lillie!

the shack arthur had managed to make was basic. almost laughable.

he'd asked around for help, and he'd been given about seven dirty looks, before he found you and you albeit reluctantly said you'd help him.

it was just scrap material you'd found around the island, but nights here were warm anyway, and insects were uncommon. there wasn't much he needed shelter from, apart from the occasional rain, so you packed the material on the roof tighter than the rest.

he woke up in his makeshift cot, his back sore and a stick in his back that only encouraged him to sit up to move it. meaning that he was wide awake once he had moved.

the sun had risen, and arthur could see the clear blue through the crack in the wall. and there was a lovely warmth that washed over him despite being shaded. perfect weather to ride the horse that you had donated him 'in case anybody chased him down with spears.' rather considerate of you, if you say so yourself.

he spent around five minutes freshening up, before he bent down and walked out of his shack.

the beautiful sun warmed him up even more, and it was almost like heaven.

and then he looked up, and there was no horse.

he just sighed. where the hell had his horse gone?

he probably shouldn't be asking around for his horse that wasn't even his. the locals hated him enough, but maybe they saw him differently now that he'd stayed the night. seemingly, very few visitors would.

it was midway through asking the third local, as well as the word horse, when the loud click of hooves against the path echoed through the air, grabbing his attention and cutting him off.

he immediately looked up. and of course it was you who had stolen his horse. but every five seconds, or every other shack you passed, you called out the same thing.

"a storm comes!"

again and again until the entire island had heard.

he had never been so unsure whether to be furious or impressed. or perhaps in love. he hadn't even felt this way for his brothers before, despite their impressive tricks and the way that arthur could never not be fond of them.

once you were certain the town was warned, you returned arthur's horse. well, your horse. and he stood in front of his shack as if he was waiting for you.

"you could have asked." he teased, eyebrows raised.

"no. there's a storm in two days. there was no time to ask."

"two days? and you were in such a hurry?"

"you don't understand." you replied. "and i will not try to explain it to you."

"okay. well, i know how you can make more money." he said, still completely casual despite his supposedly big ideas.

"excuse me?"

"i can show you how to grow a few plants that will thrive here. and then you can sell them across the sea. the conditions here are perfect."

"oh."

"oh indeed."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

his plan had worked. slightly.

the island had made more money, which was ideal for everyone.

but what wasn't ideal for you was the fact that suddenly, everybody on the island was treating arthur like a king. like he had saved them, even though the island was doing just fine before him.

you still despised him. even when everyone told you that you should change your mind about him, that he only wanted to improve the island out of the good of his heart, but you just didn't believe them. not at all.

except, you had a weird sixth sense in your gut that you weren't the only one who still hated arthur. the sort of people that used to lurk in the shadows, the previous masterminds of the smuggling now left with no work, unless they returned to the surface again.

and they were likely waiting for the perfect moment to do that very thing.

whilst you walked along the small farm with arthur, you definitely didn't expect that perfect moment to be right now.

but before you knew it, you were yanking arthur's arm before the arrow that had been fired at him landed square in his chest.

handling fatal wounds definitely wasn't your thing. you were more of a help the child that scraped their knee stop sobbing kind of person.

your hand had slid down to grip his wrist instead, but you still yanked him towards your shack, into a hiding spot.

he tried to speak, and you shushed him for a few seconds, before you nodded, a signal that he was safe to speak.

"thought you were the only one who hated me enough to try and kill me." he joked. you almost laughed. almost.

"half of the island does, actually."

"oh." he tried to figure out if you were joking or not. and then, once it was very obvious that you weren't, he went quiet until he finally muttered a quiet 'thank you.'

and then he had the shortest sleep he had ever had in his life.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: hi hello this was so fun to write omg i'm writing this before i'm going out drinking and omg i fell asleep at 10pm by accident while sat in the dark listening to my massive playlist that has like 1600 songs in it from over the past few years and i fell asleep listening to the 1975 or something and i woke up and bad guy by billie eilish was playing and it was 2am, and i couldn't get back to sleep soo i haven't had much sleep but oh well.. i have to wake up at like 8am tomorrow so that'll be fun!

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you had heard of the queen's further refusal from harry himself.

it was irritating. you knew not whether it was your mother's unwillingness to comply, or harry's persistence to receive such an unlikely answer.

you couldn't wander the streets, and especially not with a nobleman and unchaperoned. so you and harry decided on meeting in the quiet field beside your palace's gardens.

"we need to ask her again." harry began. "i cannot live knowing i have not married you."

"i know. but we are both fools to believe she shall change her mind."

harry didn't reply to that. he just let out a long exhale, lowering his head ever so slightly, but then it rose again to look at you as your eyes darted around.

"is there a problem?"

"noises. i can hear my butlers. they will be looking for me. apologies, harry, i must leave."

harry didn't call your name to bring you back. he knew that this conversation would be over for at least this evening.

"your highness!" one of the butlers called out, before his eyes finally found you. "your highness! your mother has been asking for you. she requests your presence."

"thank you, sir." your pace quickened as you shuffled inside and up the stairs toward where you knew she would be.

and then she was there.

"my dear. you may want to sit down."

"why?"

"i have arranged you a royal marriage, and-"

"what!"

"-i want no protests. you either marry no one, like i hoped you would, or you marry somebody who shall keep your status up."

"mother!"

"you either fight for our rights by staying independent, or you fight for our rights by ensuring the country loves you. to marry mr lewis is to go against both. if you want to rule this country, they must love you or hear you. so, you are to marry prince phillip of france. he is arriving in what we assume shall be three weeks, and then you will marry him." there was a rough silence then after your mother's harsh words were said. they were reality, but still so difficult to process. and then, once you could gather your thoughts, you spoke again.

"did ruling england ever actually make you happy?"

your words lingered. and she had no answer to that.

"dear-"

"did it make you happy." you repeated, harsher this time, exaggerating each word.

another silence. "retire to your chamber."

"i knew it! you are not happy. if you give me the same life as yourself, how do you expect me to be happier? to do more good? i am rebelling, and that is the very thing that will lead to change."

