioning her existence. And then he had the audacity to tell me he liked me from the moment we met? Either he was the shittiest boyfriend ever or he wasn’t as into me as he claims to have been. In any case, he’s a liar.”

…

“I didn’t lie about anything,” Bradley says steadily, watching Steven advance toward him once more. “There was no cover to blow.”

“Please!” Steven cackles. “The two of you fabricated an entire relationship!”

You close your eyes, much too tired to pretend any longer. If Steven is hellbent on divulging this particular secret, you aren’t going to be the one to stop him.

Bradley glares at Steven. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns to look at you somberly. “I love you! I have been in love with you since day one,” he says. “I don’t even remember what not loving you feels like.”

“But you had a girlfriend,” you say agonizingly.

He nods, his eyes filling with tears. “Yeah,” he admits. “I did.”

…

“He’s not a liar, he’s a victim of circumstance,” Jake reasons.

You blink at him skeptically. “Is the circumstance that he’s an asshole?”

Jake snorts. “Maybe I will have a drink,” he says, scrunching up his nose.

You sigh and reach for a tumbler. You set it down on the polished counter and, giving Jake a pointed look, reach to grab a second one. He chuckles as you pour the whiskey.

“Neat,” he comments. “Just the way I like it.”

You sigh and down the glass with a straight face. “Why didn’t he just end things with her sooner?”

Jake sets his drink down after taking a swig. He narrows his eyes. “Wait, he didn’t tell you?”

…

“Tell him, Y/N,” Steven says forcefully. “Tell him to get the fuck out of here before I beat the shit out of him.”

“Steven, stop it!” you cry. You turn to Bradley with a frown. “You should go,” you say quietly.

Bradley shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.”

“You heard her!” Steven yells, lunging forward to give Bradley yet another push.

But Bradley completely ignores the attack. He continues watching you miserably as though he hasn’t just been unceremoniously displaced by an angry meathead. “You don’t want me to go,” he pleads with you.

You drop your head, closing your eyes. “I do,” you lie.

“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” Steven steps in between the two of you obnoxiously.

“Steven, for fuck’s sake, just leave!” you scream.

Steven rounds on you aggressively. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful cunt!”

But before you can respond with a few choice words of your own, Steven is yanked from the spot and launched into the lake like a frisbee. You gasp as he hits the water while Bradley just folds his arms and watches the ripples, waiting to see if Steven can swim.

…

“He tried breaking up with her,” Jake says, watching you cautiously as though he’s unsure whether he should be sharing this information with you.

You furrow your eyebrows. “When?”

Jake sighs and adjusts his posture, getting more comfortable in his seat. “They were on the rocks way before you came into the picture,” Jake says. “He’d tried breaking up with her several times actually, including the night he met you.”

“What do you mean ‘tried’?”

Jake narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t he tell you this?”

“Tell me what?”

…

“Are you happy now?” you yell over the lapping of the water.

Bradley turns to look at you wearily. “Less annoyed,” he says stoically.

“Well, now that we’ve managed to completely ruin my sister’s brunch,” you say, glancing up at the crowd of spectators gathered on the edge of the patio, “you’re free to go.”

You hear some sputtering near the dock as Steven tries to drag himself out of the water. Bradley nods, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve told you about her,” he says. “I would’ve told you everything.”

…

“She wouldn’t let him break up with her,” Jake says, carefully studying your reaction.

“What do you mean ‘wouldn’t let him’?” you ask.

“Pour another round,” Jake says.

You sigh sharply. “Just spill it, Seresin,” you grumble impatiently, grabbing the bottle of whiskey.

“She threatened to hurt herself.”

You freeze mid-pour and look up at him in shock.

“That’s enough for me, thanks,” he says, reaching for the bottle still tipped in your hand.

“I’ll have it then,” you say, sliding the full glass of whiskey toward yourself. Silently, you lift it to your lips and take a giant gulp.

“Easy,” Jake says with a cringe, pulling the tumbler out of your hand.

“So,” you breathe, staring blankly at the bar. “He was stuck.”

“He was stuck,” Jake confirms.

…

“I’m stuck!” Steven calls from the end of the dock.

You huff in frustration and give Bradley one last menacing look. “Just go already, will you?” you say tiredly, heading out onto the dock to help Steven out of the water. By the time Steven is on land and you turn around, Bradley is gone.

You glance over at the terrace where the crowd has started to disperse while Steven wrings out his clothes. You consider for a moment running after Bradley; catching him before he packs to leave. But then you feel Steven’s cold hands snaking around your midriff and you squirm.

“What are you doing?” you yelp, jerking away.

“Baby, just admit that you want me back,” he says lazily. “I just saved you from that asswipe. Don’t be a bitch now.”

You turn around in outrage and, just as Steven flashes his phoney grin, you push him back into the lake.

…

“So, how was he finally able to do it?” you ask, plopping a couple of ice cubes into your drink.

“He got lucky,” Jake replies. “He caught her cheating.”

You scoff. “Lucky.”

Jake shrugs. “Well, under the circumstances. He just wanted out.”

You stare at the ice melting in your whiskey. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”

“Did you give him a chance?” Jake asks, gulping down the rest of his drink and rising from his seat.

You look up at him guiltily.

Jake clears his throat and places several bills on the bar. He taps on the counter a couple of times with his palm and then says, “He’s distracted in the air, Y/N. I’m worried about him.”

It makes you sick to think of Bradley unfocused in the cockpit, and you’re repulsed that it’s never occurred to you before, considering how often you daydream about the events of that unfortunate weekend. Of course, he’s been thinking about it. Of course, it’s been distracting him. You close your eyes and lower your head.

“Just talk to him, will ya?” Jake says.

You swallow uneasily, wondering what the fuck you could possibly say to Bradley after having completely blown him off, but you nod anyway. The least you could do is apologize.

After Jake leaves, you notice a folded piece of paper together with the bills he’s left behind. You pick it up to examine it. It’s your list – the one you’d given Bradley so that he could learn to be a more convincing fake boyfriend. You unfold it to find that he’s added his own notes to accompany yours. Things like, ‘this is absurd and you know it’ in response to ‘I don’t like chocolates but I love chocolate cake’ and ‘sounds like somebody else I know’ in response to ‘steer clear of Aunt Barb – she’s very pushy’.

You smile grimly, realizing how badly you’ve fucked up.

…

The next morning, you get permission from Penny’s boyfriend, Maverick, to visit the hangar while the squad trains. You’re sitting at one of the desks, listening to the boom of military aircraft as you nervously twiddle your thumbs in your lap. When you hear the unmistakable yelps of excited pilots just outside the hangar, you let out an anxious sigh and stand up.

As you’re rising from your seat, you see Bradley amidst the group of cheerful aviators, smiling and nodding as one of them claps him on the back. When he notices you, however, his smile falters and he slows to a halt, staring at you in disbelief. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm and a chute bag slung over his shoulder and you realize that you’ve never seen him in his flight suit and that perhaps, if you had, you’d have fallen for him much sooner.

The other aviators look on as he starts removing his gear while walking toward you. The expression on his face is so intense that your already galloping heart feels like it might spring right out of your body. He sets his helmet down on a desk and approaches you slowly, his dark eyes searching yours carefully.

You gulp uneasily when he nears; the relief of having him stand right before you is something you hadn’t expected. Even given the currently ambiguous status of your relationship, being close to him feels right.

“Uh,” you utter. Good strong start. You close your eyes and try again. “Umm.” You shake your head and blink up at him.

Bradley lifts his eyebrows sympathetically but doesn’t say anything.

“Can I talk to you?” you blurt out breathlessly.

Bradley drops his gaze and your heart sinks. He hates you, obviously, and you’re an idiot for coming. But a moment later, he looks up from under his winkled brows and nods.

He places a couple of fingers on your arm and, as you try to suppress a shudder at the subtle contact, he nudges you softly, leading you toward the back of the hangar where you could have a private conversation behind a couple of parked jets undergoing maintenance.

Once you’re alone, you find it hard to look him in the eye. Bradley’s hand drops away from where he’s holding your elbow, but his fingertips trail down your arm and catch briefly on your fingers before he lets go.

