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oopsimbug · 9 months

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in which… y/n is stubborn, and harry is still an asshole

a.k.a. regency harry pt. 2

a/n: gah… i literally dont know what to say… how about: oh my god i am so sorry for taking so long! school, two jobs, a lack of inspiration and literally hating my own writing made sure i was unable to post for an entire YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS!!!! i DEEPLY apologise. i hope this is alright? let me know what you think! and yes, there WILL be a third part, hopefully out before the earth is enveloped by the sun?

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

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

warnings: harry is still a GIANT ass, all enemies no lovers, lots of really mean things said to each other, they literally truly hate one another like i have my work cut out for me trying to redeem this couple :’)

word count: 10.8k (smaller than my first chapter, but god did i struggle getting over the 9k mark… i literally hate myself)

read part one here!!

Money…

It was what made the world spin around.

Unfortunately, the L/ns did not have as much of it as they used to.

This was why, when their mother needed money to visit their father, who fell very ill, Y/n set out to find a job.

Replacing her mother at her job in the nurse's office wasn’t going to work- she was horrible with sitting still for too long. Besides, her hands were far too shaky to hold silly little fiddly needles. No, there was no chance she would do that.

She could try to get a job at a shop- a bakery possibly? But no, she had little patience for old people, who were always either very interesting and passionate, which she loved, or very snooty and cold, which she despised with every cell of her being- and unfortunately, the majority of customers were the elderly, who shopped when they had nothing else to do during the day, and they were predominantly of the latter kind.

Y/n was positively puzzled- stupendously stumped and magnificently muddled. She knew she was talented, but what job would she fulfill that would be of use and make a substantial pay? She pondered that all morning as she completed her chores- tending to the animals and picking up more wood. Once inside, she stoked the fire, made two cups of tea and sat at the dining table.

“Saf!” she called to her sister upstairs. “Bring your packet and come to the table- it’s 9:30!”

At the age of 13, girls were forced to graduate school. Ma and Y/n, who didn’t believe this was enough of an education, devised a plan- once graduated, the L/n girls would do tutoring sessions with Y/n, who was passionate and proficient in all areas of English, which was what the girls would require the most to function in the world. She would also help with arithmetic- though it was not her strong point, she was confident in the skills they would probably need. Safia was under the tutoring of Y/n, as would Ula the next year.

As she waited for the pitter-patter of Saf’s feet down the stairs, she thought to herself. Unfortunately, all natural thoughts seemed to lead in the same direction lately- all pertaining to a certain tall and lanky individual with brown hair. She was not moping, that was for sure- Y/n did not mope. She was not even upset about him choosing a different woman over her- that was a fleeting insecure thought held only in the heat of the moment that night. No, she was mad. Furious, in fact. How dare he- how dare he?! He strung her along, purposefully got her hopes up for the mere sake of making fun of her- he embarrassed her and then had the utter gall to smirk and wink about it afterwards! Y/n always had a temper, but this was anger on a whole different level. This was searing, hot, burning, blood-red vexation. Her hands began to ball into fists- she wanted to hit something, break something, hurt him and only him.

However, before she could fantasise about all the ways she would cause him pain, she felt a soft arm on her shoulder. She must’ve been caught in a trance, unable to hear her sister come down the stairs and call her name once she reached the bottom and found Y/n unresponsive, as Safia’s face held deep concern, eyebrows knit together as she repeated her question.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” her tentative and soft voice carefully asked, placing a hand on her forehead to check her temperature, ever the sweetheart. “You’re not feeling ill, are you? I know Liz was rid of her sickness a few weeks ago, but it may have lingered around the house.”

She smiled up at her younger sister, who moved her hand to feel her cheek, after finding no suspiciously hot temperature on her forehead. She shook her head and let out a small laugh, all of the rage for him leaving her thoughts.

“I’m okay Saf… just thinking…” she replied honestly. She was just thinking… thinking of how she would pelt that damned boy with logs of firewood. Or maybe she should let Flynn at him- she had already told the Clydesdale of what had happened. Maybe he could stomp him down till he quivered and shook with fear, begging both of them for forgiv-

“Thinking about what?” Her sister’s voice pulled her out of her reverie once again.

Y/n looked up at her face, smiled brightly, pulled out the adjacent chair and patted it lovingly, before replying with a jolly tone.

“Nothing that you should worry about… Now, are you ready to venture into the world of Hedda Gabler?”

Her sister smiled sweetly before sitting down, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Of course I am!”

“Great! Because today, we are going to be analysing gender and how it influences power within our passage!” Y/n was always so excited to teach her about the books, poems and plays that she liked- there was no way she would teach her sister boring and dull theory, or pieces that only reflected a man’s perspective. No, she had an opportunity to open her sister’s mind and hopefully make a lasting impact on it- one that encouraged her to pursue her dreams without needing the opinion or permission from a man. And she wasn’t going to waste it.

“Now, open to our bookmarked page, and let’s begin…”

*****

After finishing classes, Y/n got dressed and ran out the door before her sisters could follow her, unable to take all of them to the village on Flynn, and not wanting to upset anyone. She buckled the saddle into place and hopped on before riding the path all the way to town. After tying Flynn up with hay and water, she straightened out her dress and apron and began walking, dodging men who gave her glances of annoyance for her slightly messy loose hair, mussed on the fast journey on the Clydesdale. She had bigger things to worry about, despite what Liz would say…

She was picking up some lemons from the market, which Ula insisted on getting, convinced that they were necessary to her social status in her school, where pickled lemons were the talk of the town. While the need for lemons didn’t sound dire to Y/n, Liz benevolently gifted her extra loose change, justifying it with something about “knowing what it was like to not fit with others at school”. And while Y/n didn’t believe money like five whole dollars should go to waste on lemons, she still searched the shelves intently, looking for some that weren’t too costly. While leaning forward, she walked through an aisle, scouring the lowest shelf for them, unaware of the person she was about to bump into. Curse her clumsiness!

She walked right into the unsuspecting person before standing to full height, apologies spilling out of her rapidly as she helped the older lady regain balance. Y/n had never seen her before- an older woman, around her own mother’s age, with brown hair that was greying from the roots and forest green eyes that twinkled, reminding her all too much of a certain boy, but she pushed those thoughts away. She also looked of money, with her elegant dress, shoes and shiny jewels.

Y/n began spilling out apologies as it was her own fault for the collision, and the kind lady forgave her each time with a “That’s all right, my dear”, with calming energy radiating from her. Once the two women had settled they let out breathy chuckles at the incident. Beginning to move back to her search for cheap citrus was halted, however, when Y/n noticed the woman seemingly struggling to find what she was looking for. Y/n observed covertly as the lady would gingerly pick up a bottle of what looked to be cologne, look at the label for a few seconds, squint as if to make out what it was saying, before putting it back nervously and repeating with the next.

Y/n noted that when she would “read”, her eyes didn’t stop to comprehend the words. She needed help, and Y/n was not one to shy away from that fact.

“Hello,” Y/n began.

The lady smiled sweetly as she replied, her green eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Hello, love.” she gently replied.

Y/n wanted to help without seeming patronising, so she was careful with her words. “So, what brings you here, Ma’am?”

She looks around, then down at the glass bottle in her hand before looking back at Y/n. She fumbles and hesitates as she answers.

“Oh- well- I am looking for this shoe polish, but… I seem to be having a bit of trouble…”. She went beet red before she whispered in a meek and quiet squeak only fairies could hear. Fairies or those who had experience with shy sweethearts as Y/n had with her Saf.

“You-“ she slightly huffed a bitter laugh through her nose. “You probably can already tell, but… I can’t read…” she confessed, thoroughly embarrassed.

If Y/n wanted to help the woman before, her holding cologne that would most certainly tarnish leather while shopping for shoe polish convinced her utterly and completely. She did not hesitate- not even for a beat, determined to show that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all!

“I can help you! I never use shoe polish- my shoes are always getting muddy anyways, and it would only be a pain to scrub them for nothing, so I don’t have any suggestions in mind, but if you have an idea of the type of polish you wanted, I could help you out!” She dropped personal anecdotes into the conversation, as she often did when conversing with strangers, finding it easier to comfort others to relax around her when they knew she was an open book.

“Oh thank you, my darling! I am looking for a dark brown and black coloured polish that would work best for making leather loafers shiny.”

And with that, Y/n began her search, starting with going to the correct section, before beginning to scan the tiers of the shelves carefully, looking for what the lady wanted. The woman followed her and began a friendly conversation with her as she searched.

“My nephew needs new polish for his shoes. I would have told him to do it himself, but he’s out of town, you see. Went out of town, about a week’s trip away. I couldn’t send my maid either- I wished for her to take some time off while there were less people in the house, you see. So here I arrived, figuring I could just find it myself. Ah, how foolish.” She then sighed once more after simmering in laughter for a bit, looking wistfully at another tin she could not decipher the contents of.

Y/n found the two tins of shoe polish, holding them out to her while responding firmly. “Ma’am, you are not foolish at all. At least you tried! And look, here you are helping your nephew who’s out of town, after letting your helpers take a break! That’s not foolish, that’s compassionate,”.

The lady smiled warmly, the wrinkles next to her eyes crinkling and creasing beautifully as she did. “Oh, darling, you are very sweet for using your gift to help those who cannot. Thank you!” She lightly squeezed Y/n’s cheek playfully before walking to the counter, Y/n following after her before placing the tins on the table for the cashier to process.

“You are very welcome Ma’am.” The lady began to pull open the small embroidered coin purse she had in her slightly wrinkled yet sturdy hands, fishing for a coin before dropping it into Y/n’s palm and winking.

Y/n’s eyes went wide as she attempted to hand the coin back.

“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly. I was just trying to be of service, truly. Please take your money.”

But the woman was not having a lick of it. Her face grew stern, her eyes fiery as she quickly snapped back. “Don’t you dare try to give that back, it’s yours!”

Y/n reluctantly smiled and nodded gratefully before walking back to the shelves to continue her search for lemons as the gentle tinkle of the doorbell indicated the sweet lady’s exit. She could not stop thinking about her, however. Why was it that men were taught to read and write and build and farm, but women were only taught how to be good mothers and wives? That woman could learn to read- anyone could, really. All she needed was a teacher…

Suddenly, Y/n had an idea. One that caused her to drop everything she was doing and run out the door to look for the woman. Teaching! Y/n could teach the woman and in return, get a bit of money! After looking around, she found her walking down the cobbled street, seconds from entering a very expensive and fancy carriage.

“WAIT MA’AM!” Y/n cried, weaving past the people and carts on the busy street as she ran to her. The lady’s ears perked and she looked back, locked eyes with Y/n and froze with concern, allowing the younger girl to catch up.

“Yes, my dear?” She asked, once Y/n had caught up and was attempting to catch her breath. After a few deep, embarrassingly wheezy breaths, Y/n finally calmed herself down enough to respond.

“Icouldteachyou-”, she said exasperated all in one sentence before punctuating it with a heaving breath. After taking a lungful or two of air, she clarified to the poor confused woman.

“Ma’am, I could teach you how to read! If you would like!”

The woman’s eyes opened wider in astonishment before her face brightened with a radiant smile. “You would teach me?” She asked, almost flabbergasted.

“Yes, of course!” Y/n responds, enthusiastically. “I am currently teaching my sisters how to read, so I know how to do it! I could help you too if you would like!”

The woman’s warm and grateful smile shone brighter than the sun. And Y/n’s heart stuttered with excitement when she asked to exchange addresses for further communication.

This was it… she was finally going to help her family.

******

It was four days later when the L/n residence received two letters, both with express stamps on them, signaling their importance. One was a letter from their father, which the girls were keen to read immediately, but waited for their mother to come home so they could unveil it together. The other, however, was mysteriously addressed to and only to Y/n. How peculiar!

“Y/n you must open it in front of us- what if it is a secret admirer hoping to eagerly profess their love to you!” Ula whined. Liz shook her head and looked at the youngest girl.

“If Y/n wants to keep this to herself, she exercises her right to do so”. Liz’ eyes drift to Y/n’s slowly as she continues. “…However…”, before finally running and springing onto her. “You MUST tell us if it is!”

Y/n rolled her eyes at her sisters, despite Liz’s best attempts to put an end to the “unladylike” and “brash” behaviour. “Come on, there is no way it will be a boy… have you ever even seen me with one? I would run circles around them in every sense before their tiny minds could even get a singular word out!”

Y/n, though thoroughly believing in her statement that yes, she probably could outshine any boy in the town, also- in the back of her mind- registered that yes, maybe she was overcompensating and exaggerating just the smallest bit in order to shield her heart, still sore from the events of Tilly Hughes’ ball and that wicked boy. Her sisters chuckled at her musing as she made herself comfortable on the sofa chair next to the fire, all three of her sisters huddling behind her in order to get a good view of the elegantly folded and wax-sealed letter that Y/n began to tear open. Once the pristine paper was unfolded, she stood up and began to pace as she read- her sisters giggling and breathing over her shoulder was doing no good, and she needed to focus. It read:

Before Y/n could process the words written on the paper, Liz narrated the letter to Saf and Ula- the latter began to squeal mercilessly, while Liz grinned from ear to ear, pores radiating with pride for her sister.

*******

The house was astonishing. It was grand, it was elegant, it was pristine.

Above all, it was capital!

The trek down the natural and lush path of trees and fields was all a ruse- Y/n knew Ms Ophelia was a rich woman, but she but any preconceived notion of what her house may look like while trekking the trail was completely, utterly, jaw droppingly decimated. Once reaching the end of the driveway (walking ever so slowly to take the majesty in), Y/n and Flynn were met with pristine hedges that bordered the entire property. Two large white marble columns with oil lamps attached signaled the beginning of the courtyard. In between them, was a large opening where Y/n could see the greenest grass she had ever witnessed, a center hedge path, and behind it, Ms Ophelia’s grand home. Y/n’s mouth was hung open as she approached the large, stark white building, with its covered entrance, wide expanse and huge windows.

It was a stretch for it to even be called a house. It was a mansion- a manor. Y/n resolved that there must be a plethora of family members that justified the sheer volume of space there was to occupy. She stepped off of Flynn, held the end of his reign, and walked through the grassy courtyard and to the front door. She would have taken Flynn to the stables, not wanting her first introduction to her well-paying student to be interrupted by the attention-hungry Clydesdale, however, the house was so grand she could not even begin to wonder where the hell the stables could be. Instead, she smoothed the light wrinkles out of the frock that Ula picked for her, slightly disgruntled when remembered the lack of a waistcoat she had on. She attempted to fix and flattened the now slightly frizzy hair that Liz had spent almost an entire hour to style, mussed a tad due to the breeze created while riding Flynn, before taking a deep breath in... and rang the doorbell.

She heard some muffled clattering, before hurried footsteps approached, growing louder and louder before they reached the mahogany door, pulled open to reveal a positively ecstatic Ms Ophelia- her brown hair pulled back with a hair pin, but similar in frizziness to Y/n. Her eyes squinting with her warm closed lip smile, the green irises truly dazzling with excitement. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant green and white silk dress, her chest adorned with a single thin gold necklace threaded through a small locket.

"Y/n!!! So nice to see you!” The lady took Y/n and Flynn in with a charming smile, cooing at the latter before stepping forward to give the Clydesdale a stroke down his white blaze and a scratch on his chin, causing him to preen, closing his eyes a soft huff of pleasure. She then looked to Y/n. “Please, my farmhand Thomas will take this handsome boy to the stables out back."

She looked past Y/n to the front garden and called to the man Y/n hadn't noticed had been planting flowers. He had shiny blonde hair, short from the sides while the top was long and messy, slightly damp with sweat. He pushed the golden mess out of his face and smoothed it back, revealing a bit of dirt on the sun-kissed skin of his forehead. Descending down, there were thick eyebrows, hazel brown eyes squinting in the glare of the sun, a strong nose, and full lips that were pursed and curved into a sweet and friendly smile. He stood, brushed himself off, approached Y/n, and wordlessly took Flynn with a charming smile, nodding to her before walking around to the side of the house. After losing sight of him, Y/n looked back to Ms Ophelia, who opened the door and gestured Y/n in.

"Please do come in!" As Y/n stepped through the threshold of the house, Ms Ophelia continued.

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea- I warmed up enough water for the both of us. How do you take it?" The older woman began walking, Y/n trailing behind her as they entered the beautiful eggshell white kitchen with purple accents.

"Oh, well if it isn't a bother, I take one sugar and only a bit of milk" Y/n watched as the woman poured the boiling tea into the two mugs.

"Huh!" Ms O looked at Y/n funny, before looking down at the cups she was working on. "Me too! Just enough milk to make it a very dark brown?"

Y/n’s eyes begin to light up incredulously. "Yeah! That's right! My sisters all think that I never put enough in!"

"My nephew does too!"

The women looked at each other and smiled- they both knew there was some sort of connection that brought the two of them together, and that they would be kindred spirits.

