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citricacidprince · 5 months ago

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Could you draw that "I trust you" scene with Mabel and Stan but with the relativity AU? (The stan twins and pine twins swap ages au)

OF COURSE, I WILL GLADLY DRAW THEM!!! 💥💥💥

I’m gonna post a long winded thesis about my thoughts on this AU, my take on the AU, and two additional arts under the cut because ooooh boy it’s a tad bit long lol. Also, please please forgive the formatting, I’m writing this all on the fly and it’s extremely disjointed, sorry- 💥

I know there’s the ‘canon’ Relativity AU designs and character dynamics, however I don’t really like them that much ngl. I feel like it mostly just ends up with ‘Mabel and Dipper get switched with Stan and Ford with no nuances once so ever’ and that BLOWS!!! There’s so much potential there and no one is playing with it!! YOU GUYS DON’T EVEN HAVE MABEL PRETENDING TO BE DIPPER, WHATS THE POINT????

Not only that but I feel like making Dipper and Mabel’s dynamic just Ford and Stan’s when they’re adults is a HUGE simplification of their characters. Like, Mabel and Dipper fight, but they don’t fight like Stan and Ford, they’re not as hard headed and stubborn. Mabel would commit some crimes yes, but I don’t believe she would get into some of the heavy shit Stan had in his past. I refuse to believe Mr. Dipper ‘Undiagnosed Anxiety Disorder’ Pines would fall for Bill’s flattery as easily as Ford did.

The Pines Twins are very different from the Mystery Twins. Mabel and Dipper didn’t grow up with a father constantly comparing the two and pinning them against each other, outright telling one kid they’ll always be a failure while the other is going to have the burden of making their family rich. They never had that tension. They wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around eachother as adults.

I know that makes the concept sound boring to some, ‘Where’s the fun in the AU if you take away the sibling fighting’. You cowards, you can still have it, young Stan and Ford are RIGHT THERE. During the second half of the show when Dipper comes back through the portal, instead of having the older set of twins, something that doesn’t male sense with their characters, have a building tension that’s going to explode soon and keep it between Stan and Ford, don’t take it away from them. If anything, I think taking away the resentment and anger growing between the two and giving it to Mabel and Dipped is a butchering of all the characters.

Sure that means some of the episodes would have to change or be completely erased, but that’s fine!!! Make up some new ones!!! Get silly with it!!!

Mabel and Dipper talk about feelings, Stan and Ford don’t. Mabel and Dipper can’t stay mad at each other, Stan and Ford will try and stay mad for decades because being angry is easier than being upset.

In my idea of this AU that fight at the end of Weirdmageddon HAS to be between Stan and Ford, and Stan HAS to still be the one getting his memories erased.

💥 Post Not-What-He-Seems Relativity AU Rambling Below 💥

Dipper is a paranoid man, fool him once you’re never going to fool him again. He would never in a million years ever work with Bill again. Ford however is an extremely lonely child, both he and his brother are desperate for any type of positive attention. I think Bill would see him as a potential protege, especially since Ford is a ‘freak’ like he is and the kid is extremely smart for his age. He’s malleable, Bill probably thinks he could shape him uo to be the perfect lackey.

Ford, being the lonely kid he is, probably does fall for the praise initially. He craves attention and Bill pushes all the right buttons and says all the right words, tries and gains his trust even if time has proven again and again that he shouldn’t be trusting the demon.

The tension between the Stan Twins would grow after Grunkle Dipper comes back because Ford is upset that Stan didn’t listen to him (even if it was for the best that he did) and that Grunkle Dipper forgave Graunty Mabel so easily because if Ford was in those shoes he wouldn’t have. It grows more and more as Ford becomes distant and Stan tries to connect with his brother to no avail. Which, of course, comes to a boiling point when Ford says he’s going to stay in Gravity Falls and learn under Grunkle Dipper. Stan is rightfully upset. He can’t go back to New Jersey by himself. It’s always just been the two of them, he needed Ford, he couldn’t handle school or their father by himself. He can’t be alone.

Unlike Mabel who just wanted one more day of summer, Stan wishes that he wouldn’t be alone, which indirectly causes Weirdmaggendon.

Stan’s prison bubble would probably be a fake New Jersey-esc town full of a bunch of little Stans running around. Town O’ Stan. A place where no Stan is left behind.

Ford says some nice words to Stan there to get him outta there but there is still this intense tension between the two.

During the Cipher Wheel Ford is the one who tackles Stan. The two fight, whining out hurtful words neither of them mean and only stop when Bill shows up and captures them. Graunty Mabel and Grunkle Dipper run off and distract Cipher in hopes that they can keep the attention on themselves long enough that their great nephews could come up with a plan to escape.

The younger twins don’t find a way out and instead, finally, have an actual talk about their feelings, one that definitely ends up in tears as the two talk about the pressure that’s put on them or how worthless they feel. After that the boys get a rush of determination to escape when Stanley has a plan. Ford immediately hates the plan but Stan insists that they do it, in his own words, ‘Let me prove I can do something right for once.’

When Bill comes back and threatens to kill either Mabel or Dipper just for the hell of it, Ford calls out that he’d like to make a deal.

He wants to work with Bill, let Bill into his mind willingly. Bill immediately jumps on that offer. Ford is a promising young kid, perfect henchmaniac potential, not to mention it would absolutely devastate Dipper is his great nephew willingly turned to Bill’s side.

He goes into Ford’s head, revealing Stanley just in time to reveal that he was trapped, panicking as he was erased with a swift left-hook along with a kid who was happy to prove he was good for something after all.

Everyone was devastated after Weirdmaggedon of course, a child had his mind completely wiped. Stanford took it the worst, he just managed to finally break down those words that others built in his head, that he was too good for Stanley or that he didn’t need a knucklehead like him dumbing down his brain, and now his brother was gone. Just like that.

We all know what happens after this, Stan gets his memory back, everyone celebrates and the Stan twins are sent home, promising each other that they’ll never let anyone try and tear them apart ever again. Dipper and Mabel stay at the shack, after all, all they could ever want is there, where else could they possibly go?

Sorry this was… extremely rambly and long, I am extremely tired and can’t think straight I have a bunch more ideas and concepts so if anyone’s desperately wants to hear them just ask I guess, sorry you read this dumb of ass essay haha 💥

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cup-o-stars · 4 months ago

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Relativity Falls!

Design Concepts (and my unnecessary thoughts):

Excuse the the colors, ig my apps are fighting.

I see Mabel finding success no matter what happens to her, but I really like the thought of her running an insane arts and crafts business in GF. Alternatively, if she fell in the portal, she'd come out acting confident as always, but she probably wouldn't realize how much the constant change and lack of family/stability wore her out until she settled back in. In either case, she's a bit cracked.

Dipper is investigative, but cracks easiest under stress and is not as inherently adventurous as Mabel or Ford- so the portal wouldn't treat him well. If he's not the one in the portal, he'd be into stargazing and real magic to share with people, while also warding tourists away from the dangerous stuff. In general, he'd be an unhappy adult if left to his own devices, lol.

