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nationalharryleague · 3 years

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Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away)

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth @bfharry and @hardcandy-harry for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!!

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care. She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart.

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.”

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral. Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

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from-delaford-with-love · 3 years

Text

Chapter III

The first dinner in Barton Park was horrible. Sir John Middleton and Mrs. Jennings made seemingly everything in their power to present you to the guest in the most unfavorable way so that no one sane would consider you a person who could in any degree excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. With sincere and intense conviction you scarcely managed to impress Colonel Brandon, you could only hope he’s already forgotten that evening and with it – inglorious performance of yours.

Intrusive attention of people the circumstances forced you to live with made your days unbearable, therefore you preferred staying in your room at first before finding salvation in long walks in the neighborhood; fortunately, sparsely populated area offered a picturesque scenery, and its breathtaking immensity brought harmony back to your soul. Mrs. Jennings, however, displeased with your obstinate inclination for solitude, never missed an opportunity to express her highest dissatisfaction about your frequent absence. “Young people always choose freedom over a subtle conversation!” knowing nothing in fact about subtlety, she exclaimed dramatically seeing you off every morning with a trace of disappointment on her face.

A week has passed since your arrival. You were getting used to living without your mother and aunt and gratefully accepted all the difficulties you had to face believing this twist of fate would bring valuable experience which would strengthen your spirit and faith and eventually result in good. Having no one to pour out your soul you wrote letters home each day sharing your feelings with the parchment and actually sending just one – of a different kind – describing how much you liked it here and thoughtfully inquiring about your aunt’s health not to discompose your mother who’s been dealing with a lot of trouble afore.

Finished with another note destined to join a plenty of unsent papers safely stored in a drawer you looked out of the window. The weather tempted to get out of doors. In thought about today’s destination, you draw back the curtain to let the sun caress your face as suddenly you noticed a silhouette of a rider far in the distance. Before your eyes could recognize an unexpected visitor, frantic beating of your heart alarmed it was exactly that man who evoked the same strange feeling the day you first heard his footsteps in this house – Colonel Brandon. Unable to give a fair and sensible explanation to such a severe emotional discomfort, you leaned against the wall pondering how to curb confusing agitation within your soul.

Recalling on the previous joint dinner with the colonel and your family you had no desire to come to the man’s sight ever again. If it were not for Mrs. Jennings’ vigorous and determined attempts to cause you the loss of dignity, you would certainly abstain from avoiding the company of a decent respectable person Colonel Brandon undoubtedly was.

The only chance to eschew an unwanted encounter was sneaking through the back door and off in the open. But as ill luck would have it, the guest has already arrived – you ascertained his presence right when heading downstairs. Limbs going numb, you stopped in your tracks. Colonel Brandon smiled amiably and bowed to greet you. However, sharing a word with you seemed destined to never happen.

“What a nice surprise!” you heard Mrs. Jennings exclaim joyfully and a moment later she emerged in the hallway. “I’m afraid Sir John left for Exeter on business. But I assure you, he’ll be back by noon. Let me offer you a cup of tea!”

“Thank you, I was actually…”

“No, no, no! You’re not allowed to refuse!” she broke into exuberant laughter, which brought no spark on the colonel’s face. “Ah, come in! You’re not going to stand in the doorway, my dear, are you?”

Colonel Brandon has surely expected such an unfortunate outcome and was prepared to accept it with courage and generously sacrifice his morning – and with it, what’s more substantial, his mental resources – as a price he would have to pay for the sudden impulse that brought him here. If he were asked what an unfathomable force drove him, he would probably find it hard to answer, be that reluctance to tell the truth or admit it – one would never know since the colonel was of that kind of men who kept their sentiment to themselves.

A quick glance Colonel Brandon gave you before entrusting himself into Mrs. Jennings’ will didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh, there you are!” she sang out, gesticulating with intense and eager enjoyment. “Come here, child! Welcome our guest!”

“Colonel,” memories from that terrible evening ruthlessly hurting your pride, you tilted your head as a sign of respect and he answered with a delicate smile which, to your relief, suggested no disapproval or contempt.

“The lady spends all days outside!” Mrs. Jennings complained.

It was getting annoying. Not only did she call you a child but certainly treated you as such.

“Would be a shame wasting them indoors, wouldn’t it?” the colonel smiled lively, addressing you. He considerately meant to encourage you, but it made you feel pathetic instead – Mrs. Jennings entirely ruined your image.

Realizing he’s just dampened your spirits, Colonel Brandon instantly regretted indulging himself to frivolity he would ordinarily consider inappropriate and discourteous towards a person he barely knew and subsequently showed a composed serious manner.

“Wouldn’t it be nice, my dear, if you kept her a company from time to time?” Mrs. Jennings asked after a short yet careful observation, delighted with the idea.

You couldn’t believe she was imposing you on the man’s responsibility. Being a gentleman he’d have no choice but to agree. And he did.

“It will be an honor,” he said reticently, in accordance with the rules of convention.

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @venusetdiatribes @taschaschwarz @booklover2929 @crystalchrysalis19 @yourbadnightmare

#colonel brandon #colonel brandon x reader

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holylulusworld · 4 years

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Beta is not a 4-letter word

Request: Inspired by unbeta’d, how about reader is one of the fellow Hunter, she’s beta so no one in hunting community wants to work with her. She’s forced to work with Sam & Dean, who also treat her different, like really insulting, taunting her, making fun of her, teasing. One day a witch curses Dean making him a beta permanently. He blames reader for that but eventually realizes his mistake. They make up then. Super angsty tho

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Beta!Reader, Alpha!Sam, Beta!Dean x Beta!Reader

Warnings: angst, Sam and Dean being douches, sad reader, mentions of sex, ABO

Always the same game. You find a case that needs more than one hunter, but no one offers his or her help.

Your last resort was Garth, the kind Alpha was the only one who ever helped you with cases, well till he got bitten by a werewolf. Now he has got a family and he suggested two of his friends shall help you.

You hate it. Hate the way the smaller Alpha looks at you as if you are a fly on his steak or a weak little kid telling him you want take out a nest of vamps. You can see it in his eyes, he doesn’t like you and your presentation a bit.

Good thing you insisted on meeting up with them on neutral ground or they would have started to taunt you shamelessly. In public, they need to get their shit together.

At least you hope so…

“A beta, Sammy. Why did we agree to help a weak little girl?” Dean, the elder brother groans, not caring you sit right next to him. He acts as if you are not around, shakes his head at the information you handed them as if your research bores him.

Used to rough treatment, harsh words, and insults you swallow your pride. It is not as if you could take both Winchesters, the legends among the hunter, down but so far – you did not get yourself killed.

“Garth asked us, Dean. According to our werewolf ‘slash’ hunter friend she is good at hunting witches. Now let us talk about the case.” Chortling Dean glances at you, not giving you a chance to say anything he gets up to circle you like prey.

You feel like an insect under a microscope as the Alpha seems to drink your appearance in.

“Coming from our werewolf hunter?” Dean huffs as you try to push the tears away. You are used to hunters being rough around you, but Dean wants to push your boundaries.

“Weak and meek, Sammy. A Beta should not hunt.”

“So far I did it without an Alpha’s help, but this witch is dangerous, and I assume she does not work alone. Many people died or disappeared.”

Your body goes stiff when Dean nudges your side and you can’t do anything else than shove his hand away.

“Weak and soft. I don’t think she could even punch my nose, Sammy.” Dean snickers as Sam give him a dirty grin. “We shouldn’t let kids hunt.”

“I asked Garth for help as I am not suicidal and want to the killings as fast as possible.” Wiping your nose with the sleeve of your blouse you try to prepare yourself for the next blow.

“Dean is right, Y/N. You seem to be a nice girl but let’s face the truth. You will not withstand a blow coming from a witch or werewolf.”

Sam’s words hurt you even more. Garth said the younger brother is more sensitive but here he is, giving you the feeling, you are worthless.

“I never said I am as strong as an Alpha, but I can stand my ground. I took out a whole nest of vamps. I know you believe I am not a good hunter, but I found the witch and want to take her down. I asked for help, not for another beta-bashing.” Getting up you try to look taller but all you get is a chuckle from Sam and a stupid comment from Dean.

“Even if you climb on a ladder you will always be a tiny and pitiful girl. Let’s face it, you’ll get me, and Sammy killed.” While you try not to cry you look around the crowded restaurant.

You don’t want to lose your composure in the middle of a restaurant, where families try to have a good time.

The hope that the Winchesters would treat you equal, or at least would not make fun of you got ripped into pieces within not even half an hour.

“I think it’s for the best if you let us take over the case. Go to your motel room, take a few days off and maybe you should turn toward research.” There is a smirk on Sam’s lips as he shoves your notes toward you.

“Whoa…the infamous Winchesters are nothing but self-centered and instinct-driven Alphas. Shame I believed you are better than all the other knot-heads. That was the last time I asked for help.” Tossing money onto the table you look straight into Dean’s face.

“What little girl? Do you want me to soothe you? Do you need a tissue?” Dean mocks you, tries to push you even further but you will not give him any kind of satisfaction.

“You know, Beta is not a 4-letter word. I am not as strong as you but unlike you and your brother, I can control my needs. I am not an instinct-driven animal during ruts, heats, or crap. I always let my brain decide, not my reproductive organ.” Sneering you grab your notes before you look at Dean one last time.

“Only as you do not have heats does not mean your brain works better than mine or Sammy’s. Beta stands for weakness.” Nodding you take a deep breath.

“Right. I love your and the other Alphas prejudices. But you know what? I can fall in love without my instinct telling me I have to bite someone’s neck.” Before you look at Dean, hoping he would let your words sink in.

“What?” Dean jumps up to tower over you, but you act as if his size would not intimidate you. “Anything to add to your stupid speech?”

“Be careful. That witch likes to fuck with your mind and even more important…” Stepping closer you give him a cold smile. “She seems to like to kill assholes. In your case, you run around with a target pinned to your back.”

When you walk out of the restaurant you swallow hard. You may have lost your case, but at least you kept your dignity and did not beg them to let you participate on the hunt.

While you wipe a few tears away you get your phone out to dial Garth’s number.

“I wanted to say thank you for sending me the biggest assholes on earth for help. That was the reason I asked you for help. All other Alphas…”

Garth can hear the tiny sobs leave your lips and his stomach drops. He believed Sam and Dean would treat you with respect, not act like the other Alphas hurting you.

“I am sorry, Garth. It’s just…” Sniffling you wipe the tears away.

“I thought the Winchesters would be different. I will never annoy you again. From now on, I’ll handle my cases alone. It doesn’t matter in the end if I die…”

While you sulk in self-pity, hating you ever called Garth, the Winchesters play the great heroes once again – at least you assume they do so, as you are not invited to your party.

Same game – every time. How could you believe they would be any different? They are Alphas and men, none of them would ever consider you can handle a hunt, let alone work with them.

With shaking fingers, you check on the collected information once again. You should send Sam a message, tell him you believe that something is fishy about the absence of the witch, but you decide against it.

You offered all your information, your knowledge, and strength. “They got this, Y/N. Don’t give them the chance to make fun of you even more…”

“You are an interesting little insect, hunter. I knew the moment she called you, I found my new favorite victim.” Snickering the witch claps her hand before she throws something at Dean.

“Bitch! You knew she called us?” Dean groans, glancing at his unconscious brother. “Does she work with you? Did the Beta kid ask you to take us down?”

“Are you that blind, hunter? That girl was so close to taking me down and unlike you, she could have made it. Her heart is pure, she never made fun of anyone. I could never weaken her as I weakened you, hunter.” The witch snickers and Dean wonders what she means.

