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hookedonapirate · 6 years

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To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also .

Author’s Notes: I was so nervous last week when I posted the first chapter, but you have all blown me away with your lovely words and excitement. Thank you everyone for the feedback!

Thank you @captainswanbigbang and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is.

Thank you @distant-rose for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up: Ch 1

Also available on: AO3 FFnet

Chapter 2: Finding the Perfect Opponent

~Rule #2: Don’t play against a flawless opponent. Size them up and know just who you're dealing with. Make sure he's ready to handle anything, make sure he's worthy, but if he’s too perfect, too handsome, too young or too smart, then chances are you will lose. If you can't choose the sucker, then you will end up being the sucker. ~

The following day, Emma and Milah take full advantage of their time here, and have breakfast delivered to them via room service, which they enjoy on the balcony under the sun. Afterwards, they change into their bikinis, grabbing their beach necessities and head for the sandy beach, finding a suitable spot to perch.

Once they’re anchored in their lounge chairs and slathered in suntan lotion, Emma begins scouring the beach for single, male patrons. However, the building they are staying in mostly hosts attractive, young couples, with the exception of the occasional businessmen buried in the electronic devices on their laps.

“Why don't we just wait to do our research before we start picking out potential candidates?” Milah suggests, putting away the bottle of lotion and laying back into a comfortable position. “I’ve been divorced for approximately seventy-two hours and I’d like to relax for a minute before we start scouting out our next target.”

Emma sighs, unwilling to give it a rest. They both had acquired plenty of that the day before, spending time at the spa and getting a good night's sleep. She had slipped into her silk pajamas and her warm, comfortable bed last night, looking forward to their next con. She blames Milah, though. She's the one who'd talked her into this years ago. To top it off, they had Mal and Lily as role models. Emma actually regrets the day she signed up for this. It’s quite like heroin; once they began conning and became good at it, they found it difficult to quit.

Emma lifts her sunglasses to gaze across the ocean. The sun is bright and beaming down as a gentle breeze blows through her hair, the sound of the waves gently slapping at the shore and the scent of the ocean permeating her senses.

Seeing the various boats gliding through the water, Emma's eyes settle upon one in particular—a rather large yacht. Grabbing the binoculars from her bag, she looks through them, seeing a man walking out on the deck. Emma draws in a sharp gasp of air, taking in the fantastic view before her.

Jesus. This guy is gorgeous.

Unruly black hair blowing in the wind, bright blue eyes, and dark scruff on his chin and cheeks. He’s shirtless, only wearing a pair of trunks that hang low at his hips, and Emma takes full advantage of the view, slowly spanning his form through the binoculars.

She's guessing he's in his late twenties or early thirties. His body is tanned and sculpted like some sort of Greek God, his chest is sprinkled with soft-looking hair that she itches to run her fingers through and there’s a happy trail that leads her eyes over his toned stomach and abs.

“Milah, you have to check this guy out. He has a yacht; he's gotta be loaded. Plus he's hot, so there's that,” Emma adds with a sly smirk. A heavy sigh is heard as Milah sits up, her eyes following Emma's as she reaches out a hand.

“Let me see those.”

Emma transfers her sister the binoculars and Milah raises them to her eyes, peering through them. Emma swears she can hear her sister gasp, “Holy shit.”

“So you agree, he's our next mark?” Emma smiles wickedly, imagining how much fun it would be to play with her potential toy—how fun it would be to make him throw his sacred marital vows out the window to have his way with her. Even if the vows wouldn't actually be sacred, considering the bride would be using a fake name and wouldn't actually be in love with him.

Milah lowers the binoculars, returning them to Emma before laying back down in her lounge chair. “Absolutely not.”

Emma's face falls flat, a mixture of disappointment and bewilderment flaring in her eyes. “And why not?”

“For one, we don't even know how much he's worth. That boat may not even be his. We haven't even looked at our other options yet. And lastly, he's way too young and handsome,” she says flatly.

“And why not someone young and handsome this time?”

“Because, Em, handsome is dangerous,” Milah points out, her words just as poised as her sunbathed figure, “you know that.”

Emma lifts the binoculars again, gazing at the beautiful man on the yacht. He’s staring out into the vast ocean with an abandoned look in his eyes. It must be lonely for one single man to be on such a large boat by himself, she thinks to herself. Unless he’s hoarding a bunch of women underneath the deck, or a wife.

Desperately hoping he’s not already married, she tears her view away from him to span the entirety of the yacht. She grows more curious, seeing the elaborate lettering that spells out, Jolly Roger, and wonders why he’d chosen that name; maybe the man is a huge fan of pirates?

Emma lowers her binoculars, tucking them inside her bag before finally laying back in her chair. Arms resting at her sides, she shifts into a comfortable position and closes her eyes, making a mental note to remember the name of the boat for when they gather intel on their potential marks.

$*$*$

“Alright, so this guy, Dr. Victor Whale specializes in family medicine.” Milah turns her MacBook around, showing Emma the photo on the screen as they sit at a booth in Camelot, a bar not far from their apartment. “He has a net worth of five million. He's never been married. No children. And he’s forty years old and not bad to look at. You said you wanted someone younger and cute, so this guy’s perfect.”

Emma shrugs, her chin resting in the palm of her hand as she stirs her almost-empty chocolate martini. The doctor is a little cute, she will admit, but also kind of creepy looking. Besides, she can't stop thinking about the guy with the yacht, which he named the Jolly Roger, she remembers, mentally patting herself on the back for the small success.

“Okay, what's wrong, sis?” Milah inquires, her words laced with worry as she pushes the laptop aside.

“Nothing,” Emma sighs wearily. “Did you find anything about the pirate?”

A puzzled expression crosses Milah’s face. “The what?”

“The handsome guy with the boat,” Emma clarifies. It’s been a few days since they saw him at the beach, but the man isn't easily forgettable.

Milah shakes her head and raises the glass to her lips. “I already told you, he’s too dangerous,” she replies before taking a small sip of her strawberry daiquiri.

“Why?” Emma whines, not understanding what Milah’s problem is with him.

“Because, handsome leads to feelings, feelings lead to love and love leads to getting knocked up and ditched in a Walmart parking lot. Haven't you learned anything from Mal?”

“I'm pretty sure you got the part about getting knocked up and abandoned at Walmart from a movie, not from one of Aunt Mal’s fucked up stories… surprisingly enough,” Emma teases, rolling her eyes. “How can you be so sure one of us will develop feelings for him? The guy could be a complete ass for all we know. Most attractive men are. In my opinion, the cockier the better.”

“Emma, I'm sorry, but you're not the one who has to marry him, I am. Therefore, I have the final say. And I’m telling you it's too risky,” Milah states firmly before returning her attention to the computer and pulling it in front of her.

Emma huffs in frustration and stands up, hastily grabbing her empty glass. “I need another drink.” Spinning around, she marches up to the bar counter, setting her glass on the surface. “I'll take another chocolate martini.”

“Coming right up,” the bartender assures with a wink.

Emma sighs, leaning her elbows on the countertop and resting her face in her hands.

In all honesty, she’s not sure she can do this anymore. Maybe it’s because she knows Milah’s going to get her way, and she knows their next mark is going to be some old, wrinkly guy who can barely walk. The only thing Emma really reaps from conning wealthy men with her relentless partner in crime is a cut of the divorce money; there is an empty pit in her stomach that tells her it’s not enough… and not just the monetary value.

This trip is supposed to be fun, full of possibilities and an endless amount of relaxation, beaches and sun. In reality, three months of watching Milah date a rich guy and waiting for her to get married before Emma has to swoop in and seduce a guy she isn't even remotely interested in is not fun.

