#3) having spent far too much time talking to people over the past two days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheriecoke · 25 days ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა APHRODITE EYES — finnick odair

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. the first time you meet finnick odair, it is as the victor of the 68th hunger games, a child who no longer knows her place in the world.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. first meetings, district 2 victor!reader, canon-typical behavior, sfw, can be read as simply platonic, f!reader, victory tour post 68th hunger games, canon compliant but potentially ooc characters, — 4.0k words

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. **REPOST FROM OTHER BLOG** hi! i'm new to writing for anything for thg so please be kind <3 finnick is my long time loverboy, but i've never properly written anything for him. btw this is part of a little series of one-shots that are all connected, feel free to check out the masterlist below!

𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

The worst part of the Victory Tour — save for the ghosts of dead children looming over your shoulder, nesting in your mind at night — was how much time you had to spend with your mentors, Enobaria and Brutus.

The latter, though cold, mostly kept himself at a distance, all too eager to let Enobaria be in charge of your behavior.

Every word you spoke, she was breathing down your neck, a critique to match every small twitch of your muscles, even it was from nothing but the cool winter air creeping up your spine. If your smiles were anything less than genuine, she made a snide remark, pushing her pointed nails, sharp as her teeth, into your cheeks, fixing that right up.

If there wasn’t such a sour taste in your mouth when you looked at her, one that burned as you swallowed, then, maybe, you could’ve convinced yourself that Enobaria really was looking out for you. After all, she’d helped you out plenty during the 68th Hunger Games, made sure that you’d gotten enough sponsors, that you’d put on a good show at the interviews.

Her methods may have been less than kind, but so far, they’d kept you safe.

Even if you’d let her down, let your District down, for not sharing the same sort of need to bring glory to the Capitol that your former victors had, she’d protected you. Enobaria had made sure you’d pretended, enough to convince the Capitol that you were thrilled with your victory.

But you weren’t.

You weren’t naive, and you weren’t stupid enough to think Enobaria and Brutus actually liked you. But District pride ran deep, especially in Two. You may have been a less than adequate victor, an embarrassment of a Career, but you were their victor, nevertheless.

The train skidded to a stop, pulling into one of your last stops on the Victory Tour. District Four.

Despite the small talk that had persisted, endless prattle from your escort, you’d spent the past few days with your eyes glued out the window, soaking up what little time you had to observe the scenery outside. Perhaps, this was the real victory — getting to see the wonders of a country you’d come to hate.

It was a horrific realization, that Panem truly was beautiful, that every District had its charm. Even the ones with the flattest plains, with the people who had coal smudged across their faces, the ones with looming factories and child labor; they all had a spark of tenacity.

Nature in the Districts was beautiful, and the spirit of the people in them, even more.

Quickly, you brushed those ideas away, feeling the sharp stab of Enobaria’s voice in your head. Even a thought like that was treasonous, and when paired with your deep hatred for President Snow, dangerous.

What could you get away with, now that every pair of eyes in Panem were on you? What games would you have to play now?

That line of questioning was quickly dissipated by your mentor, who pushed you forward, nudging you to the door of the train.

“Stand up straighter,” Enobaria snapped, before your escort, with hair dyed a horrendous shade of purple, could say a word.

For that, at least, you were grateful. You could handle being bossed around by Enobaria, but being told what to do by someone from the Capitol felt like just another stamp on your forehead, another reminder that they owned you.

“We need to make a good impression in District Four,” your escort said, humming excitedly to herself. “Don’t disappoint us, dear.”

Your face turned further into a scowl, hating that she lumped herself in with the rest of you. What had she done, but convince elite assholes to place bets on you murdering children? She may not have spilled a drop of blood, but more was on her hands than she realized.

As always, your other mentor, Brutus, said nothing — he’d hardly uttered a word to you since the end of the Games. The two of you may have been from the same district, but from the minute you’d volunteered, Brutus had held something against you. Like he’d seen right through you, garnered your true intentions.

Enobaria might have been willing to overlook your short remarks about the Capitol, but Brutus couldn’t stand having a victor who hadn’t truly wanted to be a part of the Hunger Games.

And while you hadn’t been the one to kill your district partner — it had been the other Careers, filthy backstabbers — you might as well have, with the way he glowered at you. Like you were a traitor.

Enobaria, as if sensing the turmoil, stepped between you, as the four of you got off the train in District Four. “You’ve done well so far,” she said, patting your shoulder. Though it was meant to be a reassuring gesture, it still came off as threatening. As if what she was really saying was, you’ve done well so far, don’t fuck it up now.

You didn’t need to be told. There had been enough riding on your shoulders to make you volunteer, and though you’d been certain you’d come out a martyr, murdered for all the hush-hush activities you’d been involved in back home, you’d, somehow, come out a victor.

That was, likely, another reason for the coldness from your mentors. You’d played the part of a Career, completed the interviews flawlessly, earned the adoration from the Capitol in a way so few had before. Yet, the moment you’d stepped into the arena, you’d been just another child from the Districts, uncertain, disgusted, and unwilling to kill.

You’d stood by your morals, but fear had a nasty way of controlling you in ways you didn’t expect. It was the crippling dread, the knowledge that death was permanent, that had kept you alive, in the end.

Not exactly the kind of proud victor they normally raised in District Two.

Although you’d thought you’d done a good enough job at playing the Capitol’s game, the rest of your team already seemed to be suspicious of where your loyalties lied. You were certain that that was what had sent them even more into a frenzy when you’d been on the train to District Four — your escort fussing over your appearance, even when your dress didn’t have a wrinkle; Brutus’s eyes becoming even more narrow; Enobaria nitpicking every slight move you made.

It could’ve been that.

Or it could’ve been the fact that the last Career that had won had been from District Four, and it would be an embarrassment to look a mess next to Finnick Odair.

He’d won three years ago — an expected victory, despite him only being fourteen. Finnick had gone into the Games, looking like the child he was, and left the arena, sprung into early adulthood, blood on his cheeks and a smile on his lips.

That had been the year you started to doubt the Games. Finnick was the same age as you, barely a teenager, and when he’d been triumphant, you’d looked around at your friends, wondering why anyone would want to kill one another.

If Finnick had felt the same way you did after winning, he gave no indication of it. Maybe he’d learned, as you had, to keep those thoughts locked up, only for yourself.

But, unlike you, already scorned by President Snow himself, Finnick was adored in the Capitol. So much so that if you were a fool, you might have thought they accepted him as one of their own.

You sighed as Enobaria straightened your collar, adjusting how the top sat on your shoulders.

It seemed to all lead back to Finnick, didn’t it? The way your life had spiraled. The Capitol’s increasing hunger for another Career win.

And here you were now, in his home, fussed over as your team grew desperate to show District Four that they had a victor just as charming, as lovable as their darling boy.

“Remember what I said about the interviews?” Enobaria said, guiding you along the station. “That’s how I expect you to act here.”

Be charming, but with indifference. Make them think they can have you, but don’t give them too much. Keep an air of mystery.

You refrained from rolling your eyes and swatting Enobaria’s hand away as she pulled your shoulders back roughly, getting rid of your slouch. As if your perfect posture could hold a candle to whatever performance — genuine or not — Finnick put on.

It was a short walk from the train to the Justice Building, but it was plenty of time for your nerves to gather.

You’d expected it would’ve been an easy feat, to slip on the mask that you’d gotten comfortable in, one that had now molded to your features. But the minute Finnick Odair turned and caught your eye, you’d already forgotten everything Enobaria had requested of you.

The District Four escort tittered about, greeting your own escort like they were old friends. They might have been — it wasn’t like you really paid attention to any of her endless chatter.

“Hello, Finnick,” your escort said, and you blinked away from the boy, back at her. The way she looked at him, like she could eat him alive, made your stomach turn. But Finnick soaked it up anyway, kissed the back of her hand, and she batted her lashes at him without shame. The corner of his eyes only creased when she giggled, fawning over him like she wasn’t a decade older than him.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Finnick said, winking. “I think you get prettier every year.”

“Why, you flatter me.” She hid her sly smile behind a gloved hand, and gestured you forward. “I’d like you to meet my victor.”

Your eyebrows pinched together, hating that she emphasized her possession of you. You were District Two’s victor. If you had any pride in your win — which you didn’t — it would’ve belonged to your home.

Finnick’s eyes flashed, his gaze skimming over you quickly. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Congratulations on your victory,” he said, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your palm, as he’d done your escort. His fingertips were callused from fishing, but the rest of his hand was smooth from the salty water and the sandy beaches. “I didn’t know people from District Two could be so beautiful.”

For a moment, stupidly, you faltered. No one had ever said something like that to you and looked like they’d meant it.

Sure, it was a lapse in judgment, but briefly, every word left your mind, for possibly the first and hopefully the last time in your life. Where a smart quip was usually at the edge of your tongue, your head was empty and muddled, as you stared at the boy from the District Four, whose smile was brighter than the sun, eyes the color of the wild sea.

The winters were long in District Two, the summer mild, and no one there had the kind of complexion Finnick did — a bronze glow to his wild hair, almost the color of his sun-kissed skin. There was a radiance about him, electrified by a halo of beauty, and you did feel dreadfully plain next to him.

So much so that you were certain the compliment only came as a jab to Enobaria, and not a comment about your appearance at all.

Enobaria coughed, and quickly, you recovered, snapping your hand back down to your side as you looked over Finnick’s shoulder, past his widening smile.

“We are,” you said, stiffly, feeling ridiculous for letting yourself fall so deeply into his charming eyes. “But unlike other Districts, we tend to rely on more than just our looks to get by.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come out so bitterly, but your words were the only layer of protection you had.

Briefly, Finnick’s smile flickered, and, as quickly as your frustration came, you began to feel bad for saying anything at all.

But his gloominess evaporated quickly, and he waved a hand, dismissive, as he slung an arm over your shoulder good-naturedly, catching the eyes of a few people around you.

Let them stare. You needed an endorsement from their golden boy, after all.

“Ah, well,” Finnick said, pulling you into his side, talking like you were old friends. The two of you took a few steps forward, as he dragged you along. “Mags always did tell me to utilize my strengths. But, beauty can be a burden, as they say.”

You licked your lips, darting your eyes to the side, uncertain if you were supposed to read into that comment. Ever since the Games, you’d started to feel a bit paranoid, wondering if everyone was out to get you, make you say something you weren’t supposed to. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with that saying.”

“No?” Finnick asked, grinning brighter. It was blinding to look at, and he was far too close, the smell of the salty sea a constant presence on his skin. “Well, I only mean it’s hard to have women throwing themselves at you left and right.”

You blinked, and whatever amicability had been between you quickly evaporated. Finnick seemed kind enough, but, as you’d said, you’d never been a fan of victors who cared more about their looks than anything else.

Never once had you considered yourself ugly, but you’d known, the moment you’d raised your hand to volunteer, that you couldn’t rely on your appearance in the Capitol. It was so unlike the boy before you, whose confidence and beauty had carried him through, to the very end.

Feeling sour, a characteristic frown back on your face, you shook Finnick off. “I’m sure.”

You wouldn’t know. No one had ever thrown themselves at you in your life.

Finnick, despite the cold air growing between you, caught your gaze again. He squinted, searching for something in your features, but you only stared back, blankly.

It must have been a shock to meet you — to find out you were a mere shadow of the girl from the television, the one that had scored so highly by the judges, who had bantered with the crowd at your interview, made a show of yourself for all of Panem.

You’d stopped believing everything you saw on your screens, but after a life spent in District Two, where Capitol loyalty ran deep, you weren’t fool enough to think that every victor shared your sentiments about rebellion. Brutus and Enobaria certainly didn’t. Perhaps Finnick was just the same as them.

The mood of your escort shifted, a nervous energy growing as she noted the eyes of citizens on you and the bubbling tension between you and Finnick. Quickly, she stepped between the two of you, a hand on Finnick’s lower back, one between your shoulder blades.

“Well,” she said, sharply, scolding you. As if anything but a few words had left your mouth. She’d always thought you had a horrible disposition, even for a District Two girl. “We’ve got a schedule to stick we, don’t we Finnick?”

The smile was back on his face, and you couldn’t be sure that it’d ever left at all. He nodded, and led you to the Justice Building, pointing out notable places in District Four.

Like that, your visit turned into just another stop on the Victory Tour. Another forced alliance between the host District and your own, as the people that lived there pretended they were thrilled to see you, instead of heartbroken that it hadn’t been their own child coming home.

Despite their distance, their unwelcomeness, a part of you was excited to be in District Four, and you tried not to let it show on your face. You’d always been curious about the shorelines, ones you’d only ever caught glimpses of on television. The Capitol had never been too interested in revealing what the rest of you were missing, outside of your own Districts.

But, of course, you hadn’t had time to take a true detour down to the beach. Instead, you were ushered back into the Justice Building, your prep team needed to clean you up for your speeches and dinner.

The spell, casted by Finnick’s charm, shared with his escort and your own, broke.

You were guided into a separate room by Finnick, the rest of your team sticking behind to talk with the mayor, discussing details of the feast that would take place in just a few hours.

“They’ll wait out there for you,” Finnick explained, nodding towards the stage, just outside the window, one that was barely big enough to be considered that. The room, without any light overhead, was cloaked in shadows, dark and dreary from the lack of sun coming in. “I have to go soon, but I’ll be at the dinner, in case you need anything. I am the host victor, after all.”