Between Dipper and Mabel, I like Dipper being in the portal more. He's a great protagonist, but as a supporting cast member, he needs to be more insane to match the draw that is 'Mabel taking care of children,' ha. I also love the idea of there being no portal / some other looming threat for these two to struggle with (at least because Hirsche has made it clear that Dipper and Mabel are equally smart, and to me it seems like the portal would reopen way quicker with them), but I didn't plan on posting these and I don't know how my followers feel about me posting lore.

Stanford and Stanley:

Pretty much how they are in canon, but now they're in a setting where they can get over themselves, ha. They aren't quite as mature as Dipper and Mabel were at their age, but after coming to GF, they finally found other people to look out for them. Dipper could be a more emotionally available and level-headed role model (I think having people to take care of is calming for him in turn), and they'd both look up to Mabel as the peak of somebody who knows how to socialize.

Fiddleford:

He's a sweet, southern, farm-raised mechanical engineer just like in canon.

Idk why Fiddleford is in GF (visiting an unnamed grandparent?), but I really like his relationship with Ford in the journal. Following that thought, in this AU, he starts out more of Ford's friend than Stan's, and it's kind of a big deal. Unlike Dipper's arc on learning to be a kid, Stan and Ford clearly struggled a lot with interpersonal relationships / finding security outside of eachother, and that's what I think this AU could be about (it's great they realized they need each other in canon, but the part where they had no one else to turn to is also kinda crazy if you ask me).

Ford gets to meet another smart kid in a weird town, which helps him feel more normal. He has a better idea of what friendship is because of it, but also, since I can't imagine Dipper wanting an apprentice so young/vulnerable/impressionable or Mabel asking only one of the twins to stay- he'd have to come to terms with the fact that he can't live in his dream world forever. (Or maybe the apprenticeship comes from somewhere else, just because the conflict around going back to Glass Shard Beach at all, or sending Stan alone could be pretty good.)

On the flipside, I think Stan's initial jealousy of Ford and Fiddleford's friendship would force him to try finding his own friends / hobbies. I like the idea that he fails at first- and a lot- but Mabel notices his mounting frustration (which he is very keen on hiding), and her consistent and unorthodox support makes him realize he wasn't alone to begin with. He can be more open around her, which makes it easier to open up to others, and then he can make friends without having to pull any tricks. He probably starts with some animals, and then at least gets closer to Fiddleford anyways (I feel like they're both more practical than Ford and value human company more, so they'd bond easier once Stan gets over his personal hurdle).

Anyways- because that was way too much- Mabel's exes are a constant source of antagonists and Dipper is stressed about setting a good example.

(I was more of a Monster Falls fan back in the day, but I can't draw animals, lol)

#fanart #gravity falls #relativity falls #relativity au #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddauthor #(if you wish)#I wasn't planning on doing any AU fanart #but designing mabel was way too fun #damn i didn't even draw bill #oh well #i have mixed feelings and ideas for how he'd fit in anyways

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rafesangelita · 2 months ago

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⋆˚✿˖° in an attempt to get sheep!reader to be more vocal about what she wants in bed, rafe only gives her what she’s able to say..

warnings: heavyyy teasing, corruption kink (?), fingering, lots of dirty talk, praise, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, light fluff

a/n: i see your req’s for more sheep!reader works, don’t worry i’ll be working on them soon! <3

wc: 1.8k

“come on, ‘pretty, all you have to do is use your words..” rafe’s eyes traveled down your naked form, his fingers ghosting over the soft flesh of your thighs. this was absolute torture. “rafe, i can’t!” you cried, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. your boyfriend took so much pleasure in knowing that you were far too shy to ask for what you wanted, a smug grin gracing his lips as heavy tears threatened to spill from your eyes. you looked away from him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. “i won’t say it..” you mumbled, gasping softly when rafe dipped a finger between your glossy folds.

“won’t say what?” he taunted, barely stroking your clit before pulling his hand away. you let out a shaky breath, meeting his eyes for the first time during this whole ordeal. “please.” you whimpered pathetically, hoping, begging, rafe will give into your pleas. rafe shook his head, giving your side a little pinch. “i don’t know what you’re asking for.” he shrugged, his cock aching against his briefs. you drew your eyebrows together, your heart beating in your ears as you considered your next words. “i want you to touch me..” you whispered, your chest rising and falling as rafe offered you a teasing smile.

“touch you where? here?” he placed a hand on your knee, “here?” your arm was next, “..or here?” you whined in frustration when you felt his palm rest on your tummy. rafe was purposely making this hard for you, and he was enjoying every second of it. “no!” you spread your thighs in hopes to draw his attention elsewhere. sure enough, rafe looked down, his jaw ticking at the sight of your puffy folds. “fuck.” he cursed under his breath. “i need you down there..” you trailed a foot down his torso, stopping right below his v-line. rafe knew you what you trying to do.

“i don’t know where ‘down there’ is.. i think you have to explain it to me, doll.” rafe wasn’t going to let up. you started thinking of ways to word yourself, the implications of what you had to say only made you more embarrassed. ‘vagina’ felt too proper to use in this situation, ‘pussy’ was too lewd for your liking, and ‘cunt’ sounded so aggressive, you didn’t know what to make of it. swallowing thickly, you knew rafe wanted to hear you say the second option more than anything. in your mind, you thought if you said the dirtiest thing, he would have to give you what you were crying for.. right?

“i want you to touch my—” rafe leaned forward. no fucking way you’d say it. “m-my pussy?” it was comical, seeing the way you avoided his heated gaze. rafe had never heard a curse word fall from your lips, let alone that word specifically. “was that so hard?” rafe laughed, sitting between your thighs as he spread you open, his cock twitching at the sight of your glistening succulence dripping down your cunt. with the pad of his thumb, rafe began circling your sensitive bundle of nerves, the long awaited sensation making your hips roll forward. “don’t move.” he warned, keeping a hand on your hip.

you shuddered, settling into your soft sheets as rafe then prodded a finger at your entrance. he teased your slit, slipping just the tip of his digit inside before gathering your slick and gliding the wetness up to your clit. “feeling empty, huh?” rafe saw you pathetically clench around nothing, your eyebrows knitting together in desperation. “y-yes, please! ‘want your fingers now.” rafe was pleasantly surprised, the second time around seemed to be more easier than the first time you requested something. “look at you, you’re doing great, baby.” your boyfriend praised you, deciding to reward you with two fingers instead of one.

your breath got caught in your throat when you felt the stretch of two digits inside your cunt, your mouth falling open as you hiccuped at the feeling of rafe’s long, thick fingers curling inside of you. still using his thumb to rub your clit, you cried out when you felt him press on that gummy spot that made you see stars. “o-oh!” you whimpered, your thighs shutting around rafe’s hand. forcing your thighs open, rafe leaned his weight on one of your legs, and used his free hand to pin down the other one, forcing you to take what he gave you. “you look so pretty when you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

rafe’s words sounded muffled, your heart beating in your ears when you felt the familiar heat start to simmer in your tummy. your hand rested on top of rafe’s, his fingers interlacing with yours. “you’re taking it so fucking good,” he leaned down, taking your lips in a searing kiss, “gonna make you cum, is that what you want?” you nodded helplessly, in which rafe tsked. “say it. say that’s what you want.” he urged. with the quietest tone you could muster, you spoke. “please make me cum..” rafe would’ve appreciated you saying it a little bit louder, but he figured he was lucky if he got you to say it at all.

picking up his speed on your clit, he watched with dark eyes as your face morphed into one of full blown pleasure, your lips swollen from rafe nipping at them. the wet sounds of your cunt made your cheeks heat, your chest caving in as you teetered the edge of pure euphoria. your hand shot up to grip rafe’s arm, your nails digging into his skin as your thighs trembled from your high washing over you. rafe always stared at you in awe whenever he pushed you over the edge, the little sounds leaving your lips never failed to drive him crazy while your velvety walls squeezed around his digits.

