#oc: daija hughes

[pricemarshfield]

a little evil

[Image ID: the shadow of a woman with devil horns against a wall, colorized red and with the text “a little evil” on it. End ID.] (Image Source: original source site no longer up (Potaca.com), found on Pinterest.)

Pairing: MC x Poppy

Rating: M for milder-than-canon-typical sexual content (minors still DNI).

Word Count: 4068.

Summary: A canon-ish imagining of right after the final scene of Queen B, or: resolved emotional tension for the Poppy route. Requested by anon.

Warnings: Second person POV, drinking (not to the point of getting drunk).

Created For: @anyfandomfluffbingo​, filling out the “I guess today’s my lucky day”, drinking buddies, and public sex squares.

Read on AO3 here or below the cut.

The day of graduation, you and Zoey move as fast as your six-inch heels will carry you on your way to the ceremony. "Would you slow down?" you say, eyes more on your own feet than on any of the big ceremony here for her (and the rest of the student body, of course). It doesn't help that her muscles still ache from a night spent with Poppy, and then from staying up just thinking about it.

Zoey looks back at you with a wide smile, somehow not missing a single step. "I can't, Mom's got me on a tight schedule. Graduate by noon, day drink at the afterparty until dusk, and then the tour bus leaves at midnight."

"Don't tell me she's coming on the road with you."

Zoey's eyes go wide in horror. "God, no. Bunk beds and crappy dive bar food with no one to talk to but each other sounds like the set up for an episode of Snapped. But now that she's taking me seriously, she's showing me the tricks of the trade. We're meeting up in LA to prep for some label meetings." She leads the way up the stands and makes a beeline for Felicity who has, surprise, surprise, managed to secure the entire front row for herself.

"You're late," Felicity says, not looking up from her pamphlet.

"That's on me, Momma Wade," you say with a charming smile, on the off-chance she does glance over. "After everything we've been through, I'm having a little trouble saying goodbye to this place."

"You get used to it," says a familiar voice from behind you, and you turn to see Luis and Hayley climbing the bleacher steps. "Plus you get one hell of a reunion when you come back. I've only been gone a year, and my Alpha bros went nuts!"

With the same ditzy smile as her sister, Hayley adds, "OMG, I can't wait! Ohio still has no idea I'm here."

Zoey blinks rapidly a couple times, looking puzzled. "Wait...Hayley, if you graduated last year, shouldn't Ohio have graduated too?"

"People think that all the time, but I'm actually one minute older, so I get to do things one whole year before her."

That gets Felicity to look up at them at last. "Oh, honey. That is not how that works..."

"Maybe I could be of some assistance. After all, in another life, I was a professor."

"Ina!" Looking over your shoulder at the familiar voice, you see Ina following Luis and Hayley up the steps. "What're you doing here?"

Your old professor smiles, looking more relaxed than she has in months. "Celebrating the end of an era. The day that my students embark upon the world was always one of my favorites. Congratulations to you both."

"We won't be embarking on anything if they start without us. C'mon!"

Zoey hurries you down to the field, and before you split up to go to your seats, you give her a hug on the sidelines. "The next time I see you, we'll officially be one degree hotter."

"Like we need it," she says, beaming.

As you settle into your seat near the rest of the H's, Steinhelm takes the podium, looking every bit of 'let's get this over with'. With all the razzle dazzle of a kid's birthday party magician, she whips out her cue cards and starts to read verbatim. "'Graduates and honored guests, we've gathered here to celebrate the outgoing class of 2021--'"

Ford starts off the chaos, screaming, "Momma, we made it!"

All around you, the graduates start to cheer, and from the stands, you see Luis and some of the other returning Alphas raise their shirts to show 'GRADATES' spelled across their chests.

"That's not even spelled right!" Steinhelm says, mouth falling open in shock, somehow? This isn't even gonna be the worst thing to happen today, guaranteed.

Luis yells to the stage over the noise of the crowd. "Tripp's flight got cancelled. He was the 'U'."

Steinhelm's fingers blanch as they grip the sides of the podium, and you hear her heave a heavy sigh. In a quiet voice that still gets picked up by the mic, she says, "Stick to the script, Marguerite. It's almost over. Ahem. 'This year's crop of graduates are some of the brightest, most amazing trailblazers--'"

"Byew byew byew!" Carter yells, clearly having the time of his life.

You're hardly going to pass up an opportunity to let loose before college ends, so you join in with a loud whoop.

"That's it!" Steinhelm balls up her cue cards and throws them in the crowd, hitting Clint Burton in the face, full-force.

"Ow, my eye!"

"You wanna know the truth? I hated every second of this year! Namely because I was undermined at every turn! I cancelled the Person to Watch Award and shut down that awful blog...seconds later, it was back and worse than ever!"

Chloe raises her hand, as though there's the slightest chance of her being called on, and then starts talking anyway. "Okay, but, like, without The T, how else were we supposed to know who we're better than?"

Ignoring her, Steinhelm continues, "I banned parties, and the Alphas threw the biggest rager Belvoire's ever seen--"

"Oh, BTDubs, I talked to the national chapter, greased a few palms, and they told me to tell you...'suck it'," Liam says, trademark smarmy grin on his face.

The brothers whoop and cheer, and you watch as Steinhelm's existential crisis sets in. "I give up. You're all just a bunch of spoiled brats that are going to make the world a worse place...and the only saving grace is that I'll be dead long before any of you affect the world in any meaningful way. Now, in an effort to get you off of my campus as quickly as possible, allow me to introduce the student you voted as class speaker..." She rips open an envelope perched on the podium with the soulless, glazed-over gaze of a woman who got into education to make a difference. "And...of course, it's Bea Hughes."

Sweet.

The crowd erupts in cheers and applause as she sulks over to the chair waiting for her on the stage, and you make your way to the podium. "You all voted for little ol' me? Oh, you shouldn't have!"

Poppy jumps up from her seat and storms the stage, ripping the mic away from you. "We didn't. This 'vote' was faker than Ohio's bottom lip!"

"Well, I did," Carter says with a smile. "Bea killed it this year!"

Emi sits up to her full height to be seen over the rest of the crowd. "I voted for Bea too! She always knows what to say to soothe the savage beast within!"

"And who the eff are you?" Poppy hisses, nostrils flaring.

"...Emi Less? We had Stats together, and you told me to calculate the odds of you remembering my name?" She frowns. "...they weren't very high."

Erik interrupts her. "Bea! Bea! Bea!"

The chant slowly picks up speed until the entire crowd is cheering for you to take the stage. And you can't let your adoring audience down, now can you? "Sorry, Pop. The people have spoken." You grab hold of the mic and then give Poppy a shove before you can think too much about it, sending her over the stage's edge and right into Clint Burton's lap.

"Ah, my nuts!"

Jeez, overshare, much? You wait for the crowd to settle before looking out at the sea of your peers. "I've spent most of this year hunting down haters and making them own up to why they didn't like me. Most of them were full of it...but after hearing their stories, I can't think of a better way to end my time here than by telling my side of things. Without a doubt, Belvoire introduced me to some of the worst people I've ever met."

Your eyes flick to Poppy, almost involuntarily, thinking back to your first meeting. First and last memory of Belvoire, indeed.

"But it also introduced me to some of the best." You smile at Zoey, who waves a hand like you're in The Princess Diaries at the crowd who turn to stare at her and get a picture for their Picta. "My first days on campus were practically perfect. I mean...who else can say they've danced with Jaylen Riaz and watched Poppy throw a hate-fueled tantrum?"

"I forgot about that! She was all--" Liam rushes into the aisle so everyone can see before throwing on his best scrunched-up Poppy face, taking his voice up an octave, and stomping his foot. "'No. No! Everyone, shut up! This is all some sick joke!'"

Carter's laughing a little too much to make his impression of himself convincing, but it's so charming, you're sure no one cares. "Hey, 'babe'! Did you like the performance? I really worked on my dancing--"

"'How dare you help her, you stupid, ugly, pathetic idiot! We're officially over!'"

Poppy's pushed herself off of Clint by now, and her face is flushed red with rage. "One more word, and you'll sound like that permanently, Gill."

"I even bonded with woman's best friend..." You open your purse, and Cutiepie pops his head out, eyes wide at the attention. He barks once, and the crowd melts.

"He's so cute!" Abigail coos, finally showing something other than love of all things gothic.

"But the longer I spent on campus, the more immersed I got in the inner workings of Belvoire. The takedowns and overzealous fans...no matter what came my way, I rose to every challenge." You pause, wondering whether you should mention the gala...but nothing that happened there was fun, not really, so you skip to the good part. "Not to mention when I kicked Poppy's ass and introduced her to the family of algae growing at the bottom of the fountain.

Trixie's mouth drops open. "Damn...I always knew Helena was a savage."

"Now that I think about it, this is the first year where there hasn't been a Person to Watch Award in the school's history..."

Steinhelm brightens at that. "That's right! Maybe I did manage to do some good this year--"

"Soooo I'll take it upon myself to crown one and continue this great tradition!"

"Never mind."

While Steinhelm silently has an aneurysm, you detach the mic from the podium and observe the crowd. Not like you need to; there's only one person here you'd even consider giving this to. "I personally award the Person to Watch Award to Zoey Wade! She's about to take the world by storm, and in ten years, you're all gonna be telling people how you went to school with the Zoey Wade!"

The crowd cheers again as Zoey beams and basks in the well-deserved attention. "Oh, stahp."

"This year has been one for the books. I ruled over you as your first new queen since the beginning of Poppy's reign...which Poppy responded to by going into literal mourning."