“Pure heart?”

“Yeah. She told you – right? Yesterday, at the restaurant she told you I go after what did she say…” Smirking the witch moves her fingers through Sam’s hair. “Ah…she said I go after assholes. The kid was right.”

“It was a trap…great. That stupid Beta hunter gets us killed…” Grunting Dean tries to get his gun out.

“You still don’t get it, hunter. If you would not have treated her like all the other Alphas did, I wouldn’t have any influence on you. Good people like her, the ones never hurting someone on purpose do not fall victim to my powers…now…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch and then I’ll kill her…”

“Hush now, hunter. I think you deserve a special gift, not just death. You caused pain; I’ll show you what she felt…” Blinding light fills the room and Dean falls to his knees, feeling lightheaded before he loses consciousness.

Checking your gun again, you sigh deeply. Over the last three days, two more people disappeared. You’ve got no clue why – but the Winchesters didn’t take the witch down.

Now you are on your way out of town to drive to her house, or rather Mansion to end the job you started.

This time there will be no Alpha providing back-up, but also you will not hear any insults.

The house is dark, almost like a Gothic dream and you’d like to have a look around, but you’ve got a job to do so you silently walk further into the house.

Oddly, the door with a strange sigil on it opens and you can see the witch sits onto a chair, legs crossed she grins at you.

“Here we go.” She says, something sinister in her voice. “Did you miss your friends or rather enemies? You can have him back or both. Just say the words.”

“What do you mean? I have no friends.” Your voice is controlled as you aim a gun toward her head. “Witch killing bullets. Don’t try to trick me, I did my homework.”

“I know, sweet little Beta. Unlike those Winchesters, you did not storm into my house without a charm or a pure soul.” Now she claps her hands and the room changes and you are suddenly in a dungeon.

“What did you do to them?” While Dean kneels in a corner, shaking, Sam tries to calm his brother. “I asked you a question.” Firing a bullet into the witch’s leg you clench your jaw. “Release them, now!”

“Fine…” Clapping her hands again the witch let the chains holding the Winchester disappear. “I made him a gift, but he does not like it.” Snickering the witch presses one hand onto her bleeding wound.

“Take it back! NOW!” Gun aimed at her head you narrow your eyes as Sam calls your name. “NOW!”

“Impossible.” Sam sighs. “She used something unique, it got destroyed and now Dean is…” Choking the word out Sam tries to find the right word.

“He is what?” Panicked you hear Sam whisper the word ‘beta’ and you want to laugh loudly but Dean’s low whines let you remain silent.

“You sure she can’t take it back, Sam?”

“One-hundred percent…” Dean grunts. “That’s your fault! She did it because of you!” Flinching you try to ignore Dean’s outburst.

“No, hunter. It’s your fault.” The witch coos. “I did it as you acted like an asshole. Now let negotiate…” She cannot lull you into kind words as you pull the trigger and a bullet ends her life.

“We’ve got to bring him out of here and check if we find anything to help your brother.” Ignoring your words Sam helps his brother up, not even giving you a second glance.

“Stay away from us, Beta. You did enough.” Dean snarls as you must watch them leave you alone with the dead witch.

“Leave me be! I am useless now. How can I be a hunter when I am Beta now! I can’t even scent you, Sam.” Dean barks.

The Winchesters do not know your room is next to theirs, you didn’t know either before you heard Dean smash things against the walls. “I hate being weak!”

“Dean calm down. You are still strong enough to push me to the floor! You lifted the goddamn table as if it weighs nothing. Apparently, your strength had nothing to do with your presentation.”

Dean drops the lamp he was about to throw against the wall, realizing he does not feel weaker. The only difference is his brothers’ scent does not make him want to dominate Sam.

“I…I am not weak?” Falling onto the bed Dean looks at his hands.

“Your instinct is gone, your ruts and the need to claim and knot an Omega, everything else is still normal.” Sam tries to calm his brother.

“I was an asshole and she punished me. Made me Beta.” Sam runs one hand through his hair, nodding silently.

“That witch had a sense of humor like Gabriel. She liked to fuck with people treating others badly. Y/N, she saved us, and I was an ass all over again.”

“She’s in the room right next to ours. Watched her sneak in and she did not leave so far. Maybe you should talk to her.”

“Hmm…”

“What do you want, Dean? Telling me it’s my fault you are a pitiful Beta now?”

Sighs leave your lips as Dean stands in front of your motel room. “I called a few people, Betas who are familiar with magic and witchcraft. I hope they can turn you back into an Alpha.”

“Listen…” Dean nervously chews on his lower lip before he decides to enter your room. “I could use advice in being Beta. I…I was an Alpha asshole so far and don’t know how to act like a Beta.”

“Not being an asshole is all it needs. Now if you would leave my room, I’d gladly go back to being a weak and meek Beta.” A chuckle leaves Dean’s lips as he plops down onto your bed. “I mean it…”

“You know…” Eying you warily Dean gives you a cocky grin. “Now that I am Beta we could let out all this pent-up tension. I thought about having sex as a Beta with you.”

“Did I have a stroke or did this shit just leave your lips?” Pushing against Dean’s shoulders you snicker as he feels your strength.

“You’re strong for such a tiny girl. How about I’ll give you advice on how to kick an Alpha’s ass and you help me with all this new crap I have to get used to.”

Dean’s eyes search your face and for the first time, you see he doesn’t want to make fun of you.

“What do you want to know, Dean?”

“Uh—food! Do you eat differently? Will I gain weight? How about sex? How does it work? I mean you do not scent an Alpha…how does…” Pressing your index finger to his lips you chuckle lightly.

“Everything is like it used to be when you were Alpha, okay. Except for the scenting and knotting part. Your uh…you know… will not expand but it should work like it used to do.” Nodding Dean scratches his chin.

“What if he’s smaller now? I mean Beta’s have smaller dicks…right?” Now you cackle as you glance at the bulge in his pants.

“I think this shouldn’t be a problem. Just go out and try it…him…I mean. Gosh, go find a girl and have sex. I can’t believe I said that…”

“Can I try something? I want to know how it feels to touch a girl now. Please?” Groaning you fall onto your bed, covering your eyes with your hands. “Just your thigh…can I?”

“If you stop asking questions, you can touch my skin.” Humming Dean slides his fingers over your skin. There is a small smile on his lips as he can feel goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

“I think I owe you an apology for being a dick. I am sorry that I said all those stupid things. You are smart, strong and cute.”

The last word catches your attention and you remove your hands from your eyes to look at Dean. “I’d like to test it with you…not now…I mean…fuck…one day…”

“Can you not talk for a moment. I am getting a terrible headache.” While Dean lies next to you, just looking at you none of you says a word.

“We have a safe home, you know. I could ask Sammy, as he’s the Alpha now but I’d like you to come with us. I need my Yoda after all…” Laughing you punch Dean’s arm and he joins your laughter.

“I am no Yoda…”

“Fine. You can be my Lea. Now tell me everything about being Beta…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Beta is not a 4-letter word #abo #abo dynamics #alpha!dean winchester #alpha!sam winchester #angst #sad reader #dean winchester #Beta!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester one shot

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laadgovernorandsankadevi · 3 years

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IPK Rewatch: EP 02; the dori breaks

and so it begins!! The first meeting, the divine stars have intervened. Devi Mayyian watched over as Khushi drove away on the stolen scooter and just as she pulled her dupatta feeling his gaze over her, she slips and falls in the arms of her rajkummar.

Every single interaction between them, it's Khushi who breaks away or walks away. Every single one. She is the one to break the bubble by stepping back or wanting to break away from his grip. He doesn't let her go right away as she squirms and him pulling her back into his arms for that brief second as he takes all of her in, makes her realise her hand on his collar which the moment she removes he pushes her off him. I think bitwa realised what happened to him. He was angry alright, but this girl stirred something the moment he saw her and her trying to break free away from him, a man who girls flock after; he is not going to take these feelings lightly. I think he realised what happened when snapped at her taking her hand off his collar.

Khushi stands scared. Whether any feelings in her have risen or not, she was scared and nervous to begin with and it's clear that the way this man stared at her was not how men should be looking at anyone for that matter. The guards take her away from the premises but not without her dupatta falling off and landing at his feet.

I always found the Khushi's dupatta a character of it's own. Dupatta means a lot to south asian women. Hell I would say that when I find myself wearing a 6ft fabric around me, the realisation of what this garment means symbolically and what it communicates about my character to style is not something that can be a joke. For a girl like Khushi, the dupatta is a symbol is respect and how funny and ironic it is that the man who in next few seconds will declare his control over her life will be the one to return/restore the respect he tried time and time again to disapprove about her to himself. The dupatta under his feet, falling by his feet is such a big deal. But also I feel this moment signifies that Devi Mayyian did sent Arnav as Khushi's protector. If Arnav has been provided with the power and ability to choose his interpretation of what her clutching her dupatta means, then he is also the only one whose treatment of her dupatta protects her image and reputation in eyes of others.

The dupatta and the collar are recurring motifs. And beautiful ones at that! There's something that happens to my brown ghairat at the utilisation of these motifs. Maybe internalised sexist rhetoric?

Back at Gupta House, we get a glimpse of Bua ji's displeasure at Khushi's antics and everyone being worried about not being able to find the papers. Payal who had been hoping that Abhishek was unaware about the dowry, at finding out he's said nothing to defend the Guptas or his to-be wife, finds herself more upset. Meanwhile Garima figures out the connection between Khushi's absence and the mortgaged papers missing.

All while Khushi is being interrogated. In all honesty, I would be hella sus of Khushi being somewhere and ruining a major multi-million company's event. I tried listening multiple times but Barun really used to mumble a lot of dialogues on the beginning. He mumbles the name of a rival fashion house which the nosy person in me wanted to know!

When Arnav takes the first step forward, Khushi doesn't step back but it's from his second step forward that she starts taking a step back. A precedent is set between these two and the progression of their relationship with one taking a step forward, another taking a step back. Khushi doesn't willingly stop taking steps back until after Shyam's revelation. I think it also tracks Khushi's relationship with Arnav's anger. If Khushi's personality and actions give Arnav a reason to start falling for her or allow himself to trust his feelings for her, then none of anything that Arnav does ever allows Khushi to move past the confusion of having feelings for him. She is instead troubled at the aspect of liking someone she's doing her level best to hate.

In first 15 mins of the second episode, we get everything that's going to be the foundation. Arnav always being the one to catch Khushi, the collar, the dupatta, and the bubble which evolves into Rabba Ve, and the steps. I think this is the one of the reasons the initial episodes are beautiful and grip you. The show doesn't waste time in establishing the thesis of their relationship. We slowly start exploring their characters but the relationship, that's what all of this is about.

Sanaya literally looked like a goddess in this episode I swear. The make up is perfect, her face looks perfectly angelic and stands out in contrast to Barun's intense presence. the glowy backdrop of the make up room with mirrors and lights provides a perfect backdrop for who both of them are as people. Arnav being extraordinary and grandeur. Khushi being the source of light.

With Arnav narrating about aukat and wealth, Khushi's expression changes and she refers to caring about family members. She's here because of her sister. Eventually Khushi lands up in Shantivan because of his sister. If money is a motivator to regain the Malik's lost respect and turn them into Raizadas, the money is also something that Arnav equates with respect. He is after all still standing in Sheesh Mahal, and money along with respect was what he lost the day him and his sister were kicked out. He had to rely on Mami's assistance eventually to be able to build up a strong investment portfolio and a fashion house.

