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littleredwing89 · 3 years

Text

Set Up

SET UP

Dick Grayson X Reader

Summary: She took a deep breath, regaining her composure after feeling giddy when his breath hit her neck, leaned forward with the stick in her hands, and aimed. She missed the cue ball terribly and laughed. "I told you I don't play”. "Yes, you did", he chuckled and shook his head, "Let me teach you", He whispered, stepping behind her.

Warnings – NSFW Smut. Language. Semi Public Sex.

Word Count: 4,844

A/N: I just want to wish everyone a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I hope 2021 brings you all luck, happiness and health. Love always xoxo

***

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises @batarella thanks for proof reading :) you fabulous hoes - mwah mwah xoxo

Tag List: @offendedfishnoises @internalsealpanic @batarella @batarella-mini @lucy-roo @psych0crybaby @illzarr @pricetagofficial @jadedhillon @vvipgot7be @clementinesandstars @thedeadlythoughts @fantasticwizardnerd @idkmanicantenglish @power-of-words23 @vintagexparker @curledupwithcocoaandagoodbook @fourteengemstones @alwayschoppedtaco @borntobewondering @cowboyenorgy

***

Y/N looked over the room and scanned the crowd for someone that she knew that she could actually have a conversation with but saw no one. She sighed and drained her champagne flute and sat it back on a table and wandered through the crowd. Her friend Steph loved throwing theme parties and tonight's was a 1920's gangster era party.

It was well past midnight, and she was getting tired, but had said she would stay and help clean after everyone went home, which didn't look to be soon. She strayed through the house toward the back and down the hall. She heard clicking and realized someone was shooting pool in the den, which she thought was supposed to be closed to the guests. She went down the hall to see who was in the room and with the intention of shooing them out.

***

She pushed the sliding door open softly and investigated the room. Y/N saw the finest ass she'd seen in a while encased in a pair of black tuxedo pants. The body attached to that ass was leaning over getting ready to take a shot. He had removed his jacket and thrown it on a chair. He pulled back the cue, thrust it forward, and missed horribly. He hung his head and chuckled to himself. She walked into the room and slid the door closed quietly.

"You missed", she said quietly, walking up to the table and running her hand along the green fabric. She reached the end of the table and faced him, picking up a ball and rolling it in her hands. He looked up and laughed laying the cue stick on the table. Dick began loosening his tie. He took in her presence; she was a very lovely distraction in green.

"I know", he finished unfastening his tie and left it hanging free. He unbuttoned the top buttons at his neck and breathed a little easier. He looked at her as she rolled the ball in her hands and began unbuttoning his shirt sleeves, rolling them up one at a time. He finished and leaned both hands on the table and nodded towards it.

"Do you play?", he asked.

"No", Y/N laughed, "I only know the balls go in the pockets with the stick. That's about it".

She laid the ball back on the table and rolled it towards him. He caught it with his hand and tossed it in the air and caught it.

"You know, no one is supposed to be in here. It's usually off limits during a party", she said as she walked up to him. She stopped at the end of the table beside him, rested her ass on the table and folded her arms looking at him questioningly.

"Well…", he sighed, "I'm not much into parties, and I only promised to come as a favour for a friend and she begged", Dick laughed lightly, "I actually think she was trying to set me up with one of her friends, but I can't prove it".

Dick walked around the table and pulled the triangle out, loading balls into it. He looked up as he did, admiring the back of her. Her hair was caught up in some fashion at the top of her head, exposing her skin, but letting little curls fall against her neck in an enticing way. He saw her turn her head halfway and caught her profile. Her skin was delicate and the dress she wore looked stunning on her. He followed the one strap down her back to her small rear that was resting on the table.

"You wouldn't be Dick, would you?", she asked.

He stopped what he was doing and looked up in question. He finished placing the balls in the triangle, rolled them forward and then pulled them back. Dick removed the triangle and returned it to its place before walking around the table. He sat at the end of it with her and looked at her.

"Yes, my name is Dick", he said holding out his hand, "Not that I mind a lovely woman knowing my name, but who are you?", he smiled.

Y/N groaned in outrage and let her arms fall and pushed away from the table, "I'm going to kill her”, she whispered and headed toward the door.

"Wait, wait a minute", Dick said, taking a hold of her arm, "Why would my name spark such anger?", he grinned.

She stopped and turned around looking at his hand holding her wrist lightly. She sighed and took one step back toward him, "This friend you promised, what would her name be?", she asked.

"Steph?", he said softly, hoping it wouldn't set her off again. He lifted her hand in his and kissed the back of it. She groaned again and hung her head, shaking it gently back and forth.

"You realize you've been set up? We both have", Y/N asked, "Steph invited you here to set you up with me".

"Well", he began, lowering her hand but still holding it in his, "I'll have to thank her later".

"No, you don't understand", she laughed and tried to pull her hand free. He looked up in surprise and pulled her towards him until she was flush with his body.

"I understand that Steph wanted me to meet her very lovely friend", He said huskily, "Y/N", Dick murmured as if the name just came to him.

"Your name is Y/N. You're a genuinely nice person, very giving, and very caring”, he listed off things Steph had told him about her that he was now remembering, "You have a wonderful smile, beautiful E/C eyes, and adorable ears…".

She arched her eyebrow at the last comment as he laughed.

"Ok, I made that last part about your ears up myself. Oh, and if I hurt you, I'm to die a thousand deaths of immense and impossible to describe pain", he finished, laughing cheekily.

"Well, at least she warned you", Y/N laughed. She looked down at her hand still in his and cocked her head to one side, "I really need to go and kill her now, so if I could have my hand?".

"Oh, you don't need to do that right now. Play pool with me; let her wonder where you are", Dick suggested.

"I told you I don't play".

"I'll teach you", he leaned over, picked up the cue and brought it between the two of them.

"Well, I'll need both hands", Y/N said, looking down at her hand still held in his.

"My loss”, he whispered and let her hand go.

***

Dick walked behind her, holding the cue stick in front of her. He leaned in and inhaled her perfume as he stood behind her. Y/N reached up and took the pool cue, feeling his breath on her neck. She turned her head slightly to look at him and realized he was still remarkably close to her.

"I'm sorry", he whispered, "you smell incredible".

He dragged a finger up her arm, making it tingle. Dick inhaled deeply next to her ear, letting his breath warm her earlobe.

"Well, I'm not sorry", he admitted flirtatiously, chuckling. He pulled back from her and waved to the table, "Take the first shot".

She took a deep breath, regaining her composure after feeling giddy when his breath hit her neck, leaned forward with the stick in her hands, and aimed. She missed the cue ball terribly and laughed.

"I told you I don't play”.

"Yes, you did", he chuckled and shook his head, "Let me teach you", He whispered, stepping behind her. He groaned inwardly feeling her rear against him. Dick looked down and realized she had no bra on underneath the silky confection of her dress and he swallowed hard. He gathered his thoughts together and tried to push the image of her naked out of his mind. Covering her hands with his, he helped her position it and leaned over with her to help her take that shot.

"Now, you take the stick in your hand”, He smirked softly, "That sounds bad, doesn't it?".

Y/N giggled and put the stick down on the table. She stood up and turned around slowly to face him.

"I think it's a lost cause", She said softly, looking into his eyes.

"Maybe pool is", he whispered, running a finger over her bare shoulder and running it down her arm, "But we could do something else to pass the time”.

He cupped her face in his hand and ran his thumb over her lower lip. He stepped close to her so there was no space between them.

"And what could we do?", her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled and brought his other hand up to her face pulling her to him and kissed her gently. First kissing her lower lip and running his tongue over it, then repeating the movement on the upper lip. He felt her gasp against his mouth and as her lips opened wider, he gently stroked her tongue with his. Feeling no resistance, Dick pushed his tongue into Y/N’s mouth, slowly tangling it against hers. He tilted his head to the side and leaned into her, pushing her ass against the table.

***

Y/N heard a sound and realized it was her as she moaned into his mouth, feeling his tongue slide against hers. She brought her hands up and placed them on his arms, his chest pushed against hers, and her bottom snug against the pool table. She felt Dick’s hands move down her back and settle against her hips. He pulled his mouth from hers slowly and laid his forehead against hers, his breath coming in pants against her lips.

"Tell me I'm not the only one who felt something there", Dick groaned, opening his eyes and looking into hers, his body not moving, still pinning her to the pool table.

She licked her lips, his taste still with her and looked back at him. Y/N ran her hands up his chest and up to his neck, slowly sliding her thumbs over his earlobes. She ran the fingers of one hand down his jaw and up over his lips, feeling moisture on them from their kiss.

"No", she whispered, "You're not the only one who felt something there".

Leaning forward she kissed his lower lip, smiling at him and let her hands rest on his chest again.

"Thank God", Dick said as he leaned his head in and took her mouth again. He kissed his way down her jaw and licked the shell of her ear. He heard her gasp and repeated the motion. His tongue made its way down her neck and bare shoulder, biting gently. He reached over with one hand and pulled the strap of her dress down, letting the fabric of her dress rest above her breasts. Dick pulled back and looked at her, seeking permission.

Y/N shrugged her shoulder, the strap falling further and exposing more of her breasts. He ran a finger under her chin, down her neck, between her breasts and snagged the dress with his finger tugging it down. She stepped away from the table to let the dress fall. It pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before him in white lace bikini panties, thigh high stockings of silky sheer nylon and high heeled vintage shoes.

Dick breathed in deeply, telling himself to calm down, even though he felt himself go immediately hard when he took in her naked body. He leaned in and kissed her gently, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and running his tongue over it. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he ran them down her arms, holding her hands in his and enjoying her mouth. He stepped up to her and slid his hands down her back to her waist, lifting her up and onto the pool table. Dick pushed her legs apart gently and stepped between them, his crotch resting in hers. He groaned as he felt the heat of her through his zipper.

She reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, placing kisses down his jaw and neck as she did so. His skin soft under her lips. Y/N reached the button just above his pants and whispered into his ear.

"Help me get this off so I can feel you", she spread his shirt open and ran her thumbs over his nipples. He pulled his shirt out of his pants and let it drop to the floor. Dick felt her hands running over his chest, the soft touches sending shocks of pleasure through his body. He watched her lean forward and kiss his nipple and he groaned deeply. The sound rumbling through his chest.

She smiled against his chest after hearing his groan and licked it lightly. Y/N felt it harden and kissed her way up his chest to his neck. She licked her way to his ear and sucked the lobe into her mouth. She felt his hands on her thighs, slowly rubbing them.

"You should know I don't normally do this", she whispered into his ear. Her breath causing him to shiver in delight.

"Do what?", he groaned and kissed her shoulder.

"Have sex with strange men I've just met".

"Ah", Dick said, leaning back and looking at her. He held her face in his hands and kissed her softly, "I'm not strange, I'm Dick", he chuckled against her mouth hoping to lighten the mood with the beauty in his arms.

She laughed, sending vibrations through him, making him smile. Her hands ran over his shoulders and down his arms, loving the feel of his skin.

"I don't normally do this either", he said as he took her hands in his and kissed both of her palms and placed them back on his bare chest, "But you are incredibly beautiful and kissing you is...I can't explain what it is, but I want to keep doing it for days", he leaned in and licked her lower lip, "And if that's how I feel about kissing you, I can't imagine how it will feel during sex, but I'm willing to risk it", He pushed his tongue into her mouth and moaned as she glided her tongue against his.

***

He ran his palms down and cupped both her breasts, feeling her gasp into his mouth. Dick flicked his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them stiffen and then rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. He felt her push them into his hands and groaned.

Dick broke off kissing her and leaned down, lifting her left breast up and into his mouth. He licked once, heard her gasp, and took it further into his mouth, sucking gently, letting his tongue run over it again and again. He looked up and saw Y/N’s head fall back and heard her moan, urging him on. He felt her hands on his head, holding him to her breast.

He moved to her other breast and gave it the same attention, hearing her moan as he licked her nipple. Dick sucked it between his teeth and held it gently to flick his tongue over the tip. The sounds she was making encouraged him further. She sounded perfect. He took his mouth from her nipple, dragging his tongue over her breast and up to her neck. Dick could feel and hear her panting against him, making him smile against her skin.

Slowly, he bent down and was squatted between her legs, eye level with her pussy. Looking up at her as she ran her hands over his head, Dick smirked. He kissed her inner thighs and ran his hands up to her hips and pulled her to the edge of the table. He ran his hand over her panties, dragging his fingers over the lace watching her squirm under his touch. Dick inhaled her scent and ran his fingers over the elastic at the edge of her panties and pulled gently, “These have got to go”.

Y/N leaned back on her hands and lifted her hips up, allowing him to pull her panties off. He tugged them down her thighs, slipped them over her knees and down her calves. He pulled them off and let them drop on the floor with his shirt and her dress.

He stood up, slowly dragging his hands up her thighs, lifting her legs up behind her knees and spreading her legs as she lay back on her elbows and watched him. Dick slid his hands down her inner thighs, and slowly stroked her pussy lips with the back of his fingers.

She gasped and watched him through half closed eyes. Y/N didn't know what she was doing, but she wanted him, she wanted him to taste her, to be inside her, and make her cum. She didn't know whether it was too much champagne, but she knew she didn't care as she felt his fingers part her lips and stroke more insistently. As his thumb found her clit, she gasped loudly.

"Please", she whimpered.

He looked up into her eyes and leaned in, kissing her stomach. Dick dragged his tongue downward and kissed the top of her pussy lips, letting his tongue slip inside and graze her clit. He felt her legs fall further apart, and he used his fingers to spread her lips open further and slid his tongue down her inner lips.

Y/N moaned and bucked her hips up as his tongue travelled downward. Dick slid his hands up under her thighs as he ran his tongue up and wrapped his lips around her clit. He heard her moan and he held her hips down as she surged up off the table and pushed her pussy to his mouth. He sucked on her clit, rubbing the underside of his tongue up over it and flicking the tip of his tongue over it again and again.

Sliding one hand from under her thigh, he gently pushed a finger into her warmth, thrusting it in as he heard her hands slap the table. He looked up to make sure he hadn't hurt her, and saw her head falling back, her mouth open and her breasts rising and falling with each panting breath she took. She looked incredible. He began thrusting his finger in and out, in rhythm with his tongue stroking her clit.

"More", she panted, "Please, more…”.

She felt his tongue running all over her clit, his finger thrusting in and out. Y/N looked down and panted as she felt him insert another finger inside her and began moaning louder.

"Yes, please! Ohhh!", she moaned, pushing her hips upward. Y/N could hear his fingers going in and out, she was so wet and on the verge of climax. She felt the tingling in her pussy and her nipples as she gasped, realizing she was about to cum.

He hummed against her pussy, licking furiously, and thrusting his fingers faster into her as he felt her clamp down on them. Dick heard her urging him on, her words a jumbled mess.

"Yes! Yes! YES!!!", she cried out as she writhed her hips up to his mouth, feeling the orgasm wash over her, collapsing back onto the table, panting hard. Her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Dick had never seen anything more beautiful as he watched the spasms subside and her body come back to reality. He kissed each thigh softly and leaned up to kiss her stomach.

Dick trailed his hands up her stomach and cupped her breasts, running his thumb over her nipples. He stroked her arms and caught her hands and tugged on them, pulling her up into a sitting position and looked into her eyes. Sliding his hands up her arms and up to her neck, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in, kissing her lips. Feeling her breath mingle against his. He leaned his forehead against hers, inwardly counting backward so he wouldn't jump her immediately.

***

She ran her hands down his chest, hitting the waistband of his pants and unbuttoning them. Sliding the zipper down slowly, she pushed his pants down his hips and heard them hit the floor. Y/N ran a finger just inside the waistband of his briefs looking down.

"Those look a little snug", she grinned up at him.

"You have no idea", he groaned as he felt the back of her fingers brush his cock through his briefs.

“Jesus, that feels good", Dick whispered and placed his hands on either side of her hips on the table. He heard her laugh softly and felt her tugging his briefs downward, freeing his cock so it practically bounced against his stomach.

"Oh", she whispered and took it in her hand and softly stroked it, "And how does that feel?", she asked slyly as he moaned and pushed his hips forward, pushing his cock into her hand.

"That feels even better sweetheart", he whispered against her lips.

Dick pushed her thighs wider and pushed his body forward. Looking down between them, he took his cock in his hand, feeling her fingers brush his as she let go. He guided it to her pussy, feeling her heat on the tip.

“Fuck”, he rasped.

She shifted her hips forward, feeling the head of his cock against her wet pussy. Y/N felt him stroke the head up the lips of her and go back down again. She gasped and leaned back on her hands, enjoying the pleasure.

"That feels so good", she panted. He smiled and pushed the head into her opening slowly.

"Oh yeah? And how does that feel?", he teased, pushing forward slowly. She gasped and let her head fall back as she felt him push his cock deeper inside her. Feeling his hands under her thighs, she whined, lifting them slightly and pushing his cock all the way inside her.

"Oh God Dick", she gasped and began to lie down on the table.

"No", he moaned and grabbed her hands and tugged her towards him in a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her to him, his cock buried inside her.

Y/N grabbed onto his shoulders as he leaned in and kissed her lips, opening his mouth wide and sucking her tongue into his mouth. She felt Dick begin to rock against her and she moaned into his mouth. She slid her hands down his back and placed her hands on his ass and pulled him towards her.

Dick pulled his mouth away from hers and kissed her neck, groaning as he felt her muscles clamp around him. He kept up his slow rocking against her, enjoying the feel of her, running his hands all over her body, feeling the softness of her skin.

"Take me", she whispered against his mouth.

He groaned and thrust hard into her, feeling her body accept him.

"Again", she whimpered circling her hips, "Do it again".

Y/N stroked her hands up his back and grabbed his shoulders and held on as he began driving his cock inside her.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good", he groaned into her mouth, pushing harder into her, feeling her hands sliding down his back. He let her lay back on the table, lifting her legs under her knees, and began thrusting deeper. She moaned as he plunged into her, her breasts bouncing as he slid into her each time, over and over.

"Please don't stop", she sobbed, rolling her head from side to side, loving the feeling of him thrusting inside her. Deeper. Harder. Y/N brought her hands to her breasts and began pulling at her nipples unconsciously, panting hard, biting her lip.

"Fuck, I'm so close", she panted.

He watched her playing with her breasts, groaning huskily as he heard her words and drove harder, lifting her right leg up and over his shoulder. Bringing his other hand up and between her legs, his thumb found her clit and brushed it from side to side, making her moan louder. Dick felt her clamp down on him and her back arch, her breasts thrust in the air as she lifted herself up on her hands.

"Yes!!!", she cried, "Don't stop, I'm gonna cum. Don't stop...Please! Fuck!", she screamed out and threw her head back and moaned long and loud.

He thrust hard and felt her clench him inside her and felt her spasms as she came, feeling his cock slide faster as her orgasm washed over his cock. He watched her slide her arms back and lay on the table, panting hard, and her body quivering. He slowed his thrusting and waited for her to come back to him.

"Wow", she whispered, running a hand over her breasts. Y/N looked up at him and smiled.

Bringing her leg down from his shoulder, she slowly sat up and ran her hands over his chest. He slowed his thrusting even more and just started rocking against her.

"Watching you was incredible", Dick smiled and ran his thumb over her lip. He slid out of her and leaned back away from her. She looked up at him questioningly as he smiled at her. He pulled her towards him, and she hopped off the table and stood in front of him.

"Turn around", he muttered lowly.

She gasped but did as he asked. Y/N felt his hands on her back, urging her to lean over the table. She did so, feeling the crushed velvet feel of the table brush her nipples and breasts. Y/N spread her legs for him and felt him lift her right leg up and place her knee on the table, fully exposing her pussy. The cold air of the room sent shivers up her spine.

He pushed forward and slid into her all at once, hearing her gasp. He placed his hands on her ass and began thrusting into her pussy fast and hard. Dick grunted as he thrust into her warmth, feeling his balls tighten as he felt himself begin to lose it. Y/N moaned for him not to stop, her nails dragging across the table as he thrust harder into her pussy, feeling her slickness ease his way.

She felt him piston into her harder, his balls smacking against her clit, making her moan incoherently. He began driving into her harder, she could hear his hips slapping against her ass.

"Yes…Yes!!!", Y/N chanted over and over, feeling the tingling begin in her pussy again as she felt herself cumming for a third time. She moaned, hardly believing she was about to cum again.

"Don't stop…god please don’t stop", Y/N begged, looking over her shoulder at him.

He looked down at her, grunting each time he thrust. Dick felt his own orgasm fast approaching. Fuck. He sped up his thrusts and groaned, feeling her pussy squeeze around his cock again. Her slick heat made him go over the edge as he thrust and moaned.

"Fuck…sweetheart!", he groaned as he felt himself release inside her, still thrusting and spurting hot cum deep into her pussy. Dick slowed his thrusts, fully enjoying the feeling. Dick stopped thrusting and began to rock instead, shrinking inside of her. He leaned forward and kissed her shoulder and her neck, down the back of her spine, panting against her back, feeling her damp skin against his lips.

Dick leaned back and brought her with him, easing her leg off of the table and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. Y/N held his hands around her waist and turned her head and kissed his cheek.

They stood together for a time then she pulled his hands away, "I need to go back in and check on things", her voice was quiet as she began looking for her panties and dress.

He leaned down, pulling up his briefs and trousers before reaching for his shirt, "I'll go with you”, Dick said as he watched her step into her panties and pull her dress up. He reached over, pulled the strap over her shoulder and kissed her neck.

He reached for his shirt that she'd picked up and shrugged into it, tucking it into his pants and fastening them. As he buttoned his shirt, he left the top two buttons open. He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm.

"You-you aren't having regrets, are you?", he asked shyly, "because what we just shared was amazing".

"No", she murmured, "I just don't do this sort of thing".

She felt herself blushing and laughed at him.

He leaned forward and captured her lips in a sweet kiss, "Well, lucky me", Dick winked then grinned at her before pulling her to the door. He grabbed his jacket and shoved his tie in the top pocket. The grandfather clock chimed 2 a.m. as he pushed the door open and pulled Y/N out with him.

They walked down the hall together holding hands and looking at each other periodically, laughing between themselves.

It was the start of something - beautiful.

***

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x reader insert #dick grayson imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader insert #nightwing fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.29

Captured and Caught

04/24/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,876

Warnings: language, slightly graphic injuries, angst, trauma

A/N: I hope you like this chapter. It had a lot of stuff I wanted to see but this is the final stretch. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT RESPOST MY STORIES. Reblogs are welcome!

Tags are CLOSED!

It feels like a nightmare. Bad luck. A curse.

Just when you hope things are better, they’re exactly that much worse.

The world is intent on making things difficult for you.

It will never be easy.

But here, in this moment, with fear licking at your heels and instinct taking over—you react.

Phin moves towards you, lunges at you. All the blackness in his eyes—the familiar lust you’d hoped you’d left behind tells you what he wants.

Before he can touch you, you reach back in search of what you’d been sure you saw on your way down to the village.

You hope it’s still there.

Cold and wet, but hard and sturdy, the broken wooden hoe has only left its staff. It’s enough.

You swing it forward with all the strength you can muster and are rewarded with a resounding THWACK as the wooden rod breaks against Phin’s forearm and the side of his head.

He grunts, pained by the hit, but it sends him staggering to his right and you begin to inch to yours, rounding about his left to put you closer to your old cottage only a short sprint away.

So close. Steve is so close.

“Stay away from me.” You tell Phin, voice shaking despite the strength of your attack.

Phin still terrifies you and your body is still catching up to that. Your desire to protect your little one outweighing the fear and panic.

“You little bitch!” Phin growls, spitting onto the soggy ground a nice thick stream of vibrant red.

“I’m warning you, Phin. Stay back, or I’ll fetch my husband and he'll finish what I started.” You adjust your grip on what remains of the wooden staff, broken and sharp now, you could just stab him.

You can’t.

You will if he comes close. If he threatens the safety of your Prince. You will murder him if necessary.

However, as Queen of Broklin now, you shouldn’t.

“Husband?” Phin sneers, moving a step towards you as he lowers his large arms to swing threateningly at his side. “Who would want to marry you?”

You understand what he means, but he goes on. Insulting you, but you don’t care. As long as he stays away.

“No smart man is gonna want an orphaned trollop.” He seethes, visibly angered by your assault.

“I never gave you anything.” You tell him, you were a maid for Steve and you’ll not have anyone contest that truth. “You tried to take. But I beat you then and I’ll beat you now, Phin.

“I’m more than the girl I was.

“But you’ll always be a foul, loathsome, rapist. If you know what is good for you, you will turn around and go back home. Leave me be. Or you’ll regret it even more than you already do.” You offer, taking another step to your right putting you closer to the cottage.

Phin laughs as if he can’t take your threat seriously. As if you’re a joke.

His gaze goes dark again and he lunges towards you as you raise your makeshift spear. He halts, feet stuck to the ground as his eyes travel over your head towards your little run-down cottage.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Steve’s deep voice wonders.

You don’t dare turn your back on Phin to check on Steve but you’re sure he’s there, being as threatening as he can in the state he’s currently in.

“I’m here.” You tell him, voice flooded with relief and joy that Steve heard your commotion with Phin.

There’s still a small quake of fear as you begin to calm, and you know that Steve will hear it and worry. In this instance, you are more than alright with his fretting.

“Who’s that?” Steve asks.

“No one.” You say quickly. “He’s nobody.”