You were certain there was more than just two victors in District Four, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe they’d sent only Finnick because he was the same age as you. Maybe they really did love their darling boy that much.

It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

“Okay,” you hummed in return. You’d carry on with or without him.

Glumly, you stared out the window, feeling, vaguely, like you were trapped in a prison cell of your own making.

How much easier everything would’ve been if they’d just let you die.

Finnick had opened his mouth, then shut it, debating if there was anything more to say before he made his departure. Then, he turned, footsteps fading. Before he could reach the door, they stopped.

A pause suspended between you, one you refused to break.

“You look too sad to be a victor,” Finnick suddenly said.

Although his words held a hint of amusement, when your eyes snapped back over to him, he wasn’t smiling at all.

“What do you mean?” you asked, piecing together an expression that you thought would appease the knowingness in his eyes. Your lips pulled at the corners, eyes growing small as you squinted through a grin. The apples of your cheeks pushed your skin up, making your face look even wider.

“You get to go back home. Your family is alive. You won. Don’t look so sad.”

His accusation lit a fire in your chest, and you scowled, looking back out the window. “You don’t know anything.”

“Don’t I?” Finnick’s words were hushed as he came to stand in front of you, pulling your attention away from the crowd of people that had begun to gather outside. Not a single one of them looked pleased — their faces illustrating exactly how you felt. “Look, I saw your games. You played the part well. I think—”

Then, panicked, you met his eyes once more, and clamped your hand over his mouth. Your heart thundered as you gazed around the room, wondering if there was anything in there they could use to listen in. Even if the room was mostly empty, you had no doubt that they’d find a way, that President Snow wouldn’t be afraid to warp Finnick’s words into you engaging in more rebellious conversation.

“I think you’re mistaken,” you said, sharply, before releasing your hand, slowly bringing it back down to your side. “I appreciate your concern, Finnick, but I don’t need your help.”

He studied you, momentarily, reading the words you didn’t offer.

“I see,” Finnick said, licking his lips, where the feeling of your hand still lingered. “Well, I’d offer it all the same. I’ve been in your shoes before. I’ve been doing this for three years.” He leaned forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears, his touch warm. “If you don’t want help, maybe I can be a friend in the Capitol next year. I assume you’ll be mentoring?”

You pinched your eyebrows, studying him. You’d gotten far too used to everyone having ulterior motives — how could you be sure that Finnick had none?

Instead of saying anything, arguing with him at all, you nodded, ignoring the strand of hair he’d wrapped around his finger. Perhaps for the first time since the tour had started, you exhaled, releasing a pit of nausea from your gut.

“Friends?” you said, but your smile was stiff. “Does that mean next year, you’ll hold up your alliance with my District?”

The Careers in District Four had been the first to turn on the rest of you. What had been a steady alliance through the first half of the games quickly soured, in a second bloodbath that left only you and the District Four girl alive.

How lucky the rest of the Districts must’ve felt, to see the Careers tear themselves apart from the inside out.

Finnick cringed, but it was just a small moment, the muscles of his face twitching. Then, he shrugged, not even bothering to look sheepish. “I didn’t tell them to betray their allies. I them to do what it takes to stay alive,” he said grimly. “Looks like they didn’t take my advice.”

You licked your lips. An apology rested on your tongue, but for what? Those kids had almost killed you. Were you sorry for not lying down like a dog, letting one of them stick a trident through your throat?

“No,” you said, instead. “They didn’t.” Words that felt hollow to your own ears.

Finnick noticed the shift in your demeanor, and reached back out to you again, letting his hand hover between the two of you. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not.” You scowled, stepping away. His hand fell back between you. “You’re not responsible for their choices. I just find you irritating.”

He laughed, loudly. A sound that seemed half-forced, to your own ears. “Well, you’re not too charming yourself. I certainly have trouble seeing how you got so many sponsors.”

“I’m a good actress,” you said, thinly.

Finnick’s smile held, but it was tight, a little sad. “Well, you’ll need to get even better.” The words were flat, almost as if he felt sorry for you. Like he knew you had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into. “The Tour’s almost over, but that doesn’t mean anything. You won the Hunger Games. This is your life now.”

“A life I should be proud of, should I not?” you said, sharply, narrowing your eyes. Suddenly, you felt as if you’d been stripped bare in front of him, your true opinions on the Games worn on your sleeves. Your treasonous ideals, held only in the back of your mind, yet seemingly written out on a manuscript that Snow would surely find. “I’ve brought glory to my District and the Capitol.”

What was it about you that made it so obvious, that had lured the Peacekeepers to you in the first place.

What made you seem like you were a rebel?

Then, Finnick’s face did something it hadn’t before — he smiled, a real, genuine smile. His eyes held a brightness, like the sun reflecting off the endless ocean, crinkling at the corners.

“Of course,” he grinned, knowingly. “I apologize for assuming anything. You must be exhausted from the Victory Tour.” And, as if noting your worry, he added. “I remember how I felt when I won. Probably very similar to you.”

You held his gaze for a moment, watching the swirl of secrets swimming in his eyes. Then, you relented.

“You’re right. I’m tired.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Forgive my rudeness earlier. It’s been quite the week.”

“I bet.” Finnick nodded. “Well, you should get some rest, before you get to District Three. The people there are a lot smarter than I am. They might notice your exhaustion more quickly.” His eyes scanned you one last time, now more curious than appraising. “You are quite the Career, aren’t you?” Finnick laughed, mostly to himself, as he walked away.

Quite the Career, you thought, even though you weren’t exactly sure you knew what he meant.

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bunnyreaper · 2 years ago

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𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝖕𝖙 3 — 𝖕𝖙 2 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 wc - 7.2k warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom sub dynamic, hints of petplay, mild public play notes - part 3 kind of ran away from me, if you can't tell from the word count!! i had a lot of fun with this one, so i hope you enjoy! also on ao3! ♥

Life was teaching you early on in this budding relationship that life without Johnny drags.

The first day or two he was gone wasn't so bad. Before he'd even left the country, he'd sent you an incredibly drool-worthy photo of him in his fatigues. You've spent more time looking at it over the past week or so than you probably should've—fixated on the size of his arms, the confident pose, and the mic set around his neck.

The sight of that alone sent your thoughts reeling—and was the part you'd zoomed into on the most, beside Johnny's handsome face.

Then came the voice note, the one you've been listening to on repeat—addicted to Johnny's words and voice. Finally, you have it captured to listen back to on demand. He'd sent you other voice notes since, shorter ones with "I'm thinking about you." or "Just met a street cat, his collar said his name is Halim!" with a photo accompanying it.

Those made your heart sing, and your smile wide, but the last one he sent was him explaining he'd be going dark, and he'd message again whenever he could.

That had been over a week ago now, and the radio silence left your nerves on edge, frayed and tested as you waited for any sign.

Some sense of salvation had come in the form of an after-work drinking session that turned into a full-blown night out—it was a welcome distraction and an oasis of general socialisation after your desert of solitude.

You were dressed up nice, getting a little tipsy and dancing the night away—only checking your phone as you pulled it out to pay for a drink.

The missed call notification has you rushing to down the drink, so you can head out the back of the club. As soon as the pounding music fades away, you're pressing the phone to your ear and listening to the dial—it feeling tortuously slow as you wait for Johnny to pick up with every ring. Just before it goes to voicemail, his voice is blessing your ears once more.

"Hey, pretty girl." He greets, his voice seemingly as bright as always.

"Johnny!" You all but squeal in excitement, a heady combination of missing him and the effects of the alcohol making your enthusiasm bubble over.

He laughs, slow and sweet, as warmth spreads through your chest. "Missed me that much, aye?"

You missed him far too much considering the current state of your relationship, but even in your intoxicated state, you know to keep that mostly to yourself. "Missed you so much!" You giggle, moving further away from the door as a group of people join you out back—cigarettes hanging from their fingers.

"Missed you too. Where are yer?" Johnny asks, clearly hearing the commotion in the background.

"I'm out with some people from work, but I'll go home right now, I swear—"

Johnny cuts you off before you can even finish your offer. "Don't you dare, lass, enjoy your night. I just wanted to let you know I'm back, tha's all."

Hearing from him was such a relief, and you are so glad he called—though now you don't want to stop talking again. "Does that mean we can meet soon?" You ask—voice light, flirtatious, and most importantly hopeful.

"I was thinking Sunday if that works for yer?"

"Making me wait again, Sergeant?" You practically twirl your hair around your finger as you tease him, smiling unreservedly as you hold the phone to your ear.

"Keep talking like tha' and I'll come down there right now." His growl is playful, but you can tell using his rank has some sort of effect on him.

You pull your lip between your teeth, giggling once more and flushing with need. "Do it, I dare you." You taunt.

Johnny's sigh is a little defeated, his tone a little tired and flat compared to usual."I cannae, still got things to wrap up. Tha's why I said Sunday and not tomorrow, sweet thing."

You relent with your joking, not wanting to keep up with teasing when Johnny seems a little... low. "You're worth the wait." You whisper into the phone, soft and sincere—you hope that makes him smile at least.

"We'll sort out the details tomorrow, yeah?"

You nod, even though he can't see it. "Sounds good."

He perks up a little bit, even if it sounds somewhat forced. "Feel like doing me a favour before you get back to yer friends?"

"Anything." Your answer is instant, especially if it would cheer him up right now. Coming back from the things he must see has to be hard, and you can't blame him for continuing to be affected by it. Is that why he needed an extra day? To decompress and adjust back to being Johnny instead of a sergeant in the army?

"Send me a picture of your outfit." The sentence lands somewhere between a question and a command—though you had every intention of complying anyway.

"Yes sir." You answer instinctually, not putting too much thought into it until you hear Johnny's growl in response. The kind of growl that ignites something deep within you every time you hear it.

His voice is low, rumbling down the phone with a hint of playful warning. "Bonnie..."

"Sorry." You laugh lightly, before turning more sincere. "I'm glad you're safe, Johnny."

The line is silent for a moment, just long enough for you to worry you've said the wrong thing, but as always, Johnny washes away your doubt. "I'm glad you waited for me."

"Of course." A shiver passes over you, the night air making you want to retreat back inside. You wrap an arm around yourself as you brace yourself from the cold. "Talk tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, for definite. Have a nice night, angel." His wish is sincere, the softness in his voice something you'll replay over and over again.

"Night, Johnny."

You wait for him to end the call before you rush back into the club, beelining straight for the bathroom to snap a picture just for Johnny. The dress isn't your usual clubbing outfit, having come straight from work, but you look cute, and you feel confident as you send the picture straight to Johnny.

The next day drags even more than the last few have, especially with the mild hangover thundering your skull. Every part of the day is just about going through the motions, getting through it, so you're one minute closer to seeing Johnny. Every moment is a little dull, until you find yourself waiting for him at the exit of the train station.

The excitement and the nerves wage war inside you—with each passing second, you're getting closer and closer to being swept up in Johnny's arms, to hopefully feeling like you're finally home. But with each second, you're inching closer to vulnerability, to risk, to the possibility that somehow he might decide after today that he never wants to see you again.

Maybe he'll look at you and realise he doesn't quite like your body, or the way your mouth moves when you talk. Maybe he'll hate your mannerisms, or find that in person you're actually really boring to talk to. Perhaps he'll just know within moments of meeting you that you'll never be his home, never be his.

The thought is terrifying, crawling around the back of your mind as you scan every passing face in the hopes of seeing the silly little mohawk you long to run your fingers through.

And when you do, the world stills.

You spot him before he spots you, and you get a moment to appreciate his searching gaze, his quietly confident swagger, the way his denim jacket stretches over his shoulders, and his shirt clings to his stomach.

In short, he's a vision. All man—big and strong and beautiful. It takes everything within you to not launch yourself into his arms as soon as he gets close.

He continues to look around as he makes his way through the ticket barriers, glancing between the crowds and his phone as he makes his way closer and closer. You emerge from your hidden spot, your legs carrying you without hesitation over to him—and when your eyes meet, you both stop completely still for just a moment. Nothing but wide smiles on your faces and a magnetic pull that draws you together.

The bodies in between you are a hindrance, a barrier you both need to be gone as you weave through them before finally standing before each other—and at that moment everything feels right.

"Wow." Johnny says as he looks you up and down and drinks all of you in.

"Wow yourself." You giggle, checking him out just the same and adjusting to just how much more handsome he is in person—as if such a thing were possible. "Hi Johnny." Even you are surprised by how breathless you sound, but it makes perfect sense when you consider how fast your heart is beating, how your hands are starting to shake.

"Think I must be dreamin'" He blinks in disbelief, unable to keep the radiant, infectious smile off of his face.

You blush deeply, and find you can no longer meet the intensity of his eyes. "Flatterer." Your word is a whisper as you push yourself to your tip toes and wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him in for a hug.

His strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you close, tightly enveloping you in a serene feeling of safety, as well as his fresh, masculine scent.

Home. You think it's the closest you ever felt to it, bundled up in his arms as he cradles you like you're the most precious thing on earth to him.

His hands roam over your back, caressing you so delicately and savouring every bit of you, as your own hands thread around the back of his neck, and you sink your fingers in, grasping him to ground yourself in the moment. It's real, he's real, and being in his arms feels so right it almost hurts.

"You're even more gorgeous in person, bonnie." He whispers in your ear, breath hot and sending shivers all over your body. Thank god he's holding you upright, as your entire being is so vulnerable right now to every sensation.

He pulls away slightly, but keeps you close, his eyes returning to yours once more, looking at you like you're everything.

