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oopsimbug · 2 years

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in which… y/n is a sweetheart, but harry is an asshole

a/n: SHES HERE!!! SHES FINALLY HERE!!! IVE BIRTHED MY BABY!! PLEASE ENJOY!!

pairing: regency era! harry styles x reader, enemies to lovers

summary: think little women, but with you instead of jo and harry instead of laurie… but harry is an asshole…

warnings: harry is an ass, all enemies no lovers, smooching (but not y/n oOOOO)

word count: 13.2k (SHES A THICC ONE)

banner by the lovely @maysdigitalarts

The ballroom was positively alive. The elegant dresses, the beautiful makeup, the hair, the lights, the food. The cool summer night ensured that women didn’t sweat or shiver in their layered dresses. It was a tad bit stuffy in the actual ballroom, coated in the thick smell of powerful colognes and dainty sultry perfumes, but the air outside was clean and fresh, blooming with the clean aromatics of fresh dewy grass and elegant roses from the dozens upon dozens of rows of the flowers in the courtyard- here were so many batches of the flower planted everywhere that the entire border of the mansion held the powerful, yet lovely scent. Everything was perfect.

Or it would have been… if it wasn’t for the itchy card attached to Y/n’s wrist with a bit of ribbon through a punctured hole- a reminder that this night was not to admire the pretty ballroom, or meet new friends, or just dress up in a poofy dress for the heck of it. No, this was a feeding frenzy, and Y/n was perceived by most, if not all males in the room as a prize to be won. A lamb during hunting season. And the dance card only further illuminated her availability, as if it were a “for sale” sign. All of this work: the plucking, the waxing, the squeezing, the pulling- it was all to get dolled up for some egotistical jerk to come and sweep her off her feet. To “save her” from her life of normality and enslavement at her home with her parents and stay at his mansion and live the life of slightly more lavish enslavement with the bonus of motherhood (otherwise known as being forced to raise a male heir to the family fortune).

Not that she was against romance, don’t be mistaken. Y/n loved romance. She loved the idea of caring for someone so ardently that the thought of them bled into every moment of the day, no matter what she was doing, like a splotch of ink on a clear parchment sheet. The only difference was that she wanted a husband who in turn, would be just as ardently in love with her. To respect, love and cherish her just as much as she does for him. To ask for her thoughts, her ideas, her opinions, and not prance around declaring it’s his opinion that a woman was born into a life in the house.

But as the greasy Sir Davenport signed his name on the fourth line on her dance card, kissed her hand (to her reluctance), and allowed her to excuse herself, she began to feel a bit hopeless with this ideal man she conjured in her imagination. All the men she had encountered that eve were boring and close-minded daddy’s boys, Davenport included, who decided that conversation of his father’s wealthy business and fortune were illuminating topics to discuss to a potential partner while dancing- which they most certainly were not, in her opinion. She didn’t want that- to live off another’s fortune at the price of listening to idiots like Davenport who lean in and tell her that their mother’s approved of their potential pairing- which he actually said during their interaction and was the catalyst of the sudden end to their conversation when Y/n had to leave, but not before she scoffed and shook her head at the man in awe of his stupidity. She deserved more than that.

Y/n would have continued her internal monologue of complaints and speeches of self-worth, but she was unfortunately interrupted by a man of violently short stature and fluffy blond hair slyly approaching her as if she were wild game in a forest that would run away if he made any sudden movements. She was already not impressed.

“Pardon me Miss, but I couldn’t help notice your beautiful face and your painful lonesome. Never to fear though, as I am here to alleviate the pain. Shall we dance? Or would you prefer we sneak away for a more private performance?”

Never had she met someone so crude and disrespectful. What was she, a piece of meat? Obviously, this boy’s mother had not taught him simple manners. Maybe the upfront, blue-eyed blondie who would explore the darkest of fantasies was some girl’s cup of tea (which was completely fine- you cannot help whom or what you are interested in, after all!), but it wasn’t Y/n’s. She needed respect, and this boy wasn’t giving it.

So, she attempted to decline in the most polite way possible while also establishing her unwillingness of a change of heart with further persuasion…

“I am sorry for your seemingly misunderstood perception of the situation, but I am not looking for either of those two options. Kindly, I would much rather be in my so-called “painful lonesome” than be held in the arms of you…”

Keyword: attempted.

“Now, if you will excuse me.” She ended with a small nod and curtsy so light it could have been mistaken for a glance down at the ground to fix the positioning of her foot in her uncomfortable heels for a split second. And with that, she walked off before the boy could reply, squeezing past all of the others in their gowns and suits, out of the opened doors and into the dark yet fancy courtyard garden, lit only with a few oil lamps (that didn’t do much, really) and the pale full moonlight, shining brightly in all of her majesty. Taking a right turn once through the door, she walked until she reached the end of the large stone patio, resting her arms on the thick smooth railing that outlined the balcony. She took a long look at the dance card on her hand, before ripping it off and letting it fall to the floor. Letting her eyelids fall shut, Y/n inhaled, allowing her lungs to be filled with the fresh, crisp, non-polluted air, before exhaling slowly. Eyes closed and guard lowered, she listened to the chirps of crickets and the distant chatter of people inside the ballroom. As a soft gust of wind blew by, she thought to the dance card on the floor at her feet- her sister, Liz wouldn’t have directly asked where it went, but if she had come home and not mentioned her reviews of the men she danced with, the sad look in her sister’s eyes would put her in an even worse mood than she already was in. So with a reluctant sigh, she opened her eyes and looked to the floor where the card was, only to see the clean blank cobblestone floor that she was standing on. Shit… the wind. It must have blown it away. She began to look around. Behind planters, in rose bushes- she was in the middle of looking under a seat where it could have been blown under when she felt the light from the moon no longer shining on her, but instead blocked by a large and tall shadow that stood over her and blocked her own.

Double shit.

She swears if it was “Mr Would You Like A Dance?”, she would lose it…

Turning around and looking up, she couldn’t see the figure’s face, as it was not illuminated by any light, but they were most likely a man, despite the thinner and more delicate figure that was usually attributed to women, given away by the pant and waistcoat combination- though she must note that he was in a much more relaxed and less refined attire compared to the other men attending, who wore waistcoats, tailcoats, gloves and cravats, all accompanied with large shin-high boots instead of the simple dress shoes that Mr Mystery Man wore. It wasn’t “Would You Like A Dance”, nor anyone else she had previously talked to that night, but that didn’t ease her bubbling worries of what he could want from her, especially with her in such a vulnerable and compromising position. The man cleared his throat and finally spoke after a prolonged and quite awkward silence.

“Pardon me Miss, but I believe this is what you are looking for, correct?” He had a raspy British accent and held out in between his pointer and middle finger as if it were a scandalous cigarette he was offering to her, the small slip of paper she was on hands and knees for, ribbon and all. Y/n took the paper from his grasp, making a conscious effort not to touch his gloveless fingers, before looking at the paper. It was most definitely hers, with all four names signed. She looked back up at the man, his face still hidden in the darkness, although she was starting to adjust to it, and was able to make out a nose, lips and the whites of the man's eyes that she could make eye contact with. Finally, she realised how odd she must seem to this man, on her knees, gawking at him for doing her a favour. Well, why was he still standing there anyway? Her brain took a second to process the situation- she blamed the strange circumstances (which actually weren’t all that strange- she was looking for something and he found it), the nauseating cologne the man wore (which actually wasn’t nauseating at all-it was an earthy and slightly sweet fragrance that was ten times better than whatever the other men had worn inside the ballroom) and her slight lack in iron that delayed her thinking (which she used to blame all of her faults ever since she found out she was a tad deficient). What did this man want again?

Oh right! Say thank you!

“Thank you! So much. Uh- this indeed was what I was looking for.”

“You are very welcome, Miss,” he replies.

She nodded and gave a polite smile to the faceless man to send him off. But instead of walking away as she assumed he would, he stood where he was, not making any attempt to move. What more could this man want? She said thank you already! He answered her unspoken question by giving his hand out to aid her to stand again. Her smile dropped. Looking at it suspiciously in its ungloved nature, Y/n knew she probably should not take it. If someone saw they were holding hands without gloves, it could raise eyebrows. But, after weighing her options, she concluded that being discovered on her knees in front of a man would be much more catastrophic. So with that, she took his hand and allowed him to aid her in being lifted off of the cold stone floor. Now at her feet, she noticed that there was still a slight height difference between the two of them, but only slightly. It was still awfully dark, but now up closer, she could make out soft curls of hair of a darker shade, not completely sure if it was brown or black, but definitely on the darker side. Before she could inspect any further, she was snapped out of her daze by the realisation of both their intimate proximity and her hand still being in his. Why she was so intrigued by this man, she couldn’t answer. But though intrigued, she was still wary of him. Immensely wary.

She took her hand from his and brought it back to her side. She wished to break eye contact and look at the floor, but something inside of her, most likely the competitive part, told her to keep looking. She slightly squinted in suspicion at him as she took a large step back from him, not worrying about how animated and clear her emotions were on her face. She cleared her voice before attempting to end the interaction. “Well, thank you again, but I best be going.” And with that, she turned around and began to walk away from the mystery man who the moon chose to keep hidden, and back towards the ballroom where she was to be most likely approached by a Would You Like To Dance clone that would only insult her instead of allure her.

“Back to Davenport, I assume?”

She was immediately stopped in her tracks but did not dare turn around. What did Mystery Man just say?

Footsteps from his dress shoes began to echo closer and closer as he approached her and he continued. “I mean, judging by your face while you two were dancing, it seems you were having one hell of a time…” He was teasing- and she didn’t like it.

Y/n wished to turn around and yell at him already, but in fear of him seeing her stupid face so obviously soaked in the expression of embarrassment, she stayed with her back turned, curiosity niggling its way in and wondering what he would say next. She chewed her bottom lip and awaited further comment. His footsteps, though slow, kept moving towards her, and it was at that point she noted how far she was able to walk away from him in the short time of her escape, evidently desperate to move on from what would have been a small and awkward interaction if it hadn’t been for Mystery Man choosing to prolong it for some reason she could not understand.

“Waltzes can be quite intimate,” he continued. “Davenport sure wanted to get intimate with that kiss.” She could not tell where he was going with this, but she did not like it anyways. She waited for him to seal the final nail in his coffin before she began to chew him out ruthlessly and with zero regrets about the possibility of her maybe just misinterpreting his innocent curiosity and assumed it to be heartless teasing from a stranger. She balled up her fists and wished to God that he would seal his fate. Wished to God that he would go one step too far. Too many times had she been forced to bottle up her annoyance of the scoffable excuses for men that approached her that night, leaving her in the mood to tell a man off with no qualms- and the opportunity was blossoming like young flowers in spring.

“I’m having a hard time deciphering whether you would want to get intimate with him though. Care to help a stranger out?”

That was it. She spun around, metaphorical guns at the ready to make this disgusting and shameless man wish he was never born and was greeted with…

With…

A man, of course. But that was not what surprised her. It was one: How close he was. The slow steps he took towards her must have been as large or larger than hers to reach the closeness he did in the moment, with his tall body only a step away from hers, and his head slightly lowered to get into her face more, with the warm breath exhaled from his nose slightly blowing onto her face. And that leads her to surprise number two: His face.

A sloped nose, high cheekbones, a strong chin, soft and plush taffy lips, the small graze of stubble that she could spot only from their close proximity- it was all very alluring, to say the least. Not to mention the pièce de résistance being his beautiful forest green eyes in a sweet almond-shape, graced with thick eyelashes and eyebrows, and finally, his short, smooth and glossy chocolate brown hair, styled in perfect yet effortless soft curls that nonchalantly flop on top of his head. He raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair to avoid a pesky curl from obscuring his vision as it was attempting to do as if it was longing to be closer to him.

She had to admit: he was handsome. Much more handsome than Davenport, that was for sure. But looks aside, the smug smirk on his lovely lips was enough to unpause the spell she was under and remember the circumstances of the situation. And with that, she jumped into action.

“How dare you think for even a second that you are in any place to critique the people that I dance with and wish to become intimate with? Have you no shame?” She did not step down, but instead jutted her head forward a bit with each exclamation, a habit of hers that usually worked with intimidating someone physically to move back, which she realised did not work for him- he simply stood where he was. Refusing to step back to create space and give him the idea that she was stepping away because she was intimidated, she continued her verbal attack instead.

“Your lack of decorum is appalling and I don’t even know who you are!” She quickly looked him up and down- sizing him up. “What is it with men believing that they can intrude and comment on every little thing women do, huh? And for your information, I would never wish to become intimate with Davenport, not that it is any of your business.” Temper fiery hot, she waited for whatever this handsome buffoon had to say to excuse himself.

What she didn’t expect was for him to smile at her in a warm sort of manner, eyes glimmering in the moonlight with some emotion Y/n couldn’t decipher. With a small giggle (which Y/n had to admit, was pretty cute), he held his hand out to her once again, and when Y/n looked at him, eyes squinted in suspicion once again, he explained.

“Would you honour me in a dance, Miss?” his voice held an air of lightness as if he was teasing again. Was he teasing? She couldn’t tell, but she still had some more anger in her, so she took it as an opportunity to bring down his ego a tad more.

“Well, I am delighted to inform you that I do not consort with and exchange dances with those who tease and mock me for whom I dance with, and ask silly questions about who I wish to be intimate with without me even knowing their name or vice versa.”

“My name is Harry, and yours is…” and with that, he swiftly but gently took her wrist that held her dance card tightly in a clenched fist, undid the tight hold her fingers had on it, and read the name on the top of the slightly crumpled card. “Y/n Y/ln. Now, will you dance with me, Miss?” His small smirk had grown into a full grin, apparently delighted and absolutely tickled pink with annoying Y/n. That cheeky little shit…

She took her hand back from his hold quickly before reattempting to shoot him down. “No, for I do not wish for others like you to pull me aside and ask me if I wish to be intimate with you as you have done.” She fires back.

“Well, what if we danced out here then, so as to not draw any attention towards us?”

What was this man's deal? Why was he so desperate for a dance? Why was he such a prick?

“No!” She hoped a clean shoot down of his proposal would end this, but simultaneously, she wished for it to continue too. Not only did she not want to go back inside, but this man was allowing her to take her rage out on him like an emotional punching bag, and instead of getting mad at her, he simply let it go, and even smiled at her- and his smile was quite pretty if she had to admit so.

“Why?” He was still smiling, as if he knew she would probably give in after the bickering- which she was still on the fence about. She liked how this man didn’t talk too much about himself and his daddy’s money, but it wasn’t a great replacement for him to be teasing her for the awkward dance with Davenport. Still, though he was very pretty, Y/n’s stubbornness was stronger than it… She hoped it was, at least.

“Because… there is no music!” It was the best excuse she could come up with, but of course, he had a remedy for that which not only solved the problem but riled her up even more.

He gave her an incredulous look, a single eyebrow raised in silence to enhance the fact that music was indeed playing by the live orchestra inside the ballroom, which seeped through the very open doors and bled into the courtyard. “Ma’am, you do hear the music that is playing at the ball we have both attended and are standing outside of right now, not more than a few metres away, don’t you?”

Her face morphed into the sheer expression of embarrassment- one she couldn’t hide from him by turning around this time. His stupidly handsome face waited for her answer in silence, only making her more embarrassed as the music kept playing. She let out a small sigh. “…Yes… I do”

He gave a long sigh and held his hand to his heart in fake relief, clearly making fun of her. “Thank God! Was worried about your hearing, love! Anyways, now that your not so horrid hearing is sorted, will you dance with me? You won't have to do a thing, pretty lady.”

What is his deal? Love? Pretty lady? Picking on her hearing (even though she probably set the teasing up with the not hearing remark)? Was he trying to do her head in? So enraged by his antics, that was exactly what she asked him.

“Love? Pretty lady? Atrocious hearing? Are you trying to annoy me to the point of oblivion? Do you even wish to dance, or does teasing me fancy you more?”

His eyebrows scrunched and his eyes squinted, mimicking the suspicious look she gave him earlier, and he attempted to bite down his glaring smile and pursed his lips but failed to conceal his delight as he resumed his torture.

“Huh. Miss, I am no detective, though it almost seems as if you are distraught by this? Would you wish for me to dance with you seriously? Is that why you are upset?”

“No! Why would I wish to dance with you? You have been nothing but annoying and ill-humoured to me. You yourself do not wish to dance with me, you just want to annoy and disturb me!” She began to turn around, now sick of the back and forth. If he was just going to toy with her, she was going to make sure he knew that she was above whatever tomfoolery he was engaging in. As she began to walk away, probably to her carriage which would take her home rather than back to the party- the fun had been sucked out of the evening- she heard his voice behind her.

“Wait! Wait… Miss, please wait a moment and listen!” His voice had an air of urgency, and she could hear him fast walking after her. Y/n quickly turned around, the force of it causing a whooshing sound in her ears and causing her large poofy dress (that she was quite fond of) to shift and sway before settling. Face scrunched up in a scornful expression, her voice was immediately snappy and defensive to match the look.

“What?! What more could you possibly want from me?” She huffed out. She was sick of him. The teasing was too stupid and childish now, and his very pretty face was no longer enough to mask his annoying personality- or at least that is what Y/n forced herself to believe.

He put his hands up in surrender, smiling again, but not in a smug way- it had evolved into a sweet small genuine smile that made her heart flutter. Screw him… and screw his perfect bloody face…

“I’ve told you already. A dance, miss. Just one dance…?” He put his hand out, eyebrow slightly raised and head tilted slightly, as if he was testing the waters to see if she would agree.

What was most frustrating about the situation was that Y/n was genuinely stumped by what she should do. He was a complete and utter pompous blowhard, but he was also so pretty! Decisions, decisions!

If she refused and went back home, she would be deflated and sour, but also buzzing with curiosity, wondering what he would have done or what would have happened. If she did take him up for this dance, she could deduce whether he was a prick or just a little odd when speaking to women. If he was a sweetheart, well then that would be a win and maybe she would have a new friend to talk to during other balls and events. On the other hand, if he turns out to be a total prick, at least she would know for sure he was, and then she could go home in her sour mood she would have left with either way. It was clear what the solution was.

Unfortunately, while she was calculating all the possibilities in her head of what could happen if she took his hand, Harry's smile was slowly transforming into a smirk, eyes squinted, mirroring her earlier expression of suspicion. He looked her up and down as if he was investigating her, before speaking once more.

“Do you always investigate people with your eyes as if they are murderers? I can only imagine the heavy case file you must be conjuring up in your brain, what with all of the squinting and observing.”

She rolled her eyes at him- something that any other man would surely discipline her for, but Harry simply laughed it off. She liked that.

“Come on, Miss. It’s just a dance. No need to worry your pretty little head. Look, I promise there will be no funny business. I swear on my mother’s life!” He exclaims as he puts his hand over his heart and the other one, solemnly swearing.

Y/n’s resolution was fading- far too quickly for this random good looking boy who decided that charming a girl equated making fun of her.

“Just… one dance?” she asked, holding out one finger to him to consolidate her understanding (and also to not seem too desperate).

“Just one, unless you beg for more” he retorted with a smirk.

Y/n rolled her eyes once more. Is this what lows she was willing to stoop down for? All for a boy with a pretty face? She found herself placing her palm in his large hand, and looked up at Harry expectantly, who held a large smug grin on his face.

Damn. Gave in too easily…

While bowing to her, he attempted to kiss her hand, but her reflexes were too sharp for his unexpecting lips, swiftly removing her hand from his hold. Still in bow with his hand in the same position, he looked up at her confused.

“One dance, not a dance and a kiss” she pettily observed, hands crossed and weight dropped onto one leg and hip.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, before returning to full stature. “Oh, you are so right. How improper of me, Princess! Especially ungloved, by God, what would our parents think!” he sarcastically mocked before holding his hand out to her once more. “Shall we?”

She raised an eyebrow up and looked at him in an unimpressed manner, feeling a weird dropping feeling in her chest, though she held the unwavering visual frustration so as to not indicate to him in any way that she was not frustrated but in fact, nervous. She almost enjoyed the way he called her Princess, but again, he could never know that. She placed her hand in his once more, placing the other on top of his shoulder. She let out a little gasp as he placed his other large ring adorned hand onto her hip, ghosting it with a light caress first to indicate he was going to put his hand there before gently letting it grasp her. He began to sway and step, leading her in a lazy yet sweet waltz. They glided across the impromptu dance floor and Y/n had to admit; it was pretty nice. Definitely the best dance she had participated in all night. He didn’t attempt to engage her in boring conversation about how rich his father was, nor was he making any sleazy comments- or any comments for that matter. He was simply enjoying the moment, allowing her to enjoy it too.

