#arthurs must be so fed up with it

[mango-harvest]

"We go and get you a gown" I LOVE how they know he hates dressing up

#rdr2 #red dead 2 #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #vdl gang #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption #hosea matthews #rdr2 clip #lets not ignore how hosea laughs at his own jokes #i love these man smh #LOOK HOW HES TEASING HIM HAHAHAHA #they know SO well he hates dressing up in ANYTHING #he already hated the dress up game at the bar #then theres this with the gown #and then in ch6 dutch makes him dress up as a police man #arthurs must be so fed up with it

[miryum]

Sleepless in Monaco (Charles Leclerc x Reader) royal!AU

Hi! This is my first F1 fic so I hope you guys enjoy. I worked really hard on this and am pretty proud of it!

Warnings: Swearing, implications of sex, insomnia, nightmares, death, parents in the military, and any others I missed

Word Count: 10.4k

Disclaimer: I know nothing of how the monarchy works. Take my words about the inner monarchy with a grain of salt. I took the British monarchy and twisted it to fit my needs for this work of fiction, so all of this is highly unrealistic. For example, an heir cannot abdicate before the monarch’s death, but for the sake of this fic, in Monaco, they can. No other country has as strict coronations for their monarchs as Britain does, and even there it’s usually months after a monarch is dead, but I wanted to speed things up! 

Also, all of these people are exactly that- their own person and I am simply using their names and faces for a story. 

Enjoy!

Countless studies showed that sleep was necessary and the more you got, the better off you were. Still, you didn’t like going to sleep. It felt needlessly unproductive. The nights were bouts of insomnia, and if you were allowed to sleep, it was always riddled with nightmares. 

The most frequent nightmare started off in a meadow of dead flowers. It lulled you into a false sense of security, although being surrounded by death left worried butterflies in your gut. It was then followed by falling. You weren’t sure what you fell into, but all you knew is that it must be bottomless. As the helplessness and impending doom reached a climax, you woke up. 

As a child you could always run to your parents, but now, as an adult, you had no one to run to. You were alone. 

Tonight was like every other. You had trouble going to sleep, and when you finally did, you fell. You fell into the bottomless pit surrounded by dead flowers. And then you woke. The clock read only 1:44. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was your burner phone and the number was easily recognizable. 

“Hey Arthur,” you ran a hand over your tired eyes.

He asked immediately, “did I wake you?”  

“You know me; I’m never asleep.”

“Ah yes,” the youngest Leclerc brother clicked his tongue. “We share the same crazy sleep schedule.”

“The one thing that brought us together.” It was true, of course. Your nights in the castle had been just as sleepless as ever, and it was one night when you were roaming the halls that you bumped into the small prince. You had dropped into a messy curtsy (you were still learning how- you were only five at the time) but Arthur had laughed and said whoever was up at that time of night didn’t need to bow to him. It had then become a tradition. Whenever one of you couldn’t sleep, they would find the other and the night would usually end passed out in front of a blaring TV screen with dripping bodies from a rendezvous at the indoor castle pool. Alas, as the two of you got older and you moved out of the castle for school, your late-night meetings turned to late-night phone calls. 

“Did you ever go to sleep?” You ask. “You sound wide awake.” 

“No, I did not,” Arthur drew out his words, awaiting your reprimanding. You were too tired to do so, however, and just rolled your eyes. “Hey, you’re on summer break, right?” He switched the subject, “I have a proposition for you.”

You groaned. “What is it? Do you have another girl I need to chase away?” 

“Carla and I are going strong, thank you very much,” Arthur said. You could feel his drama through the phone. 

“Then what is it?” Arthur stalled and a sinking feeling pulled over you. “Arthur,” you demanded. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong!” He said quickly before pausing and letting the next words coat over you. “Lorenzo just abdicated the throne.” 

“What?!” You worried you had woken your neighbours up, but the shock was too strong that you couldn’t refrain from yelling. “Why?!”

“He was fed up,” Arthur simply said. “He didn’t want to be a part of this life.”

“But Charles…” You couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His life had just been upended. He was always content with being second. Content with being a prince without having the responsibility of the throne on his shoulders. Now he had to toughen up and prepare to rule after his father. Unless he wanted to leave the throne to Arthur, and you knew he could never do that to his younger brother, Charles was stuck. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“I want you to come back to Monaco,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“I think it would be really helpful for Charles and I to have you around again,” Arthur explained. “You were always such a good friend and were able to handle and control our craziness. Charles could really use an anchor such as you. I could get a position on my staff so you would have income, but-”

“You don’t need to convince me,” you smiled softly. “I’ll always come back.” 

“To Monaco or to the Leclerc’s?” Arthur teased you. 

“Whichever needs me first,” you laughed. 

“Fantastic.” Arthur was giddy at the prospect of seeing his best friend again. “The plane is already at your airport.” 

“What?” You jumped out of bed and searched for your suitcase. “What if I had said no?” 

“Come on, Y/n. It’s impossible for you to say no.”

**

As it turns out, the poor pilot had been waiting for over two hours, just at the prospect that a random girl might say yes to the prince’s pleas. You had apologised profusely to him before cracking open a book as you were flown to Monaco. 

After you landed, you were shuttled to the castle in a black van that bore the flag of Monaco. The few pedestrians that were out in the early morning gawked at it, wondering what a member of the royal family was doing out this early, but you simply shielded away from the tinted windows. They would hear the news soon enough.

You had just opened your car door and were stepping onto the gravel driveway when Arthur burst out of the castle doors and greeted you with a tight hug. 

“Geez, lemme get out of the car first!” But nonetheless, you squeezed him back. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long,” he agreed. “You won’t believe all the shit that’s been happening.”

“I haven’t read any tabloids just so I could hear all the gossip from you,” you said, laughing. 

“Good, because they’ve all fucked the story up.” Arthur didn’t laugh along. You frowned slightly and took your luggage from the valet. It must be serious.

Arthur walked you inside, taking your bags like the gentleman he was. He explained, “I’ll get you all caught up later, but I need to go talk to Lorenzo quickly. Charles is out exercising in the gardens. He’ll want to see you.”

“Do I have to act differently around him?” You ask, “is there any strict protocol when talking to the next-in-line?”

Arthur looked at you, face scrunched in bemusement. “It’s not like he’s grown a tail, Y/n. It’s just Charles. And you never acted differently around Lorenzo than you did I or Charles.”

“True,” you conceded.

You and Arthur parted ways and you marvelled at how quickly the layout of the castle came back to you. It had been so long since you were last here, but you remembered it like yesterday. 

Your feet took you to the gardens, and like always, you were blown away at the serenity of it all. Rows of bushes and hedges of all different types of flowers and plants spun out around you, twisting and weaving like a dancer as far as the eye could see. You knew that at the centre of it all was a magnificent fountain and on the outskirts were rows of apple trees. Your favourite spot was a weeping willow next to a small pond that was fed by a brook. You remembered countless hours spent on a tire swing your dad had hooked up, playing and laughing with the princes. 

A wistful melancholy grew over you, but instead of wallowing in the sadness of the past, you decided to rejoice in its happiness.

But you couldn’t deny that you had missed Monaco. And it’s people.

Speaking of which, a figure was making their way through the garden. You recognised the silhouette instantly. “Charles!” you yelled. 

The running figure stopped for a moment, staring at you, before starting up again, spriting your way. “Y/n!” It was clear he had been on a run, wearing black shorts and an athletic white t-shirt. Working out was a way Charles relieved stress, and you had no doubt that he was under a lot of stress right now. Charles swept you up in a monstrous hug, clinging to you like a lifeboat on stormy water. Your feet dangled in the air for a moment before he gently set you down. But the hug didn’t stop. His head was buried into the crook of your neck. “I missed you so much,” he whispered and his breath sent goosebumps along your skin. 

“I missed you too, Charlie.” Charles’ heart jumped at the childhood nickname. “Arthur called me and told me what happened.” 

“Please don’t talk about it,” Charles muttered. 

“Okay,” you hummed, just letting the poor boy embrace you. After a moment, you realised that the hug had exceeded the socially acceptable time for friends and cleared your throat. “Okay, sweaty-pants, you’re gross. Get off of me.” You pulled away and patted his chest. 

“Why’d you come back? I thought you were off at school.” Charles looked at you with puppy-dog eyes. It made you melt. 

“It’s summer break,” you shrugged. 

“So you didn’t come back for me?” Charles pouted, even though both of you knew the real answer. 

“Nah, I don’t care about you at all.” You shook your head. “I just came back for your brother.” 

“Which one?!” Charles asked you as you stepped away. You laughed loudly and started walking back to the palace. “Which one?!” Charles shrieked, running after you. 

**

“Your Majesties,” you cursitied lowly in front of Hervé and Pascale Leclerc. 

Pascale rolled her eyes from her throne and smiled softly. “Y/n, please stop with the formalities. It’s a pleasure to have you back with us in Monaco.” Per tradition, you were thanking the King and Queen of Monaco for welcoming you back into the country. Charles and Arthur stood off to the side, Lorenzo nowhere to be found.

“And how are your Majesties faring?” you asked politely. 

“Everything will turn out wonderfully,” Pascale said, although you knew you and her would be talking long into the night about the events that had transpired. “Are you staying with your brother, my dear?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “He recently bought a new home with his family and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well then, you must stay with us!” Pascale beamed. “Did neither of my sons extend the invitation?”

“No, your Highness, they did not.” You grinned, knowing full well what was to come. 

“Boys!” Pascale glared at her two youngest who cowered away from their mother’s sharp gaze.

“Mama!” Arthur whined in protest.

“Y/n is always welcome to stay with us. I expect you two to be on your best behaviour.” Arthur mumbled something to Charles that you couldn’t hear. The crown prince blushed and pushed Arthur away. “Isn’t that right, dear?” Pascale turned to her husband.

The king smiled kindly at you and whispered hoarsely, “always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my King.” You bowed your head in acknowledgment and reverence. It was well known that King Hervé’s health had been diminishing the past few years. As his age increased, his intellect and memory decreased. Though whatever his conditions, you still treasured childhood memories of him laughing at your father’s jokes, picking you up to dance at royal balls, or, if time allowed it, coming to play with you and the princes.

“And I don’t want you working at all while you’re here,” Queen Pascale wagged her finger at you playfully. “You are on vacation. Don’t let Arthur rope you into being an aide.”

“I won’t, your Highness,” you snuck a glance at Arthur but instead locked eyes with Charles. He winked at you and you knew that someway or another he would rope you into some dirty work.

“How long are you staying?” King Hervé asked and you snapped back to him. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” you admitted. “School starts in September, but I could always postpone it for a semester.”

Charles cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Chérie, did you know that the castle could easily employ anyone of any talent and prestige? You must remember our tutor?” 

“Charles, what are you suggesting?” Pascale lifted an eyebrow. 

“All I’m saying,” Charles tried to look as innocent as possible. “Is that we haven’t seen Y/n for a while. If she wanted to, we could simply bring her schooling here. I’m sure her university would love it if they had an international student studying under the royal family.” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what the boy was doing. “We’ll talk about it later,” Pascale assured him. “Y/n, come with me,” she smiled softly. “I’ll walk you to your room. As much as I love my boys, I can’t wait for a little girl time.” 

She stood and glided down the steps. She held her arm out to you and you looped yours through it. “And may I just say,” you added, “I love your outfit.” She was wearing a light purple pantsuit with a skirt flaring out from the waist. 

“Thank you so much, dear! I saw this dress the other day and it reminded me of you; you must try it.”

“Of course.” You and the Queen stayed in frequent contract, her sending you photos of cute outfits (she had sent you a picture of an adorable blouse last weekend) and updates of the boys (you were surprised she wasn’t the one to call you with the news of Lorenzo’s abdication) and you sent her memes and cute videos of pets you found on the Internet. 

You were sure that if the princes or the Queen’s private secretary found out that you were constantly communicating, the former would be freaked out and shocked and the latter would be aghast. It was very un-queen-like to be texting pictures of baby ducks to a girl that was half her age. And what son wants their mother to be chatting with their friend?

Once you and the Queen left the throne room, you immediately asked, “how are things going? No one’s told me the whole story.”

Pascal sighed heavily, clearly burdened with things beyond her control. “I’ve seen it coming for a long time. Lorenzo has waged this battle for years within his mind, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.”

“I never knew him to be unhappy,” you said.

“That’s because no one ever saw him,” Pascale shrugged. “He was always hidden away, studying to be king. He never had a true childhood. Everything he did was scrutinised as people picked apart their future leader. He was only a child. He never wanted to let people down, but I believe the breaking point was last year when Hervé got terribly sick.” 

You had heard about that. Arthur had called you in a frenzy, worrying himself into a spiral that you calmed him down from while you were miles away. Charles had called you much later that night and you two had engaged in quiet conversation about the affair. 

“Lorenzo realised the full magnitude of the situation,” Pascale continued. “And he didn’t want it.” She simply stated the facts, knowing that Lorenzo was the only one who could explain the reasons behind his actions. “He called the whole family into the sitting room last night and informed us of his decision. It was released to the public this morning. Poor Fernando and Nico stayed up all night composing the perfect speech,” she said, referring to the palace communication advisors.

“And Charles?” you asked.

Pascale huffed and shook her head. “The boy is stupid,” she said bluntly. “He won’t take anyone’s advice and is pushing people away so he can cope on his own. That’s why Arthur brought you in.” She glanced at you, smirking slightly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come off it, dearie.” Pascale rolled her eyes. “We both know my son has a sweet spot for you. Do you remember when you were eight and Charles was having a tantrum over the tiniest of thing? He wouldn’t come down for dinner, but when you went up to his room and talked to him, he came right down after you, trailing at your heels like a lost puppy?”

You shook your head and ignored the blush coming to your cheeks. The Queen didn’t miss it. “All I’m saying,” she declared as you reached your temporary room (which happened to be right next to Charles and Arthur’s), “is that although your Arthur’s best friend, my middle son has taken quite a liking to you over the years.” She turned on her heel, leaving you to your thoughts. Over her shoulder, Queen Pascale called to you, “food for thought,” before disappearing around a corner.

**

“Charles! Come on!” Arthur was swimming laps in the lake on a blazing summer day. You waded next to him, trying to get used to the colder water. Lorenzo was taking a break from his studies and lounging on an inflatable tube. 

“I’m coming! Give me a second!” A thirteen year old Charles was still tugging off his socks. “Oh, I forgot my swimsuit!” 

“Dude, how?” Lorenzo laughed. His sunglasses sat comfortably on his face as he relaxed. “We’re swimming. You need a swim-suit.”

“I don’t know, this was an impulse decision!” Charles was right; during breakfast you’d off-handedly proposed the idea and it was readily accepted. 

“Just use your underwear.” Arthur shrugged. 

“Oh my gosh look at this little crab!” You gasped and held up your hands. A small crab danced its way over your cupped hands. 

Charles shook his head wildly. “No! I’m not going to strip down to my underwear!” 

“Charlie,” you glanced at him before turning your attention back to the crab. “You would be showing the same amount of skin as if you had your swimsuit. It’s fine!”

“But,” he hesitated. “I don’t know, it just seems so much more intimate.” 

“We’ve all seen each other naked,” Arthur pointed out. 

“We were six years old!” Charles blushed furiously.

“Then leave your shirt on,” you said. “But come in the water. It wouldn’t be any fun with you staying on the shore.” After a second thought, you added, “Please, Charles?” You gave him a look you knew he couldn’t resist. You had the boys wrapped around your finger. 

“Fine,” Charles smiled as your grin grew at his response. He could never stand to see you sad, especially if it was his doing. “But when we get out, I am stealing an extra towel.”

When the four of you were finished swimming, Charles stole Arthur’s towel and the latter dripped water all over the castle carpets. The cleaning crew was not happy. 

**

“Hey, Charles?” You knocked on his door softly. “Can I come in?” 

“Of course,” he replied. You opened the door to see him slouched in a chair before his desk. It was littered with papers and textbooks. Charles looked more tired than ever and you were worried that he hadn’t slept last night. Granted, you couldn’t chastise him for it. You were up worrying as well. 

“What’re you doing?” You came to stand behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, peering at the documents splayed before him.

Charles leaned into your touch, his heart fluttering. He had missed you so much. He wasn’t about to derive himself of your comfort. “I’ve been trying to catch up on the years of studying Lorenzo had. Turns out there’s books on foreign policy and economics he had decades to read. I only have a couple months.” 

“What about your father?” you asked, “He’s doing well, no?” 

Charles tilted his head back to look at you and lifted a brow. “Come on, Y/n. You’re not naive. Maman knows she’ll have to plan his funeral soon. I only thought I would be watching my brother pledge himself to Monaco- not me.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You hugged him the best you could in your position. “I know that I can’t help you much, but I want you to know I’m here for you.” 

“That’s all I ever need.” Charles was worried you hadn’t heard him when you sat down next to him and pulled the books towards you, intent on helping him in any way you could. He knew that with his eventual coronation (god, that was a terrifying thing to think about. How did Lorenzo ever keep his cool?) the kingdom would pressure him to find a wife and carry on the Leclerc bloodline. He wasn’t forced to marry someone with status, just so long as the person could handle the public eye and the inevitable scrutiny. He wanted to form a connection with the woman and have the most normal relationship he possibly could.

“Why do you have to learn how to start a revolution?” You flipped through one of the textbook pages. “Wouldn’t you need to know how to quell one? This is so confusing.” You slam the book shut, bored after only three seconds. How could Charles have stayed up all night doing this? “Okay, what is something productive, yet fun?” 

“Do you want to listen to a meeting about military strategies?” Charles suggested. “Dad wants me to start sitting in on meetings of state to make up for the lost years.”

“No,” was your immediate reply. “As much as I love you, Charles, that sounds like the most boring thing in the world.”

“It’s what I’ll be doing the rest of my life,” Charles grumbled. 

“And Arthur and I will be with you every step of the way.” You baulked at the lifelong oath you had just promised. But you couldn’t take your words back now. Charles needed you to be his rock, and what good were you if you yourself were slipping under the tide? While Charles was drowning in the sea of uncertainty and pressure, you were drowning in the sea of hopelessness and love. “Do you feel bitter about it?” you asked quietly, wanting to change the subject but also know the truth. “Do you resent Lorenzo for what he did?”

“I want to,” Charles admitted. “I want to force him to take the crown back. I want him to get his ass back here and sit on the throne. I want to hate him. But I can’t. Because I get it. I understand what he’s feeling. He was already under the dissection of the press and public. Now it’s ten-fold. He didn’t do it to get away from the public eye, because let’s be honest, none of us will ever be able to truly escape. He’s doing it to be his own person. Lorenzo is taking the chance I wish I had.” He chuckled sourly, “Lucky bastard.”

“And I know you giving the throne to Arthur is out of the question,” you said. 

“Of course,” Charles nodded along solemnly. “I would never do that.” 

“Lorenzo did,” you whispered, giving him the tiniest of shrugs and smiles. 

He shook his head. “No, it’s out of the question, Y/n.” 

“I know.” You never wanted any of this for any of the Leclerc boys. They were too innocent and sweet to be criticised at any turn. “What are you going to do?” 

For as long as you had known him, Charles had never looked so scared. “My best.”

**

The dining room was filled with the quiet scraps of silverware on china. It was almost quiet enough that you could hear reporters shouting from outside. Luckily the castle walls were strong enough to block them out. It had been an awkwardly stressful dinner, each second passing adding to the seconds it was already too late to say something. King Hervé and Queen Pascale sat at the head with Lorenzo and Charles to their right. You and Arthur sat across from the older boys. Rows of empty seats followed after you. You remembered when you and your family were invited for dinner along with other military personalities. The long table was filled with chatter and buzz, the King and Queen looking lovingly down at their employees and subjects. You always sat by Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, laughing away at whatever stupid joke was being said. 

It was a stark contrast to what you were experiencing now. 

You had expected some hostility radiating from either Charles or Lorenzo, but both were filled only with sadness. Arthur, always needing to be on the move, was tapping his foot up and down and up and down and up and down until you shot him a look. Queen Pascale was looking lonely and King Hervé sat blissfully unaware of the matters around him. 

You were just about to excuse yourself when the King set his knife and fork down and stood. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you come help me?”

Your eyes dashed towards Pascale to make sure you weren’t the only one who heard him. Pascale was confused, but ushered you to his side. You obeyed, standing quickly and going to support him.

“Come along,” he led you out of the room and to a short hallway. “May I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” you said. 

“Can you look after Charles?” 

The King’s question shocked you. “Of course, your Majesty.” 

“No, Y/n.” The King stopped and faced you, looking you in the eye. You immediately looked to the ground, then to the wall behind him and finally back to him, all while mustering up the courage to meet his headstrong gaze. You felt exposed as the monarch of your country stared you down. “Take care of him, just as he takes care of you. You and Arthur are brilliant friends, but we both know your relationship with Charles is deeper than friendship.”

“Your Majesty,” you cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My relationship with Charles is the same as my relationship with Arthur.”

“If you believe that, dear, then you may need to do some soul searching.” The King had an odd twinkle in his eye, one that could only be held by a person who had learned the lessons of the world. “I’m asking you for this favour. I don’t have a long time left on this Earth. I need to know my son’s in good hands. With this power and expectations unexpectedly thrust upon him, he’ll need someone he can come to with his worries and troubles. Someone he can be himself around. You were always that person.”

“King Hervé, I’ll try my best, but eventually we’ll need to go our separate ways,” you said, trying to gently show the king the inevitable truth. “I want to continue school and Charles will have to get married. His wife will take on the responsibilities of his confidant.” You didn’t add that you would be leaving Monaco the moment Charles showed romantic interest in someone.

The King hummed and started walking once again. You led him to a wooden door that entered his chambers. “The Queen of Monaco would get excellent schooling,” King Hervé offhandedly commented before opening his door and leaving you alone in the hallway. 

You stood there, stunned. In two days, both monarchs of Monaco had pushed you into the arms of their middle child.

King Hervé couldn’t be suggesting what you thought he was. Could he? 

**

“What did dad talk to you about, Y/n?” Arthur found you in the gardens. You were wandering aimlessly and ended up at the weeping willow that was cemented in so many of your memories.

“He asked me to look after Charles.” You sat down, legs folding under you like a stack of cards. Arthur plopped down next to you. 

“Well, that’s easy, right? Just stick around a while more and he’ll be fine. Your job is literally to give him hugs.” Arthur laughed.

“Arthur, does Charles like me?” You asked suddenly, twisting your body to look at the boy. He sat back on his hands, getting comfortable under the cool summer air.

“What do you mean? You're his best friend. Other than me, of course,” he grinned at his last words. “And Lorenzo. So you’re maybe third or fourth on the list. After the dog. You’re definitely after the dog.”

You slugged him in the arm, matching his smirk, saying, “but seriously though, both your mum and dad hinted that Charles liked me. In a… more than friendship way.” You felt as if you were back in primary school by using that phrase.

Arthur sighed heavily, “oh god, Y/n.” He scratched his neck. “This isn’t my confession to make.” 

“So he does like me?!” you cried out. 

“But you like him back, right?” Arthur shrugged. “It was so obvious. Our entire childhood, you and him were always stuck together. You and I hung out too, but he was always the one you ran to when you were hurt or sad. I was the third-wheel and Lorenzo, when he had time, was the fourth. Wait-” he paused, realising his analogy didn’t work out. “You and I hung out at night, but I’m confident that if Charles was up at the same time, you would’ve roped him into our adventures. There was this… connection that neither Lorenzo or I could achieve with you. A small part of you was only for him and vise-versa. You should’ve heard the things he said about you when you were gone. It was always, ‘when’s Y/n coming back?’ and ‘I miss Y/n’. Honestly, it was annoying.” He shot you an exaggerated side-eye. You chuckled quietly, shaking your head. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I’m not jealous. You and I had many special memories without my ugly older brother. Remember that one time where in the middle of night we went bowling and practically woke up the entire castle?!” 

You joined him in laughing hysterically. You remembered, “my parents were so mad!” 

“But my dad insisted we finish the round,” Arthur added on. “And then everyone else started playing as well.”

“That was a good night,” you agreed.

“My point,” Arthur brought you back to the topic at hand. “Is that you and Charles like each other and if I’m the one to make you realise your feelings, then that’s a problem. My parents clearly picked up on it and are now making sure that you and Charles get together before they’re gone.” 

You sat in thought for a moment before saying, “I never asked how you and Carla are doing.” 

The boy smiled lazily. “It’s going really well. She’s really sweet and cares about others. You’ll love her.” 

“I’m sure I will.” You nudged your arm with his. “Any girl that can put up with you is worth keeping.”

“Piss off! I have half a mind to throw you in the lake!” 

“Don’t you dare, Leclerc. I swear to god I will murder you.” 

“That’s an act of treason.” 

“Charles can pardon me.” 

“I’m sure he will.” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m sure he will.”

**

Three teenage princes barged into your room without so much as a knock. “Oh my god!” you cried, “What are you guys doing?!” You were laying on your bed with your computer which continued playing Rise of the Guardians. Jack Frost had just been kidnapped by the Easter Bunny. 

“Where have you been?” Arthur jumped on the bed with you and yanked the covers over him. You growled and yanked them back. “Geez,” he muttered, squirming around to get comfortable. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

“The blood currently exiting my body,” you retorted. 

“Ew!” Arthur jumped back and off the bed, a shiver going up his spine. “You could’ve told me that before!” 

“It’s not fucking contagious,” you said. “Unless you suddenly grew a uterus I didn’t know about.” Lorenzo laughed at your response. “What are you pricks doing here?” 

“We were going to go horseback riding,” Charles explained. “We wanted to ask you to join us, but now that’s out of the question.” 

“Oh. Well, you guys go without me,” you said. “Give Loki a sugarcube for me, will you?” When you were kids, the four of you had all named your horses together. Lorenzo's horse was Stark, Arthur called his Wanda, and you and Charles decided on the names Thor and Loki.

“But you’re not feeling well!” Charles protested, his brows furrowing. You shifted in your bed as a wave of cramps came over you. 

“I’ve done this a lot. I’ll be fine.” 

“Move over,” Charles sighed and climbed into your bed. He threw off his shoes and sweater, leaving him in an undershirt and sweatpants before pulling the covers towards him. He leaned back on your pillows and slung an arm over your shoulders. 

“What’re you watching?” Lorenzo asked, sitting on your other side with his legs crossed. 

“Rise of the Guardians,” you replied. 

“With Sandy?” Arthur shoved Lorenzo over and cuddled into the spot next to you. You pushed the computer away so they could see easier. 

Pressing play, you said, “Yeah, with Sandy. What other Rise of the Guardians do you know of?” 

The movie continued and both you and Arthur cried during Sandy’s death. Whenever your cramps were acting up or your back hurt, you would fist Charles’ shirt in your hand and try to snuggle closer to him. Charles frequently drew circles on your arm or pressed a kiss to your hair. 

Lorenzo and Arthur exchanged a look. How could you two be so dumb?

**

The field looked an awful lot like the one in the castle gardens. Some flowers wilted under the harsh sun and you made a mental note to tell Lando about it. He would be devastated to lose a plant. 

It was a serene day, but you were forgetting something. You couldn’t remember what. It gnawed at you like it was at the tip of your tongue and wanted to burst out, but something was blocking it. 

Suddenly, the ground caved out from under you and you started falling. You cried out for someone- anyone to come and save you. 

You braced for the end. For the inevitable crushing end that would end in writhing pain or the quickness of death. Which would be better?

Just as suddenly as you fell, you woke up. It was just a dream, you kept reminding yourself as you hurried out of the now scarred room. 

You didn’t want to see if Arthur was awake. If he was, you would prompt him to go to sleep. He needed it.

You weaved through the castle before stopping at a familiar painting. It used to be your favourite as a kid. A Huguenot, as it was titled. The full name was A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day, Refusing to Shield Himself from Danger by Wearing the Roman Catholic Badge painted by John Everett Millais. 

You had learned about it from your art history tutor. The Leclerc boys didn’t care for the class, but you found it oddly fascinating. When you had learned about the Huguenot it instantly captured your attention.

You remembered your tutor saying, “The painting depicts an incident occurring on St. Bartholomew’s Day, when a massacre of Protestants by Catholics took place in Paris during the Wars of Religion. The white band the woman is attempting to tie around her lover's arm was an act to shield him from harm during the coming massacre and an identifier of Roman Catholicism. A small number of Protestants escaped from the city by wearing the white armbands. 

“The young man gently pulls the armband off with the same hand with which he embraces the girl. Having to choose between religion and love, the man’s refusal of this badge would result in certain death,” the tutor concluded.

You had always loved the painting, feeling a sense of desperate longing from it.

“Y/n?” A hushed voice called to you. Charles walked up to you, still in his sleepwear. He paused and looked up at the painting. “Your favourite, huh?”

“Yeah. What’re you doing up?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” the boy brushed it off. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

“How do you know about that?” You were pretty sure you’d only told Arthur about those.

“I found you and Arthur one morning sleeping under a pool table. When I asked him about it he said you kept having nightmares and he was trying to help.”

“Ah,” you cracked a smile. “Yeah, they haven’t gone away.”

“Truth be told,” Charles was still admiring the painting. “I always envied you and Arthur. In the morning, Lorenzo and I would wake to some new inside joke that had transpired the previous night. I wanted to feel that close to you as well. I would try to stay awake all night so I could be part of the adventures, but I always fell asleep.” He chuckled at the memory.

“Charlie,” You gushed at his confession, leaning against him. “You and I will always be close. You don’t have to be sleep deprived for that. Arthur and I’s relationship was a purely platonic thing built on laughter and escapade. Ours was built on trust and caring. Not to mention all the mischief we got ourselves into.”

Charles laughed loudly at your words. “We once rigged the intercom to play polka music all day and night!”

“The nannies were so mad!” You snickered at the memory.

Charles hummed and fixed his sight on the painting once more. “The man is going to fight for his religion, right?”

“You remember?” You were surprised he was able to recollect the knowledge.

“Of course!” Charles smiled widely and his voice raised a couple notes. “You blabbered about it whenever we passed it in the hall. You always had to stop and stare. Why wouldn’t I remember something so important to you?” 

A warm feeling rose up in your chest. “Come on, Charlie,” You looped your arm through his and directed him away. “Let’s go watch Megamind.”

“Okay, chérie,” Charles squeezed you in a side-hug. “But I want popcorn.” 

“Stove-made?”

“Is there another kind?” 

King Hervé and Queen Pascale walked into the family room the next morning to find you splayed over Charles on the couch. Charles was drowsily awake and waved to his parents in a morning greeting. His other hand was lazily stroking your arm. 

“I’m going to give him my wedding ring tomorrow,” Pascale whispered to her husband. 

**

King Hervé died a week later. 

You woke to a sharp knocking. A housekeeper entered and said, “Miss. Y/n, I regret to inform you that King Hervé passed away last night in his sleep.” 

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“King Hervé has died. Queen Pascale is requesting your presence in the sitting room.” 

Your first instinct was to ask, “how are the princes?”

“I’m not sure,” the housekeeper admitted. “Do you need assistance getting dressed?” 

“No, but thank you.” You jumped out of bed and hurried to the sitting room. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hervé was dead. He died. You were never going to see him again. What happened now?

You picked up the pace and soon you were running down the castle halls, still in your pyjamas. Servants in black clothing stopped as you dashed by, some even bowing at the waist. You burst into the sitting room to see the Leclercs there. Arthur was slumped on the couch, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked up when you came in and the tears started to fall. Lorenzo was standing by the window watching the people below already beginning to lay flowers for his father. A withered Pascale sat in a plush armchair, fingers to her lips as she hummed a sad tune. Her face was devoid of any emotion and her eyes were dry. And Charles sat hunched over, elbows to his knees as he stared a burning hole into the wall opposite him. His hands were clasped together and you could see the large ring with the royal insignia emblazoned on it. 

You slowly knelt in front of Pascale. “My Queen,” you murmured. “My deepest condolences. I know words may never be enough and they can never bring back what’s missing, but he was a wonderful man and a wonderful king. All of Monaco will miss him.” 

The Queen began to cry. “Thank you, Y/n, but I’ll be alright. He’s in the hands of God and I know he’s safe and happy. I just miss him is all.” 

“It would be wrong if you didn’t,” you tried to alleviate the pain in any way you knew how, but you knew it wouldn’t help. When your own parents had passed, you had stayed in your room for days, a blank-eyed zombie of the person you used to be. It was only when your brother came in to see you that you broke down crying. Charles and Lorenzo had held your hands during the funeral. 

You then hugged Lorenzo tightly. He let out a shuddering sigh at your embrace. You always knew the pressure on him was high, but it was as if he was finally releasing it. You knew that he would be okay eventually. 

And finally, you sat in between Arthur and Charles. “Come here,” you whispered to the former who fell onto your shoulder, crying quietly. 

“Is this how it feels?” The youngest Leclerc brother asked you in a voice so unlike his own. “Is this how it feels to lose someone you love? Why does anyone love when it hurts so much?” 

“I don’t know, Artie.” The childhood nickname slipped past your lips. “I don’t know.” 

Charles let out a shuddering breath and Arthur pulled away from you, nodding his head at you to comfort Charles. “Mon bonheur,” you wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. “You don’t have to hide from me.” 

That’s when Charles let out a broken sob and curled himself into your lap. He buried himself into you, tears soaking through your nightwear. He sounded like a crushed man, his cries turning to a need for love. “Papa,” his voice broke. “Why does everyone have to leave?” 

“No one is leaving you, mon bonheur,” you reassured him.

“Yes, they are!” he protested, “Papa left all of us and now you’ll leave too and I… I can’t let that happen.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” You couldn’t help but smile sadly. “Artie’s been helping me think it through and I’m going to move back to Monaco. I’ve missed you guys too much to leave again.”

“Really?” Charles sounded like a lonely child. 

“Really,” you confirmed it with a nod of your head. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, as will your family because we love you.” You rested your cheek on his hair. “It’ll all be alright. This is the hardest part of it all.” All the Leclerc’s were listening in, hoping for some way to cope with the loss of their husband and father. “But it’ll get easier. One day you’ll wake up and not think about him at all. Then you’ll go to bed and realise it and feel bad, because you think you need to remember him everyday to honour him and all the happy times together. But then someone makes you laugh and you feel back to your old self for a second. Then you’ll realise it’s what he would want. He would want you to laugh and love and live. Just because someone is gone doesn’t mean you can stop living. Every once in a while you’ll see something that will remind you of him and you’ll think of a good time together. Everything will turn a shade of melancholy for a while, but you’ll see your family and they’ll lift you up again. No one leaves you. And the reason why it hurts so much, Artie,” you direct your words to him, “is because you loved him. To be human is to love and to lose. And it’s terrible. And we hate it. Losing someone is an awful thing to go through and there’s nothing that anyone can do or say that will make the pain go away. But you still have each other,” you shrug. “That seems like a pretty sweet deal.” 

“You were always the best at pep talks,” Lorenzo huffs a small laugh. “Could always make me feel better after a hard day.”

“We should employ you as our personal pep-talker,” Arthur added, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“How much would I get paid?” you retorted, trying to bring humour to the situation.

“As much as you need to keep you here.” Charles immersed himself in you. He loved the way you smelled, the way your skin sent shivers up his, the way your heart beated, and everything else about you. 

“Come along, boys,” Pascale stood up suddenly. “There’s a lot that needs to be done.”