“nghh— rafe!” you squeaked, a string of sobs tumbling from your throat as he continued to bring you down from your high. rafe littered your neck and chest with wet kisses, your fingers running across his scalp. you whimpered when rafe pulled away, your eyes trailing down his toned stomach as he slid off his briefs. wrapping a hand around your ankle, you yelped when he yanked you towards the edge of the bed, running his cock over your still fluttering cunt. “tell me you want me to fuck you,” he groaned when he felt your slick coat his length, “tell me you want my cock inside you.”

you were hysterical at this point, bending at his will as you did what he asked. “please fuck me, ray. ‘want y-your cock inside me!” you repeated, your back arching off of the sheets when he slammed into you without warning. “fuck, baby, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” rafe leaned down, caging you between his arms, “hearing you talk like that, s’driving me fuckin’ crazy.” you wrapped your legs around his waist, his biceps on either sides of your head. he filled you to the hilt in this position, bottoming out as his pubic bone grazed your clit with every thrust.

your eyes fluttered shut as you held him close to you, his breath fanning against your cheek as he whispered the filthiest obscenities in your ear. nothing else existed when you two were like this. it was like the world stopped spinning whenever he felt you taking him so good. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” he squished your cheeks together with one hand, your eyebrows knitting together as you gazed up at him, “always so pliant with me, ‘makes me wanna see what other fucked up shit i could make you do.” he chuckled, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

rafe could see the slight fear in your eyes, a gentle ‘shhh’ leaving his lips as an attempt to reassure you. “don’t worry, we’ll save that for another day.” he pecked your cheek, his hips snapping into you faster than before. you held onto his broad shoulders, the sound of his skin smacking against yours made you want to curl in on yourself, the lewd echo of it bouncing off of the walls. soon your legs were feeling like jelly and you couldn’t keep them locked around rafe’s build. sensing your struggle, he pinned the back of your knees against your chest, getting a full, clear view of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy.

“ah, fuckkk,” rafe drawled out, absolutely hypnotized at the sight. he glided with ease, your folds hugging him snugly. the grip you had on his cock was enough to make his muscles constrict with the need to fill you up, your pretty clit glistening with his precum. “m’gonna need to film this next time, you’re fuckin’ unreal.” he choked back a groan when you somehow managed to clamp around him even tighter. “h-holy shit,” rafe’s hips stuttered, his face scrunching when he began twitching, your second orgasm of the night hitting you with more force than the first one.

as if on cue, rafe peaked when you gripped the knitted blanket at your side, both of you moaning so loud you were sure ms. celia, the sweet old lady next door, could hear you two. rafe didn’t stop fucking into you until every last drop of his cum was lost in the heaven that was your cunt, his eyes rolling back when he stayed nestled inside of you. rafe helped your legs back down, your chest rising and falling with each breath you took. swallowing thickly, rafe sighed as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hairline. “my god..” he looked at you incredulously.

how you had that innocent sparkle in your eyes right after doing what you did was beyond him. “that wasn’t so bad..” you whispered, running a finger down the underside of rafe’s jaw. “no, not at all. you did amazing.” he was still inside you when he leaned all his weight on you. you always felt so safe and secure every time rafe did this. you reveled in the feeling of his heart beating against your own, your eyelids heavy as sleep threatened to come over you. “i could fall asleep like this..” rafe mumbled. you giggled, a lazy smile gracing your features.

as much as you would’ve loved that, a hot shower was far more needed. after ten minutes of convincing rafe you two should get cleaned up for bed, and after round two ensued under the shower head, you and your boyfriend had finally cuddled up under the sheets, his warm skin mingling with yours. once you two exchanged ‘i love you’s’, you were out like a light. the next morning you had went out and checked the mail, spotting ms. celia rocking on her chair with her morning coffee in her hand. “good morning!” you waved, in which she smiled. “how did you sleep, dear?”

“just fine! i had a pretty long night..” butterflies fluttered in your tummy at the memory. “oh, i bet! it sure sounded like it.”

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moonstruckme · 4 months ago

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Hey so i have a request and you can totally say no if this makes you uncomfortable but would you consider writing a poly marauders x reader where the readers depressed and can’t get anything done im asking cause I’ve been. Going through something and i thought id be okay by now but I’ve kinda regressed idk and now im depressed idk pls don’t write this if its to hard or upsetting

Thank you for your request lovely, I really hope things are getting easier for you or that they do soon <3

cw: depression

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 984 words

You realize the boys must be home when Remus crouches in front of you. You hadn’t heard the car come up the driveway, nor the door opening. You were too deep inside your own head. Or maybe you’d drifted off into another of your light, unsatisfying sleeps.

“Hi.” He offers you a little smile, putting out his hand. You worm yours out from under your blanket to give it to him, and he rubs his thumb across your knuckles fondly. “How was your day, lovely?”

“Fine,” you say. Your voice rasps a bit from disuse.

“I’m opening the curtains,” James warns from somewhere behind you. “Here, take these.”

Sirius’ grunt sounds surprised. “Since when is carrying in the groceries a relay sport?” he complains.

True to James’ word, light floods the living room a moment later. It illuminates Remus’ face in front of you, letting you see the gentle concern in his eyes. His gaze moves up above your head just before strong hands grasp you by the shoulders.

“I missed you,” says James, hugging downwards at you until he gives up and lets his body flop over the back of the couch, “so much, today.”

You pet down the hair at his nape, love like a bubble in your chest that’s always on the brink of popping. You love the way James hugs; it’s like he really is trying to feel as close to you as he can be, with his face bent towards your neck and one hand splayed behind your heart. You let yourself meld to him. Remus starts collecting your little mess from the coffee table, taking things into the kitchen.

“It was only a few hours,” you say.

James makes a jokey harrumphing sound. “A few hours too many.” He lets you go to plant a smacking kiss on your cheek. “If you could have one thing for dinner tonight, what would it be?”

“I thought we agreed to stop playing that game,” says Sirius, coming back in to sit down on the armrest of the couch. He sees where you’re toying with James’ hair and takes a lock between his own fingers. “You need a haircut, Jamie.”

“You’re one to talk,” James quips, though he leans into the touch, always more than happy to have his hair played with. “And we only agreed to stop playing with you, because your expectations were too high.”

“They were not.”

“Why would you think we’d be able to get what we needed for escargot at our corner shop?”

“If you didn’t want to know what I actually wanted, you shouldn’t have asked.”

“Anyway,” James turns back to you, “what would you have, lovie?”

“And before you say,” says Sirius, “the correct answer is tomato basil soup with a cheese toastie.”

James sulks, thwarted, and you stroke your thumb over his nape consolingly. “That sounds really lovely,” you say earnestly. “Was I really supposed to guess that on my own, though?”