I also think Arnav used wealth and class as a reason to provoke Khushi. There are two types of people in middle class or lower classes. Those who take pride in their ability to not ask for help and earn their way through life, and those who would do anything for money. Funny how the damad of Malik's daughter is the one whose a gold digger.

But what is something poor girls have to prize more than their being? Their respect. And at the mention if his sister who Khushi made an assumption of existing, he is compelled to destroy everything about her.

badtamizi pe tou mein Abhi aya nahi hoon.

The way this show turned the dori and dupatta into a motif of what they actually are is beautiful to me. There's nothing romantic about preserving respect and dignity, but there is something powerful in someone's ability to be able to do so. Arnav ripping apart the pearls and having them scatter symbolises how his presence took the innocence away. From the release of this clip, there is no moment where Khushi's character doesn't come under question by either Arnav or Shyam. The pearl dori breaking also starts Arnav's journey of walking a path where he had to be apologise. He is going to be living with this guilt for at least the entirety of the year.

Back at Gupta House, everyone is concerned for Khushi except for Bua ji, who is definitely the one more concerned about appearances than Garima. Perhaps because for Garima, her husband is still present besides her. As much as I hate prioritising of appearances and the shame-based social approach of brown communities, it is something that unfortunately exists and our narratives exist within the existence of socially acceptable appearances.

Payal whose been asked concisely about Khushi doesn't budge but she decides to say something with her father returning. Perhaps because she also realises that the way she loves Khushi unconditionally and considers her as her closet confidant, Babuji also is accepting and understanding of Khushi's intentions even if they revert to a mistake. Payal's displeasure at Abhishek not speaking up for her also helps in being happy at Khushi's return and aiding Khushi afterwards as much as she could.

Shashi who had been apprehensive about dowry to begin with is relieved to see Khushi safe and sound, Garima who was adding by the norms of how girls family should behave was disappointed beyond words, and Bua ji was just straight up angry. I think Bua ji is the only character who despite loving Khushi, displays the bias in how she considers Payal to be perfect and Khushi to be imperfect.

While Khushi provides the explanation about going to meet the not-hone-wale jija ji, we do get an insight into why despite Manorama's objections and her own reservation on class issues, Payal agrees for Akash. Because Akash is honest about his feelings and about all that he hopes to provide. I have to say, the Gupta sisters have a really low bar for their men after having Shashi as a father. But honestly, don't we all just settle at crumbs half the time? It's truly a shame. -- Khushi admits her mistakes unless she's challenged or dared. and she doesn't hesitate in apologising except from Arnav. Khushi apologising is almost a norm for her character however Khushi apologising Arnav is not going to be one. I find that juxtaposition of how Khushi treats Arnav and him wanting apologies to be extremely hilarious! She forgives his gravers mistakes but not anything menial.

mat kaho humme amma!

oh, how it breaks Khushi's heart! Khushi is wholly accepted into her family even by Bua ji; so on the two occasions when she is reminded of her orphaned status, it crumbles her entire world. After all, she went to see Abhishek, Junior Engineer who wanted dowry for her step sister. She crosses over boundaries for those she loves and her family members are the people she repeatedly crosses these boundaries and social conventions for. Also in both the instances of Khushi being reminded about her orphaned status, Shashi and Payal are more understanding despite their disappointment or pain. They truly love Khushi whole-heartedly and perhaps unconditionally which is something that surprisingly Arnav does too even though the first marriage between the two was on the terms and conditions laid out by Arnav driven by his interpretation of Khushi’s betrayal.

The episode ends with Khushi opening up the sweet shop after being unable to sleep. I love the moonlight on both the girls face. It symbolises their inner turmoil and distress. With the divine clock on, the journey to rediscover themselves and them in love is going to rule the hearts of Gupta sisters.

#endlessly rewatching ipkknd #ipkknd 10 year rewatch #10 years of IPKKND #ipkknd #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #arnav and khuhsi #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arhi #arshi

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

deep end

TITLE: deep end CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: one shot AUTHOR: hiddlemediddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being beside Loki as he heals up in a hospital wing after just about getting out of a mission with his life. You end up sleeping beside him on the small single bed in the hospital. When the nurse comes in, she raises her eyebrow in surprise to see two patients in one bed fast asleep. You can’t bear to leave Loki’s side. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: coming back to write some more Loki goodness after a shamefully long absence…! I hope you wonderful human beings (and extraterrestrial beings, naturally) enjoy this little one shot! :) x - You see Loki start to move, and then watch him freeze. Long gash wounds trailed along his bare arms, stitched back to hold his body in one piece. Functioning, but only by a thread. The next wound was one you could barely bring your eyes to see. The top of his chest, mere inches away from his throat, was covered in patches of burn marks. They were bright pink, mingling with white, from the attack. Dark magic was the culprit of these wounds. The gash wounds were deep from the blade, but it was the relentless attack of the magic which left the deepest marks on your lover’s chest.

Once frozen, you take his pale hand into both of your palms. The blanket of tension enveloping him escaped in waves as he relaxed his body from your touch. You were remarkably calm as he woke up from his temporary coma. He had been unconscious for two days since the attack. You had been frantic, desperate to keep Loki alive. The idea of losing him refused to register in your mind. If the thought entered your head, you had dismissed it from your mind as sheer folly. Loki’s eyes widened as they met yours. The bright green orbs you adored and yearned to see were staring intensely into yours. Once settled, they flickered across your face. Absorbing everything once more. “Y/N?” he whispered. He winced in pain as he moved his arms slightly. “Loki.” you sighed. It was all the reassurance you both needed. He lifted his arm, frowning in pain, as his hand made contact with your cheek. He wiped away the tears which fell from your eyes. “Two days, you bastard.” You whispered, unable to really be cross with him from your elation that he was awake. Loki smiled gently in response. “I’ve been out for longer.” he smirked. Humour was always the answer to these dire situations. It usually worked. “This was different. You’ve never been this close to..” “Shh..” he silenced the words which he knew would come. Loki was not ready to hear them himself. To have been to close to going under and staying there. Unable to escape the deep end. The surging of the waves of death approaching and Loki sailing towards them in a boat with holes. So many holes. Loki frowned as his eyes adjusted to the light of the room. He noticed with disbelief that he was in a mortal hospital and not the healing chambers of Asgard. Of course, the attack had happened on earth. But the magic..? “The magic, Y/N.. these nurses and doctors..” “Shh. The healers have been here. They treated you at the beginning as though it were an acid attack, which isn’t too far away from what you have experienced. The healers came quickly. There was no time to take you back to Asgard. You needed to be treated immediately. They’ve left the recovery to us.” Loki nodded slowly. As he absorbed more of the room, he noticed that he was in a room on his own. “Should I not be in one of those.. wards.. with others?” Loki whispered. You smiled gently. “SHIELD didn’t think the patients would take kindly to seeing the man who attacked New York all of those years ago. They also didn’t think you would take kindly to being amidst.. ‘mortals’” Loki rolled his eyes predictably. “They underestimate my tolerance.” You moved your hands gently along his wounded arm. Your finger traced the stitches and Loki watched you do it in curiosity. “Did Thor.. deal with them..?” Loki said quietly. If you had been more attuned, you would have noted the embarrassment in his voice. As though he were not capable of handling a group of rowdy aliens deciding to arrive on earth to shake up the mortals. He had been one of them at one time. Bringing the Chitauri as though the entire ordeal were another game of chess. “After what they did to you, Thor almost killed them all. But yes, they are gone. Stark handed them over to the government of whatever hole they emerged from. Imprisoned for a very, very long time.” Loki was silent. It was only then did you see the pain. Not the pain of his wounds, but the pain to his dignity. “You weren’t to know.. Loki - ” “No. It was a foolish mistake. I should have known better, Y/N. My head was in the clouds. I should have told Thor from the beginning. But no, I could not. Not with the burden of my pride hanging on my shoulders. Especially with my brother.” You gripped his hand. “There were five of them against you, Loki.” “Yes, and with them being a bunch of blithering idiots, I should have detained them in minutes.” he frowned. You moved your finger from Loki’s bandaged wound and lifted his chin. You practically forced him to stare back into your eyes. “Listen to me. You are capable of making mistakes. We all are. We all make false judgements or aren’t on top of the game for some reason or other. It’s one of the things that binds us together. Even that wonderful brother of yours. In fact, especially that brother of yours.” Loki heard you. He listened and did not simply hear, but he understood what you said. He absorbed the words into his mind and wished he had taped them to listen back again and again. All of the times he wanted to beat himself mercilessly for a blunder, he could listen to your voice. But you would be there to say it again. Again and again and again because you were not leaving him. Loki tried to move to embrace you, but felt the wounds on his chest restrict his movements. He groaned in agony. “Stop moving, you bugger.” You whispered with a smirk. Loki grinned after the pain subsided. “I want to move towards you. You feel so far away, Y/N.” You kissed his forehead and inched yourself onto the bed. Loki’s forehead, creased in pain, began to loosen as you held both his hands. You looked down to his chest once more. “I want to you to touch them, Y/N.” Loki whispered. You looked up to his eyes, on the verge of tears. Those green orbs. You swallowed and ran your fingers through his raven black hair. “I don’t want you hurt you.” “Please. You won’t. You could never hurt me, Y/N.” You saw the trepidation. It seared into your soul. It was as though he were leaning on you to help him breathe. Until he could breathe on his own. Teaching him how to do simple things. Now, it was feeling. Feeling his chest. He wanted to know how bad it would hurt through you. How could he ask you to inflict that pain on him? Or was it healing? You tentatively moved your hands towards his bare chest. The red patches greeted you angrily. A mere centimetre away, you hesitated. Shaking with trepidation, they almost refused to move. Your eyes flickered to Loki’s and he was smiling gently at you. Coaxing you to continue. You had expected to see him wincing in anticipation. Would it be pain or healing? It could be excruciating or liberating. There could be no in between. You rested your hands on the wounds and watched Loki’s every reaction. His facial reaction and how his chest would react to the contact. Mainly his facial reactions. They remained completely composed, but you saw that he was restraining himself from something. Some feeling. “How does it feel? Loki? Tell me the truth.” “There is an in-between. It hurts, but because it is you it’s as though you have taken that weight of pain away. It’s not you that is hurting me. It hurts anyway, but you’re helping.. with your touch.” Loki whispered. The feel of the wounds beneath your fingers was unlike any other. They felt rough and ragged, yet they were smooth. Like any skin you touched, there were bumps and valleys and lines which went wherever they wanted. Loki’s breath calmed as your touch became accustomed with the sensation. The sensation of his wounds. Skin, once smoother than this, was now in a chaotic blur. It was messy, chaotic and it had no clear boundary. It melded with the rest of his skin as though it had always been there. You realised, as you felt these wounds, that they were no less wonderful, beautiful and whole than when they had not been there. Loki, to you, was Loki. Nothing in his exterior could change how you saw him. You felt instantly ashamed for struggling to initially look upon these wounds. As though they had been a blight on him. They were nothing of the sort. With reluctance, you removed your hands from his wounds. Loki felt the pain return. A nurse gave a knock and entered the room jovially. She stopped suddenly and raised her eyebrows at the invalid in the bed. She was a short, stout young nurse with far too much energy in her step. For the past two days, Mary had been wonderful. For the past two nights, you had lay, emotionless, empty at this man’s bedside. Crying whenever you had the energy and waiting for the bastard to wake up. Mary was the one who reminded you to look after yourself. “Awake? Lord, we thought you’d be asleep for months after your ordeal.” she said. Loki raised his eyebrows at you as the nurse swept in. You could see that he was gritting his teeth from the pain of all of his wounds. The nurse checked the clipboard by his bed to inspect what drugs he had been given. Nurses and doctors had come in and out, giving him this or that or the other and you watched them emptily. You barely registered their presence. You had been far too absorbed with Loki. Waiting for movement. And when movement came, you had felt the greatest relief. “Some more morphine, I should think. You look like you’re going to grind your teeth into gums. How’s the pain, one to ten?" Loki tried to suppress a groan from the stings across his chest. "Two." You would have thwacked the man had he not been in the state he was in. "Loki.” You said. “Eight point five.” he huffed. You rolled your eyes at his predictability, though he was still smirking. It was hard to resist not feeling his amusement seep into your face. Your eyes danced at the spectacle of his awakened state. Hours upon hours of staring at a lifeless, wounded body to this. To your lover once more. “Yep. More morphine." "That won’t be needed. I’m sure you’ve pumped me up with the stuff whilst I was unconscious." "Clearly not enough.” The nurse Mary said as her eyes skimmed over the beads of sweat which gathered at Loki’s forehead. You were the one to “That stuff makes me fall asleep. I’ve been asleep for two days, I would very much like to remain awake.” Loki said. Mary rolled her eyes. “Is he always so difficult as this?" "Worse.” You said dejectedly. Loki chuckled. The laughter hurt, but the sensation seemed to soothe the pain. “Right. Morphine.” The nurse said. Loki sighed. He gave you a look you seemed to know quite well now. A look of 'Why are we here?’ which amused you no end. When the nurse took out the injection, Loki’s eyes widened. “Why is the needle so.. big?” he whispered in terror. You held onto his hands and moved his head to face you. You gave a quick wink to the nurse. “It’s quite a small one, Loki. Now, do you remember that time when we went along that pier in England and made fun of all of the tourists? When we were tourists ourselves?” “Is this some ploy to distract me from - ” The nurse injected the morphine into Loki’s bare arm. Funnily enough, he barely realised what was happening. It was only when the needle was being slipped out deftly that Loki turned around in horror. “You just did it?" "As easy as anything, wasn’t it?" "For fuck’s sake, now I’m going to have to try and stay awake.” Loki hissed. The nurse bowed with a smile on her face and exited the room. Loki knew that the morphine would make him sleepy from the last time he had taken it from an injury on another mission. He was out like a light. You remembered it like it was yesterday. He was like a newborn baby, sleeping without a care in the world. Yawning every now and then during his sleep. When you needed to blackmail him every now and then, the pictures would come out. Yawning Loki. A spectacle. The effects of the drug were soon taking hold. He became much calmer, less pain in his body. He wasn’t gritting his teeth at all. “You wished me to be closer, my prince?” You said teasingly. “Yes.” Loki smirked. “Come and lie beside me." "What if I crush your arm?" "It would make no difference, my dear. This mortal drug is making me feel as though I am as high as the clouds. You could break my arm in two and I would feel nothing.” You raised your eyebrow in suspicion. Loki moved to the side of the small hospital single bed to make enough room for you to lie beside him. You hesitated, just as you did with the wounds, but Loki insisted. “Or I will be forced to levitate you onto this bed.” You laughed, wondering whether Loki was being serious. His tone suggested that he was. But in his state, you knew that his magic was not yet restored to its usual strength. It would probably kill him to even try. Careful and precise, you placed one leg on the bed and, as gently as you could manage, sat beside him on the bed. You both just about fit. Loki, unable to move his arms from the pain they were in, rested his head on your arm. The fight against succumbing to sleep was very quickly being lost. You manoeuvred your arm to stretch around his shoulders. You adjusted his head gently and Loki gladly rested his head against your chest. He breathed in your scent as though for the past two days he had been deprived of oxygen. “Please, don’t ever do this to me again, Loki. I don’t think my heart can handle it." You weren’t sure that he had heard you. All you felt was Loki’s steady breathing against your chest. The morphine had knocked him out quicker than you had anticipated. A sleeping Loki rested, purring against your chest as you held his head close. You kissed the top of his head and sighed out in relief. He was back from the abyss. Soon enough, sleep overcame you. Loki’s silent relaxation sent you immediately into slumber. Two days of sleep deprivation had taken its toll on your body. In this deep sleep, a nurse visited the room to ensure that the patient’s dose of morphine was sufficient. He raised his eyebrows in surprise to see two people sleeping in the single bed. He tiptoed out of the room again and closed the door as gently as he could. x