*******

The lesson went swimmingly, as agreed by both Y/n and Ms Ophelia (sorry- just Ophelia, the older woman had been very adamant about that). They had sat and begun with the alphabet, and while Ophelia was quite bashful when Y/n corrected her, they knew that with time, they would become more comfortable. Eventually, despite her consistent imploring that she stay for dinner, Y/n insisted she must go home.

"But my nephew will be home soon! He is such a charming, well articulated boy! Loves reading and the such- You two would get along so delightfully!" She clapped her hands eagerly at the thought, however, Y/n, softly stroking a saddled Flynn- thanks to Thomas, who wordlessly passed her the reins before walking off- looked at her new student and friend with a soft smile.

"I'm sure anyone who grew up around you would be a wonderful friend, Ophelia, however I really must get home. My family will be expecting me soon."

Once goodbyes had been exchanged, they agreed to meet once again in a few days. And with that, Y/n mounted Flynn and began to ride the now dusky ride home. She may have dawdled a little- the sun was still so warm, and the breeze was beautiful. Flynn moved at a comfy pace as she appreciated the beauty of the world around her.

However, that beauty was soon not in her focus when Y/n noticed someone riding towards her in the distance. She continued her pace, and as the figure approached, ready to return a polite nod if they were to greet her. As the figure continued on further, she squinted and began to make out a mop of brown hair, and a black blob of a coat, before all too quickly she recognised those sharp green eyes and the nose and those stupidly plush lips as he trotted closer and closer and god- oh no…

Y/n began to feel her stomach drop.

"Well well well! Look who it is!" That snide voice, that blasted smirk that taunted her.

It was her arch nemesis.

His horse slowed down while she did nothing to stop Flynn, walking completely past him without even acknowledging him- her eyes forward and steely. She thought she had escaped him but she heard footsteps coming closer, however, and soon, Y/n was walking side by side with none other than Harry Styles.

"What's with the cold shoulder, sweetheart? Have I done something to upset you?" He taunted in a teasing tone.

"I am not your sweetheart, and don't you have a party to crash, loverboy?" She rolled her eyes and kept moving forward, him keeping an identical pace beside her.

"Ooft, take it easy darling, you’re going to hurt my. Large. Throbbing. Swollen. Red. Hot. Heart!" He punctuated each word with a beat, and Y/n's face became hot; she began to scrunch the sweaty leather reigns harder into her palms at the obvious innuendo. Harry saw this and grinned wickedly for getting to her, a malicious giggle even seeping out of him- he enjoyed this. He enjoyed relishing in her awkwardness. Once his giggles calmed, he shook his head and continued. "What are you doing out so late anyways? Meeting up with a secret lover?"

Y/n couldn't even dignify that with a response, and merely scoffed and rolled her eyes again at the preposterous accusation. He noticed and continued.

"Hey, you scoff at that now, but who knows. It seems to be the quiet, pure ones that surprise me the most. The most proper girls always turn out to be the dirtiest. So, no- I don't think it's out of this world for a little thing like you to be getting your hands or mouth sullen for a bit of pleasure. Did you see the way you trembled for me the night we met? And the way you cried when I was paying attention to that little French girl? Don't lie, you were charmed, and seeing me with someone else broke your fragile. Little. Heart."

He was unbelievable for bringing that up again… Y/n felt her rage boiling now. She responded bitterly and slowly. "Please, you are so full of yourself…. And of course you would know all about women and their sexuality, now wouldn't you"

"Hard to scorn someone for being likeable, isn't it, Grumpy?"

Y/n had to stop her horse fully and glare at the idiot. She looked deep into his eyes, calmed down and began to smile. She was in complete and utter disbelief. She shook her head and giggled a peal of bitter laughter. Harry’s face darkened in irritation.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Y/n’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as her giggles quelled. "It's funny that you think you are likable, Harry. You see, there is a difference between being desirable, and being easy. And it’s only the thoughtless ones like you who seem to be incapable at telling the difference. Not a thought behind those eyes, is there?... I wouldn't be surprised if you'd thought with your cock so much that your brain had atrophied due to the lack of use. You're not likeable, Harry Styles... you're just a plaything for widows and repressed virgins who wish to piss off their fathers to use and discard. And I cannot help but feel sorry for you for being the only one who cannot see that."

If she was not mistaken, Y/n believed she saw a bit of surprise and possibly even hurt in his eyes before they hardened, their playfulness completely drained. She did not think she was going to say that at all, and in any other situation, she would have thought that to be such a mean thing to say... But she had been sitting on that for far too long, and he had pushed her over with the teasing and the cockiness. She had had enough. Harry Styles needed to be brought down a peg or two.

They stared each other down fiercely, neither wanting to stand down. Then, he quickly shot at her. "You are nothing but a poor virgin with a gabby mouth that you wish was stuffed with my cock." he spat with nothing but poisoned malice.

Ouch… He was trying to catch her off guard, an attempt to garner some pride back, and while it immediately hurt Y/n, the wound of embarrassment growing in her heart, she knew she could not let him win. She quickly locked and loaded, before pulling the trigger without thinking.

"And you are nothing but a dirty harlot who wastes his privilege of manhood on being a tart to women who don't even want him." she spat back at him.

Targets acquired and shots fired, the two needed to go home and lick their wounds, crudely bandage their bullet holes and hope the sharp pain of the words spoken were only a temporary detriment to their own health, but an everlasting hellscape to each other. Both wanted to see the other in pain. Both wanted to win.

So with that, Harry made a big show about rearing his ashy grey horse up and around, before both of them spurred their horses forward into a gallop and away from the other- both carrying furrowed eyebrows, slightly hurt feelings (that they would never admit to), and a newfound degree of ire for each other…

He won’t get away with this.

********

Once tacking up Flynn, Y/n stomped her way to the house, still unbelievably enraged by the verbal warfare engaged with that brunette ass. She knew she wanted some alone time to calm down, but once entering her cosy home, she was bombarded with questions from her sisters- mainly Ula.

“Was the house big?!”

“What kind of dress was Ophelia wearing?!”

“How many servants did she have?!”

“Did she have lots of paintings on the walls?!”

“Any handsome sons?!”

“Did she tell you if she’s been to any exotic places like France or Switzerland?!”

“How was your day, Y/n?”

The last question was asked, of course, by her angelic sister Safia. Y/n lovingly rolled her eyes at the incessant questions from Ula and answered Saf’s tenderly. “My day was alright Saf, thank you for asking.”

“That’s good- I wished hard on all the dandelions I could find outside that you would come home safe and sound.” Y/n’s heart melted- she walked over to the younger girl and kissed her forehead with so much love and passion.

Ula observed the tenderness of the exchange and rolled her eyes. “Safia is perfect”, she taunted with a roll of her eyes before returning to her previous exercise of pulling up on the septum of her apparently “hideous” small aquiline nose to shape it into a more button nose, which she believed to be more elegant. Y/n looked back at Saf and whispered lovingly in her ear.

“Never stop wishing for the people you love the most, okay Saf?” Y/n gave her one more kiss before moving to the youngest sister with the most spunk besides Y/n herself. She gently swatted her hand away from her nose before lovingly stroking the bridge as she pulled Ula in for a hug from behind.

“And you, little missy! Stop trifling with the features your parents so lovingly passed to you. That nose isn’t a curse, it’s a gift. Treat it as one.” She kissed Ula’s head too before heading further into the house to greet her older sister and her mother. But as they had dinner, Y/n could not stop thinking about how much she hated Harry… little did she know, however, that her older sister Liz observed her suspiciously throughout the night.

Once in their room, hair and teeth brushed, dressed in their respective pyjamas- Liz’s a dainty white nightgown akin to the one Harry so scandalously described, and Y/n’s a mismatched patchwork buttoned set that Ma had made out of Y/n’s old clothes that she was too big to fit into, yet could bear to part with. Tucked into their beds, Liz turned to face Y/n and began.

“If Ms Ophelia was so very nice, what is the problem?”

Y/n turned to face her with furrowed brows. “What problem? There is no problem”

Liz rolled her eyes and shot back. “Yeah yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, Y/n. You can fool Ula- which isn’t saying much, but you can't fool me, so why don't we pretend like I tirelessly needled it out of you and you skip to the bit where you tell me what’s wrong”

Y/n sighed a long, hard, tired and frustrated sigh, before ultimately giving in. “I ran into a sworn enemy on the ride back home today…”

Liz shot up, eyes wide and mouth agape.“Who?!?”

“Harry Styles.”

Elizabeth stared incredulously at her sister, propped her pillows so she was sitting up, and began needling Y/n for more information. “What did he say? What did he do? Why is he your enemy?”

Y/n sighed. There was no way she was going to get to sleep until she told Liz everything. So she began…“You know of his reputation, yes?”

Y/n’s older sister gasped again. “Y/n… don’t tell me… he… with you?”

Y/n immediately understood what she was insinuating. “NO! No way! Never! Not in a million years! You know I hate everything to do with boys. I cannot believe you would think that of me!”

Liz sighed and sunk into herself in relief. “Thank god! I didn’t think you would but… unfortunately his reputation is quite… damning to say the least. Why, it was only last week he was with Amelie… did you see the way he returned her to the group? He didn’t even bother to wipe her lipstick from his lips! What a brute!”

Y/n brought her blanket up even closer to her face until only her eyes were visible, and mumbled her confession. “I know… I told him exactly so today…”

The older sister slowly started at her, tone changing completely to one low and testing. “What...That he is a brute?”

“Yes of course!” Y/n immediately shot back, exasperated.

Her sister stared at her with her mouth agape and eyebrows intensely furrowed. “...WHY?! Haven’t you heard of his family?!?” At Y/n’s confused face and shaking head, Liz took a deep breath and began. His father lives all the way in New York… Ma told me it was because he was absolutely dreadful to his wife and Harry all the time. Kept money from them, abused them, hit them- so much so that eventually they had to run away from him when he was only 10. They fled to a safe place- some cottage in the middle of nowhere? But get this- once there, his mother contracted scarlet fever and passed away. He had to walk all by himself to the nearest village to call for help- by the time medical assistance arrived, his mother was long gone. And with no other relatives bar his wicked father, he was left in the care of his devilishly deviant, yet disgustingly rich aunt.”

Y/n went completely silent. She didn’t know any of this… Of course this was deeply traumatic and saddening- but Y/n could not help it- her stubbornness was a curse, not a gift. And the curse would not allow even a tale so sorrowful allow Harry a free pass.

“Liz- of course this is deeply tragic and traumatic- however, circumstances can only explain actions. They don’t justify them. What has happened to Harry should mean that he spends his time helping women, not putting them down… which, I guess he does by pleasuring them, but God I wish he wasn’t so smug and pompous about it… He was so- well, not nice, but normal and cheeky and charming, when we first met- it was like a switch flicked in his head and that man no longer exists”

“Of course- if he is as cruel as you say, I 100% agree. Although he has a right to hold trauma, it does not change the fact that he is but a wicked man”

The girls sit in silence for a second, contemplating. Then, ever the know it all, Liz jumped right back into her Styles Family History Lesson, giving Y/n the run down.

“But anyways, his aunt is apparently a very influential figure! She’s rich beyond belief, and could probably control this entire town with the pulling of some strings and some money, which she most definitely has! Do not fool around with them, Y/n… especially not Harry…” Elizabeth brought her hands up to her temples to sate her sudden headache, a frequent occurrence when having to feel stressed for Y/n whenever she inevitably threw herself into apparently unacceptable situations, such as whistling in public or not wearing gloves, and had no apparent regard for the consequences.

“What am I to do then?! He is my sworn enemy- if I see him in my general vicinity, my whole body and soul tells me to rip him to shreds! How am I supposed to see him at balls, and on random walks back home, and NOT rip my hair out of my head?!” Y/n complained with a whiny tone.

“Avoid him! Completely and utterly avoid him”

Y/n harrumphed. “...Fine…”

“Good idea- I know… plus… you know what they say.” A lilt of cheekiness entered the previously stern tone.

“What?”

A wide smile grew on Y/n’s older sister’s face, unable to hide her amusement. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Who knows- maybe he just fancies you? You know… like likes you”

Y/n immediately threw a spare pillow at her sister’s head and groaned, before burying her hot face under the covers, completely and utterly embarrassed. Elizabeth dodged the stray pillow as she laughed raucously at how annoyed her sister became.

Y/n shook her head vehemently. “Never in a million years, Liz…”

Never in a million years…

*********

“Make sure you avoid making the “Z” look like the number “three”. Remember, small angled curl, then draaaaaag down to make a bigger and longer angled curl. Other than that, Ophelia, I must inform you that unfortunately my work may as well be over… because these have to be some of the best cursive letters I have ever seen- I know that I have only ever taught my younger sisters, but I am nothing short of confident that you are the fastest learner I have ever had, ever!”

Ophelia put her hand up to her chest and let out an exasperated breathy laugh that combined a giggle and a sigh of relief. “Stop it Y/n… you nearly gave me a heart attack! Anyways, it’s not that great.” She emphatically waved her hand as if to physically shoo the thought away. “I believe that as long as I am able to write and read, who cares about the blasted handwriting. As long as it is- at the very least- legible, I don't mind a thing.”

Y/n could not emphasise this enough: she loved Ophelia. She was sweet, funny, sarcastic, naughty and brash enough to understand all of Y/n’s jokes as simply that- jokes with no malice. Y/n admired her face thoroughly in amazed silence. Ophelia glanced at her and continued. “Now, would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

Y/n was shaken out of her trance and began to pack up her books as she responded. “No, thank you. I'm okay- I really should get going though. The wind is picking up and as much as I would love to stay and chat, I don’t really think being cold and wet is how my mother wants me to return home!”

Y/n bids Ophelia farewell from inside the house before going out back to meet Flynn at the stables. However, she sees another figure tending to him, and as she arrives closer, she notices not Thomas’ blonde messy hair- but instead a soft brown colour.

Jesus Christ, this guy will just not leave her alone, will he?!

Y/n is about three feet away when the figure finally turns, and she is once again met with the cheeky smirk of Mr Harlot Styles. He looks her up and down carefully, making her insides all squirmy under his inspection- she hated the way he made her feel so uncomfortable in her own skin. Once finding her eyes, he began.

“Grumpy…”

“Harlot… Leave Flynn alone. He doesn’t like jaded asses.” Y/n crossed her hands over her chest and stood with a cold hard stare.

“Flynn? Pretty name.” Harry looked at Flynn and continued. “Does the angry little lady dump her frivolous complaints and girly problems onto your poor back, my friend?” Harry looked back to Y/n and continued. “ And hey, he might hate jaded asses, but apparently, he loves temper tantrum-throwing toddlers if he’s your horse.”

If she didn’t know how horrible of a person he was, she would classify the way he was scratching Flynn’s chin as lovingly- but Harry wasn’t loving, and he certainly wasn’t capable of loving. He was a beast. Just another man who thought Y/n spent her hours with her equine companion complaining as if juvenile… and what the hell are “girly problems”?!

Harry chimed in again, breaking her out of her frustrated train of thought. “Huh! Would you look at that, Grumpy- your jaded ass-hating “noble” steed’s loyalty can unfortunately be bought by absolute strangers!”

He smirks up at her as he pulls a sugar cube from his pocket and holds it out to Flynn, who eagerly licks it up, jutting his snout into Harry’s hand to spur some more pats out of him. Y/n let out an angry huff. “Greedy traitor…” she mumbled under her breath to her horse, before taking a deep breath and got straight to the main issue, not wanting to spend any longer talking to him than she had to.

“What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

“God, I was just wondering when I would be in your lovely company again- you know- should I call a doctor for your hysteria? Because it is you, girly, who is consistently following me. I would be surprised due to your incessant reminders that you hate me, but I’m not. Your infatuation with me seeps through your shoddy disguise completely. Face it, Grumpy… you’re obsessed with me.”

Y/n wanted to slap him so hard. Or at least shoot back some equally damning response, but Liz’s words echo in her ears to simply ignore him. So she simply comes closer, walking to the opposite side of Flynn and begins strapping her bag to Flynn’s side saddle pouch.

“Your silence is deafening, Grumpy… Is this it? Are you finally admitting that you have been just another precious little schoolgirl obsessed with me this whole time? I bet you would look out your window and pray to every shooting star that floated by that you would see me again. Did you giggle with your little friends while braiding each other's hair about how much you want me? I bet you squirm under your covers in a little pure white virginal nightgown dreaming about my fingers and my tongue and my cock. I bet you're stupidly in love with me, huh Grumpy?”