The intent is clear. Insulting. Malicious. You hope he feels like nothing, just as he made you feel time and again before your life changed.

“Hmm.” Steve says, playing for time. “Well, come inside my petal, it’s freezing.

You finally look at him and nearly faint at the exquisite sight of him in his torn and dirty tunic, white shirt frayed at the seams.

Despite his tattered appearance, he’s a vision.

His wide shoulders still fill the space and as he ducks underneath the doorway—Steve is too tall for the opening.

“Thanks for stopping by, Nobody, but I must ask you to leave my wife and I in peace.” Steve says, almost echoing the casual venom you used yourself earlier.

You move quickly into the box of Steve’s extended arm. As soon as you’re in reach, he caresses the back of your head, neck, then his hand slides down to the small of your back as he moves with you inside.

Dropping your parcels on the ratty bed, you hunch over, pressing your hand to your tummy as you wait for the world to stop spinning.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, moving to you, intent on putting his hands on your back again.

However, he’s still not well and you’re quick to turn before he can touch you.

“I’m perfect. Get back into bed while I make us something to eat.” You chastise him.

“I’m fine. I don’t need to be in bed.” He argues, his jaw tight in rebellion.

“Steve, please?” You don’t have the inner strength to be stern with him after meeting Phin so unexpectedly.

“You’re not alright.” He says, reaching out with his hand to cup your cheek but once more you stop him, taking hold of it and pushing it down.

“I’m a little startled. I wasn’t expecting to see him so suddenly.” You admit.

Steve watches you for a moment, storm blue eyes intent on every miniscule shift in your expression.

Slowly he inhales. You search his own face and find a quiet fury building in him.

“Steve…”

“It was him, wasn’t it? The guy that tried to-” Despite hating that someone else had hurt you, you can see the guilt in Steve’s eyes.

He’s still torturing himself over your wedding night and probably every night after that when he’d used your body, refusing to accept you as his wife.

“He’s gone. Please let it go. If he comes back then I will not protest your defending my honor, and our little one. But you’re still injured. And we must lay low. We can’t afford to call attention to ourselves.” Turning around you undo the twine wrapped around the largest parcel.

Pulling his new trousers out from the stack of clothes you’d purchased for both of you, you hold them up then turn back to face him and hold the pants against his waist.

They’re just the right size! A smile creeps onto your lips, smug and proud that you’d assessed Steve’s size correctly.

“I’ll heat you some water. You can take a quick washing and then change into these new clothes. We’ll both need some cleaning up.” You ponder the amount of water you’ll need, and you’ll have to take two trips. You’ll send Steve to bathe first, then you’ll wash yourself quickly.

Moving to the cauldron with its broken handle, you manage to lift it, but a light smacking sound draws your gaze behind you.

Steve is already there, taking the large basin from you.

“Doctor Selvig advised you to take care. I’m fairly certain lifting cauldrons full of water would be the direct opposite of that.” Steve tells you, annoyed with your refusal to rest.

“Steve-”

“And we’ll bathe together. I will have you within my sights until we are back in the safety of our castle, or your father’s.” He leaves no room for argument as he tucks the large cauldron under his left arm and then reaches down to take hold of your hand. “How will we do this?”

Waiting for you to instruct him, he stands looking down at you, his hand squeezing yours every few seconds.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” You tell him, lips curling up at the corners.

“And you’re mine.” Steve gives your hand another squeeze. “Where to my flower?”

With a sigh you remove your hand from his to wrap the clothing you’d purchased up one more time, then tuck the package beneath your arm and take his hand again.

“There’s a river close by. We’ll bring the water back, heat it up, and I’ll set down some hay in the corner so that we can bathe in the warmth of the cottage.” You explain.

“To the river then.” Steve declares and pulls you from your home.

With Steve at your side, it’s hard to feel unsafe. Not only is he large and imposing, but he takes such great care to make sure that you are alright.

He makes sure you’re seated comfortably on an old fallen tree before he wades into the edges of the river and scoops up way more water than you would have.

This way, the two of you will not have to make more than one trip. The water will take longer to heat but you’ll take that over trudging out here in the cold again.

“I bought us enough food for two days.” You tell him, sure that it’s enough. “We won’t have to come out again until then, and we’ll go hunting instead of back into the village when the time comes. I think staying out of everyone’s notice is in our best interest.”

“I agree.” Steve nods, holding the cauldron steady as it fills. “If it was Pierce behind the attack—both of them, and I’m sure he was—then he will not give up so easily. He’ll send scouts.”

“You would think that he’d be ashamed to do it.” You frown, hating Pierce with a passion after the fear he made Bucky strike within your heart.

Your son had almost lost his life before he was even here. If Bucky had succeeded, even though it was clear that he’d been under someone else’s influence, you would not have been able to forgive him.

Steve shakes his head. “Pierce cares only what the Kingdom can do for his pocket. He wants the prestige. He wants the glory.”

“Being a King is not glorious. Not always.” You agree.

Steve smiles softly, still watching the water.

“No.” He agrees. “It isn’t. Sometimes we must make terrible decisions. We make choices and must stand by them.”

“Like when you chose to marry me?” You offer.

Steve’s head whips up, his eyes searching your face for any sign of pain or distress.

“Choosing to marry you was the best decision I have ever made, in my life.” He assures you.

“But it didn’t feel like that when you made it.” You remind him.

He sighs heavily, standing up, his wide shoulders slumped a bit as he holds the heavy cauldron. “No. It didn’t.”

“You’re worried I’m upset.” You realize, getting up from your spot and moving towards him.

“No.” He says, holding his hand out towards you. “The water’s cold, stay there.”

You ignore him and move to the very edge, the toes of your fancy shoes resting just out of reach.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think on us, Steve. You made what you thought was the correct choice for your Kingdom. No one with any common sense would fault you for that. And what happened between us in the beginning is in the past.

“It was very painful, and it taught me that one might plan for something and find that it doesn’t go at all how one expects. I am cautioned now. And I also know that when offered a challenge, I can rise to it and weather the struggle—mostly. I did run away.” You smile.

Steve doesn’t return it and instead seems to pout. Unintentionally, but still, that lower lip of his protrudes just a bit and you resist every urge in your body pushing you towards him to capture those pink lips between your teeth.

“Oh, my love.” You chuckle. “When will you believe me that I do not regret our beginnings?”

“I regret them for you.” Steve tells you, still pouting. “I married you and made you my Queen. I should have treated you like one.”

You chuckle again and open your arms for him, your small belly protruding through the open cloak.

His eyes wander down to it and you can almost see the excitement flare up in his eyes.

It sends flutters into your chest and nearly takes your breath away. But he makes the choice to go to you.

As he hoists the cauldron up and begins to move towards you, a shift in the trees behind him catches your eye and you start, alert.

“What is it?” He asks, aware of your sudden panic.

He turns to look at what you see but there’s nothing there now.

“We should get back.” You whisper, almost certain that you’d seen someone watching.

As Steve takes your hand and you both begin the walk back to your little dilapidated cottage, you can’t help but wonder how truly safe you are here. You were never safe before…and nothing seems to have changed.

“Are they here?” Tony asks, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he picks up his golden crown—shining red rubies sparkling at Nat as she stands up from having just woke him.

“They’re approaching the gate.” She assures him, as tony springs from his comfortable cushioned chair.

Nat gives Bucky a glance, just a lump underneath many blankets in her room. No other place would do. She’d insisted once she’d woken up to find everyone gone, searching for you and Steve.

“If I must stay here, then I’m going to have him in my room where I can keep both eyes on him and make sure that you or your guards can finish what you started years ago.”

Tony had of course been offended. He hadn’t tried to kill Bucky in years! And he’d given his word…Doing right by you meant doing right by Steve. He couldn’t go around killing his best friend.

She follows Tony, watching the way he nervously adjusts his lush red velvet robe. His boots fall heavily with his drowsiness against the pale stones of his floor.

Nat smiles. Just a little. It’s amusing, how much he looks forward to meeting with the Wakandans. Especially their Princess. She seems to be of particular interest to him.

Nat knows why. It had been them that had crafted Bucky’s first arm. The skill she used, the way she wielded metal somehow seemed to have a power over it to make it do as she wished was something Tony greatly admired.

“Open the gate.” Tony says loudly and there’s a scramble of guards as they rush to open doors as he goes.

There’s a clatter of hooves as the gates are thrown open and through it marches six large black horses pulling the largest of Tony’s carriages. Behind it is a smaller cart with reinforced wheels, packed heavily with cases and boxes made of steel and iron of the likes that Tony has never seen.

His heart beats rapidly with excitement at the contents that those boxes may contain.

As the carriage rolls to a stop, there’s a flurry of movement as the coachmen dismount to open the doors.

Tony waves over a few of the burlier servants and gestures at the cart behind the carriage.

“Get those down to the first dungeon. And take their trunks to the third-floor rooms, by the Southern tower.” He orders.

Nat and Tony watch the open carriage door until first emerges a tall man in beautiful blue and black silks. The intricate pattern along the neckline—an array of angled triangles and squares—is beautifully stitched. The elegant lines of this man’s dress only enhances the warm umber tone of his skin and the piercing dark of his eyes. The otherwise gentle flow of the fabric is hidden underneath a thick black cloak, silver thread along the hem and neckline.

As he alights, the man bows his head at Tony and Tony returns the gesture. He struts over to the man and holds out his hand who graciously takes it and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Your Majesty, King T’Challa.” Tony says, his reverence clear. This is a man and a kingdom he admires.

“King Anthony, Tony.” T’Challa replies.

The two of them smile and then chuckle as they quickly embrace.

“My friend.” T’Challa says. “How are you?”

Tony sighs, almost as if he has been waiting for someone to ask this question.

“Much better, now that you’re here.” Tony nods, then looks to the carriage as a petite hand peeks through. “Allow me.”

He moves forward as T’Challa and Nat give their greetings to take Princess Shuri’s hand.

With a firm grip she allows him to lead her down the steps and smiles at him for his kindness. Tony’s eyes shine.

“Good day, Princess Shuri.” He gushes, completely enraptured with her intellect.

“Hello again, your Majesty.” She smiles, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. “Well, where is he? Where is the White Wolf?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I thought you said he had been beaten to within an inch of his life?” Shuri says, assessing the fading bruises on Bucky’s sleeping face.

“He was.” Nat assures her. “His bruises have begun to fade, and we’ve done the best we could with his arm. Tony removed the remnants of what was left of it. We put them side for you, in case you needed them.”

“I do not need them.” Shuri assures her then takes her finger and presses lightly against the bruising on Bucky’s face. His cuts have healed and have since faded.

Nat had been completely astounded by the miracle of it and then she realized that Hydra must have done more to him than even he knew if he could heal so quickly and not scar.

“He heals fast.” Nat says, hovering by the post footpost of the bed, wringing her hands to release her anxiety.

Shuri’s gaze goes to them and Nat quickly tugs on the bodice of her blue dress before crossing her arms across her chest to keep them out of the way.

“Faster than normal people, I mean.” She clarifies.

Shuri turns back to Bucky and pulls over a small wooden case. She opens it and pulls out what looks like a mirror without the silver. She holds it to where his shoulder sits empty, his arm gone.

“How long has he been unconscious?” Shuri asks, and once again Nat begins to wring her hands. This time, she doesn’t attempt to hide her worry.

“It’s been at least two weeks.” She says in a quiet whisper.

Shuri sighs. “I’ll need to know everything. From when he began his attack to the moment he was brought to submission.”

Getting up, she turns to look at Tony and carefully covers Bucky’s armless shoulder again.

“Do you have somewhere that I can work?” She closes her box and tucks it underneath her arm.

Solemnly, Tony nods, his eyes on Bucky. Wondering if it’s his fault that he hasn’t woken up.

He’d given him the full force of his chest beam…what if he injured him internally?

Shuri grabs hold of her yellow skirts and moves for the door. Tony right behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Warmth envelops you. Presses against your stomach. There’s a shift there, like a soap bubble popping, but inside. It feels strange.

You hear a chuckle, hearty and happy. The sound of it pleases you so much that you smile despite the sleepy state you find yourself in.

Still mostly unconscious, you reach down towards the warmth on your tummy and you remember as your hands find slightly stiff hair that you’re pregnant.

The popping bubbles make more sense now and you realize that your little prince must be kicking.

Then you remember that Steve is the only one to chuckle just so and you force your eyes open. You need to see him.

You find him looking towards your feet, both of his large hands pressed against the small swell of your stomach. His ear rests against the exposed flesh, your dress gathered up along your waist leaving you exposed.

Maybe you would have protested if the sight before you had not been so sweet? It is still chilly.

However, you can’t bring yourself to complain as you run your fingers through Steve’s hair with a bit more conviction.

He sits up a little, looking down at your belly, cupping it lovingly. Hot gentle lips kiss your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

Steve pulls your dress back down, laying it over your legs carefully before he meets your eyes then lays himself back down beside you.

You melt against his chest as he pulls you close, searching for your lips with his own.

You give him what he seeks, and he chuckles as you pucker your lips against his.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” He whispers, almost as if he’s still afraid to do so.

“You didn’t wake me.” You assure him. “Our son did.”

You reach down with a free hand while the other holds onto Steve’s shirt front.

“He was moving.” Steve declares, his storm blue eyes shining with glee. “He’s really in there.”

What a funny statement. You chuckle, unable to helps yourself with the innocence of Steve’s realization.

“Of course, he’s in there, my love. Where else would he be?” You laugh again, easy and slowly as you reach up to frame his face.

“I don’t know. I guess I just never thought I might feel him move before he was born.” Steve admits.

For a split second, your heart hurts for him and the family he’s so obviously been desperate to have.

Reminding yourself that finally, with you, he will have it—you pass by the painful thought quickly and settle back on pleasant satisfaction.

“He’s really there.” You promise him.

After a few silent minutes, Steve gently caressing your stomach while you take stock of your current state, your stomach growls and Steve is up before you know what happened.

“Where are you going?” You ask, startled.

“You’re hungry.” Steve points out.

Before he can get too far you catch his wrist and pull him back towards you, tugging him down and he obeys, kneeling beside you on the straw bed.

You tug his shirt up, exposing his ribs and the faded scar. He doesn’t fight you, letting you fuss over him. Probably enjoying it.

“It’s so much better.” You gasp.

Steve chuckles.

“I’m sorry, I’m still not used to it.” You admit, shaking your head a little as you lower his shirt again.

You stroke his cheekbone, tracing the lines you’d memorized over the last two weeks where black and blue had mixed on his peach skin.

It had taken these bruises so much longer to heal than the last he’d gotten, and Steve had surmised that it was because Bucky was different.

“What do you mean, different?” You’d asked him, wary.

“He’s changed. I didn’t notice before because we’d kept relatively safe. I’d been so broken up about Margaret’s death and Hydra had gone under after we’d rescued Bucky that we had no reason to seek a fight.

“The few quests we did go one had minimal fighting and I took care of that mostly.” Steve had ignored your frown at the time, refusing to give in to your stress over his throwing himself into harm’s way so readily.

“But what do you mean? Are you saying he’s like you?” You’d supplied, guessing rather well.

“Very much like me. I’m not sure what they did to him, but I don’t think all the did was take his arm. I’m fairly sure they put something else there too. Deep in his head probably. Magics or something of the like.” Steve had gone into silence as he’d mulled over his suspicions and you’d made a mental note to ask Grandmother about magics that could alter one’s mind the way Bucky’s had been changed.

You’re glad his bruising has gone down. No more swelling. Only a faded pink scar reminds you of the beating he’d taken for you.

Steve catches your hand, holding it by the wrist before he pulls you towards him. He wraps one arm around your waist while he continues to hold the other to keep you leaning towards him.

He ducks his head down to reach your lips and kisses you until you’re forced to turn your head to take a breath.

“Steve…” You sigh, laughing nervously. “…you’ll suffocate me.”

He chuckles and gets to his feet. “What will you have for breakfast? Should I go get you a squirrel?”

You frown at him, glancing at the small window that sits mostly covered by an old tattered curtain. There is no light shining in. In fact, it looks absolutely pitch black outside.

“It’s not even morning yet.” You argue.

Steve looks at the window too, hands going to his waist as he stares at the lack of sunlight.

“Guess we overslept a little.” He says, but you know very well that he must have been up for hours.

He’d let you sleep, and when he looks back at you, he’s exuding a quiet worry. He’s trying to hide it from you.

“Steve…” You plead.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You looked very tired and you’re not eating as much. You’ve lost a little weight.” He sighs. “I need to get you back to Tony’s castle.”

“It’s too dangerous.” You shake your head. “We’ll wait another two weeks and then we’ll go. They’ll have moved on by then.”

“We don’t even know if they’re here.” Steve argues. “The last we heard they were two towns over.”

“And that isn’t very far.” You point out. “They will come through here, I know it.”

Steve sighs heavily, frustration sweeping off of him in rolls as he flexes his jaw. He wants you to eat well. He wants you healthy. But he can’t control the stress you’re under. The fear that you feel at every moment that you will be found by Hydra and that they’ll do something to your baby.

They could kill you and you’d be happy, so long as your child was allowed to live. With the fate of the kingdom, however, you know that your son’s life would be the first to go.

No. Food is the furthest thing from your mind, despite the necessity you have for it to live. You want to be home and safe, where no one can touch you and your little one can live in peace.

“I’m fine with bread and cheese.” You tell him, leaning towards him, reaching for him because he’s close enough that you can graze his pant leg.

“We have no cheese.” Steve snaps.

“Then just bread!” You laugh lightly, grabbing his pant leg and pulling him close once more.

He falls to his knees for you, walking towards you before he sits back and places his hands on your belly.

“This will pass.” You whisper for him, reaching up to pull him down so that you can press your forehead to his. “We will get out of here and things will be better. Bucky will be fine, and our child will be born happy and healthy and we will live out the rest of our lives together until we both die wrinkled and gray, still arguing over how best to care for each other.”

Steve sighs, and you can almost feel the ache in his chest in your own. Placing your hand there, you massage it lightly, your brow furrowed in sympathetic agony.

“You are doing fantastic, Steve.” You assure him and he meets your eyes.

They shake, filling with tears before one slips along his cheek. You wipe it away quickly, smearing it along his slightly dirty cheek. It’s been impossible for either of you to get properly clean here.

“You’re losing weight.” He argues.

“And that’s not your fault. I’m just worried.” You finally admit. “About you, about our son. I’m worry about Nat and Father and Bucky. And I’m terrified that someone will find us and you’ll do something stupid to try and protect me.”

You tease him, and he sniffles. Shutting his eyes, he pulls you tight again his chest so that your back is curved in a slightly uncomfortable position as he holds you there. Yet you give him what he needs, wrapping your arms under his and around to rest against his back.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispers fiercely.

As he breathes in, it shakes with emotion and the chuckle rolls across your throat softly.

“Oh, Steve.” You say gently, trying to pacify his own fears. “Once our little one is born, you will always have a part of me with you. Until then, I promise not to leave your side.”

“You can’t leave me even after he’s born!” Steve fights you.

“Alright.” You relent. “Do the others know just how needy you are? How much attention you require? How romantic you can be?”

Steve pulls back, shaking his head before he shrugs.

“They saw me with Margaret.” He says.

“And were you like this with her?” You wonder, genuinely curious and not at all jealous.

“Only once or twice. Under very similar circumstances.” He admits, rising again and moving to grab the basket of food you’d gone out to purchase four days ago.

You relax on the bed, so close to the ground that you can feel the cold from outside seeping through. Rising you move towards the fire and throw in a few more pieces of wood Steve had gathered.

The fire roars a little stronger and Steve meets you back on the bed with the basket.

“Just bread now.” He tells you, but he cuts it in two and offers you the larger piece.

“Steve…” You frown, reaching around his outstretched hand to take the smaller piece.

“You need it more.” He argues.

“And you’re bigger than me.” You point out.

“You’re so stubborn!” He growls but is interrupted as the door to your little cottage is thrown open.

You gasp, nearly screaming as you drop your bed, startled by the sudden noise.

A rush of cold wind fills the cottage, your fire crackling loudly as it tries to combat the sudden cold.

Steve thrusts himself between you and the door, turning to give you his back with his shield already in hand.

“When I tell you to run, run.” Steve says quietly.

From the darkness of the opening, a familiar head of red hair struts in, his smirk hateful and bitter.

“You shouldn’t have hit me, Your Majesty.” Phin says, mocking you and your title.

No! You think in terror. How?

How did he find out?! This can’t be happening!

“And now you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.” He spits, then steps aside as a dark figure moves in behind him.

You coil in on yourself, cupping your belly as you prepare yourself to turn and run as Steve begins to rise from his crouch in front of you only to stop halfway.

The figure steps into the light, and it feels as if your heart might explode in jubilation.

With his sepia skin, still mostly silk save for the frost-bitten tips of his nose, ears, and chin Sam gives you and Steve a small minute shake of his head.

You cling to Steve’s back more tightly, noticing the other things about Sam that you hadn’t noticed before.

He wears head to toe black, the same leather tunic with subtle metal plating on his torso and legs that the Hydra knights had been wearing. He glares at both of you then whistles loudly.

Behind him rush in a party of men you’ve never seen before. All of them wearing the same armor.

“Come quietly and we won’t hurt the Queen.” Sam says, such danger in his voice.

You’ve never heard Sam sound this way. It drives chills down your spine.

With no choice but to obey, Steve drops his arms, defeat in his shoulders.

The other knights haul him to his feet, ripping the shield from his hands and then escort you both towards the door.

Sam steps aside as you move through the doorway, one of the knights poking into your back painfully but you don’t dare make a sound.

As you pass them, you look at Phin, clinging to Steve’s arm which is held out back towards you to offer you what little protective comfort he can. Sam reaches onto his waist and pulls a pouch of what must be gold and tosses it to Phin.

“If you speak of this to anyone, you will feel the wrath of Hydra’s sword.” Sam warns Phin, a true threat.

Phin goes white.

You and Steve are shoved roughly into a large closed cart. You trip on your way in but Steve turns to catch you and settles you there between his legs in the far corner of the carriage. You can feel the wood rough and splintered beneath your legs and adjust your dress as best you can.

“Move quickly. This needs to be done before morning.” Sam orders the guard then climbs in after the two of you and moves to sit himself on one of the built-in benches on the sides of the cart. “Shut the door. Lock it.”

They obey him, slamming the doors shut and then bolting it shut. A moment later, you’re jerked forward as the cart begins to move.

For ten minutes, you cling as tightly as you can to Steve, his arms hot and tight. Then as the cart’s movements become steadier, he relaxes his arms. It gets faster, cutting through the winter night quickly.

Steve sighs.

“What took you so long?” He shakes his head, then reaches up to caress the side of your head. “Relax, my flower. We’re safe now.”

Confused, you turn to Sam and find him smiling. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, brilliant white teeth shining down at you as your heartbeat slows.

It had all been a ruse!

“How are my skills of deceit, your Majesty?” Sam asks you, then chuckles and relaxes against the side of the cart.

“But…” You begin, confused, and so emotionally wrought that you begin to cry without meaning to.

Maybe it was all the built-up fear over the two weeks you’ve been back home, or maybe it’s the relief that you’re finally somewhere that the treat of death no longer presses down on you and your baby.

“Shit…” Sam says, moving towards you on his knees to hover uselessly before you, not daring to touch you as you sob softly.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” Sam says, but Steve pulls you closer.

You hide your face into his chest, clinging to his shirt tightly as all the stress you’ve been feeling goes pouring from your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Sam repeats, this time speaking to Steve.

“It’s not you.” Steve assures him, stroking your back. “We’re just finally safe.”

He kisses your head, pressing his lips against your hair. “You’re safe.”

#medieval au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu au #marvel au #steve rogers x you #king!steve x you #captain america x you #royal au #arranged marriage au #pseudo princess

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!!

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about.

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up.

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories.

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl"

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?"

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie"

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness.

A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?"

"It's not my favorite"

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!"

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.

"She was implied"

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right.

On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things.

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?" The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out"

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class"

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

"I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her.

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction.

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?'

After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies.

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy"

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure.

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness.

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything. Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile.

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be.

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light.

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork.

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?"

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain.

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better"

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat"

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together.

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin"

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!"

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed.

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet.

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped.

***

Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile.

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important.

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out.

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day.

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her.

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair.

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee"

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable?

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

"OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all,"

"Uh huh"

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace.

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement.

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!"

"No it's not!"

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it.

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself?

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic"

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little.

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?"

"What?"

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are"

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

#rpdr fanfiction #as6 #ra'jah o'hara #scarlet envy #trinity k bonet #kylie sonique love #yvie oddly #ra'jah x scarlet #enemies to lovers #lesbian au #fashion school au #a series of mutual feelings #pazinae #concrit welcome

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Text

for reasons wretched & divine

summary: unfit: unfit for duty, unfit for a proper teaching position, unfit for you.

word count: ~14k

warnings: ~inappropriate~ student/teacher relations, age gap (27 & 19), war related topics, mental illness related topics, some suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), angst, innuendo, language

a/n: what can i say? i’m a hoe for period pieces. i have been laboring over this for an embarrassingly long time so i’m pleased to finally share it with you all! would love to hear your thoughts. also: big big thank you to @joemazzmatazz for being an extra set of eyeballs on this one and listening to me ramble about my insecurities every other day! love you long time, sis. xoxo.