"i said, retire to your chamber!"

and finally, you listened to her. and as you walked away, you felt a strange feeling of shame, that you should have held your ground for longer, or that you shouldn't have even got involved with harry in the first place. you had only embarrassed yourself in the end.

who was prince phillip of france? how had he and your mother collaborated to ruin your life simply by removing harry from it?

you had to find him again.

even if that meant sneaking out of your bedroom with a cloth to cover your head, sliding through the doors leading to the fields before stealing a courser from the stables.

the horse was young, as small as the hobbies but still speedy. the black coat of hers did well to conceal your identity, matching the black cloth that you now wore as a small cloak.

if you were seen, you would be killed. and somehow that was better fate than marrying the prince phillip your mother spoke of.

you barely even realised that it had only been twenty five minutes since your mother had summoned you.

at first, you only noticed because the direction of the sun had barely moved, only a third of what it would have after the hour you assumed it had been.

and then secondly, you noticed that harry had not even left the fields.

he was pacing when you saw him, a sign that he had been waiting for you and that he felt the time slow as much as you had.

"harry!"

"you're back! what happened?"

"she's arranging a royal marriage for me." you practically panted as you said the words, rushing out quickly despite your hesitance to say them.

the fallacy fell pathetic, his mouth gaping open slightly as the now falling ran trickled down the side of his head. then the other side. then dampening his eyelashes.

he let out a curse you didn't know the meaning of, and you finally looked into his eyes.

"i'm still fighting."

"i know you are. you always do."

the butlers weren't calling for you this time, but still, you feared being caught with harry still.

so you excused yourself from the conversation for what you believed to be the last time ever, finally letting the tears fall once your back was to him and to anybody else it was clearly just rainwater. of course it was. what was there to cry about? nothing and yet everything all at once.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: okay if there's any historical inaccuracy here i'm sorry, i tried to find the best way to add more harry into this scene aha so if i didn't add him very effectively i'm sorry, and sorry that it's quite short, i tried to make it as long as i could but literally any other storyline i can add is in chapter five

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to practically run an island and loving all of the residents was one thing. to accept a visitor with open arms was another.

you tried to avoid the man when you found out that a mr hill had visited, and despite the two days since then, he had not left. which was odd.

visitors were rare. those who chose to stay were one of a kind.

when arthur had heard of the island, well, he had little to no time to think before he was on a boat.

after his return from spain, his mother ensured that he stayed couped up in london for at least a fortnight. so as soon as those fourteen long days ended, he was sailing across the ocean.

it was only around an hour and a half before the boat slowed and the island approached rapidly. he was here.

as soon as he could reach, he climbed out of the boat, ready to stretch his limbs and explore the island. the first man he met was a fisherman.

"ah, mr hill. i heard word of your interest, we assumed you would not follow through. welcome to our island, though."

"thank you, sir. i must ask why this island is so undesirable for visitors..?"

"well, frankly, i am shocked that you're here. well, nobody can find us, we have no island name yet. but also the island is bankrupt, the tennants hate you nobles and the manor is quite frankly crumbling into the sea. i wish you luck."

arthur bit his lip as the man spoke. there was a lot that was wrong here, and surely there was not an easy resolution.

breaking him from his thoughts was you, approaching him with rapid speed. he tried to offer you a polite smile as he noticed your angry frown, hoping to soften whatever blow him or someone else was about to receive.

"you should leave, mr hill."

the polite smile turned ever so slightly into a smirk. "well, i disagree. so good day, miss."

you scoffed as he walked away.

he didn't end up leaving. he probably should have.

instead, he explored the island further. he spent an hour wandering. along the manmade pathways, along the sandy beach made by nature, and all the way to where he next found civilisation close enough to overhear but far away to hide from.

you, and another woman.

"he's gullible. an imbecile, in my opinion."

"so his chances of finding out about the smuggling are..?"

"extremely slim. do not worry. he has about as much sense as the boats themselves."

the pair exchanged a laugh at that, causing arthur to frown ever so slightly.

smuggling. they were smuggling drugs. no wonder arthur hadn't found any other source of income on the island. he hadn't even considered that. how else would they be able to afford food?

but arthur had one thing on his mind. he had to end the smuggling and find a better way for the island to make money. but could he?

surely, if there was an easy way, the residents would have already found one.

he started wandering again, practically pacing along the sand.

"you again." you announced, walking towards the back of him. "i thought you had left already, perhaps i was too hopeful."

"no." he sighed, visibly bracing himself for something. "how is it that your island is so advanced? i notice that there is little to no visible evidence of profit."

"fishing." you replied, far too quickly as if you had prepared yourself for this exact conversation. "the fish in the area are very expensive for those in italy and toward wales."

"and the smuggling?"

"excuse me?"

"the smuggling that you spoke of earlier." when his words only left silence, he spoke again. "is that why you were so desperate for me to leave? you wanted to leave your business uncovered?"

"you tell a soul, and the residents of this island shall drop like flies. that very smuggling feeds us. if you have no empathy, then very well, do what your sick heart must. but i recommend you leave and pretend to forget."

"i want to stop it. i want to work out how this island can profit otherwise and i want to make an island that can survive in far more ethical ways."

"any ideas, then?" you yelled, exasperated at his nerve. "i am telling you, if there were a single alternative for our wrongdoings, then our wrongdoings would be no more. do not arrive on our island and speak of us as if we are imbeciles, we have tried everything. this was never our first choice."

"you called me an imbecile."

"because that is what you are for believing in us."

he didn't reply. he just smiled ever so slightly, causing your eyebrows to furrow in annoyance.

he enjoyed your temper, your boldness. it was so rare in london to find a woman who would insult a man with such fire and no hesitation whatsoever.

"what?" you questioned after five seconds of that stupid smile.

"it's wonderful to meet you, miss..?"