"I had that dress burned the second she took it off," Veronica says, mostly directed at her livestream but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're all welcome."

"And I've done everything I could've hoped to secure my throne, including banishing a less-than-loyal subject..." Your eyes flash over to Michael's empty chair. Rest in pieces, creep. "Making famous allies and putting fake allies in their place." For just a moment, you get stuck on thinking about cherry-bloody Poppy, but you brush past it. "I got in touch with my roots, unveiled the coward cosplaying as the fox in my henhouse, and showed everyone that if you're coming for the queen, you'd better not miss."

"Bro..." Ford says, looking up at you adoringly, which is only like...60% weird. "Bea saved me from the ultimate embarrassment. For real, we all need to bow down."

"Not to mention that hog wrestling thing was kinda hot."

Uh, good to know Carter's into country girls. You'll have to introduce him to some of your cousins who aren't gay. Anyway, back to the speech; it's your moment, hello? "Every incredible moment was all thanks to the fans that believed in me, voted for me, and semi-stalked my every move. But now it's time to move on to my next epic adventure, starting with launching my own company! It's time to take the skills I've learned in managing my own image and expand on a global scale."

"Would you wrap it up, Farmsville?" Poppy says, studying her nails with a poorly-feigned nonchalance. "I'd like to graduate before the school year starts again."

You roll your eyes and head to the edge of the stage to look at your adoring public one last time. "It was a wild ride going from the rolling plains of Farmsville to here, and I'm going to miss each and every one of you--"

"Me too?" Crispin asks.

Barf. "Like I said, I'm going to miss almost each and every one of you...but the person I'm going to miss the most is Poppy Min-Sinclair." Here goes nothing. Or everything. Your heart's in your throat but you've come this far, gotta see it through. "And I know she'll miss me too."

A gasp goes up from the crowd, and as you leave the stage to make your way to where Poppy stands fuming, every eye on the field lands on you two. Her teeth clench as she growls out, "Take it back, right now, Farmsville."

Oof, that's gonna hurt when the adrenaline stops pumping long enough for you to process it. In a low voice, just for her, you say, "No." Her eyes don't suddenly soften, her scowl doesn't slip into a smile, but her expression shifts, still furious but--calculating, enough that you find the courage to continue. "After two years at each other's throats, there's just one thing I need to say, here and in front of everyone..." Deep breath. You've got this. "Poppy, it's always been you. From the moment you first insulted me on the quad, there's just been this spark between us."

"It's called loathing. If you bothered to visit a single English class this year, you'd know that."

Poppy doesn't break your gaze as she says it, though, and you're stupid enough to hope that means something.

"I loathe you too, Pop."

Before she can get another word in edgewise, you grip the back of her neck and pull her in, crushing your lips to hers and tangling your fingers in her hair with a passionate kiss. She bites your lip again, the same spot as last night. You're reluctant to pull away, but you do have to graduate, probably, so you do, hurrying back onstage before handing the mic back to Steinhelm with a smile.

"Alright, Dean Steinhelm, go ahead and take us out."

"If only..." She steps up to the podium and waves her hands over the crowd with all the energy of just a shell of a woman. "With the power vested in me by your tuition payments, I now pronounce you Belvoire's graduating class of 2021. Now get the hell off my campus before I call the cops."

Ford rips his shirt off. Chloe jumps up, locking her legs around Carter's waist, and maybe you'll have to rethink introducing him to your cousin. You bound down the stairs of the stage, leading the way to the afterparty to celebrate saying goodbye to Belvoire University one last time. That's the plan, anyway, until you feel a grip on your arm, tight enough to bruise, yanking you out of the party procession.

"Ow! Who the hell do you--"

"What the fuck was that about?"

Poppy's not madder than you've ever seen her; that still goes to confronting her about Art Nakamura in the fountain, with losing Apodeia at a not-so-close second. But she's pissed, eyes boring into you with such malice that a lesser woman would've shrunk back. You're kind of tempted yourself.

"Well? Your own self-importance got your tongue?"

"No," you snap. "Guys, go on ahead, we'll join you."

Zoey looks at you with such pity in her eyes, and you kind of want to flip her off, but you know it wouldn't be that satisfying, since she's definitely right to pity you. Also, Felicity might kill you, and you'd rather not take that chance. Carter looks like he wants to stay and see how the chaos plays out, Veronica's got her phone out and is not-so-subtly taking pictures, and even Ina's half-smiling.

But they leave eventually, leaving you and Poppy alone on the edge of the field, Steinhelm walking past you and refusing to look at either of you.

"I--"

The thing is, you have no idea what to say. That you didn't mean it? Too cowardly, not after you've gotten this far. That you said it to fuck with her? A lie, and one no one would believe. That you meant every word?

Terrifying. But you're not backing out in the final quarter, so you take a deep breath and say, "I said what I've wanted to for ages, Poppy."

Poppy hasn't let go of your arm this entire time, and a thrill runs through you when she only tightens her grip, shifting closer to you. "Why?"

"Huh? What do you mean, why?"

"Why did you want to say it?"

You roll your eyes and pull away. "Whatever. I'm not feeding your massive ego more than I already have. You have my number if you want to reach me and actually talk about us."

"There isn't an us!" Poppy calls after you, and you let it roll off your back with only a little misery.

The sound of heels on Belvoire's cobblestone pathways follows you. You refuse to look back, give her the satisfaction of knowing she gets to you (more than she already knows, anyway). She follows you all the way back to the party house, a place you're pretty sure Liam's renting as a way to apologize/grovel for forgiveness. Or bought, actually, knowing this crowd.

To his credit, the bouncer doesn't ask any questions, just steps aside and lets you both walk in. You make a beeline for the bar, feeling in your bones that you need a drink before you can even start to have this conversation. Poppy slips onto the stool next to you, staring at your face with an intensity that's unsettling, and a little exciting.

"Can I just get a beer?"

Poppy rolls her eyes. "Seriously? Has your taste not evolved at all?"

You turn to look at her fully for the first time since ignoring her. "What do you want?"

"For you to answer my question! And a pomegranate martini."

That does actually sound kind of good, but you keep your expression annoyed anyway. "Oh, goody, I guess today's my lucky day since you won't fuck off. Do you need me to pay? I know money's tight, and I'm nothing if not a good date."

"This isn't--" Poppy glowers at you, cutting herself off. "My question?" You blink at her, confused, and she makes a quiet, frustrated noise, grabs both your drinks, and drags you into another room under the eyes of literally everyone. Well, more like a closet, but it's big enough that you're not touching, though you're close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of her. "Why did you say it?"

"I already told you, Poppy," you say, opening your beer and wishing you'd ordered something stronger. "I said what I've wanted to for awhile."

"So after you already beat me, you just--what, decided to confess you have feelings for me in front of the entire school?"

"What do you care?" you hiss. "We graduated. You don't have to see any of them ever again if you don't want to, so sorry if you're embarrassed, but--"

"I'm not embarrassed," Poppy says, getting further into your space, enough that your noses brush. "I'm mad. I don't need you trying to manipulate me for--what, every last bit of clout you'll get as the benevolent former Queen? Forgiving anyone, I see that you're playing right into your brand. Well, fuck you. I'm not going to be your pet project--"

"What the fuck? No, that's not--you think I'm trying to use you for my image?" 

It's not the dumbest thing you've ever heard Poppy say, but it's coming pretty goddamn close. You're not appearing like some angelic saint here; you're being honest with a group of people in a way that makes your heart race, makes you terrified, makes you want more than anything to have done this over a quiet night in. Except you were never going to, not with her. She wouldn't have listened to you.

Except that she's listening now.

"You're...not? No, that's bullshit. I know what I am, there's no way."

"It's not bullshit. Yeah, I know you're kind of a monster, but--"

"Rich and bitchy is your type?"

"But I care about you, asshole. Maybe I shouldn't! Hell, I know I shouldn't. But I do. And I'm not taking it back."

"You don't mean that. Really?"

Poppy seems genuinely confused, and the stupid, sentimental part of your heart (which is, to be honest, most of it) breaks at it. "Poppy, I like you, okay? Nothing more than that, no plots or schemes or anything. It's not--I'm sorry I did it like that, since you clearly--hated it, and me, but I just...it was stupid. I'm getting out of--"

"You mean that." She says it like she's just realizing it herself.

You sigh. "Yeah. Of course I do."

Before you can open the door, Poppy puts her hands on yours over the handle, shocking you into stillness. "Don't--give me a second to think."

"Don't give you a second to think?"

"You know what I meant, bitch." You do, and the insult's not said with her usual venom, so you wait for her, trying not to be obvious about the way you can't look away from her face, the little furrow between her eyebrows that means she's concentrating, the way her drink has oh-so-slightly stained her bottom lip, her fingers lacing through yours. "I'm not--used to that."

"To...?"

"To--people meaning what they say," Poppy says, and then rolls her eyes at nothing, glaring at you like you've done literally anything to piss her off. "When they say things like that. I don't..." She pauses, and you let her, much as you want to interrupt her and tell her you do mean it, you do, beg her to listen to you, to see you-- "I don't know what to do with that."

"What, and you think I do?" You laugh. "Poppy, my first and only other relationship ended because she moved out of town and just didn't tell me. And I was 14, so it barely counts. This is--terrifying. Not that you're--actually, no, you are terrifying. But you're good terrifying. This is...I feel like I'm going to fuck up and ruin things. I feel like I have." 

"You haven't," Poppy interrupts. "I'm not promising anything, but you haven't ruined it. Yet. I'm sure you can find a way."