Sometimes she has to take things further than a kiss, depending on the situation and timing. If Milah’s on her way home, or wherever the affair is staged, Emma tries to stall as long as possible, but sometimes the men grow impatient, and she doesn't want to ruin the whole thing by kissing too long when the guy clearly wants more.

Waiting for the drink to be made, Emma lifts her eyes to the television hanging behind the bar, and sees the ESPN channel showing the PGA golf tournament which is now taking place in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Emma actually enjoys playing golf. Milah’s ex-husband had a son who Emma had been obligated to entertain since she’d worked for Gold, so they’d spent most of their time together playing golf. Emma hadn't cared much for the guy, but when her life revolves around waiting for her sister to tie the knot, Emma gets very bored and has to occupy her time somehow.

Emma's eyes are fixated on the screen, seeing it's the second round of the Players Championship. She doesn't really ever watch the game on television, but it’s better than going back to the table and arguing with her sister about who their next mark will be. And she knows the basic concepts of golf—the person with the lowest score wins, a par is the average number of strokes at a particular hole, a birdie is one stroke under par and a bogey is one stroke over par—so she can follow along and understand what the commentators are speaking about.

As the sports reporter spouts off the highlights of the impressive round from one of the star players, a clip appears on the screen of the golfer with a perfect swing, obliterating the ball off the tee.

Emma gapes at the television, completely perplexed as she realizes who it is. When she’d seen him on the yacht, she had never pictured him stepping out of a sports magazine, more like a supermodel's wet dream. Emma has to blink a couple of times to make sure it's actually him. But, oh yes, it definitely is.

He’s fully clothed this time, wearing a red polo shirt, black slacks and a baseball cap on his head showing Adidas sponsors him, but Emma would recognize the man anywhere. The name Killian “Hook” Jones flashes at the bottom of the screen as the camera cuts to a blonde journalist with a microphone and the man himself, her Australian intonation carrying through the dull chatter of the bar.

“The last few weeks have been incredible for you, on and off the golf course. How are you able to keep your mind clear and play the way you've played the last two days?”

When Hook answers, his cheeks tinged with pink as he scratches behind his ear, Emma almost melts at the sound of the British brogue he speaks with.

“Well mostly I've been focused on the game, even when I'm not playing, but this week I've spent some time with the children, so that really helped a lot, and also being out on the ocean gets me away from the green. It helps me relax and separate myself from everything else that's going on.”

Disappointment pulls at her gut when she hears him talking about his children, but perhaps they can still make it work. Gold’s son was thirty years old and he’d been none the wiser. Emma just prays he's not already married; he hadn't mentioned a wife or girlfriend, so perhaps he shares custody of the kids. She listens keenly, hoping to pick up on any more clues, meanwhile getting lost in his eyes and every answer he comes back with, when the bartender’s words pull her attention from the television.

“Chocolate martini for the beautiful lady. Topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, just the way you like.”

“Do you know who that is?” she asks, ignoring the drink he’s passing to her.

“Hook? Of course, doesn't everybody?”

The scowl she flashes him indicates she does not.

“He's only the best player on the PGA tour. They call him Hook because he has a flawless left hook shot that's won him many championships,” the bartender boasts proudly.

“Left hook?”

“Yeah, he’s a lefty, so when he hits the ball, it curves from left to right, but it's intentional, and he does it perfectly. For most players, it's the result of a mishit,” the bartender explains, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “You play at all?”

“Not much anymore. I've just seen him around,” she replies casually. “Does he live here in Palm Beach permanently or just visiting for the tour?”

“He’s one of the locals. I'm surprised you've never heard of him. They say he's the British version of Tiger Woods—you know, minus the philandering and trouble with the law.”

“Really?” She has to steady herself to keep her fingers from shaking as she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her mouth opens to ask another question, her tone as breezy as she can manage. “So, he's like a celebrity?”

“Oh, absolutely. Everyone loves him. He even started a foundation for disabled children.”

Emma arches a brow; to say she's surprised would be an understatement. She wonders if maybe the children Hook had referred to were the disabled children. “So, is that what he meant when he spoke of spending time with the children?”

The bartender nods. “Sure is. He doesn’t have any of his own. It’s hard to have children when you’re on tour all the time, never settling down. It’s a shame, really. The guy could easily have any woman he wants and yet he's never been married.”

Emma sighs in relief, but at the same time her heart is clenching in her chest. On one hand, her interest is highly piqued, even more so now that she knows he’s not married and doesn’t have children, and she wants to strangle her sister until she agrees to marry Hook, but on the other hand, she feels a twinge of guilt for wanting to take money from a man who helps disabled children. “So, he’s never been married?” she asks, unable to believe a woman has never wanted to tie the knot with a man like him.

“Never. He's dated a few women here and there, but they turned out to be gold diggers, only after his money.”

“So, he’s really worth that much?” she inquires, attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible.

The bartender snickers in amusement. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

Emma shakes her head as she takes out her purse. “No, I just drove in last week.”

“Well, Hook’s only worth seven hundred million dollars,” he replies, his words thick with sarcasm as he wipes down the bar.

Emma’s eyes almost pop out of her head, her mouth turning dry as it hangs open. “Seven hundred million?”

“Like I said, the man’s really good at what he does. Plus he inherited a large amount of money from a dead rich uncle.”

Her mind is exploding with all the possibilities; she doesn't even know what she would do with that kind of money. Somehow pulling herself together, she retrieves some cash from her purse, attempting to pay for the drink, but the bartender puts out his hand to stop her.

“No need. The drink’s on the house.” He winks at her again, a flirty smirk curving his lips as he throws the rag over his shoulder and presses the palm of his hands into the edge of the counter, speaking in a husky tone. “I get out in about an hour if you want to talk some more about golf.”

Leaning over the counter to grab her drink, she forces out a giggle and graces the bartender with a smile, but inwardly, she’s cringing at his proposal. The guy is cute, with bleach blonde hair and tanned skin like a surfer, but not her type. He looks like he’s barely twenty. No, he is more like a boy, and she is only into men. Men like Hook, to be more specific; someone who has strong arms and facial hair, and someone who is actually skilled with his hands for more useful or pleasurable things.

Her eyes are locked with his as she takes the martini glass, dips her finger in the whipped cream and scoops some on her fingertip.

His mouth is hanging open as he stands there watching, practically drooling over the counter as she slides her finger between her lips to suck off the white, creamy sweetness in a slow, seductive manner.

Catching the guy intensely eyeing her lips as her tongue sweeps off the cream, she leans closer to whisper in his ear, her tone and demeanor dark and alluring, “In your dreams.”

She pulls away, flashing him one last grin before turning around and heading back to her seat across the table from her sister. Slipping into the booth, she sets her drink down, excitement dancing in her eyes as the brunette’s face is still buried in her laptop.

“Milah, did you hear that?”

“You mean that guy shamelessly hitting on you?” Milah asks spitefully as she rolls her eyes, which are still locked on the screen. “I already knew guys swooned over you; no need to rub it in.”

“What are you talking about? Guys swoon over you all the time,” Emma reminds her. “I bet if you went over there right now, the bartender would buy you a drink, too.”

“I'm supposed to be the commitment type, remember? Not letting guys drool all over me for sport.”

Offended, Emma glares at her, but Milah never looks up from the computer. “Anyways… what I meant was, did you hear the part about Captain Hook being worth seven hundred million?”

Milah’s eyes are blown wide as she finally averts her attention from her MacBook. “Are you kidding me?” She slides the computer over to her sister. “Show me.”

Emma complies and starts typing his name in the Google search bar, immediately pulling up his bio on Wikipedia. She turns the computer around to show the brunette. “See? He's a professional golfer who inherited a bunch of money from a deceased uncle. You can't tell me you're not interested.”

