#drawer specifically because that moment has such a special place in my heart!! like i need to finish the wip where i talk about that cause | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jean-vi · 1 year

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A Quoi Bon Dire? | Levi x Reader

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Inspiration: “There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember / It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender / And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning / I never know what to think about” - About You by The 1975 Summary: What could have been. Genre: Angst, fluff (?) Warnings: Major Character Death, takes place in Season 1, but no specific spoilers. WC: 3.6K A/N: What good is there to say? Other: Masterlist

Levi didn’t like to fall asleep. To fall asleep meant that he had to dwell on years past, people who’d passed. So instead he busied himself with work. He’d file papers, clean his room for the fifth time, restlessly pace, anything to keep his mind off things. Then, once he’d completely tired himself, he’d sit in a chair and sleep. The nature of this schedule meant that he never had to address the things he’d lost.

This night wasn’t unusual. He was busy filing away his papers when he spotted a crumpled piece of paper in the corning of his drawer. Of course, he was confused. He didn’t leave stray pieces of paper around usually.

The man plucked the paper up and carefully unwrapped it. His eyes widened, instantly. Right. He knew what this was.

Soft smiles, notes back and forth.

Written on this paper were words he’d sought to forget. Maybe it was because they reopened old wounds or that the memories were simply far too painful to bare thinking about again. So he simply refolded the paper from its crumpled mess and tucked it away in a different corner.

The clock’s hand moved to four. Levi let out a deep sigh and reclined in his chair. Now, the man never dreamed. Really. He often just blinked and was suddenly waking up. This time, however, and maybe it was because of the note he’d found, he started to dream.

He’d found the first note a while ago. It was slipped under his door and since he was a busy man, he didn’t know when it appeared or who sent it. This note was followed by several more over the following days. They were little messages that read things ranging from Busy day? To Take it easy. Levi was relatively new to the job at the time, so he didn’t exactly know how to handle these notes. He would refold them and slip them in a drawer or throw them in the trash.

He didn’t have time to keep up with a secret admirer, nor did he want to entertain the thought. Still, he kept some of them. Perhaps he’d make it a goal, someday, to catch the perpetrator, but for now, he was too busy, too tired, too done with this existence.

“You got a secret admirer?” You asked with a cheshire grin as he pulled the letter from under the door. You had been walking by and the Captain had never seen you before, but for you it was quite the opposite. You were new to the area, but not a recruit.

Then he noticed your jacket. Garrison. The man put the note in his pocket and stared at you squarely in the face. You weren’t perturbed. In fact, your eyes lit up in fascination, reminiscent of Hange.

“What is a Garrison soldier doing here?” He questioned in response.

“Oh, I’m just a messenger, but also, being so close to the wall, my squad has been stationed here. I live a little ways….that way.” You pointed in a general direction behind him, towards the wall. “We reinforce it when there’s issues, but we seem to be sitting around for now. I thought I’d check out the Scout regiment.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing of interest for you here.”

“True,” You tilted your head a little, “but I still enjoy it. It’s something new and maybe that, in itself, is interesting.”

He scoffed at that, but dropped the subject. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You responded as you turned to leave. “My name is Y/N.” You smiled shyly at your little secret.

And so it would be from that moment on that you would be seen around quite often. He’d see you around the wall, of course, but also chatting with other Scout members. You would help in the gardens or with the horses and you seemed to have a particular interest in the special operations squad.

He swore he always saw you with Petra or joking with Eld. It got to the point where you’d even befriended Oluo, despite his attempts to intimidate you. You always just laughed at him. Then there was Gunther. You seemed to hold a mutual respect towards him. He wasn’t your friend, but you were friendly with him. Then that left Levi. You never spoke to him, never joked around or hung in the same spaces as him.

It wasn’t that he wanted you to, of course, but it was odd to see you surrounded by his team. A Garrison regiment member was making more connections with the Scouts than he’d ever seen before. It was strange, considering you were a real nobody in your regiment.

The Captain wanted to know what your deal was, and maybe he was on edge since the notes hadn’t stopped. Even when he stayed up all night, he never could find the culprit. So, he approached you. Petra had just left to help clean the floors and you were feeding the horses.

“Oy.” He announced his presence, which, unlike others, didn’t affect you as you worked. “Don’t you have your own regiment to help out?”

“Oh, they don’t need me.” You chuckled. “Sure, I’m another body to help with the work, but I’m really not needed. My team has it handled and honestly there’s nothing to repair.” You explained, “so I’m here now.”

The Captain was displeased with your response and walked over to where you held the bucket of feed. “Why are you so friendly with my squad?” He demanded. “It’s suspicious at best.” His face was an ever-present, unemotional, blank slate. The man really gave nothing away.

You shrugged and went to clean the bucket at the outside faucet. There, you began to scrub the metal and he followed you.

“I guess I met Petra by chance and we got along well, so then I just became friends with everyone else.” You smiled. “Are you jealous, Captain?” You eyed him and he had the most incredulous look on his face.

No one ever spoke to him like that. No one. There was a challenge in your tone and he hated being challenged by someone so clearly not worth his time. Still, he couldn’t place his finger on any of it.

“You have some nerve.” He muttered and turned on his heel. The man left quickly and you were left to yourself. He never knew what you were thinking or why you’d suddenly invaded his life.

So here was day 10 of waiting to catch the note placer. He stood by the door, listening for the slightest creak. Then, he heard it. He heard the smallest footstep, the quietest creak of the floorboards. Levi took a breath and swung open the door.

The Captain wasn’t usually caught off guard, but he was now. You stood before him, a note in hand, which immediately gave away your secret. He just blinked and you looked shocked, horrified. The man then frowned and gently plucked the note from hand.

“Why?” He finally spoke and you were frozen. He didn’t know what you were thinking, and he wished he did. If there was anything the man couldn’t do, it was reading people’s minds. You seemed to collect yourself before smiling.

“Levi,” You started, “It seems as though you are a deeply saddened person. I don’t know why or how you became this way, but I just wanted to alleviate…some of it. Not all of it, that would be impossible, I am sure your wounds run deep, but just a little.”

He was taken aback, yes, but he refused to show that weakness. He shifted a little and shook his head. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked at you through slanted eyes.

“Do you pity me or something?” The Captain reached for the door and closed it in your face with a soft click.

This event set off a number of other…things. He definitely became more intrigued than before. He became a bit obsessed with why you were the way you were. Really, the biggest question on his mind lately was why. He knew you still stopped by his door, a note in hand, at 12:00 A.M. sharp. He didn’t try to stop you again. If the first time being caught didn’t scare you out of your mind, then he needn’t try again.

Levi observed. He was a man that was often aware of his surroundings, so he was no different with you. He wasn’t heartless, but he couldn’t understand how you joked with his team so easily, how you befriended them when even he didn’t feel completely involved. The man often sat silent at dinners, contributing to the conversation here and there, but never more than necessary. The others, however, were like a family. Even though they’d lost so many people, they never lost each other. Sometimes, he couldn’t stand to see that, so he’d simply walk away. Soldiers in the Scout Regiment had short life spans, that was for sure, so he never could get close with anyone.

You must understand this too, right? You must know that these people that you were speaking with wouldn’t be around much longer. Considering the next reconnaissance mission, there were surely going to be casualties. It wasn’t too long now, either. The mission was in less than a month and he wasn’t sure how many would live. Maybe you were smart. The special operations squad was sure to survive. But the others…the others not so much. The stable boy, the soldiers who you laughed with in the garden. Those people wouldn’t be so lucky, he was sure.

It was a grim thought, but death was something the Scouts faced every day. Still, the regiment continued on in hope for humanity.

He had stopped paying attention to the notes. When he saw them, he kicked them to the side. They were now piled in the corner. He’d clean them up, stack them neatly, but he didn’t know what to do with them. Levi didn’t want to throw them away, for some reason, but he didn’t have anywhere to put them either.

It was getting to the point where he was sure they were a fire hazard. So, in the name of safety, of course, he decided he’d put an end to it. The man scribbled out a quick note. Let’s talk. Then he listed a time and place. 12:00 A.M. Rooftop. He left it under his door to face the outside.

Levi waited. He sat on that rooftop and waited. There was a chill in the air, but it certainly wasn’t a cold night. One leg dangled over the roof’s edge and the other was pulled to his chest. The wall towered to his left and the expanse of humanity’s land was to his right.

“You wanted to talk?” He heard your voice. Your feet tapped against the tiles and you sat next to him. You dangled both legs over the edge. Levi looked away from you and up at the sky.

“What’s your deal?” The man started and you opened your mouth to answer when he continued, “You’re so self-righteous, it’s irritating.”

“Self-righteous?” You questioned and your cheeks turned red with annoyance.

“Yeah, you act like you’re better than everyone else. Helping out the poor Scouts, right?”

“Maybe I just like being nice.” You fired back. “I’m sorry you’re not predisposed to it.”

“I don’t want to get into a ‘who’s the better person’ battle.” He muttered. “Just stop the notes. It’s enough.” He stood abruptly.

“Why? Are you scared?” You called as he walked away. “Are you scared to form a connection with someone?”

He didn’t respond, simply slipping back inside to continue his work. The mission wasn’t too far away now. In a week, the regiment would be gone and things would be back to normal.

That’s what he assumed. But instead, a few days before the reconnaissance mission, he found a note slid under the door. He thought the notes had stopped, but this one was thicker and seemed less hurried than the other scribbled notes.

What a fool he was. He threw it to the side and went back to his work. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about this unrelenting kindness, the way you paid such close attention to him and how he was doing. And maybe it was something in the way you spoke to him, like a human being, that got him thinking about you more. You didn’t address him as ‘Captain’ and it made sense. He wasn’t your captain, but still, it was like having a conversation with a peer. The way you laughed and smiled lingered on his mind.

But why? Why did it matter? Your words rung in his ears. Maybe he was scared of a human connection. This life was cruel. Death haunted him everywhere he went. It was just rational to stay away. Yet every thought of you was so irrational to his brain that he refused to acknowledge you.

So he kicked away the notes, he swept them under the rug, pushed them into the trash, and only addressed his team if you were around. If there was anyone who had mastered the cold shoulder, it was him. This didn’t faze you.

You bid the squad goodbye as they mounted their horses. He couldn’t help a sneaking glance. You were dressed in your uniform, but you had a sad look in your eyes. Your smile was unwavering, but you didn’t laugh. You didn’t joke as they left.

The world began to morph. He was standing over a fallen building. Trost was destroyed, humanity was probably going to be pushed to the next wall. It was his worst nightmare, worse than Shiganshina’s demise.

He’d done some thinking over the reconnaissance mission. He’d thought about what you’d said as he watched his team. Maybe it was time to let someone in, someone patient and able to keep up with his harsh attitude. Maybe that person was you, like you’d begged for weeks. You’d wanted to know him and he’d pushed you away.

It was over this mission that he decided he’d let you in. He’d get to know you and maybe, just maybe, he’d make a friend, for once. Whether he felt anything more for you was to be determined.

Then the news came. It was like lightning struck him. He stood still as the messenger informed the regiment of Trost’s situation. There was no deliberation. Erwin ordered the troops back immediately. Levi wasn’t even concerned about the failed mission now.

“Isn’t she…” Petra started.

“Don’t think about it.” Eld muttered. “It’ll be okay. She’ll be fine. She’s smart.”

Levi eyed his teammates. That familiar taste of death’s kiss was on his lips. He held onto hope, for once, but it was followed with a crushing feeling in his gut.

“Heads down.” He ordered. “Let’s just go.”

The world morphed again, twisting and swirling in his vision. His mind moved from scenes of destruction to bloodied bodies. The man didn’t even pay attention to the monstrous titan holding a boulder. He was on the hunt for you.

There, amongst other soldiers he assumed to be in your squad, you sat. You leaned against a stone building, but you didn’t seem injured, just exhausted. He supposed it was a miracle you were alive.

“Oy, what are you doing down there?” He called, his eyes roving your body for injury. You seemed normal, just dazed. Levi jumped down to you and he looked around at the bloodied bodies of the Garrison soldiers.

“My squad fought valiantly.” You whispered. “I just saw them yesterday. We were fortifying the wall, loading cannons, laughing.”

You looked down at your hands where the steaming blood had long since floated away. Levi didn’t really know what to say. He’d seen death so frequently, it was like an old friend.

“I understand now, Captain.” And that was the first time he heard the word ‘Captain’ leave your lips. He frowned but let you continue. You looked up from your shaking hands and into his eyes. “I understand, at least the smallest bit of, your pain.”

It was uncharacteristic of him, but he bent down and clutched your hand in his. “I wish you didn’t have to.” Was all he said.

He remembered the note, the heavy one, the last one you sent. With the squad celebrating the victory of Trost, he supposed he’d entertain your notes for once. While it was a rather tame celebration, mostly murmured conversations while wine was drunk, the Captain remained upstairs. He preferred tea anyway. Levi searched the corner of his room where the notes he didn’t part with were stacked. At the top of the stack was the larger note. The paper was crisp and didn’t have the rough edge of torn paper.

The man unfolded the paper and he couldn’t help widening his eyes. It was note with the usual greetings, but there was something else. He could just hear your voice now.

I don’t know if you’re much for poetry. The line started. But here’s a favorite of mine.

A Quoi Bon Dire? by Charlotte Mew

Seventeen years ago you said

Something that sounded like Good-bye; And everybody thinks that you are dead, But I. So I, as I grow stiff and cold To this and that say Good-bye too; And everybody sees that I am old But you. And one fine morning in a sunny lane Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear That nobody can love their way again While over there You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

His hand crumpled the paper. Something about these words just weren’t right. And everybody thinks that you are dead, / But I. No, no. His world was cracking. The illusion was fading. Surely, surely, he’d walk downstairs and he’d see you standing there, laughing with Eld and Petra. Levi stood, swaying on his feet. Something wasn’t right. Why was the ceiling wavering?

“Levi?”

He snapped his head to the door. If the room would just stop spinning, he could get a good look at you. You, who just entered and called his name. You, who was walking closer with a smile on your face. You, who sent him this letter. Why were you so blurry?

“You really burst into my life, you know that, right?” The man began. “I didn’t ask for you.”

“I see.” You nodded and you shut your eyes for a moment. Then you dipped your head and opened your eyes with a brilliant smile. “Hm, well I’m here now!”

What was it, about that cheerfulness, that didn’t turn him away? He gritted his teeth and placed a hand on his desk, just to remain stable. Light was streaming through the cracks. Why?

“My mother used to say love does that.” You chuckled and he blinked, confused.

“Why are you bringing love into this? This is hardly a subject to be bringing up so suddenly.” He said lowly. You simply tilted your head with an innocent look.

“Don’t you wish you’d brought it up when I was still here? That night before you left for the reconnaissance mission? Perhaps then we could have talked about it, Levi.” You frowned and then walked over to the desk, placing your hands over his. “But now it’s too late, huh? You run these fantasies and it doesn’t change a thing.” You leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Isn’t it a shame? What could have been?”

His eyes widened, and his head tilted up to look at the ceiling. “No, no. You’re still alive and we–” he stopped himself as the world broke apart.

Levi was falling through the inky black. Everything was fragmented, like broken glass, around him. Every motion seemed to rewind and there he was. He stood on the rooftops, staring down at where you sat. The stone building. The battle of Trost. The fallen Garrison soldiers. Your squad lay in pieces around you, literally. You sat, staring at the sky, your head resting so peacefully against the stone wall.

That, of course, didn’t distract from the blood pooled around your body or the way your limp arms shook as he tried to wake you. He tried to wake you from a slumber he knew all too well.

The Captain woke up with a start. The sun was just rising. Why? Why did he think about you after all these years? He groaned and stretched, finally hunching over. He rested his arms on his knees and hung his head. He never did kiss you. He never spoke to you again, actually, after that night on the rooftop. Were his last words really It’s enough? He was lying. He had wanted more.

“If only.” He lightly touched the place where he so vividly felt your lips. His fingertips brushed his lips and then he realized, with some clarity, the true nature of the dream.

The man never dreamed, so why now? The only answer was that it was perhaps your spirit coming to make amends with him. You had seemed satisfied, even as you drifted away from his reach. Maybe it was because you’d seen his dumbfounded face and not many people got to see him truly shocked. Maybe it was that you’d made him realize something important, something special.

His memories with you weren’t painful until the end. The entirety of his memories of you were tainted in violence, but the memories you’d just shown him were sweet. They were full of what ifs and hope. Gardens full of roses, laughter with his squad, notes that he’d sought to forget. Oh, you had made sure he’d never forget. You’d permanently made your mark on his life. Like a shining moon on the darkest of nights.

So what good is there to say? You.

Fin.

#aot #snk #shingeki no kyoujin #attack on titan #levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #angst #fluff #Major Character Death #a quoi bon dire

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supernovafics · 3 years

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𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑

pairing: andy barber x fem!reader

summary: in which the night was supposed to be special. however, it seems as if something is always going wrong. on this specific night, you and andy have convinced yourselves that everything will finally go according to plan, but it isn’t long until things go awry. you’re not ready to call it quits on it just yet, though.

warnings: defending jacob au (no mentions of laurie or jacob), fluff, slight angst, explicit language

word count: 2.3k words

author’s note: first andy imagine! hope you guys enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Whatever excuse you’re about to say, save it,” You said when you answered Andy’s call, and it connected to your car’s Bluetooth. “We are going to this restaurant, Barber. We’ve rescheduled so many times that I’m pretty sure at least two of the hostesses know my number by heart at this point.”

Your statement was a thousand percent true, and you were actually surprised that the restaurant hadn’t blocked your number and banned both you and Andy from coming yet because of how much you had called to reschedule. The last time was only three days ago when you and Andy were completely exhausted from the days you had at work and couldn’t bear to do anything more than deliver a pizza to your home and eat it in bed. The number of crumbs that you noticed in the bed in the morning was horrible, but overall it was worth it.

This night was different, though, at least it was supposed to be. That morning before you headed to the environmental law firm you worked at and Andy went to the DA’s office, you said that you would be done earlier than usual because you would only be doing the beginning preparations for a new case you had. Andy told you that he would be done at his office by seven, giving you both enough time to get to your eight o’clock reservation at the restaurant.

When you left your office not even fifteen minutes ago and hadn’t received any calls from Andy, you actually believed that things were finally going to go exactly how you both planned it. But, of course, you could only get but so lucky.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” Andy told you, and you could hear how sincere those words were. “This Jefferson case has been kicking my ass these past couple of days, and I can just tell I’m finally close to a breakthrough with it.”

You didn’t want to smile; you were supposed to feel at least a little bit mad that this dinner was once again on its way to getting canceled. But, you couldn’t muster up even a hint of a frown; instead, you genuinely felt happy for Andy. You didn’t know much about the case, but you did know how much of a pain it had been for him thus far, so you knew that you couldn’t make him stop working on it right then when things were finally about to turn around. Especially because you knew that if the tables were turned, he wouldn’t make you stop, and you wouldn’t want him to.

These heavily work-oriented sides of the both of you were what caused you two to meet in the first place. You were both in the local bar that pretty much all of the lawyers in Boston would frequent, celebrating wins on your recent cases. You chalked it up to the alcohol running through your veins and the pure happiness you were feeling, because that case was such a big win for you, as the reason why you so easily fell for Andy that night. Because you had always sworn to yourself that you would never get romantically involved with another lawyer. But Andy was different.

“How much longer do you need?” You asked him, already thinking of ways that you could rearrange things so that maybe, hopefully, the night wouldn’t be a total flop.

It was quiet on Andy’s end for a moment, and you could tell that he was really thinking about his response. “No more than an hour. I promise.”

You glanced at the time displayed in your car; 7:14 pm. “Okay, I’ll call the restaurant and see if they can push our eight o’clock reservation to nine. And I’m on my way to your office now, so I can make sure that your hour is actually an hour.”

Most of the time, actually all of the time, an hour was never really an hour; it was always, always more. And you knew that for a fact because you were guilty of it too. Your respective workaholic natures were something that you both simultaneously loved and hated about each other.

“I love you,” Andy’s voice was soft and comforting.

Although those three words were pretty much second nature to hear after seven years of knowing Andy and five years of marriage, they never, ever failed to make your heart warm.

“Love you too,” You said and smiled to no one but yourself. “I should be there in twenty.”

• • •

The drive to Andy’s office was shorter than expected, which you were surprised about. However, you were unsurprised to only see Andy’s car in the parking lot when you pulled in; you swore that no one at that office worked harder than he did.

“Hi,” You said as you lightly rapped your knuckles against the open door of Andy’s office to grab his attention. His gaze was solely focused on his computer, and his eyebrows were knit together in a concentrated look that you had always found endearing.

When his blue eyes pulled away from his computer and landed on you, a smile found its way on his face. “Hi.”

You walked over to him, and he stood up from his desk, opening his arms which you wasted no time going into. As you wrapped your arms around Andy, the flooding sense of comfort that you felt made you sigh in contentment. Being in his arms always felt like being home.

“The reservation has been changed to nine,” You said, your words slightly muffled due to the way your face was pressed into his chest, but Andy still heard you.

“I’ll be done soon,” He told you, his voice getting lost in your hair.

When you pulled away from the embrace– it was reluctant at first, but then you remembered that there were actually things that needed to get done– you went to sit at the chair that was on the other side of the desk, shrugging your jacket off and placing it on the back of the chair. You nodded your head at Andy’s previous words, knowing that the definition of “soon” that you two had become accustomed to was different than what most people perceived it as.

As Andy went back to working on the case and you mindlessly watched him, a sudden wave of tiredness washed over you. Although your own day at work hadn’t been too chaotic, it was still pretty exhausting. A small yawn escaped your lips, and your eyes settled on the small-sized couch in the corner.

Your gaze was still trained on the grey couch when you heard the sound of a drawer opening, and when you looked at Andy, you saw that he was holding out a folded-up throw blanket for you to take. You grabbed it, and the familiar forest green color and softness stood out to you; it was the one you would usually keep in you guys’ living room.

“When did you start keeping this here?” You were already letting the blanket unfold and wrapping it around yourself.

“After the last time you came here and slept on the couch, and my suit jacket was horrible at keeping you warm.”

You smiled at the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. “Goddamnit, I love you.”

“And I love you,” Andy smiled back. “Now go take a quick nap, and I’ll wake you up in fifty minutes when I’m done with this, and we can finally make it to the reservation.”

You easily found comfort on the couch as you had done a few times before when you decided to join Andy during his late work nights. The couch was weirdly cozy, and you never knew if it was because of how tired you were that made it feel so nice or if it genuinely felt that way. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep.

• • •

“Hey,” A soft voice slowly pulled you from the unconscious state you were in. “Honey, wake up.”

You mumbled a slight protest, pulling the blanket draped over you higher so that it shielded your face. Then, you remembered where you were.

You pulled the blanket back down, and when you opened your eyes, you saw Andy’s face; he was kneeling down next to you.

“What time is it?”

He evaded the question and instead said, “I’m sorry.”

“Andy,” You sighed as you sat up from the couch. You felt around for your phone and grabbed it, almost immediately checking the time; 10:03 pm. “Andy.”

“I fucked up,” His voice was quiet, and you pulled your eyes away from your phone and looked at him.

“What happened?” You asked as you tried to rub the remaining sleepiness out of your eyes. Even though you had apparently taken an almost two-hour nap, you still felt extremely tired.

“It was eight, and I wasn’t finished with what I needed for the case, but at that point, I didn’t even care and just wanted to go to dinner with you,” Andy took a seat down next to you on the small couch as he began to launch into his explanation. You watched him with intent eyes. “But, then I saw you sleeping, and you looked so peaceful and tired, and I didn’t wanna wake you. So, I kept working, and I was gonna wake you by eight-thirty, but the time got away from me, and the next thing I knew, it was nine.”

You didn’t say anything in response at first. Instead, you leaned back against the couch, closing your eyes and once again pulling the blanket over your head because there was nothing else you really wanted to do.

“I’m sorry. I know that you really wanted to go to the restaurant tonight.”

You finally decided to say something. “It’s okay.”

You felt the blanket shift, and you opened your eyes to see Andy coming underneath it and pulling some over him– luckily, it was long enough– so that the two of you were cocooned inside of it. “It’s not. You deserve to be mad.”

You considered his words and knew he was right, but you weren’t mad. Honestly, if you were a thousand percent truthful with yourself, you didn’t give a fuck about the dinner and the restaurant. More so, you cared about what it represented, or at least what your mind had warped it into representing.

It had been so long since you and Andy had spent a night together that was solely romantic and didn’t involve the two of you lounging about in your home eating takeout or being completely exhausted from work. You had desperately wanted something that resembled how it used to be between you two before things became so domesticated. For reasons you couldn’t decipher, you wanted a glimpse back into the beginning, almost honeymoon-like, stages of your relationship with him. And it seemed as if it was something that was entirely out of reach at this point.

“But, the night’s not a complete bust.” Andy’s words pulled you out of your scattered thoughts. However, they did nothing but confuse you.

Before you could ask him what he meant by his statement, he pulled off the blanket that was draped over you both, and it was then that you noticed the set up of Chinese food takeout on Andy’s desk. The food was plated nicely on disposable plates that you were sure were from the office’s break room, and there was even a lit candle in the middle of the desk. You noticed that the candle was the one you had gotten Andy for Christmas with the sole purpose of him having it in his office; apparently, the scent was supposed to be very calming.

