#i had NO CHOICE but to wear the old lady clothes. when i was supposed to be shoping in the KIDS section | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jynrso · 1 year ago

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on second glance, part 2

when i first wrote this fic, i didn't intend for it to have a second chapter. but then as i started planning for the next work in this series, i realized that i needed a bit of cushion between this one and the next one. so here is the unexpected chapter two, the day after! i hope you enjoy! read part one: tumblr & ao3 read part two on ao3!

Seducing Tav is easier said than done.

The woman in question doesn’t stumble out of her tent until late the next morning, one hand pressed against her side where she’d been stabbed. Everyone else has been up for an hour or two beforehand, milling around and waiting for her to wake, himself included. Despite the book in his hands, he isn’t paying much attention to the text on the page, leaving him in the prime position to notice her before the rest of their companions.

Now that she’s his target, he intends to learn everything he can about her as quickly as possible. It’s the first time he’s cared enough to observe her. With her hood down and the direct sunlight shining down on her as she blearily pulls back the canvas of her tent, he has a few precious seconds to gather intel while her guard is lowered.

With her hood down and the direct sunlight shining down on her, he can clearly see details of her face he hasn’t otherwise noticed. Most notable is the dark tattoo on her right cheekbone that spells out the word “sinner” in dark, block letters. It’s an odd design choice, one that doesn’t do her any favors, but to each their own, he supposes. It’s not the worst tattoo he’s ever seen, not by far, so he moves on.

Based on the scars peeking out of her clothing and the calloused, bruised skin of her knuckles, he doubts she’s a noblewoman or lady of high standing. There’s evidence of an old injury on one side of her face, curling around her jawbone and down to her neck but remaining mostly hidden underneath the gorget she always wears. The multitude of freckles dotting her cheeks speak to a life spent in the sun and the steely flint in her eyes tells him that she’s not the type to be fucked around with.

That, of course, is exactly what their party tries to do upon seeing her. As they rush her, the most obvious expression on Tav’s face is the distress she just barely manages to clamp down on when she realizes what she’s just walked into.

With barely concealed amusement, he watches as she tries to make a silent escape but to no avail. Before she can do anything, Gale jumps up from the campfire upon seeing her, rushing to her side to lead her toward where the others are eating breakfast. What everyone seems to miss, however, is Tav’s near imperceptible flinch when Gale guides her over with a light brush against the small of her back. And when she reluctantly sits down, he notes the way she chooses a spot all to herself and hunches inward, as if to make herself smaller, as if to avoid any more accidental touches.

The puzzle he’d started piecing together the previous night grows bigger. Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to play the knight in shining armor, to save her from the beast of small talk. She’s the hero type –– or, at least, the type that saves children at the expense of herself. The whole –– she protects everyone but who protects her? –– sort of thing.

What she needs him to be, then, is the one who saves her. It shouldn’t be too hard, even if the thought of being good and kind for no reason makes him feel sick to his stomach. (After all, no one had saved him –– no one had ever even tried.

Would she have? He doubts it.)

Reminding himself of why he’s doing this in the first place, Astarion saunters over to the group from where he’d been standing a few feet away with an easy smile on his face. He takes a seat on the other side of the log Tav’s occupying, keeping a small space between them. Even though small, “accidental” touches are often the easiest way to start a courtship, he has to go slow with this one, lest he scare her off too soon.

“Why, good morning, darling,” he practically purrs, his voice low, only for her. “You’re looking much better. Thank goodness I was out in the woods last night, hmm?”

Tav’s hands curl around the small bowl of porridge that Gale had handed her seconds earlier, body angled just slightly away from his. She shoots him a look with disagreement written all over it, likely gearing up to tell him that she would have made it back on her own just fine without his help, but Shadowheart interrupts their side conversation before she can open her mouth.

“How are you feeling? I healed you the best I could last night but if anything’s still bothering you, I can take another look.”

Tav shifts, one of her arms subtly curving around the area where she’d been stabbed. Though if Shadowheart’s to be believed, the wound is no longer open, Tav still moves as if it pains her. Yet, predictably, instead of saying so, she responds, her voice slightly raspy, “I’m good.” A pause, then she adds as an afterthought, brows furrowing together, “. . .Thank you.”

Shadowheart blinks. There’s a faint pink blush high on her cheekbones at the (unexpected?) show of gratitude; though he has no intention of suddenly beginning to thank their cleric after every small bit of healing, it’s useful information that he files away for the future, in case seducing Tav doesn’t work out as planned. “I –– it really –– ”

Luckily for both of them, Karlach bursts into the conversation without any tact, practically vibrating in excitement. Her voice booms, effectively cutting off Shadowheart’s stilted response and her attempt at an emotion, exclaiming, “ Tav! Did you really take down the entire goblin camp by yourself?”

This is the most direct attention that’s been placed on the other rogue since she’d first joined the party. Her face remains flinty but Astarion can see a hint of a flush rising up on her cheeks, shoulders hunching up slightly despite her attempts to remain steadfast. Her efforts are admirable –– perhaps they’re believable to the others, but not to him.

“Not the entire camp,” she mutters.

“Astarion told us –– ”

“I did nothing of that sort!” he interjects, lying blatantly as he very much recalls the way he’d burst into the camp last night and announced that she’d “taken out the entirety of the goblin camp.”

“Well, why don’t we let the woman herself explain?” Gale says, motioning back to her. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees; there’s nothing but warmth in his gaze when he looks at her, putting Astarion on edge. “The floor is yours, my lady.”

“There’s not much to explain,” Tav stresses, seeming as if she’d rather be back in the goblin camp than have this conversation. “When we were there yesterday, I slipped poison in their drink. I went back last night to see if it worked, which it did, and when I saw an opportunity to take out the leaders, I took it.”

When she’s met with silence, she scowls, irritable that her answer isn’t enough for them. “That’s all. There are still plenty of goblins for the rest of you.”

Unable to help himself (and forgetting he’s supposed to be playing hero), Astarion barks out a laugh. “Darling, I don’t think that’s the issue here.”

“There isn’t an issue,” Wyll corrects, holding up placating hands. His eyes are open, kind; it makes Astarion’s stomach churn. “We should probably go back and take care of the rest of the goblins but you did everyone a favor. Everyone’s just wondering why you didn’t say anything –– we could have helped.”

“He’s got a point,” Karlach admits. “We were working on a plan and then you just –– wham! Turned up half-dead in camp!”

“The problem’s solved,” she says tightly, holding her bowl with a white-knuckled grip. Had she been any stronger, Astarion thinks she might have shattered it by now.

“She’s right –– why are we still discussing this?” Lae’zel says in irritation. “The leaders are dead. We should be moving forward toward the creche.”

Shadowheart throws up her hands. “ Enough with the damn creche, gith!”

Lae’zel sneers, top lip curling upward. “My name is Lae’zel, istik , and I –– “

And that’s his cue to cut in and save her from this interrogation by shifting the conversation in another direction. “While the goblins are dead, we aren’t any closer to figuring out how to remove these tadpoles from our heads.” He taps the side of his forehead to prove his point. “And I, for one, am rather concerned about turning into one of those squids.”

“The unusual thing is –– with our cases, I mean,” Gale starts, leaning forward. His eyes spark in excitement, so much so that Astarion nearly groans. “Is that none of us have shown any signs of ceremorphosis. By now, we should have. . .”

With the attention now off of her and onto Gale and the subject of their tadpoles, Tav visibly relaxes. It takes her a minute or two but when she finally glances over at Astarion, her gaze meets his with a look of gratitude, dipping her chin down ever so slightly in thanks. In the right lighting, Tav is . . . well, she could be considered beautiful, by some.

(If he’d been anyone else, his undead heart might have skipped a beat in his chest. But he’s not –– and it doesn’t.)

From there, matters are quickly wrapped up. There’s no argument about their plan for the day; because of Tav’s actions the prior night, everyone generally agreed that circling back to the goblin camp and cleaning up the remainder is the best place to start. Since they’d completed most of their preparations last night in expectation of taking down the goblins’ leadership the next morning, it doesn’t take long for the group to get ready and on the road.

With their current camp only just out of range of the goblins’, the walk over to it isn’t long. Tav spends most of it flitting in and out of the shadows, using the excuse that she’s scouting the area and making sure they remain undetected as they go. It’s a flimsy explanation and Astarion isn’t the only one who sees it for what it is; but considering how uncomfortable she’d been earlier, and at any prior attempt to get to know her more, everyone silently and unanimously decides to leave her be for now.

(Though that’s not to say they hadn’t tried earlier. Perhaps foolishly rallied by the amount of information they’d gotten out of Tav about the goblin camp, some of their companions tried to push their luck even further, curiosity winning out over better judgment.

“You don’t talk much about yourself, Tav,” Wyll comments. “Where were you, before all this?”

It’s a casual enough statement but Astarion can hear the probing curiosity underneath his words. Astarion suspects that everyone in their party is hiding something but most have been relatively forthcoming with small details of their lives. Even he has dropped a few morsels about his life in Baldur’s Gate as a magister, untrue as they may be. But Tav has given them nothing.

The other rogue stiffens slightly upon being addressed, the only sign that she’d heard Wyll’s question. She doesn’t turn to face him, merely continues packing the necessities for travel. Vaguely, she replies, “Baldur’s Gate.”

Wyll remains undeterred. “Oh? Perhaps we ran into each other –– “

Tav brushes him off brusquely, effectively ending the matter before it even begins. “We wouldn’t have.”

With that, she gets up and walks away, leaving the folk hero floundering. Astarion, watching their interaction from his tent, delights in the uncomfortable air that lingers in her wake.)

Using the lack of attention on Tav to his advantage, Astarion slinks into the surrounding forest himself, keeping an eye out for her. It takes him longer than he expects to catch a glimpse of her; she’s just as stealthy as he is, with the flash of her cloak being the only thing that gives her away when he approaches her location.

“Try not to disappear on me quite yet, darling,” he drawls, holding up his hands in a mocking sign of surrender. They’re far enough ahead that he stops right in front of her, forcing her to do so, too. “I just want to have a little chat and then you can go back to your scouting.”

Predictably, Tav says nothing, just crosses her arms over her chest, and looks at him expectantly.

“Is it so wrong of me to see how you’re doing?” he begins. “After all, you passed out quite dramatically in my arms last night. Quite a lot of blood, too –– took me ages to get it all out of my clothing.” After squeezing out every last drop into his mouth.

Perhaps she thinks that if she says nothing, he’ll go away. It’s tempting –– she’s slowly driving him to the brink of insanity –– but he needs this, needs someone like her on his side if he has any hopes of beating Cazador. He must persist, even if it kills a part of him.

He sighs, a flare of irritation rising up inside of him. Must he do all the work? It’s taken two centuries but he’s honed his skills of seduction to an effectively wielded blade; as much as it disgusts him, his advances aren’t normally so one-sided. It doesn’t help that she won’t stop glaring at him, especially when he’s done nothing to cause this sort of reaction from her.

“Will you stop looking at me like that? Gods, woman –– ” he snaps, the words slipping from his tongue before he can pull them back. His eyes widen as soon as he realizes his mistake, and he desperately opens his mouth to try and smooth this over ––

“Do you want me to get down on my knees and thank you, Astarion?” she interrupts coolly. The accented way she says his name, lips curling around the vowels, does something to him; that, combined with the image of her on her knees in front of him, has lust running concurrently with his annoyance through his veins. “That’s why you found me, isn’t it?”

“Is this how you treat everyone who’s done you a kindness?” he retorts, inwardly scrambling. Her words are too close to the truth, leaving him reeling and feeling unbalanced. “Would you rather I’d left you on your own to bleed out? I don’t know if you remember, darling, but you practically collapsed before me.”

Tav bares her teeth, looking for a moment more feral than usual. One of her hands strays to her blade sheathed at her side despite him currently being no physical threat to her. Her tense muscles ripple underneath her skin, weight shifting onto her front leg as if she’s anticipating a fight.

In an instance of stunning clarity, he realizes she feels as if he’s backed her into a corner despite not trying to. For what reason, he doesn’t know, but this is something he can use. He pushes down the wave of shame that comes with this realization and plows forward, reminding himself why he’s doing this.

“While I’d love to see you on your knees,” he murmurs, taking another step toward her. “That’s not why I sought you out. Rather, I have a . . .” He mulls over the words, then snaps his fingers, “ proposition for you.”

“A proposition,” she repeats flatly.

“You and I –– we’re not like the others,” he continues smoothly. “Besides the obvious, of course.”

Tav arches a brow in question. He clarifies, “The whole rogue business, darling. Do try to keep up.”

He continues, pushing forward to keep her on the hook. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes –– us . The two of us are different. Without these tadpoles, we never would have run with this sort of group. They’re too . . . oh , what’s the word? Flashy, maybe. Too self-righteous. And after last night, I realized that you’re someone I’d rather have on my side, so to speak.”

Astarion watches as his words begin to take root. Her glare is replaced by a more critical, appraising look, and her muscles begin to relax. Still a threat, but not an active one. No longer in fight-or-flight mode, though still suspicious, she asks, “So –– what? You want me to watch your back? That’s it?”

“We’ll watch each other’s backs,” he corrects. “Excuse me for saying so, but you haven’t exactly made the best impression on the group.”

That’s putting it lightly. While she’d done everyone a favor by taking out the goblins’ leaders, she hasn’t made any attempt to endear herself to their party. In fact, he’d argue that she’s gone out of her way to remain separate and isolated.

She scowls. “Neither have you.”

“I’d be offended if that wasn’t the point of all this.” His eyes flash, the corner of his mouth curling up into a grin. “Now, I think it’s in our best interest to stick around, see if Halsin or the githyanki can remove the tadpoles. Strength in numbers, and all that.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” she points out. “You just want me to pay you back for helping me out last night, is that it? Return the bloody favor?”

Astarion resists the urge to roll his eyes, forcing himself to lay the charm on thicker in the fact of her stubbornness. “This benefits both of us. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be you playing the hero next time. But we can’t guarantee that anyone else will care enough to look out for us except for us.”

“And that’s all you want? Nothing more?”

The incredulous note in her voice would have offended him had he not built his current persona on the foundation of sex and charisma. All the same, her quick assumption makes a part of him roil in disgust. As a rallying cry, he reminds himself that this is necessary –– he needs allies against Cazador.

“I certainly wouldn’t be opposed, not with a pretty thing like you,” he purrs. “But only if you’re willing.”

She mulls his proposition over, looking off in the distance as she does. Underneath the sounds of the forest around them, he can just barely make out their companions’ voices as they approach their location.

“Fine,” she says finally, holding out a hand for him to shake. “We watch each other’s backs for now.”

“You’ve got a deal, my dear,” he replies. And if he lets his hand linger against hers for a few minutes longer than necessary, fingers caressing her own, it’s all in the name of ensuring his future. “We ought to get back, don’t you think? Unless you want everyone to think that we’ve been, ah, exploring each other’s bodies, which, as I’ve said –– ”

Tav makes a rude gesture with her fingers behind her back as she heads back toward the sounds of their party. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut and telling himself that he should be elated he has a semblance of a plan in place, Astarion forces a chuckle and follows close behind.

Despite their tentative alliance, it’s clear that his promise to watch her back has done little to endear himself to her. Tav is damn slippery, especially now that he’s actively trying to catch her. Any attempt at flirtation has become infinitely more difficult when he can barely engage her in a conversation; when she’s not giving him limited, few-worded answers, she disappears from sight before he can even open his mouth.

All the while, his hunger grows. Their group frequently gets into an inordinately large amount of fights, all of which drain his already low supply of strength. Managing on rodents or the occasional deer alone is no longer feasible; he’s getting sloppy, with too many close calls that would never happen on a proper diet.

All the while, the taste of Tav’s blood haunts him. It hadn’t been much but it had been enough to get him intoxicated off of the taste. He can smell the others’ blood, can guess at what it might taste like (Shadowheart, for example, undoubtedly has a heavy, enigmatic flavor –– but likely much too sweet for his taste), and would be perfectly satisfied drinking from most of them. . .but it’s Tav’s blood he wants –– craves, even.

And so his attempt at a slow, practiced seduction very nearly fizzles out days after it’d formed in his mind. Unable to think of anything other than the hunger gnawing at his gut, he acts on instinct, on impulse, and sneaks up on her one night while she sleeps.

Just a little taste, he tells himself, to tide himself over. He kneels at her side, mesmerized by the sound of her heart thumping and the heady rush of her blood through her veins, and his fangs slide out unconsciously. Just a taste and nothing more. . .

Tav wakes.

#astarion/tav #astarion/oc #astarion fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate 3 fic #my writing

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dailybeastarsthings · 2 years ago

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Chapter 56 – Reunited

The end of one student’s year is the beginning of another one. The boys of Room 701 were heading back to their room from breakfast, discussing how the weather was gradually getting warmer again as spring approached. Some of them were also chuckling about how Jack kept wearing Legoshi’s shirts after he dropped out.

‘I think it’s a habit of him now’ Jack overheard Collot saying.

‘Well, Labradors get lonely quite easily’ Durham said.

‘Well, it would still fit me better though. We wear the same size of clothing after all’

Jack lowered his head, trying to appear a bit more small-profiled.

‘I’m not lonely!’ he thought. ‘It’s just that him leaving was so sudden. But I know we’ll be friends forever.’

Suddenly, his phone started buzzing in his pocket. As he looked on its screen, he soon remembered who the number belonged to. It was Legoshi’s grandfather. Jack picked it up.

‘Um… Hello?’ an older voice asked nervously in the open line.

‘Oh, it’s you, sir! Hello!’ Jack replied in a friendly tone when he realized it was Legoshi’s grandfather on the other side of the line.

‘Oh, it’s been such a long time, Jack. How are you?’

‘I’m been doing fine, what about you?’

The others watched in awe how social Jack turned in a minute because of a phone call. They all agreed that Jack was possibly the most sociable Labrador they have ever seen.

‘I know this will sound strange’ the elderly friend continued ‘but Cherryton refunded the annual tuition of Legoshi. They’re telling me he dropped out? What is that all about?’

‘Oh, I thought you already knew since the signature of a family member is mandatory if you want to drop out’ Jack said in surprise, drooping his ear. He felt sorry for Legoshi’s grandpa not knowing anything about his grandson.

‘I see…’ he sighed. ‘I guess even when he is dropping out, he doesn’t need my signature… I suppose it’s the sad fate of a Komodo dragon… Society will never recognize me as Legoshi’s grandfather…’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, Gosha… I mean sir!’ Jack turned red. ‘Just because your marriage was illegal and you’re not listed as a relative by blood, it doesn’t mean you mean any less for Legoshi. I’m sure he loves you a lot. I’m sorry, I should have thought before I spoke…’

‘Don’t worry, Jack. As far as the school is concerned, I’m just a scaly purse walking around on two legs, paying good money for a young wolf’s education. But there’s no doubt we’re related by blood… Legoshi’s my grandson. And I worry about him.’

‘He isn’t the kind of animal who acts without thinking. I’m sure he had a reason to drop out. I believe this would be the perfect time for you two to reconnect. I can tell you his address’ Jack offered.