“Bradley,” you say quietly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit.

Bradley moves closer, his head so low that you can feel his breath on your cheek. The torment of being this close and not touching him is probably exactly what you deserve, so you decide to suffer through it in silence. Until, that is, he brings a hand up, lifting your chin with a couple of fingers. His eyes glance over your face before meeting your gaze. “Let’s just start over,” he says.

You look at him in wonder as his hand glides up your arm. “How?” you whisper. “I’m already in love with you.”

For a moment, Bradley is completely still, watching you intently. The look of sheer want on his face absolutely paralyzes you because the concept of mutual desire where Bradley is concerned is something you’re still struggling to accept. You blink at him mutely, forgetting altogether that you came here to apologize, not ogle him in his flight suit and mentally undress him without a moment’s respite.

Bradley lowers his face, furrowing his eyebrows as he glances down at your lips. You notice the tightening grip on your arm as his breathing grows heavy; the slight incline of his head as his other hand drifts weightlessly up the back of your neck.

He makes you weak and he muddles your thoughts and how could you possibly be expected to remember something as superfluous as an apology when his eyes are begging you to just kiss him already? You let out a breathy whine, twisting your hands into the material of his flight suit and pulling yourself into him until your lips meet his.

Bradley exhales sharply, bringing his hands up to your face as he steps forward. You let him steer you into the wall in behind, clinging onto his wrists as he cups your cheeks. His tongue pushes into your mouth as his hands drop down to your waist and slip underneath your tank top, squeezing your flesh.

You melt into his touch; you want his hands all over you, clutching you, catching you, holding you. A soft moan travels from your mouth into his as his fingers dig into your body, and he presses you into the wall with a shaky sigh.

“Bradley,” you murmur as he grasps your ribcage.

“Baby,” he breathes, his thumbs gently stroking the band of your bra. His ‘baby’ is so soft, so different than Steven’s, it’s like an entirely new word. And you don’t want anybody other than Bradley to ever call you ‘baby’ again.

“Bradley, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I wouldn’t listen to your side of the story.”

“Baby,” he mutters again. He lifts his eyes to look at you achingly. “I’m so fucking in love with you.” He takes your hands and brings them to his lips, holding them against his mouth. “I don’t care about anything else.”

You smile at him, grateful that he isn’t holding a grudge. “Kiss me again,” you say, pulling on the collar of his flight suit.

Bradley grins, towering over you as he brings his arms above your head and around your back. He kisses you gently this time, like he’s finally confident that you won’t vanish the moment he lets go. It’s warm and sensuous and lingering, it’s his lips pausing to appreciate every taste and every breath and every texture. It’s the rhythm of his tongue, excruciatingly slow, searching for ways to make you moan.

He pulls you closer, tighter; holds you firmer. You sigh into his mouth, you whine for more, you claw into the fabric of his suit. He reciprocates your urgency, driving you back into the wall with force and pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. You gasp, throwing your head back as his messy kisses trail down your neck, as his hands grope every part of you with fervor until you’re almost too weak to stand.

“Y/N,” he pants into your neck. “If we don’t relocate in the next few minutes, I’m going to end up being dishonorably discharged for indecent exposure.”

You giggle as he kisses you repeatedly along your collarbone. You would like nothing more than to relocate so that the two of you can be indecent together. “It’ll have to wait,” you say, stroking his hair as he growls in response.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” he mutters into your neck.

You laugh and shake you head.

“Come home with me. I just need a minute to grab my things.” He pulls insistently on your waist.

“I’ve got work,” you say mournfully. “My shift starts in half an hour.”

Bradley looks at you in alarm, as though the prospect of spending the next several hours apart is unacceptable. “Take the day off.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure, you can. Tell Penny you’re feeling sick.”

“I’m not feeling sick,” you respond disapprovingly.

He squints his eyes at you with a mischievous smirk. “Fake it.”

Tag List:

The rest of the tag list is in the comments! Might take me a little while to tag everyone and, if I miss you, I'm sorry!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride!

Muah!

@lonelywitchv2

@fanboyluvr

@marrianena

@anotherr-fine-mess

@mrs-obrien

@living-in-my-imagination88

@kindablackenedsuperhero

@whitewolfsbitch

@beebslebobs

@gretagerwigsmuse

@mak-32

@strangunddurm

@desert-fern

@maverick-wingman

@jamielovesbucky

@n3ssm0nique

@misshoneypaper

@roosterscockpit

@jakexfmc

@wintercap89

@gracielou0518

@averyhotchner

@bxwitched

@yeetzel

@xoxabs88xox

@cynisarmy

@kwanimations

@onlygetaway

@hope-love-equality2

@shanimallina87

@ijustwantedplums

@oliviah-25

@gayforsteve

@gingerbreadandpaper

@vemonbby

@sebastianstansimp

@alexxavicry

@spn-marvel-nerd

@army24--7

@emmy626

@criminalyetminimal

@candid-confetti

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@thefandomimagines

@moony-artemis

@my-secret-life-1

@roostereads

@currentlybradshaw

@whisperofsong

[ineffable-xenanigans]

Ineffable divorce and engagement in two Spanish poems

I was inspired by this week's GOetry Monday prompt by @isiaiowin, in which the word was speechless and the form was a décima espinela (a traditionally Spanish 10-line poem with 8 syllables per line and the following rhyming scheme: ABBA ACCDDC).

Oh, and the poems came to me in the language in question (don't worry, I added English translations further down):

Esta tierra es un infierno; arrepiento confesarme desde el día en que mi ángel me abandonó por el cielo.

Una existencia fingiendo que lo nuestro no era amor. Fuimos un grupo de dos, nada dura para siempre, le deseé buena suerte, no cantaba un ruiseñor.

—

Me dijo al arrodillarse y proponer matrimonio: “para un ángel y un demonio nunca es demasiado tarde”.

Ahora me hallo delante de sus dos manos que aman, de sus dos labios que hablan, de sus dos ojos angélicos, de los anillos tan célicos que me dejan sin palabras.

———

This is Hell on Earth; I regret my confession ever since the day my angel abandoned me for Heaven.

A whole existence pretending that what we had wasn’t love. We were a group of the two of us, nothing lasts forever, I wished him good luck, no nightingales sang.

—

He said as he knelt and asked me to marry him: “for an angel and a demon it is never too late”.

Now I find myself in front of his two loving hands, of his two speaking lips, of his two angelic eyes, of the celestial rings that have left me speechless.

————————————

I'd like to gush here for a second about one of my favorite features of Spanish-language poetry, which has to do with the way we count the number of "poetic syllables" in a line.

Basically, we look at the last word in the line.

If the stress falls on the last syllable of that word, we add 1 to the syllable count.

If the stress falls on the second to last syllable, we don't change the syllable count.

If the stress falls on the third to last syllable, we subtract 1 from the syllable count.

There's more that goes into how we count poetic syllables (Wikipedia has a decent summary), but I love this particular feature so much that I made sure to include examples of all 3 cases:

+1 (stress on the last syllable): the lines ending in amor/dos/ruiseñor

±0 (stress on the second to last syllable): most other lines (since most Spanish words have this stress pattern)

-1 (stress on the third to last syllable): the lines ending in angélico/célico

————————————

Oh, and I had a lot of fun making this illustration of their engagement rings. Aziraphale's is yellow gold with feather carvings, and Crowley's is white gold with scale carvings. The gemstones are sapphire and ruby respectively (did you know they are basically the same thing?), and are cut in a half-moon design, so that their rings fit together just like they do 💜

[roosterforme]

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 20 The Wedding | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Tradition states that you and Bradley shouldn't see each other the night before you get married. But the two of you aren't traditional, and neither is your wedding. Can you and he actually pull off the secret wedding of your dreams?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, and swearing

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

After the house was cleaned up, and your parents had been dropped back at their hotel, Bradley had you tucked against his chest in the kitchen. 

"Tomorrow. Holy shit," he whispered. "I can't believe we're getting married tomorrow."

You were giddy, practically vibrating in his arms. "Let's go over the checklist. I can't believe everyone fell for our little white lie."