“Killian Jones, born on January 26th 1988, better known as Hook, is a British professional golfer who plays most of his golf on the PGA Tour, while keeping his membership on the European Tour. He is the current World Number One in the Official World Golf Ranking, having reached that position with his win at the 2017 Genesis Open in February 2017. As of March 19th, 2018, he has been the number one ranked golfer for sixty consecutive weeks, which is the sixth longest streak in PGA Tour history.”

Milah reads about his progression and some of his accomplishments before moving on to his personal life. “Hook was born in Brighton, England and moved to London when he was three. He and his brothers, Liam and Dylan, were raised by a great uncle who owned the Royal Wimbledon Golf Club. Hook started playing golf at the age of five.” She continues on to read about his childhood, how his mother died giving birth to the youngest, who was born with Autism, how Hook’s father abandoned his sons in the middle of the night and that the eldest brother died while serving in the Royal Navy.

Emma’s heart is torn apart from hearing about all of the loved ones he’s lost.

“Hook inherited his uncle's entire estate and used a good chunk of it to start a charity for disabled children. He is also a golf coach and holds sessions, giving them the opportunity to learn and play golf... that's so sweet,” the brunette comments, her eyes melting a little at that.

“Yes, but he probably does all that for publicity,” Emma reasons. The guy just seems too good to be true. ��For all we know, he’s a self-centered asshole?”

“Maybe, but we can't be certain of that. Some celebrities are actually genuinely kind.”

“Either way, we’re talking about seven hundred million,” Emma reminds her, keeping them both focused on the goal. She’s not about to let his tragic backstory or the possibility that he might actually be a decent guy get in their way, no matter how much it pains her.

“No wife to speak of and no family to get suspicious of our motives,” Milah notes, studying the page a bit longer before lifting her eyes again, her face surprisingly full of doubt. “I don't know, Em. A guy that loaded will see us coming from miles away. He probably has ironclad prenups.”

“He's never married before, but I've heard that a lot of celebrities have an infidelity clause in their prenups nowadays to keep their spouses faithful. If there is an extramarital affair, the spouse who's been cheated on would receive a financial reward from the other spouse. And even if you ask for a quarter of his worth, and we pull this off successfully, it could be our last con. We can move to Hawaii like we always talk about.”

“That would be amazing, Em, but won't the infidelity clause give him a really good incentive not to cheat?”

Emma frowns. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mi? Because it really sounds like you are,” she says, offended by the implications. When it comes to getting the opposite sex to do whatever she wants them to do, she never fails. And she isn't about to start now.

“No, I'm just saying we’re going to have to bring our A game for this to work. It's not going to be easy. We've never played a guy this wealthy and attractive before,” Milah points out, pursing her lips in contemplation.

Emma eyes her suspiciously.

“What?”

“This isn't about us not being able to pull this off without Hook suspecting anything, is it? We both know we can do this. We’ve done this many times.”

Milah shakes her head. “I'm not doubting our abilities, Em, but—”

“But… you're worried you're going to fall for the guy aren’t you? You're worried that you're not going to be able to go through with it?”

Milah's eyes widen, obviously offended by the accusations. “Of course not.”

“You said it yourself, handsome leads to feelings, and what if this guy really isn't an ass? I mean he's a well-liked celebrity,” Emma points out. “You've gone soft. That's why you were so upset after you divorced Gold. You developed feelings for him.”

“That's nonsense! I do not have feelings for him!” Milah counters adamantly. “I told you, it was just exhausting.”

Emma sighs. She knows Milah is lying, but maybe it’s best not to argue with her. “Fine, you're right. It must be exhausting going through the motions—going on dates and being proposed to, having a nice wedding, breaking the guy's heart and taking his money,” she mutters sarcastically as Milah looks away, trying to avoid her gaze, “so, let me take this.”

The brunette’s eyes snap to Emma’s, widening in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Emma smiles eagerly and leans her elbows on the table, crossing her arms and closing the distance between them to keep out prying ears. “I mean, let me be the primary. I'll marry Hook, and you can get him to have an affair.”

Milah scoffs, amusement besetting her features. “You seriously want to be the primary?”

“Why not? That way you can take a break for a while. Think about it—the man's a professional golfer and you hate the sport. As his girlfriend and potential wife, you'd have to support him and go to the tournaments with him and listen while he talks about his games. I can do that with no problem. But I know you would be miserable. Wouldn't you rather be free to do what you want—go shopping and live the single life for a while? Maybe even start drawing again?” Emma adds, watching and scrutinizing her sister's reaction.

Milah’s facial expression transforms, revealing her lack of opposition at the possibility. “That does sound appealing.” She chews on her bottom lip, mulling over the idea. “I don't know, Em. It takes a lot of practice and discipline to get a guy to commit to marriage in three months without falling for him.”

Emma scowls, not believing what she’s hearing. “Again you're doubting me? I can totally handle this guy. I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand in no time, believe me.”

“Of course! I'm not doubting your skills. I'm just looking out for you, that's all. I want you to be sure about this.”

“I am sure about this,” Emma states tenaciously.

There’s still a bit of skepticism in Milah's eyes. “Are you absolutely certain you're up for this? Because it’s not going to be easy, and once he sees you for the first time, there's no switching back.”

Emma's lips slowly expand into a devilish smirk and she speaks in a tone that reeks of devilry. “Are you kidding? You know I love a challenge.” She takes a sip of her drink, licking the chocolate liquor from her lips as she contemplates the idea of gaining even a quarter of Hook's wealth in the divorce. Plus, she’s not opposed to admitting she’s looking forward to bringing a man like Hook to his knees. It’ll be a nice change of pace compared to her usual role and the typical wealthy men they go after.

Milah sighs in defeat. “Fine, you asked for it. He's all yours, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Emma’s grin widens as she pulls the MacBook towards her, studying his photo. “Okay Hook, it looks like you're going to be my first husband. Hope you're ready for me.”

Milah finally smirks along with her, realizing her new task. “He’s about to have his world flipped. Trust me… he’s not ready for that.”

Emma lifts her martini glass, getting excited about pursuing her first target as primary. “Here's to our next and final mark.”

Milah nods her head and raises the strawberry daiquiri she’s barely touched, clinking the two glasses together. “Hook, line and sink him, sis.”

Emma smirks deviously, but on the inside her heart tightens just a little at the thought of crushing his heart. “Gladly,” she assures, bringing the glass to her lips and sealing the promise with a drink.

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#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #csbb #to play the game (and win your heart)#my fic

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evadne-leventhorpe-blog · 7 years

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Challenge #3

Alternately Titled: Wants Upon A Time

In a land far far away, stood a castle made of ice. From the frozen floors to the glittering chandeliers, everything in the castle was created by a wizard king with powers of ice. In this castle, lived his daughter, a princess, who was forbidden to leave the palace. The wizard king warned her of the dangers of stepping out into the sun, the risk of the princess losing everything. So she stayed inside her palace of ice, physically away from the outside world.

Day after day, she watched the whole world passing by her through all the enchanted windows of the castle. She spent hours by the windows watching life progress without her. The wizard king, noticing his daughter’s curiosity of the outside world, then crafted her a pair of frozen glasses- enchanted to show far off places to whoever used it, as long as she never took it off. The princess was overjoyed to use her glasses to finally see places beyond the small town below the castle, but her joy was short lived. The spectacles revealed the true nature of the outsiders. Unkind, disloyal, greedy, evil. She saw the evil in the hearts of men miles away from her. This only fueled the princess’ want to stay inside her castle.

The only person who left the castle frequently was the wizard king, attending to duties that the princess had little regard for. Every return he made, the wizard king brought all manner of gifts to present to his child. Necklaces, jewels, crowns, dresses. With these gifts, he also brought stories of the cruelty of the outsiders of their castle. Only more harrowing tales of how horrible it was to leave the ice castle. One travel brought on a beautiful ring made of golden leaves, and the story of a bridegroom who killed his bride to marry again for dowries. Another brought a gorgeous cape and the story of a soldier who betrayed his king. The princess could only imagine how much worst could these outsiders get.