(photo: @consumedbygwirst)

snowshill, gloucestershire, england. 1917.

a deaf ear, that’s why they wouldn’t take him; a deaf ear. he’d tried—god, he’d tried—to convince someone on the medical board that he was fit for duty. he’d come dangerously close to offering a bribe; something, anything, to be able to go and fight alongside his kinsman. but in the end, they’d still slapped his file with a rejection stamp.

gwilym james lee: unfit for duty by reason of physical impairment necessary for proper military response.

the words are engraved on his very heart now. he can’t shake them.

unfit, unfit, unfit.

his hands shake as he gathers the papers littered across his desk. the tremor has plagued him since he left his review with the medical board. why he can’t say for certain, and he doesn’t like to probe the issue too deep, but it’s always there, fluctuating in intensity. a slight waver in his fingers one moment and a full-scale trembling the next. it makes him feel like an old man, his deaf ear, his shaking hands. he’s twenty-seven years old, in the prime of his life, not eighty.

it’s sunday, and the mid-afternoon sun warms him through the window. he’s been in snowshill for a fortnight now yet his students—all twelve of them—remain a mystery. it’s clear they miss their former schoolteacher, but, like most, jefferson lewis has gone to serve his country. the vicar, bless him, had proven to be of more harm than good during his brief tenure as schoolmaster for the last four months, hence, gwilym’s new post: a stone, one-room schoolhouse on the edge of a vast field; a community away from civilized society, away from his father, away from any place he could soil the family name with his failures.

materials gathered, he slips out the front door. he considers locking the place up, but if anyone does break in, there isn’t much to steal. he’d come by this afternoon on a whim. lodging with an elderly woman and her six cats is one of the many things about snowshill that grates on his nerves, and the quiet air of the schoolhouse is a welcome respite from constance’s inane titterings. it’s nearly time for afternoon tea, though, and she’ll be cross if he doesn’t show, so he heads down the dirt lane, hands in his pockets, head bent low.

his steps slow, but do not stop, when the sound of his name reaches his ears. it sounds muffled, far away, as most things do. still, it’s loud enough to give him pause. he throws a glance over his shoulder. two pupils—maryanne clouder and you—walk down the lane. you stroll arm in arm with maryanne, your hair tied back in a long braid. maryanne’s arm is raised in a motion meant to flag him down. begrudgingly, he stops.

“mr. lee!” maryanne is not coy in the way she grabs your wrist and drags you across the road. her cheeks are flushed when she reaches his side, her elbow still circled around yours. “we didn’t see in you sunday service this morning.”

he shifts on his feet, fingers curling around the strap of his satchel. “no, i didn’t attend.”

“any reason?” maryanne’s head tilts to the side, her lower lip caught between her teeth. he stifles a sigh. the girl is young, merely fifteen. she’s cute in a girlish sort of way; one might see her as a pesky sister. still, she tries to catch his attention each day, her eyelashes batting against her sun-chapped cheeks, her legs swinging back and forth at her desk.

“i... overslept,” he lies.

his eyes flick to your face, which struggles to remain unamused. you’re the eldest of his pupils, nineteen and itching to capture whatever semblance of freedom is left in the world. maryanne is your closest classmate in age, and he rarely sees you without her on your tail. to your credit, you never complain, never seem to mind. he admires that. there had once been a day he’d been like maryanne—so eager to please whoever would give him the time of day—but those days are long gone.

“well, mother asked after you,” maryanne continues. “she’d like to invite you over for supper sunday next—as a proper welcome to snowshill.”

he’s quick to turn her down, as he has two other families since his arrival. “that’s very kind, maryanne, but i’m not sure it would be appropriate.”

“nonsense, sir!” he hopes his eyebrows don’t rise too much in surprise when you jump to maryanne’s aid. “i’ll be there with my niece and my grandfather, and mrs. coulder makes the best roast you’ve had this side of london. you must come.”

from behind his circular, wire-rimmed glasses, he wonders if you can see the way his eyes widen. since arriving at the schoolhouse, he’s known you only as the eldest, wisest, and least rambunctious of his class. you’re quiet, but well-spoken; authoritative, but not domineering. the way you carry yourself—shoulders held straight, chin extended outward, eyes soft yet purposeful—he could easily mistake you for a woman. but you’re not. you’re a girl, his student, and just because you insist he attend sunday supper does not mean you look at him as anything other than your teacher. certainly, he doesn’t look at you as anything other than his student.

he clears his throat. it’s been a long day. he’s tired, on edge. he shouldn’t be thinking about these things.

forcing a tight smile, he gives a nod. “it seems i have no choice.” maryanne claps her hands together as he says, “tell your mother i’ll be there.”

“oh, goody! you won’t regret it, sir, i promise. i’ll be sure to tell hastings not to pester you too much.”

a groan nearly surfaces as he remembers the previous week’s antics of maryanne’s brother. he bites his tongue to keep from retracting his acceptance. “hastings doesn’t bother me, maryanne.”

her grin turns sly, and she pushes his arm in a playful gesture. “you don’t have to lie, mr. lee.” her tone is slow, drawling, and he has the integrity to blush. his ears feel hot, uncomfortable—and not at all pleasurable.

you tug on maryanne’s arm. “come on, mary.” stepping away, you jerk your head toward town, a measure of concern hidden beneath your smooth features. “we should leave mr. lee be. we’ve bothered him enough already.”

he doesn’t refute your statement. even if he jogs the rest of the way, he’ll still be late for afternoon tea, and he’ll still bear the brunt of constance’s wrath. in truth, you have bothered him enough already. so he lets you steer maryanne away without another word. at the last moment, he thinks he’s imagined it when you twist to look over your shoulder, your eyes running over him with a modicum of interest. he shakes the feeling off; it must have been his untoward imagination.

by the time he reaches contance’s cottage, a light drizzle has wet the shoulders of his suit jacket. his hair is damp, his glasses foggy. he ducks to avoid smacking his head against the doorframe as he enters. the cottage smells of tea and scones, both fresh, both warm.

from the kitchen, constance’s shrill voice meets his ears. no matter his hearing loss, her voice will never be one he can ignore. “is that you, gwilym?” she putters to the kitchen arch, wrapped tight in her pink robe, tea kettle in hand. when she sees him standing in the doorway, she frowns. “you’re late.”

“yes, yes, i’m sorry.” he sheds his jacket and places it on the wooden banister. rolling up his shirt sleeves, he makes his way to the kitchen. “i was accosted by some of my students.”

constance laughs, her fleshy cheeks taut with a smile. “oh, child, you make it sound like you loathe those students.”

he says nothing, simply brushes a few crumbs away from his place at the table. a fat cat jumps to take his seat before he can settle, and he sighs. constance chuckles at his misfortune, placing the tea kettle in the center of the table. she shoos the cat for him, and he sits.

“pour for us, won’t you?” she says, turning to gather the scones.

gwilym hesitates. his hand flexes on his thigh, but there’s no point in arguing with constance, so he lifts the kettle. heavy with hot water, the pot wavers in his hand. as he pours, his tremor grows stronger, the pot shaking so violently water makes it everywhere but the teacup.

“dammit,” he mutters. he puts the kettle down with more force than is strictly necessary; enough that he can feel constance’s eyes slide to his back as he rises to mop up the spilled water. it’s hot as it drenches the napkin, and he takes the moment of pain as punishment. he uses both hands to pour on the second go around. there’s still an unnatural rhythm to the stream of liquid as it descends to the teacups, but it hasn’t ruined the tablecloth, and he supposes that’s all that matters.

“there we are.” constance places a scone—blueberry iced with cream; she always makes his favorites—before him, and she does not mention the spilled water. “who were the rascals that accosted you this time?”

between bites of scone and sips of tea, he answers. “maryanne coulder and [y/n] [y/l/n].”

constance replaces her teacup on its saucer with a knowing nod. “ah, i know the coulder family. good bunch, except for that son of theirs.” her smile widens as his face blanches. “it seems you know him too.”

“he put tacks on my stool this thursday.”

“did you sit on them?”

he shakes his head. “no, but i might’ve.”

“and it would have given all the children a royal laugh.” she takes another sip, challenging him over the rim of her cup. “[y/n] i don’t know so well.”

“she’s in her last year. bright girl.” he doesn’t know why he feels to need to say such a thing. he’s barely given constance any information about his students thus far, but there’s something about the way she’s watching him that makes him speak and speak fast. “she could go on to university if she put her mind to it.”

“nineteen, i think, yes?”

he shrugs. “i think so.” constance hums and reaches over to pet an orange tabby cat. “they’ve wrangled me into sunday dinner next week. the coulders, i mean,” he adds.

“oh?”

“it was impossible to say no.”

“well, i believe it’s about time you show your face around town.” constance lifts a barely visible brow. “you really much try and engage your students more, gwilym. no one likes a sour puss.”

heat rushes up the back of his neck, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. she’s right, of course. he hasn’t always been this way, but since the war broke out and his subsequent service denial, he’s been nothing but a gray cloud in every room. he can’t help it.

constance changes the subject as her eyes move to the window at the back of the cottage. “did you know michael livingston went and shot a fox at four o’clock this morning?” she tuts her tongue. “that man! he really is the bane of my existence. a horrid excuse for a neighbor.”

gwilym’s gaze drops to his teacup, and he filters out what he can of constance’s prattle. she’s right. he should work on connecting with his students more. his father is a master at that. he has every student at the university eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the first term week. gwilym thought he might have the capacity to do the same, but it seems he had been wrong. his students are respectful enough, but aside from maryanne and her silly crush, they are largely unattached. though, it isn’t as if he wants their affection or even their approval...

he’s fine without it. really, he is.

still, it wouldn’t hurt to at least seem approachable. he’s in snowshill for the foreseeable future. he might as well face it and try to appear like he gives a damn.

at four o’clock sharp the following sunday, he stands outside the coulder household, his fist poised ready to knock on the dark green front door. only he can’t seem to bring himself make his arrival known.

if he knocks, he has to be sociable. if he doesn’t knock, he can retreat to his attic room and spend the rest of his sunday in peace.

if he knocks, he might begin to chip away at the three-foot-thick barrier he’s placed around himself. if he doesn’t knock, he remains hidden, but protected.

his fist trembles in front of the door.

“mr. lee, are you alright?”

he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice. dropping his hand and readjusting his hold on the plate of muffins constance sent along with him, he turns away from the door. you stand halfway down the stone path leading to the home, one hand holding the chubby fingers of a toddler he doesn’t recognize. your other hand is pressed against the back of an old man, his shoulders bent with age, hands wobbling as he uses a cane.

gwilym swallows and looks away. “oh, hello. i just...” he can’t think of an excuse, so he, lamely, settles for the truth. “well, if i can be frank with you, miss [y/l/n], i was—am—feeling a bit apprehensive.”

you just smile and lift the toddler from the ground. with the girl on your hip, you come to stand by his side. he shifts when he catches a whiff of your shampoo. you glance up at him, your smile lifting, before knocking on the front door yourself.

“there’s nothing to be nervous about, sir,” you whisper in the lull between your knock and the door opening. “’s just maryanne.”

he isn’t certain, but he thinks you’re teasing him. the possibility makes his skin crawl in more ways than one. he hates that.

saved the duty of response, he pulls his mouth into a tight smile as the door opens. mrs. coulder, flanked by her daughter, stands in the threshold, brightly patterned apron snug around her waist.

“oh, mr. lee!” she stretches out her hand, and he shakes it, the plate of muffins tipping precariously in his opposite palm. “we’re so glad you decided to join us.”

“thank you for the invitation, mrs. coulder.” he waits until you’ve passed with your grandfather to cross the threshold.

“please, call me vivianne. can i take that for you?” she nods to the plate of muffins, eyes sparkling all the while.

“yes, thank you. from constance pruder,” he adds. “she told me to tell you hello.”

“how kind of her!” vivianne takes the muffins from his arms and gestures toward the back of the house with her chin. “my husband, john, is out back. why don’t you go and chat until supper’s ready. he is ever so eager to meet you.”

gwilym fights to hold back his cringe. fathers—he doesn’t do well with them. not his own, not anyone else’s. it’s just another item on his long list of dislikes and annoyances.

but he’s a guest, and he really does want to try. so he fixes his tie and follows vivianne’s directions to the back garden.

john is sat on a wrought-iron chair, his hands braced against the arms, round face pulled tight in a frown as he watches maryanne play with the toddler on the grass. he stands when gwilym ducks to step outside. he extends a hand, his grip painful.

“lee,” he barks in greeting before dropping back to his seat.

the old man—gwilym assumes he’s your grandfather—twists from his place in a similar chair. “forgive me if i don’t get up, son.” the way his fingers waver in the air makes gwilym’s stomach clench; his own hand shakes slightly as he touches the old man’s palm. “name’s richard.”

“sit down.” john points to a bench against the house. “i’ve got questions for you.”

gwilym hesitates, caught bent at the waist as he goes to sit. his hands are firm on his thighs, and unwittingly, his eyes flick to yours. he’s surprised to see you already watching him, your fingers twirling in the blades of grass around your legs. when the moment has stretched far too long, he sits and smooths his sweaty palms against his trousers.

“i hope easy questions, sir,” he says. his tone is light, but his teeth are gritted.

“easy enough if you tell the truth.” john withdraws a silver cigarette case from his breast pocket. jamming a butt between his teeth, he offers the case to gwilym, who declines with a shake of his head. john puffs on the cigarette for a moment before saying, “why aren’t you off fighting, lee? all the other lads from gloucestershire are doing their part. what makes you special enough to stay away from the battle?”

to say gwilym is shocked by john’s pointed question would be an understatement. the force of the query, spoken in harsh, biting tones, is enough to tilt him sideways in his chair. he’s sure his face is red, his chest tight from forgetting to release the breath he holds in his lungs. his hands curl against his trousers, his knuckles gone white with rage.

“well, sir,” he drawls, careful to keep his tone even. more than anything, he wants to stand, leave, and slam the door on his way out for good measure. his ears burn with embarrassment. “i would certainly be fighting if i could.”

it’s an honest answer, the truth if ever he’s spoken it. what he wouldn’t give to be away from snowshill, rushing the battle field with his brothers-at-arms. what he wouldn’t give to be worthy of a moment’s notice when he returned from war.

but he’s not worthy and he’s not fighting. he’s stuck in the back garden of his most precocious and love-sick student, the sun beating down on his brow with an undue heat, his muscles twitching with the restraint it takes to keep from decking snowshill’s most prominent lawyer.

john narrows his eyes across the cobblestone patio. “if you could? what’s wrong with you?”

gwilym says nothing. red—the color of blood, ambulance sirens, and fire—flashes before his eyes.

“in my day,” john continues. “we fought no matter our delicate sensibilities.” he huffs around his cigarette, his chest ballooning like a baboon. “i’d say that i—”

“mr. coulder!” your voice is sharp, though not unkind, when you break into coulder’s soliloquy. gwilym’s eyes snap from john’s throbbing forehead muscle to you. you stand beside your grandfather, your skirt tangled around your legs in your apparent haste to stand. there’s grass pressed against your knees, and a faint tinge of red on your cheeks. “i believe i heard mrs. coulder calling for your just now,” you say, sweetening the blow of your interruption with a smile.

john looks to the open door, a pucker forming between his brows. “oh,” he mumbles, rising to his feet. “i’d better go see what that’s about.” he ambles on bowed legs into the house, and gwilym is left to pick of the pieces of his fractured dignity.

he dares glance at you. your eyes lift from the ground slowly, your fingers curling along the hem of your cardigan. when you meet his gaze, you look away first, as if you’re scared—scared to look at him, scared to admit you had to rescue him like a drowning puppy. he swallows hard and stands, though he isn’t sure why. he just can’t stay sitting anymore.

vivianne pops her head around the frame of the back door. “come come, everyone. supper is ready! mr. lee, you sit beside john. he has so much he wishes to discuss with you.” she grins and waves him inside, and who is he to refuse her?

later that night, when his back is pressed against his firm mattress, moonlight washing through the attic room, gwilym feels the overwhelming urge to cry. he can’t remember the last time he shed a tear. after his mother’s passing—god rest her soul—tears have seemed... pointless. they didn’t bring his mother back; they won’t cure his deaf ear or his tremor, won’t stop people like john coulder from asking questions.

still, his chest aches. there’s something in his lungs scratching to get out. it rises in his throat like a lump and bubbles forth in a broken sob. he presses his hand to his mouth, feels a hot tear slide down his cheekbone.

god, he hates it here.

really, he hates it everywhere. there’s nowhere he can go to escape from himself.

class on monday is disjointed.

he didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning the whole night long, his dreams plagued with images of his mother, the war, you staring at him like a broken man. he woke several times in a cold sweat, his bedclothes drenched and sticky.

his students bear the brunt of his poor night’s rest. he is tired to the very core of his being, and it shows in the way he waves hastings away after one-too-many attempts at the same arithmetic problem. it shows in the way he sits at his desk before the class, rubbing at this throbbing temples, the echo of the previous night’s supper ringing in his ears. though the sentiment is there most days, today he truly does not care if his students learn or not. he just wants a stiff drink, maybe a quick shag, something to take his mind off it all.

shifting in his seat, he withdraws the pocket watch snug in his trouser pocket. the gold around the clasp is worn with decades of use, and when he unlocks the face, the watch within is slightly obscured by a thin crack over the number five. still, despite its flaws, the clock ticks on. there’s a metaphor there, he knows, about himself: worn, broken, but still working. he’s too jaded to believe it.

he rises from his chair. the legs scrape against the floor. “it’s lunch,” he announces, breaking the heavy silence of the classroom with his deep voice. “take your things and go home. class is dismissed for the rest of the day.”

from her place in the front row, maryanne bats her eyelashes in confusion. “what’s the occasion, sir?” she sits straight at her desk, eager to please, panting for some drip of his attention.

gwilym doesn’t have any attention to spare for maryanne, for any of his students, really. his eyes flick from maryanne to the open window to you. he clears his throat and looks away. “it’s a nice day out, maryanne,” he says. “we shouldn’t waste it inside. don’t you agree?”

she grins and nods as she hastily gathers her things together. “oh, yes, of course!”

his jaw goes tight as he says, “thank your mother again for inviting me to supper yesterday. it was very kind of her.”

scarlet blush crawls over maryanne’s cheeks. she holds her books snug against her chest, her shoes dancing back and forth in nerves across the hardwood floor. “you are more than welcome any time, sir.”

he nods once, glancing toward the open schoolhouse door. she gets the picture; their conversation is through. grabbing hastings hand, she drags her brother out of the building and into the sunshine, leaving gwilym in blessed silence. he drops to his chair with a groan, cradling his forehead between his pointer finger and thumb. outside he can here his pupils laughing in the field. he removes his hands from his face and looks out the window-lined wall. hands crossed in his lap, he watches the children play, wonders what it feels like to live so carefree.

had he ever been like that as a child: wild, uninhibited? he must’ve been—surely. his long-term memory is poor, brought on by a hard tumble he’d taken from a horse at an early age, but memory impairment aside, he wasn’t always this sullen, this removed. surely.

“mr. lee?”

he jolts at the sound of your voice, twisting in his chair to see you standing before his desk, a crease of worry between your brows. he frowns. “miss [y/l/n]? have you been there long?”

you shake your head, and a lock of hair falls out from behind your ear. you tuck it back, your eyes falling momentarily to the floor before you say, “no. well, yes. i was gathering my things, and you looked... pensive.”

he sits upright, and the urge to smooth his hair works its way to his fingers. he adjusts his glasses instead. “pensive? that doesn’t bode well.”

at his half-hearted attempt at levity, the corner of your mouth lifts. you step closer to his desk. “i wanted to be sure you were alright after supper last evening.”

his gut clenches at the memory, the shame of john coulder’s interrogation, at having to be saved by his own student, at that student being you. “i’m fine, truly,” he says, an edge to his voice he doesn’t mean.

still, you push further. “it’s just that mr. coulder... he’s not very diplomatic when it comes to asking questions. i thought maybe you—”

for the second time, gwilym stands from his chair with the intention of ending the conversation. he will not discuss sunday’s supper with you. the memory is still too raw, and his dream of you coming to his rescue is thoroughly and completely humiliating. yet when he stretches to his full height and sees you standing there, the most earnest expression of concern he’s ever seen on another face, he is powerless to stop himself from admitting the truth. he shoves his hands in his pockets, rolling his tongue over his teeth in thought.

“your concern is kind. mr. coulder’s questions were ill-phrased but not unwarranted. the men of this country hold a heavy duty right now. i suspect he was only asking out of patriotism.”

you blink, lips pressed together. he’d thought you’d be satisfied with his answer, but it appears you are not. the crease in your brow deepens. “sir, he was very unkind to you.” you speak as if he didn’t realize, as if he didn’t wet his pillow with tears of shame and hurt.

he nods. “perhaps.”

“it’s not fair, though. i’m sure whatever your reasons are for staying away from the front are valid.”

“again, your kindness does you credit.”

“i’m not trying to flatter you, mr. lee. i’m only speaking the truth.”

gwilym hesitates before saying, “i did not assume you were the flattering type.”

you shake your head. “i’m not.”

he’s not sure if it’s just the warm spring breeze drifting through the open window, but the air feels heavier than it did moments before. his eyes search yours. searching for what he can’t say, but he searches nonetheless. you hold his gaze until the faintest of blushes rises to your cheekbones.

“i must thank you, though, miss [y/l/n], for coming to my aid last evening.” he’s surprised by his confession. it should drive him to his knees in embarrassment that he must concede to his student after they help him with a man twice his age. he is embarrassed, but something—manners, the desire to replicate your honesty, your doe eyes—makes him say it. “i am not sure i would have answered mr. coulder’s questions with a cool head, but you showed great tact. i’m indebted to you for that.”

he bites his tongue. too far, perhaps. a teacher should never be indebted to his student. least of all his oldest, brightest, and yes, he will admit it: most attractive student.

your chest lifts as you draw in a breath through your teeth. “well, i know a way you can repay me.”

his eyes widen, his throat seizing around his adam’s apple. he removes his hands from his pockets and shuffles a stack of unmarked papers on his desk. his hand wavers as he moves, though he’s not sure if it’s due to his tremor or an unwarranted image of you in his arms flashing through his mind.

too far. too far. you’re just a student. he’s just your teacher.

“what would you have me do?” it’s stupid to ask, to play along, but he can’t help it when your hands are clasped behind your back, the ribbon at the end of your braid falling over your shoulder.

“there’s a benefit next week,” you say, and your face eases into a smile. “it’s for the wounded soldiers, and i’m in charge of the bake sale. my grandfather is too old to help and my niece is too young, so i thought perhaps you might like to help me? i’m sure more people will stop by if you’re there. everyone’s still curious about the new schoolmaster.”

gwilym stills, his eyes falling on you. not for the first time, he wonders if there’s something beneath your gaze, beneath your question. there can’t be; there isn’t. just like he is not interested in you, you are not interested in him.

unless...

he clears his throat and looks down at his desk. he brushes a stray pencil to the side. it rolls, rolls, rolls, stops against a heavy book. “i suppose i can make the time to assist.” he meets your eyes despite his gut telling him not to entertain this foolishness any longer. “for you, miss [y/l/n].”

your face clears in something akin to shock. you blink rapidly, your eyelashes fluttering against your freckled cheekbones. for a moment, gwilym imagines maryanne in the moments past, batting her own eyes. it hadn’t made his gut twist like this.

“it’s not for me,” you whisper, and the breathy sound of your voice sends a rush of blood from his head to his manhood. “it’s for the soldiers.”

“yes,” he replies. your gaze is locked on his, deep and probing. “the soldiers.”

a pebble hits the window with a sharp ting, and you both startle—you with a gasp, he with a muttered curse. turning, he stares out the window long enough to see a few of his male students playing a game of stickball with pebbles. a sigh shudders through his chest. no one had seen, had felt the thick tension in the room. thank heaven.

when he turns back to ask you how he can help before the benefit, you are gone.

the day of the benefit dawns bright and clear. it’s warm despite the month. april is generally cool and balmy, but gwilym breaks a sweat as he carries arrangement after arrangement of flowers to a little red wagon outside the cottage. constance sits perched on her portable stool, a cane between her legs as she watches him work.

“be careful with those, gwilym james,” she chides. “i spent all week and won’t have you breaking a single one.”

“i’m being careful, constance.” he huffs as he lowers a bouquet of blue hydrangeas to the wagon. the glass rattles as it squeezes between the dozens of other vases. the wagon is full to bursting of flowers of all kinds and where constance unearthed such of a treasure trove of flowers, he cannot be sure. “you truly expect to sell all these in one afternoon?”

constance draws in a sharp breath and whacks the butt of her cane against his shin. “how dare you!” he yelps, clutching his offended leg, but for once finds it easy to match her sly smile. “my flowers are sought after in the next three counties!”

“i’m sure they are,” he says, chuckling at her twisted features.

she stands, snapping her stool shut with ease. with her chin tilted, she gestures with her cane to the road. “we’ll be late. you know i detest being late.”

rolling his eyes, gwilym grabs the wagon handle from the ground and gently maneuvers the vehicle onto the dirt road leading to the center of the village. the flowers jostle and clang as the wagon dips with the unevenness of the road, but the arrangements hold steady. constance’s steps are slow and small, so he shrinks his stride to match hers. a whisper of a breeze cools the sweat lingering on the back of his neck, and he glances at the cloudless sky. no one could have asked for better weather.