Bradley kissed your forehead and never stopped touching you as you and he went down the list together. "Did you call the caterer yesterday?" you asked, pen poised over item number seven.

"Yep, dinner, drinks and cake are all set," he confirmed, and you smirked to yourself, because he had also been duped. You couldn't wait to give him his last wedding gift.

"I think that's it then," you confirmed. "I filed the permits. Mav is ready. We are mostly packed for the honeymoon. And everyone else thinks it's a regular day." He scooped you up into his arms and carried you to your bedroom. 

"I don't think I have ever been this excited for anything before," he said, setting you down on the bed and climbing in next to you. 

"You have to go sleep in the other room," you informed him as he kissed along your collarbone. 

His lips froze on you. "What are you talking about, Baby Girl?"

"It's tradition! We're not supposed to see each other the night before or at all tomorrow until we actually get married!"

"Yeah, we're not doing that, Sweetheart." He continued to kiss you as you wiggled away from him, laughing. 

"Come on, Roo."

"Listen, I'm not saying we need to have sex, but I'm not sleeping in the other bedroom when you're in here."

You glared at him and kept scooting away when he tried to touch you until he heaved a deep sigh and climbed out of bed. "Fine. I'll be in the other bedroom. Banished without even fucking up. I'll consider this husband training."

You laughed and stood to give him a kiss before he left. "You're going to be the perfect husband, Roo. You already are. I love you."

"I love you, Baby Girl."

"I can't wait to marry you."

He stroked your cheek with his thumb and smiled. "Me too, Mrs. Bradshaw."

Then you shoved him out of the room and started laying out all of your lingerie for the next day. You had someone coming over to do your hair and makeup in the morning, and you wanted to be organized. When you unzipped the garment bag containing your dress for a final peek, you jumped up and down and squealed quietly. It was perfect. And Bradley was perfect. And your little scheme was working out perfectly. 

You got yourself ready for bed and climbed in alone. Tramp must have followed Bradley to the other bedroom, so you settled in and tried to fall asleep. It was quiet, and the bed was comfortable, but when Bradley wasn't with you, it reminded you of his deployments. You rolled over onto your back and thought about how pretty the view would be tomorrow, but you were too cold in the bed without him. You rolled onto your stomach in his spot and pretended you were laying on him. But it wasn't working, because while his pillow smelled like him, nothing was as comfortable to lay on as Bradley's warm shoulder. 

"You're ridiculous," you groaned, flipping your lamp back on and grabbing your glasses. You walked through the living room and into the other bedroom and watched Tramp and Bradley both perk up when you said, "Roo?"

"What's wrong?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

You bit your lip and whispered, "I miss you. Will you come back to bed?"

He was out from under the blanket and walking toward you in just his underwear immediately, and then he scooped you up in his arms without another word. Tramp trailed behind him as he carried you back to your bed. He took off your glasses and tucked you in as Tramp curled up in his own bed. Then Bradley turned off the lamp and climbed in on his side, and you were on top of him in an instant with your head on his shoulder. 

"I didn't like you being here but not being with me," you whispered, kissing his warm skin while he laced his fingers with yours. 

"Please don't make me sleep alone unless I'm deployed."

You snuggled in and closed your eyes, finally feeling calm and comfortable. "Never."

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

Bradley woke up to you draped across his body, enjoying the sound of your deep, even breathing. He was going to marry you today. Tears stung at his eyes at the thought of you in a white dress putting a ring on his finger. When you started to stir, you looked up at him and smiled. 

"Happy wedding day," you whispered. 

"Happy best day of my life, Sweetheart."

Your sleepy laughter filled the room as you sat up and kissed him. "You need to get dressed and leave so I can get ready."

Bradley grumbled but did as he was told while you made breakfast. Then he sat at the dining room table with you on his lap wearing nothing but his UVA shirt while you ate eggs covered in hot sauce. Occasionally you tore off a bit of your toast and fed it to Tramp as he begged next to the chair. Bradley wanted his life with you to last forever. He couldn't get enough of this. 

"Hey," he whispered and you turned to look at him with a piece of toast halfway to your parted lips. "It's just you and me, Baby Girl. Forever."

You smiled and set the toast down before wrapping your arms around his neck. "Me and you." 

Before Bradley got changed in the extra bedroom and left, he put both wedding bands in his pocket and made sure his phone was charged and loaded with the correct playlist. Then he told you which parking spot he would be waiting in with the Bronco. 

"I'll be there, Roo," you promised, kissing him so sweetly he was having a hard time making himself leave. But he knew the sooner he let you get ready, the sooner you'd meet him and everyone else in your wedding dress. So he pulled out of the driveway with a smile on his face. 

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

Your hair was done. Your makeup was done. You were slipping into the outrageously expensive satin panties with Mrs. Bradshaw embroidered on the front when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You looked amazing. This is what Bradley was going to see later when he brought you home. You cupped your breasts in your hands and turned to really look at yourself. You weren't perfect, but he loved you. 

You were wearing the new earrings Bradley had given you, and Carole's beautiful veil would be your something old. The blue Mrs. Bradshaw stitching in your lingerie would cover that element of the tradition, but you still had to figure out how to incorporate the keychain from Jake, even if he had no idea that's why you demanded he let you borrow it.

When you checked the time on your phone, you nearly screamed. You were running late. You got your dress on as quickly as you could, struggling with the zipper. Then you took the time to lace your high heels up your calves and tie the ribbons in pretty bows for Bradley to undo later. You grabbed your shoes for the reception and Jake's keychain, and then you were ready to go.

When you pulled up to the parking lot, you saw Mav and Bradley next to the Bronco with your parents. Mav came running over to move the orange traffic cones so you could pull in, and he had a huge smile on his face. Then you parked two spots down from the Bronco, leaving one empty one in between both cars. 

When you opened your door, Bradley was right there with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "Baby Girl," he sighed, helping you out of your car and into his arms. He looked at you and then held you close, whispering, "I am so lucky." You let him hold you as you ran your red fingernails along his yellow and red tropical print shirt while he brushed your ear with his lips. "So lucky. I love you so much."

You melted against him as his big, warm hands spread across your bare back. "I love you, Roo. Forever." Then he took a step away from you and ran his hands along the fabric of your wedding dress.

"Do you know how badly I wanted to look in that garment bag for the past month? That damn thing was taunting me in the closet, but I had fun imagining what you'd look like today." He licked his lips and ran his thumb along the lace between your breasts. "God, you look amazing. I couldn't even imagine anything this perfect."

"It's just for you." Your words had a rosy color creeping along his cheeks as he ran his hand down your body to the exact location of your tattoo.

You could hear your mom crying next to the Bronco, and when you kissed Bradley one last time and glanced over at your parents, you almost laughed. Your dad was wearing an old Naval Academy shirt with his swim trunks, and your mom had on a sundress with her sunglasses perched up on top of her head. Bradley gently pushed you toward them, and then they were both pulling you into their arms. 

"I'm sorry we lied and told you it was just a beach day today," you said, trying not to start crying yourself. 

"That's okay. We don't mind," your dad said with a soft laugh.

Your mom held your face in both hands. "When Bradley picked us up in white linen pants, I was a little concerned. And then when he stopped at a florist and asked me to hold onto your bouquet while he drove, I started crying. And I haven't stopped since. Because I'm so happy."

When she finally released you and clung to your dad instead, you hugged Mav who whispered, "You look beautiful. Just as pretty as Carole did on her wedding day. The Bradshaw men have impeccable taste."

You tried not to cry as you ran your fingers along Carole's veil where it fell back along your shoulders. "I wish I could have met them," you told Maverick, and then you really felt like crying. 

But then your dad asked, "Not that I don't love it, but why exactly did you pick a parking lot for your wedding venue?"

Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist and said, "This parking spot is where we had our first kiss."

You looked out past the front of your car at the cliffs beach and the Pacific Ocean and thought about that fateful day early last September. "I kissed you."

Bradley nodded. "You owed me after all the mixed signals, Baby Girl."