Seasons passed and the princess continued to live with her enchanted glasses, her father’s gifts and stories, and the luxury that the ice castle provided her. Her life was lavished under the care of the wizard king, so lavished that the princess had grown spoiled and bitter of those she saw through the glasses. How lucky she felt to be isolated inside her ice palace, how lucky that she had nothing to do with those outsiders. She grew hopeless of the world, and decided to continue spending her days in the ice castle, living on second hand experience. She was content inside her icy world.

One day, the princess saw through her windows and glasses a huge mob of outsiders, gathering just outside the palace gates with weapons she couldn’t recognize. She rushed to warn her father of the people threatening their home. When word got to him, the wizard king did as he always did: leave the palace with the promise of gifts and a story. The princess watched everything unfold from her windows. She watched the mob overwhelm her father with their weapons, and wept as she watched them put him in chains. She yelled and screamed for them to let him go, but she was powerless as they took her father away. The outsiders tried to carry her father away, but he did put up a fight. Within the ensuing fight, she saw some of the less active outsiders aiming for the palace with rocks, throwing them against parts of the palace. She heard the sounds of ice smashing, and the princess took cover inside her closet to avoid seeing anymore of the damage they were doing to the palace.

When the sounds of the crowd disappeared and the princess thought it was safe, she emerged from her closet to asses what had happened. She saw the broken pieces of ice on the floors, felt the draft of wind that came from one of the broken windows. To her surprise everything she’s seen through that same window had looked so much different than before. She used her glasses to look for where her father was, searching through the nearby village to see any trace of him using the gift that her father gave her. But she encountered sights that she couldn’t even think of seeing in the people of the village.She still saw the disloyalty and greed in these people, but she also saw kindness, she saw warmth, she saw love. For the first time, the princess witnessed what it was like to be truly human.

The princess wondered why it was the first time she was seeing all of this. She used her enchanted glasses to look farther and farther away from her home, and she still saw the same things. She was seeing kindness in outsiders for the first time. It confused her, once again made her curious of the people who lived outside of the ice castle. Everything was so out of the ordinary when she saw out of these broken windows. She looked for a window that wasn’t damaged during the attack and peered through it with her glasses and saw only the cruelty in people. The princess was so confused with what was happening. All her life, she has seen outsiders as evil beings she never wanted to be associate with, yet today through broken windows she saw the goodness in them too. She spent days wandering her castle to figure it out, but no amount of wandering in the ice palace would give her answers. There was only one person who could have give her the answers she was looking for.

Her father was imprisoned in a cell in a nearby kingdom, and she knew that she needed to find and speak to her father. She had to get out of the castle, but risk losing everything that mattered to her. She spent days wandering around the castle wondering if she really was brave enough.What was left of what mattered to her? This ice castle? The broken chandeliers? The now-worthless gifts that lay on her bedroom?

It felt like nothing was important to her anymore, not after what had happened. So for the first time, the princess stepped outside of her castle and she watched the magical glasses melt in her hands.

The world was new, yet so familiar- the streets and roads she often observed through her window. She traveled through towns, trading some of her father’s gifts for shelter, a horse, and most especially a story. Outsiders told her the story of the wizard king that lived in a castle of ice that terrorized kingdoms far and wide. They told her the stories of a wizard king who easily stole precious gifts and items to hoard in his castle. The closer she got to where her father was imprisoned, the more stories she heard about the man they called the wizard king.

When she found her father imprisoned in the middle of a huge square in chains and cages, the princess had heard enough to have discovered who her father really was: a terrible villain. When she got to speak to him again, she yelled at him for keeping her so ignorant of world around her, how he was the cruel one for deceiving her and keeping her locked up inside the castle. She yelled and sobbed to her father of all the wrong she had heard he had done and as she raged the king had nothing to say.

When she was done, she had left her father, to see the world through her own eyes, no magical glasses, no windows, just her- never to be deceived again.

I read through my story over for probably the 10th time as we take a limousine to the children’s hospital. Writing a fictional story was difficult. If there was a class that I had barely passed way back in my first years in college, it would have been creative writing. Fiction and fantasy were never a specialty of mine, I was always about writing the truth or doing researches for debates. It took me about a week and a half to write this story, and I really did try my best to make it as kid friendly as possible. What was the most kid friendly kind of stories out there? Fairytales.

To write a fairytale, one must become familiar with their kind so at the beginning, I did what anybody else would do. I googled fairytales. Like doing a research or a debate, I needed a good background of what exactly I was writing. I read through collections by the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, and Madame D’Aulnoy and well, I was a little wrong in thinking that all fairytales were kid friendly.

Along with trying to read through fairytales, I had the brilliant idea of watching the masters of children’s stories work their magic. Yeap, I watched and streamed a few Disney Princess movies. Aricia had seen me downloading a few movies while at the Women’s Room one day, and well, I decided to invite her since she seemed pretty interested. The afternoon later, I prepared my room for a Disney Princess themed movie marathon/sleepover. Aricia and I had a blast watching all our movies and eating cupcakes (it was pretty nice of Aricia to be conscious of my allergies and bring strawberry and vanilla cupcakes). Among all the movies we watched together, I had to say that I loved the first movie we watched/sang along to: Mulan.

((PLEASE BRING HONOR TO US ALLLLLL))

The two of us had a lot of fun talking to each other about our lives before the Selection and I was pretty surprised to find out that Aricia wasn’t a natural blonde! She was a brunette. I found myself enjoying her company a lot and thought that we could both be really good friends in the future.

A few days later, and I find myself here today, cramming over my story for the nth time because I feel like I should be giving the kids a great story. Not only that, but I feel like a lot of people were expecting me to do well with this activity. This was charity work. This was something that people probably expected me to be good at. It’s true, I’ve contributed to a few children’s hospital charities as a volunteer- usually because charities in Hundson often asked each other for help when they were low on people. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, and I did enjoy the times that I got to visit these hospitals.

I look around the limo and I feel a little underdressed, everyone else are in gorgeous day dresses and I’m here in a pair of black plants, a yeezy shirt, and a blazer. In hindsight, I should have planned my outfit to be a little more Selected-looking but my mind was too busy with worrying and writing about the story that I had chosen something I’d wear to Children’s Hospital of Hundson. Anyway, it’s not about the glamour or me today, it is about making the kids happy.

We arrive at the hospital and are greeted by a few royal aids and nurses that take us to specific areas in the hospital. My specific guide is named Margaux, and she introduces herself a resident nurse past two years since she’s studying for her specialization in pediatrics. She seems really excited to meet me and asks to take selfie with me on our way to the room. Even on our way there, a few more younger nurses catch up to us to ask for a picture with me.

When I get to the room where the kids are, I’m greeted by the sight of around seven kids sitting down on their beds, talking to each other.

“Good morning everyone!” I greet as a few kids hopped off their beds. Some of them seemed too young to be in a hospital, a few others were in their early teens- the eldest among them looked about 16.

One of the youngest kids walks towards me and Nurse Margaux, and tugs on her scrubs. “Is this the new nurse?” Did I look that casual that I could pass as a nurse? I look down on the child and realize that one of his legs were artificial.

“It’s Lady Evadne!” the eldest of the kids says, reaching for her phone on the side of her bed, and I notice the prosthetic arm she uses.

“No, Pierro. This is the special guest we told you about yesterday. She’s one of the Selected.” Margaux corrects the boy at her side.

“Indeed it’s me.” I smile at the kids as they each make their ways to a sitting area set up at one corner of the room. The more kids that gather to that area, I notice the missing limbs and the prostheses that each of them were using.