"Oh, fuck you," you say, a little confused and a lot happy, and you pull her in. Poppy melts into it, softer than she has in any of your other trysts, arms winding around your neck. With her heels on to your sneakers, you're of a height to each other. It makes it easier to pull her in, hands on her hips. Poppy pulls back, though she doesn't stay gone for long, pressing quick, sweet kisses to the column of your throat, taking your breath away. "You do--ah--realize this door doesn't lock, right? Anyone could walk in?"

"Let them," Poppy says, voice low, sending a shiver up your spine. "You already told everyone something's happening. Show them how much you need me."

And she sounds, just a little, like she wants you to show her, too, so you grab her hand, press a quick kiss to her palm to watch her shiver, and bring it up your skirt. "I need you. Only you. Always been you, Poppy."

She kisses you again; you can feel her smiling into it. You can't help but smile back.

[pricemarshfield]

teeth

[Image ID: an image of a woman with an open mouth and her hand on her face, reflected in a mirror, colorized purple and with the text “teeth” edited over it. End ID.]

Pairing: MC x Poppy

Rating: E (minors DNI)

Summary: An MC/Poppy smut-with-feelings fic, or: the MC/Poppy-only remix of cooler than me. Chapter 5 of 8. Requested by @ohmycheesencrackers​.

Word Count: 5390 for this chapter, 25241 for the full fic so far.

Warnings: Dom/sub, possessiveness (they are both into it and communicating that they are into it).

Created For: @anyfandomfluffbingo​ (aftercare), @anyfandomkinkbingo​ (fingering), and @badbitchesbingo​ (free space).

The chapter’s a little too long to host on Tumblr, so read chapter 5 on AO3 here, or the full fic from the beginning here.

[pricemarshfield]

teeth

[Image ID: an image of a woman with an open mouth and her hand on her face reflected in a mirror, colorized purple and with the text “teeth” edited over it. End ID.]

Pairing: MC x Poppy

Rating: E (minors DNI)

Summary: An MC/Poppy smut-with-feelings fic, or: the MC/Poppy only remix of cooler than me. Chapter 4 of 8. Requested by @ohmycheesencrackers.

Word Count: 5224 for this chapter, 19813 for the full fic so far.

Warnings: Dom/sub, mild painplay (negotiated ahead of time), MC having feelings for Poppy that she thinks are unrequited. (They are not.)

Created For: @anyfandomfluffbingo​ (spanking), @anyfandomangstbingo (rivals), @anyfandomgoesbingo​ (aftercare), @anyfandomkinkbingo​ (free space), and @badbitchesbingo​ (hair pulling.)

The chapter’s a little too long to host on Tumblr, so read chapter 4 on AO3 here, or the full fic from the beginning here.

[pricemarshfield]

teeth

[Image ID: an image of a woman with an open mouth and her hand on her face reflected in a mirror, colorized purple and with the text teeth | mc x poppy / ch. 1/8 over it.]

An MC/Poppy smut-with-feelings fic, requested by @ohmycheesencrackers​, or: the MC/Poppy only remix of cooler than me. Rated E, minors DNI. Read chapter one on AO3 here.

Zeta parties are, all things considered, pretty easy to crash.

Even if Bea wasn't who she is--contender for the top spot, hero of most of the students here, Poppy's rival--the "bouncers" are just frat guys who're pretty uninterested in popularity politics. They'll let you in if you ask nice, they won't stop you if you sneak past even if you trip on your ass, and if you're hot, they'll only stop you long enough to ask for your number.

For Bea and Zoey, they lift up the velvet rope--a new, pretentious addition--and wave them past. Zoey winks at someone Bea doesn't know.

"You just browsing or is there someone you aren't telling me about?" Bea asks just for the way Zoey rolls her eyes and shoves her.

"My standards are higher than the frats on campus, which you know ," Zoey says, and Bea laughs. "Also, I'm pretty busy with your meteoric rise to fame?"

"I know, I know," Bea says. "And you're the best for that, by the way."

"I know," Zoey says smugly, but it's not like she doesn't deserve to be smug, so Bea doesn't call her on it. "Anyway. Much as the Zetas are all awful to talk to, they do have fantastic caterers. I'll be by the buffet or with the hottest person here, don't call me unless you need me."

"Aw," Bea says. She'd sort of been looking forward to hanging out with Zoey--actual classwork's taken up a fair amount of her time these days, and they haven't had a good hang out that wasn't focused on the List in ages. "If you're sure. Also, hottest person here? Not that I'm not flattered, but--"

"Oh, shut up," Zoey says. "If I was hitting on you, you'd know."

"Ooh," Bea says. She may not be interested in Zoey that way, but that's a decent line. "Love you, see you later."

"Love you too," Zoey says, eyes already fixed on something Bea can't see on the other side of the room. When Zoey walks away, Bea twirls around a little. The outfit she's wearing is a little daring for this sort of party, but she wanted the chain to show. One, she looks great in it. Two, it'll definitely get a rise out of Poppy. What rise she's not exactly sure, but that's fine. A fight or...something else are both perfectly fun ways to spend the night (and get a bit more attention, as long as she holds her own).

She always holds her own.

Bea can't see Poppy anywhere, but she knows that doesn't mean much; Poppy's good at commanding a room and equally as good at hiding in a crowd if she wants to. If she thinks about it, she can practically feel Poppy's gaze on her from somewhere in the room. She knows that's bullshit--she does pay at least a little attention in her classes--but it's a nice thing to linger in. She stretches, knows she isn't imagining the way one of the newer Zeta girls snaps her gaze away like she doesn't want to be caught looking.

She heads over to the bar, already regretting the heels a bit. There's a ton of people clustered around, and she figures she'll wait, but one of the bartenders is ready for her order right away.

"Oh," Bea says, still unused to popularity. "Uh, sweet and highly alcoholic. Purple, if you can." The bartender looks at her with a look that clearly says ugh, rich people orders. Bea winces. "No rush, though, I see you're busy."

That helps a bit, but Bea's used-to-be-working-class guilt lingers until her drink is in her hand and she can tip the $100 she can so easily give away now. He doesn't seem to notice it, but at least she doesn't feel so guilty anymore.

There's a bunch of people dancing in the middle of the floor, but Bea wants to get good and tipsy before waltzing onto a dance floor of Zetas. Strategically, it might lead to a Carrie incident, because Poppy is definitely not above pouring a bunch of blood on her, but it'll be so much more fun.

Probably not pig blood, Bea thinks, sipping the drink. Despite how poetic it'd be, Poppy does care about animals; that wasn't faked. Bea trusts at least that much. The alcohol burns a bit in her throat, but she can't actually taste it as she's drinking, so she's having a great time with it. With alcohol, she's pretty simple. If she's drinking to get drunk, she's content with moonshine, probably-illegal, strong, and disgusting as hell. But if she gets plastered in public, she'll definitely embarrass herself with a gleeful Poppy's help, so.

Pretty, tasty drinks it is.

She catches a glimpse of Poppy on the dance floor and perks up a bit. It's dumb to pick a fight on her home turf, but well, Bea didn't get into this contest because of her patience. She's not sure where to put the empty glasses, so she puts it on one of the tiny tables near her and hopes she hasn't committed some faux-pas that only the ultra-wealthy know. It wouldn't be the first time, but it's a pain every time it happens.

The dance floor doesn't part for her like it does in movies, and she gets a little lost in the push and pull of people around her. She doesn't even see Poppy anymore. Ugh.

Someone grabs her arm, and she turns with a tight smile until she sees Zoey and relaxes. "You scared me! What?"

"Just making sure you know Poppy's here," Zoey warns.

"This is literally her house," Bea says, repressing the urge to roll her eyes.

"I mean, on the dance floor, you ungrateful hag," Zoey says. Bea would squawk in protest if there weren't so many people around.

"Oh no," Bea says sarcastically. "Poppy. How terrifying."

Zoey shakes her head. "Look, I'm not saying you should be scared of her, but she is still higher on the list than you."

"I don't care," Bea says, leaning in so the music will hopefully cover up the sound of them talking. "Taking her down is more important to me than the list."

"I know," Zoey says. "You're really obsessed."

"No," Bea says, but she sounds unconvincing even to herself. "I'm just not scared of her. I've never been scared of her."

It's true, too. Even Bea's first day on campus, in a sweater and jeans, no idea about what the hell her life at this school would turn into, she looked at Poppy Min-Sinclair and thought, who the hell does this bitch think she is?

Might've thought some other, less-aggressive things, too, her gaze meeting Bea's, ice-cold and fiery all at once.

Zoey shrugs, says, "Alright, then. Do what--or who--you're gonna do."

Bea wants to push back against the judgment she can hear there, but Zoey's her best friend, and this is in public, and, well. It's not like she's wrong. Still, Poppy's not here right now, so she just dances. A few Zetas dance closer to her in a way she knows would piss Poppy off, so she pulls them closer,  hands on the hips of the person in front of her, murmuring something flirtatious in their ear.

Sure enough, it's not even a minute when later when she feels a hand with long nails grab her shoulder and yank her away. She lets go of her dance partner quickly so they won't get knocked down with her, but stumbles a bit, unable to keep her own balance on these heels, God. Bea only has a second to school her face into a look she wants--an innocent smile, a proud smirk?--but is pretty sure she just ends up looking frazzled based on the look on Poppy's face.

"Poppy!" Bea says. "Good to see you."

"You're dancing with my Zetas," Poppy says, expression cool and calm. It would've fooled Bea months and months ago, but now she knows how to read the tightness around her eyes, the whiteness around her knuckles, the smile not showing any teeth at all.