‘Thank you, Jack, it would mean a lot to me’ he could hear Gosha smile on the other end of the line.

***

It was a busy night in the Bebebe udon noodle shop. This was a place where Legoshi got his first job as a cook. His new boss, Sunaga the barn owl, almost gave him a job as a waiter due to Legoshi’s vast knowledge about all the different species of animals, but his scar left Sunaga with no choice but to put him into the kitchen to help out. Legoshi was surely not the fastest cook in the history of udon shops, yet he tried his hardest. Some of his waiter colleagues and the patrons, however, would have liked him to be a bit more effective…

‘Good grief, is order 76 finally ready?’ a gazelle waitress asked.

Legoshi handed over a bowl of steaming udon.

‘Okay, I’ll be taking this’ the gazelle said. As he reached for the bowl, he slightly touched Legoshi’s hand, who in return, pulled it away rapidly… with the soup glued to it.

‘I’ll take this one. Could you please take the next one? I’m really sorry about this’ Legoshi said, a bit flustered. He was still a bit tense in the company of herbivores after eating Louis’ foot.

‘You’re so innocent!’ the waitress laughed. Getting so nervous after you touched my hand a little. You sure know how to make an old lady happy’ she smiled.

As time passed, Legoshi was slowly getting used to working with other animals of different shapes, sizes and ages. Working in such an environment made him more confident about living in the fringes of society. He also learnt a lot about the workings of the restaurant and its patrons.

When the last guest walked out full and satisfied, Sunaga closed the doors while the others started cleaning. They took off the tablecloths, cleaned the tables and the chairs, mopped the floors and cleaned the restrooms.

‘Why did you want to work here, Legoshi?’ Miika, a female African lion cook asked Legoshi in the locker room as they changed back to their regular clothes.

‘Well, I just found this job on a job-offer website and it just happens to be close to my apartment, so…’

‘There’s also probably the fact that most restaurants pay good money’ the gazelle said. ‘It really helps that you can take so many shifts.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing’ Legoshi said humbly. ‘I’m just glad that both carnivores and herbivores get along so well here.’

‘That’s normal! We’re adults!’ Miika said.

‘Anyway, I’ll be going, see you tomorrow!’ the waitress said before leaving.

Sunaga and the others, Donson the stoat and Thomas the raccoon waved goodbye. There was a moment of silence after the door closed before Miika grabbed Legoshi by his shoulders while the others gathered around him.

‘Now, it’s time for your welcome party at the Black Market’ she said with a wide grin on her face.

‘Wait a minute, hold on!’ Legoshi protested. ‘I can’t go there!’

‘Oh, right… You’re only 17’ Miika said in disappointment.

‘You haven’t been there before?’ Sunaga asked in surprise. ‘But you do at least know what kind of place it is, right?’

‘That’s not what I mean! We’ve been working alongside herbivores the whole day! How can you even think about going to the Black Market to eat meat?’

‘We were thinking about you, Legoshi. Really’ Miika said in an almost motherly tone. ‘We’re carnivores, we know what you’re dealing with. You had a violent experience eating meat, right?’ she asked as he placed her hand on Legoshi’s shoulder. ‘We can see how you’re trying to avoid touching the herbivore staff because you’re suffering from meat withdrawal. You need to eat meat from dead animals, which they sell in the Black Market.’

‘I’m really thankful that you care this much about me’ Legoshi smiled. ‘However, I’m meeting someone tonight, so I can’t go.’

The others let out a disappointed ‘Aww’ before hugging Legoshi. They all got changed and parted ways at the entrance of the restaurant. Legoshi decided to take the longer way home to appear as if he was really going to somewhere. As he was walking, he kept staring in front of him on the ground. He missed Louis and Haru a lot. He wanted Haru to be there so she could tell him how stupid he was, while he wanted Louis to be there so they could catch up. He yearned the red deer’s company, his heart ached for him not being there, but he knew it was an impossible situation for him. For now, he felt it was best for them to be apart, but he knew that when the time would be right, he would meet them in a heartbeat.

When he got to his apartment, Legoshi reached inside his pocket to take out his key to the main entrance. He couldn’t help but feel watched, however. As he looked around, he saw an elderly Komodo dragon staring at him. Legoshi’s heart skipped a beat when he realized it was Gosha, his grandfather.

‘Oh, grand-’ He couldn’t finish his sentence because the Komodo dragon walked up to him while he licked his index finger before placing it inside Legoshi’s mouth. Legoshi blinked a few times, tasting the bittersweet poison on his tongue, in surprise before the reptile took his finger out of his mouth. Suddenly, he felt the scale-wrapped arms of him hugging him.

‘How are you, Legoshi?’ he asked with a wide smile on his face.

‘Well, that’s a peculiar way to greet your grandson for your 5-year reunion’ Legoshi chuckled uncomfortably.

‘Well, it’s not like my poison would hurt you, right?’ Gosha said before hugging Legoshi tightly. ‘You’re my only grandson…’

Legoshi could feel tears on his grandpa’s face, dampening his fur. When they stopped hugging, Legoshi suggested going to a nearby bistro, just the two of them, like old times. When they walked in, Legoshi walked to one of the many free tables, which was tight next to the window, having a great view of the main street and its many colors in the night.

‘This table would be just fine’ he said, pulling out a chair.

‘But there are plenty of other seats around’ Gosha said hesitantly, trying to walk away. Legoshi grabbed him by the edge of his cardigan.

‘No reason to sit so far in the back.’

‘Yeah but…’ Gosha started, but Legoshi had already taken a seat. The Komodo dragon couldn’t help but notice the changes in his grandson’s behavior, thinking back to the old days when they would take the seat at the far end of restaurants to hide from society. It had almost been like as if they were running from a murderous gang, avoiding to be seen together by anyone. Eventually, he took a seat across Legoshi. Soon a mustelid waiter arrived, greeting them.

‘Good evening, sir. May we see the menu, please’ Legoshi said politely.

Gosha was amazed how well-behaved Legoshi was: keeping eye contact with smaller animals, hiding his claws as part of the carnivore etiquette and maintaining great posture at all times.

‘I take my eyes off him only for a short time and he has already grown up!’ he thought.

There was an awkward and uncomfortable silence lingering around them, almost acting as a wall. The two of them were looking quietly into the street, watching the animals walk by in the evening.

‘Is it my fault!?’ Gosha said awkwardly, almost yelling.

‘What!?’ Legoshi asked in surprise, not having any idea what his grandfather was talking about.

‘You dropping out of school and that large scar on your face! Is it my fault that you’ve turned delinquent!? I took care of you when your mother couldn’t so it must be my fault. I can’t imagine anyone else being responsible for this. I’m the one who exposed you to discrimination. It makes sense that you’d want to rebel from this society. But I-’ Legoshi touched Gosha’s hand.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, please. I’m sorry I never told you about what’s going on with me, like, dropping out and such. By the way… I know about pacifism. You were always teaching me about it. You were always smiling when I was with you. There was never a time when I felt sorry for our circumstances, grandpa.’

Soon, the waiter arrived with the menus, handing one to both of them. Gosha pulled out his reading glasses and started going through the possibilities.

‘Alright, I’ll be treating you just like old times’ he said, smiling widely.

‘Wait, are those reading glasses?’ Legoshi asked in surprise when he looked up from his menu.

‘They are. I’m turning 54 this year, I’m not young anymore so I need them…’ Gosha said. ‘Anyway, I’ll order some fries for you. You still like them, right?’

Legoshi nodded politely. Even though he was not that fond of fries anymore, he didn’t want to upset his grandfather. He only wanted to enjoy some time with him. Suddenly, a flock of roosters walked up to them.

‘Why is a toxic lizard sitting t one of the good tables?’ one of them asked, talking down to Gosha. ‘It’s a full house old-timer, you ought to leave before you turn this place into a gas chamber.’

Legoshi’s smile froze off immediately.

‘Excuse you, I don’t think I heard you right’ he said as he stood up. ‘Do you seriously think that Komodo dragons emit poisonous gases?’

‘Don’t get smart with me, pup! You wanna fight?’ the rooster tilted his head.

‘Sure, why not?’ Legoshi shrugged his shoulders.

‘Oh, excuse me’ a crocodile entered the scene. ‘We have other customers in this restaurant. You’ll have to wait in line if you want a table’ he said to the roosters.

‘Unbelievable. What a shitty restaurant, I’ll never come back. You’re lucky the owner is a reptile’ he looked stirnly at Legoshi from behind the crocodile. Legoshi sat back on his chair.

The two of them ate their meals in silence.

***

‘I’m really disappointed in you, grandson’ Gosha said when they were walking back to Legoshi’s apartment. ‘You have really turned fully delinquent. You acted like a thug back there. That’s not the way I raised you!’

‘You can’t expect me to not stand up for you when they talk to you like this. I’m 17. I refuse to act like a spectator when they hurt or insult you!’ Legoshi defended himself.

‘You’re still a little kid, don’t be presumptuous. I’ve been discriminated against my whole life, get used to it. Do you even remember the meaning of pacifism?’

Legoshi wanted to answer but he was interrupted by the sound of flapping wings. A lot of them, actually. It was the rooster and his friends from the restaurant, surrounding them in the alley, in which they were walking.

‘There you are’ the rooster said. ‘I hope you don’t mind if we return the favor of you making asses of us. You pair of freaks!’ he lashed out at Legoshi.

‘Don’t you dare even think about touching my grandson!’ Gosha jumped between them, clawing the rooster’s wing. Blood started to spill out of it. The rooster let out a mild scream. ‘That’s right. You’re lucky I won’t do worst with feathers as soft as yours.’ He looked back at Legoshi to check if he was alright. The other roosters sensed the danger and started flying towards Gosha to defend their friend.

‘So, as I was saying’ Gosha continued as he looked around to scale up his position ‘you’re still a little kid, but you have some maturity in you, so I’ll start teaching you in more detail. You see, pacifism is a fine thing. It only has meaning…’ he paused for a moment as he grabbed a rooster by the neck of his coat, lifting him up from the ground. ‘When the strong uphold it.’ Gosha seemed like a superhero to Legoshi all of a sudden. ‘I’ll tell you more when we’re done with these punks. I could use your help, you know…’

Legoshi watched in awe as his grandfather kept fighting with such nimble movements as a 20-year-old. He couldn’t believe Gosha would be hiding a secret identity from him. A punch here, a kick there and the avians had no choice to retreat momentarily.

‘Are you hurt anywhere?’ Gosha turned to Legoshi, panting.

‘I’m fine’ Legoshi answered timidly. ‘What about you? There’s a lot of blood on your face…’

‘Oh, this? Don’t worry, it’s not my blood’ Gosha laughed. ‘Still, they’re pretty tough.

From the corner of his eye, Legoshi could see one of the roosters approaching Gosha with a crowbar. He quickly pushed him aside and grabbed the bird by his neck, choking him slightly. The bird’s eyes became swollen and red as he was gasping for air.

‘Are you going to finish him?’ Gosha asked.

‘Finish him?’ Legoshi asked in surprise. He never would’ve thought of hearing anything like this from his grandpa. Who was he?

‘Please, just let me go!’ the bird begged.

Legoshi decided to have mercy on the bird. Not without teaching him a lesson first though. He raised his leg up and kicked the rooster in the chest, sending him flying for a good few meters. He quickly got up and ran away towards the main street, yelling something about how the other two were maniacs.

Legoshi looked around. There were bodies lying motionless in the alleyway everywhere around them.

‘Birds’ bodies are meant to fly. They’re not meant to fight on land…’ he sighed. ‘I hope they’ll be okay.’

‘How do you know that? Are you used to fighting?’ Gosha asked with an almost satisfied and knowing smile spread across his face.

‘What!? No! I… read it in a book!’ Legoshi tried to hide the obvious. ‘You, however, have a lot of explaining to do! What was that all about grandpa?’

‘Well, all I did was smack them around for a bit’ Gosha chuckled. ‘They’ll wake up in a few ours… Give or take.’ He reached for his cardigan and put it back on. ‘It sure is cold tonight.’

‘You should wipe your face, there’s a lot of blood on it.’

‘Really? Then we better find a place with water quickly.’

‘He’s gone back to “grandpa mode”’ Legoshi thought. ‘I don’t think that cardigan suits him anymore though…’

After washing up a little, Gosha insisted on buying celebratory drinks for their victory. They walked to the nearest grocery store, where Legoshi went for his classic carton of milk, while Gosha grabbed a can of dry beer. Since he forgot his wallet at work, Legoshi paid for the drinks with the emergency money he kept hidden in the sole of his shoe.

With their drinks in their hands, they walked to the Gazura Bridge where they sat down on a bench. It was getting a bit late and cold. Legoshi zipped up his jacket.

‘You know, I’ve never seen you drink alcohol before’ he said when Gosha cracked his can open.

‘Oh, right. I’ve stopped drinking when you started living with me. I didn’t want to set you a bad example’ Gosha said, his thoughts wandering away a bit. ‘What were we talking about on the way here?’ he tried to think back to their conversation. ‘Oh, right. Your “emergency money”. I didn’t know you still use this trick. It must have helped you out a lot, huh?’

‘Yeah, there were occasions it was useful to have it around…’ Legoshi said while he thought back on the night he used the money to pay for the hotel room where he spent the night with Haru. He swore never to tell that to his grandfather. They sat there silently, each with their own secrets. Legoshi had five-years-worth of it, but Gosha… Legoshi wasn’t even sure he knew him anymore. What could Gosha, the Komodo Dragon be hiding from him?

‘You know, I’ve never tried to know more about what kind of animal you are’ Legoshi started. ‘You must have had it real rough being discriminated against just because you’re a poisonous reptile… Did falling in love with a female wolf make you happy? I want you to tell me more about your past and circumstances. I don’t think I know anything about you… Not even why you’re always smiling at me.’

Gosha smiled at Legoshi before saying ‘A grandfather doesn’t need a reason to smile at his grandson.’ He reached for Legoshi’s scar and touched it. ‘Such a big scar…’ he said as he rose up from his seat. ‘You know, I’m content with being your nice old grandpa. That’s my happiness. It’s been my reason for living since you were born. But if you’ve already grown up to be such a kind male, then I’d say I’ve already achieved all I wanted in life!’ he cheered.

‘Are you drunk, grandpa?’ Legoshi asked, shaking his head. Gosha looked at him.

‘I really do mean it, Legoshi. I want you to meat Yafya. I want to know what would happen if he met you, even though it won’t make up for what I did to him…’

Smelling how drunk his grandfather had become from one can of beer, Legoshi decided to order a cab for him. He walked him to the corner where the taxi was waiting for them. He helped Gosha into the car.

‘You know, Legoshi… I really hope that one day, you’ll find your female wolf to fall in love with…’ Gosha said.

‘Well, you know…’ Legoshi began as he looked to the side. ‘I didn’t want to tell you about this yet but I’ve been in love with a male red deer for a while now…’ Gosha’s eyes widened when the words finally hit his understanding. Legoshi let out a laugh when he saw his grandpa’s expression. ‘I guess I gave you quite a bombshell just now. I’ll see you later’ he said before closing the door.

The taxi drove off, Legoshi waved after it then walked away, while Gosha was left alone with his own thoughts.

‘Is interspecial romance an inherited trait? Why did he drop this bombshell on me before we parted ways?! What else are you not telling me, Legoshi!?’

#beastars #beastars overhaul

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novoplata · 4 months ago

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New Jeans.

The last time I bought a good pair of jeans was in 2015 when I went to Sandakan (of all places!) to visit my friend, Rebecca, and to write a Sandakan food special for a now-defunct magazine.

Nearly 10 years later, I still find myself wearing the same jeans -- now barely squeezing in, thanks to an additional body fat percentage added over the years and an increased pelvic width that people experience as they age.

Earlier this week, I reminded myself that I should stop looking back at my supposed heyday years between 2015-2018 and start living life in the present. This is my life now and I should make the best of it. Also, this is my body now and I should start wearing clothes that fit me now and reflect the present era.

Not only do my Levi's Demi Curve jeans from 2015 doesn't fit me well anymore, but a pair of outdated low-rise jeans also look ridiculous on anyone, especially a 40-year-old woman.

My two pairs of Levi's are going straight to the SPCA charity shop, along with my mini cheongsam dress from 2007-2008. Not only won't I ever be a size 4 again, but I also won't ever be young enough to pull off a mini dress. So, off they go.

To replace those jeans, I went to Uniqlo and got myself a pair of dark-washed, well-fitting, high-rise jeans. Not only were they on sale, but they also fit better and look better on a 40-year-old lady.

Don't compare your MYR to their USD/SGD/EUR/GBP.

I was already in my early 30s when I started travelling solo on writing assignments. From my neck of the woods, it's fairly uncommon to see people travelling extensively in their 20s -- there's student loan debt to pay off, an emergency fund to build and money, in general, to start saving. That is, unless, that person comes from a rich family background, which most of my friends aren't.

Anyway, I was a 33-year-old solo traveller, staying at a dingy backpackers' motel in Vietnam when I met a bunch of American backpackers in their early 20s looking to 'see the world' before they started looking for a job.

I immediately felt bad about myself. Here I was, a thirtysomething person just experiencing what other twentysomethings were already experiencing. I cursed myself for being Malaysian and earning in Malaysian Ringgit for my delayed experience.

Then again, I reminded myself that travelling is a privilege and that those American/European/Australian backpackers I encountered probably represented less than 1 per cent of the total world population. Many in the world still live in strife and poverty. Be thankful, always, and stop playing the comparison game. You'll never win.

Make the most of where you are.

My favourite Biblical character is Joseph from the book of Genesis. The dude never seemed to catch a break: sold into slavery by his brothers, framed by his employer's horny wife, thrown into prison and forgotten for another two years after he had correctly interpreted the dreams.

Finally, for his obedience and amazing patience, he was rewarded with an opportunity to interpret the Pharoah's dream, which ultimately, elevated him to become the Governor of Egypt.

What we can learn from Joseph's situation is that every bad experience presents an opportunity to demonstrate obedience and make the correct choice. I've wasted the first six months of being at my job having a negative attitude, it's time to view it as an opportunity to make the right choices.

I still don't like the job, but I will choose to steward the opportunity well. Let's just hope it won't last 13 years like Joseph's test.

#life #random #work

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shelbeetaylor · 6 months ago

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Chapter Five | Girls Just Wanna Fight Boys

-> story masterpost

-> previous chapter

Princess Evie was pulled out of her book by the door to her room creaking open and someone walking quietly in. Evie could tell from the mousy brown corkscrew curls and sienna skin that it was Gena, though she wondered why the maid was coming in so late at night. Gena also quickly realized that Evie was up, for her eyebrows raised and her mouth was slightly agape.

“My lady,” Gena curtsied quickly, “what are you doing up?”

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to read. What about you?”

One of Gena’s eyebrows shifted down. “It’s the morning, m’lady. I’m here to help you get ready.”

Evie stared blankly at the maid for a moment then looked at the window. Sure enough, the sun had replaced the moon in the sky and golden light was illuminating her still drab room. Evie pressed her lips together and closed her book.