Too soon, though, did the song end. They still held each other in the embrace while the orchestra took a small break. She didn’t want to pull apart from him- he smelt too good, and he was strong and commanding yet graceful and elegant. And though her ego would never allow her to apologise or take back her words of distaste for him spoken a mere few moments before, she had to admit that he was very good looking, and that their waltz together did soften the hatred for him.

“Miss…” his buttery smooth voice glided out from his mouth, the words and soft breath hitting her ear from their close proximity, causing her to shiver slightly. She didn’t know if he knew what he was doing to her, but she definitely hoped he didn’t.

“Yes?” She replied shakily, her heart stuttering against her will.

“Does this make up for my teasing earlier?” His voice was cheeky, and she could feel his smirk. Damn was he annoying- annoyingly cute, but annoying none of the less. She didn’t know how to answer him though- she didn’t want to give in and tell him he gave her butterflies, or that his neck, which smelt of cocoa and tobacco left her weak at the knees. His hands, adorned with rings, were large yet slender, holding one of her hands gently while the other rubbed her waist lightly, swirling in small circles that she could feel through the layers of her beautiful poofy gown that made her feel beautiful.

No, she couldn’t tell him that. He would tease her even more, or maybe leave, and she didn’t want that. No, she couldn’t act desperate. So she pulled away from his grasp, sighed and hit him with another exasperated look, eyebrow raised.

“You just can’t help but ruin the moment, can you?” She asked, no real ire in her voice, but certainly no sweetness either- it was a peeved tone. One that exactly matched her mood. Or at least, the mood she wished she felt, instead of the mushy feelings she held inside instead.

He chuckled, head falling back slightly, mouth open as he let out tufts of laughter that Y/n wanted to collect with a cone to make a fairy floss cloud of his happiness- hers to keep after a carnival.

“It does, doesn’t it!? I can already feel us becoming closer, now that you like me!” He chirped, still smiling that million dollar smile.

She rolled her eyes again, but this time she was smiling- he was too charming for her to keep a straight face. She crossed her arms and began to walk towards the flowers planted at the end of the cobbled courtyard, sitting in large long stone planters shaped into intricate designs. Little flowers bloomed in pink and coral among the strong foliage of the healthy green leaves- begonias, if she wasn’t mistaken. She read about them in a little book about the language of flowers, which she found in Aisha’s bookstore, hidden under a powder of dust, showcasing its neglect, and the pain Y/n felt for the inanimate object caused her to buy the book before she even knew the content. And by reading the book, she knew that it was odd for the begonias to be planted. Though the language of flowers isn’t known by all, it striked her as odd for someone to have planted blooms that symbolises what they did- caution, a warning of wariness.

That’s odd…

And while she was carried away by this small detail, attempting to decipher what it meant, or if it meant anything at all, she didn’t notice the tall Brit wander over to her, hands behind his back and steps haphazard as he whistled an aimless tune, attempting to gain her attention. And though it didn’t work initially, once he eventually got to her, and peered at her face scrunched up in thought, his warm minty breath rolling over her in waves as he inhaled and exhaled shook her from her thoughts. Her head slowly turned until she fully faced him, eyes slowly meeting his, and she felt her heart begin to race as she realised how close he really was, once again invading her personal space without her batting an eyelid, too enamoured by his being to complain. He smiled a light smile, his eyes stuck on her lips, and for the first time, Y/n didn’t mind it. He wasn’t slimy the way other men were that evening. And yes, he teased her, but he also excited her. He was handsome and funny and charming as hell. So when he uttered his next sentence, Y/n was hesitant to let him down.

“Shall we go somewhere more private, Miss?” His voice rasped, causing her breath to hitch as he continued to stare his lips down, licking over his own with a bubblegum pink tongue before continuing.

“Somewhere you aren’t… distracted?”

She could feel him slowly inching closer, but stopping when they were about to touch lips, before looking deeply into her eyes, silently asking for her permission. She had to say something, but the nerves stopped her from saying anything comprehensible. She took a deep breath, staring into his eyes so intently, their lips oh so very close when-

DING DONG

The large clock inside the mansion echoed around the ballroom and leaked into the garden. The chimes were strong and loud, eleven more of them bounced around, following the first. They both jumped, a little startled by the loud noise, and Y/n immediately pulled herself together and sidestepped away from him and the planter he had cornered her against, now bashful of their situation. She suddenly felt the need to leave. Not because of any promise of a specific home time to her mother or sisters, although they would be expecting her home sooner than later- but instead because she needed to process what just happened- how quickly she allowed herself to succumb to this random man. God, she nearly allowed him to kiss her. She had to leave and have a long hard think about the mysterious man who suddenly cured her of all of her inhibitions, and she had to leave now.

“I’m so sorry, but I must get going. My family must be wanting me home by now,”

She doesn’t catch him letting out a small sigh, but she does see him give her a smile and ask her if he could escort her back to her carriage, which Y/n agreed to far too quickly.

And before they began to walk, he softly held the small of her back and guided her, something that so often disgusted her when done by other men, but in this case, didn’t mind in the slightest.

Why was her face so warm? Why were her hands clammy and shaking? Why was her heart beating so damn fast? How was she simultaneously boiling hot and freezing cold at the same time? She needed to get a damned grip. The carriage (that her rich Aunt Josephine had graciously paid for, as it was unsafe for her to come home alone) was waiting for her as he walked her out the back entrance of the mansion, which Harry suggested them to use instead as it was hidden to the ballroom attendees, in order “to prevent any creeps from attempting to snatch another dance with you, love!”. Together, they walked down the seemingly never ending stairs and to the transport. He held her hand and helped her to climb into the carriage, kissing her knuckles gently (Y/n noticed his little smile at this, and she was sure that it was due to the irony of her not letting him kiss her hand earlier, but now not saying a peep about it), before parting to take a step back and keep his hands behind his back instead. He waved her goodbye and wished her well, leaving her with an “until we meet again, Miss Y/ln. I hope my company tonight has pleased you” before the coachman clicked his tongue, sending the majestic steeds, including her own, Flynn, into a gentle yet brisk trod away from the grand mansion and towards her loving home.

She was thankful to the highest degree that she had the luxury of an empty ride home, void of company, which meant she could take off her shoes, undo her corset, kick her feet up, open the small window to let in a chilly breeze and process whatever just happened in the garden of the ballroom. Would she be telling her Marmee about this- about him? She did not know. On one hand, she didn’t want to seem weak with feelings, but on the other hand, her mother wished for her to fall in love (if she ever did) with a good man, and though it could not be classified as love yet (hell, she didn’t even know his last name yet) he was definitely charming, and witty, and better than all the other men she had danced with that night.

Her brain hurt with all of the thinking of boys and tooth-rotting feelings towards them. The breeze that was being blown into the carriage was beautiful, and she was very comfortable, now out of her shoes and corset, but to really seal the deal on the night, all she needed was a large hug from her loving mother, a good cup of tea, a bath and a few pages (or chapters) of a book before an late retirement to bed.

You would think that an late retirement to bed would mean an insanely late morning, right? Well, that is what should have happened to Y/n that morning, but instead, she found herself waking up bright and early, her head filled with too many thoughts of him, which were too distracting for her to sleep any longer than she normally would after a late night. She got ready for the day, pulled up her big boots to avoid snakes and ventured off into the acres of her “backyard” to do her morning chores. She walked through the cold dewy grass to get to the stables, where she fed and groomed Atticus, the white Shetland pony with an attitude, before moving on to Flynn, her lovely chocolate brown Clydesdale horse with a thick and proud white blaze down his face and white feet (which her family all referred to as Flynn’s little snow booties). As she did, she whispered good mornings and hellos into his ears before carefully hugging him, making sure not to put her face completely on his, seeing as she was unfortunately allergic to his dander. She filled up his water as she asked him questions like “how was your night?” and “make any new friends?” before letting him out to his large paddock with a “see you soon”. She ventured to the back of the dull red barn that had been weathered down over time, jumping over the paddock fencing, crossing the large field and dragging open the heavy wooden sliding door, three excited Jersey cows running out into the greenery, ready to start a new day of grazing. Y/n then entered through the large creaky wooden door and into the cow manure smelling room. She strode over to the last cow sitting down in the corner, eyes just opening up after a sweet night’s rest. As she walked over, she noticed a little furry creature jumping down from his ledge high in the wood panelling of the barn and following her- it was Fennec, the L/n’s domesticated barn cat - a sweetheart through and through who hated everyone but the family, a little orange Somali cat with the sweetest pointed ears, earning him his name after the long eared fox. The two walked to their friend who was still lying down, only just waking up.

“Good Morning my sweet sleepy Petunia! How are you this lovely dawn?” Y/n asked in a soft yet cheerful voice as she stood over her with her hands on her hips, while Fennec jumped on top of a bale of hay next to her and meowing to make his presence known- an attention seeker of only the L/n’s love and affection. He then waited patiently for his morning hello too.

“Good morning to you too, my handsome Fen! I didn’t mean to leave you out! How are you, my little man?” She gave the special place behind his ears a little scratch as the cat chirped happily to her, almost in response. Y/n always spoke to them as if they were humans- in her mind they were family as much as her sisters and parents, and family was always listened to, even if family was a fox looking cat and a slightly sleep-dazed cow.

Y/n then looked back at the cow, who had gotten a hold of her bearings and began to stand, Y/n standing back to give her some space. Once she got up, the girl pat her slowly before embracing her in a sweet hug, one that Petunia leaned into, her head on her shoulder as she huffed into her ear softly, warm air hitting Y/n’s neck as she smiled, loving stroking her friend, giving her a pat, before walking, the cow following her stride in almost perfect sync.

“Your friends are all already awake and in the paddock grazing, P! Why is it you who always needs a wakeup call, huh?” The Jersey replied with a short high pitched moo, but Y/n was only teasing her- she never minded that Petunia didn’t want to wake up until she gave her a sweet good morning, and if fact, it was nothing but endearing that even though Petunia spends most of her time with the rest of the small herd, she refuses to get up and start the day without her morning hello and hug from her human best friend.

They walked together to the paddock before Petunia jogged off to her friends, ready to say hi, before beginning to graze. Y/n filled up the large water trough before walking out of the front door and to the sheltered firewood stock. She collected a full wheelbarrow of good firewood before walking back to the house, Fennec following her the whole way through. She stocked up the firewood box outside of the front door, wheeled the barrow back up the hill, this time with Fennec as her precious cargo, sat it down to its previous place, grabbed Fennec and walked back down once again to her home, this time holding him in her hands, stroking him the whole way back.

Once arriving at the house once again, Fennec jumped out of Y/n’s arms and walked through the door and while she took her muddy boots off. Fennec went ahead and worked his way through the maze of their house and to the kitchen, near the back door where plopped himself down next to his food bowl, ready for breakfast. She walked after him and began to prepare his morning meal, pulling the leftover fish out of the newspaper that Hannah, their helper who cleans with Liz and cooks meals for the entire family, had left for Fennec the night before while cleaning the dishes. Y/n put the food into the dish and refilled his water in the sink, before turning around to place the bowl on the floor, running straight into Hannah herself, who was looking at her with a strange suspicious look on her face. After jumping and putting her hand to her slightly heaving chest in her surprise, Y/n, looks at Hannah, gives her a confused look before inquiring. “Why are you looking at me in such a fashion?” as she placed the water bowl down.

Hannah squinted her eyes, assessing Y/n’s every feature before noting, “You look different…”

Look different? What the heck was that supposed to mean?

She rises, an inquisitive look on her face. “How so?” She pressed, now very intrigued and still ever so confused.

“You look brighter despite your late night… It’s suspicious…”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Hannah…” Y/n retorts, washing her hands thoroughly with soap. She was playing stupid though- Y/n knew that she probably seemed much more chipper, and she was in no mood to discuss why. She would never admit to anyone that she had fun at a ball- she had never before. Especially at a matching ball, where the women wore dance cards and awaited stupid men to pluck them like flowers. And especially not because of a specific boy, who at the end of the night swooped in, annoyed her, danced with her and flustered her all in one. No way would she admit all of that.

Hannah though, was an older woman with wisdom beyond even her years- she knew that Y/n was hiding something, Y/n was aware of that. But still, she remained dumb as Hannah enquired further.

“This mood wouldn’t have anything to do with last night’s festivities, right?”

Y/n, though panicking on the inside, had a decent straight face, developed after dozens of late night poker games.

“No, of course not,” She forces herself to let out a huff of an incredulous laugh that only lasted a second, before looking back at her hands, busying herself with washing the suds off and picking up a towel to dry them so that she didn’t have to look at Hannah’s face.

Before Hannah could further interrogate, both of them heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Y/n quickly took the opportunity to escape.

“Oh, would you hear that! The girls are waking up!” She quickly stated, her voice several decibels louder, looking to the ceiling, where the footsteps could be heard descending. She looked at Hannah just for a second, only allowing her to let out an incredibly suspicious “Hmm…” before dashing out of the kitchen to see who woke up first, leaving Hannah behind to continue making breakfast for the girls. After leaving the door, she arrived in the drawing room where all of the girls sat and ate. The stairs led down to the very room she was in, so she looked to her left and saw the first sister of the day- Safia.

She was dressed in her sweet frilly nightgown that she filled out nicely- most despicable mothers and grandmothers always called her “overweight”, “hefty”or “fat”, but all of the girls knew that was nothing but spiteful hag talk. Her hair was half up half down, the incredibly long locks perfectly curled despite her not touching them at all. She had beautiful clear skin, so soft and warm you could have mistaken it for a baby’s. So quiet and graceful, she tiptoed down the final two stairs and reached the bottom, looking at Y/n with sleepy, slightly squinted eyes, still adjusting to the light of day. She smiled sweetly at her older sister and came up to give her a warm hug.

“Y/n, you’re home!” She softly exclaimed, her voice never reaching above a mouse’s peep. They embraced and swayed slightly before letting go to walk into the kitchen and help Hannah set the table. As they picked up their first sets of plates and pots each, filled with eggs, toast, jam and marmalade, Y/n smiled back at her sister and gave her a little “I am! Did you miss me last night?”

“Of course, but I always miss you. I missed you this morning when I walked into your room and found your bed empty. I cannot believe that after such a late night you are still driven enough to wake up early and do chores! I had already decided that I would do them for you later today, so imagine my worry!”

God, Safia was so sweet. Y/n never understood the phrase “I could eat you up” when referring to something cute… but sometimes Y/n could eat her up! She was the sweetest, kindest, shyest little angel to ever grace the Earth. That is why she was never bullied, not even by the meanest of girls. She was so graceful and true, that even though it was hard for others girls not to be envious of her and the attention she drew from only the most handsome of men, they knew they had no right to be- she was so darling and caring of others that she deserved only the best, and no one could be anything but happy for her.

“Never worry about me, Saf. I am always 100% fine, even when you worry yourself dizzy!” The girls walk back into the kitchen and take cutlery and smaller serving plates, as they continue their conversation, Y/n steering the conversation away from the events of her late night and instead towards Safia’s latest knit. She softly recounted the process of her success in making a little forest green jumper for Fennec, as they brought out the last things for the table, and took their seats, Y/n pushing away thoughts of the man whose eyes matched the knitted piece.

Just as they began to reach for various items on the table, the front door creaked open, as if the person arriving was attempting to not wake anyone up. The girls immediately knew only one sweet and caring woman would do that, and that was-

“Ma!!” the girls exclaimed as quietly as they could, jumping out of their chairs and running through the living room and to the hallway where their loving mother was taking off her tiny boots, smiling at them kindly. Y/n immediately dropped to the floor to help her mother out of her shoes while Saf hugged her. Once Y/n pulled the shoes off and put them by the door, she rose, hugged her mother fiercely before walking her to the dining room, asking her how her early morning treating the Poe children for the flu was. They sat at the table and the girls filled their mother’s plate with buttered toast and fresh fruit before continuing to butter their own. The pitter patter of their mother’s tiny feet were heard gracefully down the stairs- there was only one of the sisters who inherited mother’s dainty feet, and that was Ula. Her tired eyes were carefully wiped as she walked to the dining table, wished a good morning to her mother before spooning berries into her plate- never using her hands, as always. Finally, once Liz ambled down the stairs and sat down at the dining table, her dress robe tied on tight and a tissue to her nose, a pout painted onto her face, the whole family (except for father, of course) were all present and accounted for.

“Oh Liz. Not feeling any better, are you?” Ma asked, walking over to her and putting her hand on her forehead to check her temperature. Liz pulled her hands off of her face and plopped them into her lap, her nose red and irritated as she pathetically sniffled, holding her mother’s hand tightly for comfort.

“No, Ma. I still feel horrible. And I can’t believe I was ill on the very night of Tilly Hughes ball! And at the next high tea, all that they will be talking about is the events of the ball, and I would be left out. I spoiled my night with the snow dancing last week and now I am paying the price severely.” Liz was not a spoilt child at all- she was very put together and polite, even described by all of the matchmaking mothers at balls and parties as “the perfect housewife”. And perfect she was- a homebody who hated dirty outside jobs, and instead spent all of her time indoors, with her chores including dusting, washing the dishes, sweeping and ironing, all things she loved to do because they kept her busy. She was sweet and obedient, not at all naughty or scandalous like other seemingly innocent girls, and to top it all off, she already held natural mothering tendencies towards all of her younger sisters, as being the oldest made her strong and motherly immediately. She was slender and had beautiful mid length black hair that smelt of fresh laundry. She felt, looked and smelt as clean and fresh as the crisp shirts she ironed in the late nights, when all of the sisters had no major events happening the next day, so they stayed up til the wee hours of the night, doing each other’s hair, talking, eating biscuits with tea, playing cards, knitting, reading and sewing. But naturally, she, being human, had flaws. And her flaw had been her desire for the shiny things that her friends were given by their families. Though Y/n never really cared about what others said about her, and when she did, she stuck up for herself, Liz, though being seen through her three sisters eyes as beautiful and sweet and caring, still felt the need to show others that she was perfect. That she had money and could enjoy higher class luxuries- which was a problem as the L/ns, though much more fortunate than others, definitely were not the wealthiest. Their farm was a gentleman’s farm, yes, which meant that they didn’t rely on it for money, but it was inherited land and had been for many generations. And their father, after a few bad loans, was short on money, forcing him to apply for a job overseas- blue collar work that other families would feel embarrassed by, but not the L/n’s- they simply wished for their father’s safety and return. The girls had to take their jobs around the house more seriously, as the farm was no longer to just teach the girls about responsibility- no, they had to sell their goods now. Every Sunday morning, while townsfolk went to church, the girls stocked up Flynn with all their goods safely tucked away before walking to the town square, selling fresh milk, butter, tea leaves and produce to the people.

“It’s okay, Liz. You cannot help that you are ill!” Their mother softly comforted, stroking her hair before squeezing her arm. Liz leaned into her and laid her head on her shoulder.

“I know Ma. Plus, it’s all okay, considering next week's plan.”

Y/n was confused.

“What are we doing next week?” She inquired, looking between her mother and sister suspiciously as they held faces drenched in guilt.

“Ma? Liz?”

The room was tense before their mother looked at Liz.

“Well, go on then. You told me that Y/n knew and happily agreed- I only see it fair for you to be the bearer of news then.”

Liz looked guiltily at her plate, then at Y/n.

“Well…Pippa thought it would be wonderful to have… a little soirée at her place… a small get together, really” she explained in a quiet voice, evident to Y/n that she was not telling the whole truth.

“How big is “a little get together”?” Y/n asked

“Well… really it’s… um so there is Pippa’s family and-“ her sister sputtered, but Y/n already knew what was coming.

“Liz, tell me already!”

“It’s sixty. Sixty people at Pippa’s mansion for a ball. It is not a debutant one, but there will be men there to dance with, and you really must accompany me.” She quietly admitted, voice as soft as Safia’s, but heard in the otherwise silent room.

