#Which is why she didn't deny him the information when it was brought to his attention

[chirsu]

[thatfandomslut]

Not Into Guys

Regina George x Lesbian!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: Aaron Samuels (i'm joking, they're besties), underage drinking

Request:

Can I please request a fic where Regina is like “I know your secret you like Aaron” and super flirty reader is confused and like “Why would I like him when you’re here” and Regina is shocked and it’s super cute and they’re gay for each other!

Mean Girls requests are open.

This all started because of a rumor accidentally started by none other than Gretchen Wieners. "I heard her flirting with Aaron Samuels. She called him her boy toy." Gretchen informed Regina who crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair in thought. It wasn't hidden information that Regina George liked (Y/n). Regina thought they had a thing. Obviously, she was wrong if (Y/n) claimed Aaron to be her 'boy toy.' As she listened to Gretchen go on about everything she had heard, Regina's icy blue eyes landed on (Y/n) as she made her entrance into the classroom.

Typically, Regina had only kind things to say about (Y/n). Unfortunately, her entering with Aaron seemed to cause anything nice to leave her mind as she narrowed her eyes at them. She just couldn't understand why anyone in their right mind would choose Aaron over her. She was gorgeous, popular, and rich. However, Regina supposed that Aaron was kind and funny. People didn't usually associate Regina with those two attributes. Instead, they associated her with beautiful but mean. Which, was right, of course. Regina just hoped that wasn't something (Y/n) thought of her. She wanted (Y/n) to like her the way she did (Y/n).

"This class is kind of lame. I might leave before it starts," Regina interrupted Gretchen, hoping she would stop talking about (Y/n) and Aaron. If she had to hear any more information about them being together, she would either vomit or kill Gretchen. There was a possibility that both of those scenarios were likely, and she would commit both rather than either. Fortunately, the honey blonde beside her seemed to catch on, and she stopped talking about them. "It's not like I'm ever going to actually need geometry. I have people to do my math for me."

Karen nodded enthusiastically at the point that she made. Regina could easily ask Cady if she needed someone to look over floor plans. She was above math, she decided. Aaron had left once the bell rang, leaving (Y/n) by herself at her desk. A small, devilish smirk crossed Regina's lips as she stood up. "(Y/n), I was thinking about skipping class. Would you like to join us?" Regina questioned, and it didn't take a second thought for (Y/n) to accept the invite. Just like Regina, she didn't necessarily care for math. Instead, she would rather escape the confines of those four walls that held math puns and math memes due to the teacher trying to fit in. Karen and Gretchen were about to follow Regina out before she told them to stay. She had some things to talk to (Y/n) about. Specifically, things involving Aaron Samuels and why (Y/n) thought that Aaron was better than her.

Regina would never deny the fact that she was the jealous type. She had decided a long time ago that (Y/n) was going to be her girlfriend, Aaron wasn't going to ruin this plan with his boyish good looks or boy-next-door kindness. That was why Regina brought (Y/n) to the mall, to show off her money in an attempt to woo (Y/n). An attempt that failed as (Y/n) had to assure her over and over again that she didn't want anything Prada or Gucci. Regina was beginning to wonder how attached (Y/n) was to Aaron. If she couldn't convince her to date her over name-brand items, how was she going to convince her to date her at all?

"Okay, what's wrong, Regina?" (Y/n) questioned once they got to the food court. She was starting to grow concerned when Regina didn't comment on how badly styled the mannequins were like she usually did. She was starting to think that maybe it was something that she was doing wrong. If Regina would communicate with her, she would be able to accommodate and change whatever she was doing that was bothering Regina. "I feel like I've done something to upset you."

Regina realized she was beginning to let what Gretchen said about (Y/n) and Aaron get to her. However, instead of being able to keep it in, she was expressing it. A smile crossed her lips as she played it off. "Everything is fine, you did nothing wrong. Now that we're here, though, we can have girl talk." The two girls sat down, confusion bubbling (Y/n) at how quickly Regina changed her mood. "I know you're secret… You like Aaron Samuels." Regina stated confidently, looking down at (Y/n).

(Y/n), on the other hand, was only growing more confused. She wanted to laugh because of how confident Regina had said that. It was completely false. "Why would I have a crush on Aaron when you're here?" She questioned, crossing her arms as she looked up at Regina. It was unintentionally smooth. It caught Regina off guard as her cheeks began to heat up slightly at what she had said. "Aaron is my best friend, and I'm a lesbian." (Y/n) told Regina, wondering why she even thought she was remotely into him.

"Didn't you say he was your boy toy though? I've had great sources tell me this." Regina claimed. She sometimes needed to remind herself that Gretchen took information and ran with it. (Y/n) smiled a bit as shook her head. Leaning in, she kissed Regina, who reciprocated happily. She could hear her heart beating in her ear as she tried to keep herself from messing the kiss up by smiling at it. "Okay, okay, fine… You're not into Aaron."

(Y/n) laughed a bit at the comment before Regina pulled her back into a kiss. This time, she kissed deeper, not as nervous as the first time. Though, her heartbeat remained loud in her ears as they kissed. Regina couldn't care less if anyone was scowling, because all that mattered to her in that moment was how (Y/n)'s hands felt as they cupped her cheeks.

[sweetvirgin]

NEED TO KNOW — onyankopon.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ baby, i need to know. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 — reader is put between a rock & a hard place when onyankopon confesses something that threatens her emotional security. dormant (but never dead) feelings are revived. — wc. 2.6k~

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ touch of angst; friends to lovers. black fem reader. “reader” is replaced with the name “adularia.” characters are 21+. i proof read this about 15 times but i feel like there’s prolly gon errors anyway lmao. there’s cussing & the consumption of substances. enjoy !! (◡‿◡✿)

"getting sleepy, ony?"

a closed-eyed ony was sat between adularia’s legs with his head rested on her thigh as she finished the last of his cornrows. his eyelashes ticked the skin of her exposed leg, and his warm breath fanned on her skin. he had been quiet for most of the intimate act of her doing his hair, instead opting silently rub her skin while she worked and appreciate the faint, sweet smell lingering on her. but he had since then stopped and his breathing had slowed into a steady, uniform pace.

ony deeply inhaled at mention of his name, humming thoughtfully before responding in a clearly-tired voice. "naw, i'm high as fuck." adularia tittered at this while making work of weaving the three pieces under and through each other.

"that shit good, ainit?" she teased cheekily, proud of doing a good job with finding connie (their shared plug). she finished the braid she worked on and quickly grabbed the blue magic grease jar. "we almost done. just two more braids, the beads, and then we can finish this blunt." he hummed in response and resumed rubbing her calf.

his almond eyes hadn't opened during that exchange once, but if they did, she knew they were bloodshot from that zaza. plus, he was a little sleepy - even if he denied it. how could he not be? he had his head laid on a warm thigh while the gentlest hands were tangled in his hair.

she dipped her manicured finger into the blue magic grease then smoothed the gel over the part. he shuddered at the sensation. it was so chilly on his exposed scalp.

“oo, sorry ony,” adularia apologized hushedly. then she quickly began the braid. she knew he ain’t wanna sit like this for much longer, so she made work of his four-b hair. she went on twisting his ends over and through each other until she was finally finished with the braid. letting go of the freshly-completed plait, she reached over for the blue magic grease and once again, dipped her finger in the tub. adularia delivered the cool grease to his hair. not too much, though. just a little bit to help it lay. this was the last braid. adularia swiftly completed that one while he nodded off in her embrace. she gently readjusted his head.

"just the beads now, ony," she informed him, to which she got an appreciative sigh. she giggled at his dramatics and reached over for the plastic beads (colored black, white, and clear) as well as the applicator.

she could feel ony’s full lips stretch into a smile against her thigh. "i'm finna smoke the fuck outta that blunttt," he sang excitedly as much as his sleepy voice would allow him, and this brought her giggle to a guffaw.

"that's why i be telling yo ass to bring a overnight bag. ion know why you don't. 'cuz you know you be 'bout ready to pass out after you get your hair braided," she bossily lectured him, amusement still evident in her voice. he didn't mind it - after being friends for a decade, he got used to her know-it-allism. he actually quite liked it.

still he dismissed her while she pushed up against the applicator to put the beads at the end of the plait. his voice rumbled against her as he sank back into exhaustion. "i'ma be aight."

she only replied with a “mmmhm.” but the rest of the bead application was silent, save for the music and her eventual humming. even ony felt himself moved by her stereo. he wasn't much of a dancer, but his finger contagiously followed the rhythm with gentle taps. this only motivated her to finish these braids - she really wanted that blunt in her lips and to vibe with some badu.

soon enough, he had a head of cornrows complete with beads. she applied mousse to his braids then went to wash the grit from her hands, meticulously scrubbing her acrylics free of the left over residue. once her hands were washed, adularia thoroughly dried them and then came back to ony - red velvet durag in her hand.

ony was a little more alert, still seated exactly where she left him. his thick lips gently held a blunt while he flicked a lighter at the end. expertly, he absorbed the smoke into his lungs as easily as breathing regular ol' air.

she plopped back onto the sofa. "turn around so i can see yo parts."

ony replied with a curt nod and turned around per her orders. her hand reached out for his face but without touching it, as if asking for nonverbal permission to hold his chin. he didn't know why she always did this - she know he don't care. but he found it sweet she always confirmed it beforehand. as expected, he pulled the blunt from his mouth and muttered a "gone head", smoke spilling from his lips as he did so.

she gently held his soft face in her hand and tilted his face in different directions: taking in the parts, the neatness, and so on. during the process, ony intently held her in his gaze and drank her in. eyes still unmistakably sleepy, but still, he absorbed her. her obsidian irises flickered down to meet his, and woah. he looked so… yum. his line-up was slightly overgrown — but it was still neat. with two low-lidded, exhausted eyes, he observed all of the details of adularia’s face. a beauty mark here, a freckle there, a tiny scar here. he licked his lips.

suddenly aware of the proximity, adularia became timid and averted her gaze. she could smell the blue magic grease in his hair, the woodiness in his cologne… the two were very close. overwhelmed by her shyness, she decided the braids looked damn good. that's all she need to know.

"lemme put this durag on you," she sheepishly offered, just to break the silence.

ony wordlessly obliged and allowed her to lower the durag over his head. but his eyes remained on her. still observing her as if he were having a revelation. however, this time, adularia didn't look down at his face to confirm if he was looking at her. she just tied the durag then comfortingly set a hand on his shoulder.

"okay ony. we all done,” she announced — hands tired as ever, happy with finally being finished. “you look… real good,” she added shyly.

he had the lightest smirk on his lips. “do i? thank you,” his eyes sparkled, despite how sleepy he was.

“mhm,” she affirmed. “hair growing in nice.” then she scanned her nearby surroundings. "now where that blunt at..."

ony volunteered the lighter with an outstretched hand. he passed it. that motherfucker was a little more than a roach, but she didn't complain. ony was the one who bought the weed anyways. and she could barely roll — not at all with her acrylics — so she didn't mind. plus she ain't need as much to get sufficiently high.

she wrapped her glossy lips around it and pat the plastic-covered sofa in search of a lighter, to which ony offered his. she accepted it with a relieved "right on" and sparkled the blunt. inhale. exhale. the passed it back to him.

"naw, i'm straight. you can have the rest."

her eyebrows raised and she returned the blunt to her mouth. another inhale. another exhale.

in no time, she was highhh. the two had moved to her bedroom and settled into her wine red sheets. ony rolled another blunt because his high was letting up, but she definitely would have a very minimal part in smoking it. she had her fill, and she was starting to get sleepy. nonetheless, when ony outreached a tattooed arm to her, she plucked the blunt from his fingers and took one last hit.

while doing so, adularia noticed ony eying her with that same peculiar expression he had the entire time he been over her apartment. something like a mix between a realization, and acceptance. she immediately furrowed her eyebrows and lowered the blunt from her mouth, fighting a cough before asking him, "why you keep looking at me like that?" she cleared her throat, the smoke tickling her deep in her neck.

ony, expression unreadable, replied with a simple, "like what?"

"like that," she explained... albeit vaguely. she had a braveness to confront what she normally wouldn't - and this was thanks to the drug in her system releasing her inhibitions. she then sat the blunt in her pink ashtray and put the light out.

ony picked the blunt up with a shrug, still quiet and seemingly in thought. somewhat annoyed, she huffed and fell backwards onto the sheets, closing her tired eyes.

a few beats of silence passed between the two friends. ambient noise seeped through the walls of her apartment: a distant police siren, some dogs barking, and random people chattering about shit adularia’s ears couldn't discern. inside her bedroom she played music from her cd stereo. she could hear him striking the lighter a few times (as it was almost out of fluid), with sound of him inhaling and exhaling following. the air smelled like weed (of course), baby powder, and rosy incense. she rocked her head to the current song playing: chaka khan's powerful voice flowed through her home (at a reasonable volume of course, she wasn't tryna get evicted) and eventually, she forgot what she even asked ony.

then he spoke. “fuck it...” he muttered to himself, drawing her from her thoughts. some moments passed as he inspected his lighter, twirling it between her fingers. adularia listened intently, both of concern but also nosiness.

he sighed, and more audible, he settled on saying “i guess lately i just been thinking bout how i feel bout you."

she felt her heart spike a little bit. “and how is that?” she braced herself for the worst — that he didn’t want to be friends. that he hated her. that he felt he outgrew her. so cautiously, she waited for him to get done taking a hit.

he hummed then inhaled. “i know we friends but…” exhale, “i been feeling for you.”

her eyes fluttered open. oh my. what a thing to say. and nothing like she expected, so she braced just to still be taken aback.

it pulled the air from her lungs. she was breathless. the world became so quiet. and so small. and so still. anything beyond her bedroom was filtered out. even the music within dulled in comparison to his sudden statement. the room no longer smelled of roses and powder. instead, it smelled like him. still on her back, she twisted her head to catch his expression, but it was again unreadable. where was this coming from?

"huh?" she questioned.

he spoke with such a conviction, she knew he wasn't trying to yank her chain. "i’m starting to feel for you,” he candidly repeated, bringing the blunt back up to his lips.

she blinked, a little dumbfounded and slightly sobered by his statement. ony didn't react much, just continued puffing on the blunt. but she couldn't just brush past that.

"you... feel for me…? like… romantically?" she cautioned.

without bringing his eyes to hers, he simply replied with a “yup,” popping the P in the process.

her face grew warm. anyone who said black girls couldn't blush lied. she felt hot, and the walls of her bedroom seemed to close in on her. this information sobered her for sure, but she still wasn’t sober. she was still very much high. on weed, and that dizzy feeling she got from ony saying he wanted her.

"how long you felt this way?" adularia softly questioned. she took some of the blanket in between her fingers and fiddled with it.

he hummed. "some months now." he drew another breath from the blunt. “i didn’t want shit to be weird, so i ain’t say nothing.” the smoke poured from his lips with every word. “but every day i feel for you more and more. it’s getting hard to ignore.”

“it’s not weird,” she affirmed. she really wasn’t unnerved by his confession. if she were, she would be a hypocrite. “it’s just… something to take in. i was bracing myself for you saying you hate me, actually.” then she snorted a little.

now, she wouldn’t say she never looked at him that way. but those were fleeting considerations she would quickly dismiss as soon as they came. “he was a friend — girls and guys can be friends without there being anything romantic or sexual between them,” is what she would tell herself before ignoring what she thought to be a delusion. but it seems that, while it’s true guys and girls can befriend each other without desiring each other any other capacity… she desired him. and his confession brought those long-buried feelings back from dormancy. this was a point of no return, and she knew it.

softly, ony whispered, “i could never hate you.” he sounded pained at the suggestion, his face contorted in a wince. he loved her for years, even before he had romantic feelings. he’s always loved her. he flicked the blunt free of ash. “i wouldn’a let you braid my hair if i did.”

“yeah…kinda silly, now that i think about it.” she laughed a little. then she sighed.

“i’m glad you told me,” adularia started, feeling so shy. “i can’t say i never feel the same…” she admitted. ony felt his heart squeeze at the thought of her wanting him back. but there was no trace of it in his face. she continued. “i’m just a little scared.”