"Yeah," Bea says. "I'm happy to dance with any beautiful woman."

Poppy's eyes flash. "They should know better than to dance with you. Or let you in, for that matter."

"Haven't you heard?" Bea says, hand to her chest in the most insincere gesture she can muster. "I'm one of the top people in Belvoire. Who's going to keep me out from a party? Even here?"

Poppy doesn't scream or anything, but the flush on her cheeks feels like just as much of a victory. Bea isn't expecting Poppy to turn around, put a hand around her neck, and start pushing her...somewhere.

"Uh--"

"Quiet, Farmsville," Poppy hisses, and Bea isn't sure if she wants to push back or shut up and listen, see where this is going. Her rival's aggression ends up making the decision for her, propelling Bea forward so that she needs to walk or fall over. "I swear, you'd be tolerable if you learned your place here."

"Oh?" Bea says, and now it's easier because now the anger isn't entirely for her, it's a righteous indignation for everyone else who's suffered because of this dumb hierarchy. "And what is my place here, Pop?"

Poppy shoots her a glare that Bea would shrink back from if she were anyone else. "Underneath me."

Bea would love to tell Zoey later that she got pissed, but instead she feels a twist of arousal in her gut. "Uh--"

Poppy smirks at her, and Bea is a bit taller than her but it certainly doesn't feel like it. "On the list, of course. You'd be a fine right hand. That's what you're thinking about, right?"

Bea's pretty sure lying would just result in embarrassing herself more, so she just says, "You know it's not."

Poppy looks annoyed that she doesn't get an opportunity to push Bea more, and Bea gets annoyed that Poppy won't just take her to some back corner somewhere now, already.  Come to think of it, Bea has no idea where they're going, where Poppy's leading her.

"Hey, where--"

"Don't ask questions," Poppy says firmly, looking at Bea's face with an expression she can't quite make out. It's angry, a little, but it's searching, too, calculating in the way she usually is around Bea, but--

Her eyes are warmer, maybe?

Bea's having trouble thinking; she didn't think commands were something she was into, especially from Poppy, but. Damn.

"Okay," she says instead, because while Poppy might fuck her over in everything, she can at least enjoy it in this.

"Good girl," Poppy purrs, and Bea would like to be on a bed or in a closet right the fuck now. "You do enjoy that. You sure you don't want to stop fighting? I could treat you to anything you want, and the only person you'd have to listen to would be me. Clearly that's not an issue for you." She sounds like she might laugh. Bitch.

There's not any people around (where are they), but Bea feels a rush of embarrassment anyway, which is--also something she didn't realize she was into. Lot of discovery tonight. "Not on your life."

Poppy pushes her against the wall, and Bea can't help staring at her lips. God. Poppy leans in. Bea closes her eyes, but Poppy doesn't kiss her. Instead, she says, "Well, why don't I try to convince you?"

Then Bea falls flat on her ass, because Poppy's the worst and Bea was standing against her bedroom door. Bea's definitely still gonna sleep with her, but come on. Poppy does laugh then, and Bea's glare does not deter her in the slightest.

"Definitely my favorite look of yours," Poppy says. "At my feet."

"Fuck you," Bea says, kicking off her heels just to see Poppy's lip curl. It means that when she stands up, Poppy's got the slightest height advantage on her, but. Well, actually it's kind of working for her.

Poppy doesn't say what Bea would in this situation, which is "that's the plan". Instead, Poppy grabs her chin, tilts her head up like she's studying her. Bea can feel her face is as warm as it's ever been, but she doesn't pull away. Poppy takes a step forward, into Bea's space, and Bea takes a step back. Poppy makes a quiet, approving sound and keeps walking. Bea expects her to push her into the wall and have her wicked way with her, but she stops before Bea's back hits anything. She opens her mouth to ask, and Poppy shoves a finger in there like she was waiting for it, pushes down against her tongue.

Bea whines.

"You do want to do this?" Poppy asks. "I'm pretty sure I'm reading this right, but."

Bea nods as best she can with someone pushing her head down.

"Good," Poppy says. "Do you know the stoplight system?"

Bea shakes her head.

Poppy sighs. "Should've expected that from you, Farmsville." Bea thinks idly about biting down. "Green for you're good, yellow if you want to slow down or talk about it, red if you want everything to stop. Understand?" Bea nods, and Poppy pulls her hand out of Bea's mouth. "Color?"

"Green," Bea says quickly.

Poppy smiles, wide and genuine and mean in a way that is going to haunt Bea's dreams. "Good to know."

With that, she pulls Bea around in a quick gesture that she had to have practiced, holding Bea's arms behind her back, her front pressed all against Bea's back. Bea stares at herself in the mirror they're apparently standing in front of. She looks like a mess already, lipstick ruined, mouth slightly open, shoeless. In comparison, Poppy's back to looking like polished perfection.

Poppy leans in and rests her chin on Bea's shoulder. "Look at yourself. You're not half-bad, but you've no class at all. If you'd only let me...hm. Right hand doesn't seem like exactly the right word. You would be that, of course, but in here..."

Poppy's gaze in the mirror leaves their reflection, looks around the room as much as she can without turning her head. "In here, you'd be my what? My bitch? My pet?" Bea shivers at that, and Poppy looks back with a smug look. "My pet, then. Would you wear a collar?"

"For you? No," Bea says, though her voice shakes a little too much to be convincing.

"Hm," Poppy says. "Color?"

"Green," Bea says. It should feel like ceding ground, like losing, but Poppy looks even more pleased. It pisses Bea off. It gets her even wetter.

"Pet," Poppy says, making it sound like a title, like a term of endearment, and Bea is so fucked. "What do you want?"

"Thought the whole point of this was doing what you want," Bea says breathlessly.

"Not quite," Poppy says. "The point is that if you listen to me, we both get what we want. You should learn something."

"Whatever we do in here doesn't have shit to do with outside this room, Min-Sinclair," Bea hisses.

Poppy frowns, taps her hand against Bea's arm. "I'm calling yellow. I understand that, Farmsville. Do you get that we're playing right now?"

"Oh," Bea says, because she--had sort of forgotten again. "Uh. Yes. Green, now."

"Good," Poppy says. "What about after this?" Poppy grips Bea's hair and yanks back. Bea yelps, in pain but also feeling fantastic. "That was rude, pet. Are you sorry?"

Bea wants to hiss and claw at her, just a bit, but she can't deny that she's absolutely soaking her underwear right now. "No. Green."

Poppy tuts. "So disobedient. I was going to treat you, you know. Get you on my bed and make you cum a dozen times. Dress you up in finer clothes than this." Her fingers catch at the chain and snap them against Bea's skin, just like last time, and Bea lets out a little embarrassing noise.

"You asked what I want," Bea says. "Gotta say, that sounds good."

"You're aggravating," Poppy growls right against Bea's neck. Bea wishes she would bite down, leave a bruise. "I only treat those who listen to me that way. You don't."

"Yeah, but that's why you like me," Bea says.

"You're being very generous in your assumptions," Poppy says, annoyed, which Bea notes isn't a no . Abruptly, her hands slide to the bottom of Bea's dress and tug up. Startled, Bea lifts her arms to make removing it easier. She's just in her underwear and the chain now, Poppy fully clothed behind her. She can feel the brush of whatever fabric it is against her back. It feels divine, and she closes her eyes to focus on the sensation.

Poppy grabs her chin, and Bea's eyes snap open. "Keep watching. I don't have you in front of this mirror for no reason."

"Okay," Bea says, which doesn't seem like the right response, but she's sure as hell not calling her ma'am.

Poppy's fingers brush lightly up and down Bea's ribcage, and she shifts a bit, trying not to react too much. It's almost ticklish. Poppy moves her head back to Bea's neck, kissing there. Bea can see the mark of her pastel pink lipstick, barely visible against her skin, and shivers. The bruise will be much more obvious, if she'd just--

"You sure about that collar?" Poppy says smugly.

"Shut up," Bea says, if only so Poppy will pull her hair again. She seems happy to oblige, and Bea gasps as Poppy finally starts pressing bruising kisses against the arch of her neck. Poppy drags her teeth along Bea's neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Bea can't even see the mirror with her head back like this but she still doesn't close her eyes, focusing on the room as best she can with Poppy's free hand on her hip, one finger lightly brushing against the wet spot on her panties, her teeth against Bea's pulse point.

Poppy moves her hand from Bea's underwear, and Bea makes a noise of protest that she bites back when Poppy cups her breast through her bra.

"Look at this," Poppy says, pushing Bea's head back so she's staring at the mirror again. "It looks good even if the color doesn't quite suit you, I'll give your sidekick that--"

"--Zoey's not my sidekick--"

"I saw you with her," Poppy hisses, suddenly angry, and Bea has no idea what she's talking about. "When you walked in, on the dance floor. It's like you're trying to make me jealous."

"Please," Bea says with a little gasp when the hand in her hair tightens. "It's not like you have Bradley because you care . Be careful, a girl might start thinking you want my--"

Poppy pulls her from the mirror, twists her again and shoves her against the wall next to them, her face right in Bea's, one hand on her shoulder, one hand pulling aside her underwear to shove two fingers in all at once. It hurts a little, but she's wet enough that it feels incredible. "What I want from you is for you to shut up and listen. You still don't get how things are here, do you? That isn't about affection, it's not even about sex, it's about power."

"There's a Janelle Monae quote I could use here," Bea says, trying to ride Poppy's hand as best she can. Poppy moves her other hand from Bea's shoulder to her hip, pushing against her so she can't get any leverage.