“I guess I’ve been reading all night,” Evie replied.

“Well, no worries. I’m here to help.”

Gena quickly made her way over to the wardrobe and began rifling through it, looking for outfits to wear.

“Why aren’t you helping Cassie this morning?” Evie inquired from her bed.

“Oh, Cassandra had to be up early for training this morning.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Ooh, do you think I could go see her?”

Gena started giggling. “Cassandra has piqued your interest, has she?”

“I mean, I’ve just never really seen a woman fight before.”

“Most people haven’t,” Gena smiled, “but I’m afraid that the queen has requested your presence today. She wants you to learn the ins and outs of the council as soon as possible. Royal duties, and all that.”

Evie sighed as Gena laid an outfit out at the foot of Evie's bed. Evie set her book aside and grabbed the outfit, whisking the clothes behind the screen to change. As she did so, Gena continued making idle small talk.

“You stayed up all night reading?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Evie struggled briefly trying to get her nightgown off. “I had a nightmare, actually. I like to read to take my mind off of them.”

“You and Cassandra are more alike than both of you realize.”

“She has nightmares?”

“Yes, a–” Gena cut herself off. Evie waited for her to continue, but nothing came of it.

“Gena?”

A timidness coated Gena’s response.

“Yes, sorry.”

Meanwhile, Evie was having difficulty getting her dress fastened.

“I- uh…”

“Do you need any help?”

“Yes, please!”

In a moment’s notice, Gena popped behind the screen and fastened the back of her dress.

“Do you have a favorite flower, Gena?” Evie asked as the maid finished doing up her bodice.

“Why do you ask, m’lady?”

“‘Cause I like to know. And it’s Evie.”

“Oh, yes, I apologize. Old habits.”

“Well?” Evie turned to face the maid.

“I suppose my favorite would be lily of the valley. They grow quite often around here.”

“Lilies are an interesting choice,” Evie pondered aloud as she went to grab some shoes. “People often associate them with death.”

Gena shrugged. “They remind me of my brother, I guess.”

Evie whirled around. “Your brother?! You said you didn’t have siblings.”

Gena sighed, finding the ground very fascinating, and grabbed a nearby chair to fiddle with its back. “I guess I wasn’t very honest. It’s sometimes easier that way.”

“I’d like to know about him, if that’s okay.”

Gena did not look up from the floor. “You are an inquisitive one for sure.”

Evie paused for a moment, dipping her head slightly as she tried to look into Gena’s eyes. “I'm a naturally curious person in a new environment filled with strangers, can you blame me? Besides, if we’re going to be seeing each other a lot, then it would be more fun if we were friends.”

Gena gave a small smile and said, “Fair point.”

She wandered over to the bed and sat down on the foot of it, wrapping her arm around the nearby post. Evie joined her in sitting by taking a seat at the vanity adjacent to the bed, patiently listening to Gena as she struggled to begin her story.

“I did not lie when I said my family moved here as newlyweds to provide for their children,” she claimed. “But they also moved because they were banished from their village. Quite a few of the outlying villages are very strict on rules and traditions. Well… my brother was born out of wedlock. He’s the reason my parents married.”

“Oh…”

“I was born several years after. I remember very little of him… you see, he was almost grown when I was young. My parents never told me what happened to him… one day he was just gone…” There was a slight falter in her voice, but she continued. “What I do remember is just snapshots, like little moments of time permanently seared into my mind. He would always bring me lilies he picked during the day, and he had the most beautiful white tunic that smelled of the woods.”

“I was going to have a sibling,” Evie confessed. “I lost them when I lost my parents.”

Gena’s eyes finally looked up from the floor, the lilac petals in her eyes wet with rain, and a single tear rolled down her face as she took the hand of Evie. “We have both lost much.”

“Yeah, we have,” she replied, trying and failing to not become teary-eyed.

There was a moment between them, an unspoken one. It was filled with silent grief for themselves and for the other. It was the first moment Evie had been emotional around someone else, and there would be many more to come. As a blanket of comfort between the two began to bridge the gap that had previously been there, the maid gave another one of her small smiles.

“Now, is there anything else you wish to know about me, Evie?”

“Erm…” Evie wiped the tears from her eyes and began searching for her shoes again. “What about your favorite food?”

“Oh, bread pudding easily,” Gena returned to her almost usual self as she told the story. “It’s served at almost every banquet here. Every time the cook makes it, Cassandra requests extra be brought to her chambers later, and since servants are not allowed to eat during the gathering she lets me have a bit as she prepares for bed. I remember the first time I had it was after the feast of Beltane. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.”

“I can’t wait to try it,” Evie commented. “Oh, I know! You have to have a favorite book.”

“I’m afraid not,” Gena smiled. “My parents couldn’t afford an education, so I cannot read or write.”

“What?!” Evie finally located her shoes and slipped them on. “A life without books is not a life at all! It’s fine, I’ll just teach you how to read.”

“Oh, no,” Gena shook her head. “You really don’t have to–”

“Rubbish! Books are one of my favorite things, and I love sharing the things I love with people. You pretty much have to know how to read if you’re around me.”

“You are too kind, Evie.”

“Let’s see, let’s see… oh, well, you don’t have to read to appreciate music. Do you have a favorite song?”

“I do have one, actually. It’s a local favorite, so the bards that visit the taverns always play it. It’s based on a poem I believe… The Epic of Mersa.”

“I have honestly never heard of it, but I will definitely find it! Oh, this is perfect. I can teach you to read the epic first!”

“Wonderful!”

A bit of warmth began to spread through Evie's chest as she saw Gena’s smile grow from forlorn to truly happy, and a tingle spread itself through her body. Gena led the princess towards the vanity to fix her hair, and Evie stared at the outfit she donned. The dress was made of luscious green tulle with embroidered flowers dotting the skirt. The long puffy sleeves were sheer and dotted with sparkling jewels. While the green looked quite beautiful, she reached for a headband to wear. It was decorated with rosebuds, fake ones of course, and the pink and floral were perfect for the outfit.

Once Gena had brushed through and styled her hair, Evie said, “I just have one more thing to ask.”

“Go ahead, Evie.”

“About Cassie–” Gena bit her lip almost immediately– “you said she has nightmares too?”

“I really think it’s best we not talk about it.”

“But I–”

“My lady, you will be late for court.”

As curious as Evie was, she knew when to accept defeat, and she did so graciously.

“Oi, Cass!”

The call came from a group of the knights. Three of them stood about the training ground observing the new batch of recruits. Cassandra could spot Enoch’s mischievous smile from a mile away.

“Rumor has it that you’re the one who gets to handle the first beating,” Enoch laughed, his voice gliding like silk.

“Well, if you all would learn how to handle a sword properly, then maybe you’d get to as well,” she teased mercilessly.

“Ouch,” Godfrey said, placing a hand onto his sternum.

“How’re the prospects looking, boys?”

“Godfrey’s too nice to judge properly,” Enoch answered.

“Hey, I like to give everyone a fair chance.”

“Man, that’s not how you do this,” Josiah cut in. “You gotta be harsh, critical, and have no regard for anyone’s feelings. Besides, it doesn’t go past the circle.”

“Relax, boys, we all knew Godfrey here was a bit of a pussy,” Cassandra smiled.

“Well that’s just not fair,” Godfrey replied.

“Ah, well look who’s arrived,” Theo announced his presence with the utmost humility. “Ooh, you look as though you slept like shit.”

Cassandra immediately turned and punched him in the arm and said, “Oh, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the table?”

The knights snickered, and Theo took the teasing more graciously than he did his entrance. “Glad to see you’re doing fine. I’ve got some water over there by the shields if you need any.”

Theo clapped Cassandra on the back and headed over to the twelve recruits. The other knights also filed out to find the best place to watch. Enoch stopped to grab Cassandra by the shoulder.

“Go beat the shit out of ‘em,” Enoch grinned wildly, “and give us a good show while you’re at it.”

“Don’t I always?”

Cassandra approached Theo who stood in the center of the twelve new recruits. She refrained from gleefully smiling as she saw the flicker of fear in their eyes. She stayed silent and scanned their faces as Theo spoke.

“Welcome to your first day of training, recruits. You have six months of training to endure to prepare for the final test, so to make sure you succeed we must judge your abilities and skill levels. To do that, you will be facing Nevernia’s finest warrior–” Cassandra flashed a smile– “Princess Cassandra. The rules are simple: each of you will face her one-on-one. Do whatever you can to last a minute.”

Cassandra watched as the young boys looked between each other, she assumed it was to see if anyone knew how to survive a minute.

Theo continued, “After everyone has gone, I’ll pair you up with a knight and we’ll do some more sparring. Although–” he glanced over at Cassandra with a classic Theo-smile– “if anyone manages to last a minute with Cass then they should be knighted immediately.”

The knights and Cassandra both laughed heartily in agreement, but the recruits could barely muster smiles of terror.

“Alright, let’s begin. You first,” Theo pointed to a small, scrawny boy.

As the recruits fanned out, the poor boy creeped forward. His eyes were wide with unimaginable terror, and Cassandra reveled in the fear her existence was creating. With a horrifying gentleness and serenity, she unsheathed her sword and brandished the silver metal for all to see. Cassandra was going to enjoy this.

Cassandra smirked as she walked over towards the shields to get a bit of water and overheard Josiah speaking to the knights.

“Wow,” he said. “Not a single one of them lasted more than ten seconds.”

“Well, it is only the first six,” Godfrey added. “Maybe the next six will last longer?”

“Not a chance,” Enoch argued. “Not against our fearsome princess.”

“Trying to butter me up, are you Enoch?” Cassandra teased.

“Me?” he replied sarcastically. “Never!”

“It’s okay, Enoch,” Enoch’s best friend Ivor said. “We all know you’ve been trying to get in bed with the princess since you met her.”

“What can I say?” Enoch laughed. “At least I’m trying.”

“Cass, get your slow ass back here!” Theo called. “It’s Wesley’s turn!”

Cassandra grinned with a malicious joy. “Sorry, Enoch. Better luck next time!”

Enoch shook his head, his windswept and wavy locks of chocolate flopping around with his head.

Cassandra returned, as Theo requested, to find a pretty boy in armor. Though he had a visually appealing face, he was rugged and thin in stature with olive-tinted skin. A strong jawline framed his face at the bottom while up top was a spiky, slightly curly head of cinnamon brown hair. About Theo’s height, she could easily look into his hazel irises and see the fire of determination overtake a twinge of fear. Fascinating, the first of the boys to not look at her with glassy, defeated eyes.

“And your name is?” she asked.

“Wesley Moonbourne,” he replied, a dulcet-almost-musical voice ringing out. “First son of Lord Greogry of Eastevain.”

Theo’s cousin.

The Moonbourne family belonged to the House of Valennard which Theo’s family was also a part of.

“Well, Wesley Moonbourne, first son of Lord Gregory of Eastevain,” Cassandra twirled her sword into a ready position, “are you ready to get your ass kicked?”

Wesley flicked his sword up, mirroring her, and nodded. Cassandra observed a difference about him, however obvious it was. It seemed based on his stance alone that he had received at least some formal training in swordcraft, and his confident air definitely exuded that. That was another thing, he had bravery and assurance where the other boys stood awestruck and petrified. How this would be interesting.

There was a natural moment of pause where the two quickly sized each other up and waited for the other to attack. Wesley broke the silence by attacking first, a bold move. Cassandra blocked with ease and turned around on him to return, her swing full of raw anger pent up from the past few days. Wesley blocked it, but he fumbled slightly as he failed to account for the power Cassandra's deceivingly slender feminine body held.

Cassandra took the opportunity to advance a bit, pushing Wesley towards the bystanders with a low and middle strike that were both blocked. With each strike met, Wesley grew more comfortable in the fight, a dangerous thing to have happen. The desperation in his blocks, as he did not expect to move backwards, Cassandra hoped would betray him with her swing from above. Sadly, Cassandra was met with a brief suspension in her movement as Wesley held her in a block. He then proceeded to quickly sidestep, giving a bit in his block and forcing Cassandra's weight to unbalance her.

In another exhibition of previous training, Wesley took the opportunity to try a strike from above as well, but Cassandra regained balance and dodged it with minimal stumbling. Trying to take the offensive, Wesley struck again, this time trying for a low blow, but was dodged more artfully by the princess. With her bearings acquired again, Cassandra went back to her aggressive, rapid-fire attacks. Middle, low, high, all blocked by Wesley.

Wesley then proceeded to lunge for Cassandra, another bold and unstrategic move as Cassandra simply blocked and brushed him off. Wesley lost footing but caught himself before the unexpected momentum took him to the floor. He took his sword in one hand and swung down, Cassandra leaping backwards to avoid being caught by the blade. At this point, Cassandra had pinpointed exactly how to defeat her opponent, and she watched as he fell forward again.

Cassandra tried a low strike, but Wesley, being a stubborn motherfucker, was able to block it. Same goes for the impulsive swing she took at his head. Cassandra tried for the legs again, but he replicated her leap backwards. Cassandra and Wesley’s blades finally met again while he blocked her middle strike, and he tried and failed at unbalancing her this time by pushing off her strike. Cassandra took her momentum, planted her foot, and swung low again. A dodge was warranted, and Cassandra dealt another blocked blow after that.

Wesley returned her attacks with two strikes at her torso, both blocked with grace. He tried different angles, first low and then high. Cassandra blocked both, though she held him in a state of suspension on his high block. Within a fraction of a second, she let Wesley know she had defeated him with a maniacal smile and then dealt the final blow. Cassandra swung upwards not with her sword but with the back of her hand. The sound of the smack rang out, as Wesley seemed to fall backward in slow motion with wide hazel eyes.

Wesley hit the ground hard, and he barely had time to recover before Cassandra placed a boot on his chest and a sword at his throat. He put up quite a fight, she’d give him that as she felt her chest rising and falling quickly. Cassandra may have held Wesley in submission for a moment too long, but she did remove her sword and boot from his vicinity and allowed him to retreat to the rest of the defeated recruits.

There was something about him, though. Cassandra couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was definitely something tugging at the back of her mind.

The defeat of the rest of the recruits came quick, and Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh at the poor displays of swordsmanship. Once the last lay at her mercy, she thrust her sword into the ground briefly and looked at the ashamed recruits.

“Today has been a sad, sad day. Every single one of you was defeated by a woman, nonetheless the princess you are supposed to protect. You’ve got your work cut out for you, Theo.”

Theo shook his head as he joined Cassandra out in the middle of the training grounds. “Don’t feel bad, boys. None of us could beat Cassandra, even if we tried. Now that I’ve seen you all in action, you’ll be paired with a knight based on what you need to improve on. The knight you spar with today will be your mentor through the next six months, so you’ll do well to get comfortable very quickly…”

Cassandra walked away and tuned out Theo as she grabbed a bit more water. Enoch, of course, was lounging about the area with his silver tongue intact.

“Congratulations, my lady,” he flashed a smirk of pearly white teeth as he sauntered over to her. “It seems you have successfully taken out your anger on all of these young boys.”

“You mean that wasn’t the plan all along?” she joked before turning a bit more serious. “No, I needed a good release, and what’s better than beating around a bunch of grown men.”

“Well, very few of them actually looked like grown men.”

“Now that you mention it, we do have a very scrawny batch.”

“Maybe you need to fight a real man, my lady.”

“Oh,” Cassandra almost cackled, “and you’re calling yourself a real man?”

“Care to join the knights in a bit of spontaneous afternoon training?”

The grin on Enoch’s ivory face caused his short, scruffy stubble, and his brandy eyes seemed as if they themselves were trying to entice Cassandra. As much as Cassandra wanted to say yes to his voice of honey, her smile faltered a bit.

“I’m afraid I must clean up for dinner with the King of Valoran. A lady must be prim and proper and all that bullshit.”

“Oh, don’t act like that. We all know you’d go to war wearing a pair of heels,” Enoch continued to keep the conversation light-hearted. He gave her a friendly clap on the back and said, “Good work today.”

“Thank you,” she flashed him one final smile before approaching Theo.

Theo didn’t realize Cass was upon him until he whirled around to find her standing behind him.

“Ah, so the victor has come to gloat,” he teased playfully. “You delivered quite a beating today.”

It took him a moment to realize the vein above Cass’s left eyebrow and her rubbing her wrist.

“If you don’t need me, I’ll go prepare for dinner,” she said in reply, her mahogany eyes breaking contact consistently.

He was familiar with this Cass, the one who exudes an aggressiveness in training and then feels very submissive when not beating the shit out of someone. He felt a twinge of guilt for not seeing the signs earlier, but no matter now.

“No, you’re free to go.”

She nodded and turned to leave before he could finish, so he grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Hey,” he said softly, “you wanna stop by before dinner with the king?”

Her lips spread into a thin, almost forced smile, but he knew that was her way of saying yes. He nodded silently, telling her he understood. She proceeded to pick up her sword and exit the training grounds, but instead of watching her Theo looked around for Civarn.

The pale, clumsy boy was approaching him with an armful of gear and weapons, and he nearly fell as he walked. The things he was carrying spilled onto the ground with a clang, and Theo stifled a laugh at his servant.

“Still working with two left feet, then?” Theo teased.

Civarn, who knelt on the ground trying to gather the dropped objects, looked up at him with his eyes of ferns and shook his head in a playful way.

“You know me, my lord,” he replied with a slight laugh. “Always stumbling everywhere.”

“Precisely. I have never known a man to be more ungraceful than your bumbling self.”

Civarn smiled sheepishly at the comment, his pink lips revealing the white teeth beneath. “Am I needed for target practice today, sire?”

In one of the strange, rough ways Theo showed affection towards his servant, he ruffled Civarn’s shaggy soot black hair and replied, “No, but then again when are you not a target.”

“Indeed, sire,” Civarn’s chuckling brought a smile to Theo's face.

There was a brief moment before Theo addressed anything serious. “I was actually going to ask you to do me a favor.”

“Anything you need, sire.”

“I was hoping you could go to the kitchens and the gardens. I want a fruit platter and some flowers delivered to Cass, to help her feel better. Girls like that stuff, you know?”

Civarn chuckled a bit at the last comment. “Sire, with all due respect, we both know you know nothing about girls, but I agree that Cassandra would like that. I’ll leave immediately.”

“Thank you, Civarn.”

The servant returned the gratitude with a small smile, and then tentatively asked, “Do you mind, sire, if I inquire about the Princess Cassandra’s wellbeing?”

“I’m unsure, but she’ll be stopping by my chambers tonight before dinner with the King of Valoran.”

Civarn nodded in understanding.

“Oh, I also meant to discuss with you. My cousin, Wesley, will need help moving into the palace sometime soon. Would you–”

“I’ll meet up with him tomorrow after training and discuss the best time for me to move him in.”

Theo grinned once again, and clapped Civarn on the shoulder. “You’re the best servant a man could ask for.”

“I aim to please,” he replied. “I’ll see to my duties, my lord.” With that, Civarn was off. Though there wasn’t much time for it, a bit of melancholy set in. Theo too was concerned for Cass, his sister-in-spirit as he liked to think of her. Something was off, he could tell, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to him, the arrival of King Guillame, or if it was something else entirely. All he knew was something was bothering her, and it was his responsibility to take care of her. She was his best friend, after all. What else are best friends for?