Y/n hated the way he would describe typically feminine stereotypes with such condescension. She hated being treated like a little girl. Throwing Liz’s advice completely out the window, she couldn’t help but mumble under her breath- just a little something to hurt him. “What would you know about love, Daddy’s boy?…”

If Y/n looked up from the saddle pouch she was working on, she would see Harry’s eyes blown wide with surprise. He looked so vulnerable- almost childlike- as if her comment transported him back to his father’s house. Before she noticed his silence, though, he schooled his face and began to round the horse, his eyes darkening. “And what would you know about anything? You’re just a pathetic little girl. You act as if you have experience with the world, as if you will be anything more than a boring old housewife, but you never will be…”

Y/n stared daggers into Harry as he stalked closer and closer until he was less than a foot away from her, their outerwear brushing against each other. If he simply wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies would be flush against one another completely. Y/n had never felt so degraded. She was just another girl to him. She was just another girl to all other men. Her biggest fear was being forgotten- for her loving family- her creative sisters and amazing mother- to be forgotten… For all of the amazing women that she encountered at balls to be forgotten. To be married off and treated as property.

Harry continues on his poisonous tirade in an unwavering cold and calm voice, striking the deepest of Y/n’s insecurities and fears with pinpoint accuracy. “You look down on my hobby of pleasuring married women, but what you don’t understand is that when you are unhappily married off within the next few years, you will be writing letters to me, begging me to relieve you. You will wish I wanted you… You will wish your husband wanted you… You will wish any man wanted you… You will wish you were special… But you're not.”

Y/n held her breath as his hands raised up from his sides, ringed fingers lightly trailing over her skirts, her waist, her arms, her shoulders. Higher and higher, they softly glided over the fabric of her puff sleeves, before reaching her face, and cupping her cheeks. Harry’s eyes slowly flitted back and forth between Y/n’s eyes and her lips. His brows furrowed and his mouth slightly opened, before lifting his right thumb to slowly pull down at her bottom lip...

…then release the pressure created with his hold, watching- almost studying, its fullness intensely as it bounced back into place. Voice now barely above a whisper, rumbly and deep, he continues.

“You’re just another silly little girl who will be nothing but a wife someday.”

Harry’s hands moved from her cheeks to her neck, cupping her head, thumbs delicately tracing circles on the skin behind her ears, sending shivers up her spine.

What was this? And why was it sending Y/n’s knees wobbly? She needs to snap out of it- remember her anger for him. All of her interactions with him, even this one, were merely strategies to throw her off- to dominate her. And she would not allow that.

So as Harry moved his hand to cup her neck, leaning in closer, she opened her mouth, ready to dismiss all logic and decimate the animal standing before her, attempting to kiss her just to intimidate her. Fuck everything- fuck him, fuck Liz’s advice, fuck men and their incessant need for girls to be prim and proper. Fuck all of them.

About to fire her biggest blow, all while he leaned closer and closer, his lips ever so close to touching hers, they were suddenly halted in their tracks by someone calling her name.

“Y/n!...” the voice was urgent but far away. Both Harry and Y/n looked out of the stable to see Ophelia running towards them. Y/n and Harry looked at each other and took a big step away from their close proximity as Ophelia finally reached the stables and held her hand on a wooden panel as she caught her breath, panting heavily.

“Th-Thank-” A wheezy heave interjected her sentence. “GOD”. Another heave. “You hadn’t left yet!” She stood up straight and wiped the light sweat from her forehead with her wrist before straightening her back and walking closer to her. She raised her right hand, which held a small handkerchief, tied into a lovely little package.

“I packed some hedgehog slice for you in case you get a little hungry on the way home!” She sighed exasperated, before looking between Y/n and Harry.

Y/n’s heart melted a little- she came bounding all the way down just to give her a little snack? She was the sweetest woman in the world! And now Y/n was going to see her in action against the intruder to her property that was Harry Styles… Y/n was ready to see some ire and some spit hurled at him once she explained exactly what Harry had said about her and all womankind, really.

But that is not what happened.

Not at all.

Ophelia smiled warmly at Harry before looking at Y/n. “Ahh, I see you have already met my nephew, Harry!”

What. The. Hell?

Harry looked smug as anything as Ophelia continued. “He is the lovely, well articulated bookworm I was telling you about the other day!”

Y/n gritted out a very hesitant “Nice to meet you…” as he looked at her, full of ego.

Harry then opened his mouth, presumably to tell his aunt about the intrusion that was Y/n’s presence on their land, but Ophelia quickly shut him up too.

“And Harry, this is the bright and wonderful tutor and friend I was telling you about! Y/n is teaching me how to read and write!”

Harry’s mouth shut immediately. It was Y/n’s turn to smirk smugly as he gritted out an “A pleasure to meet you” back. The two stared at each other steely, as if they were in a stand-off of the mind, all while Ophelia unknowingly watched on with a large smile.

“I am sure you too will be fast friends! Don’t you agree?” Ophelia had so much hope in her voice. The two grit their teeth, not wanting to make a scene or displease the sweet Ophelia-

“Certainly…”, they manage to comment, in unison.

And after Ophelia hugs Y/n goodbye one more time, before turning and leaving, Harry tails after her, but not before giving a final glance back to Y/n. He smirked, the smile filled with boyish playfulness, but Y/n saw his eyes- those blasted green eyes clouded with taunt. He was challenging her. To what exactly- she didn’t know. To see who could hurt each other the most? To see who would win in the overall war between the two? Or was it just a smirk at her begrudging fate? That she would have to put up with him now because although Ophelia is a sweet woman, Y/n’s connection to her will never trump Harry’s- he’s her nephew.

As Y/n saddled her was going to have to do what she wanted to the least in order to maintain both a professional and personal relationship with Ophelia, who she admired both as a student and as a friend…

She was going to have to be civil with Harry.

**********

Y/n believed wholeheartedly that it was punishment enough; that she was forced into both proximity and (at least) faux politeness with her sworn enemy- but evidently, fate had more to give. And damn, could it pack a punch!

It was almost silly that she hadn’t thought the universe had been through with her… When Y/n made the one-hour trip to Ophelia’s house, she just had to not bring her large, rainproof jacket. She just had to decide not to put Flynn’s horseshoes on, which would prevent him from slipping and sliding in the wet mud… Why would she do any of that?! It was perfectly sunny, and even a little bit warm on that Friday morning…

But no… of course, the moment she begins to wrap up her lesson with Ophelia and ride home- where she would tuck into a well-deserved late lunch and spend some time with sisters- of course it is only two days after she has discovered that her student raised and lived with her sworn enemy- it is then and only then that she finds herself stuck at their house, as a giant thunderstorm magically appears and begins raining hellish hail and pouring water from the sky.

“Y/n, there is no way I am letting you ride home in this weather! That simply will not happen under my roof. I will send an urgent telegram to your mother to let her know you are safe and warm, but you are staying over for the night and that is final.”

There was no arguing with Ophelia. So no more than five minutes later, Y/n was being escorted through the maze that was her student’s mansion, and to a guest room she would be occupying for the night. She was sprawled on the giant, fluffy bed when she felt her skin crawl at a particular thought- though he had not appeared during her lesson, Y/n knew that Harry was somewhere in the house- Ophelia said so herself, as they walked to her room. What if they bumped into one another?

“Harry is somewhere around here- I am sure that you two will be the bestest of friends- you have so much in common!”

Y/n had to awkwardly laugh and smile at that, agreeing as politely as possible so as to not arouse any suspicion- however, Ophelia seemed to take this for genuine interest though and began doubling down.

“Hey, why wait until dinner- I can call him now!? Maybe Harry can give you a tour of the house- the gardens, the gallery, the library! Give me two seconds and let me go fetch him-”

Y/n had never had such a visceral reaction in her life when she shouted a clear and desperate “NO!”... It took her a few seconds to recollect her thoughts before she attempted to save face; she halfheartedly dismissed the idea with a feeble excuse that she didn’t want to impose, and that she and Harry would have plenty of time to chat at dinner. Despite the suspicious glint in Ophelia’s eye, she did not press any further and left her to rest and unpack as she went to have a bath and take a relaxing nap before supper.

Thus bringing us back to Y/n- sprawled on her bed, deciding that she would not leave the room until supper. There was no way she would risk bumping into Harry while wandering around his house. What if he had another sultry guest for the evening?! What if he shooed her off as if she was nothing but a fly?! Heaven knows he had done all of that before- and all on the same night! She began rummaging through her bag to retrieve her book, content on sitting down and reading as she waited for dinner, but as she rummaged, it dawned on her…

Her novels, her personal pens and paper? All of them were either at home or in Flynn’s side saddle pouch, hanging in the stables- she had been carrying her personal books and papers for the past few lessons but found the weight quite heavy, and all for very little payoff- she rarely got a moment to read when she was in the middle of a very interactive, collaborative lesson. The reality of her situation collapsed on her as she brought her hands up to her face and let a frustrated groan into them- she was going to be stuck here in this room with no entertainment for the next four hours - Ophelia was occupied, her books and pens were with Flynn, and there were no reading materials in the beautiful yet empty chest of drawers and side tables of the elegant guest room.

There was no way she could sit quietly like this… She began to get cabin feverish already. She needed to get out…

Harry wouldn’t be strolling about his own house, right? It was 2:30 pm on a Friday- surely there must be some work he had to complete? Y/n resolved that there was no way she would be able to continue to live if she didn’t have something to stimulate her mind, and the thought of passing up an opportunity to explore the various forms of entertainment in Ophelia’s vast house seems daft, even verging on sinful…

So, with a deep breath, Y/n stretched her arms above her head, took a deep breath, and lifted herself off of the plush linen-covered mattress. She ever so slowly opened the heavy, beautifully intricate mahogany door and peeked out of the minuscule crack she created.

Left, right, left again, right again.

The coast seemed to be clear- she opened the door wider so that she could stick her whole head out of it. She looked left, right, left again, right again. You could say that she was maybe overreacting by being so very cautious, but she would rather not run into Harry and be forced to return to her room before she had acquired some entertainment and had a good look around the place.

Once she was completely sure that the coast was clear, she stepped out, gently closed the door behind her, and, with her hands behind her back, began to stroll the hallways curiously. Soon, her fascination with the grandeur of the mansion quelled her alertness and she found herself enamoured by the architecture as she walked down the hallways.

She wished she could dip her head into every room she saw, but she wasn’t that daft- that would be one surefire way to overstep her welcome, especially when she was essentially stuck until the storm cleared up.

She continued slinking around in a manner similar to Fennec’s- she took a right, and found herself walking down a hallway she would guess was near the back of the house, as the large windows to her left illuminated her pathway and showcased a beautiful array of pruned trees along a cobblestone path, with steps that led down to a beautiful, large pond filled with greenery. There was a small path that also winded around the pond and ventured into a beautiful, lush green forest. The rain pattered so beautifully onto the glass, creating beautiful shadows on the otherwise dim hallway. The house truly was magnificent.

Once reaching the end of the hallway, Y/n was greeted with two very tall and wide arched wooden doors. She hoped and prayed she wasn’t about to walk into a personal room, before pushing in to peek at the contents.

A large expanse of beautiful oak shelves befell her- filled to the brim with books. Books upon books upon books! Nestled so tenderly, they were wrapped in beautiful leather casings.

Bingo! The infamous library!

Though there was a main seating area in the middle of the room- with comfy juniper green couches that looked a dream to rest upon, there were also many bay windows and little reading nooks to curl up in. Tucked into the corner was a desk, a chair and a reading lamp. In fact, there were lamps all around the room, however, most of the light came from the warm roaring fire that blazed in the fireplace. Y/n could imagine sitting in front of the fire on a pillow, a soft throw around her and a mug of tea between her crossed legs as she read Dickens.

Y/n wove through each shelf, looking at all the amazing titles there were. There was everything here! Shakespeare and Dickens were classics, to be expected in most regal libraries, but looking closer, Y/n found Bronte and Austen too! Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Hans Christen Anderson’s fairy tales. This place had every book Y/n had ever read or wished to read!

But something lingered in the back of Y/n’s mind…

If Ophelia cannot read, whose library is this? Who has so tenderly placed every book in alphabetical order, as well as sorted them by genre? Who has spent their time tediously gluing library cards to the inside of the back cover of seemingly every book, and has jotted down when they have been borrowed? Why would anyone ever do that, considering that most of them are read by assumedly the same person, judging by the ever so similar font and pen used to log the date of when the book was picked up and when it was finished?

Before she could finish her thought, the door suddenly opened. Y/n immediately cringed at the situation she was in- she could be caught snooping by Ophelia, oh how mortifying! As the heavy footsteps walked closer and closer to where she was, she weaved through shelves, attempting to find a spot to hide. She tiptoed through before flattening herself against a shelf at the end of the room, far from where the footsteps were heard. The unknown person’s gait was too heavy to be Ophelia’s and-

Damn!

If it was not Ophelia, there was only one other person it could be…

She took a deep, silent breath before creeping her way to the edge of the bookshelf. She went to take a peek and see where the British bastard was, however, when she took one more step and stuck her head out, she was met with his body no more than five inches from hers.

“AHH!”

“Shit!”

The pair jumped and shrieked for a quick second, not expecting the other to be so damn close. Y/n looked up to see Harry looked down at her with surprise and confusion. Her gaze panned down to his hands, noticing him carrying a brown leather bound book- it was smaller and very worn in. It looked beaten and bruised, like it had been read thousands of times. She couldn't see a title at all, but it wouldn’t matter- the moment he followed her eyes, Harry shoved the book behind his back. Her gaze snapped back up quickly enough to watch vulnerability flash in his eyes, before they set in his usual hardened gaze, infected with scorn.

He barked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

This wasn’t nonchalant Harry- this wasn't a Harry that was prepared for her attacks. This wasn’t the Harry that used his suave and unaffected demeanour to torment Y/n as he coolly fired shot after shot at her soul. No, this was a more frantic Harry- a more aggressive, threatened Harry.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here!” Y/n explained, her brows furrowing and taking on a defensive tone, hands flying emphatically.

Harry did not reply at all. The pair stared at each other sharply. It was as if they were having a battle telepathically, staring deep into one another’s unwavering, unblinking eyes, lips pressed shut into little frowns, brows knit, each daring the other to say something more. To poke the bear more. To continue the fight. They stared and they stared until Harry looked her up and down, shaking his head and scoffing, before walking further into the library.

He seceded first! HA! She won!

This victory wasn't savoured for long, however- she soon realised how foolish she would look just standing there in Harry’s dust. She didn’t look back to see which way he went and she didn't care- she kicked her body into motion and strode out the front door. Once she was out, however, she pathetically scurried her way back to her room, mortified. Once through the door, she slammed it shut and laid back against the cool wood. She took a couple deep breaths in the safety of the guest room. Now alone, she was able to regain her ability to think.

Harry was holding a book in his hands, before shoving it behind his back? Was he… bashful? What book would have made Harry feel embarrassed?

Further, if it wasn’t Ophelia’s library, there realistically is only one other person it could belong to…

Y/n shook the idea from her head immediately. It definitely couldn’t be Harry’s- not only was he too brutish to read for leisure, but also, the books there were too beautiful, too tenderly cared for- many filled with little annotations. No, Harry could not treat a human decently, let alone a book. He wouldn’t know how! The one in his hand, however. Her heart just couldn’t let that go…

Maybe that was his? The small, beaten and bruised book. What kind of text would prompt Harry to read it over and over and over again. What words moved him so much that he felt embarrassed to show Y/n. Ofcourse, this was probably for the best- realistically, the pair should both provide as little information of their identities to each other as possible. Less ammunition that way.

But Y/n, head against the downy pillow filled to the brim with the softest stuffing, lulled by the gentle nose of the lavender oil spritzed on top of the sheets, could not help but innocently wonder if Harry had a favourite book. She always wanted someone to share her love of reading- a simple friend that she could rant and rave to other than her sisters who, despite not possessing the same fire and passion as Y/n when it came to literature, attempted their hardest to understand her speeches and monologues of theory.

It was not a question- Harry could never be that friend to Y/n…

But God, did Y/n wish that stopped her from imagining a version of him that could be.