“i hear you are to assist miss [y/l/n] in her confection sale today?”

gwilym nearly trips over a rut in the road, but catches himself at the last moment. he adjusts his hold on the wagon handle, his hand trembling even curled against the cool metal. “yes—she had no one else to help her.”

constance’s eyebrows lift. “ah.”

“you did tell me to be more kindly with my pupils.”

“that i did.”

“then why do you look so displeased?”

“i’m far from displeased, child,” she says with a laugh. “merely cataloging this moment for later.”

gwilym doesn’t ask for further explanation. he doesn’t want to know. it’s bad enough that he spent the entire morning primping and preening over his own reflection. god, he’d felt like such an idiot.

but he couldn’t deny the urge to at least try and put some effort into his appearance. he would be spending the day by your side, after all. not that it mattered...

by the time he rolls constance’s wagon into the village square, the benefit is well under way. snowshill is a small parish; only one-hundred-twenty-three residents, yet it seems every soul has turned out for the event. colorful streamers whip through the mid-morning breeze. a gaggle of musicians sitting underneath a shade tree amble through a litany of well-known tunes. the baker twins, annie and joy, race past gwilym, hand in hand as they head for the dunking booth. he pauses in his study of the square. there’s happiness here. despite it all—the war, the fathers and brothers and husbands so far away, the uncertainty of the future—the villagers have still found a reason to smile. surely, he can to.

“i’ll take this.” constance pulls gwilym from his thoughts as she pries the wagon handle from his hand. “you go over there,” she adds, nodding to a booth on his left. “miss [y/l/n] is waiting.”

he ignores the telling sparkle in her eyes. she can see right through him, the old bat, see straight to the part of his heart he so desperately wants—no, needs—to ignore.

chasing the thoughts away, he turns to locate the corner set aside for the bake sale. it isn’t hard. in an uncomfortable but familiar sort of way, he’s drawn to you, and he finds you easily. at the base of the church gardens, you’re already hard a work. your hair is loose around your shoulders, and the sun glints off a pearl barrette clipping a portion of the strands back. stepping forward, he allows his eyes, for the briefest of moments, to run over your frame. your forest green dress is cinched at the waist with a wide gold band, accentuating your curves. the sleeves of the dress, which fall to your elbows, are sheer, and he can see your skin glistening beneath the sway of shadows and sun. you’re lovely, breathtaking even. he hates the way his heart gallops in his chest at the sight, like he’s a love-struck schoolboy. in reality, he is your teacher and a grown man. the thought alone makes him advert his eyes from the picture of you, dressed well and elegantly, smiling as you speak to a customer.

“there you are!” you twist away from the pie, cake, and cookie laden table to grace him with a brilliant smile. knowing you first and foremost as the level-headed student who rarely speaks save to impart pearls of wisdom, the sight of your wide smile is near blinding. “i was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

he shakes his head. “never.”

“good.” you point up the hill to the church. “the rest of the pies are in the kitchen. bring them down, won’t you?”

he does so without complaint, returning to the booth with a cherry pie in one hand and a rhubarb pie in the other. he places them on the table with care before asking, “who made all these?”

you shrug and straighten the sign hanging from the makeshift portico attached to the table. “mostly the older ladies of the parish. though,” you say, your eyes sliding to his with mischief. “i did make those.” you point to a small plate of chocolate chip cookies. “you can steal one if you like. i won’t tell.��

gwilym narrows his eyes. “how do i know if i can trust you?”

you laugh—a clear, bell-like laugh—and it goes straight to his gut. “try it and you’ll just have to find out.”

you sit, your attention caught by the toddler scooting about on the a picnic blanket behind the table. gwilym hesitates before taking one of the cookies. it snaps in his hands, and he nudges your arm with his knuckles. you look over your shoulder, glancing at the half of a cookie melting between his fingers.

“take the other half,” he says. “that way we both get in trouble. if i’m going to go down, i’ll take you with me.”

your cheeks color, and he wonders where your mind has gone, but then you take the cookie and your fingers brush his palm. a jolt shoot through his arm, but he ignores it, sitting in the seat beside you.

“it’s very good,” he says after swallowing the dessert. “chocolatey.”

you smile in thanks then reach out, your thumb nearing his cheek. he stills, uncertain if he should move back and risk offense or lean in and risk it all. you swipe your thumb across the corner of his mouth, your touch fleeting but like fire all the same. sitting back, your grin widens.

“you had a bit of chocolate on your lip,” you explain.

“oh.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks the opposite direction.

few villagers have meandered over to the bake sale booth, but the day is early yet. he dares relax and lean back in his chair. he unbuttons his suit-jacket, letting the breeze waft through his sleeves and around his torso. when he turns his head to look at you, he finds you already watching, your eyes trained against his chest which strains against his snug waistcoat. all thoughts evaporate until your eyes lift to his and you blush.

he clears his throat. “uh—the child?” he questions, pointing to the toddler on the ground. she’s chubby, her legs stumpy beneath a yellow day dress and bloomers. “who does she belong to?”

you lift the baby and set her on your knee. the little girl smiles at him and leans against your shoulder, her mouth gnawing around her fist. “my sister,” you say. “she’s away, so grandfather and i are left to take care of eliza.”

“and where is your grandfather?”

“he’s with his mates. they’ve set up shop outside the pub and are more than likely pestering anyone who will listen with their own war stories.”

“he seems like a kind man.”

“oh, he is!” you grin and return eliza to her spot in the shade. “after my parents died, he took me and peggy—that’s my sister—in without a moment’s hesitation.”

before gwilym can question you any further, a familiar voice hits his ears. he rises alongside you as vivianne coulder draws close to the booth.

“oh, look how darling! [y/n], you’ve really outdone yourself!” vivianne eyes the sweets with interest. “however am i to make such a choice? there’s simply too many good things here to choose from.”

“you can always buy multiples, mrs. coulder.” you press your palms against the table, leaning forward to watch as vivianne surveys the array of food. gwilym’s eyes stray toward your backside, which is pushed out, until vivianne breaks his train of thought.

“mr. lee, how did you get mixed up in a bake sale?” she asks, dropping a few coins in your palm as she makes her purchase. “i might have thought you’d participate in the dunk tank like my john.”

as if to punctuate her question, a bell across the square rings followed by a cheer and a splash. someone hit the bullseye.

“mr. lee owed me a favor,” you say. “i had to watch the class one afternoon while he tended to a feral dog in the yard.”

the story isn’t a falsehood, but it’s certainly not why he stands beside you now. he’d almost forgotten about that dog, but perhaps the mangy mutt had been a godsend after all. it certainly kept you from having to admit the real reason for his appearance at the bake sale.

vivianne giggles behind her gloved hand. “how brave!”

your hand, ungloved and warm, lands on his arm. your fingertips squeeze the flesh of his bicep nearly imperceptibility but he feels the gentle pressure like a vice around his skin. “yes,” you continue, seemingly oblivious to the way your touch wrecks him. “he was quite brave.”

vivianne chats with you a moment more—something about maryanne and her sixteenth birthday celebration—but he can barely focus. he’s unnaturally hot under his jacket, despite the cover of shade protecting the table of sweets. he wants to shake your hand from his arm, loosen your hold around his gut, but he doesn’t want to appear rude. he doesn’t want to push you away.

so he stands still. he lives with your fingers against the curve of his shoulder like a man readying himself for execution. his jaw is tight, his eyes focused on the people milling about the square.

when vivianne finally ambles away, he feels free enough to step out of your grasp. he releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. his eyes dart from the ground to your face. you stare at him, your own eyes wide and lips parted ever-so slightly. god, he could kiss you. maybe it would quell the fire in his stomach and get you out of his head. maybe the simple touch would fix all the worn-out and tired thought swirling through his head. he would give into his desire but there’s too many people around and maybe that’s a good thing. he’s not sure he could stop himself if he started.

blessedly, a trio of older women approach the table. he jerks his attention away from you and finds a modicum of solace in auctioning off the bake sale items to whomever will purchase them. the faster the table is clear, the sooner he can go home and take a cold shower.

fate, it seems, has other plans for him because it is not until past-dusk that the charity benefit ends. the last of the pies have been sold off, your niece dragged home by your grandfather when the hour gets too late. gwilym helps you break down the table in silence, the only sound a bird twittering in its nest overhead and the rumble of the dunk tank being hauled away. you look tired, and he’s sure he does too. on the whole, he enjoyed himself. you are pleasant company and skilled at carrying on conversation. in truth, he finds himself wondering if he could spend every waking moment simply sitting by your side. the busy-bodies and children who came by the booth brought him small smiles, as well. the occasional woman called him handsome, even though her age well surpassed his own, and it buoyed his neglected heart. mothers thanked him profusely for his work at the school. he had not realized how much his students seemed to appreciate his efforts in the classroom. on more than one occasion, he’d left the schoolhouse under the impression the vast majority of his pupils were plotting his demise for being so sullen and boring. but perhaps not...

with your aid, he carries the booth’s table to the basement of the church. it is cool in the dark hallway of the building. his shoes sound against the stone floor as he searches for a light switch with nothing but his gaze. he hears a sharp bang followed by a muffled curse.

“you alright?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder. he can barely make out your form what with the dim hall and your form covered by night.

you adjust your hold on the end of the table. “yes, i’m fine. i bumped into the doorframe ‘s all.”

“where do we put this table then?”

“the vicar got it out for me early this morning. i suppose we could simply leave it by the pantry in the kitchen.”

“i’m afraid i don’t know where that is.”

he swears he can see you smile despite the low light. “perhaps i should have led the way.”

he mirrors your grin. “perhaps you should have.”

nodding to the left, you say, “that way. down the hall and first door on the right. i left it open.”

with some trouble, he manages to make it to the kitchen, though he too runs into the doorframe of the hallway and you giggle at his misfortune. together, you lower the table against the kitchen wall and step back. you brush your hands together with an air of finality.

“well,” you say with a sigh. “nothing like a good day’s work.”

gwilym turns to look at you in the darkness of the kitchen. a beam of moonlight filters through a single window in the corner of the room. it falls agains the back of your head, shrouding you in a halo of yellowy light. you’re looking at him, too; he can feel it. you look soft, and you stand close enough to touch. he keeps his hands at his sides; they tremble against the creases of his trousers.

“thank you, miss [y/l/n],” he whispers. “i needed a day like today.”

silence reigns supreme for the longest of moments. universes are born and wither in the space between his confession and your response.

but then your lips are on his.

your hands grasp the material around his shoulders, your nails pressing through the fabric in earnest. he can think of nothing else to do—nothing else he should do—other than remain planted firm on the stone floor of the church kitchen. he itches to hold you, to weave his fingers through your hair, and move his mouth over yours. you taste sweet, like cookies, for the brief moment you claim him as your own. still, he is level-headed enough, rational enough, scared enough, to not react—no matter how much he wants to.

you pull back, swallowing hard. your fingertips skim over your mouth. you stare at him, starlight caught in your eyelashes, then run from the basement before he can say a word.

you do not come to class for several days. he calculates that it must be three days you’ve skipped out on him—no, on school. really, he can’t be certain how long you’ve been gone. since he felt the touch of your lips on his, he has thought of little else. the memory consumes him, threatening to swallow him whole. it distracts him when he turns around from the blackboard to see your seat empty and when he dismisses class at the end of the day and does not see you gathering your belongings with your elegant movements. he has lost track of time and of order. at night, he lays awake and stares at his ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. he runs the moment over and over again, replaying and reframing how it could have gone different.

he could have pushed you away the second you moved closer. at least then he would be able to claim he tried to be a professional, that he tried to distance himself from his interest in his own student.

he could have kissed you back. he’d wanted to. he’d wanted to so badly. he’d wanted to so badly the mere thought of how he’d kept his hands still at his sides makes his brain clench with discomfort.

the thursday after the benefit, after yet another day without your presence in the cramped schoolhouse, he drags his feet to your home. he’s reluctant to go, knowing he should allow you to come back on your own time. whatever it was that possessed you to kiss him, he knows you probably regret the action as much as he regrets not seizing the moment for himself.

you live on the outskirts of snowshill on your grandfather’s sheep farm. the dirt road leading to the white farmhouse is clogged with tufts of fresh grass, revealing its lack of traffic. a handful of hens peck the ground beneath a sprawling oak tree. a flat swing hanging from a thick branch sways back and forth with the afternoon breeze. it’s idyllic—removed from the rest of the world, even as far as snowshill goes, but idyllic.

he’s out of breath from the walk by the time he reaches the front door, but gwilym is self-aware enough to know he would out of breath regardless of his mode of transportation. he’s nervous. his hands shake, and there’s an incessant ringing in his deaf ear. he waits, unsure if anyone on the other side of the bright red door has heard his knock.

“mr. lee?”

the sound, garbled by the blood rushing to his ears and the tilt of his head, comes from his right. he twists to see you standing at the corner of the house. there’s a basket in your hand; it’s empty, save for a pair of small scissors which catch the sun. your blue-checkered dress is faded, the sleeves bunched around your elbows. one of the pockets on either hip seems weighed down with an invisible object. he stops his perusal and notes the clear frown on your face.

he steps forward, huffing out a rushed “miss [y/l/n]”, and nearly topples off the rail-less stoop. he catches himself at the last moment, his hand darting out to press against the frame of the farmhouse.

you gasp, dropping your basket, and rush forward, but when you see he’s righted himself, you stop. “goodness,” you say. “that would’ve been a bad tumble. i’ve told grandfather dozens of times that we need a railing.”

gwilym chuckles in a lame attempt to save face. he takes the three steps to the safety of solid earth and crosses to stand before you. you blink up at him, your lips pinched. there’s a mysterious lack of sparkle in your gaze, and he wonders if he’s the cause of its disappearance.

“you’ve not been to school,” he says.

you shake your head as you turn to pick your discarded basket. “no.”

“why?”

you lift a slim brow. “isn’t the answer obvious, sir?”

“no.”

you hold his stare, and he is the one to look away first. a chill settles around his spine despite the warmth of the day. he wrings his hands together as he looks over the field.

“if that’s all, sir—”

his eyes snap back to yours. “no!” he winces at the desperation in his tone and tries again. “no. i think we should talk, miss [y/l/n], about what happened at the benefit.”

this time you do look away, your cheeks tinged with blush. you gesture toward the meadow behind your home. “i was going to walk down to the river. i need to replenish our herb stock. you may join me if you like.”

“that’s fine,” he says, nodding. “you lead the way.”

the beginning of your walk is spent in silence. the meadow grass tangles around the hem of his trousers, staining them green with leftover dew. you trail ahead of him, your basket skimming over the weeds and grasses like a sailboat in an ocean of nature. he realizes you are without shoes, and the sight of your bare calves and ankles sends his thoughts elsewhere.

you lead him into a grove of cherry and birch trees. pink petals cover the ground and obscure the sky. it’s a haze of color here—cherry blossoms and green leaves, the flutter of an anxious bird’s wings, the clear but rushing waters of the creek. he stops when you do and inhales deeply. strangely, tears prick the corners of his eyes. he could stay here, he thinks, in this picturesque place—no one to bother him or question him or loathe his very existence.

“i never knew snowshill boasted such a beautiful spot,” he admits.

from your place crouched against the ground, your voice is muffled. “yes. i keep it secret”—your voice is clearer when you rise and look over your shoulder—“from nearly everyone. it’s too special to share with the world.”

you lean down again and use your small pair of scissors to snip at a collection of herbs growing along the creekbed. gwilym dares take a step closer, and he points to the herbs in your hand.

“what are those?”

“mint. it grows well by the water.” you lift the bundle. “would you like some?”

instead of taking the offer, he squats beside you. his knee, bent as it is, almost brushes your elbow. he plucks a small leaf of the mint and puts it on his tongue.

you watch as he allows the herb’s flavor to coat his tongue. “my mother used to make very good lemonade with mint.”

“my mother too.” he clears his throat, glances at the trickling stream, then back at you. “miss [y/l/n], about the benefit...”

to your credit, you do not shy away from his pointed gaze. your jaw tightens, but you maintain eye-contact, and he wonders if you can see all the thoughts racing through his head as he looks at you.

“i’m sorry if you misunderstood my gratefulness for our interactions at the coulder dinner and at the benefit. my intention was not to give you any untoward thoughts or—”

“why are you not fighting? in the war?” you interrupt with ease and do not blink as you question him.

despite his initial shock at the change of topic, he finds himself rushing to answer, to explain himself—though to anyone else, he would balk and turn away. “my right ear is deaf.”

“oh.”

“has been for a long time,” he continues. “apparently, good hearing is the mark of a good soldier.”

“and your hands?”

“my hands?”

“why do they tremble?”

at this, gwilym does balk. he stands, running the hands in question through his hair as he turns his back to you. “my hands do not tremble,” he says, his tone close to seething.

you stand to your full height, which isn’t much next to him. “yes they do. i’ve seen them—in class, at the benefit. were you denied service because of that, too?”

he openly glares at you, but he answers truthfully. “no. it developed after my denial.”

“oh,” you say again.

“really, miss [y/l/n], this is not why i wanted to speak with you.”

“i know. you wanted to talk about us.”

“there is no us. there can be no us.”

“i disagree.”

“yes, you would because you are a child, and you don’t understand that you and i giving in to whatever is between us would mean disaster.”

the slap that lands across his cheek echoes in the small grove of trees. he whirls, clutching his face as he stares at you in disbelief. his ear is ringing again, and it’s painful this time, but he knows he deserves it.

your chest heaves when you next speak. “i’m not a child.”

he knows this. he’s seen you as a woman—dreamt of you as a woman—too many times to count.

dropping his hand from his face, he nods. “i know. forgive me.”

you’re quiet, thinking, then you open your mouth to speak.

“i don’t think you realize, gwilym, how good you are for this community.” the sound of his name on your lips is sinful, threatening to tear his focus away from your words. “in the short time you’ve been here, i’ve seen the children in that schoolhouse learn more than they ever did before you came. you’re truly teaching them about the world, not just maths and reading and science. why, even last week hastings actually apologized for pulling on my braids in the past. he told me that you taught him that.”

gwilym frowns. “how? i never told—”

“they watch you. he told me you apologized to mark after you were short with him one afternoon. he told me he wanted to be like you—not his father, you.”

“miss [y/l/n]—”

“and my grandfather? he so admires you. i think he sees himself in you, after he came home from the way. he told me you’re very brave. and constance swears you have the gentlest soul built for caring for others. you may hide it, but she knows that you—”

“that’s enough—please.”

you fall silent, unshed tears washing over your eyes before you say, “don’t you see, gwilym? you walk around with such a weight on your shoulders, but all anyone wants to do—all i want to do—is ease the load. you’re worth that.”

he shakes his head and swallows hard. your speech all but shatters his heart. more than anything, he wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s good for something. but the pesky thoughts in the back of his mind grip him hard. he can’t shake them.

unfit, unfit, unfit.

“i kissed you that night because i think you are wonderful.” your face cracks into a smile, vibrant and gut-wrenching. “wonderful and smart and handsome and—”

he puts a stop to your words. winding his arms around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest, his mouth lowering to capture yours. you’re stiff at first, in shock by his sudden change of heart, but then you relax, your arms lifting to circle his neck, drawing him ever closer. his lips explore yours with desperation, the weeks he’s spent pining after you crashing to the surface in an explosion of want and need. he moves his hands to cradle your face, and your hands skim to his shoulder blades, your fingers pressed into the skin beneath his waistcoat and shirt. you taste like fresh mint. it’s all he can do to not lower you to the bed of blossom petals on the ground and ravish you until the sun dips below the horizon.

he pulls away, breathing heavy, his forehead rolling against yours. “[y/n]...” you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, and he realizes it must be the first time he’s spoken your name aloud in your presence. “[y/n],” he whispers again. “we can’t.”

you fist your hands in his shirtsleeves. “don’t say that. you feel it as much as i do.”

nodding, he moves to hold your waist. the feel of your body under his hands is heaven. you are divine, like an goddess escaped from la primavera. “i do,” he admits. “i feel it.”

he bends his head to kiss you again. the touch is softer this time, more hesitant, but when he gathers the nerve to pull you closer, your hips against his, you whimper into his mouth, and the sound pulls him back to reality. he practically trips backward, breathing labored, thoughts muddled, and body rigid.

the space between you swims with lust and desire and yearning. your lips are plump, your cheeks flushed. your eyelids flutter, seemingly dazed, but not at all confused. you know what you want; he knows what he wants.

“we must keep it secret,” he says.

you nod.

“i won’t be able to touch you or—or be with you in public.”

“i know.”

“i could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out.”

you flinch at this, briefly looking to the side. “i know.”

shaking his head, he mutters “god help me, it would be worth it even if i did” as he crosses the space between you and crashes his lips to yours once more.

there is no hesitation now. he moves with purpose and you follow his lead. gently, he guides you to the blossom-strewn floor, his fingertips discovering the valleys and contours of your body with ease. his lips graze the curve of your neck, a feather’s touch, a butterfly’s kiss. you shift beneath him and pull his face level with yours. you glance between his eyes, chest brushing against his with the labor of your breathing.

he removes a twig from your hair, flicking it away. “do you want this?” he asks.

“always.” you smile, and it sends his heart tumbling in his chest.

you reach down and lift the hand pressed against the ground beside your hip. it leaves him in an awkward hunch overtop of you, only his left elbow propping him up, but he’s curious at your movements. holding his wrist, you touch your left palm to his.

“your hand isn’t shaking,” you whisper.

he looks at your joined flesh, at the way his fingers stand straight against yours. there isn’t the slightest waver in his hand. dropping his palm from your grasp, he melds his body against yours beneath the cherry tree as the sun inches toward the horizon.

it goes on like this for some time: you and he stealing moments throughout the week, in whatever privacy is available. for the first time in years, he is happy. he’d grown so used to his sullen state he forgot what joy felt like, but you’ve given it back to him in bundles.

he’s not exactly sure what it is about you that captivates him so. perhaps it is your whole being.

you are intelligent, easily tutoring your classmates when they fall behind. you are generous, often sharing your meals with the neediest of students. you are witty and lively in your silliest of moods and gentle and serene at your most centered. you listen to him when he speaks—truly listen—and you challenge him with your observations and questions.

he enjoys holding you, caressing your soft skin, kissing your lips. the cherry blossom grove is where he holds you most. it is a safe place amidst an unsafe world. beneath the shade of the birch trees, he is untouchable. he is free to speak as he wishes, love you as he pleases. he is open and honest and everything he feels he cannot be in town.

and, yes, he thinks he loves you—even after such a short time. he would be a fool not to have fallen for you by now. despite the years between you, despite the complexities of his position, he knows he would chose you again.

the weeks bleed into months. spring edges into the beginning of summer. you will finish school soon and be out from under his tutelage, released to the frayed fragments of freedom to which britain still clings. neither of you have spoken on the topic. though it looms overhead, it’s still far yet. you have time.

you are cradled against his chest, the aftermath of your most recent lovemaking still lingering on your bodies and in the air. you hum into the crook of his neck, and your fingers swirl around the hair peppering his chest.

“gwilym?” you press a kiss to his shoulder before adjusting yourself to lean on your elbow, looking down on him.

he opens one eye. “hmm?”

“what do you think will happen after the war ends?”

he opens both eyes at this and moves his head to meet your questioning gaze. the blanket beneath him rustles, and the branches overhead sway with the warm breeze. he isn’t sure what question he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one you posed. you surprise him every day in that way—always curious, always searching for answers.

“i’m not sure,” he says. “provided we win, i suppose germany will be forced to make reparations. with the americans in the fight now it won’t be long before the kaiser gives up.”

“will you leave us then? once everything’s back to normal?”

he answers quickly and honestly, surprised at the passion in his own voice. “no, never.”

your brow creases. “but you came here running from the war. won’t you go home when it’s done?”

he blinks and considers. months ago, he would have said yes. given the chance, he would have fled back to london without a moment of hesitation. now... now he’s not so sure.

“home is wherever you are.” the words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them, but once they hang in the air, he knows they are the truth. wherever you go, he will follow. he would forsake his entire past if it meant he could stay by your side.

your lips tug into a small smile, and you sit straighter, turning your face away. “you mustn’t say things you don’t mean.”

he runs a fingertip over the curve of your exposed shoulder, down the rise and fall of your spine. if anyone were to break through the line of trees, they would see you both and have no issue filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle, naked as you both are. still, he’s comfortable; he always is around you.

“i mean what i say, [y/n]. i’m not a flatterer.”

your head whips around, and your eyes twinkle with mirth. “don’t steal my words, gwilym,” you say with a laugh, pushing at his chest.

sitting up, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against his side. “i can steal whatever i please. like this,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss on the mouth. “or this.” he kisses the flesh beneath your collarbone. “or—”

you press a finger to his lips. “not everything.” your grin turns sly, and you coquettishly bat your eyelashes. “i’m a virgin, after all, and must remain so for my future husband.”

gwilym laughs, tossing his head back. “is that so?”

you nod. “my maidenhood is the most sacred thing about me.”