"miss reader." you replied hesitantly. still annoyed, yet polite in a way that didn't match your previous volume.

and then you both left it at that.

you returned to your small shack that you shared with a few other island residents.

all while arthur stayed on the beach.

he just paced again and again even when people began to stare. why was the odd man that arrived recently pacing along the beach so menancingly?

perhaps out of kindness, or even out of fear, they just left him to it.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: god bless my thoughts at midnight, this might become my favourite series of the whole au. so long as i actually write this exactly how i visioned it at 2am

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you and harry pressed your masks back to your face in a futile attempt to hide the way that your cheeks had turned a very telling shade of red. the flamboyancy of your mask definitely did more to aid you than harry's did, but his still worked.

it was much easier for you to climb the steps to approach your mother than it was for harry. you only had to pretend that harry wasn't there, for he was behind you.

but harry was not only about to ask the queen for the princess' hand in marriage, but he also had to stare at the back of you as his chance to run away faded at a worrying pace.

there was no turning back now. not once he had reached the final step. definitely not once he had bowed deeply to her majesty the queen, who accepted the bow with a nod that was barely there.

she had always liked harry's family, always been mutuals with his mother. but she would have never expected this.

"your majesty. may i have your daughter's hand in marriage?"

"excuse me?" your mother almost exclaimed, looking between you and harry as if this was some sick joke.

and then the expression that was previously horror mixed with shock now faded to a slightly more mature face of apathy, or barely visible anger, confusion, disbelief.

"mother." you spoke before harry could. "as forward as he may have been, it is something that we both long for. i know this is all you never wanted, though this feeling i cannot avoid and ignore. please, mother."

"no. no." the queen's breathing was heavy, as if she was preparing to pour her soul into her next words. "marriage is a trap, your desired marriage included. you are preparing yourself to become a breeding vessel. do you truly believe a man would attempt to marry a princess whilst not trying to gain the political control that comes with being a prince?"

"mother-"

"i have raised a daughter that is as against patriarchy as i. i have raised a daughter that has heard the stories of the woman i would be had it not have been for my father's cruel demands. for such daughter to turn and ask to marry, i am purely offended that my teachings were so misunderstood. you may leave this ball, both of you."

your lachet shoes crunched in the gravel as harry guided you to your carriage. your voice was hesitant as you joked in such a dark time (both physically, considering the sun had fallen, and mentally, considering the results of your request to marry). "i believe that that went rather well, mr lewis."

he let out a small laugh, one that sounded slightly forced, but perhaps it was the nerves of being shut down by the queen. "my apologies. i should not have been so bold, i-"

"mr lewis. it is quite alright. it is i who suggested my mother would be glad to embrace you as a prince. you have no reason to apologise."

he sighed then, the steam from his exhale curling around his body. "i still would like to marry you. and i am willing to do all it takes for that very thing to happen. if, that is , you are still open to our marriage."

"of course, mr lewis! i doubt progress, though i wish you luck in your.. adventure."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

this was a very stupid idea. harry should have realised that when he was walking towards the royal palace, or even it could be forgiven if he didn't realise until he reached the bottom of the stairs to the palace.

but now he was being led to the queen, summoning himself, something that was very dangerous.

"mr lewis." the queen acknowledged as the man in front of her bowed.

"your majesty." he began. "i am here once again about your dear daughter."

"you have some nerve, mr lewis. it has been simply hours since my refusal, and yet you return. what nonsense about love do you bring to me today?"

there was a glint in his eyes then, sudden bravery that he definitely didn't feel before, but the kind that came with desperation. "i have not slept one wink, as she is all that is on my mind, and to have such a mockery and yet not her by my side is torture. let me marry her, for i am so desperately in love with her, and i am so fortunate that the feeling is reciprocated. i have no interest in power or patriarchy, and i stride for her love, not a title. please, i pray you hear me for what i mean, and not for what you believe of me."

a heavy silence played in the air, despite the fact that harry's words were still echoing in the large building. the queen seemed shocked, but it wasn't very obvious. it was more like mockery, however she had always been difficult to read.

"how romantic." she began, suddenly stroking the maltese sitting in her lap with a faster pace than previously, a sign of built up emotions, perhaps. "no." she spoke abruptly. "any man can lie as well as you have. i am not convinced by your antics, mr lewis. she has fallen for your sick trap, though i have not and i will not. coo to her and not me of your love for her. this is over."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: i actually love every version of queen elizabeth i like her and anne boleyn are two of my favourite women in the tudor period and i think people forget that they're mother and daughter since anne obviously got beheaded which is so sad i reckon they would be the best duo ever if anne survived x so shout out to my six the musical and horrible histories childhood YOU carried this entire au

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your son, ollie, definitely wasn't a bad kid. he was just a three year old that was slightly weird, just like chris, uncle arthur and especially uncle isaac. it was definitely chris' fault that he was addicted to football and lord of the rings, uncle arthur's that he was addicted to science, and uncle isaac's that he enjoyed collecting rocks and making worm farms.

and don't even question how he seemingly knew every single arthur hill lyric word for word (even including orange wine which hadn't even come out yet, and a gut-wrenching teaser from years ago) and how he could probably recreate all of george's dances from when george was on strictly..

but he definitely had a lot of... potential..? for a kid so young. he was intelligent, but he was definitely in a different headspace to the other kids.

that's why you and chris always ended up in these after school meetings with his teacher, a snobby old woman that was far too rude to be teaching people who weren't even in year one yet.

"yes, mr and mrs dixon. about ollie's behaviour today, well, this time, he brought twenty leaves, six sticks, and a worm into class because he said to me that he was starting a zoo." chris almost laughed at that. you could tell that he was close to breaking, so you nudged him ever so slightly. christ, ollie was definitely his father's son. "he also managed to kick a soft football onto the school roof, which i'm quite surprised by considering he's around 3 feet tall, and usually it's the year sixes getting the balls stuck on the roof. and, oh, he managed to learn the caretaker's route around the school and he keeps appearing wherever he's about to be, we've had a few complaints about that from the caretaker hinself, that he keeps popping up and telling him bad jokes." chris was very close to laughing now. but so were you, so you couldn't even silently scold him. if you moved your shoulder towards his, it would begin to shake in that uncontrollable laughter sort of way.

ollie looked so calm about it all, like this was his average tuesday.

it probably was.