Looking at the setup made you finally fully realize that the restaurant and dinner did not matter. In fact, this was far better than being in a fancy restaurant surrounded by other people and trying new food that you probably wouldn’t like anyway. This was much more romantic, and you loved every aspect of it.

It made you feel slightly frustrated at yourself that you had been making such a big deal out of it all in the first place. It wasn’t the restaurant that would make you feel reminded of the early aspects of your relationship. It was simply being with Andy that would, and always did, make you feel that way and more.

You did not know why you were on the verge of tears, but you did know that they were nothing but joyous. You looked over at Andy and noticed that he was staring at you so that he could gauge your reaction to everything. You smiled at him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “This is great. So great. Fuck, I can barely even form words right now.”

A breath of a laugh fell from your lips, and when you pulled back from the embrace, you placed a kiss on his cheek, his beard grazing your chin in a way that you had always loved.

“I’m glad and relieved,” Andy said as the two of you made your way over to his desk. “It’s definitely not high-end restaurant quality, but it is from our favorite place on Bleeker Street.”

You settled in your chair, your mouth watering at the food in front of you. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until then. “Maybe we’re not meant to go to fancy restaurants anymore. We’re just takeout people now. And I think I’m okay with that.”

Andy’s lips upturned in a small smile. “Me too.”

“Now tell me everything about this godforsaken case,” You said and then took a bite from your egg roll. You always enjoyed hearing about his cases; it was a contrast from the work that you did that you always found refreshing, although most of the cases were more bleak if anything.

As Andy launched into an in-depth telling about what the case was about and the issues arising with it, you looked at him adoringly and listened intently as you both ate your food.

There was no grand dinner, but everything was still romantic, actually even more so. To you and him both, it was still a night to remember.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts<3

#andy barber imagine #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x oc #andy barber x wife reader #andy barber fluff #andy barber angst

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Part Eight (Mycroft Holmes x Reader)

Sorry for such a long delay!! It’s my little boy’s first birthday this week so I’ve been running around making arrangements and picking up last minute presents! Hope you enjoy this little chapter. It’s only 3K words, but it is a build up ready for the next chapter which will contain smut! Not full blown smut (I don’t think Mycroft is ready for that yet!) but still smutty nonetheless!

I will separate the smutty bit enough so that you can skip it if you want, but it will be referenced later on in that chapter!

Word Count- 3062

This morning differed from the last few that you had experienced since staying at Mycroft's home, namely because Mycroft had awoken before you this time, but also because it was the first morning you had ever been awoken by long fingers prodding at your forehead. That and also because, despite last night's late events, you managed to arise at a reasonable 9am.

"Did you know there are a lot nicer ways to wake somebody up?" You questioned, opening your eyes to see Mycroft staring at you with a slight frown to his brow. He retracted his hand slightly and shifted to sit a little higher.

"You know, Sherlock as a child once woke me in a similar way. I felt small scratches on my eyebrows and woke up to see him crouched over me with a smug little grin on his face. As it turns out, he had slipped sleeping pills into my cup of tea before bed and in my slumber covered my eyebrows in toothpaste." You covered your mouth with your hand and snorted slightly. "He'd come in to see if there was anything left beneath them, which, of course, there wasn't.. claimed it was just an experiment. I'd like to laugh and be more dignified about it upon looking back, but I struggle because he was only six and already a sod."

"Okay, you've proven there are in fact worse ways to wake up." You didn't make big deals out of it, but every time Mycroft welcomed you a little more into the stories of his youth, you can't help but feel your heart warm. It may not seem like much, but coming from Mycroft, a very private man who hasn't been treated the best over the years, it meant everything. You stretched and moved your hands up to rub your eyes, flinching a little as your fingers brushed against the bit of your head above your eyebrows. "Bugger." You winced, poking again and feeling a small lump.

"I was going to warn you but you laughed at my traumatic eyebrow removal story." You groaned and recalled your memory of last night and where you believe the bruise originated from.

"I jumped into bed last night sulking a bit that you wouldn't talk to me and uh.. misjudged.." Mycroft snickered slightly from your side, you swatted his arm. "Tit. I'm blaming you. This wouldn't have happened if you didn't go all Han Solo in carbonite on me." You spoke playfully, letting him know you weren't truly peeved.

"I thought you said it was cute?"

"That was clearly a concussion talking." You stretched once more and climbed out of the bed, walking over to a mirror above a dressing table and rolling your eyes. "Might need your special government powers to clear out the cafe else Ms Woodall will think we've had a domestic." Bernice Woodall, owner of one of your favourite little cafes settled on the outskirts of St James' Park was a very.. particular lady. She could have a good laugh one moment, and start a quarrel with a customer over the amount they stir their tea the next. But, you'd have to admit, she has one hell of an all day breakfast menu; you could practically taste one of her omelettes just by thinking about it, making your stomach growl loudly.

"I would but, if I am to be very honest, she genuinely scares me a little. I think she could overthrow MI5 so I daren't even try." You stood and moved into Mycroft's bedroom, grabbing your bag of clothes and picking through a few of the pairs of your jeans Anthea had brought and scanning through the t-shirts. Your fingers brushed over the creases of the shirt that had formed from being stuffed in the bag and frowned.

"Perhaps it would be more suitable for you to pop those in one of the chest of drawers? I'm sure I have at least one drawer empty.." Myc's voice came from behind you and you fell from your crouching position, clutching your heart.

"You and your bloody spy legs, you just scared the shit out of me." You stood back up, your pile of today's clothes in one hand and the bag of the rest in the other. "Giving me a drawer in your place already? Ooh Myc you are serious." You grinned playfully, following him as he guided you to a set of drawers in the opposite corner of the room. Mycroft halted and opened his mouth to make some kind of comment but you cut him off, placing your folded clothes inside the Edwardian furniture. "Only teasing.. I'm just glad you haven't kicked me out yet. Though I don't think my own bed will ever feel as comfortable as yours. I might not want to go back now you've spoilt me, you'll just have to be blunt when you're bored of me." You winked at him and carried your outfit into the en suite bathroom to get ready. Mycroft headed over to his wardrobe to pluck out his own clothes, electing to remain somewhat casual for your trip to breakfast with a pair of navy chinos and a lighter blue button up before muttering slightly under his breath.

"And if I never am?"

In the rare parts of his life where he allowed to imagine himself getting into a relationship, Mycroft had never expected himself to be overwhelmed with so much emotion so quickly, but with you it was almost as though he had no control; as though there had been so many pent up feelings over the years that they just seem to have exploded without any rational thought behind it. And whilst these were all new to Mycroft, and how he still wasn't entirely sure about everything that he felt when it came to things with you, the only thing he was positive about was that he didn't want it to go. And that meant not wanting you to leave. Which was ridiculous. You had just under two weeks left together until you would be needed back at work, and he would have to return to fighting on Britain's behalf, but the thought of you not being at home to greet him when he finished, or him not being able to pick you up in one of his cars from the Yard to take you both home made him feel a sense of disappointment. He shook himself from his thoughts when you emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.

"On second thoughts, I may take the risk. I'm not sure I can have members of the general public associating me with a Sex Pistols fan, no matter how humerous you may believe that top to be." You walked out proudly wearing your 'God Save the Queen' t-shirt with a grin. "You are aware tha-"

"That when the Sex Pistols released their song 'God Save the Queen' in 1977 it was around the same time of The Queen's silver jubilee and thus it was banned for a while on the premise of being 'bad gross taste'? You've only mentioned it every time I wear this shirt.. Though if your research extended enough then you'd know Paul Cook said it wasn't written specifically FOR the jubilee.. So if one of Lizzie's spies catch me in the act, I shall make a very sincere apology." Mycroft took his own clothes into the bathroom to get ready himself and scoffed.

"But I AM one of 'Lizzie's Spies'." He mused, leaning slightly against the doorframe after settling the outfit on the counter. You turned around on your heel and stood up on your tiptoes, pushed him more forcefully against the doorframe and placed your hands on Mycroft's cheeks, pressing your lips softly against his. His shock subsided before he kissed you tentatively, his hand resting on your lower back. You pulled away after a moment and ushered him into the bathroom to get ready, closing the door behind you and leaving him still slightly red faced and confused.

"Consider that my sincere apology." You headed over to the dresser and began to tie up your hair. "But hurry up, I'm starving." You called, moving the hairbrush too low and brushing against your bruise, making you wince loudly. From the bathroom, you heard Mycroft's voice before the sound of him brushing his teeth.

"Head?"

"Well I was thinking more along the lines of breakfast, but who knows what the day will bring." You heard the sound of Mycroft choking on his toothpaste and wished to whatever deity out there that you could have seen his face. Yes, you had promised to try and be less overbearing with your comments but he walked into that one. You grinned and sat down on the side of the bed, briefly scanning through your phone before Mycroft emerged, his face still burnt a red as deep as the burgundy sweatshirt he had paired with his outfit. The fact he had come out at all at least let you know that your joke hadn't taken it too far.

"You're a minx."

"And you wouldn't change it. Now let's go!"

---

Only 20 minutes later had you both be found sitting comfortably in Ms Woodall's cafe, tucking into your respective meals- with you noticing, but not commenting on, Mycroft eating comfortably until the last bite of toast was gone, a sense of pride warming within you. Not too long after, Bernice herself headed over to clear up your tables.

"I trust everything was up to standard?" She asked, piling your plates onto her little trolley and offering top ups on your drinks.

"Splendid as usual, Ms Woodall." Mycroft smiled, accepting his new cup of tea and cradling it comfortably between his long fingers.

"Still proving to be our favourite place for breakfast." You praised, your hand reaching out to fondly brush against Mycroft's before taking your coffee into hand. Bernice watched your movements and raised her brow knowingly.

"Took the pair of you long enough. I had been half tempted to abstain from feeding you here until I got one of you to say something, it had started making me feel a bit sick watching you eye each other up each time you'd get up to order something." You rested your elbow on the table, hand covering your mouth as you let out a laugh.

"Yes, well, I can't promise you the ogling will stop on my behalf." You teased.

"And why should it? Mr Holmes in those posh little outfits is enough to make anyone swoon." And with that she had headed back out into the kitchen again.

"There you go, Myc. Should anything happen to me, my replacement is only round the corner."

"Mmm, and she does make a rather good cup of tea. Perhaps I shouldn't wait that long." His lip raised slightly in a smirk as he took a sip of his hot beverage.

"Oh really? Need I start getting possessive; stand my ground?" Before Mycroft could quip back, Ms Woodall had returned with a plate of biscuits in hand.

"Means you've already answered my next question, anywho." She hummed, placing the plate down between you and perching on the corner of the table beside yours. The pair of you gave her a questioning look and she continued, pointing up to her own forehead. "Tony and I were just as bad at the start of our marriage. Anywhere and everywhere we could get our hands on each other, I ended up with bumps and scrapes from alleys, the backs of cars, even in that one restaurant toilet that time.." You choked on your coffee and Mycroft all but dropped his teacup. "Oh don't act so ignorant, even us oldies had sex in their time." Your eyes caught Mycroft's and you could see him stifling down a laugh, biting softly on his knuckle- which, in itself, shouldn't have been as attractive to you as it was, but it is what it is.

"And with that thought, we best be off. Got a movie date planned." You commented, coughing down your own laugh as Bernice continued.

"Though to be fair it never stopped, all that spontaneity. Even towards the end, he could be like a lad of nineteen with how it was. God the positions, you'd have mistaken me for a gymnast and he could last for ages. I'd just lie there wondering 'will this pleasure never end'?" You could feel tears prick at your eyes as your laughter began to break through. "And then of course once Tony passed a couple years ago it all stopped. Shame really, all those years together, ending how it did.. Though sometimes I'm not sure if it's him that I miss or his massiv-"

"Ms Woodall we really should be going, thank you for breakfast." Mycroft hastily threw a few £20 notes on the table, far too much to cover your meal but enough to distract Bernice while tugging your hand and beelining for the door. Once safely distanced from the apparent nymphomaniac cafe owner you had to stop in your tracks to let out a laugh, Mycroft's hand still in yours as you doubled over.

"I can't believe she said that! She's so open."

"Evidently." Mycroft's comment set you off again, his laughter following, ignoring how you caught the attention of a few people passing by. "I do hope you are in no rush for breakfast there again any time soon, I don't think I can look her in the eye for a good while."

"Still so sure on replacing me with her so soon? I think she'd break you."

"Or turn me into a whore." You snorted and settled back to walking.

---

"Drink?"

"Please. Tea, hold the sexual history."

"I'll try my very best, though, much like my tea, I imagine my list would be abysmal in comparison to old Ms Woodall." You flicked on the kettle, eager to replace the half drunk coffee you had discarded on the cafe table in your escape from listening about pensioner sex. "Will you load up the movie?"

"No. But I shall get the film ready to go.. How the American dialect found its way back to England will never fail to disappoint me." You had followed him into the room shortly after, mugs on the table and settled on the sofa beside Mycroft.

"You know, typically, when people elect for a movie day, they don't choose the tenth movie in the series to watch first." You grinned, tucking your legs beneath your body in an attempt to get comfortable. You continued your shuffling movements and heard Mycroft's voice.

"I believe we both agree that Carry On Cleo is the superior of the 31 movies for, well, a multitude of reasons." He trailed.

"I shan't object. It's sweet that you remember it's the first one we watched together.. Had it not been for you hearing Kenneth's famous 'Infamy, infamy' line persuading you to come over, I fear that I'd have been set up with one of Greg's mates by now, sitting in a pub nursing a G+T."

"I never said I remembered that."

"You didn't have to. You and I both know that your favourite was always Carry on Camping."

"Yes, well.. Opinions change with experience."

"Is this our equivalent of a patronus? Yours has changed and matched with mine? Very cute, Myc. Might I expect you in a 'Never Mind the Bollocks' shirt next week?" You teased, electing to lay down with your head lightly using Mycroft's thigh as a pillow, feeling grateful when he didn't shove you off with a comment about ruining the linen of his trousers, and instead took to softly brushing his fingers over your head, narrowly missing the purple bump each time.

"You'd have better chances of catching me running naked down the street."

"Is that a promise?" A flick to your forehead.

"Just play the bloody film."

---

By the time the film had finished, your cheeks had hurt from smiling and your eyelids had felt heavy. Whilst getting up at a reasonable hour had felt like an achievement this morning, the lack of sleep from the previous night was beginning to catch up to you.

"Myc? Would it be entirely improper to nap on the sofa when there are multiple reasonable beds upstairs before continuing our films?"

"Only about as improper as it is to have a midday nap when you're not a young child." You shifted your head from his lap and sat up, ignoring the fact that you actually did end up ruining the linen of his trousers with the crease of your skull.

"Let me rephrase. Mycroft, would you be willing to break your proper posh boy streak and nap with me on the sofa?"

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to deviate from one's usual behaviours in order to satisfy those one holds dear."

"That's a yes, right? Good, lay down, else I may just collapse right at this moment." Mycroft's sofa certainly was a significantly bit bigger than those usually found in somebody's front room, but it was still nowhere near wide enough for two people to lay with distance. Even still, he followed your request and rotated his body, lifting his long legs to rest down the side of the sofa while you slid into the gap beside him. He eventually circled his arm beneath you and rested his hand on your hip, your face softly brushing against the comforting material of his jumper. "If you drop me, I will be holding you accountable." You mumbled, shifting your body closer to his. He merely hummed, his hand slightly bunching in your shirt and his arm tightening. "I'd always hoped you were secretly a cuddler."

"Make a point of it or tell Sherlock and I'll throw you off." You couldn't even think of a witty comeback before your slumber had taken over, the smell of Mycroft and the sounds of him breathing overstimulating your senses. Mycroft being a secret cuddler hadn't been as much of a shock to you as it probably should have, but you welcome it completely and feel incredibly thankful that he trusts you enough to let you be that close to him, to feel his body in such a way. And you would embrace that- and him- as long as he would let you.

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 5

very pretty, very beautiful

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: intoxication, swearing, feelings, nightmare, fluff, mentions of a deadly car accident

AN: WHOAH OKAY. So I’ve been thinking about the last half of this chapter every second of every minute for the last two days. It has haunted my dreams, y’all. Thanks to that, you get this before the weekend! Yay! Special thanks to @ghostlightprincess, @anlian-aishang, @cant-spell-slay-without-lay, and @horseanon--simpforall for helping me edit and giving me many encouragements and compliments which, quite frankly, made my head the size of Jupiter. I love you all dearly. As always, let me know what you think in my comments/DMs/askbox!! Don’t be a stranger!! And be kind to yourself and others<3 ~valkyrie

—

(read chapter 4 here)

“I think you’re very pretty.”

I think you’re very pretty?

Fuck. Shit.

“I-I-I mean,” Levi feels his throat tighten and cheeks set ablaze, “You’re very, uh, very beautiful.” He says it because it’s true, and the truth is what Levi relies on when his brain is short-circuiting. You’re more than pretty, more than something as trivial as very pretty, you’re gorgeous and smart and funny and it makes his palms sweat. Recently, you’ve been everywhere: in his bed, in his arms, in the periphery of his life even outside of the apartment. It’s overwhelming, this is overwhelming, how his hands are on you and how you’re looking up at him with insecure, anticipatory eyes. They’re glassy and red-rimmed, pupils blown to saucers.

Oh. That’s right, she’s high.

Levi lets his hand drop from the top of your head. He tries to move his other hand away from your cheek, but you grasp his wrist to keep it there. He can feel his own pulse fluttering under your fingertips.

“Very beautiful?” It’s soft, hopeful.

He forces himself not to retract the statement (because it’s true) out of self-preservation.

“Very beautiful, kid.” He can say it without stuttering this time. It’s important that you believe him, and it’s equally important that this is as far as it goes.

You close your eyes against the pet name and turn your face into his palm for a split second, press a swift kiss to it and then drop your hand to your lap. His heart stutters. He drops his hand, too.

“Thank you,” the words fall past your lips, careful and distant, as he takes a step back.

He needs some space. To get his head on straight, to scream into a pillow, to talk some sense into himself. Can’t risk this, not with you, not with you.

“Your, um, your pajamas,” he points to the end of the bed where they’re sitting in a neat pile, then turns tail and strides out of your room, shutting the door behind him.

In his room, his jelly legs finally give out and he flops onto his bed.

Fucking hell.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

What kind of question is that? Do you not think you’re pretty? Do you care if he, specifically, thinks you’re pretty, or was it intended more generally? Very pretty, very beautiful. What does that even mean?

Levi may not be eloquent in the least, may not know how to confess that you make his every breath burn in his chest, but he does know how to paint. He stands up, wiping sweaty palms on his flannel pants and examining the painting on his easel. His mom stares back, her eyes sparkling, her hair tumbling over one shoulder in ebony waves. It had taken him the last few days to get the curls just right, and when he added the last highlights of shine, it’d finally felt complete.

“Sorry, mama,” he murmurs as he lifts her to set her against the wall under the window.

A new canvas procured from his closet finds its place on the easel. He sifts through his supply drawers for a moment, setting paints and brushes and charcoal neatly on his desk.

He takes a deep breath, situates himself in his wheelie chair, and leans forward to start sketching.

—

It’s 5 AM when you start screaming in a long, shuddering cry, causing Levi to jolt up in his seat, paintbrush poised over your left temple. It breaks off into sobs that make his gut twist and hands clench. A long moment, then you’re letting out another keening wail and Levi is out of his seat. Paint splatters from the brush where he drops it on his desk and his chair rolls back as he runs, ripping doors open and narrowly avoiding furniture in the dark.

You’re sprawled out, thrashing on the bed, sheets tangled with your legs. Levi sits on the edge of your bed, brows pinched in worry, and reaches for your shoulders. This is okay — he can touch you when you ask for his help. When you whimper and reach for him in your sleep, he can pull you close and smooth a hand across the planes of your back. It’s when you’re looking at him, all trusting and expectant for something, that he’s unsure.

He says your name, low and urgent, once, twice, before your eyes open mid-sob. They’re wide and terrified, your jaw tight, muscles clenched. “It’s me, kid, it’s just me,” he intones, “It was just a dream, you’re safe, it’s just me.”

Your heaving chest slows for a second, hitches somewhere in your sternum, and then you’re launching yourself forward and into him. He catches you there, steady against his chest.

“Breathe.” He sets an example with his own deep breaths.

It’s a long minute before he feels you relax at all, before he feels you sigh against his neck. Your arms are tight around his middle and you must be stronger than you look because after a while it starts to pinch. He doesn’t mind, though, just traces patterns on your back and stares at the pale wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He feels you shake your head.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

You hesitate before you whisper, “Only if you stay.”

Levi thinks about the wet paintbrush currently drying to his desk. He thinks about the mess of clothes on your floor. He thinks of the half-finished painting of you in his room. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You pull back, and he gets a look at your face in the near-dark. Your eyes are still acutely haunted, but they’ve regained awareness. He lets you take a moment to wipe at your cheeks as he reaches to gently disentangle the sheets and spread them more carefully over your legs.

He looks up at you again to catch your sad eyes with his. Your head is tilted quizzically, knowingly, sympathetically all at once as though he were the one who just woke up screaming. It makes him itch.

“What’s that look for?” he grumbles, toeing his slippers off and tucking them under your bed.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Come here, please.”

He blinks at you for a second. That’s my line. But he goes, crawling into bed with you and slipping under the covers. He lets you tug his arm gently so that he’s on your chest. He gets comfortable there, one arm thrown over your waist and head rested over your heart. Your own arms find a home cautiously around him. You exhale with the grounding pressure of his body on yours and let your mind sink into calm release.

—

The knock on your door breaks your attention from your laptop. You sigh, finish typing your sentence, and push your blue light glasses up your nose before standing up to answer it.

You’re not expecting anyone, but maybe Levi is. He’s been holed up in his room all morning, Chopin drifting lazily under his door, probably studying. Like you’ve been trying to. The second series of knocks on your door makes you jog the last few steps to pull it open.

“Hi—” the greeting dies in your throat when you see who’s standing there.

“Hi,” Annie says. She’s standing, nonchalant as ever, in her winter parka and leggings, holding two to-go cups and a pastry bag.

“What?” It’s a breathless question, genuinely confused. It doesn’t harbor the animosity you would expect — you’re not sure you can feel anything other than queasy right now.

“I got your voicemail.”

You blink in confusion. She rolls her eyes and thrusts the to-go cups at you with a brief “hold these” before reaching into her pocket for her phone. You just stare at her while she taps and scrolls for a minute. She looks the same as before you stopped speaking: blonde hair tucked into a bun at the back of her head and hoodie peeking out of the collar of her jacket. Maybe a little more tired, though Annie always seemed to be tired.

She holds up her phone for you to hear as a voicemail starts playing and, to your further shock, your own tinny voice spills out. It sounds like you’re crying, and slightly muffled.

“Annie, hi, um, I know it’s late but I couldn’t think of anyone else to call, I just,” sniffle, “I know we’re not talking and I’m still mad at you, like REALLY MAD, okay? But I couldn’t think of who else to call and long story short I think I’m in love with Levi and he might’ve just rejected me but I just couldn’t tell—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut in across your own voice, stepping into the hall with her and toeing the door almost shut behind you. She stops the voicemail. “But why are you here?” You know why she’s here — Annie never backs down from anything, and you had started the conversation, even if you’d been drunk and high and half asleep and you don’t really remember doing it.

“You called, here I am. That’s what best friends do.” Her tone is even.

“Not best friends who fuck their best friends’ boyfriends,” you snap, anger finally bursting from your stomach and into your throat.

She closes her eyes impatiently, sighs, then looks at you again not quite pleadingly.

“Look, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I’m here now and there’s more to the story that you aren’t aware of.”

“What else could there possibly be?”

“Let’s go for a walk and I’ll tell you,” she offers, then holds up the pastry bag. “I brought coffee and donuts. They’re jelly.”

Jelly donuts are your favorite.

You look down at the cups in your hand. You look back at her steady blue gaze. More to the story.

“Fine.” You turn and kick the door open a little too harshly. “Just let me get dressed.”

She follows you in, even though you don’t extend an invitation, and closes the door softly. You put the cups down on the coffee table and watch her sit in her usual spot on the couch to wait for you out of the corner of your eye. You scowl but say nothing.

It only takes you a minute to shuck off to pajamas and pull on jeans, a sweatshirt, and boots. You don’t bother with a bra.

You knock lightly on Levi’s door and call through, “I’m going for a walk, so make sure to lock up if you leave. I have my keys.” You jingle them as evidence and he grunts in acknowledgment. “Let’s go,” you turn and address Annie, who stands.

The walk down your street to the river is short and habitual, your feet carrying you while your mind races. You can feel the anger and hurt, visceral and stabbing, in your chest. But there’s also something tender there, too, something that acknowledges how you missed your best friend. Something that screams at you to tackle her to the ground and feel her stoic comfort. Instead, you shove your hands deeper into the pockets of Eren’s jacket and kick a pebble, sending it skidding down the sidewalk.

The pair of you reach the walking bridge over the river and pause at the railing. The sky is overcast, threatening a snowstorm. A car beeps downtown, reaching you distantly. Annie hands you a coffee and a donut. You lean against the railing and avoid her gaze.

“So. You wanted to talk. Talk.” You bite into the donut.