"The Bronco was parked in this spot," you said, tapping your toe on the crumbling pavement of the empty parking space. 

"No. The Bronco was parked there," he replied, pointing to where it was currently parked. 

"What? No, it was definitely this spot, Roo."

"You're so wrong, Sweetheart."

You opened your mouth to argue further, but then you watched an SUV pull in right over the cones, followed by Phoenix screaming your names at the top of her lungs out the driver's window.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" she screeched as she jumped out of her car while it was practically still moving and ran over and right into Bradley's arms. 

He hugged his best friend who was wearing a sports bra, athletic shorts, and flip flops. Then Bob hopped out of her car as well and rushed over with his nose covered in zinc sunblock and his sunglasses clipped onto his regular glasses. He looked around as your mom handed you the bouquet of red and yellow flowers you ordered. "Are you getting married? Today?" he asked quietly, wiping tears from his eyes. 

"Yes!" you said, and Bob hugged you so hard, he got sunblock in your hair. And then Nat started crying as you handed her a smaller bouquet that matched yours while your mom fixed your hair.  

"I literally never thought this was going to happen," Nat sobbed at you. "I was still afraid you might change your mind, because he's kind of a nightmare, but he's so fucking pussy whipped for you, I can't even think straight. Oh my god, I'm sorry about my language," she muttered to your parents while she wiped her tears on Bob's shirt. "I can't believe you said it was a beach day, and now I have to wear this in your wedding photos!" she said, hitting Bradley with the flowers. 

Everything was turning into a commotion as Maverick moved the bent traffic cones for Penny and Amelia to pull in along with Payback, Fanboy and Coyote. Maverick also had to keep waving people past, even though there was a sign hanging up with the county seal that said PERMIT FOR PRIVATE EVENT- NOVEMBER 28TH 4 PM TO 9 PM.

You laughed at everyone's attire and shocked faces. Penny and Amelia were wearing matching Hard Deck tee shirts and the boys all had on bathing suits. 

"It's a wedding! It's not a beach day!" Fanboy yelled when he saw you and Bradley. "It's actually a fucking wedding!"

You buried your laughter against Bradley's chest and wiped your sweaty palms on his shirt. He kissed the top of your head through the veil as the guys all made a fuss over you. 

Jake, Maria, and Cam were still missing, and you nervously worked Jake's keychain in amongst your flowers as Maverick checked the time.

"Do you want to get started now?" he asked you and Bradley. "Or should we wait a bit longer?"

"We need to wait," you replied quickly while Bradley rubbed your back.

"Hey, can you call Hangman?" Bradley asked Coyote who immediately took his phone out. But then you saw Jake pull past and run directly over all the cones to get in the parking lot.

"You lied to me!" Jake shouted as he parked and walked over to the ceremony spot overlooking the ocean. "You are both liars! This is a scam! Mexico? Really?" he asked, playfully shoving Bradley before shaking his hand. And then he gave you a bear hug that had you gasping for air. 

"Thanks for giving me my something borrowed," you said with a smile when he released you. Jake examined your bouquet when you held it up, and he kissed your cheek when he saw his keychain. 

"I'd tell you to keep it, but I think you have to give it back now."

Everyone was shifting around a bit impatiently. Nat was putting Coyote's shirt on as the photographer got to work. You were looking up and down at every car that passed, hoping to see your friends. And Bradley kept his arm wrapped around you, reassuring you that they could all wait as long as you wanted to before starting. 

When you looked up at Bradley's soppy expression and puppy dog eyes, you sighed, not wanting to wait any longer. "Let's do this," you told him, about to hand Maria's bouquet to Jake to act as your maid of honor. But your friends didn't let you down. You watched Maria drive up, and Fanboy moved the crumpled cones so she could pull in. She had Cam in the car with her, and they were both smiling. 

"My flight was delayed because of snow! On your wedding day!" Cam called out, walking over to you in jeans and a flannel shirt. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, pulling you into a hug. "I would have flown back from Pittsburgh last night." 

Maria joined in the hug as she cried. "You picked a wedding date after all." She held her bouquet and stood next to you while Nat in Coyote's shirt stood next to Bradley. Mav shuffled some papers in his hands and stood with this back to the beautiful vista as everyone else crowded into the parking space between the two cars. 

But you just looked at Bradley who was very clearly on the verge of tears. Every time he swallowed, the bob of his Adam's apple had you biting your lip, probably ruining your lipstick in the process. You had more love in your heart for him than you knew what to do with, and as you took his left hand in your right one, Maverick cleared his throat. 

"This is nice," Mav said, smiling at everyone. "Small and perfect. These two knew what they were doing."

"Fucking liars," Jake whispered loudly, making everyone laugh. 

"Yeah, well," Mav agreed with a grin, "it somehow ended up working out. And they didn't give me anything to work with, rather they told me I could say whatever I wanted before they exchanged their vows, so I will make this brief." Mav turned to you and smiled, saying, "You and Bradley are so very lucky to have your parents here today. You are about to marry the son of the best friend I ever had. I knew Goose's opinions on every topic imaginable, because he did not know how to keep his mouth shut. And I can tell you that he would have absolutely loved you. But that love would have been a mere fraction of the unyielding adoration that Carole would have had for the wife of her only son."

You sobbed as tears filled your eyes, and Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek. "And Bradley, I'm going to say word for word what your dad would say if he were here right now. 'You pulled off something incredible here, kid. You're following right in my footsteps. She is way too good for you. Do not fuck this up.'"

Bradley laughed as Mav reached out to shake his hand. "You're right Mav. I think he would have actually said that."

Once everyone's laughter had quieted down again, you took a deep breath and looked out at the ocean, letting the warm breeze help dry your eyes. When you looked back at Bradley, your lip was quivering a bit, but he was grinning at you. "Can I say my vows first?" he asked. "I'm really excited."

"Yeah, Roo," you whispered, handing your flowers to Maria so you could wipe your eyes with the tissue Mav handed you. "You can go first."

You handed the tissue to Maria, and Bradley took both of your hands and pulled you closer to him until your body was skimming his. He reached up and ran his thumb across your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds. 

"Baby Girl. It's obvious to anyone who knows me that I was alone for a really long time," he told you, and you felt like it was just the two of you, having a conversation. "I made it my lifestyle, my personality for almost two decades. It was so much a part of my identity that I couldn't even recognize that I wasn't just alone, I was also lonely."

He took a deep breath and touched your lip before returning his hand to yours. "I never thought I could have the life I have now, because I didn't appreciate what I was missing out on. And then I met you... and holy shit, Sweetheart," he sighed, kissing your forehead. "I knew immediately that there was something there for me. Something different. Something important that I needed to pay attention to. I was in love with you before our first date. It was devastating. I had no idea what to do about it. What if you didn't love me back ever? What was I going to do then? How did people deal with this wonderful and horrible feeling? The fact that you said 'I love you' first? Baby Girl, that showed some real restraint on my part."

You laughed at the look of concern on his face, and then he was smiling at you like he always did. Like he'd never seen anything as wonderful as you. "You want to know what's kind of crazy?" he asked, and you saw Nat crying silently out of the corner of your eye. "It feels like I must have known you my whole life. When I count our relationship by months or years, it feels incorrect. It should be longer than that. It feels longer than that. Because you make every day feel full now. I wake up with a purpose, and I go to sleep with a purpose, and that purpose is you, Baby Girl."

It was getting hard to look at him through the tears in your eyes, and you thought you would get a headache if you kept smiling this much, but he continued. 

"I get to spend my hours with you or thinking about you. I get to fill up every minute making plans with you. Every minute is made up of seconds where I get to hear your voice and listen to your ideas. And you're so smart and it's crazy that you love my back, because you make every day now worth those decades of feeling like I didn't deserve more.

"So this is my promise to you....my wedding vow. Baby Girl, I will try to make all of your years and days and hours and minutes and seconds as perfect as you make mine. I want to fill up all of that time with my love. I will try to make every second count, but I also know that all the time in this world still won't be enough with you, Sweetheart. But I'm going to enjoy every single moment that I have."