"and somehow, he managed to sneak an entire mannequin head into school without anyone noticing. we have no idea how he hid it or anything, or where she got it from, but he made a few of the other children cry because he was chasing after them so we had to take it off him. so.. if you are missing a mannequin head and you need it, then let me know.." her words were very hesitant. fair enough.

chris couldn't hold it back now, and then he let out a little laugh. you glared at him, muttering a little "chris!" under your breath, causing him to go slightly sheepish. but you couldn't help but admit that you found that funny too.

when the meeting was finally over, when the snobby teacher gently pressed her hands to the table to push herself upwards and gesture the three of you out with a stiff expression, you all walked out into the now dead playground. for whatever reason, ollie seemed happy as ever. perhaps it was just his age, but he was so beautifully unaware of what was going around her all of the time, it was slightly peaceful. until you looked at the speed in which he ran when chasing after a football or sometimes a squirrel.

"how on earth have you managed to do that, then?" chris asked him, surprisingly calm, almost humoured still. definitely humoured.

"do what?" ollie replied with a cheeky grin. the kind that told chris he was about to get riled up.

"whatever you're doing at break time when all of your friends are playing tag or something."

"i made a zoo." his voice was a mixture of pride and calmness, as if it was casual for him but still proud, or he tried to act humble and it just didn't work, since he was usually unable to hide his excitement for anything.

"let me guess. with sticks and leaves and worms?"

"yep! how'd you know?" he asked, genuinely confused and perhaps slightly shook.

"just a guess." chris shrugged with that silly little smile that reached half his mouth yet both of his eyes.

"wooaaahh."

"so, beautiful wife." he adressed you, the way he always does when he's trying to be convincing. "is that barbecue still on for this weekend?"

"the barbecue where all of your friends end up gathering in a circle to teach ollie the next weird trick they can think of?" you replied, unimpressed but still laughing under your breath.

"that's the one. i think arthur just wants someone else to speak science to. i think his girlfriend's a bit tired of him talking about otters or something at the moment. rightly so." he said through quiet laughs. "wouldn't mind toy otters around the house though, they're quite cute. but the second ollie asks for a pet otter, i'm telling arthur off."

a small laugh escaped you at that. "yep, barbecues still on." your eyes darted up from the two seconds you stared at your feet, and ollie was already slightly ahead, straying to the side of the path, probably to pull out some random weed that he thought looked cool until you stopped him with your routine "ollie!" that was fueled with fatigue. fair enough.

this wasn't your first or last tlc meeting. there wasn't anything you could do about ollie. he wasn't a bad kid, he was just passionate about different things.

a/n: it's my birthday tomorrow! n sorry for like the massive timeskip considering it went from pregnancy to aged 3 but yk!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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chris had always been very observant. it came to him naturally while he was trying to perfect the arts of being a perfect husband at just age nine.

so it was only three hours of waking up from his sleep, or lack of considering he stayed very awake, that he noticed that you were acting ever so slightly differently to usual.

your door had not opened once since he had left his own room, and chris had found you nowhere in the house, so he could tell that you were hiding away.

it was approaching noon, and by now you would have visited your boys at least four times to check that they were feeling well - you were always fussy like that - but you hadn't.

the only company the boys had today were one anothers, their governesses, and also chris popping his head round the door once or twice to check for their mother, offering them forced smiles once the boys caught him.

you laid in your bed, that funny feeling of guilt that you knew you didn't deserve to feel pooling in your stomach as the blankets layered on top of your body.

you had no appetite, no desire to sleep despite being so exhausted.

you had truly believed that your husband was as faithful as you had. truly questioned just how he could have caught the plague when he barely ever left the house.

but maybe that could describe the way he was more tired than he should have been during the day. you pinned it to bad sleep rather than him waking up in the night because he loved another.

perhaps he deserved to die. perhaps you were cruel for thinking such a thing, for adultery did not equate to death. just measly public humilation. something that, in your opinion, was not punishment enough.

perhaps your reaction to this entire situation was futile. lingering in your chamber would not make your husband faithful and alive, it would make you feel worse.

you just needed a stroll in the garden. with the tulips and roses that you had grown yourself.

and yet you stayed in your bed for longer than you had imagined.

it did not take chris as long to pack as he would have imagined. he had shoved everything with such rapid speed that the clouds had barely moved, the majority of the ones he noticed before he began still lingering.

he tried not to feel much pain as he approached the front door. he believed that he had destroyed your household, and therefore he had no right to be here.

and then he heard small footsteps. and then the small voice of oliver.

"will you come back..?"

the sentimental words caused chris to pause for a moment. he didn't even have time to reply before oliver continued.

"i'm scared for our mother. she isn't well, mr dixon.."

and then chris knew he'd have to stay. just one more day.

the garden was appealing to him, filled to the brim with roses and tulips that you mentioned growing yourself.

the warm sun beamed against his back, such a beautiful feeling after being couped up in a house that was not his own due to a rainstorm which prolonged his stay.

if he had been able to leave, you could have stayed ignorant to your husband's wrongdoings.

but, you would have found out eventually, and then who would be there when you did? your sons? how cruel.

at least you knew that chris was there. someone would understand you if you broke down into tears.

and what a coincidence it was that as he began to slow whilst approaching a particularly beautiful bed of white roses, you walked out into the gardens too, your procrastination of leaving your bed finally halting.

"chris!" you called out as you sped up to approach him, bunching up your skirts so they would not drag along the muddy floor.

he turned to face you, expression that of a worried man, but he didn't usher you with words when you stopped in front of him and let out a heavy breath. he just waited until you spoke again.

"you brought me pain, but not dishonour. never dishonour, not like my late husband did. i think i have lived enough years upon falsehood."

the silence that followed was awkward and heavy, the kind where neither person knew what to say after something significant and heartwarming had been said.

knowing he would have nothing to say, you spoke again.

"stay."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a year had passed.

oliver still loved chris. henry had changed his mind on him. and it wasn't long after chris proposed to you that they stopped calling him mr dixon and instead just chris.

your husband was gone, but chris was now apart of your family.

and for your two month wedding anniversary, well, a family portrait was a no brainer. despite the fact that the twins were not as insistent upon it as you and chris.