#Loki #Lover #Submitted one shot #submission #deep end #hiddlemediddles

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islamthewayforward · 3 years

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Hazrat Abu Bakr (radıyallahu anh) - The First Caliph of Islam

The first caliph of Islam was Hazrat Abu Bakr, who was the closest friend and confidant of the Prophet.

HE; With his unwavering faith, loyalty, and approval, he had the hopes of being Siddiq. As the first lucky ones to accept the invitation to Islam, after the ascension event, against the ridicule of the polytheists;

"If he said it is true!" He declared his slot in a totally different form.

In the turmoil of assassination schemes to the Honorary Kainat in Mecca, in the service of his children, together with our Prophet on the journey of migration, in the Cave of Sevres, in the words of the verse; «The second of the two» had the honor of being the life friend of Rasulullah in the cave.

The Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) Love for Hazrat Abu Bakr

One day, the Prophet (peace be upon him) said:

He said, "I did not benefit from anyone else's property as much as I used Abu Bakr's property ...".

Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallahu anh- greeted these words with tears:

"I and my property, aren't we only for You, O Messenger of Allah ?!" (Ibn-i Mâce, Fedâilu Companions of the Prophet, 11) and declared in a burnt manner that he devoted himself to the Prophet with everything and that he was frivolous in Him.

Hazrat Abu Bakr Throughout his life, he had been in the service of our Prophet with his life, possessions, and children, rejoiced for him, felt sorry for him and worried about him. In the Cave of Sevres, where spiritual guidance also took place, the secret of merit with Allah and His Messenger was manifested:

Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallâhu anh- narrates:

While we were in the cave with the Prophet (peace be upon him) on the journey of migration, I saw the feet of the polytheists wandering over us and;

“–O Prophet of Allâh! If one of them bends down and looks down, he will surely see us! ” I said.

The Prophet (peace be upon him) said,

"- What does one think (and what does he believe them) of two persons, the third of whom is God, O Abubekir?" (Bukhari, Tafsir, 9/9; Ashabun-Nebi, 2; Muslim, Fedailus-Companion 1)

The generosity of Hazrat Abu Bakr

An important part of the first Muslims had been honored with the efforts of Hazrat Abu Bakr. He spent his wealth, which he earned through honest and clean trade, to save by buying slaves who moan under the persecution of their polytheist masters. The following verses were sent down to praise his generosity:

His father, Abu Kuhafe, who is not yet honored with faith; Seeing that his son spent all his wealth to buy weak and feeble slaves and advised him to buy strong slaves who would at least be useful to him, Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallahu anh-; He replied that he had no consent other than Allah's approval. This answer was praised in the verse as follows:

"Those who give their property to good people to be cleaned are kept away from it (fire). There is no blessing to be received with gratitude for anyone other than asking for the approval of your Almighty Lord. And he will be pleased (by receiving the approval of his Lord) . " (al-Leyl, 17-21)

Hazrat Abu Bakr, who attained an unprecedented position in generosity; He was a hero of sincerity, trust and conviction who spent all his possessions when he invaded. He was a witness of forgiveness and mercy at a level that would not cease to help even those whose name was involved in the hypocrites' slander campaign against his daughter Hazrat Aisha.

Before becoming caliph, Hazrat Abu Bakr would milk the sheep of the orphans around him and meet their needs.

After becoming Caliph, “Now he has become a huge caliph; As their occupations increase and life conditions will change, they will probably not milk the orphans' sheep from now on. " they began to think. However, nothing changed. In the same humble manner, he continued to milk the sheep of the orphans and meet their needs personally. (Suyuti, Tarihul - Hulefa, p. 80; Sarıcam, Hz. Abubakar, p.82 )

Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallahu anh- was always in the first place in all righteous deeds and charities.

It is stated in the hadith that Hazrat Abu Bakr will be invited from all the gates of Paradise because of his lofty virtue of righteous deeds. It is reported that the nickname Abu Bakr was given to him because he ran for every charity work first and early.

The Closeness with Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)

Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallahu anh- was experiencing a completely different closeness and a secret state of privacy with our Prophet (peace be upon him). He was exemplary of our Prophet to a degree that no other Companions could have had.

Hazrat Omer, who witnessed his conversations with the Prophet one day, describes this situation as follows:

“I entered the presence of the Messenger of Allah. They were chatting with Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallâhu anh- about ilm-i tawhid. I sat between them. I did not understand anything from your words as if I did not speak Arabic;

«–What is this state of affairs? Do you always converse with the Prophet - peace be upon him and peace be upon him? » I asked.

Hazrat Abu Bakr -radıyallâhu anh-; «- Yes, sometimes we chat alone with the Messenger of Allah (peace be upon him). he replied.

When Hazrat Abu Bakr was chosen as the caliph after the death of our Prophet (PBUH), he made a great humility and nothingness to people as follows:

"O, people! Although I am not the best of you, I have been chosen for you. Help me if I do my duty properly. If I act wrong, show me the right way ... ” (Ibn-i Sad, III, 182-183; Suyuti, Tarihul - Hulefa, p.69, 71-72; Hamidullah, Prophet of Islam, II, 1181)

In fact, Hazrat Abu Bakr was indeed the most virtuous person among the Companions after our Prophet. However he;

“He is the servant of the Most Merciful, who walk on the earth with dignity and humility…” (al-Furkan, 63) lived in a state of destitution and nothingness in order to enter into the scope of the verse.

After the death of the Prophet, his desire to meet him intensified due to this firak.

Aisha expresses the enthusiasm of the Prophet at the moment of her father's death as follows:

“My father Abu Bakr -radıyallâhu anh- in death;

«–What day is it today?" asked.

"-Monday," we said.

«–If I die tonight, don't make me wait for tomorrow! For, for me, the loveliest of days and nights is the closest to the Prophet - peace be upon him. (That is the moment when I will meet him as soon as possible.) »He said." (Ahmed, I, 8)

The Beautiful Words by Hazrat Abu Bakr

A bunch of the wise words of this person who was the master of luck, loyalty, and merit, who grew up in the discipline of our Prophet, the Honorary of the Universe:

"Four people are among the righteous servants of Allah:

1. He rejoices when he sees the repenting person (with pleasure that he enters the path of salvation).

2. Who pleads with his Lord for the forgiveness of sinners. (The horizon and an indicator of mercy that a believer should have)

3. Those who pray to their religious brother in their absence. (Who does not hold grudges against anyone in his heart, does not harbor burden does not offend)

4. Helping and serving a person in need of himself. (Who is conscious of being entrusted with what Allah Almighty has bestowed upon him and to be able to perpetuate the creation)

“In my sight, the strongest of you is the one who is weak until he gets his due. The weakest of you is the strong person until someone else is entitled to him. "

“If man only stayed in mosques (if he remained alone, not reflected in life); goods, in misers; weapon in cowards; if the authority is weak, things will deteriorate. "

"Think carefully about what you said when you said it, and to whom!"

"Do not brag! What good is it for the boast of man, who was created from the earth and will eat himself by wolves and insects when he returns to the earth!

"Treat yourself in order that people will treat you well!"

"Runaway from fame, honor will follow you."

"Be ready for death in order that you'll tend life eternal."

"Allah mentions the reward he will concede the Quran alongside the torment in order that the servant will demand worship and fear torture."