"I could say the same about you." You giggle, feeling self-conscious beyond belief. "Your eyes..." They're so blue, two oceanic pools of deep emotion, pulling you under the longer you stare.

Everything you feel is reflected in his eyes—hope, bliss, excitement.

"Grew them maself." He laughs, his nose wrinkling as he laughs at his own silly joke.

He has you captivated entirely, as you drink in every single feature on his face—the strong brows, the scar on his lips, the dimples hidden behind his stubble. Every detail makes your heart thump against your rib cage, makes you want to reach out and trace your fingers over every little thing you discover.

You're snapped out of your reverie when someone's bag brushes past you, and you remember you're in the middle of a train station, blocking people's way.

"We should move out of the way."

"Aye." He nods, slipping an arm around you so as to not lose contact as the two of you shuffle out of the path of the commuters. "Fuck. Am not letting you go now."

His grip tightens around you as he pulls you in once more, hands settling on your waist as he stares down in adoration.

"Good." You can't help the smile on your face, so big and bright your cheeks hurt from how unwavering it is—that's just the feeling Johnny inspires.

This time, it's him who seems affected by your gaze, as he averts his eyes from yours. "'s a bit weird, though." He admits, a strange shyness to his tone.

Nothing about Johnny right now would suggest he's anything even close to nervous or uncomfortable, but you figure a man like him is very good at masking how he really feels. Your hands slip to his chest, your thumbs rubbing soothingly back and forth as you try to project a sense of calm to soothe you both.

"Have you never done this before?" You ask, curiosity brimming but with no underlying judgement.

"No." His cheeks begin to redden as he glances at you briefly, a rare display of shyness from the seemingly endlessly confident man. "Don't laugh, it's ma first time."

You continue your soothing gesture as you speak from the heart.

"I wouldn't laugh! I have done this before, and I'm still so fucking nervous." Said nervousness escapes you in the form of a clipped laugh. "... If it wasn't obvious from the blushing and shaking."

Johnny made you nervous, and yet peaceful all at the same time. His pull was irresistible, concrete, even if you stumbled to him on shaky legs. You knew what he might be feeling right now, if his heart was anything like yours.

"Oh, am sweatin' a tonne right now, if ya cannae tell." His laugh and smile are almost disgustingly sweet, along with his unbracing honesty. Johnny really is something else, you think.

You step away from him, intertwining your fingers into his much larger hand, as you start to lead the way out of the train station. "Better get you out into the fresh air then."

The two of you walk in comfortable silence across the short distance until you're hit with the sun's warmth and a blast of cooler air. You start walking into the city centre, aiming to wander around for a little to kill time.

As you walk, Johnny's grip tightens, and his hips sway playfully into your own, nudging you only to pull you back to his side with a bright grin on his face. "Meant what I said about not letting go of yer hand."

"Keep it, it's yours." You squeeze back, looking up at Johnny to see him observing his surroundings keenly—must be a soldier thing, you muse. "Do you come here much?"

"A little. Usually kept pretty busy back on base." He answers, glancing at you before taking in more of the area.

"Well, I guess you'll be getting familiar." You nudge his hips, returning his earlier playfulness as you flirt with him unashamedly.

His eyes are fixed on you now—a brow raised and a mirthful smile on his face at your assumption.

"Oh, will a now?"

"I hope so." You admit sincerely, feeling the heat in your cheeks. If you keep smiling as much as you have so far, the expression will be permanently etched onto your face. "But that'll be more, so after we see the kitties. Our slots in 20 minutes, right?"

"Aye, you excited?" He looks at you as if to confirm your true reaction, his eyes searching.

"I am, honestly I was expecting just a normal coffee date but as soon as you suggested it, I couldn't let it go." You're practically rambling, but honestly, Johnny's suggestion was perfect. First, it let you know he enjoyed, or at least was at ease around cats, which was always a green flag. Plus, it was something different, catered to the two of you that shows he'd been thinking about it, and who wouldn't swoon at that?

And on the off chance there was an awkward silence where you didn't know what to do, at least you had furry friends for you both to pay attention to.

His eyes flicker with doubt for a moment, before he masks it with a distracting smile. "Was worried it might be a bit naff."

If only he knew how much you had been freaking out about how cute you found the whole thing—and the fact that he might as well have just straight up said it was the beginning of your new dynamic together. You'd be his pet, the whole thing made perfect sense. "If it is naff, it'll only be because I might get jealous."

"Ach, why?" He asks, seemingly finding the idea of you needing to ever feel such a thing ridiculous.

You look up at him with soft, pleading eyes and a playful pout on your lips. "Well, you'll be giving all the cats head pats, but will you have any for me?" Even the tone of your voice is designed to tug at his heartstrings, slipping into your role so naturally.

"I'll always have some for you, kitty." He laughs, letting go of your hand just to ruffle at your hair until you playfully shove him away—then he's grasping at you again, not wanting to relinquish contact for even a second.

"Besides, they get to wear collars and flaunt it right in front of me. Don't they know what they're doing?" A suggestive smirk is directed at him, which he eagerly returns.

"Oh, you'll be in one before you know it, bonnie." He drops this news so casually, like it's the most natural thing in the world— as if the two of you are just having a regular conversation "We'll come again, make them jealous right back."

You swallow thickly, already aching for that eventuality—even if it may be a ways away.

"Sounds like a date." You mumble, filled with shyness and need. Coughing, you take a moment to compose yourself and steer the conversation away from something that will send your thoughts spiraling. "I did look through the website to see what kind of cats they had, and there's a cat with your name, different spelling though."

Johnny pulls you closer, head dipping slightly to talk close to your ear, his tone dropping to a dangerous low. "Now I'm gonnae be the jealous one."

His words make you shiver, make it difficult to keep walking like everything is fine—but you can flirt just like he can. You look up at him, fluttering your eyelashes prettily as you smile so sweetly. "I've only got eyes for one Johnny, don't worry."

The blush that rises to his cheeks tells you that your act had the desired effect.

"That's what I like tae hear." He mumbles, squeezing your hand in an affectionate gesture.

After wandering the high street for a short while and just enjoying each other's company, you circle back to your destination. The two of you enter the café, kick off your shoes (or boots for Johnny), and are seated at a table toward the back of the room— just a little out of sight from everyone else. You order a tea, while Johnny orders a flavoured coffee, giving you an insight into his tastes and preferences that makes you smile.

You remind yourself to keep that information in mind for later, filing it away under your list of things about Johnny that you're sure will only expand throughout the day.

When the server leaves the table, the two of you look upon each other fondly—shy smiles and burning cheeks. There are so many words at the tip of your tongue, so many things you want to say and ask and know about the man before you—as your brain buzzes with energy, so do your hands, feeling a little lost now they're no longer connected to any part of his body.

It's easy to tell that Johnny sees more than he lets on, as he observes you before him and seemingly filters through your thoughts.

You return the favour and watch Johnny intently—eyes fixated as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, as his throat bobs as he swallows, and your brain is invaded with a deluge of inappropriate thoughts.

Luckily, you're saved by the bell—a little tinkling noise from a cat beside you as it walks on by and demands your attention with a haughty meow.

"Look, there's Jonny!" You gasp quietly, the cat just a few feet away staring at you curiously. Taking it slow, you lower your hand to the ground and make no move toward the cat, waiting for it to get a smell and a feel for you. It isn't long before the cat in question is launching himself into your lap, drawing delighted laughs from both you and Johnny.

You run your fingers through the thick fur of the white longhair, figuring out what spots the cat likes most.

"He likes you." Johnny comments with amusement, shuffling ever so slightly closer until your thighs touch—his arm slips around the booth seat behind you as he settles in.

Your eyes meet his, your skin prickling with the intensity of his closeness. "Hopefully like the human version."

"Definitely." The arm around the back of the seat comes to settle on your shoulders, as Johnny slowly moves his hand over to the cat and lets him sniff his fingers. Johnny's eyes brighten unmistakably when the feline nuzzles against his hand, and then he breaks out into a mischievous grin. "D'ya think he's cuter than me?"

Johnny tilts his head to the side, almost puppylike as he preens at your attention—your eyes roaming over him as if you're making a difficult choice.

"Hmm. He has a lot more hair than you do, but I think you win." You give cat Jonny another stroke, while you smile at human Johnny with glee. "I'll have to feel how soft your hair is to make a real decision, though."

You say it mostly as a joke, but Johnny looks sincere as he urges you to do it. "Go on."

You raise your hand, panic flowing through you as you hesitate for a moment—your fingers hovering inches away from Johnny's head. He leans into your touch, as you stroke through the short tufts of hair. "It's... so soft." You admit, pulling away quickly before you get carried away.

"What did yer think it was gonna feel like?" Johnny asks with a barked laugh that you can't help but return.

You crinkle your nose, because honestly, with the fact he clearly uses styling products to make his mohawk stand on end, you hadn't expected it to feel as soft and pleasant as it did. "I don't know, I can't imagine you have premium shampoo and conditioner in the army."

"They're just naturally luscious locks, dinnae what to tell yer." He swishes his head playfully, as if he's flipping a head full of hair.

"Effortlessly flawless, just like the rest of you." You tease him, joining in the joking.

"Oh aye?" He asks with a wink, playfully fishing for more compliments.

Not that he needs to fish, you think. Surely Johnny knows how handsome he is, and even before meeting him, you've gushed over his good looks.

Still, you look upon him with genuine admiration and rapidly unfolding infatuation, you're exalting words tumbling freely from you without much thought. "You're just so... gorgeous, godlike, really."

"As are you, bonnie. Cannae believe it." The look in his eyes is so real, so intense it makes your heart twinge, and leaves no room for you to doubt the sincerity of his words.

The two of you continue to stare into each other's eyes, enjoying the silent conversation that seems to pass between the two of you—the unspoken desire and adoration.

"Are we just gonna spend the day staring at each other?" You giggle, breaking the moment when it becomes a little bit too intense for you.

"Wouldnae be such a bad thing." Johnny replies swiftly, ever so smoothly.

Jonny the cat takes that moment to crawl off your lap, rubbing himself along Johnny as he all but demands pets from the man. Johnny indulges him instantly, large fingers scratching at that perfect point between the kitty's ears. Watching it shouldn't make you blush as much as it does.

"I think he likes you too."

Johnny nods, a serious look on his face. "He knows we're chums."

"You must give really good head pats." You tease, wishing you could take the words back as soon as you said them. Was saying such a thing too much too soon? Was it too early to start to invoke elements of your potential future dynamic?

Johnny meets your eye, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes turn mischievous. "Wanna find out?"

"Of course." Your response is instant, breathless—already offering yourself up to the man before you. You quickly remember your manners. "Please."

Johnny lets the cat on his lap jump down before he turns his attention to you fully, his hand settling on top of your head as he gently, carefully caresses you. Your body is quickly overwhelmed with shivers, an electric sensation coursing through you as his fingers dip deeper into your hair, massaging at the back of your neck until your eyes start to slip shut from the sheer bliss.

They shoot back open when his fingers dip the chain on your neck, tugging sharply enough to get your attention without putting any real force behind it.

He leans in as if to share a secret, his smirk wolfish as you continue to react so perfectly to his touch. "Nice choker, by the way, pet."

"Wore it just for you." You whisper, words weak as you tremble with so much need for Johnny.

He's pulling back, taking all his warmth with you, before he strokes through your hair one more time. "That's my girl."

You could burst into flames right now, or simply melt under the intensity of his gaze. Not even an hour into date one, and you can already feel how wet this man has made you, how much he makes your heart call out to him. Your body and soul burn with need, already wanting more of him in every way.

"Fuck." You sigh in frustration, burying your head into his shoulder to hide your aroused expression. "I hate that there's so many people around right now."

"Feeling naughty?" He chuckles in such a knowing way, because he knows exactly what he's doing and how you feel about it.

You meet his gaze, eyes desperate and pleading for mercy. "Johnny, I feel drunk and mindless already and you haven't even actually done anything."

He moves one of your hands from your thigh to his, holding onto it for a moment. He won't offer you mercy, but he will at least let you see how you make him feel too. "Can I borrow your hand?"

"Why?" You ask reflexively, before your thoughts catch up to you. Oh. Oh!"

You allow him to move your hand further up his thigh until your fingers graze over the hardness in his jeans, and you have to stifle your gasp with your other hand.

"Why am letting the cats come to me insteada the other way around." He whispers, voice gravelly and strained.

The feelings both his words and his body inspire in you are dangerous, causing you to act as you palm at his cock through his jeans, listening to the hitches in his breath as you begin to stroke and caress. He's rock solid, all before you even laid a hand on him, and it's addicting to you that he's clearly in just as deep as you are—that he sees all this as you do.

His hand moves to grab at your wrist, warning but not painful. "Ach, quit it." He groans, now on the receiving end of such wonderful torture.

"You started it." You whine, taking the chance to grasp him one more time before you stop your teasing. "Johnny you're fucking huge."

Already your head spins just contemplating it, but Johnny only adds to your delirium.

"Wait until it's stuffin' yer little cunt full." He purrs, lips brushing against your skin as he does, and you have to resist the urge to moan aloud.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to pull away from Johnny as you slip out of the booth. "Okay, I need a breather, join me at the cat tree when you've... calmed down."

His smile is devilish, as he watches you go, content to spectate from afar as you coo over the kittens until he can join you.

Your time at the café passes quicker than either of you would have liked, and when it's time for you to vacate your table, the server approaches once more with a bill for the teas and coffees you had enjoyed.