"i'm bored." henry whined, sick of standing in the same place for so long.

"i can always tell the painter to make oliver look far cooler than you do." chris replied sarcastically, causing oliver to giggle slightly.

"yea, do that!" oliver said obnoxiously loudly despite your forced (not that anybody was disappointed though) proximity.

henry couldn't fight a little smile at chris' comment. "fiiine."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

you and chris stared up at the large portrait hanging above your fireplace.

"it's not very accurate." he began, fighting a smirk. "and the hands make us all look like dolls. but it's nice. we look like a right little family."

"we are family, chris."

"mm, right. i keep forgetting we're married, somehow. it's too good to be true."

you smiled at that. "what a shame that the skull in the back isn't cracked or something. it has more respect than it deserves in this portrait."

"we can always have another done. if you wanted."

"our boys would not be impressed."

he didn't even flinch at the way you used 'ours' so casually. the month and a bit that you had been married had changed so much in his life.

"we can just give the artist the portrait, tell them to remake it and draw the skull being stepped on or something."

"mm. good plan."

"thank you. i'll get on that for you."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: awe i can't believe this little series is already over! it was actually so much fun to write, and oliver being so sweet just made me cry while writing it.. and i felt so happy writing henry and chris actually getting along well because he 10000 percent has that effect on people that no matter what, they eventually like him no matter what. i hope you guys enjoyed the series too!

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your day had been long. your first sleep was a suitable length, and you woke up filled with energy and blessed with that sweet bliss of a long night's sleep, but that meant that your second sleep was far more difficult.

many had a first and second sleep so that they could do chores, however, that was something you did not need to do.

instead, you wandered the gardens, visited your personal seamstress, or cooed at your mother's groomed maltese dogs.

but certain thoughts occupied your mind.

you could blame at least a tenth of it on the ball that was rapidly approaching, only four hours left before you would have to leave to your carriage with your mother and your butlers, meaning two hours before you would have to slip on your gown and the maids would begin to fuss over your hair and makeup.

however, the other nine tenths could definitely come down to a certain boy.

mr harry lewis.

the man that you adored so dearly, yet you had no right to marry. not without your mother's permission.

the hour of your leave draws closer and closer, and then you're sat in the carriage as it rolls up to harry's mother's annual masquerade ball.

despite the fact you would stay away from the ballroom floor for this ball, instead staying by your mother's side, your mask was still elegant.

a large, dark red feather that was shaped perfectly strung out from the right side of your lighter red mask, with gold hems and sequins that brought out your eyes. the nose on the mask was sharp and almost beak like, ending towards the end of your cartilage with slight cushioning to ensure the hard material did not cause you too much pain.

you were not the only one with a beautiful mask. once you were sat beside your mother with a full view of the ballroom, your distance ensured that your eyes were untraceable, meaning that you could easily admire the outfits of the others in the ballroom.

and then you saw him. you saw harry, and then you suddenly were struggling to breathe.

"i'm just going to get some air, mother." you spoke, voice quiet, your exhaustion exaggerated but convincing.

"no worries, my dear." she replied, eyes concerned.

you held up your dress at the back slightly as you lowered down the stairs, looking towards harry in an attempt to catch his eye behind his basic black mask with decorative swirls.

and then he looked in your direction, the way you moved slowly towards a hallway that led to an exit, and then he quickly excused himself from a conversation with an older man reminding harry to thank his mother on his behalf - harry was almost certain that the man was in love with his mother, and also that he would have little chance with her. not with alfie's reputation of being protective over his family.

and then he followed you, causing you to guide him to a room that was far and quiet, pace fast, and it surprised harry that you knew telepathically exactly where to go.

before either of you knew it, you were in harry's study, your back pressed against the closed door and his lips hovering over yours.

"good evening.." he spoke, voice low, smiling ever so slightly. you couldn't even reply, your lips already parting and your eyes gazing up towards his sweetly, almost innocently despite the recklessness of your current actions.

even being caught in the same room all alone would make an unimaginable scandal.

harry didn't even wait for a reply. he knew you wanted this as bad as he did, knew that your rebellious spirit was as strong as his despite the consequences being far more significant in your situation than his.

and then his lips finally met yours. it was as hungry as it was controlled, slow and meaningful yet still full of passion and desperation.

your black arched against the wall, moving to fit into harry, the breathlessness you felt now far more prominent.

you didn't complain anymore. ask to get some air. you were aching for this, you had been since the night that you met, both of you had.

after what felt like minutes of you both connected to one another, voices lingered in the hallways outside, and you finally pulled away from one another, but then your foreheads were the next to touch, before he laced your fingers through yours and held them over your heart, resting against the soft fabric of the exterior of your corset.

"i need to marry you.." harry whispered, the breath tickling your cheek.

"i know." you began at the same volume. "but-"

"we cannot, i know." a sigh escaped him, barely audible through your heavy breathing. "but.. your mother is known for going against societal norms, and.. perhaps she can make an exception. for us."

"mr lewis-"

"i am certain she wants nothing more than to see you happy. and so do i." his grip on your hand tightened. "i need to marry you." he repeated. "i need you."

"we can talk to her.." you finally whispered, heart aching at the possibility of denial. but then harry's sudden calmness, a sudden exhale yet so slow, calmed you down as well. and then he was leading you out of the room that was now rather warm in comparison to the temperature that it once was.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: i'm loving writing this series i can't lie xx

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f1driver!harry, who is completely fine with flying economy with you because he knows that you prefer it. fred keeps telling him to stop, it's a safety risk, it can tire him out, et cetera, but he doesn't care. you love public transport because it's loud and you can listen to your music with your headphones on full blast. he will very happily be by your side while that happens.

f1driver!harry, who, despite knowing how much you love having headphones and listening to music, falls very very guilty of stealing your noise cancelling headphones. at first he'd ask, but now he doesn't bother. sometimes things get too much and he needs them, but he always makes sure you pack two pairs of your own anyway so you never go without.

f1driver!harry, who notices EVERYTHING. years of growing up telling his engineer the difference between one car modification and the next despite being milliseconds of time saved or millimeters of ride height added means that he can very easily tell when you're using new shampoo, wearing new clothes, got your nails done, et cetera.