-> next chapter

2 notes · View notes

haitaniapologist · 2 years ago

Text

MY HEART BEATS FOR YOU.

pairings — pirate! hanma shuji x fem!reader.

genre — fluff, medium angst.

warnings — reader is the older sister of hinata and naoto, v*olence, pirate things, a bit of m*sogyny, soft s*x, c*rruption k*nk, enemies to lovers ish, plot twist at the end, a 5 year old kid and a 8 months old baby make an appearance, family problems, d*ddy issues, a br*astfeeding scene.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

word counting — 9.1k

notes — eheheh it's finally here !!! it wasn't supposed to be this long, but i guess old habits die hard. also, the ending is kind linked to my other shuji's works, so give a look at my masterlist if you hadn't read them!!! also, this is a respost, since this app have something against me lmao.

my taglist form can be found at my nav !!

he thought kidnapping one of his worst enemies' daughter was a good idea.

but if captain shuji hanma knew how much of a brat you, lady y/n tachibana, would be, he would've killed your father in the spotlight instead of seeking revenge on him.

maybe he was even helping the high commander of the king's army by kidnapping you — your groans and sighs and short words were insufferable, but he couldn't just return you to your family. he wanted your father to suffer, your siblings and mother to weep over the thought of never seeing you again.

he wanted to destroy the tachibana family, and if that meant needing to deal with you, he would endure your bratty ways.

but your bitching was so, so infuriating. he wanted to put a tape on your mouth and never hear your voice ever again. it was irritating, and it made him want to pull his hair out of his scalp whenever you directed your attention to him — but what annoyed him the most was when you weren’t talking to him, using your sweet words to lure either keisuke or kazutora to pay attention to you instead of doing their work in the ship.

you were a siren, a siren surrounded by men ready to fall for her voice and trap.

tetta advised him to kidnap your younger sister, hinata, but shuji knew it was only because of his infatuation to the youngest tachibana lady — in a time that his family was favored by the king, you, him and your sister were childhood friends. but hanma knew that the middle child wasn’t as treasured as the oldest one or the heir, in case you and naoto. but he couldn’t kidnap the heir, too, since your brother had the best guards around his room.

you were the best choice, even though you trashed and squirmed around his hold when he was tying up the ropes around your flimsy nightgown and waiting for chifuyu to take some lady things from your dressing table. hanma shuji could be a kidnapper, a murderer and a thief, but he knew that nobody in his crew had womanly clothes or whatever ladies like to use to pamper themselves.

but if he knew you would look as amazing as you did wearing an old shirt that belonged to chifuyu, a red long skirt and your hair loose, without all the pompous hairstyles the ladies in the land were using, while flirting with his quartermaster, kazutora hanemiya, he would’ve kidnapped your brother.

“oi, kazutora!” his screamed for his mate, almost hearing the twitch in tetta’s eye by being interrupted by his captain while he was trying to discuss plans. “could you assist baji in sailing? i don’t think the winds are good today.”

he could hear, too, the roll of your eyes and pout, but if he needed to watch kazutora almost drooling at the sight of your tits, he would’ve more blood on his hands than necessary.

“yes, captain!” he heard kazutora screaming back, watching him placing a kiss on your knuckles before running to where keisuke was. he needed to stop having such thoughts about you, but it seemed that your spell managed to hit him, too. hanma would die before admitting that he wanted to be the one you flirted with, because he knew the extent of your hatred towards him. and the captain couldn’t do much, because you were right.

he was the one who took you away from your family and the luxurious life you had.

“you are hopeless.” he heard kisaki muttering, but his eyes were still glued to your form. you were now looking at the ocean, probably wondering how many miles away you were from land, and if your father’s men were now searching for you. hanma made sure that lord tachibana knew it was him who kidnapped his precious daughter, the future wife of lord wakasa. were you happy that he took you from the miserable life of marrying a man ten years older than you, that preferred to have whores at his side than a wife?

he gave his first mate one of his signature smiles. “what? don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for lady y/n.” shuji teased, knowing how much tetta wished it was your sister there rather than you.

“you know very well lady hinata was the best choice.”

“for who, my dear tetta? you or my vengeance?” shuji didn’t wait for the younger man to answer, starting to walk in your direction. plans would be discussed at dinner, while you were in your room sulking and not just a few meters away from where the captain and his second in command were. hanma knew you weren’t dumb, and when you were retrieved to the land, you shouldn’t know anything about his plans.

he was the most feared pirate of the seven seas, after all.

—

you only wished for a few moments of peace, after all, but capitan shuji hanma would never let you have it. “sunshine!” you heard his voice and you instinctively rolled your eyes — it was almost natural for you to rest that way whenever he was close, but hanma didn't to be bothered by your reactions.

“captain.” you said back, eyes trained in the horizon line.

you wondered if your father, or even lord wakasa, sent their man to search for you in the sea — you doubt it, of course, since lord wakasa seemed to want to marry any whore but not you, and the fact that you were your father's least favorite child. you didn't resent your siblings, not at all, but in more nights than you could count you went to sleep with wet cheeks, praying that any god who was willing to listen to you, to make your father look down with the same gentle eyes he did to hinata and naoto.

you felt his presence on your back, his arms caging you between his sturdy chest and the wood of his ship, your eyes now observing his hands — how sin and punishment were beautifully written in black ink, mixed with the pale green of his veins and the bloody red of his knuckles. you wondered if his hands seemed to be as warm as they looked to be, and you dreaded yourself for having such thoughts.

shuji hanma was everything that you shouldn't desire, yet, he was the embodiment of everything you ever wanted.

but you know what you were to him. you knew that all the flirtatious words, the subtle touches and the winks during dinner time were just a part of his revenge against your father. maybe he just wanted to be the first man you laid with and break your heart, and then return you to your family — as a disgrace.

your father would probably be overjoyed about such news, but you wouldn't be the one telling him that it would be better if he had kidnapped hinata.

“today we’ll stop at a city.” the news didn’t make you excited. you wouldn’t leave the ship, of course. you may have more freedom than the prisoners that your father dealt with, not needing to use chains or ropes around your body, being able to walk around freely in the ship’s deck, but you were still one — your chains were invisible, but you could feel them around your body. “i’ll give the boys a free night. they deserve it, don’t you think?” you only nodded, trying not to flush because of the way his lips touched your neck when he told you the news. “we’ll have the ship all for ourselves.”

that made you nervous.

what should you expect from that? hanma had always been as respectful as he could be, but he was always under the watchful eye of tetta kisaki, a boy you knew from childhood until your father discovered his parents to be traitors of the crown. king shinichiro and his queen were always kinder than they should've been, and you remembered how your mother rushed into your room in tears to announce the news for you and hinata — how kisaki’s parents died in a carriage accident, and the boy was nowhere to be found. it was a surprise to find him as one of your kidnappers, but you could understand why he wanted revenge on your family.

but he seemed to keep hanma in his shoes, and spending a whole night without him on the ship made you nervous.

“aren’t you happy, sunshine?” he asked, putting emphasis on his nickname for you. it used to bother you a lot when you first found yourself inside his ship, but it now brought uninvited butterflies to your stomach. you hoped they could all die with the acid you knew was inside you, but they seemed to revive every time the captain got closer to you. “because i am.” he finished with a kiss to your right cheek, getting away from you with a happy trot, shouting orders to his subordinates.

you didn’t dare look back to see his reactions, cheeks in flames as if he was prometheus and you were the first human to discover fire.

you should not, and you would not, fall in love with him.

—

night time arrived quicker than you would like, and it was quieter than normal, too.

you thought that at least one of the boys would be staying. tetta, probably, since you were aware that he didn’t enjoy “mundane” things, such as drinking his ass off and returning to a tavern with a whore hanging by his arm. he never expressed such out loud, but by the way he asked about your little sister was proof enough that he harboured some feelings for her — you would’ve found that cute, but she was already betrothed to lord takemichi, and they were pretty much in love. you envied her in such a way. lord wakasa never batted an eye at you when your father and him were discussing your marriage, and never answered any of the letters you sent him in the beginning.

you sighed, passing a hand on your face to get rid of such thoughts.

since no one was in the ship besides you and its captain, you knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to lock yourself in your room and only go out when you heard more voices. shuji had the key to your chambers — which used to belong to him, once — and he could enter the room as he liked. and you were hungry, too, and you heard kazutora saying he brought fresh bread and some vegetables from his first trip to the land. the captain wasn’t the best cook, but it was better than nothing.

you found yourself making your way to the main deck, wearing only the nightgown they stole from your belongings, and a red blanket over your shoulders to protect your modesty and from preventing the wind from making you cold. it was some minutes past dinner time, and you found hanma exactly where you thought he was going to be — putting the table for both you, hair in a messy ponytail and wearing just plain clothing.

“oh, so the princess finally decided to join me?” he asked in a mocking tone, and you were surprised at how quickly he managed to sense your presence. you knew he was the best pirate in the seven seas, hearing stories about how him and his ship always meant doom whenever they stopped at — but you never thought he would have supernatural abilities too.

you scoffed. “i am no princess.” you stated, sitting comfortably in one of the two chairs the captain put on display. normally the table would be filled with chairs and laughter and hungry hands in search for food, but tonight it was only you two. it made everything seem more domestic, in a way, and you didn’t know if you liked it or not.

he smirked, putting the food he cooked on the table. it seemed to be a soup of vegetables and meat, and it had a good scent coming from it. “you’re far more beautiful than princess emma, after all.”

you cursed yourself for blushing from his words. “did you ever saw her to be speaking such nonsense?” you weren’t as close with the princess as your sister was, but she was kind enough to always spare some kind words in your direction and gift you with the most beautiful jewels and gowns you ever wore — sometimes you even missed them, but your time in the ship made you noticed how heavy they were, both physically and mentally.

“of course.” he replied while you handed him your plate, watching as the soup filled the stolen ceramic from your house. it wasn’t just you who were stolen — the boys made sure to ravage your family’s state, bringing all kinds of objects, such as ceramics to gold, so they could sell whenever they stopped in a city. “you’re way more beautiful than her, i can assure you.” he winked in your direction, sitting at the end of the table, in your diagonal.

“you are lying.” it was only what you could say before shoving his soup in your mouth, ending the matter.

hanma chuckled seeing your flustered state, eating calmly in comparison with you. “only if you could see yourself with my eyes, y/n.” you knew he only used your name when he was speaking seriously, and you averted your eyes to your food, not being able to hold the intensity of his gaze. it was the first time you were truly alone with him, without any of the boys surrounding you — without hanma being a captain, without the authority that always followed him like a lost puppy. he seemed different somehow, as if the light of the candle in the table and of the moon had a different effect on him.

you decided to say nothing, earning a chuckle in return, and you both finished eating in silence.

you helped the captain to clean the table, still getting used to performing household chores. as the daughter of a duke, you never needed to do anything, always with servants gushing over you and treating you as if you were made of glass — your time as a prisoner made you realize that you were stronger than you believed yourself to be, enjoying doing mundane tasks such as combing your own hair and helping the boys to make the meals.

after everything was cleaned, you found yourself sat again facing the captain of the valhalla ship, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a set of cards on the table. “do you play?” he asked, his voice an octave lower, as if he was offering you the apple that eve ate.

you just shook your head. your father would never allow you to learn such an activity — it was only for the men, he used to say.

“do you want to learn? i’m not just the best captain of the seven seas, no. i’m also their best glamber.” you giggled at his dramatic ways, and shuji smiled at you — it was the first sincere smile he ever gave you, and you almost said he should smile more. it suited him, it made him look the age he was.

but his smile was pretty as a devil’s one should be.

“i do.” you answered, and his smile grew wider. he always noticed how you would look at him and the boys whenever they were playing, and shuji wondered if someday you would break the ladylike shell society made you grow around yourself.

maybe today was that day, after all.

it was almost like the devils were rolling their dice now, trying to pinpoint exactly when you would give up and give yourself to the man in front of you, while the angels rolled their eyes, knowing they lost another pure soul to the temptations of one of the devil’s spawn.

—

something changed in your relationship with the captain after that night when he taught you how to play cards, but you couldn't pinpoint what.

it seemed that you were more open to his touching, more open to his flirting — you found yourself spending all your "free" time on his company, his hands always in the small of your back or around your shoulders, as if he was claiming you as his to all the other boys in the ship. it was almost pleasant having someone wanting you that much, so pleasant that you even forgot that he was probably doing that just to return you back to your father not as a maiden anymore, pregnant with his bastard child and an empty promise of seeing him again.

but even if he did that, you couldn't care less.

shuji treated you as if you were the most precious gem he ever saw, and it was good — good to be wanted, good to be cared for, good to be heard. it was as if you became the queen of the ship, all the boys knowing that you were off limits now, and a friendship was the only thing they would be able to pursue with you. and they did, and you found on kazutora the friend you've always wanted while growing up.

you told him everything, even your feelings for hanma. it was relieving being able to tell every single thing you felt for the captain, your head resting on kazutora's lap while you poured your heart out. he only chuckled, stroking your hair. it was one of the times you managed to be without shuji trailing behind your skirts, but as soon as you heard his voice calling for you, you were on your feet, promising to kazutora that you would finish your rant after dinner.

but you never did, because you were once again in shuji's company, laughing and smiling as if you were a little girl.

besides playing cards, the captain also taught you a lot of skills you would never dream of having before — such as fishing, shooting and even what parts of he body was better to kill a man. alongside that, you also grew into the role of the only woman in the ship, sewing the boys’ clothes, making sure they were eating well and drinking water, as well as learning how to cook some things that the ship’s cook didn’t know how to.

however, as much as you liked to pretend your life was a field of fresh roses, the reality that you were just a tool for shuji to accomplish his revenge became a harsh reality.

it was a warm night the day you decided to pry in the boys’ meeting. you were forbidden to participate — even if someone never expressed such a prohibition out loud, but just the fact they did the meetings when you were sleeping was enough for you — but as a curious person, you needed to know at least something. it would be easier than sneaking into one of your father’s meetings, as you just needed to leave your room and stay hidden behind a drinking water barrel.

but you wished you had stayed there, with your imagination.

at first, they only discussed pirate things — such as what lands to invade, where it was better to stop the ship and have a peaceful night, how they would divide the gold they’ve stolen from the last stop. until a curious question popped up. “do you think you are close to accomplishing your mission, captain?” tetta was the one who asked, and you had a feeling he knew that you were listening to their chat.

you could hear the confusion on hanma’s voice, almost. “why do you ask, tetta?”

all the boys were silent, and you were sure they could hear how fast and loud your heart was beating inside your ribcage, waiting for hanma’s answer. “just wanted to know. i do not know when we will be able to stop at the kingdom again.”

“that makes sense.” shuji answered, and you clutched the fabric of your nightgown. “hopefully soon, then. i think just some more weeks until y/n open her legs for me, then we can deliver her back to her father.”

tears soon blurred your vision, and you bite down on your lip to stop the sobs that were threatening to escape your mouth. deep down, you knew that shuji would never love you like you loved him — his first love was the sea, and she would always have his heart intrinsically intertwined on her hands. you had lost that fight, and you wondered if that was something that you had chances of winning.

you tried to pretend you didn’t know anything, but it was difficult. you tried to put a bit of distance between you and him, but it wasn’t easy. hanma was always in your company, treating you as if he wasn’t just doing that so he could get revenge on your father for god’s knows why, and you needed to pretend your heart didn’t break even more every time he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. your only solace was kazutora’s friendship and the bit of peace you had at night.

your days passed like that, until you kissed him.

it wasn’t something you were expecting, only three days after you listened to the boys’ meeting. you thought he would wait a bit more to make his move on you, enjoying the gentlemanly way of “courting” you — you didn’t know his past, but it seemed that he had some influence of the aristocracy on his uprising, due the way he was treating you. it was bolder than the men you were used to, only gentle smiles and some gifts every time they visited. shuji, however, touched you freely, but always managed to have a small gift for you everyday.

though he never expected to have the same knife he gifted you pressed against his throat.

old habits die hard, but maybe he had teased you a little too much. he didn’t mean it when he called you “a spoiled papa’s little princess”, but that seemed to ignite inside you a fire he never saw before. your body was caged between his chest and the ship’s prow, wind messing your hair and eyes shining with a fierceness that seemed that you both were the most hated enemies. he wasn’t no better, with his gun pressed to your temple and a smirk on his lips — his gun wasn’t loaded, of course, but the pressure of the knife on his throat was making him pant with something he hasn’t felt in a while.

desire. luxury.

“can’t handle a bit of teasing, sunshine?” he whispered against your lips, almost touching — but he wanted you to be the first one to give in, and, by your state you were really close to finally doing something he only dreamed about. if things were different and you weren’t a lady, you would already be on his bed, legs over his shoulders and his cock buried inside your cunt.

you rolled your eyes, applying more pressure to the knife. you didn’t know what prompted you to react that way — maybe the thought of you actually not being treated amorously by your father as he hinted, or maybe the fact that it had been almost two months inside the ship and nobody went to look for you. kazutora told you that you had no ‘missing person’ poster on the streets, just a drawing of shuji labelled as a pirate and a thief. “you are insufferable.”

“but you love it.” he replied quickly and you groaned, letting the knife fall from your grip so you could cup his face between your hands and press your lips to his.

shuji didn’t hesitate a second to wrap his arms around your form, gun long forgotten on the ground alongside your knife, his hands squeezing and groping your skin, reading you as if you were a poem he wanted to memorize. the kiss was messy and desperate, as if your mouths were fighting each other, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. his taste was addicting, just like a drug, and you wondered if it wasn’t because of all the cigarettes he smoked when he was bored — but you couldn't get enough of him, and you wished the gods would make you and him become one person.

but the spell was broken as soon as shuji broke the kiss, his mouth latching itself to your neck and his leg coming between your thighs.

he had you exactly where he wanted, didn’t he? exactly where he needed to get his revenge on your father. at first, you thought you didn’t care if he managed to have what he wanted and leave you in the dirty — but now? now that your feelings for him were so much deeper and stronger than when you first had such a thought? now that you were so used to living on a ship, that you were sure you couldn’t ever be the lady of the household again?

now that you couldn’t phantom the idea of living without shuji at your side, even if you knew he didn’t love you?

you snapped from your thoughts when he bit hard on your neck, something you knew it would leave a bruise on. you weren’t as strong as him, but just a faint push from your hands made him take a few steps from you, a dejected puppy look on his face. “y/n?” he asked, voice small, as soon as he saw the tears in your eyes.

but deep down, he knew what it was.

you still had a prejudiced vision of him. you couldn’t believe that shuji was doing that because he loved you, but because of his revenge — which was the least thing inside his mind, now. what would be the best revenge for your father than making you his wife and happy at his side? not returning you pregnant to the kingdom anymore, but having you pregnant with him now, raising a small child at his side and exploring the seas.

he thought he had given you all the signs to show how serious he was about you, but maybe it wasn’t enough. would he ever be enough for you? probably not, as he was no fancy lord, but he still could dream of being happy at your side.