The next days were a blur. You hardly remembered any of it. Pascale was in charge of planning Hervé’s funeral, and when it got too overwhelming, Arthur took over. Your hours were filled with planning the coronation. Luckily, most of it was protocol and out of your control, but swabs of fabric and long guest lists were still shoved your way. Mercifully, Lorenzo assisted you with the intricate monarchy procedures. Charles was off doing who knows what and who knows where. Some nights you would peek into his room and find him sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly. You would ease his shoes off his feet and carefully loosen his tie before sneaking out of the room.

Overnight, it was as if the castle had transformed. The flags were all drawn at half-mast, yards of black fabric covered the windows, and everyday at noon, the bells would toll endlessly. 

You weren’t allowed to walk with the royal family at the procession, but instead with the long lines of servants that came after the guards and knights. Crowds gathered in the streets to watch their beloved king parade pass in a suffocating, but ethereal and eternal coffin. You wanted to cover your ears as bells rang and rang and rang as the procession went on. 

During the funeral, Arthur brought you up to the front so you could take your rightful place among the family. Charles instantly gripped your hand. 

This wasn’t like your parents funeral, both of whom had died in combat when a stray bomb had blown their lives away. They were buried in a small military cemetery on the outskirts of Monaco where you were handed two Monégasque flags as the next-of-kin. That’s what had broken you on that day, being reminded of how your parents died. Of course, the press didn’t care, hounding after their next story of Monaco Royal Family Seen at Random Funeral or We Invade Someone’s Mourning Time to Get Pictures of our Monarchs or New Girlfriend to a Monégasque Prince Because They Were Seen Holding Hands at a Sad Event? Lorenzo and Charles had given the press a good talking-to.

King Hervé’s funeral was in a grand church where he would be buried in a stone mausoleum after the traditional prayers. Queen Pascale laid a red carnation on his coffin before it was lowered into the hauntingly beautiful mausoleum. 

Charles let out a low sigh and when you glanced over you saw him crying silently. You knew no words could help him at that moment. It was as if you could feel the sadness radiating off of him. You would take it all away if you could. Anything to help him.

Charles had the same thought during your parents’ funeral.

**

His coronation was three days later. Arthur had found a loophole in the ceremony and instead of sending you an invitation, wrote you down as his plus-one, therefore earning you a seat in the front row. You had puzzled over what to wear that day, finally settling on a red gown for the colours of Monaco. Arthur and you entered behind Lorenzo and Pascale as the Monégasque anthem played. 

“Oh my gosh,” Arthur muttered to you. “So many stuffy people in stuffy clothes.” 

You shushed him, “quiet!” Arthur gave you his signature side-eye and you wanted to burst out laughing. You tried to hold it in but a snicker got past you. Arthur let out a giggle at that. Pascale held a finger to her lips, hiding a smile of her own. 

The priest marched down the aisle and as he reached the altar, the organ stopped playing. A choir started singing, everybody stood, and Charles entered the church. 

You almost stopped breathing. 

You had never seen him look so regal. Charles was adorned by the coronation robes and crown jewels. His hair was styled to perfection and his shoes shined so brightly you could see your reflection in them. He was celestial. 

“Close your mouth,” Arthur bent over and whispered to you. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed. 

“Swearing in a house of God?” Arthur hissed. “Heinous.”

As Charles passed, people bowed. When Charles glided by the first row, Lorenzo and Arthur bent at the waist while you curtsied deeply. Pascale stayed upright but placed a hand over her heart. Charles climbed the steps and knelt before the priest.

The priest gave a long speech and you could practically feel Charles’ irritation rolling off of him in waves. His knees must be hurting by now. Finally, he was to recite his vows.

“Is your Majesty willing to take Oath?” the priest asked. 

“I am willing,” Charles’ voice reverberated through the hall. Something stirred in your chest. You knew he was telling the truth. 

The priest outstretched the royal sceptre towards Charles. “Will you accept the responsibilities as king for as long as you shall live?”

“I do,” Charles gripped the sceptre and held the cool metal in his palm.

“Will you solemnly swear to govern the people of Monaco and promise to execute Law, Justice, and Mercy in all your judgements?”

“I swear,” Charles repeated.

“Will you to the utmost of your power,” the priest declared, “maintain the Laws of God and its true profession? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the settlement of the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Monaco? Will you preserve all such rights and privileges of the people of Monaco, as by law do or shall appertain to them?” 

“I do swear by all.” 

“Will you to the utmost of your power hold true peace under your rule?” 

“I will,” 

“And you,” the priest raised his arms and addressed the church. “The people and subjects of Monaco, all who so desire, say together: ‘I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.’”

People all over Monaco joined together to say, “I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs,” Arthur nudged your arm at that and you pinched him. “And successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.” Charles bowed his head as he listened to his people.

“Do the people of Monaco accept Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc to be crowned as their king?”

“We do,” 

“Will the princes and heirs of Monaco please join us at the altar?” Lorenzo and Arthur stepped out into the church aisle and Charles stood and turned around. His robe curled around his feet and the spectre gleamed in the stained glass light. He caught your eye right away and you sent him a wink, lips curling into a smile. The new King of Monaco blushed and glanced at his feet. Pascale beamed at the exchange.

“Please kneel at the feet of your King,” the priest asked of the Leclerc boys. They did as they were told. Charles outstretched his hand which wore the royal ring. “Do you swear to aid your King in any way possible? Do you swear, in case of harm, to assume the position of monarch of Monaco until your King is married in law and love?” Charles’ swallowed and his stare remained firmly on the ground. 

“We swear.” They both took turns grasping Charles’ hand and gently placing a kiss on the ring. 

“You may return to your seats,” the priest allowed. 

Arthur stood back next to you and said, “My mouth tastes like metal.”

“Sucks to be you.” 

The priest concluded, “Let us rejoice in our new sovereign king of Monaco as he pledges to serve and protect us all.” The priest turned and lifted the Crown of Monaco from an altarboy. “Let Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc be crowned as the King of Monaco.” And he placed the Monégasque royal crown on Charles’ head. 

Charles embraced the thunderous applause of his people. A swelling pride erupted in your chest. You had never been so elated.

“Then let this joyous day be celebrated across the land in the eyes of God,” the priest called out loudly and Charles stepped down the altar stairs and into the role of King. 

**

“Where’s Lorenzo?” 

“I don’t wanna know.” 

“You don’t think…” 

“Oh, I know! I saw him going off with a daughter of a duke a couple minutes ago.” 

“Ew!” You groaned, shaking your head furiously, knowing the next time you saw Lorenzo, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. 

“What do you expect?” Charles whispered in your ear, body pressed up against yours. “This is Arthur’s seventeenth birthday. We’re all legal now.” 

“And are you going to exploit your legality?” You smirked, tilting up to look at him. 

Charles hummed lowly and you could feel the vibration in his chest. “Maybe. Are you?” 

You thought about your next words. You were sure he could feel your heart; it was banging like a drum, erupting with butterflies, and fluttering with worries. If you responded with a nod, where could it take you? If you shook your head, would you spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been? 

And did you want this? 

Did you want Charles? 

… Did you even like Charles? 

Charles picked up on your hesitancy and said quietly, “there’s absolutely no pressure, but I want you to know that my room is always open to you.” You glanced at him, noting the double entendre, before letting your eyes rest comfortably back on his chest. It was emblazoned with medals and sashes, akin to his brothers. 

You gave him a single nod- one that only he could see. A secret between the two of you. In response, Charles pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

That night, you paced outside his room for quite some time. Fear eventually overcame you and you hurried back to your room. You couldn’t go in. Charles sat awake, waiting all night with the hope that you would come to him. 

The next weekend you left for college. You didn’t see him again until Lorenzo’s abdication, but it was as you never left.

**

“May I have this dance?” You turned to see Charles standing behind you, smiling cockily. He had changed out of his robe for a much more modern black tuxedo, paired with a red pocket square. 

“Of course, my King.” Charles’ eyes darkened at your response and he raised a brow. “But are you sure you want your first dance to be with me?” 

“Who else would I dance with?” Charles wondered. “I’ve already danced with my mother. I want the next to be with you.” 

You let the king sweep you out onto the dance floor, letting the years of training take hold of you. Effortlessly, the two of you were able to float along and keep up conversation. 

You asked, “how do you feel?” 

Charles shrugged. “No different from when I woke up. Must I say, you are looking radiant today.” 

You dipped your head to hide your smile. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up.” 

Charles hummed, but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he said, “it was just procedure, you know that, right?” 

“What do you mean?” Charles spun you around in a small circle before bringing you back to him.

“They still have that stupid line in the coronation vows. ‘Pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors.’” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if I have heirs or not. They still have Arthur as next in line.” 

You frowned. “I thought you wanted a family?”

“I do,” Charles stopped dancing. Your hand rested on his shoulder and his gripped your waist. Your other hands were entwined intimately. If he could, Charles would stay like this forever. No one else; just you and him. That’s all he ever needed. “I think I’ve made that clear.” 

“Then what’s stopping you?” You wanted to step away from him. You needed to put some distance between the two of you, but you couldn’t. You could never leave him. It was like a magnetic force connected the two of you. No matter how long you were apart, you would always end up back in each other's arms. 

“Fear,” Charles admitted. “I couldn’t handle rejection. It would break me. All my life I’ve known it’s her. Somewhere deep inside of me could tell. I can’t be away from her. I need to see her and make sure she’s safe. I need to hold her and love her. Whenever we’re apart it tears me up inside. If she were ever to refuse me I don’t know how I would go on. She’s my other half. My lasting pair. Ma chérie.” 

People were stopping and staring at the King and you. Lorenzo poked at his mother who stifled a gasp. 

Arthur asked, “why aren’t they dancing?”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo sounded panicked. “The press are going to have a field day.” 

“Don’t you boys see?” Pascale was grinning. “They’re in love and finally realising it. Who cares about the press? This is about them.” 

“You were always one for romance, mama,” Arthur said. 

“Charlie,” you said. “Shut up and kiss me.” 

Charles beamed and did as he was told. You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around his neck. One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other settled on the small of your back, wanting you closer still. It was a tender kiss, and long overdue. It was like kissing was created just for the two of you; just so you could experience each other. If deities were real, you were sure Aphrodite had smiled down from the heavens and chosen you and Charles.

When you broke apart and the cameras continued flashing, Charles said, “ma chérie, I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited for that.”

“I hope you weren’t disappointed?” 

“With you? Never.” 

**

It was a quiet morning. You had woken up a few minutes ago but decided to stay in your husband’s warm embrace. Charles’ arm was wrapped tightly around your torso and you could feel his breath on your bare shoulder.

Charles shifted softly and groaned, “good morning.” You would never get used to his morning voice.

“I’ll never get used to your morning voice.” You rolled over to greet him. Charles smiled lazily and stroked your cheek lovingly. 

“Hello my beautiful Queen.”

“Hello my handsome King. Did you sleep well?”

“With what little sleep I got, I slept wonderfully.” He winked, referring to last night’s activities.

“What do you have planned for today?” you asked while reaching for his hand. Charles gladly gave it to you and interlaced your fingers.

“Just a couple of meetings with the Board. Then I’ll have the rest of the day to spend with you and Liza.”

“That’s nice. She’s been wanting to show you her new tricks on Danvers.” You referred to your daughter’s horse.

“She’s going to surpass me someday.” Charles jokingly shook his head. 

“Hate to break it to you, but she already has, old man,” you teased. 

Charles gaped at your words. “Old man?! If that’s true, then you’re calling yourself an old woman.” 

“I’m not an old woman,” you explained. “I just married an old man. I’m in it for the money.” 

Charles laughed loudly. “Well, I hope you’re happy with your old man, ma chérie, because he’s not ever letting you go.” 

“I’m very happy with him.” You grinned and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. 

Before Charles could chase after you with the complaint of wanting a real kiss, the door to your bedroom banged open. 

“Maman! Papa!” A little voice called out. 

“Is everyone decent?” Arthur yelled out from around the corner. He stuck his head in the room, eyes firmly closed. “‘Cause I still have the last image burned into my retinas.” 

“You only saw my butt!” Charles scoffed.

“It was plenty,” Arthur drew out the last word. He shuddered from the memory. 

Eliza jumped on the bed and into Charles’ arms. “Uncle Artie and Grammy are gonna take me to London!” 

“What?” You sat up and quickly grabbed Charles’ discared shirt that still lay on the floor from last night. Buttoning it up, you demanded, “Arthur, come here.” 

Arthur’s face morphed into one of fear. “Mama was the one that suggested it!” he defended, “and Liza promised not to tell.” 

“That’s worse,” you pointed out. 

“Do you have to work today, Papa?” Liza asked Charles.

“Only a little in the morning,” Charles said, settling her on his lap. “Then I’m all yours in the afternoon.” 

“Can we go swimming?” Eliza asked. 

“Yes,” 

“And horseback riding?” 

“Of course,” 

“And can we have a tea party with Grammy and Daniel?” Liza gasped, thinking only of her grandma and favourite castle guard. Their connection had begun early on when you found Daniel playing with Eliza one evening. You had apologised profusely, but he simply scooped her up and promised it was no big deal. They had become quick friends. 

“Only if there’s donuts,” Charles bargained. 

“Only if we can have it in your room under the painting.” She pointed to A Huguenot which had presided over your room ever since you moved in with Charles.

Charles thought for a moment before sticking his hand out. “Deal.” He and his daughter shook hands.

“Liza?” You kissed her forehead and asked her, “why don’t you go play with Uncle Artie for a while until your Daddy and I can join you for breakfast?”

“Okay!” The girl happily jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. 

Arthur scampered after and yelled out in warning, “I better not hear any other cries for ‘Daddy!’” 

You rolled your eyes while Charles restrained from cursing at his brother for fear of his daughter hearing him. You leaned back into Charles’ chest and he laid his head on yours. After a moment, he whispered, “you’ve been sleeping through the night.”

“I have been.” You nodded. “I think I’ve had the perfect person to help me fall asleep.” 

“Or maybe you’re just too tired after each night.” Charles started kissing your neck, slowly starting to suck a hickey. 

You let out a soft moan and clutched his hand. “Charlie,” you murmured through gritted teeth. “Liza’s expecting us.”

“She can wait.” Charles laid you down softly on the sheets. “I love you, ma chérie.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

“I love you too, mon bonheur.”

**

People in the F1 world I wanna be friends with but am too scared to message: @leclsrc @hey-kae @vinvantae @schuvries

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[kannibaleherzen]

I have Disneyland on my mind, so I wrote some headcannons about Dano characters and their favorite attractions at the Disneyland Resort! No surprises, SFW fluff. All these guys under the cut. ♡

I made the graphic on my phone so it sucks.

Additions of Burt Fabelman and Louis Ives are also included! ♡♡♡♡♡

Dwayne Hoover: He wants to be a pilot, and in fact can be at Disneyland! He absolutely loves and will fight to get the pilot position every time at Millennium Falcon: Smuggler's Run. Dwayne has tried and once successfully gotten your ride crew to activate Chewy mode. If cast would let him, he could pilot both positions alone, but they can't and won't. Dwayne also always gets excited about Soarin' Around the World. He is mesmerized by the indoor portion of the queue with all the pilots on the walls and reads them every time.

Lucas: This sweet boy is into Fantasyland. The traditional King Arthur's Carrousel, Dumbo the Flying Elephant, and Snow White's Enchanted Wish. He could spend all day in Fantasyland if you let him. In the evening, he loves getting a good spot for fireworks that start at 9:00. About 40 minutes before, he wades through the crowd to get a churro for you two to share when it starts. It takes forever to even get the churro, so you two always cherish that moment.

Pierre Bezukhov: A Fantasyland man as well. Alice in Wonderland, Mad Tea Party, then Matterhorn Bobsleds in that order before anything else in the park. Unlike Calvin who uses connections, Pierre is a member of Club 33, and will take you to the 1901 Lounge at the Carthay Circle instead because he thinks it's classier and the drinks are better there. Once sufficiently drunk and fed, he loves to go watch Mickey's PhilharMagic.

Jay: Rise of the Resistance isn't just a ride, it's a full experience. Jay will wait however long it takes to get through the queue and on. He loves the scene with the Stormtroopers and hopes one day he can recruit more ALF members to have a big enough fleet like that to save more animals. When it's over, he always takes time to chat with cast members about the cats that live back there. How are they? When do they get food left for them? When were they spayed or neutered? And so forth.

Percy Dolarhyde: In typical fashion, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. The best part to him is the hill climb with explosions. Percy won't admit it, but he also has a soft spot for The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. His favorite part is looking up and behind to catch a glimpse of the old Country Bears Jamboree that used to occupy the space.

Calvin Weir-Fields: You will be dragged to Pirates of the Caribbean by him. He wants the redhead! It's no surprise he does the same right after for Roger Rabbit's CarToon Spin. Calvin loves the queue spot where he can knock on Jessica Rabbit's door and say Walt sent him. Once done there, he must go on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. Because in the end, you go to hell. He uses connections to get into Club 33 for a romantic dinner after putting up with him.

Alex Jones: Cars Land. Just... All of it. The first time he sets foot, he is in love. Why wouldn't he be? The themeing of Radiator Springs is perfect! Alex loves doing finger guns and shouts Lightning McQueen's "Ka'chow!" for the photo on  Radiator Springs Racers. When on Luigi's Rocking Roadsters, he loves the circles at the end of the song and puts his arms up (as is the custom). He always needs a pic with Mater.

Eli Sunday: The higher the ride, the closer to God. Eli is pretty traditional when it comes to rides, and loves the Pixar Pal Around. He does not go in the regular gondola, but the swinging one. He is just a touch crazy after all. Eli also likes the Disneyland Railroad, but scoffs at the dinosaur scene between Tomorrowland and Mainstreet U.S.A. believing they've never existed.

Hank Thompson: He's just so excited about everything. Hank absolutely must go to Adventureland first to ride Indiana Jones Adventure. A Spielberg movie brought to life! He always hopes to get the driver's seat because it's the best. Hank never looks into the eyes of Mara! After is a trip on Jungle Cruise, and always laughs at the skipper's jokes. He loves getting bao from the Tropical Hideaway. When visiting DCA, he must go on Grizzly River Run and say hi to Francisco the cat who lives near the queue.

Timothy Klitz: Klitz just wants to cuddle with you anywhere and everywhere. It's a Small World is the best for doing so. A good 15 minute boat ride with an albeit slightly grating song is good enough. He loves The Haunted Mansion for the same reason. Any slow, dark ride where you can feed each other popcorn is best. To get in and out of the park, he enjoys taking the Monorail from Downtown Disney.

Edward Nashton: You ever see an impossibly high score on a game? Higher than the cast members who work the ride, Edward is the champ! Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blasters is where it's at for Eddie! He gets so immersed in it that he forgets there's a photo and he always looks so determined, hunched over reaching out with the blaster in hand. He also goes crazy competitive on Toy Story: Midway Mania and always gets the tippiest of top scores to your amazement.

Joby Taylor: First, you need to beg, plead, and bribe him to even set foot on property. They serve alcohol is the line that gets him. Joby is so not into the no smoking unless outside security, but can stand it for a day. Just for you. Beer in hand, you force him in line for Guardians of the Galaxy: Mission Breakout! He downs the beer, gets on, then once your ride plays Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf, he is hooked.

Burt Fabelman: He worked for GE! Keeping to the time period, he adores the Carousel of Progress in Tomorrowland. He feels so proud of what he does now and what the future holds. He has to see the show first! Tomorrowland is where he feels happiest (People Mover!), but also is down for a round in the Enchanted Tiki Room, and Mark Twain's River Boat, too.

Louis Ives: A bit of a traditionalist. He adores the fact the carousel horses are authentic antiques. Any time Mary Poppins and Burt are on it as well, he gets giddy and will watch and wave at them! Louis adores Storybook Land, even if it's filled with the youngest of guests. When it comes to dining, Louis somehow always manages to score a coveted reservation to the Blue Bayou. Every. Single. Trip. He won't share his secret on how he does it, but if you had to guess, he knows a cast member.

#paul dano #danonation #danocel #alex jones prisoners #edward nashton #calvin weir-fields #hank thompson #lucas the good heart #percy dolarhyde #klitz girl next door #pierre bezukhov #eli sunday #jay okja #joby taylor #dwayne hoover #burt fabelman #louis ives #prisoners movie #the batman #ruby sparks #swiss army man #the good heart #cowboys and aliens #the girl next door #war and peace #there will be blood #the fabelmans #the extra man #little miss sunshine #for ellen

[herbert-best]

For @queer-ragnelle’s May Day Parade, and my baby boy Mordred’s birthday— a short bit of a story!

Mordred’s introduction to court— and, more importantly, his brothers. 😌♥️

“Always been a right bright lad,” his father was saying— before the High King and all his court, like they’d think that made him noble— bright for a fisherman’s son— he wanted to sink through the floor, but he straightened his back and held up his chin by force of will. “And I kept his little clothes all these years, for I knew he weren’t meant to stay with me. There’s the arms, you see.” Faded badly, worn threadbare by time and washed pale by the sea. Would they believe it? Would anyone believe the old man, in this faeryland of riches? All these noble, beautiful faces like painted masks, watching his worn and haggard old father with unreadable poise. There was a murmuring, as he spoke— some painted faces lowered and turned aside— but the High King did not look away from his father, and Mordred could not look away from him. King Arthur had no proper heirs— everyone knew this, even a fisherman’s foundling— and yet—

King Arthur looked like a king, perfectly so, regal as a living statue, and yet nothing like Mordred had imagined him. He listened to Mordred’s father just as closely as he’d listened to the Baron who’d spoken first that day in his high hall. His brow was weighty with the force of his attention. The king looked, Mordred thought— for all that he knew it was foolish— looked so much like himself. Older, wiser and more noble, stronger and better-fed, and golden-haired where Mordred’s hair was strange and pale, and yet it was so clear. Mordred wondered— foolish again— if he could look so regal, someday, wrapped up in silks and fine wool, with a sword at his belt.

But they were certainly not the arms of the king, which were being brought forward by the herald for the king’s examination. They were the arms of Orkney and Lothian, which Mordred knew only enough of to know that their rulers were extraordinarily highborn, and their lands far to the North.

“The arms of King Lot,” the High King murmured, barely audible but unmistakably clear. He turned to glance into the spectating rows of nobles, and Mordred followed his eyes, and, like figures resolving from the faceless crowds of a dream, there were three noble knights watching him in turn, pulling apart from the others— first, he saw one, then the next, then the next. They looked amongst themselves, then stood, one first and then the other two together.

Mordred clasped his hands at his back and held himself desperately still and firm.

If he looked like the High King, he looked just as much alike to these three men, and they to him, and to the king, and to each other. Dark-haired, unlike him, and dark-eyed, as he was, and richly-clad, elegantly handsome first to last, just as Mordred would have imagined as a child. They were his kin. He knew it without question. They had yet to speak.

The first to stand— the eldest, and from his seat Mordred thought with a leap of terror that he must have been the highest-born man in the court, but for the king and queen— stepped up onto the High King’s dais as though he was unquestionably permitted there, and examined the worn old cloth, still in King Arthur’s hand. He looked up, looked over Mordred, looked at his father.

He stepped down from the dais without even glancing at his feet to see the stairs.

The other two stood together, watching him as well. He thought of hunting hounds, of wolves, how the pack would creep up on a poor creature with slow step and then leap forward all together and rip it apart throat to heel.

“Does the lad know,” the High King was saying, “His lineage?” There was a strange tenseness in his voice.

“No more than I, I fear, Your Highness, Sire,” his father replied, and Mordred could see that he felt abashed, and knew that everyone present saw it, too. “That he be of the kindred of the North lands of the Orkneys, I know this from the arms, but I know naught else of whom they be. He’s his letters, some— best as we could, from a priest up the coast— but I’ve none, and—“ He seemed to catch his own worried rambling, or maybe heard Mordred’s silent attempts to tell him with his mind to stop speaking. “No, my lord.”

The eldest of the lordly knights was still approaching, slow and thoughtful, eyes on him critically, his brethren watching from behind, but it was growing easier for Mordred to meet his gaze. He was always less afraid when he was angry.

His foster father was an old fool, making it sound as though he could just manage to write his own name. He knew all the priest could have taught him of his letters, read and wrote well, but the old man was ever-fearful his learning was incomplete because he’d learned a part of it on his own, when that condescending clergyman had refused him more lessons for having lost his temper once in the church. He clenched his jaw and tried not to scowl.

The king inclined his head, and the knight approaching him seemed to respond to it, though he hadn’t turned around to see. Mordred recalled the taunting of the other village children in his early youth, calling him a changeling. This strange and beautiful place and its bright colors, its riches, its bewildering inhabitants with their unknowable and elegant manners— it could not have been more like a different world.

“We’ve long known,” the lordly knight was saying, in a light, smooth voice, eyes bright and curious and strangely fixed on Mordred’s face, “That the queen our mother lost a May Day child to the sea. We’ve long thought him dead, and lost to us.”

The queen, our mother. Mordred’s heart beat in his chest like a rabbit’s. Princes. Brothers. Were these his brothers? The excitement that had carried him on the long journey into Camelot surged again, tangled tightly up with terror. He wanted to be a part of this faery court. He wanted to know when to stand, without looking, and to sit, and how to speak to the king. He was not certain they would take him in.

“The last born fifth son,” this prince was saying, “Of King Lot, of Orkney and Lothian, and Queen Morgause, sister to the High King. The brother to Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris, to young Gareth— still at home— and to me. Gawain of Orkney.” He touched his own chest, stopped now two scant paces away from Mordred, who was struggling to hear him over the sound of his heart.

His father a king. His mother, sister to the High King! King Arthur his uncle. Even as a dreaming child he had never ventured so boldly to imagine. Gawain. Sir Gawain— he had heard the name, had not known he was of Orkney— Sir Gawain, King Arthur’s nephew, his close companion, the daring knight. Mordred had seen his parody in puppet shows and heard his victories in songs. This was Sir Gawain. Sir Gawain was his own brother.

“And all here know the truth of it when I say, but for the king my uncle, there is no man I love better than my brothers. For fourteen years, we’ve been four brothers, and grieved for our loss.” He rocked back on his heels, cocked his head like a curious hound. “And now…” His voice grew louder, took the tone of a ringing pronouncement, for all to hear. “I say, for my part, no more proof do I need but to look on his face. This is my brother. I know it.” He reached out, took Mordred by the shoulder, and he was strange and poised and a little bit frightening, but his grip was solid and warm, and squeezed Mordred’s shoulder once, quickly, and then again, as though reluctant to let him go. “And you have brought us the greatest gift in the world.” The bright curiosity in his eyes was brighter still, shining, and then suddenly he was smiling, beaming, grinning at him, and Mordred knew in that instant beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was speaking the truth. “We welcome you home, Mordred.”

And Mordred did not know what to do, but Sir Gawain— Sir Gawain! Of the Christmas Game! Of the Loathly-Maid-Turned-Lovely-Wife, and the strength of seven men at midday, and all the rest!— had both his shoulders, and was squeezing them tightly, and then he seemed about to weep, and took Mordred into his arms, and there were the other two of his brothers, his own brothers, two more great knights of the Round Table, two more nephews of King Arthur, two more brothers who jostled Sir Gawain and sought to take his hands, even whilst his arms were pinned to his sides by Sir Gawain’s embrace, and one of them looked bored and haughty around the mouth, but his eyes were bright and his lips kept smiling no matter how he tried to still them, and he was saying, “Mordred, for God’s sake. Who would believe it? Absurd. Fourteen, are you? We’ll have our work out to make a squire of ye in a year—“ and his grip was pressing excitedly at Mordred’s hand, eager and happy, and the other brother had tears in his eyes and a smile even brighter than Sir Gawain’s, and he was saying, “It’s true what Gawain said, you know, Mordred. Mordred! I can’t believe it. We have another brother! Do you have a place to stay here, yet? You can stay with—“

And the rest of the court had gone subtly human, too, the murmur of voices rising up louder, excited, and a very tall young knight Mordred had not seen before had left the seats and was reaching across Gawain, impatient with excitement, grasping at Mordred’s shoulder happily, and he was not a brother, but there was no doubt that he, too, was family.

“Gawain!” called a firm, hoarse voice, cutting through the sudden melee of close affection, “For God’s sake, let the boy go, won’t you? Bring him up to me.”

And Mordred did not recognize the voice at first, because of the rasping note to it which had not been there before, because when last he’d spoken the High King had not been crying. He was weeping now, but smiling, too, and Gawain batted his brothers away to take Mordred’s hands and lead him, obedient out of sheer shock, up the steps, up onto the dais, up to King Arthur’s throne, and King Arthur reached out and took one of Mordred’s hands from his brother’s, and pressed it between both of his own, and said through his tears, “I do believe God has brought you back to us,” with such awed surprise that he almost seemed to be converting in that moment for the first time. And he kissed Mordred’s forehead, and Mordred felt tears on his face and thought they were the king’s, but realized, as they continued, that they were his own. The old man had been good to him, he knew it, but he had never been wanted— had never been a source of such unfettered joy— had never seen faces so like his own and known that he was, for once, for the first time and always to be thereafter, among family. And he was a noble, and one of his brothers had said he’d be a knight, and another had said he’d live there with them in the castle, in riches and luxury, and his eldest brother had said, ‘We welcome you home, Mordred,’ and it still rang in his ears.

King Arthur, High King of all Britain, was holding out a hand towards the poor old weathered fisherman who had raised him and saying, “Thank you, good man. We all thank you. You have done more for us than we might speak,” and his other hand was still holding Mordred’s, and Mordred’s other hand was still held by Sir Gawain, and then Sir Gawain said, “Arthur,” quietly— softly called the king himself by name— “Dismiss the court. Give us time, won’t you? Let us retire a while.”

“Yes,” said King Arthur, “Yes, alright.” And he let go of Mordred’s hand reluctantly— reached out suddenly as it fell and grasped it once more, just for a moment— and then stood to speak, but Mordred did not hear his words, because Sir Gawain was bundling him off the dais again, and was saying quietly but excitedly in his ear, “Come, Mordred, this way— Gaheris and Agravaine are just behind us.”

“We aren’t,” came one brother’s laconic voice from his shoulder, as he was bustled eagerly from the hall, “In fact. Gaheris is fetching Yvain. Yvain is our cousin, little brother,” addressed to him, “Our mother’s sister’s son, by King Uriens. He is our only full cousin— the rest are—“

“Yes, teach him heraldry, Agravaine, when he’s been with us not five minutes,” Sir Gawain interrupted, with an exasperated glance back.

“Oh, God forbid I tell him of our one and only cousin! Whom he’s about to meet, no less.”

“Ignore him, Mordred. We all do. We’ve so much to speak of! I can hardly think where to begin—“

“You’ll learn,” Sir Agravaine told him, over his brother, “That there’s nothing for it but to speak over Gawain when he’s in high spirits. It’s no rudeness to do so.”

“What!” Sir Gawain protested.

“Mordred,” Sir Agravaine pointed out, “Has not said a single word aloud in our presence. Have you, little brother?”

Mordred had seen the close, familiar squabbles, easy as breathing, between tight-knit siblings. In the village, there had been a pair of twin girls who had never once agreed on a single thing, but were never away from each other’s sides. He’d envied them their closeness, their belonging. He was already being brought into brotherly squabbles, here. He looked back at Sir Agravaine, steeling his nerve. He had hardly realized, himself, that he hadn’t spoken, overwhelmed as he was, and these would be his first words as their brother, as Mordred of Orkney. “No,” he said, nervous but determined, trying for a smile, suddenly terribly conscious of his own ill-bred manner of speech, “I’d not, it’s true.”

Sir Agravaine burst into laughter, and Sir Gawain followed. “You see?” said Sir Agravaine. “Finally, a brother who agrees with me!”

They brought him to a wonderful room, draped in rich-colored cloths, with finely-carved and lushly-cushioned couches, and little tables that served no purpose but to be covered with fresh flowers and bowls of fruits Mordred did not even recognize. Faeryland, he thought again.

The room was not empty— three women sat together on a couch, bent in conversation, and looked up at their entry, and Sir Gawain said, “My lady! My lady, you won’t believe it.”

They were beautiful, all three of them, lovely and delicate and graceful, their gowns shimmering in the light, their smiles sweet, just like the flowers around them, but the lady in the center— who stood at their entry, and whose mild, bright eyes were fixed on Mordred— was the queen. Mordred had never seen her before, but he knew. She was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the realm, and he had never wondered, really, what that would look like, except perhaps like a pretty girl only more so. But it would have been foolish to call the queen pretty. She was the living figure of every depiction Mordred had ever seen of a beautiful woman saint, regal and wise and lovely, the sort of figure one might see in a holy vision— except that there was a hint of an ironic smile, tucked at the corner of her lips, and a spark of sharpness and humor in her soft, heavy-lidded eyes, that gave her a faint aura of mischief and amusement. She took Mordred in, then his two knightly brothers, examining their expressions. The hinted smile curled up a fraction. Mordred was painfully aware that he was dressed as a poor man’s son, in the court of the king.

“God protect me,” she said, in a sweet, low voice, “From any more of your kin, Sir Gawain.” She stepped forward regardless, and held out a hand, palm down, towards Mordred.

Mordred did not know what to do. Was he meant to kiss her hand? He was afraid he might not be permitted such a thing, might be mistaken, and would insult her if he tried. Sir Gawain, thankfully, did not seem offput in the slightest. He snorted, then took the hand still clasped with his own and brought it up, hers turning easily palm-up when she saw the motion, and Mordred’s hand was placed in hers.

“This,” said Sir Gawain, “Is—“

“Our fifth brother,” said Sir Agravaine. “Mordred, who was lost at sea fourteen years ago. He washed ashore, alive, and we never knew. He’s lived all this time with a fisherman who took him in. We’ve just had him returned to us at last.”

For just an instant, Queen Guinevere’s eyes shot up, looked at Sir Agravaine sharply, something passing over her face too quickly for Mordred to make it out. “The May Day child?” she asked. Her voice was soft and kind, but something in the question gave Mordred a subtle chill.

“The same,” Sir Gawain replied.

The queen looked to him again. “Mordred,” she said, thoughtful, testing the name. Then, as though her mind was made up, she left aside the hesitation and went on warmly, “We bid you welcome, then, Mordred. To our home and to our hearts.” She seemed to mean it earnestly, pressed his hand with affection. “Take not to heart what I spoke to Sir Gawain— it was only in jest. I am very glad to meet you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Mordred managed, his voice barely audible even to himself from his nerves.

“But where is my lord? Surely he’s not still in audience, with his own nephew miraculously returned to him?”

“He is excusing himself now, my lady,” said Sir Gawain, with a sort of fondness in his voice. “He is… well.”

“Weeping,” the queen finished, just as fondly. “I am sure. He will cry himself into a drought, someday. Let me go to him, and smooth things along. Ah! But young Mordred, might I ask—?”

“Yes, my lady?” Mordred managed, thinly.

“You come to us just two weeks too late for your birthday.”

“I did not know my birthday, until now, my lady. Except by guess— of what cause I was put to sea.” Something occurred to him and he blurted out the thought without reason. “Might I have had a boon, for my birthday, if I’d come the sooner?”

“You will have one now,” said the queen, and smiled at him. “Think on’t. But you will have more thereafter, of that I am sure, so think not too long.”