You were crying softly as you buried your face in the collar of his floral print shirt and breathed him in. He held you tight against him as he whispered, "I love you so much," next to your ear and kissed you there. 

When you finally looked up at him, he kissed your lips as you said, "You made me cry, and now I have to say my vows." With a soft smile he ran his fingers across your cheeks to clear away your tears, and you took a deep breath. "Roo. On our first date, I asked you to tell me something embarrassing about yourself."

His eyes went a little wide. "Please don't make me say it here." 

You laughed at him and shook your head. "I won't. But when I asked you that night, you told me! And it was funny and charming, and I thought you were adorable. And then you let me keep asking you for more. I wanted to learn everything about you. I still do. Because you make it easy. You never make me feel like I'm bugging you. You always make me feel like you have time to talk to me. And you have always been honest with me, telling me I can ask you anything." 

Bradley nodded and whispered, "I love talking to you." 

You kissed his lips and then continued. "You're the most open and honest person I have ever met. I always know where I stand with you. Do you know how good that makes me feel? To always be someone's highest priority? To always be your highest priority? And you always let me know your expectations. Of course, that means I knew you intended to reach our wedding day after we'd been dating for approximately two weeks." Bradley laughed as he swiped some tears from his eyes, and you were a little started to hear your friends and family laughing as well; everyone else had drifted into the back of your mind as you focused on Bradley.

"Roo, I'd rather have that kind of transparency with you than anything else with anyone else. You make me feel like it's okay to be myself. And I believe you when you tell me something. And I love that you trust me, too."

"I do, Sweetheart," he promised. "I'd trust you with my life," he said, his voice catching on the last word as released your left hand to wipe away more tears.

You took a deep breath before saying, "I can't wait to keep learning all of the little intricacies about what makes you tick. Because for someone who has been through so much in such a short amount of time, you are a fighter when you need to be. But you never make me fight for the things I deserve. Like your love, and your patience, and your honesty. You love me so much," you whispered as Bradley covered his eyes as his shoulders shook. "You protect me, and I protect you. Because you're right, all of our minutes and hours spent walking Tramp or making dinner or just having a lazy day...they are so important, because you're with me." You voice was quiet and shaky as you took a deep breath while Bradley met your eyes with his tear filled ones. 

"So, Roo, I vow to be as open and forthcoming as you are. But that's not going to be easy, since you're amazing at it, but I'll try. Because you're it for me, Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley took your face in both of his hands and looked at you in awe. "How can you love me that much?" he asked you, his voice rough with unshed tears.

You reached up and stroked his wrists softly as he held you. "You make it so easy, Bradley." Then his lips were on your forehead and then your nose before they found yours. He kissed you so sweetly as his hands gently went to the back of your neck.

Maverick cleared his throat, and you jumped a few inches as Bradley pulled back from the kiss. 

"We haven't even gotten to the kissing part yet," he said, wiping tears from his own eyes.

"Well then hurry up," Bradley told him, letting his hands slide down between your neck and the veil and along your body until he was holding your hands once again.

"Yeah, okay," Maverick agreed, and you turned to find everyone was smiling and wiping tears from their eyes. Nat was dabbing her face with Coyote's shirt and your parents were holding each other. "Do you have rings to exchange?"

"Yes," Bradley replied as he reached in his pocket and then held out his palm with both wedding bands. You carefully took his ring between your thumb and index finger with a smile. 

"You can go ahead and put the rings on each other's fingers," Maverick said, and Bradley went first. The way the gold band matched up with your engagement ring had more tears coming to your eyes. "Would you like to say anything else?" Maverick asked.

Bradley softly kissed your finger where both rings were, and he told you, "I love you. I love my wife."

You smiled and slipped his ring on his hand as you told him. "I love my husband!"

Maverick rubbed his hands together and said, "Somehow the state of California has made me legally allowed to say this: I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss!"

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

Bradley reached for you so fast, wrapping his hands around your waist to settle low on your back. The veil his mom wore the day she married his dad was skimming his fingers as he pulled you closer. Your eyes were wide and trusting, your lips parted in the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. The remainder of the tears you had shed while Bradley poured his love into his wedding vows to you were dry on your cheeks, and he was about to make you his wife.

"Somehow the state of California has made me legally allowed to say this: I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss!"

Bradley kissed you as your palms rested on his chest before wrapping around his neck. He kissed you long and hard as everyone cheered and hollered, and when he broke the kiss because you were both smiling too much, you chased his lips for more. You pulled him close again as your fingers skimmed through his hair. So he kissed you until you were both laughing, and he held you close to his side as you turned to face everyone. Your head came to rest on his shoulder, and he kissed your forehead. 

Bradley was vaguely aware of the photographer and the fact that the catering van was now running over the orange cones that Nat and Jake had previously decimated. He could feel Nat reaching up to kiss his cheek, and he watched your parents both give you a hug. But he never stopped touching you. His perfect wife.

You were holding your flowers again, and every couple seconds, you reached up, bumping him with the bouquet before giving him a kiss. This had been the perfect day for the secret parking lot wedding of Bradley's dreams. And somehow as the sun fell low on the horizon, you looked even more beautiful to him. 

"I can't stop smiling, Roo," you told him, hitting his cheek again with the yellow and red flowers as you leaned up to kiss him. 

"This has been the best day of my life, and it's not even over yet." Bradley ran his thumb over his wedding band as you wrapped your arms around him. "You're my wife. You're my fucking wife, Baby Girl!" You laughed against him as he announced to everyone gathered in the parking spot, "I can't believe she married me!"

"Neither can we!" Nat replied, and Bradley let everyone's hugs and words of congratulations wash over him as you held him in your arms. 

Bradley watched the caterers start to carry coolers and trays of food down the rocks to the beach as if they did this every day. You had your fingers laced through his as you hugged Jake with your free arm. Bradley watched as he kissed your cheek and whispered something to you that made you laugh, and then Jake was patting him on the shoulder. 

"Congratulations, Bradshaw," he drawled with a smirk. "I gotta say, I never thought I'd be so happy to have a girl choose you over me, but here we are."

"If she's too good for me, then she's way too good for you," Bradley replied with a laugh. Then he pulled you into his arms as Jake started to help your mom down the rocks to the sandy beach below the parking lot.

As everyone was heading down along with the caterers, leaving you mostly alone, Bradley pulled you in for another kiss. "I can't get enough of you, Mrs. Bradshaw," he whispered, running his hands all over you. "God, you look incredible."

You moaned softly into his mouth, and he pushed you gently against the passenger door of the Bronco. "You like my wedding dress?" you asked between kisses.

"You look like a fucking goddess, Baby Girl. I can't believe you're mine."

Your fingers trailed along the buttons of his newest Hawaiian print shirt as he kissed your neck and let his hand drift down to the slit in your dress. When his palm came to rest against your bare thigh, you sighed. "I'm all yours, Roo."

"Let's go home," he suggested, only half joking. "Get a jump start on the night?"

You laughed as he rubbed his mustache along your neck. "No way. I want my confetti cake and the little bottles of pink champagne," you told him as his hand wrapped around to the back of your thigh. "But after that...I see no reason why we can't go home. Now help me change out of these shoes."

Bradley helped you climb up into the passenger seat, and he started to untie the ribbons that wound up your calves. "These are pretty," he grunted, gently running his hands down your legs as he took your shoes off for you. "Will you put them back on for me later?"

"Will you actually take five minutes to help me lace them back up my legs just so you can fuck me in them?" you asked him sweetly, and he groaned.

"Well, maybe not for round one, Sweetheart, but for round two or three, yes."

Your eyes went wide. "How late are we staying up tonight?"

He scoffed. "We only get one wedding night."

After he retrieved your flat shoes from the backseat of your car, Bradley helped you slip them on. But instead of climbing out of the Bronco when he reached for you, he felt you pull him in closer. 

"What does this remind you of, Roo?" You ran your fingers over the scars on his neck and cheek before pushing your fingers up into his hair. Then you pulled him closer and closer until you pressed your lips against his. Bradley drew little circles along your waist through your dress with his thumbs, and he parted your lips with his and tasted your tongue. 