#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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rickktish · 1 year

Text

A list of mutable batfam headcanons that live inside my brain:

Steph deserves to be 6’ minimum, preferably 6’1” or 2”

Bruce is constantly trying to balance his need to be at the same eye level or above the people he’s intimidating vs his need to do his funky little gargoyle crouch. His favorite thing about the GCPD roof is that it has lots of surfaces he can crouch on and still meet or look down at Gordon’s eye level

Tim and Damian suffer from “too similar to get along” disease and must either become best friends or despise each other until the end of time

Babs prefers light, natural toned makeup. Steph prefers pops of color and decent amounts of jewelry when she can get away with it. Cass prefers jewelry and no makeup at all

Jason’s comfort meals are all variations on soup served with bread for dipping

Jason is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy is an ass at the beginning of the book and it’s a good thing he decided to change himself so he could take his place as Best Fictional Man Ever. Dick, who read the book in order to be able to connect with Jason better, is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy has done nothing wrong ever and only needed to work on his social skills, meaning that it’s his improved ability to communicate that makes him worthy of Elizabeth Bennet at the end. Neither of them wants to listen to Tim’s analysis of what this says about their relationships with Bruce

Duke has never engaged in non-Alfred approved chaos. This is not because Duke seeks Alfred’s approval, but rather because their senses of humor are in perfect alignment and Alfred is always pleased to discover that he approves of Duke’s particular instances of chaos even after the fact

Damian never had stuffed animals growing up, but after being corrupted by Dick’s influence he can no longer sleep without a minimum of one in his bed

Damian collects posters and articulable action figures. His favorite ones are the ones that can stand on their own, which he uses for posing practice in his drawings. His favorite figure is of one of the characters in Cheese Vikings who has a zuko-esque backstory and a secret propensity for gardening

Dick always buys the most beat up box of cereal at the grocery store because he feels bad for them

Cass loves not only ballet, but other works by classical composers as well. She will unironically listen to the local classical station, and can identify the Borodin String Quartet by the sound of their instruments alone

Tim and Bruce watch and read Gray Ghost media in all its various forms and discuss it together as a bonding activity

Alfred and Jason’s shared birthday is usually celebrated with them making each other cakes, meaning that everyone gets to enjoy not one but two cakes for the day

Jason specializes in cheesecake above all other cakes, though he did make Damian a black forest cake for his birthday once right after he’d finished playing Portal

Literally everyone is surprised when they learn that Damian plays video games. No one has ever once looked at him and thought “yeah, i bet that kid plays console games” and he’s actually really insecure about it, but he also refuses to wear any kind of merch outside the house. He owns dozens of gaming and anime T-shirts but refuses to be seen as anything but completely neutral outside his own territory

Most of the bats wear drug-detecting nail polish at all times, though the base and reactive colors vary by the bat in question

Bruce and Dick have both had therapists straightup quit on them and are therefore reluctant to go back to therapy ever again

Duke’s favorite book is Walden Pond

Alfred read Lord of the Rings aloud to Bruce when he was a kid

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whiskersz · 7 months

Note

Hi, could I request a gender-fluid reader who’s masc aligned but feels insecure bc they like wearing stuff/presenting fem a lot and feels imposter syndrome when they are fem aligned once in a blue moon, especially bc some people were transphobic to them and made some jabs about their relationship not being genuine or that no one would want them bc of it with Husk and Angel separately?

Sorry for the word vomit, thanks and hope you have a nice day :)

Hey!! This has been in my inbox for a while, because I wasn’t sure what to write exactly since I didn’t want to do it in the wrong way. Hope headcanons are okay, and while I’m of the opinion that anyone can date anyone (as long as it’s legal) I still informed myself on what some GF people experience in relationships, since Angel is Gay :)

Angel Dust

Angel doesn’t like people dictating on how you two should live your relationship at all.

He knows very well that he fell for your masc-aligned side and you guys discussed this many times, with you reassuring him that it’s okay if he doesn’t feel as attracted to you when you’re feeling more fem-aligned.

You guys also discussed your preferences in regard to how your partner dresses and when it came out that there’s next to none and both of you are free to wear anything you like, you both immediately felt way more comfortable in the relationship.

So he highly dislikes when random individuals try to convince you or him that your relationship is not genuine and that you’re not deserving of love, and he will outright insult them and get into fights with them if these comments are being spewed in hearing distance.

Back at the Hotel he definitely reassures you that he does want you as a partner with a kiss and some cuddles, and if he needs to he’ll even list all the reasons why he’s attracted to you again for you to hear.

He’ll also remind you that he loves you and how stylish you are, and will even offer to lend you some of his clothes if one day you want to feel particularly pretty, as he owns a lot of fem things, and in case you’re not the same size some of them are even pretty oversized so you should find something that fits you either way.

I Headcanon that Angel would probably own some pride stuff, so he would definitely get some for you as well to remind you that he’s your number one supporter!

Husk

Husk is honestly chill with dating anyone; it doesn’t matter what their gender and sexuality are, or how they dress, or what they like to eat for dinner on a Saturday night...if he likes you, he’s going to try and make his best impression and be all gentlemanly with you. He’s going to do things he wouldn’t do with anyone else such as cuddling and gifting you roses.

So if somebody calls your relationship not genuine, it doesn’t take him much to call them out on their bullshit and prove to them that it’s nothing of the sort.

He also highly despises when people are transphobic to you, and he will try to reason with them but this is Hell after all and he doesn’t expect to find many souls worth explaining this kind of thing to down there. So after a while he just leaves it and leads you elsewhere.

He absolutely loves the way you dress, when you get all pretty for him it makes his heart skip a beat. Same thing for when you try your best to look handsome; he will look at you up and down with a smirk that he can’t really hide.

In a relationship, Husk is very romantic and affectionate, so after he’s done dealing with the people who insulted your relationship he’s going to shower you in kisses accompanied by his deep purrs.

It’s very obvious though that you took those words to heart, so he’s also willing to take you out somewhere if you need your mind to get clear once again. He doesn’t want you to turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms such as alcohol or anything like that as he does, so he’d rather spend time with you and slowly get you to trust his words instead of trusting theirs.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #husk x reader #angel dust x reader #hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #genderfluid reader

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fili-urzudel · 1 year

Text

Dating Legolas Headcanons

Oh no, people are actually interacting with my content?? Here, have some Legolas Headcanons that I wrote a while ago and don't really like

Warnings: None except for very brief mentions of insecurity

Word Count: 0.5k

- Okay, yes, we know he's a prince and whatever but

- Boy is actually feral

- He's always sweaty lmao

- Like he doesn't just sweat but he's always running around doing something and/or getting into heated arguments with his dad

- Speaking of which, Thranduil doesn't necessarily despise you, he's just...

- Cautious

- He doesn't think it's a good idea for elves to get involved with humans, especially with the whole death by heartbreak thing

- He just doesn't want his son to go through that again and have the possibility of not recovering

- Anyway back to Legolas

- If anyone tries to tease him about you or mock you directly, he will be foaming at the mouth

- You'd think a few thousand years of life would instill patience, but this man

- *deep inhale*

- THIS MAN IS SO IMPULSIVE GOOD LORD

- Like as a young human, why are you the one stopping him from jumping off cliffs/getting into fistfights/literally running away from home forever?

- Somehow he makes up for the stress he causes you by being very goofily sweet and loving

- He manages to channel some of his impulsiveness into going out and picking flowers for a bouquet for you

- Or plotting a spontaneous date/picnic/romantic training session

- He only jokes around you, which can pose a bit of an issue when you tell others "he's so funny and witty" and you just get blank stares that say, "you alright there or wot?"

- But he actually is really funny and it makes you feel special that he only lets that side out around you, the side that isn't either serious or super dramatic all the time

- He is also very disrespectful when it comes to PDA lol

- You once hugged him in front of a few of his friends (okay) and kissed him on the cheek (less okay) before you knew the "rules" and he took that to mean that you were completely fine with flying in the face of elven tradition

- and a license to kiss you whenever wherever

- Not that you necessarily mind

- But you're definitely embarrassed

- He has a lot of elven maidens chasing him that do NOT like you

- He doesn't find it funny because it hurts you, however he does find it funny that they think they have a chance with him

- In his words, "Especially when they act like that."

- As soon as you got self-conscious about not being as skilled of a warrior as he or his familiars, he took the excuse to be super close to you took it upon himself to teach you

- Which leads to a few unnecessarily funny incidents and some never to be spoken of again

- In short, he's semi-immortal and semi-eternally a teenager at heart

- And that heart is all yours

#legolas greenleaf #legolas #lotr fanfic #lotr fandom #lotr headcanons #lotr #lotr movies #legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #legolas x oc #legolas fanfiction #legolas drabble #mae writes

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quill-pen · 3 months

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So, angsty ask:

Do you think the Twins ever have nightmares about the wifeys leaving them? Like, Bess/Connie find out the extent of their pasts and (although the irl versions have accepted and love them) they still dream that they sporadically change their minds and decided to leave?

“You’re no better than the man I fled from.”

Or, they dream that they returned to their former selves, and their wives fall out of love with them?

Horrible visions of their wife turning away in disgust/tears haunt them. A life beyond salvation? So be it. But living a life knowing he drove the love of his life away AGAIN? They couldn’t do it.

Then they awaken, gasping for air.

In bed, wifey is right next to them, probably still naked and smiling from a night of passionate love-making, and he tried to quiet his breaths/sobs to not disturb her, and relief sinks in.

Absolutely they do. In every timeline, Bess' Eb has such nightmares, especially near the beginning of their romantic relationship. But the fear behind the dreams also sometimes vary.

Lots of times, he dreams that she either rejects him because of his past or that he returns to his old ways and drives her away. More than once Bess has woken up to find him after a nightmare, and she just embraces him, showering him with kisses, caresses, and gentle words. She reminds him she knows what he was like before he changed; he has been honest with her about it (often to his own detriment); she's heard other people's accounts; she's witnessed how lots of people still fear and despise him for his history.

"I love and admire you all the more because of it. It's proof how much you've changed and how strong your dedication to being a better man truly is. Your past doesn't disgust me--it saddens me. Because I can't help but think how lonely and hurt you must have felt for so long, and how much you must have despised yourself to let yourself fall into that way. I know you, and I know you won't go back to that. And you know that I won't let you either. I have you."

Sometimes, especially if he's been talking with people who have made comments and he's been witness to Bess receiving attention from men closer to her age at a party, his nightmares will be about her leaving him for someone younger, handsomer, spryer. He does trust Bess completely, of course. But with his past history with most women, it's no surprise these are very deep-seated insecurities that, occasionally, get triggered. He's working on squashing them, with Bess' help.

It certainly does help when he watches Bess turn down interested parties, excusing herself from conversations with some of the most eligible young bachelors in the blueblood stud book to immediately beeline towards him when she spots him across a room. She'll greet him with a socially acceptably passionate kiss, like she knows he was in need of just a bit of reassurance that she's his and his alone. She probably does; she can read him so well. Then, at home, she'll further reassure him in their bedroom how he's the only man she wants--the only man she needs. "You are the only man in my world. Every other may as well be blood or boys."

In the DNDverse, specifically, he has terrible nightmares of losing control of his wolf and killing Bess, or worse, turning her into what he is. Bess has gotten rid of most of her silver, but Eb has insisted she keep the pure silver pendant from her priestesshood and wear it during the full moons when he is at his wildest, strongest, and most vicious and uncontrolled. Silver hurts him in general, but it's even more repulsive to him when wolfed out. During a regular transformation he can withstand being around her if she were to wear it (she refuses to in those circumstances). Under a full moon, the silver of her pendant is so pure in quality, she might as well be protected by a magical barrier, his wolf stays so far away.

Bess isn't the biggest fan of this; she hates the idea of causing her beloved discomfort and not being able to be close to him, but it certainly has seemed to help assuage Eb's fears and made him feel more comfortable (ironically). And that's what matters. So out comes the full moon and on goes the pendant for one lonely, heartbreaking night. It's painful, but it's worth it for all the other happy ones together.

#scroogeverse #timeless scroogeverse #og timeline scroogeverse #dnd scroogeverse #ALL THE SCROOGEVERSES #scrooge 2022 #netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge #fanfiction #scrooge x oc #bess scrooge #ebeness #ebenezer scrooge #ebenezar scrooge #ebenezer x bess #ebenezar x bess

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suffarustuffaru · 11 months

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If emilia had known all the manipulative and deceitful shit that echidna did to subaru in greed If and how fucked up subaru became under her influence, and how much Echidna despised everything about her and saw her as a useless, annoying naive doll, and eventually found out that Echidna was in fact so greedy and inhuman, do you think she would have changed her mind about Echidna and started to wary and disgusted by her? (Plus the talk of Beatrice waiting 400 years in Arc 4's Dream Castle would probably add fuel to the fire)

YES. absolutely. yes. itd be barely even a question, of course emilia would be wary of echidna and disgusted by echidnas actions if she (emilia) ever found this out. but im gonna explain why i think this🙏

we see some major instances of emilia standing up for herself—the biggest examples include her post arc 4 development, also her being mad about subaru calling her satella in arc 1, her arc 3 speech to the royal council (that was sadly glossed over in the anime but you can see it in the manga and its SUPER badass) and also her arc 3 fallout with subaru, etc etc. but the ones where she has more of a negative reaction, ie the arc 1 example and the arc 3 fallout with subaru—are particularly interesting to me.

the arc 1 example shows her standing up for herself with something that was done to her directly. subaru called her satella in public when shes already out there showing her face and being judged as she always is, but people arent usually so bold as to directly call her satella. its why she gets pissed—its a very personal insult, and its one that shes had to deal with for almost her entire life due to more factors out of her control (which is a reoccurring theme with her—shes rarely fully in control of many things in her life). this also is you know one of the examples where she DOES stand up for herself!!

but regarding the arc 3 fallout—yes, of course shes upset that subaru humiliated her at the royal selection when shes already bound to have a hard time because shes a half elf. of course shes upset that subaru broke his promise (especially when you remember her trauma with that), and of course shes upset because subaru absolutely looks like a massive liar right now (especially when you remember her trauma with that) and again, didnt keep his promise. but its interesting to note that emilia has this huge guilt complex regarding people being hurt because of her in some way (which isnt her fault at ALL but thats how it feels to her and this is how its often justified by perpetrators in universe!!). puck even tells her in memory snow that subaru keeps getting hurt because of her because puck is a shit father. so yes, emilia is upset that subarus hurt her, but so much of her dialogue in their arc 3 fallout is about how subaru got hurt because of her, and how she doesnt want subaru to be hurt anymore. a big part of why she leaves subaru then is because of that!! she was personally hurt, her trauma has been triggered by this too, shes been publicly humiliated on a deep level when shes already bound to struggle in the selection, and yet shes thinking more about subaru in this instance. that says so much about her.

and once you get to post arc 4 emilia in general—this is an emilia who is grown and is still struggling with her deepest insecurities but shes finally started to face them head on. of course shes gonna feel disgusted by what echidna did to subaru (and beatrice!!) if she ever found out—subaru and beatrice are very dear to emilia, and theyre the two people emilia is closest with thatve been affected by echidna the most.

i just think that on the scale of things echidna has done, emilia would care the least about how echidna feels about her specifically. not in the sense that emilia wouldnt care, because she does. she cares deeply about what others think of her and she always tries to be kind and nice and proper. she always tries to prove herself to others because she always has something to prove. shes the half devil, and shes someone whos often overshadowed both in universe and narratively.

echidnas feelings on her are only unique in its intensity and mystery—we see echidnas face scrunch up and she looks and sounds like shes going to cry when she admits in the anime that she hates emilia. we dont know why, only that this is the one and Only time we echidna with such negative emotions of this caliber? but echidna is probably far from the only person in the world to hate emilia and see her as useless and annoying and naive. and echidna is most definitely not the only person to hate emilia in the first place for various reasons.

emilia is extremely aware of just how many people despise her. how could she not when its connected to her appearance and existence? shes reminded of that like 90% of the time she steps outside. or when she thinks about other demihumans or about the fate of her own people. would it still sting for emilia to learn about the full depth of echidnas hatred? yeah, because like i said, echidna really has a personal vendetta against emilia, and also because this is all poking and prodding at the same core insecurities emilia has—that emilia is and will always be some useless doll thats paraded around. would it make emilia a little wary because echidna has a personal grudge? yes. of course. when theres a threat to emilia herself personally, that tends to extend for other people (such as her camp), so she unfortunately has to think about that. and of course emilia would probably also be wondering Why its so personal for echidna.

but emilia will IMMEDIATELY fixate more on the fact that echidna deeply hurt beatrice and subaru.

emilia is someone whos hated by the world, someone whos near constantly targeted unfairly in various ways—but she continually chooses to try and be kind and try to keep her courage and try to do the right thing even as shes completely terrified. shes deeply scared to hurt others due to her traumas and Various Experiences. she may not be entirely certain what love is, but she has felt it numerous times and loves her loved ones a lot. she cant fathom someone like echidna, who locked her own daughter in the library to wait for a person who isnt real just so echidna could watch and see what happens. echidna used her own daughter like some sick twisted lab experiment, and emilia would be even more deeply uncomfortable when you remember that she too was put in a princess room by her mother figure (which was well meaning and WAY different than beatrice of course, but im sure the room parallel would be Uncomfy anyway). and beatrice was waiting for 400 years too, emilias going to be so grief stricken and angry on beatrices behalf!!

and subaru's behalf too!! but let me go deeper into explaining greed if first.

when it comes to greed if, i dont like to entirely attribute everything to echidna here—mainly because i dont want to ignore subarus agency in all of this. subaru is the antithesis to someone like emilia or reinhard—subaru has infinite choices. hes choice itself. he can change in any direction and make whatever choices he wants and nothing can stop him once he sets his mind to something.