Mordred’s head was spinning. Sir Agravaine was arguing with Sir Gawain again, playfully, on whether or not clothing him as befit a princely son of Orkney would count as a gift. Sir Gawain began to grow frighteningly earnest about a feast. In the doorway, Sir Gaheris had returned, with the the tall young knight who’d grasped his shoulder in the hall— no doubt his cousin, Sir Yvain— and they were contributing to the verbal wardrobe, and the menu of the feast, and asking him what colors he preferred, and what fruits were his favorites, no matter the season in which they grew, and whether or not he would like a horse, of all things, talking over one another and crowding him and laughing, and this wild, strange, and beautiful world was his world, now, and this was his family, and he had never seen such a place and he had never seen such riches, and he had never been looked on with such true and eager heartfelt love.

He was home.

#may day parade #I’m truly feeling things about Mordred at all times like constantly in my life Mordred more like mordhau directly to the skull #anyway! thank you for your time I don’t. post writing to my #blog much but it’s a beautiful May Day to do it anyway

[bippot]

Summary: Ralph knows he's quick to fall in love, and that's bitten him on the ass every single time it has happened. Not this time, no. To ensure he doesn't scare his new infatuation away, he must take the advice of his servant, Michael, and take it slow.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, 1920s, Slow Burn, Shopping, Male simp, Caretaking, Fake Marriage, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Weddings, Wedding Night

Song Recommendation : When My Baby Smiles At Me by Ted Lewis

Full Masterlist - here

Turns out that the French Foreign Legion didn't actually want Ralph, which was understandable because he did have the softest of hands. That ensured that all the heavy lifting and hard work was painful for such a dainty, fancy man. In reality, it was due to the fact they suspected he had poor eyesight based on how his target practice went. He didn't hit a single target, but he did manage to graze the instructor's hand when he got annoyed and threw the pistol.

So, he came home. That was not something he wished to do, but, luckily, Lauren was gone by the time he arrived back. And despite Victoria being her usual snotty self, things were fine. Not good. Not great. Just fine.

Although, after his brief stint away from her, Ralph now found it harder to deal with her. Every time she interrupted him, every time she said something rude or even downright insulting about him, he had to take a moment to calm himself. The best way to do that was to get out of the house and walk around the park that was a few streets across. He could sit on a bench, preferably one that was far from the swans as they had taken a strong dislike to him and now he'd developed a deep seated fear of their attacks, and read in peace.

Being without his family was nice. It was a breath of fresh air. Ralph liked it so much that he had a long winded talk with his father about moving out. He wanted to leave the nest, not too far as the apartment he'd been eyeing was only a half an hour drive away from their home, and he was more than thrilled when his father agreed.

This new found freedom was exhilarating. It brought him so much joy. And yet, there was one thing that bothered him more than anything else right now. His new life was not fulfilling in the slightest. All he did was read, sleep and go to the very frequent parties that Victoria would host. It was exactly like his old one, but he could set his own curfew.

There had to be something else that life had to offer?

When Lauren was around, it was as if he could forget about his pure boredom because there were new, unconventional people around so he could focus on them instead of looking inward. Now it was just him and his lack of achievements, his lack of life.

Getting a job was beneath him. Why would he do that? His father made sure that every single thing he'd ever wanted was paid for without a fuss and then some, yet it seemed that having access to money didn't make him happy. He was fed and sheltered and pampered, but not happy. He never felt satisfied.

Was he doomed to live his life as a bored posh dandy? Did his parents expect this, too? If that was true, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage without going absolutely batty. The thought terrified him. He needed a goal in order to function well, an object in which he could set his gaze upon. The world seemed empty and meaningless otherwise.

Soon he'd get that goal. That goal lived two doors down from his new apartment.

Y/N knew that people were still warming up to female writers. Agatha Christie was really helping the whole thing, yet she still heard some men at the publisher call her Arthur Conan Doyle with tits. Progress is slow. She needed to keep her head up and roll with the punches.

Admittedly, her ride was a lot easier than others as her father owned the newspaper she had a column in. Sure, she went under a pseudonym, but she still had a foot in the door from the get go. There was a hundred percent certainty that she was only employed because of who her father was, but nepotism aside, she had the talent to back it up.

Like most writers, part of Y/N's process was to spiral into a patch of self doubt and profess that what she'd written was absolute hog shit so she always took a step back and stepped outside for a breather.

On one fateful day, the two had planned a little walk at the same time. Almost in synchrony, both Ralph and Y/N swung open their respective front doors and made their way to the pavement. Ralph, however, happened to glance to his right.

Boom. He'd always been one to be transfixed by pretty girls, but he'd never fainted before at the mere sight of one. It was pitiful really, and he couldn't believe he'd fallen under the spell so quickly. His feet moved too quickly for his body and next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

Hearing the sound of something roughly falling to the ground to the left of her, Y/N quickly found the dazed Ralph laying flat on the ground, his hand resting gently on heart as he stared into thin air. She hurried to check if he was okay, crouching down next to him and putting two fingers against his neck.

He had a pulse. A quick one.

"Hello, sir? Sir? Are you alright?" She asked, leaning over and tapping him lightly on the cheek to wake him up. But all he did was mumble incoherently, staring off into space and clutching at his chest like he'd run a marathon.

With more force than she intended to, she slapped him across the face, causing him to jump in surprise and blink at her, finally focusing his gaze upon her. "I'm sorry for striking you, sir. You were too far up in the clouds," Y/N apologised sheepishly, "Is everything okay?"

Her question was met with silence for a second before Ralph responded, slowly but surely becoming more aware of his surroundings. "No, no, I must apologise. I haven't the foggiest why such a thing happened."

Lie. Total lie.

"I apologise if I frightened you, ma'am."

Despite the fact he was responding, she kept her hand on his cheek and gently caressed where she'd struck him, feeling embarrassed that such a thing might happen on a peaceful outing of all places. Still, she was worried about him.

"It was quite a fall," she told him, trying her best to smile while she checked him for any injuries. "You're not zozzled, are you, sir?"

His eyes widened and shook his head, claiming that, "No, nothing like that. I can assure you I haven't had a drop since last night," as she helped him sit upright properly. Once he was situated, Ralph smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, miss…"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N. And you are?"

"Ralph, Ralph Penbury."

Politely, he offered his hand to shake hers and she obliged, surprised by the firm handshake he gave her. He certainly wasn't as delicate as a girl might assume.

Then, to her surprise, he didn't let go of her hand straight away and brought her knuckles to his lips, lightly brushing his mouth against each of them in a manner that was entirely unexpected. His lips lingered for a few seconds longer than acceptable in polite society and his eyes bore into hers the entire time.

"Thank you for your care, Y/N," he breathed, his voice a bit thick when he pulled his hand away. Ralph cleared his throat and looked away from her, clearly embarrassed that he had done such a thing in such a public setting. "Please, forgive my rudeness. I should return home immediately."

"Oh. Goodbye then. I do hope you're okay," Y/N told him as she helped him up to his feet and watched him open the door, awkwardly wave goodbye then quickly rush inside before he could embarrass himself further. What sort of gentleman acts in such a way?! Fainting? In public? How uncouth could he be?

Yet, it wasn't as if he had any control over the matter. Y/N, without a single doubt in his head, was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. No, scratch that, he was sure she had to be the most beautiful girl ever in the history of the world. Because there were girls out there that he'd never seen before and never will be able to see, and Ralph was sure she beat them all.

Nobody could compare. Nobody could even come close. Was there another person in the world that looked so effortless as she walked through her front door? Someone whose hair looked enough like silk that Ralph knew he'd die in the most pleasant way if he ran his hair through it?

Although he'd be hesitant to admit it to Victoria, he was rather transfixed by the fact she wore wide legged trousers - which, if he took the time to recall, as did Lauren (so he could have a type) - and nowhere in his mind did he think that she was odd in any way. They suited her. Maybe everything suited her, he assumed as such.

"Ralph, you're back already?" his servant Michael asked in surprise when he heard the door close. In his time away from his family, Ralph had become rather lonely. His sister was the one with all the friends, and here he was, free and totally alone. So, he did something really out there.

He made friends with the help.

I know, I know, it's crazy. While he'd always tried to be polite to those in his father's employ, they were never friends until now. Ralph had come to realise that, not only did his servants have lives outside the Penbury's, but they had families and friends and goals and emotions just like he did.

Michael was certainly a friend. Perhaps the closest friend he ever had.

Yet, that didn't stop Ralph from ignoring the question and hurrying to the nearest window so he could get one more glance at his inamorata before she carried on with her business. He couldn't resist. He needed to see those delicately painted red lips again.

"She's rather beautiful, isn't she?" Michael said, looking over Ralph's shoulder. Of course he'd noticed that Ralph wasn't focused on anything else other than the woman in question. "She always says hello when I pass her with the shopping. She's quite nice for someone so unconventional."

"Unconventional how?"

"The trousers are a start."

As she made it down the street and out of his view, Ralph let out a sigh and rested his forehead against the cool glass pane. "Other than the obvious, Michael," he huffed, creating a patch of condensation that was swiftly wiped away.

"Apparently, Anna -" The only other servant he allowed himself to have. "-Spoke to her when she moved in a week or so back, and she lives there all by herself."

That caught Ralph's attention. He spun around in his spot to stare at Michael with wide eyes, his mouth gaping slightly. "She's not married? Now that is a relief!"

Looking back to his very recent memories, he didn't see a ring on her left hand so this was amazing news.

"Her father's Mr L/N."

"He owns The Shoehorn Press, right?"

"Correct."

The gears were turning in his little head. Not only was she perfect for him, their families were compatible too. Wasn't that a relief. It was fate. The Penbury's owned a batch of high class theatres (which could be why the twins were dramatic all the time) and the L/N owned the most reliable paper. Perfection in every way.

"And Mr L/N let's her write an article every week to go in it."

"She's a working girl? Oh, I like that."

Was there any part of her that he didn't like?

"I heard from Elizabeth down the street that Mr L/N keeps setting her up with potential suitors but they never work out. She refuses to marry."

Shit. There it was. That piece of information was disheartening for Ralph to hear. Usually, he was fond of hearing all the gossip Michael had managed to gather from the other servants on the street, but this bit, well, it's safe to say his shoulders slouched as he heard it.

From the moment he understood what a husband was, he knew that's what he wanted to be. A life where he gets to be married to a beautiful lady who he could worship and love and cherish. There was no job out there that suited Ralph better. The thought of taking up an occupation filled him with dread, but loving his wife forever? That could be easily done.

A small, happy grin crossed his lips as he contemplated the notion, allowing his mind to imagine what it would be like to spend every day by her side, to wake up next to her every morning, to hold her in his arms at night and feel her warm breath fanning across his neck whenever she snuggled up closer… There was nothing in the world that sounded more desirable than being her husband.

Alas, it seemed that she didn't want one. She wouldn't want him. His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"Oh Michael, why is the world so cruel to me? Why can't happiness be within reach?" Ralph whined dramatically, resting his hands against his face, his elbows propped up on the windowsill. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the warmth of his own sadness seeping into him and infecting everything he held dear.

What did love even mean to him anyway? Was he meant to settle down someday? Was that even possible anymore? He knew most of the ladies in town thought he was far too much of a dandy for them to ever be interested in him. And it bothered him to no end, because even though he was thoughtful and sensitive and open, he was a man that had his own unique brand of masculinity.

It wasn't like he was unattractive or unapproachable. Quite the opposite actually. People would often compliment him for his style or his manners, but his personality was not something people seemed to enjoy. Was he too excitable? Too outspoken? Too loud? Too annoying?

Or simply, was he too Ralph?

He sighed deeply before opening his eyes and looking up to the ceiling; letting out a long, low groan. There was absolutely no way around this. No matter how hard he tried to convince his heart that it was hopeless, it was still stuck on her.

Michael gave him a reassuring pat on the back and couldn't stop himself from chuckling at how dramatic Ralph was being. He did look a tad pathetic standing there with his nose pressed against the glass, so, with a light yet supportive smile, Michael spoke.

"Perhaps, you should get to know her before you make these assumptions. Take it slow, Ralph, and try your best. If she doesn't feel the same about you, then maybe you shouldn't be so persistent about the whole thing..."

"No, Michael. She must. I need her to love me." He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, before continuing with a confident tone of voice. "But, I think taking it slow is a good idea. I've rushed proposals before and that did not turn out well for either me or my past lady love…"

That was an understatement.

"Why don't you try to get to know her before you start planning how many kids you'll have -"

"Three. Two girls. One boy."

Sighing, Michael turned Ralph around to face him and placed his hands on his employer's shoulders. "Listen to the words coming out of my mouth, Ralph," he scolded gently. "This lady is not going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly want to marry you."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't know you."

"I'm well aware of that, Michael," Ralph insisted determinedly, his gaze intense as he stared at his friend. It faltered as dipped his head and, almost inaudibly, whispered, "What if she gets to know me and doesn't like.. what if she doesn't like the real me?"

What if she decided she didn't care for his quirky, eccentric personality? What if she found another gentleman worthy enough to love and marry her after all? What if... what if... what if...! Ralph couldn't even bring himself to finish thinking about all the possible consequences that might await him if his hopes weren't realised.

"That's a gamble you're going to have to take."

Shit, that wasn't something he wanted to hear. He wanted things to be easy. He wanted her to swoon and blush and fall for him as easily as he did for her. He wanted her to be his. He wanted her to smile and call him her darling and kiss him like he was the only thing in the entire world that mattered.

Not a risk. Not a chance. Not a possibility. A certainty.

Ralph nodded his head slowly, trying to ignore the pain that settled in his chest as Michael released his shoulders and pulled away.

"Start small. Say hello. Ask how she's doing. Tell her about yourself. Try to make her laugh. Be friendly before you try to woo her."

Michael's words brought out some optimism in Ralph and lifted his spirits considerably. Even though it was a big risk, he would do it no matter how much his heart ached to take it slow. It wouldn't hurt to try.

Okay, okay...he could do this. He could act normal around a woman.

The next day, he got his chance to try. Ralph exited at the exact same time as he had the day previous and hoped she followed a similar routine each day. He stood half in, half out of his front door and waited patiently until he heard her door open.

"Good mornin', Miss!" Ralph called brightly and, despite the fact he had caused her to jump and her bag to slip down her shoulder, she turned to give him a smile.

"Morning, Mr Penbury."

"Please, call me Ralph."

He closed his door and tried to hide his excitement when she walked to lean against the fence that was opposite his house. He practically skipped to stand next to her, trying his hardest not to appear too eager but failing miserably.

"How are you today? You're not going to faint on me, are you?" She asked playfully, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Her lips curled upwards just slightly at the corners when he shook his head violently.

"No, no, no. I'm fine! How are you?" He asked in return, smiling shyly at her and ignoring his nerves that threatened to consume him.

"I'm, uh... a bit of a mess, if you want the honest answer." She chuckled nervously. "I'm a writer, you see, and I seem to be running low on stories as of late... but you don't want to hear me ramble all-"

"I do!" He cut in excitedly. "I really do. Tell me."

And she did. The pair began walking towards the park and chatted away, talking about anything that came to their minds. From food to the weather, to books they enjoyed to art they had seen, the two talked endlessly about everything and nothing at the same time. All Ralph could think was that this was possibly one of the happiest days of his life so far.

Y/N soon found out that Ralph was a great listener and that their lively conversation was getting the ideas in her head to float to the top of her brain in a dizzy rush of inspiration. By the time they got to the park, she'd completely forgotten about her little problem and was able to focus solely on enjoying herself and learning about the man next to her.

In a sudden moment of confidence, Ralph offered his arm for her to link hers through and she complied, allowing him to lead her off to walk along the path leading to the pond. With ease, he made his way through the paths and led her over to where the water flowed lazily and without worry.

"You're so easy to talk to," he confessed quietly, leaning in a bit close so that she could hear him clearly. "Talking to you is like breathing fresh, unpolluted air."

"You flatter me," Y/N giggled bashfully as she brushed her fingers lightly against the fabric covering his bicep. She could feel his muscles flex underneath the touch. The heat that radiated from him was almost unbearable in the most pleasant way.

"I simply speak the truth." He grinned as he gazed across up at her, gazing intently into her eyes. "I hope we can do this more often…if you'd like us to."

"I would like that very much, Ralph."

To say that he looked like a puppy would be an understatement. As he gazed up at her, his eyes were wide filled with so much wonder and joy that it was almost impossible not to smile. Even when he happened to walk into a tree branch and, in doing so, messed up his perfectly styled hair.

"Oh shit," he cursed as he made contact with the rough bark, wincing in discomfort at the sting at the twigs poking at his head. He swatted them away whilst trying desperately to straighten his messy hair, and Y/N couldn't help but to let out a hearty laughter at his reaction.

She held her hand out and only attempted to help tame his hair when he nodded, commenting, "I actually think you look quite nice with the messy hair look."

"Thank you…" He muttered quietly, staring down at the ground, blushing under her praise. Then his head shot up again and he flashed her an incredibly goofy smile. "...Honestly, I don't really like how all the gel feels on my head. It makes it feel stiff and dry."

With a snort, Y/N replied by ruffling his hair even more than it already was. "Why'd you wear it like that then?" she inquired curiously. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Victoria tells me to. Says that it looks better and I'm not one to argue with her."

"Ah, I see," she murmured at the mention of a woman in his life. She glanced sideways at him and forced a smile. "Is Victoria your girlfriend?"

"Gross, no. She's my sister. Twin sister, non-identical."

In relief, her smile grew wider at the news and somehow got happier when he added, "I don't have a girlfriend. Do you?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh, oh, I meant... I meant like a boyfriend, you know, like a boyfriend." His brows furrowed briefly as he tried to decipher how she'd reacted to the fact he just implied that she was a lesbian. A lesbian in 1927, no less.

Yet, she didn't seem to mind. In fact, the way she smiled at him told him that the whole situation hadn't seemed to phase her all that much.

"Uh... no. I don't have a boyfriend."

He sighed, deeply relieved that there had been absolutely no indication whatsoever that she'd thought he had been strange or inappropriate in his questioning, and on top of that, she was single and ready to mingle.

"I don't have a boyfriend either, just in case you wanted to know," he added with an almost teasing lilt to his voice, earning a chuckle from her as they found a bench and sat down comfortably together side by side.

As soon as she placed her bag down, the ducks came running and caused Ralph to yelp at their sudden appearance. Y/N cackled at his startled expression. She reached into her bag and pulled out what at first looked like a stack of newspapers, but once she peeled back the paper, it was very clearly a few pieces of bread that she'd wrapped up so the crumbs wouldn't get anywhere.

Tearing pieces off and throwing it for the ducks, she turned to explain, "I do this a lot. They probably recognise the bag and know they're going to be fed."

"You feed these beasts?"

Again, she laughed. She held out a slice to him, which he took cautiously, and gestured for him to break off a bit and toss it. When he complied, a duckling waddled over to it and gobbled it up greedily.

"That's quite cute actually..." he commented, watching the animal enjoy itself before turning his attention back to her as she continued feeding the ducks. He couldn't help but stare at her as she did so, taking in every detail. She was such a beautiful sight and, although he felt the need to hold himself back in fear that he might embarrass himself, he knew he should make sure to commit her beauty to memory.

The sun filtered through the branches above, illuminating her soft hair beautifully and bathing her in warm and incredibly rare British sunlight. She glowed, he realised with a smile. Her eyes shone and sparkled with so much happiness; her face flushed and rosy; a small, crooked smile tugged the corner of her mouth upward in a way that made him believe there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Oh, how he wished he'd brought his sketchpad. Maybe then he could capture her in all its splendour. But he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off of her.

Interrupting his daze, one of the bigger duck's got impatient as he still had half a slice in his hand and hadn't thrown it so it nipped at his fingers. He jumped with a very high pitched squeal and flung the bread far away from him, where it hit a nearby tree and flopped to the ground with a soft thump.

"Ow." He cradled his finger in his other hand gently, frowning at the pain that pulsated through his digit.

"Are you okay? Let me see."

Placing his hand in hers, he watched her inspect the damage - the bird's bite hadn't even broken skin but would be a purplish colour by the evening - and she deadpanned, "I'm surprised it didn't bite your hand off," only to immediately drop the facade when he seemed genuinely concerned. "I'm kidding. The worst you could get from a duck would be an infection and your nip didn't draw blood so you're perfectly fine."

Ralph let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank god…" He smiled weakly at her and then glanced towards the duck who seemed pretty contented now. The simple act of holding her hand made him forget about any smidgeon of pain.

From the other side of the pond, Ralph felt a pair of eyes on him and turned his head to find that they belonged to none other than Sonia, one of Victoria's friends. He slowly took his hand out of Y/N grip and shifted so Y/N was blocked from view by his body.

"Do you know her?" she questioned in a quiet voice, peering around Ralph's shoulder in order to see behind him.

"She's one of my sister's friends, yes. And not one of the nice ones."

"Ah. I see. She's coming this way."

"She is?"

Noticing how uncomfortable he was, Y/N had to offer, "Shall we make a quick getaway?" He considered her suggestion for a moment and nodded his head before standing up hastily and offering his hands out to pull her up. She accepted his help and they both briskly walked away without looking back at the scene.

They were going the wrong way to get home and had stumbled into a street market full of vendors selling all kinds of foods and trinkets and knick knacks. Ralph had never been to a market before as he usually got his servants to gather anything he wanted. Clothes shopping was the only time he went out for himself.

"Hungry?" She asked with a grin, eyeing him with amusement as his eyes darted from stall to stall.

"Yes… Yes, please!"

Y/N giggled, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him forward, "Alright, come on then, big guy. Let's go find something."

While Ralph followed behind her blindly, he couldn't help but admire how elegant and graceful her movements were as she weaved through the crowd effortlessly. With her locks bouncing along with her footsteps, and her lips curved up at the corners in joy, he just couldn't tear his gaze away.

"I'm in the mood for some hot soup, you?" she queried, glancing back over her shoulder at him. Smiling brightly at her request, Ralph nodded his head enthusiastically as they started walking in the direction of a particular stand, where steam filled the air and wafted the scent of homemade broth towards them.

Still holding onto him, she ordered and paid for their food before he'd even realised what she was doing. Upon returning, they found a seat outside under a large oak tree that provided shade and privacy from all other people and occupied themselves by chatting for the remainder of their meal.

Despite having just met Y/N, he quickly grew accustomed to her presence and was able to keep himself entertained with her conversation during their lunchtime. Maybe all of his conquests were this interesting and he'd been so blinded by his infatuation to realise it, or maybe she was the most interesting of them all - that was the most likely in his head.

Once they were done, they stood and started the journey back home. As they passed more stalls, the pair got to the end and Ralph happened to notice a flower stall.

"Wait here," he told her before rushing up to the florist's stand while she stood awkwardly to the side waiting for him. He soon returned with a single yellow tulip in his hand, smiling sheepishly and holding it up for her to see. "For you."

Her eyes widened at his gesture, her cheeks reddening slightly as she gazed at the flower in wonder. "Thank you, Ralph," she murmured softly as she gently took it from him and tucked it behind her ear for safe keeping.

"I tried to buy more but I don't think that lady liked me," he confessed, laughing before clearing his throat and continuing, "My mother taught me that yellow tulips mean 'there's sunshine in your smile' and I never had use for that information until now."

Y/N shook her head fondly at his adorable confession, knowing that this boy was a genuine treasure inside and out. And that, combined with his sweet words of gratitude, were making her heart soar. It was a feeling she could get used to. It was a wonderful feeling.

So she gave his arm a squeeze, urging, "Let's get home, I need to put this in a vase before it wilts," and then led him back the way they came, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the market.

As they neared their homes, however, she noticed that he was slowing down his pace. Not stopping, but slowing considerably. And not because he was tired, but because he wanted to stretch out their time together as long as possible.

Because he wanted to savour everything about this day. Because he wasn't ready to part ways yet and he wasn't sure if he'd ever have another chance like this again.

Then he did stop.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow? I'm in need of some new clothes and I was hoping for a second opinion." He came up with that on the spot, unsure of whether or not she would accept or not. "My sister usually helps but she's busy. Would you?"

"Of course I'll help. Just tell me when and where and I shall make myself available for you."

That was a better response than he'd ever imagined he could've received. Perhaps gaining her love really wasn't as hopeless as he may have previously believed.

They continued onwards and once they reached the entrance to her house, she hesitated slightly as though she wanted to say something. Before either of them could, however, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye," she whispered and hurried off up the steps.

He watched her leave until she disappeared behind her door, his mind wandering into a fantasy, a world where the woman he loved lived in the same house as him. And they spent everyday together like they had today, eating meals and enjoying each others' company and being together whenever they pleased.

A world where the only thing they needed was each other - no matter how many times they argued, no matter how many misunderstandings they had; nothing else would matter because they loved each other.

Yet, a pang of disappointment ran through him as reality sank in. She didn't love him. No, not yet.

└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘

The pair spent so much time together over the next couple of weeks. Ralph would often seek her out in order to get some input into what she thought about just about everything, whether it was a topic she knew nothing about or if it was something she was passionate about.

It was the most fun and fulfilling relationship he'd had in awhile. In fact, it was so enjoyable he couldn't imagine wanting to break away from it anytime soon.

But, like all things in his life, Victoria put a stopper on it. For a while. She'd hosted a dinner party and forgot to tell her guests about the stomach bug she had acquired. A day later Ralph was puking his guts out with a fever and a pounding headache.

He'd told his servants to have a week off so he wouldn't get them sick too. Although Michael was resistant at first due to Ralph's total ineptitude in the kitchen, he was swayed when the compromise was for him to write a detailed step by step that his employer promised to follow to the letter.

Knocking on Ralph's door, Y/N heard a soft mumble from inside followed by the opening of a window. "I'm sorry, I'm really sick and I don't want to give it to you!" Ralph groaned miserably, trying to hide himself behind the curtain so she wouldn't see how rough he looked.

"Oh. Do you need anything? Food? Medicine? Name a thing, I'll go get it and give it to Michael when I get back?"

"I sent Michael home. Anna too. But I'm getting by without them. I'll be fighting fit in a few days, I'm sure."

While she knew Michael would've never left alone unless there was food left behind or a list of some sort, she didn't really care about that. He was sick. He needed taking care of. And she would gladly take care of him herself.

"Nonsense, I'm coming in."

Without wasting any time, she pushed open the door and marched inside, determined to do what she could to make him feel better. She very quickly saw what a state he was in - his skin was clammy, his hair dishevelled and greasy looking, his eyes puffy and bags underneath them. His lips were cracked and dry.

"Oh lovely, come here and let me look after you," she breathed, holding her hand out for him to hold onto. He didn't take it.

"You'll get sick."

She simply ignored him and grabbed onto his shoulders instead, forcing him further into the house until they reached the living room sofa, which she plopped him down upon. He protested weakly against her actions, but she was quick to make him lay down, checked his temperature with the back of hand and covered him up with a blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch.

"Stay."

He stared blankly at her for a moment, before shaking his head slowly and closing his eyes tightly. "No," he muttered quietly, his voice barely audible, "You're going to get sick. You shouldn't be-" She shushed him before reaching over to push a stray lock of hair off of his forehead.

"Try to get some rest. I'm going to cook you some food, okay? I'll bring it to you."

With that said, she left him lying in the living room, closed the door gently behind her and did as she said and went into the kitchen to prepare some food for the both of them and to hopefully try to ease his discomfort a little bit.

Now, she'd never been in his kitchen before and had no idea where anything was. She assumed that Ralph didn't have a clue either so asking him was useless. Actually, she probably had a better chance than he did.

Still, she got the job done. He'd left the recipe to make a jacket potato for today as Michael knew that it had to be simple enough for Ralph to follow. That was easy, she could do that with no troubles and soon was all done.

Slowly, she carried the plate over to the living room, careful not to drop anything as she placed it on the table before she gently shook his shoulder to wake him. "Hey sleepyhead, you hungry?" She cooed with a small chuckle when she saw him grumpily swatting at her hand, causing her to laugh even more. "I know, I know. But you need to eat something."

Opening one bleary eye, Ralph scrunched his face before letting out a heavy sigh, blinking a few times as he struggled to stay awake, "Fine."

Once he sat up, she placed the plate and utensils down on his lap, watching in amusement as he picked up the fork and scooped up the potatoes, shoving the food in his mouth with a complete lack of grace.

Again, she chuckled at him before settling down beside him on the sofa and waiting patiently, giving him space to devour his meal. "Don't you want some?" He questioned, looking up to meet her gaze and quickly realising that he'd made a complete mess and had potato down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve but wasn't happy about it.

"I've already had lunch." She smiled at him as he gave her a small, apologetic smile in return. "Here. I can fix your face up."

He blinked a few times before nodding in compliance, allowing her to use a serviette to wipe away any bits that remained. And all he could do was stare at with tired, but somehow wide, lovestruck eyes, wondering whether or not he was hallucinating.

Her touch was gentle. Gentle, caring, tender. Almost loving. It felt natural and comforting. As though he could get used to this kind of affectionate behaviour. As though he could get accustomed to having someone care for him so deeply, someone who treated him as if he were important to her, someone who cared that much and wanted him to be happy.

"There we go, all handsome and clean again," she said, leaning back against the cushion and folding her arms beneath her head.

Then, he was sleepy again and soon his lids began to droop shut once more so she swiped his plate before it smashed to the ground. And as soon as everything was all cleaned up, she returned to the sofa, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her and reading a book he'd left on the coffee table.

Halfway through the first page, she was rather surprised when he all of sudden flopped his head into her lap and curled up against her, nuzzling up against her thigh and snuggling comfortably into it. She smiled softly as she stroked his hair gently, humming a lullaby to him as he drifted off to sleep.

And she stayed like that, caressing his hair as she continued reading, occasionally shifting her gaze towards him to ensure that he was still peacefully asleep. It was a strange feeling; not entirely unpleasant - he was a warm weight pressed up against her body and she almost wished that he could stay like that forever - but also unfamiliar to her.

Ralph slept soundly for most of the afternoon, waking up only every three or four hours when she would shake his shoulder lightly to urge him to take some medication. Everytime he seemed to wake up, he'd be totally dazed and confused, staring around the room for a bit before eventually focusing his attention on her once more, and smiling dopily at her.

"Medicine?"

She waited till he sat up and rested the back of her hand against his forehead. "Yeah, you're not as warm as you were when I got here and I assume it's the medicine." Y/N retrieved it from the kitchen and poured some thick, gloopy brown remedy on a spoon. "Here."

Honestly, it tasted gross. The texture was sticky, the colour dark and murky looking, but Ralph took the spoon nevertheless. He lifted it to his mouth and downed half of it in one a gulp, then promptly held his nose for the other half.

"It tastes foul."

"It looks foul," she agreed with a shrug. "But it makes you feel a little better so it's worth it."

Y/N tenderly brushed a curl that had fallen across his eye away from his forehead and smiled when he leant into her touch. "I should've guessed you'd be so cuddly when you're sick," she teased, giggling at the way he scrunched his nose at her comment.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to... I just..."

"I don't mind it. I think it's sweet."

"Oh. Can I -" Ralph opened his arms in an awkward gesture and she happily obliged, allowing him to curl up against her chest, burying his face against her neck while wrapping his hands loosely around her torso and hugging her tightly. "Thank you, and even though I did tell you to not come in so this will be your fault because you didn't listen to me, I apologise for the inevitable moment that you catch this bug."

"Apology accepted."

As they laid there wrapped up in each other's embrace, he couldn't help but notice how nice it felt to be close to her like this, like she truly cared for him and that she was willing to put herself through all the trouble to help him feel better. It made him feel special, which was never something he'd really felt before.

Victoria was the special one. Out of the twins, she was the one people liked or, at least, pretended to like. Ralph was there. He was the other sibling. He was the second part of 'Victoria, oh, and Ralph', the least important part of the duo.

But to Y/N, who had never met Victoria before, he was Ralph. Just Ralph.

"You're my favourite person in the entire world," he mumbled, sounding totally out of it as he tightened his arms around her waist. And before he could realise what he'd said and her reaction was, his mind drifted back into the throws of slumber.

After that day, she did get sick. Ralph, despite how hard he tried, was not as successful as she was at the whole thing. It got to the point when she had to whine, "Ralph, lovely, let me help you." And of course, he knew that was a better option.

So for the rest of their few days of sickness, she taught him how to do the most basic things in the kitchen, how to boil water, cut vegetables without injuring himself, cook an egg, open a tin of beans, and just general skills that he should have known by now.

Strangely, Ralph found himself quite enjoying himself and finding it fun. Even if he was pretty much useless in the kitchen, he enjoyed the domesticity of it. Of course, he couldn't deny that being ill was a hassle but it wasn't too bad when Y/N was around.

Michael couldn't believe his eyes when he returned home to find Ralph in the process of mixing some cake batter together with Y/N guiding him along and correcting his grip.

"Master Ralph, what are you doing?" he asked curiously as he looked at both of them with a bewildered look.

"Cake!" Ralph yelled excitedly, grinning widely at Michael. "We're making cake!"

"What?"

"It's a welcome home treat for you and Anna."

And when Anna returned, she couldn't believe it either. His servants never would've ever guessed that Ralph was capable of baking a delicious cake. Or baking at all.

By the time it was ready to come out of the oven, Y/N left as she had seriously neglected all the work she was supposed to have done, so with a quick goodbye she slipped her shoes on and hurried out the door.

"Ralph?"

"Yes Michael?"

"Did Miss L/N put you up to this?"

"Thought of it myself but Y/N did show me how."

Anna gave Michael a knowing smile and shook her head slightly, laughing to herself. That girl, Anna thought with amusement, that girl was so good for him. Ralph had always been sweet but lazy, so this was a great change.

Later that day, Victoria made an appearance and the first thing she said was, "Ralph, why on earth haven't you styled your hair?"

"Hello to you too, Victoria." Ralph rolled his eyes as he took her coat from her and hung it up on a hook by the door. "Would you like some carrot cake?"

Victoria ignored the question, instead giving him a quizzical look. She tilted her head side to side, studying his appearance, and her fingers twitched, almost instinctively reaching to smooth his hair into the way she wanted it. He immediately noticed and moved away from her touch.

"Shall we move to sit down?"

"We have much to talk about, don't we?"

Now, Ralph had no clue what they had to talk about. Since he'd moved out, she rarely visited him. They spoke on the phone, sure, but that usually consisted of Victoria spewing endless gossip - which Ralph would listen to with eager ears - but as soon as it was his turn to talk, she'd make up an excuse to hang up.

What Victoria actually wanted to talk about was their birthday party. After last year they knew there was no topping it, so how were they going to proceed? Some part of Ralph expected her to say something along the lines of: "Oh, Ralph, since you've moved out and we no longer are the dynamic duo we used to be, why don't we have separate birthday parties?"

But that was never going to happen.

The Penbury twins spent the entire evening talking about their plans and ideas for their upcoming birthday celebration. It was going well. Ralph played his part as the enthusiastic hype man for Victoria's ideas like he always did, nodding eagerly whenever she asked him questions.

All was civil until Victoria suddenly asked, "Why don't you bring that girl with you?" The energy shifted immediately.

"What girl?"

He knew exactly who she was referring to.

"The one Sonia always sees you walk with. Strange that I had to hear about my brother's new obsession through a third party." Her lips quirked upward ever so slightly. "Are you planning to invite Miss L/N?"

"I- I...I don't know."

That response threw Victoria a little off balance. Whenever Ralph would find himself with a new obsession, he usually would pester them until they gave in and accepted the request to whatever event he was inviting them to. This, however, sounded different.

All of a sudden, Victoria's face softened and she reached out to pat Ralph's hand. "I'd like to meet this girl who can put up with you, brother dear. You deserve to have a friend like that..." She paused momentarily. "...And I need to check if she's good enough for you."