“why?”

she sat up, and ony’s eyes immediately snapped to her moving form. then she clutched her pajama pants nervously. “i’m happy to know but… it’s gon change our friendship. no doubt about it.”

he hummed and ashed the blunt. felt rude to be so intimate but high. “yes. it will. but i don’t regret saying it.”

she agreed quietly.

and that was that. the rest of the night was still as they both were absorbed in their thoughts, undoubtedly about each other and their friendship. it didn't feel awkward or wrong. but the vibe had definitely shifted between them.

shortly after, ony decided it was time to head on home. and so, their shared routine ensued: he rose to his feet. he stretched his limbs. he thanked adularia for braiding his hair and left the rest of the blunt with her. he offered to give her money for the service, she declined. she do it out of love for him. but he made her take the smooth $100 bill anyways. she obliged and thanked him. she walked him to the front, and he enjoyed being enveloped by her silage. they exchanged some last few words at the door as he pulled his shoes on. then he brought her in for a hug, letting her know he would call her. two soft goodbyes would be exchanged (as it was late, and she lived on the second floor). then her door would be gently pulled open and he would sidle out of the apartment. the same as always.

but she could feel the impending change on the horizon. whether it flourished into something life-long or ended in flames, she lacked the foresight. she just knew it would fundamentally change their relationship forever. it’ll never feel the same to braid his hair, for his head to lay on her thigh. to spend the night. to go out together. to hold his face in her hands. to compliment him. to tell him she loved him. when adularia closed the door behind his disappearing form, she knew that she forever lost the friend she had. and that was terrifying.

© 2024 sweetvirgin. all rights reserved. no copy + paste, no translate, no ai inputs plsss & thank u. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[dreamcubed]

lover | mattheo riddle x reader

song; lover [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x fem!baronet's daughter!reader genre; marriage of convenience, s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 9,1k timeline; bridgerton au (again lol) warnings; abusive parents (verbal, neglect, psychological), implied anxiety, panic attacks, near death experience (illness) summary; born into a loveless family, you had been denied the opportunity to marry for many years. that was, until, a duke noticed your situation and gave your parents an offer that they simply couldn't refuse - but would it be a love match?

suggested by @fictionisjustbetter ! (sorry this took so long)

icl mattheo is just so perfect for period aus

masterlist

"all's well that ends well to end up with you."

———————————————

Sir Vincent Malton was a baronet and nothing more. Of course, while being a low title, it was still a part of the aristocracy, which was much better than the alternative. He took his role very seriously, as his father before him had, and his father before him.

So, when the first Lady Malton of his passed during childbirth having sired not an heir, but a daughter, he had arranged for a new wife to marry ready for his first day of it being considered acceptable to be out of mourning. The second Lady Malton of his was more successful in the heir department: during her first pregnancy, she sired twins, both a boy and a girl. And then after two more girls (of separate pregnancies), she had another boy. Sir Vincent Malton then finally felt safe in the security of his baronetcy lineage.

But he never spoke to any of his six children. He left them up to the second Lady Malton, including his firstborn, who was not her blood. Where other ladies would have accepted their stepchildren as their own, Lady Daria Malton did not. As far she was concerned, Y/N was not her child and thus not her problem. But Sir Vincent was a traditional man who saw the children as the mother's business, so she kept up appearances to continue her life of comfort.

Sir Vincent didn't even bother with the marriage mart, instructing his wife to simply inform him when a suitor (with a title) proposed to any one of his daughters. And Lady Malton had - with her own eldest daughter, Samantha, when a baron asked for her hand. He was twice her age, but Lady Malton (like her husband) cared about title more than anything. Samantha was quickly married off to her new life as a baroness.

One thing Sir Vincent didn't know was that Lady Malton had never officially debuted Y/N. She brought her along to more casual soirées that other non-debutantes attended to keep up appearances, but as far as the one-and-twenty-year-old's actual debut - well, it was significantly overdue. The thing was, Y/N had received callers after such events before, but callers were received by the baronetess and not the baronet, and she quickly sent them away. Thus, the actual stage of proposal was never reached, so Lady Malton was by all technicalities following her husband's instruction.

Y/N knew that it was unfair, that her stepmother's abuse was unjust. She didn't see why she couldn't just allow someone to propose and get her out of the home: Lady Malton clearly didn't like her, so why not be rid of her?

But, she supposed, someone like Lady Malton must quite enjoy having a scapegoat around to target their frustrations at.

***

"Last year was a tremendous success by all means," Lady Malton spoke as her lady's maid attended to her corset, "To have Samantha married off in her first year as a debutante was a splendid result."

Y/N subtly rolled her eyes: Samantha was eighteen and her husband almost forty, it really shouldn't have been a permitted pairing. But, her husband was a baron, and title was all Lord & Lady Malton cared for. They couldn't choose to be fussy as the lowest titleholders of the aristocracy.

"Thus, Y/N, I do not wish you to cause any interference," she explained further, glaring at you through her reflection in the mirror, "I am bringing you along to Lady Bridgerton's birthday soirée out of necessity, as she always includes young ladies of whom have not made their debut."

You knew that: you had attended Lady Bridgerton's birthday event the year prior for the same reason.

"Rumour has it the Duke of Covenshire has returned from his travels to the Americas and will be attending tonight," she proceeded, "And it would simply be marvellous if Grace could secure him as a match in her first year as a debutante."

You glanced over at Grace, sat at the dresser as her lady's maid applied her makeup. She was putting on a remarkably brave face, but you could tell that she was nervous: she was too young to debut. After Samantha's success, Lady Malton had felt confident enough to debut Grace at only seven-and-ten. It wasn't entirely uncommon, but typically Mamas waited until their daughters were at least one year older.

Meanwhile you were one-and-twenty and still yet to have your debut. At this rate you would be a spinster before you had even entered the marriage mart.

You looked to your other side at Tia, your youngest sister at fourteen, who was more than thrilled to be allowed to attend that night. You never saw your brothers, really: Vincent (creatively named after your father) was away at Cambridge, and Henry, the youngest of the lot, was away at Eton.

"Right, is the carriage ready?" Lady Malton snapped at one of the servants, who quickly nodded.

And then with a curt bob of her head, the baronetess proceeded over to the door - a silent instruction for her daughters to follow - and they all headed to the front of Malton House, the London lodgings of the family.

***

"Lady Bridgerton! How good to see you," Lady Malton beamed at the dowager viscountess, "Such a lovely soirée."

"Why thank you, Lady Malton," the kind woman replied, "Pleased to see all your daughters could make it."

"Oh, is Samantha here already?"

"I believe Lady Halterton is over there," Lady Bridgerton vaguely pointed in a direction, "But how are all the Miss Maltons?"

"Grace is excited to make a match this year," the poor girl was pushed forward, "With any luck, she shall follow in her sister's footsteps."

"And what of the oldest Miss Malton?"

You looked up and gave Lady Bridgerton a hesitant smile.

"You know how Y/N is - still doesn't want to debut," Lady Malton sighed, "At this rate she shall be a spinster before even trying for marriage. But, we love her and support her decisions."

You scoffed internally, wanting nothing more than to blaspheme at your stepmother in that moment.

The conversation with Lady Bridgerton wrapped up and the focus then became the considering of various potential suitors. It was the first social event that you had the privilege of attending since the year prior, so you fully planned to savour the moments you were free from the house.

And then the room hushed into whispers as the door opened, it being remarkably noticeable how all the ambitious eyes of the Mamas zoned in on one particular man gracing the room with his presence.

"That's him- that's the duke!" Lady Malton whispered, mainly to Grace, but anyone close by could have heard her.

"Gosh, he's handsome," Tia mumbled to your left, "Shame I'm too young."

You kept your eyes glued on to the pale man with curly brown hair gelled somewhat neatly. His eyes were narrowed like that of a cat's, and his very presence commanded authority - yet he was polite to every hopeful Mama who approached him. Dismissive, but polite.

"Ah, Lady Bridgerton," he spoke, near enough to you for you to hear his gruff monotone voice as he bent over to kiss the dowager viscountess's hand, "Thank you for the invitation, and happy birthday."

"It is an honour you attended, your grace."

The man nodded, chatting to her for a few moments longer as the noise and bustle returned to the room, so you couldn't hear the rest of it.

"Now is our chance," your stepmother said as the duke's conversation wrapped up. She quickly sped towards him. "Your grace!"

The duke paused, and half-turned so he was fully facing your brood.

"Lady Malton, Baronetess of Catury," she curtsied, "And this is my daughter, Grace," she gestured towards the girl.

When his eyes flicked to Tia, she hurried to introduce her, but when his eyes flicked to you, she remained silent.

"And you are?" he inquired.

Your eyes widened: you were rarely spoken to, "Y/N- Miss Y/N Malton," you corrected.

"Don't pay her any mind, your grace," your stepmother quickly said, pinching you in the side as subtly as she could which made you flinch - as it always did. You didn't notice the way the duke's beady eyes followed the interaction. "She isn't a debutante."

"She looks old enough to be." He was clearly referencing the fact you obviously had a few years on Grace.

"It is her own choice."

You couldn't help the scowl that itched at your eyebrows, and the duke couldn't help but notice it.

"Would you care for a dance with Grace?"

The duke's eyes flicked over your sister again, "I have no intentions of dancing this evening- if you excuse me."

And with that, he departed, just to be ambushed by yet another Mama.

Your stepmother turned and glared at you, "You ruined Grace's chances."

"I didn't do anything," you said simply.

"You spoke. You know you're not supposed to."

"He asked me a question."

"I respond to the questions about you."

"Mama," Grace interrupted, shooting you a sympathetic look, "Is that the Earl of Kilmartin over there?"

Lady Malton's head snapped in that direction, "So it is! He has returned from India."

You couldn't be more grateful to Grace for the distraction.

***

"Saunders," the duke, Mattheo, called from his work study in Riddle Manor, his London residence. It was merely a couple hours after he had returned from Lady Bridgerton's soirée.

The secretary hurried into the office, "Yes, your grace?"

"What do you know of the Malton family?"

Saunders paused, "Sir Vincent Malton?"

Mattheo nodded.

"He is married to Dame Daria Malton and has six children. He attended Eton and Cambridge, studying history."

"And of his children?"

"Two sons and four daughters, I believe."

"And what of Miss Y/N Malton?"

The secretary immediately recognised the name, "She is the oldest, your grace. She is one-and-twenty and well-known for not having debuted yet."

Mattheo frowned, leaning back in his chair, "Is there a way in which she is different from her siblings?"

"I-" the secretary thought for a moment, "I believe she has a different mother than her younger siblings, if that's what you mean."

"Lady Malton is not her mother?"

"Well, yes and no. The current Lady Malton is not her mother, but the Lady Malton before her was. She passed in childbirth, I believe."

Mattheo hummed, "I see."

"Is that all, your grace?"

"Prepare the carriage to journey to Malton House tomorrow morning, Saunders, and locate my mother's engagement ring."

Saunders' eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, "Of course, your grace."

Nothing made Mattheo angrier than cruel parents.

***

Lady Malton and Grace were up bright and early the next day, as all debutantes and their Mamas were after a social event. They were to dress in some of their nicer but not so fancy attire ready to sit in the upstairs drawing room in await for any callers they may receive in the downstairs drawing room. You, however, stayed tucked nicely into bed until a more reasonable hour, since your stepmother certainly wouldn't want to catch sight of you until lunchtime - if then.

Still, you rose from your slumber at around eleven o'clock and called for your lady's maid, getting dressed in a simple baby blue piece that you had purchased a few years ago. You rarely got new dresses under Lady Malton's reign.

"I'll take my breakfast in here, please, Melinda," you smiled.

***

The Duke of Covenshire had been up at an exceptionally early hour, having taken a ride on his favourite stallion at sunrise, to then return to his city house and retreat to his office for a few hours accompanied by some breakfast.

He was still there at eleven o'clock.

"Your grace," Saunders began after having knocked on the door, "The carriage is ready for you."

"And the ring?" the duke inquired.

"Here," the secretary presented it, "It was still safely in the dowager duchess's bed chamber."

Mattheo had seen no point in keeping it anywhere else since that room had remained unoccupied for quite some time now.

"Excellent," he murmured, "Now, let us make haste."

***

It wasn't a long journey to Malton House, so really it was no time at all by the time that the Covenshire carriage pulled up to the smaller but still grand home. There were two or three other carriages parked outside, likely belonging to other potential suitors.

Mattheo wasn't worried: he was a duke, after all, and the Maltons were merely baronets. They would jump at the opportunity to marry a daughter off to be a duchess.

After knocking on the door, he was greeted by a short balding man with a seemingly permanently curved eyebrow.

"Here for Miss Malton?" he asked.

"Yes," Mattheo replied, although he had a feeling they weren't referring to the same one.

"Name?"

"Mattheo Riddle, Duke of Covenshire."

The butler's eyes widened, "Right this way, your grace."

Mattheo was led through the hallway into the downstairs drawing room, where Lady Malton and Grace were perched on an orange settee. On the other side of Grace sat an older gentleman, meanwhile on the settee sat across from them were two others. One of them was roughly the same age as the first, whereas the other was much younger - closer to Grace's age.

"Your grace," Lady Malton instantly said, shooting up to curtsy.

"Lady Malton," Mattheo nodded, "May I speak with Sir Vincent?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the baronetess said with widened eyes, "I'll go fetch him at once."

Typically she would have sent a servant to complete such a task, but clearly the shock had consumed her to the point she sprung into action. Once she had departed the room, Mattheo turned his eyes to Grace and the other three gentlemen who were all staring at him curiously.

"Who are you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Edward Cann, Viscount of Sancourt," one of the older gentlemen introduced.

"Gareth Warner," the other older one spoke.

Mattheo couldn't help but question the audacity of an older man to pursue the hand of such a young woman when he didn't even possess a title. Still, his eyes turned to the youngest man.

"Sir Charles Robinson, Baronet of Rackney."

"And how old are you?" his eyes were still on Charles.

"Twenty, your grace."

Mattheo hummed, that was more appropriate for Grace. Unusual for a man to seek a wife at such an age, but not unheard of.

"Lord Cann and Mr Warner," he began, and they perked up at his address, "May I ask what the devil men of your age are doing pursuing such a young woman?"

They were clearly taken aback by his blunt honesty, as were the servants littered around the room.

"I certainly will have to rethink my family's business with your estates in light of such news."

And with apologies to Grace and Mattheo, the two older gentlemen quickly vanished from the room, moments before the Lord & Lady of the house made an appearance.

"Your grace," Sir Vincent spoke, holding out his hand, which Mattheo shook, "To what do I owe the honour?"

"May we proceed to a more private location?"

"Of course, right this way."

"Your presence won't be required any longer, Sir Charles," Lady Malton said, clearly confused at the absence of the two other gentlemen.

Mattheo interrupted, "Oh, I'm sure it will, Lady Malton. I wouldn't dismiss the young gentleman."

Before she could ask what he meant, he was being led out the drawing room and to the baronet's office.

"I believe you know what I am here for," Mattheo stated simply, after declining the offer of brandy.

"I shouldn't want to get my hopes up, your grace."

"I would like your daughter's hand in marriage."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Of course, I shall dower her fairly-"

"Unnecessary. I have no use for a dowry, no matter the size."

"Oh- okay," the baronet paused, "Which daughter is this?"

Mattheo almost frowned: was Sir Vincent not aware of his daughter's status in society? Perhaps he left such matters up to his wife.

"Miss Y/N Malton."

"You're the first suitor that we have received for her."

The duke's breath hitched.

"This is such a relief - of course, we will arrange the wedding right away."

"I would like to marry her quickly," Mattheo said, "We will need to procure a special license."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Whatever you wish, your grace. It is an honour to be your father-in-law."

Mattheo turned to leave after saying his thanks, but paused and faced the baronet again, "You should definitely consider Sir Charles Robinson to marry Miss Grace Malton, he is a fine young man."

The baronet was clearly confused at such a statement, but absently nodded nonetheless.

***

You had been shocked when your father called you down to the drawing room: you couldn't remember the last time that he had requested your presence. Not that he requested your sisters' presences either, you were pretty sure your brother Vincent was the only of his children he spoke to.

"Excellent news for our family," he began, with Lady Malton looking thrilled at what she expected him to say, "Excellent news indeed."