“You might’ve,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I was thinking you could be my soup stirrer. If you’re up for the task.”

It’s an odd feeling, affection and guilt intertwined so well you can’t fully tell which is which. You know James is making a point of asking you so that you might come to the kitchen, be among them for a bit instead of staying off in your own world, do a task that makes you feel productive even if it’s small. You appreciate that he does it, and you loathe yourself for making him feel the need to. You wish your boyfriends wouldn’t coddle you not because you don’t like it but because you like it too much. You don’t deserve it.

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice draws you back out from inside your head again. It’s become such a frequent haunt you don’t always realize you’re going anymore. He’s studying you. “You okay?”

You hum as Remus comes back in, sitting on the now clean coffee table. “Thanks for doing that,” you murmur. His eyebrows lift slightly when he realizes you’re talking to him. “Sorry I left a mess.”

Remus tsks, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. “It wasn’t really a mess,” he says. “I don’t mind. Are you going to help us with dinner?”

“Yeah.” It’s not so much a decision as a yielding, but James beams like you’ve made his day. It makes you want to cry.

Sirius wraps an arm around your waist when you get up to go to the kitchen, squeezing the fat of your hip lovingly. “Think I’ll take up the duty of stirring the soup, too,” he says to you. “Seems like a two-person job.”

“Probably, yeah.” You let yourself lean into his side. He takes your weight happily, mushing a kiss into your hair. “Sorry I’m so lame lately,” you tell him quietly. “You guys don’t need to coddle me so much.”

“You’re not lame, who said that?” Sirius jostles you a little bit. When you don’t laugh, he changes his approach, leaning his head against yours. “We’re not coddling you, sweetheart. You’re just in a rut right now, yeah? And we’re meeting you where you’re at.”

He makes it sound so simple, but your throat clogs with the true difficulty of it all. When you reply your voice is thick. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out.”

“You will,” he promises surely. “I don’t know how long it might take, but it’ll happen. And if whatever we’re doing isn’t working for you, we can figure something else out, okay? We’re with you.”

When James says it’s your time to stir, Sirius insists on standing behind you and holding your hand that’s holding the spoon. Remus rolls his eyes at the idea of it being a two-person job, but you don’t know. You think maybe it takes all four of you to make it work.

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iamnotoriginalphil · 2 months ago

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Shadows and Light (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha shouldn't want you. But she does. She wants you so much. If only she'd let herself have you.

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Alcohol, self loathing, mentions of blood, angst, one bed trope, fuck you everyone lives

She couldn’t believed she’d allowed this to happen. It was inconceivable, even more so because she hadn’t noticed it happening. It had crept up on her.

You, with your wide eyes and easy smile, hair that shone, laughter that was like a bell ringing, you were everything she was not. Soft and sweet and nice. Kind. It would be disgusting if you hadn’t managed to charm her the way you charmed the rest of them.

Sitting back in her chair, nursing a glass of wine, she watched as you spun in the firelight. Dancing around the bonfire, bare feet kicking up leaves, you were a picture to watch. You were signing along, your voice clear and bright, melding with the other voices of the coven. You grasped both of Billy’s hands in yours, spinning with him in the flickering light.

The way he laughed was full of delight. You were grinning, tugging him closer as you sang, as free as she’d ever seen you. The weight had lifted and you were easier. Your head tipped back as you drank in the moonlight up above and she had to do her best not to reach out and sink her teeth into the long column of your neck. Your skirt twirled around your calves, flashes of skin in the firelight making her fingers clench.

You fell away from Billy, arms raising as you spun, such a pretty picture in the moonlight. Lilia’s arm curled around your waist, snatching you up in the dance and you went willingly. You were always so easy, so happy to give in to the whims of others, to fulfill their desires.

She wondered what would happen is she whispered her desires into your ear.

She could just imagine the look of disgust that would pass over your delicate features. The way you’d flinch back and begin to avoid her. The whispers she’d overhear about how there was something wrong with her. The confirmation she was everything anyone had ever called her.

She lent back, draining the last of her wine as she watched you, spinning and laughing and so free. So comfortable in your own body. So sure of yourself. Your head turned and even in the shadows, you found her. You smiled, so big and bright and beautiful and her heart squeezed in her chest like you’d reached through her ribcage and grasped it in your bare hand.

It was fucking pathetic.

“If you stare any harder you might set her on fire.”

She didn’t bother turning to look as Rio settled into the chair positioned beside hers. You’d been sitting in it earlier, rambling on about your plan for the garden you’d be planting this week. The cadence of your voice had been soothing after the day she’d had. There was something about it that always helped ground her back into the present, rather than plans spiralling out of control.

“I can understand your fascination,” Rio continued, “it’s not often we meet a witch so saccharine. And it’s genuine. When was the last time you met someone with no facade?”

“Everyone has facades,” she replied, automatic, uncaring if it was true or not.

“Not her.”

Rio tipped her beer towards you, drawing Agatha’s gaze back to you. Your hand was on Jen’s, twirling her, your arm curling around her waist as you did a clumsy waltz around the fire, out of time with the music and uncaring.

“If we teamed up I’m sure we could ruin her,” Rio said, voice a purr, “tear her apart, find out what makes her tick, make it so no one can put Humpty together again.”

“Stop it,” she said, not caring if her harsh voice gave away more than she usually would. There was no point pretending around Rio.

“We’d have so much fun playing with her,” she said, putting thoughts in Agatha’s mind of what she could do with you.

“Don’t,” she said, firmer, refusing to let her continue.

“Well, sweetheart, if you want to play with her, you might want to get a wriggle on or someone else will get there first.”

Rio dragged her gaze over to you significantly. Her head snapped up. Your fingers had wound with Jen’s, no longer dancing but swaying as you whispered together. Your face was so open and you were dazzling. It was incomprehensible that anyone could survive under that gaze without falling for you.

No wonder she’d had no chance.

The sharp jab of jealousy was familiar, tart and metallic in her mouth. She wanted to stop watching, didn’t want to see you fall under someone else’s spell, but feeling the inevitability of it. There was no possibility you were going to find joy in the darkness she knew she was made up of. But she couldn’t look away. She could never look away from you.

She sat with her churning gut, stewing in it. Normally, if this was someone else, she’d do something to lash out, to bring attention to back to herself, to remind everyone of her existence. Under your sunshine, she found herself shrinking back. It was infuriating and left her feeling as if she was on the back foot, unbalanced and unsure of herself. It was a new, if familiar, feeling and she hated it.

You fell into the grass beside Alice, head coming to rest on her shoulder. She passed you the bottle of beer she’d been drinking from, letting you sate your thirst. With your free hand you were pointing up at the stars, pointing something out in the night sky to her.

When Rio dropped down beside you, her jaw clenched.

She watched, a line drawn taut, as Rio’s fingers gently wound themselves through the ends of your hair. Your head rolled towards her, your smile stretching just a bit. With sure fingers, you gently tugged on the pocket of her jacket. Angling your body, you shifted to lean against Alice as your feet rested against Rio’s thigh.

Agatha felt like she was burning.