"She is. She's too good for me. Too kind, too beautiful, too sweet." Ralph faltered a bit. "But we're not courting. No, not yet. I haven't said a thing about that but-"

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Victoria teased, a surprised grin plastered across her face. Ralph lightly swatted at her arm as he shot her a playful glare. "Ow! What? You know what I mean."

Ralph sighed and then turned serious again as he quietly explained, "I do not want to mess this one up, Victoria. Y/N is everything I could wish for and more so the whole ordeal is rather nerve-wracking actually and, well, taking it slow is somewhat enjoyable - totally infuriating at times but we're progressing nicely."

He grinned sheepishly at the end, not being able to look into Victoria's eyes as she stared at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief. She'd been there for every one of his follies and, while he'd always been very flowery with his language towards the objects of his affection, he'd never taken the time to know them.

Typically, there never was a stage of 'progressing'. It was his infatuation, maybe some light stalking, then their inevitable rejection.

She was quiet for quite a while before finally saying, "You're really smitten, aren't you?"

Smitten? Yes, he definitely was. Very smitten. But also nervous. Nervous of ruining their friendship with Y/N, of messing everything up between them. He loved Y/N as a person and a romantic interest; he didn't want to screw that up.

"I'd be happy to stay by her side forever even if she couldn't see me in a romantic light because being around her is all I want." He swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. "If I'm doomed to only be her friend, I'd accept that with a smile as it means I'd still get the chance to be spending my life with someone I love."

Victoria nodded, her expression showing how proud she truly was of her brother as he finally understood what love and romance was.

"Well, good luck on getting her."

"I'm going to need it."

Meanwhile, Y/N was on the phone with her father. No matter how hard she tried, he was not giving up on the subject of marriage. He was still adamant that she should at least be engaged by the end of the year. Y/N knew the conversation was going nowhere fast but it seemed pointless to argue back at the point so she just pretended to listen, chiming in with occasional hums and okay's whenever it was needed.

Then he said, "Mr Andrews, you know him, the tailor who owns the Blue Poodle, well, he was very interested when I spoke about my beautiful daughter the other day. And, you know, he wants me to introduce his son to you so you two -"

Y/N stiffened.

"No." she cut him off.

"Come now, darling," he argued, sounding annoyed that she wouldn't just let him speak. "Do you want to be a spinster? Because that would truly be an awful fate for you, and your dear old dad doesn't want to see that."

She sighed in frustration but then a flash of an idea popped up.

"Are you familiar with the younger Penbury? His name is Ralph... and he proposed to me, um, yes-yesterday afternoon and -"

"And?" Her father urged, a type of enthusiasm she'd never heard before in his voice.

"I said I'd think about it."

"You're saying yes."

It was more of a statement than a question.

"I...yes. Maybe."

"Excellent! Brilliant! Just bloody brilliant. I'll inform Mr Andrews that you'd love to but have, fortunately, your hand promised to another."

Even through the phone she could feel the relief pouring out of him like a flood. There was a small pause as he continued to let everything sink in and then he finally said, "Alright then. Alright then, my dear, make sure you confirm the proposal as soon as you can so that we can plan accordingly."

Just before he put the phone down, he breathed a happy, "I'm so proud of you," and Y/N found herself smiling involuntarily, a laugh tumbling from her lips.

"Shit."

Why had she done that? How would she bring up the subject to Ralph?

Every possible way she could mess up swam through her mind as she tried to sleep that night, tossing and turning as she tried desperately to come up with a solution. The best one? Just telling him the truth. She should tell him straight up and they'd decide on how to proceed together.

A loud groan escaped her mouth as she held a pillow over her face, muffling the sound. Her eyes squeezed shut tight as she forced herself to go to sleep, hoping that her dreams would somehow ease her mind. They didn't. In fact, they were more anxiety inducing as she thought of what awaited her in the morning.

The next morning came faster than Y/N anticipated. With nerves racing through her veins, she went about her morning until the dreaded moment arrived. And she was so far in her head that Ralph had to knock a jaunty little tune on her door to pull her attention away.

With a deep breath, she took a quick glance at her reflection in the window before opening her front door. As predicted, Ralph stood there wearing a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"Hi," he greeted softly.

"I, uh, I have something to tell you, would you mind coming in for a moment? Just for a minute."

Without waiting for any sort of reply, she stepped aside and gestured for Ralph to make his way inside. Then she closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

"I think we should sit, would you like to sit?"

"Are you doing okay? Is something wrong?" Ralph's brows creased together as he searched her eyes for an answer to his unspoken questions.

"...Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine. Um, we need to talk."

Confusion crossed his features but he went with it nonetheless, letting out a faux casual, "Oh, I had something to speak to you about too, although this seems more important." The two of them took a seat on the couch, staring at each other for a couple seconds. Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her spot and her leg started bouncing up and down in anxiousness until Ralph gently placed his hand on her knee to calm her.

"Thank you," she whispered and gave him a grateful smile. "I've told you before about how my father keeps trying to set me up with a husband."

Shit, had she finally been pushed into a marriage? He began to spiral. If she had a husband would she want to see him anymore? Would she be allowed? Obviously, her betrothed would take one look at lovesick Ralph and figure him out.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice."

His tone was trying to be neutral, but it was an awful attempt at hiding the concern that was clearly present in his features.

"Well. It's... it's nothing that serious, I swear. Just...just promise not to laugh at me?"

"Okay."

"No, you've got to promise." She pleaded. "Please don't laugh at me."

He laughed at the desperation he could hear in her voice and it made her smile, despite the nervous butterflies that were currently fluttering around in her stomach. "I promise," Ralph reassured her, his thumb caressing her knee in a comforting manner.

"I may have told a little white lie to my father when I spoke to him last night."

"Oh?"

"I, uh, there was a moment when I blurted out that Mr Ralph Penbury had got down on one knee and asked for my hand in marriage."

Ralph yelped in delight, unable to hide his happiness, and slapped a hand over his mouth to try and stop himself. She chuckled quietly at his reaction and shook her head in amusement.

Once he managed to compose himself enough to say something coherent again, he beamed, "And what did you say your response was? Am I to be your lawfully wedded husband?" and let out a giggle.

"You promised not to laugh at me," she reminded him, playfully rolling her eyes.

"I'm not laughing at you!" he assured her as a noise that resembled a laugh was still being omitted from him. He was being smug, and he knew it. "I swear. Just keep talking! Please!"

"I... I might have implied that I was prepared to say yes."

Ralph's heart skipped a beat and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. This was it. Was this actually happening? He wasn't dreaming, was he?

She saw how he was about to let another laugh loose and held her finger accusingly at him. "Don't," Y/N warned, barely holding back a smile herself, her own amusement clear on her expression. "Anyway, I understand if you want me to call this off before it's even begun."

"No!" Ralph quickly shook his head, his hands moving to hold onto Y/N's, their fingers intertwined as he looked deeply into her eyes. "This could be a good thing. We could marry, get our parents off our backs, and we'd live our lives as we do now. The only difference is that legally you'd be... you'd... you'd be my wife on paper."

"Only on paper?"

"If that's what you want."

Her smile softened as she realised exactly what he meant. He was offering a marriage of convenience; not a traditional marriage but a 'friend' marriage.

"What do you want?" she asked softly, feeling almost shy all of a sudden, her fingers squeezing his.

And he had the perfect answer. One that he believed in with all of his body and soul. "I just want you to be happy."

She blinked in surprise at the sincerity evident in his tone and couldn't help but lean forward to press a lingering kiss to his cheek to say her thanks. His face turned bright red and he stared at her, dumbfounded by the gesture.

Y/N's hand came up to cradle his cheek, her thumb affectionately caressing his skin. "Let's get married then, Mr Penbury," she cooed teasingly, causing the poor boy's face to grow ten times brighter.

"Let's!" he chirped, jumping to hug her tightly around her waist, which caused her to squeak and immediately reciprocate the embrace.

His joy was palpable in every part of his body, he was vibrating with excitement at the mere prospect of marrying someone he loved, his thoughts racing with plans for the future. He could hardly believe the luck he'd been given today.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked after pulling away slightly but keeping her hands on his biceps.

"Hmm? Oh, yes right!" he said distractedly, snapping his mind back to reality and taking a deep breath. "It's nothing important, I just wanted to invite you to my birthday party. It's not next Saturday but the Saturday after. So if you're free..."

"Of course! What time?"

Honestly, he knew she'd say yes. But hearing it was quite the treat for him.

"It officially starts at seven."

"Seven. I'll be there at seven, then." She grinned excitedly as she pulled her hands away from his arms. "Is there a dress code? A theme?"

"Victoria named it 'Glitz and Glamour' and that just means dress as nice as you can."

"Got it," she nodded, her grin widening to match his.

He rose to his feet and held his hands out to pull her along with him. "Shall we continue onto our daily walk, my lovely fiancé?"

"Absolutely."

With a bright smile plastered across her face and a skip in her step, she happily obliged to follow his lead. Together, they exited the house and made their way down the steps.

Throughout their stroll, the two of them talked nonstop and the topic rarely strayed from their engagement. Even though he'd heard all about her reluctance towards matrimony, her excitement spoke a different story.

And almost as if she was reading his mind, she admitted, "I never thought that I'd ever get married."

A disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips. "Really? Never?" He questioned incredulously.

"Not in a million years," she chuckled back. "Every man I've ever been introduced me to ends up demanding that I become a housewife and give up any shred of independence I'd ever had."

She paused for a few seconds to consider her words carefully before continuing, "I don't know if you've spied this, but sometimes I look around at the couples in our types of circles and think 'you don't even bloody like each other as people, as individuals, why are you together?'"

As she spoke, her hands gestured wildly as if she posing some big, grand theory to him and he was enthralled. Totally and utterly gripped by every single word that left her mouth.

"Some fellas are awful to their wives. Just awful. I know we haven't had the vote for long and there's still push needed for all women to have a voice - maybe it is childish of me - but I thought that would make men realise that women aren't dolls that exist to look at, or baby making machines, or a hand to marry because her daddy is a lawyer or a Duke or a politician. We're people."

Ralph was nodding along. The strongest people in his life were women. His mother frequently kept his father in check. Victoria didn't listen to anyone but herself. Anna would frequently boss Michael around. And Y/N was having a feminist rant openly on a bustling London street. He fully believed in everything she was saying.

"Until I met you, no man other than my father has tried to know me."

Suddenly, Ralph remembered how he'd wished for their love story to be quick. He wanted her to fall desperately and passionately in love with him before he'd even spoken to her for more than five minutes. She was the object of his affection. Object. Not person.

Michael was a Saint for pushing him to see her as a full human rather than a pretty girl that made his heart skip.

So, all he could say was, "I'm so glad that I took the time to get to know you," and tentatively inched his hand closer to hers until his pinkie brushed against her skin, a silent question if it was okay for him to hold her hand. Her cheeks flushed lightly before she gave him a small nod of approval and intertwined hands as they walked side by side.

└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘

Being engaged was weird. Mostly a good weird. But still weird.

As soon as the pair informed both sets of their parents, things became more serious. When it was just the two of them, just Y/N and Ralph daydreaming about what their wedding would be like, it seemed exciting and limitless.

But real life has limits. And parents don't like the idea that 'everyone in the wedding party has to learn a complex tap dancing routine' because that's supposedly 'a lot of extra work that old fogies like us can't do'.

Y/N knew that the reality of their engagement would be, well, real. She couldn't even dance so that whole tap routine was a pipe dream of Ralph's that she wished she could accomplish for him.

Yet, no matter how dampened their spirits were, the couple still held that same amount of fervour when they discussed future plans. All they wanted was to have fun with each other, to be happy with each other till death do they part.

Still, first on the agenda was Ralph and Victoria's birthday party.

So, Ralph and his fiancé - which was something he called Y/N whenever he got the chance - were out on the town and searching for the perfect outfits to wear. Ralph was the star of the party so they searched high and low for the perfect suit for him.

"Lovely, I think that one - just like the last thirty you've shown me - makes you look so handsome," Y/N said, her head resting on her hand as she stared at him.

If she was being honest, she was a little bored. They were already in the shop for nearly an hour, looking over everything but not finding anything that he deemed suitable, so they'd probably be there for another hour.

"Handsome isn't enough, my darling, I need to look perfect," he insisted, smiling at her while holding up a grey tuxedo and looking at himself in the mirror. "Perfect, but also sophisticated."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes as she stood and made her way before him. "Why is your current suit not suiting?" She asked, adjusting his cuffs and smoothing down the sleeves.

"It's boring."

"It is."

"But if I choose a fun colour, I certainly won't look sophisticated. I'm in a pickle." He sighed. "A real pickle."

Despite how dramatic Ralph was, Y/N always tried to fix the problem. She'd chuckle at him then thought what was the easiest way to get the best of both worlds. She knew he could be somewhat childish sometimes, but she found it funny nonetheless.

"Pick a colour."

"Oooooh, umm.... Green!"

With that answer, Y/N found a clerk and tapped him on the shoulder, who turned around to face them with a bright smile, "What may I help you with?"

"Do you sell a green suit? Maybe a hunter or an olive or a dark green? Do you have anything particularly greenish, something that makes a mild statement?"

The man nodded and began rummaging through the racks. His fingers moved swiftly, and eventually, a few moments later, his face brightened. "I believe I do have something that suits your needs, Miss," he said as he brought out a fern green suit that was different enough that it would stand out as such but muted that it wasn't outlandish.

And Ralph loved it immediately. The colour complimented his pale skin perfectly and added a touch of elegance to his overall demeanour. "I think this is it," he told Y/N as he picked the garment up and examined it closely. "I've got to try it on!"

"Go ahead, lovely," she replied, smiling warmly at him as he disappeared into the changing rooms. She turned to the tailor. "I expect we'll be buying that one," she told him as he nodded.

"Very well, ma'am."

In the end, Ralph did buy that suit. Obviously, it needed some slight tailoring to make it fit perfectly but Ralph was sold. He liked the way it made him look - grown but still vibrant, mature yet carefree. He felt like an adult now. A very grown up adult that was going to get married in a couple of months.

Originally, the shopping trip had been for Ralph. They both knew he was particular and it would take a while until he found something acceptable and fashionable enough. Yet, as they were walking in through the shopping district, Ralph stopped in place and pointed at a dress in the store window.

"That is perfect for you, my darling, let's get that one."

Before she even had a chance to reply, he was pulling her into the shop. "Come on, come on," he urged, tugging on her arm until they were at the counter. The cashier smiled brightly at them.

"Good afternoon, sir and madam! How may I help you today?"

"That dress, the robes de style one in the middle of the storefront, would it be possible for my fiancé to try it on?" Ralph answered for them.

"Yes, absolutely!" The cashier chirped excitedly and rushed to take the dress off the mannequin and bring it over to Y/N. But before she handed it over, the cashier held it up to Y/N's body, inspecting how it would look on her closely.

After a few moments of contemplation, she grinned and placed the garment in Y/N's hands. "You should definitely try this on. It will look wonderful on you, miss." She gave Y/N a wink. "I'm sure you'll love it."

"Thank you."

Y/N changed into the outfit, hoopskirt and all, and took a deep breath before stepping outside, ready to show it off to Ralph. When she finally emerged from the dressing room, he beamed at her, stunned speechless. Her dress was a long dark green gown decorated with white flowers that flowed loosely from the waist down, falling in graceful waves to the floor.

"Please say something," She teased once Ralph regained control of his tongue. He didn't, however, speak. He just continued to look in awe at her.

"Wow, Y/N... That's..." He trailed off, trying to find the right words for his feelings. He'd never seen something so beautiful before. It was almost breathtaking.

So stunning that he couldn't quite comprehend why a person like Y/N would want to spend the rest of her life by his side. "I don't know how to describe it," he confessed, "I simply cannot express how stunning you look."

His voice sounded shaky, maybe a little too soft, maybe a little too sincere. In spite of that, Y/N still blushed at his kind compliment and moved to check herself out in a mirror. Her fingers played with the fabric of her skirt as she gazed at her reflection, feeling overwhelmed.

"Are you sure I look okay? I don't want to embarrass myself in front of your family and friends-"

"Okay? No, you don't look okay. You look perfect."

"Ralph-"

Getting to his feet, Ralph wrapped his arms gently around Y/N's waist and brought her back against his chest, leaning his chin upon her shoulder. "Hey, look at me," he insisted, tilting her chin so she'd catch his eye. "Your beauty rivals any star in the sky. You give Aphrodite something to worry about when you're out there walking around the streets in your dailies, so imagine the headache she'll get when you're seen in this.

A flustered giggle bubbled past her lips, a smile spreading across her face as a blush grew deeper on her cheeks. "You really are too sweet," she whispered as she closed her eyes and took a breath.

As Y/N opened her eyes, she saw another customer watching them curiously. The woman looked familiar and Y/N couldn't figure out where she'd seen them before. In the mirror, Ralph followed his fiancé's eyeline and yelped, "Oh! Sonia, hi!"

"Raphael."

The pair disconnected their embrace and stood up straight, facing the lady. "Sonia, this is Y/N, my soon to be wife," Ralph introduced them with a strained grin.

Sonia was silent for a second before reaching forward to shake Y/N's hand. "Nice to meet you Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you too." She replied, smiling politely and glancing at Ralph, who was standing awkwardly beside her and scratching the nape of his neck nervously.

"It's a miracle that Raphael found someone. You'd never believe how many times we found him trying to sneak into our girls' night when we were young," Sonia chuckled, shaking her head as she let go of Y/N's hand and took a step back. "Remember when you proposed to me?"

"I, uh... I don't recall," Ralph mumbled, suddenly remembering how that particular evening had happened.

"Surely you remember. You got down on one knee, managed to squish my cat and ran away when my father came to see what all the fuss was about."

Ralph laughed awkwardly, "Yeah... I remember that."

Beside him, Y/N slid her hand in his and gave him a reassuring squeeze, which caused him to look back at her. She offered a small smile and that was all he needed in order to calm down.

"Well, I'm glad you turned him down," Y/N added, "You left him open for me to snap up, so thank you for that."

Then Sonia scoffed. She scoffed. Like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Like Ralph wasn't a catch. So, Y/N gently ran her hand up and down his arm in a comforting manner, hoping that it would ease some of his tension. And she succeeded, because soon, his shoulders relaxed considerably.

"Where's your ring?" Sonia asked, nodding towards the lack of engagement band adorning the bride's finger.

Now that was something they'd completely forgotten about. But not to worry, Y/N lied, "It's being resized as we speak. You seemed to think I had daintier fingers than I actually do, didn't you, my darling?"

My darling. He felt lightheaded as she said it, her words bringing a warmth to his heart and a flush to his cheeks. He couldn't help grinning widely at her, unable to stop himself from nodding like a fool.

"Well, I should go take this off so we can pay for it. Would you mind helping me with the zip, lovely? It's definitely a two person task," she asked Ralph and guided him towards the changing room. Over her shoulder, Y/N called back, "Goodbye Sonia, hope we see you at the party."

When the pair were firmly behind the changing room curtain, Ralph let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall, covering his face with both hands. As his heart beat slowly slowed to its regular rhythm again, he heard Y/N chuckle quietly. He peeked through his fingertips at the sound of her quiet laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"I think she was trying to make me jealous."

"Did it work?"

"A little."

Gently, she removed his hands from his face and smiled softly up at him. For a moment, neither of them spoke and Ralph realised his gaze was fixed entirely on her lips. His eyes then drifted downward until they rested upon her mouth and then, slowly, he leaned in towards her.

Yet, before he could reach her lips, the cashier had been directed towards the changing rooms and warned, "Mr and Miss Penbury, I'm afraid we don't permit men to go back there."

They pulled back hastily at the realisation of their mistake and immediately apologised as Ralph rushed away. As the curtain moved, the cashier could clearly see that Y/N was still fully clothed - despite the fact that a concerned customer (Sonia) had told her that the Penbury's were planning on scandalising the changing room - and explained, "Sorry, ma'am, I just needed help with the zip."

Because that part actually hadn't been a lie.

"I'll help you then, miss."

Soon, Y/N was back in her normal clothes and the dress had been paid for. After thanking the cashier for the trouble, Ralph and Y/N walked out together with their respective party clothes and a flush to their cheeks.

Had they really almost kissed?

Ralph had thought about it plenty of times during the course of their time together, but had never acted on the urge before. At the moment, however, he was finding it hard to ignore the temptation to pull her close and press his lips against hers. And it was only getting harder.

"I was thinking we could stop off at the jewellers, get you a ring, then head to mine to relax a bit," he suggested hopefully, pulling Y/N from her thoughts.

"Don't you think we've spent enough money today?" She teased playfully, her fingers playing idly with the hem of his shirt as they wandered along the pavement.

"Let me spoil you." He wrapped his arm around her waist once more and squidged her towards him. "Please?"

Like he usually did, he looked at her with those big beautiful brown eyes that always made her melt. She sighed in defeat, knowing how futile her attempts at getting out of this would be. It was almost impossible to refuse his request.

Especially since, deep down inside, she knew that she'd spend hours gazing at her new engagement ring.

"Fine! Fine! Let's go get a ring."

Within seconds of them passing the threshold of the jewellers, Ralph was exclaiming, "Show me the most expensive engagement ring you sell, dear sir!" and was promptly smacked on the arm.

"He doesn't mean that."

"I certainly do."

The pair walked up to one of the display cases and gazed at all the shiny objects within it. And thanks to his declaration, the jeweller came straight up to them. After a long winded sales pitch, they were guided to the case that held the engagement rings with the most expensive on the right hand side and least on the left. Ralph, obviously, went to the right.

"My wife will get the best of the best." He reached out and grabbed her arm to pull her in front of him and ensure they were both looking in the same section. And as he peered over her shoulder, he whispered under his breath, "Because she deserves it."

Y/N's ears perked up, but she decided to keep quiet and, instead, she focused her attention on the rings. They were beautiful pieces, to be sure, though she had to admit that the more expensive ones looked heavy and clunky and just generally too show offish - which rich people tended to like - but it wasn't their taste.

"Don't you think they're a bit garish?" she whispered back to him, gesturing to the rings that they were currently looking at.

"Maybe...that one does look like you need to lift some weights to be able to carry it."

In synchrony, the pair took a step to the left. Almost immediately, Y/N's eye caught a glimpse of a beautiful band and pointed to it, saying, "What about that one?"

The jeweller was already unlocking the case to take the object in question out. The ring was almost like a flower as the main jewel in the middle was surrounded by ten small teardrop gems, five on either side.

"Here, this piece is called the Matilda. It's a halo style and comes in both a 14k/18k white gold or a platinum band. As you can see there is a two carat colour H diamond circled by ten Agate gemstones," the jeweller explained whilst delicately tracing each part of the ring he was talking about. "Many people believe that Agate is 'the stone of happiness’ and that it can help strengthen love, so you can guarantee that your marriage will be a happy one with this ring on your finger."

While that was a bold claim to make, they were both sold. The ring was gorgeous, to say the least, and Ralph was determined to have it. With a grin plastered across his features, he tucked his down to give his fiancé a kiss on the cheek and confirmed, "This is the one."

Then they got on with an incredibly long winded process, which she assumed the jeweller was purposely asking so many additional questions in the hope Ralph would spend more money than he needed to, and came out of the shop with the knowledge that in a few days her ring would be all perfect and ready.

"You're going to let me pay half," she matter of factly told him once they were on their walk home.

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"Y/N."

"Ralph."

"I'm not going to let you pay for your own engagement ring."

Despite how cutely she was pouting, he wasn't going to give in on this. If anything, he thought she was far too adorable when she tried to act stubbornly. He'd never tire of it.

"Then let me pay you back for our clothes."

"But-"

"Ralph."

"Okay, okay, you win." He conceded reluctantly. "As you wish."

Smiling gratefully, she looped her arm through his and walked the remainder of their journey as they usually did. Then, as they turned the corner of their street, Y/N let out a "Oh no" when she saw a familiar car parked outside her apartment. Her dad stood tall and proud as he knocked on her front door.

"You could always do a loop if you don't want to meet my father yet," Y/N offered as she gestured towards him.

"I'll have to meet him at some point, why not now?" He shrugged and started forward. "It's only polite."

Okay, so he was doing this. Ralph, filled with a mass amount of confidence for reasons that were completely unknown to him, dragged Y/N along the pavement until they reached her father, where he chirped, "Hello, Mr L/N, sir. Nice to finally meet you."

"And you as well, Mr Penbury."

Ralph noticed the brief flash of something that appeared briefly in his eyes; although that quickly changed when Y/N said, "Well, come on in," as she pushed past both men to let herself into the house. The men didn't hesitate to follow suit and after they had shed their coats, Ralph offered to warm up the tea (which she had to show him how to do a week or so prior) while the L/N's got settled on the couch.

"Dear, you shouldn't make your guests do the tea making."

"Ralph is hardly a guest anymore." However, she did get up to help him since "I put the sugar in a different cupboard than last time, now that I think about it. I'll be right back."

Like he was a statue, Ralph stood completely still. He was so deeply in thought that he didn't even notice Y/N coming up behind him until she rested her chin on his shoulder and softly purred, "I can do it myself, if you like. Go ahead and sit down."

At first, Ralph felt slightly flustered by the touch, but he managed to regain himself in a split second and, with a sheepish smile that seemed to light up his whole face, moved his feet a few steps closer to the couch and sat down next to Mr L/N.

"I apologise for not asking for your permission before I proposed, really, I just... I was just so excited that I couldn't stop thinking about it." His nervous laugh brought a smile to Mr L/N’s face. "That must have sounded terribly stupid to you, but-"

"No, not at all. I understand perfectly," Mr L/N assured him kindly. "And honestly, it was quite sweet. I can tell that she's quite taken by you too."

Tea tray in hand, Y/N returned back to the living room just as Ralph had opened his mouth to speak again. She smiled brightly as she poured him his drink and whatever he was going to say drifted away.

"Still take two sugars, pa?"

"Hasn't changed in years and I doubt it will ever change."

Asking Ralph how he took his tea was unneeded because she knew exactly what he liked, and did it without fuss. Her father was about to bring up how she'd given Ralph what he thought was a thoughtless cup but stopped as soon as the boy took a sip and praised, "Perfect. As always," with that goofy expression that he seemed to give Y/N so often.

Mr L/N had been in the couple's presence for less than five minutes and he had a firm grasp on the way the young couple interacted. There was an ease between them that spoke volumes; there was affection and comfort that only grew more apparent with every passing minute.

"Squidge over, mister."

Y/N patted Ralph on the thigh so he'd give her some space to sit down and, once he complied, the girl leaned against her fiance's side as she sipped from her own mug.

"Onto business, huh?"

For the next hour or so, the trio spoke about just about anything - from the wedding to the Penbury theatre to where the best tennis courts were in the surrounding area - and Ralph felt included immediately in every conversation they had. Mr L/N allowed Ralph to say his opinion without fear of being interrupted or judged for it.

When all was said and done, Mr L/N slapped his thighs and said, "Best be going before your mother starts worrying. I don't want to get in trouble with her. Word for the wise, Ralph, don't get on the wrong side of L/N women, they can get extremely fierce."

He chuckled at that and replied, "I wouldn't dream of it."

The man then extended his hand to shake Ralph's and gave him an encouraging smile. "Look after my daughter - she can be stubborn but that doesn't mean she's right all the time - humble her a bit, will you?" He joked, earning a playful punch to the shoulder by his daughter. "See? Fierce."

"I'll try," Ralph replied sincerely with a smirk on his face as Y/N rolled her eyes at him playfully.

"Good!" Mr L/N then grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

Once it closed behind him, Y/N turned to face Ralph with a faux offended expression. "You'll try to humble me, will you, Raphael?" she jeered, barely holding her amusement back.

"That's not even my name!" he cried defensively and only let himself relax when she smiled. "I really thought I was in the dog house then."

Chuckling, she went to clear away the cups, but was stopped with firm hands on her waist when Ralph wrapped his arms around her to pull her back into a hug before she had the chance to escape. He'd done that a lot today and would continue to do so as long as she was comfortable with it. And it seemed she didn't mind it too much since she relaxed in his embrace.

"You know, I think my dad might like you more than he likes me," she complimented with a giggle as she tilted her head back onto his shoulder. "You are so charming."

"I suppose I am, aren't I?" he replied smugly, a little self conscious but also secretly pleased at the compliment nonetheless.

She turned in his arms so they were facing each other and looked deep intently into his eyes. "You've charmed me too," she said slowly before leaning in to hug him back. His arms tightened around her instantly and he breathed a sigh of relief as she nuzzled her nose against his chest in order to hide her shy smile.

Maybe she wasn't faking anymore. Maybe she never had.

He was quite disappointed when she pulled back from his embrace after a moment and cleared his throat awkwardly to gain his composure as she set about putting everything away. But he quickly brushed it aside.

It was fine. He didn't actually want to hug her anymore. Yeah. That was enough for him. It's not as if he was addicted to her touch or anything, anyway. Not that it mattered. He could handle the rejection.

"Y/N, um…" Ralph began hesitantly as he trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

"Hmm?" she hummed, not looking up as she placed the finery on the tray and began to return it to her cupboards. He trailed behind her quietly as she made it to the kitchen.

At that moment, he decided that his heart should just go ahead and beat out of his chest for good measure and just let him do it.

"I was wondering…" he trailed off once again, unable to find the right words. Why was it so hard? Why couldn't he just blurt it out?

And she obviously noticed his apprehension. She turned around so she was looking curiously at him and tilted her head slightly to ask why he was having difficulty speaking.

"Is everything alright, lovely?"

"Uh… yep! Yep. You're okay, right? I mean, you don't need to worry. Of course. Yes. Uh..."

She giggled as he continued bumbling over his words, seemingly not knowing where to start. He felt himself blush lightly, embarrassed by how badly he'd stuttered, and tried to cover it by clearing his throat a few times. Y/N watched patiently as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Forget it, I'm sorry, I'm just acting silly," he mumbled after taking another moment to breathe and focus his thoughts better.

"Come here."

Y/N held out her arms towards him and he hesitated only a moment longer before stepping towards her to wrap his arms around her tightly. Her hands ran along his back soothingly as he buried his face into her neck, letting her scent wash over him. A content purr came from his throat.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, stroking his hair gently as he relaxed further into her embrace.

"Nothing's wrong, I promise. It's just... wanted another hug but I didn't want to come across as too needy or weird or something-" He stopped before it turned into a full ramble that would cause him to blurt every single thought he'd ever had about Y/N in one go. He'd expected an angry response, a disgusted remark, something unfavourable but all she did was continue to hold him close and soothingly scratch all the worries away from his head with her fingers. He loved this woman so much.

They stayed like that for a while until he felt calmer again, and although he was still a little worried that she had found him annoying, he felt safe and warm in her arms. At the same time, he realised that maybe it had been silly to act that way. After all, he did love her and she clearly loved him too, no matter if he believed it was two different kinds of love. He just got lost in his own head for a little too long.

As he pulled away from their embrace, he gave her a smile that assured her that he was fine and that he appreciated her comforting touch. "I better get home. Michael is making dinner soon," he murmured, pecking her on the forehead and heading towards his coat and shopping bag to grab both things before walking to his apartment.

Half in, half out of her door, she attempted to kiss him on the cheek but he was in the process of turning to bid her goodbye. Their lips collided, though, which resulted in a small gasp coming from his mouth. She made a sound that seemed like a laugh, whether it was one of surprise or confusion is anyone's guess. Maybe both.

Probably both.

"Oh! I'm sorry!"

"No, no, it was my fault!"

His cheeks had taken on a rosy tint and his hands were rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. Yet, Y/N reached up a hand to caress his cheek softly. "Maybe we should get used to that. Married couples kiss all the time, don't they?" She posed, and he could've been mistaken but she sounded rather coy about that suggestion.

The boy shook his head in disbelief at that statement, though he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from twitching up into a wide grin.

"Only if you're comfortable with it."

To show how comfortable she was, Y/N leant forward to plant her lips squarely on his in an affectionate, yet chaste kiss. This one lasted only a few seconds before they separated and stared at each other with matching smiles, neither of them saying a word as Ralph, dazed and poor lovesick Ralph, stumbled in the general direction of his house.

Somehow he made it to his house without tripping or falling over. Somehow he managed to open his door and stumble inside.

Michael's eyes widened as he saw the state Ralph was in. The look on his face was almost comical considering the situation as he stood frozen with his mouth agape, staring in complete amazement.

"Ralph?"

"Y/N kissed me." Ralph blurted, still somewhat out of it and still looking stunned.

"Ah."

Obviously. Fucking duh. Of course that's why he was acting that way.

"Let's get you somewhere you can lie down."

Ralph was guided to the sofa and helped lay down on it where he would stay until his brain came back online again.

└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘

Victoria and Ralph's party came in a blink of an eye and since Y/N and Ralph were making their first big appearance as a couple, they decided that getting ready together was a great idea

"Lovely, do you mind helping with the zip? I really don't know how I managed to do it in the shop," Y/N called out for him when he was finished buttoning his shirt in the next room.

Ralph was there in an instant. He almost tripped over his own feet as he rushed to her aid and quickly adjusted the zipper on her dress before he stepped back and admired her from behind.

"Do you think I should wear my hair up or down?" she asked, looking at herself in the mirror as she fiddled with one lock of her hair that had fallen in front of her face. She had put on a little makeup to compliment her outfit. It wasn't too much, but enough that Ralph couldn't look away once he'd gotten his first good view.

"Either way, you are a marvel of beauty."

She turned to face him and took her time to take his appearance in. His hair was perfectly combed, his clothes impeccable, and most importantly he seemed happy and excited, that's all she could really focus on. It was rare that Ralph let anything get him down, but he seemed jittery - or more jittery than usual - about this whole thing.

"You look pretty," she breathed and reached to fiddle with his collar just because she wanted to touch him. Ralph caught her hand in midair, pulled her close so she could smell his cologne, and rested his forehead against hers. "You're pretty like a Prince. You look beautiful."

Because he did. His hair was fluffy and wavy. There wasn't even a strand out of place. His skin looked flawless. His dimples were incredibly prominent when he smiled, which was all the damn time. And those eyes... They were so deep and so warm. He looked soft, but strong; it was different yet, at the same time, so familiar.

Once again, his gaze was travelling down from her eyes, lower and lower again.

A knock on the door brought them out of the moment, and it broke whatever spell they had been under. Ralph immediately released her arm and stepped away, but not before shooting her a smile that made her heart pound and her stomach do a weird flip.

Michael stood on the other side of the wood and wasn't all that surprised when Ralph opened Y/N's door. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important?" he said and shot both Y/N and Ralph some kind of knowing look that didn't go unnoticed by either of them.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek and tried her best to hide a smirk. Ralph's eyebrows raised. He knew Michael wouldn't let anything slip about his feelings for her, but he did wish his servant would stop making it so bloody obvious.

"Is it a crime to help my fiancé with her dress, Michael?" Ralph jeered, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile plastered on his face.

"Not at all." Michael gave them a sickly sweet smile. "The car will be here in thirty." Then, directly at Y/N, he added, "And I brought in what you asked me to, Miss Y/N. They're in the sitting room."

"Thank you, Michael."

Almost as quickly as he'd arrived, Michael left with a chuckle and the couple were by themselves once more. Ralph looked at Y/N expectantly.

"Finish getting ready and meet me in the sitting room."

Ralph, obviously, did as she said. The sound of his heels clicking on the wooden floor echoed in the quiet hallway as he returned to his room to continue the final pieces of his outfit. Admittedly, there wasn't much for him to do and he was waiting in the sitting room for Y/N to arrive.