“oh, we’ll see about that!”

with an easy maneuver, gwilym has you on your back. your giggles—girlish but edged with desire—circle his head like a drug. you swat at his shoulders when he braces himself over you, his mouth like a tattoo on your skin. he could stay like this forever—just you and him, the cherry blossom trees, and the endless sky. he would stay, too, but after your picnic dinner and an argument over the smartest literary character of all time (he insists sherlock holmes; you insist portia from the merchant of venice), he must walk you home before your grandfather begins to worry.

he wonders if the old man suspects anything. he comes to your house multiple afternoons a week under the guise of preparing you for university should you choose to go further with your education. that study time always floats from the kitchen table to the back garden to the grove of trees, and you’re gone for hours. you always return looking rumbled, your dress askew, his tie undone, but the old man never says a word if he does know the truth. for that, gwilym is thankful.

tonight, he leaves you at the backdoor. the sky is a blanket of stars, and the moon shines bright overhead. standing as you are on the lowest stair leading to the door, you can meet his eyes with ease, and you seem to appreciate the change in perspective. you run your hands through his hair, your fingernails grazing his scalp. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, his grip on your hip tightening.

“don’t do that, [y/n],” he breathes.

you smirk. “why? do you like it?”

he grits his teeth and opens his eyes to level you a dark stare. “you know i do.”

grinning, you kiss him hard, enough to leave him breathless when you pull away. “tomorrow? same place?”

“i have a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the vicar. i’ll come by afterwards.”

you shake your head and smooth your hands against his shoulders. the action is so domestic, so wifely, he can’t help but picture you as his wife, sending him away for a day of work. “don’t bother. i think i’ll pop around for tea with constance. perhaps i’ll run into you then?”

gwilym audibly groans at the idea of seeing you in his own home, sat across from his landlady, smiling and laughing, all the while making eyes at him from across the table. he shivers—but not because of the cold. “you’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

you touch his cheek with such tenderness it makes his knees weak. “i hope so.”

maryanne is the one who ultimately discovers and reveals your affair. even so, gwilym blames himself and himself alone. he got too comfortable. months of loving you in secret—months of tasting you and knowing you and cherishing you—cannot be hid behind a sullen face. and his face is not longer sullen.

he finds himself smiling more, asking his students about their lives instead of their assignments. he grades easier, waves his hand at forgotten homework, prolongs lunch break so he can eat with you. perhaps the change in his demeanor was what sent maryanne on the hunt. that—or the fact she caught him kissing you amongst constance’s prized hydrangea bushes.

he hadn’t been positive if the flash of pink fabric and yellow hair was maryanne, so he’d never mentioned it to you. he’d just kept kissing you, though his attention had slipped and his movements turned distracted when he heard the rustle of a bush. he’d opened his eyes long enough to see the out-of-place pink nestled within the green bushes and blue flowers, but then the color was gone and you were whispering something filthy in his ear and it made him laugh. he’d forgotten; he’d gotten comfortable.

now he wishes he’d grabbed maryanne and forced her to keep her mouth shut. with two weeks until your graduation, time is of the essence. he’d lose you if anyone found out, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

he hadn’t caught maryanne, though, and she’d rushed home to tell her mother who had promptly told the idiot john coulder who had informed the vicar and the vicar had come to relive gwilym of his teaching duties—no questions asked.

“you do realize what a mess you’ve made, haven’t you?” the vicar had said upon his arrival. “there will have to be an investigation. we don’t stand for this sort of thing in snowshill.”

gwilym hadn’t said anything. he’d simply loomed over the squat man and summoned as much of a glower as he could. it wasn’t very hard, not with his entire world crashing down around him.

he lies down that night and wonders what will become of him. he will be a social pariah, an outcast, the man who seduced a child, the teacher who coerced a student. it isn’t like that; he knows it and you do too. he loves you, though he hasn’t said as much. he suspects you love him too.

he could take you away from here. you could both start over somewhere new, where no one knows your names. the idea is tantalizing, and it wouldn’t be hard, but he knows you won’t leave your grandfather and niece behind.

there’s a knock on his bedroom door, and he sits up, hitting his head on the slope of the attic ceiling. rubbing the offended area, he frowns.

“who is it?”

“who do you think?” constance says, her tone as unamused as his.

“i’m not really in the mood for visitors.”

he knows she knows. he knows she stood in the front parlor and listened to every word the vicar spat at his feet. he just didn’t have the guts to look her in the eyes before he fled to his room.

“you missed supper, child. i’ve brought you a bowl of soup.”

reluctantly, gwilym slides from bed and goes to open the door. constance stands at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a purple robe, the neck lined with feathers. she pushes him a bowl of split-pea soup and swishes into the room to drop in the single, hard-backed chair. it creaks beneath her weight. he turns to look at her; the heat of the bowl burns his hands, and his palms tremble.

“constance, i—”

“i must admit that i’d hoped you would find a friend in [y/n] [y/l/n], perhaps even something more.”

his jaw slackens. “i’m sorry?”

“when you mentioned you were going to the coulder house for supper and she would be there, i knew she would do you well. i knew her mother before she died, and that girl has her mother’s tender heart. both could heal even the sternest of wounds.”

he blinks, looks away. yes, you could. you healed him, after all.

“i simply wished you would have been more careful. my hydrangea bushes are not the most secretive spot in the world.”

“you knew?”

she nods, her painted lips tight. “mhm. ever since you came home that first afternoon smelling too much like women’s perfume and sheep’s wool.”

gwilym drops to his bedside, the soup in his bowl sloshing with the movement. “why didn’t you say anything?”

she laughs as if she’s taken offense by his query. “i may concern myself with everyone’s business, gwilym, but it is not my business to go about spreading the business which i know.”

“you are a strange woman.”

“you are a man in love.”

he looks down at the rapidly-cooling food in his lap.

“i shouldn’t tell you this,” constance continues. “it will only make you hope, but i know what it is you’re feeling.”

he scoffs. “do you?” somehow he doubted that. constance, having never been married, knew more of felines than she did feelings. at least, any of the feelings roiling through his person now.

“when i was seventeen i had an affair with my teacher. he was young and handsome and charming, and i was happy. but we were found out, and he was run out of town. i never saw him again.”

“how is this supposed to give me hope?”

“my xavier was not given the chance to explain himself before his accusers. you are being afforded that opportunity. use it.”

“they’ve taken my position already. they can do nothing more. this hearing is a farce, and you know it.”

constance smooths the wrinkles of her dressing gown and flicks away a spot of imaginary dust as she shrugs. “prides goeth before the fall. remember that come thursday.” she rises. “you have the chance to keep her, gwilym. she turns twenty next month and will graduate in a fortnight. even if you leave snowshill together, will you be able to live with yourself knowing you did not defend her honor before the people who know her best? sleep on that, won’t you?”

she exits the room before he can respond, and he falls asleep to growing pit of desperation in his stomach.

there’s a ping against his window some time late wednesday night. it startles him out of his uneasy sleep, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes. when it happens again, he turns to look out the window over his head. nothing but the black, starless night sky and open meadow beyond constance’s gardens. he huffs. perhaps it had been a bird or—

another ping.

teeth gritted, gwilym flings his window open and peers into the darkness, straining his eyes to see. what he doesn’t see, he hears, despite his deafness.

“gwilym!” the whisper is harsh and frantic, but a beautiful melody nonetheless. somewhere in the darkness, you stand, looking up at him. “gwilym, come down here!”

he doesn’t need to be told twice.

forgoing his shoes, he tumbles down the stairs and into the back garden. the night is brisk, chilly, a precursor of what is to come at dawn. he finds you in the darkness, or maybe you find him, but you’re there, in his arms, and that’s all that matters. you cling to him, your hands fisted in his bedshirt, ear pressed against his chest. he hasn’t seen you since maryanne revealed your relationship to the world; you feel like heaven amidst hell.

“i don’t have much time,” you whisper. “mrs. coulder is at the farm, watching over me to make sure i don’t come to find you.”

gwilym draws back. he holds your face in his hands and is struck by how large his palms are against the side of your head. your hair feels soft under his shaking fingers. the tremor is back; it has been since his world collapsed.

“are you alright? have they done anything to you?”

“i’m fine. the vicar questioned me yesterday, tried to make me confess that you’d pressured me into being with you, but i only told the truth.”

“the fucker,” he mutters. “i’m sorry you had to do that. the blame lies entirely with me.”

“don’t worry about me. you have to speak before everyone tomorrow.”

“and it’ll be fine.”

“will it?” tears sparkle in your eyes as you look up at him. “no one will accept us even if—”

he silences you with a kiss to the forehead. “hush, [y/n]. whatever happens will happen. so long as you are well cared for, it will all be fine.”

“you sound as if you’re prepared to go away.”

“if they ask me—”

“gwilym, you promised you wouldn’t leave.”

he looks down at you. god, he loves you. with every fiber of his being, he longs to make you his. but he’s reminded of constance’s story every time he thinks of you now, and he’s been imagining a new sort of life by your side. one filled with dirty looks and whispers around every corner; of evenings alone, no friends to call on, no family to worry over; of a job in a far off village which takes him on the road and leaves you to yourself in that overly large farmhouse; friendless children; lonely in old age.

can he subject you to such a life? a life so similar to the one you’d pulled him from? he’s not sure he can—and he’s begun to wonder if constance’s xavier did the right thing by leaving her, by giving her a second chance.

“i know i did,” he finally says.

“then why are you talking like this? like you want to go?”

he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip and feels his gut wrench. “that’s the last thing i want.”

you chin quivers beneath his fingers, and he removes his hand from your face. “then tell me what it is you’re planning to do. please, gwilym. don’t you owe me that?”

in lieu of answering you, he wraps his arms around your back, lifting you so your feet merely brush the carpet of grass. he kisses you softly, savoring the touch and tucking it away in his heart for a future moment. he wants to memorize the map of your skin beneath his fingers and the feel of your mouth on his. he wants to commit the smell of your hair and the contours of your body and the feeling of love that crashes over him to memory. he’s not sure if he’ll have a moment like this again, so he prolongs the touch until he can barely breathe. he returns you to solid ground and pulls away.

“gwilym—” you’re crying, and he wonders how he didn’t taste your tears.

“don’t come tomorrow. i don’t want you to hear what they say.”

you set your jaw. “i’ll be there. i won’t leave you.”

he knows you’re bating him to reveal his plan, but he won’t. until his dying day, he will protect you from harm. tonight, he must protect you from himself.

because he can’t help it, he grabs your elbow and pulls you in for a last bruising kiss. you circle your arms around his neck and cling to him, even as he tries to pull away.

“let me go, [y/n],” he whispers.

you hold tighter, your eyes screwed shut as you shake your head. “no.”

“let me go, angel.” with some amount of effort, he pries you from his body. a rush of cold fills the spot where you’d stood, pressed against him.

he turns away, returning to the cottage, but not before he sees you hide your face behind your hands and hears you sob softly into the darkness.

you arrive at the hearing dressed in red. the sight of you flanked by your grandfather, wearing your boldest, brightest red dress, almost makes him laugh. you’re nothing if not brave.

standing in the doorway of the church, you survey the room, which is full to bursting. everyone has turned out for the event of the year, and the air is hot with sweat and summer and scandal. when your eyes meet his from across the room, he can’t help but offer a smile. you smile in return, and the softness around your eyes is a balm to his soul. you point to an empty pew in the back of the hall and take your seat. though your face is obscured, he can make out the shoulders of your bright dress from his place in a chair on the dais.

he sits before the entirety of snowshill, the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. he feels close to vomiting, but he knows what he must do. he’s ready.

when the vicar begins the proceedings, outlining your entire affair in torrid detail, gwilym keeps his face set firm. his hand bunches the fabric at his thighs and his teeth press against his tongue but he’s calm to the untrained eye. it’s only when the vicar asks him to say his piece that his facade begins to crumble.

he stands too rapidly, and his chair crashes to the floor. he leaves it lying against the cobblestone. he opens his mouth and releases a squeak. heat rushes up the back of his neck, and he clears his throat. from her place in the front pew, constance leans forward, her brows knit tight in concern. his gaze skips to you and, standing now, he can see your face.

you’re beautiful.

gwilym opens his mouth to speak. “everything you have said about me here today is true, vicar.” there’s a muffled gasp throughout the crowd, but he continues. “i did enjoy an illicit affair with my own pupil and, though i admit i should have perhaps waited to court the girl in question until after her graduation, i will not concede that what we did was wrong.”

the vicar’s hands curl around the pulpit, his face ashen. “have you no shame, sir?”

“no shame in partaking in what the lord intended us for: communion and fellowship with one another.”

“how dare you!”

gwilym ignores him and returns his eyes to yours amidst the crowd. “if i am guilty of anything, i am guilty of doing as the lord commands us: loving my fellow man—or, in this case, woman. the greatest of these is love, i believe, yes? so yes, i am guilty, but guilty only of loving a woman whole-heartedly.” he pauses and feels the overwhelming urge to laugh bubble in his chest. “i love you, [y/n], and that is the truth. if that is my crime, i will bear it with honor.”

tears blur his vision as he extends his hand to you. a beat of silence and then—

you stand, your red dress a spotlight among the sea of browns and greens and grays. you step into the aisle, smile, and he notes as you walk forward that his hand does not shake as he waits for you to reach his side.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #prof!gwil #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody fanfiction #j writes

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now-im-a-belieber · 3 years

Note

you literally have my whole heart 🥺 i'm your number one simp 💕

time for some baseless babe hcs 👀

◇ EDWARD HEFFRON KNOWS HOW TO BAKE. boy doesn't even need a recipe, he can throw just about anything together on the fly

◇ but as a result, he's vv sassy when he bakes

◇ idk he seems like a sucker for strong nyc women, since this boy obvi has a nyc accent! (which, as a nyc hoe, makes me 👀👁👁👀👁👁)

◇ babe L O V E S legs, thighs specifically, and will absolutely buy you garters on every occasion he can

◇ your drawers will be well stocked with all sorts of stockings, from lace to silk to nylon

◇ will absolutely carry you on his back if your feet start to hurt while walking around nyc

◇ will carry you even if your feet don't hurt, bc he loves you

◇ he likes to lay his head on your thighs after a long day, and let's you play w his hair bc he's a Soft Babe™

◇ will blow a raspberry against your cheek whenever he can just bc it makes you shriek

◇ he loves spooking you, especially bc he knows you always end up laughing when you realize it's just him

eddie heffron is one of the only straight yt men i would trust w my drink

xoxo, 🤡

⋆ b a b e s a c c e n t ⋆ is the reason i wake up in the morning. please do not get me started. everyone of these hc's added 10+ years onto my life span. thank you clownie!

#clown-bae strikes again #i ADORE you ugh #🤡 anon

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exosmutxoxo · 4 years

Text

Please Read ~ 🌻💗

Hello my loves! This is going to be quite a lengthy post, so please bear with me.

I want to start off by saying that I’m close to finishing my novel, and I plan to get it published soon! It has always been my dream to see my writings in the form of an actual book, on the shelves of bookstores, and to see people reading them.

During this period, I’ve finally gotten the time to sit down and properly finish up my novel - a story which has been sitting in my drafts for 2+ years. And although I still have a longggg way to go and that nothing is concrete for now, this is a game plan which I feel I’m halfway through ☺️

I still have endless loose ends to tie up, but I know these things take time and in the next coming months, I’ll be (hopefully) pushing my written work out into the publishing world.

I’m terrified and excited all at once. The road to getting published is not an easy one. But I’m willing to try. And for that, I have to thank Tumblr for being such a safe space for me to explore myself as a writer.

I have had this humble little blog for 3 years. Over these 3 years, I have written about different genres and topics (smut, action, dystopian, mental illnesses, superpowers, abuse, etc.), and I’m forever thankful for everyone who has read my works and supported me through thick and thin.

Tumblr has allowed me to explore my strengths and weaknesses as a writer. It has allowed me to move out of my comfort zone and tackle topics I never thought I would.

And it is a platform where I’ve met countless of people whom have supported and cared for me. People who mean the world to me. And people who love me both as a person and a writer.

My journey as a budding writer was far from smooth, but the friends I’ve made along the way have made it priceless, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

Namely:

@nunchiwrites - Nunchi was the very first friend I made on Tumblr when I first started out. We’ve fangirled together, collaborated when it came to writing, read and supported each other’s works, and basically made amazing memories together. She’s a friend I will forever cherish ❤️ I love you Nunchi, thank you for always hyping me up on Instagram 😚💖

@loser-dot-com - Babe, you were one of my pioneer supporters and mutual, and I can’t believe how far we’ve come 🤩 I still remember you using the nickname “School Anon” whenever you dropped me an ask HAHAHA i miss those times 🤣 Thank you for always supporting me and my works (and for sharing Chanyeol with me HOHOHO 🤪)

@findingmyelysium - SONIA MY LOVE. You’ve already read the first 2 chapters of my novel, which I (HOPEFULLY) plan to get published. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read my garbage 🤣 it means the world to me. And thank you a million times for always being by my side, for loving me since my Dangerous Woman era 👀 I love you to the moon and beyond, and I hope “Bonnie & Clyde” has been exciting to you so far! (despite its many flaws and chaotic characters LMAO) 💗 I’m so thankful to have met you through Tumblr, and I really hope to meet you someday 🥺❤️ (also, your writing skills are AMAZING and i can’t wait to read more of your works!!) P.S. You are a badass babe, so much more than Kwon Syona will ever be 🤪💗

@pastel-kpop - My angel!!! Thank you for being such a pure, golden soul. You’re always there to check up on me, to encourage me, to cheer me up. I miss you so much, and I have so much love for you 🥺💕 I hope life is treating you well, you deserve all the goodness in the world! And also, thank you so much for supporting me in everything I do, and for always pushing me to do my best 💖😚

@isearchedtheyooniverse MAULI, MY HOE BUDDY 💖 IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE WE LAST SPOKE GAAAHH i miss you tons!!! Thank you for being a hoe with me and fangirling with me over our 1 million and one k-pop husbands 🤪🤪 and thank you for showing so much love for my writing, and for always encouraging me to do my best 💕🤗 I hope you’re well! 😘

@kpopangelxo - HIIII MY LOVE 💕💕 I still remember the days when we would chat endlessly, and you would supply me with endless ideas for The Chosen One! You even took the time to create a moodboard for one of its chapters, and I still hold it close to my heart till this very day 🥺❤️ I miss you and your humour every single day, I hope life has been going well for you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for hyping up my stories, for fangirling with me, for never failing to put a smile on my face 💖💖 Your endless support has given me so much confidence over the years, and I’m utterly grateful for that. And for you! 💖

@byunfirstlady - YOU ARE SO ARTISTIC AND TALENTED, I SWEAR. Your gorgeous moodboards give me so much life and inspiration for my own works! I still remember when we collaborated together for one of my smuts, and as always, your moodboard was BEAUTIFUL ❤️ You are a truly talented and beautiful soul. You’ve always provided me with so much encouragement and support and feedback over the years, and I appreciate it so much ❤️ Also, I miss chatting with you 🥺 let’s catch up soon, okie! xoxo

@skjdln - HIIII LOVE! Thanks for all your support throughout the years! You’ve never failed to leave constructive feedback on my works, and it has really helped me to improve as a writer! Your feedback means the world to me. Also, you’re really really sweet and easy to talk to! 💕💕 I hope to get to know you better, thank you for being such a wonderful mutual 💕

A HUGE thank you to all my mutuals and followers who have supported and loved me and my works. You have no idea how much it means to me. Without all of you, I wouldn’t have the confidence to write an entire novel. So, thank you endlessly from the bottom of my heart.

On another note, I know horrible things have been happening around the world. The COVID-19 situation is one of them, and I know it has been taking quite a toll on many of us. It has affected us in our own ways (mental health, emotional well-being, physical well-being, etc.). Whatever the case is, please remember that I’m always here to lend a listening ear and offer a virtual hug if needed!

You are not alone. I’m here for you. I’m always one message away. ❤️

To end off this long post, I would like to say thank you once again. To Tumblr, to my mutuals, to my followers. My heart is with every single one of you. ❤️ Please stay safe and take care of yourselves! xoxo

#wow this was long #author speaks #exosmutxoxo #mutuals #thank you for reading through this #THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING❤️#i love every single one of you #i am emotional now lmao #forever grateful #exo #kpop

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alpha-bnha-boys · 5 years

Note

I feel like it would be cute to request a scenario for shinsou as a kid or 🍼 thank you so much!!!

A wonderful request my dear!! ヾ(*´∀｀*)ﾉ

AND BEFORE ANY OF YOU START WITH THAT:

“oH, sMuTsY jUsT dId A sHiNsOu rEqUeSt-” ヘ（。□°）ヘ

Yes, Yes I did. Don’t act like I didn’t give y’all full disclosure of my incurable and damn near crippling Shinsou-bias. ALSO I’m trying to post something here on Tumblr everyday, and this is the one I finished first because it was so hella cute and fun and I couldn’t help myself!

I’M SORRY I’M SUCH A HOE FOR THE EGGPLANT

・゜・(ノД`)

Am simple smutsy. I see Shinsou, I write... (´;ω;｀)

Honestly though, I’m sorry you guys... I’m gonna do more than just Shinsou, I promise.

I hope none of you are too upset with me, and that you will still be able to enjoy this little fluff piece! (*´･∀･)

But I meant what I said @negansnumberonewifie - this is a wonderful request, thank you so much! I loved writing it, and I hope you enjoy it too!

• Shinsou : 🍼 •

* No warnings! Pretty sure this one is like 99% SFW!

Except for language, but that’s a given...

However I did hold back this time. Note the lack of f-bombs.

I surprise even myself, sometimes.

Nearly all the heroes had been called to the inner district of the city; as a hoard of villains were wreaking havoc on the general public. You and Shinsou had been partnered up, and you used both of your quirks to take down as many villains as you could. By the time the battle was over, the heroes had triumphed and the villains were detained and escorted away from the scene.

Medical units were being called in by the dozen. One of the villains had a peculiar quirk that had left several civilians reverted to their child-like selves. Only a few had been affected, but the emergency response teams were doing their best to corral them up and comfort their panicked cries.

- - - - - - - - -

After a moment or so, you scanned the area, your face dawning with panic.

“W-Where’s Shinsou?!”

The other heroes heard your distress, their gazes shooting over to you.

Suddenly, you felt a small tug on your shirt.

Looking down, you saw a child, what appeared to be a five year old boy.

He had wild indigo hair, and clothes that were entirely too big for him, baggy on his small little frame…

‘Oh… Oh shit.’

“Sh-Shinsou?? Is that-??”

The little boy nodded, toddling closer to you as the other heroes dashed over with an emergency response team in tow.

You felt Shinsou nuzzle up against you, clinging to your leg shyly.

Your mind was dumbfounded.

‘Oh my God… he’s so cute…’

The medical units tried to coax him away from you, but he wouldn’t budge; silently shaking his head at every attempt to coerce him into their arms.

You knelt down to Shinsou’s eye-level, and he was quick to rush into your arms, wrapping his own around your neck and hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Shinsou, s-sweetheart, these people are trying to help you. They just want to take care of you until you go back to normal.”

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head again, burying himself further into your neck, his little legs scrambling to wrap themselves around your waist.

“I wanna stay with Y/N.”

Kaminari was there, and he knelt down beside you, chiming in with a big smile on his face;

“Hey buddy! Don’t you wanna come hang out with your best pal Denki?”

Shinsou shook his head again.

“I wanna be with Y/N. I like Y/N.”

Denki smiled, scratching the back of his head.

“Aw don’t you like me too, buddy?”

Shinsou peeked out from your neck, looking Kaminari in the eyes with a pout.

“It’s diffwent.”

A blush creeped up your face, but you smiled softly, scooping the child up in your arms.

You patted the back of his head, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll look after him until the affects wear off, is that alright?”

The first responder scrambled for words, a little surprised you’d be willing to do such a thing,

“W-w-well sure! T-that’s fine, if you want to! The effects appear to only last 12 hours, so he’ll be back to normal by tomorrow morning!”

It was only a little past 1PM, so you decided to enjoy every minute you had with the Little Shinsou, utterly enchanted with his adorable disposition.

However, his lack of filter was an added bonus you had not anticipated.

After trading in his massive adult shoes for some kids’ shoes at a nearby store, you took him to the dessert parlor you were both regulars at.

Shinsou looked at the menu and shook his head.

“What’s wrong? You normally come here all the time, Shinsou.”

Shinsou crossed his arms, “Everything hewre is too sweet, I onwy come here because you’re always hewre getting tea.”

You made a mental note to start visiting another snack/beverage location, one that Shinsou might like too; as the child’s confession had made your heart flutter.

After grabbing pretzels from a nearby stand, you saw a sign for a petting zoo that was currently operating in the park, and asked Shinsou if he’d like to go.

Shinsou nodded his head vigorously, pretzel crumbs all along his mouth.

“Yes pwease! I wanna go to the petting zoo, pwease!”

As you made your way to the park, he wrapped his hand around your fingers, dragging you along behind him.

“Come on Y/N! Wet’s go!”

You giggled, reveling in his excitement as you approached the animal pens and bought a baggy of food for each.

Shinsou’s face grew worried for a moment, and he fiddled with his baggy clothes, reaching for something in his back pocket.

He pulled out his wallet, the leather bound pocketbook looking so large in his tiny hands.

“Hewre! I don’t want you to have to pay fowr it!”

You laughed, “Shinsou, I don’t mind! It’s my treat!”

Shinsou shook his head defiantly, a stern pout on his face.

“No Y/N, a gentwlmen is suppowsed to pay fowr his date.”

You blushed, bending down to give the child a kiss on the forehead.

“How about I take out the $6 for our tickets, okay?”

Before he could protest, the petting zoo worker opened the gate for the bunny pen, and Shinsou went rushing inside along with a few other children.