"Will you be paying together or separately?" They ask, which causes you to glance at Johnny questioningly.

You'd already, in your mind, prepared yourself to offer one or both halves of the bill.

Johnny speaks before you can. "Together." He insists, reaching for his wallet and offering his card to the server—not allowing any room for argument.

You stay silent until the transaction is complete and the two of you are alone again, before you decide to address it. "Johnny... I would've paid."

He shakes his head, flipping his wallet shut as he slips it into his back pocket. "Don't be ridiculous."

You open your mouth to offer further protest, but his brows quirks as he almost challenges you to say another word.

Accepting defeat, you smile graciously and sincerely. "Thank you."

"My ma would pitch a fit if she found out I let yer pay." He continues to wave it off like it's nothing. "Let me spoil yer, aye? You'll hafta get used to it anyway. Okay, kitty?"

You're not sure if it's the idea of him spoiling you or the nickname that makes you shiver the most, but the combination of both makes your head spin.

"I better start thinking of ways to repay you." You joke, throwing him a flirtatious wink as your hand snakes under his jacket to stroke at his chest.

Johnny pulls back, face flashing with a realisation and a bright grin. "Oh, before I forget."

You watch him, just a touch confused, as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small, patterned paper bag—he hands it straight to you. "Got yer a little somethin'"

"Johnny..." You groan playfully, having not expected a gift, or having brought anything for him either.

"It's nothin', promise." He smiles, encouraging you to open it.

You peel open the paper bag to find a handmade, woven bracelet inside—one you've seen in countless stalls across your life, but the sight doesn't fail to make your heart sing.

"Oh my god, a friendship bracelet?" Your delighted gasp is genuine, as you feel touched by the gesture.

"Needed to buy something at a souvenir shop. Y'know blend in, look like a tourist." He shrugs casually. "Thought of you."

"I love it, thank you." You clutch it to your chest, genuinely so pleased. "Did you get yourself one?"

"No?" Johnny plucks the bracelet from you, as he takes hold of your wrist and gets to tying the threads together.

You pout, half joking and half serious, as you realise you won't be matching. "Wow, guess we're not friends then."

"Puppy." His tone is warning and serious, drawing your attention to him so obediently.

You swallow, nerves flooding through you. "Yeah?"

His eyes never waver from yours, the sincerity within making you tremble. "The things I'll do to yer, friends don't do tae each other, yeah?" His low tone and the lack of a playful smile make you clench.

"Understood." You nod dumbly, too awestruck and aroused to give him a real response.

"Good girl." He grins, patting your wrist with the bracelet now attached. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah..."

He takes your hand in his once more, leading you back to the entrance to collect your shoes before you make it back onto the street. All the while, you turn his words over in your head, desperately holding on to the soaring feeling in your chest and the pit of arousal deep inside you. The effect he has on you is downright vicious.

"Where to now?" He asks, waiting for you to lead him around the city.

The cooler air of the street helps calm you down, as you steer your thoughts back to more appropriate things.

"I was thinking we could just walk around, window-shop. Maybe grab some dinner? When have I got you til?"

"Last train is at 9."

You sigh wistfully, already dreading the moment he has to feel. "Doesn't feel like long enough."

"You'll be sick of me by then, lass." He chuckles, his smile still making you feel as full as it did the first time you saw it.

"Not if you're sick of me first."

The two of you take in the city streets hand in hand for a little while, wandering around the shops and chatting about anything and everything. The conversation comes just as easy as it always does, and before long the two of you head for something to eat and drink at a nearby pub.

The atmosphere is cosy as the two of you tuck yourselves away at a table in the corner, order your food and drinks and get to chatting once more. You've already teased Johnny for ordering another coffee along with his meal, while he needled you for ordering several side dishes instead of a main.

Both of you are excited to tuck in when the food arrives, and your conversation turns to getting to know more about the other.

"So, what can you tell me about work?" You ask, finally feeling brave enough to broach the subject. Johnny's work will come with a lot of complications, you already know that, and one of them is likely that he will have to be careful about the things he shares. That doesn't stop your curiosity, though.

"What d'ya wanna know?" He responds, open and earnest, as he dips a chip into his sauce.

You think for a moment, trying to conjure up your most pertinent questions. "Who do you work with?"

Johnny swallows his food before wiping his hands on his napkin and pulling out his fun. He turns it to you when he brings up a photo, zoomed in on an older man in tactical gear.

"Well, first there's the Captain, Price. Best captain we could ask for." He comments, looking to you for your response.

Something in the Captain's eyes tells you he's dependable, and you can hear the respect he holds from Johnny's voice.

"Interesting facial hair." You giggle, referencing the grown-out mutton chops that surprisingly suit him.

Johnny laughs, nodding in agreement. "Oh aye, a right character he is." He swipes along the photo to another man, much younger but tall too.

His smile is the first thing you notice, so bright and earnest, and with perfect teeth.

"Gaz, Kyle. We're always getting into shit together." He adds with a mischievous chuckle. "Good lad though."

"He looks nice." You offer, before scrolling across the image yourself.

The next man in line is the tallest and broadest, his face hidden behind a skull mask that you find strangely endearing. "Ooh, cool mask."

"That's Ghost." Johnny whispers, his voice more sombre than before.

The lack of a real name combined with the mask confuses you. "Just Ghost?" You ask.

"Aye, unless he tells you otherwise. Scary motherfucker, loves a good dad joke though." Johnny humanises him, and the fondness within his voice doesn't escape you.

All in all, you're left with more questions than answers, but you already feel privileged that Johnny has shared this much with you. Still, there's something pressing on your mind. "Everyone gets a nickname, what's yours?"

"Soap." He answers firmly, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Soap? Why?" You can't say you're familiar with military nicknames, but Soap certainly seems like a strange one.

"Am good at cleaning house." There's something underlying his playful tone that you can't quite put your finger on, something hinting at the inevitable darkness underneath.

Johnny pushes past it like it never happened, turning the attention back on you. "How's your work, anyway?"

"Boring, though I imagine every job is compared to yours." You pause, taking a sip of your drink as you try to conjure up anything interesting about your career. "I work at my PC all day and the highlight is office gossip, which is often about one or two messy people fucking everyone in the building."

"Like reality TV, but you live it?" He smirks, already seeming amused by the inevitable stories he'll get to hear. It seems Johnny might be a little bit of a gossip.

"Yes, exactly!" You giggle, finding his intrigue endearing. "So I live in reality TV and you live in one of those gritty military shows."

"Pretty much." He clicks his tongue, turning to take a sip of his own drink as his eyes glaze over again.

You dread to think of all the things he's seen—witnessing them on TV is already too much for you, never mind seeing them for real.

"... It must be tough." You offer earnestly, unsure of what else to say.

"Sometimes, it's no' so bad, really." He shrugs, a tight smile on his lips. "I'd rather not talk about it while I'm with yer, not now anyway. That okay?"

The softness in his eyes fuels the guilt gripping at your chest—you never meant to pry or make him uncomfortable, only to offer yourself up as a safe space. "Yeah, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for. You'll have plenty of time to get to know that part of me, tha's all." He gives you a smile, a more earnest one this time, as he refuses to let either of you settle in a solemn moment. Instead, he redirects to the idea of you spending time together in the future.

"Oh, I will?" You ask, voice hopeful—any negative emotions swirling away as Johnny reaches out to stroke your hand.

"Already planning our second date in ma head." He winks cheekily, that gorgeous smile back on his face in full effect.

You settle back into your meal with a contented warmth spreading through you, feeling like there's nowhere else you'd rather be than by Johnny's side.

When you make it to the train station hours later, your heart starts to sink as you get closer and closer to your goodbye. The sun is only just beginning to dip into the sky, but the train schedule demands Johnny's return to Hereford.

The two of you stand before the departure boards, savouring your last moments together as you hold each other close.

"How are yer getting home?" Johnny asks, ever the gentleman.

You don't look him in the eye as you speak words you know he isn't going to enjoy hearing, in fact, you all but hide in his chest as you mumble. "I was planning on walking."

He stiffens, pulling away slightly. "I'll order an uber." His words are laced with a protectiveness—and whether it's his instincts as a man, a soldier, or a dom you're not sure. Likely, it's a combination of all, making him determined to get you home safe and sound.

You already know better than to argue with him on this. "I can order my own uber."

His eyes soften, clearly relaxing upon hearing you relent so easily. "Promise?"

You nod. "I swear, I will."

You cuddle back into his chest again, the two of you clinging to each other. With your ear pressed against him, you can hear the steady rhythm of Johnny's heart, and you focus on it beating as you absorb every last moment with him.

That moment is interrupted by the station announcement, informing you that the next train to depart will be his.

"I better get going." He loosens his grip on you but still holds your arms as he stares down at you adoringly.

"Don't want you to." You admit, voice a little forlorn. It already hurts to let him go, especially since you don't know when you'll see each other again. Johnny could be deployed again at any moment, and after making all of this real, the thought seems paralysing.

"I don't want to either, but I'll see yer soon." He whispers soothingly, a hand stroking across your cheek as the promise falls from his lips.

You force yourself to smile, to feel strong in the face of your separation. Something within you urges you to put on a brave face, to show Johnny that you can be resolute for him. "We'll have to think more on a cool date number two idea."

"We will." He nods, fingers still stroking oh so delicately across your cheek, as his eyes flicker down to your lips. "Bonnie?"

"Yeah?" Your response is barely audible, your breath stolen as you know what's coming next, and you crave it so desperately.

"Gonna kiss yer now, if tha's alright."

"Please."

Johnny closes the final inches as he presses his lips to yours—soft and gentle at first as his hand cups your cheek, before the other comes to grasp at you too, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss. Your body floods with euphoria, desire, peace—as you kiss back with everything you have and pour all of yourself into him.

The two of you are lost in each other, all grasping hands and lips caressing lips—two hearts opening up to each other.

Johnny is the only one of you with enough restraint to pull away, settling his forehead against yours as he smiles unreservedly—his eyes shining with delight. "Fuckin' Christ."

You push against his chest, putting some distance between you as you giggle. "You better go before we commit acts of public indecency."

"Aye." He nods, yet he tucks a finger under your chin to angle your mouth up at him. "One more?"

You nod enthusiastically before diving back in, savouring his lips on yours—the taste of coffee, the softness contrasted with his stubble, the hint of a groan that rumbles through him.

"Okay." He sighs, forcing himself to step away, even if your hands remain linked. "Message me when you get home, yeah?"

"I'll be texting you the second you leave, sorry."

"Oh, I was planning on doing the same, dinnae worry." He winks.

Reluctantly, you let him go—instantly feeling a little more lost without him at your side.

"See you soon, Johnny." You call out, smile soft as he makes his way over to the ticket gate.

"Not if I see yer first, sweetheart." He calls back, then turns his attention away to scan his ticket at the barrier.

On the other side, he catches your eye once more, offering you a tiny, playful salute before he turns to make his way to his train.

You're left in a weird state between euphoria and emptiness—feeling like you have everything and nothing at the same time. Johnny was everything you could've wanted and more, and you're already counting down the days until you can see him again.

You watch until his silhouette disappears, and turn your attention to your phone to get to ordering that uber you promised him you'd take. When you unlock your phone, a message from Johnny is waiting for you.

Miss you already, my pretty kitty <3

#john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #soap mw2 #call of duty fanfic #soap cod #collars and cages #this is a big chonky read and idk how to feel about it but here we are

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 15 days ago

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Chapter 3 - Cain

4.8k words. Prostitution. Misogyny.

A customer comes to town.

The weather is getting warmer, the days longer. Coaches come and go. There’s a shooting not far from the Cathouse one day and a man lies bleeding in the thoroughfare until two others take him away.

Jo stays off the dope. Her color returns to her cheeks, the dark rings under her eyes disappear. You see Billy slinking around the joint once, but you call for Rufus who comes rushing over with his gun. It’s a good thing too. Because if you had been anywhere near the bar and thus the rifle, you probably would have shot him dead.

Wesson takes coffee with you in the mornings, before going over to the Mills house and spending the day there. He says the damage is bad, but nothing that can’t be fixed. He tells you this while sitting at the bar, long fingers running along the rim of the cup before him. He talks about purchasing wood and nails and tools, and then what he got done the previous day.

He speaks in a concentrated way, focused on the details. His handsome brow in a slight frown, looking past you at nothing when he relays a story. It gives you a chance to look at him, to study him. You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen anyone as earnest at him. He sits open and unguarded before you.

He tells you stories about himself, but they’re always specific, anecdotes of momentary glimpses of his life. His uncle’s cabin that he and his brother spent a lot of time at as kids, the wild animals there. He mentions his father once but no mother. You know what he’s doing, because you tell your stories to him the same way. Like a skater on a frozen lake, unsure how thick the ice is. Avoiding the dangerous parts. The painful ones.

So that’s how you get to know each other, at least on a certain level. With small morsels given to the other, held up against the light and then consumed.

One morning he comes down, his cup already waiting for him and you put both hands on the bar, lean on them, giving him a challenging look.

“What do you know about horse buggies?” you ask by way of greeting, raising your eyebrows at him. Wesson stops where he is and then a slow smile spreads over his face. You ignore how it makes your heart flutter.

The two of you look at a catalogue in Jody’s store. Wesson tells you about the advantages and disadvantages of the different styles, gesticulates to make himself as easily understood as possible.

“What kind of horse do you have?” he asks and you shake your head.