"I think you would get it if you weren't so desperate," Poppy says, and Bea wants to growl at her but she can only manage a little hiss. "Or are you going to tell me you kissed Carter because you cared about him?"

"I--"

"Be honest with me now," Poppy says, and it's the undercurrent of raw want in her voice that makes Bea inclined to listen.

"No," Bea admits. "Wanted to piss you off. Wanted--"

"You wanted this," Poppy says. "Shh, it's alright. You're not the first, though you are the most persistent in trying to hold my attention."

Bea hates her, just a bit, for taking everything Bea's done and making it about the hand between her legs and not the way the system genuinely hurts the people in it, the way it needs to change. But she also can't say she's misinterpreting things. She wants things to change. She wants the look on Poppy's face when Bea gets one over on her. She wants justice. She wants--

Well. This.

Poppy takes her hand out of Bea, puts her fingers against Bea's lips with a casual, lazy gesture. Face flushed, Bea takes them into her mouth, tastes herself. She doesn't even try and make it appealing, just tries to clean them as best as possible. Poppy looks down at her with a smirk, and as she pulls her hand away, Bea bites down on just the tips. It's gentle, not enough to break the skin, just enough to make Poppy's face flush pinker, piss her off that much more.

"Pet," she says, and this time it sounds like a slap to the face. Bea loves it. "Is the chain attached to your underwear?"

Bea blinks. "What?"

"Is the chain attached to your underwear? Either the bra or the panties."

"Uh, no--"

Poppy moves in then, finally kisses her, and Bea moans into her mouth. Poppy's hand scratches along Bea's back, raising marks that'll sting in the morning, pulling at the back of Bea's bra so aggressively that Bea pulls back.

"Careful, you'll rip it--"

"Then take it off," Poppy snarls, and Bea moves her hands to her back, unclasps her bra in a quick, efficient, probably-unsexy motion. Once it's off, Poppy pulls the thing off her and tosses it aside, shoving Bea back against the wall with a leg between hers and her hands on Bea's chest.

"'You'll rip it,'" she mocks. "Garbage like that, you should be grateful. If you'd let me keep you--" Bea's hips jerk at that, and Poppy laughs. "You'd have much finer things."

"Shut up," Bea says, taking a hand and tangling it into Poppy's hair to yank her back in for a kiss. Poppy bites her lip hard enough to bruise, and Bea leans back against the wall, riding Poppy's thigh. She doesn't push up hard enough to get any real friction, but it's something.

Poppy moves one of her hands to scrape against Bea's stomach, snap the chain again. "I do love this chain," Poppy says. "Give Zoey my thanks."

Bea flushes again and starts to say something cutting when Poppy twists at Bea's nipple. She cries out, jerks forward into Poppy.

"Col--"

"Green, green, green," Bea says before Poppy can finish. "Come on--"

Poppy licks a stripe up Bea's neck before her lips seal over the spot, starting to suck a bruise. Bea whines again, trying to ride Poppy's leg, but she pulls back, because she's the worst, worst ever, definitely the worst, as Bea tries to remind herself even as her brain can't move on from the scrape of teeth on her pulse point.

Her--whatever the hell Poppy is to her pulls back, breathes right against the mark she's made to make Bea shiver, and says, "I'm thinking we take this to the bed."

Bea nods, lets Poppy turn her around again, this time holding her close, one arm around her stomach in an almost-tender gesture, the other steadying on her back as she leads her backwards.

"Always knew you'd be like this," Poppy murmurs into her ear. She pushes Bea around so that her back lands onto Poppy's bed, crawling on top of her and brushing one hand oh-so-slowly down Bea's stomach. Bea tilts her hips up; she's been ready for awhile now, but Poppy doesn't seem in any sort of hurry. When her hand finally pushes back into Bea, Bea collapses back against the bed. Poppy laughs, happy and mean, in Bea's ear.

"All bark out in public," Poppy says, twisting her hand to make Bea jerk. "And as soon as you get a hand on you, you turn into a whimpering mess . Are you going to deny it?"

"I'm not--I don't normally--" Bea gasps.

"So just for me," Poppy says, and Bea would've noticed the obvious trap if she hadn't been otherwise occupied. "I'd guessed as much, but I appreciate the confirmation."

"I hate you so fucking much," Bea says, and yanks her down for another kiss.

It's heated and Bea isn't sure if she wants to bite her till she bleeds or let Poppy claim her like she seems intent on doing, hand locked around her wrists, other hand working inside her. She can feel herself getting closer and closer and closer to the edge, until she can tip right over if she just lets herself--

Poppy stills her hand then pulls it out entirely; Bea whines.

"This isn't a reward, Farmsville," Poppy says smugly, shifting so that she's lounging back against the pillows of her bed, looking entirely unbothered. "Do a good job with this and I'll consider letting you come."

Bea knows she could just shove her hand on herself once, maybe twice, and come anyway, but there's something about Poppy's smirk. Bea wants to impress her, knows it's futile, knows it's pathetic, shifts anyway so that her face is between the other woman's thighs. Her hands shake a bit, making it a little hard to get Poppy's dress up, but hey, she makes it work.

Her jaw starts to hurt pretty quickly, what with Poppy holding it open earlier, but Poppy's sighs and movement of her hips is doing it enough for her that she works through it, works her tongue. When she can feel Poppy's legs trembling on either side of her head, Bea looks up at Poppy, meeting her gaze from below, and sucks on her clit, hard and fast and hopefully enough for Poppy to return the favor.

Poppy doesn't come with a scream, but the way she relaxes back against the pillows and brushes Bea's hair back from her forehead when she pushes her head to get her to stop is almost as gratifying. Her hand shifts to Bea's cheek, runs a thumb over her lips and pushes in. Bea opens her mouth automatically.

"Good girl," Poppy says, almost tired. "Give me just a second."

Poppy shifts fully away, rummaging around in a drawer next to the nightstand until she pulls out a small silver vibrator. Bea could cheer, leaning back and giving Poppy the easiest access possible.

"Oh, Bea," Poppy says, and the sound of her name in Poppy's mouth, fond like that, makes something far too warm spark in Bea's chest. "Not quite."

"Please," Bea says.

"You'll get to use this," Poppy says, twirling it in her fingers. "What you're going to do is this. Get dressed, go right home, and use this and think of me."

Bea frowns at her, sitting up. "What? Why would I do that?"

Poppy grins, leans closer until her face is right in Bea's. "Because the next time you come to my house, I want you tell me about that and every other time you've touched yourself and thought of me."

Bea shivers.

"Or," Poppy says. "You can take care of yourself here while I go back to the party, and we won't do this again." She puts her hand against Bea's neck, gently brushes her thumb against the hollow of her throat. "If we ever end up in bed again, you'll have to make your way without my direction, if you can."

Bea grips the sheets with a white-knuckled grip.

"Color?" Poppy asks.

"Green," Bea admits, and gets up to put her dress again.

Poppy, still mostly clothed, has barely any expression at all when she hands her the vibrator, but Bea can see the spark of mischief in her eyes. "Be seeing you," she says sweetly.

"You're the worst," Bea says, but shoves the vibrator into her clutch anyway. God, this walk home's gonna suck.

When Poppy closes the door behind Bea, it hits like a glass of cold water to the face.

Not in that it in any way stops or even lessens her arousal, because that would be a good thing, and she has to stop expecting good things to happen to her in Zeta house without a hell of a downside. But the rush of air outside the room, hot and loud and--busy, a shock like waking up and entirely unpleasant.

She suddenly wants to be out of this party as soon as humanly possible.

Poppy's busy in her room, so at least Bea knows she can pull her phone out and text Zoey a quick "hey, headed home, will get someone to walk me" so that her roommate doesn't have to leave or worry.

(Also so that she doesn't have to overhear Bea, because she does not think she'll be able to keep quiet.)

Zoey texts back a thumbs up, and Bea heads out. A few people smile at her on the way out, a few people glare, and she has absolutely no idea what expression she's giving back. No one pulls her aside and asks if she's okay, so she's probably fine. Zoey would stop her if she's doing some damage to her reputation, probably.

The walk home passes basically on autopilot, too aware of the now-uncomfortable wetness in her underwear to focus on anything else. Besides, she's walked home from Zeta enough to know this path even blackout drunk. Then it's making her way up the stairs, locking the door behind her, and getting into her bed with her clothes off as fast as physically possible.

By the time she's naked in her bed, vibrator dragged out of her purse and struggling to turn it on with her fingers shaking so much, she's not quite as keyed up as she was in Poppy's bedroom, but she's hardly far from the edge.

She should take her time, luxuriate in this, but fuck, Poppy's teeth in her neck, her hands on Bea's chest, her tongue in Bea's mouth--

Bea puts the vibrator on its highest setting--not especially intense, it's not the fanciest--and puts it right against her clit, way too much stimulation and somehow not enough. Her hips jerk against it, half-riding it, not as good as Poppy's fingers inside her and her thumb on her clit, but if she tells her that, maybe she'll be nicer next time, maybe she'll--

She doesn't come with a scream, but she's extremely thankful Zoey's not here to hear the noise she does make.

Then she's in her bed, with sheets wet enough with her own slick that she probably needs to change them, holding a cheap vibrator that's belongs to her literal arch-rival and absolutely exhausted.

"Why," she says. Cutiepie yips from outside the door in response. Bea groans.

There's no way she's going to change her sheets today, but she at least gets her clothes all in the same place to take to be dry-cleaned, takes a shower, tells herself firmly that she won't do this again, that Poppy was a mistake she repeated twice. Twice is a coincidence, three times is a habit, or something.