In no time at all, Y/N joined him. As soon as she caught sight of him, she knew he was restraining himself in an effort to not open the very obvious gifts she'd had Michael place on the coffee table. He'd taken the middle seat on the sofa, which was the one directly in front of the stack of presents. He kept his hands on his knees while his fingers fidgeted.

Walking behind the sofa, she leant down next to his ear, whispered softly. "It's okay, you can open them now," and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before settling in beside him and watching as Ralph tore into each present. She was pleased to see how his expression lit up with delight every time he unwrapped the gift.

"How did you know?" He stared at her with wide eyes and waved a tray of paints excitedly.

"Because I know you."

In all their time together, Ralph rarely brought up art. But when he did, he got a certain look in his eye. A longing. Like he missed painting so badly and had been prohibited from doing so. So, she knew. He didn't need to say it.

"I gave it up because my father said I was wasting my time. He got one of the servants to sell my equipment at the flea market," he told her and looked down at the next present she'd placed in his lap. His cheeks flushed a slight pink. "Then, well, it just became something I didn't have the tools to do anymore...until now."

A small shy grin appeared on his lips as he opened another present. She'd gotten him so many art supplies. Paints. Pencils. A sketchbook or two. Canvases. An easel - which was very obvious in its wrapping. Whatever he needed for his art, Y/N had gone out of her way to get it for him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he gushed and attacked her with a hug. It lasted so long that she started to wonder if he would ever release her and if she wanted him to let go. In the end, though, he gently pulled away and grabbed her hand to kiss the back of it as he surveyed all his gifts. "You're so good to me. Thank you so much."

Her blush spread as she smiled at him and squeezed his hand in return, hoping it would convey the warmth that was spreading through her body like wildfire. She didn't care that anyone could walk in at any moment to see them. This was between her and Ralph. No one else mattered.

Yet, it seemed that a gentle squeeze wasn't enough for Ralph as he, once again, found himself moving in to hug her. He knew he was addicted to her affectionate gestures, to her smile, to the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him and how she always lets him hold her whenever they're alone.

"Can we stay like this all night?" he whined and buried his head in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of her perfume. The faint notes reminded him of early evening sunsets. Of falling in love. Of Y/N. The thought brought a huge smile to his face.

"You look far too handsome to stay indoors tonight," she replied playfully and pressed a light kiss on his forehead, quickly wiping away the faint red lipstick mark she'd left there.

Victoria would definitely have some choice words to say if Ralph didn't attend their birthday party.

Y/N leaned back to admire him. "But if you don't feel up for it anymore, just say so and we'll stay here. We can make up an excuse about me feeling under the weather or something." She paused momentarily to brush a stray piece of hair away from his forehead. "Would be a shame to miss out on your birthday party, though."

After their first smooch, they hadn't had many more. Seven. Ralph had counted. Every evening when they would part, Y/N would place a sweet peck on his lips to say goodbye. He'd never initiated it. Until now. As soon as she finished speaking, Ralph went for it.

While she was surprised by his forwardness, she certainly wasn't opposed to it. And besides, why should she? Her hand cupped the back of his head and guided him closer, giving him better access to her lips. Ralph eagerly reciprocated, taking advantage of their proximity and deepening the kiss with a passion he hadn't used towards anyone before.

His hands roamed freely on her shoulders, around her waist, and then, finally, cupping her jaw. Her own hand fell to rest at his nape, the pad of her thumb brushing soothing circles in a gentle rhythm that made him not want to come up for air. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Oh!"

Anna yelped at the scene before her and brought them both back into reality. She watched as the couple stumbled apart with blushing faces and sheepish laughs.

"We were just-" Ralph started, his voice slightly hoarse and raspy, as he coughed awkwardly, trying to recover from their embarrassing display.

"The car is here." Anna interrupted, giving them a little smile. They both nodded and moved to leave, but before Ralph passed her, Anna held her hand out for him to stop.

Once he did, Anna reached into her pocket for a handkerchief and wiped away the messy marks of lipstick around his lips. He didn't protest, he appreciated the gesture more than he cared to admit. After she was sure she'd covered everything, she handed the small square of fabric to him.

"Behave yourselves," she said with a wink and walked out of the room with a spring in her step. As soon as she heard the door close, Y/N felt Ralph's warm hand grab hers and give it a firm tug as he dragged her outside.

The ride to the party was bashful. Their fingers were intertwined, their hands rested palm to palm as they shared soft smiles, shy grins, and silent stolen glances throughout the whole drive. That was until Ralph let out a batch of high pitched giggles and Y/N couldn't help but join in, too. The joy in his eyes, his bright smile, the sparkle in his deep eyes, everything was infectious.

Soon, they reached their destination. A large banner hung above the front door with the words 'Victoria & Ralph's 24th' written in gold cursive lettering across it in bold letters. The Penbury's theatre had been renovated for the party. It was now decorated with streamers that glistened golden in the rays of the setting sun. There were balloons everywhere, the tables on either side of the front entrance were decked with flowers and food, and even the stage was festooned with decorations.

"Shall we?" Ralph whispered, gesturing to their entrance where people were already milling around. She grinned and nodded.

With that, they hopped out of the car. Ralph got out first and hurried to open the door for Y/N. He grabbed her hand and led her to the large entrance as the lights began to dim and music filled the air. By the looks of things, most people had arrived and the couple were fashionably late.

Noticing as her brother and his fiancé arrived arm in arm, Victoria rushed over. "You're late, Ralph! What took you so long?!"

"We wanted to make an entrance."

"And this is Y/N? Obviously, this is Y/N! It's so nice to meet you." She reached over and shook Y/N's hand vigorously, almost squeezing it off. "I've been telling Ralph that I, his dearest sister, have been wanting to meet you since I first found out about you two."

No matter the fact that Y/N couldn't entirely say the same - she knew despite her attention seeking ways and often shallow behaviour, Victoria cared for her brother - Y/N offered a "It's nice to meet you too" and Y/N was promptly introduced to everyone they came across. She greeted each and every one of them politely.

It was going smoothly. Really well actually. With Ralph's hand resting firmly on the small of her back as they mingled and tried to hide their annoyance whenever someone wasn't exactly polite or veered too far onto the snobby side of life.

Ralph's parents made an appearance for a few minutes and spoke with the couple before leaving to greet other guests. Y/N had met them before and they gave her a warm welcome - especially his mother who was very complimentary of Y/N's dress - and she was glad that Ralph's parents approved of her. It would be unfortunate if they believed she wasn't a good fit for their son.

Although he knew that nothing - absolutely nothing - would stop him from marrying Y/N, Ralph was rather relieved that she melded so well with his family. Sure, a little tension was still present - mainly whenever the subject of future children was brought up- but overall, it went smoothly.

Like usual, the couple were shoulder to shoulder for most of the night, one hand drinking a glass of champagne and the other intertwining their fingers. Though sometimes, Ralph would lift the back of her hand to his lips and press a kiss to her knuckles.

If it had been all an act, it would've been a bloody good one.

Never before had people praised him. It was his birthday, yes, but as soon as they heard about the engagement, it soon developed into congratulations and Y/N showing off her ring. Ralph's ego was through the roof. He was now known as the future groom. It was a title he had dreamed of having and he wouldn't take it lying down, especially after hearing people refer to him as 'Y/N's husband' which caused the biggest smile to erupt on his face whenever he heard it.

But it wasn't just about the praise. There was a sense of belonging now. Nobody believed he'd ever find someone to marry. He was sure they all believed he'd be a lonely perpetual bachelor until his death day. No. That obviously wasn't true, was it? He was proud to be joining the throng of married folk as it proved that he was perfectly normal.

Simply, there was nothing wrong with him. Sure, he wasn't the most traditionally manly type of guy, but that didn't matter. Y/N knew that. She liked that. She liked him and that was all that he cared about. Bugger everyone else's opinion, Y/N found him and his Ralph-ness appealing.

Along with this new sense of conformity came a new batch of people who were willing to be friendly with Ralph. The group of boy's that Victoria was friends with had never included Ralph before so when they waved him over, he was rather surprised.

"Oh no, what do I do?" He asked himself. His gaze darted between Y/N and the boys, unsure of which one to interact with.

"Take a deep breath and pretend what they are talking about is interesting." Y/N advised.

She saw how a flash of insecurity appeared on his face before it vanished behind a fake smile, so she gently pulled him by the collar into a kiss. "For luck," she whispered against his lips, making his heart flutter like crazy.

"I already consider myself the luckiest man in the entire world because I get to spend my life with you."

"Good," she smiled and leaned forward to peck him again before pushing him in the direction of the boys so he'd begin walking. "Go make friends." He looked back at her one last time, his expression full of hope and love, then made it to the gaggle of men.

Y/N watched for a while to check if he needed saving or if he could handle himself, and she was pleased to see that he seemed to be doing fine on his own. So, she turned away and began wandering the perimeter of the ballroom, observing the people mingling along with a drink in hand, listening to loud conversations as the band played a catchy song, and chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

The Penbury parents had left so their children could let loose without fear of parental judgemental stares. Y/N could easily imagine them sitting at their booth with an amused look on their face as Ralph was hanging out with the lads and Victoria was on the dance floor with her friends. It was perfectly 1920's.

After a while, Y/N found herself exploring the venue. She'd left the party and was in the process of admiring the smaller theatre room that was directly opposite. The music was muffled through the thick walls, giving the space a slightly different feel, yet still pleasant to be in. Probably even more pleasant because it wasn't filled to the brim with strangers.

In the relative quiet, Y/N sat at the edge of the stage and swung her legs like a child. Her mind was beginning to wander as she absentmindedly twiddled her engagement ring on her finger. After her initial shock had worn off, she began thinking over how much better her relationship with Ralph had become. He was a gentleman, he treated her right, and he had taken care of her every need since the moment they met. He also made her laugh a lot.

More than that, though, his company and presence felt comfortable. When he was there, her head felt light, and her worries melted away. Everything seemed so perfect when they were together, like nothing mattered but them.

It was strange really, that she'd fallen for Ralph so quickly. They'd known each other for hardly any time, yet somehow she found herself falling for him, harder than she had expected. As cheesy as it may sound, Y/N was starting to think maybe soulmates did exist, and if that were the case, she hoped Ralph was hers.

That wasn't a thing she'd ever thought about before. Now that the thought crossed her mind, she couldn't help but feel a warmth fill her chest at the mere notion.

"There you are!"

"Sorry, needed a break from all that socialising," Y/N apologised but made no effort to stand because she knew Ralph was in the process of sitting beside her.

He lifted her glass of champagne up and took its place, their thighs squished up tight against each other. Without asking, he downed the remainder of her drink and placed it off to the side. A smile came to his lips as he took her hands in his, bringing them up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against the back of her hand once more.

"You're fond of kissing the back of my hand, aren't you?"

"Gives me a great look at the ring on your finger," he admitted. His eyes flickered to it before they travelled up to meet hers once more and his voice got softer. "It reminds me of how lucky I am that you chose me."

A warm feeling spread throughout her body as he kissed her hand softly once more. He looked back up at her with his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, and for a short, blissful moment, she forgot how to breathe, forgetting about anything except for the man she loved. How could she not when he was looking at her with such intensity and adoration?

"It wasn't a hard choice to make," Y/N told him quietly, playfully bumping her shoulder into his. Her fingers traced the edges of the ring lovingly, a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

Those three words weren't spoken aloud, yet they managed to carry themselves across the silence. They weren't loud enough to cause some type of unwanted attention, but they were enough to make Ralph's breath catch in his throat. His fingers twitched nervously around hers. He knew exactly what she meant. He understood. Of course he did.

"Would you like to dance?" he inquired hopefully.

"You'll have to show me how."

Smiling brightly, he helped her to her feet and led her onto the middle of the stage. She laughed as he guided her through the steps, holding her waist tightly with one hand and keeping the other firmly intertwined with hers. As they danced, their eyes occasionally locked and they shared knowing smiles, letting their emotions run free in the open air.

Soon enough, however, he felt the urge to bring her closer. So with a small smile, he held her tighter and swayed along with her slowly, enjoying the closeness they shared, the sound of their own hearts beating together filling their ears. It was a wonderful song. One where the words were simple but sweet, telling of love and devotion.

At first it was clumsy and almost shy, but gradually he relaxed and soon it flowed naturally, allowing his actions to speak louder than his voice ever could. She listened to him, following along, moving her body to the rhythm without hesitation. Their faces only inches apart, neither daring to break eye contact and neither willing to be the one to do it first.

Victoria had noticed that Ralph and Y/N had disappeared, and while she wasn't a hundred percent sure that she wouldn't find them doing something scandalous, it was coming up to the moment when the birthday cake was brought out and obviously both twins were needed for that.

Yet, as she walked in on the couple, she didn't want to interrupt the moment. Not wanting to make things awkward, she waited patiently outside the door until they'd finished dancing, allowing their privacy to linger for just a few moments longer but couldn't help the smile growing across her face at her brother and his partner.

Ralph's expression was pure bliss, his eyes shining like he'd won the lottery as he gazed down at the woman in his arms. It was clear, even for someone as non-committal as Victoria, that those two were in love. It didn't take her long to spot the sparkles that flew between them whenever the pair interacted. But now she was absolutely sure.

Y/N was good enough for her dear brother.

When the end of song came, Victoria knocked again on the door, not wanting the couple to startle in their position, especially as they didn't seem ready to part just yet, although they did pull apart and straightened their clothes.

"Sorry to disturb you," Victoria spoke, causing the couple to turn to face her immediately. "Cake time!"

With a sheepish smile, Ralph offered his arm and Y/N accepted it gracefully while Victoria led the way back into the ballroom. Once everyone had received their slice of cake, a cheer went round the tables followed by clapping and cheers and singing.

As Y/N took a bite of her piece of chocolate cake, her eyes widened in delight when she tasted the flavour. "Good choice, my darling," she mumbled at Ralph through a mouth full of cake and a satisfied hum.

"Our cousin owns the bakery nearby; the best thing we get here is her famous chocolate cake!" Victoria explained animatedly with a large grin on her face. "She even makes it with her own chocolate."

Once they were done eating, Ralph leant over to wipe away a crumb or two from the corner of her mouth and licked the remnants away from his thumb. Her cheeks flushed pink at the action and she smiled shyly, averting her gaze as she bit at her lower lip in embarrassment.

"Would you like another drink?" she asked after clearing her throat and standing up. Ralph nodded in confirmation, and she excused herself briefly to fetch more champagne, leaving the two siblings to gossip between themselves.

It was quiet for around five seconds before Ralph couldn't help himself from blurting out, "What do you think?"

"She's perfect for you."

"I know!"

They shared a quick laugh before returning to their conversation. And when Y/N returned with another bottle of champagne that she'd been given by one of the servers, they were both grinning ear to ear.

Throughout the rest of the night, everyone got progressively drunker as the night wore on. The amount of alcohol ingested grew and soon people started getting rowdy and unruly. Victoria had found her plaything for the night among the crowd of partygoers and was dancing wildly with him, oblivious to the fact that he was trying to kiss her.

Ralph was having more luck with his escapade. Ever since he'd managed to coax Y/N onto the dance floor, his head had been nuzzled against her neck the entire time and he'd forgotten the amount of times he'd pressed sloppy, open mouthed smooches to her skin.

If he hadn't been busy being enamoured by her, he might've been more aware that it wasn't the most socially acceptable thing to do but he didn't care. She seemed perfectly fine and even giggled occasionally, her cheeks tinted pink in amusement.

"Oops, I left a mark there," he commented, smiling widely as he ran his fingers lightly over the hickey on her neck. "Sorry, sorry."

Yet, he didn't feel all that sorry. Especially when he noticed Y/N biting her lip, her eyes staring deep into his. If he wasn't mistaken then he saw a flicker of lust in her eyes but that could very well have been imagination.

Before she knew it, Ralph was returning his lips to her neck but this time slower, making his movements linger so much that she felt a tingle running through her body. She closed her eyes at the sensation and moaned low in her throat, her fingers reaching up to grip his hair in an attempt to ground herself.

"Ralph," she breathed out, the word barely audible over the music but he still heard every single word. He smirked into her neck. He would've never thought he'd get the chance to do such a thing again. To kiss her this way. This intimately.

"Mmhm?" he hummed slowly, brushing his nose against her cheekbone before placing feathery kisses along it. Her breath caught in her throat at the feeling and she leaned forward to hide her flushed face against his shoulder, inhaling sharply when she felt his hand move to her waist and hold her firmly in place.

Who knew she'd be so receptive to his lips? Who knew that she would enjoy his touch this much? That she would enjoy being pressed against his body, breathing him in?

But some part of his brain still hasn't accepted the notion that, yes, Y/N clearly had more than platonic feelings for him, and in his drunken state, he got rather concerned all of a sudden. That blush he'd seen on her face may have come from discomfort. Oh, that's why she was hiding her face.

Because she was embarrassed that he'd shown so much affection for her in public, in front of people who'd known that Ralph Penbury was making moves on Y/N L/N and she just had to stand and take it.

So, he quickly (yet sloppily) reared back to inquire, "Sorry, I apol-apologise if I'm making you uncomfortable-" He stopped mid sentence upon seeing her face contort slightly and she tried desperately hard to stop a giggle from escaping her throat but failed miserably.

Y/N cradled his cheeks with a grip more heavy handed than she intended for it to be and pressed a firm kiss on his lips. "No apologies," she whispered. "Don't apologise. Please don't apologise. You're wonderful; I'll admit it. I love you, don't worry about it. Love you so much, Ralphie."

"W-wha? What?" he stuttered in response, looking dazed.

His mind was reeling and was unable to comprehend everything Y/N just said. It was overwhelming and he could hardly breathe, let alone think. How was he supposed to reply to anything? Especially after everything she just said to him?

He was unprepared for her to say it. And, it got even worse when her thumbs brushed against his cheeks as a small, coy smile tugged the corners of her mouth upwards but, despite it, there was also an almost desperate look in her eyes.

"I love you," she repeated, her words echoing in his ears and filling him with a sense of euphoria and hope. "I… I really do love you."

Just as he'd done when he first saw her, Ralph lost all control of his legs because he was suddenly falling to the floor. His knees gave out underneath him and he landed awkwardly on his butt as his hands reached out to catch himself and stop him from hitting the ground. Yet, it was too late.

While he was not so graceful falling, he caught a hold of Y/N's hands and brought her down with him, causing her to land directly on top of him in a clumsy mess of limbs. They were both laughing hysterically but it didn't matter anymore, neither cared.

Despite the fact that many of the remaining partygoers had witnessed the ordeal, neither cared about what they might think or say. The love that kept flowing, always flowing, was finally out in the open. So it made no difference whether they were seen or not.

As Ralph looked up at Y/N, he brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and caught her eye. The second their gazes met, an uproar of laughter erupted from their throats. As soon as she noticed the smile playing across his features and the look of pure adoration in his eyes, she couldn't help but smile broadly back. It was impossible not to.

"I really love you too, my darling. Always have. From the moment we met," he admitted softly, brushing the tip of his nose against hers tenderly.

"You did?" she asked with wide eyes.

"Head over heels. Figuratively and literally."

Giggling, Y/N manoeuvred to sit on the floor beside him and pulled Ralph up until he was sitting upright again. "I think it's time we went home, huh?" she teased softly. Then, she added a new pet name she was sure he'd like. "My love."

My love. She called him that. Without being prompted or because they were in front of people that they needed to convince. No. He was her love. He had her love, her affection. And she had his.

Ever the drama queen, Ralph raised the back of his hand to his forehead and playfully flopped back to the ground, sighing loudly as his heart filled with happiness. "Oh god," he groaned under his breath and covered his face with his hands as he began to giggle again. "This is the best birthday ever."

Ralph was soon tugged to his feet, albeit hesitantly as he was sure he could've stayed on the floor - in that moment - forever but he saw the oncoming shoes of his sister approaching them and let Y/N pull him up.

"I think you better get him home, Y/N," Victoria urged, poking at Ralph's chest to see how quickly he'd lose balance. But, instead of stumbling around like the drunken idiot that he was, Ralph was able to hold onto Y/N's arm so he didn't end up on the ground again.

"I was thinking that too. Let's get you to bed, big guy," Y/N chuckled warmly as she looped her arms through his, intertwining her fingers with his as they walked together towards the exit, but before they were out of range, Y/N called back to Victoria, "It was lovely meeting you!"

She watched as Victoria smiled kindly at her. "You too, Y/N. Take good care of my little brother, okay?"

"Will do!"

The car ride home went by in a blur. Within two minutes of being sat down, Ralph fell asleep, slumped against the door whilst his head lolled lazily and Y/N gently moved him towards her shoulder as she assumed that would be comfier.

After getting him situated, Y/N let her nose fall to the top of his hair, inhaling the sweet scent of him. She smiled softly to herself, her finger tracing random patterns on his hand as she listened to his quiet snoring, knowing that this man - her man - was going to be by her side forever.

Once they'd reached their street, Y/N woke him by giving him a gentle shake, which caused his eyelids to slowly flutter open and reveal the adorable sleepy grin plastered to his face.

"We're home, lovely," she cooed and tried not to let him fall back asleep when he nuzzled into her neck. "I'm sure you'd prefer to sleep in a bed than a car, hmm?"

"Are you going to be in my bed?" Ralph mumbled groggily against her skin and she laughed softly in response.

"That can be arranged."

Getting him up the stairs of his apartment was a task that was proving extremely difficult and very tiring for the both of them especially as they were both quite intoxicated. Y/N was tipsy. Ralph was tired and tipsy. It was a struggle but they found themselves giggling like naughty schoolchildren as they stumbled, tripping and nearly falling down multiple times due to their drunkenness. They laughed and squealed as they managed to make it safely to Ralph's bedroom and collapsed onto his soft mattress.

"We should get into our pyjamas," Y/N suggested with a yawn. "Then we can sleep. Yes, that's a plan. Do you like that plan?"

Looking over at Ralph, she immediately noticed that he'd fallen asleep again as soon as his head hit the pillow, completely worn out. She couldn't help but find him cute in this state. His breathing remained even as his chest rose and fell, his body relaxed and unmoving from the position he had fallen into.

"You know what, you need your rest."

As quietly as she could, Y/N searched for something suitable for her to wear to bed. Ralph had a silk robe hung up on the back of his door and she knew that was exactly it. Undressing down to her under garments, she slid the robe on, tied it, removed her makeup and got under the duvet.

With a quick kiss to his temple, Y/N settled in for the night beside her fiancé and drifted off to sleep as the familiar smell of Ralph's cologne wafted into her nostrils, comforting her in the most soothing manner possible as she drifted off to dreamland. Albeit, she was not ready for the headache that awaited her in the morning, but it was worth it in the end.

Ralph thought he was dreaming when he woke in the morning. There wasn't any light streaming through his window. There weren't any birds chirping outside and, yet, somehow, he felt as if he was in heaven when he saw Y/N's peaceful sleeping face right next to him.

It was impossible for him to restrain himself and he quickly undid some of his shirt buttons, threw off his jacket and got under the duvet so he was more comfortable. His movement must've woken her a bit as she turned to wrap her arm around him, mumbling in a hoarse voice, "Let's sleep these hangovers off…"

Smiling softly, Ralph closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "Yes, alright." He took one last glance down at her, admiring the beautiful girl lying in his arms before he let himself drift off to sleep once more.

└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘

Why do weddings take so long to plan? Both Ralph and Y/N often thought that. It was one simple day that was supposed to be about love and not how flashy of an event it is. They had half a mind to cut out the middleman and just do it. Just go to the registry office and be married, no hassle.

Yet, things had been booked and bought. It would've been a waste to throw it all away now. Plus, is there anything wrong with wanting to boast about how well you can financially provide for your wife? Ralph was more than willing to do that. It was his chance to really show off. Yeah, he did have a great partner who deserves to be completely spoiled with riches and put on a pedestal so he could cheer from the rooftops, "This is my wife! Look how happy and beautiful she is!" That was the Pembury way, after all.

Y/N let go of the organising reins very quickly. Victoria and Ralph's mother were forthcoming with all of their ideas and it became clear early on that it was going to be a Penbury wedding through and through. It was best to let them do all the hassle, Y/N reasoned. She was destined to live with them for the rest of her life, why not keep things polite and cordial for the sake of Ralph. And Y/N's sanity. All that Y/N requested was that she could pick her dress. That was it. Victoria had elected herself as Maid of Honour and heavily suggested that an old friend of Y/N's named Brennan would serve as Ralph's best man, despite the fact that the guys had only interacted once before.

Brennan, as Ralph would come to find out, was a completely different man when Y/N wasn't around. When he had first met the guy, he'd been nice. Charming even. But now the big day had arrived and the two wedding batches were in the process of getting ready, Brennan looked as if he'd eaten something sour. He'd been pouting like a slapped child since they'd begun.

They were lounging around in a hotel room that wasn't too far from the chapel and the very first thing that Brennan did was to slam the door when he entered. That set the tone for the rest of Ralph's interactions with him for the day. Still, there was nothing that would quell his excitement. He was getting married. Actually getting married, how crazy is that? And to Y/N of all people? Ralph knew he was blessed, utterly and truly blessed.

If he were poor, he'd say it was as if he'd won the lottery. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could wipe the goofy look from Ralph's face. Not even when Brennan posed, "It's rather strange actually," as he looked across at Ralph as he did the buttons up of his shirt.

"Hmm?"

"Back in the day, everyone thought it would've been Y/N and I that were set to be wed. That is, if they even believed it was possible to tame the beast." He chuckled bitterly to himself. "How did you achieve such a thing?"

Ralph's brows furrowed at that question. Ah, that's why. Yet, there was no part of him that felt any kind of jealousy or anything of that sort. However, there was an overall demeanour of disappointment from Ralph to Brennan. "I didn't. Wouldn't want to," Ralph replied simply and turned towards the mirror so he could no longer see him in the corner of his eye.

Why would you want to 'tame the beast'?, he thought to himself. It was borderline blasphemy to imply such a thing. Y/N was not a wild animal to be tamed. She was his equal, his partner, her own person. And that should never change. The thought that there were men such as Brennan in her life that wanted to put out that spark, that flame of passion within her, was a foreign concept to Ralph, and will always be.

For a moment, Ralph wondered if Y/N knew about this side of her old friend. He assumed she was somewhat aware. Why else would she not keep him around that much these days? Honestly, she had barely mentioned his name. There had been a few times when they passed his house and Y/N had pointed out, "Oh, my friend Brennan lives there," then they moved on.

Some part of Ralph wanted to be smug. He wanted to stir the pot, so to speak, and emphasise the fact that Y/N had chosen him in the end. They were going to live happily ever after. What was Brennan going to get? Nothing but a piece of Penbury wedding cake, which had been made by their cousin who owned the best bakery in the west end and was sure to cause everyone to say, "How delicious, this simply is the best cake I've ever eaten."

But, if he wanted the day to go perfectly, he'd have to be civil with the best man. Ralph sighed to himself and turned back towards the mirror to fix a strand of hair into place and check over his suit for the hundredth time. He looked good enough to eat, that was for certain. Yet, was he handsome enough for Y/N? He hoped so. He couldn't help it - it was the nerves. No matter what he tried, his thoughts kept wandering. Brennan was a handsome guy too, although he was good three inches taller than him, at least. No. No. He couldn't start the self loathing now, especially not when he had the whole day ahead of him.

Instead, he imagined what Y/N would look like in her gown. How pretty she would be, how soft her skin might feel under his touch, how radiant her smile would become as she took in every aspect of their surroundings as she walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar, to hear her say her vows.

Then he couldn't help but let his mind wander to more salacious matters. Like how pretty and rosy her cheeks would get when that gown would fall off her shoulder, exposing the skin to his greedy eyes. How he could make her eyes glint as he kissed his way down her neck and jawline before he proceeded further south. How she would gasp as his mouth devoured hers in the most passionate kiss she'd ever experienced. Her lips would taste sweet, he mused, like the strawberry lip balm she always wore. Ralph's cheeks burned as he pictured the possibility of their nighttime activities. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of her, naked, underneath him, his hands exploring every inch of her body. Her moans and whines would surely echo in his ears throughout the night, making it all the more sweeter.

A dream that could come to be. Or maybe it was vision to torture him for the rest of the day. Either way, he wasn't going to complain, but he would have to shake the thought away for now so he wouldn't be showing signs of what he was thinking about. That's just not proper with somebody else in the room. Especially if that person was Brennan. Ralph knew if he even made the most minor slip up, that misogynist was going to spread the word and, honestly, Ralph couldn't be bothered with drama on his wedding day. Any other day? Completely fine. Encouraged actually. Not today.

Similarly, Y/N was trying to keep her cool as Victoria and Mrs Penbury kept asking her things like she'd had a say about what was going on. They'd arranged everything from the get go, why didn't they know? Y/N was clueless by their design and her only true focus was getting into her dress and making herself look presentable. No, not presentable. Perfect. She needed to look perfect.

Obviously Ralph would look dashing, that was a given. Somehow Y/N had to spruce herself up enough that it would make sense that someone as handsome as Ralph would go for her. Just a little more makeup than usual. Maybe some lipstick. A dash of perfume and perhaps just a touch of rouge to make her complexion more filled with life and feminine.

"You are going far too heavy handed, darling," Victoria remarked with fond amusement as she swiped the blush pot from bride's hand and began to blend as much as she could with her fingers in an attempt to de-clownify her soon to be sister in law. "Nervous?"

"A little."

"Don't be." Victoria dipped a brush into some face powder to cover and tamethe rouge enough so it would look like a flirty splattering of colour rather than an obnoxious rash. "Ralph has always been excited for life, for love, to talk someone's ear off. Mother always said he was so eager to get out in the world that he was literally kicking me out of her womb so he'd get out sooner. And, even though I'm only two minutes older than him, I know that my baby brother has never been this excited in his entire existence. Trust me, he loves you dearly and is quite looking forward to marrying you."

With that comment, Victoria tilted Y/N's chin so she could get a better angle to coat the bride's lashes with the cake mascara until she was sure that her masterpiece was finished. After checking the result with a smile, Victoria nodded her approval of her work and placed her hands atop Y/N's shoulders as she gave them a gentle squeeze before letting her hands drop to her sides as she stepped back and smiled at Y/N as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

"My brother is going to faint! Positively faint!"

As Y/N looked into the mirror, she saw a beautiful bride staring right back at her with bright eyes full of hope and wonderment. Her hair framed her face beautifully and, even with the amount of makeup applied, her eyes sparkled with joy as she gazed into the mirror and, finally, allowed her mind to conjure up images of the day she'd never thought would happen.

If someone had used a time machine (as if!) and told Y/N from a year ago that she'd actually accepted a marriage proposal from a gentleman that was kind and sweet and needy and all of those other nice adjectives people use to describe the person they're in love with, she may've just laughed at them. But here she sat. In a white gown. With an engagement ring on her finger. With the knowledge that her fiancé was exactly one hundred percent pleased with the prospect of their future together. The idea seemed ludicrous.

Ridiculous enough that it actually made the corners of Y/N's eyes crinkle as she smiled to herself. Just the thought of Ralph brought happiness to her heart. Of course, they loved each other. Of course they would get married one day. It made sense. Ralph with his big brown eyes. Ralph with his soft curls and dimples. Ralph with his wide smile and warm laughter. Ralph with his voice and his arms. Ralph with his warmth, his presence and his kisses. It was ridiculous and yet it was perfectly reasonable.

She could see him there now. Standing beside her. Smiling down at her. Wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side. Pressing his nose against her cheek and whispering in her ear. His warm breath tickling her skin and sending tingles throughout her body. He could make her smile. Make her laugh. And in return, she'd let him in on things that she would never allow anyone else to even catch a glimpse of.

Even the more naughty glimpses, he'd get in full. He'd see every part of her. Her soul. The inner workings of her brain. And every inch of her body, if he wished to. He'd know where all of her freckles and moles were, and he would have the chance to kiss each and every one of them. He could explore the dips and curves of her body whenever he wanted to, and hopefully he'd extend her the same courtesy.

Despite the fact that it was improper, Y/N had imagined how Ralph would look with her hands in his hair - which was much easier to do now that he'd stopped using all that gel - as she straddled his lap and whispered sweet nothings to him. She had pictured him lying beneath her, his eyes half lidded and his hands resting upon her hips while their lips locked, kissing each other with such passion and longing that their breaths mingled, their hearts pounding in unison, creating a melody that resonated throughout the room. Then her lips would travel downwards, trailing kisses over his chest and onto his abdomen, slowly descending toward his...

"Y/N, dear, we have to leave soon," Mrs Penbury's cheery voice suddenly broke through her reverie. Y/N snapped her head towards her mother in law and tried to wash away any hint on her face about what she'd been imagining.

"Right, yes, right," she replied. Taking one last quick glance in the mirror, Y/N smoothed her hands down her dress and fixed her veil as if nothing had happened, although, in reality, everything in her world had changed. Or, it was about to change.

The Bridal Chorus began and Ralph's body instantly whipped around to look at his bride as she walked into the foyer. She was resplendent. She was glowing. She was radiant. She was beautiful. The champagne coloured gown she was wearing fell over her body like a second layer of skin, complimenting every curve on her body with every step she took. He stared at her in awe, unable to tear himself away from her stunning beauty, as she gracefully made her way towards him.

Since it had become a habit of his, he gripped onto the nearest pew in an effort to stay upright and not completely pass out. He watched her, transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away from her and was soon being gently guided by her to stand back in his original position.

"You look pretty," she whispered in his ear, a giggle capping off her sentence.

It was true. He looked effortlessly gorgeous. His suit was tailored so precisely and neatly that he practically oozed elegance. His tie was pulled perfectly snug against his neck, accentuating the shape of his deceptively broad shoulders underneath and the elegant line of his jaw. He truly did seem to be ready to burst with excitement and it warmed her inside as she stared at him.

"I'm supposed to say that to you, my love," he responded softly in a low, husky tone. "Yet, I don't think pretty is a good enough word to describe how breathtaking you look."

"Flatterer," she teased but smiled anyway, her heart beating faster with each moment that passed by and, despite all her best efforts, her cheeks flushed and her lips quivered ever so slightly. It wasn't often that either of them were nervous, or shy. Yet, when she stood in front of her soon to be husband and couldn't find her tongue to properly articulate herself. She felt so stupidly young, so foolishly enamoured, and so very happy.

"If the young couple are finished with their flirting, we shall begin the ceremony," the priest joked, getting a laugh from the crowd and two sheepish chuckles from the couple in question.

So, the ceremony began. While neither of the families were particularly religious, the whole thing was filled with prayers and hymns and passages from the bible that fell upon the couple's deaf ears. As the priest was babbling on, Ralph had latched onto a part of Y/N's dress and was caressing the lace between his thumb and forefinger while trying to absorb every ounce of detail he could. He couldn't help himself from memorising the texture, because every moment of her, and especially of her today, was precious to him.

"So soft," he silently mouthed to her with a goofy grin on his face, unable to resist touching the material and stroking it.

Brennan caught the little interaction as he glanced over Ralph's shoulder and rolled his eyes at the display. He got Y/N's attention and scrunched his eyebrows together, as if his forehead was showing how he disapproved of their affection. And so he didn't cause a stink - something Brennan was known to do - Y/N subtly reached for Ralph's hand and took it in hers to have the best of both worlds.

Neither of the duo were really paying attention to the priest. Why would they? Their super hot partner was right in front of them! How could they focus on anyone else? Sure, they did the simple call and response moments, and saying their vows took a little more brain power than they wanted to spare since the couple did everything in their power not to look away from each other.