“i will not let you use me for your sick revenge against my father.” was what you said before you stormed off, going down to your chambers. he couldn’t follow you there, because you would never open the door for him again, and hanma never felt his heart so heavy before — was that the pain of heartbreak? it was too much, as if he had a beast inside his guts from inside out.

but how did you know he was — really was, because he had dropped such an idea as soon as he saw himself thinking about you more than he should have — trying to use you against your father? was it too obvious?

but just by looking at tetta’s eyes, he knew what happened.

he kicked the wood before him, cursing in pain, both physically and mentally. what was he supposed to do? shuji never felt such strong feelings towards someone as the one he held for you, and he was lost. he never loved someone like he loved, only used to fuck and leave the whores in their brothels, or the low-born ladies in their houses, and never thinking about them again. it was so easier before — he was a man married to the sea first, he could never allow himself to get attached to someone who could never think about living in the sea in the first place. but you were getting used to it, and he thought…

shuji really thought you were the one.

but he was the one to blame for everything, and now he didn’t know what to do to fix his own mistakes.

—

you stayed locked in your room all day.

even though your stomach was rumbling with hunger, you didn’t have the strength to leave the four walls that protected you even more from heartbreak. it was foolish and you knew that, because in some moment you would need to face the harsh reality of your foolishness, but you preferred to ignore your own health than to face shuji again.

every time you thought about leaving your room, not hearing any footsteps or voices near the room’s corridor,you heard his voice — softly pleading that you left your room, because you needed to eat and maybe you two could talk. you didn’t even need to look at him, he said after a while, just accept the food he made for you. but shuji was met with silence and the faint sound of your sobs, of course, because you didn’t know if you would ever be able to look at him again without feeling the most painful pain you ever did in your life.

it was something ugly and blue, something that you never found describe in the romance books you once read — it was tearing apart your heart in paper cuts, as if shuji was using the knife he gave you to make them on you.

you didn’t know how many hours you spent crying, or how you did manage to sleep through your tears, but you woke up hearing gunshots and screams above you. tetta and shuji, and even kazutora, always told you that you should stay in your chambers whenever they were under attack — even if that never happened in your almost six months time in the ship — but what the enemies were screaming got your attention.

“lord masato tachibana is ordering the return of all his stolen property or your head, captain hanma!”

masato tachibana was your father. were their men there to rescue you, too?

you should try your luck. you would never be able to live happily now, not after having the biggest heartbreak someone could have, but everything was better than to live seeing hanma and knowing what he wanted to do with you. maybe you could even find happiness with lord wakasa, a man that you didn’t love and could never — because he didn’t have black and blond hair and amber eyes, and his name wasn’t shuji hanma.

but it was better than to have to look at his amber eyes and know the love in them was just a lie.

the ship was shaking from the battle and from the pouring rain that was cursing such a situation, but you still managed to climb to the deck, eyes scanning the battle in front of you. the boys were fiercely fighting against your father’s men, sword against sword, sometimes a gun there. curses were being shot by both parties, and you noticed that baji was bleeding on your stomach area. even though you were worried about him, your eyes quickly scanned once more the deck, finding hanma fighting a man you knew very well who he was — one of your father's most trusted advisors, lord rintaro.

you knew it would be difficult to reach them, but you could try — what harm could happen if you treated something that was once heaven to you, for hell?

“lord rintaro!” you screamed from where you were, gaining the attention of those who were close to you. they stopped fighting, recognizing you even though you were soaking wet. “it is me, lady y/n!” you noticed how hanma froze in his place, eyes pleading for you to shut up and return to your chambers. but he didn’t have such a right anymore, not when the only thing he could think about was using you.

you rushed to where they were, trying to avoid the still fighting men as best as you could. you received a few cuts and slaps, but you didn’t care — rintato and shuji were still fighting, but it seemed like hanma had lost his spark. when your eyes first landed on him, he was fighting like you always heard him to be: skilled and dangerous, his movements always a surprise to his opponent. but now, it seemed as if he had given up, and your heart almost broke in half again seeing your father’s advisor managing to stab him on his shoulder.

shuji fell on the ground exactly when you arrived where he was. that was it, he thought, that would be the last time he would ever see you. he was ready to die — he couldn't bear the idea of you marrying a man that didn’t love like he did, bear the thought of never seeing you again. his plan had backfired, after all.

your father managed to make his life even more miserable.

“lord rintaro!” you pleaded, putting your body in front of him and the older man. “do not hurt him even more. he might have kidnapped me, but captain hanma was always kind to me.” how could you still be like that? shuji expected you to order his death as soon as you had the opportunity, but you still pleaded for his life.

but the lord just sneered. “why would i listen to a bastard’s words?” he spat, and you froze in your place, hearting falling to your stomach. what was he saying? “the captain here did a favor to lord masato, getting rid of his wife’s bastard and, for that, he asked me to give him a peaceful death.”

that couldn't be true, could it? lord rintaro was just making up lies, lies for making it easier for you the fact that your father didn’t want you back — but, if you thought about your childhood and the way your father treated you, it made sense. you didn’t look like him or even like your mother, like naoto and hinata, and she always said that you resembled your great-grandmother. you never paid much attention to that, because not looking like them never bothered you, but your siblings were always more loved than you, by both parents. you didn't have the prestige an older sister was supposed to have in your family, such things always destined to hinata, and your needs were always pushed back. even your marriage proposal was something chosen to humiliate you.

you never tried to understand why, but it now made sense. your whole life was a lie, and you didn’t know what hurt the most — the fact that your family wasn’t your family, or the fact that you weren’t loved by your parents because of something that wasn’t your fault.

while you dwelled in your thoughts, you didn’t notice lord rintaro taking his gun from his belt, only noticing the gravity of the situation when its barrel was pressed against your forehead. “we were never here to rescue you, foolish woman.” he explained, a sinister smile on his face. the rain made it difficult for you to hear or see what was happening around you, but at least you would die surrounded by people that cared for you. “i will be granted with the highest honors by killing such a disgrace as you. he gave you a sinister smile. “or i can make you my personal whore, what do you think, captain?” he put pressure on the gun’s barrel, the act bringing you back to reality once more.

you whimpered, closing your eyes, accepting your death with open arms — it was the best option. what was there for you to have now? you didn’t have a family anymore, the man you loved only wanted to use you as a tool, and now you weren’t even useful to him.

maybe it was better to die.

you heard a gunshot and you opened your eyes, seeing the blood coming from rintaro’s head. you burst into tears, shuji’s arms around your form as soon as the first tear fell down your cheeks, his voice screaming instructions to his men. you just stood there, limp around his warmth, feeling his blood staining your blouse until he held your face between his hands.

shuji’s heart broke even more seeing the emptiness of your eyes. but before he could say anything to soothe your pain, your hands gripped his forearms. “you are hurt.” it’s what you said, tugging him to follow you.

and he did, not before spatting at the man you called rintaro.

—

shuji didn't know how you managed to bring him to your chambers, with all the fighting still going up on the deck. he ordered the boys to kill every single one of your father's men and then take everything of value from their ship, before sinking it. everyone was up and well, despite some blood stains his eyes managed to see through the pouring rain.

it was almost like he blinked and he was inside the safety of the room that once belonged to him, your smaller hands pushing him to sit on the bed, despite the fact he was drenched and would wet the mattress and the blankets. he watched your form while you took the few medical supplies you had — the ship would need to stop at a city so he could get proper treatment, but you learned some things that could be useful.

“can you take your shirt off, captain?” it hurt not being called by his given name, or even surname by you, but he thought he deserved that. he would miss your honey dripping voice calling his name so beautifully, as if by just muttering some syllables you were the salvation he always desired. but because of him your life did a 180 degrees turn, and for the worst, so he would never blame you if you could never call him that again. even not in his wildest dreams he would imagine that you were a bastard, and not the firstborn child of lord and lady tachibana.

but that didn't change anything. shuji's heart would always beat for you, and only for you.

he nodded, opening the last buttons of his white shirt, wincing when the fabric was lifted from his skin, and he could see the worry shining on your eyes. it was better than the empty look they carried when that lord gave you the news about your true heritage — hanma would do anything to not see such a thing in your eyes again. they were always full of life and kindness, a contrast with his own amber pair.

as soon as he discarded his shirt on the floor, you started your work, soft hands pouring alcohol on his skin and cleaning the wound.

but shuji could tell that you were doing everything you could to not break in tears and sobs.

he encircled one of his arms around your waist, bringing your body closer to his, resting his head on your chest. it was the closest of a hug he could give you at the moment. “it’s alright, sunshine. you can cry around me.” he tried to console you, but he never knew such a thing. his parents were taken away from him too quickly, yes, but they were still his parents. he could never imagine that his father wasn't his own father, that his siblings weren’t his full siblings.

“i do not want to cry for something that was never my fault.” you replied, softly, voice not above a whisper. your hands were still treating his wound, cleaning and applying pressure to make sure the bleeding would stop. shuji hummed, and it was what you needed to let some tears fall from your eyes. he seemed to notice the slight shake of your body, embracing you even harder, free hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. you head fell into his hair, and you closed your eyes.

he didn’t urge you to say anything, respecting your time.

“i am… i am so a-angry, shuji.” you managed to say through sobs, lifting your head from his hair to not soak it even more. you found his amber eyes already looking at you. “my father treated me horribly.” you admitted, finishing tieing a cloth around his shoulder. it was the best you could make before he visited a doctor. as soon as his right arm was free, he wrapped it around your middle, bringing you to rest on his lap. it was the most intimate you have been with a man, especially one who was shirtless, but you weren’t a lady anymore — you didn’t need to have any scruples. “i never understood why. my sis— hinata, she was always the apple of his eye. always getting the best things, the best opportunities. she was a better option to kidnap than me.” you tried to smile at him, but shuji could see all the pain you always carried with yourself.

he shook his head in denial. “no, never. she would be the best option for tetta, but for me?” punishment came to rest on your jaw, holding it so he could look at your glossy eyes. “i always knew you were the best. the best for me, sunshine.”

shuji smirked when he noticed the way your eyes travelled to his lips then to his eyes again, but before he could claim what was his once more, it seemed that you had more to speak. “you will not be able to achieve your revenge using me, shuji. you did lord masato a favor for kidnapping his wife’s bastard.” just by the way that you know spoke so lowly of yourself, shuji knew his revenge had changed. he would kill the one you once called father, and he didn’t care for the consequences.

“i’ve given up on such an idea as soon as you smiled at me, princess.” he admitted, chuckling when your eyes widened. “you heard tetta’s question in the last meeting, didn’t you?” you sheepishly nodded, trying to avert your eyes to anywhere but him, but hanma’s hand on your jaw didn’t let you look at anything else. “i can guarantee you that i didn’t want to do it anymore. use you, i mean, because the revenge plan will have some modifications now.” he stroked your cheek while you nodded and he thought it was his cue to kiss you, but as soon as he ducked his head to get closer to yours, you put a finger on his lips.

shuji groaned while you giggled.

“but why? why do you want revenge on the tachibanas?”

it was a question that troubled you since he kidnapped you for the first time, but if he wasn’t comfortable saying his reasons now, you would respect him. revenge was something that always had ulterior motives, and you knew it wasn’t just because your father deemed shuji and the valhalla crew as traitors of the kingdom — his revenge had roots deeper than that, and you knew just by the ways he used to achieve it.

“your father— i mean, lord masato, killed my parents. as well as tetta’s, too.” he confessed, punishment letting go of your jaw so he could nuzzle his face on the crook of your neck. they were painful memories, memories that he wished he never needed to go through. your hand soon found his hair. “my father was a rising knight, a good friend of king makoto.” you have all your answers now. you knew how lord masato did everything in his reach to achieve what he wanted — killing someone was the least that you knew he was capable of.

“i am sorry, shuji.”

he had cried all his tears when he was just a little boy, but your kind words and hands on his hair was enough to bring a few more to his eyes. it was a sensation that he hadn’t felt in so long, the burning and itching in his eyes — he even used to joke about how his tear ducts were broken and dry, now. but he knew he wasn’t just crying because of his parents, far from it.

shuji thought you were going to leave him, and he couldn’t think of such an immeasurable pain as that.

he felt your lips kissing the crown of his head and he let out a breathy laugh. “if… if that man was there to take you back to your family, would you say yes?” he knew the answer — of course you would say yes, especially after what transpired between you two in the morning.

“i do not know.” you answered, hands find their place to rest on his shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer. “i just know that i would be miserable without you. you broke my heart, shuji, but it’s still yours.” you confessed and he lifted his head, looking at you with big and glossy golden eyes. he looked like a puppy, a dejected puppy that was searching for someone to take him. “and i do not think i am still suitable to be a lady of a household. the sea welcomed me like no one else did.”

the smile he gave you could rival the stars that shined in the sky when the moon decided to grace the earth, and you were so lucky — because that smile was for you.

“what would you say if we stopped at the nearest city and i find a priest to marry us?”

you felt your cheeks heating up. “first you need to find a doctor, because i will not marry a man that can die from a wound that easily.” you giggled when he pouted, softly pressing your lips against his. but hanma was a wild card and you knew it, and despite an injured shoulder, he managed to put under him on the mattress, hovering over you with a boyish grin on his face.

“are you saying you’ll marry me, then?” he asked, eyes shimmering with hope and love — and lust too, as far as you could tell. you were still soaked, white shirt now not hiding anything from his hungry eyes. his wandering hand grazed over one of your nipples, touch as soft as a ghost, and you whimpered. “what do you say, sunshine? i’ll only continue depending on your answer.”

“gods above, shuji. do you think i would say no? i have always been yours. ” you replied, hands bringing him closer to your face so you could kiss him. you felt him smirking, sin — the hand on the side that was hurt — already undoing the buttons of your blouse.

as soon as your chest was exposed to him you felt the urge to cover yourself, shame already dancing inside your mind. what if that was still his plan? what if the fact that you were a bastard didn’t change anything? he could send you back to your family either way, because nobody, except lord masato and your mother, knew about your true heritage. but his words soothed all the poisoned thoughts in your head. “are you sure you want to do this, princess? we’ll be married by tomorrow night, i can wait.”

you could wait as well, but the unfamiliar ache between your legs and the desire to be his in ways nobody else was, spoke louder. “please, shuji.” you whispered against his lips, pressing butterfly kisses to his cheekbones. “make me yours now.”

it was all he needed to hear. as soon as the last syllable left your lips his head travelled south, pressing kisses and sucking in your untouched skin — the thought of being the first to see you like that made shuji’s cock heavier inside his pants, but he wanted to take his time with you before indulging on his desires.

and he did. oh, how he did.

he coaxed orgasm after orgasm from you, first using his fingers and then his tongue. by the time he buried his cock inside your warm cunt, you were already a babbling and drooling mess because of him. shuji tried to be slow and soft with you, trying to be considerate because that was your first time being so intimate with a man, and it was the best choice he had — he was used to being rough and fast with the whores he had slept with before, and he never knew what he was missing from having such an intimate moment with someone he loved. the soft praises, the touches of your shaking hands, the pleasure dancing in your eyes. he would murder everyone with two walking legs if another person saw you like that, if your loving hands touched another person as you were doing with him.

shuji finished the night filling your womb with his cum twice, despite his aching shoulder — but he couldn’t stop himself. not when you asked so nicely if he could finish inside you, or how good your walls were sucking him up. your cunt was the best his cock had ever experienced, and he knew you had ruined him for anyone else.

as if he would need them now.

he cleaned you up as best as he could, not used to after care, making sure to change the blankets of the mattress, lighting the fire inside the room and changing your clothes. as much as he wanted to cuddle you until you both fell asleep together, he still had his duties as a captain to fulfill — he needed to see if his boys were alright, and what treasures they would have after plunder lord masato’s ship.

shuji left with a kiss on your forehead and the promise of coming back to your arms as soon as he could.

despite your sleepy foggy brain, you still could hear the boys’ cheers when he told them the news of your marriage.

—

“that’s how mama and papa met, sweetheart.” you finished the story with a smile, your daughter jumping in your lap as soon as the words left your lips.

shinobu glanced at you with her big blue-green eyes, a puzzled look on her face. “mama, this doesn’t make sense.” she said accusatively, her small arms gripping your shirt. “papa isn’t a pirate, and you don’t have a sister! where was uncle chifuyu in the story?” she pouted at the absence of her dear uncle on her bedtime story, and you controlled yourself to not squeeze her.

but you could never tell her how you and shuji met. it wasn’t a beautiful story — you had lost your first love two months before, still grieving about his premature death when you first found sitting in the stairs of a church in the last hours of christmas. someday she would know the truth, she would know why her mama had a photo of her, her uncle and an unfamiliar man on her bedside, why she was always sad on halloween. but not at five years old.

“who said papa wasn’t a pirate, shin?” you teased her, kissing her cheeks before picking her up from the ground. “and as for mama’s family in the story, don’t worry, okay? they aren’t real.” they were, of course, but your daughter also didn’t need to know that they were one of your best friends and her brother, both now dead, alongside her father. it was purely for the love story you were telling her — because you didn’t know if you could portray your relationship with your brother without bursting into tears.

mikey was dead, yes, but that won’t ever ease the pain in your chest, the emptiness you felt whenever you remembered you were a big sister without a little brother.

you tucked your daughter under her blankets, whispering a song that your mother used to sing to you and chifuyu whenever you two were giving her a hard time going to sleep, watching as she fought with sleep. you almost giggled at how she was doing everything to not close her eyes, but shinobu gave up as soon as your hand started to caress her black and blonde locks — a courtesy of her father, who bleached her hair when she was just four and never asked yo go back to her natural color —, eyes closing at the same time you gave her a forehead kiss.

you stayed a few more minutes watching her sleeping form, leaving her room as silently as you could.

you smiled hearing the faint sound of your favorite music playing down the hall, walking towards your son’s room.

you opened the door, poking your head inside it, your smile growing bigger at the same time you acknowledge what was happening — a shirtless shuji was in the middle of the room, holding his eight-month-old son while he danced with him at the tune of your favorite song, punishment rubbing circles on the little boy’s back. it seemed that chifuyu had the same problem as his older sister, always fighting with sleep. you could see he was tired, but the giggles leaving his mouth were still loud and lively.

“look who’s here!” shuji exclaimed, turning his body towards your direction. chifuyu started to make grabby hands as soon as he noticed his mama was inside his room, and you promptly picked him up, nuzzling his small body on your chest, while shuji’s arms encircled your waist.

he kissed your cheek tenderly, rocking you back and forth, to see this action could make his son sleep. “i think he’s hungry.” you whispered, putting the strap of your nightgown down and freeing one of your breasts to feed your youngest son.

shuji watched with loving eyes the scene in front of him, pressing soft kisses to your skin while chifuyu finished his midnight snack. as soon as he burped, the little boy was already fast asleep in your arms. “i can do everything for him, but unfortunately i can’t give him milk from my boobs.” you giggled as you passed your son to his dad’s arms, adjusting your nightgown back to its place.

you and shuji kissed chifuyu’s forehead before closing the door of his room.