She's got her classes to focus on anyway, TA duties (and, no matter how many times someone brings it up, nothing with Professor Kingsley), making sure she stays at the top of the list. Plenty of things to keep her busy.

Her dream isn't about Poppy or anything else so obvious. It's a memory of her first concert, a heavy metal band that she'd wanted to see for years, that was completely out of reach among the cornfields of Farmsville. Probably a stupid thing to spend her first thousands on, but flying across the country, wearing the fishnets and the leather she'd never been able to, getting lost in the sway of the crowd, remembering being there, knowing she could be there again, and thinking this could never have happened before.

As pleasant as the dream is, it ends abruptly when Zoey throws something at her and she shoots up in bed. "I'm up, I'm up, what's happening?"

"Who?" Zoey says with an open-mouth grin. "I mean, you definitely snuck away, you left everything a whole--"

"My clothes aren't even everywhere, okay, it's--"

"Laundry chair is still bad for you, babe," Zoey says, and Bea groans. "Who was it? Veronica? Chloe? Oh my God, not Professor--"

"Veronica's just fun to destroy stuff with, Chloe's an extremely reluctant ally, and for the last time, I have absolutely nothing with Professor Kingsley. I'm glad I didn't make a move at the bar, her being my professor is not fun sexy stuff, it could ruin both our lives!"

"So responsible," Zoey teases. "Who'd you let loose with, then?"

Bea takes a second to think, and Zoey's grin becomes a gasp.

"Never mind, you're insane! Completely irresponsible! Again?"

"I know," Bea says, head in her hands. "I just didn't think, I don't know! I was tipsy--"

Zoey's expression darkens. "You--"

"No, really just tipsy, I promise," Bea interrupts. "And I was on the dance floor and it's just--it's something, having her attention, you know?"

"I don't," Zoey says. "If I'm having hatesex, I'm at least picking Chloe. She's not quite as awful."

Bea arches a brow. "Oh? You know, I can text her--"

"I'll kill you," Zoey says, and the two of them laugh for a bit before Zoey sombers. "Jokes aside, I really do worry, you know? Poppy's--she's really not a good person."

"I know that," Bea says, but it feels a little hollow, even to her.

"Do you?" Zoey asks, and it'd be easier if it was angry or accusing her of something, but it's just genuine. "Because it feels like you don't even regret it."

Bea tries to say something, but what can she say? She doesn't regret it, she knows she should regret it, she knows she'll find herself in Poppy's bed as soon as she can make it happen without seeming completely desperate.

"Okay," Zoey says. "If you ever want to talk about it-- emotionally, I'm not asking for details about Poppy --I'm here. And if it all goes bad, I'll be here with champagne and a horror marathon."

"That sounds fun," Bea says, and then when Zoey turns to leave, Bea gets up and hugs her. "You're a good friend, Zo."

"I know," Zoey says. "Please tell me you've washed your hands."

"I have," Bea says, and Zoey's exaggerated sigh of relief has them both laughing again.

--

Bea's not a coward.

But.

It's different, whatever this is. She was never the type of person to risk anything social back in Farmsville, and even here in Belvoire, her rise up the rankings is driven by righteous anger. Putting herself in the public eye for other people? Simple and fine. Risking being laughed at by Poppy because she's protecting someone else? Easy. Because she's...what, horny? Absolutely not.

This is to say, she avoids Poppy like the plague. They were hardly getting together for coffee or anything before, but now she takes different paths to class as often as she can get away with without someone (Poppy) realizing what she's doing and telling The T, or without The T figuring out what she's doing so some people (Poppy) might figure it out, or someone else will figure it out and tell people (she really doesn't want Poppy to know).

It's with the egocentrism of the rich that she reads Poppy's latest Picta post announcing a pool party and knows that no matter how many likes are on it, the post was written for her. Bea's pretty sure the clubhouse won't be able to host the size of party Zeta's used to hosting, but that seems to pale in comparison to the picture in front of her, showing Poppy in a pastel pink (of course) bikini, smiling like a viper that’s caught its prey.

Do you dare to come to Zeta’s latest party? Only the brave and bold need come, I’ve no time for quitters.

Bea’s a lot of things, but a quitter? Never.

[pricemarshfield]

teeth

[Image ID: an image of a woman with an open mouth and her hand on her face reflected in a mirror, colorized purple and with the text teeth | mc x poppy / ch. 2/8 over it. End ID.]

Title: teeth

Pairing: MC x Poppy

Rating: E (minors DNI).

Word Count: 4559 for this chapter, 14557 for the full fic so far.

Summary: An MC/Poppy smut-with-feelings fic, or: the MC/Poppy-only remix of cooler than me, requested by @ohmycheesencrackers.

Warnings: Dom/sub, canon-typical toxicity from Poppy, MC having romantic feelings for Poppy that she’s pretty sure are unrequited. (Who can say. People who’ve read the original fic, probably.)

Created For: @lgbtqbingo, filling out the “cunnilingus” square, @anyfandomangstbingo, filling out the “biting” square, @anyfandomgoesbingo​, filling out the “Cowboy Casanova - Carrie Underwood” square, and @badbitchesbingo, filling out the “oral sex” square.

Read chapter 3 here or below the cut, or the full fic from the beginning here.

Bea, to her credit, manages to last three whole days before caving and texting Poppy. She's busy enough without jumping into a complicated, tangled affair with her greatest enemy: cheesy horror movies with Zoey, a heavy course load, navigating Belvoire politics.

The thing that pushes her over the edge is the fact that she hasn't seen Poppy around, not since she confronted her about the black eye, and she still doesn't know what the hell's up with that. She's hardly gone a day without seeing the Queen of Belvoire since getting here, so the silence is simultaneously disquieting (she's embarrassed herself so badly that she's ruined everything) and thrilling (is Poppy nervous about seeing her after that, too?).

 do you want this back?

Bea sends the text with a picture of herself in the nicest lingerie she owns, black with intricately detailed floral accents. It's not comfortable, but it does look good. The vibrator is, technically, in the picture, though only the tip (she snickers at that despite herself, then mentally scolds herself for doing so), brushing against the top edge of the bra. It's the type of picture she'd normally ask Zoey if the picture was good enough, get fashion advice. She'd literally die of embarrassment, though, so it's just not a possibility.

All-in-all, she can't believe she's giving this type of ammunition to Poppy, especially when she doesn't respond right away. Bea has about ten minutes to ponder which country she'd like to flee to before her phone chimes with a notification.

I definitely want that back. Took you long enough to respond

 you made me wait for a reply too

Wow, waiting by the phone much?

Bea hates her. She responds as fast as she can anyway.

 it's the polite thing to do

Very well-behaved of you, pet

It's not even a good line, why does Bea's face feel so warm? It's embarrassing, God, thank fuck Zoey's not home right now to see her be so obvious.

What are you doing tonight?

 nothing

That makes sense. Meet me at this address at 8. Don't look up what it is.

 what? i'm going to look it up

Color?

Oh. Bea exhales, quick and hard.

 green. i'll see you at whatever that is at 8?

Poppy doesn't respond, but Bea figures that's just her being a bitch, so. Whatever. She doesn't look up the address other than to see how far it is from campus--only about a 5-minute walk from the edge of Belvoire--and then realizes she has all day to panic.

She has her quizzes to grade, she has some classwork, but it all passes by quickly now that she's worried about what's coming. This is a mistake. She's going to an unknown location to be--well, probably not actually murdered, but definitely socially sabotaged.

God, she wants to talk to Zoey about this.

Speak of the--well, not Devil, because Zoey's a saint who she truly does not deserve--but Zoey walks in the door, a shopping bag on her arm.

"Zo," Bea says. "Um, how are you?"

"Spill," Zoey says, narrowing her eyes at her.

"I--"

"You've got something you want to talk about, but you're either too embarrassed or too scared to tell me about it without building up to it. Don't be. What's up?"

Bea sighs. "You know me too well."

"Perks of best friendship," Zoey says with a kiss to her cheek. "I am gonna put my new dress away while we talk, though, hope that's okay." Bea doesn't answer. "It is okay, right? Hold on, is this like...a bad thing? Because you can have my full attention if it is."

Her expression is so serious, so concerned, and Bea just can't stand it. "No. I'm okay. I mean, I do want to talk, but it's not--it's not a Benji thing, okay? Or anything like it."

"Thank God," Zoey says, hand on her chest. Bea feels so fond her heart could burst for a second. "I was ready to kill him myself."

"I'd hide the body for you," Bea says. "We learn things in the Midwest, okay?"

"You're either being completely honest or you're too much of a teddy bear to ever hurt anyone." Bea grins. "Alright, come on, let me go hang this up and we can talk."

Bea follows Zoey to her room, trying to work up the courage to talk to her best friend. It shouldn't be this hard, but--it's real, it's not the list bullshit, so it's--hard. "Okay." She takes a deep breath, tries to ground herself. "Uh. I know you weren't asking for details--"

"Poppy? Seriously?" Zoey's shoulders tense, and Bea's head ducks, unable to look at her face. "Bea, you deserve better, you know that? Seriously. You're hot and funny and actually give a shit about people. Poppy's got one out of three, and she's not even that hot. Even if she was, that doesn't override her being a huge bitch!"

"I know," Bea says. "I don't--the thing is, I don't want to stop? I'm having fun. With her."

"Don't lie to yourself," Zoey says, and when Bea risks looking up, Zoey's not looking at her. "You're catching feelings, aren't you?"