“Don’t have a horse,” you answer, and then, with a small smile, you add: “Don’t really know anything about horses, either.” Wesson grins at you, and starts telling you about the best kinds of horses for buggies.

You realize you’re being watched when you walk outside again, not having settled on a buggy, which you were only half serious about getting anyway. Wesson is still talking, with you throwing in the occasional question. He seems to know a lot about a lot of things and you’re chuckling at a joke he makes when your eyes land on the small group on the other side of the street.

Blackbird is still a frontier town by all accounts that matter, but that hasn’t stopped some people from already starting to feel like they're better than others. Like now, the stuffy business men across the street, the ones trying to get a jump on the commerce that will soon reach the town. They look you up and down like a back alley whore. Most women in a new place are working girls, and you know for a fact that a few of them have been to the Cathouse. The hypocrisy doesn’t bother you much anymore - you can’t let it. It would be a miserable life otherwise. But it bothers Wesson.

He comes back to his room one early afternoon, maybe to grab something from there, you’re not sure. You see him stopped outside by one of them. Wesson’s by no means a gentleman from the city. He’s lived rough, you can tell, but he has manners, a good vocabulary. The two talk for a while, and you watch, standing behind the bar, through the glass in the front door. Things seem friendly at first, at least until you see Wesson lay his hands on his narrow hips, shift his weight from one leg to the other. You can’t hear him with the door closed, can only hear the distant baritone of his voice, but it’s raised.

After a few minutes, he simply walks past the man, enters. You watch him as he comes in. His lips are pinched and he’s frowning, but then he looks up, sees you standing there, and he blinks himself out of it, relaxes his face, nods at you.

“What was that about?” you ask, nodding at where the man outside is turning around and then slowly walking away. Wesson turns in the direction you nodded, like he needs to remember what he was just doing.

He could tell you he defended you. Use this moment to show you what a hero he is, how good, how much he thinks of you not as a whore, but as a woman, someone of the gentler sex who needs defending. But instead he pulls the corners of his mouth down, shakes his head.

“Nothin’,” he says, “just forgot some tools upstairs.” With that and a quick smile, he walks to his room. You look after him.

You hate people defending you. When they do, it feels like they don’t trust you to do it yourself. Let them call you a slut and a sinner and worthless. It doesn’t touch you anymore. But someone defending you and the association with you without expecting anything in return, without expecting you to applaud their forward way of thinking - it makes feelings war in your chest. You chew on your lip, unsure what to think.

By the time Wesson comes back downstairs, you’ve collected yourself. You raise your head to look at him.

“Have you eaten?” you ask and he stops, shifts the tools he’s holding from one hand to another.

“No,” he says and you nod.

“Sit,” you say and after a moment of hesitation, he does.

You bring him the stew Donna prepared. You’ve already eaten, but you sit with him, watch as he spoons it into his mouth, making it a point on every bite to tell you how good it tastes. You put your elbows on the table, interlock your fingers. Hide your mouth behind it.

Another week later, Wesson tells you about alligators over coffee.

“We were only there cause that friend we grew up with was visiting family,” he explains, a distant smile on his face. “We saw a bull, must have been 20 feet long. My brother, Dean, nearly fell out of the boat from excitement.” He chuckles and you do too, both of you not saying anything else for a moment.

“I would love to see that,” you say quietly. You see Wesson move out of your periphery, look up at him, at the questioning look he gives you.

“A 20 foot alligator?” he asks and you chuckle.

“That,” you say, “but also, everything. When I left New York to come here, I thought it would be a great adventure. And it was, but I haven’t exactly left town much. I haven’t really seen much of anything.” You feel yourself sounding wistful on the last words. You don’t mean to, it just happens.

“You should do it,” Wesson drags you out of your thoughts and you look back at him. “Travel, I mean. There’s a lot of…” He stops, clears his throat.

“What?” you ask, and he raises his hand to his face, scratches his jaw. He seems almost shy for a second.

“Lots of beautiful things out there,” he says, then looks at you, before lowering his gaze again. He runs his palm over the wood of the bar. “Things you couldn’t even imagine. Things you wouldn’t expect.” You nod slowly.

You don’t point out that you’re a single woman. Traveling’s hardly something that is common to do in your situation.

“I never wanted to run women,” you hear yourself say, and you blink at Wesson when he looks at you again. You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. “Or be a whore. I guess no one does. I wanted to be a biologist. Or a conservationist. When I was a child.”

You feel your cheeks begin to burn and quickly look down. Why would you tell him this? You don’t think you’ve ever told anyone this. But it seems you can’t stop yourself with him.

“I know there’s women that study,” you continue, your mouth and tongue a runaway train you can’t seem to stop. “At universities, I mean. I know there’s a few.” You let your eyes wander up, back to looking at Wesson’s face.

There’s no grin on his face at your words, at the ridiculousness and strangeness of them, a whore wanting to take up studies in a past life. He’s listening, intently, like you’re telling him about the weather. Like you’re talking about something that is normal, is possible. He nods.

“I went to law school for a bit,” Wesson says and you tilt your head while you keep looking at him, hungrily take in this new information. “I was long gone by that point, but I read in the newspaper about them admitting women to the bar. I thought it made sense. To let someone do that job on the basis of their intellect, not their sex.” You press your lips together.

“Yeah, well,” you say, not sure what else to add. You’ve talked about these topics with some of your more world-open customers, but even they tend to agree that the workforce is not the right place for the soft spirits of a woman. They seem to think that no woman should be working, considering how much they adore the gentler sex, while in the same minute paying you to fuck them.

“You didn’t pass the bar?” you ask, tearing yourself from your thoughts. Wesson takes a deep breath.

“I left school,” he says, his tone a little flat. “Never picked it up again.”

“Why?” you ask. Wesson looks at your face, into your eyes, holds your gaze. There’s something soft there, something vulnerable, something that makes you want to take him into your arms, press his cheek against your chest and hold him close.

“Something happened,” he says, voice low. “A… death.”

He just opens his mouth again and you think he’s about to say more, when you hear a door slam above, followed by a some of the girls talking loudly, laughing. It breaks you both out of the moment, and Wesson clears his throat. With a small pinch to your heart, you see him reach for his hat.

“I should get going,” he says. “I had to order more wood to the Mills house, and I don’t want to miss the delivery.” You nod, even though he’s not looking at you, is standing up. He turns to you, nods again.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, sounding formal.

“O-of course,” you reply, and Wesson sniffs, then turns, walks towards the door. You watch him as he opens it and leaves, without looking back.

The morning passes uneventfully. It’s not until you’re in the process of switching out the linens in the cupboards upstairs that you hear a voice call from downstairs. You follow it and when you see who’s there, you freeze.

It’s him. It’s Cain.

He looks good, albeit a little tired. His hair has gone more grey and he’s grown a mustache. He’s in riding gear and there’s two solemn looking men standing behind him.

You raise your chin, straighten your back. Not that much of that is needed, the posture Rowena trained all her girls to have embedded in your body at this point. You go through the flipbook of roles, of women you’ve played, in your head. Wife, nymph, slut. You land on the mixture Cain likes.

You walk towards him, a bright smile on your face, swallowing down your frustration at him not telling you when he was going to arrive once he knew. It sits thick and acidic in your stomach. Cain sees you, and a smile spreads over his face too.

“Ah,” he says, “I come upon you unannounced. How rude of me.” He grabs your hand when you move closer, brings it to his mouth. He looks into your eyes when he kisses the back of it. You lower your face a little, look up at him.

“I’m just happy you’re here,” you reply, pursing your lips as if you’re suppressing a smile. It has the intended effect. Cain’s eyes glimmer and then he tears himself away from you, with some effort. He turns to the other two men.

“If I remember correctly there is a hotel on the south end of town,” he says to them. “The buffet there is quite passable. Bring my things upstairs and then see if you can get rooms there.” The two men look at each other, some disappointment on their faces. Maybe they were hoping Cain would open a tap for them right away, let them each fuck off their week’s wages and some extra. They walk outside, grumbling something as they collect their employer’s luggage from the horses. Cain turns back to you.

“You’ve never eaten at that buffet,” you remark. He pushes out his jaw, an edge of humor spreading around his mouth.

“I just want them gone as quickly as possible,” he says in a low voice. “I am ready for stimulating company.” You raise your chin again, showing him you take his meaning.

The two men walk back in, each with a piece of luggage. Cain directs them upstairs as if he owns the place and they bring his things to your room. You usher Cain there as well, then quickly excuse yourself.

Your room is clean, because you keep it clean, and you don't have to be afraid of Cain tossing the place, so you're fine with leaving him in there alone far as that goes. The fact that it is your space and now it's his sits heavier in you. But it's not like you could entertain him in any of the other rooms. He wouldn't have that.

You walk into the kitchen behind the bar, grab one of the good bottles of Kentucky bourbon from a shelf. Find two clean glasses. Donna walks in as you are rushing around.

“Cain’s here,” you say over your shoulder.

“Oh,” she says, “I thought he was still some weeks out.” You don’t answer the last part. There’s no point. He neglected to inform you of his arrival. It shows a lack of consideration, shows disrespect, almost. But you’re not allowed to show him that, how much it bothers you.

You rush to the other side of the kitchen, place the bottle and glasses on a tray. Then you grab some of the lavender hanging from the ceiling, rub it against the insides of your wrist, against the skin under your ear, between your breasts, and finally along your thighs. Your good perfume is upstairs in your room, but you know Cain hates the breaking of illusions that you don’t naturally smell like flowers. So this will need to help with the smoke and mirrors.

“Bring up that tray in five minutes,” you say. “Or no, have Anna bring it. I’ll need you to make lunch later. The… the pork loin. And I need the tub brought to my room and filled.” You turn to Donna, and she’s nodding along.

“Laundry?” she says and you nod.

“I’ll lay his suit outside once he’s bathed,” you reply. Donna walks up to you quickly, brings her fingers to your cheek, gently pinches the skin there, then does the same on the other side.

“You alright?” she asks, pretending she’s looking at where she is making your skin look fresh and dewy.

“I will be,” you reply, “just…” You see Donna smile, then she looks into your eyes.

“Been a while?” she asks. Yes, it has. It’s not something you thought you could unlearn. You made your money on your back from when you were fifteen to however old you were three years ago. Seduction and the lies and self-sacrifice it requires came to you as easy as breathing. But yes. It has been a while.

You let the thought of Wesson into your head, only for a second. It’s been there, at the corner of your mind, scratching to get in, from the moment you first saw Cain. He’s on your mind for the majority of each day recently, but this is different. A slight panic.

What if he sees Cain. Sees you. Sees you for what you really are.

You take a sharp breath, fill your lungs. Donna squeezes your hand.

“Holler if you need anything,” she says, squeezing harder for a second, and it focuses you some. “I got things covered down here.” You nod. Think about hugging her or planting a kiss on her cheek for a second, as thanks. But it will have to wait.

You hurry back upstairs, then slow when you get to your bedroom door. Straighten your skirt, then walk in.

Cain is standing near the window, but he turns when you walk in, close the door behind you. You give him an apologetic but sweet smile.

“Apologies,” you say, “all yours now.” You stand there, let him take you in. You would have preferred to wear a nicer dress, one with velvet and lace, but this one will have to do. Cain lets his eyes roam over you, slowly.

“You look very beautiful,” he replies and you giggle, begin taking slow steps towards him.

“I look like a homesteader,” you reply, “not some fine New York lady.” You reach him, and he raises his hand, lets the outside of his fingers run over your cheek.

“I think you know you don’t look like a homesteader,” he says in a slightly teasing tone. You bite your lower lip.

“I’m starved for flattery,” you say in a low voice. Cain turns further to you, lowers his head a little.

“Then I shall feed you well in the next hours,” he says, then brings his lips to yours.

You close your eyes, kiss him back. Your nerves have quieted some, and this you know. You’ve found your role now, found the woman you need to be. You’re not really here. You’re an actress in a play, a character.

There’s a knock on the door and you break the kiss, look up into Cain’s eyes, lick your lips.

“Come in,” you say without turning away from him. The door opens, and you hear Anna’s scuttling footsteps.

“Just put it on the dresser,” you say, still holding Cain’s gaze. He likes it, you can see. Only eyes for him.

You don’t detach from him until you hear the door close again. A small giggle leaves you, and then you’re pushing yourself off him, walking over to the tray. It has a small vase with fresh flowers on it. Quaint, country, but sweet. You know they are from Donna, or any of the girls, for you. You grab the bottle, begin pouring two glasses, then turn around again. Cain is pushing the curtain in front of the window to the side, looks down at the street.

“This little town has come quite a way since the last time I was here,” he says. You walk up behind him, bring one hand in front of him, your body close to his. He reaches up, takes the glass of bourbon you poured for him.

“A lot can happen in only a few months,” you say and he nods, then turns around, looks down at you.

“And your business is thriving?” he says, a small smile on his face. “You’ll be the queen of this place at some point.” You chuckle, raise your other hand and rest it on his chest.

“I’ll settle for countess,” you reply and Cain laughs. He takes a sip of his drink, puts it down on your desk, then takes yours and does the same, before he takes your hand in both of his. He leads it up to his lips again, gently kissing it.

“You know, the offer still stands,” he says, giving it another kiss. “You could come back to the city with me. I would set you up properly. Your own apartment. Money you can spend.” You sigh but force a smile, gently shaking your head.

“A daily allowance?” you ask, tone a little challenging. Cain, in his good nature, grins at you.