“a pirate, huh?” your husband teased you, his hands back again at your waist and his head nuzzled on the crook of your neck while you tried to walk to your shared room with him.

“you were listening to shin’s bedtime story?” you asked, dumbfounded, wigrilling away from his touch.

shuji chuckled. “you are always so creative. this one was my favorite, princess.”

you groaned, dodging his arms that were trying to hold you once more. you weren’t embarrassed, but sometimes you didn’t want to hear the stories you came up with to make shinobu entertained before sleep graced her. you and shuji had been king and maid, mermaid and prince, and now lady and pirate. it was hard having an imperative five-year-old in your home.

“oh?” you asked, allowing your husband’s warmth to engulf you. “think you can make me feel the pleasure lady y/n had when she and captain shuji had their first time together?” you teased, kissing his jaw silently.

shuji only smirked. “you don't need to ask, princess.”

#hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokrev x reader #shuji hanma x reader #shuji hanma

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years ago

Text

Ivy & Stone, Chapter One: The Countryside

pairing: victorian au!frankie morales x ofc (Lady Florence Bell)

chapter rating: E (secret romance, class dynamics, age gap <15 years (oc is 20, Frankie is 34), handjob, cum play sorta, unprotected piv, very soft sex)

word count: 4k

series masterlist | team ivy playlist

“Do you suppose you’ll miss me when I leave for town this autumn?” Lady Florence rested her cheek upon the chest of Mr. Francisco Morales, the pair tucked away in the depths of her family estate’s garden.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lady,” Francisco mumbled his response, half in a daze given the warmth from the late summer sun and the thump of her heart against his side. Lady Florence tilted her head up to examine him, a grin growing on his bearded face at the heat of her gaze, one eye cracking open to look down at her. “I think I’ve made my contempt for your season at Court known well enough by now, my sweet love.”

“It never hurts for one to hear it again,” she whispered back, insecurity laced thick in her soft voice. Francisco lifted his body, resting back on his bent elbows as he forced her to sit up and look him in the eye. Two stray curls fell around her face and swayed in the breeze as she sat staring at him, her golden skin glowing from the sun. “Just promise me you won’t go off and fall in love while I’m away, and in return I will promise you the same.”

“Well, while I can promise such a thing, you, my beautiful love, cannot.” Francisco pinched her chin softly before standing up off the grass, dusting off his work clothes. Lady Florence huffed in annoyance as she helped herself off the ground, thankful she’d worn her gardening gown with the amount of green stains all over the linen.

“Do you take me for the kind of woman to confess to a thing as serious as being in love and not mean every word, Mr. Morales? That I’d let you have me and then go and give myself away to someone else—“

“I shouldn’t have ever let it happen,” he turned to her and watched as the light in her eyes faded. He rushed to her and held her arms as he looked apologetically into her eyes. “Forgive me, my love. I did not mean to imply that I regret our love making, it is only that now I fear you feel obligated to me…because of it. I do not want you to love me from obligation, Miss Florence.”

“I do not.” She assured, crossing her arms over her chest. “I gave myself to you willingly, you didn’t coerce me or convince me, it was my choice and my doing. Just as my loving you is.”

“Your mother and father would not approve of your choice in suitor, my darling,” he cupped her cheeks, tilting her head back so that she was staring up at him, the pair wearing matching grins as their lips hovered over each other. “Yet it doesn’t seem to bother you. Why doesn’t it bother you? My lack of stature—“

“You’re certainly not lacking any stature from what I can feel, Francisco,” Lady Florence palmed him over the rough burlap of his trousers, a gasp leaving her lover’s lips as she gripped his shaft.

“Flo!” The sound of the Lady’s little brother caused the pair to split apart, Francisco adjusting himself as he began to rake around the garden.

“Yes, Leo?” Florence sighed and welcomed her brother over to where she stood in front of a bubbling fountain, Francisco still in earshot.

“Mother was wondering where you were. Ms. Lipscombe is here for your afternoon lessons.” The 12-year old boy’s curls were still bouncing after he’d stopped in front of her.

Lady Florence looked longingly over at her family’s sweaty gardener, fourteen years older than her yet no less handsome than any man she’d been forced to interact with at Court.

Francisco had consumed her every thought for the past four months, his sweet, gentle nature and ability to make her laugh pushing her far over the edge of adoration. The only flaw he seemed to possess was his lack of station in society, and while the young Lady cared little of things like that, the same could not be said for her parents.

“Yes, let us go back inside then.” With one last glance at each other across the garden, Lady Florence resigned to focusing on something else for a change—her painting lessons.

“Good afternoon, Miss Florence. It is nice of you to finally make an appearance,” the stout and elderly woman with glasses hanging low on her nose eyed the young lady as she walked into the sunroom in her grass-stained gown. “Would you perhaps like to get redressed?”

“Oh, no. I’ll be quite fine as is, Ms. Lipscombe.” Lady Florence waltzed over to the easel set up in front of a curved window looking out at the garden. The young woman surveyed the scene outside until she spotted him, clipping away at an overgrown rose bush, gathering each fallen flower and making a pile of them to surely deliver to her later on that evening.

“Have you spotted your inspiration?” The tutor spoke from over Lady Florence’s shoulder, the young woman jumping at the thought of someone having discovered her secret. “It’s a nice subject—an overgrown rose bush, a man hard at work rescuing it. Go on, dear, begin.”

With a hidden curl of her mouth, Lady Florence nodded. Taking her seat in front of the window and grabbing her paintbrush, she started on her most self-indulgent piece yet.

•••

Mr. Morales found himself nearly dizzy from being under the hot glare of the sun, the countryside having been particularly warm this season. He lifted up his dirt covered blouse, wiping the beads of sweat that ran down the bridge of his aquiline nose and onto his lips.

“The weather has been quite agreeable, hasn’t it?” He overheard Miss Florence’s father, Lord Thomas Bell, during his late afternoon walk with his wife, Lady Elizabeth.

Francisco had to hold in his scoff—of course the weather was agreeable when you only indulged in it for five minutes at a time.

“We must talk about our daughter, my love. She has been the most petulant thing as of late—“

“I will not have you speaking down upon my eldest daughter,” the patriarch silenced his wife with an authoritative tone, bringing the slightest of smiles onto Francisco’s face. Though there were many qualities the handyman loathed about Lord Thomas, he couldn’t help but admire his loyalty to Miss Florence.

“My love, she hasn’t shown up to a single lesson on time since the start of the summer,” the Lady reasoned. Francisco felt guilt bubble in his chest—had he already been such a bad influence on the young woman? “Now she’s speaking of staying in the countryside this autumn rather than going to town! Who is she likely to find out here worthy of her stature? A stable boy? Our bloody gardener?”

Francisco’s jaw clenched at the mention of his existence paired with such disgust. He’d never understand why these high-class families worried so much about society and wealth, their daughters sold off like livestock to the highest bidder who’s likely to bring nothing but unhappiness and torment.

Should it not matter more the character of her suitor than his standing in society? Should it not be more of concern the amount of love he should hold in his heart for their child than the amount in his pocketbook?

“Nonsense!” The Lord shouted, making Francisco jump a bit. “She will be attending Court and that is final. I have trouble believing that my own daughter would object to her father’s orders.”

“Perhaps all she needs is time in the city, surrounded by her friends. God knows she must be bored out here all by herself with no one to entertain her.”

“Perhaps Mr. Morales here can provide some insight into our daughter’s doings,” Lord Thomas and his wife approached the gardener as he tended to the ivy that had begun to grow along the sides of the manor.

“No, please leave them,” Lady Elizabeth interjected with an almost romantic plead, Francisco lowering his shears. “I love to watch the ivy grow along the stone. Nature has a persistent way about it, don’t you think, Mr. Morales?”

“I do,” he nodded, voice weak from keeping silent most of his days. With a clearing of his throat, he nodded at the Lord. “How can I be of service, m’lord?”

“Our daughter seems to cherish this garden you’ve so beautifully maintained,” the portly looking man in his mid-forties looked around at the beautiful green of his estate, pops of color from the flowers littering the expanse of it. “What does she do when she’s out here? Does she study, draw, write…cry?”

“No, never,” Francisco was quick to shake his head, his eyes nervously flickering to the Lady’s. “She mostly just sits and observes the grounds, sir. Sometimes she’ll bring a bit of parchment and her quill, but I reckon she seems to like the peace too much to interrupt it with much anything else.”

“How disappointing,” Lady Elizabeth sighed and looked to her husband. “There is nothing more tragic than a sharp mind going to waste over the yearning of peace. Peace does not exist—not like a girl her age wills it to.”

“Please, my love, let us not burden Mr. Morales with the inner dealings of our family,” the Lord nodded at his servant, Francisco grabbing his shears and excusing himself back to his private quarters at the edge of the vast estate, ready to call it a day in the garden.

As he continued on to his bungalow in the woods, he couldn’t help but replay his interaction with the Lord and Lady of the house—the parents of the woman he’d fallen in love with against all reason and rationality. He scolded himself for allowing this affair to progress the way it had. He should have stopped it the very first night, perhaps then her life would be less complicated.

Three Months Previous — May, 1856

“Hello,” a soft, feminine voice startled Francisco as he sat in the workshop attached to his bungalow, tinkering with one of his newest inventions.

“My Lady,” he placed his hand over his heart to calm the rapid beating, turning in his chair to face her fully.

It was late—too late for her to be wandering the ground unchaperoned. She was wearing her sleeping gown, the white linen with pink accents flowing in the late spring breeze as she stood in the doorway of the rickety shed. The moon shone bright behind her, casting a shadow over her face though there was no mistaking her beauty even in darkness.

“What are you doing out at this hour?” He asked softly, trying not to scold her for her recklessness though a part of him wanted to.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged, stepping further into the workshop. Her face was now lit up by the lantern sitting on the table in the middle of the room. “Thought I’d go for a stroll in the garden.”

“You’re a long way from the garden, Miss,” he watched as a smile flickered on her porcelain smooth face.

“I have long wondered where you live, what it looks like, what you do when you’re not trimming rose bushes or tending to the house,” she stepped closer and closer with every word, until finally, she was standing between his spread thighs, looking down at him with a soft grin. “I have long wondered about you, Mr. Morales.”

“It is not an advisable thing, wondering about men like me,” he tried not to fall into her beauty, or the smell of her luxurious perfume surely imported directly from France. “I must disappoint you. I fear it’s long past my bedtime—“

“Perhaps I’ll join you.”

Francisco closed his eyes in a bid for strength, facing away from her and setting down his project.

“If I’ve offended you, sir, I did not mean to. I only…I only meant to convey that…well, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since our first meeting.” Francisco turned back to her, studying the embarrassment written all over her once-confident features. “But if you wish me away, I shall go—“

“No.” He shook his head and reached for her wrist, the two of them dropping their gazes to observe the forbidden contact. He half expected her to tug her hand away, repulsed by the callouses on his palm, the dirt beneath his fingernails, the dark black oil smeared across the backs of his hands from his tinkering, but she didn’t. Turning her hand, she intertwined their fingers, palms kissing, their eyes meeting once again. “I am not fit for you, my Lady.”

“Call me Florence,” she whispered, leaning down and cupping his bearded cheek with her free hand. Her lips hovered just over his, his eyes still open and watching her closely as her breath fanned over his face, smelling of peppermint tea. “I’m no lady, Mr. Morales.”

Before he had the chance to reason with himself, she crashed her lips upon his, straddling his lap as he sat on his workstool, his hands gripping the loose fabric of her gown around her waist. His brows were furrowed as he tasted her, so sweet and so forbidden. He knew he stood little chance at willing himself away from her, her taste and smell and softness now seared into his mind with the branding iron that was her lips upon his.

“Have me,” she whispered against his mouth, her hips rocking against his growing bulge. “Take everything.”

“No,” he shook his head, closing his eyes as she pulled back in shock. Who was he to tell her no? She’d likely never heard the word before in her life.

“No?” She questioned, though her tone carried much less pride than he’d been expecting. He peeled his eyes open and allowed himself a moment to take in the flush on her brown skin that matched his own perfectly. Reaching up, he combed back her dark curls, relishing in her hair being let down rather than in one of those pompous updos she was typically forced to wear.

“No. Not yet.” He remained firm, his eyes bouncing back and forth between hers until he saw them light with mischief. Climbing off his lap and settling onto the floor in front of him, his breathing halted altogether when her hands slid up the dirty linen covering his thighs. “What are you doing, Miss Florence?”

“You said you won’t be having me tonight, but that does not mean I can’t have you,” she grinned at him as she undid the tie around his waist, his trousers falling open enough for her to pull out his aching erection. “Unless you wish for me to stop?”

“Yes. No.” He quickly changed his mind, overwhelmed by the feeling of her velvet soft hand wrapped around his girth.

“Which is it, Mr. Morales? Would you like me to stop—“

“No.” He cut her off, eyes meeting hers. She smiled and nodded, stroking him faster. “Feels…incredible.”

“Has anyone ever touched you before?” She asked, punctuating her question with a kiss to the tip of his cock, triggering his release. He panted and moaned freely as he coated her fist with his release, his chest rising and falling with each pant of his breath. “I shall take that as a no.”

“No one,” he promised, opening his eyes to meet hers. “Only you.”

“Good,” she smiled, lifting her cum-covered hand to her mouth and cleaning it off with her tongue. Francisco let out another moan at the sight, his cock twitching back to life. “We shall be each other’s firsts, then.”

“Why…me?” He asked after a moment, having been so caught up with her seduction that he hadn’t even asked the most pressing question on his mind. Why was this Lady, a highborn woman with an unmatched beauty, pursuing him when she could have any man she wanted?

“Because you’re kind, and you’re thoughtful, and you haven’t been tainted by the society I’m forced to take part in. You’re a good man, and that is so very rare to find these days.” She climbed back onto his lap and crossed her arms behind his neck. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re also the most beautiful man I’ve come across in years, Mr. Morales.”

“Francisco,” he corrected in a soft whisper, reaching up to stroke his knuckles across her cheek. “Or Frankie.”

“I’ll save that nickname for our most private of moments, Frankie,” she promised with a grin. “Only you shall ever have me so intimately.”

“That is an honor I will cherish until my dying day, Miss Florence.”

•••

Unable to sleep, Lady Florence tossed and turned in her plush bed, craving the warmth and coziness of Francisco’s bungalow in the woods.

The moon was high in the sky as she climbed out of bed and walked over to her window, signaling that it was long past her parent’s bedtime. Carrying her riding boots in hand, Lady Florence carefully crept down the stairs of her family’s large manor and snuck out through the back door without a sound. Quickly tugging on her boots, she started off in a sprint, disregarding the dark garden and woods around her for the safety and warmth that sat waiting for her at the end of her journey.

Smiling at the sight of a warm glow through the window of his small cabin, Lady Florence allowed herself to catch her breath. There was no more need to rush anything, she could rest knowing that he was awake, sitting on his sofa reading, waiting for her.

It only took a second for him to open the door for her after hearing her knock, a smile wide on his face as he accepted her into his arms, holding her tight as though she’d disappear at any moment.

“I’ve missed you, my sweet love,” he mumbled against the side of her head, his face buried in her unruly head of curls and waves.

“I’ve missed you more, Frankie,” she watched as his head pulled back, eyes dark with need as he stared at her, her use of his nickname surely sparking something inside of him. “Shall we sit, my love? I’ve some unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, the shift in mood making his head spin a bit. He guided her over to the sofa, sitting down beside her in front of the fire. “What’s happened?”

“I leave for town tomorrow,” she informed with a fearful expression, carefully studying the way his smile faded. “Mother and father have—“

“They were speaking in the garden earlier,” he interrupted, now piecing together the events. “They asked me about you, about what you liked to do with all your time in the garden. I suppose my answer wasn’t quite what they were hoping for.”

“What did you say to them?” She narrowed her eyes a bit, surprised not only by her parents conniving, but also by their interaction with Francisco.

“I told them you enjoyed the peace and quiet. Your mother made a comment about how it doesn’t exist, which I pity her for. You see, I know peace exists, though in fairness to your mother, it is all-too rare to come across in high society.” Lady Florence reached to run her fingertips across his jawline before flattening her palm across his cheek, Francisco leaning in to the soft touch. “My sweet love, I know peace every time I’m gifted with your company. That is how I know it exists.”

“As do I,” she smiled, her eyes dropping to his lips. “I will not know it again until I see you next.”

“Don’t say such a terrible thing,” he shook his head and moved her palm to his lips, pressing a kiss onto it. “I want you to know peace no matter where you are, or who you are with. I love you selflessly enough to wish that.”

“You are a good man, Frankie,” he hummed at her use of his nickname. “But you are a fool.”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, surprised by her insult.

“You are a fool to think I could ever find peace in a world in which I am not allowed to love you freely. No, I will never know it unless I am in your company. That is my curse, and also the most beautiful gift anyone could have ever bestowed upon me.” She ran her hands through his curls and smiled. “Do not worry yourself over me, my love. I have every intention of keeping the promise I made to you. Know one will ever have me like you have.”

“Swear it?” He asked in a hoarse whisper, as though he was scared to hear the answer.

“I swear it.”

Francisco needed little else to act on his desire, nearly tackling her as he laid her down across his sofa, his hips wedged between her thighs like they belonged there. There was no fight for dominance when they moved together, simply a natural ebb and flow that made them feel drunk on one another. His lips never parted from hers as he lifted up the thin cotton of her gown, his hands roaming up the exposed skin of her thighs as he bunched the fabric around her waist.

“Touch me,” she commanded and he obeyed, his hand traveling to the valley of her thighs, fingertips finding her throbbing clit through the cotton of her knickers, circling it with precision after three months of studying her body. Lady Florence let out a moan that sounded more like a song to him, his lips traveling down her jaw to her pulse, kissing it rather than sucking on it like he dreamed of. “I am afraid of how much I will miss you, Frankie. Promise me you’ll take no other lover.”

“How could you think so little of me?” He whispered against her neck, his fingers working faster. “You are not just the owner of my heart, Miss Florence, you are the reason it beats.”

Her orgasm hit in time with his confession, the couple gasping together as she came undone for him.

“Take me,” she demanded, still half-blissed out. “Take me and make me yours.”

“You are mine and I am yours—no matter what should happen. That will never change.” His promise was punctuated by the tugging down of her knickers, the cotton tossed across the room carelessly as she fumbled with the tie on his trousers. When it finally came undone, neither could wait much longer to have him inside of her, his cock quickly sheathing itself in her warmth, both of them moaning out in bliss as they stared into each others eyes. Francisco stroked her cheek as he slid out of her only to push back in, her eyelashes fluttering as she fought the urge to close them. “You are the most exquisite thing I’ll ever know, Miss Florence Bell.”

“I am in love with you, Frankie, and I don’t know how to bear it,” she confessed through ragged breaths and soft moans. Frankie whimpered as he buried his face in her neck, his hips snapping in and out of her slowly but harsh enough to punch against the spot deep inside of her heat that made her clench around him. “I love you, I love you, I l-ove—“

Frankie gasped as he felt her come undone for him again, his cock twitching as it begged for its release as well. Lifting his head, he kissed her so deep that she’d still feel it long after she left for the city.