She sighs through her nose. “I know what you saw. We… we did kiss, but we didn’t do anything else. We never had sex.”

“Hmm.” A sip of coffee.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. I’m guessing you didn’t exactly listen to Reiner when you broke up with him?”

“I didn’t have time for his bullshit excuses.”

She breaks off a bit of her donut and stares at it contemplatively for a moment, “I know you don’t owe either of us anything, and this isn’t meant as an excuse, but will you listen to why, at least?”

You press your lips together, sneak a look into her devastatingly blue eyes, and nod. What harm can it do? And you have to admit there’s a large part of you that’s been wondering at the why, even if you’ve refused to hear it.

“Okay. Tell me why.”

She takes a deep breath and leans her elbows on the railing before starting to speak, low and pensive.

“I’ve known Reiner and Bertholdt a long time, since we were kids. We’ve always been this… this odd group. You wouldn’t think we were close if you didn’t know us. But it wasn’t always just us.” She pauses, looking distant. “Do you know Porco Galliard?”

Galliard… “He’s a sophomore on the lacrosse team, right?”

“Yeah. Do you know what happened to his brother?”

“He has a brother?”

“Had. Marcel. He was a year older than us but somehow ended up in our little group. And a couple of years ago, senior year of high school, we were all in a car accident. He was home on winter break and we’d all had a little too much to drink, and we convinced him to take us to Denny’s for midnight milkshakes. And, well, there was a winter storm coming in and it’d been freezing rain that week, and we crashed. Marcel died. It was… I hadn’t…” She pauses, tilting her head back to the sky, blinking away tears. “It was horrible.”

Your eyes have gone wide, cast downriver. You don’t know what you’d expected when you walked down here, but it certainly wasn’t this. It wasn’t Annie, only rivaled in her stoicism by Levi, choking back tears and wiping snot from her nose.

“Hey,” you start, voice gentler than it’s been all day. “You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I want to, just... give me a second,” she interjects, wringing out a hand. She takes a deep, purposeful breath.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking back out across the water.

“It, uh, it hit us all really hard, brought us really close together. That’s why we all ended up at school here, actually. It kinda made us realize that, like, time is limited, you know? We don’t have forever. And Bertl, he…” she smiles, watery and reminiscent. “When he asked me out, it felt like a long time coming. It was just about perfect. He felt safe and like home, and… well, you know how in love we were. But I could see that it alienated Rei, at least a bit. He tried not to show it, but I could tell he felt like a third wheel. He was already drifting away from us, still struggling with all this guilt.”

Your breath catches in your throat. That’s a familiar feeling. Guilt. And yet, you’d never noticed it in Reiner, apparently never got close enough to shine a flashlight into his darkest shadows. He’d always seemed so… sunshiney. You clearly hadn’t given him enough credit to dislodge the aura of jock frat boy he projects so brightly.

Soft dough squishes under your fingertips where you’ve resorted to playing with your food instead of eating it as Annie continues.

“And then he met you and fell in love so fast. I was so relieved, I mean, you and I were roommates and it was just perfect, right?” You look at her and see a flicker of hopefulness still there. “I thought maybe you two getting together would bring him back to us, that maybe we’d be alright after all. And at first, it did. But then you moved off campus for sophomore year and he started drifting away again, though he was at least anchored to you, this time. It scared me, it really did.”

She kicks the bottom of the railing lazily, as if to expend the sadness there rather than in her words. The first fat flakes of snow drift down around you. One dances away on your exhale.

“He’s so withdrawn, sometimes, in his own head, and I never know how to reach him there. I didn’t know if he had told you about Marcel, or anything, so I couldn’t go through you. I don’t… I didn’t know what to do, so I just... let it fester. That night, when we kissed, I hadn’t seen him physically for a month. It hurt.”

She looks at you imploringly, like the weight of everything she’s saying lies on deep hurt. You can relate to feeling as though there’s nothing but hurt and guilt and drifting.

“So I figured out where he was from his Snapchat story, abandoned my group project, and went over there to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say or do when I got there, just that I had to get him back, somehow. He was already plastered, you know how he gets, and he wasn’t listening to me, so I just… kissed him. I don’t know what I was thinking, I didn’t know you were there, I didn’t even know you saw until he called me the next day after you broke up with him to chew me out.

“So, long story short,” her voice breaks on a mournful, almost hysterical laugh, “I fucked up the three most important relationships to me in one night because I couldn’t use my words.” She wipes at wet cheeks, not looking at you. “So, um. Yeah, that’s the why, I guess. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or him, but I just… I needed you to know. It wasn’t like, this elaborate affair.”

You aren’t sure how to right your brain from the way it’s tilted off kilter. It’s so much, so different from what you’d built up in your head. There’s no conspiracy, no grand intention to break you.

Even with all this new information, what stupidly slips out first is, “Did he kiss you back?” You blanch, turn to her with wide eyes, “Sorry, that’s not exactly im—”

“No, it’s fine,” she meets your eyes. “He did kiss me back.”

“Oh. Okay, um…” you trail off, bite your lip. You don’t know what exactly to say. Your skin is tight with the urge to forgive her immediately and wholly, but logic holds you back. Now that you know the truth, you need time to heal and get some perspective. You straighten up from where you’d been slouching against the railing. “Okay. You’ve been honest, so I will be, too.”

She stands up fully as well, facing you with one hand on the railing.

“I don’t know how I feel right now,” you start. “I think I need some time and perspective. But, I… I can see now where I went wrong, too. I assumed the worst, didn’t let any communication happen.” You swallow down the lump in your throat threatening to choke your voice. “And, I wasn’t there for Rei like I should have been. I had no idea — no idea! — what he was going through.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly tell you—”

“And why is that?” Your voice breaks, squeaks with the question. “Did he feel like he couldn’t confide in me? Did I make it too much about me and my trauma? I wasn’t exactly shy about telling him my shit.” You take a long draw of coffee. “Anyway. I should probably talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

She nods. “He’d like that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, watching the sparse snow flurry around you. Annie finally starts eating her donut.

“I’ve missed you,” you confess into the storm. “A lot.”

“I missed you, too.”

Your chest aches with both the cold air and the conflicting feelings of relief and regret.

“Why, uh… why didn’t you tell me all that stuff about Marcel?”

She leans on the railing again, takes a sip of coffee before answering. “I was still working through it. Still am, rather. I didn’t know how to bring it up, or that it was relevant.”

You hum, nodding. “I get that.”

There’s another silence, but it feels lighter, less charged. There are still questions bouncing around your mind, but you decide it’s better to process through them on your own rather than blurting out something stupid. Perspective.

“So,” she shoots you a look under blonde eyelashes, “what’s this about you being in love with Levi?”

“Aw, shit,” you laugh, leaning your elbows back on the railing and giving her an imploring look. “It really snuck up on me.”

“Is that so? Can’t say I’m shocked.” Her tone is dry, a little amused around the last bite of jelly donut. She wipes her fingers on her leggings and faces you. “And you think he rejected you.”

“Well, I…” you cringe, thinking back to last night. “He called me very beautiful.”

“Doesn’t sound like a rejection.”

“It was the way he said it! Like it physically hurt him to admit, and then he just ran out of the room,” you whine, scrubbing a hand down your face.

“I think that’s just his emotional constipation.”

You look at her sharply, mouth agape, to catch her eyes dancing and the corner of her lip curling upward slightly. “Annie!”

“What? I’m right.” She finishes off her coffee, tilting back the cup to catch the last dregs of it. “He likes you, or he’s an idiot if he doesn’t.”

You narrow your eyes in doubt, mirroring her half-smile. “Hmm. We’ll see.”

“Yes,” she promises, crumpling up the pastry bag in her fist and stuffing it in her pocket. “We will.”

—

(read part 6 here)

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #aot fanfic #attack on titan fanfic #snk fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfic #female!reader #levi ackerman #annie leonhart #swearing #intoxication #painter's hands and guatemalan coffee #valkyrie writes

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livlepretre · 3 years

Note

Are there any real life moments or feelings that have made their way or informed scenes in any of your fics? Not asking about anything very deep or personal (unless you want to go there). For example, something as small as knowing specific places or sensations and using that to inform scenes better.

Oh tons and tons!

I did get lucky in two respects with writing tvd fic specifically--

I'm actually a painter in real life, so all of those details about using oil paints are from long years of personal experience, as well as all of the parts about drawing. The show is dreadfully wrong about the technicalities of how paint works, like, in just about every scenario, so it does grant me some satisfaction to write about it for real. (and to pretend that Klaus isn't an awful painter) (Writing about Elena as a writer is so much the same, though-- it's special as a writer to get to access a character who also writes, because there's that immediate connection to the process and the feelings that go with it)

The other is that the Originals happens to be set in Nola (for some reason), which I know better than any other place on earth. When I write about that, I'm really writing a love letter.

In general, I try to write about the places I really know well-- Nola and NYC are both pretty drawn out as portraits of those places just because I've spent so much time there (but, ummm, notice that all they seem to do in NY is drink and look at art, which is basically how I spent my 20s there ha) I picked Barcelona for SWBS in particular because I've actually been there, so I could write about my impressions of it (which get heightened in memory... and maybe that's a good thing for fiction) so much better than if I had picked, say, Marseilles where I've never been. That also extends to writing about the feelings certain places evoke-- the descriptions from the Met and the Frick, the air of nostalgia about them, the descriptions of the hall of broken Greek statuary, are all taken from a journal I was working in back when I was spending the winter in New York City and having a bizarrely melancholy time spending all day by myself at the Met.

Experience in the landscape is part of that. Every rural place feels different, and drawing on the physicality of the locations I've spent a lot of time hiking in like New Hampshire for example has really grounded the work. Also, paying attention to the things that are interesting-- I paint landscapes, mostly, so the shape of the land, the color and quality of the lighting, the kinds of flowers and trees and rocks, even the weight or lightness of the air itself, are all things which draw my attention anyway, so it's very natural for me to want to add them to fic-- and they all evoke really powerful sense memory for me, so I try to overlay that with any writing about emotions or introspection.

A lot of the details that fill the story in are just taken from personal interests-- like the books Elena reads in the library are almost all books I've read and loved, and which are influences one way or another on that story. Same for the hapless cooking experiments.

There's obviously also a ton in FE that I've gotten from talking to other people-- I personally have a knack for killing all plants I touch, but my mentor loves to garden, and invites me to paint in his garden all the time, so that's taken from him; I'm far too impatient for yoga or meditation, but again, that's the sort of thing my sister really benefits from, so I've talked to her about the experience of it a lot.

I think the creeping around old houses and snooping through shut in antique curiosities is like a very prime memory from my childhood. My grandfather had this ancient enormous ramshackle house from the 1860s that definitely used to be lots of different smaller buildings but were at some point seamed together; now, my grandmother was a legitimate hoarder (I'm being completely literal, like she makes the hoarders on TLC look like jokes), and there were lots of rooms that were shut off from the main part of the house because they were so full of dusty old interesting things, as well as a few outbuildings like that. My grandfather was very old, in his 90s, when I was a child, too old for him to really keep the house up, so my cousins and siblings and I used to run wild all through this house playing hide and go seek in those shut off rooms and corridors and finding lots of weird and inexplicable objects my grandmother had bought at auction back in the 50s and 60s and piled up high at the house. There were six hundred year old vases mixed in with old record players from the 60s, sewing kits from the 30s and boxes full of letters my great-grandfather had written and little statuettes from India and China and Vietnam sitting atop little two hundred year old painted tables. Just the wildest mix of mundane artifacts from my grandparents' actual lives mixed in with all of these beautiful old objects my grandmother used to collect. I think a lot of Elena's creeping around and hunting through drawers and going down corridors to peer into secret rooms probably stems from that childhood immersed in my grandfather's house, and then all of the time I spent as a teenager helping my mom go through it all and try to make sense of it after he died-- there's probably a weird level of specificity to the names and mechanics of different antique objects and furnitures in FE because I had to learn all about it to help my mom categorize and sell all of those things.

And that kind of takes me to one of the main things I really wanted to write about in this fic-- a detailed and empathetic dive into depression. It's never sat well with me that depression is so often so poorly depicted in media, especially on tv, and that it gets treated like a story arc (tvd season 4 is one of the worst offenders in this regard-- Elena's depression and grief from her brother dying is like a 4 episode arc and it's offensive). I had very severe depression as a teenager, compounded with a lot of grief, and I will probably always be melancholy because some things are just indelible. As a teenager, I was very much so hemmed in by death, and I was very frightened all the time; I was really broken by that experience, and I used to think the loneliness had sunk so deep inside of me that I couldn't even feel lonely anymore, or wish for anyone else. I was probably about 26 before I finally healed from this. These feelings are all probably major reasons why I'm drawn to Elena Gilbert as a protagonist, and why I read her as I do-- I know there are a lot of people who disagree with my interpretation of her, and it's possible that I am so convinced of my character reading of her because I was 20 and still battling in the heart of all of that trauma from my teen years and I felt a resonance with her. So, in writing FE in particularly, and SWBS to a lesser extent, I wanted to write about depression as honestly, openly, and lovingly toward the depressed as I could. I also wanted to write about loneliness, and grief, and what it's like to emerge from those things-- slowly, painfully, with lots of stumbles and hard, hard days. I can recognize that the depictions of depression in FE are ultimately just a reflection of my own personal experience wrestling with it-- but I'm trying to tell an ultimately hopeful story, capable of staring down into the deepest darkness and still clawing its way up into the light. Learning to write honestly about these feelings was hard-- I was so used to protecting myself and pretending that I wasn't something that had once been smashed to pieces that I found myself downplaying the emotions in my writing, being less honest. There came a point there where I realized this story was only ever going to be what I wanted it to be if I did get really honest, as much as possible. I often think of this story as being especially dedicated to the readers who recognize that experience-- and I hope it does, ultimately, read as a story about healing, as dark as it is.

#sevensistersofsussex #asks #on writing #fairytale ending #swbs #personal

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havethetimeofyourstyles · 4 years

Text

here it is! the first part of UTCM!

wc: 4.8k

taglist | story masterlist

͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

With clothes flying across the room, trying to make each article of clothing land in the target of a rectangle, you rummage through your closet, trying to find the specific piece of your most treasured clothing.

One that meant something special to you.

As you dig through your drawer, trying to find the thick, vintage tee your dad had given you (more like you stole it and never gave it back), your hand finally feels the familiar material that has brought you comfort and lots of compliments if you do say so yourself.

With a proud ‘bingo’ escaping your lips, you’re not surprised that it’s the only shirt you folded and gently put into your suitcase. You looked around your room, finding the hurricane of clothing sprawled out on the floor and your bikini top on your lap shade. Laughing a bit, you drop to your knees and begin to pick up your clothes, stuffing it into the suitcase.

You check the time and see that it’s five minutes to 9 AM and your phone rings on your bedside table, knowing you’re behind schedule. You quickly grab your phone, placing it between your shoulder and your ear, and continue grabbing your clothes.

“Yellow?”

“Honey, quit answering the phone like that.” You take the phone from your shoulder and put it at arms reach before sighing, knowing you should’ve looked at the caller ID.

“Hello, mother. How are you on this fine morning?” Your voice changes from playful to proper tone only to tease her.

“Oh, quit it. I was just calling to see if you were all packed and ready.”

“Yup!” You say confidently, looking around your room as it says otherwise. Obviously, packing wasn’t your greatest talent.

It was your best friend’s parent’s anniversary. Minny has informed you a month ago, knowing that you would procrastinate on packing, and to be fair, she was right. Packing wasn’t your favorite, and she knew that. Aww, my best friend knows me so well.

You and Minny have been best friends since you were 7. You two met at school and were in the same class. Because of the two’s last names being right next to each other on the roll call, you were assigned to sit right next to her. Throughout the years in school, you had always remained close. Sure, you two have met other people and became friends with them, but nothing came as close as the bond you have with her.

It was 20 years of eating at lunch together, never missing a day. Sleepovers. Day and night calls to gossip or vent. Laughs. Petty arguments. Crying over stupid boys and girls that broke your heart. Monthly ‘glo the fuck up’ day. Jogging in the park. Living life. And most importantly, love.

Damn, we’re getting old.

“I’m sad I can’t make it to Dan and Lina’s anniversary trip.” Your mother sighed over the phone.

Yours and Minny’s family had practically become one big family when you both turned 10. With occasional sleepovers and meet ups at the mall, your parents had become really great friends with hers.

“I know, Mom. But you practically see them everyday, so it’s fine. They understand why.” You try reasoning out with her.

“I hope so.” She sighs sadly on the phone, and it makes your heart hurt.

“They do understand. Trust me.”

“I wish you were here-” She immediately cuts off.

“Mom, I can go with you. I don’t have to go on Dan and Lina’s trip. Let me call Minny so I can tell her to not come by.”

“No, no!” You pause. “Please, don’t miss out on having fun for me. I want you to have fun. You deserve it.” You nod, even though she can’t see you. You check the time, and know you’re running out of time to finish packing.

“You deserve it too, Mom.” She doesn’t say anything, but you know she’s smiling on the other side of the call.

“Hey, Mom. I gotta go. Minny is almost here to pick me up, so I just wanna double check everything.”

“Of course, honey. I’ll call Lina later. Say hi to Minny for me. I love you.”

“Will do. I love you too.” The door knocks once you hang up the call. Curses scolding yourself for being so lazy and procrastinating fly from your lips as you get the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The last person you were expecting was seeing your ex boyfriend on your doorstep with keys in his hand. He wore rust color corduroy pants, a stripe shirt, and a turquoise jacket that’s stitched on the side. His hair was pushed back by his black sunglasses and he was wearing his pearl necklace. You hate to admit that he looks good and can possibly rock anything he wore, and you despised him for that along with other reasons.

“Wow. No, hi or how are you Harry? I’m doing great, thanks for asking.” He says sarcastically and you roll your eyes, walking back to your room to finish packing. “Well, I see you’re still not that great with organizing your time, or your clothes.” You don’t say anything because you really don’t want to speak to him at the moment, or at all. “I’m assuming Minny didn’t tell you.” Your eyes perk up into confusion.

“Minny didn’t tell me what?” You ask, continuing to fold the last pair of clothes.

“She asked me to pick you up. You know, to take you to the lake house.” If it were possible, steam was coming out of your ears. Why hadn’t Minny told you? You huff loudly for Harry to know that you’re clearly annoyed before grabbing your phone and immediately dialing Minny’s number, and waiting for her to pick up.

Harry looks around your room, seeing as things haven't changed with you, and you want to kick him out as soon as you're done talking to Minny.

“Hey, girl! Are you on your way?” Her voice is high and she clearly is not prepared for what you’re about to give her.

“How can you have Harry pick me up? And why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t pick me up?”

“Clearly, you’re the best at greeting people anymore.” Harry says, leaning against the door frame as he wears a smirk, and you immediately flick him off. He puts his hand on his chest with an exaggerated jaw drop, pretending to be offended.

“I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you, I promise. But my dumbass of a brother decided to come last minute because his plans got cancelled, and so we were all rushing out the door and putting everything in the car.” You hear Minny’s brother, Jackson, say ‘hey!’ and you sigh.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Not wanting to be annoyed anymore, you brush it off.

“I can find someone else to pick me up, no worries.” Harry raises his hands up as if he’s saying ‘I’m literally here to pick you up.’

“No! Just take the ride from Harry. After all, he is staying at the house too.” Your eyes widen.

“What?! Why would you invite him?”

“You know, you’re doing a lot of talking like I’m not here in the room right now.” You mouth ‘shut up’ to him.

“Please, just go with him. We’re almost there anyways and I don’t want you guys to be late because you want to be difficult. Just ride with him. It’s only like a 3 hour drive and you can sleep on the way, and then not talk to him for the rest of the trip.” She persuades.

Minny was always good at persuading people. In college, both of you were commuting from home and didn’t stay at the dorms, so you didn’t know that many people, especially not in the frat or sorority houses. She had convinced her parents that they needed a weekend to get out of the house and take a nice getaway trip, laying out the pros and cons so she can throw a party. And they really thought her pros outweigh the cons.

“Ugh! Okay, fine.”

“Thank you! Love you! Bye!” She gets off the phone quickly, and you turn to Harry.

“Shall we get on the road?” He smiles. You were finally finished with packing and rolled your luggage to the front, ignoring him. He comes out of your room with your bikini top in his hand, and your eyes widen, forgetting to take it from the lampshade. “Think you forgot this.” He holds it up and you snatch it quickly. And you’re both out the door and possibly going on the worst trip.

Two weeks and I’ll be home.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

Two hours down. One more to go.

The entirety of the car ride had been filled with awkwardness and silence. If music hadn’t been playing, you were sure you were going to explode. Harry had asked you if you were alright about a million times or if you were too hot or cold. You kept your responses to a minimum, replying with ‘yeah, I’m good’ or ‘I’m okay’. Harry was gripping the steering wheel so tight, that he was sure his hand would cramp up when he tried to unlatch. The tension and awkwardness was getting to him. He hated that things had ended up like this between the two of you, but he was willing to change that. He wants to change that.

“R. E. D.” He says suddenly after minutes of not talking, and just listening to the sound of the music and the engine of the car.

“Pardon?” You turn to face him.

“C’mon, you don’t remember the game we used to play when we would go on road trips?” He asks hopefully, looking at you quickly before turning his head back on the road.

Of course you remember. Hours on the road with him, going to the next destination when he was on tour or outside of the city to get away from everything, led you both to play road trip games that included saying 3 random letters and finding it on a license plate. It’s what made traveling fun and the hours on the road much more interesting. Especially with Harry.

“Yeah, I remember.” You say softly, not showing emotion.

“Okay, well, start looking.”

“You weren’t very good at this game.” You say, but quickly close your mouth, not realizing that you’re thinking out loud.

And Harry’s surprised. He knows that your comment was a teasing one, and he was worried that he would t get a single sentence out of your mouth without you yelling in his face. “I’m very good at this game!”

“I mean, considering that my board was filled with tallies, then I would think you’re bad at it.” You let out a chuckle and Harry has a big smile on his face, thinking it’ll hurt his cheeks later on.

“You literally gave me impossible letters to work with!”

“They’re license plates, not people’s names!” You tease.

“Just look for R.E.D!” He ends the conversation. Although he didn’t want to, he knew that you’re most likely going to blow up in his face if you two acted like a happy couple again. He knew that you would overthink about the bad things overlapping the good, and you would go back to resenting him.

And he was right.

After he ended the conversation, you were thinking about what could’ve been between you; what could still be if he weren’t an asshole. The laughs and teasing you two had just a minute ago were replaced with deep breaths, not knowing if one of you should say a thing again.

There were only a few cars on the same road for you; going to different places. You wondered if people going on a road trip had the same situation with you and Harry: the sharp tension that can be cut like a knife or wanting to jump out of the car.

You must have blanked out for a while because Harry had gotten off the highway and onto a secluded street that leads to the lake house.

The drive through the woods with high boulders and tall trees had you speechless. You got as close to the window as possible, looking up like you’ve just seen a shooting star. Nature has always been such a fascination to you. You’ve always loved camping trips and hiking; so much that you’re currently an environmental scientist.

You don’t notice with your head practically sticking out the window, but Harry is having such a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. He thinks that it’s admirable how passionate you are, especially about nature and animals because it’s rare that people end up doing what they love. And he loves seeing you so passionate about what you love.

The drive surrounded by the forest didn’t take long; about 20 minutes, and Harry had already pulled up into the gravel driveway in front of the lake house.

The famous lake house that Lina and Dan have owned for 30 years; ever since they got married. It was a rather large lake house; able to fit two families of four. With brown wood hammered onto the sides and evergreen border along the windows, the house was generally very comfortable and homey. They had kept renovating throughout the years to keep up with the times changing, and they’re loving how modern it looks as of now, but very welcoming at the same time.

“Well, we’re finally here.” Harry says, cutting off the ignition and getting out of the car. You do the same as well and meet him where the truck is popped open, Harry grabbing his bags. You went to reach for it, but Harry slaps your hand away.

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry about the bags. I got them.”

“Thanks.” You give him a soft smile.

“And besides, you’ve packed for like a month when we’re gonna be here for two weeks, and you were barely able to carry it out of your house.” He teases.

“For a matter of fact, I happen to be very strong.” You cross your arms.

“Okay, whatever you say, Captain.” The pet name slipped out. When you and Harry were together, he started calling you Captain because sometimes you can be so aggressive and demanding, but passionate, that it felt like you were the Captain of the ship, which technically you were. You were always in charge, always right, and always planning everything. Captain just stuck, and he thought it was so perfect for you.

The pet name had definitely startled you. You haven’t heard that name come from his lips in forever. And admittingly, you missed it. But you don’t tell him that, of course.

Harry notices your shock and just smiles instead of pushing it. He instead walks towards the car once his hands are full.

“Hey, Harry?” He could’ve sworn that his head got jumbled up at your call for him because of how fast he turned around.

“Yes?”

“R.E.D.” You pointed towards Minny’s car with a smirk on your face. Harry looks at her license plate and his jaw drops, but you see the corners of his lips turn up.

“How did you-”

“You think I don’t know my best friend’s license plate when she’s had this car for 4 years?” Your smile is amusing and Harry has missed this side from you.

“Well done.” He drops the bags and starts clapping.