“These kids are currently being rehabilitated, they’re all amputees.” Margaux whispers as an explanation.

“Bone cancer?” I whispered back.

“Some like Pierro. A few others have had complications with Type 1 Diabetes.”

I nod my head in understanding as I’m lead to the seat at the center of the room. As I look around at these kids, I’m suddenly reminded of someone who really mattered to me: Peggy, my horse.

“Lady Evadne, you don’t look like a princess.” A little girl with a prosthetic on her left arm says as she gives me a once over.

“I’m not a princess.” I shake my head. “I’m a Selected.”

“But don’t the Selected dress up like princesses?” she pushes on, “You should wear a dress.”

“Delia, she does look like a princess. Look at her pictures online.” The eldest girl snatches up the young one, pointing to her phone. “I’m Amber and a huge fan of your instagram.” Amber turns to me and waves.

I laugh and wave back. “Hey thanks! You all could call me Vad. It’s less of a mouthful.”

A unison of “Hey Vad” comes from the kids.

Margaux waves her hands to get the attention of the kids. “So we could spend a few minutes asking Lady Vad about her experience as a Selected. Who’d like to go first?”

Amber raises her prosthetic arm up. “Do you really have dresses made for you everyday?”

“Not really. Sometimes, I’m fine with repeating a few dresses.” I answer.

“How big is the palace?”

“Huge. They have really big outdoor areas.

“Is it true that you’re allergic to chocolate?”

“Yeap, I had an allergic reaction recently when the Welcome Ball was held.”

These kids were shooting me a lot of questions, and it made me remember when Dominic had told me about how everyone had been asking him questions way back during the first dates. You do get tired of talking about yourself.

The more I talked and spoke with these kids, the more I couldn’t really ignore the artificial limbs that seemed to have united them. I wanted to give a great story for these kids- not just some version of my life story like the story I prepared. The story I wrote wasn’t going to entertain the kids. When I wrote the story, I wrote it for me.

“So I believe you kids would want me to tell you a story now… right?” I ask, taking my tablet out and going to the word document of my story. It took one last look at the story that made me decide that this wasn’t the story I should be telling these kids- but I knew a personal story that would be perfect for them.

Pierro and Delia looked excited to hear the story and I grinned back as I looked for the right picture in my photo gallery on the tablet.

“If you kids didn’t know, I’m an equestrian- that means that I play a lot of sports that involves horses. This story is going to be about the true star of the competition, my best friend: Peggy.” I turned my tablet around to show a picture of Peggy and I in practice.

“Peggy loved competitions. She was this gorgeous golden brown mare with shining black eyes. She was fast, agile, and beautiful- everything that a prize winning horse should be. I met Peggy when I started horseback riding, so that was about 15 years ago. I learned how to ride horseback with her, and even learned how to jump hurdles, and play polo. We joined all kinds of competitions since I was a kid. I spent a lot of times in the stable, grooming and taking care of Peggy- she was one of my first best friends. I grew up loving that horse, even until now.”

“So let me tell you this one story about Peggy. Two years ago, during a competition in Hudson, Peggy and I were doing our usual routine- jumping hurdles, smiling ,and putting on a great show for the judges, when suddenly I hear a crack and Peggy and I tumble down on the ground. My heart immediately dropped at the sight I saw when I got up.” It happened all too fast, but in those few seconds the world had slowed down.

“One of Peggy’s front legs was bent in a crazy angle and panic immediately struck me. I knew that there was only one fate for horses with broken legs, death. Horses are amazing and very strong creatures but their bones can be so light that once they’re broken the horse could never recover. I was so scared because I’ve seen so many horses break their legs during competition, and I would never see them again. I didn’t want that happening to my best friend.”

“We had her rushed to the nearest veterinary hospital to get the medical attention she needed. The vet told me that Peggy needed to be put down. After all our training together, her leg had gotten so bent that it had snapped when she misplaced her hoof. All I could think of were ways to save Peggy’s life.” I remembered the desperation in my voice as I yelled at the vet for alternatives.

“My horse was not going to die because of this, she didn’t deserve to die like this. So I pleaded with the vet to give us other options, and he gave us our saving grace: a veterinary hospital in Midston specialized in prosthetics for horses. He told us that we needed to amputate Peggy’s broken leg before she bled too much, so I made the decision to agree. For my best friend, I needed to make a tough decision.”

“The next day, I had flown with Peggy to Midston to go to that veterinary hospital and we got her fitted with a prosthetic leg and titanium bone implants for her three other remaining legs. I’d be lying if I said that it was easy for me- it wasn’t. I could see that something other than her leg had broken, her spirit and it was painful to watch her go into surgery. I’m pretty sure that’s how your parents felt when you went into surgery too.”

“It took 8 hours for the procedure to be over, and when I checked on Peggy, she had a shiny new silver leg on. But she couldn’t stand just yet. How long does it take you to get used to your new legs?” I ask.

“Around 6 months…” I asked Pierro.

“It took Peggy a year and a half to really recover and that just covered standing and walking. It took us another six months to get her back to the way she used to be. People and doctors could tell you that you wouldn’t have much time left, but I want you to remember Peggy- if she got through it, so could you.” I show a picture of Peggy on a field with her shiny new leg in display. I even show a home video of the recent Charity Polo Match I had competed with Peggy.

The look on their faces as they watch Peggy gallop and run through the field was heart warming. It was hope, it was a story that I felt like they could relate to, more than the ice princess and the villainous wizard king and that was how I knew that I had told them the right story.

They ask me even more questions- mostly about Peggy. Talking about her made me miss home at Hudson, and I make a mental note to video call Zena and to put Peggy and Apollo on. After that, we take a few more pictures and selfies. Amber seemed to be the most excited to take a picture with me, and when I told her that she was going on my instagram she had freaked out about it.

When I was back in the limo with the other girls, I looked back at all the photos I took with the kids on my phone- content with what happened that day, and that was all that I wanted.

A/N: Super sorry for this being so late, I’m posting this in school. Lol RIp me, will probably edit this when I’m done with my college essay. My edits will be posted separately since I’m having trouble attaching pictures here. thank you so much to @ariciaeast for RP-ing with me. I’ll try to really write our RP in a separate fic.

#challenges #challenge 3 #ch 3 #evadne leventhorpe #lady evadne #lol I actually finished this in research class #selectionoc #~selection

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yinyangswings · 7 years

Text

That Little Black Dress

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Characters: Percival Graves, Reader, Tina Goldstein, Queenie Goldstein

Pairing: Percival Graves x Reader

Notes/Warnings: Um...jealous Percival. And smut. Pure smut.

Word count: 5044

Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” and “Just take it off.”

Tags: @aislinsekhem, @elenawrit

“I saw you talking to Charley Bunker.” He remarked, changing the conversation and you chuckled.

“Yeah. He asked me out on a date. ”

He was quiet.

“I told him no...he’s friendly, but I don’t see anything going beyond partners with him.” You added. “Besides, I doubt he’d want to date me long-term.”

“It depends on who you ask.” He finally replied as they rounded the final corner and you glanced at him, chuckling a bit.

“Is that right?” You asked. “What about you? Find any special girl?”

“No.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to smile. “Well whoever she winds up being, she’ll be a lucky girl.” You commented as you moved away, stopping when a hand captured yours and your heart stuttered when he pressed a kiss to your knuckle.

“Is that a wager?” He asked. You swallowed and only managed a soft sound, before clearing your throat.

He was just teasing you.

“Perhaps...anyway thank you for walking me home again, Mr. Graves.”

“Percival.”

“I...pardon?”

“We’re not at work, you can call me Percival.”

You blinked several times, before smiling softly, your heart beating quicker than you would have thought possible at that moment.