“A considerable daily allowance,” he says, kissing your hand again, longer this time.

“You would grow bored of me,” you say, making your voice soft. “The only reason you keep coming back is because you can’t really own me. You’re a romantic at heart. That’s your problem.”

Cain’s other hand snakes around you, pulling you close against him.

“You’re too smart for this profession,” he says, tone low, moving his face closer to yours. You raise your chin, your lips not far from his.

“Wouldn’t you much rather come visit me here?” you ask, voice low and seductive. “Have an adventure?” You see him swallow.

“Maybe,” he says, leaning his head further down. “But I do love the thought of owning you.”

You kiss him, hoping that you can stop him from saying anything you don’t want to hear. He kisses you back, passionately, before the fingers of the hand that’s holding you start traveling lower and lower. You break the kiss, look into his eyes.

“How about a bath?” you ask and Cain breathes out through his nose, nods.

“A bath sounds magnificent,” he replies and you smile brightly up at him.

“Do you like it?” Cain asks, playfully twirling one side of his moustache and due to how wet his fingers are, it stays the way it is. You giggle before dipping the cloth you're holding back into the warm, soapy water.

“My mother always said there was no one more handsome than a mustachioed man,” you say, bring the cloth back up and run it over Cain’s back. He chuckles.

“What did your father say to that?” he asks, reaching for his glass, taking another drink.

“He was clean-shaven, so he did not enjoy it,” you reply, making him laugh again. It’s all lies. Your father had a beard. And you knew your mother mostly sleeping and crying and sick in bed. But these truths are yours. They’re not for sharing. Besides, Cain prefers his whore happy.

You’re done with his back, so he leans against the tub. You push the sleeve of your dress up further, to try to stop it from getting wet.

“My wife hates it,” he continues, sniffs. “Especially the beard. She says I look like a heathen.” You frown.

“Do they have beards?” you ask, and Cain shakes his head.

“Not that I’ve seen,” he replies. He sets down his glass on the little stool you’ve positioned next to the bathtub, turns to you.

“Why do you never get in the bath with me?” he asks, looking at your face. You raise your eyebrows.

“Because the tub is too small,” you reply, another lie, and then let a smile play on your lips. “And because we know you wouldn’t be cleaning yourself if I took off my clothes.” Cain huffs through his nose.

“I like that you’re confident, you know,” he says, his voice a little lower as he leans in. You look up at him through your lashes and without breaking eye contact, push your hand into the water again until you find the inside of his thigh.

“I know,” you say, slowly trailing your fingers up, “you’ve told me.” Cain takes a deeper breath, slowly, watches you.

You find him, half hard, wrap your hand around him. He takes a sharp breath when you begin stroking him, lets it out slowly. He leans in, his lips chasing yours but you stay just out of his reach, the way he likes it. He enjoys thinking he's broken down your defenses, that he's getting something not because he'll be paying for it, but because he earned it.

He looks into your eyes as you keep stroking him. You hold his gaze, then look at his mouth. He really is handsome. He's clean and rich. You should consider yourself lucky.

There’s another knock on the door and your gaze shoots there. You’ve explicitly told everyone not to disturb you beyond the things you've ordered.

“Excuse me,” you say, drag your arm from the tub. You grab one of the towels nearby and quickly dry it, before rushing to the door.

You open it, slip out and close it again behind you, before you even see who’s on the other side. When you finally look, you need to crane your neck.

It’s Wesson.

A sharp breath leaves you, but his expression is friendly, open, the way it always is.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says and you should tell him that he is, that he needs to leave, but you don’t. You can’t. Instead your breathing quickens as you look up at him.

“I had some business to attend to this morning,” he continues, “but I just got back and I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk.”

Your breath is caught in your throat, refusing to make its way up. Wesson has his hat in his hands, his fingers running along its rim, and he seems nervous.

“I'm sorry if it seemed like I left suddenly earlier,” he continues and since he's looking down at the floor, he must not see your stuttered breathing. “The topic we talked about, it's a difficult one, and I suppose I haven't talked to many–”

“I can't go on a walk,” you interrupt him, the air finally finding its way up. Wesson looks up at you, surprise on his features.

“Of course,” he says, “you must be busy. You have things to do, not to idle your hours away the way I do.” He smiles on the last part, to underline he's being self-deprecating.

“I have a friend visiting,” you quickly say, and you need to get away from him, from his earnest face and soft eyes and sweet words. “And I will be quite busy for the next few days.” Wesson nods, all understanding, because of course he is. It makes your heart burn and pucker.

“I hope we will still be able to take coffee together in the morning,” he starts, but you turn the door knob you're still holding on to behind you back.

“Good day, Mr. Wesson,” you say and then you turn and slip back into your bedroom, opening the door as little as possible. You close it behind you and then let your back fall against it, take a few quick, shuddering breaths.

It’s the sound of Cain standing, displacing the water in the bathtub, that breaks you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fly to him, as he’s just climbing out, naked, water dripping from him. He has a curious look on his face when he approaches you.

“Are you alright?” he asks. You nod, calm yourself.

“Yes,” you say, force yourself to drop your hands by your side. “Just other things demanding my attention. I’m sorry.”

Cain takes a step towards you, and then another. You keep your eyes on his face and he his on yours and the next second, the presses you against the door, kisses you hard.

You bring your arms up, wrap them around his shoulders. Cain can kiss you because you’ve allowed him to, because that’s the privilege he can afford, or the one you can’t afford to deny, and it’s never bothered you much, but right then, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He presses himself against you, hard, harder than he needs to. You know what he’s doing. He’s reminding you that, at least for the time he is here, you are his. He’s getting your dress wet, but you don’t say anything.

Your thoughts go to Wesson, and you wonder if he is still on the other side of the door, listening to the breaths, the wet sounds. You don’t want him to, but when you imagine it’s him instead of Cain you’re kissing, it’s even worse.

So you don’t imagine anything. You slip into your role and walk onto the stage.

#blackbird #western au #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #spn au #cain x reader #cain x you

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slinkythecoffeekid · 3 months ago

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Chapter Four || Don't Worry, I'm (not) a Professional

Updates: Sorry this chapter took so long to write. I had a busy month between school and, weirdly, hospital visits (I'm fine, I promise). I also spent so much time trying to do fact-checking for travel for this chapter. I did a lot of weird little research for this chapter for some reason. For one, the match Roy mentions about Chelsea winning 3-nil to Arsenal had to be in 2009 because Chelsea also won the Premier's League that year, and that would have been 8 years before Roy was with Richmond for Season One. Putting Roy at roughly 22. (That is if season one takes place when it aired) second: just trying to do travel realistically for reader was a fucking wild time, and then I started playing with google earth and looking at the British countryside. sooooo... Third: The playlist has been updated for the next three chapters, and I'll post the individual playlists later. Chapter Four of "Standing Again" Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Reader Rating: T for teens Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: swearing, Talk of injury, Injury-related trauma, PTSD behaviors, people being relative assholes, also reader is so mean to themselves (I'm so sorry) Synopsis: An emotional meltdown on your own leads to you giving rebbeca an answer, your feelings start to hit a head and you have to be honest with yourself.

Monday mornings always were like pulling teeth; even now, they are still for you. You stood in the queue waiting to order a drink at the local cafe. Your now parasitic relationship partner in crime, Jamie, stood beside you, distracted by his phone, probably scrolling through Instagram or Twitter. Randomly, you'd hear him chuckle to himself before falling silent or aggressively typing something from your right side. People noticed Jamie was there, but most people were far too exhausted this early even to try to talk to him. You also are one of those exhausted people, and that might have added to the lack of people, your resting grumpy face.

The line moves at a standard pace for an early morning rush, and you move with the flow of the queue, but you are very distracted by your phone. Since your meetup with your eldest brother and coming to terms with your situation, you've been slowly branching back out to talking to former friends. You were not expecting people to be so thrilled to hear from you, including your old teammates, an old group chat you had put on do not disturb brought back on your terms, but you were also starting to regret turning the notifications back on since your friends could not shut up in this chat, mostly talking to each other still but there was now a lot more notifications directed at you like:

“When are you coming to visit?”

“Are you dating someone now?”

“Are you able to come play a game?”

You know the routine questions. At the moment, the group chat was trying to figure out a time for you to come out west to visit them and hang out with the team, as most, except a few, still played for Man City, the constant texts from your mates this early reminded you just how attuned to the morning everyone in your life is. Reading about your friends going back and forth about plans brought a small smile to your face.

“What's got you so chipper over there?” Jamie looks over at you with a raised eyebrow. Followed by him peering over to see if maybe you'd opened one of the thousands of memes/reels he's sent you in the past hour alone.

You don’t look at him but continue to chuckle at an exchange between your mates, “Park and Thomas are trying to get me to visit for a day, and the two can never agree on a damn thing.” you look up at the fact that you two are at the head of the queue, “go on order or something, you're putting a wrench in my jog” you push him forward.

“Alright, alright, geez, don't gotta shove me!” he whines at you, batting at your hands as he moves forward to order his vanilla latte before shortly turning back to you, “Same or something else this morning?”

“Surprise me.” Your phone captures your attention fully, and you remove yourself from the queue and sit at a small table, setting your backpack down and waiting for Jamie and your drink. You hardly notice that someone has approached you, like a giant ninja, except the human embodiment of Winnie the Pooh and his shadow, Coach Beard.

“Well howdy and good morning, doc!” Ted's voice startles you away from your scrolling to keep up with the texts you've been receiving all morning. Your skittishness never failed to startle Ted more than yourself most times, and this was no exception to the rule. Beard and Ted leaned away from you in case you decided to use either of them as a punching bag at the moment. Beard let out a ‘woah’ witnessing your panic. Once you settle back into your seat, Ted gives you a sheepish smile, “Am I ever not going to startle you?”

You sit in your seat, attempting to straighten yourself out and let out a deep breath in an attempt to steel your anxious heart. Your whole body now felt tense, but you looked over at Ted. " If you start making noise when you walk, maybe we wouldn't keep running into this issue. Good morning, Coach Ted. " You gave him a sheepish smile in return. “How are you this morning?”

“Pretty chipper if I do say so myself. The sun's up, and I'm still alive and enjoying my life... How about yourself there?”

You shrug, “Jamie decided to hijack my morning routine today, so I'm waiting for him to get over here with my drink… maybe I shouldn't have left him in charge of that-” You look over to the counter where Jamie is waiting for both of your drinks still, he was looking at his phone and smiling to himself, and occasionally said good morning to anyone who greeted him. Being famous was a wild thing, being recognized in the wild of society must suck. He looked up, catching your gaze, and gave a wave, realizing his coaches were also next to you; he waved to them, too. You roll your eyes, shaking your head at him before looking at your phone to a text from Jamie.

Jamie (fucking) Tartt It will be a few more minutes. Tell Ted and Beard cheers for me.

You turn your phone back over on the table and look at the coaches. “Verbatim, cheers. From Jamie.”

Both coaches waved back to Jamie when he waved to them. Beard cleared his throat and looked over at you with a raised eyebrow, “didn’t realize you were making friends with the team. You have that whole…” Beard gestures to your entire being, “Don't talk to me. I bite vibe about you.”

“Oh I do, and I draw blood,” you look between the two coaches who now are either very concerned for their safety or very concerned for your safety and that brings a sadistic smile to your face, “Nah, he just kinda decided we are friends now and I'm not arguing with it, the same way that Keeley has also decided that I'm her friend. Are we sure that those two don't share the same brain?”

This ignited a chuckle from both coaches, “If they are, they both do well-taking turns with it.” Beard looked down at his watch and nudged Ted.

Ted looks over with a ‘Hm?’ but nods seeing the time on Beard's watch, “Well doc, we will see you in a bit, gotta drop off the boss lady's biscuits and decide what the plan for today is,” he adjusts his bag and jacket, “see you later (y/n)!” and with that both Ted and Coach Beard headed out the cafe.

You wave them off, and before you can adjust to the lack of humans in your vicinity, a cup is placed in front of you. You look up and smile at Jamie. “Thanks, mate. We should get going.” You take your takeaway cup and stand, grabbing your bag that you sat down a while ago while waiting for Jamie.

Jamie nods, taking a sip from his cup, “Yeah- don't want to have to hear Granddad yelling at me about being late.” Grumbling to himself, he heads outside with you next to him.

From any outside perspective, you two were opposites, Jamie in his flashy ICON hat and his puffer vest that, honestly, you had no idea how many of those things he had, you didn't want to find out. His cross-body bag and way too expensive trainers. He looked like a kid who just had money to spend on his parents' credit cards. You could feel the stress of paying off that credit card bill forming in the back of your mind. You on the other hand, wore black athletic joggers, a black hoodie, and a grey t-shirt under the hoodie, your trainers were a pair of white Adidas you had splurged on a while back and they for the fact you wore them quite a bit; held up and you did your best to keep them clean for yourself. Of course, you also had a hat on, but it was a plain black one. You dressed like a normal person compared to the walking billboard for flashy fashion.

Jamie unlocked the car as you two both approached. You opened up the back passenger door and put your bag on the floor to avoid any damage. Once you had assured your laptop wasn't going to get crushed by anything, you shut the door and got into the passenger seat. Buckling yourself in, you put your coffee in the coffee holder and frowned. The one thing you noticed from the two times in Jamie's car is that the seat never was adjusted from how you adjusted the seat.