"I--" She can't refute it, much as she wants to. "I don't--I didn't mean to."

Zoey sighs. "Jesus. Your cheeks look like a tomato right now." Bea reflexively goes to cover her face before she aborts the movement. "She's not that great in bed, is she?"

"She kind of is, but I don't--really want to talk about it. Or I--I don't know. This is all new to me, okay?"

"Sex?" Zoey asks. Bea squawks, scandalized. "I'm your best friend, we can talk about this!"

"No, I know, but--yes, that's new to me. Not completely new, I'm not a virgin, but it's--I'd slept with one girl, okay? And it was my long-term high school girlfriend, so...kind of different. And I liked her but it was mostly that she was nice and the only gay girl for a hundred miles, as far as I knew, and this feels--so scary, and I just--"

"Bea, breathe," Zoey says, looking at her nervously. Bea does, and finds she's close to hyperventilating. "We can stop talking about this. It's okay."

"It's not, though," Bea says, resigned and still half-frantic, all at once. "She doesn't feel the same way. She's not going to. And I'm still going to meet up with her for scraps, in--oh, shit, I'm gonna be late."

She waits for Zoey to give her a little nod of okay before she bolts out the door, hoping to God she makes it there on time.

--

Thank God for being a track star in high school, because she makes it there with time to spare. She almost wastes the opportunity not to have Poppy mad at her by standing in front of the entrance and staring at it like--well, like some girl from the Midwest who's never seen this sort of thing before. Sue her.

An adult store. A sex toy store. A store that sells sex toys to adults. Where Poppy asked to meet her. Where Poppy is probably inside, fuck, just because she can't see through the windows too well doesn't mean that Poppy can't see her--

She walks in the front door before the little clock by the door chimes 8, and Poppy says, "I thought you'd swallow your own tongue, jaw open like that."

She walks in the front door just as a little clock chimes 8, and Poppy says, "I thought you'd swallow your own tongue, jaw open like that."

"I," Bea says, eloquently.

"Wow," Poppy says with a little smirk. "You really are new to this. I thought you must be, given your tragic inexperience and how easy it was to rile you up, but--"

"We are in public," Bea hisses, anger overtaking arousal for a second.

"Please," Poppy says, rolling her eyes. "I already paid the people who own the shop to let us have some privacy."

"We," Bea says, unable to finish a thought, apparently. "I--"

"I'm not fucking you in a shop," Poppy says with a roll of her eyes. "What I want from you is this: I'm going to sit in that chair, and you're going to pick something you think I would enjoy using on you. I'm not going to help you. I'm not going to tell you if you're right. I'll pay for it, because I'm keeping it. And then, if you've chosen well, we'll use it, and you get to choose how you come, my tongue, my fingers, whatever toy you end up choosing, my knee, I don't care. If not, you go home, you don't touch yourself, and we try again until you get it right."

Bea's mouth is dry. "That's cruel. Green."

"Good girl," Poppy purrs, dripping with condescension, and Bea ducks her gaze. "My, you're easily embarrassed today."

"S'nothing," Bea says, because she's always this easily embarrassed, and she doesn't need Poppy knowing that about her. Poppy moves to sit in a chair that really looks more like a throne, and after a brief fantasy of kneeling in front of it that she's shaken out of by Poppy  waving her away, barely deigning to pay attention to her at all, Bea moves to the sex toys.

Cuffs and anal beads and vibrators and strap-ons galore, and Bea can't stop thinking about using everything, or having it used on her. Poppy cuffing her to the bed, fuzz of the binds making it painless, and teasing her with a vibrator against her breasts. Holding Poppy's arms back, kissing her neck, as she rides Bea's thigh. Bea lying on Poppy's bed, eating her out. Wearing a strap-on and fucking Poppy senseless. Any of these fantasies flipped; Bea's not picky.

"You've been staring at that display for awhile," Poppy calls, and Bea drops the dildo she's holding. "Well, I'm not buying anything that's touched the floor."

"Sorry," Bea gasps, picking it up and putting it back. "I'm sure they--clean, I--"

Everywhere she looks there's a new fantasy, the power exchange between her and Poppy heated in an entirely new way, a version of herself in her mind's eye acting like she's--fuck, okay, she needs to focus. What would Poppy like? Something like the cuffs, probably, she seemed to like pinning Bea down last time. Bea's cunt twitches at the thought, and okay, she can work with that.

There's a display of just different bindings, silk ties--if they wanted silk, Bea's sure Poppy could just use something she already has--to cuffs that look like they might actually be hard to break out of. That's--a little much for her, she thinks, even if the mental image has her mouth watering. There's another, more elaborate piece of rope, but Bea has no clue what goes where, so she skips past it, resolving to look more up later.

None of the bindings seem right, but her eye catches on a strap-on. It doesn't look like something super special, but it's a sleek, pearlescent pink, and it does sort of fit Poppy's aesthetic, and compliment Bea's wannabe pastel-goth in a way she thinks Poppy will like. It's not outrageously huge, but it'll be a stretch--and Bea flushes as she thinks that. Best of all, it has a bit of a protrusion on the other end, so it looks like the person wearing it can have some fun, too.

Yeah. That sounds good. She can picture Poppy using this on her just fine.

Bea picks the toy up, turns to Poppy, and says, "This one."

Poppy's face gives away nothing as she takes the toy, studies it, and says, "Hm."

"I can pick ano--"

"Shut up," Poppy says, and Bea's mouth snaps shut with an audible click. "I told you I won't help you. We're going with this."

"...so? Did I pick well?"

Poppy looks up at her from where she lounges on the throne, the picture of detached debauchery. "It's not the worst pick. I thought you were going to go with those cuffs; they wouldn't fit in my room at all." Jesus, Bea's glad she didn't pick those. "Well, then. Follow me to Zeta."

"Oh, thank God," Bea says before she can stop herself, then immediately wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

Instead of mocking her relentlessly, like she's expecting, Poppy smiles up at her, seemingly surprised into actual softness, though it only lasts for a second before she's back to the calm, unaffected mask she usually favors. She follows Poppy through campus, Poppy considerate enough (oxymoron, that) to take her on back paths where she's less likely to be noticed. There's only so much they can do--at least one person takes a picture of them as they pass, and probably several others that are more subtle--so Bea has to pretend she's disaffected.

She's getting good at that. It doesn't feel great.

The walk up to Poppy's room doesn't quite feel familiar yet, but it feels less like an out-of-body experience than when they first walked up here. Poppy doing her makeup with surprising gentleness, taking Bea completely by surprise with an offer to do more than that, Bea's heart skipping a beat, even then.

Ugh. She's being stupid.

Once the door closes behind them, Poppy locks it, the click nerve-wracking and reassuring at the same time. "Bea," Poppy says, calm and collected, and when Bea turns to look at her, her demeanor's back to full Domme. It's still Poppy--control-freak, heiress, huge bitch--but she's standing up taller, an air of confidence that's...really hot, actually. "Color?"

"Green," Bea says, quickly enough that she can feel her cheeks go pink with embarrassment.

"Good," Poppy says with a small smirk before slipping back into that same persona. "Strip."

Bea reaches down and pulls her shirt off, noticing the way Poppy's eyes catch on her worse-than-they-used-to-be abs. (Yoga doesn't do quite as much as hard labor on the farm; she misses the simplicity of it, sometimes.) There's a moment where she has to wiggle to get her jeans off her legs, though, a little too skinny to be fully trendy, which definitely looks dumb and undignified.

Poppy doesn't call her on it, though, just runs her hand down the side of Bea's lingerie, warm enough that she leans into it, that she thinks about that same touch skin-to-skin. "Get on the bed. On your back, leaning against the headboard."

Bea scrambles to comply. The headboard isn't exactly comfortable, but it's worth it for the approving look in Poppy's eyes. Poppy straddles her lap without bothering to take off anything, even the heels, grabs one of Bea's wrists. She waits a moment, looking at Bea's face. Bea nods to hurry her along. Poppy grins at her and presses a quick kiss to her lips before she pulls Bea's wrist up to part of the headboard.

"Hold onto that," Poppy says, so Bea does with an eyeroll. "Do you want to say something, pet?"

"You just--said you didn't like the cuffs, is all," Bea says with a little grumble.

Poppy tilts her head as she looks down at her. "I don't need them. You'll stay where you're told without needing an aid, won't you?" Bea swallows, and Poppy smirks, grabbing her other wrist and pushing it up. There's a bit of a stretch, not painful yet but something that she can't hold for too long without her muscles getting sore. "You will keep your hands up here. If not, everything stops, got it? Same as calling red."

Bea nods. "Got it."

Poppy just sits on top of her and looks at her for a long, long moment. Her expression's contemplative rather than fond, like she's watching a movie she has a theory about, or like she's trying to figure out the answer to a problem that's been vexing her. Bea squirms a little under the attention, but doesn't drop her hands or her gaze. Poppy does eventually move, to Bea's great relief, slipping off her jacket and her shirt. Bea's mouth goes dry. She wants her mouth on every bit of skin that she sees, wants to snap the pink lace of that bra with her teeth.

"I think I want to test your patience," Poppy says, and the noise that slips out of Bea is too loud, too unguarded. "You've been good for me, but I think you want to be even better. Don't you?"

Bea doesn't answer right away; her back's starting to hurt a little, stretched just past what's comfortable with her arms up like they are. In this context, though, it feels incredible, she'll deal with some soreness over the next couple days. When Poppy starts to frown, she says, "Yes. I do, I want--"

"Shh," Poppy says, and Bea closes her mouth with an audible click of teeth. "Good. You can watch."