“...goodnight Percival.”

Well you had lost that wager clearly, as you were dating him now. Though if people looked at you at the moment, they would have never figured you and he were together.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking that I needed to check the perimeter, and Charley said-”

“Did Charley suddenly become in charge of this mission?!”

“Well I’m sorry, you were a tad bit busy weren’t you?!”

“Well-”

“You know Julius was right, going on missions with the two of you is entertaining.” Charley muttered glancing at you and Percival as he threw up a shield, blocking a hex.

“Shut it, Bunker!” Percival snapped.

“I’m just saying-”

You saw movement and spotted Barnaby making a run for it.

“Graves!!”

Percival didn’t need to be told twice and chased after the smuggler.

“Wait, you moron!” You called out. Likely wasn’t the best thing to call your boss, but you were also his girlfriend, so all in all it was a given. Charley snorted, but followed you as you raced after Graves, only seeing the tail ends of his coat disappearing into the sewers.

Because, of course the man would go after a criminal into a sewer headfirst and not wait for the rest of the team to catch up.

“Stupid, pig-headed oaf.”

“Don’t let him hear that.” Charley teased and you glared at your partner as the two of you climbed down, shrieking as you slipped and all but fell onto him.

Oh you were never going to live this down.

“Well hello there.”

“Oh come on Charley.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle. “Sorry. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just my ego is bruised...”

Charley chuckled.

“Did you see where he went?” She asked ignoring his laughter.

“The sewer is black as ink, I can barely see in front of my nose.” He replied and she sighed.

“Of course that’d be too-” she squeaked quietly, “something just ran across my foot!”

“You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Sunflower. We have gators down here too you know.”

“Oh shut up.”

They continued forward, the tips of their wands the only visible light source. They glanced to their left and Charley aimed his wand down the adjoining pipe. Nothing. He glanced back at (Y/N), at her stiff shoulders. It was clear she was upset. He had been her partner long enough to know that.

“Don’t overthink Graves too much.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh-huh. So you aren’t the least bit upset about him not asking you to that gala?”

“That’s he’s been assigned to work at as head security? I’m annoyed at Picquery, not at him and even then, it’s not a surprise.”

“And you’re not jealous about the women who, despite knowing he’s dating you and he can’t take you, asked him out to the gala anyway?” Charley asked and (Y/N) went quiet. “They tend to flock to him, you know that.”

“Yeah like flies to a carcass.” She muttered and he smirked.

“Maybe you should go. Make him jealous.”

“I’m already going. I lost a bet with Queenie, and she’s picking the outfit. Besides...jealous? Please, a man that confident and secure?”

“The man doesn’t like to share things, and you know that. He’s like a dragon hoarding their eggs around you.”

“Oh come on. I don’t think there’s a jealous or possessive bone in his-”

Suddenly they looked up as they heard cursing and flashes of light in the direction in front of them and soon after a yell echoed. They rushed forward, (Y/N) taking an embankment and Charley rushing forward into the melee, throwing a shield up to protect Graves.

He knew the drill, he just hoped he could keep the guy occupied.

Percival hissed, holding his side, looking up at Charley as he ran in front of him.

“Bunker-”

“Sorry Boss, but I feel like I’ll be yelled at a bit more if the Director is killed and I just stood there.”

“My, my Mr. Graves, I didn’t expect you to have other friends.”

“I am quite the party crasher.” Charley stated and Percival glanced up at him. He was stalling. That much was obvious.

“Regardless, Mr. Graves, I’d must admit, it was fun being chased by you, but now it’s time to say good-”

He didn’t even get the sentence out as Percival watched (Y/N) seem to appear from the other side and full on tackle Barnaby, his shoes flying in the air as they flew off his feet. He let out a savage grunt as the pair landed. She wrapped her legs around his and putting his head in a headlock, beginning to hogtie the man.

Her signature move from what he had seen and read in reports.

“Impeccable timing.”

“Well seeing as you haven’t signed my last paycheck yet…” Charley commented and the older man rolled his eyes, before holding his side.

“That’s what you get, you idiot.” (Y/N) muttered, helping him stand, “Come on, Mr. Graves…let’s take a look at your side.”

“I’m not going to the medical wing, I-”

“Yes, yes, you don’t want to be a burden to the healers and you’re a big boy…” she interrupted, “will you just trust me?”

He was silent, though even in the silence Charley could see the expression ‘of course I do’ written on Graves’s face.

The sap was head over heels for the girl.

“Well, I’ll go drop off Barnaby and start on the paperwork, (Y/N) you owe me.”

“Thanks Charley.” (Y/N) called out.

“Can you manage a side-along?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” Was her response and then it was a whirl of colors and shapes. They landed easily in her foyer and slowly (Y/N) moved away. “Now, I’ll be right back. Don’t go apparating anywhere.”

He was going to say he probably couldn’t, but sighed, figuring it was a lost cause as she vanished around the corner. He glanced down when he heard a meow and then something rub against his leg, only to see a familiar dark long haired cat rubbing against his legs.

He slowly bent down, scratching the cat behind its ears, something it clearly appreciated as the cat began to purr louder.

“Oh Socks!”

He looked up to see (Y/N) standing there with a small box. She smiled sheepishly, before frowning as he winced while standing back up. She hurried over to him and helped him towards her couch.

“Sorry. The little jerk likes you way too much.” (Y/N) remarked and he snorted.

“Dare I ask what is in that box?”

“A vial of dittany.”

“...you have dittany?”

“Such a tone of surprise Mr. Graves,” (Y/N) teased, “anyways one of my brother’s is a herbologist. He gave me this when I graduated from Ilvermorny.”

Percival was quiet, stewing over that fact.

Which one?” He finally asked and she laughed.

“Who knows. Having 6 brothers makes it difficult to remember.”

“True enough. How many are older again though? Narrows it down.”

“Not by a lot…” she muttered, “five older and one younger-lift up your arm- brothers. Because my parents wanted a big family, and boy did they make one. But no-this is going to sting so be still as possible- I couldn’t get any sisters. Just brothers.”

The fact she was telling him instructions as she told her family life was almost amusing, and he couldn’t help the chuckle.

“Yes, the pain of too many brothers.”

She laughed as she gently squeezed a few drops onto the side wound, ignoring a light hiss from him.

“There we go Mr. Graves, all bet-”

“Percival.”

She glanced up at him, her face flushing as he cupped her cheek.

“When we’re alone, I prefer you call me Percival.” He added and she swallowed, her face turning red as they sat inches from one another.

“Fine...Percival. All better?”

“Tease.”

“Yours though.”

“Unfortunately.” He mocked and she huffed as he drew her close, kissing her lightly.

“Sorry for arguing with you.” She managed and he huffed a laugh.

“No offense, but I think the department comes to expect that from you. You still follow orders though, so I’ll keep you around.”

She smirked, before they both glanced at a charmed pin attached to Percival’s vest.

Picquery.

“She probably wants to go over the security regulations for the gala. Again.” Percival offered and (Y/N) sighed, before kissing him gently and slid off of him.

“Seeing as I’d rather not anger the president, you might as well get going. I’ll see you later?” She asked and he nodded, kissing her cheek again.

“Later.”

“Queenie, do I have to?” You whined again as the younger sister of your friend pulled you into her room, tapping a delicate finger to her lips.

“Yes. You lost the bet.”

“But I’m not going to have any fun!”

“Nonsense. Besides, wouldn’t it look good if a few more aurors are there? Teenie’s going.”

“Yeah, but you’re going with her. She’s not going to have to watch you but not actually communicate because you’re busy.”

“Even more of a reason then! Drive Mister Graves up a wall.”

“What is with everyone? It’s just me. I’m not going to drive him up a wall.”

Queenie gave a sneaky smile.