Jamie, who had started the car and was backing out of the spot he was in, had his hand around the back of your seat to help him back out of the spot. “What?” he asked, glancing at your perplexed expression.

You shake your head; you were reading too far into it. Perhaps the last person just liked where you set the seat, or more likely, he hadn't had anyone else in his car since last Saturday. “Seat has not been adjusted.”

Jamie rolled his eyes as he put the car into drive after he had backed the car out of the parking spot, “Well duh, I haven't had anyone else in the car- what do you take me for?”

“To be completely honest? A bit of a whore,” you take a sip of your coffee.

Jamie gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest, “(y/n) I'm hurt! This is defamation of character!” There was a smirk on his face, and he glanced back over to you.

You smirk at his offense, “Surprised you even know what defamation of character is- also, let's not forget about your stint on ‘Lust Conquers All’ poor Amy's heart,” you tease and lean back in your seat.

“It's a reality show! You play to win! But also, yeah, no, it was pretty rude of me, wasn't it?” he shrugged, turning the corner.

You nod, watching the road. The silence that fell over the car ride was comfortable and incredibly short-lived as you two made it to the Richmond clubhouse in good time, considering the time of day it was. Jamie pulled up to the door and unlocked the doors. “And here you are.”

You roll your eyes, unbuckle yourself, and open your door. Climbing out, you are handed your coffee, and you shut the door before getting into the backseat and grabbing your backpack. You look over to Jamie, who was watching you to make sure you got everything. “Watch it, Tartt. People might think we’re dating or something.”

He shrugs and gives you the signature Tartt Smirk, “Wouldn't that be just your luck?”

You shake your head, waving as you head inside the building. Once inside, you head directly to your office to set down your bag. Surprised you haven't run into anyone. More surprised that Keeley wasn't waiting for you in your office. However, as out of character as it was, it made for a quiet morning. Monday meant that you had to get through the next three days with whatever you had left over from the previous order, so here you stood in front of all five of your fridges staring into them like you'd been sucked into the void. You let out a loud sigh, shut the doors to the fridges, and sit yourself on one of your counters sitting crisscross applesauce, checking your phone. Many new notifications came in from your friends, and a few from your brother, including a very cute photo of your nephews in their afterschool football club jerseys together. You hadn't realized how big they had gotten, for both of them to be playing in after-school teams.

The thing that caught your eye more than anything was a link that Roy had sent you that you had not seen until now. Considering he sent it at three in the bloody morning, it was not a surprise you hadn't seen it.

Roy (that footballer) Kent [link] You're going to want to look at this.

Now, knowing Roy this long, you knew he would never send you something that would intentionally throw you off your rhythm. However, there have been moments where the wrong things have been said to the wrong people, and feelings have gotten hurt. However, you didn't think this was one of those moments. You click the link, and it leads you to a YouTube video from Sky Sports, specifically that Saturday Gillette panel they run. You always thought that panel was bogus, three guys talking about a sport that they hadn't played in years and only talked about the statistical side of a season and projections and stuff like that. There was no heart for an underdog. However, the title of the clip caught your eye.

(Y/N) COMING BACK TO FOOTBALL?

You rolled your eyes as you clicked play on the clip. Per usual, the three men, Jeff Stelling, Chris Karma, and George Cartrick, sat around the stage desk, talking about a game that had their attention more so than whatever this clip was going to talk about.

“Right then, in other footballing news, we turn to the Championship League. Former Goalkeeper star (y/n) was seen in the Richmond Greyhounds Dugout on Saturday during the Richmond Vs Sunderland game.” A picture from last Saturday of you chatting with the other coaches on the sidelines shows up on the screen behind them. “What do you think this means for her career going forward? Chris?” “I think it would be wonderful if we could see them back on the pitch and in the box. They are one heck of a goalkeeper, and we cannot forget about the iconic broken nose from their debut game. They have a presence on the pitch, and they have been sorely missed by their fans.” Another picture of you from your debut game, after you'd been patched up from stopping a goal with your face, of all things. You were roaring at your team's victory, you had gone back to being the goalkeeper after receiving medical care. Seeing this photo of you brought a smile to your face. Chris always had nice things to say about everyone, though. “What about you, George?” “I don't see why everyone's so excited to see them. For all we know, they could just work for Richmond as kit men. They have been a decent goalkeeper, but at the end of the day, they retired after one torn ligament in their leg. I've seen men push through worse and come back better than before they got hurt. That's what happens when we treat mediocrity like they are a godsend. Their ego gets overinflated, and then they crash and burn. Just like (y/n).” “That's some… deep feelings there, George. Personally, if they are coming back to football, I wish them the best, and if it even just means being a coach, they are always welcomed in my eyes on the pitch.”

You sat there stunned and quiet, not that you'd been talking, but hearing such an unfiltered negative opinion of you always was a punch to your ego, self-esteem, and sense of worth. You stared at your phone for far too long, hearing the words that George said over and over again. Not that you should care about it, George was a sexist prick, and you hated him too, but it was the fact he said that on national television that got you. You had always had critics, you had people who didn't like you. It was part of the sport, part of being someone people could spot in a crowd. It never hurt like this, though; it wasn't the fact of who it came from but the message. The feeling was deeper than surface-level criticism, you recognized this feeling, the feeling that they were right.

Forcing yourself off the counter, you shoot a quick text to Rebecca that you're taking off for the day. Not that you needed to be in the office today for long. You also put your phone back on Do Not Disturb as it had been for the past three years. You needed some air. You need to take a walk, be distracted, anything to keep you busy. You grab your keys and your bag and leave the confines of your office that had begun to feel suffocating to you and walk out of the building, off the club property, through town, and to the bus station. You were going purely on muscle memory; what you were about to do was not a trip you had taken recently, but you knew where you needed to be, somewhere so much louder where no one knew you. Not that many people in Richmond knew you, but the feeling of being somewhere else was something you needed.

So you made your way to the bus stop closest to you. You sat patiently waiting for the bus; it wasn't long before it showed up. Getting to you took a transfer ticket, as there was no train station in Richmond, and you needed to take two buses to even get to the nearest train station. The bus ride was quiet; most people on the bus were heading to or from somewhere in their daily lives. No one batted an eye at another person on the bus. You made sure to sit near a window seat away from others and had both your earbuds in to listen to something to fill the silence. What you had decided on was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

THE BOY’S NAME WAS SANTIAGO. DUSK was falling as the boy arrived with his herd at an abandoned church. The roof had fallen in long ago, and an enormous sycamore had grown on the spot where the sacristy had once stood.

---

After taking both buses, you arrive in Darlington, specifically about a block away from the train station. The beautiful old structure and its bell tower stood proudly against the blue skies of the day. You had bought your ticket online while on the bus, so you quickly made your way into the train station and headed towards the platform. The station was as busy as any station could be at midday, but boarding was easy enough. You found yourself an open seat, and you got comfortable. By all estimations, this ride was going to be less than two hours, and you could use it to check your emails. Settling into your seat properly, you pulled out your laptop and got to work doing smaller tasks you knew you could do remotely.

You spent the next two hours bouncing between work emails and spacing out, watching the countryside and the towns you passed through. Your train stopped in York, Leeds, and Huddersfield. Luckily, your train ride went as smoothly as it could, and in the blink of an eye, your train had stopped at your destination.

“Now arriving at Victoria Station in Manchester. If departing, please make sure you have all items,” a voice announced from the overhead.

You looked up at the speaker and then back to the window to the inside of the station, packed your bag up, and got ready to disembark. As the train came to a stop, people stood and slowly filtered off the train, and you were alongside the crowd. Once off the train and a safe enough distance away from the platform, you stopped to take in the stadium. Looking around, you start walking, following the signs to the stairs that lead you outside and into Manchester proper. Looking around, you could see the cabs coming and going to take people, but you, being someone who doesn't mind a good walk, decided to leg it. The city hasn't changed much. Full of people, full of construction. The usual city bustle you had once loved, but now? It was just far too loud for your taste.

Your walk was one of brisk walking and very little taking in the sights, but it was all worth it as you made it to the home of your former club, staring up at the big stadium you thought maybe you'd feel something. Happiness? Relief? But staring at it, you felt this pit in your heart grow deeper. Why did you come out here? Why did you want this again? Did you miss the sport or miss being relevant? That couldn't be the end of this- no, you came out here and you did it to feel better, so that's what you were going to do dammit.

You stared up at the main stand entrance, looking at the picture of the men's team on the billboard, nodded at it, in a show of respect for them, and headed toward the door. You honestly had no idea what you were planning on doing once inside, but you felt that maybe taking a tour of the place would help fill you with better feelings than whatever you were feeling in your chest now. Once you had made it inside the building, you looked around seeing posters of team members, photos of winning celebrations, years the club won the cup, for women and men, all the club's history was on display. You walk around looking at the old pictures and Kits. You walk over to the 2014-2015 season pictures and memorabilia, a picture of your team and yourself, you smile to yourself thinking about how everyone in the photo was joking around and having a good time, and even your former manager was smiling even though he was well known for being a stoic guy. Looking at yourself being so happy surrounded by your best mates and blissfully unaware of the fact you'd retire after that season is a bit jarring to you. Your smile fades, and you just stare at yourself in the picture. You're younger, obviously, and in the best shape of your life. However, there is a much different energy that you had in this photo. The lack of cynicism, the pure spirit of a young footballer who is one of the best in the world, and just pure joy. All three things were something you'd become accustomed to being the opposite of. You stood staring for a moment, not hearing someone come up beside you. You need to start paying better attention to your surroundings.

“That year, that was a decent season for the men. Shame that we didn't win, though. Us losing to Chelsea for both teams, is still one hell of a season for the women, with them securing their Super League spot. Those were two hells of lineups, though. You a fan?” the voice that came from next to you was from an older man, looking roughly to be in his late seventies to early eighties if you had to hazard a guess on his age. He was a tall man and lanky to boot, his hair snow white, and he wore khakis and a plaid sky-blue button-up with a fleece vest over the top that was zipped up. He offered a kind smile that would make you a horrible person if you didn't return the smile.

You nod, although a little aloof, and give the man a small smile, “You could say that. Man, City is pretty dear to my heart.” You look at your picture one last time before turning to face the man entirely.

He nods, “Ah, good on yah. Are you here for one of the tours or just here to visit?”

You pause to think; you didn't come up with many plans, and you didn't tell anyone where you were heading. What you did know is that you missed something, and you wanted to figure it out. “Yeah, I'm here for one of the tours. Figured I might since I'm in town for the day.”

The older man beams at you and gestures you to follow, “Right then, well let's start from the beginning of the founding of the club in 1880-”

—

To say it had been a peaceful day at the Richmond clubhouse was true, as no one was particularly needy, no fires to put out, no drama, and easy enough board meetings for Rebeca to have. It was probably the calmest Monday the club had had in a while.

The coaches all sat in the office eating their lunches, Both Ted and Beard had sandwiches, Roy had some sort of homemade protein god meal that he made the night before and Nate had leftover takeaway, the coaches had been discussing plans for their games coming up for the week and while they talked taking turns pitching formation plans. The problem with having the same four coaches talking over the same conversation is that they never get anywhere. “I would say we could ask the team what they think, but then we aren't doing our job they’re doing ours…” Ted sat back in his chair, letting out a long sigh, and looked up at the clock. “I say we table this conversation and talk about something else. Anyone got anything that they want to talk about?” he laces his fingers behind his head and looks at the other coaches.

Both Roy and Beard shake their heads and continue to eat their food, and both respectively have now pulled a book out of thin air and continue to read and eat.

Nate, although still sitting on the filing cabinet, looks around, “thought (y/n) would have been called in or somethin',” he jokes to himself, but the smile fades seeing no one responds to it the way he was expecting. “Can’t always ask them for their thoughts, not their job.” Beard gives Nate a long, hard look over the top of his book, watching Nate causing him to squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze.

“I just mean- they know defensive teams, that's all I meant by it.” Nate looks down at the floor, a bit abashed, twiddling his thumbs.

The coaches soaked in the unspoken tension before Jamie popped his head into the office, “Hey coach, have you seen (y/n)? I haven't seen them, and they aren't in their office.”

The four coaches shrug and shake their heads, a small mixture of ‘no, I haven't’ from all of them.

“Sorry, Jamie. I haven't seen them since this morning. Is everything okay?” he looks at Jamie, worried.

Jamie shakes his head. " Nothing serious, but they seemed fine this morning—I wonder why they would have left, that's all.”

Roy sighs and shuts his book. “Shut the door.”

The coaches looked at each other in concern, but Beard rolled over to the door closest to him and shut it. Nate shut the door to the office that connected his and Roy's to the main coach's office.

“Well, that's not ominous, grandad-’ Jamie steps into the office, and Beard shuts the door behind him.

Ted sat up straight with great concern, “Everything alright, Roy? If you need to talk to us, we are all ears.”

“It's not about me, it's about (y/n). Just watch.” Roy grunts, pulling out his phone and opening the link sent to you earlier today. The four men sit quietly as they listen to the audio. Roy had fast-forwarded it so that it was only the part where George was talking and the end of the clip. The four men sat in uneasy silence as the audio ended, and Roy put his phone back into his pocket. The room sat in silence, processing what was said.

“That's some strong feelings…” Ted nodded his head slowly. “But Roy, why are you wound up tighter than a ball of yarn in my grandma's bag over this?”

Roy sighs and crosses his arms leaning against the glass window, “thought maybe they would want to see it before someone confronted them about it, I dunno Id be pissed if someone came up to me and asked if I was going to play again based on one stupid comment from those idiots.”