#Hazrat Abu Bakr #Hazrat Abu Bakar #First Caliph of Islam

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

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Boston Boys [Part Twenty]

Summary: The aftermath of the shooting at Downey’s house. Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC, John Krasinski x OFC Word Count: 1436 Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, character death, pregnancy. A/N: This story contains a character who lost her hearing as she got older. I do work closely and regularly with the D/deaf community (I’m a sign language interpreter), but my own hearing problems do not involve significant hearing loss. It is not my intention to offend anyone, only to bring in a character with a quality I don’t see often in other fics. If you have questions about her, feel free to ask :)

This is it, friends! Thank you so much to everyone who came along on this ride with me. Thank you to @captain-s-rogers for encouraging me to write this story in the first place, and then agreeing that the rest of the world needed to read this fic. (Fun Fact: It wasn’t originally planned for this to go beyond Google Docs.) To everyone who has read, commented, liked, reblogged, asked to be on the tag list ... the love always seems extra special when people will come along for the ride with a writer’s OCs. Without further ado ... the finale!

Boston Boys Masterlist

A few cloudy mornings later, John rolled to his side to see Aurelie sleeping soundly next to him. Her cheeks were tear-stained. He knew from the tossing and turning and the whimpering in her sleep that the events of Downey’s house were not far from her thoughts, even as she slept. He had done his best to comfort her, but there was only so much he could do.

Though he didn’t want to wake her, they had somewhere to be that morning. He decided he would shower first, then wake her. He would do what he could to help her get ready, to make the day as easy as possible for her.

With the towel still wrapped around his waist, John sat next to her on the bed. The smell of his soap and aftershave roused her a little, but it took his fingers in her hair to get her to open her eyes.

“It’s time,” John signed.

Aurelie closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, but it was to no avail.

“I keep thinking I’m imagining this. That it was a dream. But I wake up and it’s too real.”

“I know. What can I do to help you get ready?”

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked at him, caressing his face. With a soft kiss, she shook her head. “Nothing. I’m going to get in the shower. What time is the car coming?”

“Hour and a half.”

Kissing him again, she pushed out of bed on the other side of the mattress. This was the most he had been allowed to touch her since the hospital had cleared her to come home after the ordeal, and John felt irrationally cold in her absence.

Brie and Ben had offered to come down for the funeral, but Elsa had assured them she would be fine on her own. The one night with Chris in New York had been enough for Elsa to know that an entire funeral with her Boston people would be far too much for her New York friends to handle.

She decided to wear the pearl earrings her father had gifted her for her high school graduation. Once they were secure in her ears, she realized that having her hair entirely pulled back would be one less thing she had to think about at the event.

As she worked her hair into a pretty French twist, the reality of the situation hit her all over again. Her chest tightened and a lump rose in her throat. A deep breath stopped the tears in their tracks and she was able to finish readying herself to leave the apartment.

“Turn around.”

Scarlett did as the prison guard instructed, rubbing her wrists when the handcuffs were removed. She walked to the window the guard had indicated, sitting on the other side of the plexiglass from Seb. He picked up the phone; she did the same.

“Didn’t expect you to come see me. Especially not today.”

Seb gave a single nod. “It won’t be more than this once. I need some answers from you, Scar.”

She looked around, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “What kind of answers? Why I turned to Downey while you and I were still together? Why I kidnapped Aurelie from the hospital?”

Sebastian’s lips pursed into a thin line and his chest heaved with angry breaths. “I mean, those would be great answers, but how about you tell me what it is that Chris did that made you so angry you were willing to kill him? That you could make yourself actually pull the trigger?”

She sat up a little straighter in an attempt to keep what little dignity she had left. “He threatened all of our lives when he decided he was going to pull out of the life. When he decided to date that woman. Downey wasn’t going to stand for it, and I wasn’t going to be on the side that lost.”

“There were no winners here. Chris is dead. Downey is dead. You’re here.”

“So what?” she challenged.

Sebastian tipped his head. “One last question. Was anything between you and I real?”

She thought for a moment, then leaned forward with a sardonic smile. “The orgasms.”

With a disgusted scoff, Sebastian slammed the phone back onto its hook. He stood and turned his back on Scarlett. He was certain this would be the last time he ever saw her.

The service was small. Most of Boston, still under the impression that Downey had been a philanthropist who enriched their community, were attending that man’s funeral. Aurelie decided it was better that way. Fewer people to see that she and John sat in the front pew, Scotty sat at the far end, and her stepsisters and mother chose to take the pew behind her. As if their blame for Robbie’s imprisonment wasn’t enough, her presence at the scene of Chris’s murder only served to distance her farther from her family. Scotty remained on the fence, but the rest of them refused to speak with her or otherwise acknowledge her.

After the burial, Aurelie took a moment to herself to step away from the short line of guests offering their condolences to look out over the pond in the middle of the cemetery. She wasn’t aware that anyone had joined her until Elsa spoke up beside her.

“You lied to me.”

It wasn’t a question, and Aurelie didn’t treat it as such. She nodded “I did. I’m sorry. I was protecting my brother. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Elsa gave a single nod. “Scotty’s taking over the shop, I hear.”

“He is.”

“And the rest of the family business?”

“I don’t know,” Aurelie lied. “My involvement now is … it’s different.”

Elsa shook her head. “That’s right. Downey left everything to John, and you’re engaged to him.”

Aurelie wanted to tell Elsa more. She wanted to tell Elsa that the same night Aurelie had told John she was pregnant, he had confessed to her that he was an informant for the Boston Police Department. He picked and chose what he shared, and that would continue on -- as would Downey’s ‘philanthropy’ work, through John and Aurelie. Instead, she kept quiet.

“I’m pregnant.”

Elsa’s words finally pulled Aurelie’s gaze directly at the other woman. “You’re pregnant? Elsa, that’s -- Chris would be elated. I know that he hurt you and lied to you, too, but my brother loved you. More than you can understand.”

“I know,” Elsa whispered. “That’s why I’m keeping the baby. I can’t say that I want to be involved in any of the other business, ever again, and I certainly don’t want my child anywhere near it. But this baby does have a cousin coming, too. Maybe we can get them together every now and then.”

Tears stung the back of Aurelie’s eyes as the words pierced her heart. “Yes, we should do that.”

Several yards behind them, John called for Aurelie. When she didn’t turn around, Elsa nudged her, then pointed to John. Again, he signed to her that it was time. Aurelie nodded and asked for just one more minute with Elsa. She took the other woman’s hand.

“I know that you’re hurting. That Chris hurt you, that I hurt you. I know you have a hard road ahead, but you don’t have to face it alone. If Chris had known about the baby, Elsa, he would have provided for that child beyond what you can even imagine. I’d like to do that, in his place. Whatever you need, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Elsa showed a sad smile and gave Aurelie’s hand a single squeeze before withdrawing her own hand. “I wish the best for you, Aurelie.”

“Same to you.”

As the women parted, neither of them looked back over their shoulders at each other. They had crossed paths for such a short time, but there was now a thread that would forever link them together. Elsa could only hope that her child would never know the burden of family responsibility its father had known. Aurelie hoped with all of her heart that Elsa would reach out if she was ever in need, so that Chris’s legacy of giving and caring would live on. She hoped that she would be enough to carry out that legacy on her own.

As John took her hand, he asked what she wanted to do now. Aurelie glanced at her brother’s gravesite, then looked back to her fiance.

“Home,” she signed. “I want to go home.”

AlloftheThings: @captain-s-rogers @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @hurricanerin @horsesandbandsforlife @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @captain-rogers-beard @shynara51 @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda @xtina2191 @jackryanplz @beakami @heartsaved @fullprunerebelstatesman @blackwidowismyhomegirl @averyrogers83

Boston Boys: @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @becs-bunker @shield-agent78 @patzammit @crazyandanonymous4u @ntlmundy @jennmurawski13 @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too

#chris evans #john krasinski #fanfiction #crossover #criminal!au #boston boys #finale

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lullabieswrappedinlies · 4 years

Text

Boston Boys [Part Twenty]

Boston Boys Masterlist

“It’s time,” John signed.

Aurelie closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, but it was to no avail.

“I keep thinking I’m imagining this. That it was a dream. But I wake up and it’s too real.”

“I know. What can I do to help you get ready?”

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked at him, caressing his face. With a soft kiss, she shook her head. “Nothing. I’m going to get in the shower. What time is the car coming?”

“Hour and a half.”

“Turn around.”

“Didn’t expect you to come see me. Especially not today.”

Seb gave a single nod. “It won’t be more than this once. I need some answers from you, Scar.”

She looked around, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “What kind of answers? Why I turned to Downey while you and I were still together? Why I kidnapped Aurelie from the hospital?”

“There were no winners here. Chris is dead. Downey is dead. You’re here.”

“So what?” she challenged.

Sebastian tipped his head. “One last question. Was anything between you and I real?”

She thought for a moment, then leaned forward with a sardonic smile. “The orgasms.”

With a disgusted scoff, Sebastian slammed the phone back onto its hook. He stood and turned his back on Scarlett. He was certain this would be the last time he ever saw her.

“You lied to me.”

It wasn’t a question, and Aurelie didn’t treat it as such. She nodded “I did. I’m sorry. I was protecting my brother. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Elsa gave a single nod. “Scotty’s taking over the shop, I hear.”

“He is.”

“And the rest of the family business?”

“I don’t know,” Aurelie lied. “My involvement now is … it’s different.”

Elsa shook her head. “That’s right. Downey left everything to John, and you’re engaged to him.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Tears stung the back of Aurelie’s eyes as the words pierced her heart. “Yes, we should do that.”

Elsa showed a sad smile and gave Aurelie’s hand a single squeeze before withdrawing her own hand. “I wish the best for you, Aurelie.”

“Same to you.”

As John took her hand, he asked what she wanted to do now. Aurelie glanced at her brother’s gravesite, then looked back to her fiance.

“Home,” she signed. “I want to go home.”

Tags: @themtbmbgirl @keithseabrook27 @ulovemelightsout @rosie2801 @professorkrasinski

#john krasinski #chris evans #fanfiction #crossover #criminal!au #boston boys #finale

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singeramg · 4 years

Text

Midnight: Chapter 7

Pairing: Clark Kent- Superman/ Metahuman! Black! OFC

Warnings: Still angsty.

A/n: I was going to wait to post this until next week but naw lol Here is chapter 7!

CATCH UP HERE!

Midnight: Chapter 7

I felt the plane descending and soon I was grateful for the feeling of solid, non war torn ground underneath me. I had stopped crying a long time ago and resolved to go home on a high note. I conjured a brush and made sure my hair didn’t look like a rats nest as best I could without my coconut oil and my tried and true detangling comb. It went back into a high ponytail. I came back out of the room as the hatch to the plane opened for us to get out.

“Hey Gia the team is going out for a drink! Wanna come with us?”

Barry offers and I knew he was just glad to be included. I walked over to the team, noting Clark’s absence.

“Sorry guys but I can’t. I promised someone special ice cream and seeing as my lovely sitter hasn’t called me crying I think I’ll pass before it all goes bad. It’s been awesome to let Midnight out to play.”

I was surprised to feel disappointment from all of them. I was touched but I knew I had to stick to my original plan, besides I didn’t know if they invited Clark to their little outing and he just zipped home to get out of his get up or not.

“Maybe you should let her out more often. Need more women like us in the field.” Diana says.

“ Maybe. For now though. I think it’s best if I lay low. Stay safe.”

I waved and shifted to become invisible because I wanted no one to see where I was going...