“Make sure to mark my tally.” You walk past him and towards the house. Harry turns around, watching you walk. Specifically landing his eyes on your hips and watching them sway like you own the fucking world. It’s endearing and he loves it. He loves how sometimes you can walk the whole universe and own it, but he always loves how you shy away from things and look for reassurance. He loves it.

You don’t turn around because with the smile and hint of blush that crept onto your face, it’s bound to be a disaster if he sees it.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” He chuckles before picking up the bags and following your footsteps.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

The inside of the house was opposite of what it looked like from the outside. While the outside was rustic and dark looking, the inside was light and provided very much needed natural lighting due to the big window that overlooks the lake. Sun shines bright through the window and into the house that it almost hurts to look out, but that’s Mother Nature at her finest.

You head up to your usual bedroom that you claimed when you were younger, having taken trips to this house for so many years that your feet just subconsciously took you to your room.

It remained the same: big window that led to a small balcony, wooden frame bed, and a mattress that is the perfect size and comfort for you. The walls were white, and with the light coming through, it made the room look even bigger.

Usually you and Minny would sleep in the same room, but there were enough rooms so you two can have your own. But there were some nights where you would spend the night with her, and her, you.

You hadn’t noticed Harry following you to your room, but when you hear bags drop onto the floor, you jump and turn around. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to. Thought you heard me following you.”

“No, I didn’t. I was just distracted with my thoughts.”

Harry leans against the door frame and crosses his arms. “What about?” He asks curiously.

“Just… haven’t been here in a while, and I miss it.” He only nods, and it quickly goes back to silence. “Thank you for bringing my bags up.” This time, he smiles.

“Not a problem. Let me know if you need anything else, Captain.” You chuckle.

“Will do.” He leaves your room and shuts the door close, knowing you’d probably want to settle in and change into more lounge clothing.

You sit on your bed, facing the window, and look out at the lake. You don’t know what you’re feeling. Before you saw him today, you would just get mad that you’re thinking about him, but that car ride broke every anger that clung onto your body. It was like your mind naturally reacted to Harry in a way that you couldn’t control. You can control anything else, but not with Harry. You naturally felt a pull towards him, and no matter how much you wanted to cut off the string you couldn’t.

You had definitely missed the feeling of being around him, and that makes you angry. Angry at yourself because he hurt you.

You try not to cry with the thoughts swirling in your head. You take in the beautiful view from your bedroom and tell yourself that you shouldn’t be sad because you’ve got a long trip ahead of you.

As you changed into your lounge clothes, you headed downstairs to greet the family that was just back from the backyard.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’m so happy you’re here!” Lina greets you with a warm hug. Dan does the same, giving you a bear hug.

“Happy anniversary! How are you guys?” You ask the married couple.

“We’re doing great! I’m excited this time has come again! We’ve got so much planned.” You smile at their excitement. They turned to look at each other and you can’t help but admire their love for one another, even after all these years.

Yours and Minny’s parents’ love was like no other. You were pretty blessed to grow up around healthy relationships, and can’t help but feel so fond of the love they have for each other and wanting it for yourself.

“The kids are still outside.” Lina kisses your cheek and Dan pats your shoulder before they head to the kitchen.

You walk through the glass slide door that leads to the stunning view of the water that the sun reflects onto. You take a deep inhale in, breathing in the world’s scent. The outside is such a beauty that some people take it for granted.

“Ahh!” The famous screams come from no other than Minny. “You’re here!” She runs to you and you engulf her into a big and hard hitting hug. Jackson also hugs you and runs his hand on top of your head, messing up your hair.

“Dickhead!” You slap his chest.

“How are you, other little sister?”

“Oh, you know, here.” You say, not knowing what to say, so ‘here’ is usually your backup for not really wanting to say how you feel.

Minny rolls her eyes, knowing you all too well for your liking. “How was the drive?”

“It was…interesting.”

“Well, that’s my cue to go.” Jackson walks back to the house, and leaves Minny and I to talk.

“Was it that bad?” Minny asks worriedly.

“No, it wasn’t bad. It was just awkward and there was tension between us. But then we started playing our famous road trip game and I started teasing him, and ugh! I smiled and laughed a little and I hated it.” You huffed and looked down.

“What, why?”

“I-I don’t know. I just… I was expecting to have the worst trip when he showed up at my doorstep, but my mind is taking over.”

“Your mind or your heart?” Minny tests. You don’t reply. You just look at her, not knowing if she genuinely wanted a response or she was just testing you.

“Why did you invite him?” You ask at the wrong time because you don’t hear the sliding door open, revealing Harry.

“Hey, Minny.” He smiles softly at her and steps out of the house to hug her. Your breath was hitched in your throat, feeling guilty about your question because you didn’t hear him.

“Hey, Harry.” She smiles back and hugs him. Once they let go of their embrace, Harry turns to you.

“If you don’t want me here so bad, then the Captain shall be obeyed.” He teases, but you know that he’s more hurt than what he puts on. He puts on a brave face, but really you see it in his eyes that he’s hurt. You know that your question had hurt him and it was just the wrong timing to ask that.

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Didn’t you?” His head turns slightly, knowing he’s trying to keep his annoyance intact. His voice is different and sarcastic. Minny senses the shift of tension, so she breaks it.

“I invited him because he’s been my friend as long as you have, so he’s practically family too. He’s been to every trip as well, and besides, my parents love him.” She places her arm on Harry’s shoulder, and you can’t help but feel like they’re teaming up against you. Harry walks ahead of us and goes inside while you and Minny trail behind him. You know you shouldn’t think of it like that because they’re not, but you feel like such a downer once you found out that Harry was tagging along. “Let’s go in and eat lunch!” Minny changes the subject, feeling like that’s what they really needed. “By the way, which letters did he ask for?” Minny asks.

“R.E.D,” you smile amusingly and roll your eyes, giving your best friend the ‘I know right?’ look. She laughs loudly, throwing her head back and clutching her stomach.

“Well that was an easy win for you.” She says and you nod, before putting an arm around your shoulder, walking inside the house for lunch.

Lina had prepared salad, homemade garlic bread, Brussel sprouts, and mashed potatoes. Dan had cooked his famous ribs, one that was his specialty ever since he was a young adult. They didn’t want to cook right when they got to the house, so they prepared it beforehand and took it with them.

The six sat down at the table that was set in front of the window. Dan at the end of the table, Lina on his right, Minny right next to Lina, you on the other end, Harry next to you, and Jackson next to Harry. Everyone was loading food on their plates before passing it around or across the table, Lina making sure everyone got one of each.

“Alright, eat up!”

The conversation flowed throughout the table. The parents asked the kids how work was going, to which everyone responded that it was going well.

“Harry, honey, is your mom and sister planning to stay as well?” Lina asks.

Harry clears his throat and wipes his mouth before replying, “they might come at the end of the week—probably the weekend. Gems couldn’t get out of work, so they’ll only stay for a few days.” She nodded and turned to you.

“Has your mother changed her mind? About coming?” She gives you a sympathetic look.

“I don’t think so. She said she would call you later.” Lina smiles at that. Your eyes naturally gravitated towards Harry and he has a confused look on his face looking back at you, but you look down at your plate before picking up your ribs and taking a bite out of them.

You listen to the conversation while you eat; Dan telling the table a story about a cliff diving incident that happened to Lina when they were in Greece, and the whole table was laughing their ass off, even though they’ve heard it a million times; it never gets old.

You finished your rib and set it down on your plate before wiping your hands down, and before you went to wipe your lips, you felt a napkin, one that’s not yours, wipe your cheek. You turn and see Harry trying to get the stained sauce from your skin.

“Thank you.” You say awkwardly once he’s done, and he gives you a smile followed by a chuckle. He didn’t mean to do that. He knew you were a messy eater and it was a habit that he wiped stuff off your face. A habit that worked well for the both of you, like you were a team. A natural born team.

Once everyone was finished with lunch, it was nearing 2 p.m already, and the group decided to split and do whatever they please as they were going to be all together tomorrow and the rest of the trip.

After everyone helped clean up the table and kitchen, you decided to take a nap before watching the sun set for the day.

Your body hit the mattress and soft pillows that made you feel like you were on a cloud. The room was dark, thanks to the thick curtains that hung from the metal rod. The only light that was shown was a strip of it coming from the curtain not being able to close all the way. You snuggled your pillow, happy you’re finally getting some rest after a long day.

When you woke up, it was still light out, but not as sunny as it was prior to your nap. You stretched your limbs out, relieving the feeling of any tense muscles from your sleep, and walked downstairs and to the backyard.

“Good nap?” Harry says from the lawn chair that is set on the grass. You rub your eyes, nodding while closing the sliding door. There’s a vacant seat next to him, and you’re not quite sure if you want to sit next to him or watch the sun disappear when your feet are in the water. “Want to sit here?” He asks as if he read your mind.

“I-”

“I can see that you’re debating if you want to sit next to me or not, so I can leave and you can sit here if you want.” He says, and you feel bad a bit. He already thinks that you don’t want him here, and he’s simply here for Lina and Dan.

“It’s okay. You can stay. I’m just going to go by the water.” He only nods and you walk away.

The water softly hits the shore and you feel the coldness of it hit your feet. It’s refreshing and cooling, hoping it’ll cool down your nerves and your mood.

You cross your arms as you watch the sun slowly begin to set. The fascination you have with the sun is like no other. It reminds you of the feeling of hope and a new beginning; how the sun setting resembles the end of a story, a day. And tomorrow is a new day.

You can’t help but think about your situation with Harry and how it’s hypocritical to be talking about a new story when you’ve been clinging onto his story. You feel a little stressed keeping the grudge and anger towards him bottled up because he hurt you bad, but you’re also still in love with him.

As the sky turned from light to dark, you turned around to go inside, and to see if Harry was still sitting on the chair. But when you’re walking away from the water and towards the house, you see the chair empty, and you don't know why you have a sad feeling in your chest.

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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

#august walker #Henry Cavill #August Walker Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #August Walker Fanfic #augustwalker #henrycavill

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pretty-bratty · 3 years

Text

Baby Can You See Through The Tears Teasers

I'm finally doing it.

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reads, loves, waits this fic and keeps up with my procrastinating ass. It truly means the world to me. Thank you all.

Special huge thank you to @dracula-incarnate who not only hyped me to post these teasers and to write in general, but also hypes and supports me in everything all the way, and also proof read everything as my beta. I wouldn't post them without you, thank you so much.

So, under the cut are the teasers - different bits of future chapters. At the beginning of each one there's a short explanation of the scene. The warnings are the usual for this fic, and it makes sense to read it only reading fic, but just in case: dom/sub stuff and the beginning of the punishment-spanking scene. Uh...I think it's all.

If you like it, it would mean so much if you let me know your thoughts.🌠 I'm nervous and really hope it lives up to your expectations, uhhh.

Baby Can You See Through The Tears Teasers

1. (The boys want to radio Eleven to calm Steve down over the fact that his blood got in the water at the end of the previous chapter):

It takes Billy quite some time to find the walkie-talkie in the mess that Harrington turned his room into. The scolding he wants to give him is dancing on the tip of his tongue. He wonders if he's ever going to have a nice, relaxing, calm day with Harrington. And the most obvious answer leaves him unpleased.

Steve stares at him with those baby deer eyes, full of fear and hope. Fear of the darkness, and hope that Billy is going to save him from all the monsters inhabiting it. And dammit if Billy isn't going to do exactly that.

"You think it's gonna work?" Harrington's whisper is barely audible in the thick silence of his room.

Billy honestly has no idea, but Steve doesn't need to know that.

"Yeah. Of course it is, pretty boy."

He still has no idea when he finally ends up finding the walkie - thrown on a chair in a tangled mess of jeans. Really, Steve? Billy kind of toys with the idea of radioing Max first; and he would, if it was a bit earlier.

But the second he turns the walkie on, it comes to life with a calm and collected voice.

"I am here."

Billy jumps. Steve gasps, almost knocking the nightlight off the drawer.

"How...what are you doing here, kid?" Billy cringes immediately. First, it's kind of a stupid question since he’s the one who originally was going to reach out. Secondly, he sounds exactly like the Chief.

"You needed me." El's voice is clear and somber. Billy pictures her serious, concentrated face. Sometimes he feels like they have a lot in common; something deep down in the girl's eyes speaks to him in a language he feels only he can understand. "You needed me and I am here."

2. (Just some atmospheric bits):

It's still warm, despite the pouring rain. They dragged the loungers under the porch awning and now sit there. Watching the streams of water falling everywhere. Watching it dance on the pool's surface. Playing the fastest drumbeat Billy's ever heard. He can't say he loves the rain. Actually, he really doesn't like it at all; but this, today's rain… it brings some much needed peace to his soul.

Harrington seems to appreciate it as well, considering how he hums contentedly, laying across the loungers, head in Billy's lap. He only stirs a few times, squirming, nose scrunched. Billy supposes it's because of his freshly spanked ass touching the lounger's hard surface. He chuckles under his breath at the thought, scratching the boy's head.

Harrington looks up at him with big brown eyes that are red rimmed and tired, yet warm. Always so warm and comforting. He gives Billy a little content smile and lays back down, cheek pressed to Billy's thigh, skin on skin.

Billy cards his fingers through this wild, absolutely lush mane of brown hair. And it suddenly shoots through him… this boy is his. Not just simply his. Not like he was Wheeler's - okay, Billy, better not think about it. No need to get angry - but in many, many more ways.

Harrington trusts him unconditionally in everything. Absolutely everything. And Billy's has way more power, belonging, and responsibility than he has ever dared to have before.

He cuddles the boy in closer to himself. His hold on him perhaps a bit too tight. His heart chattering wildly. Harrington looks up again; eyes a bit puzzled, questioning, but Billy gives him a calming smile and a gentle tug on his hair.

(...)

The rain is soothing. Heavy streams drumming everywhere in the Harringtons' posh backyard. Making everything wet and fresh and transparent green. Somehow still so full of light. Like you're looking at the world through a green-glass bottle.

"I was kinda afraid of swimming before that, y'know…" Harrington says suddenly, without moving. Billy doesn't see his face. "Before B… before B-Barb."

He shivers when he says the name, and Billy holds him closer, frowning.

"How come? I thought you loved splashing in the pool and all?"

3. (Some Billy, Steve and Max snippet, at Steve's place):

"Let's build a pillow fort!" Harrington throws all these gigantic pillows and blankets on the floor in front of TV. Almost knocking down some vase in the process; Billy's pretty sure it must cost a small fortune. Mrs. Harrington would be really grateful to Billy for catching it at the last moment.

"Jeez," Max breathes out. "Pillow fort, ice cream and movies? Everyone else will lose their shit!"

"We won't tell them." Harrington frowns, apparently not wanting any of his gremlin gang to feel left out. Billy rolls his eyes so hard it hurts.

"Oh no," Max smirks. "We're definitely telling them!"

Billy snorts. Harrington looks between them, a smile playing on his lips.

"You two sure you're not blood related?"

4. (Same part, they're going to watch a movie, Billy told them no scary movies):

Max smirks.

"Let's put on a scary movie. Billy will want to know how it ends so he'll grumble but watch it."

Billy watches them quietly from the kitchen doorway. He's on his way back with their bowls of ice cream, and that's when he hears Max mentioning a horror movie. Now he's too curious about how Harrington’s going to act since he's not directly with him.

Yesterday he'd definitely put it on, just to spite Billy. Let's see if today's lesson taught him anything.

The boy squirms in his spot, wide eyes darting around.

"But he told us not to. He'll be pissed."

Max just rolls her eyes.

"You realize he's not as scary as he thinks he is, right?

Billy gapes at the statement, because true - but excuse her!

Steve's voice is low.

"Mmm- well, yeah. He's not, but..."

'...But his belt on my ass definitely is!' is clearly written across his face. Billy puts a hand over his mouth, juggling the bowls and trying not to snort out loud and blow his cover.

Harrington bites his lower lip.

"But he specifically told us not to. I think it would be nice to listen to him, don't you, Max? And like, a comedy sounds pretty good to me right now."

Billy can just burst with pride for his boy.

Max rolls her eyes once more, but only for the sake of her reputation. Then she gets up and picks a comedy. Secretly, she's actually pretty excited about it. At least from what Billy can see.

5. (Different bits for the spanking scene):

"Now, come here. And bring me that brush," Billy squints at the wooden hairbrush laying on Harrington's desk.

"What?" The boy knits his brows together in confusion. "You gonna… brush my hair?"

"Oh darling," Billy chuckles darkly, shaking his head. He almost feels guilty due to Steve's innocent, obvious confusion. "No. I'm gonna make sure I ingrain the consequences of giving me attitude, like yesterday's little outburst, in your precious head."

(...)

Billy swirls the brush in his hand. It's pretty heavy. Wide too. He feels bad for the boy - well, almost.

"Sit."

He jerks his head in a curt nod, and Harrington sits near him nervously. Billy taps the brush on his palm, making a thud, and hears a quiet sharp inhale.

"I'm going to punish you now," Billy looks at Harrington closely, catching every little detail. How he licks his lips, throat working. How he squirms, big brown eyes watching Billy's every move. "You got my belt a couple of days ago, so it might be too soon for a second round on that lil' ass of yours."

The boy's cheeks and ears were growing darker and darker shades of red.

"You deserve something harder than just my hand though. Acted like a total spoiled brat too; so s' pretty fitting, I guess. Dontcha, Stevie?"

Harrington just whimpers weakly, eyeing the brush in Billy's hands.

"I asked if you think it's fitting, Steve?"

Billy let's some steel slip into his tone, and the boy shudders.

"It's-it's gonna sting..." his voice is small, but he's still whining.

Such a brat. Billy growls.

"Yes, it is." He fixes Harrington with a stern look, slapping the brush on his own palm at the same time. "Your spankings are supposed to sting. It's a punishment. And you deserve a punishment, don't you?"

Billy's setting his jaw, asking for the last time. If the boy decides to keep being a brat, he can take the belt after a brush too. And apparently, Harrington senses it.

"I do." He whispers miserably. Glancing at Billy and correcting himself immediately, licking his lips and flushing more. "I do think I deserve this punishment, Billy."

Billy nods, spreading his legs wider and laying the brush on the bed next to him.

"Get over my lap."

"What??" Harrington flushes red to the roots of his fluffy hair. "I...what...No! I'm not some fucking toddler!"

Billy flares his nostrils, breathing in and out. If Max ever dares to accuse him of lacking patience ever again, so help him...

"Could've fooled me." He speaks in a quiet, terrifying growl. "Acting exactly like one."

Harrington gulps.

"Up. Bend. Over my knee, ass in the air." Billy orders in a low voice, no room for discussion left. "Tell me 'No' one more time during the punishment, and see what happens, pretty boy."

Harrington inhales sharply and almost jumps up, legs wobbly. Then tiptoes around and finally lowers himself across Billy's lap; eyes squeezed shut, cheeks and ears tomato red.

Billy immediately manhandles him into position. Leaving one knee under Steve and hooking the other leg over the boy's thighs, holding him successfully in place. Gonna come in handy when Harrington starts squirming and trying to kick - and Billy already knows it's gonna happen.

Billy looks down, sees Harrington's messy mop of brown hair. His hands nervously fidgeting on the floor. Billy yanks his shorts down rather harshly, and there's a gasp, followed by a little, scared whimper.

"Gonna squirm again, huh?" Billy bounces his knee a bit.

"Uh...y-yeah," a quiet, honest, reply from Steve surprises him.

Billy hums, running his hand up and down Harrington's boxers-clad ass.

"I'll take that as I should hold you during all your punishments from now on, hm, baby?"

There's a sniff and a quiet ‘please’ from Harrington.

"Sure, pretty boy. Setting it as a rule then." Billy puts his hand on the small of the boy's back, holding him in place. He hears almost a relieved sigh.

"No fighting. Sit still. You're not allowed to cover your pretty ass, got it?"

"Yes, Billy."

Billy watches his own hands on the waistband of Harrington's Calvins, snapping it at his skin lightly.

"Tell me why are you getting spanked now, baby?" He smirks, feeling how the boy flushes at the word ‘spanked’; emphasizing it for a bigger effect.

#baby can you see through the tears #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #harringrove fanfiction #billy x steve #steve x billy #steve harrington #billy hargrove #pretty bratty writing

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “Wanky” (NC17)

Summary: An unfortunate find in a secret drawer leads poor Tracy to believe that she's getting a dog for Christmas, and leaves Kurt stuck between a rock and a hard place: does he stick to his guns, or does he traumatize his sweet, innocent daughter for life? (1918 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'learn'.

Read on AO3.

“Hey, guys!" Kurt sings from the front door, brushing snow off the shoulders of his coat before he crosses the threshold. "We’re back!”

"Sorry we took so long," Blaine says, "but we had a heck of a time finding ..."

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” Tracy squeals, leaping into Blaine’s arms the second he comes to a stop in their living room. "Both of you! Thank you so much!"

“Thank us?” He wraps his daughter in a bear hug, confused as all get out but in no way stupid enough to turn down a hug. “Thank us for what? Kurt?”

Kurt shrugs, making a don’t know noise as he sheds his coat and hangs it, returning quickly for a turn in the hug rotation. "Brittany? Santana?" He looks expectantly at the ladies who have been watching their daughter all afternoon. "Do you know what's going on?"

Brittany, hands behind her back, shifts her weight anxiously from foot to foot, while Santana, arms crossed over her chest, looks nearly gleeful. It’s Santana's glee more than Brittany’s anxiety that makes Kurt’s back start to sweat.

“It seems Tracy here was poking around in your naughty bits and found herself a little treat.”

Kurt and Blaine shoot her confused looks, though Kurt’s leans more towards annoyed.

“Can you be any less vague?” Kurt asks.

Santana grins. “No.”

Brittany carefully enters the conversation. “Tracy may have accidentally figured out what you guys are getting her for Christmas.”

"And what are we getting her for Christmas?" Blaine asks.

Brittany swallows hard. "A ... a dog."

Tracy dislodges herself from Blaine's torso and latches on to Kurt’s.

"What?" Kurt says, dumbfounded.

“Didn’t we specifically say no to a dog?” Blaine whispers.

Kurt hugs his daughter tight, stealthily covering her ears with his hand. “We did."

"So how did she come to that conclusion?”

“She found this.” A guilty smile flickers across Brittany’s lips as she brings a hand out from behind her back and shows Kurt something that makes his face turn paper white. He doesn't have to look at his husband to know that Blaine is wearing the same dropped-jaw, mushroom pale expression of horror that he is.

Brittany is handing him a black leather collar with a row of rhinestones across the front.

When Kurt comes to his senses, he reaches for the collar, eager to tuck it out of sight.

Mortifyingly, Tracy intercepts it.

She eyes it reverently. But then she sighs, her expression slipping from overjoyed smile to apologetic frown.

“I’m sorry I snooped in your special drawer.”

“Didn’t we make it perfectly clear that drawer is off-limits?” Blaine asks, crouching to talk to her.

“You did.” Tracy hugs the collar to her chest, afraid the dog she has wanted for so long might be slipping away from her.

“Then why did you look in there?”

“It seems a little birdie told her it’s only off-limits because that's where you hide her presents,” Santana explains, maneuvering her shrinking wife behind the protection of her body. “Poor, impatient Tracy couldn’t resist.”

Kurt glares over Santana’s shoulder at Brittany, who completely disappears behind her wife.

Blaine stands, ruffles his daughter’s hair, then takes his husband by the elbow and gives him a tug in the direction of the kitchen. “Excuse us, Peanut. I need to talk to your Papa alone for a minute.”

“Ok, Daddy.” Tracy releases Kurt and walks glumly towards Santana, sighing significantly as she slips into her arms, still hugging that collar to her chest.

That’s the scene that kills Kurt.

Tracy hugging that collar.

The collar he wears on his and Blaine’s "special" nights out.

The kind where they pretend they don’t know one another, and they flirt in a bar like strangers. Blaine picks him up with a proposition, money exchanges hands, and they spend all night in a room at a no-tell motel with Blaine riding him, pulling his hair hard, calling him his "good little bitch".

Yup. His nine-year-old daughter is hugging that collar.

“Oh my God!” Blaine says the second they're behind closed doors, a hint of amusement in his tone that gives Kurt an urge to flick him on the forehead. “What do we do? What do we do?”

“I hope we’re agreed that she doesn’t deserve a thing if she’s invading our privacy!”

“Yeah … well … hmmm …” Blaine waffles.

Kurt’s eyes go wide. “Blaine!”

“To be honest, Kurt, I don’t know what you have against the family having a dog. Tracy has wanted one forever. It would be a good companion for her. Besides …” He looks down at his hands, twiddles his thumbs “… I … kinda … want one.”

“That’s great!” Kurt snaps, frustrated since he thought they were a unified front on this issue. “But tell me this - who’s going to take care of it? Huh? Who's going to feed it and walk it and clean up after it when it vomits on the floor at three in the morning? I’ll tell you exactly who’s going to do all of that! I will!”

“We can teach her to be responsible! She’s at that age!”

“This isn’t the way things like this are supposed to work! If she wants a dog, she needs to earn it! Not commit a misdemeanor! That proves she’s not mature enough! And if we give in, we'll be perpetuating that behavior!”

“Technically, it’s not her fault. You heard what Santana said.”