f1driver!harry, who absolutely adores a competition. it is slightly terrifying how often he offers a race every time there's a path with two different ways home with very similar etas. even round the block from your house, where both ways are identical, he still offers a walking race. he still let's you win on good days though, but not if it's been a while since winning a grand prix.

f1driver!harry, who will become deeply invested in learning random things at midnight, like how medieval bridges were built or why certain species of penguin migrate. you always wake up to a forty-minute presentation nobody asked for. you would've thought this was an arthur frederick sort of thing to do, but i guess being his teammate has rubbed off on harry far too much for your sanity.

f1driver!harry, who gets incredibly protective over you in f1 media. when he can tell you're fine with it, if it's just a girls girl videoing you and having a genuinely lovely conversation with you about being their favourite wag, he'll smile and agree, but as soon as it's invasive, or for sky sports or a shitty f1 journalist page, he'll step ever so slightly in front of you. he always looks at how you react first though.

f1driver!harry, who despises being late, while you love taking ages doing your hair and makeup and picking out your outfits. it takes six months of your relationship to work out that harry's "we should leave soon" actually always meant "we should have left seven minutes ago." he's never even on time, he's always twenty minutes early, and then he has the nerve to look sheepish and cute when you grumble about your makeup looking shit because he rushed you. but then he tells you you're wrong. always.

f1driver!harry, who, following on from the previous point, is usually late to everything that you drag him to, like your friend group's big pub hangout. he's constantly on his phone researching, and every "one second!" when you call his name tells you to sit down and get yourself a drink because you have a lovely twenty minutes without harry ahead of you.

f1driver!harry, who loves loves LOVES when he's scootering around the paddock and you get on behind him and hold his waist. like something about zooming around the paddock with you around him makes his life feel even more unreal. he's not usually very flashy but fuck he loves showing you off in verh specific ways as long as you're comfortable. he's just proud of you.

f1driver!harry, who loves when you accidentally retell a story. even once he recognises it, he never stops you, he just smiles slightly once he knows a funny bit is coming up. when you realise and apologise, he tells you to stop and he loves that story. the story isn't the thing he wants to hear most. he just loves the way you add so much expression and enthusiasm into all of your words when you want to make a strong point.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

au masterlist

chris knew that the best thing for him to do know was hide what he had seen away from you.

or, at least he believed that was the caee. but as the days drew longer and longer and he had more struggle at the thought of leaving you and your twins alone, he knew he'd be staying here for longer than the few days that he had imagined.

you and chris did not speak often anymore. while he isolated himself in the guest bedroom that you had practically called his bedroom, you spectated the philosophy and science lessons that your sons had, and then vise versa.

you only crossed paths at dinner, and the occasional night time after the boys were put to sleep.

your voices were lowered, careful not to wake the pair that were sleeping almost directly above you both, though chris doubted that they would sleep worry free with how recent their father's death was.

that was another reason to keep your voices low. he didn't want your boys to know what he had seen, if he had been able to show you the letters tonight.

"i was very fortunate in my marriage." you began. "it wasn't arranged, my family was kind in that sense. we were both in love with one another, we stayed as such, and our marriage carried undying loyalty that sounded as if it had been built in a shakespeare play."

chris couldn't muster up a response. the way you saw your husband in such a light when all was very different to what you believed.. his heart ached for you.

so he just hummed in response, the kind of hum that rumbled in your chest with a low vibration that almost felt painful depending on your posture.

his mind was swirling as his mouth wasn't moving. he should tell you now. prove you wrong before it's too late and you find out that chris knew for so long without telling you.

that would break you.

he was here to look out for you, and if he told you that your husband wasn't, and then it was revealed that maybe chris wasn't either..

regardless, chris' room suddenly seemed far more occupied than usual, in contrast to the lessons used for the boys' lessons, which felt more empty as only you came occasionally to spectate. chris didn't bother.

whenever he encountered either of the twins, he'd force a stiff smile and sometimes a small nod in greeting.

henry never smiled back. oliver always gave that typical giant grin he gave to anyone nice, before being nudged by henry and forced back into an apathetic stare. but the eyes spoke, a silent apology.

chris wandered the halls towards midday, the time he knew you would either spend in your room or in the gardens. but he didn't know about the boys.

he just needed a respite from the room that suddenly felt.. too isolating? not that these hallways were more populated than the room, but they were so large they felt endless, and the walls did not surround him as closely. he knew someone was in the same shape as him, whereas the square before contained him and the furniture of the guest room.

but henry walked with alarming pace around the corner, causing chris to flinch ever so slightly and take half a step back, a mixture of shock and fear controlling his body.

"you're acting strange, mr dixon." the young boy accused, face sternly pressed into a tight frown with furrowed brows, shoulders raised and head tilted up but still held strong.

"i am?" chris let out a small laugh, barely audible, in attempt to make an awkward conversation slightly more lighthearted. "i was not aware. my apologies."

"you want to take our mother."

"sorry?"

"you want to replace our father. i am onto you, mr dixon, so-"

"henry-"

"-don't think that you can get away with something so-"

"henry!" henry's rambling stopped then at chris' harsher tone, but his glare only hardened as he stared up at the barely taller man.

after a few seconds of silence, henry finally spoke again. a sickening "leave" that left chris with a throat that ran dry.

and so he forced a nod, before turning his back to the boy, his back cursed with stiff posture that hid his own guilt.

his steps were heavy as he returned to the guest room, thudding lightly against the dark wood floor. and then he was approaching the front door, everything that he had brought behind him, before he paused.

he had left the letters in his room, and perhaps that would be easier. you would find out someday, and he would never have to see the pain on your face.

but surely that was an awful thing to do. he should tell you. comfort you. everything in between.

and so he decided he'd stay.

and he decided he'd show you the letters tonight or not at all. definitely the former.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

the candlelight swished still despite the low amount of ventilation in the drawing room, but paired with the bright white light of the moon, it would be long before the room was dressed with the melancholy of darkness and true night.

you sat opposite one another, folded in on yourself to preserve warmth as a teacup sat in your hands.

and then he moved. it was swift, an unsettled kind of movement that was equally unsettling for the viewer.

and then you stared down at an average looking pile of letters.