Y/n was going to get mad at her. She was very good at that- getting mad. She was going to chew Liz out for not only making her attend another one of those silly things, but for also not telling her, springing it upon her and forcing her to accompany her.

But she looked at her sister and saw the guilt on her face, nose still red from her sickness that prohibited her from going to Tilly’s ball, yet she still put on a happy face and helped her get ready before wishing her well last night. Additionally, there may be a certain person that Y/n could see again at said ball. There was no doubt in her mind that he was not a frequent ball-goer, what with his obvious lack of decorum, but Tilly and Pippa were in the same friend group, and though there were new people to talk to at every ball, who could resist inviting the tall charming Brit? Y/n was getting giddy at the sliver of a chance she had to possibly see, let alone talk to him again.

While Y/n was contemplating how she was going to respond in a way that didn't cause suspicion for her willingness to attend the very event she was complaining about the evening before, Ula chimed in her signature whiny voice.

“I could go with you! You never let me come to them, and I know I would be the most graceful dancer there!” She stood and began to dance and twirl, her arms going through the five ballet positions as she spun on her toes. But even she knew that it was all for nothing. After watching her move, Liz immediately turned to Y/n with pleading eyes.

“Please! It’s dangerous for me to go alone, but taking Ula isn’t an option either and you know it! She is still too young!” The twelve year old in question pouted before sitting down with her arms crossed. She couldn’t have been too mad though, as Saf put her arm on her thigh, and before anyone could try to console the pouty child, she already went back to her berries, munching in silence.

Y/n forced out an annoyed sigh, and Liz looked at her with hopeful eyes.

“You owe me for this, Elizabeth…” And as her sister beamed with happiness, Y/n too, smiled for a different reason- for a different person…

Damn…

Damn, damn, dammit…

She hated to admit this to herself, but Y/n was…

Nervous …

Damn oh damn oh dammit to hell!

She was lucky she was not exclaiming this aloud, or Liz would have smacked her with her pristine glove before she could blink twice, chastising her for not being enough of a lady. But how else was she supposed to express herself when she was so… nervous? And it definitely was not due to the dance- she had been to enough of those to make her eyes roll to the back of her head, never to be seen again. She had also never cared about what people had thought of her- most of the boys there could not hold their own spoon when eating dinner, let alone conversation more illuminating than the entertainment a brick wall could supply. But here she was, yet again in the ballroom in her old, albeit pretty dress that Liz hoped no one would recognise from a previous event, nor pay close enough attention to notice that the bottom of the skirt had a tear that was produced while the girls were walking to the venue, Y/n so deep in thought about whether she would see a certain someone that she didn't notice her skirts slipping from her grasp and immediately getting snagged on a pesky root of a tree. Liz nearly had a panic attack because of it, chastising herself for trusting her sister enough to leave the house without a mini sewing kit to fix her mistake. She resorted to making Y/n promise she would not move around too much, or God forbid, dance so as to not arouse attention to her, risking her mistake being caught. Y/n didn’t mind that she had been prohibited from dancing- if anything, it was a relief that she would not have to endure the painstaking process of listening to men. Now she had an excuse to stay away from the boys, and not be forced into socialising like Liz always made her do.

But, the moment she walked into the ballroom, with all the girls in the prettiest of dresses (except for Tilly Hughes and her friends, who were cruel and made Liz feel insecure with their relentless passive aggressive comments), Y/n immediately began to look for the certain somebody. It was unlike her to think of a boy for more than an hour, and for the thoughts to be out of anything other than annoyance or pure rage. Instead, she felt giddy and excited- she was even smiling! And not just to be polite, or because she was looking at her sister! No, she was genuinely excited to see Harry and talk to him once again. But that also brought nerves too. This was the first boy she was ever interested in- she didn’t want to ruin this. She wasn’t sure how to be pretty and alluring to a boy because she had never cared for the topic when older women taught the girls how to be attractive. All she knew was that she felt her stomach twist in knots when she thought about Harry, and that she really liked him.

She needed to remain calm though. Retaining a neutral face was key to not bruising her ego, as cheeky Harry would 100% inquire why she was so giddy if he was to see her. Despite the annoyance and blow to her pride that she would feel, along with her pep talk to herself to not act weird, she still felt the small smile remain on her mouth as she walked around the big room, sipping some sparkling apple juice that was being served. While waiting for a glimpse of the chocolate haired tall British boy, which she remained almost embarrassingly vigilant for, she chatted with a sweet girl named Nin, who was short, had lovely long jet black straight hair and the prettiest dark brown eyes, and round face. They talked about the grandness of the room, then each other’s sisters, who were both chatting and dancing with boys and their respective friends. An hour later, Nin excused herself to go introduce herself to the man her sister insisted she talk to, leaving Y/n to hover around the room. After scanning it once more and noting the lack of Harry’s presence, she concluded that he must not have attended the ball at all. She felt a pang of disappointment, and allowed herself to wallow in it only for a second, quickly walking out of the room and into the long, dark and empty corridor to sigh and pout for a moment.

After stopping outside the room, closing the door behind her with a thud, her echoed heeled steps ceased, and she was immediately confused with the wet smacking sound that she heard down the corridor, only a few feet away.

What in God is that sound?

Morbidly curious, she began to slowly walk towards the sound, hyper aware of the clicking and clacking of her heels, making sure that they were as quiet as they possibly could be. She assumed it may have been a lost animal, what with all the heavy breathing between the noises, so she had to stay calm and quiet so as to not scare the creature. Walking past a pretty and elegant gold table pushed to the right of the hall, she tiptoed all the way to the source of the noise, looking to her left, behind one of the many pillars and finding…

A man? A man with his back turned, and, after looking down at the shoes, noticed a figure in a poofy grand dress tucked behind him, pushed up into the corner created with the wall, the pillar and the man as they…

She squinted in the horribly dim lighting to understand the situation. As they…

Ew…

As they sucked each other's faces. Y/n suddenly became both disgusted at them doing that in such a location and embarrassed at her presence, with the thought of her possibly being caught gawking at them immediately causing her to tiptoe back to the ballroom as swiftly as she possibly could. She noted the table as she walked past, proud that she remembered and therefore, wouldn’t trip over it. Though, while paying attention to her body not running into it, she forgot about her infuriating dress that seemed to attract things to snag into. The bottom of the left side of her skirt swooshed past, and got snagged on the intricate, yet sharp edge of one of the four legs of the sturdy table, and when she continued to walk away, not noticing she was ensnared, the fabric tore. Y/n immediately winced at the loud noise of the fabric, her whole body freezing as she slowly looked back, hoping that the pair did not hear that.

Unfortunately, God had decided that though they wouldn’t hear the large thud of the door closing or her echoing heeled steps, they would hear her dress rip, and immediately pause their heated kissing to gawk at her.

But as she registered their faces, her heart (and face) immediately dropped. She felt a lump in her throat as she looked at the people kissing under the dim amber lamplight. The blonde, skinny, blue eyed new addition to Tilly Hughes friendship group, straight from France, and the man…

Y/n had never felt so stupid, knowing that her face must’ve looked idiotic with her mouth hanging open and eyes wide and she stared at the tall, tall British lanky boy who teased and waltzed with her under the pale moonlight. Who’s single touch had sent her in a tizzy, and made her glow with happiness for the entire week they spent apart. And though he held her so softly, teased her in a way that made her feel special, here he was, caught with the loose coils in disarray, lips shiny, red and swollen and eyes a frenzy, wide and dark with lust for a girl that was the antithesis of her.

She doesn’t know how long the three must’ve stared at each other (or more accurately, Harry and Y/n stared at each other while the unnamed girl shifted her gaze between the two), before she was suddenly unfrozen in time, pulled the silly fabric of her dress until it gave way, turned around and sped walked all the way back to the ballroom, before deciding that she didn’t want anyone to see her when she inevitably began to weep, and instead, took a hard right and walked into the closest room in the hall, shutting the door tightly behind her.

The room was illuminated by the numerous oil lamps along the walls, and she hoped no one was present as she walked into the small study, with a bookshelf to the right, and a desk with a bar cart to the left. She breathed in and out, trying to calm herself as her eyes began to water. How could he do that to her? Did he not care for the small yet meaningful time they shared? He toyed with her as if they were close the last time he saw her, so how could he go and do that to her, kissing the hell out of the pretty, elegant and graceful French girl that Y/n could never live up to. It was just when she began to feel the teardrops fall when she heard footsteps come closer and closer to the door. She prayed to God that it wasn’t Harry, yet once again, She was not on the mortal girl’s side as the very man she wished didn’t exist opened the door and shut it behind him. She quickly wiped her tears away and looked at him with nothing but heartbreak. He, however, looked annoyed. How and why, she could not tell, but he had no problem answering her unspoken question.

“Why would you stand there all frozen and shocked before running away? Now she thinks that you will go off and tell everyone what you saw and she is crying.”

It took a second for Y/n to realise that he was talking about the girl he was canoodling with. She then had to take another beat and comprehend what he just said. Is he annoyed at her for taking off when he was the one who was kissing the girl in the hallway, where anyone could have walked out? Y/n was in absolute shock, and simply stared at him, hoping he would claim he was joking before beginning to apologise, but all he did was stare at her with his eyebrow raised and mouth in a scowl.

“Well? What do you have to say?” He implored after a minute or so in silence.

Apparently he was completely serious. And Y/n was even more confused- so much so that the girl, who usually never shied down from an argument, was so surprised that all she could answer him with was a tiny, gravelly “What?”, as she furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head. This seemed enough to set Harry off even further, raising his voice in a peeved tone even louder.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? She is crying, and you left me to deal with her. What am I supposed to do to console a crying gir-“ He cut himself off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before opening them and beginning again in a lower, yet still sharp tone, running his fingers through his hair as he spoke.

“Whatever- just go apologise to her, promise that you won’t tell anyone and we can all pretend like this never happened and go back to what we were doing.”

This man had to be joking- he wanted her to apologise for walking in on them when they were the ones who are to blame for conducting their private business in public! Still, Y/n could not respond back. She was too heartbroken. He was the first boy she had ever been interested in- born with an awareness like no other, she knew that men were nothing but disappointments, and vowed that she would never give her time, space, energy or thoughts to them when they were nothing but undeserving of it. But then Harry, who annoyed her so much, was somehow able to both conform to her perception of how stupidly annoying men were, but simultaniously make her want him nonetheless. Her eyes began to water again- why was it that the first boy she ever liked was a bastard?

“Why are you crying?” He asked, sounding confused- and that hurt Y/n even more. How could he be so indifferent? Did he not understand even the slightest of her affection for him? Was he that uncaring for her? She still could not answer, and immediately began shutting off her emotions. She immediately stopped silently crying and wiped her tears, now nothing but ashamed as she looked anywhere but at him. Then, she heard him scoff, and when she reluctantly peered up at him, his evergreen eyes were full of realisation, darting between hers. He walked towards her in his same, slow yet wide stride and stopped only a few centimetres away from her, mirroring his close proximity a week before- when everything was perfect.

“Oh don’t tell me…” Her gaze sharply shifted to their previous location, down to the floor, but he lifted her chin with his index and middle finger, making her look into his eyes as he analysed her further. He tutted in a patronising tone.

“Silly girl, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me, hmm?”

How was this possible? How could someone go from naughty yet sweet and familiar to so cold and unforgiving. She felt her heart breaking even more, but she would not let herself show it at all. She closed her eyes and willed the entire situation away. She didn’t want this to taint the perfect person he was in her head. He began to graze his thumb over her bottom lip, and as she opened her eyes, he continued.

“I knew you must have been stupid for the whole “I’m so innocent” act, but I had credited you as at least a little inteligent. But you truly are a thoughtless little sweetheart.”

She stared at him with malice, but remained where she was. Unfortunately, she was frozen still and could not move even though it was all she wanted to do at that point.

He suddenly removed his hand and continued. “Listen, darling. I am not some shy Mr. Darcy here to fall in love with you and whisk you away from what you think is a treacherous life. I have no intentions of loyalty to one woman- why would I when I could have numerous instead?” He finished the end of his sentence with a smirk.

Her heart broke even more- how dare he bring Mr. Darcy into this…

Suddenly, the door opened, and both Harry and Y/n looked at the door immediately, but soon untensed when they found it was the blonde French girl. Her eyes were still a little red, but she had calmed down by this point. She looked at Y/n warily before silently speaking to Harry. He explained to her.

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone…” before pausing to make deep eye contact with Y/n before continuing. “…no one at all”

The girl nodded and walked over to Harry, before shamelessly starting to kiss and bite his neck, Harry laughing slightly as his head fell back. Y/n couldn’t fathom how shameless this girl suddenly became. Harry looked at her suddenly, as if he remembered she was still in the room.

“Unless you would like to join, would you excuse us? We wouldn’t want anyone else walking in on us out there. Thank you for finding a room for us, though…”

She could not believe her ears. She unpaused, turned around sharply and left at the same speed as she arrived, almost running away.

***

She was tuning everything out, simply there to avoid sitting alone. If she was, she would be left with her feelings for too long and would begin to cry, and she couldn’t ruin the night for Liz like that- not only because she did not want her to have to leave early, especially when she missed the last ball due to her sickness, but also because she would not know what excuse to make for her watery red eyes other than the truth that she was crying, and she would not- no, could not have that. No one had ever seen her cry before- well, at least for her parents… and now… him. She could not stop thinking about the look of perverted glee on his face, furrowed eyebrows and sinful smirk as he scoffed at the feelings she had never felt before. She was brought out of her train of thought though, when she heard his name being mentioned in hushed voices by her Tilly and her wicked friends.

“Shh, girls! Look over there! It’s Harry and Charlotte. Wonder where they were, huh?” Tilly paused and smirked as the girls around her snickered, nursing the champagne glass in her hand daintily. Y/n looked over to where the girls were staring- Harry had just entered the room through the door she had come out and ran into a mere hour ago, his hair still a mess and lips still red, now with rumpled clothes too- and Y/n had to look away. Following him was the mystery girl- Charlotte, her lipstick completely gone, hair also mussed, corset loose and undone and eyes darting around the room in a shifty manner, hoping no one (except for her friends) noticed her absence. One of the other girls in the group chimed in during the pause, while the rest continued to watch.

“She is so lucky. Harry is one of- if not the most handsome man in this country- and foreign too! Have you heard his accent?”

Tilly looked at the girl with a cruel stare before rolling her eyes and in a disdainful tone, snarked. “Wipe the drool off your mouth, Margaret,” she teased cruelly, before looking back at Harry. “Plus, everyone knows that Harry has been with every girl under the sun. Face it- Charlotte is simply his woman of the week.” She took another sip of her drink as all the others concurred with short hums of agreement. Did everyone know he was a debauched playboy but her? Even Lizzy nodded! Her own sister! Y/n could not feel more stupid. She was trailing off in thought again when the girls began to whisper.

“Shut your mouths girls, he’s coming!” The girls (or well, all except Liz) began to preen and look at him with flirtatious eyes. Y/n followed their eye lines and found Harry coming towards them, Charlotte still trailing. He arrived in front of the group, bowed and presented the quiet and shy girl back to the group.

“This one got lost on her way back from the washroom. You might want to keep an eye on her before she wanders again.” He looked over to her as she smirked. He then met eyes with the other girls, never staying on one for longer than a few seconds, looking at them as if they were items on a menu, and he was excited to try them all. Y/n looked at him with disdain, eyes squinted, mouth pouted, nose slightly scrunched.

Despicable bachelor...

He then locked eyes with her, as if he heard the very thought from her head. He looked at her intently, giving a small smirk. He was teasing her, after breaking her heart.

He looked at the other girls one more time, bowing again, before looking at her once again. He held a smug look as he bowed once more.

“Miss”, he murmured in his smooth and charming British accent- the others sighed as he walked off, but Y/n saw through his faux wooing and sweetness. She knew him for what he really was. A right bastard.

And after she understood that, she knew she had seen enough. She had to go home now. She leant over to Liz and told her she would be waiting in the foyer of the house for her to say her goodbyes. And by midnight, they were home from another ball once more- Y/n completely drained.

No more boys. No more feelings.

And with that promise, she gazed at the ceiling and prayed for sleep to snatch her soon, too pained to be left in her own thoughts about him for any longer.

****

read part two here!

#regency!harry #regency!harry x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles enemies to lovers #regency!harry enemies to lovers #by bug

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narukoibito · 3 years

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Fic Recs: Angst

Sure thing, Anon! Glad you are enjoying my lists! Though a lot of my recs in general are angsty, so many of these will be repeats from other lists, but I decided not to re-rec every angsty story since that would be too much. Everything I’ve rec’ed before is indented in case you are only looking for new stories. Saddle up, this is a long one. Enjoy!

Anything with * is a WIP.

Canon-Compliant

Realising by @floreatcastellumposts

Missed Moment: Harry realizes he loves Ginny. It’s so painful and heartbreaking. Note that I also list a bunch of other favorite MM by Flo in my All-Time Favorites List though not all are angsty.

22 by @floreatcastellumposts

Harry realizes he has outlived his parents.

the train station by @ink-splotch

An absolutely chilling story of Ginny’s near-death experience in the Chamber of Secrets. The writing, like most of dirgewithoutmusic’s work is riveting. This is Ginny-centric rather than Hinny/Harry-centric.

Post-War Canon

gone was any trace of you by @annerbhp

Amnesia, Married: Again, one of my all-time favorites because I can’t not rec this for angst. Harry loses his memories. Counting this as post-war canon since there’s nothing in this that contradicts it being part of canon.

i just really need you here right now by @annerbhp

Harry and Ginny, like all couples, have things they need to work on. That doesn’t mean they give up.

as the morning steals upon the night by @could-have-beens

My favorite canon reuniting after the battle story.

Chambers by starfishstar

After the war, everything isn’t okay, but maybe eventually it can be. A Ginny-centric post-war story.

Ghost of You by blacktag189

An incredibly angsty story of Ginny suffering from mental health issues after the war and how she comes to recover (with a lot of challenges to her and Harry’s relationship along the way). The author does a good job depicting mental health issues and long-distance relationship challenges.

A Life Closed Twice Before Its Close by tosca

Halloween comes around again, and Harry can’t shake a feeling of unease. I loved how tosca depicts an established Harry/Ginny in this story.

will you stay by NaruKoibito (me)

“So? What was the verdict? Any Veelas?” Harry and Ginny after the war.

Next Gen

Between Walls and Harvest Moons by @ellizablue

During Albus’s third year in Cursed Child timeframe. It’s heavily focused on the Al’s disconnect with his parents. Ginny pays him a visit. There are heartbreaking moments of Harry angsting over his relationship with Al, but I have such a soft spot for Ginny & Al stories, and this one hit all of them.

Put Your Curse In Reverse by @ellizablue

The second part of the amazing It’s Tea Time* series. It is not heavily Harry/Ginny focused, but there is a lot of angst, great Hinny marriage moments, an epic moment where Harry encounters a Boggart that ripped my heart out, and much, much more.

Alternate Universe

The Changeling and Armistice Series* by @annerbhp

You all must know by now that this is my all-time favorite story, but if you need an angst rec, this is it, my friends. There’s angst everywhere, really, but in my head we do everything right has some of my favorite angst ever.

Keeping Even the Broken Promises* by Summer Potter

Amnesia, Harry/Other is a part of this story: Four years after Harry wakes up with no memory, he begins a journey to discover what he left behind and the promises he inadvertently broke.

you will bleed to death from the pain of it by lullabyknell

Soulmark: This painful, amazing story inverts the trope in the best way.

take what i took and give it back to you by fairytiger

Soulmark: Harry decides to breakup with his soulmate.

The World I Leave Behind by NES85

What if Voldemort hadn’t killed Harry in the forest but everyone thought he had? He traps Harry in the Chamber of Secrets – but what happens when Harry escapes? Oh Harry being Harry in this and his scenes with Ginny definitely are gut-wrenching.

Unravel Me* by NaruKoibito (me)

FWB: My canon-divergence story where Harry and Ginny never got together in HBP. After a drunken night, these two angsty idiots wind up in a friends-with-benefits relationship full of agonizing mutual pining.

Angst-Without-A-Happy-Ending

Okay. Okay. Sometimes I dabble in the dark arts. Sometimes I read stories of such pure, unadulterated angst, just to cry my heart out.