You moaned softly into his mouth as he trailed his lips across your jaw, whispering, "Our first kiss, Baby Girl. Right in this parking spot."

"Mmm," you hummed as he kissed your neck. "It was the next parking spot over, but it doesn't matter, Roo." He kissed along the tops of your breasts, as you whispered, "We did it. We pulled off the secret parking lot wedding. You're my husband."

He wrapped his hand around your waist and kissed you hard. "Let's get down there, Baby Girl. The sooner we finish celebrating here, the sooner I can celebrate with my wife at home."

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

THEY ARE MARRIED! THEY DID IT! BRADLEY AND BABY GIRL BRADSHAW! Thanks for reading, whether you've been here since the beginning or joined somewhere along the way. I really appreciate you. Next chapter is the beach reception and the wedding night. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for helping me every step along the way.

PART 21

@mak-32

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[fairyhaos]

❍ the 2k event: junhui + castle

vote for this fic in the poll!

alternative title: you are my kingdom

pairing: crown prince!junhui x royalty!gn!reader

genre: historical royalty au, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers

word count: 1167

warnings: none

event taglist (send ask to be added): @slytherinshua @rubywonu @pepperonijem @amxlia-stars @weird-bookworm @hannyoontify @my-moarmy-heart @suminsfav @minhui896 @haocovr @lockburn-castle @sweet-like-caramel @horanghae8 @graybaeismytae @karionice @hopetiger10 @shuabby1994

The wind whistles through the castle, seeping in through under the heavy wooden doors, in through the windows that aren't quite sealed enough to keep away the small squeals of air. You hold your breath, trying to not make a sound, curling up even tighter in your spot in the wardrobe. 

"Y/N?" A voice singsongs, and you stiffen at the sound of footsteps echoing on the stone floor outside of the room. "Where are you?"

The door to the room you're in creaks open, and you try to pretend that you're not there.

It doesn't work, though, because not even two seconds later, the wardrobe door swings open and a man grins down at you, dark eyes glittering. 

"Aha! I found you!" Junhui declares, bright and happy, and you groan. He offers out a hand to help you to your feet, and you accept it, brushing off your clothes as you step out of the wardrobe. "Why are you even hiding in these rooms, anyway? You're never gonna need to come to the visitor's wing."

"Hey. We're playing hide and seek for me, you know. Because I don't know the layout if your castle. You never gave me boundaries!" you point out as Junhui leads you out of the room. "I wouldn't have known the boundaries, anyway. Because again. I don't know the layout of your castle."

Junhui laughs. "That's true. Well, anyway, now you know. These are the visitor wings, where we place the visiting royals or Lords who are coming to make relations with the King."

"Your father," you correct. 

"The King," Junhui says again, smiling. "They don't come say hi to my father just because he's my dad, do they? They come because he's the King."

You shrug. "Fair enough."

"Do you wanna play another round of hide and seek?" Junhui asks. "We have some time before some duties we need to carry out. And then Father wants us to eat with him for dinner."

"Yes! Let's play another round!" you say, clasping your hands together. "I think I almost have down the important parts of the castle."

Junhui grins, and takes your hand. "Okay, let's go back outside! I'll count to one hundred again."

As Junhui drags you through his castle, laughing as you stumble over uneven cobblestones and barrel past surprised servants, you can't help but marvel at how different he is from any other Crown Prince you've ever met. 

You can't help but marvel at how you're married to him. 

It hadn't been a love marriage, but rather an arranged one, as most marriages between kingdoms' royal children were. You had little say in who you were going to marry, and Crown Prince Junhui had been chosen for you purely because your father had wanted to maintain peace with a newly emerged kingdom that showed potential to one day be powerful. 

You were a pawn in the grand scheme of petty politics, to say the least. And you had hated it. 

You had done your utmost to sabotage the engagement, refused all of Junhui's courting gifts, fiercely denied meeting him right up until the day of your marriage, insisting that if your freedom to choose who you were going to marry was being taken from you, then you were going to fight for every other little bit of freedom that you could. 

The marriage had been a whistlestop affair, feeling more like a treaty signing with mildly more fanfare than the wedding it was meant to be, and that had infuriated you even more. 

You'd vowed to despise Prince Junhui and his kingdom forever, especially when you'd been whisked away from your home to go live in his castle with him. 

That is, until the day you walked in on Junhui in tears. 

It had been an accident, with you still unaware of the castle layout having only been there a week, and your maidservant was little help, a snooty young lady who seemed to despise the fact that their "attractive young prince was marrying a person who could hold no candle to his beauty". 

You were trying to search for the stables and had gotten hopelessly lost, wandering around the edges of the castle until you accidentally stumbled upon Junhui, hidden in the long grass in a dip in the stones where a turret met the straight walls, wiping his eyes. 

It had startled you, to see him look so sad and lost, and in that moment it struck you that Junhui was in the same position as you, that he was stuck in a loveless marriage just like you, and here you were, snapping at him and avoiding him and being utterly horrible when his life surely wasn't looking any nicer than yours. 

Silently, so as not to be noticed, you had stepped backwards and left him alone. And three days later, you sought him out in his chambers, hand outstretched and tentative smile on your face, asking for a truce. 

And that leads you to where you are now, many months later. Running through the castle. Playing hide and seek to help you understand the layout of how your new home works. 

"Your Highnesses!" the Head Knight yelps, practically throwing himself into the wall as the Crown Prince runs past, with you in tow. "Please be careful!"

"Sorry, Cheol!" Junhui yells back. "You're getting slow in your old age, though!" he adds, and you laugh. 

There's something so youthfully beautiful about Junhui's face when he smiles like that, you think, as he rounds the corner and throws open the doors that lead outside into the courtyard. 

He's so beautiful. 

"Oh my God," you gasp, leaning against the wall, panting. "I think I'm getting slow in my old age."

Junhui laughs again, dark eyes twinkling. "Nonsense. You're young and fit and beautiful, nothing at all like the old hag that is Seungcheol."

You stifle a grin, trying not to focus on how his words make your heart thump oddly in your chest. "Sure, sure. I bet he could still run you through in the blink of an eye, though."

"Oh, definitely," Junhui says instantly, and you laugh at the promptness of his answer. "But our Court Physician? Wow, Jeonghan is even more of a hag, I swear. He never leaves his room."

You tilt your head. "Jeonghan?"

Junhui's eyes widen. "I haven't taken you to meet Jeonghan, have I? Don't worry, we'll do that first thing tomorrow."

It makes your heart warm, really, the amount of effort Junhui is putting in to make you feel comfortable in his kingdom. Ever since that incident those several months ago, he's been the one friendly face you've found comfort in within this new place. He's been your friend. 

But as he beams at you before turning to face the wall, rambling on about how's he's going to count to 100 really slowly to allow you to choose the best hiding spot ever in this castle, a realisation hits you in the chest so hard that your eyes widen. 

Oh, no. 

"Junhui."

Junhui turns around, his face open, and he looks so beautiful that your heart thumps even harder and you're blurting out what you're thinking without even stopping to reconsider. 

"I think I'm in love with you."

[brotherwtf]

your trophy wife x criminal fic, which was MINDBLOWINGLY AMAZING, made me think of this old tumblr post that was basically like a romcom idea au for a chief police officer x mob boss who are married but have to pretend to ‘accidentally’ miss shooting each other everytime they see each other or soemthing

thank you so much anon! I'm glad you liked that fic!!

omg that would be such a funny concept for clegan, just two absolute fools in love with each other

They met when John was just a lackey and Gale was a beat cop, nothing really important of either or their schemes lmao

They start goofing around, fucking and going on dates as they each rise up the ranks of their respective businesses

It hadn't been a problem, until Gale got promoted to police chief and John finally became the boss of his crime syndicate

It was now Gale's problem to solve the issue of organized crime in the city, and he knows that John is a pretty big part of it

John will tell Gale when they're doing a job or smth illegal so that Gale can only arrest the lackeys without getting John in trouble

Gale will tell John when there's a pursuit so that he can get as many men out of there as possible

Hilarity ensues: "Gale you SHOT at me!" "I was doing my JOB dumbass!" but eventually just go back to their bed together and sleep together

Gale will always give John a signal or smth when they're pursuing him to like run down a different alleyway to escape the police, Gale is just all 'oh drats we didn't get him oh well better luck next time' and returns home to John and his cocky smile

John spoils Gale so much with his money from being a mob boss, Gale has to pretend that the lavish gifts he receives are from rich family members and not the number one crime syndicate in the city

Gale is a romantic, likes to take John on dates and wine and dine him, spoils him in a different way that John does

ANGST TIME (wouldn't be a post by me if there wasn't angst): Gale gets kidnapped or John gets arrested, either are very likely scenarios and the other literally rips through walls to try and rescue the other. They won't stop until their love is safe 🥹🥹

Plenty of hurt comfort, John gets hurt or smth and Gale nurses him back to health and forces him to take a goddamn break for once, always worries over him and dotes on him

John always makes sure that Gale has protection, police chiefs get threatened a lot, no one is going to hurt his love, not when Johns alive

this was super cute!! they're so stupid for each other it's honestly mad, thank you again for the ask!