and greed if subaru continually makes decisions that makes him and everyone around him worse. he threatens felt and rom to leave the election to manipulate reinhard into joining him. he holds meili hostage in a cell to control elsa. characters like garfiel and ram understandably resent him for his manipulative bullshit. otto leaves because of it. emilia and beatrice’s mental health are completely and utterly destroyed because of his actions. yes, echidna is VERY MUCH to blame for how subaru ended up. he accepted her contract when he was vulnerable and at his lowest point, and now hes in this horribly toxic dependent relationship with her because shes the only one he can confide in. she helps him plan things, she helps him move things along. shes made him worse all this time, and while she plays a HUGE role in greed if for this reason, subaru continually makes the choice each and every single time to keep going down this path. he can try and turn around at any point, but he doesnt. hes a horrible person now, which i think should always be remembered in general for the vast majority of the ifs. he is a victim and a perpetrator at the same time. hes not innocent anymore—everyone is ultimately stuck under his control in greed if because he’ll just keep abusing rbd until he gets what he wants. no one whos near subaru has any free will here. echidna whispers in subarus ear and subaru chooses to listen to her and make more shit decisions.

is echidna guilty for essentially manipulating subaru into accepting her contract and becoming worse as a result? yes. is subaru guilty for doing all the things he did following accepting the contract? yes. these two things coexist. granted, i would still give echidna more of the responsibility for greed if of course, i just don't want to ignore what subarus been doing either hah.

but basically emilia finding out about all of this gets extremely complicated Very Fast.

to find out the full extent of the shit echidna does to subaru in greed if, emilia would have to know about rbd. and emilia finding out rbd is a whole other complicated subject on its own, but long story short, her guilt complex regarding hurting other people is gonna really FLARE UP. her worst fears have basically been confirmed with the existence of rbd because subaru has chosen time and time again to be involved with her, and being involved with her unfortunately means that he gets caught in the crossfire of ALL the things that keep trying to hurt emilia (which again isnt her fault and she has no control over any of this happening). so theres the double whammy of 1. emilia finds out rbd and 2. emilia finds out about greed if which brings whole other layer to this.

emilia is inevitably going to be horribly horribly guilty and In Despair over rbd. but then theres greed if, which shows echidna taking advantage of subaru for her own greed, subaru growing Worse because of echidna, and greed emilia also growing Worse in addition to everyone else involved in all of this. this is absolutely horrifying on multiple levels. OF COURSE shes also angry and grief stricken on subarus behalf—from her perspective, subaru has gotten hurt because of her and other people Repeatedly. she WILL blame herself for not doing enough (even though again, subaru and the people around them have made their own choices). she'll get angry and upset that subaru has even had to carry a burden like this alone, that hes been hurt so many times, and the fact that emilia herself is at the core of all of this. thats absolutely fucking terrifying. subaru has gone all this way for her. from her perspective—how can she possibly make up for all of this? she cant.

and then it gets even more terrifying because greed if subaru is a dark version of him that takes all his ugly traits and exerts control over everyone around him. hes miserable. hes horrifying. hes quite frankly an eldritch horror masquerading as this smiling mannequin version of natsuki subaru. and if emilias finding out about greed if, she has to find out about this other version of her thats all her worst traits amplified as well—shes a useless doll in the sense that greed if subaru removed emilias choices and did everything for her. hes the new puck to her, and puck was already a terrible parent by also exerting control over emilia in his own ways only to do horrible shit (see: destroying the whole world after she dies) behind her back. you know what that sounds like? subaru. and greed if subaru continues to enable this in emilia—hes responsible for her turning out this way and he continues to take care of her by doing everything for her because he now has this emilia that wants to bend to his every whim and follow everything he tells her to do. thats all she has left. subarus actions caused her to snap in this way because he never gave her a chance to actually flourish on her own. he never tried to help her rather than control her. and its why, in all her instability, she nearly freezes everything around her every time she gets angry and upset (see: her nearly having a breakdown after seeing subaru got hurt because of beatrice). greed if subaru has essentially gotten his "dream girl" in the worst way possible—emilia is now fully and completely dependent on him. she never had the chance to be otherwise.

its so incredibly clear when you read greed if that the moment emilia gets on the throne of lugunica, because she will, because subaru will absolutely make that happen, emilia will become a puppet ruler because shes too mentally unstable now to actually rule. because again, subarus made the choices for her this whole time, and it broke her.

greed if beatrice is also similar because really all subaru did was drag her kicking and screaming out of that burning mansion. yeah, from his perspective, what other choice did he have? he had to save beatrice. and theres no denying that greed if subaru has good intentions, but he has a hard time seeing and treating the others as people. theyre just like dolls that he has to drag around, and then he has this whole list of people that need saving, a whole quota he has to fulfill, so he drags them kicking and screaming along with him instead of talking to them as equals. as people.

greed if subaru is the subaru that keeps abusing rbd and going back in time over and over again, but not once is he actually using it to do something like, i dont know, wholeheartedly try to save beatrice by letting her make the choice to save herself like in canon main route arc 4. instead he just dooms her by never letting her choose and by never even trying to talk her out of it. or maybe he has, but he never understood how to do that in the right way. main route subaru figured it out by fully taking the time to understand her on a deep level and empathize with her. beatrice was the one to make the choice to save herself. greed if subarus had Infinite Tries and he never figured out how to actually save beatrice. mainbaru treated beatrice like her own person. greedbaru treats beatrice, and many other people, INCLUDING HIMSELF, like an object. he doesnt save them because he sincerely loves them, at this point. or maybe he does, but its not in a healthy way because hes just saving them because he has to. its an oligation, not a sincere desire to see them happy and safe and fulfilled in ways thats good for them.

and main emilia, i think, would Absolutely be horrified by herself. and i think shed pity greed emilia, but she'd also be disgusted. greed emilia is everything that emilia has hated about herself. greed emilia is the worst of her personified. but emilia would pity her. greed emilia has zero control over herself, her emotions, her own life. the two most important men in her life—puck and subaru—hurt her so deeply that shes just that far gone. and main emilia would be horrified by greed subaru of course, but i think shed be disgusted by all his manipulation. its sad and pathetic and Terrifying to watch. but of course its complicated.

and i hate the idea that emilia cant handle anything complicated (which tappei continues to push forward because hes fixated on making emilia "stupid" and "pure" and "innocent"), but while i think emilia would struggle to wrap her mind around all of this (because honestly who WOULDNT be struggling to do that with all of this shit aljsdlfjsdf), emilia would try her best. and she'd turn to echidna more because subaru wouldnt have turned out that way without echidnas influence. greed if subaru, after all, is still a victim. an imperfect victim, but still a victim, at the end of the day. but i think emilia would eventually have to reconcile that puck, while he did love her, wasnt the best (AT LEAST more than what she already kinda did in arc 4, because she doesnt know the full extent). he was far from it. he failed her in a lot of ways. hes hurt a lot of people. and emilia would have to know that subaru is capable of doing these horrible things too, but the subaru she knows and loves now is far different. shes sorry that hes had to deal with all of this alone. she'd be deeply sorry for greed if subaru, even. these things have nuances and i fully believe emilia will be able to understand even if it takes her some time to do so (because again—WHO WOULDNT feel complicated feelings about this??).

its like how subaru continually forgives the people around him for things theyve done in other timelines—theyre not the same people in the main timeline now. emilia would recognize that, because she herself is someone who sees the ugliness of the world, someone whos experienced it, and someone who wants to reject it all and try her best to choose kindness and love. and she knows that shes capable of that same ugliness too (see: greed if emilia) (see: her killing pandora numerous times after pandora tore apart her family and home) (see: her doing the arc 3 fallout with subaru) (see: her accidentally hurting others in frozen bonds) (see: her accidentally freezing her people) (see: her lowest points in arc 4). but—isn't that part of being human?

i do think that despite everything, emilia would pity echidna a bit. echidna, who deeply loathes her but is driven to tears over it for Unknown Reasons. of course that wont stop emilia from being disgusted by echidnas actions though.

yeah so anyway tldr: emilia deserves to go absolutely feral because i absolutely think she would go apeshit on echidna if she found out about what echidna did to beatrice and subaru. shes fully capable of it and we've seen her go feral multiple times okay. the moment she finds out about her loved ones being hurt shes gonna be like cradling them gently to her chest and then she turns around and goes feral on whoever hurt them 😭 it is SO over for echidna. (AND GREEDBARU, if emilia had the chance to.)

#rezero #emilia #echidna #natsuki subaru #beatrice #ask #I FEEL VERY PASSIONATELY ABOUT EMILIA LSJDFL hope you enjoyed the detailed response anon haah #ty for the ask its a very good question <3 #greed if #also i hope whoevers reading this understands my stance on greedbaru ok. thats my stance on any ifbaru too like i have SO MUCH sympathy for #them but also theyve all done terrible things and the vast majority of them are terrible people now :(( there are so many nuances here ok.

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el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle · 4 months

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can you do a breakdown about Betty's psychological transformation post-Cartagena please? because she came back so strong that i need to apply that in my life lmao

Hiii!

Ngl I'm not a psychologist or anything of the sorts lol but I think what Betty went through was a whole really shattering experience.

When we meet Betty at the beginning of the novela, she was a woman clinging to her last hope of love and fulfillment. She’s been hurt horribly before but she's healed enough that she is willing to try again (of course, she still bears a lot of mental scars from what Miguel did to her, but she knows she'll never be able to fully get over it until she can find real love). It is her life's dream to love and be loved but after the double date with Aura Maria and Roman's joke when they left her waiting, she is fully convinced that this dream is impossible. This is why she is so willing to take the chance when Armando gives her the opporrunity.

In Armando she saw perfection. She saw a man like no other, one that is deep and kind and just and that somehow loves her. She has no reason to doubt it's false because he's always been so attentive and special to her (a bunch of people even tell her so way before the Plan), to the point where he defends and protects her and trusts in her his deepest insecurities and most vulnerable moments. So it makes logical sense that he is developing feelings, even if it's a complete break from his pattern of usual lover (from whom she also knew he never felt anything, too).

She loves this man so much she is willing to sacrifice the only rock in her life: her integrity, her hard work, the values her father is so proud of. She's willing to lower her barriers (which she had, very high, as she often tried to put distance between them before and during the lover's phase, how she was initially in denial, how she often tried to break up, etc). She's willing to go to sleep with a dirty consciousness as long as she can love Armando.

Betty commits several serious acts throughout the novela, including adultery by being with an engaged man, being involved in smuggling, faking numbers, lying and deceiving to her dad while also involving him in the deception without him knowing (when she KNOWS he's despise it all if he knew what Terramoda actually was), creating an alternative business that is supposed to be super very "legal" but we all know it's just a loophole in the law, etc.

Beatriz Pinzón willingly gives up her peace, her morals, her values, and even those of her own FAMILY for Armando Mendoza because she truly believes he's the best man there is ans he deserves all sacrificies.

And then she learns he's just as awful as any other man she has ever met before. Except that now, she has given him EVERYTHING she has.

This time, the man who used her not only used her love and her body and discarded her like trash. This time, he also took with him her honor, her values, her peace of mind; he involved her in illicit and immoral businesses, and also involved her father, the only man who actually loves her.

This leads her to a complete mental breakdown.

Every hope and dream is shattered, and she's convinced that her life will forever be full of misery. She's convinced no man will ever love her. She's filled with blind rage because once again she was willing to trust and to love and to lower her barriers just to once again be used and laughed at and mocked, to later be discarded like an old rag.

Betty suffers a full mental breakdown, and even Nicolás points out that Betty looks a bit deranged, because she straight up nearly was. She went through pretty much the same destructive depressive episode that Armando went through, except that Armando's destruction was towards himself, while Betty's was towards Armando.

Betty straight up becomes abusive towards Armando in a moment of blood lust. She wants revenge. She wants to make him feel just a bit of the distress and regret and mental anguish that she's suffering, and that's why she does all that she does during the revenge arc.

Later, the Boatd Meeting happens, and it's in part a bit of letting go. It's over, she thinks, and she can now finish her revenge. By this point she realizes that hurting him hurts her, too, because she actually loves Armando even though she's still filled with rage and disgust.

By this point, Betty is exhausted. She's tired and as she puts distance with all that keeps reminding her of her rage (Ecomoda, the executives, the beautiful world she only sees from afar), said rage calms down enough for the real sentiment behind ut to come out: pain. A lot, a lot of pain.

And I know I've been talking a lot about pre Cartagena and the question is about Post Cartagena, but the pre era is crucial because it nearly destroyed her. It broke her to such a point that it allowed her to repuefe herself back together as a different and stronger woman. Betty had suffered a lot throughout her life and she had been used before, but this particular experience with Armando was so emotioanlly and psychologically devastating that it helped her reinvent herslef becahse it shattered all her hope and dreams and perception of the world.

She finds refuge in Catalina. Actually, I should correct myself, Betty starts finding hope since Bolocco and Gisela and Adriana. All these beautiful women are proof to her that there are still good and physically beautiful people in the world. That they're not invinsible goddesses with problems and oh so above us all. That they're regular people too. When she goes to Cartagena, she experiences somethign completely foreign to her before: acceptance. Kindness. Inclusion. Interest.

Her physical change is only a representartion of her inner change, and also a consequence of it. Because Betty broke so much she needed a change. She was scared but she was so done with herself and trusted Cata so much that she allowed herself to try.

Cartagena was in general an incredibly healing experience. She got to meet different people who were kind and learned that even people "like her" could still participate and be wanted in the world. She spent a lot of time with women who she would have in another time idealized and seen as unapproachable and above her, and they treated her as an equal and in some cases even talked to her about their own regular woman's struggles. Betty basically learned that regardless of what looks back at you un the mirror, you can still be unappreciated, hurt, used, and discarded. But she also learned that it is within herself the power to change what she didn't like seeing, which is why she accepts Cata's offer for a change even though Betty was terrified of the change!

She saw a more human side of the population, and saw that she was part of the world. She also saw that there is so much beautiful people, inside and outside. Additionally, Catalina helped her channel her rage and hurt, and guided her into forgiving Armando for what he did.

All of this leads to Betty having a different mentality when she comes back from Cartagena. She no longer feels alieanated from the world. She understands the power of other people's words and unkindness, and knows all women can do something to feel better about their reflection, but, like her, many need guidance because when you've never seen anyone who looks like you being guided and seen as pretty, you'll forever think you're less.

She comes back wanting to demonstrate that she's no longer the same Betty. She also wants to make a genuine change in the world by helping women in her same position.

Betty was always patient and good with people and able to articulate her thoughts pretty well, and always had this leadership aura dormant within her, so that also helped a lot! Betty doesn't change as much, rather, she polishes and lets shine a part of her that her fear of rejection and insecurity and all the years of abuse kept hidden.

Oh, another very important thing for Betty's success was her support system. Her mom, Nicolas, Cata, don Hermes, her Cartagena friends, and even Armando during her collection launch! Betty never stopped needing that extra push, wich is completely normal in any situation but in hers specifically the role of her support system is absolutely crucial!

Basically and in summary, what helped her was:

The complete shattering of her previous beliefs that led her to get out of her comfort zone

Enacting her revenge and realizing by herself that it wasn't satisfactory or good for anyone

Time and space away from Ecomoda

Good beautiful (in and nout) people (support system)

Her own personality (kindness, empathy, and being good with people)

Changing her appearence since it was a boost of self steem!

I hope I didn't miss anything jajaja thank you for the question and I'm sorry that I took forever to answer!!

#ysblf #yo soy betty la fea #betty la fea #armando mendoza #beatriz pinzon solano #beatriz pinzón solano #betty ysblf #armando ysblf

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callsign-rogueone · 2 months

Note

Hey honey! Hope you’re feeling better today 💗💗 I’m adoring the directors cuts. We know you put so much thought and planning into your stories, and it’s so fun to get a glimpse of where your head was at when you were writing!

Can you give us some commentary on Dain and Love? She seems to be becoming a fan fave, and we the people need to know more about them!

Love you!

-fw-gt

this is so late but here it is!! I’m gonna kinda do a general overview for this one!! no quotes, just broad thoughts because I’ve been itching to unpack all my thoughts about Dain for months. here’s a few of them for now — there will be much more Dainposting from me in the future, that’s guaranteed.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again — Dain wants a princess* that he can be the knight in shining armor for, and Violet isn’t that, so that’s (one of the reasons) why they didn’t work.

*Not a literal princess, but he wants a girl that’s going to let him protect her, let him play that masculine role and make the decisions, because he’s maybe a little bit insecure in that regard and also maybe a little old-fashioned, being from a military family with traditional values.

Love is kinda that girl, but she’s also very much not that girl. You said this perfectly in the discord the other day: Love is a good balance of what Dain wants, and what Dain needs.

She’s a lot of things that he wants — she’s beautiful and razor-sharp-smart, and kind and caring and so many amazing things (because she’s you all!). She wants to be cared for and doted on, (total daddy’s girl, first of all) and she knows her worth / what she deserves — besides her parents, Brennan and Duchess are her role-model example of how a relationship should be. so she’s got Standards.