Warning: There are several stories below that contain a major character death. I oscillated between marking them or not, but some of them it’s better that you’re not spoiled. So...you’ve been warned that at least these stories below do not clearly end with Harry and Ginny together. Nothing but PAIN ahead!

Without Love by @captainyellowsturm

Every time I read this, I cry. Every time. It’s such sweet, torturous angst. (No, seriously, I really go to reread this when I want to cry.)

Perpendicular by akissincrisis

AU Harry never goes to Hogwarts. This story. THIS story. Ugh, it packs such a punch. Harry never attends Hogwarts, but meets Ginny through a Muggle party. It’s beautiful, so full of hope and possibilities, the what-ifs, the why, whyyyyyyy... I forever wonder why at the ending. But I love this story (even if I imagine a happy ending).

When the Timer Pings by Alchemilla

I read this story 10+ years ago and it still gets me every time. Ginny is about to get married and runs into her ex-boyfriend, Harry. She’s hoping for closure, but is that what she finds?

Lacking by pinkdigi

If Ginny didn’t wait for Harry. Ugh, so painful. I love the author’s style, the hardness of their Harry and Ginny. My heart breaks and breaks, yet I keep coming back.

Couldn’t Keep Him There by Mad Maudlin

Ginny finds Harry after the war. The mood and tone of this really gets to me. This one moment where she puts a wrapper in his hand kills me every time.

Wednesday Dates by fizzmonkeys

I’m not sure whether this is just angst or angst without a happy ending, so to be safe, I’m putting it here. I loved this story so much that I printed and saved it from 10+ years ago.

–––

Want more recommendations? Send me an ask or check out my:

All-time Favorite recs

Muggle AU / Coffeeshop AU recs

Post-War Canon recs

Missed Moments recs

Pregnancy recs

Outsider Perspective recs

Amnesia recs

In Every Universe recs

#fanfiction rec list #angst #all the angst #angst without a happy ending #hinny #Harry/Ginny #Harry Potter #Ginny Weasley #god i really do love those fics without the happy ending though #they're really good!#at breaking your heart #i added a few of my angsty stories if you're interested

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thats-manly · 3 years

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LMAOOO Katsuki gets hit by a quirk that intoxicates him and is sent home afterwords with strict advice from his agency to go straight home for the rest of the day and "enjoy your day off"

It was such a non- dangerous quirk effect that they didn't bother alerting any of the bakusquad of the state he was in, but they end up finding out anyway.

Turns out Bakugo is a huge sappy drunk, but like in a kinda fun way? And he gets way more open than usual.

A series of Twitter tomfoolery:

LEMGDynamight: they always say Bakugo but never bakustay

LEMGDynamight: you guys are kinda right the angry Pomeranian thing is kinda fitting huh

LEMGDynamight: it's not like I can change that nickname now anyway. all I can do is just fucking stand there and sulk like an idiot cuz I'm not about to blast you idiots for being my friend

LEMGDynamight: I've never really had friends.

LEMGDynamight: well...but I'll be damned if I fuck up another good thing like that again

LEMGDynamight: fucking regret of a lifetime holy shit

LEMGDynamight: hah he cried so fucking much when we were kids, the damn nerd. Always had to hug him to get him to stop. Tell him it was okay. That I was there and I always would be. Aways had tear splotches on my shirt like they were meant to be there or sum shit

LEMGDynamight: I wonder how many of his tears went into his pillow when they belonged to me. all because I'm a goddamn fucking idiot

LEMGDynamight: fuck

-20 minutes later-

LEMGDynamight: hahaha I'm watching frozen🤣 That icyhot bastard could never

LEMGDynamight: he needs to give up on firefuck and take some pages outta Elsas notebook holy shit

LEMGDynamight: he could do it they both have the power of depression

LEMGDynamight: @Shoto do me a solid amd make an ice palace lmaooo

LEMGDynamight: @Shoto I won't even blow it up I promise. Learned my lesson about hurting pretty things a long time ago

Shoto: @LEMGDynamight: I will probably never have the control to do something that intricate. Also, it is a children's movie, Bakugo. Are you okay?

Deku!: @LEMGDynamight: Kacchan seriously are you okay? What is going on? Ochako called and woke me up. You've never posted like this before Im worried 😟

LEMGDynamight: @Deku! Don't you worry about me nerd. I'm fucking fine. Kinda need to pee but I don't think I can get off the couch hahahah. Dizzy af

Deku!: @LEMGDynamight why are you dizzy?!? YOU CANT WALK? KACCHAN IM COMING OVER

LEMGDynamight: @Deku! This is a welcome turn of events. Come take care of me nerd

Deku arrived at Katsuki's apartment in record time and after slurring through the explanation of why he was so drunk Izuku promptly led the man to the bathroom and then tucked him in to bed, and headed for the couch, or was before Kacchan asked him, just barely a whisper, for him to stay. So Izuku slept on the other side of the king size bed fearing for his life when Kacchan woke up the next morning to see the Twitter storm and him of all people in his bed.

Speaking of Twitter, it was in shambles. #angrypomeranian was trending, that nickname was a previously private one, not known to the public. The tweets got deleted the next morning after Katsuki woke up remembering it all in vivid detail, turns out the quirk didn't work exactly like alcohol, but the damage had been done. So Katsuki blushed fiercely through the breakfast Deku made and didn't utter more than "fuck, holy shit" "oh my fucking god" and "Deku I'm so fucking sorry" for two whole hours after waking up. The Bakusquad took to handling the storm, tweeting their appreciation of Katsuki as their friend and honestly half-hearted attempts to cover for the cryptic deku tweets. #Dekumakeupwithhim was trending, #Dynamightspilledthebeans was trending, and he had dozens of missed calls and texts from the graduated class 1A, but most irritating, four missed calls from the old hag, and a single text that said "Inks and I called it when you two were brats. Always knew you had it bad for little Izu. Also I saw his tweet that he's coming to check on you. Use protection you brat!"

Bakugo blew the phone up.

#dont think too hard about how the movie frozen even exists in the bnha universe #cuz i sure didnt before i made this #just let it go #bkdk

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

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diamond trail I — myg

Plot: The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)

Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Yoongi x Consigliere!Y/N

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Mafia | Marriage | Mature Themes/Fluff/Smut

Tags & Warnings: criminal activities, mentions of past abuse (outside of the pair), explicit smut (spanking and very brief anal play), mild violence, coarse language.

Authors Note: it’s here friends!! i’m still a little rusty in terms of writing fanfiction after a while so please be kind lmaoo

A huge thanks to @casuallyimagining and @aroseforyoongi for helping with the proofreads!

Gold Dust held patronage of all heads in the underworld, allowing them to orchestrate the most exclusive and grandest auctions. You and Yoongi walked through the vault doors, hands intertwined with one another as two suited guards led you down the velvet lined stairs. Your footsteps silenced amongst the beating music of the club above. Your chest relaxed as soon as the soothing violins and piano touched your ears in the underground facility. Black marble walls and pillars encased you along with the sea of Italian silk suits and satin gowns.

Yoongi huffed at the very sight of them. All of these blank slates were products of a long-running nepotism. He might’ve been the only one alive who succeeded a popular gang leader. Then again, his father lived far too long for his own good and had way too many wives to be considered human.

What annoyed him further was the organization. Only the benefactors received private booths. The non-patrons had to be squeezed in with a potential rival in order to provide more benefits for the ones funding these events.

The suited guards stopped at the front booth on the right. Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek until it almost drew blood when he saw their seating partner.

“Min! Didn’t expect to see you crawl out of your hole.” Kim Namjoon wore the smile of a champion with the attitude of a diseased rat. Since he was part of the three oldest gangs alive, there was much respect to be handed to the man. Except Yoongi had no interest giving him the satisfaction.

So Namjoon made a goal to make his life a living hell.

Namjoons’ eyes flickered over to you, smile softened but gaze sharpened. “The beloved consigliere.” He raked up and down your form. “You look a lot better without business clothes, my lady.”

Yoongis’ grip on your hand tightened as you sat down on the other end of the booth. You pat the back of his hand as a silent comfort.

“Remember why we’re here,” you whispered.

Yoongi nodded. “I know.”

Normally, Yoongi brushed past events of pure greed and showy behaviour. However their syndicate suffered from a planned robbery a week ago. Only one item taken with precision: his mothers’ diamond gun. Everything else was untouched, barely shifted. They knew what they were doing.

You managed to trace it down to Kim Taehyungs’ annual auction. It’ll be natural to assume that Taehyung was the thief but most auction presenters had nothing to do with direct theft. More often than not, they were connected to the thieves to ensure that their place in the web of connections was concealed. Or at least delayed until they could escape to a safe house.

The room darkened; a spotlight shone down the stage. Kim Taehyungs’ lean figure stood proud, adorned in a red silk shirt and his hair curled. A ruby clip glimmered on the side of his head while his rings practically danced on his fingers. “Welcome my beautiful patrons to another friendly exchange of luxuries.” A calculated smile tugged at his lips. “I must say I’ve never seen such variety in a small listing before so this will be one for the ages. The underworld is aware of our rich history, our legends and ancestors who built this country without a trace of credit.”

Taehyungs’ words silenced the crowd to a point where you had to check they were still there.

“Tonight, I have items from each of these legends. Specifically the eight who strengthened that foundation.” Taehyung held a fist up. “Are you all ready?”

An applause indicated their approval earning a satisfied grin from Taehyung.

“Our first item belonged to Don Hayoon of So Pa.” He waved his hand for an assistant to roll the stand into center stage. “A vase made from ox bone and inlaid with gold to create this beautiful marble pattern. Don Hayoon allegedly made it himself during his years of retirement.”

So Pa disbanded eleven years ago due to a police raid in majority of their warehouses but they must’ve missed a few things. Yoongi wondered whether it was taken from the police or the gang itself. The whole retirement story must’ve been a ploy. Don Hayoon had arthritis which is why he had to retire in the first place before embarrassing himself in front of rivals.

Obviously none of these idiots would know that and Taehyung was milking it for what it’s worth.

The price was called and the cards flew up. Anyone with that vase in their house would gain prestige in seconds. It’ll be talked about from all corners of the underworld. Eventually a smug woman in a red suit won the bid.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hold your hand up, Min,” Namjoon spoke. “Considering you’re probably the only person who’s met Don Hayoon.”

“I’ve met him. I’m sure that’s enough for me to go on.” Yoongi landed his hand on your thigh, soft pink chiffon under his rough palm. He squeezed for some kind of comfort and glue to stop him from losing brain cells too early in the night.

“Considering the nature of your parents, I expected you to have more style.”

Nails dents could’ve formed your skin with the way he dug into your thigh. “Darling.” You pulled off his hand.

“Sorry.” Yoongi rubbed the area to somehow soothe it.

“The second item on our list belonged to Don Chun Hei of Mal Pa.” The assistant pushed in the second stand, holding a rose gem necklace which stood on a black velvet altar. “Chun Hei was best known for working closely with the mayor. Her reforms are the very reason these auctions and many other underworld events can be held with elegance and class. This necklace was a gift from the mayor himself. The rose gem is meant to be a culmination of diamond and rose quartz. Whoever made it has long since disappeared but this necklace has carried on this wonderful legacy.”

Chun Hei was someone both you and Yoongi could respect without question. Mal Pa had no age or prestige in the time Chun Hei made a connection to the mayor. She took her simple street gang and turned it into a professional syndicate that still lasted to this day.

You wondered if her descendants knew just the impact she had to the underworld. This item caused a stir amongst the crowd, suffusing the air with an eerie atmosphere of confusion and even anger. As the prices were called out, you noticed two people constantly raising the stakes to the peak until one of them gave up when it stretched too far. Except the one who gained the artefact didn’t look happy. You discovered that the anger came from them. The diamond gun may not have been the only thing stolen.

How many gang leaders was this thief trying to anger?

The power of auctions was the need to be elegant and impressive. Despite a small portion of the crowd knowing what was going on, they couldn’t say anything. Underworld events are where no leader has ultimate power. Everyone had to stay quiet and let the auction proceed.

“The necklace would’ve looked lovely on you, my lady. Perhaps I could buy it off as a gift.” Namjoon rested his hand out on the back of the couch so his fingertips were a breath away from your hair.

“No thank you,” you stated plainly.

If Yoongi didn’t have enough fuel to kill Namjoon before, it was brimming now. Every ounce of patience layered around him so he could sit still on his chair and let the auction go smoothly. He wasn’t going to raise his voice nor his hand first.

“Our third item is a notorious one at best. The famed Sapphire Assassins’ ledger.” Murmurs of recognition spread across the crowd. “Her true name was Mishil, right hand to Don Sungho of Jwi Pa. Sungho was an ambitious gang leader who believed the country’s underworld should have an ultimate master. He anointed himself and hired a professional assassin to kill everyone off on his hit list. Mishil listed all her killings down in this very ledger.”

Excitement coursed through your body seeing the battered old ledger. The blue covers patched with black ink splotches and the pages were tinged brown. You imagined the different ways she could’ve formulated her assassinations; the connections she had to make to be successful in such an elaborate scheme.

“As most of you might be aware, Mishil succeeded in the deaths of many gang leaders. However three gangs were able to execute her and Sungho before chaos could reach its full potential. To this day, no one has ever pulled a deed this vast and destructive. Not a friend to most of our gangs but there is surely a sense of power by having her failed ledger displayed in your home.” Taehyungs’ smirk marked success as soon as he called out for the prices.

Power was a key word to this crowd. While the more hardened members like Yoongi and Namjoon knew it was just a play for sales, Taehyung didn’t relish in the shouting any less.

While your angle wasn’t for power, your fingers still twitched to raise a card. Curiosity tugged at the back of your head, wondering how Mishil managed to gain that many openings and occurrences. Her techniques would’ve been useful in future assignments. All the syndicates you could manipulate for deals and contracts. Getting out of contracts. Anything. So many pieces of information must’ve been overflowing out of that ledger, calling out to you like a siren song. With a small sigh, you calmed the adrenaline pumping through your veins. This auction wasn’t a pleasure trip. You needed to focus.

The ledger was handed off to a man in a navy suit. At best, he would display it on his study like a fool. What a waste.

Reaching into your crystal clutch, you brought out a notepad and pen. If you couldn’t get the ledger now then there is a chance something could be arranged later. The auction was reaching its halfway point which meant the most valuable items are to come now.

“This fourth item belonged to Don Daeshim of Tokki Pa. The gang leader who drove away international syndicates striving to take over the country’s underworld. A bit of a hero. Rumor has it, he took a few drops of blood from each of those international associates and filled this goblet to the top.” Taehyung waved his fingers over the goblet mouth, mesmerizing the crowd like a herd of animals.

You observed the price calling with a brutally sharp eye. It might not seem valuable in the business sense but international associates may have had families and the like. Someone who might want compensation at the right time. You scribbled the description of the one who received the goblet. Thankfully, they had a noticeable scar down their left cheek with a distinguished citrine ring that was only sold by two jewelers.

“I wonder what it’s like having to work for someone you’ve married. Must be a pain hearing requests left to right.” Namjoons’ comment caused another stir in Yoongi but you stayed calm.

“If you think a consigliere simply takes requests then I feel sorry for yours. God forbid they find out they might be worth something more.” You narrowed your gaze.

“The Lady has venom.” Namjoon chuckled. “I mean no insult, of course.”

Yoongi tried to hold in a scoff, biting the inside of his cheek.

Silence spread amongst the three of you as Taehyung announced the fifth item: a gold mask once used to suffocate the Don of Yang Pa so his son could take over quicker. The sixth item was a First Lady’s dress which held at least a kilo of cocaine, hidden in every rhinestone and gem in small portions. It was later confiscated by the police but Gold Dust always knew how to make use of their connections.

Then seventh item caused a stir in Namjoon. For the first time in the night or ever, you noticed a sense of true and pure fury twisting his features.

“Our second to last item is a jade bracelet that belonged to Don Nari of Sutal Pa. A gang as full of mysteries and tragedies as its main rival, Gae Pa. Don Nari was the default leader after a tragic fire struck the Kim family. Leaving her and her young brother the only living descendants.” Taehyung lightly pressed on the bracelet, causing sharp gold spikes to spread out of it. “This was her weapon of choice. People had the habit of grabbing her wrist when they wanted to make a point so she had this bracelet made to show that she was untouched.” He blinked slowly.

“You son of a bitch,” Namjoon whispered under his breath.

“You’re not the only one riled up, Kim. Calm down.” Yoongi glared at Namjoon both as a warning and courtesy nudge to protect himself from embarrassment. “Don’t raise your hand.”

“Fuck off,”

“Namjoon,” Yoongi warned.

Namjoon shifted on his seat, fingers itching to grab onto his gun and shoot the auctioneer right in between his brows.

For once, Yoongi shared his anger. Of all the things they could take from them, they had to target the most precious object tied to a painful memory.

You noted down the buyer immediately. Park Jimin. He was a chain restaurant owner distantly associated with Yoongi but he soon began delving into arts dealing. He should be the easiest one to track down.

Yoongi had been slightly distracted by Namjoons’ downward spiral. His heart jumped before his mind caught up at the sound of his mothers’ name.

“It’s my honor to present to you our final item. The Diamond Gun of Min Areum.”

The gun rested inside a glass case lifted by a velvet lined platform. Lined in gold, encrusted with diamonds, glimmering brighter than the stars in a country sky. Everyone in the audience murmured in excitement, eager to lift their cards for the bidding.

“She was the First Lady of the oldest syndicate alive, Gae Pa. Her life as the wife of Don Min wasn’t pretty and filled with troubles. One day, she took her son to a mysterious jeweler and gave away all her diamond and gold jewelry. See this jeweler specialized in beautifying weapons and he made this priceless work of art. The same gun, Min Areum to shoot down Don Min and take over as Don herself.”

Yoongi could’ve sworn that Taehyung directed a smirk at him. Mocking him of the fact that he had such a prize in his midst. Flailing it right in front of him as a form of public humiliation.

Cards practically flew up to the ceiling in their sheer speed. Prices thrown from the left to right giving Yoongi a headache. He could hear his mothers’ voice, the small purple bruise on left eye as she took him to the jewelry shop every week. It was their only time of peace.

You reached out and touched his thigh, bringing his attention back.

Then a familiar voice brought you both to a still.

“Sold to Kim Namjoon!” Taehyung announced while the crowd huffed and cheered.

Yoongi glared at the man.

“What? You never said I couldn’t buy your shit.” Namjoon relaxed back on the couch, unrelenting in his own glare.

As the auction concluded, Taehyung announced that an afterparty will be held at the top level of Gold Dust. You noticed most of them were ready to jump off their chairs and kill him but he’d already disappeared backstage. Most likely straight to his vehicle so there was no time for anyone to act.

Yoongis’ body radiated a thick air of heat and the glares shared between the two leaders were sharp.

“We’ll settle this where there’s less people, gentlemen. Calm yourselves.” You glanced around at all the patrons and attendees either excitedly murmuring or harshly whispering. It was a strange atmosphere tonight. One can only wish there won’t be any bloodshed.

***

“Are you fucking serious? You know fully well it was stolen from me!” Yoongi growled. Both gang leaders were toe to toe in a dark corner of the club. Others were mingling on their own problems and issues with the auction and some were close to losing their inside voices.

“And I bought it fair and square. Don’t you think it’s a little childish that you’re simply asking me for it?” Namjoon spoke through gritted teeth. “Now get the fuck out of my way. I have business to deal with.”

Yoongi pressed a hand on his chest. “I could give Jimin one word and you’ll never find that bracelet even if it was up your own damn ass. So stay put.”

“I’m the last person you can scare with status, Min. You know this. I’ll snap my fingers—” he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “—and your wife will be on her knees for me.”

Yoongi pulled out a small silver blade and pressed to Namjoons’ neck. Eyes darkened in fury. Hungry for a taste of his blood staining the floor, for that face to twist in despair.

“Stop it. Both of you.” Your voice struck firm as you pushed them apart. “Don’t you understand why this auction took place?”

Yoongi and Namjoon stared at you in confusion. You sighed in annoyance.