"i prayed there would be another explanaton." he stated whilst you observed the sweet cursive of the handwriting.

feminine.

and then you read through the letters, deeper and deeper and deeper until you knew that you would have to ensure these were kept far far away from your boys.

disbelief. grief. a tight mixture of the two of them pooled in your stomach, but you could only think of a single response to his sudden reveal of your husband's dishonesty.

"why did you tell me of this?"

"because you deserved the truth from at least one man."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: kind of love the henry and oliver juxtaposition but it's more apparent in chapter four so like stay tuned.. please

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you didn't know when it began, but suddenly you and arthur began working together as a pair.

his requests were simple still, or at least they were in his eyes. he wanted honesty, but that wasn't always possible.

"will you ensure there's no smuggling still on the island while i work on the farm? i won't be long." he asked, calmness radiating off of him.

"yea, i'll get on that."

but you didn't look far. you knew where not to look.

the storm hit at a perfect time. islanders were protected and had a day and a half more before the rain began.

but not every building was secure, and there was only one thing on arthur's mind. what sort of gentleman would he be if he didn't try to prevent the damage that would be caused to the island?

and, of course, he couldn't do it alone.

convincing you to help him wasn't as hard as either of you would have imagined. you agreed with a sigh, a long silence and then a quick nod.

but now the storm had actually come, it was clear that yours and arthur's attempts at protecting the island were futile.

the manor had lost part of a wall to the sea, several boats had broken free from the harbour, and that meant that everybody was panicking.

but you worked as a community to ensure that no lives were lost.

when the rain was slightly gentler one morning, arthur went outside, and frowned at the sight.

there were several men using the chaos to move smuggled goods even though you had told him that you couldn't find any more. meaning you had lied to him, and what for?

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

the storm began to calm down after a long, long week of minor destruction, and many began to explore outdoors again. ensure that all property that had been left outside survived.

arthur was studying the exterior of his shack when he heard his own name.

"arthur!" you called, jogging towards him with a polite yet eager pace. "arthur. i need to-"

"i need to talk to you." you both said at the same time.

"you first." you offered, just needing to catch your breath for a moment.

"alright." he stared at you for a moment. "you lied to me."

"about what?"

"about the smuggling! the very thing i've been trying to change. i thought i'd done it. i was proud for that reason." his voice raised naturally, so your voice did too.

"i told you that your plan was futile!"

"we worked on the plan together. so don't talk to me as if i worked on it by myself and that you weren't equally involved. you were as hopeful as i was."

"no, i wasn't." you began with a small sigh, barely audible, the only sign being the formation of your mouth, though you quickly spoke to conceal it. "if you report the smugglers, arthur, families starve. i didn't want to admit it out of guilt, but your plan wasn't as good as i pretended it was, i just didn't want you to report anything after that. this island needs more help than you'd expect. you're not the man for this."

"but we can be the team for this. me and you. i'll admit it, i need your help."

"you admit it.. again."

"will you help me?"

"fine."

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

a/n: rah like i kind of hate this chapter, it's kind of just a development filler chapter, but i actually love this series in general i'm gonna be so sad when it's over.. like i love the idea of arthur just wanting to help so desperately but just being awful at it

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you had always been relatively sporty. growing up, you'd done a lot of running and biking and racket sports with your parents, a lot of sports clubs too like football and netball, and of course, you'd climbed many mountains over the summer or easter holidays when your parents decided that they wanted to go camping. so that's why you said yes to doing the three peaks challenge on chris' second channel without a second thought (other than to check if you were actually available). why the hell not? the three peaks challenge was something that you knew you could do, and you were doing it with friends, and your boyfriend arthur hill, and making some money too which was very handy.

but then again, arthur was doing absolutely no training to climb three mountains in twenty four hours, and, well.. he definitely wasn't as sporty as you, to put it kindly. but you wouldn't leave him behind, you couldn't. so you walked beside him instead, with lewis (a guy on chris' production team who, like arthur, was not the fittest) nearby, and you only walked ahead occasionally to talk to george and harry, or sometimes to chris if he beckoned you over for some content.

but for the rest of the climbing, you stayed hovering beside arthur, making sure that he was alright, drinking enough water, stepping in a way that shouldn't be too painful.

it was the first mountain that had already killed him off. and, to you, he needed motivation. that's what you would've needed, but.. he definitely wasn't you.

"we're almost there. two thirds of the way done. just.. half of what we've already done, and then add that on. that's not much. then you can stretch your legs and have a long nap." your voice was calm, stable. like trying to explain why going to sleep early was a good idea to a stubborn and irrational toddler. that was practically exactly what was going on.

"oh, fuck off!" arthur replied, far too harshly with a heavy puff of air, the kind you force after a sprint.

he often played up to the "easy to ragebait and brilliant results" persona on social media, despite being one of the calmest people you'd ever met, but there were no cameras now. this was genuine irritation. he was fed up with it all.

if you sped up slightly more after that to walk on your own or go back to george and harry, well, it was nobody's business.

but it just happened that chris began to slow down then instead, falling back into step when you had almost fully approached him.

"filming some of the mental health stuff early. you up for it?" well. if you said no, that'd just be.. you know. if you say no to talking about how you're feeling, you're probably not feeling great, and the last thing you needed was someone forcing what had happened out of you.

he was joking. you shouldn't have gotten upset.

or maybe it wasn't a joke, and he was just fed up of everything.

but.. you shouldn't have said it in the first place, joke or not.

"yeah, sure."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

the camera chris held captured both his and your face, the stray hairs that had freed themselves from your ponytail whipping in the wind whilst he squinted slightly to fight the oncoming tearry eyes that came with the harsh wind and the dry air.

"so.. how are you feeling?" he asked, his voice somehow making a moment that shoud feel awkward not awkward at all. that came with chris. he was comfortingly calm in every situation.

"i'm good. just.. overthink everything when it's too late, i feel."