“Yeah, well, that only proves someone else is culpable. It doesn’t change the fact that Tracy broke the rules. In fact, if she thought her Christmas presents were in that drawer, that makes things worse!”

“This one indiscretion aside, she deserves a dog! She’s a straight-A student. She keeps her room clean without being told. She helps out with dinner, the laundry, the dusting. And let’s face it, between your trophies, my trophies, and all the other knick-knacks in this house, she deserves a dog for that alone!”

“I am not going to make this decision on the spur of the moment! We need to talk about boundaries, hash out rules!”

“Fair enough."

“Which we will do after the holidays!”

“And what do we do until then?” Blaine asks, his eyes brimming with the same disappointment Tracy’s had. He'd started getting excited when he thought Kurt might cave. Now Kurt's pulling a "we'll see". “She already found the collar. How are you going to explain owning that if we aren’t getting her a dog for Christmas? Which is in about a week, by the way.”

“We’ll be honest with her,” Kurt decides. “We’ll explain, in age-appropriate terms, why we have that collar.”

Blaine jerks back, the fringes of a chuckle tickling his throat. “So … she’s mature enough to know about your collar kink, but not old enough to own a dog?”

“I’ll … cross that bridge when I get to it, all right?” Kurt mumbles, his face turning bright red. "But for now, that's my final decision! End of discussion! Take it or leave it!"

Kurt turns on his heel and heads for the living room. He will not be manipulated into giving in, even if this whole thing did start with a misunderstanding.

He opens the door and spots Tracy rocking in Blaine’s recliner, looking at pictures on Brittany’s phone, while Brittany and Santana sit beside her, making encouraging comments.

Tracy, still hugging that Godforsaken collar, looks like she’s been crying.

Brittany looks positively devastated, as if she didn’t just ruin Tracy’s chance for happiness, but helped her get the dog of her dreams, then ran it over with her car.

Santana leads the conversation, which Kurt assumes is about clothes - one of Tracy’s favorite things to window shop. But as Kurt walks closer, he catches a peek at the screen, and his heart deflates. During his and Blaine’s conversation, Tracy had started a Pinterest board titled ‘My Favorite Dogs in the World’. Brittany and Santana are helping her add to it – teacup poodles, Pomeranians, Chihuahuas, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel ...

'That one's cute,' Kurt thinks when he spots the silky thing. 'That fur would be fun to style. We could do it together! A bright pink bow, maybe a sparkly barrette ...'

The sparkly barrette brings his mind back to his collar, and he gives himself a hard, mental shake.

'No. Don't waver. Stay the course.'

He approaches his daughter slowly, preparing himself for the worst conversation of his life so far.

Kurt swallows hard. “Tracy?”

Tracy looks up at him with watery eyes. “Yes, Papa?”

Her bottom lip wobbles.

Ugh! This is going to be impossible!

“There’s something I need to explain to you … about that collar.”

“Yes?”

Kurt crouches down in front of Tracy, meeting her eye to eye. “You see, sometimes when you buy a collar, it’s for a dog.”

“A-ha …” Tracy says, hopeful ... and mildly confused.

“And sometimes, two people … two grown adults who don’t own a dog ... might buy a collar to …”

Brittany and Santana both gasp when they realize what he’s doing.

Brittany stares like a deer in headlights.

Santana, on the verge of a laughing fit, gets up and leaves the room.

“Yes, Papa?”

“Well, they might buy a collar because …”

“Because …”

"Because ..." Kurt looks at Tracy, silently wishing she'd catch on without him having to say another word. Not catch on to what they use the collar for, but catch on to the fact that no, they will not be getting a dog right now. He looks into her huge, brown eyes, so much like Blaine’s, her hopeful expression dimming with every second of this asinine explanation.

Is he really going to do this?

Is he really going to tell his beloved daughter that she's not getting a dog because that collar she found is one of her fathers’ favorite sex toys? That the last time they used it, Kurt was wearing it, and Blaine was riding him like a bronco, growling obscenities and smacking his ass?

No! He can’t do that!

What responsible parent would!?

When Kurt first found out he was going to be a father, his own father gave him some valuable life advice.

“When you become a parent, you sort of fool yourself into believing that you’re in charge. You're the teacher," his dad had said. "But in reality, parenting will put you on your ass over and over until you realize you know nothing. But you learn. And one of the most important lessons you’ll ever learn is to pick your battles. Because situations will come up that you’ll never dream of, things that you hope to never handle. But, in the end, when you’re debating right and wrong, you have to decide – are you doing what’s best for your child? Or what’s best for you? Because, surprisingly, the two aren’t always the same.”

In short, Kurt has to choose between psychological trauma, pet dog, or sticking to a rule that's rigid simply because bending it would hurt his ego.

When he thinks of it in those terms, the answer is simple.

His father, as always, is right - mostly.

The most important lesson Kurt will learn from this particular situation is that he needs to get a lock on that damned drawer!

Because watching their new pet tromp through the house wearing that collar is going to burn his eyes every day of his life until he dies.

#klaine advent 2020 #klaine advent: learn #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klaine

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onyourzeus · 3 years

Text

• with you | kwp

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: with you pairing: kim wonpil (of day6) & you genre: flufffffff words: 2.9k

author’s note: requested by this anon asking for a lazy day with wonpil + some possibility of a food fight due to baking (i tweaked it a little bit, i hope you don’t mind)

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

lazy days with wonpil are the best. it doesn’t happen often, though, because he rarely gets to spend this much time with you

you’ve been relying on voice messages, long texts and the occasional video calls before and during their subunit comeback promotions

granted you were super excited and absolutely stunned by their performances

not to mention the songs in the album are amazing, you have always been supportive of wonpil’s career

ever since you’ve known him, music has always been his top priority. he’s taught you so much of what he’s learned throughout the years being a trainee and a musician in his own right

albeit you doubt you’d ever reach his level of proficiency when it came to understanding music

you’re content just watching him sing, admiring the way he plays the piano so effortlessly, and being so damn lucky to be part of this important journey with him

but of course, it pains you to be so far away, long distance never gets better no matter what they say

as much as you follow along his schedules as a day6 member, you’d be lying to yourself if you said the end of promotions is your actual favorite part of it all

it means that wonpil has some free time to spare, and usually he likes to spend it with you

this weekend, you knew he didn’t have a lot on his agenda. you’ve specifically cleared the whole two days, logged off on all social media just so your attention can be focused solely on your significant other

you’ve been giddy all morning, waiting for wonpil to arrive at your place in mere minutes

when the two of you haven’t seen each other in a while, wonpil personally likes to have you all to himself in a space where no one can bother the two of you. this is why he doesn’t like you going over to their apartment

dowoon doesn’t have a sense of personal space or can he take a hint that wonpil doesn’t want anyone coming into the room when he’s just snuggling with you

so it’s a win win situation overall to have him in your place instead. the clothes he had left in the bottom drawer hasn’t been worn in a while by him.

(you’re afraid his scent would come off soon if you keep wearing his sweaters and pjs)

you hear the knock on the door and excitedly dash for it, seeing wonpil in the flesh with…

flowers!!

“hi,” he greets you shyly, the smile on his face neverending, only growing wider as you try your best to embrace him without squishing the gift he has in hand

“i missed you sooooooooo much,” you squeal, immersing yourself in the warmth of his body and his hand pressing against your back

it feels like forever since you last saw him, so you want to hug him just as long

“babe, babe— okay, baby, i can’t breathe!!” he laughs, jokingly coughing as he wiggles his way out of your death grasp. you’re not apologetic, only pouting while sliding your fingers in between his free hands

“do you want to invite me in?” he asks, the sass in his voice unavoidable and you’d like to slap it out of him

but this is what you missed, so you tugged at his hands and welcomed him in your apartment

“are these for me??” he hands you over the bouquet, recognizing instantly the camellia flowers delicately arranged. he doesn’t answer, only letting his pressed lips resisting its way to a smile tell you how it is

“thank you,” you say to him anyway, reluctant but giving in to what you’ve always wanted to do for so long.

you kiss his cheek, and it feels all so familiar but new at the same time

he gasps for a moment, brows raised up as if in mock offense but steals a quick kiss on your lips before you can question his silly antics

“thought you could get away with that huh”

and this is what you truly missed being with wonpil, side by side. the way he sheds off that introverted persona online and really ease into his comfortable ways with you. he’s full of love, of course, but there are times when he is subtly teasing with you as a form of affection

you place the camellias in an empty vase you find inside a cabinet. the two of you didn’t necessarily plan out what to do for the day, and that’s usually the case when he spends his free time here

“i just want to be in bed and… cuddle,” wonpil would confess, winning you over with his doe eyes. nine times out of ten, it works

but today you want to talk with him, catch up on what you’ve missed while he was busy with performing and going on variety shows. and wonpil complies because even though he loves just being lazy with you, having his arms enclosing your figure and dozing off that way

one thing he loves to do is also talk. and there’s so much to talk about!

you share the couch with him, and wonpil instinctively opens up his arms so he can wrap them around your waist

he puts up his legs on the coffee table, and waits for you to say something

“oh? this is allowed now?” he perks up and you turn your head to look at him, tongue darting out in response

“just because i need your scent to be in every corner of this place as much as possible”

“that’s…. a little gross, babe”

sue you for missing him that much!!!

but that didn’t really bother you, in fact you lift your own legs up to rest on his. as you guys find a comfortable lying position, finally you ask wonpil how he has been doing

you’ve probably already heard most of his stories through his messages and voice calls beforehand

but nothing beats listening to wonpil talk in person, and to watch him do it with your own very eyes

it’s something special that you want to keep for yourself, you understand that wonpil has to connect to his fans too. he goes on vlives, writes instagram posts directly addressing mydays, and just overall be relatable to them

and… it gets to you a little bit, not gonna lie. there’s so much of him that he gives to others, yet he doesn’t see it that way

you’re sometimes afraid that he’ll be seen as too fragile and be an easy target to break

but over the years you’ve known wonpil, you have only seen him get stronger. be more thick skinned, and it’s an admiring feat

“were you even listening to what i said?”

“about dowoon overreaching his leader status even after promos? yep, sounds like him”

wonpil looks utterly surprised, and you return his expression with a more menacing version

he bursts into laughter right at your face, and if you didn’t enjoy him tightening his grasp around you, you’d shove him off on the floor

“wonpil why do u keep laughing at me!!”

“you just have that face”

wow what a way to compliment your s/o thanks buddy”

“hey now,” he lets out the last few chuckles bubbling in his system, releases one arm around you to poke your nose with his finger. “thats the kind of face i love for a partner”

“well then consider yourself lucky,” you pout, and wonpil’s eyes shine even brighter

“i am.”

there isn’t a lot more that happens that day, you guys really took “lazying around” in its most literal form

since the couch is a pull out, wonpil helped you with setting it up and placing bedsheets on it while you grab the blanket from your room

he suggests if he can take a nap for an hour or two which resulted to a cuddling session before you both dozed off

the curtains on the windows to the side of the living room were drawn out, so the late afternoon sun found its way to the inside of your place

it was warm, it hit your cheek when you turned over so you decided to just lay in bed facing wonpil

when you’d be in and out of sleep, you see your boyfriend’s peaceful face just a kiss away from you

and so you do just that… kiss his lips softly as to not disturb him… you take it upon yourself to take in his features slowly while you can and

it’s such a sight to behold

nevermind the dark shadows forming underneath his eyes or the subtle stress lines on his forehead

you make it a point to do a self care skincare routine with him tonight. he’d enjoy the new volcanic mask you bought to try out

but setting that aside, wonpil is still so beautiful to you. you understand, out of all people, how so many have fallen for him too

hips lips that produce one of the most hauntingly elegant voices you’ve heard, his cheeks that paints a blushing rose when he’s being effortlessly cute, his eyes that glimmer whenever he’s having fun

however right now he has them closed, relaxed, as his chest breaths in and breathes out

you snuggle even closer to him, putting your cheek up against where his heart should lay, and listen to the beat of his heart

you feel your own pounding in the still of the apartment, only a faint bustling hum of reality outside your window

and as the sun shines on wonpil’s face this time, he slowly wakes up and you will yourself not too look

as you feel him shuffle while repositioning his arms that have encircled you all this time

“you awake?” he asks groggily, his sleepy hoarse voice sending you shivers down your spine

you can’t help but smile silly against his clothes

“mmm” is your response

“psst” he whispers in your ear, caressing the sides of your hair in a lulling manner

before you get too comfortable with his affection, you slowly pull yourself away and look at him

and you can never get used to it, to him

“i really, really missed you,” he mouths, almost inaudible, but you know it in your heart

suffice to say the two of you didn’t get up right away

now that it’s nearing sunset, you ask if he wants to get dinner or cook at home

“what if we bake”

“oh,” that wasn’t really in your mind, but why not? this means you get to spend more time with him, and it’s a great bonding experience. the two of you rarely do this sort of thing. sometimes he’s ask to cook for you, only to phone his mom during the whole process to help out

in the end of that conversation, though, wonpil would approach you if you were in the room or hanging out on the couch, attack you with those puppy dog eyes of him

“eomma hung up on me. says i should already know how to make stew without her help”

“do you need my help then, wonpil?”

“yes pls “ :c

so with baking, it’s perfect, because you guys can tag team

you settle on making brownies, craving some chocolate for tonight. you pull up a recipe on your ipad for reference

“babe where’s the butter,” wonpil asks behind you, rummaging his way through your fridge

“on the side, next to the cheese,” you tell him as you focus on reading through the ingredients

“... where’s the cheese”

“top shelf, wonpil,” you laugh, turning to see him struggling with messing around the many jars and miscellaneous stuff you have in your fridge

“ah, this needs to be more organized baby,” wonpil chastises you, finally finding what he was looking for

“sorry,” you sheepishly grin, but help him with the remaining ingredients

now that you have everything laid out, baking with him is.. a wild ride

you thought the cooperation between you would fall into a field of familiarity, but wonpil’s eagerness to do everything and have you just be sort of his “assistant” is bugging you a bit

“i can mix this in—”

“no no no, i got it. you’ll see, i got this”

“but wonpil—”

“no no no,” he repeats, holding onto an egg as he shakes his head at you

“see this? it’ll get cracked with one hand, just you wait” the smug expression on him just looks to adorable not to react to, but you know if you say something he’ll take it in a different manner. you keep your mouth shut and let him do his thing

he takes a second, three, five seconds before finally cracking the egg on the edge of the bowl

and spilling it all over the counter before he got the chance to put it all in

that’s your cue to laugh as wonpil stands there to take in the shame

and walk it off by washing his hands and wiping the mess

you didn’t mean to be so loud about his mistake, but you see wonpil blushing hard with his arms crossed

and you just know you crossed the line

“wonpiriiiii” you whine, trying to take his hands in yours. he won’t budge, not even looking your way

“it was an accident, you can just crack it with a fork or something” he relents as you sway your arms side to side, an attempt to calm him down and reassure him it’s nothing serious

and you actually love him more

“yeah but i wanted to impress you”

if only you knew wonpil

“you impress me every day just knowing you’re with me,” you tell him, and the cheesiness sends him gagging mockingly

the two of you would continue clowning each other while preparing the brownie mixture

taking turns with cracking the eggs, even at one point having a seriously uncalled for juggling competition with two eggs

that you immediately stop once you realize you don’t have back up eggs if this fails badly

at one point the brownie mixture has finally been combined, and you’re about to ask wonpil for the tray when you see him dip his finger in the bowl and pop it in his mouth

“mmm,” he reacts, before slowly reaching in to take another dip

“DUDE DON’T DOUBLE DIP” too late, he had already contaminated the bowl and was on his way to smear chocolate on your cheek

you didn’t even have time to speak his death sentence

the deed has been done, the cheek has been smeared as your nose sniff at the chocolatey smell on your face

“oh it’s on, wonpil”

“no it’s not,” he counters, and he’s already laughing with his pointer finger still up in the air, remnants of chocolate still coating around the skin

you want to approach it the same way he did, but you needed to go big

bringing the whisk filled with a gooey chocolate mess, you lift it up and take a slow, careful step towards wonpil

his laughter died down and is followed by a gulp down his throat

“you won’t dare, baby. i love you, i love you so much—”

“your words mean nothing right now, pil,” you say as sweetly as you can, comically licking some of the mixture that has traveled down the side of your lips. wonpil stared at your tongue, confused at his emotions right now

should he be turned on? threatened?

he doesn’t get another second to think as you basically paint the whole side of his cheek with chocolate

“i feel better now” you say in between your own fits of laughter, pointing the whisk at wonpil’s sorry face as he just stands there

taking in what just happened

so yeah, y’all don’t get to bake what’s left of the brownie mixture until… after so much of it has ruined your clothes, and the kitchen counter

fortunately, as the poorly spread out brownie mixture bakes in the oven, you and wonpil get to

share a bath together :)

maybe it was his plan all along because the smirk on his face doesn’t leave at all while you wash each other up

bath foam on his hair, on your nose

soapy kisses, the works

you’d indulge being skin to skin with wonpil this way, soaked in warm water with the smell of mint in the air from your body wash

you couldn’t take too long in the bath though as the brownies baked for a short period of time

“do you really choose brownies over me right now, babe? really?”

“wonpil the apartment will burn down if we don’t take them out of the oven”

…”

“okay point taken”

you finish up in the shower, put on your bathrobe and dry off your hands to hurry and take the tray out the oven

the brownies don’t look half-bad and evidence of the food fight you and wonpil didn’t even seem like it happened (courtesy to him voluntarily wiping everything down as you ran the bath quickly)

“so is this dinner?” wonpil asks, walking towards you with his matching robe around him

“how about some take out for now?” you suggest sheepishly, hunger calling out to you already

he agrees, and calls your favorite restaurant for some food

the two of you then spend the rest of the night eating rice from take out boxes and dumplings on the pull out sofa bed, never ending conversations of everything in life accompanying the hum of background tv noise

y’all even forget to eat the brownies as the dumplings and noodles had filled you up more than you thought

and that’s how you basically spent the first day he’s back with you, and the second is just the same

with more cuddling, sharing the shower, and enjoying every moment with him :) (less food fights though, he’s found out your sheer determination about such things… terrifying)

#day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 x reader #day6 au #kim wonpil imagines #kim wonpil scenarios #kim wonpil x reader #day6 fic #dot series #by:jiae

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3. Our Place in the Cosmos

‘I wish we had all been born birds instead’ Kurt Vonnegut

“Réveille toi, princesse!”, Louis bellowed, barging into my room first thing the next morning, “Time do doll up for the day! No little birdies coming to help!”

I responded the way I always did, by grunting half-heartedly, hoping it would be enough for him to leave me alone; it never was.

“Mags?”

I felt the mattress dip to my left and then a sudden pull to the blanket. Prepared, however, with more than two decades of him in my life, I was already holding tighter to it.

“Come on, I brought coffee! Get up and look! I even added cream and powdered cocoa, just how you like it.”

I took in a deep breath, emerging from my blanket cocoon just enough to look at him with one eye, raising one eyebrow.

“I asked the chef, it’s the intention that matters.”

Sighing, I pulled myself up slightly to half-sit against the bed frame. I pulled the blanket off a little more, enough for one arm and half of my face to be out, and took the mug from him.

“Praise!” Louis looked up, in mock-reverence, “For the sacrificial bean potion has been accepted by the beast! The kingdom is spared another day!”

I rolled my eyes, or tried to in my sleep, but stuck to the coffee smell entering my nostrils as I blew it lightly, allowing the first sip to wake me up a little.

I’d been having the weirdest dream; I was in the conference room at work and my entire company was sitting around the room. At the head of the table, my bosses. They were all staring at me as I struggled through a presentation I couldn’t for the life of me remember and when I looked at the screen behind me, it was a powerpoint filled with images of Harry.

‘Care to explain, Your Royal Highness?’, my boss asked, which was weird, because no one at work treated me as HRH.

‘He was just joking!’, I justified, hurriedly. ‘Of course he was joking!’

‘He seemed pretty serious, Margueritte’, said my other boss. ‘He was even jealous of your ex.’

‘Where would you live? If you married?’, asked Sophie, one of my colleagues.

‘They’re both spares, so neither needs to inherit…’

‘I guess neither is needed at their own country, they could live in Savoy.’

‘No, she would have to move to England, of course.’

‘Why?!’

‘She’s the woman. They would make her.’

‘But her career is here!’

‘She can be a lawyer anywhere!’

‘Do you really think the British Royal family would allow her to continue to work?’

‘Guys!’, I started yelling, but my voice wouldn’t come out, ‘He was just kidding! Of course it would never work! Guys! We’re not together!’

‘What will the press say?’

‘What will her grandmother say?!’

“Maggie?!” Louis snapped his fingers in front of my face.

Startled, I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to will the nightmare into oblivion.

“You still talk in your sleep, huh?”

I looked at him, feeling my blood run cold. I cleared my throat, but didn’t say anything.

As a teenager, he always managed to get information out of me by pretending he heard me say something in my sleep and allowing me time to start justifying myself or ask incriminating questions before I even knew what he heard. With time, I learned. Say nothing. If he really heard something, he’ll eventually ask specifically.

“Who’s Mary?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Did you have a dream about Jesus? Because you were also saying ‘I’m a catholic! There’s nothing I can do about it!’, so maybe it was the mother of Jesus?”

Of course I knew what that meant. Harry had called me “Mary” at least thirty times the day before. And being anglican, Harry could lose his title if he married a catholic, a fact I couldn’t for the life of me remember how I knew, or when I learned.

“Maybe.” I said.

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through something, allowing me time to drink my coffee. A song started playing, slightly upbeat, with an indie feeling to it. I tried to remind myself to ask the name later, but had no energy at that moment.

I heard a noise and realized he’d taken a selfie of us.

“Pourquoi?”, I sighed.

“Just texting Lou.”

Both Louis and Lourdes, our sister, used ‘Lou’ as a nickname. It made for confusing conversations with other family members or friends, but amongst the three of us, we always knew who we were talking about, so we rarely used their names.

He showed me his phone, smiling, a minute or two later. There was a selfie in reply from Lourdes. It was a Saturday so she was home from boarding school, and the picture showed herself in bed with an open laptop nearby and some young teenager paused mid-sentence on it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I think she’s watching youtube.” He returned.

“She should be asleep.”

“She has ice skating practice soon.”

I sighed again, heavily. “She does too much.”

“Did she send you a video of a new move yesterday?”

“It’s possible. She sends me a lot of videos.”

“She’s getting really good.”

The coffee had gone cold, so I sunk into bed again and shoved the mug in his general direction.

“Put it over there.” He said, dismissively, eyeing the bedside table to my other side.

I whined something incoherent, pleading as I sank lower into the blanket, but he made no move for the mug.

“I’m not taking it, you gotta get up, anyway.”

“Ugh.” Forcing myself to turn to my side, I stretched and pushed the mug into the bedside table, near my phone.

Clicking the screen twice, I looked at my notifications. A couple texts from my friends and a few emails. I clicked it dark again and let the blankets consume me.

“Have you heard from Chris?”

I sighed loudly, more for him to be able to gather my annoyance than out of actual necessity.

“Non.”

There was a pause.

“You know we have to leave soon, right?”

I whined again.

“I know.” He sighed. “How’s work?”

I sighed, trying to respond like a normal, awake version of myself.

“Good.”

“Nice."

I constructed a sentence in my head, about how I had to stop taking time off if I wanted to be taken seriously as a lawyer, and how dad had promised me he’d let me focus on my career after he moved back home. Instead, what I said was,

“How’s school?”

He sighed. “Good.”

There was a pause, but I didn’t hear his fingers on his phone anymore. I closed my eyes again and started feeling a cosy sleepiness take over once more, as if it never left.

“Peter came out to his family.”

I opened my eyes again.

“...I thought - oh. I thought everyone knew.”

“They… knew.” He said, uncertain. “His friends knew. His parents knew, but… pretended they didn’t. His extended family definitely didn’t know.”

I stretched a hand towards the bedside table, hovering over the vertical stripes of the wood. It was a victorian style chest with copper edges, two small drawers and a victorian lampshade on top. I knew there were 17 vertical stripes in the wood facing the bed - I had been counting them the night before after the Mayor’s ball, when I couldn’t sleep, thinking of how the edges matched the hair in a certain jerk.

“How… how did it go?”

My brother sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned in bed to face him, and waited.

Peter was Louis’ roommate since his second year at the University of Edinburgh, when he left the dorms in search for more privacy. They met at an econ class and soon discovered they had a lot more in common than it seemed. Peter was also from an upper class family with a lot of generational wealth and property to look after, and was also studying in Edinburgh to find some space in which he could figure himself out before he had to dedicate his life to the family business.

“...I don’t know.” He admitted. “I guess, from what he said, it sounds like it went better than expected?”

“His parents came to your birthday party a couple years ago, right?” He nodded. “I remember them; they seemed nice.”

“They are, they’re lovely! It’s just… His father has an estate up north. It’s been with them for generations. Peter doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so he has to inherit. And you know the aristocracy, right? They’re…”

“Overly conservative? Stuck in the past? Assholes?”

He smiled, slightly, then shrugged. “He needs to provide an heir.”

“He can, though.”

“He knows… it’s just…”

“Unusual.”

Louis let out a long breath; “Yeah.”

“Maybe they just need time.”