Lilia dropped down in your huddle and you automatically reached out, hand twining with hers. She watched the soft sigh that parted your lips, the way you relaxed, your eyes fluttering shut. She ached to be in the pile with you, to feel your muscles soften along the lines of her body, your weight sinking into her. She wanted to drag you away, to keep you all to herself, but even in the haze of her own anger she knew you wouldn’t appreciate it. That you liked being one part of a bigger whole. That you thrived with a coven. That you needed something she hadn’t let herself want for a very long time.

She squeezed her eyes closed, tipping her head upwards, taking a long slow breath in.

She didn’t open them again someone dropped into the seat beside her. Squinting them open, she’d expected Rio back. Instead, your soft smile greeted her, knees pulled up, chin resting on them as you tilted towards her.

“Tonight’s been good,” you sweet voice said, “have you enjoyed yourself, Aggie?”

“Aggie?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you not like it?” Your eyes widened and she saw the worry swimming in them, “sorry, I don’t have to-“

“It’s fine,” she interrupted, waving her hand. On your lips, the nickname was spun sugar, her heart beating double time.

“Have you though?” you asked, “enjoyed yourself?”

You reached out, your finger gently curling around a strand of her hair. Your lips parted and you looked at her from under lowered lashes, such hope in your face.

“You sure know how to throw a party,” she said, the way you were looking at her making up for the churning in her stomach.

The pleased tilt to your chin and the brightening of your eyes had her feeling like a live wire. You lent closer, the arm of the chair digging into your body as if you wanted to be close the distance between the two of you. She wondered if the arms weren’t present if you’d climb into her lap. She liked the thought of it.

“Are you going to stay tonight? Only it’s late and if you don’t want to drive you can. Lilia and Jen have already said they will and Billy…” You glanced back towards your house, “he passed out on the couch about an hour ago. I texted Eddie to let him know.”

“Not Rio or Alice?” she asked, the corner of her lips pulling up.

“Alice drove Shannon home and Rio did that thing where she just kind of disappears. If you don’t want to stay that’s okay but there’s space for you,” you said, fingers weaving together like you were anxious, like her answer mattered to you.

She reached out, placing her hand over yours, stopping you from twisting them to the point of breaking.

“I’ll stay,” she said.

You lit up like a goddess damned Christmas tree. Her heart stuttered, stumbling over itself and she cursed the day she’d met you. This was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t some mooney eyed teenager with a crush. She was Agatha Harkness; Witch Killer. You were nothing. No one.

It was amazing how she’d grown so used to lying to herself.

“Okay, but I only have one guest room. So we’re all going to have to share with someone. Do you have a preference?” you asked, rushing over the words.

She definitely had a preference.

“Will any of you be comfortable enough to be so vulnerable around me?” she asked.

“If you kill me in my sleep I’ll haunt you,” you said, “and I can be very annoying. You’ll never get a moment of peace again.”

She would happily spend eternity haunted by you. She had to get a grip. This was just unseemly.

“Then I suppose you know my preference,” she said.

She watched you stand up, bare toes digging into the grass. You held a hand out to her. She stared blankly.

“You take it,” you said, sounding amused.

She took it.

Bare skin brushing together, sending electricity running over her body from her palm. Staring for a moment, she couldn’t quite comprehend the way it looked, your fingers and hers knotted together. You tugged her out of her seat, breaking the moment of confusion from her brain. She was ready for you to pull away, but all you did was lead her back towards the house, hands swinging through the air. Why did it feel like the world had shrunk to that tiny point of contact?

“Are you guys good to share?” you asked as you entered the kitchen.

“We have to share a bed?” Jen asked.

You let go of Agatha’s hand and she had to bite back the disappointment. Your own arm slid around Jen’s waist, leaning into her as you blinked up at her. Lilia was staring at her, an assessing look on her face. Agatha looked back, not sure what she was seeing.

“There’s only two bed so unless you want to sleep on the floor, it’s you and Lilia, and me and Agatha,” you said.

“Good luck with that,” Jen said.

“You know, one day, and I’m not saying it’ll be today, but one day you’re going to have to admit you actually like her,” you said, “we’re a coven, a sisterhood. We belong together and to one another. Even Agatha.”

You looked over to her and she felt frozen in place. She wasn’t used to people talking about her that way. Like she was one of the team.

“Yes, well, if the feeling portion of the night is done, I wouldn’t mind retiring for the night,” she said, placing her empty wine glass down on the counter, trying to move past the rough squeezing in her chest.

“Course,” you said, “c’mon.”

You practically skipped out of the room. Billy was on the couch in your living room, his soft snores surprisingly endearing. Someone had laid a blanket over him. She could guess who. She hated that it made her feel something squishy in her chest.

“Locked the door,” Lilia said, pausing on the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s locked,” you said over your shoulder to her, “don’t worry.”

Lilia shook her head, seemingly coming back to the moment.

At the top of the stairs, you pointed to the door of the guest bedroom and the bathroom. And then the door to your bedroom was closing and she was locked in with you. You didn’t even stop to consider her, moving around the room like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” you said, “I have stuff if you don’t want to sleep in your clothes.”

She took the offered clothes, your hand brushing over hers. The door to the ensuite closed and she let out a long breath. She forced herself to get a grip over herself. Dragging the clothes over her body, she looked at herself in the mirror. It would do for sleep, but she hardly wanted anyone seeing her like this. They were soft and your perfume clung to the material and it was like being wrapped in your arms. No one should be able to see the expression on her face.

“Don’t worry, you look great. Just like always.”

She startled, not having heard you exit the bathroom. In your tank top and shorts, she was having difficulty looking at you straight on. If she did, she knew it would only end in trouble. Self control wasn’t one of her strong suits. Especially around you.

“If you’re not comfortable in them, I guess I can find something else for you to wear, but I’m not sure I really have anything that’s more to your taste,” you said, your worry palpable.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“Okay.”

You paused in front of her, fingers brushing over the back of her hands, featherlight and so soft. Her shoulders relaxed and she looked down at you properly. You were so small, so delicate, a harsh wind would snap you in half. In her hands, you’d have no chance.

Pushing up onto your toes, your fingers brushed over her throat and she had to physically stop herself from shivering. You dropped back down, smiling up at her like she’d made all your dreams come true.

“Left or right side?” you asked.

In the dark, it was so much worse. You seemed to have no issue curling up beside her. Your hand had reached blindly through the dark, fingers tangling with hers, a soft sigh on your lips when you found her. Your face was turned towards her, eyes closed, eyelashes resting on your cheeks. She found herself staring, not able to stop herself, tracing your features with her eyes, yearning to reach out and touch.

She couldn’t trust herself around you.

Muscles clenched, she tried to stay vigilant through the night, refusing to let herself relax. The moment she did, she was certain she would do something to you, something beyond her control, something to ruin you. Only, after some time, once she was certain you were asleep, you rolled over, face pressing into her shoulder, curling into her body. It was what she’d been hoping for, and yet it set off all kinds of fight or flight responses in her body.

She turned her head away from you, closing her eyes, doing her best not to feel the warmth of you against her, the ghost of your breath on her skin, your hand in hers. You pressed closer, seeking out her warmth. It all ached so much.

She tore her hand from yours, rolling over, refusing to give in. She knew she couldn’t listen to that voice inside of her, the one telling her to take what she wanted. Every time she did, someone got hurt and she wasn’t going to let it hurt you.