“Someone is trying to play with your minds. Causing you to drop blood so they don’t have to get their hands dirty. Why do you think all those artefacts were dumped into one auction? Where almost all the gangs of this country were attending?” Your eyes flickered from Yoongi to Namjoon. “Doesn’t that sound a little strange? From the naked eye, you’d think they were just silly but clearly—” You gestured at the both of them. “—whatever they’re trying is working. No one knows who the thief is. That causes suspicion and rumors.”

“We start blaming each other for spilling information,” Yoongi continued.

You nodded, relieved that some understanding spread through their faces. “We need to regroup in a neutral zone. Gold Dust isn’t that anymore. Once we find a place and time, we’ll figure what needs to be done. For now, separate.”

The leaders shared another sharp glare at each other before Namjoon walked away. Some of the heads that were turned to them now moved back and Yoongi hid his blade.

“Where’s the fucking restroom?” Yoongi hissed. You took his hand and led him over to the left side of the room, slithering through the crowd.

Two guards were already situated at the doors as Yoongi kept a grip on your hand when you walked into the restroom. The bright lights made him groan in annoyance.

Anyone who saw them enter immediately rushed out. The tension in the auction was so high that nobody wanted to be found near an angry gang leader.

Yoongi leaned forward on the marble sink, breathing ragged and his limbs shaking from anger. The last memory of his mother now rested in someone elses’ hands. Why couldn’t she come up with something less physical? Something that couldn’t be stolen. Namjoon was holding it now. I’ll snap my fingers. He was right. He had the power. There was no ultimate leader to call the shots. Just however reached the flag first. And if he reached first—no. He shook his head. Namjoon wasn’t the problem right now.

He let the water run, wanting the sound to drown any visions or thoughts that made bile reach up to his throat.

“Yoongi,” you muttered, rubbing his arm. “You okay?”

“I tried—I kept my cool but—when you mentioned you—” he rubbed his face roughly. “I—fuck—I could’ve killed him. I could’ve killed him.”

“But you didn’t.” You caressed the back of his head. “It’ll be okay. I know it feels like all the strings that surfaced are jumbled but they’ll come together. We’ve been through much worse than this, okay?”

Yoongi sighed. “I remembered her for the first time in years.” He chuckled sadly. “I thought I lost those memories a long time ago.”

You felt your eyes burn at his voice cracking. Yoongi never talked about his mother. There were only vulnerable moments in the dead of night when Yoongi couldn’t sleep. That was the first time he ever mentioned her. The first time she saw tears in his eyes. “We’ll get it back. No matter what, I promise.” That promise engraved in your mind.

***

The next morning, you rose in nothing but your champagne silk robe and sat at your study. Handwriting letters until your fountain pen emptied of ink and the steaming black coffee turned tepid. Park Jimin held the Kim familys’ prized jade bracelet and Namjoon held the Min Familys’ diamond gun. Clearly, the scandal spread further than the two gangs but your current priority is ensuring a war won’t break out between Namjoon and Yoongi.

Jimins’ death would also result in only chaos.

Gold sunlight gleamed through the white transparent curtains, beaming rays reflecting against the dark mahogany of the study table. Despite the mess in your brain, the morning itself was peaceful. You made sure Yoongi slept a few hours longer than normal so his daily alarm had been temporarily disabled.

Everytime he drowned in his emotions, Yoongi worked himself to the bone as if to make up for his vulnerability. You knew that would only taint the progress they had so far on the investigation.

You sent the letters out through different messengers. They will be followed through an underground trail until it finally reached the two gang leaders. Cupping your now hot cup of coffee, you let out a deep breath, emptying your lungs of the stress as you looked out the painted window of your study.

There was still time left to relax before they started work. Giving the empty cup to a maid, you walked back up to your bedroom.

Yoongi stirred underneath the white, cotton sheets. Bars of gold light shining down his pale skin through the blinds and a cool air kissed your flesh.

Door locked, you padded closer and gently climbed onto the bed. Yoongi draped a tattooed arm over your waist with a drawling hum under his breath.

“Where’d you go?” His voice vibrated through the fabric of the bed, cheek pressed against the pillow and raven hair covered his eyes.

“I sent letters out to the leaders for a meeting.” You kept your voice soft, caressing the dog silhouette on his arm.

Yoongi groaned in annoyance. “I really don’t wanna talk to that asshole. Can’t we do it another time?”

“The most important thing in the world to you has been taken. This is the meeting that’s going to help you get it and you’re going to back down?”

Yoongi rubbed his face before staring at you. “The most important thing in the world to me is lying down right here.”

You smiled, fingers tracing his chest. “The second most important then.”

“That’ll be our dogs.”

You chuckled. “Darling, you know you want it back. This is also going to prevent any brawl between Jimin and Namjoon.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement. In the moment of silence, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You leaned down and kissed him. You moved down, peppering kisses on his jawline and neck.

Yoongi let out a shaky sigh as your lips grazed his chest, gentle brushes against the tender skin where his prior wounds used to be. Trailing your tongue down his torso, the blanket slid off the edges of the bed.

Your hand reached down and gently cupped his crotch, earning a hiss from the man. Yoongi grabbed onto your hair, breaking the kiss so he could look at you. You graced him with a smile. Biting down your lips, you descended down his stomach. Slow pecks down his torso as your fingers hooked the hem of his boxers.

Pulling down the soft material, the tightening member sprung up, blushing at the tip. With another smile, you wrapped your lips around the tip and swallowed the length until it disappeared into your mouth. You closed your throat around his tip before pulling back. Yoongi hummed. Heat exuded from his body blocking out the cool breeze of the air conditioner, adrenaline seeping through his exhaustion.

Spit dribbled down your chin as you took his length again, bobbing you head. Your free hand wrapped around the base, squeezing until you heard a whine. Yoongi fisted the sheets and the other hand buried in your hair. Madness clouded his mind watching your head bouncing on him, drooling at the edges of your mouth and tears glossing your eyes.

Fire burning in the pit of his belly, he held onto both sides of your head and thrusted into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat making you whimper. He felt the tightness of his release just hearing the sound of your gagging. The way you obediently stayed still as he fucked your throat. Your panties felt heavy and hot with your arousal, desperately needing to be touched. One hand snuck under your robe, rubbing the soggy material.

Yoongi pulled his length out, enjoying the way you tried to catch your breath before staring up at him in tears. Pulling you back up, he flipped you both around until your body was bent over the soft bed, cheek pressed against the sheets. Pushing up your robe and pulling down your panties down to your knees, he positioned himself at your dripped entrance. Without another warning, he pushed himself in. The sheer squelch and stretch could’ve had you unraveling in seconds.

Vulnerabilities of the early morning had you dripping and softened to the slightest touch of ecstasy. Yoongi shared the same impatience as he fucked into you. Barely any remorse, arousal splattering at every thrust. Nectar dripped through the expensive sheets as the bed shifted from his movements. He grabbed your shoulder to push in deeper until the soft walls of your cervix hugged his tip.

Your moans and his heavy breathing melded together in a melody that reverberated throughout the bedroom. He nudged a thumb through your rim, pushing and hooking before pounding into you again. You fell full and overwhelmed, wanting to explode and fall apart.

You gripped onto the sheets until her nails dug into her own palms. Yoongi pushed your dress up further, caressing your back before smacking your bottom. Another whimper left your lips. He smacked it again.

Yoongi turned you around, lifting you onto his lap. Your back rested on the wood headboard as your arms wrapped around his neck. Sleeves of your robe drooped down your shoulders, barely hanging onto your body. Arousal squirted out of you making both of you laugh. Yoongi let out a blissful sigh as he quickened his pace. The headboard could’ve cracked from the pressure, breathing short and rapid like the speed of his thrusts. Lips latched on the curve of your neck as the pleasure trembled through you.

Before he could mutter anything, you felt the warm liquid burst inside you. Filling your womb until it spilled through the sheets. Yoongi snuck his hand between your legs, pushing you to the edge as your lips barely brushed against each other.

Bliss burst at the seams, ricocheting through every limb until your legs trembled, clasping tight around his hips. Yoongi kissed your jawline and your temple. “Fine.” He breathed out. “One meeting.”

You giggled as your breathing tried to catch up. “Good.”

next chap >>

#yoongi #thebtswritersclub #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #yoongi mafia au #bts mafia au

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Just for Kix

Previous | Masterlist

Vent

"Hey, look who finally decided to show up!" a friendly voice called out as Kix walked into the GAR's main medbay.

"Curl, you di'kut, there's no one else here," Kix complained, though the grin on his face took the sting out of the insult he tossed to his fellow medic.

"Yeah, but the others are on their way," Curl said defensively, gripping Kix's forearm in greeting. Kix squeezed Curl's 104th-gray vambrace in return before helping to gather some of the medbay's most comfortable chairs.

'The others' were the other medics of various battalions. Every few months, the GAR brought some of the older medics back to Coruscant to be recertified. This class was going to be great or terrible, Kix hadn't decided. With some of the brothers he heard were scheduled to be here, it could go either way, but it was sure to be memorable.

Still, it would be good to see everyone again. They had decided to meet here as soon as everyone's transports arrived. Classes didn't start until the next morning, but everyone needed a chance to complain about the idiots they were in charge of.

"Are all the transports here?" Kix asked.

Curl started to say something, but he was cut off by heavy footsteps approaching the medbay door. A large trooper stepped in, his sheer size and the weight of his heavy muscle making the floor reverberate a little with every step. His armor, altered to fit his increased muscle mass, was painted with swirls of 327th yellow.

When he caught sight of them, he bobbed his head and removed his helmet. "Kix, Curl," he said in greeting, his low voice rumbling through the room like thunder.

"Limit," Kix returned.

"Well, if it isn't the most popular medic in the GAR," Curl joked, beaming at the man. "Heard you couldn't keep the females away last time you were at 79's, vod."

Limit's face flushed. "Stop it, Cu- Curl. I get enough of that from my- my own men."

"Leave him alone," Kix chided, shoving at Curl's shoulder. "Keep it up and I'll tell Wolffe you were bullying Limit."

Curl was irreverent, but Kix thought that threatening to go to his commanding officer would make him back off - especially with a CO as ill-tempered as Wolffe. Curl seemed unphased, however.

"Oh, yeah?" Curl challenged. "Maybe I'll tell him you were messing with Limit. He's still mad at you for joking about his cybernetic eye."

"You j-joked about Commander Wolffe's eye?" Limit asked, looking shocked and a bit horrified.

Kix felt an uncharacteristic surge of guilt. Limit was everyone's favorite brother. Disappointing him was like hitting a youngling.

"You didn't have to see how bad it was, Limit!" he defended. "I was scraping black goo out of it. He's lucky it didn't catch fire, and Curl is lucky he didn't have to deal with it!"

"Yeah, but I had to treat your general that one time," Curl tossed back.

"And I'm sure it was terrible for you," Kix said dryly.

The one time General Skywalker had been injured and admitted he needed a medic, Curl had been the one to treat him. Kix had spent his entire career dragging his general into the medbay for every injury, but Skywalker came and asked Curl to all but perform a battlefield surgery!

Curl had been insufferable after that.

"You know better than to make fun of someone who came to you- to you for treatment, Kix," Limit told him, deep voice saddened.

"Yeah, Kix," Curl gloated, beaming from behind Limit's impossibly broad shoulder.

"Come over here, Curl," Kix invited. "I want to show you this new method of spinal adjustment I learned. Only a mild chance of paralysis."

The door opened once again, this time admitting a trooper who wore Coruscant Guard crimson even out of uniform.

"Wow, Ink," Curl commented. "Didn't even bother to dress up, huh?"

"Got off duty an hour ago," Ink grunted. "Didn't want to be in my armor longer than I had to."

True enough, the trooper wore a crimson shirt with sleeves that barely reached his elbows. Wearing civvies to a medic meeting, even one that wasn't GAR-official, was a bold move. Everyone's civilian clothing was open to mocking, and Ink was no exception.

Of course, Curl didn't limit himself to Ink's clothing.

"What happened to your arms, vod?" he asked, seeming to fight a grin.

Ink was known among troopers for his tattoos. Intricate, Mandalorian-inspired patterns traced along the entirety of his back, shoulders, and arms. Ink had been expanding the maze of tattoos lately, and they had now spread down his forearms almost to his wrists. Of course, Curl was probably talking about the spots where messy splotches of color filled the precise outlines of the pattern.

At Curl's question, Ink glanced down at his forearms and shrugged. "The Guard had to investigate a fire on one of the lower levels. There were some younglings there."

He said it like it was a full explanation and - from him - it was. Ink melted around younglings of every species, despite how much he scared their parents.

Kix hid a smile of his own. "How's life with the Corrie Guard treating you?"

"He shou-should be the one doing the treating," Limit joked.

"Hilarious," Ink deadpanned. "Guard life is good. Treated a sprained ankle last week. Di'kut jumped down a level and a half without a jetpack."

"Hey, you know the rules," Curl objected. "No med talk until everyone is here."

"Who are we waiting on?" Kix asked.

"Heeeeeyyyyyyyy!" Shatter cheered, bursting through the door like he had been waiting for an introduction. Sprain followed close behind, throwing his arms outward like he was accepting applause.

"You didn't start without us, did you?" Sprain asked when Shatter finally paused to breathe.

"Just a short story about Wolffe," Limit admitted, looking guilty. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, Limit," Shatter forgave easily, gripping Limit's forearm in a quick warrior's greeting.

"Besides, we've all heard about Wolffe's eye," Sprain added. "Kix has been complaining about it for months."

"Was I supposed to stop?" Kix asked, mildly affronted. "I can still smell it!"

"Gross," Ink contributed.

"Gross? I'm gonna assume you're talking about that sad excuse for civvies," Shatter jabbed. "I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, but it looks like something a Weequay would wear."

Ink snorted. "At least they didn't run out of dye for my shirt like they did with your hair."

Everyone else in the room chuckled at that - except Sprain, who had a single streak of dye up the back of his hair to match his brother. Shatter's was 212th gold, of course, while Sprain's was 41st Elite Corps green.

"I would be more offended by that if we weren't talking to the unanimously-voted best medic in the GAR," Sprain said, grinning.

"Is it true you actually got Fox to sleep more than five hours straight?" Shatter asked.

Kix perked up. This was new information… Fox was infamous for his lack of regular sleep, and infamously stubborn when it came to setting professional limits for sake of his health.

Ink leaned back in his chair and crossed his color-swatched arms over his chest. "I can neither confirm nor deny that story. Medic-patient privilege."

"C'mon, Ink," Curl wheedled. "No one's ever gotten Fox to sleep that long, especially not an almost-shiny like you."

Ink shot a glare in Curl's direction.

"However you d-did it, good job," Limit congratulated sincerely. "The Commander needs to take better care of- care of himself."

"We're here to learn new stuff to use on the field, right?" Kix mused slowly. "Well, I have a general who likes to avoid sleep. Can you give me some tips, Ink?"

Curl snorted. "Maybe another medic just has to ask."

Sprain, having heard the Curl-treating-Skywalker story before, just elbowed Curl. "Yeah, Ink, help Kix out. Of course, I don't need any help at all, since General Unduli believes in living a life of balance..."

"Shut up, Sprain," Shatter told his brother. "We get it; your general actually takes care of herself. Ink, if the circles under Kenobi's eyes get any darker, I'm going to get called in for dereliction of duty. Help a vod avoid a court-martial, would you?"

Ink sighed. "I can't be specific, but… did you know that certain Coruscant businesses will package unflavored protein powder in stim packages?"

Shouts of laughter greeted his carefully worded advice.

"Is that ethical?" Limit asked, sounding a bit troubled by the idea of deceiving a patient.

With a shrug, Ink told him, "More ethical than letting the Head Commander catch a plasma bolt in his shebs because he's too tired to function when his overlapping stims wear off."

Limit still looked doubtful, but Kix made a mental note of the trick. The general and commander didn't use stims except in dire circumstances - claiming that the Force sustained them - but the captain was known to be more reliant on non-sleep methods than Kix would prefer. And don't even get him started on Fives and Echo. When the ARCs were attached to the 501st, Kix could feel his heart working overtime.

"Speaking of catching a bolt, is it true you threatened to shoot one of your troopers, Curl?" Kix asked, relishing the looks of shock on the faces of the other medics. He had waited until everyone was present to drop that particular bit of news.

Curl looked surprised, for once. "How did you hear about that?"

"I have my ways," Kix said mysteriously. It paid to be friends with officers from other battalions, and his friendship with Sinker had proven it on multiple occasions.

Looking murderous, Limit drew himself up to full height. "You what?"

Curl knew when to get out of the line of fire and took a few steps away from the mass of muscle that was Limit. "It's not as bad as it sounds! Some of the members of the Wolfpack were experimenting with their jetpacks. I overheard a plan to drop a trooper from cruising altitude and have the other men catch him on the way down. I told them that they wouldn't have to worry about the enemy if they tried it."

Shatter blew out a breath. "Your battalion is something else, Curl."

That was the general consensus, if the nods and grunts around the room were any sign.

"So? Am I forgiven, Limit?" Curl asked, his eyes dancing.

Limit clenched his jaw. "I just don't think there is any- any cause to threaten one of your own troopers. Their safety is your concern, and they get enough threats from outsiders."

Sprain looked curious. "And what do you do when one of your troopers refuses to consider his own safety?"

"I talk to him," Limit answered simply. "Last miss- mission, Lieutenant Galle tried to hide an injury from me. When I found out about it, I treated- treated him and we had a talk about the responsibility of command and the importance of being at your- at your best when the lives of your vode are at risk."

"How did he take that talk?" Kix asked. Galle was notoriously stubborn and took criticism extremely poorly.

"He cried and admitted that I was right."

Surprised laughter met that pronouncement.

"Psychological warfare is the worst kind," Ink told him. "I'd rather someone just shoot at me."

"You don't mean that," Curl said, though his voice made it a question.

Shatter raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather get shot at or have Limit tell you that your life choices were bad?"

With a long look in Limit's direction, Sprain shrugged. "I'd go under fire any day."

"And I sup-suppose you all just threaten your men?"

"Sometimes, you can bribe them instead," Curl countered, keeping a steady distance between Limit and himself.

Any attempt at coherent conversation disintegrated from there, as the medics fell into arguments about the best way to handle stubborn patients. Kix fought a grin as he listened to them all. With medics like these fighting for the Republic, the CIS didn't stand a chance.

---

A/N - As a note, stims are canonically injected, but this is a theoretical powdered version. (Go with it.) I know some of you have told me your hopes for a happy ending for Kix. While I'm sure he continues to help where he can in his current timeline, the sequel era just doesn't inspire me enough to write a sequel-based happy ending for him. However, the idea of a medic group chat is one that has stuck with me throughout this series, and I wanted to include it in part here! You already know Curl, Shatter, and Sprain. Limit was introduced in the Bly chapter of Nobody Listens to Kix. Ink is new and got his name from his tattoos (not because of my username, I promise!). I hope it provided a lighthearted end to this particular fic.

Unfortunately, this is the last chapter of this story at this point. Unless I get some new ideas or surrender to my urge to write more about these OCs, this is the end of this particular story. If anyone has interest in a different work about several members of the Coruscant Guard, I have one I'm publishing as my new weekly-updated story (found on my masterlist). If not, no worries! It has been an absolute joy writing for you! Thank you, as always, for reading! Have a wonderful day!

#Just for Kix #Nobody Listens to Kix #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #medic kix #clone trooper kix #kix #medic talk #clone troopers deserve better #please reblog

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wolfstar-supremacy-innit · 3 years

Text

"Tell who?"- Part 3

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 3 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Part 1 Part 2

Enjoy <3

I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I lie?! Why didn’t I disprove it? This was it. This was the end of the world. He knew Sirius wouldn’t react terribly badly. He wouldn’t express disgust or resentment, not after Remus confided in him about how sensitive he was on the question of his own sexuality. But it would be painfully awkward. Their connection would never be the same; it couldn’t. Remus dreaded losing his best friend. But it was done. Sirius’ best friend was James anyway. Remus buried his face in his hands as tears stung his eyes. He settled into his new hideout and slept there for the night. He couldn’t bear to face Sirius.

In the morning, Remus made an effort to arrive to Charms class as late as possible, right as Flitwick was commencing his lesson. He slid into the chair at the end of their usual table, next to James. Sirius was on the other end. “Where were you, mate? You scared us,” James whispered. Peter was gazing at Remus over his shoulder.