However, comma, she’s still very much her own person, and that clashes with his personality quite a bit. She alters her uniforms to look more flattering and wears impractical shoes. She’s not afraid to laugh during formation or other serious situations. She memorizes her textbooks instead of studying them, and half the time she sleeps during optional training sessions. She’s a wild-child, playful and always down for a shenanigan. They’re going to have several more arguments about her putting herself in danger — she agreed to cut out the jumping-off-her-dragon stunt, but she’s not going to roll over for him every time just because he says so.

She’s not a damsel in distress, either. She can defend herself (guess who taught her to fight 👀) and she’s smart in tactical situations, as her dad was one of Fen’s tacticians, but she’s a bit of a wild-child, impulsive and ruled by her emotions, rather than the codex — though she does have the codex memorized. so she gets to play lawyer on behalf of the marked kids and finds ways to keep her shenanigans within the lines. the professors are sick of her shit, but also very impressed.

Dain is included in that category — alternating between awe and irritation. but he needs to be challenged, to be softened a little and learn to relax for once. he doesn’t go with the flow at all. ever. he’ll learn, though. he has to, if he wants this to work — which he does, but he’s still conflicted.

he’s got the pressure and disapproval from dear old dad, and the propoganda he’s been taught about her fam being traitors… and then there’s her absolutely terrifying older brother, who is the son of the “lead traitor” and absolutely despises him… but she’s so pretty and so nice to him, even though she shouldn’t be. and he feels bad for her, knowing what she’s been through. she’s slowly changing his perspective, and that’s uncomfortable at first. there’s gonna be turbulence.

and… SPOILERS FOR THEIR STORY BELOW, but most people know this already, and I’ve already said it multiple times;

they’re having a kid in Onyx Storm.

Dain and Love started as a one-shot request, part of the family, (which will eventually be re-written to change some things!!) but the more I thought about it, the more I was like… hmm. this could work, actually. fuck it, why not?

the idea of Dain, the self-proclaimed “responsible one”, becoming a young dad (22-23) is definitely unexpected — giving him a little reality check, and breaking the “graduation -> marry a nice girl from a good family -> have 2.5 kids -> get promoted as high as you can, in that order” model that he’s undoubtedly been taught to follow.

He has some shit to unpack regarding his upbringing and his relationship with his dad, and his mom not being in his life (headcanon of mine). and while Love is gonna help with that, as well as some of his other issues, it’s really going to be their baby girl that speeds things up and gets all this done and dusted.

but also, him having to unpack all the shit his father did, unlearn it, and then learn how to…

be a parent without his own parents there to help him, nor hers

raise a kid that won’t turn to hate you and help lead a revolution against you

make them feel safe and loved and meet their emotional needs, not just physical needs…

deal with the idea of Love being in danger now that there’s a baby in the mix

and some other things I won’t spoil hehe

so yeah. he’s got some stuff to figure out. I’m forcing him to have the character development he deserves in canon 😌 and these three are gonna love each other so much and be such a cute lil family, happily ever after, so help me god.

thank u for the excuse to ramble about them. ily 💗

#dain aetos #dain and love #director’s cuts #answered #liz.txt #fw-gt 🤍

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farfromstrange · 6 months

Text

Austin: Chapter 1 [Owen Sleater x F!Reader]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Atlantic City!

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read Me on AO3

Chapter Summary: You make your way to Atlantic City, and things do not go as planned from the moment you step off the train to meeting a very handsome but also very cheeky Irishman at Nucky Thompson's estate.

Chapter Warnings: foul language, mentions of murder, illegal activity, plot, Owen being a cheeky bastard, Season 2 spoilers, foreshadowing, slight angst (?), kind of a "I hate him" situation (enemies to lovers *cough*), mentions of misogyny

Word Count: 7.2K

A/n: This chapter is longer than the first, which was not planned, but the juices were flowing. The meeting was originally planned for Chapter 3, but then I realized that Nucky Thompson was no longer at the Ritz at this point in the show, so I had to improvise, so yeah. Anyway, first meeting, and it even made ME blush. But then again, I had to add a little bit of angst for the slow burn. (I'm always so scared of inaccuracies because the 1920s were very complex, so if you find any, just ignore them.)

Set from Season 2 episode 9 onward!

This series is rated E for explicit! 18+ only!

The train ride from Austin to Atlantic City takes you two days. You’re no stranger to long-distance traveling, but being stuck in a carriage with strangers for hours on end would never be your first choice for an adventure.

You’ve been to Canada and Mexico; you have made a deal with the Italians on the West Coast, and you have conspired with the Russians in Coney Island. You hold friends in high places all over the world, but not once have you been to Atlantic City.

It’s not that you don’t love the beach—you have quite the affinity for the ocean, actually—but you told yourself that you were better off not messing with the powerful forces that have owned the Boardwalk ever since liquor first became an object of illegal trade. As feared as you are in Texas and all neighboring States that profit from your work, Nucky Thompson is—well, used to be—equally as feared in his part of the criminal underworld.

The times you have shown your face in the past, the people present have not lived to tell the tale. If someone shouted from the rooftops that Mr. Austin is, in truth, a woman, it would cause quite an uproar. Your spite is not the only factor in this equation because you’re not the only person who has something to lose. You’re not like those you despise; you care about what happens to those who work for you, knowing that they are risking just as much in this business as you are every day.

If someone told your name and spread the news that you did not die in the fire you set that night eighteen months ago, the connection could bring on a myriad of consequences. You would have nowhere to run but to prison. You killed a man, and justice has a way of kicking criminals in the ass. You know that very well. When you disappeared though, you swore to do whatever it would take to keep the walls around you stable enough to survive, and you have been doing well so far.

Nucky Thompson’s letter was the Trojan Horse that has now forced you out of your shell. You are far too exposed—far too vulnerable here, even though no one knows who the woman with the red cowboy boots sitting on the back of the train is or where she’s from, and they don’t seem to care at all either.

You care though. And you know the truth. You care too much about what other people think. If you want to be able to stand your own against them, you have to be more confident, but you always find yourself held at gunpoint by your insecurities.

You won’t know what more could happen until you confront the man who chose to throw very lively bait at your feet that you couldn’t help but dig your teeth into. Now, you’re being pulled toward Enoch Thompson and Atlantic City instead of away from the chaos that has erupted around him.

If you had sent your right-hand man—if you had sent Anthony, out of all people—you fear that he might have come back to you in a box, but he has a hard time acknowledging the fact that you are far more dangerous than you let on.

“I can’t believe you left!” his voice is so loud you have to take a look around the small phone booth to see if anyone on the outside can hear you.

“I had no choice,” you snap back into the receiver. “You read what he wrote. If there is even the slightest chance he knows who I am, we’re in a lot of trouble.”

Anthony sneers. “You really want to believe a guy who’s on trial for several crimes and is about to lose everything he worked so hard for just because he sent you a letter out of desperation?”

You imagine his green eyes glaring holes into the atmosphere. His bottom lip must be swollen from how many times he gnawed on it, and his dark hair is probably disheveled because as he told you once before, you make him want to rip his hair out. One by one. He tends to be quite dramatic.

“You’re smarter than this,” he says. He utters your name, and his voice takes on a softer touch.

A train horn blares in the distance, but your focus remains on the man on the other end of the phone line.

You sigh. “Because I’m smarter, I had to go,” you try explaining. “You can’t deny that a man who has everything to lose is almost as dangerous as one who has nothing to lose. And if Nucky has everything to lose, so do I,” you say. “He has the power to take everything away from me, and I have to make sure he doesn’t know the truth. And if he does, I have to find a solution. Me. Because he wants to see me, not you.”

“He wants to see Mr. Austin,” Anthony corrects you.

“Exactly. And who’s he?”

“A name on paper. A myth.”

“No, Anthony. Who is Mr. Austin?” you ask.

The pause is filled with a heavy silence. Then, he opens his mouth, and he murmurs into the telephone, “You are.” He acts as though it hurts him to admit it.

It hasn’t always been like this.

You nod, but his reaction doesn’t sit right with you. It may not be audible through the phone, but he knows you well enough by now to read your body language even from miles away.

“That’s right,” you say. Your voice remains calm, though your words do not. “I’m your boss. I own this fucking business, and I know what I’m doing. I know you always attend these kinds of meetings for me, but this is an emergency, and I had to leave without dragging you or anyone else into it until I’ve found a solution.”

“You’re insane.” It is less of an accusation than it is a statement.

“No, I have to make sure that a man my father once considered a friend doesn’t burn his legacy to the ground. He already had one shitty friend try it, and we both know how that turned out. I saved his legacy from certain downfall. I killed for it. And I intend to protect it with my life, no matter what it takes.”

In the background, music overlaps with the distinctive sound of voices and the clinking of glasses.

Anthony sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. “No matter what it takes, huh?” he asks, and it leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. “Even if it means revealing your face, your identity, even your name to a stranger? No matter what it takes?”

“Don’t patronize me!”

The fury tugs at your heartstrings, tearing a hole into your soul. What started as a bout of frustration is starting to turn into an inferno of anger. It consumes you, threatening to set you on fire. The beast inside of you begs to be set free.

“You do realize that if you go there and he doesn’t know who you are, he may as well connect the dots and then screw you over anyway, right?” He doesn’t stop. “You’re serving him the gun on a silver platter, Jesus fucking Christ!”

When he yells at you, you see red. “He already has it!” your voice bounces off the glass around you. “He already has the gun, I’m sure of it,” you tell him. “I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about this, and I have to burn this son of a bitch out before it’s too late. Before—before he can burn me. Us,” you emphasize. “He is in an impossible situation, and that makes him a million times more dangerous. But that also makes him valuable, and if I can talk with him—figure out what he meant and talk some sense into him—I can come home and we can forget this ever happened. But for that, I have to give him what he wants first.”

Again, Anthony seethes, “Nucky Thompson is not a man you can trust.”

“I don’t trust him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do business with him.”

“Is that what you think?”

“The better question is, do you think I’m less capable than you because you’re such a strong, invincible man?” By saying it out loud, you have found a way to spit him in the face.

His hand grips the receiver so tightly that the line crackles. He exhales a growl. “I think that you should have thought this through and discussed it with me,” he says. “You should have called a meeting with the rest of the team, and we could have talked about this.”

“I discussed it with you in great detail, but you wouldn’t listen,” you counter. “Now, I’m here, and I won’t stop until I get what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Control.”

He calls your name. “That’s it. I’m taking the next train to Atlantic City.”

“No!” you stop him. “I need you to keep things going in Austin. Make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll call you when I find out something new.”

“Not happening. That man is too dangerous for you to deal with alone. Even with half his empire gone, he still holds too much power. I’m coming. End of discussion.”

You chuckle, but it lacks amusement. It’s a dry, empty, and entirely emotionless chuckle that matches the look in your eyes. “You underestimate me, Anthony,” you say. “May I remind you that I’m in control here? You are not in charge. I am. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in Nucky Thompson’s head if he decides to stab me in the back. And I won’t hesitate to do the same with you or anyone else who dares to cross me. So don’t ever fucking underestimate me again. Your responsibilities are back home, so that is where you are going to stay or I swear to God I’m going to make you regret it. Are we clear?”

“I’m not undermining you, I’m just concerned—”

“No, fuck you!” This time, one of the women passing by the telephone booth, stares at you, and she seems utterly appalled at your language. You tilt your head. Her eyes widen, but before you can yell at her to turn around and walk the other way, her husband pulls her away.

“I’m not listening to this—” You place your lips close to the speaker, “Stay where you are. Do as I tell you to, and wait for further instructions. Do not come to Atlantic City, and don’t ever fucking doubt me again,” you spit. “That’s an order!”

The line clicks, and the entire booth vibrates at the force with which you hang up the phone.

You take a deep breath to calm the erratic drumming of your heart against your ribcage. You need to slow the adrenaline in your veins before it melts you from the inside out. Your knuckles crack when you stretch your fingers, smoothing out the fabric of your dress. You take another deep breath in, then exhale.

The clock strikes noon. You reach for the suitcase you managed to cram into the small telephone booth. The sturdy leather feels slippery on your sweaty palms. You always travel light; you don’t plan to stay for much longer than a week, anyway. One suitcase of clothing should suffice plenty. At least that was your train of thought before you arrived at the bustling train station of Atlantic City.

A soft, salty breeze brushes your cheeks when you step outside. You can hear the rushing of the ocean in the distance. Children run along the pavement, followed by their parents. Everyone is dressed so much differently from the fashion you see every day.

The South isn’t New Jersey though, and you should have figured that styles may vary over thousands of miles apart. You receive a few curious glances; is it that obvious that you don’t belong here? A group of women passes by you, and you swear you can hear them giggle when they are a few steps further away. You wonder if it’s the red boots that are made for farming rather than a city close to the coast, or maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, wearing your uniqueness on your sleeve like an elegant piece of jewelry.

You came here with one suitcase and a clear mission; you won’t let anyone ruin that for you. Not Anthony, and surely not a group of strangers who are probably more prone to gossip than you ever were in your lifetime—and probably ever will be.

When you left early that morning, you tasked Beth with calling Nucky Thompson. She is responsible for all of your appointments, but when she heard his name, she was rightfully hesitant. You didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you left her with an excuse and a pile of guilt in the pit of your stomach.

At three o’clock, you will face him, and you will pray to a God you don’t believe in that it will all be over after that. One night of rest, and you will be on the same train back home. That is what you are hoping for.

You heard that Nucky lost his suite at the Ritz-Carlton after the charges were filed against him, and he retreated to the comfort of his home. You can’t say that you have a lot of empathy; you would prefer a room at the Ritz over one at the Marlborough any day anyway.

Hopefully, the small glimpse of the Boardwalk you get as the cab pulls up to the hotel will be the last you see of Atlantic City for a very long time.

The car comes to a halt, and the driver curtly tells you, “We’re here, Miss.”

You nod, then reach into your coat. “What’s your name?” you ask him.

He frowns at you through the rearview mirror. “Carter, Miss,” he stutters. “Ben Carter.”

“Ben. Carter.” You retrieve a stack of money. “I like you. I could use your help.”

His entire body stiffens. “M-my help?”

“Mhm.” You lean forward. “I need someone to drive me around the city today.”

“I’m a cab driver. I—”

“I’m aware, but tell me, is there anything you wouldn’t do for money?” The bills rustle next to his ear as you hold them up.

“How much is that?” Ben asks breathlessly.

“500,” you answer. “Although I’m open to giving you more if that’s what it takes.”

“For a day?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a–a catch?”

You chuckle, placing the money in his shaky hand. “All I ask is for your driving skills and your discretion. Can you do that for me, Ben?”

The wheels turn in his head. He’s considering your offer. That much money isn’t so easy to come by, especially not for a cab driver. You’ve learned over the years that if you play your cards right, you can get just about anything.

Ben stares at the dollar bills for a few more seconds before he meets your eyes. Sweat drips down his temple. “Where do you need me to take you?” he asks.

Your lips curl into a smirk. This poor man doesn’t know a thing and yet you are playing him like a fiddle. But he doesn’t need to know the truth. To you, he is only a means to an end. You will pay him, and he will give you what you need in return for a reward. After your stay in Atlantic City, he will never have to see you again.

The small piece of paper is tucked safely into your shirt. You retrieve it, still neatly folded, and hand it to him. “I need to be at this address,” you tell him. “Three o’clock.”

He glimpses down at the note. “Nucky Thompson,” he reads aloud. “Isn’t he–”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t ask questions. Discretion, remember?”

“Yes, Miss. I’m sorry. I was just wondering—”

You cut him off once again. “Why don’t you wonder in silence while you help me carry my bag inside? Answers are earned, and it is my choice whether to answer or not.” You smile. It appears as sweet as sugar, but even the deadliest poisons smell deliciously of almonds. “You can still opt out, but I’d be taking the money back,” you add. “I would tip you nicely for the ride, of course, and I would let you leave without a word, but you wouldn’t get more than that.”

The man considers your words for a moment. You’re giving him a choice, but he isn’t quite sure which one would be the right one.

“Tick tock, Ben,” you purr.

He clenches his fist around the money. “I can be discreet,” he says.

You chuckle. “That’s what I thought. Now, about my bag–” You hand him another bill, not paying much attention to the amount. “It’s rather heavy, so I would appreciate it if you could carry it to my suite for me.”

The look in your eyes is destined to turn him into stone if he were to make the wrong move. As Ben looks at you, he swears you resemble Medusa, an ancient goddess in the back of his cab who is as dangerous as she is powerful. He has no other choice but to cater to your every need.

When you get to your suite, you notice instantly that the windows open toward the ocean. Beth was gracious enough to book you a room with a beach view, and while you appreciate her thoughtfulness when it comes to your comfort, you don’t plan on extending your stay, no matter how nice the view may be.