Your arm curled around her waist, bringing your body closer, aligning yourself with her. She froze. Mumbling something, your lips brushed the skin of her neck, tightening your arm around her. You threw your leg over her, keeping her in your embrace, refusing to let her go even as she tried to wriggle away.

“Sleep, Aggie,” you mumbled, “it’s bedtime.”

She stilled again. You let out a contented hum, burying your face against her. You softened again, muscles relaxing. She squeezed her eyes shut, winding her fingers through yours, holding them to her stomach. Maybe letting herself have this for one night wouldn’t be so bad. She could stop again in the morning and everything would be okay.

One night. She’d give herself one night. And then she’d let you go.

Cracking her eyes open in the morning light, she groaned. She buried her face in the soft hair in front of her, breathing in the floral perfume that she knew clung to your skin. You pushed back against her, melting into the mattress. Her fingers brushed over the soft skin of your stomach. The little noise you made was addictive enough that she did it again.

“Aggie,” you sighed, soft and sweet and delicious.

First thing in the morning, your voice was deeper, lower, a little raspy. She wanted to luxuriate in it, make you speak soliloquies just to hear it. Her arms tightened around you, practically crushing you to her.

“Agatha,” you murmured, almost a moan. She liked that.

If her fingers slipped down, found the heat between your legs, she would be able to hear you moan properly. If she tasted you, she could get you to moan so loudly it would be burned into her brain. If she fucked you deeply into the mattress she could make it so you never stopped moaning.

She couldn’t do any of that.

Dragging her arms from around you, she ignored the chill that went through her. She’d had her one night. She’d slept deeply and well, and now it was time to return to real life.

She lay back, considering getting up, slipping out of the bed and getting dressed and finding coffee. Your ceiling stared back at her, mocking her as she lay in indecision in your bed. The covers tugged and she was reminded of how close you still were, curled up in sleep, soft and vulnerable. Perfect for digging her nails in and shaping you how she wanted.

Only she wanted you exactly how you were. She wanted you soft and gentle and vulnerable. She wanted you with your open heart and wide eyes and trusting nature. She wanted every smile, every flutter of eyelashes, every giggle. She was greedy and she knew she hungered for something she would never have, a hunger she wasn’t sure she could ever satiate. She was every dark thought and every monster, and she would corrupt you, ruin you, rot you from the inside out.

And yet she wanted with such wild abandon she couldn’t stop.

She pushed up, sitting, ready to swing her legs out of the bed and retreat before she did something she regretted. Rio was right. All she brought was destruction and she couldn’t destroy you. It would destroy her.

Warm fingers curled around her wrist and she froze. You were blinking up at her, wide eyes still soft with sleep but the corners of your lips were pulled down. She was already ruining you.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

Your other hand rubbed at your eyes, wiping the sleep from them. Her heart gave an extra hard beat, almost slamming in her chest.

“Were you going to slip out without saying goodbye?” you asked when she didn’t answer, sounding lost and hurt and she hated herself in that moment more than she ever had before.

You were still lying back, hair spread over the pillow, looking perfect for her to ruin. Her lips could paint such pretty pictures on your skin. She could make those wide eyes glaze over as you moaned her name. You would be hers if she let herself have you.

“You were.” You pouted, “you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

You sat up and she had to drag her gaze away from the way the neckline of your tank top dipped, showing swathes of skin she wanted to bury herself in. Turning her head away, she tried not to show the way she felt heat creeping up her cheeks.

Because she was looking away, she had no chance to avoid it when you swung one leg over her and deposited yourself in her lap.

“That’s not very nice, Aggie. I bet you weren’t even going to leave a note,” you said.

Your hands were on her shoulders, winding into her hair, tugging her closer and all she could think of was how nice the weight of you in her lap felt. Her fingers clenched in the sheets, keeping from touching you. She was worried if she started then she’d never stop.

You weren’t making this easy on her.

You were still liquid warmth from sleep, pressing closer, those wide eyes eating her alive. You were still pouting and you were so close and all she wanted to do was close the distance and claim you. To let your warmth consume her until she was on fire.

“That’s so mean,” you said, fingertips dragging over her cheekbones, brushing the pulse in her neck, pushing just under the neckline of the shirt she’d borrowed.

“I am mean,” she said, forcing the words past her lips.

“No you’re not.” You shook your head, hair flying around your face, “you pretend to be but you’re not really.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, not able to meet your eye.

Your fingers gripped her hair, right at the roots, fists clenching until it pulled. She looked up into your face, finding something fierce there. It looked wrong on your face and yet so very right.

“I do. I do know. You pretend you’re this big scary monster who snatches children in the night but you’re not. You’re busy protecting a gooey centre that could break so easily.” Your fingers tightened in her hair. She hissed from the pain, “you care, Agatha Harkness. You care so much sometimes I think it scares you.”

“I don’t-“

You cut her off before she could say more than that.

“I see you, Aggie. Every part of you. And you’re wonderful.”

Your lips pressed to hers, rough and insistent, not the gentle brush she’d always imagined. You pressed closer, knees digging into her as they held her in place, fingers in her hair tugging and pulling. She was a live wire, caught under you, a hurricane going through her because of you. You pressed closer, nipping at her lip.

When she kissed you back, you sighed, melting against her. How could she not kiss you back, when you made such a pleased noise in the back of your throat as she did? You were a force of nature and she was merely a speck, destined to bow to you in all your might. Her hands grasped your hips, keeping you there with her, feeling how warm your skin was through the thin cotton of your shorts.

She fell back, dragging you with her, your lips finding their home on her skin. Wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of her neck turned her head fuzzy. She could drown in you, in the tsunami of her feelings for you, in the downpour of desperation she felt. Your tongue tasted her skin and you moaned, almost too quiet to be heard, muffled in her skin.

Her fingers pushed up past your shirt, seeking out the warm skin. There was much of it, swathes of it, all of it unexplored by her touch. An explorer with the sweetest of expeditions before her. You pressed closer, shivering, nose skimming along her jaw.

“Aggie,” you whispered, practically a whimper, pressing down on her.

Her hands kept creeping higher, before she dragged her nails down again. Your teeth nipped at her skin and the surprised laugh that came from her jolted her out of the moment.

“Stop,” she said, ripping her hands from your body, “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

You sat up and a frustrated look passed over your face. She stayed reclined on the pillows, every inch of her warring with her self control. Your hair was mussed, lips kiss stung, eyes bright. All she wanted was to ravage you, to paint her name behind your ribs and burn herself into your skin. You were a step away from being indecent.

“I see the way you look at me. I know how you feel about it me. It throbs through you,” you said, fingertips on her jaw, on her cheeks over her nose, “it’s a living heartbeat, your want for me.”

“Stop.”

Her fingers curled around your wrists, so delicate her hands became handcuffs easily. She dragged your hands from her, looking up, her chest caving in. You lent down, eyes seeking her out, refusing to let her wriggle out of this moment with her.

“I want you so much it’s like I’m being eaten alive,” you whispered, your hair brushing her skin, your eyes imploring, your lips sweets as they spilled saccharine secrets.

“I can’t,” she said again.

“Why not?” you asked and tears gathered in your eyes like jewels.

“I destroy everything I touch,” she said, her thumb brushing away a glittering tear before it could fall. Another fell in its place.