[goodqueenaly]

If Robert had perhaps lived for a few more years, what sort of marital prospects might Edric Storm expect as the king's acknowledged natural son? Obviously he is a bastard, but I imagine some may have been eager to take advantage of his proximity to Renly or the King: How well could he reasonably wed?

I think a few things have to be kept in mind.

Number one, I doubt how much interest Robert would have had in young Edric's marriage. Unlike, say, Aegon IV, who I think was very willing to arrange his son Daemon's marriage to promote Daemon as a would-be King of the Stepstones, Robert seems to have had little input (by his own choice) on the upkeep or future of his only acknowledged bastard son. As Stannis noted, while Robert "played the fond father on his visits to Storm's End" the many gifts ostensibly given by father to son were the choice of Varys rather than Robert, who "would laugh and ask Varys what he'd sent this year". If Robert had been forced to recognize Edric, since his mother was a noblewoman, that recognition may have been all Robert personally really felt he needed to do for Edric (at least, that he could not delegate to someone else). The only marriage Robert was looking to arrange, so far as we can see, was that of the boy he believed to be his elder legitimate son - and speaking of that …

Number two, Edric's closeness to Robert and Renly, as a nobly blooded royal son, would potentially have been severely compromised by the latter's plans. Because Renly absolutely knew about the incest, he, Renly, was actively trying to arrange for Robert's remarriage to Margaery Tyrell (and, of course, the removal of Cersei and her children). With Robert presumably poised in such a scheme to father unquestionably legitimate children with Margaery, Edric’s dynastic value as an undeniable, blue-blooded son of the king would have all but evaporated. Neither Robert nor Renly would have needed, nor indeed necessarily wanted, to cultivate the courtly standing of the king’s bastard son, especially with a high-ranking marriage, especially with the historical memory of the Blackfyre pretenders. If Renly might have found young Edric, with his obviously Baratheon features, useful as a potential pawn in his scheme to reveal Cersei’s infidelity, the Florent-blooded bastard would likely have had no place, including as a potential marriage pawn, in a Tyrell-Baratheon court thereafter.

Number three, IOTL Cersei was not shy about eliminating or trying to eliminate Robert’s bastards where she could. Eager to conceive children outside of her marriage, and thereby deny Robert children, as vengeance against the husband she had been forced to marry, and well aware that any children born to Robert by another mother would have the Baratheon look her own children very clearly did not, Cersei did not hesitate to have Robert’s Casterly Rock twins and baby Barra murdered, and attempted to do the same with Gendry (not to mention the threats she made about Mya Stone). In turn, I doubt that Cersei would simply have sat by and allowed Edric to grow and marry, especially to some high-ranking dynastic partner, without some attempt to interfere and prevent the continuation of Robert’s line.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

this is from the prompt I think I saw about fanfic

1

39

Aubrey hall

Great! Thank you :)

1) SHIP: Penelope x Colin

20) LOCATION: Aubrey Hall

39) SCANDAL: secret pregnancy!

more Bridgerton-themed fic prompts

Bridgerton Mothers

Pairing: Penelope x Colin Rating: T Word Count: 1115

Summary: Colin has brought Penelope (now his fiancée!) to Aubrey Hall with a secret. Violet believes she knows what it is.

“If you should ever want to tell me something, Penelope,” Violet encouraged, “I hope you will feel that you can.”

They were taking their tea quietly, in the drawing room. The sun spilled beautifully through the windows and there was a freshness to the estate, every room having been aired out in advance of their family’s arrival. Though Violet felt quite content on this morning, in this drawing room, at Aubrey Hall, she was aware that the young lady across from her was not equally at ease. She believed she knew the reason, but as Penelope was not yet one of her daughters, Violet refrained from prying. She would simply make the girl comfortable. If Penelope then chose to divulge her secret, that would be her own decision.

“I…” Penelope’s gaze plunged to the cup she held delicately in her hands. “I find the tea delicious.”

Violet smiled warmly at her.

“I am so glad. I want you to feel entirely at home here. I always have.” She laughed softly, casting her mind back to summers gone by. “I remember you as a girl here, rambling through the woods with Eloise.”

“I wanted to play princesses,” Penelope recalled, smiling too. “Eloise said we ought to be knights instead. She was so put out when Anthony would not lend her a sword.”

“That’s right! You were such a good friend to go along with her rather strenuous games.” They shared a look of amusement. “My son sometimes intervened, did he not?”

Violet pretended to be unclear, though of course, she remembered perfectly. She raised her cup to her lips and sipped as she waited for Penelope to colour in the scene of childhood fancy.

“Colin did not have much difficulty in detecting my lack of enthusiasm,” Penelope said, gaze far off. “I believe it might have been the only case of a princess rescued from a knight instead of by one.”

“Gallant little Colin! How lovely,” Violet said slyly, “that you return to Aubrey Hall this summer as an engaged couple, and that, one day, you will bring your own children here.”

Penelope made a sputtering sound as she choked on her tea, clearing her throat with a soft cough. Her cheeks were quite pink, Violet observed. No doubt the result of momentarily losing her breath. Nothing more.

Visibly attempting to compose herself, Penelope shakily agreed, “One day.”

Violet gave her another approving smile. Her suspicion was all but confirmed.

—

“The wedding,” Violet remarked casually. “It is soon.”

“It is,” Colin agreed.

And yet, as they ambled about the grounds, he appeared entirely unperturbed. Having a fiancée suited him, Violet thought. But no, it was not that. Having Penelope as his fiancée—that was what had made her son so happy. They were astonishingly well-matched, she felt, and that was saying something; he was her third child to be so lucky in love. However, where Daphne had kept her true feelings (and scheming) terribly close, and Anthony had attempted to convince both her and himself that love was an emotion he was not prepared to experience at all, Colin was as clear as glass, with none of its coldness. And his love for Penelope was just as clear. Violet had found it to be, anyway, and had been immensely relieved when he had acted upon his feelings, asking the girl to marry him. Of the three happy matches her children had made, this was the one in which she had had the most confidence. It was as she had always told her sons and daughters: true love began with friendship as its foundation. The friendship between Penelope and Colin was very strong indeed.

“I know you do not desire a longer engagement,” Violet said, giving her son’s arm a light, affectionate squeeze. “Would you, perhaps, have wished for a shorter one?”

“Like Daphne and the Duke had?” She watched Colin’s thoughtful expression. “No, that would not have been right for Penelope and I. The only time there has been any haste between us was when I asked her to be my wife, and that was entirely my fault, waiting so long to give voice to my feelings that she believed herself uncared for and nearly entered into an engagement with another.

“Marrying now is what we both wish for, and what Penelope deserves. I have been proud to flaunt her on my arm.” Colin smiled to himself. “I suppose I longed to prove myself to her, and a public courtship that allowed her to be seen—not as an object of pity, but as a woman in love—well. It has been my great pleasure to give her that.”

Violet’s eyes welled with pride as she praised her son: “Well said.”

As though he had, though, said more than he had intended, Colin looked suddenly, lovably awkward. Violet patted his arm in reassurance.