You almost rolled your eyes, expecting that you had simply been called down to receive the announcement of Grace's engagement.

"The Duke of Covenshire has proposed."

Lady Malton stood up, "This is fabulous news! Well done, Grace."

"No," Sir Vincent silenced his wife, "Well done, Y/N."

Your head snapped up.

What?

"Whatever do you mean, Father?"

"His grace has asked for your hand in marriage," you had never seen your father so happy, "And naturally I accepted."

Lady Malton stood in absolute horror.

"I was beginning to become worried about your lack of proposals," he continued, unaware of his wife's reaction, "But clearly God was holding out in await for this massive surprise."

"But- what about Grace?" Lady Malton finally spluttered out.

"I am in the process of discussing that matter with Sir Charles Robinson, the duke recommended him himself."

You noticed the way Grace smiled to herself at that and looked abashedly to the ground. Clearly she was happy with such an arrangement - had the duke known that and so used his influence to help her?

"His grace wishes to be married quickly."

And thus, at the end of the week, you were married.

***

You had no idea what a honeymoon night was supposed to entail. Typically, a Mama would give a bride-to-be 'the talk' the night before her wedding, but Lady Malton would never do such a motherly thing for you. Thus, you were left completely clueless.

Plus, apart from the exchange of your vows, you had hardly spoken to the duke before, so you really didn't know where the evening was going to take you as you stepped out of the carriage outside Riddle Manor. You were both to spend the night in his London home before beginning the three day journey to his countryside residence the next day. It was a typical agenda for newly weds.

You were introduced to the various staff, including your new lady's maids - you now had two of them, as opposed to one - before you were both led through to the dining room. Your eyes fell on the long dining table, with the two distanced ends laid and nothing more.

You grimaced.

"Is salmon not to your tastes?" your husband asked you.

"Tis a very formal set up," you explained simply, but said nothing more as you assumed one of the seats.

"I mostly take dinner in my work study, so this will be a rare occurrence."

You ate the entire meal in silence, and then it was time to be shown your bed chambers.

"This is the duchess' chamber," he gestured to the door, "You may redecorate it however you so wish."

You hummed.

"My chamber is next door - we have an adjoining door, of course."

You said nothing.

"Are you going to enter?"

"But what of our consummation?" you asked.

Mattheo paused - he hadn't expected you to be so blunt.

"Lady Malton did not give me a talk like she was supposed to," you explained, somewhat shyly, "I do not know what is meant to happen, but I know that something must."

"Right," he said slowly, "We will consummate."

***

You lay awake in bed next to the duke the next morning, unable to get the memories of the night prior out of your head. Never would you have guessed that that was how babies were made, something that felt so heavenly, so good. But, you were also confused, many women muttered about it in fear, as if their consummation was unenjoyable.

Perhaps it differed with each man. Regardless, with Mattheo, it was completely and entirely soul-consuming, and you wished to experience it a countless number of times over.

A knock sounded on the door, "Your graces, breakfast is ready."

Mattheo was still sound asleep, "We'll take it in here," you replied.

You weren't used to having power in a household.

Also, how did the servant know you weren't in the duchess' bed chamber?

Mattheo woke up once the servants had wheeled in the breakfast selection, and once you were both loosely dressed, you began eating. It was then that he began speaking.

"Now is as good a time as any to set out the details of this marriage," he said, making you look up from your eggs, "I married you because I can't stand when parents mistreat their children."

Your heart warmed at that: he had noticed how Lady Malton treated you?

"I do not intend for love, but obviously at some point there will need to be an heir," he said, "You may have conceived last night, but it is unlikely. In the probable case that you haven't, we can wait a couple years to produce one should you so wish."

You thought over what he was saying - perhaps part of you had hoped that he had fallen in love with you at first sight, but you knew that was childish. This was a marriage of convenience.

"I only have one condition when it comes to children," you said slowly.

"Which is?"

"That you are an involved father," you said, "Like the Bridgertons are known for being."

Memories flashed through Mattheo's mind of his childhood: his father's coldness and distance all throughout the years until he returned from Cambridge a grown man. Only then did the late duke want anything to do with his son.

"I shall be involved," he said.

***

You couldn't look Mattheo in the eyes, you soon realised. He scared you, not in the way that Lady Malton had, but in a way you didn't quite understand. He made you nervous, made you unable to speak more than a few words at a time. Not that you did speak much: the entire journey to Covenshire Hall had been very much one of silence. The only sound to accompany you was the wheels and hooves against the cobbled roads.

The nights were spent in inns, in separate bed chambers.

Covenshire Hall was enormous: far bigger than the Catury estate that you had spent half your childhood on. It made sense, obviously, you were no longer a mere baronet's daughter, but a duchess.

"Your graces," the butler greeted you as you stepped out the carriage, "Welcome."

"Dantle," Mattheo replied, "Gather all the servants in the entrance hall."

"Right away, your grace."

The man disappeared inside, and you soon had entered through the same doors that he had, to be greeted by the largest entry room that you had ever seen. Symmetrical stairs curved around the walls either side of you, carpeted in plush blue velvet. The walls were decorated in a branch-design, but the once deep maroon colour had faded over time: it was evident to you that there hadn't been a lady of the house in quite a few years.

And then, quite quickly, the room filled with lines of house staff - more than you had ever seen for one household before. You were introduced to them all, including the primary housekeeper, Ms Godley. She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair that still held evidence of her brunette days, and a lightly wrinkled face that seemed more to do with the permanent pursing of her lips rather than age. Her eyebrows were ghastly thin, much like the rest of her, which could only be described as bony. She wore a pleated black dress down to her ankles, suggesting that she was in mourning.

You smiled politely at her, but she did not return it.

"I will leave you in her capable hands," your husband said to you, "She will provide a tour of the grounds."

"Where are you going?" you couldn't help but ask.

"My office."

You watched as he left, before turning back to Ms Godley.

"Where shall we begin?" you asked, attempting to be friendly.

***

You didn't like Ms Godley - not one bit. She reminded you of your stepmother, except this time you didn't even have younger siblings to provide a distraction. It was quite evident that she wasn't particularly fond of you either, although you had no idea what you could have done.

"This is the nursery," the woman said tightly, "It has been empty for some years now."

Gazing around the room of faded yellows and purples, you were cast back to when you were in your nursery, though you always got the short end of the stick when it came to beds. Nonetheless, it had been a relatively pleasant time for you, back when your sisters were too young to notice that Lady Malton treated you differently, so you would all play together as children do.

You didn't want any of your children to feel left out.

"Your grace," Ms Godley said curtly, "We don't have all day."

You sighed, exiting the room.

***

Loneliness was a familiar emotion to you, so a week of solitude in Covenshire Hall wasn't all that much of a change from your old life, other than the fact you now had servants waiting on your hand and foot. Although, you were growing quite bored: at least with the Maltons, you were always distracted by gauging your stepmother's mood.

You decided that you needed a distraction, and since the prestigious house was in desperate need of a fresh lick of paint, you landed on redecorating.

"You called for me, your grace?" Ms Godley stood before you in the duchess' office that you had taken to using regularly.

"Yes," you stood up, walking around your desk, "I have a matter to discuss with you."

It took everything in you to act courageous in front of a woman so similar to Lady Malton.

"I wish to redecorate the house," you said simply.

By some miracle, Ms Godley's lips pursed even more.

"Starting with the entrance hall - since that is the first room guests see, then-"

"No."

You paused - was she allowed to say that to you? "No?"

"No. This estate is not a part of your lineage, you have no right to tamper with it."

The amount of bravery that it had taken for you to have this conversation with her, just for her to pull a line that sounded so eerily similar to Lady Malton's.

"I am the lady of the house," you said, but it was obvious you weren't speaking as surely of yourself as moments prior.

"The dowager duchess was never permitted to redecorate either," she said, "And I imagine that the late duke would especially not want somebody as measly as a baronet's daughter interfering with his heritage."

You stood in shock for a few moments, eventually managing to splutter out, "You are excused."

Once she was gone, you finally gave in to the panic consuming you, feeling your breath beginning to dramatically labour and push against your corset. You felt trapped, suffocated, like you had your entire childhood, and you didn't like it. You had to escape.

So, you did.

You weren't running away by any means: you just needed fresh air, and the woods on the Covenshire grounds seemed perfect to hide away for a while. Just a couple days ago, you had taken a walk through them. Of course, that was on one of the paths that navigated between the trees, this time you simply started running straight ahead once you breached the tree line.

But you could only go so far when you had to hitch up your thick heavy skirts to make progress, so it wasn't long before you collapsed against a tree, your lungs pounding against your rib cage which were in turn pounding against your corset.

It was then that floods poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving a sticky, puffy trail behind.

You should have known better.

Just because you were a duchess didn't mean you suddenly had control over your own life.

You failed to notice the looming grey clouds gathering above, up until the sky thundered, and the familiar trickle of heavy rain commenced.

***

Mattheo was sat in his office, going over estate finances, when a knock sounded on the door.

"Your grace?"

He hated being interrupted during work, but still said a grumbled, "Come in."

"I am so sorry to disturb you, your grace," Dantle said, bowing his head, "But the duchess appears to be missing."

Mattheo's head shot up, "Missing, you say?"

"Ms Godley was the last one to speak to her, approximately two hours ago."

"Where has she gone?" the duke was now standing up.

Dantle appeared uncomfortable, "I do not know, your grace. Apparently she ran down into the woods."

"Ran?" Mattheo felt his blood boil, "Have you gone out to look for her?"

"No, your grace, the storm-"

"The storm?" he saw red, "The bloody storm?" He then let out a sound somewhat adjacent to a growl before pushing past Dantle out his office.

He was going to find his wife.

***

You probably had pneumonia or something at this rate, you thought to yourself. Your body was completely freezing and soaked, and your lack of cloak was becoming apparent as a massive problem in terms of your well-being. You should have gone back inside the second the rain started, but that was when you were still in the depths of your upset. It wasn't until you were too cold to move did you calm down a bit more.

To be honest, you were about ready to accept your fate.

"Y/N!" a faint cry came from nearby, and as much as you wanted to call out and alert them of your location, your voice was weak.

By some miracle, the man - your husband - managed to locate you.

"Y/N, oh, God," he blasphemed, "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

You couldn't even reply.

Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and began making haste back towards the mansion that you shared.

"Stay with me," he murmured at irregular intervals, right up until you felt the warmth of a fireplace hit you on the cheeks. You were in your bed chamber, you realised, upon noticing the faded floral pink wall decor.

Your skin was so numb you hardly felt your husband begin to peel off all items of your clothing, including your undergarments. Typically, you would have felt embarrassed, but you were completely spent.

As he picked you up again and carried you through to the bathroom, where a bath had been prepared, you couldn't help but curl into him.

"I ordered it be run before I went to find you," he said softly - the softest you had ever heard him speak.

The warmth of the water felt heavenly.

"What happened, darling?"

You shivered, this time not because of the cold, but because of the nickname.

"Godley," you forced out between your blue lips.

"Ms Godley? What did she do?" he asked as he began to wet your hair.

"I wan- wanted to redecorate the house," your teeth were chattering, "She said I couldn't change anything."

Mattheo said nothing.

"It's- it's the way she said it," you clarified, not wanting him to think you were a brat who had simply been told 'no', "She was so mean."

"How did she say it?" you didn't miss the edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"She said it would upset the- the late duke - and that- that he especially wouldn't want a measly baronet's daughter to-" you choked on re-emerging sobs, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, my love," you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, "I will handle this."

***

After you had warmed up in the bath and been wrapped up in thick clothing, Mattheo gently escorted you to one of the larger drawing rooms, where, to your horror, every single staff member of the house was gathered. Including Ms Godley.

"It has come to my attention that the duchess is not receiving the respect she deserves in this household," your husband sent an icy glare in the housekeeper's direction, "As the lady of the house, it is her right to decorate our rooms however she so pleases."

Ms Godley's lips pursed.

"The redecoration that her grace desires will commence immediately," Mattheo gave a forced smile, "Follow her every instruction. Any questions?"

"What of the late duke?" Ms Godley asked.

"What of a man of whom is dead?"

"Surely you should respect his wishes."

"How I choose to treat my father's wishes is none of your concern, Ms Godley. You are overstepping."

The old woman opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly shut it before saying, "My apologies, your grace."

"Apologise to my wife as well."

"My apologies," Ms Godley gave a stiff curtsy.

You had been glancing nervously between your husband and the housekeeper throughout the entire exchange, feeling overwhelmingly put on the spot. It was the second after Ms Godley apologised to you that your chest tightened and you erupted in a coughing fit.

"Darling?" Mattheo asked worriedly as you fell forward.

"Can't- breathe-" you choked out.

You felt a hand press to your forehead.

"She's overheating," the duke said loudly, "Help me get her to bed. And call the doctor."

Murmurs of, "Right away, your grace," came in reply.

"You're going to be okay," Mattheo said softly to you as he picked you up for the millionth time that day, "You must be."

***

The doctors concluded that you were pneumonic, which had been what everyone suspected but were too scared to say in front of you. But, you weren't an idiot, and understood what your symptoms meant.

There was a good chance that you would die.

It was dark outside: it often was when you came to from your fever dream episodes, for a few minutes of painful consciousness. You lurched up in bed, quickly producing horrific gurgling coughs and splutters, unable to stop yourself from groaning in pain in between. Tears pricked at your eyes as you placed a hand on your chest, your blurred vision just about making out the duke running in from the door between your bed chambers.

Mattheo grabbed the cloth from your bedside table and dipped it into the pot of water placed for this occasion, hurrying to press it to your burning forehead. You let out a brief sigh of relief, before you began coughing again.

He rubbed your back, "You can get through this."

You weren't sure if you could, in fact, you felt deathly, as it were. But, your husband's words gave you a sense of strength and hope, and it was all you could do but nod after the coughing subsided.

"If- if I make it," you murmured, falling back on to the pillows. Your voice was low and cracked. "Please- may we go to London?"

"Whatever for?"

"I..." you trailed off, "I would like to make friends."

And before Mattheo could question you further, you drifted back into unconsciousness and shallow breathing.

***

It was three days later, on a chilly but sunny morning, when you awoke naturally instead of being forced awake by coughs. Your breathing felt stronger, and you weren't overheating, which was the best feeling you had felt in forever.

You heard voices outside your door.

"Is she doing any better, your grace?" who you assumed to be the doctor asked.

"We were about to check," your husband's familiar voice replied.

The door opened, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision as the two men approached you.

"Mattheo," you said softly, your words still sore to speak.

"You're awake," he said simply, pressing his hand to your forehead. The physical contact comforted you.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

"Better."

He raised his eyebrows, "In what way?"

"Every way."

He performed a more thorough examination, and concluded that while you likely still had a couple more days of illness, you had pushed through the worst of it and were well on your way to recovery. You were relieved to hear that, but even more relieved to finally be able to take a bath and and cleanse yourself.

"You wanted to return to London," Mattheo said simply at dinner that night, as he was taking it in your room with you.

"I said that?" you asked. You knew that it was what you wished to do, you just couldn't recall mentioning it to your husband.

He hummed, "While you were feverish."

He had been taking care of you?

"Well, yes- I wish to finally have a social circle."

"You mentioned that also."

You said nothing.

"Once you are fully returned to health, we shall make the journey," he said simply.

You couldn't help but beam, "Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you- thank you so much."

He shook his head, as if to say 'don't thank me'.

"I'm so glad you're my husband."

Mattheo chuckled, "I'll take care of you no matter what, darling."

***

Two weeks later, and the doctor had determined that you were back to being healthy and thus your convalescence was able to come to an end. It was then arranged for you and Mattheo to return to London for the remainder of the season but three days later, once you would have passed an appropriate honeymoon duration. While you were terribly excited to be able to properly socialise, you were also nervous. For one, your stepmother would be there, and for two, you weren't that experienced with the correct customs for socialising. The only comforting factor was that your husband would be there with you: a man who you held a lot of adoration for, and felt an immense amount of comfort from.

After the pneumonia episode, he hadn't distanced himself quite so much. Granted, you still hadn't engaged in your wedding night type of intimacy again yet, but you ate meals together, and frequently found yourself wandering over to his bed chamber in the night. The first time you had done it, it had been most nerve-wracking.