The train ride back to my apartment was long, with all the stops and whatnot it was twice as long as the chauffeured car I had to get to Metropolis. I made it home, grateful that Kalen was still down the hall because I had time to get out of my clothes and take a hot shower. All of the soreness hit me like a freight train, I quickly realized I had used muscles that hadn’t been worked out properly in a while. I laughed as I knew that if Clark knew how out of shape I was then he would have my ass in a sling. Working out would be an understatement if he thought I wasn’t prepared to defend myself. The laugh quickly turned into tears and I allowed only a few to fall before I shook my head to stop them and got out of my shower.

*Flashback* -5 years ago

“You will end up exhausted and defeated if that is your fighting strategy.”

“Excuse me mister ‘ I get my strength from the Sun’. All of us aren’t so lucky.”

Clark looks down at me from his spot hovering over me as I laid on the grass, panting from running up the side of a mountain that Clark had flown us to. I can tell he is highly amused at the state of my pain. His gym shorts and old t-shirt looks hardly disturbed, not even sweating, and he had long since put his baseball cap in my bag for safe keeping. He had only worn it while flying to avoid detection cameras seeing his face.

“ Hey you asked for this. I already told you if you want out to the public to help them, you need to be ready.”

“My powers are growing every day.”

“Exactly but you still need your endurance and strength.” He says almost exasperated, or at least as much as he could sound.

“You see this is on that bullshit.”

Clark smiles at me and offers me his hand. I let him pull me up. He was used to my foul language by now. I bent down and grabbed a bottle of water from my small book bag. I was ready to come out of the blue tank top and black yoga pants. It was hot as the sun shines down on the hill we had run up together to stand on top of.

“Gia you know as well as I do this is necessary.”

“My power...”

“ I don't want you to rely on it. Gia please don’t fight me on this. If I take you on the field with me I need you to keep yourself safe. You’ve come too far for you to endanger your life by not being prepared. Besides who else am I going to get my free coffee from in the mornings.”

I laughed while sitting the bottle down.

“I knew only kept me around for the free Coffee.”

I was working as a barista at a local coffee shop around the corner from the Daily Planet. It had been a few months since Clark had rescued me and helped me get back on my feet. We rode into town together and he mostly always made sure I made it home again. I had been in a bad way once he saved me, but he hadn’t given up on me. Neither him or his mother had ever treated me badly. Even his girlfriend Lois had been nice to me and treated me with the dignity I felt I lost over the years. Some things still scared me, like Men walking too close, loud noises, etc.

I had gotten a job as soon as I could despite Clark and his mother Martha telling me to rest and get back on my feet.

“Gia I keep you around for a lot more than coffee. I hope you know that.”

He was looking at me and I felt the breeze flow over me, a slight relief from the hot sun that didn’t affect Clark in the slightest.

“Sure you do. You don’t have to butter me up to get me to exercise.”

I laughed attempting to deflect the serious tone the conversation had taken but Clark didn’t let that happen.

“Really Gia I mean it. I think you underestimate how special you are.”

I ignored how tight my stomach felt, my heartbeat racing.

For the last month or so I had begun developing feelings for Clark. I didn’t want to and I was sure this was some sort of transfer of emotions where I was bonding to my rescuer. Trauma bonds or some sort shit like that. I knew he loved Lois. The special smile he reserved for her wasn’t something I wanted to ruin for them. Clark deserves someone like Lois who had her shit together. Not some clusterfuck of a person who as of a handful of months ago didn’t even really know who she was. Besides, he was my best friend I couldn’t lose him, who else would I have?

“If I could blush Clark I would be red. Now that you are done with the pep talk let’s finish this exercising-slash- murdering the trainee thing you’ve got me doing. I think Mrs. Kent promised to make her Meatloaf again and you know how I feel about her meatloaf.”

“She hears you calling her Mrs. Kent instead of Martha she will have your head and there will be no Meatloaf for you. That and I will probably eat it all just to spite you.”

He jokes and starts running away from me as I roll my eyes and go to hit his arm. Of course I can only catch him if he allows it but it’s good fun anyway.

Just like that Clark Kent was in my friend-zone again, exactly where I needed to keep him.

*End Flashback*

I pulled on black yoga pants and a black sport bra, I was about to pull my shirt over my head when I felt the energy dynamics shift in my hallway. I flicked off my bathroom light as I heard the doorknob to my front door open to someone who clearly didn’t have a key. The ordered footsteps of trained and multiple men should have been silent but weren’t to me.

I shifted to be invisible, knowing my energy was low from a long day of fighting and tears worth of little to no practice, only fine tuning of my powers. I was for damn sure not about to be taken or killed by whomever this was. Fear gripped my heart as I realized my son was only down the hall. They could have been coming for him too. I thought I had the advantage of being invisible as I rounded the hallway to the living room. I didn’t count them having heat detection goggles. The force of 15 men in my apartment alone all aimed guns directly at me. An invisible shield that would ricochet any bullets went up but I held my hands up anyway. Stray bullets put my son in danger.

“Property number 578. We are here to bring you back to where you belong, science has more work on you yet. Easy or hard way Ms. Smith.”

“Nah I think I rather not. Tell whoever you work for to go fuck themselves.”

“Hard way it is then.”

It was a quick hand motion but it was all I needed as a heads up. The guns went off loud and banging against the shield. Bouncing off and striking some of them down, the rounds ended and I wasn’t prepared for the rush of someone's body slamming into mine. The bodily force knocked me off my feet and we crashed into a wall, or better yet we went through it. They began punching whoever was on top of me, tossing them into the darkness of my apartment. I held my hand out, the electricity flying from the nearby light socket onto my hands. I shot it out tossing a few men back. I wasn’t going to last very long even with borrowing energy from the building. I knew I had to get to my son, I could at least hold a force field for that long, maybe long enough to call for help. I blasted through the hallway, doing my best to toss up a field, but I knew it wasn’t as strong as it should have been. I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen and I yelled falling to the floor, not far from Ms. A’s door, my hand came away from my lower abdomen, blood staining it. With no time to think I tossed my hands up I held the strong field I could in front of us and the door. The lights flickering as I pulled power from the building. I was feeling faint but I couldn’t give up! I heard a growl of anger and started flying into walls and ceilings.

“All these men and one woman, bunch of pussies. Seems you are looking for a fight, I’m here to give it to y’all.”

Vision hazy, I saw Arthur minus his Atlantis uniform, fighting men like there was no tomorrow. A one man army of Alantian strength, the bullets and fists do not match against him. Quicker than I could see he had gotten rid of them and was hovering over me, knowing my son was safe I dropped my shield.

“Bruce get Barry over here NOW!”

“K..Kalen. Protect Kalen”

Arthur held one hand against my bleeding abdomen, coughing and coughing.

“Come on Gia relax for me. Stay calm Calvary is coming. You are losing a lot of blood. Where is Kalen?” He asked me to look around. The soft look on his face in direct contrast with the leather and long hair.

“Apartment *cough* 2D *cough*”

Tears were streaming down my face as Barry came to a screeching halt in front of me.

“Barry can you lift her? I need to get her boy.”

I started coughing more, wanting to yell for him to come out of the apartment but I didn’t have much of a voice.

“I can try. Not exactly the paragon of strength here.”

“Bruce has everything she needs but if we don’t stop the bleeding she doesn’t stand a chance.”

Barry presses his ear.

“Bruce says he’s 10 minutes out.”

Barry leaves my side and comes back less than a second later with towels from my apartment.

I felt him press down while Arthur goes to the Apartment I directed to him earlier, knocking. I was sure they wouldn’t open it for someone that looked like a shady looking biker. He waited a minute before he sighed and kicked it open. I heard yelling and a loud ding as apparently Ms. A hit him with something metal and kept hitting him.

“Would you calm down your old bat?! Gia is right outside!!!!”

“Who is Gia?! You won’t be taking us you damn heathen!”

“Kalen’s mom. She’s hurt in the hallway, and would you stop hitting me with that damn pot! Clearly it’s not working.”

I tried to laugh but only succeeded in coughing up blood a little.

“Arthur, she is not looking so hot out here.”

Ms. A’s head came around the door-frame, Kalen on her hip as his face was all red and covered with tears.

“Oh my god Tiffany!!!!” She came over to me, careful not to put her weight on me and not let Kalen do it either although he was screaming for me.

“Don’t let him see me like this. Get them out of here...”

I said with a raspy voice. Thankfully Bruce came down the hall, Diana in tow they heard my request.

“I know you do not know us, but I promise we are here to help her. We will take you somewhere safe. Trust us.”

Ms. A gave my hand one last squeeze and let herself be led out by Diana. Bruce came hovering over me.

“Gia I need you to stay conscious.”

My side felt like it was on fire and I was confused as to how he knew I was sleepy.

“Save Kalen.”

I was drifting out into even more confusion, but Bruce slaps me back into wakefulness.

“We’ve got to get the bullet out. Barry and Arthur you are going to have to hold her still.”

He pulls out tools, I scream as they pierce the open wound in search of the bullet that was apparently still lodged in it.

“Aghhhh!!!”

The scream caused several residents to open their doors in even more concern than the gunshots.

“That was loud.” Barry says

“That was just the tip of the iceberg. Last time I heard her yell, she shattered windows.” Bruce said.

“We’ve got to get her to the plane and back to the compound.”

“Gia?! What happened to her?” I didn’t have it in me to be frustrated with his arrival. It was comforting to me to hear his voice. He was dressed normally, which surprised me because he never shows any of his powers in street wear.

“Cc..l..Clark.”

“Ssshhh. Gia it’s okay.” His voice was gentle and he wipes the tears off my face with one hand.

“She is bleeding internally. She is already healing but not fast enough. I’ll have to cauterize the area. It will be enough to stabilize her.”

“Gia hold on to my hand.”

I grabbed it with our fingers interlinking, some of his energy flowing into me from our direct contact. His eyes began to glow red and shot into my abdomen, I screamed bloody murder causing the doors the rattle on their frames, surprisingly I didn’t pass out.

“Let's get her out of here.” Bruce comes over to lift me but Clark just pulls me up into his arms. I fall into the comfort of his smell and the warmth of his embrace.

I was certain I would never experience this again, especially when all hell was about to break loose...

A/N: Now that Gia almost died, will she be more willing to give Clark a listen?

Thank you for reading and support! As always my taglist is open for this story!

TAGLIST

@bloodyinspiredfuck @romyr4

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill x black ofc #henry cavill x ofc #Clark Kent #SUPERMAN X OFC #superman #DCFilms #fanfiction

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xekstrin · 5 years

Text

Fool Me Once (Sombra/Mei)

Title: Fool Me Once Fandom: Overwatch Ship: Sombra/Mei Rating: Teen Warnings: Some suggestive language. Summary: The short and simple truth of it is that Sombra has a crush on a woman who doesn't even know she exists. It's not polite to cyber-stalk your crush or track her down in person but Sombra is a villain; she doesn't do nice or polite. Maybe if she plays her cards right she can get out of this with her dignity intact. Maybe.

Written for Muffin, who wanted an extension of the sombra/mei from Sombra Kisses Every Girl. You can also read this story on AO3

===

In her dreams she mounted the rescue mission, leading the team herself. The boats or helicopters (in her fantasy it was usually helicopters) arrived just in the nick of time, and she bundled the frozen Mei-Ling into her arms and took her to safety.

Sombra wasn't a hero. She just saw the Ecopoint station come back online. The distress signal was bouncing where nobody and no one could see it. So Sombra idly flicked it in the right direction. She pulled strings; it was what she was best at. It wasn't as though she thought anyone at Ecopoint was still alive. The distress beacon was going unanswered, was all. Irritated by the persistent pinging, Sombra boosted the signal to somewhere someone would do good, and soon it was all over the news.