“His family does this… thing, every year. They’re big on Christmas. So they plan this whole, really long family holiday, with a trip, and activities, and theme nights…”

“I know, you spent Christmas with them last year.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It was the most fun I had with older British people ever since I moved here.”

I smiled; my family had its own Christmas traditions, but as royals we didn’t have any commitments until New Year’s Eve, when there was a televised ceremony at the Capital and a speech from my father. It was nice, it gave us room to do whatever we wanted for the holidays, as a family, not property of the country. We could stay with mom’s family, or Lourdes could go skiing with a friend’s family, or I could go to Cabo with college friends in my junior year… so it wasn’t unusual for Louis to decide to spend last year’s holiday with Peter’s family, specially when his family made such a big deal of those days.

“It’s such a big spectacle, they start planning months in advance… Peter said they usually have already started an email thread at this point in the year… And he hasn’t received anything.”

“It’s October.” I reasoned.

His smile was sadder now. “His cousin said she’s in a thread.”

I sighed. “This…”

“I know.” He added, when I couldn’t find words.

I knew Peter, of course. Being only a couple years younger than me, Louis was basically my best friend. Not the one I talked to the most, but definitely the one who knew me better than anyone in the world. We loved Lourdes with our whole hearts, but she was more than a decade younger than me.

As a result of that close age difference, Louis and I had a lot of friends in common. Even though I went to an all-girls boarding school in Belgium, and he to an all-boys boarding school in Savoy, we had the weekends at home, and the school holidays. And polo matches at the club, and charity events with family friends, and we always ended up meeting the other’s friends from school one way or another.

Peter, then, became a fixture in our lives, and it broke my heart to know something so silly could be wrecking him without my knowledge.

“You should invite him home for Christmas.” I told Louis. “Invite him to come to Savoy. I think we’ll be at Corsilla Castle this year; it’s right by the beach, he’ll love it.”

He considered it for a few moments, but his brows were troubled.

“I don’t know… He already has to deal with paparazzi at the entrance of our building and following us to class because of me… I don’t want to throw him even more to the wolves.”

I sat up in bed, adjusting my shirt. “It won’t be that bad! Remember my third year of University, when I brought Kat and Amanda home for Christmas? Paparazzi followed us around because of me, but then they went home without me and they were fine.”

He nodded. "I'll wait a bit more, see if they'll come around. If not, then I'll ask."

I smiled. "Good."

Laying back again, I pulled the sheets to my neck, and turned back to the bedside table, closing my eyes.

It wasn't even five seconds before I felt a pillow hit my thigh.

"What?!" I jumped.

"Get up!" he said, looking distressed.

--- ---- ---

After breakfast at Clarence House, I rode to the British Parliament with Louis and our father. I wore a nude, midi length, blazer-like wrap dress with two rows of buttons and a tank top of the same color underneath to make the neckline more conservative, with shoes and hat were of the same color.

We sat in the House of Commons and watched as my father was introduced and delivered an address on the honor it was to be at the ‘center of British democracy’, and ‘how fortunate we are in Savoy to have such an ally across the sea’. I sat in my seat attempting not to look bored, which was a feat to behold as I had heard that speech a bunch of times in preparation for the trip. It was just as hard not to mouth the lines along with my father.

Over the past few years, tensions had been growing between the two islands: the British and the Savoyen governments were in conflict over the right way to handle the immigration crisis slowly taking over Europe from Syria. England, Savoy and France were all interchangeably accessible through the Eurostar, and that free access was generating higher immigration numbers, and because unlike France, Savoy hadn’t yet toughened their regulations over the issue, the British were more than a little upset at our government for, as they said, ‘facilitating the entry to Great Britain’.

That’s what we were there to do, smile and wave and appear friendly to strengthen our diplomatic ties. And that was the main issue my father was subtly talking about in his speech. Our need to come together and find solutions to benefit the many, yada, yada, yada.

“I’m thinking of skipping the meetings to go with you to your event.”

I looked at him. Louis was still looking at our father as he talked about the economic partnerships between the countries.

“The meetings are important. Dad is talking to a lot of representatives.”

“I know, but he doesn’t really need me.”

I sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Just have Cadie send a press release to inform people I’ll go.”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

I made sure to keep a smile on my face during the exchange, but as soon as had shaken all the appropriate hands and posed for the necessary photographs in front of the press, I pulled him into a quiet corner of the hallway while dad gave a short interview to a British journalist.

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Louis, your responsibility is to help dad with diplomatic affairs.”

He rolled his eyes. “There won’t even be press there.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Stop stage-whispering, they’re gonna hear you.”

I took a step forward and gave my back to the people on the other end of the hallway.

“Papa is counting on you. The press is not important, it’s about…” I sighed, searching for help in my memories of the preparatory meeting Auguste made me attend. “It’s about building a relationship of trust with the people you’ll be working with when you’re king.”

“Maggie.” He took in a long breath. “Fine. Okay, you’re right.” He shrugged, sighing.

“You’ll do great. Remember, you’re here to learn.”

“Alright, fine, now you’re sounding like Maman.”

--- ---- ---

The Duchess of Cambridge was nothing but bright and bubbly, the picture of politeness when I met her that morning at the gravel driveway into Clarence House. The team figured it would be weird if we saw each other for the first time in public and had to make introductions in front of the whole world, so she was kind enough to drive to Clarence House so we could leave for our engagement together.

I arrived from Parliament, where I left my father and brother to their meetings with elected officials, and had just enough time to change into a different outfit and remove my hat before I rushed down the stairs to meet the woman the world knew as Kate Middleton waiting in the drawing room with the Duchess of Cornwall.

The dress I was wearing now was silk and down to my knees, tied under my chest with a bow, bellow a V shaped neckline that stretched into long, bishop, sleeves. The Duchess of Cambridge was wearing a green envelope dress, midi-length, and nude shoes, with her silky, golden brown hair falling down her shoulders in perfect waves. She and the Duchess of Cornwall were sitting in armchairs, leaning towards each conspiratorially. They looked up at me when I walked in with Cadie, with an air about them that gave me the distinct impression I was the subject of their recent whispering.

With a mid-thought smile on their lips, they stood up.

“Your Royal Highness, may I present, Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge.”

“Your Royal Highness, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said, extending a hand, which I shook just as she flexed her legs down in a curtsey.

It was a bit of a gray area, who curtsied to whom between the two of us, because, although we both technically held the same spot in the lines of succession of our countries, I was there as a royal by blood, and she was only the consort of one; still, I wouldn’t have expected her to curtsey, so I curtsied too.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness. And please call me by name.”

“Well, then you must too. Call me Catherine.”

“You can just use Margueritte, if it’s easier. I make no fuss over our obnoxious French R’s.”

They chuckled.

“I will admit it shouldn’t be too difficult to skip the formal titles, I do feel as though I know you well already.” She exchanged a look with the Duchess of Cornwall that could only be described as knowing, and then said, in a forcibly casual tone, “I have heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

They stared at me, smiling. Behind me, Cadie was aiming her wide eyes at the ground; brows raised, an amused grin in her lips.

“Good things I hope.”

“Oh, of course.” Catherine laughed. “Nothing but good things!”

“A little too good, perhaps.”

Of my current options - ignore it altogether, try to pretend I misinterpreted their meaning or face it head on - I decided it was safer, more diplomatic perhaps, to stay in the middle.

“We’re not as famous as Britain in Savoy, but we do get on the news sometimes.” I said, with a small shrug. “So long as you don’t believe everything you read. Unless it’s good.”

They chuckled again, but the Duchess of Cambridge seemed as if she wanted to contest my understanding, but decided against it.

“Of course.” She agreed, finally.

“And lucky you.” Added the woman to her right.

“We should get going, then.” Catherine’s aide, a young brunette, added from the door.

I curtsied to the Duchess of Cornwall, who wished us luck before kissing her step-daughter-in-law’s cheeks and waving us into the car.

There was a palpable shift within Catherine when we were in the car, alone if not for the driver and her aide in the front. Her hands were fidgety, her eyes moving quickly between the window by her side and the one in the front. At times I thought she might have looked at me as well, only for a moment, one from the corners of her eyes.

She seemed level-headed. Mature. Sensible. So she could reasonably have meant something else entirely by what she said… what I said about the press, perhaps. Because what could Harry even have said about me? He barely knew me. It was only the day before that we met (officially, that is). How much time would he have had to talk about me to his family? Did he run home and told them of the cold, overly polite Princess he’d just met who kept rebuking his advances?

I looked over at her, who still seemed slightly fidgety, definitely more than when the Duchess of Cornwall was with us. I wondered if there was a particular reason, or if maybe she was just shy. Maybe she was also thinking of all those times she’d heard so much of me.

Her aide spoke before either of us did.

“Ma’am, why don’t you tell Her Royal Highness why we chose Place2Be to visit today?”

I was reminded of my mother, when she attempted to force me to talk to our adult guests at dinner parties when I was younger.

“Right.” The Duchess smiled. “Well, I’ve always really loved children. So after I got married, I was meant to chose organizations I’d like to support and I decided to start with children. Place2Be is was the first, it’s where I made my first speech. They… they help children.”

There was an awkward break. I wondered if that was it. Was that it? That seemed like a very short answer, though I suppose a case could be made that it was to the point.

My mother had made me attend enough etiquette lessons growing up to know that the host is supposed to make conversation, so I wanted to stay quiet, but the only thing I had to occupy myself with were my own thoughts, and that was unacceptable.

“I remember my first speech. It was… a nightmare, honestly.” I chuckled to myself. “And no matter how many of these things I do, I still get so anxious beforehand.”

She looked over at me, and I saw immediate relief and surprise wash over her features.

“Really?!” She shook her head in disbelief. “So do I! At times I’m shocked I don’t trip on my feet!”

“I used to only wear low shoes when I first started, I was afraid of the very same.” I confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

“And I do prepare, of course! I do all the work-”

“Exactly, it’s not about the work, just… the-”

“Responsability.”

“Yes!”

The way she smiled in response, shoulders dropping, voice wavering, I wondered how often she had been told by her own team all the things she should and shouldn’t do during these events; If I couldn’t escape Auguste’s nagging, and my father was the King, what hope did she have? Merely marrying into a family where her husband was still the heir to the heir.

As it turns out, the charity Catherine chose to show me, Place2Be, didn’t just ‘help kids’; it helped the communities around them as well, providing lunches, and courses for the parents, and and counseling tools for the children to learn how to properly express their feelings in order to be healthier. They mainly worked with school, so on that afternoon we joined them in an event in a primary school in the outskirts of London that served mainly marginalized communities and families of immigrants.

As we parked outside the simple yet lovely building, our security stepped our first, followed by our secretaries, and finally, the Duchess and I. At the entrance, the organizations’ leaders awaited to guide us in our visit, with the press lined up at the opposite direction, cameras ready to snap.

Friends often ask me what is running through my mind when I walk anywhere with the press on my heels. 'How can you think straight-', they'll say, 'with those cameras and flashes following you so up close?'. The truth is, I do not think at all when forced to walk with the press watching. Things like arriving at events, such as this one, where the flashed are so constant it mostly just looks like the room merely has weirdly artificial lighting. I don't have time to look around and register or appreciate the landscape, or take notice of who is watching and what they might be thinking of me. All I can do is walk straight up, either taking the lead or, in this case, following it, and shake the hands I was suppose to and say the pleasantries I was suppose to, all making sure I have a smile on my face and my skirt isn’t blowing with the wind.

There were two women waiting for us in the entrance, one was wearing a dress, the other a pantsuit. I‌ let Catherine go first, and after she had shaken their hands, and they had each done a short, polite curtsey, she turned around and introduced me as ‘Princess Marie-Margueritte’, with a perfect French pronunciation.

The school was simple enough, brick walls with colorful art, posters about washing one’s hands and treating others with politeness. There was a smaller group of reporters inside, following us along as we walked, and our aides were taking pictures or videos themselves.

As we walked, Angela, the principal in a pantsuit, was telling us about the progress the children had undergone since the school began its partnership with Place2Be. Less temper tantrums, more willingness to talk things through. Michelle, the representative from Place2Be, told us about the art therapy initiatives, which helped the children learn how to better process and express their feelings, and about the researches that showed children that were incentivized to talk about what they felt were less likely to develop mental health issues.

We passed by classrooms and halls until we arrived at a room with wide, round tables, knee high, filled with children and a few teachers. We walked in, reciprocating their timid, excited smiles, and another Place2Be specialist introduced us and welcomed us to take seats in a table in the middle, where two tiny chairs had been left empty for us, side by side. There was a hilarious moment when we realized just how low the chairs were as we tried to take our seats, and shared a mildly desperate look, before starting to giggle at the same time. We eventually sat down, knees together as demanded by etiquette, and said hello to our table mates, Audrey, Matthew, Safiya and Thomas.

The instructor told us the exercise we were doing today was called safety net, like one an equilibrist might use in a circus to make sure if he falls he won’t get hurt, she said. The gist of it was, in our lives our safety net was the people we could count on to talk to or to help us if we felt troubled, like family or trusted teachers. They gave us sheets of paper and crayons, and told us to draw our safety nets, or something that represented them, which is when I sighed, looking at Catherine.

“I’m a terrible artist.” I told her.

She chuckled, cheeks red, and seemed to ponder her words before she spoke.‌ “No pressure, only all the reporters will see.”

I‌ smiled, noticing her a little more comfortable now, sarcasm and all.

I looked at tiny, Asian little Audrey to my right, “do you think they’ll accept a stick figure? It’s all I can draw.”

She giggled and showed me her drawing, already a red man with strangely large hands and comically crooked legs, “Like this!”

“Yes,‌‌ I’ll try to do as well as you!”

I ended up drawing only faces - they did say I could draw something to represent my safety net. In truth, I‌ would have drawn some of my friends, like Stella, Constance or Kat. Maybe even Sophie or Larissa, from work. But bringing up friends during royal engagements was practically asking the press to talk about them, and I did not wish that on anybody.

So I drew exactly who I knew they would expect me to, my family. Of course I could count on my family, even if I had to put my career and goals on hold to help them with no early notice just because they needed me. Even if my brother seemed to not be putting much effort into coming home as soon as he should. Of course I could always count on them. And regardless, it’s not like I could draw anything else. Not when this was my job. Even if I needed space, they were, after all, the job.

“Woah.”‌ I told Catherine. “That is amazing.”

I wasn’t even exaggerating; she had drawn a pretty good, torso only version of her husband, with a bundle on his arms which I suppose was their son, Prince George. There was another adult figure by his side, with larger shoulders and a stronger jaw - I was seriously amazed at her ability with crayons. As I watched, she was filling in his hair with an orange one; I felt my heart in my throat. I knew that orange.

“Thank you,”‌ she said, timidly, “Yours are not so bad either!”

I‌ had four crooked circles in my sheet of paper, all black, and I had just managed to fill out two with weird, tiny dots for eyes and large, wavy lines for hair.

“You are too kind.”‌ I told her, half-laughing.

“Who are they?”, asked Thomas, the little boy to her left, pointing at her drawing.

“I drew my husband and my son, and my brother-in-law, Harry.” She told him, sweetly. “My husband is very patient and dedicated, he always helps me when I need, and he is a really good daddy. And his brother is very sweet.”

I kept my eyes to my black blobs, adding a hat to the one that was supposed to be my mother to hide the weird hair I had done, trying not to listen to her even though she was sitting right next to me.

“He is really kind, and really good with his nephew, and always makes people laugh.” She turned to look at me.‌‌ “You know Harry, don’t you, Margueritte?”

I‌ looked at her, feeling weirdly warm. “Harry?” She nodded.‌ “Prince Harry, you mean?” She nodded again, smiling. “Yes, we’ve met.”

I looked back at my drawing, now doing a ball on top of Lourdes’ head, as she was always wearing her hair in a bun for ballet or training.

“Don’t you think he’s a sweetheart?”

“Well, I… Yes, he seems nice.”

I drew Lourdes’ hair a bit more forcefully, making it almost look as if she had a second head on top of her own.

“And he’s so funny. And a truly loyal friend, you can always count on him.”

This, I‌ thought, was a lot. So I sighed, and looked at her, brows furrowed, trying to decipher what exactly she was trying to do, but she was focused on her own drawing again, now giving Harry some freckles.

“He is very dedicated to his work, too. He and William love animals, and conservation work, and we started working on mental health a while back, that’s very important to both of them.”

“How nice.”‌ I said, moving on to one last circle, giving Louis - or attempting to - thin eyes and a long, thin nose.

“How did the two of you meet?” she asked.

I‌ leaned in.‌ “Did he ask you to ask that?”

“No.”‌ She said, a faint note of surprise in her voice, but her reddening cheeks gave her away. “Why would he?”

“No reason.‌”‌ I‌ told her, smiling.‌ “We met a while ago.”

She nodded. “He talked a lot about you yesterday.”‌

“Did he?” I asked, now adding my brother’s long, wavy hair.

“He did…” She leaned in again, and whispered to me, “I‌ think you made an impression.”

“Well, that’s… good. I think.”

“He’s single, you know.”

The crayon in my hand broke. I‌ looked at her. She was… redder than I had seen her yet and, looking uncomfortable, she focused on her own work again.

“Whoever he ends up with will be really lucky, I think.”

“That’s…” I tried, my voice hoarse. “That’s nice.”

“Woah, I don’t have that much hair!”

I turned around. On my other side, there was Louis.

The kids all turned around to look at him, in some kind of awe. The reporters in the front of the class started snapping their flash-photography more viciously.

“Oh, hello.” Catherine smiled up at him.

“Good afternoon.”‌ He smiled back, sharing her hand, before waving it to the room. “Hello, everyone!”

“Welcome, Your Royal Highness!” The Place2‌Be instructor brought a chair for him, placing it after Audrey, and addressed the children, telling them who he was and asking Matthew, by his side, to explain to him the exercise.

“Oh, so that’s why my sister was drawing me!”‌ He said, cheerily, after hearing the explanation. “That’s so sweet, Marie-Margueritte, even if you completely over did my hair, which I will attempt not to take personally.”

A reporter took three steps to the center of the room, and raised a camera to capture us better. The movement put me on my guard, so I smiled at my brother.

“I only drew what I see. You need a haircut.”

“I do not need a haircut!” He said, brushing his hair back with a lazy hand that, having known him all his life, I‌ knew was precisely calculated.

“What do you think?”‌ I‌ asked Catherine, who startled, and laughed.

“Oh, I think you both look lovely!”

We laughed at her defensive reaction.

“Very diplomatic.”‌ Louis nodded and began drawing something on his sheet of paper.

Another kid came walking towards us and stopped by Catherine to show her his drawing; naturally, all the paparazzi turned to her to capture the sweet moment.

Louis used this moment to lean over to me. “Se détendre. Papa dit que je pouvais venir.”

Relax, he said, dad said I could come.

I‌ sighed, still smiling, but focused on the crayons.

It was around this time that the teacher started telling the students that had finished their first task they could start on the second. She said, now that we had our safety net, we had someone we could tell our problems to. Sometimes, she said, all you need is to get those feelings out of yourself, even if you don’t find a magic answer.

So, instructed to draw a box and put the things that made me angry inside of it, I used three crayons and a lot of time to draw a 3D, colorful box, so that the time would run out before I had the time to draw anything to put into it. It did, so we left our drawings on the table, knowing they would be shown off for the world to see soon enough, and marched out of the room waving goodbye to the children.

We were led into a crowded, large meeting room, where the teaching staff shared their biggest challenges and joys of teaching young children and the precise ways the organization had helped. Next, we sat down with older students who told us of the difficulties of being their age, and the things about the future that made them anxious.

My brother stayed mostly quiet except to crack a joke or two, making everyone laugh at his charming, easy-going personality. I focused on Catherine, on the children, and on keeping the most sincere smile I‌ could muster on my face.

Eventually, as we were preparing to leave, Auguste, who had come with Louis, leaned in to tell us, in a whisper, that dad had been delayed in his meeting, and we should make ourselves busy before our next appointment, at which time the Duchess of Cambridge invited us for tea at her home.

Eventually, we shook all of their hands, thanked them for their time, and walked out of the school the same way we came in, to a large wall of reporters and a crowd of well-wishers. Normally, someone would suggest that we go shake their hands, thank them for coming, but I could feel my anger-box starting to crack, so I took matters into my hands.

Though Catherine’s aide volunteered to drive separately so me and my brother could go with her, I insisted she go with her boss, who I was sure, ‘would need her’. That way Cadie drove with the security, and I joined my brother and Auguste in the car they had come in.

“I know you want to yell at me,” he started, when we were seated, as the security closed the doors, and Auguste got in in the front seat, “but more importantly, did you get a text from Lou today?”

I smiled at the people outside and waved, silent.

“Oh, right.” He said, copying me. “It was a video. She finally perfected a double axel, she’s getting really good!”

After we took off, my smile dropped, and I turned to him.

“Qu'est-ce que tu fous ici?!”

He threw his head back against the seat. “Papa said it was fine for me to leave!”

“Or course he did. Why does it matter?! You have a job to do, Louis. You can’t just half-ass this job!”

“I know very well what I am supposed to do, thank you very much.”

“Do you?! Because it doesn’t seem like it!”

Auguste took a deep breath in the front seat, turning back towards us. “Perhaps there’s a better time for this discussion?”

“Shut up, Auguste!”

“Don’t be rude!”

“You need to understand you have a responsibility!”

“There was no press there, me being there would make no difference.”

“Not everything in this job is about the press!”

“Will you stop acting like you’re my boss?! You’re not Maman.”

I looked at the window, feeling more frustrated than I ever had. “You think of nothing, of no one but yourself.”

“Yes, and I should be more like you, and put everyone ahead of my every need. Because that’s healthy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You spent your whole life letting them dictate your every move and then you complain that it’s hard?! Yes, Maggie, we know it’s hard-”

“I did this for you!” I screamed.

“I never asked you to-”

“No, you didn’t! They did! Because they wanted to give you time to live your life before you had it committed to the monarchy forever! But guess what, Louis? It’s not a magic trick! Someone has to pick up the slack, and that someone is me!”

“You are not a victim here! They make you do these things because you let them-!”

“Because they need us! Because this job is taxing, and toxic, and exhaustive, and it’s our job to help!”

“You help because you want to-”

“I help because you’re in Scotland gallivanting around with Peter and somebody has to pick up the slack!”

“You know why I am in Scotland! You know what is waiting for me-”

“I do! But you don’t know that every day you’re not home I am sacrificing my career and my life as well!”

“You’ve done this your whole life, Maggie! You’ve always been like this-”

“Like what?! Like this what?!”

“Desperate to be the good girl! To be the child our parents think of when they needs someone responsible, and efficient. They place the burden on you because you let them! Ever since we were kids, you always acted like a third parent even though you shouldn’t have, so don’t blame me for your choices!”

“You don’t think I want to live my life?! You don’t think I want to travel somewhere people won’t know me or my family? You don’t think I want to text dad that I can’t come to this ceremony or that one because I am busy with my own things?! Who would help, Louis? You’re not home! Adrien is always away with Faye. Lourdes is too young. He is just one person!”

As my voice cracked, I turned to the window, trying to dry one tear before it fell.

“...you don’t have to cry.”

“You know saying that doesn’t help!” I yelled, now crying more.

He extended a handkerchief, which I took, drying my tears before they could fall down my cheeks.

There was a long, awkward, painful silence in the car.

“All I’m saying is,” he started, slowly, almost obnoxiously calm, “Stop placing the blame on me for not setting some boundaries and going after the life you want.”

I laughed, humorless.

“You really think I don’t want to? I have a career, Lou. I have friends and loved ones, too. You did not invent a personal life. I want to live mine, but this family we were born into does not offer an opt out option.”

He sighed. “I think you’re angry at yourself and you’re taking that on me.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Explain that to me.”

“You’re angry at mom and dad for giving you more than you can handle, you’re angry at yourself for letting them, and you’re angry at Chris for the-”

“I am angry at you!” I yelled. “Mom and dad, too, of course, but you’re the one that is running away from your responsibilities! You want to know why I have to take all of this on? Because while you’re here, tucked away and safe from us and from every negative headline back home, Maman isn’t speaking to Aunt Katherine, and Aunt Stephanie heard about it! Your sister has driven away yet another chief of security, the third one in four years, and dad…” I sighed, “Dad is getting worse, Louis. Meanwhile, I am the one that has to keep everyone together to the expense of my own life and career, when this isn’t even my job. It’s yours.”

The only sound in the car was the sound of the wheels on gravel as we drove into Kensington Palace in awkward, heavy silence.

“We don’t have time for this.” I said, drying my tears, and trying to make sure my makeup wasn’t smudged in a hand mirror before we parked. “Just… behave.”

Though I did not look at him, I could almost hear his eyes roll before he forcefully opened the door and stepped out, as petulantly as when he was 8 and I told him he couldn’t play doll with me and our cousins.

Kensington Palace was essentially built as one big set of squares and rectangles, which as most palaces in Europe, was now divided into sections, each being an 'apartment' given to specific families. The Cambridges' door was white, and by all means completely indistinguishable from the others. Louis had already ringed the doorbell when I reached him, and was avoiding my eyes, a pout in his lips, when Catherine's aide opened the door and welcomed us in; Louis and I were smiling again.

Catherine was in the kitchen making finger sandwiches as her husband watched, one hand to a glass of water, the other on a baby monitor.