"oh, yea, i get that. yeah. like, in the moment, it's just fucked, you don't know what to say, and then you say some random shit and then you can't get that out of your head for ages. yeah."

"pretty much. or you do something shitty and don't think about it till it's done." he hummed in agreement at that. it was almost like the camera wasn't there, but it had to go before you accidentally said something. "any nice messages you wanna share?"

"don't take anything for granted, but still enjoy things. don't let things slip away, enjoy everything, but don't live your life thinking everything through as your final time. it's your last life, probably, but it's still your first."

"yeah, nice, thank you." he clicked the camera off then, nodding to the other cameraman, a signal to either stop filming or to move onto another huddle of people. as soon as the cameraman was away from you, chris spoke again.

"no cameras. how are you really feeling?"

"arthur is pissed off at me. i think. i don't know."

"shit." he exhaled quickly. "what happened?"

"just tried to motivate him and then he told me to fuck off and now i feel like a bitch for trying to motivate him. probably made it look like i was trying to make him seem like a near lost cause or something. i don't know. you get me, right? shit.. sorry, i worded that wrong."

"nah, i get you. i don't think he'd be really mad at you at all. if he was, he would've cooled off by now anyway, he very rarely gets proper angry at anything. i think you're fine."

as you were about to sigh and thank chris for making you feel better about it all, your ankle rolled, and so did the word "fuck-" off of your tongue.

"shit, you okay? you need to sit down or anything?"

you bit your lip. shit, it hurt. "i think it's sprained. i'm fine though."

"if you seriously think you're getting up this steep, rocky mountain with a sprained ankle, then i think you've damaged more than just the ankle." you scoffed at that, but he spoke again before you could verbally defend yourself. "just sit down. i'll talk to my team and whatever about it."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

"you alright?" arthur shouted over at you, noticing the way you studied your.. swollen? ankle, and very clearly staring at it, prompting the only reply you could conjure up.

"sprained it." you replied.

"shit." he looked around then, the steam of his breath curling around him from all angles. his eyes set on a member of the production team before they flickered back to you.

"can we go home then?"

you sighed. "no, we're climbing the rest of this mountain and then the other two peaks as well. yes, arthur, we're going home."

"thank god for that." he laughed to himself under his breath before he began to announce your departure individually to anybody in reach, with the kind of bye that definitely did not sound like a "i'm giving up, bye" sort of bye but more of a "fuck it, bye" or even a "i did it! bye!"

he didn't complain as his hand wrapped around your waist for the entirety of the way down the mountain, and that he had to abandon one of his sticks so that you could have a crutch.

he didn't tell you to fuck off.

so, win win.

it was as if a silent agreement was made though. no more anger, no more "fuck off"s that weren't really meant that way.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

a/n: like two years late to writing about this video but it's okay.. the three peaks challenge video is like one of my comfort videos and i've been thinking about an arthur hill angst sorta thing where his getting ragebaited thing is a bit and he's the calmest person ever but sometimes he just snaps.. so, perfect i guess

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ARTHUR FREDERICK | ARTHURTV

"arrrrthurr!" chris cooed as he shoved the camera in his face, before flipping it round to show the pair together.

arthur hummed as he looked up from his hands. chris told him to just act casual while he filmed something, and seemingly, arthur didn't get the memo. that was fine though, he was awkward anyway, it still made sense.

"i have some news for you, arthur."

after a few seconds of silence, arthur spoke calmly, brown eyes even wider somehow. "go on."

"alright, alright. i'm pregnant!" chris announced, smile wide.

"congratulations." arthur replied casually, lips twitching ever so slightly.

"okay, on a serious note, reader's pregnant."

"oh shit, no way! finally! yes, chris!" he was so happy, bless him, he practically cheered. "how many weeks?"

"two, i think."

"am i the first person to know?"

"no, we told our family first, arthur." chris replied, deadpan.

"oh. okay."

GEORGE CLARKE | GEORGE CLARKEY

"hey george." chris sat down next to him on the sofa, trying to act nonchalant about the fact that he was literally recording the conversation.

"hello." george replied without even looking up from his tiktok for you page.

"got some big news for you, mate." when chris only got a hum in response, he spoke again. "i'm pregnant."

george laughed quietly, tongue between his teeth, smile wide. "well done, chris."

"okay, seriously. reader's actually pregnant." george looked up at that, face showing he was very clearly shook.

"shit! yes man!" his laugh was sweeter now, a disbelief sort of laugh in the best possible way. "does that mean you finally found the clit?"

"no, i'm still working on that."

"ah, good luck then. but seriously, i'm so proud of you, chris, congrats."

ARTHUR HILL

arthur definitely wasn't amused that his time in the studio was being interrupted because chris insisted upon tagging along.

he was even more annoyed when chris pulled out his phone and then opened the camera app, fingers hovering over the record button before pressing it.

"hey, arthur."

"yeah?"

"i'm pregnant."

a quiet laugh escaped arthur's lips. "well done, mate!"

"okay, i'm lying." chris bit back a grin. "still gonna be a dad soon though."

"what?" arthur looked up, eyebrows furrowed.

"reader's pregnant."

"oh my god! yes, chris!" the chris was high-pitched, genuine excitement written on his face, before it faded into something.. nervous. "does that mean you're moving out?"

"obviously i'm moving out. i'm gonna be a dad in like, eight months."

"she's already been pregnant for a month? and you didn't tell us?"

"we only found out like, not that long ago, mate."

"oh. okay. but yea, yes chris! i'm so happy for you both."

ISAAC SMITH | ITALIANBACH

"isaac, isaac, can we film something a sec?" chris asked, despite the fact the phone was already recording in their faces.

"yea, sure."

"okay, big news. i'm pregnant!"

isaac laughed. "oh my god, chris! am i the father?"

"yeah, i think so. okay, i'm not pregnant, but reader is."

"oh, shit. well done, chris. didn't think you were tall enough to reproduce."

"what does that even mean."

"can i tell liv, or..?"

"yeah, course."

"she'll get really excited though. so you might want to warn reader before her phone is blowing up. and, congrats, very happy for you both."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

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