Poppy's hand slips higher up her own legs, pushing her skirt up enough to get a hand on herself but not quite enough to give Bea a clear view. She can see that Poppy's working her fingers inside herself from her expression, a smile that manages to be both smug and lazy. Bea keeps her hands where Poppy put them, but doesn't even pretend to try to hide what she's staring at. She wants her mouth on her yesterday. Or she wants Poppy to use that strap-on like she said she would, already.

When Poppy pulls her hand out of herself, she wipes it on Bea, and Bea whines, arches into it without moving her hands, which hurts like a motherfucker but she can't not do. "Good girl." She's so fucking wet even though no one's fucking touched her, just build-up from the sex shop to the walk here to this. "Let go." Bea does, gratefully, but Poppy slaps her hands away when she moves to touch her. (Bea groans at that, wishes to God she didn't.) "Roll over, facing the pillows."

Poppy has to get off of her so she can do it, and Bea's shuffle down the bed isn't exactly sexy, but she manages. She can hear Poppy fiddling with the harness, for long enough that Bea almost wants to offer to help. It's an oddly humanizing moment; Bea'd call it cute if it were anyone else. As it stands, she figures it out eventually, putting a hand on either side of Bea, touching at a few points but no pressure where Bea wants her, dripping wet all over her billion-thread-count sheets.

She arches to make it as easy as possible for Poppy, who doesn't fuck her yet. Bea looks at her as best she can (not very), questioning and impatient. Poppy surprises her by leaning down to kiss her neck, sucking a bruise somewhere everyone will be able to see. It's rude; Bea practically melts into the sheets. Possessive, proprietary in a way that can't be healthy but that she wants. She follows it up by biting the still-tender skin, and Bea jolts.

Poppy laughs, fond and mean. "You're desperate for anything I'll give you, it seems." What's left of Bea's dignity keeps her from agreeing, but it's a close thing. "There. A bruise from me, to show that no one else gets to touch you."

It's not like anyone will admit out loud who made the mark on her, even Bea, but the thought of it--God. Bea whines again, tries to roll her hips even though the angle's awkward. Poppy takes pity on her, or maybe her patience just snaps, because she starts easing the toy inside of Bea.

They get a rhythm quickly, but Poppy seems as determined to piss her off as ever, because she keeps slowing, pulling back so that it's not deep enough, not giving her enough friction to get anywhere close to the edge but just enough that she's still aching for it. Even that ends, though, Poppy eventually pushing in and staying there, grinding to give a little more friction. Bea whines; Poppy makes a noise that could be called the same, if it were anyone else.

It's not exactly easy, but Bea keeps her eyes on Poppy as best she can, watches her expression, of all things. Her eyes are dark, looking right back at Bea. When she notices Bea staring, Bea expects her to scowl or look away or worse, stop. Instead, she leans down and kisses her, licking her way into Bea's mouth, biting at the corner of her jaw.

Of course she kisses her back, slanting her mouth against hers, only breaking the kiss to inhale sharply as Poppy abruptly shifts to a quick, punishing pace. Poppy doesn't miss a beat, nipping at the edge of Bea's jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the column of her throat. Bea moans again when she sucks another bruise into her skin, somewhere anyone could see. Will see. She should be worried about that, probably.

All-in-all, Bea's having a great time, is satiated and satisfied with this, so she's not expecting Poppy to pull out, really isn't expecting Poppy to immediately put her mouth between Bea's legs. She actually feels her knees go weak; if she weren't already on her hands and knees, she'd fall over. Her legs spread in a wanton invitation.

Not that Poppy needs it, obviously, already there, pulling back just to murmur, "You're noisy." The vibration has Bea shivering. Poppy puts her mouth back on Bea's center, adds a finger and crooks it like she's curious. Bea comes, almost a let-down after the build-up but still nice, especially with Poppy going until the aftershocks end. Bea rolls over as soon as she feels like she can, reaching for Poppy.

"What are you--"

"Let me return the favor," she says, words slurring a little. "Please."

Poppy's cheeks are pink. "Well, since you asked nicely. Tap once if you want to call yellow, twice if you want to call red," Poppy says, and waits for Bea to nod again before getting onto the bed and adjusting until her legs are on either side of Bea's head. Bea groans again and pulls Poppy's skirt down and her underwear out of the way. Poppy seems determined not to give any sign she's enjoying herself, which makes things a little harder, but they've done this enough that Bea has a decent idea of what she likes now, knows what to do to take her over the edge.

The only sound in the room is the wet noise of Bea's mouth meeting Poppy's cunt and Poppy's breathing, getting heavier. She's focused on that and the woman riding her face, so when Poppy pulls at one of Bea's nipples, it's sudden, surprising, painful even as she leans into the contact.

It's all fantastic. It always is.

Bea keeps working at Poppy, bringing one hand up to circle her clit while fucking into her with her tongue. It's still a while before she does, but she does with her legs shaking, seemingly only barely managing to avoid putting all her pressure on Bea's head. Considerate. Poppy rolls off of Bea and next to her on the bed. They lie there for a moment, Poppy's hand somewhere on Bea's lower back, the strap-on still sexy but also at least a little funny now that they're done.

"I don't suppose you feel up to getting up and out of Zeta, do you, Bea?" Poppy asks.

Bea could frown at the obviousness of how Poppy wants her out of here, but she's too tired. She could get a full eight hours in this bed now, even ignoring how sticky her face and the rest of her is gonna be. The noise she makes into the sheets hopefully conveys that she's not getting up for an hour at the least.

Poppy reaches for something on the nightstand, then shoves it at her face. "Hey. Water."

Bea frowns and drinks. "I'm not in subspace, you don't have to do this."

Poppy looks surprised. "You know what that is?"

"I'm inexperienced, not incapable of research," Bea says with an eyeroll. "Also, a fan of the metal scene, I knew more than I realized by sheer osmosis."

Poppy scoffs. "You could be something special if you had even an ounce of taste, Farmsville."

"Seeing you, aren't I?" Bea says, drowsy enough that she doesn't realize what an admission it is until it's out of her mouth.

Poppy's shocked into complete silence, or maybe Bea just misses the reply, given that she passes out basically immediately. It's at least not a terrible sign that Poppy lets her sleep through the night, even tucks her in, stays in the same bed, let her arms loop around Bea's midsection.

Or maybe she's just hopeless, seeing romance in pragmatism and the unconscious movements of the human body in sleep. Something like that.

Bea's muscles ache, but she can't bring herself to mind when every little pain reminds her of what she did to feel that way. Poppy grumbles and grips onto her harder when she shifts to get up, but fuck, she's so hungry. She doesn't look too messy in Poppy's mirror, or not any messier than she would after normal sleep. Her hair's a complete disaster, but what else is new.

Bea doesn't see anyone on either side of Poppy's door when she sneaks a peek, so she creeps downstairs to the kitchen. They've gotta have some cereal or something, and she can just wink and not give any details if she runs into anyone.

The only person in the kitchen is Veronica, who nods at her before going back to her phone. Bea finds some granola-y Special K rip-off cereal on top of the fridge, so she pours herself a bowl, sniffing at the milk to make sure it's not bad before adding it into the bowl.

She sits down with Veronica, since they're sort-of friends, or at least allies. Veronica doesn't acknowledge her at first, but she keeps thinking she's looking at her as she eats. Eventually Bea catches her in a look and lifts an eyebrow. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Nah," Veronica says, sounding completely disinterested. "Surprisingly well put-together, actually."

"Thanks, I'm glad to exceed your expectations," Bea says, annoyed.

"Not like that, Hughes," Veronica says with an eyeroll. "You know my room is right next to Poppy's, right?" Shit. "And you're not exactly quiet." Shit.

"Look, please don't--"

"Relax," Veronica says with an eyeroll. "I'm not interested in getting on either of your bad sides. At least not for a better paycheck than anyone on campus is offering."

"Uh," Bea says. "I guess that's reassuring, for your standards."

Veronica grins at her, sharper than the smile she uses for selfies. "Isn't it? Was it good, at least?"

Bea flushes, but: "Yeah, if you couldn't tell from the noises I was making."

Veronica cackles, loud enough that a couple girls on the first floor make displeased noises from their rooms. "Nice, Farmsville. Alright, I've got to go do my morning skincare routine before class. Disturb my sleep again and I'll ruin your life."

Bea blinks at Veronica as she leaves, unsure whether that conversation was friendly or aggressive. She gets the sense it's hard to tell with her. Reminds her of her high school friend group, actually.

She's not sure if that's a good thing or really, really not.

[pricemarshfield]

teeth

[Image ID: a woman with her mouth open and her hand on her face reflected in a mirror, colorized purple and with the text “teeth” edited over it. End ID.]

An MC/Poppy smut-with-feelings fic, or: the MC/Poppy only remix of cooler than me. Requested by @ohmycheesencrackers​. Rated E; minors DNI.

"Bea," Zoey says, a little disbelieving, a lot pitying.

"I know," Bea groans, head in her hands. "I don't know how it happened either, if it helps?"

Confessing that you've caught feelings for Belvoire's head bitch? (Sorry. Former head bitch.) Embarrassing, but doable. Confessing it to your best friend, who hates her guts and has some damn good reasons to do so? Decidedly harder, but still super feasible. Confessing that now you don't even really want to bring the real fight to her, even after she literally asked you to?

Bea would 100% take getting kicked by a horse again. She'd broken a rib, but that seems a small price to pay.

(This chapter’s too long to host on Tumblr at more than 5k, so read chapter 6 on AO3 here, or the full fic from the beginning here.)