Remus cleared his throat. “Sorry, fell asleep in my spot,” he said. In his peripheral vision, Sirius was leaning far on the table, trying to catch his attention. But Remus took it upon himself to laser focus on the lesson, his nose buried so deep into his notes, it was nearly touching the parchment.

After the class, he bolted again. He just couldn’t face him. He couldn’t. He returned to his hiding place and waited out his free period and most of lunch. He had to repeat his breathing exercises more than ever. Suddenly, Remus paused. Determination was rising in his chest. Then he forced himself to pull it together. It wasn’t like Remus to run away from his problems. If being a werewolf had taught him anything, it was that neglecting and avoiding your issues doesn’t make them vanish. Makes them worse, even. Also, Remus didn’t have a lot. He had his parents, music, books, magic, and he had his friends. There wasn’t much he prised more than his friendships with James, Sirius and Peter. Sirius knowing about his crush was thoroughly embarrassing, yes, but it wasn’t worth completely losing his friends. Plus, he was due for a shower. So Remus took a few more deep breaths, dusted himself off, and headed for the dorm. When he got there, nobody was inside. He took his sweet time in the shower, allowing the warm water to drain out more of his nervous energy. I can handle this.

When Remus got out, Sirius was there, lying on his stomach, doing homework. He looked up. Remus put on a brave face and said: “Hi.” Sirius’ worried expression was exchanged with a slightly more relaxed one. “Hi.” Remus sat on his own bed looking in Sirius’ general direction, but not quite at him, cleared his throat, and said: “Um, sorry I bolted. That was childish.”

“That’s alright,” Sirius replied in the tiniest voice. It was very unlike his usual loud, assertive self.

Remus wanted the bed to swallow him whole, but he pushed through. “We don’t have to talk about the... thing. Or acknowledge it. It’s not a big deal, really.” A lie. But it needed to be done. Sirius didn’t say anything. Remus was certain he didn't know what to say. Reaching into his bag, Remus retrieved his Charms textbook and started on his own homework. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius still looking at him for another minute, then he went back to work. The silence was agonising and tense, but Remus had known it would be. They would just have to persevere. After a while, Sirius asked: “Hey, could you help me with this? It’s Arithmancy. I procrastinated, and now I have to hand it in in half an hour.” Remus snorted. Their next class was Arithmancy, and only he and Sirius took it. So, Sirius was choosing to act like nothing happened. That was okay with Remus. “Sure.”

Only, as it happens, Sirius didn’t ignore it. Throughout the next week, he started acting a little peculiar. He was still loud and fooling around, but he would also hold doors for Remus, for example. If anyone knew Sirius, they knew doors were either held for him, or he would just swing them open and let them slam behind him into the next person’s face. Even James noticed it and asked him if he had brain damage. Also, a couple times at meals, Sirius would scoot his seat closer to Remus’, making their arms brush while they ate. The first time it happened, Remus blushed so profusely, he could see giant pink splotches splattered all over his neck and cheeks in his reflection in one of the large silver bowls on the table. Sirius stopped calling him ‘mate’ too. Occasionally, he’d ask for help with his homework, even though he clearly didn’t need it. It all made Remus want to shoot himself in the face with a hex. It seemed like Sirius was pitying him, and he despised it. It was somehow worse than Sirius being awkward and distant around him.

January’s full moon fell on the 25th, and Remus’ transformation didn’t go particularly smoothly. It was likely one of the worst ones out of all those he spent with his friends as animagi. He was fairly confident it was because of the whole Sirius thing. Just because he decided to deal with it didn’t mean it wasn’t taking its toll. Remus was stressed all the time. Not just because of Sirius, of course, but that was a key factor. When he woke up in the hospital wing the following morning, his friends were there. James rambled on enthusiastically about an upcoming Quidditch match. Remus didn’t really comprehend half of it, but still tried to nod at appropriate times. Peter piped in once in a while to agree with James or add something. Sirius, however, was completely silent the whole visit. About an hour later, Madam Pomfrey chased James, Sirius and Peter out, but Remus didn’t mind too much. He was knackered. He drifted off to sleep before the boys were even out the door.

Later that day, at dusk, Remus sat in his hospital bed reading a muggle novel when Sirius popped in. Or rather sneaked in. He was alone this time. “Had a free period. Thought you might want some company,” he explained. Elation started brewing in Remus’ stomach.

“Oh, brilliant, thanks.”

“What are you up to, then?” Sirius sat on the bed.

Remus lifted his book. “Reading. Not much to do here, really.”

“Sweet. Will you read to me?”

“What?”

Sirius smiled. “Will you read out loud for me?” He turned around, plopped on the bed face-up with his boots propped up on the railing at the foot of the bed. He tucked his hands behind his head, half lying on Remus’ legs.

“Oh, okay.” Heat sneaked up Remus’ neck. He read to Sirius until it was almost time for him to leave for his next class.

“Transfiguration next. Think I’m gonna gouge out my eyes if we don’t move on from teacup to gerbil.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You mastered it two lessons ago.” Remus rolled his eyes, smiling. Sirius let out a soft laugh.

“Moony...” He was now sitting on the bed next to Remus. “I feel like this is my fault.” He reached out and gently touched the bandage on Remus’ arm. Sirius was referring to Remus’ beat-up state.

“What? Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Well, because of the... You know... I mean, you’re upset and-“ Remus’ heartbeat picked up swiftly. They hadn’t so much as mentioned the crush since that day in the dorm.

“I’m not upset. Really. I just have a lot on my mind.” He searched his brain for something more to say to make Sirius feel better. It wasn’t his fault at all. It was Remus’ for letting this bother him so much. “It’s not you.”

“You sure?” His eyes were so sad; it was painful.

“Yes, Sirius, really. It’s not you, okay?”

“Okay.” After a pause, Sirius continued: “Oh, I almost forgot. Brought you something.” He smiled, finally. After rummaging in his bag, Sirius emerged with a stack of chocolate bars and dropped them into Remus’ lap. They were Remus’ favourite. Warmth fluttered across his chest. Sirius had to have ordered these from Honeydukes. Now it was Remus’ time to smile.

“Oh, brilliant! Thanks, Sirius.”

“No problem. Right. I better clear off, then. I can’t handle another detention with Minnie for something as stupid as being late.”

“Right. See you in the dorm then.”

“See ya, Moony. Oh, loved the reading. We should definitely do that again!” Then he walked out the door. Remus’ cheeks flamed crimson. He sank deep into the covers, yanking them over his head. He’s gonna be the death of me.

***

After that visit at the hospital, another strange thing started happening. On several occasions, Remus caught Sirius staring at him, then quickly looking away when their eyes connected. In class, at meals, in the common room as the four of them sat in front of the fireplace doing homework. It made Remus very nervous and a little confused. Furthermore, with James’ upcoming match, Sirius and Remus found themselves alone more often than not. James either had practice or was in the library going over tactics for his team, and Peter loved tagging along. When Sirius and Remus were alone in the dorm, Sirius would usually suggest that Remus read to him. At first, they were in their respective beds, but then Sirius started sneaking onto Remus’ bed as he read. It made Remus’ heart thump every time, because Sirius Black in his bed, well. That was a sight to see. He would lounge on his back, one ankle over the other, hands behind his head, eyes shut, and listen. He never fell asleep. Occasionally, he would laugh or comment on an interesting segment.

One of those times, both of them were on Remus’ bed as Remus read “A Stranger in a Strange Land” by Robert A. Heinlein. Sirius liked the muggle books. He was in his usual disposition, with half of his hair loosely and messily pulled back with a hair tie. Remus adored that look on Sirius. He was sitting cross-legged in level with Sirius’ hips, with the book sprawled onto his lap.

“Hey, got a cig,” Sirius asked as Remus was turning the page.

“Yep.” He used Accio to fetch his rolling equipment from his bedside table, placed the contents on the rizla and performed his spell. It rolled smoothly, the tobacco and filter tucked tightly into the paper. He’d been practising.

“Hey, that’s one thing off your resolutions list,” Sirius said, smiling as he accepted the cigarette. Their fingers touched.

“Well, technically, it’s two, isn’t it...,” Remus trailed off, clearing his throat. Christ, why did I say that?! He could already feel the blood rushing in his ears. Maybe Sirius wouldn’t get the reference... But Sirius pushed himself onto his elbows and peered at him. Remus pretended to pack up his cigarette equipment with intense concentration. Sirius sat all the way up and leaned so close, Remus could feel his breath. Nervousness sparked off goosebumps all over Remus’ skin. He swallowed thickly. Sirius smelled of mint and expensive shampoo. “Moony,” he said, and Remus finally turned to face him. Their noses were less than two centimetres apart. Remus’ heart was hammering against his ribs.

Sirius glanced at his lips, then slowly leaned in and closed the distance. Remus fluttered his eyes shut as adrenaline set his insides ablaze. The kiss was warm and gentle. “Sirius..,” Remus started, but the other boy just connected their lips again, this time kissing him more eagerly, and Remus just gave over. Sirius was letting him know this wasn’t charity; he really wanted it. He licked into Remus’ mouth delicately, grasping the back of his neck to pull him closer. Remus had never had a real tongue kiss before, but Sirius was leading him, and it all came naturally. Without warning, he felt tears burning behind his closed eyes. Remus had never, not even for a moment, let himself get caught up in the idea of Sirius liking him back. He knew rejection would shatter his soul, and he couldn’t let himself be torn apart by his own fantasies. But it wasn’t a fantasy anymore, and Remus was overwhelmed with the relief of letting go. Of finally allowing himself to crave what he'd been pushing down for months. His favourite person wanting him back. He entwined his fingers into Sirius’ hair and kissed him back intensely. They were both breathing heavily, then Sirius placed his other palm on Remus’ upper thigh. A tingling sensation shot up his lower back as he inhaled a long breath through his nose. Sirius was remarkably skilled, Remus noted.

Remus lost all sense of time. He didn’t know how long they kissed, it simultaneously felt like minutes and hours. Suddenly, they leapt apart as steps and chatter echoed on the stairs leading to the dorm. Sirius stood up and hurriedly smoothed down his hair. Remus wiped his lips with the back of his hand and frantically covered his lap with the covers. He was tight in his trousers. Christ. He wondered whether Sirius noticed as the heat blazed his cheeks. Peter and James trudged into the room, still talking.

“Alright lads,” James said, sauntered to his bed and started taking off his Quidditch robes.

Sirius cleared his throat, then said: “Uh, yeah. Brilliant.” His voice came out lower that usual.

"Bloody amazing practice today!"

“Oh, you guys Should have seen them! I could barely keep track of the Quaffle! Ravenclaw hasn’t got a chance,” Peter prattled on, but Remus couldn’t focus. His brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. Holy shit, was the only coherent sentence his mind could congregate. He could still feel the the ghost of Sirius’ kiss on his lips.

Minutes later, Sirius returned to his usual banter and mucking about with James. If something different was going on inside his head, it didn’t show. A sudden arrow of disappointment and yearning shot through Remus’ chest. Was this just a one-off? His excitement dwindled for a moment, but when he glanced over to Sirius again, he was already looking at him. They smiled at each other. It didn’t matter anyway. Remus felt like this kiss could power his brain for all eternity. It had been like something straight out of a dream.

Part 4 will probably take me a little longer, given that I basically had the first 3 parts drafted when I posted the first one. Also 4 will probs be the last one. Hope you like it so far! :) <3

Part 1 Part 2

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savethelastdan · 3 years

Note

Sesskagu

As the taste strokes my tongue

Thawed is the frozen past

Sweeping over me

Your scars a memory of my affection

The deeper the wound

The fonder my love

The “modern” time, Kagura decides, is boring as hell.

All the same sins exist in this world - the suffering, the greed, and most of all that desperate clawing for power that paves the streets in blood - and yet, it’s as though someone’s wrung all the color out of it. A life of gray.

It’s a life, at least, she sighs to herself, jumping from circle to circle of light that the streetlamps paint along the corridor. One that’s more my own than the last.

Because though there’s a pocket-knife and taser in her purse instead of a fan, and she’s alone this time, having been abandoned by her parents at a temple; and there’s black ink shrouding every inch of skin that her past self would have worn the spider-mark on -

With every thud of a new heart in her chest, Kagura knows that she’s the same as she ever was.

She pauses to rest, wincing at the pinch of the too-small shoes against her heels. Her body in this round of living is weaker than the last, and she’s lost the power of flight. But even that is not as painful as the grief that sings within her when the wind runs itself through her hair, and she knows it is not her place to wield it anymore; still, she is not alone in that loss. With the variety of weapons at the humans’ disposal in these times, demons have all but been destroyed or chased away. Perhaps it is a blessing that she cannot locate demonic power inside this version of herself, or else Kagura would suffer again - simply through different means.

With a sharp swear that echoes throughout the street, she starts walking again. Another figure on the opposite side of the road, just far enough that she can’t make out any of their features, slows as she approaches. Kagura’s hands fold into fists automatically, and she lifts her chin in a clear signal. Don’t fuck with me, pal. I’m not the girl to mess with.

As they get closer to one another, a burst of cold air rushes past her. It twists her dress to send chills up both legs. She comes to a sharp stop, as the wind’s message rings in her ears. Clear as the lamp’s glow in the night:

Look.

The other figure stops too, both hands in their pockets, and twists to face her. Kagura’s heart shudders; for the first time in her new life, she is startled to be reminded of the organ’s presence.

What on earth...

Night’s shadows pull away from the man’s face, and the rest of the world melts away with them. Kagura has the faint sense of her purse slipping from her shoulder, landing on the concrete with a solid thud. On the other side of the street, Sesshomaru stares back with no less surprise.

He’s too far away for her to hear, but she sees his lips form her name. The shadows shift, and a pain rips through her chest at the splotches of purple and maroon on his face.

It takes him only a second to fully turn in her direction. By that time, Kagura’s scooped her purse from the ground and taken off down the street, the heels of her shoes cutting deep into her ankles.

It’s no surprise that he finds her; after all, she had no reason to think this life would be fair to her, either.

That doesn’t mean that Kagura makes it easy for him. Leaping out the second-story window of the hostel and skinning both knees (and all of the screaming her stupid coworkers do over it) is worth the few days it gives her to mentally process the whole thing. By the time Sesshomaru finally hunts her down again (at the overhang in her favorite park, where she likes to go and people-watch some evenings) Kagura has any of those inconsequential feelings left over from before locked up nice and tight.

Although, she’d only been able to prepare on the pretense that Sesshomaru is also the exact same as he always was. So, when he sits on the bench next to her and breathes her name in a tone that she never would have imagined was possible, it does catch Kagura a bit off guard.

“I did not expect to see you again,” he states plainly.

"Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” Crossing both arms over her chest, she bites her tongue hard to hold back the litany of questions on her mind - does he still have the sword? Is he alone, and if so, how long has it been? What does he mean, that he didn’t expect it - in the obvious way, or in the way that means he’s wondered?

Gold eyes shift in her direction. “I never would have thought you’d run.”

Pain - the ghost of a killing blow, one that time patched up but couldn’t undo - heats the skin beneath her blouse. “I didn’t know there were any demons in this time.”

His jaw softens, and she’s horrifically confused because of course he had to have noticed - the body holding her soul is nothing like his own, her blood sapped of all power. She thought it was a bearable fate, but now...sitting here with someone whose aura still burns with an energy that Kagura recognizes a hundred years after the first time...

She hunches, feeling sick with jealousy.

At her obvious discomfort, Sesshomaru leans away an inch. After an excruciating few moments of silence, he speaks again.

“Are you happier this time?”

Sheer force of will prevents her from falling off the bench into the grass. “Why do you care?”

He frowns, and the familiarity of it is a slight comfort, though his next words quickly send her heart back into fierce palpitations.

“Because I have always wondered.”

“Oh.” She pretends to scratch one ear, trying to hide the stupid blush that this stupid human face wears much too easily. “Well, it’s okay, I guess. Some parts, anyway.”

The response is a loosening of his shoulders so sharp that it makes her own back ache.

“It’s a bit lonely, though,” she finds herself saying. “It’d be nice to catch up with someone from the old days.” Idiot, idiot, idiot -

But Sesshomaru doesn’t look disgusted at the idea, not even when Kagura starts coughing in a manner that only poison could have wrought in her former demon self. Instead, he is almost too quick to agree to her suggestion that they go get something to drink.

And, after several hours in a coffee shop filling in the gaps of between the past and the present, it’s his idea for him to walk her back to the shitty apartment where she’s staying.

It’s him who grips her arms before they reach her door, with a balance of firmness and gentleness that should make her suspicious that he’s done this kind of thing before and yet she’s not really all that interested in hearing about it.

“I am glad,” he says, as seriously as she can remember him saying anything, “that time has given you another chance.”

And it’s so ridiculous, because Kagura knows that he’s wrong - she should be angry with time! Furious that it separated her from the wind, that it didn’t give her riches and endless comforts, that it sapped her power while allowing Sesshomaru to keep his even though it’s not like he even deserves it -

"I don’t know,” she retorts, gripping his jacket collar with both hands to keep him there. “I think I deserve more.”

Crashing their mouths together hurts; not just because she maybe could have used a bit more finesse, but also because it brings everything rushing back. Just like when she first noticed him on the other side of the street, all of the past’s feelings reverberate through her in a breath-taking echo, reminding Kagura of centuries worth of yearning.

Perhaps she’s been running from it. Perhaps he brought it here. Regardless, as Sesshomaru’s hands grip her waist and pull her closer, Kagura swears to herself that, human or not, she won’t accept less than she deserves ever again.

#kagura #sesskagu #inuyasha #song lyric game #savethelastdan #shespitsfire

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stark-tony · 4 years

Note

I'd love hp recs if you're willing!

* = incomplete

boy with a scar series* by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: A series of "what if" rewrites of Harry Potter, books 1-7. Cross-posted from tumblr (ink-splotch).

pairings: romione, hinny, wolfstar, bleur, jily

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

warnings:

we must unite inside her walls or we'll crumble from within series by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: stories for the ladies of hogwarts, who cry, waver, giggle, trespass, and who deserve our respect all the same

pairings:

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

the dogfather au by hollimichele

summary: “I’m not a reverse werewolf either,” says the man. “I’m your godfather.”

pairings: wolfstar

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

The Changeling + Armistice Series* by Annerb

summary: Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

pairings: hinny

tags: angst, drama

warnings: rape

tell me whether he is dead by LullabyKnell

summary: Post-DH AU: Harry suffers a few side-effects of dying but not dying.

“Hey, can someone help me with this? The mirror in the bedroom’s stopped working for me."

“What do you mean ‘the mirror’s stopped working’?”

pairings: hermione/harry/ron

tags: fluff, angst, humor

warnings: none

Regulus Black and the Way Things Changed: A Not!Fic by imaginary_golux

summary: What if Regulus Black, and not Severus Snape, ended up being the turncoat Potions Master of Hogwarts?

A not!fic written in bullet points, ignoring the Deathly Hallows entirely because they annoy me.

Beta by my immensely patient Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw, and by the delightful starbirdrampant.

pairings: wolfstar

tags: crack

warnings: none

who discovered your secret by LullabyKnell

summary: Pre-Canon AU: On the street named Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey, a man lived alone at Number Eight, supposedly.

It was apparently difficult to tell.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

Little Lion Boy by ShanaStoryteller

summary: Draco is sorted into Gryffindor.

It's all part of the plan, really.

parings: none

tags:

warnings: none

a witch in the family by LullabyKnell

summary: - "For the 5+ Headcanon game, what do you think of an AU in which Petunia is a witch?"

Pre-Canon AU: Petunia Evans learns important life lessons from the magical world that every proper witch ought to know.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

when in doubt, go to the library by LullabyKnell

summary: The Hogwarts Library saves the Wizarding World through the power of reading.

pairings: none

tags: humor, crack

warnings: none

these long cold days by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: In the war, Dean holed up in hollows and friendly attics and Muggle pubs. He drew Umbridge the Toad, noseless Voldy confused by the last dozen plus years of wizardly pop culture, the Ministry of Magic with its fingers stuffed in its stuffy ears.

He drew Snape as Headmaster, his sneer easy after seven years of notebook margin practice. Dean drew the Dark Mark over London’s skyline and he left his work nailed up around Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow. He signed his name. He had things he wanted to say.