“Do not fear my opinion, dearest. I will only ever champion you. A love match is all I could have hoped for any of you. It is apparent to anyone with eyes that you and Penelope have found that in each other.”

Colin smiled.

“We have.”

“And the wedding will come just soon enough,” she hinted.

He turned to look at her, observably puzzled.

“For what?” he asked.

“For what!” Violet laughed.

When her son continued to appear perplexed, her laughter died. She stopped walking, halting them both.

“Colin,” she said. “You know to what I am referring. Do not be alarmed. Penelope said nothing.”

“I do not know what she could have said, because I am at a loss!”

“The reason,” Violet prompted. “The reason a young couple might want a short engagement… Colin! I have eight children.”

He stared at her as though he did not comprehend how her vague allusion related to her statement of fact. All at once, she saw that he did understand; she watched the knowledge alter something behind his eyes, watched the parts of him communicate with one another, contemplating and questioning and, finally, verifying this information.

“Penelope is with child?”

“You are asking me?” Violet questioned back, bewildered. “Please do not say your brothers have taught you so little of the world that you are uncertain whether you and Penelope have—”

She was grateful when Colin raised a hand to bid her stop speaking. She saw that her panicked words had mortified them both.

“I know how a woman comes to be with child.”

“Good,” Violet said shortly.

“Penelope… I must speak with her!”

“Yes, I rather think you should.”

Colin made to dart off, then turned.

“Do you think she knows?”

Violet laughed.

“Oh yes, dearest. No one knows better than a mother.”

[quetzalpapalotl]

For my like 10 followers that aren't into Transformers, here is a list of things that are totally canon for the IDW Transformers comics (2005-2018):

Two guys had a meetcute in the morgue of an euthanasia clinic because one guy wanted to kill himself and the other was looking for his dissappeared husband among the corpses. They get married. They seemingly don't talk about what they're going to do once they find the second guy's husband that they're still looking for. The suicidal guy has had other 3 husbands but he erased his memory of that because he's bad at dealing with grief.

The suicidal guy's ex (not one of his dead husbands) is the Autobot second-in-command and had a pet mad scientists that made him war crime machines. They ended up invented the concept of having a child, but then the Autobot SIC had the scientist thrown into the torment nexus because he felt bad about doing war crimes and wahted to stop. He didn't actually stop doing war crimes.

Optimus Prime annexes Earth.

A guy invents time travel to save his unrequited crush's life

God is a real person but he's not actually a deity and is currently a therapist whose license was revoked for getting unprofessionally close to his patients. Everyone who knew his license was revoked died so he just kept on practicing.

Optimus Prime pretends to be havig divinely-inspired visions to get out of situations.

Tumblr exists in-universe.

There's a guy named Centurion who was made to think he's Bumblebee because when his ship crashed a scientist brainwashed them into thinking they were classic Transformers characters to see what happens. Thousands of years later he gets involved in human wars and remembers he's not Bumblebee. He develops a self hatred so great he lets a G.I. Joe villian use him for his schemes. Centurion then has his consciousness fused with a human named Mike Power and lives perpetually with the biggest identity crisis of history.

Another guy also had his memories messed with and has lived multiple human lives (he may be Gilgamesh) when he's actually a Transformer secret agent. He's overcoming his own identity crisis through the power of sheer vanity. He also owns the in-universe equivalent of Facebook and Apple.

On at least 3 occasions Transformers used another Transformer's corpse as a vehicle. And on 1 occasion they used a corpse as a replacement limb (the guys alternate mode was a leg)

The Transformers on planet Cybertron at some point forgot that gender is a thing. There are lost colonies from before this so gender is still a thing in those.

One of those cybertronian colonies sends a delegate after millennia of absence and her bodyguard hates the place so much she causes a terrorist attack just as an excuse to go home, people die. The delegate was like "that was bad but we can move past this" and forgives her.

The Decepticons rewired their own soldiers into bombs and dropped them on people.

The Decepticons also rewired Autobots into anti-personnel live mines that would explode when they good too stressed and needed to be handled by people that could defuse them while keeping them calm.

Transformers are allergic to magic.

A guy has a fanzine dedicated to the Autobot Black-ops where he writes fanfiction. It's so popular multiple people are on a mailing list to have it downloaded directly to their brains when a new issue comes out.

A Decepticon's plan to deal with population decline is to make a bunch of organic babies, have them grow up and make more babies and then transplant their souls to Transformers bodies. He got as far as growing one (1) baby. Tbh, you could erase this whole plot and the story wouldn't suffer much.

Starscream who is a backstabbing liar who cares only for himself becomes president. He routinely neglects and endangers the population for his own ends. He was the best leader Cybertron ever had at the time.

[skulls-soul]

I have a ~thought~ an ~idea~ a ~prompt?~ if you will. Lol I don't know but I'm going to share it and if you want to do something with it by all means

We know how princess beach does NOT want to be a part of Bowser and his family AT ALL

And! as we all know when Luigi got kidnapped disguised as peach he pretended that he did.

This is where creative liberty comes into play because Luigi sucks at lying so imagine if there's like part truth to what he says

Like how he wants a big family or how he wants a passionate and confident spouse (I don't know Go buck wild for this part) Either way, I imagine that due to his want for a big family and all that stuff he has an easy time. Pretending to be happy about the situation (that and there's literally a 10-ft turtle dragon that will burn him to a crisp. The second he finds out he is not who he seems to be)

Here's the thing Just like how the comic ended luigi doesn't actually marry Bowser (yeah that's right boys. It's not one of those) anyways, when Bowser finally kidnaps princess peach again, the koopalings realize that Luigi is a much MUCH better fit for their family

He's the exact opposite of Bowser and that's what they need! because opposites attract, at least That's what their father always told them (aah Bowser should have picked your words more wisely)

Now they're playing matchmaking constantly kidnapping luigi instead of peach until inevitably Bowser and Luigi catch feelings for each other

(irony points is if the moment they started catching feelings for each other is during something other than one of the koopalings matchmaking schemes)

Is this idea original? Probably not. With that being said, if you know content that follows this idea, do tell me where to find it. Pls and thank u :)

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 27

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Still alone, are we?"

"What would possess you to do something so foolish?"

"Is he really your father? He's scary."

"How would someone like her know someone like you?"

"Are you trying to embarrass me?"

"I see you're not wearing handcuffs. I take it you were able to talk yourself out of trouble?"

"You just had to keep digging. You couldn't let it go, could you?"

"Did you know that 15% of married couples met at a wedding?"

"Are you growing a beard? I've always had rather a soft spot for bearded men."

"This man has eluded authorities for years. How did you find him so fast?"

"Why would I want to spy on him for you?"

"Don't get many visitors here, do you?"

"Do you really stay awake all night?"

"Did you even consider me when you thought of sacrificing yourself?"

"My decision disappoints you?"

"Are you nervous?"

"How did you know that?"

"Notice how I didn't need to lower myself to your level?"

"How about a cup of tea for the shock?"

"Do you know what I'd like? Really like?"

"Who told you where to find me?"

"Have you seen what a 12 gauge shotgun can do to a human body?"

"Have you not yet realised that there's no way out?"

"Is making me lose my concentration part of your strategy?"

"I take it you have no comment at this stage?"

"Did you confuse reacting with feeling?"

"Are you in danger of becoming a good man?"

"What if the ending isn't really the ending after all?"

"Did you ransack a greenhouse?"

"Why did you come over in the middle of the night?"

"Have you ever told your father what you just told me?"

"Is this what you wanted? Is it?"

"How are you really in the grand scheme of things?"

"What? Is there some rule against having fun?"

"Did you know you can buy cyanide on the dark web?"

"Why should I be worried about my conscience?"

"I haven't cried yet. Isn't that weird?"

"You're quite certain that we've never met before?"

"How can you stand being here?"

"Is this some kind of interrogation?"

"Have dinner with me? Just the two of us?"

"Why didn't you say anything about this before?"

"What am I supposed to call you?"

"You really are creepy, you know that?"

"How about we just go home and pretend this day never happened?"

"You really have no decency, do you?"

"Are you going to die soon?"