Yet again, you find yourself staring at the Boardwalk, watching the people pass by. They all have a story of their own to tell. They all have their own set of opinions and values, some of which no one will ever know about. You could be an expert at reading human behavior and still be wrong in your interpretation. In the end, most people are experts at shapeshifting to fit into whatever category they want you to think they fit into, and trustworthiness isn’t just black and white; you have to be prepared to get disappointed.

Elegant houses with high walls, porches, and front yards pass you by as Ben drives you to Nucky Thompson’s home. Children are playing by the side of the road. You would consider this neighborhood one of the wealthiest you have seen today. And probably one of the safest, too.

“We’re here,” Ben says.

You look up from your fidgeting fingers. “Thank you, Ben,” you reply.

Time to walk into the lion’s den. The only thing you have on you is your wit and what little research Leo conducted for you. That has to be enough. You just have to be smarter than the smartest man in Atlantic City. How hard can that be?

You knock on the door. You expect his secretary to answer. Maybe a maid or a butler, but when you look up, your shoulders straightened and your face blank of emotions, you are met with the face of a beautiful woman. Her hair is tied up, her dress flows effortlessly down her frame, and she’s wearing a delicate pair of heels that add a few inches to her height.

Your brain takes a moment to reload. Nucky could have at least created a professional atmosphere, but this woman does not seem like she works for him. Every person in Nucky Thompson’s life could become a threat to you. Every person you meet that you have not intended to meet brings you one step closer to irreparable damage. But perhaps that has been his plan all along.

“Hello,” the woman greets you. Her eyes are wide with bewilderment.

You stutter. The blood rushes to your head. “Um, good afternoon–”

“May I help you?” The Irish accent starts to come out, and you put one and two together.

Leo told you about Mrs. Schroeder. Margaret. You were right to assume that she isn’t one of Nucky Thompson’s goons. Far from it.

Inhaling a deep breath, you gather your thoughts to form an appropriate answer that won’t give you away entirely. “I’m here because I have a meeting with Mr. Enoch Thompson. I’m sorry, am I at the right address?” you ask.

“Oh!” Her face lights up with realization. “No, yes, of course. You are at the right address. Mr. Thompson just isn’t home yet.”

“I am a few minutes early, I’m afraid.”

Five minutes. It isn’t all that much. You try to be nice, but inside, you’re fuming. Not at this poor woman, not at all, but rather at Nucky. You haven’t even met him yet, but you already feel a deep disdain for this human being. How your father managed to consider him a friend is beyond you. Perhaps he was different back then—it has been a few years—but you highly doubt that.

You clear your throat. “I take it you’re the lady of the house?”

Margaret blinks, then smiles. “Yes, I believe that would be me. I’m Margaret Schroeder,” she says.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Schroeder. Or is it Mrs.?”

“It’s Mrs., actually.”

“Apologies, Mrs. Schroeder.”

“No apologies needed.” She curtsies, which is endearing, in a way. Her eyes roam your body from head to toe. She’s trying to figure you out; you can’t blame her. “And who might you be?” Margaret asks. There is a hidden pressure to know the nature of your appearance hidden behind the niceties.

You can’t blame her for not wanting to let a stranger into her house, but the question leaves you grappling with the possible answers that could keep her off your back while still sounding truthful enough for her to believe you.

“Austin,” you blurt out. It wasn’t well-considered, but you couldn’t think of anything else.

“Austin?” she questions.

“Yes, ma’am. My parents didn’t know what to name me, so they considered all cities in the State of Texas before settling on Austin. I’m aware it isn’t very conventional, but they liked to pride themselves on being free spirits,” the lie flows past your lips effortlessly.

Using your alias while at the same time branding yourself as another character entirely is risky. You shouldn’t rely on your gut feeling. Margaret may seem innocent, but there is always a certain risk. You can only hope that she will buy it. If not, you have yet another bridge to burn.

Margaret gasps softly. “You came all this way from Texas?”

Thank God it is the only thing she took away from your explanation.

“I represent Mr. Austin in his business,” you state. “Mr. Thompson will know what that means.”

Her reaction tells you she doesn’t know what you mean, at least, and it takes an ounce of the weight off your shoulders.

“Well, Austin,” Margaret says, still suspicious of a stranger in her home but less tense, as it seems, “Would you like to come inside? I’m sure my—Mr. Thompson will be back any minute. He probably just got caught up in some business.”

You nod. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

She steps aside. You take in the spacious entrance hall. It is bathed in soft sunlight, filling the entire house with life. A set of stairs leads upstairs. The property is nothing short of extravagant, and you wonder how far the walls reach.

Your eyes meet those of a brunette standing in the doorway to what you assume must be the living room. Her hands are crossed before her, fingers tangled in the white fabric of her apron. You suppose she must be a maid, or at the very least a housekeeper.

Margaret nods toward her. “Katy, would you please take Miss Austin’s jacket?” she asks.

The woman—Katy—steps toward you with a curt smile. She opens her arms. “May I?” she says.

You take a moment to process the clear power dynamic, then quickly slip out of your coat. It’s not too cold outside—you wouldn’t even consider it hot, just comfortably warm—but you hardly ever wear jackets out of practicality. You wonder if any woman does. Your sleeves are short, barely covering your shoulders. The first time you wore what you wanted without care was simultaneously the last.

Showing your shoulders is considered preposterous, but only if you’re a woman. That isn’t different in Atlantic City. You could get fined for wearing a skirt that is a few inches too short in a public setting, but only if you’re a woman. You can’t wear your hair down if you have long hair or you will get scrutinized, but only if you’re a woman. What doesn’t get scrutinized is the fact that men can’t keep their disgusting fingers to themselves. They don’t respect the word ‘no’ as a full sentence. They wouldn’t even let women vote until they started fighting back.

Men have the right to make rules about how you, as a woman, are supposed to present yourself as an individual. If you don’t follow the rules, you are immodest and impure. You’re not a woman if you don’t bow down to a man. Perhaps it was the way you were raised but it has always felt so wrong to you to allow the supposed superior sex to play with you as if you were a toy and set rules for all women just because they are secretly afraid of the power they hold.

As infuriating as it is though, you wouldn’t want to be thrown in jail. You were threatened once with it, and you decided that you can’t fight back if you’re constrained. Instead, you conform, and you bottle up the rage that has consumed you and your ancestors since the beginning of time. You pour it into fragile glass bottles and place it on a shelf, but that very shelf is about to break under the weight, and God knows what may happen then.

One day it will be different, you wish. But that day is not today, and perhaps it won’t be for centuries.

You want to tell Katy that you can take care of your coat yourself, but this isn’t your home, nor is it your family. The last thing you want is to come off as rude. You don’t want to overstep or appear in a negative light.

“Thank you,” you say, and her smile becomes more genuine.

You turn back to Margaret. “I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Schroeder.”

She shakes her head. “Nonsense,” she says. “Punctuality can be quite the curse when you’re meetin’ with an unpunctual person.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true.”

Children’s laughter sounds from somewhere to your left, and you peek around the corner to see a little boy and a little girl sitting on the floor.

“Are they yours?” you dare to ask.

“Yes. That’s Emily, my youngest,” — she points to the girl — “And her brother, Teddy.”

“They’re adorable.”

“Thank you. I’m quite proud of them.”

You watch the two kids play under the watchful eye of another maid. They’re still so carefree; safe and sound under their mother’s wing. Things were easier when you were their age. When you still had hope. You enjoyed sitting on the floor of your childhood home and playing with your toys just as Emily and Teddy are doing now. Sometimes, you miss being a child who only knew what she wanted to know; a child living in her fantasy world, far from any kind of illicit affairs.

Then again, rumor has it that Margaret lost the father of her children to Nucky Thompson, and even though he was a bad man, it was a huge cut in their lives that affected everyone in the family. It will get easier to deal with, maybe, but they won’t forget.

She utters the name you gave her, and you instantly tear your eyes away from the little humans in the living room. “You can settle down in the conservatory,” she tells you. “It’s a lot more quiet there.”

“Of course,” you answer. Margaret guides you down the hall and through another doorway. You try not to stare too much as you pass the lavish decor.

The sunlight hits your face as you come closer to the well-lit conservatory that stretches out longer than you expected. “Would you like some tea?” she asks.

You wave her off. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

“I’m sure Katy wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m good, honestly, but thank you.”

“Very well then.” She smiles, but the more she does so, the more you start to believe she is forcing her reaction. The tension in her shoulders is palpable. You wonder if it’s because of you, but it couldn’t possibly be; you don’t pose a threat. Maybe it’s the connection to her partner that concerns her, and you can’t blame her for that.

The conservatory is filled with green plants and colorful flowers. They seem to shimmer under the natural lighting. It’s cozy, you have to admit, and certainly a lot more comfortable than waiting outside the door on the front porch in a neighborhood you don’t belong to.

“Feel free to, uh, take a seat,” Margaret says, pointing toward the table. “I will be taking the children to the beach in a few minutes, but I’ll make sure someone fetches you once Mr. Thompson is back. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let the maids know. They’re at your service.”

You offer her a disarming smile. “I appreciate it.”

She bids her goodbyes, wishing you a good day, before she turns on her heel and leaves you to your own devices.

The big windows are calling for you. You inhale the oxygen that has been purified by the greenery. For the first time since your train rolled into Atlantic City, you feel a little lighter. You don’t feel like the reality of the situation is pressing down on you and drowning you in misery. You can breathe again.

You dare to step closer to the flowers. The red of the petals offers a stark contrast to the green. You play with the sunlight on your fingers, then gently move the tip over one of the delicate blossoms. Your heart jumps with the sudden realization that you could easily break or injure it.

The floral scent fills your nose, but it isn’t too overwhelming. Unlike roses, while looking beautiful with an intense shade of maroon, this flower is rather shy. It may look like it would smell like a thousand gardens all at once, but it’s treacherous.

“I didn’t realize Mr. Thompson hired a new gardener,” the Irish accent makes your head whip to the doorway.

“Excuse me?” you blurt.

Gelled-back dark hair and hazel eyes that rival the plants in the conservatory. The man is clutching his hat to his chest. A gray jacket covers his stoic frame, but it’s the way he carries himself that catches your attention the most. He exceeds the kind of confidence that he hides behind a shy smile.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he says, “I was only joking.”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know, I was merely admiring the flowers, not tending to them.”

Who does he think he is, you ask yourself, that he believes he has the right to look the way he does—act the way he does—and talk to you like that? It’s outrageous.

His plump lips part and the only words he seems capable of uttering are sickeningly cheeky. Whoever he is, you want nothing more than to turn around and leave. Because this man is too young to be Nucky Thompson, but he has more than enough audacity to pass as someone in his position. Or someone working for him.

When Margaret said she would have someone fetch you, this is not what you expected. Young, tall, and handsome as hell. Your stomach curls into a tight coil. No, you don’t like him. You can’t like him. You swore yourself you would never stoop this low, but one look into his eyes, and the blood pools in your cheeks like scarlet mountains.

The stranger chuckles as he approaches you. “Of course. A lady of refined taste, I take it?” The glint in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

With every ounce of blood your heart pumps through your body, heat fills you from the inside out, threatening to melt you into a puddle—an annoyed puddle.

“And just what would you know about my taste?” you challenge him.

He shrugs. “Only that a woman as lovely as yourself must appreciate the finer things in life.”

You want to burst like the ticking time bomb people have told you that you are.

You clear your throat. There is a slight edge of flustered uneasiness to your voice. You try to swallow it, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he must have heard it loud and clear. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister…”

“Sleater, ma’am,” he interjects. “Owen Sleater. I work for Mr. Thompson.”

He’s smooth, and God, he knows he is smooth. It’s written all over his face, those defined cheekbones, and his sharp jawline. It’s like he has been painted by a Greek God. Or he is the Greek God. Either way, this Irish—your first instinct was to call him a fucker when you first laid eyes on him—is getting on your last nerve.

He’s clean-shaven, but the shadow of a once-there beard is visible. He’s a beautiful man, stunning even, and that annoys you even more. With his fake innocence and his desperate attempts to come across as a pure gentleman while he is teasing a total stranger into oblivion for a probably very sadistic purpose. You should not allow your mind to even go in that direction. Not when he makes you so nauseous.

“Well, Mister Sleater,” you find your voice again, “I have to disappoint you,” you say. “I’m not easily swayed by a smooth talker.”

Owen—his name suits him, you have to admit—raises his eyebrows. His forehead wrinkles a little as he does so. “What are you swayed by then?” he inquires.

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

You can see your reflection in his eyes; his color blends with yours, drawing you in. Owen chuckles, probably to save some time to gather himself.

He stutters. “You have quite the sharp tongue, Miss…” he trails off, waiting for you to fill in the gap.

Once again, you stare into the face of a very big problem. You shouldn’t be here. You consider the possibility that Anthony may have been right, just for a moment; maybe you should not have come on your own, and maybe you should have taken him with you because everything suddenly feels like it’s falling apart.

You push the thoughts away. “You may call me Austin,” you say.

“Miss Austin, ma’am.” A flicker of recognition crosses his face. “Are you, by any chance, related to one Mister Austin?” Owen asks.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I do, ma’am.”

“That doesn’t mean you are entitled to an answer.”

“Trust me,” he chuckles, “I’m well aware of that.”

He exposes you with his gaze. You’re standing in the eye of the storm with nothing to protect you. Even in your best dress, you are naked and vulnerable. You cave when you meet his eyes. You try to be strong, but it’s useless.

Self-awareness is a virtue not many possess; Owen is aware, but he chooses not to care. There is a difference that exceeds worlds in distance.

The only way for you out of this is to change the subject. “Would you happen to know your way around botany?” you ask. The subject isn’t entirely different; it was Owen who started the conversation with a similar context.

“I know a thing or two, yes,” he answers.

“Can you tell me what kind of flower this is?” You trace your fingertips over the red petals of the flower before you. “The color’s lovely.”

“I believe these are Alstroemerias, ma’am.”

His way of saying it melts like butter on your tongue. “Alstroemerias,” you repeat. “Quite a beautiful shade of red, isn’t it?”

You don’t care about his opinion, at least you don’t think you do, but the conversation is flowing and you can’t possibly stop it.

“Very much so,” Owen says. His lips break into another smile. “And they suit the color of your eyes.”

The addition makes your head spin. You swallow, and you brush off his words with a scoff. “Are you always this cheeky, Mr. Sleater?”

“Only sometimes, but it’s been known to get me into trouble.”

“I’ll have you know that confusing me with the gardener does not help your case.”

There it is again, that glint. The mischief. “Not appreciative of my jokes, I see,” he muses.

Your jaw clenches. “I can appreciate a joke when it’s good. Have you seen me laugh since we met?” The words come out a little harsher than planned, but he takes them with the same lightness he seems to take everything with.

Owen chuckles. The sound rumbles in his chest. “I, uh… No, I haven’t.”

Your body reacts to the sound of his voice in a way that makes you angry at yourself. “Checkmate,” you say. You beat him, and that’s all that is supposed to matter.

Owen though? He just won’t stop.

“Consider me beat,” he retorts.

“And yet you’re still talking.”

The distance between you shrinks with each passing moment. Owen takes a step closer. You can feel his breath on your skin. He smells of Whiskey and gum.

“Perhaps I just can’t resist a challenge,” he says.

“Is that so?” you ask.

He brushes lightly against the back of your hand, reaching for the flower. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you pull away instantly at the shiver that rolls through you. It’s a tidal wave.

He chuckles as if he knows that he is overstepping, but once again, he doesn’t care. Owen wraps his hand around the stem. The other slides into the pocket of his slacks to retrieve what seems to be a pocket knife. He drags it just a few inches below the flower’s petals, and it falls into his palm. He’s so gentle one wouldn’t think his fingers are calloused and his knuckles are cracked until they have felt them on their skin.

You tilt your chin up defiantly. “Now look at what you did—” You point at the broken stem, “You violated the poor flower. Don’t you have any regard for Mother Nature, Mr. Sleater?”

Owen leans in, his chuckle only another breath on his lips as he slides the flower behind your ear. The smell is a lot more dominant now that it is touching you.

“It’ll heal,” he states. He says it as though he knows exactly what he’s talking about, and he is probably not wrong. You wish he were, but he isn’t.

Flowers and plants heal. They grow back. They bleed—sometimes they even make human beings bleed—but they often grow back. Nature is a lot more resilient than humans could ever be.

You should pull away and put an end to this dangerous game before it goes any further, but at that moment, with this stranger placing a flower he has claimed goes beautifully with the color of your eyes behind your ear, all rational thought flees from your mind because you can’t quite comprehend what is happening. What has this day turned into? He’s rendered you speechless, shaking in your cowboy boots, and the blood in your veins freezes even as it is boiling.

You’re too close to losing your composure.

The floorboards creak. You turn to the doorway for what seems like the millionth time. Katy looks between you and Owen, and something static crackles in the air. Her kindness from before has disappeared behind an iron wall.

“I’m sorry,” she says curtly.

You look between her and Owen.

Oh.

“Miss, Mr. Thompson wanted me to tell you that he is ready to receive visitors now.”