When the news dropped that Mei-Ling Zhou was alive, she had no idea how to react.

Mei-Ling was a living legend, one of the few Overwatch cronies Sombra actually liked. Unlike the others and their thinly veiled bloodlust and desire for conquest, Mei-Ling was someone genuine. A real woman of science, devoting herself to the craft.

Sombra's coastal, childhood home had been swallowed by the rising seas. Mei-Ling offered to actually do something about it, and then followed through.

Years ago, even before she'd been a Talon cadet, Sombra read through all Mei-Ling's reports. The translated versions, of course. Fascinating stuff, even if it took Sombra a while to process it all. She had to keep stopping every few pages and look something up, to better understand the theories presented within.

Mei-Ling was an exceptionally skilled writer, able to weave a tale and break things down so that they were accessible to a novice like Sombra while not sacrificing any of the detail. Being a master of six languages, Mei-Ling did all her own translations when she could. Each as fluent and poetic as if it were her first.

"She's wasted on those Overwatch idiots," Sombra lamented loudly, leaning heavily on her desk, chin in her hands. "Uggghh, she's so cute, too. I bet she's straight."

So, of course, Sombra immediately began to cyber-stalk her.

As one does.

She got her chance a few months later, at a conference where Mei-Ling would be one of the keynote speakers. It was easy to forge a pass and get inside, and Mei-Ling was eager to speak to anyone willing to listen. She had an earnest crowd of listeners, all experts in their field. Sombra lingered just on the outskirts like a scavenger.

Dressed as normally as she ever was, Sombra still stuck out from the polos and geeky t-shirts that served as a uniform for the event. Skin tight navy from neck to toe, Sombra kept her blonde hair braided as neatly as she could get it and slung over one shoulder. Her ports were hard to hide, but a hat and some makeup did the trick... sort of.

As soon as the crowd dispersed, she swept in.

"Dr. Zhou?"

Up until she saw Mei-Ling in person, Sombra wasn't sure what she thought would happen. Ultimately she just wanted a chance to talk to the doctor. The truth was she often set her sights on a person in the hopes that she could peel them apart and look inside. Sombra knew on some level that she wasn't normal. While her targets were rarely average, they usually had a human element that she felt she lacked. Something inside her was missing, or had been rerouted to make room for some other, more important pathway. Always curious about that human element, she was drawn to it because she lacked it, and it's the rule of nature that every being craves homeostasis.

She wanted to study her.

But when Mei-Ling's dark eyes turned up to meet hers, Sombra felt as though she'd been ran over by a truck.

Hi, I have a crush on you and I know all your social media habits. Sign my face. You're adorable, you deserve kindness, you're my true unproblematic fave, you're a fascinating little time capsule of a person and I want to give you orgasms.

Fuck.

Of course Sombra didn't say any of that.

"Hi," Sombra said instead. "I'm a big fan."

With that out of the way, she forced herself into the conversation, monopolizing the doctor's time. Sombra treated this excursion like something halfway between a mission and a vacation. There was certainly no danger to be found in a convention full of desk nerds. Even the ones not confined to their labs were merely explorers like Mei-Ling. Those types were accustomed to months alone in the wilderness, not taking heavy fire behind enemy lines.

So no one knew where Sombra was. Nobody needed to know, it was her business. It wasn't against the rules to talk to someone, after all. There was no solid proof that Mei-Ling had rejoined Overwatch. Sombra did a little digging and knew Mei-Ling was trying to retrieve data from old Ecopoints, but so far didn't have any contact with active operatives.

As far as Sombra knew, Mei-Ling was working on another book, and a few research papers. The papers were interesting. The book promised to be an autobiographical account of Mei-Ling's journey and survival from Ecopoint Antarctica.

How did you make it out alive? Who rescued you? What happened?

Reporters had been hounding Mei-Ling with these same questions for months. So being a reporter was her cover while she attended the conference.

"Sorry, what did you say your name was?" Mei-Ling asked her, as Sombra pulled out a tablet.

Licking her index finger, she tapped out a few codes and brought up a website. "Soldaderas. It's a small woman-owned print focusing on feminist news and notable figures in the world."

Staying polite, Mei-Ling's lips twitched a little. "I see. Well that's...very inspiring."

"It's all in Spanish," Sombra continued. She passed her tablet to Mei-Ling without fear, knowing that she wouldn't be able to access anything dangerous from it. As for the website and the publication, she'd created an AI to develop it for her overnight. Fake archive and everything. "Sorry."

"No, don't apologize! I just wish I could read it. I'm sure it's amazing!" When Mei-Ling passed the tablet back, those dark eyes flickered over her again. "But that's your paper's name, not yours. Did they not give you a name tag when you checked in?"

"Must've left it in my hotel room." Sombra lied smoothly. In truth she'd only bothered to make a fake press badge. She hadn't given much thought to what name she'd use, but another quick glance through her website brought out a few options. "Sylvia Ferrero."

They shook hands. Mei-Ling shocked her with a tight grip, almost crushing. "Mei-Ling Zhou."

She couldn't help it. Her lips curled in a smile as she leaned in. "I know."

The lenses behind Sombra's eyes were constantly capturing video feed, passively hacking into anything nearby that might be useful. Mei-Ling had one of those health-conscious wrist watches that monitored your heart rate. It spiked. Nerves? Excitement? Sombra couldn't tell. But she retreated with another easy smile, one fist on her hip.

"Like I said, I'm a big fan. Any chance I can get you alone later?"

With a practised amount of firmness that bordered the edge of rude, Mei-Ling said, "I'm not taking any interviews at this time, Ms. Ferrero."

"I don't want an interview," Sombra shot back.

A very long pause. "I have dinner plans tonight." Mei-Ling broke eye contact. "It's been a very long time since I've been able to see some of my associates."

"No te preocupes." Sombra produced a business card, running her nail over it once. It was perfectly blank, but a quick scan over with her tablet affixed all her fake information onto it. Including a temporary email and the number to her burner cell. "But let me know if you change your mind. I can take you outside the usual tourist traps."

Mei-Ling didn't seem upset or pleased, but she took the card. Maybe she was just being polite, but Sombra was fine with that. She'd been able to look into Mei-Ling's eyes, talk to her, and shoot her shot. So now she was going to enjoy the rest of the weekend.

With her primary goal met, Sombra lurked through some of the major talks, taking a recording so she could sift through the information later. Some of this stuff was genuinely interesting, after all. And she could spend the rest of the night in her hotel room, getting some work done on the side.

Win-Win.

Hopefully the rest of the weekend would go just as smoothly.

The next morning Sombra bailed the talks and lectures to explore Mexico City instead. For all her talk of not succumbing to the tourist traps, it'd been a long time since she visited her second home. In between the GPS feeding input directly into her brain and old memories, she was able to navigate her way well enough. She was ordering lunch when the first text came in.

MLZ: Are you attending any panels today?

Mei-Ling. She stared at the message for a while, unsure how to respond. Had her absence been that flagrant? Or had Mei-Ling been looking for her?

SF: No. I get too cramped staying indoors that long.

She'd been caged once before. The stint behind bars changed her in more ways than one. Never again.

MLZ: That's a shame. I was hoping to introduce you to one of my colleagues. Her latest findings would make a great article, maybe. But I don't really know what kind of stories you're looking for. I don't want to assume.

How sweet. The thought of Mei-Ling looking for her, trying to help her, made Sombra smile.

SF: Don't be so quick to shut yourself down.

As much as she wanted to be casual, the instinct to spell-check was high when texting someone new.

SF: You're a great writer, too. You've got good instincts, Dr. Zhou.

The response was instant.

MLZ: My friends call me Mei.

Something inside her trembled, a flicker of excitement.

SF: And is that what you would like me to call you, Dr. Zhou? :)

Shyness didn't suit her. But the teasing could have pushed Mei-Ling away. When the doctor didn't respond for a while, Sombra shrugged and went back to her day until she got a text that made her laugh out loud in shock.

MLZ: why would i tell you that if i didn't want you to (・_・)

So they set up a meeting later that same day. Sombra didn't have an appetite— she rarely had an appetite— so they went out for drinks, which turned out to be a mistake because Mei was Buddhist and didn't drink.

"Well now I feel like an asshole," Sombra said.

Mei grinned at her, stirring a straw around her virgin daiquiri. "It's really not a big deal," she said. "It's not like you aren't allowed to drink in front of me."

Taking a huge sip that drained half the glass, Mei sighed in relief. The heat was getting to her. She used a napkin to blot at her forehead. Sombra's eyes recorded every detail, noticing the white paper came away with a faint imprint of makeup. Mei was wearing a loose cotton dress. It was pretty, looked soft. Sombra thought about how nice it would feel to touch it, and the skin underneath, but then her attention was drawn back up to Mei's lips as she kept talking.

"I should have known," Sombra said. "Bad journalism practice to not know basic stuff like that."

"Okay, so we're going to stay on this subject? Fine. You should have known and I feel sooooo upset about it. I thought you were my biggest fan," Mei tutted. "What a shame."

"A big fan." Sombra corrected her, gently. She didn't want Mei to think she didn't enjoy the teasing. Far from it. "Not your biggest. I'm sure. So what'd I miss today? Anything exciting?"

Her eyes lit up at once. "Oh, tons! Saturday is when all the biggest names were talking, I was so shocked not to see you there!"

"I'm not really here for work," Sombra admitted. "I just used it as an excuse to get in for free. When I saw you, I thought I'd be dumb not to at least say hi."

"Naughty." Mei didn't seem too phased by that. "So you're just here for fun?"

"Personal reasons, I guess. I was born in Quintana Roo."

The truth slipped out of her mouth so easily that for a solid ten seconds, Sombra's heart stopped beating. It had been so easy to say that. Mei didn't even know Sombra had spent most of her life trying to erase any records of her childhood. As far as the world was concerned, Sombra wasn't born anywhere. She was created. Everything before that was miles of useless code.

"I'm so sorry," Mei said.

Of course she did. And of course she'd know most of the Yucatan Peninsula flooded some twenty-odd years before, a storm unlike anything ever recorded. Some twisting, keening mess, a maelstrom like the eye on Jupiter. It had taken a huge chunk of money and population with it. Every effort to fix it was like slapping a bandaid on a bulletwound.

It was already on record as one of the highest losses of human life in living history. Then, during the relief efforts, an omnium rose up from the depths. A monster of steel and death and hatred. A declaration of war on all humanity.

And the ocean rose up with it, flooding Sombra's entire world.

It wasn't even a sore spot anymore, now that Sombra could see the bigger picture. Who could have predicted something like that, after all? Even if the seas had been rising slowly, and the storms got worse and worse every year. Who could be bothered with tracking emission levels when the world was at fucking war, you know? The bots were killing people in droves. Anyone who made it out alive was lucky if they escaped with all their limbs. If the waters didn't drown them first.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," Sombra said, and didn't touch another drink for the rest of the night. But she was pretty sure it wasn't the booze that was loosening her tongue.

"Sorry, should we talk about something that's not work?" Mei offered at one point. "I just realized I've been babbling this whole time."

"I like hearing you talk. I could listen to you talk all night, that's why I wanted to get you all to myself," Sombra said, and watched with satisfaction as Mei slowly turned red, from the top of her shoulders to the tips of her ears.

After chewing on her tongue for a while, Mei finally said, "Ms. Ferrero. Is... is this a date?"

"Yes," Sombra said. "But don't worry. You're doing great ."

Mei set her palms on the table, thumb rubbing against the faded cloth. "Sylvia, I'm so flattered. Really. You're... an extremely beautiful woman."