“Would you like put a wager on that?”

Your lips pursed, (Y/E/C) narrowing.

“It’ll be all for fun, of course.” Queenie said with a growing smile and you sighed.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not on your life.”

“Fine. Let’s make a wager.”

You really should learn control on wagers with her, as you instantly regretted the look on her face as she tugged you further into her room.

“Almost...got it...”

Charley chuckled as he heard a zipper rasp shut followed by a low string of curses.

“Don’t like wearing dresses?”

“I look ridiculous in them.”

“Well, that’ll teach you to not bet with Queenie.” He responded and she snorted as he heard as heels began to click on the floor, he glanced back and was startled for a moment, staring at his partner as she turned the corner, still fiddling with the dress. It was a slightly fitted chiffon shaped dress, exposing the curves that she normally hid in her auror uniform featured a bit of cowl neck and back, slim waist and lace overlay across the above-the-knee hemline. Sleeveless too, and in this lighting he could see the light scar from a hex sent her way a year ago on her shoulder, but there was enough bit of lace peeking out of the front and back for a subtly sexy look to direct the attention elsewhere. Art deco-style sequined embellishments dotted the waist and neckline, and a slim sequined belt-style accent was situated around the waist as well with more lace draping down to the edge of the dress. A black headband wrapped around her forehead, a pair of kitten heels, her hair had been brushed back and curled lightly, and she had color on her cheeks with a deep shade of red for lipstick, and Mercy Lewis, if she wasn’t dating Percival Graves, he’d had given it a shot.

She had her own beauty when she was at work normally, a simplicity that many seemed to lose with the desire to be noticed. But God almighty, when she actually dressed up...she was stunning.

“...Do I look that bad?”

He blinked, startled slightly before shaking his head.

“No...it’s like you said, you never wear them, so I’ve never seen you in one,” he explained, “you look lovely. Queenie really did choose a good dress.”

Her face turned a brilliant shade of red and a small smile crossed her face.

“O-oh...thank you.”

“Also, if you don’t think for a minute Mr. Graves isn’t going to notice you, you need to get your head examined.”

“Oh shut up.”

You and Charley arrived at the gala shortly after, the man heading over to where his friends where and you walked in a bit further, feeling more than a bit exposed. It’s not that you hated dresses per say, you just had never really found the need for it.

“Alright, Queenie, you were right. You chose the perfect dress for her.”

You turned and chuckled at the two sisters.

“I’m never wrong in dresses, Teenie.”

You chatted lightly with the two of them while carefully scanning the floor. There was soft jazz playing in the background and you could see that it was already in full swing as wizards from different nations comingled together. You quickly located Percival speaking with Madame Picquery, looking rather dashing in his formal robes.

“-sure you don’t want to dance.” You heard as you tuned back into the conversation, glancing over at Tina who flushed brightly.

“You know I have two left feet, Queenie...” Tina replied with a huff, trailing off as a dark skinned man, walked over, flashing a bright smile. Looks like Queenie was going to have a dance-

“Excuse me.” He said, looking at you and you blinked several times, suddenly feeling very very exposed and you could now sense a few more eyes glancing your way.

Horsefeathers.

“Um...yes?”

“Auror Aman Kayode, Ethiopian Division. I don’t suppose I could interest you in a dance?” He asked and you blinked several times, as you worked through his accent. You had remembered the memo Picquery had sent out saying to try and not upset others, but you hadn’t really been expecting to having to seriously comply.

“Um...I don’t think there’s a problem with that?” You said in question, looking at Tina and Queenie. The former was frowning while the latter, though smiling sympathetically seemed to be amused.

Your dress clearly had garnered more than the attention that you had wanted and you wished you could glare at her as Kayode led you out to the dance floor. When you were halfway onto the floor was when you could practically pinpoint the moment that you had gained the attention of your lover. As much as you wanted to look back towards him, you didn’t want to seem rude.

Then you were dancing and though you could spot him every once in while, you would be spun around again at a dizzying pace. And before the song was even over you had been snatched up by another man. You didn’t mind dancing...but you could do without all the spinning.

“So you’re an auror?”

“Oh, um yes.” You managed lightly.

“New York seems to be quite the dangerous place for a vixen such as yourself.”

“I manage fine.” You reply, forcing a smile.

“Would you mind terribly-”

“Could you pardon me...I have to go to the ladies room.” You managed to your most current dance partner, giving a smile and with reluctance he let your hands go. You curtsied slightly and hurried away, but even then you could feel eyes watching you.

Only this time, you didn’t know if you wanted them to.

Percival was rather stoic looking as he leaned forward on the banister, watching (Y/N) dancing around. She looked...he wasn’t sure there was a word he knew of that could describe her. The moment he noticed her, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. Because he hadn’t really seen her, busy with the security detail of the gala, leaving early and returning home late. And if she was staying at his place, she was normally asleep or about to fall asleep when he got home. And now, she was smiling and laughing, apparently enjoying the festivities and being pulled and pushed by other men, but if one knew her personally, it would be obvious that she was disliking all the attention.

Though the blush when the one Norwegian emissary slides his hand a bit lower on her hip was real, it wasn’t of pleasure, and he was pretty sure he heard the stone railing crack.

“It’s the dress isn’t it? It’s driving you insane. Queenie and I told her so.”

Percival shot a glare as Charley climbed up the steps with a grin on his face. “You know if you keep glaring he might burst into flames.”

“Shouldn’t you be down there, Bunker?”

“(Y/N) can feel them watching her, Boss. Me being down there won’t help much but make her feel like a damsel in distress. Besides, I’m probably not the one she wants to rescue her.”

“I can’t.” Percival bitterly said, glancing over at Picquery who sat nearby, looking as though she wasn’t hearing anything. Charley shrugged, glancing down.

“Seems like she’s taking a breather.” Charley muttered and Percival seemed to sigh in relief, but he still watched her leave.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, go.”

Percival turned to see Seraphina Picquery observing the cuticle of her nails, looking at him blandly.

“You aren’t much use as security when you’re watching a single person. Mr. Bunker can take up guarding me.”

Percival hesitated for a moment, before bowing slightly and then walking, almost hurriedly, down the steps. There was a moment of silence as Charley strode over to stand next to Picquery.

“I don’t mind, but no offense Madam President, I sometimes think you could skin a man before anyone could get a wand out.”

Picquery merely smirked.

You sighed as you exited the bathroom, your head clearer now that you weren’t in a cigar smokey room that had the scent of whiskey. You pushed a strand of hair back, not really desiring to go back in. Maybe you should just call it a night.

“Hey Dollface.” A voice cut through the air and you jumped, turning around.

Oh great...the British emissary. “I don’t suppose we can finish our conversation now, could we?”

She took a step back.

“Aw, Sweet, you’ve been all alone tonight? That can’t be fun.”

And another and you ran into the wall.

“We can just keep talking, it’ll be fun.”

“I think I’ll have to politely decline that...generous offer…” You replied, flinching as a hand slammed next to your head.

“You say that Doll, like you have a choice.” He said and grinned and-oh sweet baby Jesus- the man was missing about three teeth, the rest was a dirty yellow color. You forced a smile, still trying to be calm. No international scuffles, bad idea.

“I would like to think I have one choice...it’d be...uh...rather unsightly if I didn’t?” You tried, beginning to slide to the left, only to be stopped again by another hand. Your smile slid into a frown.

“I’m not teasing, leave me alone.” You remarked, your grip going to her wand.

“Or what, Dollface? You American dames always come crawling to blokes like me.”

Suddenly another hand tore your from the confines the unknown man had placed around you, pulling you towards the owner of the other hand. The moment the scent of the person wrapped around you, relief flooded into you.

“I believe the young woman said to leave her alone.” Percival’s voice echoed coolly and the other man stuttered.