Before they knew it, "You may kiss the bride," was announced by the priest. The couple looked at each other before grinning, leaning in, and connecting their mouths in a gentle kiss. One that was soft and chaste and wouldn't scandalise the crowd of people behind them. One filled with the promise of forever and the purest and most innocent form of devotion.

Cheers and confetti rained as the couple exited the chapel hand in hand, both feeling lightheaded, giddy, almost drunk on the taste of their newly engaged smiles. As they made it into the Rolls Royce Y/N's father had gifted them for the day, the pair scrambled into the backseat to take an overdue moment to breathe and relax and enjoy the fact that they were legally linked in this new way.

When Ralph started giggling to himself, Y/N soon joined in, the infectious laughter echoing around the car. They were laughing and smiling and leaning into each other. There was so much joy coursing through their veins that neither noticed their driver until he spoke to them. "Where to?"

Mrs Penbury had been very adamant that the reception was going to be held at the Pembury's theatre, and why would Y/N disagree? It was the easiest option, after all. And it was a beautiful venue. With its ornate chandeliers, marble floors, tall ceilings and large windows, it seemed rather fitting for a party for two love birds.

The ride there was rather comfortable, as Y/N rested her head in the crook of Ralph's neck as she gazed out of the window and smiled happily. He'd told her that "If I kiss you now, I'm afraid we'll never make it to the reception and everyone will be very mad at us. I promise as soon as we're alone, completely alone..." He looked at the chauffeur out of the side of his eye. "You'll be smothered with kisses and love and attention and anything else that you desire, from hereon."

But, Y/N couldn't help herself. She pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw that he was seconds away from half-heartedly whining about before she explained, "You said nothing about me kissing you," with a teasing glint in her eye. "I think it's a travesty for a wife to not kiss her very handsome husband whenever she wants." And so, Y/N began to attack his cheek with smooches and nips and pecks, earning loud squeals of amusement from her beloved. He was trying his very best to keep his promise, though, and to refrain from doing anything too raunchy, just in case they lost track of time.

Just as he thought that he would be able to endure it no longer, they arrived at the theatre and were welcomed with warm hugs from their friends, including their family members who were seated outside in chairs, drinking wine, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Once again, a sea of faces swarmed the bride and groom as soon as they stepped out of the car, all trying to congratulate and hug them with varying degrees of enthusiasm - Brennan on the one side of the spectrum and Victoria on the other.

More and more socialising ensued as it seemed as if everyone wanted the newly weds attention. It came to the point that the couple had been pulled away into separate conversations and surrounded by so many people they couldn't possibly count. Although they were polite during their interactions, at every chance they got, the couple found their way back to each other for a moment of solace before it was disrupted yet again by the next person. The longest batch of 'alone time' they got to experience was during the first dance, which was a little awkward due to the fact that everyone was watching them sway along to the soft melody from the jazz band.

"Just keep your eyes on me. Relax," Ralph whispered as he pulled her impossibly closer to him and kissed the top of her head, hoping to ease the tension that had begun to build up in her shoulders. Y/N sighed deeply and nodded, relaxing under the warmth of his arms and letting his words calm her nerves down a little. She looked up at him; his dark eyes full of adoration for her reflected in hers and a smile graced her lips. She couldn't stop looking at him, even after the song ended and people began to join them on the dance floor.

Ralph spun her round and round in a gentle circle, twirling her expertly until she felt dizzy and breathless. Then, just when she thought it might end there, without warning, he dipped her so gracefully she swore she saw stars above her. It was such a romantic gesture that she became breathless when he straightened up, a dashing grin tugging at his lips. He cupped her cheek gently with both hands and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, gazing deeply into her eyes as he did so.

"Y/N Penbury," he called her softly, tenderly, His fingers traced the outline of her face and trailed across the curve of her collarbone, causing goosebumps to erupt throughout her skin. "You're my everything, you know that? My entire world. You make me feel...like I've never done before. Everything makes sense to me, and I'm always content with who I am, with where I am whenever I'm with you. I love you so much, with everything that I am, and with everything I have and will have in the future."

"Oh Ralph..." she cooed in disbelief, a wide grin stretching across her face as tears pricked at her cheeks. "What did I do to deserve you? I think I've been granted a special kind of luck, I don't know exactly what it is. I hope someday I find out so I can share the secret with you, and give you everything you could ever want and need and desire. But until then, I thank God every single day for having you in my life."

"All I could ever want? I have her in my arms already."

As the song continued to play, Y/N snuggled deeper against Ralph's chest and closed her eyes in bliss. She felt his lips touch her forehead before resting them there lovingly, and she melted into his embrace with complete happiness overflowing within her heart. He held her as close as he physically could, and he hoped never to let go again. They stayed like that, enjoying the warmth of each other, their surroundings, their company and their happiness, until it was finally time to retreat to the privacy of their home.

Due to the mass amount of books, journals, heavy tomes and precious knick knacks she owned, the pair had decided that it would be easiest if Ralph moved into Y/N's apartment - also because her home was ever so slightly bigger than his by chance. And to make him feel more welcome, she'd already done some renovations to surprise him with. So, as soon as they made it through the threshold, she was tugging him to what he believed was a spare room.

"Close your eyes, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow but followed her instruction anyway, shutting his eyes tight. She gently pushed him through the door and turned on the light, allowing him to peek open one of his eyes in slight curiosity, a huge grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of the room. An easel stood proudly in the middle with paints and brushes and canvases piled high all over the wooden floorboards. In front of the window stood a big, beautiful red chaise lounge, near a small table, a vase of fresh flowers sitting on the surface and a blanket thrown neatly on one of the armrests. There was an ornate table decorated with a wooden reference hand and body, and a sketchbook.

"Your office is right next to mine!" She brushed past him to get further into the room, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she strutted to sit on the lounger and watched as he slowly entered and walked across the room, inspecting everything in awe. As he examined one piece after another, it dawned on him that Y/N had really gone to a lot of effort to make this room perfect for him; and it absolutely made him feel overwhelmed with emotion, and the urge to kiss her was becoming unbearable.

Without thinking twice, he knelt between her legs and placed his hands on either side of her hips as his head tilted upwards to look at her with big brown puppy dog eyes. He stared intently at her for a few moments, a smile curving his lips as his palms drifted down until they reached the hem of her dress and slid underneath. His thumbs drew circles on her ankle, making her giggle and blush at the implication of what might happen. She wanted what she thought was about to happen to happen.

To ensure that it did, she collected the skirt of her dress and lifted the fabric over her knees, allowing it to pool around her legs and expose the garter wrapped around her thighs. She glanced down shyly and turned a deep shade of crimson at the look of admiration written over his features as he stared at her, mesmerised by her and what she was offering to him. He took off his jacket, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt sleeves, exposing his forearms as he caressed up her thighs until his fingertips made contact with the lace of her underwear.

"Can I?..." His voice was a low murmur in her ears, almost barely audible, and Y/N couldn't stop herself from nodding with a small smile still plastered on her lips. As if on queue, Ralph slipped the fabric down off of her thighs and onto the floor, leaving her completely exposed to his gaze, and as he admired the way her bare skin glistened and shined, he pressed a lingering kiss to her knee, his thumb brushing against her inner thigh. "Have you ever?"

There was an expectation for a wife to be untouched, yet Y/N couldn't live up to that. Despite the fact she'd never told anyone before, there was no part of her brain that ever thought to deceive her new husband. "My family took a trip to America a few summers ago. I met a sailor there," she revealed quietly while playing with a strand of his hair, and then paused for a second, before adding: "I haven't...you know...done anything since then... Have you?"

"Not while sober."

"Oh." She repeated that one word sentence in a huskier tone as he yanked her hips further towards his face, and then, not bothering to wait for her response, his mouth met her pussy in the most passionate kiss he'd ever given. Her hands wrapped themselves firmly in his hair as he lapped at her clit in slow, tantalising movements that sent ripples of pleasure racing through her body.

Every move he made made her crave more and more, and she moaned and squirmed helplessly beneath his touch, loving the feel of being taken care of by her husband. Soon, his tongue was accompanied by the gentle curling of his fingers. Then by another. Yet, before things could get explosive, she gave his hair a firm tug - one not unkind, but enough to catch his attention. "Ralph," she breathed, feeling him pause momentarily and press his cheek against her inner thigh.

"Yes, my love?"

"We don't want to ruin your new sofa. Let's move to our bed."

Our. Bed. A wave of euphoria spread throughout his entire system at her words and without any hesitation, he stood up and picked Y/N up, carrying her bridal style to their bedroom and placing her delicately on the edge of the soft mattress. His wife, who was a giggly mess, reached behind her in an attempt to undo the buttons of her dress, but as soon as she started to fumble with the clasp, he swooped in. With the back of his hand, he gently swiped her hair from her shoulder then unbuttoned the first few buttons with one swift motion, and before she knew it the neckline of her address was dropping to her lap and leaving her completely bare.

If he thought she was beautiful in her wedding dress, he had absolutely no idea how stunning she'd look without it. Y/N stood and stepped out of the fabric, leaving it discarded on the carpet. She smiled coyly as she took slow steps towards Ralph, who stood frozen on his spot. For the second time that day, his legs felt like jelly. Yet this time, he didn't reach for something to lean against in time and flopped face first onto the bed. A snort ommitted itself from her throat, eliciting a quiet groan out of her husband as he turned himself over, leaned up on his elbows and looked up at her with half lidded eyes.

"You okay, baby?" She asked with a small, teasing laugh.

"Never better."

Her fingers wandered down the buttons of his shirt, opening each one slowly, taking her time to savour each single inch of skin that was presented to her. The material fell from his shoulders, revealing his torso in all its glory. She traced the lines of his chest, her fingertips grazing over his pecs and collarbones. He arched his back slightly and let out a grunt of satisfaction, his eyes closing shut as her nails trailed lightly across his flesh. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily when her lips made contact with his neck, her hot breath grazing his sensitive skin. Her teeth nipped lightly at his skin and he couldn't help the whines escaping his lips every now and then.

"You're so pretty," she cooed, pressing a feather light kiss on the tip of his nose causing him to chuckle and his eyes to snap open once again. "And so sweet. And funny and beautiful..." A wide grin stretched across his face, feeling a sense of comfort as her gentle hands cupped his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing gently across his skin before running across the curve of his jaw. "But above all, so unbelievably sexy."

A sudden rush of boldness coursed through him as he leaned forward and captured her lips forcefully, vanquishing the air out of her lungs and sending a shockwave of goosebumps to dance across her skin. Their kisses were hungry. Raging flames of passion fuelled their desire and lustful desires were burning within them. It was frantic and messy, needy and demanding, and just plain sinful.

"Take your clothes off. Please," she pleaded huskily, reaching for the waistband of his trousers to tug at it impatiently. Ralph quickly sat up straight on the bed then began to remove his belt with trembling fingers, throwing it aside and letting it fall with a thud to the floor.

Once he'd undressed himself, Y/N reached out her arms, wanting him desperately close to her. She needed him closer than ever and as he pulled her on top of him, her legs draped on either side of his hips, her hands gripped at his shoulders as they kissed hungrily. They moved together with such ease and grace, neither of them could keep their hands from wandering and exploring.

"Y/N," he moaned, pulling away for a moment, his palms smoothing down her hair. "Are you sure...? I'm not pressuring you or anything, am I?"

She bit her lip, trying to suppress her laughter whilst shaking her head. She brought a hand to his neck and pulled him into her, kissing him as her other hand trailed downwards to wrap her it around his cock, stroking him slowly.

"No, lovely. I want this. I want you." He let out a sharp exhale as his lips left hers to trail down her neck, sucking at the tender skin and grinding his erection further into her hand. Y/N arched her back, straining against the pressure that was building in her, wanting nothing more than to feel all of him. "How would you like to... you know?"

"You've been wearing those uncomfortable looking heels all day, let me do the work, darling."

Rather abruptly, he surged forward and toppled her over, her back bouncing against the mattress clumsily. This made them both laugh loudly at how spring loaded her bed seemed to be at that moment. When she recovered from the surprise, Ralph hooked his hands under her quads, opening them further so he could slot himself between her legs, his hardness pressing against the apex of her thigh.

Just as she was anticipating him pushing into her, he stopped for a moment. Despite the situation they were currently engaging in, Ralph decided that this was the correct time to give her an innocent hug - or as innocent as a naked embrace could be. His arms slid underneath her back and hoisted her into a sweet cuddle, one she sank into happily. They lay there like that for a couple of minutes after, breathing each other in and exchanging short kisses whenever his lips brushed past her hairline. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me," he confessed with a low chuckle

"It was cute."

"I'll get back to the, um, the making love part now."

Grasping at her hip, he eased himself inside of her, filling her in such a way that Y/N gasped aloud, her hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders. "Don't tense up. I got you," he soothed, leaning down and placing gentle kisses on her cheeks. "I got you. I'll take it slow."

After a moment, he felt her muscles start to loosen up and release their tension, and a smile tugged on his lips as he continued to push himself deeper into her. She closed her eyes as her head fell back against the mattress, a pleasurable tingle pulsating through her body at each thrust into her body. Ralph ran his hands along her sides and hips soothingly as he continued to make slow, deliberate movements into her.

"Guess what."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

His smile grew even bigger, if possible, and his heart soared at the words. He'd heard them before, yes, but never with this visual, never with the breathless tone she'd used, never with no clothes on. But as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, the sound of her voice resonated in his ears, the words ringing true - and it was a truth he could never tire of hearing. So, obviously, he said it back to her. "I love you more."

The tips of their noses occasionally bumped into one another, causing both of them to giggle quietly. Ralph pushed a few strands of her hair out of her face and tucked the rest behind her ear, his thumb grazing across her cheekbone, caressing it softly. "I'm a little out of practice. I'm not going to last much longer," he admitted sheepishly, glancing sideways at her with a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice.

"That's okay, my love. I promise I won't last long either."

And to ensure that her words were true, Y/N let her hand drift between their bodies and rhythmically circled her clit with the pad of her finger. He placed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, a slight frown marring his perfect features as he tried to hold out for a tad longer.

Heat built and built inside her, growing by the second until it felt like her body couldn't contain it any longer. With her head thrown back in pleasure, she gave a silent gasp as she came, feeling her entire body shiver as waves of warmth washed over her. His mouth opened to catch the soft sounds that escaped her, but the sight of her orgasm caused a deep, gut wrenching moan to erupt from his throat instead. His own orgasm took over, his hips bucking until he came crashing down upon her.

Only the heavy inhales and exhales of the two people entangled in their passionate embraces broke the silence surrounding them. Y/N wrapped herself tightly around him, burying her face into his chest and tightening her grip on his arms. Contentment settled over them both, the feeling resting comfortably on their souls like a warm blanket. And, as they finally came down from their high, they stayed still for a while. Y/N was listening to the steady beat of Ralph's heart beneath her ear, enjoying the feeling of his strong heartbeat resonating deep in his chest. She could feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, his fingers gently tracing circles against her spine.

Nothing could compare to the happiness, contentment and serenity she felt right now, and she knew exactly why. Because here, lying in Ralph's arms, the only things occupying her mind were thoughts about how she couldn't have ever imagined being able to feel this blissfully happy, this complete, with anyone else. Was someone like Brennan the misogynist going to ever understand and love her a fraction of what Ralph could? Obviously not. It was a gift that she had standards whilst looking for a partner. If you settle, you settle for less happiness. And Ralph was far from settling for less. He was more. He was most. He was completely and utterly right.

Although they had slept in the same bed before - which was a situation that they both kept secret because who knows what their parents would've said (an unmarried fully dressed man and woman lying next to each other as they drifted off? That's simply preposterous) - there was an overwhelming sense of familiarity to it as if they were meant to be sharing that very same space together. The way his arms enveloped her, the way he held her as though she was an absolute treasure, the way he kissed her lips and whispered to her... they were too precious, too special for her to bear living without these feelings forever.

"Ralph," Y/N murmured softly, bringing her hand to cup his jaw.

"Yes, my love?"

"Thank you for being you. For loving me just the way you are. No matter what happens tomorrow, thank you for loving me today."

"I always will."

"Then, it's settled." A soft peck was pressed to the tip of his nose. "You're stuck with me till the sun explodes."

Chuckling, he squeezed her tight and buried his nose in her soft hair, mumbling, "I wouldn't want it any other way,"

They didn't move once throughout the night, content to stay where they were - or at least content to be as close to each other as possible regardless of the general location. Then morning came, and with it came their next day of married life. It began with a sweet, sleepy kiss and the knowledge that whatever happened, they'd be there for one another. And every morning after that would be the same.

#ralph timewasters #timewasters #ralph penbury #x reader #joseph quinn characters

[sundaynightlive]

Plagued With Love (Merthur)

(TW: Mentions of suicide, child neglect/abuse, nothing is SUPER explicit but it's there, so stay safe, always.)

Basically, a concept I came up with: Merlin and Arthur are each other's other halves, per a Druid prophecy, a prophecy which has been horrendously mistranslated by the Pendragon line.

Arthur's knights have been told, been tasked with killing Merlin, and Arthur must finally tell them the truth of his circumstance, and not the one that has been forced upon him by blood.

When the time has come 

That order will fall, and chaos

Will assume it’s rightful throne, 

A golden prince will be born to

A fearsome king, and he will be

Different—

Plagued with love.

This translation of Arthur’s fate is piss-poor, but he knows how it echoes in the minds of his knights. They have finally been told of his so-called fate, the fate that has guided his entire life, and since hearing it, they have been quiet.

Eerily so.

The true word of the ancient druids is far more complicated, but it is not unlike old rulers to twist the word of magic and make it sour. Kings are scared of what they cannot control. 

So they banish it instead.

But Arthur didn’t know this, and his mother and father did not know this, so when he was born golden—blond, unlike a single prince before him—they knew what they must do. 

His father elected to kill him, but his mother would not have it. They argued—he bellowed and she begged. The physician intervened and Uther slit his throat. His mother wept. She pleaded. 

She offered an alternative.

It was decided then that the only way they could defy prophecy and spare their child’s life was if they did not love him.

And so Arthur grew away from his parents, surrounded by faceless servants who were rotated lest they form an attachment. He cannot imagine how he might have turned out if he had had no love at all—cold. Unfeeling and lacking empathy beyond reason. He might have been ruthless, he might have been damned.

But, like his mother, fate had intervened.

Arthur was only 8 when the boy appeared in the kitchens with him, big blue eyes and a shock of dark hair—he remembers being jealous, then, because even at that age, he had already heard the whispers—

Golden, like the sun.

It never darkens, not even in winter.

It is true what they say—he is cursed.

Cursed. Arthur clung to that, back then. He was cursed, he was plagued—he was somehow evil and it was his fault his father could not look at him, that his mother had struggled so deeply and taken her life when he was much younger. Every part of him was bad, so bad that he was not worth staying around for. He could not even mean something to the people who fed and bathed him and slipped him books to read.

He was nothing.

And then Merlin.

Arthur had been startled by him, as he was peeking out of a cupboard, somewhere he should not be—Arthur had been reprimanded many times for hiding in places like those, and he knew better, now.

But here was this boy, peeking out at him with a finger to his lips.

It started slowly, quietly. Merlin—or as Arthur knew him, the boy, would appear in places he was not meant to be, always watching and smiling at Arthur as though Arthur were meant to smile back. 

Arthur never did, not then.

He had meant to ask someone, one of his servants, whether or not the boy was staff or someone’s child, but every time he thought of it, he couldn’t bring himself to. He did not overtly enjoy Merlin’s presence, and often times it disturbed him greatly that nobody seemed to notice him, but he worried that if he were to tell, he would never see Merlin again.

And Merlin was the only one who had been constant. Everyone else, a tumultuous wave of different faces, ones he almost never recognized.

But the boy stayed the same.

For two entire years.

It was just after Arthur turned ten—maybe a week or less, that when he retired to his chambers one night, he was waiting there, cross-legged on Arthur’s bed. The prince had a passing thought about him looking quite pretty, but it was soon disrupted by panic.

“What are you doing?” he had demanded, “If someone finds you here—“

Arthur cuts off abruptly as the boy presses his fingers to his lips, pulls himself off the bed and slips beneath it. Arthur just watches, stricken, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Is this boy going to kill him? Surely he would’ve tried by now.

A servant of Arthur’s comes to get him ready for bed, only ever suspicious once, very briefly, when Arthur stammers about not needing a bath that night. Hesitantly, this request is obliged, and makes for a much shorter visit. Arthur watches the servant go, and the door get shut, and by the time he turns back around, the boy is sat on his on his bed as he was before.

“What do you—“

“I’m Emrys,” the boy says, extending a hand, “But you’re meant to call me Merlin.” 

Arthur doesn’t know what he means by that, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Instead, he steps forward, all the way up to the bed, and takes Merlin’s hand in his own.

“Alright, Merlin,” Arthur says, teasing, but also testing it on his tongue. It’s new, putting a name to a face. The only names he knows are of his parents, and those are heard only in passing. 

Especially his mother’s.

“Why are you here?”

And then Merlin smiles at him, and Arthur feels something stir all the way in his bones—

“I have much to tell you.”

As it turned out, Merlin was tempting fate just as his parents were, and he told Arthur all about it, from how he had stolen away from his mother to come here, about how he was a Druid, about how there was a prophecy, and his father knew the wrong one, but Merlin knew the right one, and then Merlin told Arthur both, and Arthur finally understood why he had always been held a castle's-length away.

It was not because he was bad—it was because his ancestors had framed him that way. Fear of change had stolen his parents from him, stolen everything from him.

But not Merlin.

Merlin stuck around, and they had many nights like this. They became best friends, inseparable in the shadows and writing letters whenever Merlin disappeared back to his people, magic carrying their words between them.

And magic—Merlin taught Arthur of magic, the way it could be weilded with strength, love, and honor. It’s power did not corrupt, it was neither good nor bad—the more Arthur learned, the more he understood, and the more he understood, the more he detested his father and his council. 

But did he blame them?

Magic—the druids—had "cursed" his son and in the process, taken his wife. Such misery would convince any man to follow in his father’s footsteps. And in this case, many, many fathers before that. 

For a while, Arthur felt angry. Then, like sinking into a warm bath, he only felt pity. His father could not ever know, or accept, the light that could come with magic, and for that, his kingdom, and his heart, would always be weaker than someone’s who could.

Against all odds, Arthur forgave his father, and he loved him. And he loved his mother, too, for sparing his life, for loving him so much she couldn’t bare to keep her own—he wishes she had been stronger, but more than that, he’s grateful for the strength she gave. To save him, to fight for him, to love him despite how it ruined her.

He loves her. He loves her desperately.

At sixteen, when Uther sensed no imminent danger on the horizon, Arthur began training as a knight. Only his peers and his mentors were aware who he was, and why he was here, and they were warned to keep their distance. This did not stop Arthur from becoming great friends with these boys—he just had to go about it very carefully, only speaking kindly in the confines of the armory, only showing his affections by sending gifts, sharing food, nodding short and sweet in the hallway.

These men, unlike the staff, knew not of the prophecy. They were too young, too ignorant, and kept intentionally in the dark.

Until recently, of course.

But all this is just to say Arthur did know love, in many forms, now, and soon these men he called his brothers would know that, if they did not already. And he would have to explain to them, once they stopped to make camp, that the task they had been sent to complete could not be done—because Arthur would not do it.

This conversation is approaching fast.

As the sun begins to set over the horizon, Arthur feels his throat close around the words.

We should stop and rest for the night.

It takes him a few minutes to come around to saying it, only reassured at the notion it would take them a while to gather firewood and start a blaze and eat their breads and soups.

He seems to blink and the time has come.

“I think I—“

“Sit,” Arthur says, and Gwaine freezes, half standing. Slowly, he sinks back down. “We have something to discuss.”

“Sire—“ Leon tries, but Arthur cuts him off as well.

“The prophecy my father spoke to you of—“

“Your highness, all due respect, something that is out of your control does not cast doubt on our loyalties,” Lancelot interrupts, and Arthur knows he means well, so he allows him to finish, “We have known each other since we were boys, and the prophecy has always been—you are no different now than you were then.” 

Arthur offers him a small, grateful smile, and then sighs.

“Thank you. But allow me to explain.” Arthur takes a deep breath— “My father’s version of this prophecy has been passed down through many generations of royal family, all of which handled it with agenda, and contempt for that which they did not understand. The idea that magic is a corruptive and chaotic force is a lie that has been used not only to spread fear and hate, but to destroy the lives of innocent people, and spill blood over Camelot’s name as a warning, so that people who are easy to rule see it safe, and those who have the power to stand in line with the people at the behest of my father’s tyranny see it unapproachable—unfathomable, even.”

Despite himself, Arthur feels anger burn like the fire at his feet, a deep, hot hatred for what fear and greed has done to his kingdom, his family, his life. He feels a bottomless empathy for all the people who’ve died because of a pointless lie. He feels for Merlin, whom he loves endlessly, and who has hidden him and his people away for years now to keep safe, to keep living. For Merlin who had to risk everything just to step into Arthur’s life and save it, and did it anyway. 

Yet Arthur’s father would set his lover on fire if given the chance.

The knights are quiet, digesting. Arthur does not leave them in the quiet for long.

“The original prophecy is written in ancient druid tongue,” he goes on, “No living man can read it except one—my Merlin.” 

He makes sure to say "my." He hopes the insinuation lands. He hopes they start to get it.

“Dragon prince, born of gold, will not but strength and valor hold, for soon the time will come to pass, is born a golden second half.” 

The first part of a long prophecy—he should have warned them. And maybe he should talk slower, but it is so ingrained in him now, it just spills out, like a river.

“And should they meet, then it should come, a spanning legacy undone—for what should end if not to start, with dual thrones and tethered hearts?” 

Despite his age, this does not fail to make Arthur blush. He had been ten when he first heard it, completely oblivious to all such matters, and now he was twenty, and things were much clearer, but it always struck him as a bit embarrassing to be fated into love. There are such fantasies as being someone’s “soulmate” or “destiny” or however you’d like to put it—it’s different when it’s real. 

Different than you’d think.

“The kingdom too will cease it’s reign, embrace which what it might have slain, to quell the quest of spilling blood, to prosper with persisting love,” he breathes, and finishes the verse, “Magic takes an empty throne, and dragon takes a rightful one, and if the coronation serves, the kingdom reaps what it deserves.”

He swallows—a mouthful, but an important one. Important for understanding, for getting where they’re going, and for his knights to make their decision. 

Stand with Arthur, or with his father.

“In short,” Arthur says, “I have known this other half since I was a child, and I have loved him as a piece of my soul from the first day I saw him, to the last time we spoke, to now, where I, and you, have been tasked with mercilessly slaughtering him. In my father’s eyes, this will save me. But it cannot be done.”

There is quiet. And then—

“Cannot or will not?” Elyan questions quietly. Arthur nods, having expected this.

“Both,” he answers, “Merlin, Emrys--the man we have been sent to kill--is magic-born.”

Someone’s breath hitches, but in the firelight, Arthur can not tell whose. This little detail had been promptly left out by his father—that Merlin was not practicing, but was of magic itself. These are two entirely different things, and these knights know it. Arthur prays this sews the seeds of doubt in their minds, that his father had sent them to their deaths without a second thought—his own son, too.

They swim in the quiet for a while. Arthur is content to lean back against his tree and take in the sounds of the forest—chirping, croaking, buzzing, all manner of life and creature. Merlin tells him that in the quiet, if he eases his mind enough, he can hear the thrum of magic in the air and the trees and the water, should there be water nearby.

Arthur has tried, but it is not meant for him.

“I will not ask you to commit treason,” Arthur says, eventually, “But know this… I cannot raise my blade to him. I cannot even raise my voice at him, unless he’s being particularly insufferable. I will not let any of you hurt him, and he will not let you hurt his people. This means that you must turn your swords on both future kings of Camelot tomorrow. I am… I am sorry it must be done this way.”

And with this, he stands.

“Please…” his voice breaks, as hard as he fights not to let it, “Think about what I’ve told you.”

And he makes for his tent, heart in his throat, hopeful to live until sunrise so he may see his lover before the fall.

#fanfiction #lgbtq #gay #writer #fanfic #merlin #merlin bbc #merthur #arthur #arthur pendragon #lancelot #elyan #percival #gwaine #uther pendragon #magic #warlock #druids #AU #soulmate AU #something i just thought of #it's not entirely fleshed out but i did my best #kinda proud of the prophecy until i remembered i regularly write poetry lmfao #prophecy #alternate universe #soulmate #ficlet

[tired-reader-writer]

BESTIE I didn't know you had Arthurian inspired oc's! :D

Hellooooooo buddy! And why yes, I do!

This is an original story idea I've been thinking about for a while, it's set in a sci-fi fantasy world with mecha and stuff, but follows the cast of the Arthurian legends. Specifically, the protagonist is Mordred who Does Not Have A Good Time throughout this entire story. I don't have a title for it yet, nothing has clicked so far, though a placeholder name is “The Sunset Knight”. (Mordred does technically has an OC tag on my blog however I've been wanting to revamp stuff and the only two original posts about Mordred, I think I might want to go and change a couple things.)

This world has a source of power that fuels ships and mechs and stuff, I haven't named it yet but let's call it Phantasm. It can be utilized both by machine and living things, and the living beings who can manipulate raw Phantasm are dubbed sorcerers. Morgana is a sorceress and Merlin is a sorcerer, for example. Most others rely on sci-fi esque equipment to wield that power without backlash.

The mechs in the Arthurian-inspired world probably have different grading based on mythological beasts or smth, I need to expand on that, and dragon mechs are both the rarest and only a select few with “dragon blood” are able to pilot them, so the Pendragons basically? There might've been other dragonblood bloodlines in the past but they're dead now, dead at Uther's hand because that guy is a massive jerk who conquered everything and beyond. And Arthur... unfortunately holding up that paradigm even though he doesn't conquer, and is actively trying to make things suck less. Anyways, back to the mechs—

Bc the dragons put so much strain on the pilots (or “riders/dragonriders” as they might be called in that world) on energy consumption in exchange for bigger firepower, rare and unique powers, etc, dragonriders unfortunately tend to die quick save for a few who have extensive support and/or a hugeass powerful Phantasmic core. Not all dragonblood are born with such massive reserves! And theoretically, a sorcerer with a massive Phantasm reserves could technically try to pilot one, but... there's a compatibility lock of sorts, incompatible pilots must pour in more Phantasm, and that drains them faster than it would drain a dragonblood.

Arthur is a dragonrider, blessed with both intensive support from Merlin's end, and in possession of a large amount of Phantasm thanks to his maternal side.

(I'll get to the actual protagonist, I swear, I just gotta set the stage first)

So Uther... conquered Igraine's kingdom (planet?) (Igraine was the ruling queen, queen regnant, and her husband Gorlois was the consort, I forget what I named this place), killed Gorlois, took and wed Igraine by force, and had Arthur with her because he wanted his offspring and heir to have massive power. Igraine's line was that of powerful sorcerers. Morgana was Igraine and Gorlois' daughter, who is very much not happy about what Uther had done to her family and homeland.

Years pass, Uther dies, Arthur is revealed to be heir where before he was raised in secret, he becomes king and starts trying to fix and calm stuff down, and Morgana, fed up with Uther's bullshit, very strongly demands that her kingdom be given back to her. And Arthur, who's grown to be this cold, sharp, exhausted individual who's trying to put out the fires his father had started, says “no, absolutely not, I'm trying to bring peace and if I give in to you now others will want the same and it will be chaos all over again because the threat of you hovering over the horizon. just have faith in me, your home planet will be fine, I promise. also you're married to a lord, you have a domain, go and take care of that.” and Morgana's having none of that because she doesn't even like Lot, it was an unwanted marriage forced on her by Uther who wanted her as far away from her homeland as possible. She wants her birthright restored, for the wrongs committed against her mother righted, just... she wants justice. And she's not getting it from Arthur. So fed up, she books it, builds a faction of her own to rebel against Uther's legacy, the one Arthur is trying to uphold.

Morgana, with her extensive knowledge and resourcefulness and creativity, creates a dragon mech. So those things require a specific core, so to speak, harvested from true dragons, those impossibly huge, cosmic sort of entities, nebulous and so incomprehensibly large... Okay, you know whale falls, right? A whale's corpse falls to the ocean floor and critters feed on it, never having known a living whale? To them, a whale's body is just an impossibly large bounty? Yeah, kinda those vibes. Maybe the true dragons are dead, with their corpses floating around in the universe. I see them less as a creature with a body and more a... deity? a collection of stars and planets? I dunno, just incomprehensible. So Morgana makes one, somehow obtains Arthur's genes (I mean, in the myths they have incestuous sex and out pops Mordred from that, but this is sci-fi, and because it's me so many characters have a wonky gender axis going on so they might not even be cis, who knows), and creates Mordred for the purpose of piloting the dragon she created. Man that thing needs a name.

So the mech Mordred's piloting, it's... one of the more energy-intensive ones specifically crafted by Morgana's faction to be extra destructive, and yet Mordred is not terribly affected by it— they still are but not to the extent they should have, and everyone chalks up to the dragonblood genes. But there's something else going on under the surface. But I'll get to that later.

So Mordred's character is... someone who's been so intensely shaped by their surroundings and circumstances. They were born to fulfill a certain role. They are unable to see themselves outside of this role they play, this mission they have. The quote “you need the sickness inside you like a body needs a spine. you may survive without it, but oh, how deformed and misshapen you'd become” basically is their whole deal. Their loyalty is madness, and their madness is loyalty.

Still, though, there lies a hole in their heart, a yearning, a hunger, a want. What it is that they want, they can't articulate. They don't understand. They don't understand the hole, so they don't understand what would fill it. It is why they try to dedicate 110% of themselves to their role, in hopes that it'd fill the hole, or at least not make them think about it.

Still, they yearn.

Later in the story, it would be revealed that they're not actually Mordred, not the one Morgana created with her and Arthur's genes. That Mordred? Dead. Dead from the strain of piloting the dragon Morgana made. They were a child, and they've been long dead. Morgana uploaded their conscious into the dragon mech to assist the new pilot and help take on some of the strain. Serving the cause, even beyond their death.

So then, who is this Mordred?

From another world.

Yes, folks, this is an isekai. From the moment I conceived of this idea, I wanted it to be an isekai. The pain of being unable to return home. The realization that even if you got back to your home world, you would no longer fit into it. The horror of having been forced to change so much that your home becomes unrecognizable to you. And being unable to bear this world you're in as well. You don't have anywhere to go anymore.

The realization breaks something in Mordred (this Mordred, not the dead one). So in a fit of desperation to be away, away from the place that they can't see the same anymore, they leave. They leave Morgana's side, and enters Camelot to serve Arthur in the vain hope that they might be able to choose something for themselves, make themselves anew, be free and happy for once even if they can no longer go home. Maybe, just maybe, they could make a home out of Camelot.

(Remember that the earliest written version of Mordred wasn't really said to be against Arthur or a traitor or a villain, or even Arthur's son, it only describes the battle of Camlann as just “The strife of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut fell.”, not indicating at all if they were on the same side or against each other or if Mordred was responsible for Arthur's downfall. In fact, in early Welsh sources, he seems to have been described as “Arthur's strength, the good nature of Medrawd”. Kinda relevant to this Mordred, kinda not, just an interesting thing to keep in mind.)

This is when they meet Guinevere.