You opened his wallet, deciding to humor him and take out the $6 you had agreed upon.

Aside from usual wallet items; IDs, receipts, credit/debit cards and etc., the wallet was quite obviously Shinsou’s.

It had PetSmart member’s card, a punch-card from a coffee shop (2 punches away from a free coffee, by the way), a library card, a member’s card for a bicycle shop.

You couldn’t help but smile at it all.

You saw a photo poking out of a pouch in his wallet, the corner pointedly worn from use; curiosity getting the best of you, you pulled it out.

It was a 4 paneled photo the two of you. Its edges more worn than the pouch that held it.

You and the class went to the fair in your last year at UA, and you had all decided to go to a photo booth.

Once all the photos were done, everyone started leaving, but Shinsou said he accidentally put an extra token in the machine.

You happily offered to take some photos with him.

And he had… kept it… after all this time.

4 panels of the two of you; one of you giving each other rabbit ears, one of you making funny faces, another of you sticking your tongues out, and the last one- you surprising Shinsou with a kiss on the cheek, his face blooming with red.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a small voice calling out to you, “Come on Y/N! You gotta pet the bunnies!”

You slid the photo back into its pouch and tucked the wallet into your bag, deciding to hold onto it for safe keeping.

You knelt down beside Shinsou in the pen, watching with soft eyes as he gently petted one the rabbits, its nose crinkling and eyes closing happily at his gentle touch.

You saw the other children, hastily chasing around the rabbits as their parents scolded them.

Shinsou was so loving, so tender with the creature, easing his hand in front of it with food and smiling as it ate from his hand.

‘I bet he always was mature for his age.’

After the bunnies, you visited the goats, and you and Shinsou laughed at how goofy they were. Then the ducks, where Shinsou made a friend that decided to sit in his lap. Finally you visited the chickens, where Shinsou pointed out a particularly scraggly looking black one asleep in the corner, saying it looked like Aizawa.

After wiping the tears from your eyes from laughter, Shinsou grabbed your hand, yawning.

“Hey Y/N, can we take a nap? I’m getting sweepy.”

You smiled, scooping the child into your arms and letting him rest his head on your shoulder like he had earlier.

“Alright honey, let’s go back to my house; then we can take a nap. How does that sound?”

You arrived home, Shinsou having fallen asleep before you’d even left the park.

You laid him down gently on the loveseat in your living room, sliding a pillow under his head and tucking him in with a fuzzy blanket. You removed his scarf and brushed the hair out of his face, marveling at his angelic face as he slept.

‘I wonder if we ever had a baby- would they be this cute?’

You blushed at the thought, but decided you were in need of a nap too, getting yourself situated on the big couch beside him.

It wasn’t even 10 minutes after you’d closed your eyes before you felt a familiar tug at your shirt.

There was Shinsou, sleepy-eyed as ever and clutching the fuzz blanket in his arms.

“Can I sweep wif you?”

You smiled, scooting over as you made room for him.

“Sure, come here sweetheart.”

Turns out the petting zoo as well as the battle from earlier had worn both of you out.

You held the child in your arms, humming at the warmth from his tiny body. Not long after, you both fell asleep.

You awoke the next morning to a simultaneously awakening Shinsou groaning beneath you.

‘Beneath you? You had been the big spoon, what-?

Oh…

Oh shit.’

Shinsou had changed back overnight, and now you were laying on his chest, half-sprawled out on top of him.

You fought back the wince as his eyes fluttered open, realizing you had no time to retreat or feign ignorance.

You were about to have some serious explaining to do.

Dee End! ;3

xoxo, Mama Smutsy ヽ(｡• ω•｡)ﾉ

#BNHA scenarios #Shinsou Hitoshi BNHA scenarios #Shinsou Hitoshi Scenarios #Shinsou Hitoshi Imagines #Shinsou Hitoshi #Hitoshi Shinsou #BNHA boys #Shinsou Hitoshi Kid Version #BNHA kids #BNHA kid versions #BNHA SFW #BNHA fluff #Mama Smutsy #Smutsy #But writing BNHA kids makes me feel like Mother Goose #My transformation has begun

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peterparkerstarker · 5 years

Text

Kinktober Day 26: Lingerie (Starker)

This is a continuation from my Day 18 Mob AU fic, taking place right after that fic ended:

Cw: Starker, mob au, daddy kink, feminization/Peter in lingerie, knife kink, implied murder kink, references to blood, mentions of death/killing someone for pleasure.

@readysetstarker @jwolf18791 @warathena418 @pray4meireadstarker @thotticusmaxximus @mvrphyblooms @morgoona-stark @silkystark @untold-royalty @pollyparrot8 @sthefystarkersworld @katzenbaby1 @another-starker-hoe @tony-is-my-daddy @mystarkershame @plsstopgivingpetertrauma @hoeforthegays @lonleystarker @awesomeimportantfan @friendlyneighborhoodlosxr @hpspazz @starker-obsessions @starkershomelife @tightaroundthewebslinger @animefan1998-love @peterpissparker @starkercandy @loki-helmet @petecake @starkercrossedlovers @nerdylocksandthethreebears @thirstyhoe4yoongi @starker-reader @starkerissemiok @tomhollabel @momobaby227 @dragonskittysblog @sleepy-and-depressed @disneyprincessdominatrix

The plug fit so nicely, its’ adorable bow decorated his plump little ass perfectly.

Peter shifted in his seat, relishing in the feel of it.

Next he picked up the pristine white bralette, letting the satiny lace caress his soft skin as he slipped it on. His daddy liked him dolled up in white the best, said it made him look pure and sweet. Peter had to agree, as he admired himself in the mirror. The picture of innocence, Tony would tell him. They both knew he was anything but, which made it all the more fun to play pretend.

He pulled on the panties and considered his reflection in the vanity mirror, the frills on either side of his hips accentuated his slender curves. A little peekaboo keyhole cut out in the back at the waist band gave any viewer a flirty look at his ass, which was perky and creamy-pale.

They were absolutely perfect.

Finally, the garter belt, which he slipped on over the panties, lacy and delicate. He clipped the bands to the tops of his pastel pink stockings, careful not to catch the frilly lace that decorated the very tops of them. No sense in ruining a perfectly good pair of thigh highs before Tony had the opportunity to rip them off of him.

Maybe if the phone meeting went especially well he’d reward Peter by cutting them off of him? A little shiver of delight rippled through him at the thought. It had been so long since Daddy had used his knives on him, and he missed their cold burn, the way they skated across his delicate skin. The thrill they gave him as they bit into his skin, bringing gorgeous crimson droplets to the surface that Tony would lick clean. The taste of copper and iron on his lips and tongue as he kissed Peter senseless.

Yes, he needed that tonight. Needed to convince Daddy to play with him, to let him be a little fucktoy that he could abuse ruthlessly. That was Peter’s favorite.

A daddy was nothing without his baby boy, nothing without a princess to pamper and punish.

And he was a pretty princess indeed, all dolled up in his Daddy’s presents.

He glanced back to Tony, who ended the call with a firm press of the screen, settling back into his office chair with a satisfied, sharklike smile.

“Did they finally come around Daddy?” Peter asked coyly.

“Yes Petey, your Daddy can be quite convincing when he wants to be,” he said, gesturing for Peter to come sit in his lap, which he did, crossing the room and curling into Tony’s embrace. “We’re going to celebrate big tonight baby boy,” Tony said sweetly as he petted Peter’s chestnut curls. “And look at you, all pretty and perfect for me. I’m such a lucky man.”

Peter practically purred at the compliment. His daddy knew just how to get in his good graces.

“Now, should we fuck before or after I kill the last snitch that tried to rat me out? You know I’ve been saving him for you, baby.” Tony kissed him ever so gently, the words coming out in halted breaths.

‘Why not during? You know just how much it gets me off, Daddy, and you can fuck me over his body as he bleeds out so prettily. Just don’t get my new clothes dirty, please,” Peter asked, his lashes fluttering as little kitten mewls escaped his cherry red lips.

Tony’s hand roamed lower, down to caress the lacy bulge of his white panties. Peter was already hard and leaking, slick wetness soaking through the delicate fabric.

The older man barked out a joyous laugh, and kissed him once more before lifting him up in the air, holding him tight as he began to carry Peter to the holding cell in the next room over that they kept hostages in.

“That’s exactly why I love you, princess. You’re so deliciously creative. You and I are gonna have so much fun tonight celebrating.”

#kinktober #starker #my fic #my writing #mob au #day 26

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xbaepsae · 5 years

Text

private tutor | part three (m)

“’We can take a break, if you want.’ ‘Are you sure?’ he asks, double meaning in his words and heat begins to pool in your body. ‘Yeah, I think I need time to process the information, you know?’ you say. ‘Besides, I think I’ll learn better with more of a…hands on kind of approach.’”

[tutor!namjoon x reader]

genre: college!au, smut, humor, fluff-ish

word count: 5.1k

a/n: and here it is! the final, thrilling part to this series. thank you to everyone who has been super patient with me. i love and appreciate all of you <3 xoxo

part one / part two / part three

You don’t see Namjoon again for a few days.

It’s not that you’re avoiding the guy, he did give you one of the best orgasms of your life after all, but you just haven’t had the opportunity to meet with him again. After the last study session, both of your schedules haven’t matched up. When you’re in class, he’s free. When you’re free, he’s too busy reading those damn philosophy books.

The two of you exchanged phone numbers—or rather, you coerced Yoongi into giving you Namjoon’s phone number with the promise of free Starbucks for the rest of the semester because the poor boy was out of money in his school account—but every text about possible study sessions has been in vain.

So, the little pink bullet vibrator in your bedside table has been relieving much of your end-of-semester stress instead. It also doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about your tutor either. You can’t get the image of when he was staring at you while giving you head out of your mind, and it’s been driving you absolutely crazy.

You told Ara about what happened in his bedroom after the game, and your roommate was shocked at how fast it all happened. “So, it’s that kind of payment.”

Were you some kind of prostitute now? You voiced this mild concern to Ara before she assured you that you weren’t a hoe now just because your tutor gave you oral in return for a study session. If anything, you should’ve given him head as payment. “I know—and I would have if not for your interfering phone call.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t show up on time,” Ara said. “But on the real, is he really hot?”

Hot doesn’t do Kim Namjoon justice. There are no right or perfect words to describe him. You don’t know what it is about him, but everything concerning him just oozes sexuality. He knows all of the right words to make you bend to his will, as well as fiery looks that make you melt underneath his ministrations. And his mouth—that amazing, fantastic mouth—is magical. Your body becomes excited at just the thought of it.

It’s about a few days later when you get a text from him asking if you'll be free Friday afternoon. Lucky for him, the only class you have that day is chemistry, ironically enough, and you let him know this fact. Namjoon replies instantly, telling you that he’ll see you after that class.

Since meeting with Namjoon, you’ve been paying more attention in chemistry class. Things were starting to make sense—kind of, sort of—and you have an inkling feeling that you might pass. Also, in all honesty, you just really want to impress him with the new concepts you're learning. But trying to impress someone like him seems impossible.

When Friday rolls around, you cannot contain the excitement you feel. You sit in chemistry and take the most detailed notes you’ve ever taken, feeling determined to show how much you’ve improved since the first study session. Once your professor finishes her lecture, you leave class with a skip in your step and pull out your phone to send a quick text asking what time you should meet. As your typing away on your phone, not really paying attention to where you’re walking, you end up running into someone.

“Oops—I’m—” you look up, only to be met with the amused expression of your tutor. “Oh my god, Namjoon—I’m so sorry—”

Goodness, you are such a klutz. You were so focused on sending him a text, so excited to see him again, that you completely disregarded everything else. You realize that he has his arms on your shoulders, steadying you. Suddenly, embarrassment floods your body at the fact that you literally ran into him.

Shaking your head to collect yourself, you can’t help but notice that once again, Namjoon is dressed like he is some runway model—not a college student. Today, he’s wearing a plain black dress shirt tucked into lighter wash jeans. You don’t know how long you stare at him, but he coughs once, and you meet his eyes. That’s when you realize that he decided to forgo the glasses today. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“I was just about to send you a text,” you point to your phone. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”

“I actually sent you one too.”

Looking back at your phone, your message still in the text box, you scroll down and realize that Namjoon did send you a text just seconds ago.

12:49 PM | Namjoon: Hey. I’ll meet you outside your class today.

You look back at him, “Well, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“My one o’clock got canceled, and I got out of my noon class a little early,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I haven’t been in the science building since freshman year.”

“Okay, mister philosophy major.”

“Are you free to study?”

Nodding, you swallow the lump in your throat as you remember what happened during the last study session. “Definitely. I even took good notes today in class.”

He smirks. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Give me credit for trying,” you pout, walking away from him. Namjoon catches up to you in no time, arms slightly brushing against yours as he walks beside you down the hall. You become overly aware of how fast your heart starts beating and mentally curse yourself for reacting like a total noob.

“Isn’t that something you should’ve been doing all semester?”

You give him a look, but he merely laughs as you both walk out into the sun. You lead Namjoon to your dorm, walking past stares from the student body. As the two of you walk, you make small talk with him—clearly more interaction than what you guys did last time. He talks to you about his philosophy classes, which you don’t really get, but you appreciate his passion for it. “Honestly, I don’t really like philosophy.”

“Not many people do,” he says. “But I think people like Plato and Socrates were fascinating.”

“Is philosophy on the list of graduation requirements?”

Namjoon looks down at you. “I believe at least one class is.”

You groan at the thought of sitting through an entire semester of lectures about the mind and theories. “Great.”

“I could always tutor you, again,” he says, eyes still on you.

Your body hums at the thought of spending more time with Namjoon. Immediately, you want to jump and say that you want nothing more than to continue future tutoring sessions; but you decide to tease him a little. “Hmm…we’ll see. If I pass chemistry, then maybe. Like, I don’t want to waste my time if my grade doesn’t change you know?”

“Is this a challenge?” he asks with a smirk. “I already told you that I’m confident you’ll get at least a C. Why? Doubting my skills? Did I not make you cum hard enough last time?”

He says the last bit so quietly you almost don’t catch it. The two of you are still in public, which means anyone can hear the conversation you both are having, so you’re shocked that he’s being quite bold right now. Even though you don’t want to, you redden at the mention of last time because he’s right—he did make you cum really hard—so you definitely are not doubting the sexual prowess that is Kim Namjoon.

Before you can answer him, you’ve already reached your building. Rummaging through your backpack for your ID card, you swipe the metal lock on the door and open it up. You walk inside first and tell Namjoon that your room is on the second floor.

“Also, there’s no elevator in this building,” you sigh. “At least, no working elevator—the one we did have has been broken since labor day weekend.”

“Oh?” he laughs a little, following you up the stairs.

“Yeah, I think there were too many people on the elevator at one time, so it got stuck and maintenance hasn’t bothered to fix it. But at least I only have to climb one flight of stairs—I feel bad for the people on the floors above me. I don’t even want to think about the chaos that will be having to pack for winter break.”

Making it to your room, the first door on the left, you notice that Namjoon is awfully close to you and it sends little jolts of electricity up your spine.

“Cute,” he suddenly says, and you turn to ask him what. “The decorative names are a nice touch.”

You smile, looking at yours and Ara’s name that are creatively pieced on the door of the room. “Thanks—it was actually Ara’s idea though. She’s very into this kind of stuff. You know, doing the whole college experience.”

Slipping your key into the lock, you open the room and sigh in relief when you remember that you cleaned the night before. Ara was shocked that you were cleaning, not that you’re extremely messy or anything but you do have a tendency to leave empty water bottles around the room. However, when you mentioned that Namjoon was coming over to help you study, Ara would not stop shut up about it.

“Make sure to use protection, okay?” she said to you and you almost tackled her on the spot. “Also, make sure he discards the condom—I don’t want that shit to get on the carpet. I’ve heard that it’s hard to take cum off the carpet.”

Thankfully, Ara has a packed schedule on Friday afternoons, so she will not be here to disturb your study session. You invite Namjoon to walk inside first as you lock the door.

“Well,” you start, “welcome to my humble abode.”

“Your room is bigger than I thought it would be,” he comments.

“Why? Did you think it was going to be the size of a closet?” you snort. “This room accommodates two people, so it has to be decently sized.”

When you and Ara first moved in, you two tried to set up the room as practical as possible. You both decided to forgo the whole bunk bed situation because neither of you wanted to fight for the bottom bunk, so your beds sit parallel to each other with both bedside tables in-between. At the foot of your beds are desks, and by the door stands a sink and your closets.

You put your bag down on your bed and pull Ara’s desk chair from her side of the room. Setting it next to your chair, you sit down and beckon Namjoon to follow. You pull out your notes and textbook, handing them over to your tutor to look over.

“Are those the notes you took earlier?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

Namjoon examines your notes, flipping back and forth over the pages you wrote today. “Did you understand everything the professor said?”

“Surprisingly, I did,” you say. “I’ve been able to soak up more information this past week than I have almost all semester.”

“That’s good,” he says with a nod and opens your textbook up. “Did you want to start from what you learned today, or where we left off last time?”

You tell him that you want the latter and Namjoon picks up seamlessly. With pen and paper in hand, you jot down everything that he says and ask questions when you don’t understand what he’s explaining. When he gets to the chapter about stoichiometry, you admit that you never understood what the heck this was. You even make Namjoon balance a simple hydrogen and oxygen equation five times because you really don’t get it. But, to your relief, you learn that Namjoon is surprisingly patient with you.

“Can you explain that again?” you ask with a sheepish smile, watching Namjoon write the current example you two are working on again.

“Okay, so the problem asks how many grams of nitrogen are needed to produce the 38.5 g of NH2 produced in the equation: 1 N2(g) + 3 H2(g) = 2 NH2(g)?”

You watch as he writes down the goal mass and then solves the problem using mass-mass stoichiometry. Through each step, he explains slowly what he is doing and why he is doing what he is doing. By the time he comes out with the answer, you feel a little lightbulb flicker in your head. He then asks if you feel comfortable solving the problem yourself, which you honestly don’t but what’s new, and you reply with an I guess so.

Without letting you see his work, Namjoon helps you start solving the problem before forcing you to do it all by yourself. After a few painstaking minutes, you show your answer and the smile he has lets you know that you’re not a complete failure. “So, I got it correct?”

“Yeah—just make sure you put the unit of measurement in your answer, as well as the atomic letters of the chemical,” he says, and you immediately add them to your answer.

“Thank you for being so patient,” you tell him. “I’m sorry that I’m so fucking slow.”

He only shakes his head, “I’ve tutored worse—trust me.”

Namjoon continues through different lessons and before you both realize it, nearly all of the afternoon has passed by and you’re starting to get hungry. Not hungry-hungry, but hungry enough that you know your stomach will probably start making noise. You will your stomach to not growl, but your body betrays you and the sounds coming from your stomach fill the room. Almost instantly, you wrap your arms around your abdomen and you feel your face flush. “Sorry.”

Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, Namjoon checks the time. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how long we’ve been studying. I also didn’t even think about whether or not you’ve even had lunch.”

“I’m okay,” you brush him away, knowing you can hold out until dinner. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, but not for food.”

Your lips part in silent surprise. Oh. Slowly, your eyes meet his and you see that same dark look; this sends your body into a frenzy. Without even touching you, Namjoon has you under his spell and you honestly never want to be released from it. “We can take a break, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, double meaning in his words and heat begins to pool in your body.

“Yeah, I think I need time to process the information, you know?” you say. “Besides, I think I’ll learn better with more of a…hands on kind of approach.”

Humor laces Namjoon’s dark eyes and you swear that you’ve never seen anything sexier. “The next part of your payment?”

You’re so ready for this—anything and everything. You’ve been ready for a while now. “Of course.”

“Okay,” his voice is gentle. Namjoon brings a hand to cup your face, thumb running over your jawline before settling on your lips. He parts your mouth and you begin to suck on his finger. “Get down on your knees for me, baby girl.”

Your arousal skyrockets as you stand up and push your chair back. Falling to your knees, Namjoon’s hand never leaves your face. Looking up at him, you feel his hand moving to tangle in your hair. Suddenly, he pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue dancing with your own. You’re already getting drunk of a kiss, so imagining what's to come has your core aching.

As his lips move against your own, your fingers slide up his thighs and you can feel his muscle flexing underneath. He feels so strong underneath your hands and you can’t wait to see if he crumbles beneath you. Fingers find the belt holding his jeans together, and you begin to loosen the buckle. After, you begin to unbutton his jeans. Namjoon’s lips release yours when you lower his zipper. Shoving his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, your eyes take in his already half-hard member.

Namjoon surprises you when he brings a hand to his cock, holding it erect. “Suck my cock, baby girl.”

Your hand goes to replace his when he stops you. “What?”

“No hands,” he says, voice deep with lust, “put them behind you.”

A jolt of electricity goes up your spine and you almost let out a moan. Oh my god. You do as he says, fingers lacing together behind your back, and lower your head towards his groin. The first thing you do is extend your tongue out to lick the tip. A small smile stretches across your lips when Namjoon visibly shudders.

Then, your mouth envelops the entire head—sucking gently and tongue swirling around it. As you suck, you take more of him into your mouth. You have never been one to particularly enjoy giving head; you’ll do it without question, but it usually doesn’t do anything for you. However, you’re enjoying yourself; you want to please Namjoon and make him feel good.

Through your focused attention to his member, you can make out the few choked praises and curses that leave Namjoon’s lips. You moan appreciatively as you take him deeper into your throat. You release him for a moment to catch your breath before giving some attention to his shaft and balls. By this point, his cock as grown increasingly hard and you wonder for a brief moment if he’s going to fit inside of you.

Size has never been an issue for you; then again, you’re pretty sure he’s got the biggest package you’ve seen in real life.

“Fuck, y/n,” Namjoon moans, beginning to thrust his hips once you’ve taken all of him back into your mouth. You can feel your eyes begin to sting from the force of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your gag reflex kicks in.

Even though you’re beginning to choke, he doesn’t stop slamming his cock down your throat. In fact, he tightens the grip on your hair and speeds up his thrusting. After a few hard thrusts, he releases you. Gasping for air, you can feel saliva dribble down your chin.

Wiping your face, you glance up at Namjoon. “Was that…?”

“Wow,” he breathes, “your mouth is fucking amazing.”

Pride beams inside of you and Namjoon takes this opportunity to crash his lips onto yours. He lifts you off the floor and helps you take your clothes off. As you strip, you also help him shed whatever clothes he is wearing as well. After the two of you are completely naked, you take in Namjoon’s bare body and just groan. How could one man be so damn perfect?

“Like what you see?”

You roll your eyes playfully, “No.”

He kisses you again and you become putty in his hands. Namjoon’s lips leave yours for a moment before reaching back down towards his jeans. Pulling out his wallet, you watch as he takes out a little foil packet. He tears the edge and rolls the condom onto his cock before sitting back down. “Sit on my cock.”

Usually, you’d bite back if someone ordered you around; but with Namjoon, you’ll do anything he says. But before you can straddle his lap, he brings his hand up to cup your mound. “Namjoon—”

He begins to rub your clit and you fall over, bracing yourself onto his shoulders. You moan into his neck as he slips a finger inside of you. And then another. With nails digging into his back, you grind your hips into his thrusting. Just as you’ve started building up momentum, he pulls his fingers out.

You curse, which only causes him to laugh. Unable to help yourself, you kiss him again—you really like kissing him, you realize. Wasting no more time, you hover over his lap and position yourself over him. Slowly, you sink lower. Just as your about to slip him inside of you, Namjoon stops you for a minute. Looking into his eyes, you find yourself getting lost in them. He kisses you again and begins to rub his head along your clit and down toward your slit.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your jaw.

“Namjoon,” you choke on a cry. “I—”

“Do you want my cock inside of you?” he asks, continuing to tease you.

Your hands tighten around his neck, “Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes,” you repeat, another moan releasing from your lips.

His tip swirls around your clit again. “What?”

“Oh my god, Namjoon. Yes! Put your cock inside of me—oh.”

Your head tilts back and eyes roll as you feel him push inside of you. Unadulterated moans leave your lips as he slowly stretches you. Quickly, you realize that you were right—he is big, and you feel so full you can hardly handle it. You sink lower until you’re buried to the hilt, and it feels so good you might just explode. “I just…I just need a minute.”

Breathing into the crook of Namjoon’s neck, you allow your body to get adjusted before you begin to move your hips. As you ride him, you can feel your high approaching quickly and it doesn’t help that Namjoon has decided to tease you by pinching your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You feel so good on my cock, baby girl,” he practically coos into your ears and your hips slam faster; harder. “Fuck yourself onto me—just like that.”

Who knew you’d be such a praise kink hoe? You’re living for the sweet nothings coming from his lips.

He continues to pinch and pull at your nipples and just when you think you can’t take anymore, you feel his fingers right at your clit and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. You scream his name, entire body convulsing in orgasm. Throughout this, Namjoon fucks himself into you still—helping you ride the high out.

“Oh my god,” you say once you catch your breath. “That was—”

“Who said we were done?” His voice causes you to raise your eyes towards him. “We’ve only just begun.”

Your mouth parts, core tightening with desire as he lifts you up and over to your bed. Still inside you, he lays your body down and begins peppering kisses all over your skin. Suddenly, you feel him pull out; you’re about to protest until you feel his hot breath caressing your thighs. Pushing your legs apart, he presses more kisses along the inside before his mouth begins to suck on your lips.