“Listen mate, she-”

“Is not your concern.” Percival interrupted and placed a hand on your back and began to guide you away. He paused, looking back. “If you don’t turn around and leave, you will regret it in a minute. I doubt Theseus would enjoy finding out why I beat you to a bloody pulp.”

And you finally understood why people told you that Percival Graves made an excellent auror. The conviction in his voice made the threat into a promise, and you let out a breath as watched the other man turn and flee.

“Well...that was-”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No…He more annoyed me than any-” you trailed off as you looked up at Percival who was still glaring down the hall, his grip on you tightening. Almost possessive. “Actually, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? You seem…”

Wait a second.

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” You asked and he grew quiet. “You…” You trailed off before gasping, “you are!! You’re jealous!”

“I am not.”

“So that wasn’t a show of dominance?” You replied with a teasing smile. He was silent, before exhaling loudly. Bingo. You smiled before walking over to him and cupping his face.

“He’s not from around here, Percival. Unlike anyone in this department, he’s not as observant to know what is and isn’t available.”

He looked at you confused and you snorted lightly.

“You don’t even realize that you’re doing it sometimes…I didn’t either until someone pointed it out.” you said gently, fiddling with his tie. “It’s subtle things, like when you put your hand rrrriiiggghhhtttt here,” you explained as she settled his hand on the small of her back, “it’s very clear to anyone who actually pays attention. Queenie best described it as you’ve done everything but pee in a circle around me.”

Percival was quiet, though you felt his thumb make a circle in the fabric of the dress and it sent heat to your cheeks.

“Does that upset you?”

“Upset me? I find it attractive actually,” you replied breathlessly, “and if it makes you feel better, I’m not interested in him. He may be a dignitary, but I prefer a particular American wizard who people think is more in love with his job than anything else.”

“Now you’re just teasing me, aren’t you?”

“That depends,” you replied, tugging his tie lightly, an impish smile on your face, “is it working?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes and you chuckled, kissing his cheek lightly, before turning to head back. Only he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. “Perci-”

It was a sound kiss and it sent lightning through your system, short circuiting throughout your body and your fingers clutched at the lapels of his coat, following him as he pulled you into a room, or rather a closet, you realized dimly, gasping softly when he pushed you against the wall.

Calloused fingers dragged up your thigh, while the other hand lifted your wrist above your head, and his mouth hotly nipped at the crook of your neck.

Almost as though he was marking you as his.

And oh sweet merciful God...

“Where the hell did you get the dress?” His voice came out hoarsely and you whined as he lifted your skirt up a bit further.

“Q-Queenie…”

“You’re trying to kill me aren’t you?” He muttered and you blinked in confusion, before fire spread across your cheeks as lowered down and knelt.

“Per-”

A heated look silenced you and your face turned bright red. This probably was going to be against the rules, and if anyone found them, you could only imagine what they-

Oh.

Your hands scrabbled around for purchase on the wall, because grabbing your hair would mess it up further and if your makeup wasn’t going to be a good indicator, your hair would. Somehow you managed to lift your skirt, trembling your mind went blank as he spread you and moved in with his mouth.

“Fuck…” you managed, struggling to stay standing, but he seemed to not really care. You looked down, your face burning now, “Per…Percival, you realize Mad…Madam Pr-president w-won’t be happy if y-you vanish from the wh…whole re-ception…”

“What reception?” he muttered, the vibration sending fire spreading through your lower half. Your head dropped back, thumping softly against the wall as he settled one leg over his shoulder, continuing his ministrations. Fucking hell, how did he manage to make you a quivering mess this quickly?!

“T-the one w-we were at-” you gasped suddenly, dragging fingers through his hair and he gave a slight hum of content, “the one we’re...at right now t-that…I didn’t want toOOO-!! Oh Merlin!!”

Your body went rigid, and you bit your lip to muffle the moan that yearned to escape while he drank you. You were shuddering; light gasps echoing the through the still room as he moved away. A tremor went up your spine at the look he gave you.

“Charley and Queenie were right you know.”

“Hm?” You murmured as he rose up and and nipped your neck, anchoring his hands on your hips as you rose on your tiptoes, burning at the touch. When had he talked to Charley? Better yet, had he even talked to Queenie?

“That dress is driving me mad. The fact made even more with watching other men looking at you and thinking the same thing I’m thinking.”

Your body was turning to fire and you leaned against him, eyes half-lidded. It was getting harder to think, much less speak.

“You really were jealous?” You managed and your stomach flipped at the hungry look he gave you. The strands of hair that you had managed to tease out of his normally slicked back look was not quelling your want in the slightest.

“More than you know or I will care to admit.”

“Hm…” You hummed, laughter in your voice. “I wouldn’t be too jealous Mr. Graves.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm…see unlike the men out there, your attention is the only one I like.” You offered softly, letting out a squeak as he picked you up by the waist, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

“Percival…” You managed to breath, fingers weaving back into his hair. It seemed control was impossible for him, and the almost primitive force of burning hunger was burning in his eyes and it made you quiver.

“Just take it off.”

“I’m not taking my dress off.” You replied with a teasing smile, chuckling softly at the annoyed growl.

“Insolence.”

“More like for the sake of modesty.” You murmured, gasping softly as he dragged a hand up your leg. “As modest as someone can be at least in a closet with their lover.” You added with a whisper and you heard a rough laugh before the soft rasp of a zipper. You bit your lip to silence the groan as he slowly slid into you, letting you adjust to him, digging your fingers into his sleeves just as tightly as he dug his into your hips, slowly thrusting, unable to stop the slight yelp as he nipped your neck, likely leaving a mark.

Clearly marking you as his.

Alright Queenie won the wager. Hands down. But you couldn’t find a lick of sense to really care at that moment.

“Per-”

“Ssshhh…” He hissed softly, moving slightly and how he was expecting you to not make noise was beyond your comprehension as you bit your lip hard to stifle the groan as he wasted no time in setting a pace and it wasn’t long after you were making small attempts to thrust back against him.

“Stubborn.” He managed, tugging lightly at your hair and you only gasped a response at the slow drag followed quickly by a sudden snap of his hips and your whimper mingled with his labored grunts and the sound of fabric rustling with the occasional sound of skin meeting skin.

Sweat slid down your forehead and with each new rock of your hips you felt the coil in your lower stomach growing tighter, and your breath quickened as it wouldn’t be much longer.

“P...Percival…” You barely managed, dropping your head onto his shoulder as a groan escaped your lips, breaking off as he grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking your head and dragged you into hard kiss, tongue pressing into your mouth

Well so much for keeping your hair at least somewhat not messy, you mused before your vision went white and you shoved your face into his neck to quiet your moan, taking him with you as you climaxed.

The two of you were quiet for a few moments, catching your breath.

“Well...this has made the party slightly more entertaining.” Percival mumbled as he slowly pulled away and you managed a laugh.

“When I get my legs to cooperate again, I’ll agree with you.” You finally managed, eyes fluttering closed as he kissed your cheek lightly.

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” You managed as with a simple spell the two of you cleaned your clothes up. “Though Madam president must be wondering where you are.”

“Or Bunker is driving her up a wall with his conversation.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You better go on back.” You said, “I’m going to need to clean up my makeup and hair. I’ll be back in a few more minutes.”

“Save the next dance for me.”

And you couldn’t help the snort, looking at him with a smile and you saw the slight twitch of a corner of his mouth, a characteristic smirk on his face.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Yes, but you love me anyways.”

“That I do.” You muttered, kissing him lightly as you pushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, with a smirk on your face

“I'll see you later?"

"Later."

And with that, and a quick kiss, he disappeared into the ballroom, and you chuckled to yourself.

This was a party you weren’t soon to forget, that was for sure.

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