In one (or several?) version of the Arthuriana, Mordred weds Guinevere by force, in mayhaps another version she may or may not have gone willingly with Mordred? And in one of the versions (probably French, I forget which one, help) that follow that line of events, uh, Guinevere is slain by Lancelot for betraying Arthur and Mordred is either buried alive with her corpse or gets locked in a tower with her corpse. And he cannibalizes her body out of desperation, and still dies of starvation.

So, yeah. This version of Guinevere becomes Mordred's love interest and so the doom clock starts ticking :)

Also, Guinevere's gender is a big ol “???” by design. Male? Female? Cis? Trans? Who even knows, Guinevere goes by both he and she. Anyways, moving on from that—

Mordred meets Guinevere, this gentle-handed fella who loves plants. And they grow a close bond, which slowly but surely develops into romance.

In this version, Guinevere isn't in love with Arthur, though he does idolize the King, believing in his vision and wanting to support that. There might or might not be push from others for the two to be betrothed to each other, I don't know how such things would work in a world like this just yet but well this is still just a fledgling idea— Arthur takes one look at Guinevere and is like “that is an entire child” and refuses to wed her.

I... am not sure whatever the hell I want to do with the character of Lancelot.

Like, I know how the cultural context surrounding the Arthuriana shaped and influenced his character, his courtly love turned into adultery etc etc, but I don't know what spin I want to put to his character. Yet. Currently leaning towards a fucked up sense of codependent devotion towards his king. Like “my king only deserves the best and by the dragons I will fucking give it to him no matter what anyone else has to say about it” and maybe he sees Guinevere as something extraordinary and thus... by imposing his own view on him he tries to yoink Guinevere for Arthur and... hm. Still up in the air, honestly.

How long has this fucking post gotten?

Okay imma just try to rapid-fire the ensuing stuff bc it's not like I have the details yet anyways: Mordred enters the Round Table -> Mordred and Guinevere fall in love -> things are fine until they aren't -> some revelation breaks Mordred's faith in Camelot -> maybe Morgana is slain, she's out of the picture for some reason -> Mordred forms their own faction from the remnants of Morgana's, goes against Camelot -> it goes on -> CAMLANN -> in the meanwhile Lancelot gets to Guinevere, uh-oh -> Arthur vs Mordred, big showdown, Arthur dies and Mordred is seriously feeling the consequences of the strain + pretty sure the mech is barely holding together at this point -> an exhausted Mordred and broken mech get their asses whooped by Lancelot, probably -> entombed alive -> cue cannibalism -> Mordred may or may not get isekai'd again at near death -> now they have to navigate this while ridden with guilt and grief and truly having nothing

So... yeah! This is a gist of what this story is about! Many details are still yet up in the air, I completely omitted the post-cannibalism stuff, the broken traumatized mess Mordred becomes by that point, if you'd like to know more I'll tell you but for now... this is it!

Oh! Almost forgot— I've drawn little concept sketches for Mordred!

Original Mordred on the left, the current Mordred before they became “Mordred” on the right, both as young children.

Current Mordred, having lost their face and memories for a long, long time.

#arthuriana #arthurian legend #arthurian mythology #arthur #mordred #guinevere #lancelot #morgana #the idea still very much needs more marinating time #so much is just a blank #my story idea #I still don't have a title for this damn thing #for now let's call it the sunset knight #The Sunset Knight #sure why not #it's just a placeholder name #rotten egg's shitty art

[safetycar-restart]

The day before yesterday I was talking about little!arthur and how happy he is and how much he loves to watch you cook and now I want to expand on that cause it’s so fucking cute (and I’m stuck in a long line at the pharmacy and going insane so I need to do something):

Firstly, little!Arthur is very small but VERY happy. Whenever he’s with you he’s so happy, truly such a giggly and smiley little one. He gets so excited so easily and he’s so easy for you to take care of. Granted he’s an absolute nightmare for anyone else.

(Good luck to any caregiver trying to change his diaper. He will throw a tantrum that will make Lando’s look tame. Cause no!! Only mama!!)

Anyway, because he’s so small, he can’t help you cook. And luckily he has no interest in helping you cook either. It’s too scary!!

However he LOVES watching you. You make him a little corner in the kitchen, with some pillows and his blankie and his stuffy and he's so so happy!

You keep a constant narration on what you're doing and arthur listens so intensely, and he even warns you to be careful. Like you tell him you're adding diced onions to the heated pan and he goes "Careful mama! Hot!" because he would never want his mama to get hurt and he knows cooking can be dangerous! He must remind his mama to be careful!

And he cheers whenever you finish something! He must show his mama he is proud!

Of course he also always gets fed little bits of food as you cook, he's the official taste tester! Sometimes if you're cooking something that you can't give him pieces of until it's done (like you're prepping raw meat), you'll cut up some pieces of fruit to feed him throughout the process, just because he loves when you come over to his little corner to give him a forehead kiss and a little snack.

His favourite is strawberries! And he never questions why he's getting some strawberry pieces while you're cooking chicken. He's just happy.

#little!driver/rider #little!arthur #al #f!reader #soft soft vibes

[strangernstranger]

The Deal

Arthur Havisham x Fem Reader

Summary: As a means to pull his family out of poverty, your father arranges a marriage between you and Arthur Havisham. (Enemies to lovers. Controlling character. Mentions of sex and virginity. Something I wrote forever ago for funsies but was too apprehensive to post.)

———

You arrived at the Havisham House, a knot in your stomach pulling tighter than your corset. You weren’t sure which was responsible for your shallow breathing, the garment or the realization you’d soon be face to face with your potential suiter. Nay, buyer. Drowning in unpaid debts, your family stood to lose everything. Your father told you since you were young, to survive in this world, one must be willing to sacrifice. Having nothing else to give, he offered up his only daughter. Your hand in marriage for a price. Arthur Havisham was intrigued by the deal.

He was a beautiful boy from a notable family. A long line of businesses tycoons and wealthy proprietors carried the Havisham name. Money passed from hand to hand from generation to generation. Arthur was to be next in line but under one condition. As his father’s last will stated the inheritance shall be granted only after Arthur sires a son. The only thing more important to the old man than money or the brewery was lineage. The Havisham name should be carried out for generations. That weight now rested on Arthur’s shoulders. Always impatient, the young man couldn’t be bothered to take the proper time to court a woman. And why should he when blessed with expendable money and privilege? Through whispers and murmurs around town, your father had learned of Arthur’s situation and decided to seize the opportunity. After all, who better to look after his little girl than a Havisham?

You hoisted your dress above your ankles, taking a careful step down from the cab. Your father offered his hand to escort you to the sprawling home with well manicured greenery. His smile was remorseful. He hated to give you up, but it would keep your mother and little brother housed and fed. Your father clung to the hope you’d find yourself with a kind-natured, well-to-do man whom you could learn to love. Someone to take care of you and allot you the lavish and ornate life your father always felt you were destined for.

“You’re making your mother and I very proud.” Your father cooed, sensing your anxieties as the door grew closer with every step. You offered only a nod. If you spoke, you might break. “Everything will workout, dearest. Love will find the two of you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it will” You gave your father a slight smile. Maybe he was right. What if instead of a nightmare, a fairytale life waited for you just beyond that door?

You were greeted and granted entry by a small red haired lady. A hired servent. “Please, come in!” She beamed. “Master Havisham has been expecting you.” She brought you out of the cold and into the foyer. The size of the single room was almost that of your family home. By the stairs stood Arthur, looking very much the Prince Charming archetype. He approached you, a regal air about him. Your heart beat quickened. Up until this moment, the potential arrangement felt bleak and dreadful, but the idea of calling such a beautiful man your husband excited you. You straightened your posture. Your first impression had to be perfect. You hoped you looked satisfactory for the handsome man.

“Mr. L/N, so good to see you again.” Arthur and your father shook hands. Your father seemed every bit as smitten as you were by his natural charm. “And this must be the lovely Miss Y/N.” Gently, he took your hand in his, placing a delicate kiss on the back of yours. The press of his lips on your skin was electric. “She’s even more beautiful than you described.” Arthur’s gaze rested on you, taking notices of all your feature. You blushed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Havisham.” Your voice was silk and received with smile that radiated sweetness and warmth.

“Let me assure you, Miss L/N, the pleasure is all mine.” You were swooning at his words.

“I suppose I should leave you two to get better acquainted.” You father said with a slight nod. The servant woman led him away to another room to allow you more privacy. The minute your father’s presence left, Arthur’s sweet smile turned dry as merlot and soured on you. His brow lowered almost completely altering the soft appearance he presented in front of your father. He seemed much more stern now.

“You’ll do.” He said with an icy demeanor. The butterflies in your stomach were now being suffocated by the lump growing in your throat.

————

“You know, it’s bad luck to see the dress before the wedding?”

“I’ll take bad luck over poor taste.” Arthur retorted as he shuffled through the remaining gowns hanging on the rack. You frowned. This was the fifth dress and your favorite thus far. But nothing seemed to satisfy your husband-to-be. Perhaps you were the problem, not the dress. “Take it off.” His tone was cool but callous.

“Take it off? Arthur, It’s gorgeous! Just look at the-“

“Take it off.” It was every bit a demand which left you little to no room for protest. Arthur grabbed another dress from the garment rack and held it up to your body as if you were a mannequin for him to style. He thought you would look better in something that accentuated your body more. You looked clear over his shoulder to avoid his eyes. As beautiful as he was, at times you couldn’t stand to look at him. It had been a mere three days since Arthur accepted your father’s offer, but in that time Arthur made no attempts to mask the kind of person he was. Cruel with greed. If money wasn’t on the line, you doubted he’d ever marry. A lot of good a wife would do a man incapable of love. You wondered if his mother even held him as a child. “Look at me.” He demanded again, his voice lower, trying to be discrete. Your avoidance irritated him. Before he had the chance to bark another order, you interjected, pushing the gown in his hand away from your body.

“I’d much prefer this one, darling.” You bit back in spite. Stone faced as you stared him in the eye. That’s what he wanted after all? For you to look at him. You saw anger rising within him. How dare you defy him.

“Perhaps I should give you two a minute to decide.” The shop keeper’s tiny voice cracked as she tried to scurry away.

“No! Whatever dearest wants…she shall get.” Arthur bitterly complied. You had won the battle, but could sense the oncoming war. You feared you wouldn’t remain victorious much longer…

———

The cab ride back to the Havisham manor was painfully silent save for the clack of horses’ hooves on the stones below. What had you to say to a man like Arthur. You always imagined you’d be dress shopping with your mother. The two of you teary eyed in delight, anticipating the blessed day you’d walk the isle in your beautiful white gown. Instead, it was a tug of war with a spoiled man you had no choice but to pledge your life to. But as your father always said, life was about sacrifice. You just prayed it wouldn’t be your entire life. But if dress shopping with Arthur was any indication of what was to come, you knew you’d have to fight for every ounce of freedom and autonomy you had left.

“Your dress is hideous.” Arthur finally spoke. You were sure it was only to have the last word on the matter. You saw it as pouting. Pouting in the way a petulant child who doesn’t get their way would. “Seeing as it’s my wedding day as well, I thought it only fitting I at least pick the dress.” Everything else had already been planned for you. Food, flowers, guests.

“Your wedding day?” Arthur chuckled. You refused to acknowledge the fact he had turned to face you in that smug and scathing way of his. “My apologies. I forgot it was your money being spent on the occasion. And that it was your name I would be taking.”

“Last I heard, marriage was an equal partnership.”

“Last I heard your father sold you to me.” Arthur scoffed while you felt something deep inside pinch. “Like a piece of property.” His voice mocking and the words drawn out long, twisting the in wound he was creating. “You forget yourself, darling. I own you now. What I say goes.”

“Stop talking.” You blurted almost out of instinct. Your voice was a whisper but it didn’t go unnoticed. Arthur grabbed your chin with his gloved hand, forcing you to look at him once more.

“What did you say to me?” His expression was stern and frankly, frightening. His face just inches from yours, there was no ignoring the tears that had built and brimmed in your eyes. Arthur stared at you momentarily before he sighed sharply and released you. You turned away immediately, angry, embarrassed. You were sat so close your knees touched which further angered you. You made yourself as small as possible, scooting as close to the cab door as you could to create some kind of distance between you.

“Should I expect such defiance come the wedding night?” Arthur asked dryly. Your head snapped towards him with a shocked expression. The wedding night. You were aware of what that typically entails, but you were so caught up in making it to the alter you hadn’t gave it a second thought. Arthur laughed softly at you reaction. “What? Too crass for the virgin?” He grinned. Virgin? Surely your father wouldn’t have discussed such a thing with another man. Of course he would. It was likely a selling point. A pure woman seemed to hold more value than, well…others. Your cheeks flushed. Heat began to envelop you. Arthur’s laughter increased as he watched you silently squirm. How cute he thought.

“When we return home…I’d like to be alone.” You couldn’t stand a second more of his presence.

“Very well. You may return to your chanmber’s and I to mine. I’ll send Someone to check on you later.” And that was that. No contact for the rest of the evening. You’d say it was exactly what you’d hope for, but it wasn’t. So desperately you wanted closeness with Arthur. Not through proximity but through word’s and actions. You wanted to peel away at him layer by rotten layer until you reached his core. There you thought you might find a decent man. Or perhaps the harden heart of a child. One which was never properly nurtured or even stifled in it’s youth. A heart destined to repeat the cruelties it had to endured. Maybe if shown proper care, his cold nature would seize to exist. So badly you wanted that opportunity, but Arthur seemed rather comfortable keeping you at arms length. Your heart felt heavy knowing you’d never get that chance to be the wife you always wanted to be for someone. Only someone’s property. You journaled these thoughts with others in the silence of your room. There really wasn’t anyone to talk to in the Havisham house. Everyone stayed to themselves. Even the hired-help were brief in their interactions. The spacious and grandiose home felt almost cavernous with it’s quiet and lonesome atmosphere. The peace of the crackling fireplace and scribbles on parchment were interrupted by a knock at your chamber door. Must be one of the servants sent to check up on you, you thought. Before you had a chance to allow the visitor entry, Arthur saw himself in. Dressed darkly from head to toe. It was as if a shadow had crept into your room. You felt it too. You stood at attention as he waltzed in on his own accord, tension trailing his coattails.

“Master Havisham.” You addressed.

“We will be moving ahead with the wedding.” He announced. “Tomorrow.” Tomorrow!? The two of you weren’t supposed to wed for another three days. The sudden change made your head spin. You were still adjusting to your new surroundings and the idea of becoming Mrs. Havisham. It felt entirely too soon, but you were in no position to protest.

“Yes, sir.” You offered a nod and drew your focus on patterns in the hardwood while Arthur paced your room, inspecting.

“All arrangements have been taken care of. Your only concerns should be your dress and walking the isle.” As he spoke, something caught his eye. Your journal which lay open on the floor next to your armchair. Among other words, he noticed his name scrawled in black ink and cursive. Your heart sank. You made the sad attempt to retrieve the book before Arthur but he was too close and too quick to allow you the chance. He pinned his eyes to you as he rose up slowly, book in hand. He could see the nervousness in you. The shame. Your eyes were pleading though you hadn’t said a word.

“I see you’ve kept yourself entertained in my absence.” He began skimming it’s pages.

“Give it back.” You demanded harshly but we’re completely ignored. Your hands trembled at your sides. That book detailed your every fear, complaint and concern since being in the house. You knew once Arthur read it, your fate would be sealed. There would be no reconciliation. No mercy from his bitterness for the rest of your days.

“See to it that you get some rest. The next time we meet shall be at the alter where I will make you my bride. And do remember…it’s a joyous occasion. Look the part.” Not a hint of joy or excitement could be found on his face. He left the room without so much as uttering a goodbye, your journal tucked beneath his arm. You stood in the center of the room defeated. Tomorrow would begin your life sentence.

———

“You look breath taking.” Amelia fawned as she assisted in pinning your curls in place. You tried to smile but the nervousness in you created an unseen obstruction. “I know my brother can be a tad bit…harsh at times, but I promise he’s a good man.” You took a deep breath and put on a brave and somewhat happy veneer to the best of your ability. “I know he is. I can’t wait to be Misses Arthur Havisham.” You lied. The name tasted sour on your tongue. Laced in your dress, you were hurried out the door and into the corridor where your father waited for you. His presence was merely a formality seeing as how he had already given you away. Just something for appearances. As was everything else.

“Darling, you look beautiful.” He hugged you tightly before pulling you away, truly taking in how angelic you were in your white gown. You reminded him so much of your mother. As beautiful as she may have been, it didn’t go without notice that the years of toiling and poverty had left her dull and faded. Your father held the hope that your situation might preserve your vibrancy. But still, your facade was thin enough he could see the fear in you. “I’m sorry my love, I only did what I thought best. For you. Your mother. Your brother.” You forced a wide smile.

“It’s okay, father. I love Master Havisham.” You refused to address him by his first name. It humanized him too much for your liking. He may have been a man, but not one you’d ever have the pleasure to know. He was Master. As if encased in concrete, any indication of decent man would likely stay buried through your miserable years together. Your eyes began to wet the more you thought about it. A solitary tear broke free. Your father lifted his hand to dry the trail on your cheek.

“Oh, Y/N”

“Tears of joy, father.” You said to quell his guilt. “It’s a joyous occasion.”

The double doors parted before you, revealing the chapel filled with white lilies and gold candelabras. While beautiful, it reminded you of a funeral. The guest stood for your entry, a few marveling at you on your “blessed” day. Your father walked you step by step down the isle to the lull of string instruments. Their swells felt foreboding in your circumstance. But no casket waited for you at the end. Instead a priest and Arthur with a smile. It was reminiscent of the look he gave you the day you first met. When you were so naively charmed by him. How his features change so drastically when he smiles, you thought. His style of dress made him look princely. His gorgeous face and deep brown eyes soften on you as he took your hand from your father.

“You look stunning, Y/N.” You wanted to believe in his kindness, but you knew it to be false. He made that clear in the days prior. You fought the urge to make a snide remark about the dress but this was neither the time or the place. Arthur was playing the role perfectly, you assumed as should you. The guests seated themselves as the priest began to speak.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathering here today-“ You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, drowning the words as he spoke. The day had come. You were living it. In just a few short moments, your life would be forever changed. Arthur tugged at your hand lightly, leaning in close enough, you could feel his breath on your cheek.

“If you want to run, now is your chance.” He pulled back to look you in the eye. You looked at him dumbfounded. It had to be some sort of trick, yet not a hint of malice could be found in his gaze. You turned to see your family sat in the crowd. They looked proud and hopeful. If you ran away now, you would be destroying their chances of a better life. You couldn’t find it in you to do such a thing. Even if that meant suffering a life with Arthur. You would somehow make it work.

“I’m not running.” You whispered. A sense of relief washed over the groom. Likely relieved his plan hadn’t completely derailed in an instant. But if that were the case, why would he even provide you the option to back out? You sucked in a deep breath as it came time for you to recite the words which would bind you to Arthur forever. The words you repeated in the mirror earlier that day. Over and over again until they could be spoken without the presence of tears. You mimicked every word perfectly. You were a marionette in a grand production. Arthur cleared his throat.

“In addition to my vows, I would like to share a few words of my own.” Arthur motioned an usher forward. He carried with him a little, leather bound book. Your journal. The book that exposed you at your most vulnerable. He turned to the back page which held writing not of your own. He reached for your hand once more. Timidly, you obliged. He began reading from the page. “To hold your hand in another’s and pledge your life is not a simple task. Especially when you’ve spent your life valuing only yourself. The prospect of having another’s heart rest in your chest foreign when your own hath remained stationary for so long. To give yourself to another is the ultimate sacrifice. To give up everything to share a name, a home, a family. I am graced to have you stand here before me though I have given you very little reason to.” You stole a quick glance at the guest in their pews, confused and unsure of what Arthur may have been referring too. Majority of them were unaware of your arrangement and all of oblivious to the treatment you had received. You sensed sincerity in his voice. Were you being fooled again or had the callused man truly have had a change of heart overnight? Arthur squeezed your hand tighter as if to pull back your attention. A quiet urgency resting on his face. “I vow to match your strength with selflessness and sorrows with comfort. I vow to treat you with the honor and dignity you so deserve. And with you as my bride and I your husband, I hereby give my life to you.” With the priest’s permission, the declaration was sealed with a kiss. Yours and Arthur’s first kiss. It wasn’t one of passion but one of honesty and understanding. He cupped your face in his hands as he spoke. “Know that I mean this.”

———

The reception was smaller than the ceremony. The guest list divided by more than half. Arthur introduced you to other’s which shared the Havisham name. You were courteous and pleasant to all but were still taken aback by Arthur’s vows. The two of you hadn’t yet had a moment alone to discuss them. You wondered where you journal had gone and if you would ever see it again. You and your husband were sat at a table on display for the rest of your guests. You were served a meal you thought was better suited for royalty. A wide variety with everyone helping themselves to large portions. Is this something you should come to expect? Though awe stricken by the food, you had very little appetite. As you poked and nibbled at your food, Arthur pushed his chair from the table and stood tall, clinking his drinking glass high in the air.

“I would like to propose a toast. To my beautiful wife. May I measure up to even half the man a woman like her deserves. To y/n”

“To y/n!” The guest echoed. You tucked yourself deep into your wine glass, taking a long drink, tired of this play you were roped into. You had half a mind to claim a bottle all to yourself. You’d need it to make it through what was to come. As Arthur sat back down, he placed a hand over yours. A serious look on his face

“Tonight, half past nine. Meet me in my chambers.” It wasn’t a question. He smoothed the napkin in his lap and returned to his meal. Your stomach dropped. You nodded an understanding but said nothing.

————

Arthur’s room was colored deep burgundy and accented in bronze. A warm fire roared in the fireplace, still you shivered. You pulled your robe tighter over your silk, slip-gown. You assumed that was the appropriate things to wear for the occasion. You sat down on the bed, taking deep shaky breaths and twirling the ring which now adorned your finger while you waited for your husband. He stepped in the room, closing the door behind him. The sound sent a shockwave through you. Arthur was still dressed in his wedding garb. He looked handsome, but that in comparison to your own, thin dressings made you feel even more vulnerable. You swallowed hard and began pushing the robe off your shoulders for him, assuming he would spare no time for much else.

“Nononono, that won’t be necessary.” He quickly approached you and pulled the garment back over your skin so you reminded concealed. He slowly sat down next to you on the bed. He could see you were shaking, visibly distraught. Silence fell between you. Arthur reached into the breast of his coat, retrieving your journal. He extended it to you like an olive branch.

“…Thank you.” Your voice was paper thin and wavered as if expecting a recoil of some kind.

“I read it, you know? Every page. Every word.” Arthur’s voice was low and graveled but somehow still soft. Colored with remorse. You offered no reply. You were still unsure what his next move would be. “I know I’m not an easy man, y/n. I know that. I’m selfish…arrogant.” He paused for a brief moment. “And still…you wanted to love me? Even after I degraded you for my own illusions of superiority…you would actively try to love me and justify my mistreatment. Your second night here, you wrote of how you cried over how difficult I was being and how it made you feel as if you were failing. As if it’s somehow up to you to bring the best out in me. As if there were more to me. Like some untapped potential or something lying dormant within me.” You parted your lips to speak but couldn’t find a thing to say. “That’s when I realized…you held more faith in me than I do myself. I have given you every reason to hate me and the opportunity to run, yet you stayed.”

“I stayed for my family.” You told him matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I know. And you we’re noble to do so. But it relieved me you would stay. Not for the sake of my inheritance but-” Arthur moved closer and rested his hands on your upper arms. “You challenge me, y/n. A challenge to be a better man. Better than my father. Better than his father. To break that cycle of cold calculation that only leads a man to misery, only to pass it on to our children. Something my own selfish pride blinded me to. That is until I read your journal. Despite a life of hardship, there is a light in you that refused to be diminished. I envy that about you.” He smiled at you, genuinely. You leaned into his touch, feeling truly connected to him for the first time. Arthur’s guard had finally lowered and slowly so was yours.

“You are not your father, Arthur. You’re more than the things he projected on to you.” Arthur lightly nodded, a choked and pained expression finding him. “I meant every word earlier. And if I should fail you, read them back to me. It’s all there.” He motion to the book which sat in your lap. “And we don’t have to-” You quickly dipped your head low and rubbed at the back of your neck, sensing the words coming next. Arthur’s smile returned, finding your discomfort strange but cute. “Do that until you’re ready.” Shyly, you smiled. Talking about sex still felt taboo to you, even if it was expected of you as a newly wed. “I want to take my time with you y/n” I want to earn your affections. No demands. No persuasion. I want you in an honest way.” You were melting under the warmth of his touch. He searched your face for understanding. Really looking at you for the first time since you met. He admired your beauty and cursed himself for ever making you feel so hopeless.

“With time.” You answered sheepishly. You placed a hand on his cheek. Arthur sighed at your touch, leaning closer and closer til his forehead rested with yours. “I’ll do right by you, y/n.” He breathed before parting his lips around yours, kissing you deep with a quiet and controlled desperation. He kissed you as if trying to find the love he lacked his entire life, pulling you closer to him. With eyes closed, you rode a wave of bliss. Finally receiving what you craved from the man.

“I’ll be good to you, y/n. I swear it.”

#Arthur Havisham #Arthur Havisham fic #Arthur havisham x fem reader #Arthur Havisham angst #Arthur Havisham fluff

[julieverne]

"You're my daughter, darling. Of course I love you," Constance says, and Maura wishes she could believe her. She lets herself be held anyway, understanding that Constance is trying. That Constance believes she loves Maura.

+++

"I loved you before you were born, and I'll love you long after I'm dead. I only regret that I didn't have as much time with you as I could have." Hope's eyes fill with easy tears, and Maura nods. Knowing how it must have felt for Cailin to live up to a dead baby, because that's what she's trying to do. She lets Hope hold her, rock her like the baby Hope sees when she looks at her. The one she still mourns.

+++

"I'm sorry I'm calling and I'm sorry about the way I was, last time you saw me," Frank Rizzoli says, and Maura knows how hard it must be for him to apologise. "I know I can't make it up to you, and I really do appreciate you taking care of them all the way you did when I..." And he's gone, and Maura stares at her phone.

+++

Maura visits Paddy in jail, now and then. Sometimes with Jane, sometime without. He's never said it, but Maura knows. She remembers the sepia photos of her school days, knows Constance fed him information, even knowing who and what he was. Maura has always wanted to be loved, and Paddy has always loved her. From afar. It's awkward up close, especially since he knows so much about her and she knows so little about him.

"Thanks for coming," he says, his voice low like he doesn't want to scare her. He fiddles with rings that aren't there, and Maura clenches her own fingers, aware she is mirroring him. She reaches out a hand across the table, the guard watching carefully for any transfer, and she covers his hand with hers. Jane's smile is soft and sweet, her hand on Maura's lower back on their way out to show support.

+++

"Maura, you're brilliant and I love you, but you are so wrong." Cailin pulls up an article - one Maura hasn't seen. One that adds ambiguity to a previously straightforward scientific statement. Maura reads it, her brow creased.

"I love you too, but the parameters of this experiment are not holistic enough to give a definitive conclusion," Maura informs Cailin. "The sample size is insufficient, and it hasn't been peer reviewed."

"Yeah, but it's possible," Cailin goads, and Maura concedes with a nod. Jane watches with wide, pleased eyes.

+++

"Would you like to come to a lecture with me?" Arthur asks, and Maura agrees. Knowing that Arthur is a simple yet complex man, and that his love for her, however misguided, is firm and steadfast.

+++

Maura brings LC to the aged care facility, and today Paddy Senior smiles at her, then Jane, before smiling at LC.

+++

"I couldn't love you more if you were my own," Angela says, and Maura is already adopted, a single child with a dead half brother and a living half sister after nearly four decades. She does not need another mother, but sometimes she does need mothering so she lets Angela's embrace enfold her.

+++

Jane wakes from nightmares; she texts. Sometimes Maura goes to her, sometimes she comes to Maura. They huddle together in the same bed like all the sleepovers Maura always wanted and never had.

"Thanks," Jane says quietly. She cradles Maura's head on her chest, and Maura can't imagine being closer to any other single living thing in her life. Jane's heartbeat, so familiar and steady. Jane's breath brushing through her hair. Jane's fingers rubbing at any tension she finds in Maura's shoulders and back.

There are people who say they love Maura, and people that don't. There are people Maura doubts, because sometimes she doesn't feel she deserves to be loved.

But here and now, with Jane, she has no doubts. Nothing but Jane's heartbeat bared to her, the soft Jane that only Maura gets, treasures and hoards.

"I love you," Jane whispers, hours later, assuming Maura is asleep. Maura chuckles, and Jane's heartbeat spikes, beating crazily beneath Maura's ear.

"I know. I love you too," Maura says, nuzzling closer into her favourite pillow of Jane's chest. Jane's heartbeat slows and steadies, and Maura has found the one love she's never doubted, has never had to doubt.

Anything else can wait until morning. Because now she's lying in the arms of the woman she loves, the woman that loves her. And Maura knows she deserves to be loved by Jane, and she never, ever doubts that she is.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #rizzoli & isles #maura isles #jane rizzoli #constance isles #hope martin #cailin martin #arthur isles #paddy doyle #paddy doyle senior #LC #anglea rizzoli #frank rizzoli #rizzles fanfic

[echotrinityme]

The Ballad of Sven Svensson

Warning: blood, gore, and death. PLEASE DON'T READ THIS IF YOU'RE SQUEAMISH ABOUT THIS STUFF. I WARNED YOU.

Sven Svensson has always been in line for leading the Toppat Clan ever since he was chosen to be next in line by Terrence Suave. 

Sven Svensson was found by Terrence Suave when he was a lost boy looking through trash when he was discovered by the aforementioned former leader. 

After Terrence Suave's "death", Reginald Copperbottom and his right-hand man, Arthur Walton, took Sven in and cared for him like he was their son. They taught him everything and made sure he was fed and cared for. They even taught him how to steal and how to get away from the police and the Government. 

When he was old enough, Reginald and RHM began to teach him about being in line for Toppat King. 

Sven was happy that he was in line to be Toppat King but he didn't expect that being a successor would be so much work. He hated doing the paperwork and making sure everything goes right. Unfortunately, he had the unhealthy mindset that he must be perfect. Perfect to be the leader of the Toppat Clan. It didn't help that Reginald and Right taught him to be the best.

He wanted to be the best leader there is. To be better than Reginald Copperbottom.

Sven was with Burt Curtison, the head of communications. Burt and Sven have known each other for a long time. Burt was brought into the clan at the age of 9 when he was discovered by Reginald and Right. He was covered with dirt, scratches, and some weird crimson substance. Reg and Right took him to the doctors and found the blood wasn't his and they tried to ask him about his parents but they didn't get a response from him. He was adopted by the Toppat Clan and trained when he was old enough to be head of communications.

Sven was doing some paperwork while Burt was looking through the monitors on the airship. 

Burt looked at one particular monitor and saw a group of Toppats in a hallway, Burt raised an eyebrow as he zoomed in to see what was going on. He saw many familiar faces but he didn't recognize two Toppats. One of the Toppats was wearing a dark blue top hat that is similar to Sven's and he's wearing a blue suit with a white dress shirt and black tie. His top hat also had an "H' emblem on it. The other toppat was a female with red hair and her suit was lavender and her top hat was also the same color. Her top hat had purple roses on it.

"Hmmm," Burt thought as he took a sip of his coffee, "We have a couple of newbies."

"Hey, Sven, do you know the newbies' names?" Burt asked, still looking at the monitors. He was waiting for an answer but no response. Burt blinked as he looked over at Sven who was still doing paperwork, Sven was concentrating on his paperwork that he didn't hear Burt. 

"Uh... Sven?" Burt said tentatively.

Sven didn't respond.

Burt sighed as he went back to his monitors, he knew Sven can shut the outside world when he was busy with something. Sven blinked as he looked up from his paperwork and he glanced at Burt. "Did you say something, Burt?" Sven asked in his Swedish accent.

"Nope," Burt replied in a bored tone.

"Oh... I thought you did,"

There was silence after their exchange, Burt was still looking at the monitors and Sven resuming his paperwork.

Later, Sven was walking to his room when he heard the voices of Reginald and Right's. Sven stopped for a moment to eavesdrop. He knew he shouldn't but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Are we sure he can be a leader, Right?" Reginald asked Right as he was laying down on the bed he and Right shared. They were a couple. Not just any couple, they were married. They have been married for a long time and only certain people know they are a couple.

"Of 'ourse, Reg'" Right responded, "He may be a newbie but I know he's qualified,"

Reginald thought for a moment, he did have a point. Since Henry Stickmin joined them, he's been doing the clan so much good lately. He's been good at avoiding getting himself and others out of the Government's hands. He's also been suggesting new things to add to the plan when he's with Reginald, Right, and Sven. 

"You're right," Reginald said as Right got into bed with him, "Maybe tomorrow we can start training him for succession,"

"Good idea,"

Sven's eyes widened as he felt his heart broke into a million pieces.

"No... No... No!" Sven thought as his perfect world shatter, "It can't be..."

Sven went to his room as he was about to cry, he started breathing heavily as his heart started beating faster. He was trembling as he clenched his fists, he was feeling so many emotions. 

"They're pitying him you know,"

Sven blinked as he heard a voice and he quickly looked all over his room but no one was there. 

"Pssst! It's your inside voice dumbass," the voice said.

Sven blinked, "Life is like a game you know, you don't want to disappoint Reginald, and Right, right?" 

Sven nodded as he got ready for bed and turned off his lights. 

Over the next few months, Sven had been thinking of ways he could make Reginald and Right reconsidered their decision about making Henry leader. He even had plans to make everyone vote for him and to make sure they don't consider Henry as next in line. He went as far as sabotaging Henry during missions and heists but somehow, Henry would manage to escape or find his way around the sabotage. That made Henry popular and it made Reginald's decision to have Henry as leader fluctuated. 

"God dammit!" Sven thought angrily as he walked to find Reginald and Right. He was not happy. "How can that brat be better than me!" Sven got to Reginald office's and was to open the door when he heard three voices inside the office.

"Henry, we asked you here because we are going to train you to become a leader," Reginald told Henry who was watching him. Right had his arms crossed and was looking at Henry. Henry was nervous, he didn't expect to become the leader of the Toppat clan. 

Sven heard his heart beating, "Now when you first came here, you were a Toppat recruit but after doing several missions and succeeding them, we decided to train you to become our successor," Reginald continued.

Sven trembled while he listened to the conversation, Henry blinked in confusion. 

"I thought Sven was next in line for leader?" Henry said.

"He was," Right responded, "But... don't tell Sven about what I'm about to tell you..." Right cleared his throat and used his one good eye to stare at Henry.  "We don't think he's ready to take on the responsibilities of being Toppat leader," Right stated firmly.

Henry's eyes widened as Sven felt his heart shrivel up and want to die. Sven quickly turned around and quickly walked to his room. He walked past Carol, Earrings, and Mr. Macbeth who said hi to him but he ignored them. Ever since he heard Henry was going to be the next leader, he's been ignoring everyone to focus on changing Reg's and Right's mind. 

Sven started heaving as he went inside his room, he closed the door and went to his desk. He sat down and put his elbows on the desk. He was holding his head with his hands, wet droplets fell on the desk. Sven was sobbing as everything he worked for was gone. Everything he was taught and was destined for... stripped away... broken dreams and hopes are shattered like a broken mirror.

Henry was made leader and he made Ellie Rose his right-hand lady. Everyone was cheering and celebrating. Henry was now wearing a black top hat with Reginald's necklace surrounding it, he was wearing a fancy black, white, and red suit with a cape. He almost looked like Terrence Suave when he was leader which disturbed Right and Reg for a little bit. 