“Namjoon,” you moan his name, legs shaking at his ministrations.

There’s just something so erotic about him eating you out post-penetration—the thought sends your head spinning. Without much, you feel your insides tightening again; you’re going to cum again and your body is so ready for the toe-curling sensation. But it stops when Namjoon releases his hold on you. “You think you deserve to cum again?”

You lift yourself up on your forearms, breathing heavily as you stare at the man before you. Is he being serious right now? “What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve earned another orgasm yet,” he says, a smirk growing along his lips. “I mean, I haven’t cum yet…so why do you deserve more than one?”

“I…I…” you struggle to speak. Hell, you can’t even think right now.

But Namjoon doesn’t stop tormenting you. You watch as his hand returns to your cunt, fingers moving slowly along your wetness. A moan leaves your lips, and it only seems to make his smirk wider. “Tell me why, y/n?”

Your head falls back a bit when you feel that tightness building again. As his fingers continue to move, your hips match their rhythm. “I’m so…close.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod feverishly. “Oh god…yeah.”

“You want to cum again?” he asks.

As Namjoon’s fingers move along your slit, rubbing delicious circles around your swollen clit, your hips move feverishly to match his pace. Clutching the bedsheets in-between your hands, you cry as your high comes. But as your body shakes, you feel him enter you again.

He fucks you hard—cock buried deep inside of you—and it feels so fucking good you swear you might actually pass out. Namjoon thrusts relentlessly, and another wave of pleasure crash over you as he hits your g-spot repeatedly. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you feel completely spent. How many times have you come undone today?

You’re pretty sure that you can’t manage another orgasm, you’re already feeling sensitivity-overload; so instead, you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back. “I want you to cum.”

“Yeah?” he asks, hair in a sweaty mess on top of you. God, he looks so good.

You nod. “Yeah…where do you want to cum? I’ll let you choose.”

Namjoon grunts at your words, hips picking up their pace. “Can I cum on your tits?”

Your body shakes at his request, and all you can do is nod. He continues to thrust a few more times, hips moving a little sloppier each with each thrust, before he pulls out and removes his condom. Strings of milky white hit your chest as he mutters fuck over and over again, painting your breast; however, the real sight to behold is Namjoon and the way his eyes are shut in pure ecstasy.

Sitting up, you pull him closer and mold your lips against his. As you both kiss in post-coital bliss, you realize that you can get used to this.

***

a few weeks later...

Namjoon paces up and down the empty hallway.

His loafers echo in the closed space, while outside there is a totally different picture. Mother nature has decided to be lovely as usual and snow—the first of the season. Although the snow is nice and all, he can’t but feel nervous as his eyes continuously return to the same wooden door; the door that leads to you. Well, to your chemistry class specifically. You’re in there taking your chemistry final right now, and it’s nearing the end of the three-hour exam session.

Shouldn’t you be done already? For the last hour, Namjoon has watched as other students have filed out of the room with their exams in hand. As each individual walked out, he searched for your face in vain. And as the minutes continue to tick by, Namjoon grows more worried.

He doesn’t doubt your preparedness—you two have done more than enough studying. Namjoon licks his lower lip at the memory of every study session you’ve both had, since they’ve all ended with the both of you in each other’s beds. Although the sex has gotten better and better every time, that isn't the only good thing that's happened. In the last few weeks, he has actually taught you a lot about chemistry too.

“What if I forget everything?” you asked yesterday, the both of you tucked in his bed.

Namjoon laughed, “You won’t forget.”

“I can’t even remember what mass is, and that is supposed to be the basic of all basic information.”

“It’s property of a physical body and a measure of its resistance to acceleration when a net force is applied, y/n.”

When he first met you, he said something about guaranteeing that you’d make a C on the final, but he was quite positive that you’d actually do better than that. You were able to soak up a semester’s worth of chemistry in a few weeks; if that isn’t impressive, Namjoon doesn’t know what is. And this is coming from someone who aces all of their finals.

From what he can remember about the chemistry final is that it’s about one hundred questions, and it's all multiple choice. There are different versions of the final, but all of the questions are the same—just in a different order to prevent cheating. And since the test is multiple choice, students get their scores immediately after. You both practiced more than enough old final questions, and you did well on all of them, so he was confident in your skills.

Now, he doesn't know what to think.

Just as Namjoon is about to worry himself sick, the door creaks open and you walk out. Immediately, you make eye contact with him and offer a small smile. He quickly scans your face and assumes the worst. “Oh god, did you not pass?”

“Sorry I took so long,” you avoid his question as you walk closer to him, “those one hundred questions took everything out of me.”

“Y/n, what did you get on the final?” Namjoon takes your face in his hands, searching your eyes for an answer. “Baby, I swear I really thought I prepared you well. I’m so s—”

Suddenly, you laugh. You laugh so hard your entire body shakes. Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown another head. He asks you what’s wrong, but you can’t even answer. “You’re so funny, Joon.”

“Why are you laughing?”

You smile. “I’m laughing because you’re getting so worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing?” he asks, incredulously. “I’m worried that you didn’t pass. That’s not nothing.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

Namjoon frowns for a moment and you unfold your exam and reveal the front page to him. He blinks a few times to make sure the red letter is actually there. Slowly, a smile builds on his face and he lifts you off the ground. You laugh into his shoulder as he spins you around in circles.

As your feet meet the ground again, the smile can’t be wiped off your face. “I can’t believe I actually got a one hundred!”

“Did the professor think you cheated or something?” Namjoon jokes and you almost punch his shoulder.

“No, I just explained that you tutored me. That was all she needed to know.”

“I guess we both win, huh?”

“Win?” you ask, confused as to what he’s talking about.

Namjoon nods. “Yeah—you got the grade, and got my payments.”

You mock laugh, “Ha. Ha. I think you've gotten one too many payments from me, don’t you think?”

He takes that chance to pull your body close, so that you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. Namjoon looks down at you with a smirk, enjoying the way you squirm in his hold. Over the last few weeks, you’ve gotten a lot more confident in his presence and he loved it. However, he still enjoys messing with your anyway. “I think you enjoyed giving me all those payments.”

“Who said?”

“Your body,” he smiles.

“My body tends to betray my mind,” you say, fighting your own smile.

Namjoon’s hands move from your waist to cup your ass. Your eyebrows raise at his action, but you don’t object and that’s all the confirmation he needs to lean down for a kiss.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #bangtan bookclub #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts fic #namjoon fic #rm fic #bts humor #smut #humor #fluff #rm #namjoon #private tutor #xbaepsae

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littleredwing89 · 3 years

Text

HOUSE ALWAYS WINS – CHAPTER 3

Hades!Jason Todd X Persephone!Reader Series

Summary: Jason looked to his right as he waited for their guests; Y/N was stood next to him whilst he was seated in his large opulent throne. The smell of hibiscus and fresh soil shrouded around her and invaded his senses. The scent settling him. Her face dropped in horror when she saw the three women in white glide into the courtroom. Almost like she had seen a ghost. Their veils were forgone. Immaculate, pale faces on show. Thorned crowns rested on their heads. They bowed to Jason in a show of respect before Atropos took a step forward.

Warnings – Language. Some fluff. Violence (not against the reader). Angst.

Word Count: 3,038

***

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises @batarella - thanks for all of your help with this! you’re both angels devil hoes 🖤🖤 @batarella thank you so much for the beautiful banner.

Tag List: @offendedfishnoises @batarella @internalsealpanic @jadedhillon @vvipgot7be @illzarr @lucy-roo @psych0crybaby @pricetagofficial @clementinesandstars @pianowing29 @idkmanicantenglish @dragonchildyuki @kiwihoee @starshineandbooks @illzarr @insane-without-delirium @mariechen1397 @ninergirl1d @hyp-oh-critical @perilous-pasta @imjeralee @xakilicious @kawaiiqueenbee @power-of-words23 @maplumebleue-blog-blog @idkmanicantenglish @imjeralee @power-of-words23 - please let me know if you want to be added to this. xoxo

***

The sweet smell of cherry blossom floated through the air, as the pale pink petals glided down between the two bodies stood inside the white stone columns. A pair of hands were linked together with a glowing golden thread, keeping their hands bound tightly. The ritual was carried out by a melodic voice next to them, cheerful and bright. A large hand clasped around a small dainty hand as energy flowed between the pair. Jason looked down at Y/N, his face beaming with pride and joy. She was a vision in the pure white gown, the silver sparkling belt around her middle caught the bright sun. As soon as the gold thread faded into their skin, he pushed a wild strand of hair from her eyes, letting his thumb stroke down her cheek, resting it on her chin, “I believe I get to kiss you now?”.

A soft laugh left her rosy pink lips, before biting down on her bottom lip, nodding up at him, “Don’t keep me waiting”, her arms locked around his neck, pulling him down gently. He let his hands glide down her sides, settling them on her waist, pulling her into his chest. Jason let his head dip down to hers, his warm, minty breath fanning over lips. He watched her eyes close. She was his. His Queen.

A loud rumble of thunder outside broke Jason from his dream just as he was about to kiss her. FUCK. Tiredly, he ran his hand over the front of his face, rubbing at his eyes, before throwing them with force into the black satin sheets covering his bed. Frustration coursed through him. He rolled onto his stomach; his hand stretched under the pillow as he growled in annoyance. The visions. The dreams. They’d only been getting worse with time. Yet the source of his dreams had refused to utter a word to him since the incident at the casino last week. Fucking brilliant.

***

Wiping her hands on her white shirt, Y/N sighed deeply. The smell of fresh soil filled her senses. It was keeping her calm. Rooted. She moved to her left and carefully stepped over the three sleeping dogs. They were huddled up together, snoring away. Occasionally one would poke their head up to look at her, but upon realising she was just pottering away, would happily fall back into a peaceful slumber.

Y/N was unsure why they spent all their free time with her and not with their master. She’d witnessed the sweet interaction last week between him and his dogs. They adored him. And he clearly adored them too. Jason. He invaded her mind. Ugh. That asshole. She’d been hiding away in her room and the greenhouse every day since the night at the casino. Y/N had not spoken a single word to him. She was furious with the way he had spoken to her. Treated her. More so, she was angry with herself for letting her guard down. She’d begun to think of him as more than the God of the Dead. The dogs, the greenhouse…But that night, he’d proved to her what she had already been told. He had no feelings. Nothing. Souls were just another form of gold and riches to him.

***

A light rap on the winds startled Y/N along with the three dogs at her feet who began barking loudly, bearing their teeth at the uninvited intruder. A fight brewing in her mind, she turned to argue with Jason but was taken back when she saw Dick’s face laughing at her through the glass panes.

“Can I come in, petal? Or are the personal guard dogs going to lick me to death?”, Dick bantered through the glass, his hand rattling the greenhouse door.

“It’s ok boys, it's just Dick”, she bent down and ruffled their ears, settling them down instantly. They watched Dick enter, assessing his movements. His intentions. Before fully settling knowing he meant no harm to Y/N.

“You’ve got them better trained than Jason ever did”, he chuckled jumping up onto the wooden bench, letting his legs swing freely, his golden, winged trainers catching her eyes. They flattered his skin-tight, pristine white jeans perfectly.

She rolled her eyes and went back to her hibiscus plant, pruning the leaves carefully, “What are you doing down here?”.

Dick grinned leaning down towards her, “Visiting my best friend of course”. He plucked a flower from the wall next to him and tucked it in her hair behind her ear carefully.

“What are you really doing down here Dick?”, Y/N asked again, turning her face to his.

“Ok, fine-fine, you got me”, he held his hands over his heart, pretending to have a fatal wound before dropping off the bench standing next to her, pulling at one of the leaves. She smacked his hand and he winced.

“Off!”, she scolded, “You’ll kill it”.

He stroked his hand with a mock look of hurt on his face before speaking again, “I was dropping off some souls to Charon, just the 9 to 5 day job, petal”, he joked, “And I thought I’d pop by and see how things are going down here, you know, see if you’re getting along with-”

“You heard about the fight then?”, Y/N looked at him unamused, a pointed stare, “And you’re here because you want to gossip with me about it”, she jabbed her finger into his chest.

“It’s like you read my mind…now tell me everything”, Dick’s boisterous laughter filled the greenhouse as he looked expectantly at Y/N for more juicy details.

***

Potting the last of her hibiscus plants she turned to Dick as he passed her the trowel, letting her bed it correctly. The tropical colours striking against the green vegetation creeping up the cobbled stone wall. He’d spent the morning with her dissecting every inch of the evening and argument with her in true best friend fashion.

Dick leaned back, resting his hands on the wooden bench behind him, wiping some of the dirt off his white t-shirt, “Well petal…I give you my blessing”.

Y/N turned to him perplexed, “I- what?! What are you talking about!?”.

He laughed, giving her an over exaggerated wink, “You and lover boy”.

Scoffing she threw down her trowel, “It’s not like that!”.

Dick raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and smirked, “Oh sweetie, I have eyes and ears you know, I see how you look at him….and talk about him”.

“You’re honestly deluded Dick, I think you need professional help”, she muttered, a sulky pout made its way onto her lips.

He waved his hand down his chest, “You’re always undressing him with your eyes, the way you talk about him is so….lustful”, he cackled with glee, “But, it’s ok, your secret is safe with me, petal”, he winked again.

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back in irritation, “I hate you”.

“No you don’t, you love me”, his musical voice teased her, “Now come here and prove it to me!”, he grinned cheekily before making kissy faces at her leaning closer to her.

“Dick!! Noooooo!!!”, she laughed, “Get off me!”, fighting against him she squealed at him to stop, pushing both of her hands on his chest just as Jason walked in. Both Dick and Y/N turned to face a stony looking Jason, frozen in place. Dick was too close to Y/N, one of his hands resting on her hip. Jason was clearly unimpressed at the interaction between them, his eyes focused on the treacherous hand. He cleared his throat obnoxiously, “I need to speak to you Y/N – alone”, he directed an icy glare towards Dick.

***

Y/N prized herself away from Dick and turned to Jason, “I don’t want to speak with you at all, leave”, she commanded him.

Jason fidgeted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable at their exchange in front of Dick, “I understand that, but there are matters in the courtroom we need to attend to – together”.

“Ohhhh together? Like as in together-together, like a couple?”, Dick teased, a sly smile tugged at his lips.

Jason turned his attention to Dick, aggravated by his presence, “Why are you still here? Don’t you have a job to do for me?”, Dick’s mocking laughter only fuelled him further, “There’s room in Tartarus you know, even for your oversized ego”.

Dick cackled and looked down at Y/N, “You won’t hurt me whilst she’s here”, he coiled an arm around her shoulders. His smarmy smile only spread wider when Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder in return, smiling innocently at Jason.

Jason took a deep, steadying breath and let his eyes meet with Y/N’s, he adopted a more pleading tone with her, “We have an audience in the courtroom”, he held his hand out to hers, “Please, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary”.

Dick pulled back gently from Y/N and looked down at her, noticing the worried expression written all over Jason’s face, “You better go, petal”.

Jason felt his back stiffen at the pet name. Petal. He watched how her face lit up at the term of endearment. He longed for her to react like that to him. Instead she looked at him with contempt. Disgust. Like a monster.

She looked at Dick first before nodding at Jason, “Fine”. She shoved his hand out of the way and walked around him, opening the greenhouse door, “I can make my own way, thank you”.

Waiting for her to be out of ear shot, Dick’s low voice carried through the room, concern dripped from his voice, “Is everything ok Ja-”.

“Shut up”, Jason followed Y/N out of the greenhouse and up towards the courtroom leaving Dick alone.

***

Jason looked to his right as he waited for their guests; Y/N was stood next to him whilst he was seated in his large opulent throne. The smell of hibiscus and fresh soil shrouded around her and invaded his senses. The scent settling him. Her face dropped in horror when she saw the three women in white glide into the courtroom. Almost like she had seen a ghost. Their veils were forgone. Immaculate, pale faces on show. Thorned crowns rested on their heads. They bowed to Jason in a show of respect before Atropos took a step forward.

“I imagine you know why I called this meeting My Lord?”, her voice was sharp and cutting.

“No, so please entertain me”, Jason lied, covering it with smug superiority. He heard Y/N click her tongue next to him in irritation and he couldn’t help but frown. This was for her. He was doing this for her.

“Your arrogance does not surprise me, My Lord, but, I think it is a disguise. You know exactly why I am here”, Atropos directed her pallid face towards Y/N.

Y/N looked between Jason and Atropos, “What do you me-”

Atropos’ commanding voice cut over Y/N like a blade, “YOU interfered with the fabric of the universe when you altered the fate of that mortal”.

“I simply showed compassion to Cassie!! That is not an atrocity!!”, Y/N argued back hotly, her cheeks tinting pink. How dare they question her like this?

Atropos laughed, “You are nothing but a stupid little girl”, she waved her hand and a fine golden thread appeared in front of them both, “Yes, you showed compassion to Cassandra, but, it will be short lived. You can’t fight fate”.

At those words, Atropos summoned her golden scissors and cut the thread violently. Y/N gasped, and her hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes watered with unshed tears, “No…Cassandra…”.

“You are not untouchable, little Queen”, her voice was cutting, stabbing at Y/N, “Even down here, there are punishments for those who change the course of the cosmos”, Atropos edged towards Y/N, ice spreading across the floor where she stepped. The threat hanging heavy in the air.

***

Jason let the words of the Fates sink in before moving from his seat on the throne. He was furious with them for threatening her. His Queen. No one would speak to her like that. Y/N was stood to his side, he could sense her form shrinking with fear. He would not let this stand. Rolling his sleeves up on his shirt he stalked down the dark steps and towards Atropos with a steely determination.

The leader of the Fates turned to him; her glassy, white eyes locked onto him, “You knew this would happen My Lord, she has violated the laws of natu-”, she was cut off abruptly by Jason’s hand wrapping tightly around her throat pushing her back against the wall roughly, the thorned crown fell from her head at the impact.

His forearms were streaked with black, winding up to his biceps. Hands completely black but engulfed with flames, “You dare threaten my Queen and have the audacity to do it in my presence?”, Jason’s voice boomed around the courtroom, powerful and intimidating.

Y/N gasped at his sudden and intense reaction, “Jason – don’t…it’s ok, I’m ok”, her voice was small, desperately trying to mask the nervousness she felt.

He ignored her and kept his jet-black eyes on Atropos, “You do not come down here and make these threats again. She is your Queen, and you will respect her as one”.

Atropos didn’t struggle against him, the flames merely licked at her skin like water, “It is a dangerous game My Lord, to make enemies left, right and centre”.

Jason scoffed as if she were nothing but a pest, “Correct, but, what if one is comfortable with having enemies?”.

Clotho spoke up, edging closer to her sister, trying to assess the damage inflicted, if any, “And are you?”.

Jason’s smirk was arrogant, “Oh yes”.

He ripped his hand away from her throat, letting Atropos drop to the floor. He stood at the foot of the stairs leading to his throne and more importantly, his Queen. He watched Clotho and Lachesis rush to their sisters’ side, helping her up steadily, collecting her crown from the floor.

“You are a fool”, Atropos pushed them both to the side as she made her way towards Jason. The only sign of their altercation was a singe mark on the shoulders of her dress, “You cannot protect her forever, she is marked by The Fates”.

Jason huffed arrogantly and corrected the sleeves on his shirt, fixing his cufflinks. He smirked at her, “I would burn everything for her”.

Clotho and Lachesis each put a hand on their sisters’ shoulder, not wanting to aggravate the God any further, “Let’s go sister”.

His empty laugh echoed around the room, “Yes, you should leave before there are more accidents”.

Looking across at Y/N and then to Jason, Atropos narrowed her eyes, “This matter is not settled”, and with her final words, the three sisters vanished into thin air, leave a thin wisp of smoke in their wake.

***

Y/N had watched the entire scene unfold in front of her, not daring to speak during it. There was just so much to take in. The whole confrontation had awakened emotions she didn’t know she had. She was overwhelmed at Jason’s protectiveness. Deeply touched. The feeling wrapped around her like a security blanket. No one had ever been so defensive of her. Jason had called her his ‘Queen’. The words had made her heart flutter. She took small, graceful steps down the stairs towards him, her voice gently called to him, “Jason?”.

His breathing appeared under control but his eyes were still black with rage, “T-Thank y-you…for protecting me”, she took another cautious step towards him, her hand instinctively touched his shoulder running down the length of his arm. Her touch brought back the ocean blue of his irises.

“It…it was nothing. I’d do that for anyone”, he tried to pass it off, worried the tone of his voice would reveal his emotions.

“But I’m not anyone…am I?”, she questioned, her hand stopped at his fingers, toying with the rings adorning his hands.

Jason raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”, her touch was sending bolts of desire through his body. Such a simple and innocent touch, but it was perfect. It was her. He was having to control his breathing again.

In. Count to six. Out. Count to six. Breath.

“You called me your Queen”, she whispered the words so quietly Jason was unsure if she had actually spoken or if he had heard the words in his own mind. When he saw the expectant look on her face, it only confirmed she had in fact, murmured those words to him.

The embarrassment and shame exploded inside him and he flinched back quickly, “I need to leave”.

Hurt encompassed her face, which only made him feel worse, the heat enveloping him, scorching him inside out, “I’m…I’m sorry”.

“Wait…Jay”, he ripped his hands and body away from her and darted out of the courtroom heading to his own chamber. His entire being was clawing against his actions. Desperate for her touch. To wrap around her and hold her forever. But his body did the opposite. Jason needed to be away from her presence before he did anything more ridiculous.

***

Consumed by the heat and flames of his own emotions, Jason paced back and forth in his bedroom, his fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging painfully on the strands. The sting subsided the tremendous passions drowning him. Suffocating the air from his lungs.

His Queen. His Queen. His Queen.

The words rattled around his mind and mocked him humourlessly. In the midst of his rage, the words had slipped from his tongue right in front of her. He’d admitted everything without realising. What would she think? What would she do? And more to the point, how would he protect her against The Fates?

Atropos’ words rung heavy in his ears, “You can’t fight fate”.

Looking over some of the ancient books on the shelf in his bedroom, trying to find answers, his eyes settled on a tattered brown, leather-bound book. He pulled it out and blew the thick dust off the cover.

‘THE ERINYES’.

***

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader insert #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood x reader insert #red hood x y/n #hades!jason todd x reader

405 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Not Nineteen Forever (20) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

a/n: hey hey! thank u so much if u gave a lil note or sent a bit of love my way for ch19. it was really my fav to write so far so i’m so glad it resonated with at least somebody!! there is only one more chapter to this whole fic after this and i’m emosh. after the rollercoaster ride we’ve all been on, i hope u enjoy this fun lil chapter as much as i loved writing it!

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Brooke, Nina, Silky and Vanjie were locked in the library, and Brooke and Vanessa finally talked things out like adults.

this chapter: exams are over, dissertations are submitted, degree classifications are being allocated and the girls are nervously waiting for adult life to hit them like a freight train. what better way to avoid thinking about responsibilities than to go to the beach?

***

The day had started, as most of Scarlet’s days often do, with a message to the group chat.

Well, no, that was a bit of a lie. Scarlet’s day had started with her making breakfast, talking to her Mums over facetime as she ate it, and reassuring them that no, she hadn’t found out her degree classification yet and when she did they’d be the first to know. It was hard beginning each day with her heart in her mouth, frantically checking her phone to see if the website had been updated and then trying to relax when she found out it hadn’t been. Scarlet tried not to think too much about it, post-Uni life that is, but with each passing day it became an unignorable fact that she had to face. Graduation season was a mere month away and Scarlet didn’t want to face it but she had to, because the reality was that Scarlet didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. Not a single clue. Gone were the days of six-year-old Scarlet, who spent the mornings being an actress with a short break at lunchtime to develop her career in the veterinary sector and finishing the day off creating new play-dough recipes for her Michelin-star restaurant. High school had been so good at pushing everyone into a university-shaped mold but now that Scarlet had completed her three years there she felt a little like the aquarium fish in Finding Nemo once they had escaped their glass box: stuck in a plastic bag bubble, thrown out into the vast, unexplored ocean, and simply asking herself now what? Really, what could she do with a Philosophy degree? Everyone asked her the same question when she’d been making her UCAS choices and now here she was asking herself the same thing. She wished she could remember what 18-year-old Scarlet had replied. Her Mums had been surprisingly supportive of the whole endeavour, but then again they had probably been happy to have their pouty, whining teenage daughter out of the house. Funny how times change, Scarlet thought to herself as she squeezed a generous dollop of washing-up liquid onto the sponge and dunked her empty plate into the hot water she’d filled the sink with. Her Mums had just been on the phone encouraging Scarlet to move back home while she decided on what to do next. It was tempting, but the prospect of being back in the country all isolated and away from her friends and Yvie and the exciting busy-ness of the city didn’t exactly fill Scarlet with glee.

Hearing her phone buzz against the counter, Scarlet almost smashed her newly-dried plate in her haste to read the notification just in case it was an email about her classification. It wasn’t. It was, however, a message from the girls. Nina, to be precise.

Kim Kardashian-West: GUYS it’s meant to be the SUNNIEST day today and Monet’s flat are all going to the beach!!! we should all go too!

Scarlet frowned, looking at the decidedly grey sky. It didn’t exactly inspire much hope.