There were long days when he didn’t talk to anyone– walking old fields and long roads, sleeping in haystacks. There were long weeks when he only talked to strangers– passersby, shop owners, sympathizers, snatchers who he traded curses with.

He drew the Gryffindor Common Room, hearths all ablaze. He listened to Lee Jordan’s radio show on the crackling airwaves. He drew his little sisters, who had gone to France with his mother and father. He drew faces from the darkened boys’ dormitory– Harry’s long bangs hiding his scar, Neville practicing his dance moves for the Yule Ball, Ron asleep with his head on his thick Weasley sweater, Seamus grinning at him over a three a.m. game of cards.

pairings: deamus

tags: angst

warnings: kidnapping

Rise by Kyra_Neko_Rei

summary: When Voldemort came to kill Harry, Lily met him with a SIG Sauer pistol she bought at a pawn shop. Seems Dark Lords die as easily as anyone else when you empty two clips into them.

Hailed as the savior of the Wizarding world, Lily has a live baby, a dead husband, the personal enmity of most of the Dark Lord's followers, and not the slightest idea how to put her life back together.

Phoenixes have it easy. Burn, die, rise from the ashes.

For humans it's a bit different. Sort of.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: character death

look to your kingdoms by Vail

summary: When she visits Diagon Alley, Hermione hates that the first thing the shop clerk in the apothecary tries to sell her is a potion to “tame her hair.” She likes her hair the way it is, curls and frizz, heavy around her shoulders. She thought the wizarding world would be different. (Black Hermione character study.)

pairings: none

tags: drama

warnings: racism

The Chamber Strike by BlainelovesKurt, evansentranced

summary: Harry is sick of Umbridge and everyone pushing him around. Halfway through fifth year, he decides to Do Something about it. Warning: Contains nuts. And cults, falling sugar bowls, terrible handwriting, and beleaguered caretakers. Crack!fic. Written with transfiguredbunny over Thanksgiving of 2006 after we ate ALL the turkey.

pairings: none

tags: crack

warnings: none

Dudley Dursley's Most Unexpectedly Fortunate Flower by aTasteofCaramell

summary: Dudley Dursley is leading a perfectly normal life, his contact with his odd cousin limited to Christmas cards and peculiar memories.

Until his daughter sneezes and sets the curtains on fire.

pairings: dudley/ original female character, hinny

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

repeated a thousand times in golden ink by LullabyKnell

summary: Half-Blood Prince AU: In which Luna makes a friend through desk art and Ginny helps.

Shameless, essentially plotless friendship fluff.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The Splendid Gallery by LullabyKnell

summary: Pre-POA AU: In the summer of 1993, the Grangers vacation in France and meet the Delacours. When the Granger-Delacour parents elect to explore Wizarding France as a group, Hermione Granger is thrown together with a girl named Fleur Delacour due to some bizarre idea that they will somehow magically become friends. Even though they have nothing whatsoever in common and Hermione doesn't like Fleur at all!

In which two of the brightest witches of their age become very good friends.

pairings: fleur/ hermione

tags: fluff

warnings: none

riding up the wrong path by ashen_key

summary: When Lily is eighteen, she cuts her hair and joins the army. The British Army.The British Muggle Army.

Despite what the gossip papers say, she leaves her wand at home. She's not a complete idiot.

– –

Oh, right.

Maybe take a few steps back.

pairings: none

tags:

warnings: none

there will come a time, you'll see by aloneintherain

summary: They have Shepard’s pie for dinner. Ron and Hermione watch Harry fill up his plate and only start serving themselves when he picks up his fork and starts eating. Neville laughs into his wine glass.

“How are you dealing with their mothering, Harry?” he asks.

Ron opens and closes his mouth for a minute, groping for an excuse. Eventually, Ron says, “He’s just so small, Nev.”

“Hey,” Harry says. “I’m seventeen. I’m an adult.”

Ron shakes his head at Neville. “My best friend is an infant.”

A curse regresses Harry to his seventeen year old self, physically and mentally. He doesn’t recognise this strange peaceful wizarding world, but there are two people he does recognise: Ron and Hermione.

Based off this tumblr post.

pairings: romione

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

call it a badge of honor by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: In those halls, they faced down Death Eaters under the guise of teaching robes. They faced them with raised wands, raised fists, or just raised chins, these children who kept telling stories in the dark about Harry Potter, who was going to save them.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Hogwarts, to welcome you home by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger)

summary: “You understand, Professor,” Harry began, after a moment, “that I don’t have my N.E.W.T.s. I never even finished seventh year. Between everything, I never had a chance the first time around, and then afterwards there didn’t seem to be much point. Hermione argued for it, of course, but I was so tired of Britain. So technically, I am completely unqualified for the position.”

“Quite a way to begin an interview, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, dryly.

Or, three years after the war, Harry Potter becomes Hogwarts' newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

pairings: hinny

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings:

THERMOS!, or, How a Muggle-Born Brought a New Age of Spell-Making to Hogwarts (Entirely by Accident) by susieboo

summary: Muggle-born witch Phoebe McDevitt just wanted her tea to stay warm during class. She didn't expect to accidentally start a spell-making craze among her classmates.

[Oneshot. Next generation. Based off a Tumblr post, which I will link to in the notes.]

pairings: none

tags: humor

warnings: none

and ready to suffer and ready to hope by irnan (locked to ao3 users)

summary: or, the one where petunia evans is a witch.

pairings: jily, hinny

tags: angst

warnings: character death

a very nice thing to say by LullabyKnell

summary: Chamber of Secrets AU: Harry and Ron miss the train to Hogwarts. Luckily for them, they're not the only ones. Harry's not sure what's going on, what they're going to do, or who these people are exactly, but Ron seems to know these Lovegood people and it's not like there's anyone else to help them get to Hogwarts.

tags: fluff, humor,

pairings: none

warnings: none

yesterday we were just children playing soliders by girlmadeofstars

summary: What if, when Harry heard the Slytherin portion of the Hat's song, he payed attention when the Hat sung perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends? Imagine this: a little boy- beaten, and ignored, for his entire life. A little boy- friendless, and lonely. A little boy- desperate for the kind of friendship he had read about in books, seen on the television screen.

When the Hat offered him Slytherin, imagine that Harry said yes.

pairings: hinny, romione, astoria/ draco

tags:

warnings:

The Transfiguration Incident, Or Pettigrew's Problems by Kyra_Neko_Rei

summary: The lesson is transfiguring rats into teacups . . . only Ron Weasley's rat is actually an Animagus, which has dire consequences for the spell, for Peter Pettigrew, and for the Dark Lord's prospects for resurrection (and rather better consequences for Minerva McGonagall's reputation). Cross-posted (finally!) from Tumblr.

pairings: none

tags: humor

warnings: none

In the Name of the Brave* by LullabyKnell

summary: “Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?”

“Oh, that’s Professor Black.”

- A slow-paced, self-indulgent, canon rewrite Philosopher's Stone AU.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

Take Two* by Bundibird

summary: Never let it be said that a Slytherin doesn’t know to take hold of an opportunity when it’s presented to him on a silver platter.

[A Fourth Year AU in which Draco makes the most of Potter and Weasley’s fight and takes a second shot at befriending Harry. For the Greater Evil, obviously.]

Cross-posted at ff.n

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

Percy Weasley and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by LullabyKnell

summary: Pre-Philosopher's Stone AU: In which fourteen-year-old Percy Weasley is very stressed, does not get enough sleep, and accidentally and unknowingly saves the Wizarding World because of bad aim.

pairings: none

tags: humor

warnings: none

beautiful enough for the both of us by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: “You know Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” Hermione said, ten minutes into a very awkward lunch she had asked for in an equally awkward letter.

Lavender pushed a sauteed carrot through a little puddle of pasta sauce. “I think everyone heard about that one. Someone told the papers, or something, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Hermione. “Snape did. Which is what I– I mean, it’s related. Oh, I wish you’d gotten to talk to Remus about this. He was a lovely man.”

“Not as lovely as Lockhart,” Lavender said and she and Hermione spent a moment in wistful remembrance. “God, I feel old,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, Snape,” said Hermione. “Snape and Lupin. When Lupin was at school, Snape would make him a potion that would… tame him, on full moons. He could just curl up in his office and sleep by the fire. If you’re interested, I’m trying to learn how to brew it myself.”

Lavender shook her head. “We’re not friends,” she said. “Never have been. So why are you doing all this?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to say “we’re friends,” but she couldn’t get it out.

Werewolf!Lavender, post-canon

pairings: lavender/ parvati

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

#hp recs #my fic recs #hp #rape tw #kidnapping tw #character death tw #racism tw #becca answers #anon

33 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Note

We’re watching the Blues white vs blue scrimmage and I’m so excited hockey is almost back! I think this calls for a Blue Line re-read because it’s so, SO good and I’ve read through everything on ao3 at least 5 times. 💙

This makes me the absolute happiest! Thank you for reading! And then reading again! I am unreasonably excited about the start of the season and the length of Chris Kreider’s hair and I was going to post a quick Blue Line one-shot here, but it was basically just original characters in that it was literally just Matt Jones being an idiot while meeting his future wife, so I wrote something else this morning and winning the Stanley Cup would mean they’d have to change their before-the-season starts ritual. Anyway, here’s like nearly 4K of everyone ragging on each other just before the season after Blue Line, while Emma and Killian try to figure out where they can make out without anyone noticing:

————

“Still looking?” “Yup.” “What she look like?” “Like the actual description of her face?”

Something dug into the bottom of Emma’s shoulder blade, and it took her far too long to realize that it was the jut of Killian’s chin because even the idea of Killian crouching behind her so as to avoid the overall force of Regina’s glare was something that hadn’t even crossed her mind. Until it was happening, apparently. “She’s staring,” Emma muttered, “got that little pinch between her eyebrows that always shows up when she’s—” Killian groaned. Directly where his mouth was resting, which was also on Emma’s back and likely just above the ‘o’ in his last name, if her knowledge of the jersey she was wearing was any indication. Maybe in between the ‘j’ and the ‘o,’ actually.

“You’re ridiculous.” “Me?” Killian countered, and Emma wished she hadn’t already finished that first glass of wine. Blurry thoughts bounced across her sleep-deprived brain because there was only one more sleep ‘til Christmas, or whatever Kermit sang in The Muppet Christmas Carol. Presumably Christmas. And not hockey. Or the start of the hockey season.

Splotches of ink still dotted the sides of Emma’s right hand, the product of dragging that same hand over forms she had to sign and other plans she had to approve, and the blue carpet wasn’t coming until next week because the home opener was actually three games into the season, which was not as comforting or stress-reducing as she thought it should have been and she simply did not have time to mitigate an argument between her boyfriend and his agent.

Even when that boyfriend was very good looking.

In his Christmas sweater.

The traditions of hockey players continued to boggle the mind. Emma’s, specifically.

If she drank any more wine, she was going to fall asleep standing up. “Yes,” Emma said, “you, but only because you’re the one currently trying to burrow your way into me. With your chin.” Humming in confusion, he lifted his head, and that wasn’t really a mistake, per se — but it did leave his soft exhale brushing against the side of Emma’s neck, and that sort of guaranteed that goosebumps appeared on her neck and she should have been more annoyed. By Killian’s immediate laugh. Of the vaguely victorious variety.

“What do you think about the sweater?” “That you’re fishing for compliments.” “I think I make Locksley’s stitched-on face look very good. Doesn’t get stretched out at all—” Killian ignored Emma’s groan, pressing a kiss to the exact spot her shoulder met her still goosebump-covered neck, and it was the wine’s fault. For the state of her increasingly wobbly knees. “—Which is more than I can say about his current face.” “Oh, that’s rude,” Emma argued. “And I’m not entirely sure it even made sense.” “Are you Locksley’s self-appointed defender, then?” “Are you the single most superstitious player in the entire National Hockey League?” That kiss came with a graze of his teeth and a noise Emma immediately regretted making. Something like a squeak bubbled out of her, flinching in the sort of way that only ensured she was even closer to Killian, and stepping on one of his toes would have detracted from the overall romance of the moment.

“You can’t do that sort of thing in public, Swan,” Killian chided, and he really did have very good reflexes. Spinning her, Emma’s hands flew to his chest — pointedly ignoring the stitched-on face of Robin Locksley — and he didn’t move. Didn’t stumble or come anywhere close to falling. Just arched his left eyebrow and had the gall to smirk at her like they weren’t in a restaurant filled with their friends and teammates and—

“I’m not taking the shirt off, Gina,” Killian yelled over Emma’s head, “so you can stop whatever you’re doing with your face.” “Trying to turn you to stone,” Emma mumbled.

“Last I checked, she’s not a Greek myth.” “Far as you know.” He moved. Shook really, once his laugh started to echo between Emma’s ears, and they definitely had more pillows in their house than blankets, but the sound of Killian’s obvious and consistent joy was oddly similar to the softest piece of fabric Emma could imagine. Like it was capable of wrapping around her, warm without being suffocating, just this steady presence that didn’t weigh down on her and made everything feel like—

Home, she supposed.

She was so happy; she was positive it simply poured out of her at this point. And the sweater really did not look half bad. Fit very well, at least.

“This worked last year,” Will called, shuffling between Roland and Henry. Several wads of napkins littered the floor by their feet, a makeshift hockey game that, as far as Emma could figure, had ever-evolving rules and a tendency to knock chairs over. Roland’s jersey wasn’t quite as long as last year, the hem stopping well before his knees.

Henry still had a twenty on his back.

“Still looks ridiculous,” Regina countered. Her wine glass was also empty, sitting closer to Robin’s chair than she had been ten minutes earlier. “Do you think you should send them an email?” Killian’s eyebrow dropped. Pulled low in perfect tandem with the other one, Emma’s head tilting with her own sense of confusion.

Something slammed rather loudly into one of the walls. Eric might have been doing shots behind the bar.

“What?” “An email,” Regina repeated, “to whatever website makes that monstrosity, so you can let them know that they should get more creative and offer more wardrobe choices to—” “—Idiots?” Robin quipped.

“Professional hockey players.” Ariel clicked her tongue, ignoring her husband’s objections when she jumped onto the edge of the counter. Only a matter of time until several kids tried to follow suit. “Is your husband not a professional hockey player, Gina?” “Yes.” “Oh, that was far less of an argument than I expected,” David mumbled, stepping next to Emma, and he couldn’t quite bump her shoulder when she was still standing so close to Killian. “And kinda rude,” Will added, “all things considered.”

Regina shrugged. “I cannot possibly overstate how much I hate that sweater.” “Take it up with Banana,” Killian said. “Her gift; makes it her problem. All I am doing is—” “—Wearing it?” “And wearing it well,” he promised. If Emma’s cheeks turned red, no one mentioned it. Which might have been one of the nicer things anyone on this team had ever done for her. “Plus,” Killian continued, “Scarlet’s right. This worked last year. If you want to risk tradition and potential—” A chorus of jeers greeted his near-jinx, complete with pointed fingers and one of Ariel’s legs kicking out like she had any chance of actually reaching Killian. Or wouldn’t be annoyed by whatever harm she could possibly inflict on his upper thigh.

Regina looked very pleased. “This does not mean you won, Gina,” Killian said, but she only shrugged again, and the first blast of Arthur’s whistle was as shrill as any sound had rights to be.

More cries bounced off the walls and the balled-up napkins, Arthur’s hand resting on Gwen’s shoulder because at some point in the twelve seconds between the first whistle blast and everyone regaining their ability to hear; he must have decided that standing on a chair was actually a good idea.

Killian’s entire body shook behind Emma’s.

Getting rid of the goosebumps would be something of a rather large miracle. Especially if he kept his arm around her waist like this, fingers splayed over her stomach.

“Are we ready yet?” Arthur barked, only to be met with murmurs and more confusion, and Emma didn’t think much before accepting the glass Mary Margaret was practically shoving into her hand.

“Is there a reason for the collective?” Robin asked. “Did you mean to include yourself in that? Are you not ready for your own speech?”

Arthur was not as good at glaring as Regina. No one mentioned that. No one had to, really. He took a deep breath before he started. “Day before the opener. We know what we did last year, and I want to be the first to tell every single one of you that I don’t give a flying fuck—” Another round of loud objections rang out around him, Arthur not quite able to wave them off because his balance really was awful, and Killian had to let go of Emma to haul Roland up his side. “—Anyone asks you about last year,” Arthur pressed, entirely unperturbed by the frustration of his team and their assorted families, “and you better tell them you don’t give’a shit about it.”

Emma tried to cover one of Roland’s ears. The other one was pressed against Killian, so she couldn’t really do anything about that. “Does he think you haven’t been quoted—like, all off-season?” “The ultimate idiot,” Killian grinned.

“Is this over yet?” Will demanded. “I’d like to know when I can boo without threat of interruption.”

Belle kissed his cheek.

While Ruby mumbled curses under her breath, all too aware of just how many people had asked about the Cup run and would keep asking about the Cup run and her job was not going to get any easier if the professional hockey players in that restaurant refused to answer questions all season.

“Nothing that happened last year means anything this year,” Arthur said, but it was starting to sound a bit like a proclamation or maybe an affirmation, and Emma was terrible at yoga. Never had enough patience for it. “So we are playing for something brand-new, and you better not start by screwing it all up on Thursday.” He nodded once. Glanced around because Emma knew he was waiting for some sort of reaction, but the only reaction he got was Will’s promised boo, and that was more than Arthur deserved. Especially when he knocked over the chair while getting down.

“Tell me he’ll be better with fans,” Emma said, and Killian had to shift Roland, but then he was the one doing the cheek kissing, and the quiet guarantee of absolutely, love was nice until he added—

“Can totally beat him up if he’s not.” “You’re a violent guy, Cap.”

Nosing at the side of her jaw did not impress Roland at all. Fair, really — but then Roland was on the same counter as Ariel, her sliding down the makeshift wood to get an arm around him and her phone already out and ringing, and Will stopped boo’ing.

To announce, in no uncertain terms, “It’s time! Leader better not screw things up, or I’ll walk to Colorado and kick him in the shins.”

“What a threat.” Robin groaned, but his phone was making noise too, and neither Elsa nor Liam were doing a very good job of sharing space in the frame. Anna was waving with both her hands, already talking a mile a minute with her sister and they were all wearing team-branded merchandise, as the ritual dictated, but this also felt like the first legitimate time Emma was part of the ritual and all three Vankald and/or Jones faces beamed when they noticed her.

“A,” Will sighed, “you’re supposed to tell us before the taxi squad gets on the call. Then we can prepare and we don’t have to go through this every year.” Anna’s eyes noticeably thinned. “What is this, exactly?” “The gossip wheel you’ve got to run through before we can—” “—Emma’s wearing KJ’s number again!” “We live together Banana,” Killian reasoned, and the jump in Emma’s stomach was undeniable and even more uncalled for. She also hoped she didn’t mess up the ritual.

“Still.” “Expand on that for me.” Will might have snarled. “We do not have time for this.”

“Are you an actual adult participating in this situation?” Ariel challenged. “Because I am not getting that right now.” Careful to stay out of Regina’s eye line and certain that Roland was at least momentarily distracted by another plate of onion rings, both of Will’s hands moved when he flashed specific fingers. Ariel nearly fell off the counter, she laughed so hard.

Elsa and Anna were absolutely having their own conversation.

And Killian kissed Emma’s hair that time.

“Also,” Elsa added, “should we be collectively annoyed by the taxi squad marker? That’s kind of—” Her voice dropped “A dick move, right?” “You’re a picture of parental responsibility, El,” Killian said. “Buy new clothes.” “See,” Regina cried, arms thrust nearly above her head in what wasn’t quite celebration but might have simply been her innate desire to be right at all times. “Liam, you’re going to have to say something different now, you realize that?” None of them had, quite clearly. Soft gasps and quiet oh’s echoed around their spot at the end of the bar, but Liam’s chin was doing something as well. So maybe it was just genetic. Jutting out, the confidence practically dripped off him, which would have been a disgusting thought in any other situation, but there was something to be said for constants and stability, and not one of them had so much as thought the phrase back to back all offseason.

“Your lack of belief is disappointing, Gina.” “I’m just covering our bases.” “Wrong sport,” Liam laughed, grabbing the stick that had been leaning just out of frame and it took some finagling to hold it out in front of him. Without also knocking the phone over. He nearly knocked the phone over three different times.

Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright,” Liam started, and Emma didn’t think she imagined the way Killian stood up a bit straighter. Robin and Will, too. “Wait, wait, shit, sorry Rol—no, but how many years is this?” “Oh my God,” Ariel grumbled. “This is kind of messing it up.” “Leader, do you not know how to do math?” Will shouted, grabbing more than one of Roland’s onion rings. Like he needed something to occupy his hands with.

Blotches of color appeared on Liam’s face, Elsa’s head shaking back and forth now while several different grown adults tried to do the most basic math problem, and no one else heard Killian at first. Emma did. Presumably, because she was almost standing on his sneakers.

His arm was back around her waist. “Nine years,” he repeated.

Liam hummed. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right.” “I know it is.” Nothing about those words was enough to immediately catch Emma short, but the fingers pressed against her might have started pulling on her shirt ever so slightly and whatever look Elsa and Anna shared as soon as she circled her arms around Killian’s middle wasn’t important. Now, at least. Emma had every intention of getting them to give up whatever they knew later.

They definitely knew something.

She’d worry about that after the home opener. “Alright, alright, alright,” Liam chanted, the stick back up and Will’s salute lacked any sort of legitimate respect. “Nine years ago now, we all stumbled back into this stupid city and laced up skates and tripped over ourselves on the ice.” He had to glance down. Reading it off an index card, then. Emma’s heart gave a small, but sure tumble in her chest. “And we were God awful. Terrible. Embarrassingly bad. But, as with most things, we figured it out. We stopped tripping over that giant emblem at center ice and we didn’t stutter during post and we actually started scoring goals.”

The stick was starting to shake. Retirement affected forearm strength, it seemed.

“And we inexplicably won a first-round series and made the backpages of tabloids and then something kind of incredible happened.” Emma waited for the tension, for the sound of Killian’s knuckles cracking, or the exchange glances between Robin and Will. None of it came. It was stupid to think it would. And Liam was far from done. “Down two games in Pitt—” “—Oh my God,” Ruby hissed, “who calls it Pitt?” Liam ignored her. “A two-game hole, and totally fu—messed up media in Los Angeles, but none of that mattered because you guys kept scoring goals and the entire Kings organization is a black hole of talentless idiots.” “This is scathing, Leader,” Will said, “truly. Did you practice this?” “Yes,” Elsa said before Liam could open his mouth again, and Emma’s neck was going to give up sooner rather than later. Emotions twisted between the muscles there, another weight that somehow made it easier to breathe, like they had anything to do with her lungs, but none of her cared and all of her wanted. This, specifically. “There’s more though, Scarlet. Stop interrupting.” He saluted again.

“Getting everything you wanted’s kind of a weird thing to wrap your head around, but that’s because this isn’t everything. Not yet. Somehow you guys are still capable of scoring goals and—y’know, your quotes leave a little to be desired.” “Here, here,” Ruby murmured.

Liam might have been the best at glaring. Like, out of all of them. “But that just means the pressure’s on. Vankald cliché requirement; patent pending.” None of the boos that garnered had much bite to them. “Keeping the tradition alive is half the fun of hockey, this dumb sport with weapons on our feet and in our hands and it’s up to you guys. All over again. Start of the season, fresh slate, knowing you can do it because you already have. You ready, Rol?”

Roland nodded more than once, enthusiasm in every jerk of his head. “To the Cup,” he shouted.

“To the Cup,” the crowd repeated, not much enunciation between the lot of them when both of the phones had a slight delay and there was a baby crying in Colorado. Still, neither Elsa nor Liam moved and the shot glasses Eric put down were rather quickly grabbed. So as to avoid Arthur’s ire.

Alcohol burned the back of Emma’s mouth as soon as she tilted her head, shivering against the strength of whatever it was she just drank. If she cried, she was going to be really annoyed with herself.

And the restaurant never got too loud, or too warm, but Emma’s heart stayed at its above-average rate for the next two hours, making the prospect of walking out the door and standing at the edge of the sidewalk all the more appealing. Especially when she remembered how—

It took him two minutes to follow her. Give or take.

“Feels like we’re in a time warp,” Killian said, leaning against the side of the restaurant while Emma desperately tried to temper her own emotions and she had more emotions than she knew one person could be capable of containing.

“No dancing, though.” “Banana and I went to a midnight showing of that on Halloween once.” “Seriously?” “Mmmhm. Have I mentioned that I am ridiculously in love with you yet, today?” Her head fell. Neck finally giving up, Emma’s cheek twisted on top of Killian’s shoulder, and his sweater, and if there was a quota for kisses pressed to the crown of her head, he was certainly trying to reach it. Competitive weirdo. “I don’t think so.” “Idiotic.” “Eh, we’ve been busy.” “I love you,” he said, and she smiled. Wide and easy and so goddamn happy, it only occasionally felt like a massive joke. And it still wasn’t enough. As selfish as that might have been, but Liam was definitely right and this wasn’t the end, might have just been another point on a circle and hints of wholly enjoyable déjà vu. “Is this the part where we talk about dating some guy on a team?” Left eyebrow, that time. Perfectly arched while his ability to smirk continued to infuriate Emma just a little, whatever sound she made when he ducked his head and caught her lips somewhere between joy and laughter and the seemingly perpetual talent to make her swoon wherever she was standing.

They’d definitely gotten better at kissing in the last year.

A fact Emma had every intention of pointing out — once she was done sticking her tongue in Killian’s mouth. Or trying to get her fingers under his sweater, his soft hiss at the lack of temperature in her fingertips some kind of victory she’d think about until the home opener and possibly until the All-Star break, and the overall arch of her back wasn’t particularly comfortable. But then her hips bumped Killian’s and that drew another sound and made champagne bubbles of the far more metaphorical variety explode in the general vicinity of her heart.

One of her feet left the ground, not doing much to help her balance, but Emma had already spent too long considering the pros and cons of balance and she scratched at the back of Killian’s head. When her back pressed into the wall, threatening to scratch through her jersey and his fingers weren’t as cold as hers, because he might have just exuded heat, which likely wasn’t a sign and she wanted it to be a sign and—

“I love you,” Emma breathed, harder than she wanted. The force of his answering smile could have melted ice. In several prominent arenas across North America.

“You worried?” “Very vague question.” “Swan.” “No,” she said, pleased to realize she meant all three letters. With just about everything in her. “Coming out here was—” “—We could have just made out in the restaurant.” “Pushing me up against a wall probably would have gotten us kicked out.” “Which would have led us here and then home, so,” Killian shrugged, “I fail to see the problem.” “You want to go home?” His eyes closed. His smile didn’t waver. Just pressed into the side of Emma’s neck and under her jaw, scruff, and strands of hair that were a little longer than they’d been last season, and she felt him inhale. Like he was trying to breathe her in, or possibly them. The specifics didn’t matter. They were something of a package deal now, anyway.

“Did you cop this jersey from equipment?” Leaning back was impossible with the wall behind her, but Emma was something of a glutton for emotions now and inherently greedy. Killian’s eyes noticeably darkened when she moved her tongue. Directly across her teeth. “Nah, I own this.” The thump of his forehead falling to her shoulder was the most satisfying sound she’d heard in two weeks. Bar none.

“We’re leaving now,” Killian said. “Now.”

“You don’t want to—” Lacing his fingers through hers, he didn’t quite tug her back down the alley, but it was awfully close and Emma was glad she’d thought to bring her phone with her. “They’ll figure it out.”

She hoped they did.

Checking her phone was somewhere near the bottom of the list she had absolutely no intention of making that night, opting instead to leave a trail of clothes back to their room and she couldn’t wear the jersey to the game. They made out in the hallway outside the visitor’s locker room, though. So Emma figured it something of a wash; and the first win of the season.

#cs ff #blue line rambles #blue line one shots #LET EMMA AND KILLIAN MAKE OUT IN EVERY NHL ARENA 2K4EVER #this has been sitting in the back of my mind for weeks #so here it is in all its sports emotion glory #sammyjojaaaa #laura rambles

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arrow-guy · 4 years

Text

Author and Auror (5/??)

Synopsis: Eleanore Vaughan has never been one for the spotlight. Her cousin, Rosaline, is the one best suited to the limelight, and is happier for the attention. Though Nora is most comfortable tucked away in her book shop, what happens when Grindelwald’s sudden takeover flips her world upside-down and thrusts her into the inner circle?

A/N: Back again with another installment in my collaborative work with @thorne93. For anyone who’s keeping up with both fics, please note that I am severely behind of where Thorne is with her half, but I’ll catch up eventuaTime for a date? Question mark? Who know’s what it is (I do, I know what it is, because I wrote it.) Regardless, time for almost drunk adventures with Theseus and Nora, please enjoy!

Previously, with Rosaline…

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: Theseus ScamanderxOFC

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: None

Part 4

“We’ve reached a deal with the American Ministry to allow us to take on Ms. Goldstein as a liaison.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!”

“She’ll be housed by the Ministry from now on, so your parents will be freed up a bit.”

“Does this mean the Aurors are able to begin working on the Grindelwald case? Actually looking for Rosaline instead of badgering Newt and I for information?”

“Thankfully, yes.” Theseus sighs and combs a hand through his hair. “We’ve made enough progress that the department head finally took the issue seriously.”

“Well it’s not as if he’s been a particularly huge fan of anything that Dumbledore gets himself tangled up in. I’m not surprised he’d put off this investigation for as long as possible.”

Theseus snorts. “He’s a stubborn man.”

“Mmm, that he is.” I watch as he scratches a few notes into the margin of the file he’s working on. “You should come to pub night.”

“You want me to do what?”

“Come on, Theseus, it’s our monthly pub night. Come with us!”

“I’m not drinking with James and Tessa,” he says. “They’re practically children!”

“I never said you had to drink with them. They invite their friends and they have a nice time on their own.” I lean on his desk. “You’ve been working really hard. You deserve a break.”

“I don’t know…”

“Fine,” I sigh loudly. “This is a thinly veiled attempt to ask you to get a drink with me. You caught me.”

I watch as a smile slowly shapes his lips and he finally looks away from his work. “Ms. Vaughan, are you flirting with me?”

I smile and tilt my head to the side. “Guess you’ll have to come to pub night and find out.”

“Aw, come on!”

I push off his desk and head for the door. “Ten tonight, Theseus,” I call over my shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

“What pub?” he calls back.

“The one three doors down from my store. Don’t. Be. Late.”

“You actually invited the Head Auror out for a drink?!” James asks. “Who are you?”

“Your boss.”

He nods. “Very true.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“You think he’ll actually show?”

I shrug. “He might. If he doesn’t I’ll head home early. No harm done.”

Samuel knocks twice on the bar in front of me. “Looks like you’ll have to stick around a while yet.”

I look up at the bartender, confused. “What?”

He gestures to the door. “Your boy just walked in.”

Theseus stands just to the side of the doorway, next to the coat rack, scanning the late Friday night crowd. I lift one hand and wave to him and when his eyes settle on me, he smiles and his shoulders relax. He carefully picks his way through the throng of people and meets me at the bar.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

He shrugs. “I was held up at the office.” He tilts his head to the side. “You changed.”

“Oh, yeah,” I kick at a loose nail sticking out of the floor and the flowy leg of my dark maroon slacks swishes. “I was working on that book I’ve been writing and knocked over the ink pot. Couldn’t really go out with a huge ink splotch on my trousers, could I?”

“You look nice,” he says. My face heats. “It’s a good color on you.”

“Glad you think so.” I gesture to the bartender. “What’s your poison?”

James snorts beside me and I shove him away. He muffles his laughter and wanders off in search of Tessa and their friends. Theseus smiles and orders firewhiskey. We take our drinks to an open booth and Theseus sinks into the soft leather of the bench seat.

“You know, I haven’t been out like this in probably five years.”

“You were in a relationship.”

“Yeah, but I still could have gone out for pub night.”

“With your subordinates?”

“You do it!”

“Tessa and James aren’t my subordinates. They’re my employees. It’s different.”

“How?”

“They’re basically family. How many of your Aurors could you say that about? Sure, you’ve got each other’s backs, but are they truly your family?”

He scowls. “Bloody Ravenclaw.”

“That’s not an answer, Theseus.”

“You always want answers, don’t you?”

“I’m a poor mix of Ravenclaw and Head Auror’s best friend. It’s in my nature.” I watch as he sips his drink. “You don’t have to actually answer.”

“No, it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “I never thought of it like that before.”

“You don’t have to. I overstepped.” I chew at the inside of my cheek. “I’m projecting. It’s not fair to you, especially after the month you’ve had.”

“You’ve been holding everyone together since Paris,” he says softly. “I’m surprised you’ve fared this well.”

“Someone has to take care of you idiots,” I mumble and fold my arms on the table.

Theseus reaches across and grabs one of my hands and squeezes gently. “Maybe you should take your own advice then, hm?”

“And what advice is that?”

“Let someone else take care of you for a change, Nora.”

I laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” I rest my chin on my forearm. “You think we could start over? Just have a few drinks and talk about work? Forget about everything else that’s happening for a bit?”

He nods. “Sounds doable.”

I grin. “Fantastic.”

“I don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” I laugh as Theseus slings an arm around my shoulders.

“I wasn’t!” he insists. “I just have-haven’t had much to drink recently.” “Sounds like you should have watched what you were drinking instead.”

He hums. “Yeah, maybe. You still seeing that bloke from down the street?”

“Robert?” I shake my head. “No, I proved to be too much of a challenge for him halfway through dinner and he excused himself.” “Halfway?” I nod and he whistles. “Weak. Men are weak.”

“You’re a man, Theseus.”

“Was I saying I’m exempt?”

I laugh. “He wasn’t as nice as I hoped he’d be. It’s fine.”

“You deserve someone so much better than that tosser.”

“I appreciate that.”

He pulls me firmly against his side when he stumbles slightly and I do my best to right him.

“I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“Then why did you?”

Theseus laughs and leans heavily on my shoulder. “I don’t know. Liquid courage? Being around you makes me nervous sometimes.”

“Wait, what?” My arm around his middle tightens and he chuckles to himself, pressing one fist to his mouth. “Why on earth would you be nervous around me?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs and I lurch forward under his weight. “Where are we going?”

“Back to mine. You’re too drunk to apparate. You can spend the night.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he slurs out.

“Theseus, you’re completely pissed, and I’m tipsy. There’s no way I’d be able to safely get you back to your place myself.”

“Alright.” He nods in quick jerky motions. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because you’re my friend and I care a great deal about you.”

He falls silent and allows me to walk him back to my home. Halfway there it begins to rain. Theseus casts an umbrella charm that only half works and we’re nearly soaked by the time we’re twenty feet from my stoop.

Theseus seems to have sobered up some and has stopped leaning on me and instead leans on a lamppost. He tilts his head towards the sky and let’s the rain slick his hair back. I shove my hands in my pockets and watch.

“I remember the last time you got caught in the rain,” I murmur. “Something changed that night. Between us, at least.”

He sighs and nods. “The last person who had treated me like that had been either Leta or Newt.”

“Like what?”

“Like you cared.” He finally opens his eyes and holds out a hand to me. “You… I’m not sure. You’ve always been here. And I’ve been too daft to understand what that meant. My head still gets a little fuzzy when I think about it too long.”

He pulls me closer when I take his hand. “We’ll get sick if we stay out here much longer. We should go inside.”

He tilts his head to the side. “May I kiss you, Nora?”

“You want to?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“And is this something you’ve thought about outside of being drunk?” He frowns. “I only ask because I don’t want to… to get my hopes up and then have you waking up in the morning and changing your mind.”

“What? Why would I change my mind?”

“You watched your fiance die, Theseus. I don’t want to be her replacement. I don’t think I could handle it. And how am I supposed to be sure that you’re ready to move on?”

“Merlin, Nora.” He places a hand on either side of my face. “You could never replace anyone. You are so bloody special. Shit, I swear you’re the only one who’s made me feel anything in two months.”

“You never curse,” I squeak.

“Is that all you got from that?!” His head falls back against the lamppost with a soft thud.

“I don’t-fuck, Theseus, I don’t know!” I pull his hands away from my face and wrap my arms around myself. “It’s freezing out here and we’re both soaked. Can we please go inside and talk about this when we’re sober?”

He stares at me for a moment before he nods and pushes off the post. He reaches out and takes my hand. I’m surprised by it’s warmth and unintentionally hold on tighter. Once we’re inside, Theseus heads to the guest room and I watch as he closes the door behind him. I pull a towel from the linen closet and close myself in my room.

As soon as the door is closed, I strip down and towel off as best I can. I wrap my hair up in the towel and dress in flannel pajamas. I sit on my bed and pull open the drawer of my bedside table. A phial of sobering potion sits nestled between pepper up, wide eye, and my emergency wiggenweld. I pluck the sobering potion from among it’s friends and place it in my pocket. I wring as much water from my hair as I can and comb through it before sliding my feet into a pair of slippers and heading downstairs. I start a fire in the hearth and move on to make a pot of tea.

Theseus enters the kitchen as I’m pouring a dose of sobering potion into each tea cup. I hand one to Theseus and sit down at the table. I drink my tea quickly and rest my head against the edge of the table. I wait till Theseus has set his teacup down to look up again. He sits across the table, regarding me calmly.

“I think that got a little out of hand,” I say softly.

“So me telling you how I feel is out of hand?”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean at all.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I care about you so much, Theseus. But the last thing I expected you to do tonight was ask to kiss me. Hell, I never expected you’d ever want anything more than a hug from me.”

“I figured you’d prefer that I ask to kiss you rather than just doing it.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to in the first place.”

“Because you’re you,” he says. “You’re the one who took me in and made sure I took care of myself. Or even left the house, for that matter. You’re the one who made me go back to work and realize that I have people who care about me. All of the time that I have spent with you since we came back from Paris…” he shakes his head. “You are the first person I think of when I wake up in the morning. Somehow, I think it’s the same for you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. “It is.”

“Then what was that out in the street?”

I swallow thickly. “I don’t kiss drunk men.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that it?”

My shoulders sag. “You scare the shit out of me and you have since day one. If all you wanted from me was one night, there’s no way I would go through with it. I don’t want… You’re my best friend-”

“Newt is your best friend.”

“You’re one of my best friends. If our relationship changes, I don’t want it to be because of a mistake.”

“If I wanted a mistake, I wouldn’t have spent the night with you.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Eleanore, you are much more important to me than a one night stand.”

“So… two nights, then?”

“Three, actually. Maybe four, but then I’d have to cut all ties. Can’t let feelings get involved, now can we?”

I laugh. “Obviously not.”

I watch as he slowly gets up from the table. My smile slips away as he pulls me to my feet and dips his head so he can look me in the eyes.

“I never, ever want to hurt you, Nora. Never. I just want to be near you. And if you feel for me as I do for you, I’m going to keep asking to kiss you till you let me.”

“Promise?”

He nods. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

He smiles and pulls me into a tight hug. I press my nose to his chest and hug him back. He kisses to the top of my head.

“Am I still allowed to stay the night?”

“Of course.” I feel a hum rumble through his chest and I hug him tighter.

Theseus catches me as I leave my room the next day. He smiles warmly and leans on the guest room door frame. He’s already dressed in his suit from the night before.

“Good morning,” he says.

I scrub my hands over my face and try to smooth down my hair. I breathe deeply before responding.

“How do you look like that after drinking like you did last night?” I shake my head. “It’s like you’re not human.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You look like a normal, operational, handsome person. I just look like rubbish in the mornings.”

He frowns. “I don’t think you’ve got that quite right. I feel rather lucky to be able to see you before you’ve fully woken up.”

I scowl at him. “Don’t lie to me, Theseus.”

He moves across the hallway and leans on my bedroom doorway. “Is there any way I can prove to you I’m not lying to you?”

“No.”

He laughs and pulls me into a hug. “I’ll have to work on that. I’ve been called into work. There’s new information about our case.”

I frown. “Alright. I’ll be at Newts tonight, if you need me.”

“I’ll try to visit if I can get away.”

“Be careful.”

He smiles. “You know I will.”

I press a quick kiss to his cheek before he slips his jacket on. He glides down the stairs and pauses at the door to wave to me. The door closes and I sigh before going back into my room to get ready for the day.

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Part 6

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