It had been a few days since you had snapped out of the fever dream episode, and were feeling much more energetic. Unfortunately, you had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, which you suspected had something to do with your fear of falling asleep and re-entering the fever dream. Like usual, you found yourself up at the early hours of the morning, only the exhaustion was catching up to you and you could feel your chest tighten as hysteric panic began to set in.

Before you completely freaked out, you forced yourself up and over to the adjoining door, aiming to seek comfort from Mattheo even if the prospect of doing so petrified you. He stirred the second that you entered the room, at least it appeared like he did from what you could make out in the shadows. "Y/N?" he murmured.

You let out a sob.

"Come here," he said without hesitation and you gladly obliged, finding that you could finally drift into a slumber once in his arms.

And, thus, you went to him whenever you couldn't sleep.

But, now, you were in the carriage back to London, with your hands folded neatly in your lap and your husband sat across from you. You weren't sure why, but there was an awkward silence present.

***

Mattheo was conflicted.

He didn't know why he cared so deeply for you, why he was so willing to aid you whenever you were in need.

A strangled, screaming part of himself deep inside knew exactly why he felt how he did, but the part of him that he listened to feigned ignorance and told him it was simply expected of him to take care of his wife.

But the thing that confused him the most was the fact he felt the urge to tell you about his childhood, about his father, and about the lack of family and love he had endured. Why would he want to tell you such personal information that didn't even matter any longer, since the cause of it was dead?

Why did you make him feel this way?

"Mattheo?" he looked up at you sat opposite him. Your voice sounded small and timid.

"Yes?"

"Are you mad at me?"

He could have sworn he actually felt the searing pain of his heart breaking at that moment. He wasn't sure he was capable of being mad at you. "Of course not, why ever would you think that?"

You gave a gentle shrug, "You're quieter than normal."

"I'm often quiet." It was true: he was often regarded as a grumpy and brooding individual.

"Yes," you said tightly, "But not like this."

It stunned him how easily you could read him, but, then again, maybe he had never been close enough to anyone for them to know him. Maybe his emotions were obvious to anyone who cared enough to try and figure them out.

"Do you not wish to return to London?"

Mattheo paused for a moment. He hadn't put any thought into whether or not he wanted to go back to the capital, but initially it seemed like an obvious answer since he had always despised the season. Overbearing Mamas and their brood of debutante daughters were his idea of hell, but now he felt different. He realised that he did in fact want to go to London, not just because he was now married and off the Mamas' radar, but because you wanted to go. Mattheo was faced with the overwhelming realisation that he simply wanted to do whatever you wanted to do.

"Oh, dear, you don't, do you? We can turn around," you said quickly, making him snap out of his thoughts.

"No," he rushed to say, "We shall go to London."

"But you don't want to go."

"I do."

"But-"

"We are going, and that's final."

You opened your mouth to say something more, but decided against it, and turned your gaze to out the window.

The rest of the journey was silent.

***

"We need to discuss the rules for our time here," Mattheo said once you had settled into Riddle Manor for some dinner.

"We do?"

He hummed, "I will not be attending every social event we are invited to."

"But- people will think our marriage is rocky if you're not with me. The ton will talk, they always do."

"I said not every social event," he reminded, "I will attend some."

"You have to attend the first one," you said, "That one is the most important."

Mattheo agreed, "Of course, but from then on, it will be events here and there. You are welcome to attend alone."

You deflated a bit, but nodded your head, "Maybe we can host a ball at some point."

His eyebrows raised. Riddle Manor hadn't been the location of a ball in almost thirty years - there had been no lady of the house to host it.

"Perhaps," he replied pensively.

***

The next social event, to Mattheo's great horror, was the infamous Smythe-Smith musicale. Otherwise known as a torturous cacophony of four tone-deaf girls of whom were trusted with instruments that should have undoubtably never been allowed within five feet of them. You had heard what the quartet were like, having never attended yourself, and - honestly - you were rather excited to finally be a part of an inside joke of the ton that you had been left out of. Your husband was not nearly so enthusiastic, having attended exactly twice before, but not for a good many years.

Unfortunately, as selfish a woman as Lady Malton was, she was more than willing to sacrifice her hearing in order to secure impressive marriages for all of her (biological) daughters. So, you weren't surprised to enter the Smythe-Smith ballroom and see her stood with Grace closely by her side.

"Introducing, the Duke and Duchess of Covenshire," the man stood by the door announced, making your half-sister and stepmother quickly turn their attentions in your direction.

You squeezed Mattheo's arm tightly, to which he patted your hand and nodded when your family members approached.

"Your grace," Lady Malton gave a gentle curtsy - to Mattheo, not you, "How fares your marriage?"

It was a question that bordered on the edge of improper for polite society. "Most excellent," the duke replied coolly, making you smile to yourself.

Lady Malton gave the politest smile her sour face could muster.

"What brings you here?" Mattheo asked, trying to gauge why Lady Malton would put herself through the Smythe-Smith musicale with no daughters on the marriage mart.

"Marriage prospects, of course."

"Is Miss Grace Malton not engaged to Sir Charles?" he asked.

"Well- uh- yes."

The duke raised an eyebrow at the woman, and you must say that you were thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

"They shall be married at the end of the week," she said reluctantly, "But until the vows are complete, things can change."

That was when you realised: Lady Malton was praying on securing a last-minute proposal from someone of a higher status than Sir Charles. If it meant marrying into more wealth and more powerful connections, surely your father would agree to it.

"You should come to the wedding," Grace blurted out, "We thought you would still be in the country, so we didn't send an invitation."

You knew the real reason that you hadn't received an invitation was because Lady Malton would have taken control of all the wedding arrangements, and you were most certainly not on her invite list. But, she couldn't revoke the invitation to the duke's face and in a public setting, so she forced herself to smile and agree.

"That would be lovely," you beamed, purposefully showing as much enthusiasm as possible, simply to upset your stepmother, "Now, if you excuse us, I wish to secure front row seats."

Multiple people around you stared at you like you were insane - they just wouldn't understand your motivations.

"Trust me, front row seats are never the ones that need to be fought for here," Mattheo whispered to you as you both moved over to the rows of chairs set up.

You shrugged, "You're sitting with me whether you like it or not."

"Ah, Lady Danbury," he spoke as you came face to face with the renowned old woman sat in the very central front seat.

"Your grace," she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Come to enjoy the musicale?" your husband asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss - at least to you.

"But, of course," Lady Danbury smiled, "I attend every year."

You desperately wanted to enter the conversation, but you didn't know how.

"You're the eldest Miss Malton, aren't you?" she said towards you, making you freeze on the spot.

"Uh, yes - Lady Riddle now, actually."

She hummed, waving her cane around despite being sat, "Yes, Duchess of Covenshire. Quite grand, no?"

You awkwardly smiled.

The dowager countess turned her attentions back to Mattheo, "I must admit, I didn't think you would marry for quite some time, your grace."

"Nor did I," he simply replied, which for some reason, slightly hurt you. You had inconvenienced his life: you were a burden to him as a result of him being a good person.

"I fear that love does tend to have the effect of uprooting our lives," Lady Danbury said wistfully, a gentler emotion than you had ever witnessed on her from afar at the few social gatherings you had been allowed at.

Love.

"I only wish I had been so lucky as to have had it been with my husband."

You looked up in surprise. To be honest, you knew very little of the dowager countess' life: she had been a widow for as long as you had been alive, so it was hard to imagine her having a husband. All you knew was that she was widowed very young, and chose to never remarry. Part of you had assumed that it was because of how much she loved her husband, like the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was clear now that you were wrong, but you knew better than to pry.

"Alas, let us enjoy this musicale," she said with a glint in her eye, "It is meant to be a joyous occasion, after all."

You knew she said it sarcastically, but, for you, this was indeed a joyous occasion. You were more than thrilled to finally be a part of London society - the ton.

Sparing a glass in Mattheo's direction, you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.

***

The duke did not attend another social event with you for the rest of the week, but almost every night you were out. It was strange, not needing to be chaperoned as a married woman, but you quite enjoyed it.

The first two events alone you spent as a wallflower - albeit a married one - which weren't so enjoyable. But, once people realised that the Duchess of Covenshire was present at the social events, you began attracting a lot of attention from fellow ladies who aspired to be friends with someone of such a powerful status. Soon, you were mingling with the ton as if you had always done so, although your social skills were still inept. Thankfully, most were willing to overlook this due to you being a duchess.

Then, your sister's wedding came around, and it meant that you would have your second outing with your husband accompanying you. That made you more excited than you were willing to admit.

"Blue is most becoming on you," Mattheo spoke from behind you, making you jump. You hadn't heard him enter your bed chamber.

"Thank you," you replied, "I had it tailored on Tuesday."

"How much?"

You blanched - it had been quite expensive. You had felt guilty at the time, but found it difficult to say no to the Madam who had been dressing you.

"Darling, you are free to spend my money, I am simply curious," he reassured you, "My wife deserves only the best, after all."

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Was it normal - for you to feel this way towards your husband when it was merely a marriage of convenience? You were snapped out of your thoughts when he moved closer to you and began kissing along your neck.

"Mattheo," you murmured.

He hummed, "Shame you're already dressed," and then he reluctantly pulled back, "But, we must depart now anyway."

That was the first hint you had received that he wanted to repeat the intimacies of your consummation. And it made your skin feel hot and prickly.

***

Your half-sister was a gorgeous bride: her elegant dress matching her eye colour and making her glistening smile seem bright. It was obvious that she was elated to be with Sir Charles, the incredibly young baronet who hung off her every word. One could only describe it as a love match.

"Thank you," you said to Mattheo, who was stood next to you as you applauded the newly weds.

"For what?"

"For recommending Sir Charles - and for marrying me."

He chuckled, "There is no need to thank me, darling. I can hardly complain about having a breath-taking wife, can I?"

Yet again, butterflies, and the overwhelming sense of desire.

Soon, it was time for the first dance of the newly married couple, celebrated back at Sir Charles' London residence. After they danced the first number alone, more couples joined the dance floor for a waltz. You couldn't help but look up at your husband hopefully.

He sighed fondly and held out his hand, "My lady?"

"My lord," you murmured, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you on to the dance floor.

As you moved into position, you found yourself avoiding looking at Mattheo's face, as for some reason it scared you. Maybe it was the proximity, or the emotions you had been consistently feeling for the last few days. Regardless, you felt timid.

"Darling?" your stomach flipped, and you were forced to meet his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I prefer it when you look at me," Mattheo muttered before he could stop the words from tumbling out. Momentarily, he froze, unable to ignore the way his heart burned in his chest.

"Okay," you said breathlessly, now not being able to tear your eyes away from him.

"You're so perfect."

A lump formed in your throat, "No one's perfect."

"Perfect for me," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear, just as the dance came to an end.

You stood in silence for a few moments, unable to process his words.

Eventually, you spoke, "Mattheo, I- I..."

The look in his eyes beckoned you on.

"Heaven knows I know nothing of love nor what it's like to be loved, but- but I think I love you."

His expression was unreadable, and you felt as if you had said the wrong thing, right up until, "I think I love you too."

God, why were tears pricking in your eyes?

No one had ever said that to you before.

And then you shoved yourself into his arms, desperately seeking warmth and affection as if it were your life line. The other people at the wedding and propriety be damned.

Mattheo moved his head to whisper in your ear.

"All's well that ends well to end up with you."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 09/08/2023 —> 04/10/2023 published;05/10/2023 edited; —/—/——

[miguelschamp]

the exit

pairing: john b routledge x fem!reader

summary: john b promised you two find each other again. so why was he with sarah cameron ?

warnings: angst

after big john had disappeared, john b changed. and rightfully so. he didn’t know where his father was or if he was okay. he had a lot to deal with.

you guys had been dating for a year prior to that and while you loved him, you knew everything was taking a toll on him. he expressed to you how he felt he wasn’t giving you enough in the relationship and wanted to take a break.

you agreed. although it broke your heart, if it made things a little easier for him, you would deal with it. you guys remained friends and you always looked out for him.

bringing him food, making sure his house was clean, making sure he took care of himself. it was almost like you two were still dating. which over the months was brought up a lot. finally being together again and being happy.

when john b came to you about finding gold, you thought he was insane.

but he believe it existed, so like always you helped him. so far, it seemed like the gold actually existed. you guys were planning to go down and get it eventually, but as john b called everyone over to meet at the château, you were a little nervous.

not knowing exactly what to expect. but you definitely didn’t expect him to bring sarah cameron along.

kie was pacing as john b sat on the other side of the couch. pope sat on a stool by jj. jj sat in a chair and you stood beside kie.

"no effing way ! you brought her here ? so what ? she’s in on this now ?" kie yells. john b looks around for some kind of support from the others.

"i dunno." pope shrugs

"look, all i care about is her cut comes out of your share." jj says

"you know, i don't remember taking a vote. this is our thing. a pogue thing." kie says

"i gotta say, i’m just a tad uncomfortable with all of this." pope says

"thank you !"

"when are you not uncomfortable ?" john b snaps

"i dunno. i rode here on the back of jj’s bike pretty comfortably."

"it’s true. most relaxed i’ve ever seen him." jj says

"that’s cute, guys." john b says looking ahead

"you know we were all extremely comfortable until you brought her." kie says

"stop talking about me like i’m not here !" sarah says

"then leave."

sarah scoffs, "i told you."

"told him what, exactly ? that you're a liar ?"

"no, that you're a shit-talking bitch."

"oh, shit." pope says as the girls keep arguing.

"my money's on kie." jj whispers as they both pull out money.

you didn’t know what to think. you couldn’t figure out why sarah cameron of all people was here. no one had ever brought her up as a potential friend. only kie when she brought up how much she hated the girl.

you didn’t go to midsummers, so you obviously didn’t know about the conversation the others had the night prior when sarah showed up to give him the map.

all you knew was that john b got hurt and that was enough for you to be worried about him. nothing else mattered. now you wished someone would’ve told you.

"everybody shut up !" John B yells, "kie, you are my best friend, right ?" kie nods with a shrug. "and sarah, you're..." he chuckles, "you're my..."

"say it." she nods

"you’re my girlfriend."

your heart dropped.

"ohh... that's new." pope says

"she’s your girlfriend now ?" kie scoffs, "what was all that talk about you were just using her for information ? get a map, cut her loose."

"you said you were using me ?" sarah says

"no."

"yeah, you did." jj says

"you said those things." pope finishes

“and what about y/n/n ?” kie snaps. upon mentioning you, jj and pope turn to you.

"look, love just walked in, okay ?" john b says

"oh, vomit." kie says

"i didn't expect it. it just... it kind of happened. and i’m not gonna deny it. right ?"

"oh. that’s corny." pope whispers

"look, cut the bullshit, john b." kie says, "if she's in, i’m out."

"i’m not doing this."

"you are gonna decide."

"i can't !"

"i’m very interested, actually. me or her ?"

"both." he shrugs

“ooh.” pope whispers

jj whistles, "went for the hail mary."

kie storms off slamming the screen door behind her.

"it’ll be cool, right ?" sarah says, "i’m gonna leave."

"sarah, don't."

"gonna let y'all chat. let me know." she says before she storms off the other way. john b’s head falls back against the wall.

"i’d just like to say, you handled that beautifully." jj says. pope looks up toward you. you were dead silent and had tears brimming your eyes.

“y/n/n ?” he says softly. john b’s head snaps up. oh shit.

“i’m gonna go. i’ll text you guys later.” you say as your voice cracks. pope’s eyes following you as you walk off the porch.

“y/n.” john b calls out before following you.

your hands wipe at your eyes as tears finally escape. your steps quickening as you hear footsteps behind you.

“y/n.” john b says reaching out to you. you snatch your arm away as you turn to him.

“let go of me.” you snap

“can we please talk ?”

“there’s nothing to talk about.” you shrug, “you have a girlfriend now. you should go comfort her, you know ? or maybe your best friend ?”

“y/n, i didn’t mean for it to just come out like that, okay ? it really did just happen.”

“so then what were all those talks we had about finally being together ?” you say looking up at him, “you were saying how you finally felt like you were becoming your old self and you couldn’t wait for us to be together again. what was that ?”

john b’s mouth opens and closes as he stands there. “what was it, john b ?”