Finally. This is what you came here for. You touch the flower behind your ear, and when you look at Owen who looks almost guilty, his affection that has melted like butter before is starting to grow over with toxic mold.

“Thank you,” you tell Katy. Reaching for the flower, you remove it.

“He said he is supposed to have an appointment with a Mr. Austin right now,” Katy adds. “I’m not sure if that is important.”

She is avoiding Owen’s eyes like the plague. You can’t blame her. Now that you have made the connection that this Irish fucker flirted with you even though he had a thing or two with his employer’s maid… You grab his hand and place the Alstroemeria in his hand rather roughly, closing his fingers around it.

“Mr. Austin,” he murmurs.

You should panic, but there is nothing but emptiness in your dead expression.

“He couldn’t make it,” you state.

“Could he now?” Owen is slowly but steadily connecting the dots.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

He scoffs. You turn away from him, the flower now squished in his hand. Katy looks like someone just kicked her, and you wish you could put that smile back on her face. Of course, Owen Sleater has to be a player. You should have figured as much. He can’t possibly keep his hands to himself.

On your way out, he calls out to you, “Mr. Thompson doesn’t like it when people waste his time.”

You stop on your way to the stairs, following behind Katy who is showing you the way even though she has no obligation to. A smirk grows on your lips. You have the upper hand now, and he has no idea.

“I’m not wasting his time,” you say.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” You look over your shoulder. “Because I’m his appointment, and Mr. Austin doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially not by inappropriate flattery,” you tell him. “Have a wonderful day, Mr. Sleater.”

His fallen face is the last thing you see before you turn around and make your way upstairs to the office, hoping that it will all have been worth it once this day is over, and you can finally forget it ever happened.

tagging: @ebathory997 @kal-0n (if you want to be added, let me know)

#owen sleater #owen sleater x reader #owen sleater x female reader #owen sleater x you #boardwalk empire #boardwalk empire x reader #x reader #owen sleater angst #owen sleater fluff #charlie cox #reader insert #austin #no y/n

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 month

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Worth | Treasured

I was wondering if you would maybe do part 2? I was thinking it could maybe be set a couple of weeks after 'Worth', where Leon's still feeling insecure about his relationship with Gwaine and maybe also despises/is disgusted with himself for always reacting so 'extremely' whenever Gwaine touches him. Also, if you wanted, someone from Leon's past (one of the people who made him feel he was not extraordinary) could come and try and separate the two for whatever reason. I just think it would be interesting to see this because although Leon does love Gwaine, clearly he's been conditioned into believing and obeying what those people say. It would be hard for him to follow his heart, and Gwaine and their friends would have to help him see that he can control his own life and doesn't have to listen to those people. – IntenseDreamer1 :D

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: self-deprecating language, self-esteem issues

Pairings: leon/gwaine

Word Count: 3187

The night closes in over the room, dark shadows swirling about the edges of the bed as Leon stares into the quiet. The candle on the nightstand has long since stopped smoldering, and yet he can't draw his eyes away from the spot where the last of the embers cast the smallest of shadows onto the wick. His body, long exhausted from the rough day of training, still tingles with the memory of the hits, and his tongue, taxed from the extended council session, lies near useless between his lips. All in all, this should be a night where he finds no trouble slipping off into sleep, ready to carry out his next day without fail.

And yet, here he lies, staring at the distant memory of a lit candle.

It had been…interesting, yes, that's the word. To see the others look at him in a certain way once he emerged into the light of the training field. Gwaine, for all his bluster, hadn't said or implied one thing about their new—arrangement? Relationship? Perhaps this was part of the problem; he had no idea what it was they were calling themselves now, if anything at all, and any uncertainty wound its way through his chest the same. Regardless, Gwaine had not been the one to act any differently, and so it had been Leon's fault and his fault alone that the others had noticed something was wrong.

He had not admitted it out loud, not sure he could withstand the mortification nor the taunting that was sure to follow, and instead had mumbled something about having an unexpected night that threw him off. He extended his apologies to Arthur, of course, who waved him off as though nothing he could do would truly upset him—a generous statement, he knows, and he has no intentions of testing its boundaries. Merlin had caught his eye once or twice, once with narrowed eyes that split into a huge grin, and the second with the familiar worried furrow between his brows and the silent are you alright?

He'd been cornered afterwards, as he knew he would be, as Merlin politely interrogated him as to how well Gwaine had done with 'cheering him up,' and what exactly awaited him if he so much as vaguely upset Leon in the future. He'd been flattered, of course; it was expected that the conversation would go the other way, what with how Gwaine was far and away Merlin's friend first and foremost as opposed to any knight of Camelot, but Merlin had insisted in a way that made his chest feel tight all over again. He'd stumbled his way through admitting that he was woefully inexperienced when it came to anything remotely considered romance, or courting, or…well, just about anything, and Merlin had shaken his head.

"I've had to listen to Gwaine mope and pine after you for too long," he'd said, ignoring Leon's undignified spluttering, "if he's not willing to be patient with you, then that's his loss."

He'd mumbled as much to Gwaine later when he'd returned, only for Gwaine to grin and dart close enough to press an unseen kiss to his lips.

"I've got enough patience to outlast the rest of Camelot," he'd murmured into his mouth, "don't you worry about that at all, alright?"

"I will try my best."

Then, of course, there came the meeting. There is a stark difference between the prying eyes of the knights and the watchful eyes of the Council. There are only so many places to hide, after all, in the large halls where voices carry and everyone's eyes strain to catch even the smallest uncertainty or weakness, hoping to use it to further their own gain. His station affords him limited protection, as does his role as First Knight supporting the King above his own ideas, but still. The red cape and armor make him a target in those rooms that it never does on the battlefield, and he is still unaccustomed to the way the nobles smirk and whisper.

It had been his fault, he knows, to let his guard drop so quickly outside the doors, to let himself hear them click shut and have his shoulders sag near immediately. It had been his fault that he'd seen Gwaine walking towards him with the other knights, ready for their next bout, and allowed the smile to curl up the corners of his mouth. It had been his fault that Gwaine had clapped him on the shoulder—a perfectly innocent gesture—and he'd let out the quietest of hums.

It had been his fault that he had been noticed and pulled aside.

"You're thinking too loud," comes Gwaine's voice, jolting him back to the present as a hand curls lightly around his hip, prompting another soft noise, "shh, what's the matter?"

"It is no trouble."

"That's a lie," he says, still speaking so gently, as his breath puffs across Leon's shoulder, "come on, you can tell me. I won't be upset—unless it's about my hair. Then I might be upset."

Despite himself, his mouth quirks up. "It's not about your hair."

"Oh. Then I should have no trouble hearing it." The sheets rustle as he shuffles closer, the heat from his chest pressing against Leon's back as his arm comes to drape comfortingly over his waist. "Tell me what it is that troubles you so."

"I…am struggling," he confesses, "and I do not think it is something I will cease to struggle with for a long time."

"That is troubling. What is it?"

In lieu of answering right away, Leon allows himself to glance down. Gwaine's hand splays protectively over his stomach, cupping him against the long line of his body, as though he were precious cargo. He hesitantly reaches to touch that hand, a rush of breath leaving him when Gwaine allows their fingers to lace together and a kiss presses against his shoulder. The very sound of it leaving his lips is enough for him to squeeze his eyes shut.

"Hey, now," Gwaine says, because of course he noticed, "what's all that for?"

"I should not be reacting like this. I should—I shouldn't be so weak."

"Leon," and now his voice is firmer, "there's nothing wrong with reacting to being touched. Absolutely nothing. You've said it yourself—I've lost count of how many times now, this isn't something you're familiar with. You don't need to be ashamed—"

"I do. I am the First Knight of Camelot, I should not be some—some—some blushing maiden almost fainting at the slightest touch of a man's hand against me. I shouldn't be failing to keep my composure if you so much as brush against me when we walk, I shouldn't be trying to hold it together when you've done almost nothing to me, I—"

He's rolled onto his back with a firm hand and suddenly Gwaine is looming over him, his mouth tight with worry and his eyes burning against Leon's gaze. "Who the hell is filling your head with that nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense—"

"It is," he interrupts sternly, not letting him roll away, "you're not weak, Leon. You're not. You're—I'm trying hard not to flatter myself right now, alright? You're not reacting like this to me and the touch because you're some weak-willed person that doesn't know how to control themselves, do you hear me? You're experiencing something new. Is it not expected for that to be a little, I don't know, new?"

"But how can I justify touch being new to me? It's not as though I've never been touched before!"

"When was the last time someone touched you as I do?"

That shocks the words out of his mouth. He opens and closes his lips a few times, soundless. Gwaine's expression softens the barest amount and he leans down, propping himself up on an elbow.

"It's been a while," he settles on eventually, and Gwaine hums.

"When was the last time you trusted someone enough to let them do this?" Fingers skate lightly over his collarbone and he bites his lip to stifle the noise that longs to escape. "Or let them into your bed for any considerable amount of time?"

"I don't…believe it's ever happened before?"

Something terribly sad flickers across Gwaine's face before he pushes it away. "Then how can you be blamed for not knowing how to 'deal with it,' as you've put it? Perhaps not in so many words, but in spirit, surely?"

"I—"

"Who was it," he interrupts, gaze hardening again, "who told you that?"

He sighs, daring to turn his head so his nose brushes Gwaine's arm. His silent plea is answered as Gwaine lowers himself, their chests pressing together. "It was after the Council meeting. I made the mistake of allowing myself to…react to seeing you in the halls and one of the nobles—"

"Which one?"

"Gwaine…"

"You barely reacted to me aside from smiling like people do when they see someone they care about. If someone's getting on your case about you smiling—"

"I did more than just smile."

"Did you?"

"I…made a noise."

Gwaine frowns. "Did you? I didn't hear you make a noise."

"You didn't?"

"No. What noise did you make?"

He splutters, heat rushing to his face. "What, do you expect me to recreate it?"

"Perhaps. How am I to know how to react if I don't know what noise you made?"

"Gwaine—" fingertips skate over his collarbone again and a light whimper escapes before he can stop it— "Gwaine!"

"Is that the noise?"

"No, that wasn't—stop," he pleads, catching the wandering hand before it can prompt any more embarrassing noises, "I don't—I think I hummed under my breath, alright?"

Gwaine stops, of course, bringing their clasped hands up to brush a kiss against his knuckles, concern still written plainly across his features. "So you made a noise that I couldn't even hear, in response to a touch that isn't unexpected among the knights, and after a long Council meeting where you were bound to be tired and ready to do something else, and some absolute arse of a noble—"

"Gwaine—"

"You don't get to tell me he isn't an arse when he's trying to make you feel bad about 'reacting' to a simple touch, as any man would, when you are tired and in need of relief."

"I am First Knight, it's unbecoming—"

"You are a man first and a knight second." Another kiss brushes across his knuckles. "You are just as deserving of gentle attention and soft touches as any other person. And yes, this includes after long Council meetings with absolute pigs that—"

"You can't talk about them like that," but his protest is weak even to his ears. Gwaine doesn't even acknowledge it.

"—think they can tell you what you can and can't do—Leon, look at me." He does, surprised to see the furrow smoothing out ever so slightly. "Does it bother you how you react to being touched?"

"I—well—"

"Not because someone's told you it should, not for any reason other than your own," Gwaine says quickly, "does it bother you?"

Leon's quiet for a long moment. His hand twitches in Gwaine's and in answer to his unspoken plea, Gwaine lowers himself down, creating a bubble of intimacy just for the two of them, alone in the darkened room. Only there, with his face mostly hidden in the crook of his shoulder, does he allow himself to nod.

"Why does it bother you so?"

"How can I claim to—to be any sort of man, any sort of warrior, if I cannot hold myself together?"

"Do you shame the squires who cry when they're away from home for the first time?"

"What? No, why would I—"

"Do you scold the men who startle awake from nightmares after battles hardly won?"

"No, never."

"Do you deprive the others of good food, good drink, a warm body in their beds when the fighting is over?" He only shakes his head this time and Gwaine looks at him so softly he wishes he could look away. "You can't hold standards for yourself that you don't hold for other knights, Leon. You can allow yourself moments where you are just a man."

He can't help but scoff. "Is this the sort of man you want? The kind who can't control himself any more than a sniveling babe?"

Instead of growing angry at the harsh tone he uses for himself, as part of him expected, Gwaine's mouth turns up into a wicked smirk and he leans down to whisper in Leon's ear.

"You mean, do I want the sort of man whose body will tell me what he wants even when he's beyond words? The kind that will shiver and whimper in response to my touch, the kind to be so lovely that he cannot help telling me what he likes, even when he's blushing too hard to speak? That sort of man?"

If anyone else were to hear the absolutely mortifying noise that leaves his lips in response to that, he'd run them through.

"No," he continues, softening away from such brazen flirtation, "no, Leon, it doesn't bother me. You'd be the sort of man I want even if you never made a single noise, or if you made all the noise in the world."

He swallows, closing his eyes at the brush of Gwaine's hair against his neck. The hand holding his sets it carefully on his shoulder, leaving Gwaine's free arm to slip under him, wrapping about his waist once more to hold him close. A kiss brushes against the pulse jumping just below his ear and he whimpers anew.

"You don't need to be embarrassed about what happens here. You don't need to be upset at yourself for feeling. And if there's a noble foolish enough to shame you for being a man in my presence, well—"

"You still can't threaten them."

"—I'll just have to tell Merlin about it."

Leon tenses. The knights, the knights he can predict to some extent, and soothe to a greater one, but Merlin…

"I don't think he'd be so easily convinced, do you?"

"Gwaine, you can't tell Merlin."

"Why not?"

"Because he'd—I don't know exactly what he'd do, but I wouldn't—I don't think even Arthur would be able to stop him."

"No, Arthur'd join in. Legalize the whole thing, make it an official royal order."

"Gwaine."

"What? Just because I'm the one lucky enough to see you like this—" and those lips brush the shell of his ear, prompting another soft noise— "doesn't mean I'm the only one ready to fight for your right to be this way. Do you believe the others would agree with that shoddy excuse for a decent person? That Arthur would? That Merlin would?"

"…no."

Gwaine leans up to look at him, smoothing a bit of hair back from his face. "Then you needn't act as though this is a fight you have to go through alone. You're learning how to let yourself enjoy something new, I can think of no better use of your time. And if someone is idiotic enough—"

"You can stop threatening people on my behalf, now. I get the point."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do."

He grins and leans down to kiss him, soft and sweet, pulling back just far enough to murmur: "then you won't mind if I spend a little while like this, hm?"

"L-like what?"

He's kissed again, more soundly, and has to stifle a gasp as Gwaine's hand begins to slide up and down his flank. The movement is barely more than that which it takes to calm a skittish horse, and yet his skin feels as though it's on fire and he can no more muffle himself than he could bring the words to tell Gwaine to stop. Gwaine doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, simply humming with every small cry he's able to coax from Leon's mouth as he kisses along the curve of his jaw.

"What—what are you doing?"

"I'm just petting you."

"Am I some—some hound you're trying to reward?"

A chuckle against the crook of his neck. "No, you're just my lover, who is feeling terribly insecure about how vocal he is, and I'm attempting to convey that it's nothing to be ashamed of."

The moment the word 'lover' leaves Gwaine's lips, Leon chokes, his eyes going wide. Gwaine must feel the way his muscles go stiff under him, leaning up to look at him with concern. "L-lover?"

"Is that not what we are?"

"I just—I didn't—"

"Shh," Gwaine murmurs when Leon splutters a moment longer, "you don't have to say anything. I realize we haven't talked about it, you don't have to think about it now—"

"No!" The force of the shout does nothing to combat the rising blush. "No, I…I would like to."

He's rewarded with the slow cut of a smile across Gwaine's face as he dips back down to kiss him. "Then relax, lover, you've had a long day. Let me tend to you."

"Are you sure?"

"More than." Gwaine's grip tightens suddenly and he's pulled upwards into a fierce embrace. "Think of it as encouragement."

"Encouragement?"

"Mm. I'm choosing to expend my energy here, reassuring you, and not hunting down someone else and making them see the error of their ways."

"Gwaine…"

"Hush, now. You need your rest."

"…I was going to say 'thank you.'"

Gwaine's smile softens, his weight bearing the both of them back onto the mattress proper as the moon's silvery light shines through the still-drawn curtains. A hand cups the side of his face, brushing along his cheekbone, and he lets himself smile back.

"Whenever you need reminding," Gwaine says gently, "tell me. It's no great trouble to soothe your worries."

"I know that now." As Gwaine leans over to kiss him, he stops him with a hand on his chest. "You won't actually tell Merlin about this, will you?"

"Not unless you give me reason to."

(Leon doesn't know that Gwaine doesn't have to. Merlin's seen the whole thing already and he's none too pleased about it. The knights are keeping it a secret until Arthur can publicly banish the noble anyway.)

#dragonbabbles #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #fic

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