“I love you,” he promised, his moans becoming whinier with every stuttered thrust. “My sweet love, I love you.”

“Show me. Mark me.” Frankie groaned as he pulled out of her and painted the curls of her mound with his release, both of them watching the act as though it was sacred—and it was. Running a finger through the mess of her slit, she lifted it to her lips and sucked it off before repeating the act, this time bringing it to his. “I am yours and you are mine.”

“Forever,” he promised, leaning down to kiss her nose.

“Forever.”

•••

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #frankie morales x oc #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #ivy & stone

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! Could I request a fic where the reader and Bucky like each other and she has to pretend she’s Zemo’s girlfriend for the Madripor mission? Bucky gets jealous and all that jazz and they confess their feelings :)

Madripoor Muse

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | Bucky harbours feelings for you, but despite Sam’s inflatable encouragement, refuses to inform you of them. However, seeing you pretend to be Zemo’s girlfriend whilst on a mission, more so when the criminal knows what strings he is pulling at, happens to infuriate him inevitably.

Warnings | jealousy, violence, references to sex work (there is nothing wrong with it, everyone is free to do what they want or need to do to get by, angst, mentions of death, grief, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, swearing

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“I mean, if he looks like a pimp, then I look like one of his workers.” Sam snorted at your words, as Bucky’s eyes trailed down the skin that was exposed through the small piece of fabric, that in modern days, was considered a dress.

Zemo simply sighed at the pair of you, shaking his head as though the former winter soldier would understand his point. “It’s Madripoor, not an american graduation. You are not going to be clothed in long robes in this place, expression is in the body, and how it is clothed.”

“Or not clothed.” Bucky retorted, frowning at how you shuffled beneath the criminal’s gaze, crossing your arms, which definitely did not help the situation, considering that it did nothing more than make your breasts rise. Admitting defeat, you let them fall, holding them to your sides, outlining your hips, which once more, was not how you wished to be portrayed as you walked through the illuminated air, careful to keep pace in your heels.

“We all have a part to play, winter soldier.” Helmut spoke, his accent causing waves to ripple through the euphoria of lights that lay up ahead. “I am me, you are you, Sam is the Smiling Tiger, and...”

“I’m a hooker?” Once more, Zemo showed disappointment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to you. It seemed that tonight, you, a smart and well coordinated avenger, was absolutely adoring testing his patience, but that was his trick.

He was the captive here, forced to help the forsaken superheroes that had prompted him with the idea of escaping from the government’s ensured facility. And it was without a doubt that he would mess with their minds each chance that he got.

“No, think of yourself as more personalised to one person than that y/n. Your as you people say ‘arm candy’.” He used quotations with his fingers, causing you to reach for Sam’s arm to assume the role. “Oh no, not his.” Zemo made a come here motion, making you gulp.

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky huffed, glaring unimpressed towards the Baron, who only tutted in reply, implying that he indeed was serious. “This is stupid.”

“Stupid would be allowing this hurrah of new age super soldiers to continue their war path, don’t you think James?” Zemo asked condescendingly, holding his arm out for you to grasp onto, so that you would look more than an associate, or a serum induced bodyguard.

“Me posing as your sugar baby is stupid.” You muttered, as you walked, Bucky on look out behind you, as he glared frustratedly at where you and the mass murderer were touching.

Zemo tugged you by the arm for the comment, causing you to roll your eyes at the man that had tried his best and succeeded, at destroying your team; your family. Nevertheless, you followed his stride, well aware of the sharp eyes of the man behind you.

As you entered the club, a spectrum of blue lights illuminated your skin, as you stared around in wander. There was a variety of all didn’t people, born from different virtues, wealths and races all intermingling around in the space.

If Zemo didn’t have a leash on your arm, you’d have stared for a little longer, perhaps even gotten purposely lost in the sea of bodies that flashed with such ambition and prospect. All were designed to suit their surroundings, and you wished that you could fit in that easily too.

But you were lost, roped into this journey by the Falcon, the man that denied Steve’s wishes and passed on the shield to firmer hands, still uncertain of where you were planning on going. What you needed was a fight, a reason to keep roaming upon the earth. If you came up empty, you may have well have taken up Thor’s offer, and accompanied him with his new friends.

The avengers were disbanded, dotted with different services. You’d heard nothing from Wanda, it appeared that her phone had been cut off, leaving you gravely confused, but you understood that she needed time to mourn. But you couldn’t give yourself the same pampering, if you did so, then all purpose of life would slip through your fingers, and you’d be left vulnerable, a hero that willingly fell from their graces.

Finally you reached the bar, with the shadow of the winter soldier hovering over your shoulder, watching as Zemo’s untrustworthy hand trailed along your furthest collarbone, using it as his sway to grab your attention. He set his sights upon his touch, glaring harshly at it.

No one would question the expression that he wore, it was only natural for his reputation to be proceeded with such a dagger like gaze; he was supposed to be playing the killer that he once was after all.

“My lady, what would you like to drink?” Helmut asked, turning your gaze towards his, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forbidding you from even try to look away from his sly eyes.

“White wine will do the trick, my love.” The words felt like spew falling from your mouth, but you withheld the impulse to grimace, instead, flashing him a flirtatious smile, fanning his face with your eyelashes as you were still held to face him.

“Fine choice.” He smirked, nodding towards the bartender, who had just presented the Smiling Tiger imposter with a shot that had the intestines of a snake floating around in its liquid. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Sam hesitated to drink it for a moment, before throwing it down the hatch, treating it as an old trick.

Madripoor, for an island trapped in violence, didn’t appear that bad on the outside. That was, until the shooting began, causing the lot of you to leg it from the citizens targeting their rifled hardware towards you, running with your lives depending on it.

You had temporarily lost Zemo, as you put head your own safety, your pace and spot being just between Sam and Bucky, as the first man’s arms flailed as he insisted that he could not run in the heels that he was wearing. Huh, you’d be running in heels all your life, maybe he shoulda learned how to do so earlier, it came as a great talent.

Gunshots rang out, as a hooded figure unveiled themselves, introducing the older face of a blonde that you had once knew. It had been quite some time since you had last seen her, all having gone your separate ways to evade the law, and its cruel jurisdiction. “Sharon?” Bucky spoke, instantly recognising the woman that had aided them in the past.

Once you were all reintroduced, and met with her annoyance, which was surely understandable, she led you to her property, where you were able to part from the Sokovian, and share your distaste to the man, as well as remove the skimpy dress.

It pooled at your feet as you tossed it from your ankle, leaving you in nothing more than your underwear. As you squinted, searching for some reason that you were continuing with this foolishness of thinking that the world still considered you a hero, an echo of a knock rattled against the door. It was metal upon wood; Bucky.

“Come in.” You spoke, as you tied a spare robe around your waist, watching as the super soldier, who appeared less stoic, and more human stepped into the room, closing the door behind his emerging shadow. “You alright man?”

Bucky’s eyes drifted down for a moment, before they splintered back up towards your face, his jaw physically tensing, the notion well visible. He breathed in a long breath through his nose, as he stepped closer, his brow harsh and lined upon his forehead.

“I didn’t like Zemo putting his filthy hands on you.” He admitted aloud, the words of Sharon, teasing him for pining after someone that he had once thought of as no more than a friend of Steve’s. But now that man was gone, and so was the one that he used to be. Instead, he was left standing on his own feet, having to find balance by himself somehow.

“Neither did I.” You informed him. “It was like he was pulling back the images of his collapsing country, pouring every ounce of pain and hatred upon me, evading my mind with guilt, and the memories of what it all amounted to. None of it had been worth it, living like this. We’re treated like animals, no longer idols or heroes, people under the big thumb that keeps pressing down on us.”

“Well we’re both pressed down, limited to our rules and the outlines they want us to obey.” He nodded, raising his flesh hand to your collarbone, wanting to mark his touch upon it to remove that of Zemo’s. At his action, your breath hitched, but you allowed him to sweep his pads over the flesh, shuffling indefinitely closer so that you were chest to chest.

“We’re dangerous in their eyes. That’s a mindset they have in common with our prisoner out there.” You whispered, frowning from the thought. Two monarchies, one still whilst the other already fallen, served the same opinions, though, only one could continue to take action. Zemo was a Baron, but of what country now?

Like all, his home had been vanquished into smithereens, the foundations collapsing into rubble, the history disappearing with its lands, having thrown its dusty remnants in your face.

“I’m fine with being considered dangerous so long as I’m not alone.” He pinched your chin, tilting your head, this time though, you felt in his grasp. It didn’t belong to that of an enemy, it was one of an ally, a friend. “Tell me I’m not alone y/n.”

“I’m here James.” You stared up at him with focused pools, biting your lip as your mind went haywire over everything. “The Wakandans will come for him, you do realise that, right?” He hummed in reply, briskly bringing his metal hand to toy with the belt of the white wrap around.

“Do you think that you could show me that I’m not alone?” He nervously asked, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, as he awaited a reply. But instead of words, he earned himself the sensation of your lips upon his, collaborating in a touch starved jumble of grunts. “You’re beautiful, like...”

“Like what Barnes?” You prompted, brushing your palms onto his shoulders, easing his tenseness. Expectedly, you watched him through half lidded eyes as you leant up to plant supple kisses upon his neck, sucking his skin into your mouth, as though you were trying to thread it gently with your teeth.

“A muse.” He sighed, thinking for a momentum, before dragging your hair through his vibranium fist, lightly grinning as he heard your breath wither from the sensation. “A beautiful muse, one that reminds me to be better everyday. I want to become someone better for you.”

“You shouldn’t.” You unlatched your mouth from him, frowning lightly at the brunette man. “You should become better for nobody but yourself Buck, each day, it’s about self growth, fixing everything that you have ever been taught so that you can learn to do better next time, so that no one else will die because of your expense.”

Bucky nodded, allowing your words to sink in. His fingers returned to playing with the waist band on your robe, his eyes gazing into your own, as he fiddled with the material. “Can I?”

“Go ahead.” You granted him permission, allowing him to push the coverage from you, his eyes widening at seeing you in nothing more than your underwear. His sight traced every curve and bump and dip that was upon your shape, licking his dry lips to make his gawking less subtle.

“You’re killing me doll.” He leant his head back, as he raked his contrasting fingertips down your shoulders, all the way to the small of your back. You smirked, grasping him through his jeans, earning yourself a moan from the elder man.

“I said it’s all about self growth, didn’t I? It seems that you are taking that in quite a literal sense.” You rubbed him through the denim, finding it unsurprising as the man backed you towards the bed, your knees hitting the end sending you falling onto the mattress.

Bucky crawled his way atop of you, rutting his hips against your own. It had been so long since he had been permitted to be this free, and he knew for sure, this would be a secret that he would not inform any therapist of. This was private, the sentiment making it close to his weathered heart.

His lips returned to your own, as your hands scaled beneath your shirt, lightly tracing the scars. He wasn’t as insecure as he thought he’d be about someone touching them, perhaps it was because many of your own materialised stories were written in your skin, or that you understood what it meant to be a soldier, serving under orders.

It didn’t matter too much, he wasn’t overthinking it. Instead, he was yearning as he grasped at the straps of your bra, trying to pull it over your head, as was done with the dames back in his day, but the effort seemed more difficult. Lightly leaning away from him, you reached around your back, unclamping the contraption before tossing it out of his sight.

He didn’t care to ask what the modern day had done to the garment, he was far too focused on your pert nipples, and how they stood to attention before him. The super soldier reached forwards, running his smooth hands upon the underneath of your breasts, before interacting with the present buds, softly tugging at them with his whimsical fingers.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Released from you as a sign, instantly becoming pleased as Bucky stripped himself from everything but his underwear, leaving a nest of his clothes upon the wooden floor, as he leant his head down, capturing your left nipple within the warmth of his mouth, moaning lightly as your hands weaved through his locks, tugging lightly at the short roots. “Stop teasing Buck.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes roll from the slowness of motions, and thus, he reached down, and snapped the band of your underwear, the ripping noise audible, as he then pulled his boxers down, revealing his bobbing cock, that was directing its tip towards your entrance.

With a glance down, he lightly drooled at the way your cunt clenched around nothing, quickly swiping his fingers through your slit, as he brought them up to his lips, humming contently at the flavour that graced his tastebuds. “Need to be in you doll.”

“Need you in me soldier.” You taunted back, digging your knuckles into his shoulders as you pressed him against you, pushing your tongue into his mouth, as he suddenly bottomed out inside of you, waiting for a moment for the pair of you to adjust to the sensations.

He was in you, filling you to the brim, as you tucked your heels into the base of his back, lightly rotating your hips up, as your tongue chased his own, sucking on it as you nipped at the end, causing him to unintentionally jerk his rigid cock into you.

That had prompted him to start moving, screwing his hands into the satin sheets either side of your head, as your bodies succumbed the others to waves of pleasure. It was a luxury, having an outlet to all the stress that your duty brought. If you could just pass the mantle on like Steve had done, and Clint was in the process of doing, you would.

But it was all you had known; the gritty route, that had spanned the entirety of your tale. And Bucky now became a part of it, as he became a part of you, unravelling your vulnerabilities with sleek thrusts into your cunt, and smooth words that had swept you from your feet and had landed you in a bed.

A bed thats structure was creaking from the strength behind the animalistic carnage that you spent on one another. His teeth pulled at your lip, opening your mouth so that you could use him as an oxygen mask. Neither one of you had noticed the door opened, and an unimpressed Sharon standing in the entry way, her agent arms crossed unamused.

She cleared her throat, which made Bucky still inside of you, and you to clutch onto his back, to cover the decency of your chest. “You let me go on the run, then you fuck in my bed. It’s like I’m not allowed to belong anywhere.”

“Sharon-“ she halted your speech by raising a finger, her eyebrows pointedly telling you not to bother trying to speak, as sweat beading down your body. Bucky subtly rolled from atop of you, quickly pulling the sheets over you both, giving Sharon views that she neither wanted nor appreciated.

That was grittiness, she was a hustler, not a once avenger. A part of you wished she would understand that, as much as it would be painful to hear, she hadn’t been the top of anyone’s list. She had disappeared, and from so, she had became unreachable, practically falling off the face of the earth.

But she had been here, in Madripoor, the island of bones and whatever else Zemo had described it to be. “You two fucked in my bed. Okay.” She remained cool headed, her eyes trailing through the various fabrics among her floor. “Thought I’d tell you to get ready, and to blend in, though you two have that part already figured out. There’s some clothes in the wadrobe, and from what I can tell, you’re going to need new underwear.”

She bothered no longer once she had informed you of what she had told the other men. Instead she simply left, only for you to brace your head back into the quality pillows, slumping, and dreading the journey ahead.

Though you seemed restless, Bucky still thought of you as a muse. His hands grasped your chin, leading your lips to his own, as he sucked on your bottom one, his right hand grasping one of your breasts, as he pulled you atop of him, your skin flushed as you steadied your weight over his tough thighs.

“Now this is a dangerous sight.” He clicked his teeth, trailing his large hand down from your jaw, surpassing the middle of your chest, to your hip, which he grasp, as he shuffled you up just a little, so that you were seated upon the base of his cock.

“I can show you dangerous Barnes.” You smirked, adjusting the both of you so you were ready to sink down on his length. Your hands softly stroked his erect shaft, as you tapped his tip upon your pussy, before pushing down, filling yourself up one more.

Madripoor was a bad place, but good things could come out of visiting the skull island. This was the job, though, breaks were prompted, and were you glad that Bucky had became your little bit of calm in the arising trouble in the world.

“Fuck.” He groaned beneath you, his balls clenching as he felt you writhe all the way down to his base, beginning to bounce upon him, the years of training that you had endorsed coming in handy as it had helped your stamina. He was a super soldier after all, you were surely going to need it.

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idy-ll-ique · 3 years ago

Text

Sweet Little Love.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Lil Angst

Warnings: brief mention of violence

Requested: nope

Summary: The Y/L/Ns are a well-off family in New York, and are good friends with Sam Wilson. One day Y/N is threatened by a stalker and needs a bodyguard, so Sam suggests Bucky. Bucky doesn't want to do it; the last thing he wants is to deal with a spoiled, bratty rich girl for a whole month. The only thing is, Bucky has terribly misjudged her and now he can't help falling in love with her.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! the last scene is just a small bonus crack!scene sjsjsjs lmao, enjoy!

---

If there was one type of person Bucky liked, it was someone who was kind, polite, helpful and caring… and Bucky knew the person he was going to work for was going to be none of those things. "Sam, come on, man, I don't want to do this," Bucky groaned as he followed his best friend down the street. "I already promised, Bucky."

"Why did you?! I don't want to spend my whole day around spoiled little brats, they're the worst!" Bucky threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay, number one: You have to look after only one person and number two: Why don't you just meet her once? Then you can decide for yourself, how about that?"

Bucky had been hired by one of Sam's friends, Mr Y/L/N, as a bodyguard for his daughter. He didn't know the daughter at all; but the one thing he was sure about was that she was going to be a pain in the ass for him, like in every single movie about rich girls and bodyguards. Mouthy, petty, sassy, rude…

He was in no mood to deal with someone like that.

Ms Y/L/N, he assumed, had been sent some threats over a week ago by a stalker and so the poor father was worried sick as he frantically searched for bodyguards. Sam was also informed and before he knew it, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes was hired. To be honest, the Y/L/Ns were paying a lot so… since he had given up Avenging, the income would be great.

Plus, she only needed protection for around a month or so. Speaking of the daughter, how old was she even going to be? Maybe a child below 10? A rebellious teenager? Who knows? "Alright, stop here. She's supposed to be here somewhere, let me call Y/L/N." Bucky huffed and looked around the crowded streets as Sam contacted the father.

That's when his eyes landed on a lady. She was beautiful; wearing what looked like a tennis skirt and a university hoodie, along with sneakers. Her hair was pulled into a braid and she had a bright smile on her face. Bucky blinked twice and watched. Her body or clothes didn't catch his attention, but her actions sure did.

She was chatting with another, older woman who had coffee spilled all over her white tee. The young lady was holding a baby in her arms, bouncing the sweet child as the older woman hurriedly tried to clean her clothes. Through his super-soldier hearing, he caught their conversation. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this," the woman sighed.

"It's okay, ma'am, you are not a bother. You were clearly in need of help and you know how New York is…" Both women giggled. The older woman soon left with her child but the young lady continued standing there, looking around, as if waiting for someone. Probably a boyfriend, Bucky thought.

"Why is he not picking up?!"

Bucky rolled his eyes at Sam before looking over at the pretty lady again, who had started bouncing back and forth on her heels, glancing everywhere. That's when a loud wail echoed above the already busy street. The lady's eyes snapped towards the voice before she took off running towards a little boy who had tripped over.

The little kid was blond and scrawny, reminding Bucky of a little Steve. He smiled fondly at the memory. "Are you hurt, bubba?" Y/N asked the kid adoringly as she helped him stand. The boy's lower lip wobbled as he tried to hold his tears in but was unsuccessful. "Aw, come here…" Bucky gulped when the lady got on her knees and hugged the child.