“No, Aggie,” you moaned, “you don’t destroy. You make. You made us. We were just a group of people and you made us into a coven.”

“I don’t know what it means to have a coven,” she said, looking away.

“You do.” Your forehead pressed against hers, eyes squeezed closed, breath hitching, “you yearn for one so fiercely it burns.”

“Stop doing that,” she said.

The hands still curled around your wrists shoved you away. You fell back, a mess of hair and tears and bare skin and she’d never wanted to tear you apart but you had cracked open her chest and all she could think about was getting her claws deep into your flesh until she was part of you. She refused to see she already was.

“Stop reading me,” she snapped.

“You shout.” You sniffled, “you’re so loud around me I can’t help it.”

She turned away, passing her hand over her face, surprised when it came away wet. She didn’t stop you as you curled your arms around her waist, face buried between her shoulder blades.

“Please, Aggie. Don’t deny yourself this. I’m yours, willingly and completely. You could never destroy me. You’d never let yourself,” you said, muffled in her shirt. She could feel your lips move with every word.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she said.

“I don’t need to. I only need to know what you will do. And I trust you,” you whispered.

She turned, dislodging you. Your fingers twisted in your lap and she wanted to rip them from your body and she wanted to suck on them and she wanted to feel them run all over her body. You blinked and your lips parted and you were the picture of innocence. How could she mar you? How could she let herself ruin your perfection?

“You shouldn’t,” she said.

“You won’t break me by holding on too tight. I want you to hold on tight. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. You don’t understand what it’s like. How I crave you,” you said, “sometimes I think I can only breathe when you’re around. That I’m holding my breath until I see you again.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said, her heart eviscerated at your words.

“I do.” Your hands clutched hers, “I do.”

You were looking at her, such wide eyes, swimming with emotion and she remembered the way you kissed her. Not soft and gentle and safe, but like you would die if you stopped. The desperation was all yours. You held on and refused to let go. Your teeth sunk in. You fought dirty for what you wanted.

“Please, Aggie,” you whispered, fingertips on her cheek again, catching her tears, gaze slipped down to her lips, “let me have you.”

Who needed self control?

She launched herself at you, sending you sprawling over the mattress. The kiss was bruising, demanding, taking ruthlessly. She was thrown on her back, you climbing on top again, fingernails dragging over her skin. Your knees dug in, poking into her soft vulnerable places. You didn’t give her time to breathe, suffocating her with your kisses. But what a delicious way to go.

“Oi.”

A fist slammed into the bedroom door. You startled, sitting up, looking beautifully mussed. She dragged her nails up your thighs and she felt you quiver.

“Are you still alive in there?” Jen called through the door.

“Yeah,” you called, breathless and squirming above her.

“Good.”

The door was pushed open, two nosey witched peering in. Your fingers wrapped themselves in Agatha’s hair, mouth falling open before it snapped shut.

“We, uh…” You turned your eyes down to her. She ran her fingers over the skin of your thigh. Your eyelashes fluttered.

“Oh god,” Jen said.

“You should have-“ Lilia said before cutting off without finishing the sentence.

“Locked the door,” you murmured, eyes squeezing shut.

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip. She yearned to do that herself, to feel the thin skin split, your blood coating her tongue. But then your shoulders were shaking and she realised you were trying not to laugh. You tipped, falling off her, burying your face in the pillow to stifle it as best you could. She glowed, the sound of your giggles pure sunshine running through her veins. She reached a hand out, stroking over your hair.

“No wonder you wanted to share beds,” Jen said, “you were having fun while I spent the night being kicked by Lilia.”

“Next time I’ll take Lilia and you can have Agatha,” you said, emerging, bright and joyful, the tears gone. No, now you were practically shining.

“I’m good,” she replied.

You climbed out of the bed and Agatha had to clench her fingers to keep from reaching out and pulling you back into her embrace. You extended a hand to her, lacing your fingers with her and pulling her with more strength than she’d thought you had.

“Breakfast,” you said, “I’m gonna cook you guys so many pancakes.”

Passing Lilia, Agatha in tow, you brushed your fingers over the back of her hand. You tapped Jen on the nose as you passed and you beamed. Agatha found her own lips curling up in a smile, heart thudding in her chest, the monster in her chest purring.

“My coven,” you said, voice pure happiness, “how I love you.”

Maybe the truth was there were no shadows without light. And maybe you were fierce enough to keep her from destroying you. Maybe you, with your wide eyes and easy smile and soft touches, would destroy her. And maybe she was okay with that.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha all along #agatha harkness

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pricegouge · 20 days ago

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price x pregnant!f!reader meetcute drabble i whipped up on my lunch dedicated entirely to the girl at work who's too heavily pregnant to fit her scrubs rn. john price would love you, girl, keep your chin up

The worst part wasn't actually the discomfort of the papery material, nor the cheap elastic waistline which dug into your plush sides and itched like a sonofabitch. It wasn't even the embarrassment of having to track down your lead at the start of your shift and shamefacedly admit that you could no longer fit into your designated scrub pants and ask if he could maybe please find some spares somewhere? (He couldn't, because apparently no one on the team before you had ever fallen ill with a baby in the belly or even just gained a little weight.)

No, the worst part was the noise.

It hadn't been something you'd even considered until you were already barging into your first patient's room, swishing away with each step. Mr. Jeffreys had grumbled in his sleep, eye peeking open just as you'd leaned over him to start your morning check. Enough ruckus, woman. You'd thought he was just being irritable, a common enough occurrence, but then it happened again and again, each new room bringing another grumpy occupant, displeased about being woken up so far ahead of breakfast. Still, you almost preferred that to the early risers, the old biddies who would turn to greet you, already alert, take one look at you with your swollen belly overhanging the thin paper pants they'd made you wear over your reliable leggings, and start cackling loud enough to draw attention from the other orderlies.

You weren't the first pregnant woman to outgrow her pants, but you were perhaps among the first to have done so in a professional setting.

At least it got easier the more the day dragged on, quippy remarks coming more naturally to you the more you had them levelled at you in kind. You'd even let a little boy doodle on your shin, an attempt to keep his mind of his mother groaning in pain, attempting to work through a kidney stone. You're fairly sure you're rocking an Incredible Hulk there now, but it was a bit hard to tell with the way the magic markers had bled across the tyvek weave.

"Missed your calling."

You frown down at the man before you, thick brows only slightly pinched despite the way you knew his shoulder must be killing him. GSW. Didn't get many of them 'round here, but you'd seen enough hunting accidents to figure out the good stuff didn't always cut it. And this didn't seem like your average misfire, or pulled-shot graze. He'd been the talk of the nurses station when the call had come through to prep for him, bullet taken straight on, center mass. He wasn't from here, didn't seem to know anyone from here. No one believed it was a simple hunting accident, but the authorities had come and gone, sent skittering by a rather severe woman yielding a badge no one had gotten a good look at. No arrests, minimal testimonies. Rumors had sprouted roots, grew too tall too quickly to be believable. You'd heard everything from a jilted lover to some sort of military coup, but you hadn't placed much stock in anything other than the three letters which had remained unchanged on his chart since the moment he'd been admitted, and then later the surgeon's notes.

GSW. Successful operation.