Privately, Sombra preened under the praise, but kept quiet as Mei fumbled through the rest of her rejection.

"But my job has me mobile eleven months out of the year. I'm not... if you're trying... I can't really do a relationship right now."

Taking a wary glance at her cocktail, Sombra pushed it aside in favor of a glass of water. "I don't want a relationship." She let some sexual insinuation simmer between them for a moment, relishing the way Mei started to squirm. "I just wanted a chance to talk to you."

She reached across the table, resting one hand over Mei's. It felt very good, to touch another human like that. Lately Sombra had felt more machine than human. Every touch was a precursor to violence and death.

How could she tell Mei how rare this was? That for once, she didn't have a plan? Or a long-game she was trying to play? The truth was this woman was special. If Sombra ever wanted a chance to talk to her again, she could never, ever know the truth. This was only a deception. A harmless one, but everything about this was still fake.

What a pity.

"Anything else you decide to give me is just icing on top," Sombra finished. "So are we going to take this conversation somewhere private, or should I say goodnight?"

"I—" Mei started, then stopped. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I need a moment."

"Take all the time you need." Sombra dragged her chair closer, though, resting an arm around Mei's shoulder as she took a sip of her virgin drink.

"All right," Mei said, sounding fed up. "Now what are you doing?"

"I'm touching you." She demonstrated, hand on Mei's shoulder. The strap of Mei's dress rested under her palm. It'd be so easy to rip it in half but she didn't. More important than the flimsy dress was the satisfaction of being right; Mei's skin was soft. Goosebumps rose over bare skin as she stroked it. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," Mei admitted in a half-breath, quiet on the inhale. "I'm— this is— I've never— I don't usually—" And she was saved by her phone chirping loudly. Jumping up to her feet, Mei fumbled for her purse. "I have to take this call, excuse me!" and bolted.

You're acting like a bitch in heat, Sombra chided herself, but at the same time, she only had two modes. Uninterested, or all-in. She was chancing a rejection, but she only had a few days here if she wanted to avoid suspicion. It was all-in or it was nothing.

Interestingly enough, Mei had left her cellphone out on the table when she ran off to answer the call. So maybe she had a second cell phone, one purely for work or emergencies. Sombra hoped nothing bad was happening; their date was going so well. When Mei returned she did look pale and unsettled, but didn't leave or imply anything was wrong, so Sombra chalked it up to internal politics.

More importantly, Mei said, "Okay."

Sombra made her sweat about it a little more, choosing not to respond until Mei gave her something proper to work with.

"If you want." Mei was sweating harder now. "We could talk more in my hotel room?"

"I'd love that," Sombra said. "And I'm not being sarcastic, either. If you want to just keep talking, that's fine. But I'll be frank, I'm at minimum expecting five minutes of quality cuddling time."

Taken aback, Mei laughed. "I'll take it under consideration."

They kept holding hands the entire walk back to the hotel. Sombra could have floated there, elated, even if Mei kept dropping her every few blocks to wipe her palm on her dress. She explained her sweaty palms as nerves; Sombra reassured her, gently, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

The dead heat of summer wasn't doing either of them any favors. Even at night it pressed in, tight like Sombra pushing Mei against her hotel room door and kissing her as hard as she could.

She tasted sweet, just a little sticky from her drink. It matched how pink her lips were. A small, sweet mouth that opened to her. Sombra felt like a real villain for a second, doing this when Mei didn't even really know her name or who she was. If Mei knew the truth any warmth would vanish between them. And Sombra pushed ahead anyway because she was hungry, at last, for touch and a human connection, and to be around someone good for once, someone unambiguously kind and nice.

Then Mei's phone started chirping again. Pushing her back, Mei frantically glanced around before sequestering herself in her hotel bathroom with a panicked, "Be right back, S— uh, Sylvia!"

Sombra chuckled, wiping her mouth off with her fingers and then licking what remained off of them. Sitting down on the edge of Mei's bed, she looked around curiously. The desire to spy and snoop was at an all time high, but she doubted there was anything in here she could use for her real job.

Still, she was restless by the time Mei emerged from the bathroom. As much as she tried to rein it in she knew her sexual frustration must be obvious. She felt like she must be smoking from the effort, a smoldering coal resting there on the bed, tracking Mei's every move and recording it all.

But something about the way Mei was fidgeting cleared the smoke out of Sombra's eyes. Mei was still sweating, but pale now. Even in the air-conditioned room she fidgeted and fretted, trembling faintly.

"Are you okay?" When Sombra got up and walked over to her, she put the back of her hand against Mei's forehead. No fever. "You seem a little shaken up. Should I leave?"

"No!" Mei said quickly, hugging her tight. "I want you to stay. Please."

Touched, Sombra returned the embrace. A little too late, she thought about the timeline of events. If Mei had even been on a date since she'd been thawed out.

What must it be like, Sombra wondered, to be thrown forward into another decade? It wasn't as though Mei was fragile, but Sombra's guilt needled a little deeper at the realization that it might have been a very long time since anyone touched Mei, too.

"You look like something went wrong at work," Sombra guessed. "I'll be a distraction, if you need one."

"Yeah," Mei said, but she stiffened up and didn't relax when Sombra kissed her again.

Unsettled and a little put off, Sombra drew back again. She didn't say anything but she didn't really need to. No doubt Mei knew the kind of energy she was putting off, the bad-touch tension of a woman who was afraid and uncomfortable.

There wasn't a bigger turn off in the world, but more frustrating was how Mei refused to acknowledge it.

When that fucking cell phone went off again, Sombra knew nobody was getting laid tonight.

"Listen. I had a really good time tonight," she said, kissing Mei briefly on her forehead. "But I think I ought to go now."

"Go?" Mei's voice cracked. "No, wait, you can't! Um. I mean I'd like it if you didn't!"

Eyes narrowing, Sombra moved past her towards the door. "Well I'd like to leave. Good night, Dr. Zhou. I'll text you later."

But Sombra didn't get to leave.

A sudden drop of temperature in the room and a loud crackle, like an ice shelf breaking, was all the warning she got.

Something knocked against her hard, like being socked with an iron fist. It seeped into her skin, wrapping around her, and the next thing Sombra knew she was trapped hip deep in a block of ice.

"You're not going anywhere until backup arrives, Sombra," Mei said, circling around her.

In her hand was a gun, unlike any Sombra had ever seen.

Mei was still shaking, sweating hard. Every inch of her. Chest rising sharp and hard from her breathing. She wasn't accustomed to confrontation but the gun looked natural in her hands, like she'd used it before. Maybe not for this, though. Probably not for this. And that loud chirping rang out again, but Mei didn't retrieve a cell phone from her purse.

It was a bronze and white communicator. The kind for active Overwatch operatives. It chirped until Mei silenced it.

"Oh, what the fuck," Sombra said. Her hands were caught in the trap as well. She struggled, squirming, until she felt the cold muzzle of the gun press against her chest. "Gonna shoot an unarmed woman?"

"It won't kill you," Mei said, and despite the situation actually sounded pretty proud about that. "It's a nonlethal restraining device, for—" then she shook her head. "I mean, I'm not telling you anything. Overwatch is here to protect the world from people like you. So whatever Talon was planning to do with me, you can forget it!"

"Planning to— I didn't even know you were still an Overwatch agent! I thought you were a goody two-shoes." Something else hit her, metaphorically. "Oh fuck," she said, "This means you knew more about me than I knew about you. That's messed up, Mei. You even made me pay for our drinks!"

"Stop talking." Mei closed her eyes. "It's only been one evening and I'm already exhausted by how much you lie."

Maybe it was silly, but hearing that was almost worse than being shot. Sombra stopped squirming, struck with the words, and the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to argue against them.

"I already told you I wasn't here for work," was all she managed to say, quiet and feeble. "The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. This wasn't a, like, this wasn't Talon. It was just me. I wasn't hired to stalk you or whatever."

"Why should I believe a word you say?"

There wasn't really a good reason. Every inch of this was fucked, though Sombra doubted Mei knew the truth from the beginning. She was the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. More likely one of her buddies notified her via the communicator. Sombra was getting sloppy; she didn't think anyone would be monitoring Mei-Ling.

Her mistake. And now she was paying for it.

"I guess you'll just have to take my word for it," Sombra said.

She looked up into Mei's eyes. And then she evaporated into a mass of pixels and glitching artifacts. Rematerializing in her own hotel room, Sombra gasped and writhed on the floor. Traveling like that always did a number on her, but she'd never been more glad that her paranoia insisted she keep an active transmitter in her room whenever she left it.

Time wasn't on her side, though. She couldn't afford to moan and complain. Quickly packing her things, Sombra tossed another translocator outside the window and landed on street level.

She spared a glance up at the hotel, scanning each open window for sign of a face, or a waving gun, or hear an angry shout. But all she heard was the sound of an aircraft in the distance. This far from an airport she knew it had to be a covert Overwatch vehicle, and knew she had to vanish.

So she did, cloaking herself and running away as fast as she could.

Six months later Mei-Ling had a problem.

She got into a self-driving car, letting it take her away from her labs, privately funded by Overwatch. The Petras Act meant none of her connections to the paramilitary group could go public, but that wasn't going to stop her when she was so close to another breakthrough.

"All I need is what's in this corrupted data," she said, holding her laptop open and typing onto it. She gathered what she could from the Ecopoints, but so much had been lost to time and wear. The degrading force of harsh environments.

Sitting back, she sighed.

"So that's why I need you."

Next to her, on the empty seat, a body materialized.

Sombra looked wildly different than that first time they had met. Her hair was black with purple streaks, and nothing hid the ports on her skull and neck anymore. Dark markup made her ghoulish and sinister, a grinning skull in the shadows.

"I gotta say, I wasn't expecting a call after how our last date went," she purred. "What made you think that burner cell would still be active?"

"Lucky guess. You were the only one I could think of that might help," Mei said. Not wanting to seem cowed, she forced herself to meet purple eyes. Inhuman eyes, unfeeling. This was all a game to Sombra, surely, and everyone around her just wasn't allowed to read the rules. "So, can you?"

"Claro que sí. But what makes you think you can trust me?"

"I don't. But I know you aren't any more loyal to Talon than you are to Overwatch." Disgusted, Mei spat out, "You're only in it for yourself."

"That's the only way to be." Stretching out like a well-fed cat, Sombra made herself comfortable in the backseat.

Again, Mei wondered how she'd ever thought Sombra was a reporter. When her contacts in Overwatch had warned her of the danger, it made a perfect sort of sense. Sombra radiated power in a way that Mei couldn't place. The moment their eyes had first locked she'd been breathless, jittery as if an electric current had attached to her spine. Every move Sombra made drew her attention, every touch had her heart leaping out of her chest. At first she'd thought it to be attraction, until the call came in. Now she knew it was fear.

It had to be fear.

There wasn't room for any other interpretation.

Once upon a time, Mei had watched all her friends die. She'd been helpless. She wasn't going to let something like that happen again, she wasn't going to let it have all been in vain. Not as long as she drew breath. No matter who or what threatened the peace, she would stop them, and she would never, ever let her guard down.

"My prices are steep," Sombra warned.

"We can pay you whatever you want," Mei said quickly. "Name it."

No matter how strange it made her feel when Sombra stared at her with those large, purple eyes, she wasn't going to back down.

Until Sombra tilted her head to the side, disarming her with a rare, genuine smile.

Not a smirk, not something that made Mei feel like she was about to be swallowed whole.

"How about a second date?"

It was warm, and unguarded, and though she knew it must be a lie...

...It felt like the truth.

#sommei #overwatch #fanfiction #Sombra

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