“i don’t know. i don’t know.” he says, “i did mean it. i did. everything i told you i meant.”

“so then why are you with sarah cameron ?” you cry. john b’s heart breaks at your tear stained cheeks, “if you meant that, you would be with me.”

“i’m sorry.” he replies weakly

“yeah, you’re sorry.” you chuckle, “you know what ? just count me out of this whole treasure thing. i don’t want anything to do with you.”

“y/n.”

“no.” you snap before walking off. john b’s hand falling by his side as he watches you.

[mywritingonlyfans]

Alex and Bella Session / Single Dad!Alex x Reader. (Fluff!)

prompt (a/n): I've had this fic saved for a while and decided to post it. IT IS A UNIQUE AND INDEPENDENT CHAPTER! However, it fits in with two more stories on the theme of the single dad Alex, they can be found on my materlist. Here you will find Alex comforting Reader about her not feeling confident enough to take care of Bella (his daughter) alone while he is on tour + Bella calling Reader 'mum' for the first time.

words: 2,8K

You could hear Alex's soft voice with his strong accent, inducing relaxation, akin to a child being lulled with cute lullabies before going to bed. His home, along with the presence of both, was already so comforting. It felt like finding a family that had adopted you; the thought made you smile as you set out some dishes for dinner. Bella was telling you stories about her school friends, making you feel included in her life. It was a realization that she saw you as a constant presence in her daily routine, trusting you. Occasionally, you glanced at her, nodding at her big chocolate eyes, exactly like her dad's, and she swayed her hair, which you had styled in the morning. Her face lit up with a light smile, feeling heard, and it encouraged her to share more. You loved that.

Alex was in a meeting in the room next door, yes, an online one, which sometimes brought chuckles to yourself because he was impatient with technology. Even from the kitchen, you could hear him typing and clicking the mouse with an unusual force for any laptop. If you were attentive enough, you could also catch his deep and prolonged sighs due to something beyond his control taking longer to load.

In a couple of months, precisely two, he would be leaving for a leg of the band's tour, and you had agreed to stay with Bella. That meant spending most of your time with her and having Penny take care of her when you needed to work in person. You didn't like the idea of being away from Alex, but you couldn't deny that you were excited to spend more time with Bella (she was excited too, which made Alex cringe every time she showed that, even though it was genuine, and you laughed). Consequently, you were more than determined to show Alex that you were reliable for such a responsibility, even though he had never questioned or shown reluctance about the topic. But the mind plays tricks on us, and yours had already crafted an odyssey. Thinking about disappointing Alex, or Bella, made you feel bad on an inexplicable level.

"Are you okay, Mum?" Bella jumped up, startled, and despite realizing how she had called you, she didn't worry about it when she saw your shocked state. The noise had been loud, the subsequent silence somewhat eerie, and all you could hear was your racing heart. One of the plates slipped from your hand as you reached for it on the shelf, a prior carelessness leading to more cutlery from tumbling to the ground. It would have been fine if you hadn't realized that you had cut yourself in the process. A brief glance at your hand, now covered in red, left you feeling a bit dizzy. Leaning against the sink, the faucet still running without you remembering why you turned it on, you instinctively covered your hand with a dishcloth, but your soul would take a while to return to your body. You had never been good with that sort of thing.

Things seemed slow, but they were actually happening quite quickly. Despite your trembling voice, you asked Bella not to move, and she nodded, though you hated the frightened look she gave you. Within seconds, Alex was entering the kitchen, concerned, his eyebrows furrowed, and your mind despised every minute of it. It was like being younger and messing up at your parents' house, knowing that reprimands were coming; your inner self was undoubtedly haunted by some traumas.

Alex wasn't adept at handling an overload of information, but there was something, perhaps stemming from his role as a father, that made him excel in situations like these (or as he liked to put it, he just liked to protect those he loved). He held your waist, turning off the tap, the image of his flip-flop-clad feet navigating the shards towards you, and his calm, sweet voice asking Bella to remain seated, playing repeatedly in your head like flashbacks from past lives. You knew you were worrying too much about it, but you couldn't help it. He sat you down beside Bella, and you could feel their concern over you. "It's okay, babe. Everything'll be okay," his words sounded incoherent to you. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and a lump formed in your throat as you saw the scattered glass all over the floor and the cloth in your hand starting to change color.

Bella's voice echoed his, "It's okay, we promise." Sensing your distress, Alex brushed his thumb against your cheek, his index finger lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he spoke in his punctuated manner, his affectionate eyes locked with yours. "Keep looking at me, okay?" You nodded, mimicking his gentle upward and downward motions. The lack of color in your face made Alex's chest tighten. He unfolded the dishcloth, the crease between his brows softening, bringing you some relief. "It's okay, you hear me?" He wrapped your hand again, planting multiple peck kisses on your forehead. In other circumstances, you might have melted and noticed how soft and caring his lips were on your skin, but gladly the sharp kissing sound grounded you back to reality, and you felt safe in his hands.

He stood up, rummaging through the kitchen for band-aids, and you'd never considered the kitchen, rather than the bathroom, a prime place for a first-aid kit, but it made sense in this situation. Alex continued to reassure you, "It's a superficial cut, just bleeding a lot, my girl." You chuckled wryly; it felt like he was reading your mind. You hadn't realized all your thoughts, but you were indeed contemplating the worst outcomes regarding your newest injury. Bella gripped your other hand tightly, giving it a slight squeeze, then kissed your forehead, mirroring her father's actions. You wondered if Alex knew how much of a positive influence he was on her. She still looked at you with concern but didn't say anything, just kissed the back of your hand. Alex was likely finishing the meeting you had interrupted, and in a few minutes, you'd be having dinner, but the trajectory had taken a chaotic turn. "I'm so sorry," Your lips were dry, and it was evident in your voice that you were trying not to cry. You didn't feel pain, not physically, but in a way, you felt uneasy about it all; it was hard to explain.

Alex quickly shook his head, kneeling in front of you and taking your injured hand into his, wrapping it in a clean damp cloth. "We don't apologize for things beyond our control, right, Bella?" He glanced at her and then back at you, with an understanding smile. You remained focused on his face, imprinting every detail like a newly read book in your mind: the tip of his nose, the groomed beard, the subtle woodsy scent, and his slightly disheveled hair, perhaps from running his fingers through it, hoping the meeting would end soon. Above all, there he was, moistening his rosy lips while talking to you. Sometimes your mind forgot he was yours, and you could look at him whenever you pleased.

"And we can buy new dishes, can't we, Daddy?" Her curious eyes observed her father, a perfect miniature version of him, only more charismatic, you dared to say. That broke your reverie, flooding you with even more love. Alex smiled, his cheeks gaining a reddish hue as he cleaned your cut. You expected pain, but the sequence involved Alex applying alcohol and then pressing the clean cloth to relieve any discomfort, followed by him leaning in to kiss your forehead and watery eyes. Bella's hand was still in yours, and the combination made you feel at ease. "Yes, we can, sweetheart," he confirmed, making her give you an assuring smile, as if to say, "See? Everything's good." Gradually, the worry faded from her expressive eyes as well.

"Dad already broke a glass once, y'know? He was upset too but I remember him saying that it was normal and that sometimes it happens; nothing bad happened from that." She said simply, sounding more mature than you, it made you feel hugged.

She had certainly noticed, but given her age it was difficult to be sure, you made mental note to ask Alex or explaining to her yourself later that you didn't handle the idea of seeing your own blood well, especially when you were nervous.

Alex, being the adult, knew it wasn't about the cut or even the dishes, but he was pleased with Bella's genuine response—as you felt embraced by both of them. "Give her a kiss, Daddy?" Her eyebrows arched; Alex smiled shyly, his rarely seen teeth appearing in such a tender gesture. You nodded, wanting his kiss on the fresh injury, just as he did with her when she got hurt. He delicately took your wrist and kissed your palm, and despite the stinging sensation, you sensed it might not have been as superficial as Alex led you to believe. That notion worsened when you realized it was your dominant hand, yet once again, his lips softened your thoughts. His lips touched your cheek, holding your face gently. "It's okay if you want to cry, no need to hold back, babe. We just want to see you well, huh?" He reassured, and Bella echoed his words, and you smiled, feeling relieved, even if letting the tears flow felt strange. It felt good to be home and comfortable with people you loved so much.

"Would you like an ice lolly too?" he asked, delicately wiping your face with his thumbs, and the light, precise kisses once again comforting you, helping to ease away the tears. Indeed, one of the mini fruit popsicles that Alex made for Bella would cheer you up. Bella cheered, insisting that you needed one, and as if nothing had happened, she sat on your lap while both of you received the popsicle from Alex's hands. You thanked him, hugging Bella as she began talking about something else (clearly trying to distract you from the pain, evident in how she held onto your arm to give you a different sensation to divert your attention—you had taught Alex and her that technique, by the way). You murmured to Alex that you could help clean up, but he declined, telling you to sit still and relax with a charming, convincing smile.

He then tidied everything up and finished cooking (which was great because you loved his food). It made you reflect on how you had been through relationships where that wouldn't have been the expected response, and it made you feel relieved, knowing you would never experience that again. Occasionally, Alex glanced at you, his gaze calm and comforting, as if he knew something you didn't. The whole atmosphere was heartwarming, both externally and internally.

Amidst conversations, you all dined together, and Alex recounted how the meeting went; it turned out that you hadn't interrupted anything. Before Bella dozed off in your lap, well-fed, you made a mental note of how Alex had portioned your food onto the plate, organized and with the same amount you usually ate; it was a rather beautiful gesture of love. Even though it took you a while to eat, you declined his help, and he understood, continuing to chat with you as you took slow, spaced-out bites, even though your hand was hurting a bit. You were still quite a handful for Alex, as evidenced by the small nose wrinkles he gave when he noticed how stubborn you were in refusing his help.

That evening, after putting Bella to bed and whispering that you loved her and kissing her forehead as well, Alex was there in front of you, kneeling at the foot of the bed with you sitting in front of him. His usual goofy smile, although tired, adorned his face. You loved him so much, yet sometimes you were afraid of failing to make that clear. He had noticed your difficulty in fastening the buttons of his shirt that you wore to sleep alone and decided to do it for you. This time, you didn't hesitate. You thought of saying something but soon lost yourself in a sigh, and he spoke, "If you apologize again, I'll take you to sleep with Bella." You chuckled softly, even though your mind still felt heavy. Nevertheless, Bella usually ended up asleep between both of you because she had a very light sleep. "That's not a punishment, Al." He nodded, his cheeks turning red for no apparent reason. You stroked his hair, brushing the fringe from his forehead, and gently kissed it while he hugged your waist. You stayed like that for a while until Alex pulled back, looking at you attentively and continuing, "What's on your mind? You seem bothered by something, but I can't tell what it is." His gaze was calm, merely curious, with no judgment. You could tell that he knew it was something related to the night, but he just couldn't pinpoint the problem precisely. Not being able to help directly left him restless. You weren't afraid to open up to him, but that didn't mean it was a straightforward matter in your head.

"Do you think I'll be able to take care of Bella when you're not here? Do you trust me?" You didn't want to, but your voice trembled. "I trust you," he affirmed, the quickness of his response alleviating any doubts. Verbalizing that made you feel ridiculous, but the way Alex ran his fingertips over your thigh and how you could look at him and be sure he was looking at you with the same affection as always made you understand that well. "I want Bella to feel comfortable being with me too, not liking how I made her scared." Alex chuckled but held you firmly in his arms, his scent comforting you. "First," he paused, as he usually did, and before continuing, he pushed aside some of your hair to look at you more intently. "Accidents happen; we understand that. It wasn't your fault; it could have happened to me or anyone else. That doesn't make me think any less of your ability to take care of Bella or not." His caramel eyes remained on yours, attentive to every expression, wanting nothing but for you to be okay. "Secondly, I think Bella is pretty confident about spending this time with you, don't you think?" He gave you a warm and playful smile, only then realizing that you might hadn't noticed it in the heat of the moment, confirming even more to him that you hadn't picked up on it at the right time, and he would need to discuss it with you again. "You're her 'mum', her words." He crossed his fingers, like a promise.

"I would love her to call me 'mum,' Al," you sounded genuine, making him want to crush you in a tight hug. "But I want it to be something she voluntarily does, not something induced. If she feels comfortable with it, then it's okay, and I'll be more than happy." Your face held a light expression, as if thinking about it made you happy. That made Alex's heart swell with joy too. "She called, babe," and although he couldn't describe the feeling, he wanted to relive that moment. Your eyes widened, mouth slightly agape in surprise. "When? Did she talk about me with you and refer to me that way?" Your hand rested on his shoulder, and Alex's fingertips followed affectionate circles on your thigh. "No, she called you that in your presence. Earlier today, before I went into the kitchen. I don't think she even realized, to be honest; she was just concerned 'bout you, not scared of or 'cause of you, darlin'?" You nodded, incredulous. Your cheekbones ached from so much great feelings at the same time; what if she hadn't even noticed it like he said and had simply spoken naturally? That was so genuine and adorable. "Do you feel okay with that, babe? Do you think she'll call me that again?" He nodded, but still vocalized, "I love that she loves you; you're special to me. I like her feeling comfortable with you. And yes, I believe she'll call you that again, darling." This time, you bit your lip to contain a smile on your face, yet your eyes were filled with emotion. Alex was as happy as you were, and the mutual feeling between you two was so evident to both of you that it was enough.

Your forehead met his, his messy hair joining yours, and your eyes began to close slightly as you felt embraced by the tenderness of the moment, overall. Gradually, the warm and comforting breath became one, and the silence and continuation of the touch was fair response until many minutes later when Alex broke it with a brief and simple, "I'll make sure to be present when she calls you 'mum' again, okay, mummy?" And you were dying inside at the thought of her calling you that in the same accent as his.

...

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[marshmallowprotection]

In your opinion, do you think V was fully at fault for what happened to Saeran? There's no denying that he is partially responsible, but honestly I don't think he should be as blamed as much as he is? From Rika's Behind Story, we find out that Rika had told V that Saeran was "moving boarding schools" when in actuality it was a lie to distance V from Saeran and cut off any contact between them, so that she can deceive Saeran into thinking V abandoned him later on when she kidnaps him to Magenta. Still, V insisted on seeing Saeran, even asking for the apparent school's name, but backed down when Rika was adamant about not giving him answers. I agree that V was wrong here for not looking into Rika's words more, but he only relented because he genuinely trusted her—that this was for the sake of protecting the twins, and because he literally had no reason to suspect Rika had any malicious intentions towards Saeran. It took a month for V to find out about Mint Eye after Rika left, and he definitely needed more than a month's time to gather enough materials and intel to infiltrate the place himself, so by the time he managed to enter Mint Eye and find about what Rika did to Saeran, it was already far too late. A lot of people blame him in this part; that he didn't do anything to save Saeran or get him out. But truthfully speaking...what can V even do at this point? It's not like he can just grab Saeran and book it unless he wants a gun pulled on his ass 😭 he had to resort to taking Mint Eye down from the inside. A lot of people also brought up that V should've called the police, but wouldn't that jeopardise Saeran's position to Saejoong? He is actively looking for the twins, and while it may seem like he'd pay no mind to an ordinary cult takedown case, he is desperate. I can see him having his people keep tabs on potential "suspects" from all sorts of places. Sorry this turned out so long, I would really love to hear from your perspective as a passionate Saeran fan. I hope this doesn't start any discourse :'))

I think I'll preface by saying Mystic Messenger suffers in terms of the writers not communicating with each other between routes. There's a lot of differing information about what happened to Saeran. The diary plants one story, and Another Story and Rika Behind paint something else... and in Casual and Deep Story, there are parts of the story a lot of players aren't sure about in terms of what happened since there's a slightly different vibe there.

So, when it comes to errors in continuity, you have to take it with a grain of salt and make your own assumption.

I think it's hard to have a conversation about this subject because neither Jihyun nor Rika are innocent. We can't assign blame to one without assigning blame to the other, but the rate at which they're guilty differs because of the choices they made. There are people in the fandom who place all the blame at Rika's feet, but she's not the only guilty party here when it comes to what happened to Saeran in the end.