That had only been two days ago. You'd been in his room once before, set about the same task. He'd been fast asleep, the handsome man who's been visiting offering charming but ultimately short conversation. It hadn't bothered you as you'd been in a rush, and you'd known full well the stress loved ones usually felt, trying to ensure the best possible rest for their injured loved ones.

He had no guard dog today, no one to send you packing when your putzing made too much noise. And now you've woken him, poor man.

"Pardon?"

Blue eyes blink open, cloudy with pain and the influence of strong meds but surprisingly alert. They flick down to your leg, shoulders tensing a bit as he lifts his head to see properly. "Pretty tree you've made there."

You can't help but laugh. "Seems I'm right where I should be, then, seeing as that's supposed to be the Hulk. I think," you add once you've earned a smirk.

"Can't even remember what it is you've drawn? You the reason I can't find a comfortable position? Been stealing my morphine?"

"I wish," you sigh, pat your belly dramatically. "But they say it's bad for baby."

His brows lift into his hairline, pain momentarily forgotten as he looks you over again, as if seeing you for the first time. You realize pretty quickly that he's one of those people, the crinkling around his eyes revealing him as the type. It's one of the weirdest parts of being pregnant, the strangers who look at you with awe, as if you've hung the moon. You try not to think too much of it, don't like imagining couples who've tried for years when all you've managed to do was slip up your birth control one time, like a fool. This man isn't wearing a ring, but that doesn't mean much. Most women who carry on after you are single, too. At least he's not trying to touch your belly.

"Is that why you're half way to a paper gown? Come wandering from maternity?"

"Har, har," you deadpan, waving your stethoscope at him although you know full well he's seen it - hard to miss, resting atop your swollen tits. "No, I've simply grown too fat for my scrubs. And I think my lead's having too much fun embarrassing me about it."

He frowns, somehow vaguely patronizing even while heavily medicated. "No spares for someone in your condition?"

"Nope! Apparently I'm lucky enough to be the only fertile little heifer ever on the team," you snark, and then squint at his monitor when his pulse spikes unexpectedly.

"Sorry," he mumbles - odd - and when you check, you notice some color to his ears. He clears his throat to distract you from fretting, though the softness is gone from his eyes again, replaced by an implacable type of tension. "Perhaps they're simply not used to expectant mothers working so late into their term?"

Ah. At last, the well-meaning concern. It grates at you worse than usual, the ease and simplicity (albeit annoyance) of your silly morning falling apart in seconds. Perhaps it's that, the whiplash, that has you huffing irritably, mood plummeting. "Well. Someone's got a pay my bills," you gripe, snapping the claw of his clipboard just to work out some aggression. Maybe it's the hormones.

There's a huff of breath, almost as animated as yours. When you look to make sure he's not aspirating or something, your new friend's absurd mustache is twitching. "Well. That's what Mr. Pretty Nurse is for, no?"

The phrasing makes you smile, hands gentling as you busy yourself with his monitor. This is familiar ground, at least, a path well-tread which you'd like navigating with a conversational partner who would call you Ms. Pretty Nurse. "Sure," you concede, tapping away at his station to check the trend of his vitals. Steady, even. All night. Like he was practiced at taking bullets. "You ever see him, you tell him he owes me a back log of bills, alright?" In truth, your 'mister' never was a mister, just some guy you'd been trying to blow off steam with. He'd cut and run the second you'd brought up the pregnancy, but you'd decided to keep it after some thought and had never followed up with him, deciding it ultimately was no longer his concern. You harbored no ill will, really, but the dead beat dad was a common schtick, an easy conversational piece when simply shooting the shit with talkative patients. If the worst part about pregnancy was the noisy pants (and the morning sickness, and the belly hair, and the leaky nipples and the -) then the best part was surely the built-in small talk.

"Be sure to let him know," chops murmurs, voice tight. You check his file again, correct your mental dub with his real name, John Price. Traditional, like the neat beard hiding the growing color in his cheeks. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly rougher. "Who did that, then?"

You think he's pointing to your belly, far too forward, but when you check you see his finger aims lower, towards the art that started this conversation. "Kid over in pre-op. Was upset watching his mom writhing around. Passing a stone," you supply with an exaggerated whisper, as if telling him some scandalous secret.

John grins, soft again. "You'll be good at it, then."

"Pardon?" you ask absently, watching as his heartbeat seems to flutter weakly.

"Said 'too round for scrubs,'" he chuckles. "Good job, mama."

You scoff, scandalized, but when you turn to him you find he's got that far off look in his eye, a sharp contrast to the lucidity of his speech. That does it. You tut, leaning over him to check his forehead with the back of your hand. And outdated practice, sure, but still useful in a pinch. He doesn't feel overly warm, but his focus has slipped back into that slight haziness, blissed out and vaguely absent, staring a good half a foot below your eyes.

"Mr. Price -," you start but he interjects.

"Just John, love."

"Sure. John. Are you feeling okay?"

Eyes crinkling again, he gives you an unbearably soft smile, at odds with everything you've managed to glean from his chart. "Never better, doll."

banner by @/cafekitsune

#it's shit but i haven't written in weeks so we're rolling with it and we're being nice #price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader

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luveline · 1 month ago

Text

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks.

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling.

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him.

“I can’t,” you say.

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.”

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.”

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat.

“James…”

“Just hit me,” he says.

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage.

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.”

“I don’t want to hit you, James.”

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.”

“I’d rather not, though.”

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.”

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.”

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.”

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm.

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest.

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!”

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.”

“I am not punching you in the face.”

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say.

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple.

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests.

You relax.

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.”

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two.

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority.

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.”

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined.

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.”

“Yeah?”

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.”

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint.

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?”

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.”

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?”

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.”

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.”

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift.

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy.

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses.

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?”

“I need stuff.”

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.”

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.”

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance.

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny.

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does.

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?”

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.”

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.”

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…”

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there.

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them.

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise.

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.”

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.”

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.”

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour.

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?”

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.”

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before.

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.”

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues.

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns.

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says.

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.”

“Maybe next time,” you appease.

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks.

You laugh. “She was nice.”

“Very motherly.”

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?”

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.”

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.”

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?”

“No! When?”

“The third.”

“What does he like?”

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.”

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.”

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely.

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction.

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door.

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.”

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.”

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly.

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years.

“How exhausting,” you’d said.

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.”

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames.

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot?

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork.

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat.

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath.

“Everything okay?” you ask softly.

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?”

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending.

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?”

“I’m actually not sure.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.”

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it.

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously.

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?”

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask.

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.”

“Sorry.”

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?”

“I’ll just be in your way.”

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.”

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.”

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly.

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”

“I resent that!” James calls.

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one.

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.”

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.”

“We’re both fine,” you say.

“Were you worried about us?” James asks.

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk.

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company.

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real.

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths.

“Bit my tongue,” you say.

“Ouch,” Remus says.

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually.

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down.

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.”

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased.

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.”

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.”

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.”

“And the rest,” James snorts.

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself.

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask.

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.”

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?”

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask.

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country.

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood.

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.”

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says.

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.”

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask.

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.”

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.”

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly.

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.”

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead.

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Of course.”

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise.

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.”

He’s angry.

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.”

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.”

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones.

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner.

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