She's so kind.

The kid hugged back just as eagerly, sobbing into her shoulder. Soon, two adults approached her; a gay couple, the parents of the kid. They, too, watched with appreciation as the lady easily calmed the kid down with her soothing presence. An involuntary smile bloomed on Bucky's face; if he was in that kid's position, he'd have stopped crying too. The lady was wonderful.

"Thank you so much, honey," one of the men grinned when the lady stood up, dusting her knees and giving the kid a smile. "Oh, it's not a problem! You know what?" She dug around in her purse and pulled out a lollipop. "I always have some on me. I'm a big fan. You?" The boy giggled and eagerly accepted the candy.

"Steve, what do you say?"

Bucky almost laughed. The kid's name was also Steve? Amazing! "Thank you!" Steve exclaimed with a bright smile, making the lady laugh. "No problem! Have a good day!" She waved at the family of three before returning to her original place, standing outside a café. Bucky was enamored at this point.

"Any luck?" he drawled, glancing at Sam who shook his head. "That dick," he grumbled under his breath and Bucky grinned, getting back to watching the pretty lady but she was nowhere to be found. He looked around until he saw her crossing the road, an old man holding her arm with one hand as the other held his walking cane.

She was on his side of the street now, just a few feet away from him. "You are an angel, darling," the old man crooned as he patted her cheek, letting go of her arm once he was safely on the other side. An angel indeed, Bucky smiled to himself. "Oh, sir, I try…" she spoke bashfully, turning in his direction as the man left.

Bucky quickly averted his gaze, he didn't want to look like a creep. "Sam? Sam, is that you? Wilson!" Bucky froze at the lady's voice, her footsteps nearing the place where he and Sam were standing. Wait, is that...? Sam looked away from his phone, eyes lighting up as they landed on the lady. "Y/N? When did you arrive?" Bucky watched as they hugged.

"Been here for a long time, dad said you were going to introduce me to my bodyguard today. He's a good friend of yours, right?" Sam turned and motioned towards Bucky. He stepped forward. "Hi, I'm James Barnes," he introduced himself, holding his hand out. He couldn't believe he had called this angel a spoiled, rich brat.

I'm never gonna forgive myself.

"James, nice to meet you! I'm Y/N Y/L/N. Thanks for doing this, I'm probably going to be a burden—" He immediately shook his head. "Oh, no no no, don't say that! I can tell we're going to be good friends." He winked and she couldn't help but giggle. Bucky didn't even correct her on the name, something about the way she said it made a shiver run down his spine.

"Well, um, do we start now, or…?"

"Your choice," he interrupted, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat as he stared at her, heart swelling with affection. "I already feel safe," she half-joked, "Start now. I have a few places to go to…" He was ready to follow her to Hell and back. "Of course." Both of them turned to Sam, who had a knowing smirk on his face.

If it were anyone else Bucky would've given him his infamous glare but Y/N? He was hoping for a connection. "You two enjoy your date— I mean, day. Anyway, what's up with your dad, girl, he's not picking up my calls." Bucky rolled his eyes at the slip up. "He's not? Maybe he's in a meeting. If you want you can go visit."

"Gonna do just that, tell him that his precious little daughter is in safe hands." Y/N looked at Bucky with a huge smile. "No doubt about that! It's getting late, I'll see you later!" Y/N started walking away and Bucky immediately followed with a nod towards Sam. "Hey, um, I saw you, you know?" he blurted out.

"Saw me? Doing what?" Y/N blinked. "You helping the lady with the child, the kid who tripped over— Steve, his name was? And the old man you helped cross the street. I just wanna say that was amazing. You're a great person, Y/N, I'm honored to be your bodyguard." She gasped softly and looked away, chewing her bottom lip as she grinned, cheeks heating up.

"Oh, um, it's just— I like to help people. It's how my parents raised me. Yeah, we might be rich but I'm not spoiled. Lots of people think that when I tell them I'm Mr Y/L/N's daughter. It hurts sometimes, you know? People just assume anything about you without even knowing you. That's why I try to be good. I don't want to be a bad person," she rushed out, unconsciously voicing all her insecurities.

Bucky's heart sank in his chest as he let out a dry chuckle. "Ugh, just saying this is gonna make me throw up but I assumed that too. I thought I was gonna work with a spoiled, rich brat. I was horribly, horribly wrong, I hope you can forgive me, doll." She turned to him, but she wasn't mad in the slightest. She even started getting a tiny crush on him, I mean, hey, the man is eye-candy. "It's fine! I forgive you, you didn't know."

"No, it's not fine. I shouldn't have made assumptions, I feel like the biggest ass in the world," he scoffed, looking away from her. "James, please, it's okay. You know now, right? Don't feel bad! Why don't we stop for a coffee on the way?" How could he say no to that?

---

2 weeks passed. Y/N and Bucky became incredibly close friends; Bucky went as far as revealing the truth about himself, how he used to be an Avenger, how he lost his arm, everything. What he didn't expect was her to cry at his story. "You did not deserve to go through that, they did you so dirty…" she sniffled and he hugged her like his life depended on it. It kinda did.

God, if he didn't fall in love the first time they met, he was definitely in love now. "Doll, I'm here now, aren't I? All good— well, maybe not all good." And his face broke into the biggest grin ever when he heard a chuckle from her. "I'm glad you're here." Just those 4 words and Bucky vowed that he was never gonna let her go.

"I'm getting coffee, you wait here. Don't go anywhere else."

"Aye aye, Captain!" Y/N laughed and he smiled back as he entered the café. Y/N stood outside, typing away on her phone when someone suddenly grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her into the alley next to the café. She couldn't even scream, breathing was difficult with his hand around her neck.

"We finally meet, sweetheart." Oh, God, it was him. The stalker. Y/N whimpered, struggling to get out of his arms but he only tightened his hold on her. Bucky, Bucky please— Over time, Y/N had grown fond of Bucky. He still asked her to call him James, he said it felt good when she called him that. So she did.

He was so protective of her, almost like she was his girlfriend. He was also handsome; incredibly so, with his stormy blue eyes, his tall and broad figure and razor sharp jaw. His first priority was always her and it made her warm inside. She'd decided to ask him out at the end of the month, but it was looking a bit difficult now.

"Your bodyguard not with you today? What happened, lover's quarrel?" the man smirked tauntingly as Y/N's vision blurred due to lack of oxygen. She blinked back tears, crying again when he tightened his hold on her neck. "Scream all you want, sweetheart, no one's gonna hear it," he laughed.

"Try me."

The man's head whipped to the side only for Bucky's metal fist to connect with his jaw. He fell to the ground with a thud, unconscious at the first punch. Y/N slid down to her knees. Her hands went to her neck, coughing and dry heaving. "Doll? Doll, come here." Bucky felt immense guilt as he gathered her in his arms, carrying her bridal style towards his car.

He left her alone. That was the one thing he wasn't supposed to do. "James…" Y/N wheezed, curling closer to him when he tried to put her in the backseat. "Doll, you have to get in," he insisted but she shook her head. "Not without you. Please." Bucky sighed and got into the backseat, holding Y/N against his chest.

She was pretty shaken up. "I'm so sorry, Y/N." He felt himself tearing up. "No… not your fault… you… coffee… I wasn't… phone…" Bucky handed her a bottle of water when she wheezed again. "Drink up, baby," he whispered as he held the bottle to her lips because she refused to let go of his sweater. After drinking some water her throat felt better.

"Don't go, please, I need you," she sobbed as she completely curled against him, wetting his sweater as she cried in his arms. "You will always have me, doll. I'm not going anywhere. Not again," he assured her as he rubbed her back, wiping his own tears away. All of a sudden, she pulled away and pressed her lips to his. "I love you."

He pulled her in for another kiss, fireworks exploding in his head at the confession. Only two weeks had passed but they were both sure about their feelings. "I love you too, doll. You're mine now, only mine," he groaned against her lips. "Only yours," she agreed, burying her face back in his shoulder as he pulled her impossibly close.

"You're not getting out of my sight ever again."

And he kept his promise.

---

"And then I— where do you think you're going?" Sam blinked as Bucky abruptly stood up, eyes trained on his wife. She gave him a smile and walked out of the room, Bucky following her out like a puppy. "To the bathroom, Sam!" Y/N called out behind her and Sam turned to the parents, blinking in confusion as they roared with laughter.

"Why does she need him there?" Sam asked "Oh, haven't you heard? Bucky hasn't broken the promise he gave Y/N 6 years ago," Mrs Y/L/N explained vaguely. "What promise?" Mr Y/L/N laughed once more. "He told her she was never getting out of sight after the incident. And well…" Y/N and Bucky returned at the exact time as Sam made a face.

"Don't you get tired of him?" Sam groaned as Bucky sat down, pulling his wife on his lap. "Oh no no, it helps that she's as much in love with him as he is with her. They do not get tired of each other," Mrs Y/L/N shook her head with a fond smile. "It helps that he's handsome and aesthetically pleasing to look at," Y/N crooned, squishing her husband's cheeks as he laughed and swatted her hands away.

"Even in the bathroom?!"

"He stands outside as a guard," she shrugged. "Damn. Y'all are weird," Sam muttered, barely catching the book Bucky threw towards him. "Not weird. Just looking out for her, like I promised," he muttered, cheeks flushing. "You do know that the threat was 6 years ago, right? Six!" Sam threw his hands up.

"What if there's a new one?" Bucky countered exasperatedly. Sam only shook his head at the couple before a smile broke out on his face. "I've never seen a couple so in love. You two are cute," he commented as laughter filled the room. No more threats, no more danger.

Just a sweet little family and their sweet little love.

---

A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

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where-theres-smoak-2 · 3 years ago

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The contrast between Darklina's rooms also made me think about their contrast in physical appearances. Even the flashbacks, I noticed Aleksander was dressed fancier than Baghra or Luda. His black robe had silver embroidery, a black fur collar, and as pointed out before, he had tiny braids in his hair similar to Alina's LP braids. Even then, he was a leader and royal advisor, and thinking of his mirror check in 1x05, I think he always had a thing for wanting to dress to impress. Cont.

I actually find the costume Aleks wears in the flashback really interesting because its actually the same as the uniform that the old King Anastas' soldiers wear but in black:

I mean they are identical right down to the fur collar and cuffs and the belt, the only differences are that Aleks has undone his top few buttons so his collar is settled more on his shoulders than around his neck and that Aleks' is black. Obviously this is suppose to show that Aleks is the king's soldier, his servant, his property. But there is also importance in that the King put a Grisha in his uniform and I think that would have been a big deal back then and I think there may have been a time when Aleks felt pride in being allowed to wear the uniform, that he was deemed important enough to be granted a uniform. I do wonder if this feeling of importance is what inspired the grisha's keftas. Aleks knew how something as simple as a uniform can make you feel important, can give you confidence and more importantly make you feel like you are part of something bigger than yourself. It's really interesting to me that even after the King turns on him Aleks continues to wear the uniform given to him by the king. I don't know for sure but I like to think that he does this as a kind of f*ck you to the king and the soldiers hunting him and the grisha. It's like he's saying hey remember when the king made me one of you and then turned on me, how do you know he won't do it to you? He's reminding them of the importance he held with the King. They are trying to erase the impact he made, his importance and station and he isn't letting them.

I do agree with you when you say that Aleks likes to dress to impress but I think that is because he knows how these politicians and royals, lords and ladies at court work, he knows that to them your value is based on how you dress and your station within society. How you dress is what influences them and that they are more likely to take you seriously if you wear fine cloth and look the part, look like you have wealth and look like you are powerful and important. Alina is only just learning this, she gets a glimpse of the impact something as simple as your wardrobe makes when she puts on that black kefta and sees others reactions to it, they treat her differently when she is in the black kefta. It's like when Alina is presented to the King for the first time. She even says to Genya shouldn't she be wearing a kefta if she is grisha and not the uniform of the first army? Genya tells her that she is wearing the first army uniform because the King will want to take credit for her. The first army uniform is the King's uniform and the uniform of his army. But if she had come in a kefta, well that's Aleks' uniform and the uniform of his army, his grisha and so it would have been Aleks who could take credit for her. When Aleks puts her in the black kefta he is telling everyone that Alina is his equal and that she is of high station. All of these outfits aren't just wardrobe choices they are political statements.

#darklina #aleksander morozova #alina starvok #answered

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realcatalina · 2 years ago

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Gable hood trivia: lady Margaret Beaufort’s ‘gable hood’

People mistakenly think that lady Margaret Beaufort wore gable hood. That is technically incorrect. In Tudor times gable hood was called frontlets and bonnet. She has frontlets-but no bonnet, so it is actually not proper gable hood. It’s frontlets with veil(and wimple-part which covers her neck). Netherless studying lady Margaret’s headwear is still worth doing.

Because her ‘gable hood’ is white:

The portrait of Lady Margaret Beaufort by Meynnart Wewyck(done prior to 1521, possibly even during her life, the accuracy of details of outfit would suggest it was done either in her lifetime or shortly after). The details are clearer than on her tomb even.

Why white is better? Because black was the fashionable choice of the time-and that hides all the details, even if paintings of such gable hoods survive or good copy is made. If you look at channels which do historical sewing, sometimes instead of using black fabric to show how something is sewn, they use less dark colourful fabric. Because you often can’t see damn thing! Black hides details.

Hence this cut of lady Margaret’s ‘gable hood’ is goldmine(historical fashion-wise):

One of the details I’d like to make clear straight away. Her frontlets don’t have horrizontal stripes as many movie/tv shows depictions interpretted it based upon inaccurate copies of this portrait. It’s detailing of linnen fabric. Absolutely normal structure of pure linen fabric, when merely laying flat!

There is no frilling to it, no structure etc. Just linen fabric.

Not this:

Nor this:

Problem with this however started already within her grandson’s lifetime.

Horenbout(who never met her)-got it wrong already:

As did many painters after him, but he at least got rest of the details mostly correct.

But back to the first painting.

Note: according to comments, records say that the veil(lyripipe) of Lady Margaret’s headdresss was supposed to reach the floor. In the painting, we can only see it go up to the waist only. Imo both could correct. She could have at one point wear it up to the floor, and at other to the waist, alternatively the veil must have had very weird shape-narrow at top, wide around waist and then getting narrow as it went down(if it was wide even under waist, we should see more of it in the painting).

What is extremely hard to spot is that frontlets and veil are one piece! It’s either sewn together or from single cloth. The frontlets are continuation of the veil, fabric just turned at front-you can see the bend of the fabric, where they turn. They are obviously pinned or sewn to the paste, which at least in this case, is merely forming understructure for the frontlets-and definitely is under whole of frontlets-we can see its edges.

You might think I am talking bull, clearly the frontlets and back part of veil look as if they are separate, But if you look at right, the fabric doesn’t fit the wimple.

It’s instead disappearing under frontlet, and just not pinned to frontlets edge on the right. You can even see where wimple ends beneat it, proving that the linnen was partly see-through, and reason why the frontlets are such strong white is because it is two layers, upon already white paste.

(And by the way on chin you can see that wimple also has at least 2 layers-it was colder back then).

Further more, it is clear there is no paste or bonnet, on back of the head:

Hence paste must end with the frontlets, and most likely what makes rounded shape on back of her head are her hair. She’d be really old when this was painted, and women at those days didn’t cut their hair. It’s possibel her hair would go to the ground, or even be longer than her entire height.

Aparently she wore it on back of her hair, probably in some hairstyle which was once worn under the short henin, or something similiar.

In the painting that part looks pretty voluminous. Probably on younger woman, it’d not stick out that much.

But hair is not only thing important on that section, it is how the veil is folded.

Because if you are interested in Tudor fashion, you can bet you’ve already seen it! On sketch by Holbein.

Only reason why you don’t see it immediately is due to frontlets and volume of hair beneat the fabric. But the veil in both cases is enwrapping entire head, and then it all goes up to top of head and then it is all let down. ¨

It might seem extremely strange to us today, but that is continuation upon medieval headwear:

And these hoods were also often wore with its edgeds by the face, turned backwards, just as lady Margaret’s frontlets are. By the way, women wore these too.

That ‘tail section is called lyripipe. In medieval times, these could be really narrow, on lady Margaret it seems to be considerably wide(maybe bit narrow at top, and getting wider at lower part), on lady of Thomas More’s family, there seems to be no narrowing whatsover. So the style was probably being abadoned.

So this lyripipe variant was remains of medieval fashion, and wimple with veil was also often worn in medieval times, and lady Margaret grew up in times when England was still medieval, even if we consider begining of renaissance in England to be 1485(some think it started only in 1509). So it makes sense that she was holding upon bits of older fashion, she was of old generation.

And perhaps if you’d wish to get inspired by lady Margaret’s outfit, and did not wish to go for old lady, you could go for a nun from tudor times, just leave out the paste, frontlets and frill. All the other elements can stay, as outfits of clergy were also not as quick to change, as normal people’s fashion.

Another thing worth mentioning is that you can see pin just by her frontlet, possibly pinning the fabric of veil(turning into frontlet) to the paste, while frontlet’s upper part is not pinned-at least not visibly(could be sewn together).

And also, with how the fabric turns beneat her hair, it is likely that the veil at back is pinned under the hair, or at back the air, at least slightly.

And this is important in context that we have no depiction of Elizabeth of York wearing the veil that way.

But that is how Catherine of Aragon wore veil of gable hood, early into her queenship. Of course her had no lyripipe, and she had a bonet, but she veil pinned underneath it, same as lady Margaret has the veil pinned under her hair. This tiny detail, suggests that lady Margaret influeced Catherine of Aragon. (and they had good relationship)

It made think, what is the actual difference between lady Margaret’s frontlets and veil and gable hoods we see in 1511:

We know the artist then, didn’t paint the paste, so why the red edges on inner side? Well if the fabric of frontlets was turned continuation of veil, it’d have thicker edge, and might be depicted in that way.

We know the frontlets and veil are shorter, obviously Catherine wore bonet, and on right the lady beside Catherine(probably princess Mary Rose) has big cut between her frontlet and her veil, just as Elizabeth of York did. It’s possible lady Margaret had it as well, the angle just prevents us from seeing that.

But overall the differences are not that big. Obviously lady Margarte’s is simple and plain, and white, while Catherine’s headwear is colourful and decorated, but the basic shape is very similiar.

And I hope, two things you will take from this:

1) you can have frontlets and veil as one piece-sewn together.

2) The bonnet would be done in way it could hold wast amount of hair. And perhaps that is in what our attempts at recreating gable hoods is lacking a bit, and why it often ends not holding that well, we don’t have that much to pin it to.We rarely have such long hair anymore, so if you have the hair tied in ribbon above forehead, it is unlikely you’ll have that much at the back. However, Tudor women, would have still plenty, because they had longer hair. Especially old ladies.

I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

#lady margaret beaufort #tudor fashion #tudor headwear #tudor gable hood #english gable hood #gable hood

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oopsimbug · 3 years ago

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in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

#by bug #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles fluff #hope you have a wonderful day my little pots of sweet tea!

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