Louis marched straight to Prince William, shaking his hand as if they were long-time friends, but that meant nothing; that was just his normal personality.

"So you're the famous Princess Mary." William said to me when Catherine introduced us.

Her smile immediately dropped, and she placed a delicate, yet forceful hand on his shoulder. "William", she warned, "It's Marie-Margueritte."

"Right, apologies." He smiled. "I've heard so much about Princess Mary I suppose I just forgot it might have been a loving nickname."

Feeling myself blush, I cleared my throat, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm not so sure that's how I'd describe it."

"And why not?"

I didn't have to turn around to know who the owner of that voice was, I'd been replaying it in my head long enough to know. Even if I didn't, the knowing smiles on William and Catherine's lips would be telling enough.

“Harry!” Louis greeted joyfully, shaking his hand. “Long time no see. How excited are you to be crushed by us tomorrow at the polo match?

Even as he answered, laughing, his eyes kept coming back to me. “I think you need to check your overconfidence, Castillon.”

“I think you’ll regret underestimating me, Windsor.”

“What I’m learning from this is you’re fully capable of pronouncing our Royal House surname,‌ yet my name remains a mystery.”

He grinned at me, “It’s a loving nickname,‌‌ Mary.”

“It’s just… a name. Not my name. Just another name.”

“Regardless.”

To say it shocked me to see him was was an understatement, and yet, somehow, the moment it happened I‌ was also overwhelmed by a feeling of unmitigated relief to have him there.

On my ‘loving nickname’, Harry was unwavering. As Catherine had her husband set the table with the sandwiches, and asked what our favorite tea was, Harry talked happily with my brother about our trip, about his schooling, and about me, whom he kept referring to as ‘Mary’. I made a point to roll my eyes every time.

On his end, ‌Louis didn’t seem to find that odd at all, which made me angrier at him. I wanted to ask Catherine what the delicious smell coming from the oven was, and if she would be at the polo match tomorrow, but I‌ couldn’t drag myself away from standing peripherally around my brother and Harry, even though I had no participation in their conversation, hoping Harry would stop for one or two seconds to look at me instead, but he and Louis were now happily trashing the other’s favorite rugby team.

I wasn't sure if it was the fight with Louis, or the wave of shock of seeing Harry again sooner than I had expected, yet somehow later than I wished, but I was suddenly annoyed. At Louis, for everything he'd said in the car. At Harry for focusing so deeply on his conversation with my brother instead of interrogating me again after apparently talking about me to both his brother and sister-in-law. But, perhaps more revealingly, at myself.

It annoyed me that I cared. It annoyed me that I suddenly felt sixteen-years-old again, hoping a boy would look at me across the polo field. It annoyed me that I seemed to have been expecting him to arrive ever since saying goodbye the day before, as if it was a given he would.

If forced with the choice of admitting I'd missed him or sticking knives into my eyes, I might pick the knives.

It was, however, when Harry asked if he was nervous about graduating, and Louis answered by saying he was looking forward to whatever came next, and that he was looking into maybe getting a master’s degree next, that I forced myself to leave.

I‌ asked Catherine if I‌ could use the restroom, and she directed me to the one upstairs, seeing as the one on the first floor was being re-tiled. I climbed up the large, hardwood stairs into a clean, minimalist looking second floor, easily finding the bathroom. I‌ washed my hands with cold water, placed them in the back of my neck for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, and tried to focus on calming memories.

Unfortunately, the most calming memory I‌ used to have - a skiing trip with Chris - was now tainted by the breakup, so it didn’t help. Instead, I‌ sat down on the edge of a bathtub, and pulled my phone from my handbag, checking my messages.

Lourdes had texted another video, but this was a music video; the text read, ‘do you think I can do a routine to this?! i’m so obsessed!’

I replied, ‘why not? it sounds great!‘, without opening the link.

Constance, my longest childhood friend, had ominously sent: ‘Did Stella and Rick get back together?????? I have thoughts. Call me.’

I sighed, typing a reply rapidly; ‘I can’t talk now, I’m in London. Let’s have dinner when I get back and do another intervention.’

And skimming through an email my mother had sent, I now knew all her thoughts on how I should do my hair for the State dinner the following day.

Telling myself it was mostly out of curiosity, I found Chris’ name in my list of old messages, and clicked through, seeing no new messages had arrived. I‌ blocked the phone, and went back outside.

When I was leaving the bathroom, before I could reach the stairs, I heard a soft wailing coming from a door to my right. It was half opened, and the room only lightly lit. Pushing the door forward, I recognized a beige and white nursery, and a moving bundle inside a wooden crib.

“Bonjour, bebe!” I approached, as gently as I could, whispering softly. “Do you need mommy? Or papa?”

I looked at the door, hoping to see someone coming to fetch Prince George, but no one was there.

“Alright.” I said, feeling slightly as if i was intruding, but not at all comfortable leaving the crying boy alone. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Placing him in my arms as swiftly as I could, I started to rock him from side to side.

“Should we go downstairs?”

His face still contorted painfully, but the crying was a little more spaced out now. I figured his parents would know what to do and, as weird as it would be to just show up downstairs with him, it would be weirder to leave him behind. Turning to the door, however, I was startled once more by his uncle.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”‌‌ He smiled, looking at the baby.

“How-?”

“Nanny-cam.” He answered, gesturing vaguely to the hallway, walking towards us.

“Oh.”‌ I‌ nodded. “He was crying, I didn’t want to leave him.”

He leaned down to look at the boy in my arms, raising one hand to his soft, tiny head as the citrus scent of his perfume overwhelmed me.

I‌ cleared my throat, trying to bring things back to familiar territory.

“Which bet did you lose to be put in nanny duty?” I joked.

He shrugged, smiling at his nephew.‌‌ “I‌ volunteered.‌ We’re buddies, aren’t we,‌ George?”

The baby stopped crying, looking at his uncle now making funny faces at him. It was hard not to smile.

“I‌ think he needs a nappy change. I‌ can take him if you want to go back downstairs.” Harry offered.

“Oh, sure.”‌

Avoiding looking into his eyes from so close, I passed him his nephew - our arms touched in the exchange; I tried to suppress the little part of me that noticed he was surprisingly muscly.

“We’ll meet you downstairs.”‌‌ He smiled, walking with the baby towards a changing station on the other side of the room.

I walked through the door slowly, trying to delay having to go back downstairs where I‌ had to pretend I wasn’t upset at Louis, but stopped when he spoke again. Initially, I thought he was talking to me, but the baby tone quickly corrected that assumption.

“Did you go number one? Did you? Or two? What surprise awaits me, here, Georgie?”

I leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

“Now, I‌ understand that a growing boy needs to go. We all do, it’s very normal. But I‌ just need you to prepare me, alright? How bad will it be once I‌ open this up?”

I considered sincerely going downstairs, focusing on the diplomatic aspect of making friends with the more important people, the ones we were there for, his brother and sister-in-law. But, peering into the room again, I‌ saw Harry lean his tall frame closer to the baby, holding him still with one hand, trying to reach a far away drawer with the other.

“Need help?”‌ I asked, stepping back inside.

He jumped slightly, but smiled when he saw me. “Oh, I‌- I‌ thought you left.”

“I think you could use the help.” I‌ reached for the drawer he was going for, but looked back at him, questioningly. He nodded, so I‌ opened it, and found him a new nappy.

“Alright, team work it is.”‌ He said, “Keep him distracted so he doesn’t move as much.”

I tried to distract George with a tiny, plush koala nearby, and uttered the first words that came to mind.

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?”, I sang, dangling the koala from side to side, to the rhythm. “Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines… what?!”

Noticing Harry had stopped moving, I looked back at him, who was merely staring at me.

“What?! You said to distract him.” I‌ justified, defensively.

He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand again, with a renewed grin on his lips.

“Don’t forget the cream.”‌ I‌ said, before he could close the tabs.

“Right.”‌ He nodded. “I‌ knew I‌ was forgetting something… Why are you good at this? Have any secret children the press can’t find out about?”

I‌ smiled at George, still dancing the little koala. “No, just two younger siblings and a bunch of little cousins I was constantly pretending were dolls.”

He chuckled, and closed the little adhesive tabs on the nappy, fiddling with the straps of his onesie now. “Where do these-?”

“Here.”‌ I said, handing him the koala, and finding the right buttons to close. “There we go.”

“Nice. What do we say to the pretty lady, Georgie? Say thank you.”

I‌ smiled, at both of them, but kept my eyes on the baby. “You’re welcome.”

Harry started putting the cream, and tissues away, as well as moving to throw the dirty nappy in the trash can, so as George got fussy again, I‌ picked him back up, and started singing Frère Jacques again, slowing down the melody as I rocked, hoping the baby would calm to the moves. Looking up, I noticed Harry was frozen in place, one hand in an open drawer, looking at me with the softest of eyes. There was something else in them, too. A kind of yearning that was almost blinding.

“What?”, I asked.

He smiled, to the floor. “Nothing… You’re good at that.”‌ He shrugged. “How much younger are your siblings?”

“Louis is three years younger, and Lourdes is eleven.”

“Wow.”

“I know.‌ My parents frown upon the word ‘unplanned’, so instead we say she was a ‘surprising blessing’.”

He laughed, not a giggle, or a chuckle, a proper laugh now. It was as surprising as when he laughed at my jokes the day before. Chris used to only chuckle at my jokes, usually with merely a nasalized sound to let me know he heard it.

“I‌ always wanted to have a sister.”‌ He confessed.

“It's overrated. Mine mostly sends me videos of her ice skating practices, which all look the same, asking me for opinions which I do not care enough to have.”

He laughed again. “I sympathize.”

“How?”

“Well, she values your opinion. So do I. Why do you think I ask so many questions?”

“A lack of boundaries? Disregard to protocol?”

He laughed louder now, throwing his head back. The sound startled George, and made me blush with timid pride.

“Wow! Look at you. Throwing diplomacy out the window, are we?”

I sighed.‌ “You're right, I apologize… I'm just… not in the best mind space.”

“No, that was a compliment.” He smiled, looking at me now. “I like it.”

There was the gentle yearning again… feeling almost inappropriate in front of a child.

“So what did Louis do to put you in this bad mind space?”

“I‌ never said it was bad, I‌ believe I said ‘not the best’. And what makes you think he has anything to do with it?”

He grinned. “Other than the fact you’ve been staring daggers his way since you’ve arrived? Let's see... You have this... Whiff of annoyance about you, which is worse than when I was bothering you yesterday, and you chose to be here with me and George and his dirty diaper instead of going back downstairs and enjoying tea with the others.”

“I like babies.”‌ I‌ shrugged.

“Yes, and I would think that might be it, but the poo I think damages the effect, doesn't it? I know it can't be me that kept you here, since you don't like me...”

“...I like you.” I said, giving it no further thought.

“You do?”

I shrugged, mindlessly.

“Wow… if you keep flattering me so much I might fall in love, Mary.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I‌ corrected, on auto-pilot. “Marie.”

He smiled. There was a silent pause as I walked George around the room, his eyes following each new space carefully.

“Truth.” Harry said.

I looked back at him across the room. “Pardon?”

“Yesterday, one of the last things I‌ said was that you should ask me something. And you asked, truth or dare? Well, I’m answering. I‌ pick truth.”

I took a few seconds to breathe deeply and appreciate three things; one, he seemed to remember our conversation yesterday in staggering detail. Two, his eyes did this… thing when he smiled, they squinted into tiny crescent moon shapes and it highlighted the blue of his irises. And three, in the rules of this game he seemed to be up to playing, I could ask him anything.

“What do you want from me?”

The silence that followed was even longer than mine. I had to look away from the way he stared me down this time, it was too… personal. Too transparently enigmatic.

Eventually, I sat down in a rocking chair by the window, George on my thigh playing with the little koala. Harry walked over to us, slowly.

“By all means, take your time.” I teased.

“I’m just… trying to assess which answer you are ready for.”

My head snapped in his direction, almost in outrage. “There’s not supposed to be different answers. Only the truth.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.”

“It’s what you picked!” I rolled my eyes. “Well, what is it? What is the truth?”

He sighed, sitting in a matching footstool in front of me, uncomfortably close.

“There are levels to this truth, and for our blooming friendship not to perish, I think it’s important I don’t tell you something that would make you think less of me.”

“And I’m talking like a lawyer?” I asked, making him chuckle.

I weighed his words carefully, trying to understand the diplomatic euphemisms employed, but not allowing my mind to go too crazy with it. It was too far, too soon, but did he mean I would be offended by his honest answer?

Eventually, though, he graced me with an answer.

“I want to know you.”

I looked back at him… the yearning was still there, but it had a glint of determination mixed in now.

I attempted to analyze his answer like a lawyer this time.

“To know who I am as a person, or to know what I look like naked?”

He barked out such a loud laugh now that George dropped the koala to the floor. The sound echoed around the room like a thunder, but it felt like it was echoing inside of me as well, warming me up from my stomach out. I couldn’t help but smile.

“No, no, Mary. You already asked your question, now it’s my turn.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “We are allowed follow up questions. It’s the rules.”

“Not the British rules. And we are in Britain.”

I leaned forward, determined. “Truth or dare has universal rules.”

“Enough lawyering, it’s my turn!”

He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; I suddenly felt very much like I was in court, and I wondered - as I had a handful of times since seeing him that afternoon - if he was finally going to ask the one thing I told him the previous day he did not know about us: how/when we met.

“Truth or dare?”, he begun.

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs, but still swinging them side-to-side to appease Gorge in my lap.

I considered picking dare, and avoiding giving him the power to simply ask me how we met - which I’d have to answer; It’s the rules, and as a lawyer I had a duty to the law. But I also, in a way, or if I’m being honest, in all ways, wanted him to ask. So I smiled, looked him in the eyes, and said:

“Truth.”

“Why are you upset?”

The question came so swiftly and quickly I barely noticed it had happened.

“What?”

“Why are you upset? What did Louis do?”

I‌ looked around the room; I had frozen in place, so George got a little restless. Uncrossing my legs, I started bouncing him up and down on my knees.

“I’m not- I just…”‌ I shrugged. “It’s nothing. Siblings fight. Do you not fight with your brother?”

“Almost exclusively, but that’s not the question. It’s my turn, you picked truth, and I want to know.”

I sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

He nodded, leaned forward and picked George from me, sitting him in his own lap.

“Go on.”

I‌ took a deep breath, looking around, though mostly in, and let it out slowly.

“I‌ heard Louis telling you he wants to stay in Scotland to get a Master’s Degree.”

“And… you don’t want him to? Wait, you were already upset when you got here. That’s not it, is it?”

“Now we’re allowed to ask follow up questions?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me… I‌ was just, I‌ don’t know, trying to help.”

I got up, and started walking about. I traced the outline of a giraffe illustration in the wallpaper with my finger, slowly.

“I don’t think he truly understands his… Place. In all of this.”

“This being?”

“Us. The Royal House of Castillon. The Crown. The Monarchy. The firm. The family business.”

“Ah. Of course. And you think he has to?”

I‌ turned around to look at him. “What I think is unrelated to the facts. And the fact is he is the heir. And he’s not acting like one.”

He shrugged. “He’s young.”

“He is almost twenty-two. And when he is here, taking care of his life, enjoying his freedom, which trust me, I understand, who do you think they call when they need someone to go to a ceremony or a service, or-”

“A royal tour?”

“Exactly,” I‌ dropped my gesturing hands to my sides, deflated. “Me. It’s not that I don’t like the work. I‌ do. But… I have a life, too. I have a job. And I know I’m not a fancy, cool, lawyer. They’re not writing Law And Order episodes about corporate law!‌‌ But my choices should matter too, should they not?”

“They should.” He nodded.

“And I‌ understand,‌ I do! I, too, went to school abroad! Louis had to stay home for boarding school, because he’s the heir, but even that I did abroad! And then later I‌ went to University in America, and I did get a postgraduate degree there, too, though mine was a shorter program. But I came home soon after! And you know why?”

“Why?”, he asked, diligently.

“For him!‌ Because I knew my parents needed help and I thought if I was around to help, they would allow him more time for his studies, you know? To enjoy his life before he has to dedicate it to the country, forever. And‌ I had job offers in America! I could have stayed there, where no one knew my name, but I didn’t. I‌ could have gone into human rights law, but I didn’t. So he’s not the only one who knows what it’s like having to make sacrifices for this family. But right now, I’m the only one doing that. Not him. And how is that fair?!”

Thankfully, he didn’t attempt to answer me. Instead, he allowed me time to slow my breathing and look back at him at my own pace.

“Have you… thought about maybe talking to your parents about this?”‌‌ He started, his voice gentle. “Tell them you want to dedicate yourself to your job.”

“Yes. My father promised as soon as Louis is back from University,‌ I’ll be allowed time to dedicate myself to my job.”

“That explains your anger at his plans for the future…”‌ He sighed.

“Is that it? No advice? Words of wisdom? Mockery of my outburst to offer?”

“Was that an outburst?”‌ He asked, brows raised. “God, you’re polite.”

I‌ giggled, walking back over.

“I‌ mean,”‌ he started, “I‌ get it. There’s a lot we wish we could do, but we can’t because of our position… And knowing your ticket to a slightly more normal life is so close, yet so far must be frustrating.”

I brushed my fingers through George’s fine, blonde hair. “But?”

He sighed again. “But I… Well, at the risk of ruining whatever chance I‌ have here, I don’t think there’s much need to really worry.”

“How so?” I asked, purposely ignoring his remark about his chances.

“Well… Is it really that big of a deal if he stays there longer? I mean, I‌ know it’s not ideal but you should just… tell your family you’re busy when they ask. You’re allowed. You’re an adult with a proper job, which is more than any of us can really say.”‌ He added, humorously. “The monarchy will survive, I’m sure.”

“And what if by never holding him accountable to his responsibilities he simply never learns? What if we let him stay and he just… doesn’t come back until it’s too late to really learn what he needs to?”

“Well…” He lowered George to the rug, and handed him the koala. “You know what the best thing about being the spare is?” He patted the seat in the chair I had recently vacated, and I sat down in front of him again. “It’s not our problem to solve.”

I‌ considered this. He wasn’t… wrong, per se. But it sounded so utterly bleak. I recalled the way he described my job in relation to anyone else in a monarchy just then, my ‘proper’ job.

“You don’t think our place in this is important?”

“There’s that word again, place. You said your brother doesn’t understand his place, but… do any of us? What is our place, Mary?”

“Marie.”‌ I corrected, absentmindedly. “And, you know what I mean… our place in the country. In our royal families. In the… universe.”

“We’re the plan B of an Old World symbol of power that no longer has any power. I‌ can’t blame your brother for wanting a more useful use of his time, and I can’t blame you for it either, because you’re doing the same thing.”

“The Plan B?”

“You know, the… center pieces. The garnish. The embellishment. This whole tour, the reason why you and your father and brother are here, is about the immigration crisis, isn’t it?”‌ I nodded. “Your country is a little too loose on their policy and because you have a point of entry to Britain, our politicians are blaming you for our growing numbers of immigrants.”

“First of all, our polic-”

“But really, think about it,”‌ he went on, ignoring me, “what can we actually do about it? My grandmother, your father, my father, and maybe even Will and Kate, they have some power to strengthen diplomatic ties and the show of friendship may shame our politicians into figuring their shit out.‌ But us, you and me? We’re really just here to smile and look pretty, aren’t we?”

“I’m… learning about Catherine’s work with children to bring some of the experience back home.”

“Yes, admirable.” He nodded. “But, again, and not just now, but overall, in our lives? What’s our role? Isn’t it just to give them something to brag about? Look at Harry in his military uniform, two tours of duty, who’s to say that the royal family haven’t made sacrifices for the country? And look at Mary-”

“Marie.”

“…In the news, they’re saying she won a case!‌‌ She’s a lawyer! How impressive are the members of the royal family!”

“Have you always been a cynic?” He chuckled, shyly. “Do you really not think what we do is important?”

He smiled. “I‌ just try to be as honest with myself as I can. And that begins with knowing that my, how did you put it? My role in the cosmos is to give the people a show. As the spares, that’s all you and I can do. Chose a good partner that they’ll enjoy building up and then destroying, hopefully a pretty wedding or cute babies one day, and if we can help some people along the way, all the better. It’s… it’s a good endeavor. We can help a little, I think. But… important? I don’t know. I can’t be sure I’d use that word to describe anything we do.”

I nodded, slowly, taking it all in. It was a… gloomy thought, and not entirely untrue. With one caveat.

“That uniform you mentioned, the two tours… were they fake?”

“What?!‌ No.”

“So you did go to war?”

“Twice.”

I‌ nodded. “And the people you went with, they were remarkable, weren’t they?”

He smiled, looking at his nephew slightly lost in thought. “Yes.”

“They wear the same uniform you do. Aren’t they important?”

He looked at me. “It’s… it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Do you think the people we help, the people that benefit from the organizations we help as best we can, whose lives are touched by our work one way or another, somehow, the people you helped in the army… do you think they’d agree with you that what we do isn’t important?”

He opened his mouth to speak, waited a couple of seconds, and closed it again.

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was, that the silence was nicer than it should be; that even though in the past it had felt invasive or abrupt holding someone’s look for too long, this time it felt nice. It felt like being seen.

George squealed loudly across the room, throwing a toy cube, and our daze was broken.

“We should take him to his parents.”

“Yes.”‌ He said, and we stood up at the same time, being caught off guard by how close we were.

I slipped away, swiftly, caressing a hand over my arm to smooth the chills there, and he went over to pick up his nephew, who whined a little as he was separated from his toys.

“It’s okay, buddy, we’re going to go find mummy and daddy.” Harry told him, in a sweet, gentle, baby-voice. “If it’s boring downstairs I’ll play with you, alright?”

He was so excruciatingly sweet with the baby that I could feel it right in my gut, this… whatever it was that roared as I watched them.

Wherever his place in the cosmos was, I couldn’t help but wish it was close to mine.

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

Margueritte’s outfits!

[A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters, I hope you liked it too! Please let me know your thoughts? Feedback is always welcome! Shoot me a message, or like this chapter, either way, thank you SO MUCH for reading!]

#prince harry fanfic #princeharryff #princeharryfanfic #prince harry fanfiction #royalfanficcollection #prince harry #princeharryfanfiction #brf #modern royalty au #next week #harry and maggie play polo!#chapters

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cassiopeiassky · 4 years

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When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 53

Hello yes hi it’s been AGES since I’ve had an update for you but look! An update! Contrary to public suspicion I have not, in fact, fallen off the face of the earth.

That said, thank you all so much for your patience. It means the world to me. If you choose not to read anymore because I’m so pokey, I understand. Just send me an ask and I’ll take you off the list. You could, in theory, stop - the major arc has finished. But if you want to stick around, there’s still plenty of their story to tell before they’re done :)

Plot: When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.

Word count: 2167

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Feels and emotions. They’re dealing with the aftermath now, so there are parts that are kinda heavy.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“Yeah.” You take another bite of pie as you smirk. “You know, it’s going to be hard to top our first first date. That was pretty fantastic.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Nope, just a fact. That was seriously the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He smirks, eyes smoldering. “Doll, you’re gonna get the full Bucky Barnes treatment – the barn date was me with one hand tied behind my back. I’m gonna knock your socks off tomorrow.”

Anticipation spikes your blood – somehow, you believe him, but you can’t miss the chance to gently tease, “We’ll see.”

Sleep didn’t want to come, but that’s to be expected. All other terrible things aside, spending a few weeks on the other side of the world will wreak havoc on anyone’s sleep schedule. Even exhaustion can’t always knock you out when your body thinks it’s time to be awake. Still, you managed a few short periods of sleep, and when you couldn’t you contented yourself with thinking about your family and watching Bucky sleep.

It helps to remind you that your nightmare is over.

His beautiful eyes, more blue than grey once again, open as the sun crests the horizon. “Sweetheart,” his voice is gravelly from slumber and God you’d missed the sound of it, “Why didn’t you wake me up? You didn’t need to be awake by yourself.”

As you prop yourself up with your elbow, your fingers find his hair. “No reason for you to be awake, too, especially since you were sleeping so peacefully.” You lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re just as tired as I am. You went through just as much.”

Something shifts in his gaze as he watches you. “You’re the strongest person I know. You know that? I’m so –“ He has to stop and clear his throat before he can continue, “I’m so…I don’t even know what I am.”

He has more to say, so you give him the time to find his words as you calmly play with his hair.

“I’m in awe of you.”

The unladylike snort that comes out of you couldn’t be stopped; you tried. Awe inspiring? You? Ahahahaha. Nope. “I’m not a unicorn, Buck. There’s nothing awe inspiring about me. I’m just…me.”

“Stop.” The tone in his voice doesn’t allow for disagreement. “Don’t undersell what you just survived. Sweetheart, I’ve known some pretty brave men and women in my life, and I don’t know another person that could have made it through that experience intact. You did, so yes, you are a unicorn.” His eyes suddenly lighten considerably before he twists himself to reach for something in the drawer of his nightstand, “Speaking of…”

It’s a great opportunity to take in the broad expanse of his bare back and shoulders, so you shamelessly do so until he turns back around, causing laughter to bubble out of you when you see what he’d retrieved.

His eyes light up at your reaction. “Do you like it? When you were coming out of the anesthesia you kept going on and on about a sparkly purple unicorn, so Stark and I decided to make sure you got one.”