It's important to understand that neither of them is innocent, and at the same time, it's even more important to understand the dynamic Rika and V had in the first place.

Rika tortured, manipulated, brainwashed, and abused Saeran. That fact is undeniable. The things she did to him are unimaginable and I hope she pays for it every day after the events of the RAE take place and she has to face judgement day in the court of law.

Jihyun's greatest failure was his decision to uphold his promise to Rika Kim. He promised he would never abandon her in her time of need, no matter what, because he didn't want to fail someone like he "failed" his mother. He believes in his heart that he has to give all he has because of his mother's sacrifice.

This is what causes him to avoid telling Jumin about what happened, because as much as he wants to save Saeran, he wants to "save" Rika, and that's why his greatest failure in the route comes from the player fighting to convince him to do what he should've done in the first place. Ask for help and admit that sometimes, promises aren't worth keeping if they destroy everyone you love, including yourself.

When we compare the choices Rika and V made, yeah, it's easy to see how Rika has done the worst to Saeran, but it's important for players to know that V's inaction served to hurt Saeran, too. That's something he acknowledges during the route, but ends up shooting himself in the foot over by the end because he decided to uphold his promise to Rika despite knowing it wouldn't help her or himself in the end.

Yes, Rika and V are both guilty of failing Saeran and Saeyoung. There is no doubt about that. But, their guilt comes in different flavors and it's important to understand how those choices hurt the boys. Rika's blame is widely understood and correctly spoken about with hatred and ire by fans, but when it comes to Jihyun, it's not often I see fans assign the appropriate blame to him.

It's all or nothing with a lot of players. Either you're a saint or you're a guilty monster. There's no wiggle room in the middle for the grey area that covers choices people make that aren't inherently good or evil. It is the choices that fall in the middle that are hard to understand and easy to misconstrue.

Jihyun Kim is a man I like to refer to with the old saying, "The path paved to hell is made with good intentions."

I think people should be upset with V, and I understand why people hate him for his inability to act when it counts. But, that's one of the things that makes him human and some as a person. You should be angry with V because he outright confesses that he's aware that what he's doing is wrong and that he should be doing more to make things right. You should be disappointed in him.

Because, if you decide to sit down and play V Route, you'll see him make the right decision and do what he should've done from the start.

Ask for help.

Do you want to know what I think Jihyun should've done? He should have told Jumin he was in over his head when discovered the plans in the apartment for Mint Eye. Jumin has proven time and time again to be someone who will do the right thing, no matter the cost, and if he had simply trusted his best friend, they could've done something for Saeran to get him away from Rika and take down Mint Eye with it. I'm certain that Jihyun knew he could do that.

But, to do that would mean breaking his promise to Rika. He told her he would keep their promise. So, if he told Jumin, and then Jumin did everything he could to take down Mint Eye, Rika would likely lash out at Jihyun for "breaking" their promise.

I think he could've feared that Rika might've revealed the truth about Saeran or Saeyoung to spite him in the process, despite making her own promise to Saeyoung to do the right thing, and her promise to Saeran to "take care of him since she killed his mother." So, he was weighing that fear on top of the shame of breaking a promise. But, I am certain that if Jumin helped, Saeran would be safe far away from Seoul, and they would be hunting for a way to get Saeyoung out of that fucking agency.

Jihyun could've continued to investigate Saejoong in private with the help of Jumin's team. Even if Rika let something slip to the police and sided with Saejoong, I think they could've found a way to make things work out. Would it have worked out well? I don't know, but I think I've got enough faith in Jumin Han to trust that he would make it right as soon as he could.

Jihyun was the one hunting down information about Saejoong Choi to take him down. He was away most of the time for that reason, and Rika took it upon herself to take care of Saeran when he wasn’t in classes at the cathedral. He had no way of knowing what Rika was doing to Saeran. He gave her an inch and Rika took a mile in terms of control.

He trusted her to do the right thing and uphold her promise, and he had no choice but to believe in the idea she would keep her promise to protect Saeran because it was the two of them against the world. Two broken people in a relationship that was bound to fail from the start, trying to help two little boys who needed more help than they could provide on their own, it was a recipe for disaster. 

Truthfully speaking, the only thing he could have done when he discovered that Rika lied to him was talk to Jumin. His best friend would have been the only person in the world who could have helped him, but he didn't ask his friend for help out of shame and regret. So, while Rika and V are both guilty, it's important to understand the why and how.

It won't change their guilt, but it does give you more insight as to why Saeyoung doesn't bite Jihyun's head off in the VAE like he tried to do to Rika. Oh, he's still angry with Jihyun, but he's realized that Jihyun's choices were different from Rika's. Still terrible because his promise was broken tenfold, but he can despise Rika far easier because she actively tortured his twin brother and Jihyun's failure of his inaction in the face of weighing promises.

[yuseirra]

**onk 155 spoilers**

I think I'm TERRIBLE with murder mysteries because well.. I guess I don't understand the psychology of murderers...

But I believe I do a pretty good job regarding people who aren't so here goes:

I could infer that kamiki would not have had any will to live after Ai's death. He was the guy who broke down when his abuser died (he was holding up pretty fine till someone else urged him to carry their deaths but yeah) and we see him describing himself as someone who's killed Ai to his own son while describing he really did love her from the bottom of his heart. After some prying, he later says he didn't intend for it to happen (but it doesn't really make sense from how he's described it because how could he have not predicted it in the slightest if what he's described is really true??? that's why I'm still not believing what he's said entirely!! it's so weird)

Whether he's taken a major part in it or not, we can infer that he feels he's entirely responsible for what happened to Ai. Considering his psychology up till that point, Ai was his lifeline at one point, and for him to have believed he killed it himself would have really taken a toll on him. I think his mental state at that point would've compared to that of Aqua's who's lost any will to continue living, as seen from Ai's funeral.

But Aqua chose to live because he couldn't die just yet. He chose to avenge Ai's death and he'd live for that cause.

What'd have brought Kamiki to decide he can't die yet on his side, then? The only strong reason I could come up with for this guy would be that he wants to bring Ai back and make everything better. I say he'd even go as far as wishing to die in her place. That logic aligns so well with Mephisto and Fatal. I bet he regrets what's happened and when there's regret, you'd want to fix things. If he didn't have that sort of hope, I doubt he'd have wanted to live in the first place. The way he's been acting, it seems as if he's devoted his entire life to a cause, he's really depressed. He doesn't mind being avenged. He actually wants it to happen if that's what Ai wants. He doesn't mind rotting away. But there's something that he has to do before he has to, he says.

If this guy's been up to something, I feel it'd be about Ai. and it'd be for her sake in his perspective(although it may not be so much in reality, it'd be what he believes to be is)

Aqua just. let this guy go in 155 but he shouldn't do that if he's aware he's someone capable of murder.. he should call the cops on him or something even if revenge is that important, who knows what a murderer's up to... but he just. let him go... which means it'd be really irresponsible of him if Kamiki really WAS a serial killer who could be looking for another victim. That's DANGEROUS and he even left on a note that he's "going to do something for Ai". Aqua seems to know a lot about what'd been taking place (he knows about how three people died at least) so if he's let him go, it means that what Aqua thinks kamiki would do for Ai's sake's not something like that.

I wouldn't be surprised if the guy winds up dead in the next chapter but I hope not?? There must be a reason why the idea of him being helped by Ai and her kids was introduced in 154, there's no reason to bring an idea like that, it didn't have to be phrased that way. But Ai left a message to aqua saying "if he's still lost, I want you to help him". This should come true although I can't predict just how it'd come through. He's definitely REALLY LOST, and Ai was concerned about him. I bet she is still now, I don't even know what he's really done at this point, everything's very vague and I need more information to determine how things really were

so yeah, he's off to do something for Ai now (I'm not surprised about that in the slightest) what surprised me is that he was able to accept Ai's message in one go. He doesn't deny it or refuse to believe what she's said about him, he just lets that sink in and he wants to do something for her now after it does. That's actually stronger than what I've first pictured in a way! Although we don't get to see his face or a lot of his reactions, this leads me to think he does care about Ai. He got the message. I'm just not sure what he's going to do.. Aqua you should've chased him; but okay. I guess other things are more important right.

I won't talk much about the other important twist(?) reveal(?) in this new chapter, but I felt really sorry for Ai though. She's surrounded by people who are obsessed with her.. why can't she have someone normal.. she was secretive but I get why she had to be that way o<-< a celebrity's life must be harsh, people just won't let you go.

Oh and I was really curious how Gorou died, it seems like an accident but it's still something that has to be cleared up. The events leading up to that.. it deserves to be explained. He's someone who's worked for Ai's sake in a really genuine way..I'm still sorry about what happened to him even if Aqua's decided to move on from him

[liminsendhelp]

Don't pet the flea cat

Price×f!reader

Tags: slight description of reader (chubby, muscular, strong, denying gender as a concept), possibly slightly sociopathic/autistic reader, profanity, denial of authority, evil scientist on the way to becoming. Johns pov included tags and warns are the same as in the last post, srry, I don't have time to make it more civilized and readable. THEY FINALLY TOUCHED LADIES!!! Enjoy

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

The whole day has been going wrong. Right from the start.

You met at five in the morning, as arranged for the days you dig through the database. He was waiting for you in his office, fresh looking, only a little more closed off. You thought to write it off on the early hour. But it certainly wasn't a physical consequence of sleep deprivation.

Emotions, damn it.

John was furious. You didn't say anything to him about it. The normally scowling expression never left your face, the emotionless, chaotically appearing teasing only twice caused him to smirk. But you wanted to shake him, ask him what you'd done wrong. Why he's like this. All the time before working out you could feel that tension. A dark, thick lump of promised fear.

Swallowing your breakfast in almost two bites, you didn't consider your surroundings much. There was something strange in the air. The way the huge room was quiet, full of those normally chatty people. Even Soap only chuckled quietly. Before you left to print out the allowed information, you casually switched to reality, aware of the proximity of the nearby warmth. Your and Price's thighs had been touching all along.

What on the computer had only been a couple dozen pages, images, copies, notes, was turning into an endless mountain of real paper that you were typing in two goes. To keep your head on your shoulders, rather than being ripped off by a secretary who (temporarily, you swear) had a busy printer, you brought a whole stack of paper. You talked, you played spy, getting more and more information out of the little gossip girl. You ate lunch at her place, never letting yourself take more food from her than you could fit in half your palm. She called you a bird and you laughed in agreement, drinking her instant coffee to notfeed your hunger. Not the first time.

As you made your way to your office in the main building that evening, you didn't look round. Moving carefully, only forwards, trying not to drop a pile of printed documents. One of the soldiers held the door for you. Then another one, then again, then another one, but offered help, which you declined. You clenched your jaws. Too many interactions. Fuck away!

Your back was in a terrible state from overexertion you wouldn't let anyone know about, your mood at its very point from lack of sleep and the constant uncomfortable existence with stupid people in the same space. But you still stared sullenly at the dumbest soldier while you held a pile of papers with one hand and opened the office with a magnetic key with the other.

Finally sinking down behind your chair, preparing for another round of proofreading, searching for correlations and missing elements, you let yourself exhale. And think. It was Price, wasn't it? Yesterday, when you told him about the soldiers' behaviour and he reacted so calmly, you gaslight yourself, doing someone else's job. They not even called you a slut in your face and they're animals and you're not special and nothing terrible happened only name calling... And it was expected, wasn't it?

But no, Price clearly went to deal with it. As much as you disliked the whole hierarchy thing, it was hard not to want punishment for those who branded everyone names for one possession of a vagina. You prayed to all the gods that your expectations weren't just a rethinking of the situation into a more palatable direction.

Finally everything was falling into a cycle. You worked with the files already printed out, pulling everything together in an encompassing way for the mind, concentrating on behavioural changes. You stopped by your secretary's office before lunch, giving your energies to small-talk and charming smiles. Your sleep patterns corrected, you smoked less because you didn't have the time anymore. Completely absorbed in your work, focused on your real goal, you didn't notice anything anymore. And a couple of times in a fortnight… Ghost helped with hints.

Ask that soldier, help that soldier, turn round there, yeah, just stand there.

Always managed to pick up a piece of information, form an understanding. The victim was always visible, no matter how well disguised. You made friends with a couple of girls and boys from different departments and backgrounds. Different temperaments, different humour and looks, but you felt that note of vulnerable distrust every time you pushed a little harder on your leadership.

. . .

She had a gaze. Fucked up one.

His first almost-wife had looked at him like that, during their first fight. And the last, to be precise. Pupils small, long angry lashes, always frowning. Ooh, stern.

When she brushed off his question about her name, he wasn't offended in the least. Something familiar about her… there was, no doubt. A piece of a familiar pattern. Potential for a good soldier, human, that was it. There was no criticism or problem in this closed cocoon from which she'd burst into the thick of it. Dry research, ready-made theory. That was why she was so confident in her audacity. John might have wanted to break her, just out of spite. He didn't usually do that, but here the kitten was attacking adult predators, and seriously hoping to win. Thinking she couldn't be seen, sneaking around in the grass with her little paws.

But in a couple of hours of interaction, John saw. Noticed scars here and there, patches of faded fur, and the sharp grin of a smile. She looked like something he'd caught. In training, she'd held up well. A mission, a fulfilment. A soldier with no command.

He could help. Help himself find a therapist.

Sighing once again for the evening, he adjusted his reading glasses. Whiskey in one hand, a small collection of short stories in the other. John read the one book he'd managed to "accidentally" grab from her desk.

Ray bradbury. Lots of circled passages, comments and jokes.

...You're the crowd that's always in the way, using up good air that a dying man's lungs are in need of, using up space he should be using to lie in, alone. Tramping on people to make sure they die, that's you...

In pencil frame and a little note, "should I call a lawyer?"

Other. With some pencil dots and lines on the pages, as if she wanted to but didn't dare leave any words out.

The scythe that gives power....

A family stuck between life and death because the father of the family didn't go to chop the ripe in the field....

A character who sleeplessly accepts his burden.....

...He didn't say good-by to his family. He turned with a slow-feeding anger, found the scythe and walked rapidly, then he began to trot, then he ran with long jolting strides into the field, raving, feeling the hunger in his arms...

The farmer in the field is too busy, even after all these years; too busy slashing and chopping the green wheat instead of the ripe...moves on with his scythe, with the light of blind suns and a look of white fire in his never-sleeping eyes, on and on and on...

He flipped back the page. Where there was only one word, exactly halfway down the circled lines.

...You worked the field all your life because you had to, and one day you came across your own life growin' there. You knew it was yours. You cut it. And you went home, put on your grave clothes, and your heart gave out and you died...

You?

John memorised the page number and put the book back in his desk drawer.

Fuck.

Why couldn't she read something nicer. A children's Bible? No, that was worse. More sins, more circled words. More similarities. And yet, he wanted to finish, wanted to reread everything that had ever graced her attention.

But only those living books that had been marked by her pencil and pen and word. To piece together this puzzle, frank and unmarred by a thick layer of wariness. To let it pass through him, to run his fingers over the traces scattered on the pages. To look in the mirror and see himself years ago. As if everything she'd accused herself of would find the same facet in him.

FUCK.

Angrily setting the empty whiskey glass aside, John walked out and down the stairs.

They'd grown closer over the past fortnight. As close as you could get with a set of human functions. She hadn't relaxed. Not for a second in his presence, not even in the presence of Ghost, who, surprisingly, had become a calming factor for her.

Something was happening. Some weightless bridge of communication. Invisible and solid.

Like when Ghost looked at her, shifted his gaze to someone else for a second and five minutes later she was there.

Like when she didn't turn up for training, showing drafts of already existing research to her Institute's committee. The discussions dragged on, she didn't show up for breakfast, and Ghost looked more sombre than usual.

Just like when she had appeared at lunch that afternoon, angry and barbed. "Those decrepit nerdy fucks have had me since six in the morning." She growls, and Ghost mutters something back about how quickly she's managed to outbite everyone. And the meat is clearly tastier than usual today. And Ghost knows now that scientists are much nicer than recruits. And she grins, just slightly, still wicked.

"You just haven't tasted the babies yet."