After Henry became leader, the Toppat Clan was more successful than ever. 

Sven was bitter, angry, and sad at Henry, Reginald, Right, and himself. 

One time during a celebration for once again, escaping the Government and leaving with their heist, there was a big party. Sven was drinking some alcohol while everyone was either dancing or chatting with other members. Sven didn't join in the celebrations since he was too bitter and angry. 

He looked around to find Burt, he was the only one Sven tolerated since Sven's drastic mood change have pushed away everyone. He kept looking for him when he spotted Burt with Henry. Oh. Well, that sucks. Sven saw Burt had his arm wrapped around Henry's waist while they were talking to Reginald, Right, and Ellie. Sven blinked as he felt his rage bubbling like a sinister potion waiting to be brewed.

"They're dating... they're fucking dating?!" Sven thought incredulously, "How come he didn't tell me!? That traitor!"  

Sven downed the alcohol and went to his room. 

He paced around his room as his rage, resentment, bitterness, and frustration were starting to eat away his sanity and consciousness. His sanity was hung by a thread and something or someone can cut it with scissors. 

"ARGH!"

Sven screamed as he punched his mirror, shattering it in the process. His knuckles were bleeding and he started throwing things and breaking his stuff. He was also sobbing hysterically. His breakdown lasted for a couple of minutes. 

He was staring at his broken mirror as his sobbing ceased, his eyes were red and puffy. He stared at his reflection, he saw his broken self. His hair was messy, his appearance was unkempt, and his knuckles were bleeding and in pain. 

Most people are rational but Sven was not. 

Sven was staring at his mirror with one single thought...  

if anyone can become Toppat leader before him...

Burt Curtis.

Mr. Macbeth.

Earrings.

Thomas Chestershire.

Ellie Rose.

Carol Cross.

Henry Stickmin.

Sven smiled as he looked at the broken mirror, he had an idea.

Burt was looking through the monitors when Sven came in holding two coffee mugs. 

"Here you go," Sven handed one of the mugs to Burt, Burt took the mug as he stared at Sven. Sven was smiling at him which made Burt uncomfortable, Sven rarely smiles and Sven looked...happy. 

"Thanks..." Burt responded, Sven smiled as he left Burt alone.

Burt drank the coffee and went back to watching the monitors.

A few seconds later, he felt severe pain in his stomach. He stood up and he started coughing violently, he coughed into his hand and felt a metallic taste in his mouth. He felt liquid on his hand and checked his palm. His eyes widened when he saw blood and he felt his eyes started bleeding. He kept coughing as he dropped his cup and the cup shatter into little bitty pieces, he fell to the floor and more blood came out of his mouth. He was twitching and trembling like a terrified little worm. Then he moved no more. 

B is Burt for drinking poisoned coffee.

Sven smiled as he went to find Mr. Macbeth.

Mr. Macbeth was checking the weapon supply when he heard someone coming toward him, he turned around but felt a hard object. He fell to the ground, head ringing, and felt liquid on his head. He looked up and saw a figure above me but couldn't tell who it was since his vision was blurry. He then heard giggling and some words, he was confused when he felt the same object hit his head. Sven held a rock and smashed Mr.Macbeth's head. Blood splatters against Sven and the walls. Mr. Macbeth was now dead. 

M is for Mr. Macbeth "dashed" on a rock. CRUNCH!

Earrings was taking selfies on the dock and was about to take another when she saw Sven walking toward her. She frowned when she noticed Sven was holding a hammer and he had some red stuff on his clothes. She was about to say something when Sven hit her with the hammer. Poor Earrings was bludgeoned to death.

E is for Earrings when Sven bludgeoned her brains.

Thomas was sobbing as he looked up at Sven who was smiling and was covered in blood. 

"S-S-Sven w-why?" Thomas said, voice cracking.

Sven didn't answer as he laughed evilly.

T is for Thomas Chestershire with marinated remains.

Ellie Rose was brushing her hair when she heard a knock on her door, "Come in," she said.

Sven smiled as he went inside her room, he found Ellie in her bathroom. Ellie looked at her mirror and saw Sven. "Hi Sven, How are you today-" she paused when she took in Sven's appearance, she saw his hair was messy and... blood?

"Uh... Sven, are you okay?" Ellie asked as she turned around but gasped when Sven roughly grabbed her neck and began to put her head in the sink that had water in it for some reason. 

Sven kept Ellie's head in the water while Ellie tried to stop Sven, however, Sven was strong and used his strength to keep Ellie's head down. After a couple of minutes, she stopped moving. Sven let go of her and wiped down his wet hand. He slowly walked out of her room, fixing his appearance as if he didn't murder Ellie. 

E is for Ellie, quiet, drowned in the sink.

Sven put Carol's head inside a locker as he smiled, he just finished dismembering her and was now hiding several of her body parts throughout the airship. 

C is for Carol, her pieces scatter around the airship.  

Henry was walking toward the communications to find Burt, he called Burt earlier but he didn't answer. Henry went inside the communications and found Burt's corpse on the floor. His eyes widened as he went over to him, he checked for a pulse but Burt was dead. Henry felt his eyes blurred with tears as he stood up, he was about to head out when he saw Sven standing in the doorway.

"Sven! I'm glad you're here, Burt is dead and I don't know who did it," Henry said urgently.

Sven walked inside as Henry continued, "We have to tell Reginald and Right and Ellie and everyone else,"

Sven closed the door.

"Sven! Are you even listening to me-" Henry paused when he saw Sven was covered in blood and he was holding a knife. 

Sven twitched as he trembled, he started walking toward Henry. Henry felt fear upon Sven coming closer, Henry felt his heart drop when Sven held out his knife. "Goodbye, Henry Stickmin," Sven said coldly as he ran over to Henry.

Everyone was in the meeting room, waiting for Henry and several other people. Reginald and Right were waiting for Henry and Ellie but they haven't showed up. 

"Where are they?" Reginald asked as he looked at his watch.

"Henry and Ellie," Right said as he talked into cybernetics, "Where are yer guys?"

No answer.

Right turned to Reginald, "They're not respondin'"

Reginald didn't like that, he searched the room and he saw that a few Toppats were also missing as well. Reginald stood up and was about to go look for the missing Toppats when the door to the meeting room opened. Reg, Right, and everyone else turned to the person to see who it was. Reg recognized the silhouette as Sven and he was about to reprimand him when Sven came in. 

Everyone's eyes widened as some mouths were agape while some a hand put a hand to their face. Sven's eyes were wide and listless, he was twitching and he was covered with fresh blood. Sven was smiling as he was holding a familiar black top hat and a gold necklace. Everyone ran behind Reginald and Right to hide as Sven stepped in front of them, Sven held up the Toppat with a crazed smile.

"Aren't you proud of me now?" Sven said softly with the same crazed smile, "I have disposed of Henry and several others..."

Sven laughed as he started sobbing, "Aren't you proud of me guys?"

Reginald and Right stared at him in horror as several other Toppats began to tell Reg and Right about finding several dead bodies. 

Sven was quickly apprehended and put on trial. However, Sven lost his mind and Reginald and Right had no choice but to "remove" Sven away from them and everyone else to make everyone feel safe.

After Sven's "exile", his descent to madness was recorded in the book of records of the Toppat Clan. New members were told of his story and leaders after Henry was made aware of the infamy that Sven created from his massacre. They were warned to be careful in the future because of Sven.

It takes just one bad day and the need to be perfect to turn someone or something into a nightmare. 

A/N:  Pssst! This story and title are a reference to a song from a musical. If you know the reference, please don't spoil it.

#thehenrystickmincollection #henry stickmin #sven svensson #burt curtis #reginald copperbottom #right hand man #carol cross #thomas chestershire #mr. macbeth #earrings #ellie rose #thsc #thsc henry stickmin #thsc sven svensson #thsc burt curtis #thsc reginald copperbottom #thsc right hand man #thsc carol cross #thsc earrings #thsc thomas chestershire #thsc mr. macbeth #background copperright #background burnry

[kalgalen]

thinking today of songbird arthur who accidentally stumbled into the dreamlands while on a case and got thrown into the pits for the king's amusement

but the thing is, he sings to keep himself sane, and the king ends up hearing him and deciding Arthur will be much better entertainment in a gilded cage instead

So Arthur finds himself ripped away from his prison, fed a full meal of strange delicacies, and dressed in diaphanous fineries, thin chains of gold, and a leather hood like you put on birds of prey. Then he's thrusted into a gilded cage hanging high next to the throne.

The first time the king enters the room, Arthur gets full body shivers even though he can't actually see him; he can feel his power, his presence, the aura emanating from him that feels like broken bones and sacrifices made to a greater being. The king sits on his throne, and his words echo in the empty room as they do in Arthur's own mind. 

"Sing for me."

Petrified, Arthur struggles to remember any lyrics he might have known. The king grows impatient, and it can be felt in the air, a crackling of electricity that threatens to tear Arthur apart. Something he can only hear slithers into the cage, making it creak slightly as it sways back and forth. It creeps closer - closer still, wraps around his ankle, up his calf, his thigh. The contact is light still, but the promise of violence is clear.

"Won't you sing for me, little bird?" the voice goes again, amused cruelty coating the deep rumble of it like honey.

Arthur starts to sing. His voice wavers and shakes, and his breath is short with terror in his lungs, but he sings. It's an old lullaby he used to sing to Faroe, and one his mother had sung to him way before that. The thing around his leg tightens, and he thinks: that is the end, surely. This wasn't enough. He's about to die.

But then he finishes the song, and he's still alive; the limb - for this is what it must be, warm and skin-soft - unfurls, retreats, and he's alone in the cage again.

"Good," the voice says. Then: "Another."

Arthur lets out a shaky breath, and obeys. 

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #fic tag #more an idea than an actual fic but

[worldbeyondtheworld]

Looking back at Arthur’s concept and his prosthesis, I wonder if he needed a prothesis at all or made it so people would stop looking at him? Maybe it was some internalized ableism. Plus as a project to distract himself from what happened in the cave.

The muscles of the residual limb are always more precise than any prosthesis. A prosthesis is clunky and will never have the same dexterity as a the lost limb. From my research, any (or most) upper limb prosthetic limbs will eventually gather dust locked away because the amputees are so frustrated with them.

It feels to me that he, Vivi, and Mystery started their road trip shortly after Arthur learned how to use his prosthesis. Which, creating the limb, learning to work with it, etc. would have been several months at most.

So maybe Arthur is trying to stick through using the prosthesis no matter how inconvenient it is. Not to mention the pain from the pressure and the sores.

Eventually he gets fed up and stops using it. He doesn’t lose anything with one arm. He gets good at ignoring or pushing back at abled people who are being assholes about him being an amputee.

This reminds of a cool post where the OP talked about this topic, but I’m not sure where it’s anymore. So shout-out to OP! I hope I can find your post again so, if it’s okay to reblog, I’ll reblog it!

So for the time, I’ll write down my own thoughts.

Arthur would need help from others with things that require both hands. But he’d also learn how to do things with his right arm, what is left of his left one, the rest of his body, and tools that help him.

Driving? How many people who have two working hands drive daily while only using one? I imagine that he creates a mechanism in the van that works with his residual limb or other muscles so he has more control and less to worry about when he needs to switch gears, for example. One too many car chases while he was at the wheel.

On the other hand, the Mystery Skulls get very good at switching seats even at high speeds when Vivi or Lewis have to take over. Needs must and what you know. (Doesn’t make it less scary.) It helps that Lewis is a ghost.

Opening a jar? Arthur jams the glass between his knees and pries the lid open.

#arthur kingsmen #msa headcanon #mystery skulls animated headcanon #mystery skulls animated #msa arthur

[fantasyinvader]

I’ve been wondering if there’s more to Edelgard’s Napoleon allusion than meets the eye. I mean, sure, Edelgard has Amyr adorned with the “Crest of the Beast,” suggesting she’s an antichrist figure much like how Napoleon was seen in the past over his ability to wage war (see War and Peace). Likewise, Edelgard is a villain while Napoleon was considered THE villain back in the day. Just look at Sir Arthur Conan Doyle hyping up Sherlock’s supposed last opponent Moriarty as “the Napoleon of crime” to see what I mean.

But what I’m thinking is how Edelgard is an absolute monarch (autocrat) whose rule is backed by the army. We see this in her Japanese ending, how Claude refers to her rule as “military rule” and her being identified as a hegemon in both Flower and Moon routes. But this rule comes after an insurrection that was meant to limit the power of the crown.

People tend to forget that feudalism isn’t just simply obeying what your king says. Titles such as dukes, counts, barons, knights are all granted with privileges, but those privileges must be respected by the monarch. It’s transactional, and if the monarch doesn’t honor his/her side of the bargain they’re liable to face uprisings. That’s why these things are backed by laws, traditions or customs. It’s not just “God says to follow this guy, so do it.” If the monarch simply tries to impose their will, it could very well lead to a civil war.

And in France, King Louis XIV/The Great/The Sun King went about weakening the nobility in this regard by centralizing power. He didn’t appoint someone as his prime minister, he did that work himself while at the same time using his charisma to get nobles to want to support him. The French nobility were too busy partying at his court, keeping them in Versailles rather than in their own lands where they ruled in his name. And while the nobles were busy, Louis XIV and his ministers went about overhauling France, taking power out of the hands of the nobility and instead putting it in the hands of selected intendents who were dependent on the king for their position.

In this context, Versailles sounds like Enbarr in how all the Imperial nobility are supposed to work out of the capital rather than their feifs. This also sounds a lot like how Edelgard frames her reforms. But if you know your history, it’s these reforms by Louis XIV that planted the seeds of the French Revolution. After all, he fed the decadence of the nobility in a time when things were good, decadence they refused to give up when times got bad. His successors also didn’t have the charisma to make this work for them.

The parallel here is Ionius, trying to consolidate power for himself and take it from the nobility. However, he appears to have lacked the charisma of the Sun King, leading to the Insurrection of the Seven. After all, he wasn’t performing his duties to his nobles and presumably his parties fucking sucked. Reforms are made to limit the powers of the monarch by corrupt individuals, each seeking to empower themselves rather than the people. Hell, these same nobles would want to join with Edelgard’s intended conquest of Fodlan in order to further their own authority, see Caspapa joining her in Houses in exchange for control of the former Alliance territories.

Sadly, this reflects how the French Revolution became corrupt, not living up to it’s own ideals and giving way to the Reign of Terror. We don’t really get much of a RoT in Fodlan, at least until Edelgard, the Napoleon figure, takes over. And of course, we can argue the hypocrisies of Napoleon and Edelgard. Whatever lofty ideals they talked about spreading didn’t really gel with their actions.

Patricia fleeing the Empire with Cornelia’s help calls to mind the Scarlet Pimpernel.

There’s also the Enlightenment angle. We have the whole Enlightenment/Nirvana symbolism with regards to Buddhism, but there’s also the European Age of Enlightenment. We have technological clues to suggest Fodlan is around the 1700’s in terms of development comparative to our world, such as the fact there’s children’s literature, with opera being from the 1600’s as well as the discovery of the speed of light. We have John Locke, believing that humans are inherently good and would work in the interest of society in opposition to the Church’s stance that people are naturally sinful and need guidance. There’s also the belief if we did away with the old order it would lead to a new golden age.

Those last two points remind anyone else of Edelgard? Bonus points, the end of the Napoleonic wars is said to be the end of the Age of Enlightenment.

Edelgard also restores the Church under her control after it was kicked out of the Empire over a hundred years prior. Reminds me of Napoleon bringing back the Catholic Church after the revolution tried to replace it with their Cult of Reason/Cult of the Supreme Being, but did so in a way he wouldn’t be under their control.

But it is known that when Napoleon was defeated, the people of the capital opened their doors to their enemies. They were sick of him and his endless wars. With regards to Edelgard, reach Enbarr and you can recruit a battalion of civilians to oppose her with Dorothea and Manuela. You don’t get that for any other lord. It’s meant to show that even her own people think she’s a tyrant, just like Napoleon was considered the first modern dictator. Both are also skilled at using propaganda, both ran police states (see Hubert about that one).

Invading a frozen country only for their capital to be set on fire as you take it?

Really feels like there was this effort to link Edelgard to a real person, one greatly debated by history, when you look at stuff like this. Too bad Fodlan didn't have a Horatio Hornblower, but to be fair he is a fictional character.

[crowwritesaway]

Thomas Shelby Best Friend XXII

“I don’t know why Jade feels entitled to speak of her as if you guys are still together.” Thomas snapped, slamming his door behind him.

Zoey sat down in her office. She rubbed her eyes. It seems like everything and everyone are turning against me.

She looked around her office. I wonder if my mum is okay.

She clenched her jaw. Why can’t she just accept me? I’m tired of her making me feel unworthy…making me feel like a burden.

Maybe it is best to cut ties with her. It’s not like she’ll love me after everything.

Three knocks at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. “Come in.” Zoey said, clearing her throat. She wiped her face. A few tears had managed to slip out of her eyes.

“Zoey. Hi, here’s some files that need to be signed by you.” Lizzie told Zoey. She put them on her desk. Zoey nodded at her.

Lizzie smiled and went to walk away. “Lizzie, wait. I need your opinion on something. Close the door and shut the blinds.” Zoey told her.

Lizzie shut the door and closed the blinds. “Give me a second. Let me just write it out first.” Zoey said, taking a sheet of paper and grasping a pen on her other hand. Zoey scribbled the following:

a. Follow my heart.

b. Listen to my mind.

c. Rely on my instincts

d. Leave it all behind

e. Burn everything in my path

Zoey put her pen down. She looked up at Lizzie and asked her, “Pick a letter from a through e.”

Thomas glanced out of his office and frowned. “Where’s Lizzie?” Thomas asked John who walked by.

John shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. Was about to go see Zoey in her office.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You don’t have any work to do?” He swore under his breathe.

John smirked. “What? I can’t see Zoey.”

Thomas shook his head. He glanced at Zoey office. He tilted his head. “She’s there. But why are her blinds closed.”

John’s head snapped toward Zoey’s office. He clicked his tongue. “Whoever it is, must be important.”

Thomas nodded. He shut the door behind him. But not as important as me. He headed towards Zoey’s office. John followed him.

“Hmm…I don’t know.” Lizzie said, nervous. “There’s no right or wrong answers. Just say...”

“Answer to what.” Thomas asked, walking inside her office. “Nothing that concerns you.” Zoey said, snatching the paper off her desk.

“What’s that?” John asked, after seeing how she gripped the paper tightly.

“This is my business.” Zoey answered. “Lizzie, you can go. Thanks for the lovely chat.”

Lizzie got up and before she left, she said, “My answer is d.” Zoey looked away from John and grinned to herself.

“Answer to what!!” Thomas snapped, walking up to Zoey. Zoey tucked the note in her pocket and snapped back, “Answer to whatever I’m doing. Answer to stop myself from losing my fucking mind! Answer to stop myself from living in pain… Answer to… what I don’t feel certain about!” She stood up from her chair.

“Alright, let’s calm down.” Arthur said, stepping in. Zoey moved away for Thomas. For the second time in his life, Zoey glared at him. She was furious.

Zoey heavily sighed. She gritted her teeth. “Thomas…Thomas.” She growled in her mind.

She bit her lip, contemplating what to do next. Alright. Alright. Let it go. As angry and fed up as I am. I can’t bite the hand that feeds me. Unless…

“Thomas, I’m going to take a break. Now, before you interrupt. This is not a goodbye. This is…this. Everything is gonna be fine. I just need to step away for a moment.” Zoey said, letting go of her lip and staring at him. She no longer glared at him. She looked at him, her eyes were dull. They didn’t have that sparkle.

Thomas reluctantly nodded. John looked at Thomas, shaking his head. Giving up so easily.

“Alright. Alright.” Thomas replied softly. He didn’t want to scare her away. He knew Zoey would run off if he pressured her into staying.

“Do what you want.” Thomas said, taking one last glance at her and walking out. Arthur had let go of Zoey. He patted her back and wished her luck.

John stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say. He only knew he wanted her to stay.

Zoey looked at John. “John, I would say don’t worry but that would be selfish. I-I I’ll write you a letter if you want.” John’s head snapped up to look at her. A letter. Like a lover.

“I’ll try my best. I won’t be a ghost. I’ll come around like always.” Zoey whispered, shoving the paper in her pocket.

“If that’s what you want. Then, I’ll support you.” John mumbled, smiling at her.

Zoey smiled back. She walked around the table and hugged him. He held onto her tightly. He secretly took the paper. He hadn’t forgotten about it.

He was the only one who could steal from Zoey. It was something that annoyed and amused Zoey.

Stay around for more of Thomas Shelby Best Friend

#thomas shelby x reader #john shelby #john shelby x oc #john shelby x reader #michael gray #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby x plus size reader #thomas shelby fanfic #john shelby fanfic #peaky blinders x oc

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Forgot to link the previous chapter but here is chapter 7. Still trying to figure out how to put up a masterlist, be patient with me please!

Rating is Explicit, NSWF.

She rode into camp with trepidation. It was like coming back to the scene of a crime. Her pulse quickened and her hands trembled. But then she spotted Dutch in the distance, watching her from the shade of his tent and she pushed her chin up and jumped off the saddle. She fed and petted Cricket and went around to untie the basket. She touched the pie, it still felt slightly warm. I don’t have to do this, she thought. In fact, I really shouldn’t. I mean yes, Arthur deserves it but then just a few weeks ago he also… Savigne flapped the lid of the basket shut and stood for a moment in hesitation. She looked and found Frost among the horses. Arthur was here. 

She bit her lip, took another sideways glance at Dutch who hadn’t moved, smoking his cigar, his eyes glued to her and decided to hell with it, if for no other reason, she would do it just to spite Dutch, to show him that she wasn’t going to be cowed. So she strode over to Arthur's tent. A flush crept up her face but she strode on with determination, now committed to the decision. Absentmindedly she flattened her hair against her left cheek, over the residue of Micah’s slap.

His flap was closed. Maybe he was sleeping? Maybe he was indisposed. Last thing she wanted was – her knuckles rapping on the wood of the horse cart startled her.

Silence.

She glanced away and saw Tilly and Karen quickly diverting their eyes and pretending to be in conversation. Her heart was beating like a drum. Dutch's gaze sizzled her skin. She rapped again and cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

Another long silence.

He must be sleeping. She turned to leave, somewhat relieved.

“Whad’ya want?” came the low growl from inside and her heart jolted.

“Can I come in?” she whispered nervously. Then swallowed and repeated it louder.

Five long heartbeats later:

“Fine.”

She moved the flap and stepped in, letting it fall back down behind her. Arthur was sitting on his cot, sketching in his journal, his long legs slung over the bed. He didn’t look up and if he was surprised, he didn’t show it. She noticed that she had rarely seen him without his hat in daylight and his hair was a lighter shade than she had thought and longer than she remembered. It suited him, this rugged look. Her eyes fell on his hands and the bloody, swollen knuckles. She cleared her throat again in an attempt to distract her mind and looked around instead. It felt spacious; unlike her own tent, she could actually stand up in here. The white fabric allowed the light in and there was a certain homey charm with the photos he had pinned on the crates and the scattered books and papers.

She stood rooted, suddenly not sure how to proceed. It occurred to her that this was the first time she was speaking to him ever since that night. He looked up then and there was a hardness in that look but also something else. Or maybe that was just her imagination. His eyes traveled over her face and lingered on her cheek, still red from Micah's slap and by reflex she tapped her hair over it again in an effort to conceal it. She looked away and he returned to his journal, for a long moment the scratching of pencil on paper the only sound in the tent.

Savigne placed the basket on the ground and carefully fished out the wrapped pie. The aroma of apples and cinnamon was unmistakable, quickly unfurling in the tent. His hand stilled but his eyes remained glued to the journal. She sensed his surprise although his face gave away nothing.

“For you,” she said simply and when he didn’t respond or look up, moved to place it on the low table that was holding several guns before she went back to heft the basket. She hesitated again, not sure what she was waiting for.

A moment passed.

“Was just doin’ m’job,” he said dismissively, his eyes on his journal but his fingers still not moving.

“I know,” she said with shaky breath. “But still.”

He locked eyes with her then and she was startled by the unexpected intensity in his gaze now. She swallowed, her throat dry, pinned by those damn blue eyes again.

“I-if you don’t like pie…” she rambled, “I mean you don’t have to…”

He didn’t say another word and neither did he look away.

It should be illegal to look at someone like that, she thought as she felt herself blushing again. She inspected her boots for a moment to collect her thoughts. She heard herself quickly mumble “Also, thank you,” before she stepped back out and started to walk towards her own tent with trembling legs.

The whole thing had felt eerily like stepping into the den of a lion or a bear and living to tell the tale. She didn’t understand why Arthur had such an effect on her, but she was done questioning it. Clearly he did and clearly she needed to stay away from him. She hadn’t thought about that night in days and now she was thinking about it again. She hadn't felt this awkward and self-conscious around anyone since she had been a young girl and it was unsettling to say the least. Obviously they were two ingredients that should never be mixed, the sooner she accepted that, the better.

Anyhow, it was done. The pie was delivered. He would eat it or he would toss it, she didn’t care. Absolute last interaction ever she thought. Done, over, finished. If I stay here for another year, I’m never talking to this man again.

“Savigne!” Mary Beth sauntered over, a gentle smile on her lips. “How are you?”

“Okay, I guess,” Savigne breathed.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she sighed.

“Mostly I just ignore stuff,” Savigne chuckled. “Also…” she fished out a bottle of wine from the basket.

“Don’t let Karen see that,” Mary Beth giggled, then placed her hand on Savigne’s arm to walk her off towards the overlook.

They sat on a log overlooking the river from up high and Savigne wondered why she hadn’t come here before. The view was stunning. Thankfully the log was a good distance from the ledge, enough not to trigger her vertigo. She uncorked the bottle and they handed it back and forth, speaking in whispers and giggling like children.

“How is he?” she asked finally when she decided she was drunk enough.

The other woman snorted without mirth. “Not as bad as he should be. What an animal.”

“Don’t you go insultin animals like that!” Savigne protested before she grew serious again. “You think he’ll be like…damaged?”

“Hell he already was damaged,” Mary Beth said, taking another swig. The bottle was half empty now. “Maybe this’ll fix him.”

“I don’t think Dutch cares,” Savigne said carefully, turning the thought over in her head. “He talked to me this morning. Sort of…blamed me.”

“Of course he did," Mary Beth quipped. "You know why?”

“Yeah. Because Micah was a good gunslinger and now he’s a man short, blah blah blah...” she trailed off when Mary Beth impishly shook her head, then smiled with a glint in her eye.

“That ain’t why.”

Savigne ignored the buzz in her head and thought about it for a minute. She grabbed the bottle and took another mouthful. The wine was warm and sweet and she hadn’t eaten much all day. It went straight to her head.

“Becaaauuuse...Dutch doesn’t like me?” she suggested.

The other woman’s smile grew into a grin. “Oh sure! But why?”

“I don’t knoooow,” Savigne groaned. “My head hurts. I hit it against the pole, you know. Here...” She grabbed Mary Beth’s hand and guided it to her temple. There, above her right temple, under her hair was the bump. “So just tell me…hicc…I’m injured and hurting!”

A sigh of mock defeat: “Oooookaaayyyy…but it’s pretty obvious.”

Savigne took a mouthful of wine and raised her eyebrows, intrigued.

“Because of Arthur.”

She sputtered, almost chocking on the wine. Whatever she was expecting, that wasn't it. Mary Beth laughed like a bird until she coughed it off and managed: “What’s so funny?”

“Your face!”

“This is my ‘you don’t make sense’…hicc…face.” She took another gulp from the bottle, hoping her red face would be attributed to the wine.

“He doesn’t like sharing Arthur,” Mary Beth whispered mysteriously, watching her with great interest.

“Sorry, still don’t get it.”

“Really? Why do you think Arthur beat Micah like that?” Then, raising a finger to denote importance: “And challenged Dutch?”

Savigne suddenly decided the view was fascinating. She looked at the river for a long time, pretending to think. What she was really thinking was how to steer the conversation elsewhere. Her imbibed mind failed to come up with a solution.

“Tol' me he was just doing his job,” she replied carefully. “Makes sense t’me. I mean…hicc…I pay for safety. I think Ar- Mr. Morgan doesn’t need more reason than that. In fact...seems to me…hicc…he doesn’t need much reason at all to beat someone up.”

In her mind’s eye, that fist kept coming down: crunch…crunch…crunch… and red fireworks bloomed on Arthur’s shirt.

From the corner of her eye she saw Mary Beth swipe her argument away with a wave of her arm.

“That ain’t it. Sure, I mean that’s what he says. But…" she dropped her voice, conspiratorial: "...he never beat someone from the gang before. A punch here or there, but never like that. If they hadn’t pulled him off…hicc…he’d have killed him. Hell, even when Micah…bothered… Jenny, the poor girl, he didn’t interfere.”

Mary Beth watched Savigne’s unimpressed profile and continued undeterred:

“Also, he never stood his ground with...hicc...Dutch like that. Never with an audience. You see…” she slid closer, “…Arthur is big on loyalty.”

“So what? First time for everything,” Savigne retorted, getting a little annoyed. The conversation wasn’t going in a direction she liked.

“So,” Mary Beth took another gulp and handed her the bottle, “is there something going on between you two?”

“Absolutely not!” she said hotly. “Those books have…hicc…rotted your brain.” She chortled a moment later, a bit surprised that they had become so familiar within hours. She had rarely spoken to Mary Beth before tonight.

“Hmmm…” was Mary Beth’s unconvinced response as she puckered her lips and gazed at the darkening sky.

“I mean it. Nothing’s going on.”

“Maybe not for you.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Then immediately regretted it when the world spun a little. “You’re drunk,” she said sheepishly.

“I’ll sober up tomorrow,” Mary Beth retorted. “But you’re blind. So what will…hicc…you do? Hmmmm?”

“Honestly!” She huffed with irritation. “You’ll just believe whatever you want anyway. No poin’ in…hicc…arguin’.”

“You don’t see how he looks at ya?”

Savigne decided she was safer not saying anything at all. She was in dangerous territory and drunk or not, Mary Beth wasn’t stupid. She cradled the empty bottle in her lap for target practice later and gazed down at the river sparkling in the emerging moonlight.

“Well?” the other woman prodded, unwilling to let her silence stand.

“No,” was the flat answer.

“Well I see it!” With dramatic flair. “I see how…hicc… he looks after you and Charles when you go shootin’.”

“What!? Absolute non...hicc…nonsense!”

“I known Arthur for yeaarssss,” Mary Beth said lowly, a finger wagging. “Can’t fool me, no sir!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Besides, everyone agrees.”

“Scuse me?!” Savigne flinched. “Who’s everyon’?”

“Every. One.” Her hand swiped the air again with finality.

“You guys have too much...hicc..time on your hands,” Savigne mumbled. “Maybe I’ll go’n’talk to Ms…hicc…Grimshaw. Should give ya’ll more work.”

“While yer there, ask her what she thinkin’” Mary-Beth giggled. “She ain’t stupid either.”

“So I’m the only stupid one here? That what you sayin’?”

“You said it sister, not me.”

Savigne flattened her lips as her fingers prodded the left side of her face. She thought about Arthur’s look earlier in the tent. And then of course she thought about that night. Always that damn night. She thought of his hands on her breasts and his breath on her neck and shivered despite herself. A shot of heat went between her legs and she instinctively clamped her thighs shut. How he had undressed her completely and then how he had removed her hand from her mouth, not allowing her anything to hide behind. He had wanted her completely naked in body and soul. Vulnerable. Honest. Her head swam as a yearning for friction bloomed between her legs. She cleared her throat, suddenly anxious to be back in her tent, alone.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” she announced, staggering to her feet and dropping the empty bottle into the basket.

“It’s early!” Mary Beth pouted.

“M’tired. Had a day!”

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

They stumbled their way back to camp, snorting and laughing. When the fire came into view, Mary Beth headed towards it and Savigne continued to her tent, basket dangling from one hand.

She gave her tent an apprehensive look when she arrived, somewhat afraid. Did she really want to sleep in here alone again so soon after? But Micah was out, lying incapacitated somewhere in camp, so come to think on it, she was safer today than she had been yesterday.

The urge to be alone was stronger than her fear, so she dropped the basket dismissively, crept in and closed the flap. Ms Grimshaw had brought over some of her clothes to change into for work in the morning, she hadn't been back here since the night before. The tent was tidy. Someone had straightened the pole and cleared up her stuff that must have been scattered all over the place. Still, it was done wrong, so she rearranged everything, aligning every item just so and stacked in order, angling the books to perfection. Then she looked at her bedroll for another moment and started to undress. The heat between her legs pulsed ominously.

Distantly she heard voices and drunken laughter from the camp but it was silent in here, her breathing and the rustling of her clothes the only sounds. She placed another knife under her pillow, borrowed from the kitchen. Then lied down in her chemise and bloomers, looking up at the ceiling.

In her mind, Arthur opened the flap and glided in, silent as a cat. Though it was very dark in here, she imagined seeing those ocean blue eyes as they looked at her like they had looked at her earlier today, hungry with want. His big hands glided up her legs, kneading her thighs, parting them as he moved to lie between them. He lowered his face to hers, closer and closer, until their lips almost touched and she felt his eyelashes on her cheeks. He glided his tongue on her lips and she sighed, parting them. He kissed her then, first gently but firmer and deeper as his fingers gripped her hair, keeping her head in place while his other hand cupped her breast. His cock was ramrod hard and warm and she felt herself getting wet as he glided it over her folds, his tongue imitating the movement in her mouth. Her fingers threaded his hair and he groaned into her mouth as the hand on her breast dipped lower still to guide himself into her.

Savigne gasped as she touched herself, she was dripping. She bit her lip to keep in her moans as she moved her fingers over her folds.

Arthur’s mouth left her swollen lips to dip lower, to her neck and he began moving. She arched her back, yearning for more but he wouldn’t allow it, he would take her however he wanted and there was nothing she could do about it. She whined in frustration but he was indifferent, holding her head in place while his other hand held her inner thigh to push one of her legs further open for him. He groaned into her neck as she gripped his shoulder and he pushed deeper into her, rocking in and out, in and out like a pendulum. She opened her mouth to moan but he captured it with his before he shushed her, watching her face. Her back arched in ecstasy as she felt herself rising towards the crest again, her bent leg shaking. “Look at me,” he whispered into her lips and her eyes shot open to meet his. He was hitting that spot in her again and again as he moved with sluggish vigor.

Her eyelids fluttered close but he tightened his fingers tangled in her hair. “Look at me!”

She met his eyes, as he huffed into her face, the muscles in his shoulder rolling like waves under her fingers. He wanted her to see him taking her, of sculpting her into whatever he wanted, like putty in his hands. She whispered his name again and again as she rose, as he pushed her up to the summit of that wave. Still he didn’t relent, his hand finding her throat again, forcing her head back as he descended on her mouth.  Until her eyes rolled back and a wave of pleasure exploded in her.

Savigne moaned into her pillow and pulled her hand out of her bloomers. She panted, hot and sweaty before she opened her eyes to her tent again. Her heart was racing in her chest and her head was dizzy from the wine, but she felt the satisfaction of her pleasure pulse through her, making her limbs heavy. She thought dimly that she should probably be more bothered for using Arthur like this, but dismissed it as a victimless crime, then drifted off, content and sated.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fluff #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfic #fluff #smut