You take the impossibly soft, deep purple and silver stuffed unicorn and squeeze it tightly. “I love it! It’s so squishy!”

He laughs at your obvious delight while shaking his head. “God, I love you so much.”

Laying on your back, you turn your head to look at Bucky. “I know. And I love you, too.”

His eyes watch yours and yours watch his, and it seems like the world slows down just a bit so for once you don’t feel like you have to race to catch up.

“So,” stretching luxuriously, you allow the moment to end because there are more good moments just around the corner, “when can we call the boys?”

“Whenever you want to, Sweetheart. You phone is plugged in on the nightstand next to you.”

“Really?” Twisting to reach for the phone, you find it resting next to the pile of books, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’ve really really missed playing Disney Emoji Blitz. Don’t judge me. Hey,” you squint at the device as you unplug it. “This isn’t my phone.”

He glances at it and snorts. “Oh, it’s your phone. It isn’t your old phone, but it’s your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Stark sees you as family. You’re one of us now, and that means you’ll never have a normal phone again. He won’t allow it.”

“But –“

“It’s probably set up similarly to how your old phone was, with all the data intact. But of course, he’s Starkified it. Don’t bother arguing with him – at best he’ll ignore you.”

It’s true and you know it, so you just shrug and decide to accept it. “Okay.” It isn’t a battle worth picking, you won’t win anyway, and upon opening it and beginning to explore it, it’s…it’s kind of awesome. All your pictures are there, and even though it looks like your contact list has expanded considerably – apparently you can reach Nat at 6 different numbers and Steve at 8 – all of your old numbers are there as well. Your finger hovers over your mom’s contact info, but your eyes flick to the time and you place the phone back on your nightstand. Signing heavily, you ruefully admit, “It’s still a little too early. I know my mom is up by now, but I don’t want to wake the boys if they’re still sleeping.”

“I doubt they’d mind – I’m sure they want to hear from you. I called your ma while you were in surgery, just to give her an update, and I know she’s pretty anxious to hear your voice.”

It warms your heart a ridiculous amount to know he called her, but that’s not where your focus is at the moment. “I know she is, it’s not my mom I’m worried about. The boys, though – I don’t know how they’ve been sleeping since I’ve been gone, and I don’t want to mess up their routine if they’ve settled into one.” You stare up at the ceiling, but there’s no hiding the trepidation in your voice when you slowly continue, “Besides, I have a feeling that one or both of them are going to be mad at me. Really mad at me.”

Bucky gently traces your cheek, “Why would you think that?”

It takes awhile for you to be able to utter the words that have been festering in your heart; even though you’d compartmentalized for the sake of survival and hadn’t allowed yourself to think about Artie and Jimmy much, the undercurrent of this particular fear tainted every breath you took while you were imprisoned…and it’s there, even now. Especially now. “I’m so afraid they think I abandoned them.” At your admission, a hot tear falls and finds its way to your ear.

“Sweetheart…”

“I left them. I didn’t have a choice, but I tucked them in for their nap and I left.”

His voice is quiet as he plays with a tendril of your hair, “You’re right. But you also came back. Or will, anyway.”

“But –“

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna say this isn’t gonna be hard on you. Or them. Or that there isn’t gonna be an adjustment period. But the important part is that you came back. Five years from now, that’s probably all they’ll remember about the whole thing. It sucked – I think we can all agree on that – but you fought, you survived, and you came back. That’s gonna mean the world to them.”

Your foot shakes nervously as you grab onto his words. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am, Sweetheart. You’ll see.”

“So,” clearing your throat of the thickness that had taken hold, you turn on your side to face him again, still cuddling the stuffie close, “what else are we doing today?

“Well, my therapist is scheduled to fly in this morning – he’ll meet with you as well so he can match you up with one of his colleagues. Then Galina will work with you on some physical therapy for your leg to make sure the patch is doing its job and that you’re healing okay.”

Her name catches you off guard. “Galina’s here?”

“Mm hmm. Stark couldn’t hire her fast enough - she’s officially part of the Avengers support team now, and at the moment she’s specifically assigned to you.” He laughs lightly, “Stark had originally planned on having one of Dr. Cho’s nurses come in for the week to monitor your recovery, but Galina wasn’t having it. She said that since she was one of the first people to treat you that she’s more qualified than anyone else to look after you because she’s already familiar with the injury. She also brought up the very good point that she’s already a somewhat familiar face.”

“Well…that’s hard logic to argue.” You take a deep breath and exhale loudly. It’s a little overwhelming, to say the least. “So is there anything else planned for today?”

“That’s up to you and what you’re up for – but I should give you a head’s up that Nat’s waiting on the call to take you shopping for our date tomorrow night. Shopping for fancy dresses is her favorite kind of shopping so you’ll probably feel like a life-size doll when you’re done.” He continues as your eyes grow wide, “Other than that, I’ll probably have a session with my therapist, and then I thought we’d just have a quiet night to ourselves. Maybe order in some Chinese food or something.”

“That sounds really nice. Um,” the awkward hesitation that enters your voice is painfully obvious as your brain shifts to mundane matters you hadn’t given much thought to over the past few months, “Did anyone happen to grab my purse? I haven’t needed it in forever but if I’m going shopping I’m going to need it.” Shit, is there even anything in New York that you can afford? Since Christopher’s death you’d been extremely diligent about your spending, carefully ensuring that the life insurance funds would last until you finished school and started working. Despite being concerned about the cost of a dress, it’s actually kind of a relief to think about stuff like this – the normal, everyday things you had to keep track of before your life changed so drastically.

“You don’t have to worry about that. Stark mentioned that he’s adding you to one of his expense accounts – he’ll probably send a credit card with Nat.”

“What? No. NO.” You sit up indignantly, not sure if you’re feeling inadequate, helpless, pitied, or insulted. Irrational? Maybe. You can’t tell. Perhaps all of the above. It’s already hard enough to wrap your mind around everything they’ve done for you - this is a step too far. You’d been living on Tony’s dime because you’d had to, and you’d used the resources available to you to care for your kids; even that was awkward at first. But access to actual money to buy a dress? No. You’re not a goddamn freeloader.

Bucky exhales deeply with a knowing look in his eyes. “You and Steve are two peas in a pod.” He mutters under his breath, but you can hear him just fine and you let him know that with a glare. “Will it soothe your raging independence to know that money means absolutely nothing to him? Stark giving you access to one of his accounts is about the equivalent of bumming a smoke off someone. Seriously.”

Stare. Blink. What.

“Look, I think it’s safe to say that we all know you can take care of yourself. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” The covers slide down, showing his torso as he sits up to face you. “That said, I’d like to remind you about a certain conversation we had at home about us taking care of each other. I know I didn’t specifically include my team at the time, but they’re your team now, too. They’re your family. You know this. It’s okay to let us take care of you – shit, Sweetheart, you take care of us all the time.”

“Okay, but cooking dinner for everyone isn’t the same thing as a credit card.”

“Doll, you don’t want to eat Stark’s cooking. Please, I beg you, let him reciprocate with American Express. You can’t get food poisoning that way.” The look in his blue eyes would be comical if he didn’t seem quite so serious.

You’re still uneasy about having access to someone else’s money, but you reluctantly concede. They are family – Thanksgiving and Christmas should have already proven that to you, even before they did what they did to save you. Still…pride, independence, and your improved but still deeply embedded insecurities are trying to make their insidious whispers into roars. “It’s weird,” you finally mutter as you fiddle with one of your stuffie’s satin lined ears.

He snorts and nods. “I got a metal arm and Stevie and I both have three digits to our age, Banner goes from mild mannered doctor to a big green rage monster when necessary, Stark flies around the world in glorified soda can, and I haven’t even introduced you to the witch, the god, the floating red guy, and the…I don’t know, whatever the hell Loki is. Trust me, Stark giving you a credit card so you have a little bit of freedom while you’re here is the least weird thing about this situation.”

Well, when he puts it that way…

@hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @shifutheshihtzu @passiononfire @learisa @widowvinter @kaaatniss @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @denialanderror @k-nighttt @givemethatgold @manders2487 @afangirlrambles @polkadottedpillowcase @bluebrrn @saysay125 @aikibriarrose @saharzek @mmauricee @imhereforbvcky @whenallsaidanddone @supernatural508 @scarlettsoldier @natalie-nightcourt @im-beautifully-sewn @lovemarvelousfics @feistytravel @tbetz0341 @nearly-whitches @jamie-leah @shliic @dessinemoiunehistoire @lucywinchester2000 @solarbarnes @a-proper-chicken @movingonto-betterthings @seekingkairos @part-time-patronus @natashasnight @fairislesheets @beccaanne814 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky series #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #when everything's made to be broken (i just want you to know who i am)#WEMTBB #part 53

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pricklerick · 3 years

Text

magnum opus

Quick disclaimer: I don’t usually post warnings on my blog, but I’m going to now - this is a ficlet/summary of a huge Rick and Morty story that I’m completely unqualified to write. DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT. Guys, this is dark. Trigger warnings for incest, underage sex, pregnancy loss, postpartum depression, attempted suicide.

I’ll preface by saying that this is a story that’s been bouncing around in my brain for a while now. But I don’t feel that I have the maturity or life experience to tackle the subject matter and do it any justice at all. These are heavy topics that have affected many people, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is exploit them, minimize them, or misrepresent them.

So, if you choose to continue, know that you are responsible for the media that you consume, and know that the things I write (or the perspective of the characters that I write) do not necessarily reflect my personal opinions.

Okay, that being said, have an angsty fic summary!

Morticia (known as Tish) and her Rick have been fucking for years. Tish knows that to Rick, she’s an easy lay - an accessible warm body at best. But to Tish, Rick is everything.

She’s seventeen, and Rick gets really antsy about an adventure to a universe where space herpes is airborne. He insists that Tish get a series of ridiculously painful alien vaccinations that leave her shaky and nauseated for a week. Tish puts up with it, because Rick gets what Rick wants, and Rick wants a very specific isotope of Nihonium that can only be found on Space Herpes’ Andromeda galaxy. Once Tish is feeling better, Rick drags her off to spend a single afternoon harvesting rocks. The whole thing goes off without a cinch for once, and Tish totally forgets about it.

But it’s not long before Tish starts feeling off again. She’s exhausted, can’t eat or sleep, and one night when Rick grabs her tits and squeezes just like she needs him to, Tish screams at the sensitivity.

Rick stops cold and just looks at her, that same look that he gives to a gadget that’s not behaving how he wants, and in that moment, something grows cold in Tish’s stomach.

She knows.

She takes test after shitty drugstore test, spends close to $100 at the gas station down the street. On her third trip, the cashier looks at her in undisguised pity, and Tish has to stop herself from punching him in the face.

“Rick, I think I’m pregnant.”

She doesn’t think, she fucking knows. Rick’s face stays carefully blank. He keeps tinkering with the android in front of him, the only sign that he even heard a quick blink and the subtle movement of the muscles of his throat as he swallows hard.

“Rick?” she prompts.

“Jeezus, Tish, I’m old, not deaf. Fucking heard you the first time.”

She huffs, lets her left hip rest against the countertop where he’s working, folds her arms across her chest to hide her shaking hands.

Rick sighs, swiping the goggles up so that they catch in his hair. “Not a problem,” he says evenly, carefully looking in any direction but to her.

Tish blinks. She’d expected… more. An explosion, a few curse words, hell, even some pointed fingers.

Rick is reaching for a drawer, pulls out a syringe that’s filled with a vicious purple fluid. “I mean, really Tish, there’s a whole— a whole multiverse of options out there. And you - you still insist on using fu-fucking horse piss!”

He’s coming at her with the needle. Tish’s body reacts before her brain even comprehends the situation, and she backhands Rick hard enough to send him stumbling. The syringe shatters on the floor, and Tish gasps, her hand stinging from the impact.

Rick is looking at her, both hands supporting his weight on the countertop. His chest is heaving. He spits blood, glaring at her, and Tish’s heart sinks to her toes.

"Fine,” he hisses. “You wanna play Mommy? Wanna tell your mother that you’re pregnant at seventeen? Knock yourself out, baby. I’ll fucking let you. At least nobody will think twice about your retard baby - you’re dumb as rocks, Tish, stupider than dirt. And when this crashes and burns, like I know it will, when you’re in over your head and you hate yourself and that little mutation of genetic material that’s percolating in your gut like a goddamn tape worm, you remember this.” Rick looms over her, leaning so close that Tish can smell bile on his breath. “You remember that Grandpa Rick fucking told you so.”

And in a swirl of vivid green, he is gone.

Weeks go by and Tish is as sick as a dog. Beth is too busy grieving the loss of her dad to notice Tish’s hollow eyes and vacant expression; in fact, Beth seems to blame Tish for Rick’s disappearance.

And she’s right to, Tish thinks.

Tish doesn’t say anything. She loses a lot of weight - her cheeks are hollow and her jeans hang from her hips. All the while, she replays Rick’s words over and over again…

You’re dumb as rocks, Tish.

Tish knows she’s sick in the head. It’s sick to fall in love with your abusive grandfather, and even more sick to sacrifice everything for your abusive grandfather’s incest-baby. Tish can’t explain it. She’s always been good for nothing - not much to look at, useless at school, no real talent to speak of.

And then, one night when she was thirteen, Rick drunkenly grabbed her hand and dragged her through a portal, and Tish found her purpose.

She was good at playing side-kick. Dumb enough to shield Rick from his enemies, just smart enough to do (mostly) what she was told, and unquestionably devoted. Like an animal, she overheard Rick say once. Throw her a treat every now and then and she’ll come running.But Tish had thrived with Rick, despite everything. She followed him, pandered to him, drunk-sat him, memorized all of his quirks and habits. And when she was fifteen and neither of them could deny the draw of their bodies any longer, Tish had given herself to him, had quaked and keened beneath him as he mapped her with his hands and lips and tongue…

Tish was Rick’s, as sure as she was anything, and Rick, Rick was everything. And now, she had a part of him. A little piece of Rick, growing inside her.

Rick and Tish, forever and ever.

Tish is stupid, but she knows this much - if she does nothing else in her life, nothing at all, she’s going to do this. She’s going to leave her mark on the world, her mark and Rick’s.

She’s going to have this baby.

Still, that’s a hard thing for a seventeen year old to articulate, and Beth is less than supportive. Tish says nothing. She just dwindles away until one morning, 84 days after Rick left, she passes out in the middle of remedial algebra and wakes up in an ambulance. The paramedic refuses to hear Tish’s pleas of “low blood sugar; I skipped breakfast,” and Tish finds herself ushered into the ER, complete with ass-baring gown and oversized hospital socks.

“Congratulations,” the idiot in the white coat says, hardly glancing up from his clipboard. “You’re going to be a mom!”

Tish tunes him out as he prattles along about ultrasounds and hyperemesis gravidarum and dangerously low potassium levels. He tells her that she’ll be monitored overnight, and that her parents have been notified.

She must have fallen asleep, because when she wakes, holy fuck, Rick is there, staring at her with glittering eyes. Above her, Tish hears the blip-blip-blip of the heart monitor as it speeds.

Rick’s eyes never leave her face, but his hand snakes under her blanket, searching. He skims past her cunt, pausing as if to linger there, but then settles northward, fingers slaying wide over Tish’s pelvis as he palms the barely-there knot that rises beneath the dip of her hipbones. Tish’s whole body trembles. There’s something feral in Rick’s eyes, something deliciously possessive about the heat of his hand against Tish’s clammy skin.

“You’re an idiot,” Rick tells her solemnly.

I know, she starts to say, but it comes out as a moan.

The secret is out. Beth is casually disappointed in Tish for “repeating the same mistakes,” but admits that she hadn’t expected much better from her younger daughter. Rick explains away his absence with a bombastic story, complete with waving hands and drunken sound effects, and things go back to normal.

Rick refuses to talk about the baby. Tish only brings it up once, to let Rick know that she’s decided on adoption. He grunts and shrugs, and that’s that.

But Tish notices Rick watching her out of the corner of his eye. When they’re on adventures, Rick seems to move a little slower, to make more space for Tish, and once, Tish swears Rick shifted his body between her and and a hostile Gromflomite, almost as if he were protecting her.

And the sex.

The sex.

Rick worships her body in a way he never has before. At first, Tish assumes it’s because her tits are a little fleshier, but that’s not it. Rick can hardly keep his eyes and hands off of her, is always eyefucking her in the kitchen at breakfast, or cupping her ass as he slides past her in the hallway. He catalogues the changes in her body with his tongue, undressing her slowly, even massaging her lower back after a grueling day. When she doubles over at the dinner table with round ligament pain, Rick is in her room that evening, massaging her belly with a special alien oil. When her jeans won’t button, he takes her to an intergalatic shopping mall. He bitches the whole time, but he parades Tish around with his hand on the small of her back, and nobody bats an eye.

Tish loves it and loathes it. She basks in the glow of the moment, then cries into her pillow at night. It’s stupid to romanticize these little moments with Rick. He’s capable of altruism when it suits him, but it’s not like he loves her or anything.

Tish knows that she can’t keep this baby - she can’t raise a child alone, and, selfish as she is, she won’t give up her life with Rick.

She can’t.

But this baby, Rick’s baby… it deserves more than a shitty life on a deadbeat, backwater planet.

And Tish can give it that.

So with Rick’s reluctant help, Tish selects an off-planet adoption agency that is willing to place humans. She interviews potential families in her spare time. “I have an appointment,” she’ll announce, and Rick will sigh, blast a portal into the wall, and accompany her to the office. He hangs around, hovering at her shoulder until the receptionist calls her in, and then he disappears without a word. When the meeting ends, Tish finds a portal waiting for her in the corner of the reception area, and Rick tinkering in the garage.

They don’t talk about it.

There are more things that I’d like to work in here, but honestly, guys, I’m just not gonna. This is a fic that deserves some real life experience and at least 100k words, and I can offer neither. I want to hit on Tish’s lack of self worth - at this point, she’s living for this baby, because she views it as an extension of Rick. To Tish, this kid is the only thing of worth that she has to offer the world, and it’s the fact that it’s Rick’s, not hers, that she thinks is important.

On Rick - he loves Tish, in his own twisted way. He’s not at all interested in the baby, but because Tish is, he’ll play along. The idea of anything happening to Tish is absolutely unacceptable to him, and he was totally monitoring her (and the baby) while he was away. He couldn’t help himself. That’s why he came back when Tish was hospitalized. He wanted to make sure that Tish wasn’t going to kill herself trying to have this kid. And he missed her.

I don’t want to shy away from the darker aspects of the story. Namely, the incest and abusive/unhealthy relationship that Rick and Tish have. I imagine Tish worrying about the potential for genetic abnormalities, and wondering about the ethics of addressing this with potential parents. Maybe she brings it up to Rick one day, and he immediately whips up a little gadget and scans their baby (I really like the idea of Rick performing an amniocentesis, but I don’t know if that’s a little too much). But either way, I imagine Rick saying, “She’s fine,” and Tish just bursting into tears, because their baby is going to be just perfect, and also, it’s a girl.

And Rick just kind of fingering Tish’s hair and tolerating her crying it out.

Pregnancy kink. Rick is a kinky bastard, and I think a huge part of him is going to be hella turned on by the changes in Tish’s body. She’s literally growing a part of him. His baby’s baby is having his baby. It’s fucked up and it’s science, and Rick is gonna be so here for it. I’m not a smut writer, but I would love somebody who is to just take this and run with it.

It’s going to start with sex, but eventually, the further along Tish gets, the more possessive Rick is going to be of Tish. Yeah, it’s kind of hot that his granddaughter is carrying his child under their family’s nose, but there’s probably a deeper part of Rick that is just screaming for acknowledgement and absolution. THIS IS MINE. SHE IS MINE. I want to see jealous, anxious, overbearing Rick. And as this thing forces them to confront some ugly truths, I want to see that possessive, kinky, fucked up side of Rick soften into something that’s more protective and positive. I want to see him openly praise Tish’s body, and then eventually, praise Tish. I want him to slow down when she needs him to slow down and create space for her when she needs space. I want attentive, careful, gentle Rick.

But guys, Tish is going to lose this baby.

She’s like eight months along and begging Rick for a real adventure. She feels good, and she’s tired of sitting on her ass. And some stupid little thing goes wrong. Maybe she misreads a situation, or mishandles a weapon, or uses the wrong code word. And she falls, or maybe she takes a bullet and then she falls.

But she loses the baby.

Tish is not okay. This is postpartum depression meets miscarriage guilt. She blames herself for losing Rick’s baby. For eight months, this is all she’s lived for. She knew that this was her one shot, her one opportunity to leave a mark on the world.

And it was Rick’s baby. The thought of destroying anything of Rick’s is just unbearable to Tish, and it’s her fucking fault. She is useless on an adventure, and more than that, her stupid body is useless, sacrificing her baby to keep her alive.

Rick is fine once he realizes that Tish is out of danger, so Tish tries to be fine, too. She takes a week or two of bed rest, but she can tell that Rick is uncomfortable acknowledging her loss, so Tish tries to let it go. She goes on adventures, forces a smile, makes herself get out of bed and come to meals.

Meanwhile, Rick is kind of coming to his own conclusions. I imagine him holding the body of his daughter and thinking how perfect she is, how tiny, and how she looks exactly like Tish. And that thought, the thought of this tiny little Tish that could have been running around on some planet… well, that stings a lot more than Rick thought it would.

I mean, he’s okay. He doesn’t need another daughter, and he sure as hell doesn’t need a great granddaughter. He looks over at Tish, resting pale-faced in an alien hospital bed, and he hears the blip-blip of the heart monitor, and he knows that he’s complete.

But still, he can’t help but wonder, and something in his chest throbs as he does.

But Tish bounces back as well as he could have expected. Sure, Rick sees the shadow in her eyes, but when she grips his hand and says, “Where are we going today, Rick?” he answers her, because that’s so much easier.

Tish is fucking drowning. I’m not sure what the tipping point will be, maybe just a tiny misunderstanding with Rick, or a bad grade, or a joke about teen pregnancy at school. But she’s done. She’s fucking done.

She tries to slit her throat in the bathtub.

Once again, she awakens in an alien hospital, and once again, Rick is staring at her with glittering eyes.

And he’s pissed.

“That’s the second time I’ve found you in a pool of your own blood,” he says. He’s gripping her hands too tight, baring his teeth and hissing. In the dim hospital light, he looks absolutely feral, and Tish is terrified.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely.

Rick’s face crumples, and something inside of her shatters at his disappointment. “I’m sorry!” Tish wails over and over, tears running hot down her cheeks.

She’s sorry for everything.

Rick crawls into bed with her, monitors be damned. Tish is crying so hard that she can barely breathe, and suddenly, Rick is there, curling around her, tucking his face into her neck and burying his fingers into her hair.

“Shh, shh,” he shushes her. He holds her tight, murmuring senselessly in her ear as she babbles to him. It all comes out, all of Tish’s fears and failures, like the bursting of a dam. Tish couldn’t stop it if she tried. Rick never says a word, but his grip around her tightens, his fingers working little patterns into her skin as she speaks.

“Fuck,” he breaths as Tish runs out of steam.

“I’m sorry!”

Rick sits up. “Don’t!” he hisses, then looks away, as if ashamed. Tish tenses, but before she can respond, Rick reaches for her hand and squeezes tight.

“If I have to hear you say you’re sorry one more goddamn time…”

Tish bites back an apology.

Rick swallows hard, clears his throat. His fingers twitch in the way that Tish knows means he misses his flask. She notices for the first time that Rick isn’t wearing his lab coat. He’s still sitting up in the bed, gazing at the floor as if he can’t bear to meet her gaze.

“Do you know… Tish, do you have any idea - fuck. Don’t - don’t ever, Tish. Please, don’t ever make me do this again. I - I can’t…”

He breaks off, shoving a fist into his teeth and grimacing, and the image is so incongruous with the Rick Sanchez that she knows that Tish can’t help but reach for him. He pivots at her touch, and there are actual tears in his eyes.

“Tish, it’s you, baby. Just you. You’re… you’re the only - the only good thing. All the rest of it, the adventure, the science… It fucking doesn’t matter, okay? Nothing matters.”

Tish’s breath catches.

“No, you’re still not…” Rick makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done, the only thing I’ve ever... ever… Fuck!” He throws his hands in the air. “You’re... you’re my magnum opus, okay? You complete me.”

“Oh,” says Tish stupidly.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Rick mocks. He’s flushed, biting his lip and running his fingers through his wild hair. “I can’t believe… just, just, Tish,” he looks at her now, dead serious, “Don’t make me say it again, okay?”

Don’t make me lose you again. Please.

“Okay, Rick,” she agrees, crawling into his lap and tucking her head under his chin.

And like, things aren’t magically okay. It’s never a healthy relationship. Tish never gets over losing her baby, and Rick never mentions it again. But there’s something about Rick calling Tish his “opus magnum” that really satisfies me in a way that no fic I’ve read has yet. And I like to think that they are a tiny bit more open now, or at least, they know each other better. Tish might never have any self-worth, but she knows that Rick values her, and that’s the best feeling. And Rick is a little softer with Tish, and he never quite loses that protective streak that he picked up while she was pregnant.

#pricklerick original #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #trigger warning #all of the trigger warnings #seriously don't read this if you are triggered by pretty much anything #stay safe fam #i love you guys

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