And Soap chokes on his tea, Gaz laughs, Ghost looks at her before letting out a deep chuckle. One ha. Not even a ha-ha, but it's something.

And John watches, observes. Marks the lines of communication and the nodes that form new offshoots

John wasn't jealous, there was nothing to be jealous of. Her attention was so entirely on him that she didn't have time to notice the water column diverging in front of her step by step.

It had been two weeks since John had the guys from the newbie group on the playground.

A day's training.

Just what the new recruits dreaded. Not a second of stopping, no food, limited water, total silence. The "24 hours" ended when the fighters started to fall. Sometimes the whole thing lasted for days.

In John's memory, the longest twenty-four hours was a week and a half when someone in his unit made a joke about raping the children of those Nazis who were fighting against them. He was a soldier then, green and unwanted by the leadership.

And the commanders were active and angry.

Steam was blown off on them until the rat came out himself, publicly shamed.

He was dismissed the same day, so that the soldiers did not have time to strangle him for a fortnight of suffering.

It was really horrible. But effective. None of them ever spoke again, even if they didn't want to.

Ghost had already organised something similar on the recruits last year, but they hadn't been smart enough.

John was happy to teach the soldiers to keep quiet. Reputation meant a lot to an organisation. Discipline wasn't just the ability to obey. And, no matter how much she said otherwise, John knew she would have wanted that kind of retribution.

She would find it fair.

The trainers change every three hours, the soldiers are the same. The spaciousness of the gym, the silence and the thick smell of sweat. Eighteen hours of slaughter meat.

The end of the "day."

But. Someone turned out to be more talkative than the others. As the columns of soldiers left the hall, the two idiots whispered something about an old man chasing a dirty cunt and were forced to stay for another two hours. One on one with John.

"You're going to fall and get out of here in a second." "You'll stop and we would start again."

He had no rest that night. After the individual lecture on what respect was, after the picture of tear-wet youthful faces begging forgiveness not from pain but from the realisation of their own failure, he couldn't shake off the rage completely. She had certainly sensed it from the morning, had been over-cautious in her rudeness. But she said nothing, and he began to breathe easier.

John lit a cigarette, there was no energy for cigars. The soldiers on night shift were still avoiding him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Good for them. Opposite him, smoking dramatically in the shadows of the night, was the wall of the annex occupied by the scientists. The light in her window is on again. The way it had been for two months since her arrival, but had stopped after their meeting. And he thought he'd helped her sleep regime. As if to echo his thoughts, the light goes out, and five minutes later she appears. Sleepy, dark against her white dressing gown, glowing in the light of the night lanterns.

In the silence he can distinctly hear the desperate clicks of the lighter failing to give fire and a quiet "fucking hell" from her harsh mouth. He stands so that the light of the cigarette doesn't show from the shadows. Observes. Her stomping in one place is depressing. Such an open area, only a wall with one door behind, a long run to the corners, direct light. No cover. No hiding.

They were so close, John didn't need to calculate the trajectory he could take to blast her head off with his sniper. But he's unable to realise in time that he's spotted. The dusk makes it impossible to make out all the features of her face, but the swift way she was walking towards him spoke volumes. When John pulls out his lighter, flicking the wheel, emitting only a spark, not a flame, she snorts and slaps his arm. Why?

Her face is close, cigarettes touching at the tips as she holds their cigarettes in her hands to gently light her own. Her careful fingers close to his lips and he inhales the smell of ink and coffee with the smoke.

When her shoulder lightly touches his, her head rests on the hardness of the wall, and the smoke fills her lungs, John notices a certain insufficiency. Unmasked, even more open than usual. But quiet. So not trusting, just tired. That's what makes her stand so close. Obviously nothing more.

"I'm going to rest my head on your shoulder, and then you can pretend I didn't do it." "You're not afraid of groupies anymore?" Why say that? Why? Why? WHY?! Idiot.

She hums and takes a puff, releasing a thin stream of smoke into the night air. "Since you scared them all away?"

So they stand and smoke, sharing little warmth at the thin edges of contact. Her hand presses against his, John noting every muscle movement as she brings the cigarette to her lips and back again.

In the morning, as promised, he pretends nothing happened.

And the soldiers pretend they are numb, blind, and not watching their pair that night.

[dedahblog]

Ichigo and Rukia in Memories in The Rain are two frustrating idiots

You just can't take them seriously.

For the first time, since his mother's death, Ichigo forgot about the upcoming anniversarry of his ultimate trauma.

You can pretty much guess by that simple fact how meeting Rukia brought joy to his life and "changed his world"

When she asked him why he became sad, he answered "nothing " and he could had stopped there. However, this is drama queen Ichigo we're talking about.

He had to add loudly "I see ... it's soon " keeping the suspense for Rukia (and us). He made her aware that something was indeed wrong.

Basically, "I'm acting as If I'm shutting myself off from you but not really I want you to know that something is really bothering me"

....

let's move on

Then later, Ichigo could have stopped at just informing Rukia what it was the anniversary of his mother's death but he had to add that she was killed dramatically under the moonlight.

Ichigo basically gave Rukia the greenlight to talk about his personal life. But when she pushed her luck and wanted to know more, he denied everything.

...

Local tsundere teen sending mixed signals to 200 year old emotionally constipated clueless as hell ghost.

Wonder what will happen

She was so worried that she eavesdropped on Tatsuki and Orihim's little chat at class. A behaviour that was totally unusual coming from her.

She couldn't hold back her worry when Ichigo told her he was taking his shinigami job off. She even revealed she had been stalking watching him all day long.

However, when Ichigo asked her, why she followed him to the cemetery, she said she was only there for her shinigami duties ...

Of course it is, why would anyone think of any other reason ...

Then Rukia came out as insensitive telling him maybe a hollow killed her.

Ichigo was pissed off mostly (I think) out of frustration that people were finding excuses instead of blaming him.

Their conversations ended shortly on a tense conclusion : Ichigo saw the girl he wanted to save the day the mother died, fell on his knees baring his heart to Rukia admitting his sin

When you think about it, there is no reason for Ichigo not to avoid talking to Rukia after so much tension, yet...

He slightly smiled greeting her and genuinely asked her if she wanted to continue where they left off

This proves something extremely important which is how lonely Ichigo was and how much he was yearning for someone to support him mentally

and he chose that person to be Rukia....

....

...

The person he met one month ago !!!

over any one of his friends, classmates family members. ??

(what's wrong with him ?!!)

And his prediction were correct

Rukia who knows about loneliness more than anyone. She tried to try to help Ichigo the best she could.

However, she could only offer him what she herself yearned for the most : not be alone

They both longed for someone they can trust and who won't give up on them.

Ichigo didn't feel surprised by her thoughtful words. It was like he was expecting her to say what he needed the most despite her previous bluntness

When Rukia promised she will be there for him as long as it takes, all Ichigo said was "yeah"...

Kubo being Kubo knows what he's doing, knows how those loser are being soft for each other and will die before admitting it

He basically self inserted himself/ the readers in Kon's place " stop acting so cool. I can't keep up with you guys!"

Remember when kubo was enjoying himself creating this manga and slandering Rukia and Ichigo ? Good times good times

I guess panels speak for themselves.

Rukia was begging Ichigo to stay alive, screaming at him to stop fighting, being so happy he survived and used all what remained of her power to heal him.

Yet when he thanked her for healing him, she acted as if it was nothing...

Last round,

it turns out Ichigo is the honest one between the two

Ichigo told Rukia he had to go and eventually had an emotional conversation with his father where he confessed his frustrations

Yet he isn't even bothered that Rukia was listening (without his consent )to his private talk.

That's because he wants her to be there

When Rukia offered to be there for him, he really embraced that offer. He wants her to know about every messed up part of him because he knows she would never give up on him.

...

..

Also I guess he doesn't mind Rukia being a shameless stalker

( that was the second time you're stalking him the same day Rukia wth !! At least be more subtle or feel a bit ashamed)

[darlinggeorgiedear]

Why do people who like george and mary dont like to accept that they refused asylum to the romanovs lol. Tsar Nicholas II was a bad leader to his country and he refused to step down which i would understand why he would get killed but his children were innocent. I watched the infamous s5 episode 6 of the crown out of curiosity and it was incredibly inaccurate except for the scene where the OTMA sisters were shot dead and this was incredibly hard to watch. Why do people think they dramatized the sister’s death when this particular scene is the most accurate in the entire episode. Monarchists or not, the romanov sisters were innocent.

They probably focused on OTMA death to illustrate loss of innocence. So sad!! I wish they would stop recreating their death. Also, the Crown capitalizes on sensationalism so their portrayal of the execution is not surprising at all.

There are many layers to why Nicholas and his family never left Russia and George is just a small chapter. I don't think George betrayed Nicholas, and if he would have known what was going to happen to them he would have acted differently. (even though I am not sure if George really could have saved them even with peak effort). If George was guilty of anything concerning the Romanov's, it was bad judgment, yet majority of those involved were equally ignorant.

I am not denying that George thought it was not a good idea to have the Romanov brought to England during the end of WWI because of public opinion. I just don't think that was the Romanov's only option, so doesn't fully explain why they died. I also know that George was a good man (like Nicholas) and was not a coward. On multiple occasions, George was not afraid to stand up in a morally wrong situation, which makes me believe him when he claims to have been equally blindsided by the whole situation.

Also, Mary was Consort and did not have say in any of this. George had a minor part, but Mary had no part! There is a letter where she wrote that she was worried about them, but didn't want to bring it up to George because she knew there was nothing they could do at that point (1918). Also, Mary did try to appeal to the Vatican (with Alfanso) to acknowledge the Romanov's as asylum seekers according to Alexandra Churchill who wrote the book "In the Eye of the Storm" about George.

I think it might seem that some are in denial when refuting that George "denied the family asylum", yet I would argue those that blame George for their deaths are jumping to conclusions (When George argued that the Romanov should not come to England because of public opinion, Lenin wasn't even in power, instead it was Kerensky who vowed not to hurt the family. The main problem in 1917 was moving the family away from radical St. Petersburg). There is so little information on this subject, yet a lot of folklore, so I think people on both sides are really grasping at straws.

[viatagrinner]

Ikevil. Part 2. Chapter 6 - 9

This is more notes than a full-fledged translation...

Kate is now "Crown's" personal "storyteller".

Victor just came up with this post.

From now on, Kate will live in this castle and act with the other members of the Crown. And the guys will keep an eye on her so she doesn't talk too much.

The girl will record their atrocities. This is a valuable resource for the study of the Curse + report to the Queen.

Harrison: It's just because you can't be bothered to do the report, so you're going to impose it on her....

And Victor... he doesn't even deny it. It's the "best" idea ever. He wants to show Kate the castle.

But the heroine makes a condition that within a month she will do her job, keep their secret for life, and they will let her go. "Please."

Victor... He seems to have just realized that his break from reporting will only last a month.

William notes that it is unusual to see Vic so surprised. It's hilarious William promises that she will be let go. Plus, he asks Victor to send notice to Kate's job, saying that she will be working at the royal palace.

Ahh... The guys are finally all introducing themselves. [I'll write again that most of the names Kate didn't know.]

The heroine who likes to go to the theater finally recognizes Liam. He's an actor.

After kissing her hand, Liam says he's looking forward to working together.

Harrison asks to be called either Harry or Harrison.

Harrison: I'm a cursed lying fox. ....False or true?

She can't read him. But she has a whole month ahead of her.

I take it that all guys have their own smell? Harrison smells like peppermint.

Alphons Sylvatica. [I hope I spelled his last name right.]

He's excited for the opportunity to "play" with the pretty Robin.

Elbert Greetia - Earl.

Elbert: ....Elbert. .....Greetia.

Elbert: ......Al, is she pretty?

Alphons: Yes, so are you.

Roger stands up for the girl's honor. He says the two are being rude to the lady.

Roger is a former doctor.

It's Jude and Ellis' turn to introduce themselves. Which Jude is not particularly happy about.

Victor asks him to be gentler, but the guy is adamant. What was Victor thinking when he used royalty to take over the common man.

But.... Kate is no fool and immediately realized that Jude is not cruel, but a tsundere...

(Ordinary person....)

(....Oh, are you defending me right now?)

Although he seems cold, he is a conscientious man.

Kate thanked him.

Jude: Poor thing, you were brought here by force. Do you want me to help you?

Jude: 'Сourse, it's a joke. Whaddaya mean expect me to do, hopeless?

Jude: Well, I wish y'all the best. Ya won't last a month before ya run away and get killed.

Even for the heroine, he speaks strangely. She thinks he's an immigrant.

Ellis says Jude acts that way with everyone.

Kate is more afraid of him than anyone else. It's too easy for him to offer to kill her.

Ellis works for Jude. Jude is the president of a trading company.

Victor notices that not everyone has revealed their "curses."

Victor wants to show a trick.

Liam is thrilled.

Harrison and Roger don't want to waste their time.

Alphons is happy to see a weirdo and a fool.

Victor needs an assistant. How about Elbert?

Elbert: ..... I don't want to....

Victor: Hmmm...I wonder why your sad profile is so appealing? What about Ellis?

Ellis agrees, as long as it makes Vic happy.

Ellis lies down on the table.

This whole situation is wild for Kate. They recently killed a man, and now they're laughing.

William notices the change in the girl's mood.

William: Are you afraid?

She calls him "Lord" again, ("-sama").

But he only wants to be "William." He wants a more informal relationship.

The heroine agrees, but she adds "lord" to herself. William doesn't want to force her into anything.

William: Are you afraid of us?

Kate admits it. She'd be better off not knowing everything.

William: Do you want to know more?

Now yes, because she needs to earn the trust of the Crown members and fulfill her duties.

In the meantime, Victor showed a trick. Ellis survived the rain of knives.

Not everyone was happy with the trick. Mostly everyone called out Ellis's good physical ability and reflexes.

But Victor was not upset that few people appreciated his talent. He offered to show the girl the castle.

Victor also asks to be called by his first name, without using "lord" (-sama). He is sad that William was able to get informal treatment and he was not.

Vic shows the heroine the common room, the infirmary and laboratory, and the ballroom. But balls are rare here.

Kate's room.

No one knows, but Kate has been practicing writing on a typewriter.

Victor senses that there is something fateful in Kate's arrival at the castle// She is destined to be here.

He also warns not to let anyone in this room.

[Grandpa says: ]

Victor: Leaving anyone in this room is like giving up your body.Be careful.

Victor thanks Kate for trying to talk to them.

Advice from Victor:

After a month, if you want to get back to your normal life.... Don't let it steal your heart.

Victor: Right. Cursed are destined to meet a tragic breakdown.😀

Victor: Do not fall in love with them if you wish for the kind of happiness that pure maidens dream of.

/It's absurd for her now.

 

But if the fate is like that...

Victor: Darkness will gladly accept you.

And so began her sinful life.

Bonus [I don't know why, but let it be here.]

The heroine does not use honorific suffixes for Harrison, Liam, William, Victor.

"-San": Alphonse, Roger, Jude.

"-Sama": Elbert.

"-Kun": Ellis.

[dame-nervy]

"You didn't think of me once?" (Bruce Banner x Reader)

After Bruce Hulked out and disappeared, you thought you'd never see him again. Then there was an alien attack on New York and you saw a familiar green figure all over the news, yet it was still months after that before you saw Bruce with your own eyes.

[angst] [no grammar check or second read through at all]

A/N; GUESS who's had absolutely no desire to write for the past several months and still has no desire to write but realises that she should write something so that she hopefully wont loose the small following she has and chose to randomly pick a concept idea she once had and now has no recollection of why she picked it? It's me. I'm her. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy.

"I guess it was inevitable, but I still don't like it." Seeing Bruce again had brought up many emotions, but the one that won the charge on how you were going to act was bitter spite. "Hello Y/n. How have you been?" Bruce's uncomfortable formality made you grind your teeth together as you turned away from him. "Don't play pleasantries Banner. You've been in New York for months now and I don't even get a phone call? Though truthfully I shouldn't be surprised, now should I? I'm no Betty Ross."