Yvie’s bitch: Are you sure you’re reading the forecast for today? It looks a bit grey outside xxxx

Kim Kardashian-West: Scarlet I’m a primary teacher. A basic knowledge of the days of the week are kind of an entry level requirement

cursed SatNav voice: Am I FUCK going to sit freezing my ass off on the sand watching the rain piss down all around me!!

cursed SatNav voice: If i wanted to get soaked I would just call Brooke xoxo

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: No.

cursed SatNav voice: Ain’t that right @Brooke Lynn Hytes

Maple Syrup: you know it bby xoxo

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: Hell. I’m in hell.

Scarlet snorted a laugh. Akeria could well have been joking or deadly serious. Looking up and out of the tiny little window that was positioned beside the sink, Scarlet swore she could see a small ray of sunshine fighting through the clouds. She tilted her head, considering Nina’s offer.

Okay Then: yes i am absolutely down to get blackout day drunk today

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: Bitch it’s 11am who hurt you

Okay Then: listen this is perhaps the only time of our lives where we have literally no responsibilities at all. i’m getting drunk

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: I sent off nine masters’ applications yesterday.

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: No responsibilities my ass

Okay Then: well as huge as it is, i’m sure even it could use a little sun xo

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: WHY ARE YOU HOES ALL SO SENSIBLE AND GLOOMY? I’M WITH PLASTIQUE LET’S GO GET DRUNK

Maple Syrup: Ooooh now you mention it a fruity cider would go down so well right now

Yvie’s bitch: Yeah go on then, I’m down!! Xxxxxxx

Scarlet’s bitch: Scarlet it’s literally 13 degrees outside you’re insane

Scarlet’s bitch: but admittedly you are also my girlfriend who i love very much

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: EW

Scarlet’s bitch: so if you’re down i’m down

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: UGH fine i’ll go if all you idiots are too

Kim Kardashian-West: AAAH you guys this makes me so HAPPY!!!

Kim Kardashian-West: We only need Vanjie for a full house

Maple Syrup: Vanjie if you come I’ll let you suck my dick

cursed SatNav voice: How big is it

Maple Syrup: 2.75 inches when fully erect

Maple Syrup: Invisible to the human eye when flaccid

cursed SatNav voice: Hard pass

Scarlet’s bitch: Jesus Harvey Christ

cursed SatNav voice: But you bitches convinced me so i’m in

It turned out that most of the girls were still in their pyjamas, much like Scarlet, so they were given an hour to shower and make their way there. They were lucky that the city sat on the coast, and although much of the coastline was dedicated to harbours and pebble beaches there was one little beautiful strip of sand that lay about a half-hour bus ride out to the suburbs. Yvie and Brooke were getting a lift from Plastique and so they offered the last seat to Scarlet, but Scarlet didn’t want to take the girls out of their way. Besides, the sun was peeking out a little stronger now, and if it was to fully appear then it would be perfect weather for earphones, a summer playlist, and looking out of a bus window pretending she was in a music video.

Stepping outside of her flat, Scarlet was glad she’d ended up choosing dungaree shorts and a plain white t-shirt. It was definitely warmer than it looked, and she had to sweep her hair up into a ponytail to stop her neck getting too hot. She stopped off at the corner shop for a four-pack of cider (Brooke’s message had made her want some) and then walked over to the bus stop, where she managed to get one after not too long of a wait and sat on the top deck, letting the growing rays of sun fry her through the window. Once she was off the bus, she checked her phone for the meetup point. Nina, Monet and her flatmates were sat on the sand “around 10 metres in front of the chippy. But Monet has no concept of measurement so it’s anyone’s guess, really.”. Scarlet didn’t mind a small walk to find them. The promenade was packed with people all dressed in Summer clothes, the pavement giving off that smell of hot gravel which always reminded Scarlet of hot days and happy memories. The platinum-white sun cast its rays over the deep blue of the sea so that little diamonds sparkled against the waves, all tumbling over each other lazily and every so often giving a satisfying crash which mingled with the sounds of dogs barking and children giving happy cries. Scarlet found the chip shop but couldn’t see the girls amongst the mass of bodies laid out on the golden sand, so she shot Nina a text. As she waited for a reply, Scarlet took a deep breath and was hit with the unmistakable smell of the sea and chippy batter combining at once. She was a Winter person- she preferred frosty mornings and dark twinkly nights and getting cosy with a searing hot coffee and her duvet, but she loved how happy Summer seemed to make everyone, the sense of community that came with a hot, sunny day. Once Nina had given the other landmark of “there’s a guy with an inflatable sofa to our immediate right”, Scarlet managed to find the girls with no trouble and she was soon dashing towards them excitedly and letting out an embarrassingly childish squeal as she reached Nina and crashed into her in a hug.

“Scarlet!” she greeted her cheerfully, much of her face obscured by a huge floppy woven sunhat. Breaking out of the hug, she turned to address Monet’s flatmates. “Guys, you remember Scarlet, right?”

There was a chorus of welcoming noises as the other girls greeted her, some more distractedly than others. Cracker was busy rubbing her arm with a thick streak of white sunblock which seemed to have the same consistency as double cream, Bob was laid out against a bright pink beach towel with a set of huge sunglasses over her eyes, and Monique was trying her best to remove the cork from a bottle of cava. Monet was by Nina’s side, her head resting against her girlfriend’s shoulder as she stretched her legs out and buried her feet in the sand.

“Hey, congrats for finishing uni, Miss Scarlet,” Monet smiled at her, Scarlet smiling back despite the fact she was being reminded of adult life hurtling towards her like a bullet train.

“Thanks! Congrats to you both too. How does it feel to have an actual certified genius for a girlfriend?”

“Like I’m horrifically inferior and will never amount to anything.”

“Shut up!” Nina battered her on the arm, outraged as Monet and Scarlet shared a laugh. Nina had received a mark of 95 on her dissertation, a number that the girls had considered impossible to attain at university, but Nina had managed it. It was quite revolutionary as far as undergrad research went; a study into how well-prepared teachers felt to support transgender children in schools, with recommendations as to how to do just that within its conclusion and a call for councils to give further money and resources to the cause. “Your diss was amazing as well.”

“Yeah, what do you mean that more research into ability groupings in maths isn’t groundbreaking?” Monet rolled her eyes, laughing again as Nina protested.

“Who knew so much effort went into a primary teaching degree? I always thought your dissertation would be to…I don’t know, write a children’s book, or make a picture out of pasta spirals and glitter, or create a nursery rhyme or something,” Cracker piped up, Bob giving a snort beside her. Monet looked ready to defend her degree angrily when Nina sat up straight and fixed Cracker with an intrigued look.

“Oh, a nursery rhyme? Like…there was a young girl named Cracker, who was an incredible slacker. Her degree was dumb, so she tried to make fun, of her friends who decided to smack her.”

Scarlet let out a screech, as did Monique and Bob. Cracker could only burst out laughing and throw her hands up in defeat as Monet grabbed Nina’s face and pressed an emphatic kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Oh my fucking God, babe, I love you so much,” she laughed, wiping away a tear of mirth from her eye.

“Love you too!” Nina smiled happily, just as Monique finally got the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying, hollow pop.

“Aw, you hoes got champagne on arrival? How fancy.”

The girls turned around at the familiar voice to find Silky, Akeria and Vanjie all making their way towards them from the promenade. Excited again, Scarlet ran to hug them, namely Vanjie who she hadn’t seen since their final exam. They hadn’t spent too much time together but it had been enough time for Vanessa to elaborate on the story she’d told the girls in the group chat of how she, Silky, Brooke and Nina had all somehow been locked in the library overnight. Scarlet knew that had had something to do with the fact that she and Brooke were friends again. She didn’t know whether they’d fucked their frustrations out or actually talked like adults, but whatever they’d done Scarlet was glad about it. Whether or not they were reconnecting with a view to getting back together or not, Vanessa and Brooke were back to flirting on the group chat like high schoolers, and all was back to normal.

“Right, who’s wanting some of this? I’m not sure I got enough for everyone, though,” Monique asked loudly. Scarlet didn’t miss the way Vanessa stayed silent as the other girls clamoured for some fizz. She knew Vanjie had broken things off with Monique, whatever “things” were, and Scarlet somehow didn’t think she was enjoying being on the other side of a breakup much either.

“Did you even bring cups?” Bob asked, sitting up and quirking an eyebrow at her flatmate. Monique groaned.

“Ah, fuck, cups.”

“You absolute idiot sandwich,” Cracker rolled her eyes at her. Her eyes darted quickly to Vanessa before she stood up and grabbed her purse from her backpack. “C’mon. I’ll come to the shops with you and we can get some.”

The two girls walked away as Silky, Akeria and Vanessa all laid out what looked to be a duvet cover that they’d brought with them in lieu of a towel or blanket. Scarlet didn’t even think to question it. She knew it had been Silky’s idea without needing to ask.

“I feel like a dick,” Vanessa jerked a thumb towards Monique’s retreating frame.

“Don’t,” Monet and Bob said in unison, Nina letting out a small laugh.

“Y’all are The Shining levels of creepy,” Akeria frowned, digging out three huge bottles of beer from a shopping bag and giving one to each of her flatmates.

“Well, we’re right! You were friends with benefits, everyone knew that. It’s not Monique’s fault she caught feels but it sure as hell ain’t yours either,” Bob shrugged, ever the blunt but honest friend.

“So what is going on with you and Brooke now?” Monet asked, leaning forward and propping herself up on her elbows. Vanessa fixed her with an unimpressed look.

“Gee Monet, whatever happened to so how’ve you guys been, or how was exams, or literally any other small talk?”

“Yeah, and whatever happened to it’s none of our business?” Nina side-eyed her girlfriend disapprovingly.

“Well, girl! We’ve been in dissertation hell for a month and a half. Shit kinda got boring,” Monet shrugged semi-apologetically. “Anyway Vanjie, Monique’s away and Brooke’s not here yet and I doubt you want to talk about it when either of those two are here in front of you? And I’ve been trying to grill Neens about it but she keeps using lame excuses like we shouldn’t be getting involved and shouldn’t you be thinking about your classroom, so c’mon, bitch, spill.”

Vanessa smiled slightly, gesturing as if it was obvious. “Well, she knows I love her. And she loves me.”

Monet let out an “aaw!” at the same time Akeria let out an “ugh”. Vanjie ignored them both and continued.

“But she hurt me, so I ain’t lettin’ her get back in my good books that easy. Of course I wanna be with her, more than anything else in the world, but we need to get that trust back before I even entertain the idea.”

“So have you…y’know…had any kinky, passionate reunion sex yet?” Monet winked at her. Vanessa looked at her flatmates, a humoured smile playing on her lips.

“Akeria’s threatened to kick me out the flat if I even so much as think about it.”

The girls howled with laughter as Akeria tried to suppress a smile. “She thinks I’m joking.”

“I really don’t,” Vanjie raised her eyebrows at her, Akeria playfully shoving her onto the fluffy sand beside her and causing her to get it all up her side. “God fucking damnit, now I don’t even get to look nice when she arrives.”

“Oh, here she comes now, actually,” Silky said, nonplussed. Vanessa scowled at her.

“Quit playin’.”

Scarlet followed Silky’s gaze. “No, Vanj, she actually is.”

As Vanessa muttered a shit, Scarlet waved excitedly at Plastique, Brooke and Yvie, smiling when the latter pulled a goofy face and waved back. Plastique seemed to be carrying something huge and wooden underneath her arm.

“Lord Jesus, what the hell is she doing,” Silky shook her head as the girls came closer into view. Scarlet jumped up happily to hug her girlfriend, Brooke muttered a soft hey as she sat down next to Vanjie and hugged her, and Plastique, after she’d greeted the others, unfolded a multicoloured striped deckchair.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Scarlet let out a laugh, unsure whether to be impressed or exasperated by Plastique’s levels of extra.

“What?! It’s a sunny day, we’re at the beach, this is literally what deckchairs are for! Have fun getting sand in every possible orifice, losers,” she stuck out her tongue at them as she sat back and gave a happy sigh.

“Ariel not joining us today?” Nina asked.

“Nah, she’s gone home to see her parents. Why the hell you’d want to go home now when you could be dragging out your last month of uni life is totally beyond me, but hey.”

Yvie gave a deep laugh. “Plastique, your family have a townhouse in London, a chalet in Chamonix with membership to a private ski resort, and a literal penthouse in Dubai with an outdoor pool on a balcony. Why the fuck are you here?”

The girls all exploded with laughter, even Plastique conceding with a smile and a self-aware shrug that she was a rich bitch.

“Hey, I’m moving back in after graduation and won’t see you guys for ages, let me enjoy your shitty company.”

“You could fly us all out,” Brooke smiled hopefully, cracking the top off her bottle of cider with her keys.

“Yeah, lemme borrow twenty grand off my Mum real quick,” Plastique snorted sardonically.

Bob reached across to Monique’s cava, giving a small sip. “I’m moving home too. Gotta save money.”

“At least you both know what you’re doing,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, trying not to sound too bitter and accidentally just coming out with the verbal equivalent of black coffee. Luckily, Brooke held out her bottle and nodded emphatically.

“We can’t all have Akeria’s serial-killer levels of ambition or just walk into a job like Monet and Nina.”

“Hey! It’s a probationary year that we could literally fail if we screw up, stop thinking we have things easy,” Nina protested.

“How could you possibly fail being a teacher unless you literally boot a child in the face?” Yvie laughed in disbelief. Seeing Monet and Nina gearing themselves up for a verbal sparring match, she gesticulated wildly. “I’m kidding, ladies, I’m kidding! You work very hard and kids are little shits and you don’t get paid enough. Happy?”

“Very,” Monet rolled her eyes, accepting the cava that Bob held out to her and taking a swig before passing it to Nina.

“What’re you guys doing after uni?” Bob asked, then instantly cringed hearing the groans she got in response. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot that question is basically Satan incarnate.”

“Well, I applied to a bunch of newspapers. But the journalism industry is a shitshow anyway, so fuck knows what I’m doing or if they’ll even accept me,” Silky sighed. Her mood was decidedly flat. It was rare for her to be anything other than high-energy, volume turned all the way up to 100.

“Well, your classification might help!” Bob said comfortingly. Scarlet looked at Silky to gauge her reaction. She didn’t know if she’d been given hers yet, but the girl’s embarrassed face soon gave her an answer.

“Well I got a 2:2, so. Probably not,” she shrugged, Bob trying to backtrack apologetically. Scarlet felt bad for Silky. There was nothing wrong with a 2:2 and a degree was still a degree, but she knew how much Silky believed that despite her grades not being great, she’d still pull it out of the bag in the end, maybe manage one essay that pulled her marks up. Even though the girls were all still proud of her, it was another thing for her to let herself down.

“We’re still proud of you, Silky. You worked fucking hard and you got your degree, and that’s something to celebrate,” Nina smiled affirmingly, holding the cava out for Silky to drink. She smiled gratefully at the girls around her before accepting.

“Thanks, ladies,” she said quietly, before taking a swig. The cava seemed to return Silky back to normal, and she cried out after drinking. “An’ besides! 2:1s are boring anyway. Go hard or go home, bitch, and I’m goin’ the fuck home!”

The girls indulged Silky in a laugh. They sat for a while, chatting easily and passing the bottle of cava around, the lack of cups now not so much of a problem as it had seemed previously.

“Hey, anyone want a paddle?” Brooke asked suddenly. Scarlet gave a snort of outrage.

“You’re insane. That water’s got to be minus five.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun! Vanj?” Brooke asked, her voice hopeful. Vanessa shrugged easily, casting the girl a quick smile and then dragging Akeria and Silky to their feet.

“To be fair, I am getting really warm. Getting my feet cold might be nice,” Nina reasoned out loud. Monet jumped up with her cheerfully. “Yvie, you coming?”

“Nah. Think I’ll stay here with my girl,” Yvie squeezed Scarlet’s hand, Scarlet smiling back at her happily.

“Awww, Yvie! You’re too cute,” Plastique cried sarcastically from her deckchair, the other girls laughing. She was too busy sunbathing to paddle, but Bob decided she’d follow Monet’s lead and join the others in the water. Scarlet laughed as she watched her friends tear down to the sea like children, the white spray flying into the air as they all hit the water at once.

“We’re friends with actual kids,” Yvie laughed, Scarlet nodding in agreement.

“God, we really are,” she smiled affectionately, watching Akeria take a step into the sea then jump back as if it was made of molten lava and not freezing cold water. Just as the girls had left, Scarlet became aware of two sets of footsteps approaching behind them. It was Cracker and Monique, back from the shops with a plastic bag twirling around Monique’s hand.

“Hey,” Scarlet greeted them cheerfully, then added, by way of explanation, “They’ve gone into the sea.”

“Oh, fun!” Cracker beamed. Monique picked up the bottle of cava and rolled her eyes. There was a shot-sized dribble at the bottom.

“You sons of bitches are nothing if not predictable,” she laughed, fishing a brand new bottle out of the plastic bag along with a set of cups. Yvie held her hands out apologetically and Monique shook her head, letting her know all was forgiven. Scarlet looked out to the water again. Bob had Monet on her back and Vanessa was leaping on Brooke’s, Brooke unable to catch her from the amount she was laughing. It looked as if they were about to do some sort of race or fight. Vanessa finally got onto Brooke’s back, her arms looping around her shoulders like a bush baby.

“So. That’s that then,” Monique gave a little sigh as she looked out to sea. Scarlet did a double-take as she looked at her. Her expression was mostly hidden behind her huge mirrored sunglasses, but Scarlet could see the small frown on her face. She knew who her gaze had fallen on. Scarlet felt bad for the girl.

“Hey, don’t take it personally. Vanjie thought you were great, she really did. She told me all the time,” Scarlet said reassuringly, Monique giving her a little smile of gratitude. “You know that way when you’re still hung up on someone you love. That’s all it is.”

Monique rubbed her arms, wrapping them around herself in a hug. “My own damn fault for catchin’ feelings.”

“Happens to the best of us, girl,” Yvie piped up. Cracker smiled at the pair of them gratefully, squeezing Monique’s shoulder supportively.

“We’ve been trying to tell her that.”

Monique laughed suddenly as she saw Silky chasing the girls with a huge, slimy-looking clump of seaweed she’d fished out of the water. The smile remained on her face as her laughter died down and she looked at Scarlet and Yvie inquisitively. “Brooke’s gonna treat her nice, right?”

Scarlet thought about Brooke’s helplessness after her and Akeria’s birthday weekend, her heartbroken confession of love in the toilets of the grubby karaoke bar. She watched how tightly Brooke was holding Vanessa on her back, as if to let go of her would be a crime. Scarlet smiled at Monique. “She will. I know she will.”

Seemingly satisfied, Monique kicked her sandals off and turned to Cracker. “You wanna go paddle?”

“Girl, I thought you’d never ask.”

Scarlet was satisfied staying with Yvie on the sand. They turned to Plastique only to find her napping in her deckchair, her skin beginning to take on an ever-so-slightly pink hue. Deciding to avoid Plastique’s potential wrath if they woke her up, Monique and Cracker dashed down to the ocean to join the other girls. Scarlet sat quietly with Yvie for a moment, taking in the scene of their friends all clowning around in the water.

“You still looking for jobs?” Yvie asked her. Scarlet sighed. She didn’t mind talking about post-uni life with Yvie, didn’t mind being honest about how scared and unsure she was with the person who loved her and she loved back.

“Yeah. It’s hard applying without my classification, though. And, I guess, even harder when you’ve got no idea what the hell you want to do with your life.”

Scarlet gave a self-deprecating laugh which Yvie gently joined in with. Yvie laced her fingers around Scarlet’s and gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll figure it out, babe. There’s no time pressure on these things.”

“I know. It’s just hard when…hell, you’ve got Monet and Nina about to start their entire careers. I mean they’ll be in charge of a whole class of kids. Akeria knows what she wants to do and she’ll get there. Hell, even if Silky’s classification wasn’t as good as she wanted it, journalism is at least something she wants to go into. And Vanjie’s decided on events management. You know you want to at least do something with criminology,” Scarlet sighed, suddenly feeling so small. “It’s so hard trying to figure out what you want to do with your life when everyone around you seems to know. How the hell are you meant to know yourself?”

“Listen,” Yvie brought her thumb up to stroke Scarlet’s knuckle, calming her instantly by about 80%. “The great thing about your life is that…it’s yours. Nobody else’s. Just yours. Say you decide on a job and you hate it. Do you think you have to stay because the pay’s good and it’s something steady? No! You leave, because you can get another job. You don’t like it? You change. You want to go back to uni to doss about for another year? Do it! There is no rule to life that says you need to live it a certain way. And fuck yes, it’s scary! I’m scared! I don’t know if I’ll like any of the jobs I’m applying for, they could be so different in reality to what they are on paper. But you know I’ll support you whatever you decide.”

Scarlet’s voice was quiet as she watched the waves crash around her friends. “I just don’t want to disappoint my parents.”

“Scarlet, your parents love you unconditionally. And I’ll say it again- it’s your life. Yours. Not theirs. You can do whatever the hell you want to.”

Scarlet nodded, Yvie’s words a small comfort to her in the world that now seemed so big and scary. Yvie’s voice was quieter as she spoke again. “So…you’re going to live back home once all this is over?”

“I guess so. I don’t really want to, but I don’t want to live alone either. And it’ll help me save money, although if I don’t have a job I guess there’s not much money to save,” Scarlet snorted a laugh. She didn’t want to think about any of this, but Yvie was asking her so she gave an honest answer. Scarlet didn’t miss the way her girlfriend fell silent, nodding her head, a sad little frown on her face. She didn’t want to move away from Yvie. She didn’t want to return home. Yvie was her home.

Suddenly there came a splash from the water and Scarlet’s gaze was jolted away from her girlfriend and down to the sea. Silky had somehow fallen into the water and the girls were all howling with mirth as she screeched and tried to splash them all. Scarlet couldn’t help but join in with the laughter as she watched Akeria help fish Silky out of the water, the girl sitting in the wet sand and laughing so loudly that Scarlet could hear it even from farther up the beach. As Scarlet composed herself and her laughter died down, she turned to see Yvie looking at her, a dopey little smile on her face.

“What?” Scarlet laughed, touching her hair self-consciously. Yvie looked down at the sand, then back up to meet her eyes.

“Move in with me. After we graduate.”

Scarlet’s eyes grew suddenly wide in shock. Yvie was still holding her hand and Scarlet’s grip on hers had tightened. “Really?”

Yvie’s face was earnest, and Scarlet could see her gulp as she nodded quickly. She took a little gasp of air before explaining herself. “I mean, we both already basically live together. You’re at mine so often anyway, we know what we’re like to live with. We’ve not spent more than a full week apart since…fuck, I don’t know. I would do long distance for you, Scarlet, but I don’t want to. I want to go to IKEA and build flat pack furniture and make slow cooker casseroles and fucking…pay council tax with you. I hope you don’t…think I’m being too intense. Jesus, we’ve not even been together a year, fuck, sorry, this was a shit idea-”

“Well when you know, you know, right?” Scarlet smiled at her girlfriend, squeezing her hand. Yvie smiled back at her, reassured and happy, and Scarlet could hear the seagulls in the air and the crash of the waves and the laughter of their friends. She wouldn’t have had any other soundtrack to accompany the moment. “Yes. I’m in. Let’s get a flat together. Just the two of us. I don’t know what the fuck I want to do with my life, but I know it’s going to be a lot easier if I’m doing it with you.”

Relieved, Yvie leaned in and met Scarlet’s lips, kissing her once, twice, three times before pulling away and squeezing her hand. They met each other’s eyes and smiled, breathlessly giggling a little. Deciding to move in together didn’t seem to be the huge, relationship-changing milestone that society had hyped it up to be. It made sense to Scarlet: they loved each other, enjoyed the other’s company, they’d practically lived together for the past however-many-months. Okay, they hadn’t really hit any real speed bumps in their relationship really, but Scarlet trusted Yvie and she trusted herself. They were a team, two puzzle pieces that fit together. Whatever the crazy, scary, mixed-up adult world had in store for them after graduation, they would face it together.

Just then, Scarlet’s phone vibrated. She picked it up from its place underneath a carefully-folded corner of her towel. Opening it and reading the email, her heart dropped.

“Oh my God,” she said, her heart thudding uncontrollably.

“What’s the matter?”

“My classification’s through.”

Scarlet’s fingers were shaking and her palms were sweating as she frantically logged onto the uni’s intranet.

“Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll be fine,” Yvie reassured her, but Scarlet could feel her blood racing in her veins. She didn’t want to look. She did want to look. As the page loaded, she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing had ever seemed so catastrophically life-defining before. The page loaded, Scarlet blinked, then she screamed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Plastique flinch in her deckchair. Yvie’s face was expectant. Scarlet could hardly get the words out.

“A FIRST, I GOT A FUCKING FIRST!” she screeched, Yvie practically tackling her into the sand as she hugged her. Scarlet felt like her heart was about to burst. The three years had all been worth it and she felt like the biggest weight and worry in the world was finally lifted off of her. This was, admittedly, contrasted with the feeling of Plastique piling herself on top of the two girls, screaming excitedly the whole time. Scarlet suddenly batted them off of her, grabbing their hands and tugging them towards the shore.

“I wanna run into the sea! Can we run into the sea and tell the girls?”

Nodding excitedly, the three friends tore towards the coastline screeching like banshees. Scarlet could feel the wind in her hair, the sun beating down on her, and the sand shifting underneath her feet with every step she took.

She had never felt so conscious of her own mortality and yet as if she could live forever all at once.

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