Bruce frowned at you as you gave a slight glance over your shoulder as you said the last part. "that's not fair-" You cut him off with a light tone as you turned fully to him "isn't it? We were best friends Bruce. More than that at one point. But then again, 'I wasn't really all that smart' now was I?" you quoted something you had once heard Betty say about you as Bruce and a group of his science friends sat around, him right next to her. Bruce looked away, unable to deny it as he remembered the laugh Betty did after she said it, like she was joking, which hadn't been helped when everyone else had joined in as well. "How's your mother?" Bruce asked, trying to move the situation along. "She died. During New York." You informed him as you swallowed hard, still finding it hard to talk about. "I'm sorry." Bruce genuinely told you, though your next words stunned him. "Don't be, she hated you in the end." He stopped, shocked about what he'd heard before realising what caused it. "Because of the other guy." He said with certainty. "Because you vanished." You corrected him, creating a silence between yourselves as you both just looked at each other.

"I would have come with you." You practically whispered. "I couldn't ask you to leave your life." Bruce told you as he shook his head in disbelief that you'd even suggest such a thing. "You also couldn't say goodbye." Bitterness working it's way back into your speech. "I was running Y/n. I didn't even get a chance to pack my toothbrush." Bruce spat back, finally getting sick of your attitude. You were taken aback by this, now being your turn to stand silent. Without your response, Bruce assumed that your reunion over, starting to make his way towards the door. "I spent so much time wonder and worrying about you." Your statement stopped Bruce, causing him to turn back to you, an anxious look on your face before you asked, "You didn’t think of me once?" The silence deafened you as his head angled down, eyes drawn to the floor as he spoke.

"It’s better this way."

And again, he was gone from your life. Leaving you alone as your tears fell down your face. The only difference between this time and last time was that this time you knew for sure he wasn't going to call.

[bcbdrums]

Grasping for the Wind - pt. 8

First Chapter | Previous Chapter Read on: FFn | AO3

A Soul Eater fanfic. It's about Stein (and Spirit). It's good I promise. Angst, action, introspection, blood... *coughs* anyway.

A/N: Maka only gets a brief cameo...sorry. This chapter is normal length, next one is long, then we get a neat little epilogue to wrap things up.

Part 8

Telling Maka about her father had gone surprisingly well, which confused Stein. He had presented the topic as a lesson, feeling too much guilt to not explain that it was his weakness that caused the failure. But some details he withheld, as speaking too personally about it would be inappropriate to both a little girl and to his student.

Still, he had brought her to the dispensary and given her the truth as she deserved. He told Naigus to inform Spirit later about how his often-estranged daughter had gasped and run to his bedside, calling his name futilely and repeatedly. It was a weak smile that found its way to his lips when Maka simply sat at the side of the bed, holding Spirit's hand for time undetermined as the heart monitor continued its slow, steady rhythm.

What Stein didn't understand was why Maka didn't seem angry with him. He had not minced words when he explained that his own doubts had been the ultimate reason for defeat, and that the weapon's life-threatening injuries were the consequence. She had listened and taken in every word, but her only concern was for her father.

Perhaps anger and loathing for him would come later, after Spirit recovered. Especially when she saw her father's own.

After that, Stein didn't return to the academy. His classes entrusted to Sid, he had instructed Naigus on how to meet Spirit's basic care needs should his healing progress without incident. If something did go wrong, he would attend to it of course. But if his knowledge and skill were not required... He knew Spirit wouldn't want to see him anyway.

He wasn't sure if Death wanted him to find an answer to the question he'd posed to him, or simply recover enough from the incident to resume his assigned duties. Physically, he had recovered quickly. But as for his mental state...

He was sitting in his office in the dark, leaning back in his chair. He spun it slowly around to face the coat rack by the door—the one small object of homeliness in the room which he'd brought up from the academy basement the day he'd told Maka. Hanging upon it was the dusty, blood-soaked coat he'd been wearing on the day of the fight, and he was certain that seeing it upon entering the lab each day was why the nightmares hadn't stopped.

He didn't mind.

If he could keep fresh the memory of his former partner being mutilated, his blood soaking the sand and his soul growing weak, then perhaps the next time he was called into battle he would be able to maintain focus on his purpose. He was Death's elite meister and an instructor of young meisters and weapons. Nothing else. And if he concentrated on that, then he wouldn't ever again run the risk of making mistakes like the one that had nearly cost Spirit his life.

What could have happened also kept him up at nights before horror-filled sleeps finally claimed him. It had been like nothing he had experienced in their five years of partnership, and nothing he had experienced since.

As meister and weapon they had had very few defeats, even from the beginning. Spirit had brought experience to their assigned pairing, and he had brought...whatever it is that he was. He knew now that the partnership he had treated so cavalierly had been the best years of his life, and back then it had been easy to blame his choices on the threat of madness. But after over ten years of isolation and living in the freedom he had so desperately sought, he knew better.

How ironic for Spirit to have helped him overcome madness only for him to then fall prey to youthful arrogance, which he had used as a veil to deny his guilt. There was no way of knowing if he could have prevented the loss of his weapon, if he had responded differently to the accusations brought against him back then. All he did know for certain was that he regretted what he had done.

Unfortunately, he didn't know if he wouldn't do it all over again.

Stein spun back around in the chair to face the computer screen, the room's only light source, and reached up to twist the screw in his head. During the surgery he had eventually been able to compartmentalize the fact he was trying to save the life of his former weapon partner. He felt the most at home inside of a body after all. But it hadn't stopped him from noticing the old scars.

Spirit had claimed they all had faded, but only perhaps if one wasn't looking. As he had stitched up one deep wound after the other, he had noticed where the spikes had sliced through the old, delicate scars from his own intrusions years ago. Some however remained unmarred and he had stared at the thin, pale lines on the skin that were the permanent evidence of his betrayal.

It had been his greatest experiment. The resonance he and Spirit had already achieved was like nothing before seen in the DWMA, and he knew, he knew they hadn't reached their full potential, and he was certain he had a way to get them there. Perhaps if he had told the truth at the time, things would have ended differently. But there had been too many complications, and too many voices against him—one in particular that had started coming between he and his weapon even before he was forced to begin hiding his plans.

Stein put that thought away and kept turning the screw. He may have been able to ignore distractions to a point during the surgery, but now they all came at him like a swarm. Seeing the horror of the wounds inflicted upon Spirit by their former classmate had been sickening, and knowing there would be new, jagged and ugly scars intermixed with the ones his careful procedures had resulted in... It felt wrong. It felt like a violation.

Which, he realized, is what Spirit must have felt like back then.

Memories he didn't want to recall were flooding his mind and he refused to give them presence. He never wanted to relive those conversations and days of anguish again, but even the faintest flicker of their recollection hammered home what he knew more than anything else was true.

Everything was his fault. Everything. If he hadn't allowed himself to think past his purpose, he wouldn't have failed in the fight. If he had just listened to his weapon, they would have come out unscathed.

He had never been weak in holding Spirit before, but he had been too preoccupied at the time to realize what was really going on. He was the cause of the disparity in their resonance, a victim once again to the lures of a different world that he knew in his soul was mere fantasy. His own fears and doubts had been the reason their wavelengths weren't in sync. Even after all of his prior mistakes, after everything that had happened in the past...Spirit had been willing to bring their souls together to fight. And that trust had again cost him.

Turning the screw wasn't helping. Stein grit his teeth and contemplated the array of scalpels on his desk as he absently kept up the futile twisting, driving electric pain to his every extremity until his head was white-hot with pain. It was better than he deserved.

Spirit would hate that he had touched him again, even to save his life. It would probably be the final severing of whatever remained of a long-lost resonance that had been his greatest peace in life. If only he had known...

But, who was he kidding? Whatever had given him the idea that it could be reclaimed, that there was even hope of reconciliation, he had once again shattered with his selfishness. It had been more than ten years. It was time he let go of any dream of getting that life back and be grateful he'd had it at all, and for what he still had. He did have everything he'd outwardly claimed to have wanted. He'd been given a purpose. He had his freedom. And he still had his soul.

He just hadn't ever counted on wanting a friend, too.

When had he started caring again?

When had he ever stopped?

He knew the answer to Lord Death's question, now.

He released the screw and hit both fists against the desk as stood abruptly, his chair rolling away behind him. He needed to dissect something, and not one of the frogs in his freezer.

"I can't care..." he muttered haltingly through clenched teeth.

The chair abruptly stopped rolling.

"Care about what?"

Stein spun around to see Spirit a few steps inside the door, his hand on the back of the chair.

[bellshazes]

man. had a convo with my fave [state] coworker and she is so, so lovely. i love her, truly, from the bottom of my heart. you can just tell how much she cares about our members and I learn so much from her. and she comes across as blunt often, but she's always saying things that need heard. sometimes, it's with imperfect language. we were just talking about a trans member who had stopped seeing his gynecologist because, in his words, he's trans and didn't need to see a gyno - and had discovered he had ovarian cancer. my coworker was using she/her pronouns for him - not great! - but she was trying to get the group to focus on what barriers there were to that gynecological care, the ovarian cancer. they kept getting on her for the pronoun thing, which, yes, i also told her that if you're unable to hear the preference from the person themself, opting for the gender they're transitioning to (and this isn't "optimal language" i'm using, but it's where my coworker is at) is better. but she was right about trying to focus on helping the actual situation.

i talked it through with her and about my experiences with being out at work but not with my family, about whether there's trans-friendly gynecologists at all in the member's area or if there was trauma there (how likely that is!). and she immediately lit up talking about how awful it is that providers will claim they are trauma-informed or whatever and then fall short. she cares. she gets it, on some level. her use of she/her was a misguided attempt to express in the only way she knew how to focus on the issue of a person not receiving adequate care and needing support through cancer treatment. despite her ignorance, she was doing her damnedest to be this person's best advocate.

and she was so grateful and open to talking through the complexities! it is in fact important to validate to allies that it is hard sometimes to know what pronouns to use when a coworker is out at work but not in the community but that's part of why we do it anyway, because it's hard and important. she cares so much about trying to keep up with terminology she's unfamiliar with and not being seen as bigoted but she's not got a lot of experience talking to people in contexts where she can really learn. and she talked about being black and knowing as an adult culturally her family and friends just didn't openly talk about being trans or queer but she knows there were and are people who are and were. i brought up the complexities of how race plays into gender and transness, where black women can be denied "true" (quote unquote) womanhood because of their race and so how does that factor into being familiar or not with trans experiences? and if you're not white and you're trans, the ways in which you might be denied a gender you're not IDing with, but that's, well, intersectionality. and she had a lightbulb moment, i think, because i don't know she's ever had anyone say it in a way she's allowed to have something in common with. solidarity forever is the way.

there are a lot of willfully ignorant people, but if you connect with someone who's falling short on the "right" words and language and feelings, there are plenty who want to understand better but don't, who want to keep practicing, who care about you even if they don't know how best to show it. i'm really lucky to know people who keep reminding me of that, and who i know want a better world for the youth they serve.

[agentcable]

Bad Prosecutor Ep. 8 Recap

Jin Jung has imprisoned District Head Prosecutor Kim Tae-Ho. However, he is still unaware of the mastermind behind the crime. He pursues Tae Hyung-Wook, the chief secretary of killing Deputy Chief Lee. Meanwhile, Prosecutor Oh Do-Hwan seeks assistance from Seo Hyun-Kyu.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

Do-Hwan loses another master as he is investigated by the internal inspection division of the prosecution. His office is ransacked for evidence, but he denies any involvement in the allegations against him. In desperation, Do-Hwan seeks a new potential master in Chairman Seo. After following Tae-Ho to his meeting with Chairman Seo, Do-Hwan was caught but was let go with just Chairman Seo's business card.

However, Do-Hwan is currently unable to meet the chairman directly due to his lack of leverage, according to the chairman's son and heir Ji-Han. Ji-Han must first vet Do-Hwan before a meeting can take place.

Nonetheless, during a brief encounter, Do-Hwan gains the necessary leverage when he observes Ji-Han playing with a fidget spinner, which triggers a memory. After returning to his office, he reviews old footage from the first murder case he took over from Jung. In the footage, he sees Ji-Han walking away from the murder scene while playing with the same fidget spinner. This provides Do-Hwan with the leverage he needs, and he sends it to Chairman Seo to arrange a meeting with him directly.

Jung and A-Ra are still following their leads. Their next target is Tae Hyung-Wook, Chairman Seo's chief secretary, who they believe is the murderer. They go to Kangsan Law Firm to meet her, but instead, they are welcomed by Ji-Han. Jung demands to meet the cief secretary in a brusque manner. Ji-Han calls him rude. Jung implies they can open an investigation if they continue hinding her due to reasonable doubt. Secretary Tae says she was in the gym on the day of Deputy Chief Lee's death and can provide proof. Jung tests her reflexes before letting her go. Jung noticed that she didn't flinch even with a sharp object near her eye, indicationg her experience in combat. Normal people would flinch, but she remained still. Jung informed A-Ra of his observation.

Jung is ready to continue investigating, but he and A-Ra are forced to take a break because his mom calls. They head to her BBQ restaurant, where she lays out a generous spread of food. She looks happy that Jung finally brought home a girl. After A-Ra insists on joining them out of politeness, Mom sits down and asks her questions. The two wome flatter each other so much that Jung isn't even able to eat anything. In the end, he's the one who does the dishes.

Following Mom's instructions, Jung gets a cab for A-Ra. During the walk, Jung opens up to A-Ra about his dad and how he witnessed his car accident. Jung suffers from trauma and guilt, wishing he could have held on for just a few seconds longer so that his mom wouldn't have to cry so much. He promised himself that he wouldn't let his loved ones cry anymore, which is why he works so hard for justice and rightousness. A-Ra tells him that his father would have been proud of him.

The following day, Jae-Kyung was confused by the large number of people at the Civil Affairs Division office. In addition to Chul-Gi, Eun-Ji and Joong-Do were already present. When Jae-Kyung demanded to know who they were, Chul-Gi presented Eun-Ji, the daughter of an infamous gang leader who was well-known in her own right, and Joong-Do, a self-proclaimed genius hacker who apparently did the job well despite being mediocre. Jin Jung and Friends quickly return to work, reviewing footage of Secretary Tae in the gym. However, A-Ra notices a discrepancy with the time and also provides the plate number of the masked man's car, which she had noted down while hiding during the fight.

Eun-Ji and Joong-Do have been assigned to confirm whether the Secretary was present at the gym during the hours of Deputy Chief Lee's death. Joong-Do is afraid of the muscular gym staff member they need to interrogate, but Eun-Ji manages to make the staff member talk by using her gangster minions. The staff member eventually talks after being threatened with burial alive.

Chul-Gi found the plate number by reviewing the CCTVs along the roads. WIth this information, Jung and A-Ra were able to locate the vehicle's last known position. During the car search, Jung discovers a boot with blood on its sole that matches the footprints from when he was stabbed. To determine if the blood on the boot matches his own, he provides a blood sample for testing by the anatomy professor. The test confirms a match.

Jin Jung and Friends reunite at the Civil Affairs Division office to review their new information. Jung searches for this wooden sword and discovers the yellow envelope on Jae-Kyung's desk. The envelope contains the important-looking MP3 player that Deputy Chief Lee hid and died for. Throughout this time, Jae-Kyung has been making his own moves. Jae-Kyung received the MP3 player from the late deputy chief and visited Tae-Ho in prison. He instructed him to send a message to Chairman Seo that he has the MP3 player. However, Chairman Seo has not received the message because he has been refusing Tae-Ho's calls.

Jung demands an explanation from Jae-Kyung about the MP3 player that caused so many deaths. However, his superior refuses to answer. Instead, Jae-Kyung reveals that his family was killed, made to look like an accident, because he tried to fight against the bad guys. He emphasizes that this is not a game and that he needs to handle it alone to keep Jung and his friends safe. But cannot ignore what he has learned and cannot turn a blind eye. Upon Jae-Kyung's return to the office, he discovers that Jung and his crew have vanished. In their place, a dummy MP3 player has been left.

Secretary Tae receives a call from Jung, informing her that he possesses the MP3 player they seek. They arrange to meet at the location where Deputy Chief Lee was killed. At this meeting, Jung reveals that the masked individual is, in fact, Secretary Tae herself. A struggle ensues as they attempt to gain possession of the MP3 player. Secretary Tae injects Jung with a depressant on the rooftop, causing him to feel dizzy and lose his motor skills.