Beard nods, leaning further back in his seat and puts his feet up on the desk, “They didn't even necessarily talk about the fact that we won but the fact that (y/n) was there.” seeing everyone looking at him, he shrugs nonchalantly, “I watched the whole segment.”

Jamie frowned, “They ain't like you Roy, not everyone brushes shit off the way you do.” he was frustrated, yes slightly at Roy for thinking that it was appropriate to send you something like this, it was bound to shake your confidence. What he was truly mad about was the fact that you were still so uncomfortable talking to anyone about anything you were feeling. Jamie thought you two were opening up to each other, but he guessed he was wrong.

Roy's shoulders tensed looking over at Jamie, “I realize that now Tartt-” he was angry enough at himself he didn't need the blame of a shithead like Jamie on top of that, one slight move could turn into a physical altercation in a small office.

Ted raised his hands to stop the boys from turning their disagreement into a fistfight. “Alright, woah, woah, woah fellas! Alright now, look, Roy, you misread the situation, and it probably caused them to not have the best of times. And Jamie, I know you two have become friends, but there are things we just don't talk about with others. What matters is that we support them whenever they get back, be it today or tomorrow, Because that's what friends do. Now, where would they have gone if this caused them to leave?”

Beard, Jamie, and Roy all looked between each other and Ted in confusion and shook their heads, not sure. You still were an enigma to them. You stayed quiet, and you did things that kept people from knowing you well, and that was how you liked it.

Nate, however, not that he knew you well or wanted to know you well, had noticed some of your behavior when no one was looking, the Man City memorabilia that you kept on you, specifically your key lanyard. Your office had Manchester City stuff in it, too. Your reserved personality is the way you only piped up if someone asked. The nervous tendency to bite your nails. These were all things he had seen and noticed. “Could it be they went to Manchester?” he nervously cleared his throat as now everyone in the room looked over at him. “I just mean- that's where they used to play, right? If I was in a shit mood id want to relive my glory.”

The other four men all had an ‘ah yes’ moment and then all sat there, twiddling their thumbs as if deciding what to do since they didn't know if it was best to still leave you be or for someone to go get you. Jamie looked between his four coaches and shoved his hands in his pockets. “imma go then- grab lunch or something,” and he turned to head out the door.

“Hey, Jamie?” Ted called from behind him.

“Yeah, coach?” Jamie paused and looked back over his shoulder.

“Listening first is important, but showing that you hear what's being said is also important… alright?” Ted glinted in his eye; he knew what Jamie was thinking, and he gave Jamie a nod, the go ahead.”

Jamie smiles and nods understandingly. “Right, I got it, coach." With that, he heads for his locker.

“Sure it's a good idea for Jamie to go after them?” Beard looks over at Ted with a raised eyebrow.

“We won't know until they get back, will we?” Ted smiles, turning back to the strategy board. Right, fellas, let's get back to it, shall we?”

—

Jamie grabbed his bag and his keys out of the top of his locker, checking his phone for the time. Realizing what time it was he scrambled to continue packing his things up for the day, muttering to himself as things didn't go into his bag as smoothly as he was hoping for, then attempting to shove everything back in again with less success than the first time. Most of the team was in the locker room, either they stayed for lunch or they had just returned from grabbing food.

“Think he's alright? He's been trying to shove his phone in his bag for a minute there now,” Collin was watching Jamie while eating a bag of crisps from a sandwich shop he popped into for lunch. He was standing next to Isaac and Sam who both were paying little if absolutely no mind to Jamie's stress.

Sam glanced up from his phone to look at Collin, “Perhaps he missed (y/n), they eat lunch together most days.” he then went back to scrolling on his phone. Clearly not interested in Jamie.

“Nah mate, (y/n) left earlier.” Isaac finished fixing his boots and looked at Jamie while still hunched over from tying his laces. “Stressing over something stupid.” he rolled his eyes straightening up and putting his phone in his cubby.

Collin frowned, arms crossed watching Jamie still, as he watched Jamie a small group of the team had congregated around them, all just watching Jamie stressing. All of them whispered and shared their ideas of why he looked like he just found out his nan was in the hospital. Common theories where he found out his favorite hair care product got discontinued, that his nan might actually be in hospital, and the fan favorite, he did something stupid towards you and was trying to fix it.

Finally, Isaac let out a sigh, “Oi. Tartt, what are you on about over there?”

Jamie finally looked up to see all of his teammates standing huddled staring at him. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, “how long have you all been standing over there like that?”

There's a mass of muttering from the group, But Collin brings attention to himself, “You alright there boyo? You look like your nan is in hospital like you're pale as a ghost.”

Jamie frowns looking back down at his phone, and sighs, “should I take M-6 or A1M? To get to Manchester, I mean?”

Everyone looked at him genuinely confused by the question, but everyone seemed to agree on him taking the A1M. Isaac held his hand up and everyone looked to their captain with bated breath. “Take the A1M bruv, you ditching practice for some stupid reason?”

Jamie shook his head, he would never consider you a stupid reason, he considered you a friend and was concerned about your wellbeing. Mental health had never been something he considered before. After coming back he realized he was projecting that he was mentally stable by being a jerk and that wasn't healthy, and he had seen the number that your mental state had been through. He was concerned that you might close back up on everyone from just that stupid video, and that scared him. “(y/n) isn't a stupid reason. Look, I’ll make it up to everyone- I'll run laps I'll take whatever anyone wants to throw at me-” he was cut off by Isaac's silent hand telling him to stop.

“If it's for (y/n), you're good bruv. They're part of our team.” Isaac nods his head giving the all good to Jamie.

Jamie stands there for a moment before realizing he had been standing still for way too long and in a moment of anxious energy gives Isaac a hug before running out the door, Isaac was frozen in place by this as the entire team looks at him in confusion and amusement. Some of the team started gossiping amongst themselves before continuing what they had been up to before.

Sam smirked to himself and turned to Isaac saying in a light-hearted tone, “Perhaps Jamie has found a person to match him.” Collin nodded with a smile, “God save the queen.” Isaac nods, “and us.”

- By the time your tour had wrapped up, it was around 4 pm. You and Mr. Webbly, as you learned his name was, sat quietly in the stands just watching, there was no practice, no game, and the only other person out on the field was the groundmen taking care of the pitch. But besides the sound of the distant mower and the environment around you, all you had to hear was your breathing and your voice. The two of you had a bottle of water as you both contemplated whatever you had on your mind. You couldn't begin to think of what an old man such as Mr. Webbly had to contemplate, maybe what flowers to get his wife on his way home? You had learned he had a wife and she adored flowers. You on the other hand? You had so much you were thinking about. Between work and personal things you had been combatting your mind was racing and you could feel yourself tensing.

“You know, I knew who you were the second you walked in the door,” Mr. Webbly's voice pulled you right out of your internal spiral. You turned to him, he didn't look over at you, only took a drink of his water amidst your own confusion.

“You knew?” you ask more confused in your face than your voice.

“Yep, hard to forget someone you used to see every Saturday and Wednesday defend the goal box as their life depended on it for three years. But also because you always would say hi on your way in the door every morning,” He turned to you and smiled. You may have never remembered him but he remembered you, honestly, it surprised you, you thought you'd become irrelevant that no one cared about you professionally like that.

“I didn't realize-”

“I didn't expect you to. You have been gone awhile, and you also were a busy young superstar of an athlete, can't remember everyone's names and faces.” Mr. Webbly smiled at you leaning back in his seat. “So, Why did you come back? And for a tour of all things?” he asked giving you a questioning look.

You sit with your hands between your knees and hunched over thinking. You had plenty of reasons to visit, but none seemed like good excuses now. “I needed the validation.” you at Mr. Webbly, “I needed the emotional validation to move on to the next part of my life. I've been avoiding myself and my recovery because I was… I'm scared that if I let it go then I won't be good enough as an athlete anymore.” you sigh and let out a dry chuckle to yourself, “Silly, isn't it? I needed permission to move on from an inanimate concept.” you gesture to the field.

Mr. Webbly shakes his head, “Growing and healing takes many shapes, if you need permission to move on from Man City from the pitch itself. Then so be it. Everyone is different in their healing processes.” he smiles kindly at you.

You nod standing up from your seat, “I'm not even sure I've made my mind up about what I want to do next though.”

Mr. Webbly chuckles, “You have. You just don't realize it, or you do and don't want to admit it. If you were not ready to be back on the pitch you wouldn't have been there, but you were and you came out here looking for closure. I say you've made your choice quite clearly.” he stands next to you and gestures to the pitch. “I may be an old man. But for prosperity's sake, want to kick the football on this pitch one last time? To really move on?”

You think for a moment, all your fears about being and getting hurt flood your mind and you start to have a moment of deep dread, but you shake it off. You look to Mr. Webbly, and nod, “Yeah, except I prefer to be blocking the goalpost.” you smile and the two of you make your way onto the pitch. Since the groundskeeping team had finished their jobs a while ago now. The two of you walk to the far side of the pitch to the goal box, somewhere along the way Mr. Webbly manages to get his hands on a football and you make your way down to the box, walking under it you stare up at it, reminiscing about the last time you stood under this goal post. It brings a smile to your face. You turn back around to Mr Webbly who has set himself up for a simple free kick.

“Ready out there (y/n)?”

You let out a deep sigh, “Ready when you are Mr. Webbly!”

Mr Webbly nods and lines himself up before kicking the ball much harder and faster than you had expected the old man to do. You froze for a second seeing the ball flying right at you, if you dived to catch it you could tear something; if you dived to avoid it, you could tear something; if you stood there, then you defeated the purpose of this entire trip. You could feel yourself panicking as this ball was flying right towards your box.

That's what happens when we treat mediocrity like they are a godsend. Their ego gets overinflated, and then they crash and burn. Just like (y/n).”

Your focus snapped back, you were never mediocre, you were great, that's why you played for Man City, it's why you played period, to be the best. You deserve the ego you gave yourself, and you are allowed to be in pain but also allowed to heal. Refocusing on the moment you dove to your left to block or catch, whatever came first. You ended up catching the ball with your full body weight outside the line and held the ball to your chest. Laying on the ground. Your heart was racing and your breath ragged, but in the calmness, you started to laugh, and you laughed so hard you even started to cry.

Eventually, Mr. Webbly stood over you with a smile and his hand extended out to you. “I think Man City has given you the Alright to move on for yourself.”

You look up at him and take his hand, “Thank you, Mr. Webbly.” With his help, you are pulled to your feet, and you brush yourself off before handing back the ball. “I needed that.”

Mr. Webbly takes the ball from you and smiles so proudly at the person you've become, “Anytime you want to visit, just visit. It doesn't have to be for some emotional growth.”

You chuckle and nod, “I'll keep that in mind.” You reach for your phone in your bag as it has started buzzing. Frowning you take it out of your bag to see whos calling you, the contact that pops up is Jamies, to match the contact name of Jamie Fucking Tartt was a picture you took on Sunday morning while he was over, attempting to carry every extra blanket back to the wardrobe and him looking like Gus Gus from Cinderella when he had all the corn pieces under his chin, but it was Jamie with about 13 blankets folded neatly. You look to Mr. Webbly and smile sheepishly. “Gotta take this.”

Mr. Webbly waves you off as you walk away, picking up the phone call, and heading back towards the entrance you came in at. “Hey Jamie-” you barely got two words out before he interrupted you.

“I know you are going through something, and I dunno what it's like to have to retire early and not be able to cope, but we are friends, yah know? At least I think we are friends. I know you might not want to talk about it, but I want to be here for you.” Jamie was ranting, and you honestly felt kinda bad because you were the reason he felt like this. On the other hand, it was rather sweet how worked up he had gotten because he was scared of losing your friendship.

“I know, and I'm sorry, Jamie. We can talk about this when I get back to Richmond, I'm kinda in Manchester-” you rounded the corner to Jamie staring you down from the entrance.

“I know,” his voice echoing in the call and the open area, before putting his phone away, “is it weird i followed you cross the country to check on you?” his hands where in his pockets and he seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

“Depends on your version of things, some would say its quite romantic,” you walk over to him and pull him into a tight hug, catching the poor man off guard. “I'm one of those few that it could go either way. Thank you for worrying about me Tartt.”

Jamie by this point has gotten relatively used to your rare moments of affection, and hugs you back tightly, “anytime.”

You two stay like this for only a few seconds, but it was the most peaceful few moments you've had in a long time, separating from Jamie you look at the time on your phone, “Welp we should get going to the station then, grab the train back to Darlington.” you start typing on your phone to purchase the tickets back.

Jamie shakes his head, “No need,” he starts walking with his keys swinging around his index finger.

“Don't tell me you drove the entire way out here; petrol is expensive as it is!” you call after him in a hurry.

Jamie gives you a offended look before laughing, “and you think id make it here in one piece if i took the train? Id probably have one sock left on my body.” he laughs walking you two towards his car.

Shaking your head, you climbed in once he had unlocked the doors for the two of you, and you bucked up in your seat, “oh poor Tartt not having anything left of him but one of his 50-pound socks.”

Jamie rolls his eyes turning the engine over and pulled out of the parking spot heading back towards Richmond. “It's a wonder how you're still single.”

—

The ride back to Richmond went as smoothly as one could expect with the Manchester traffic. You spent most of the drive chatting with Jamie and reading your book; if you were not holding something in your hand, it was dangerously close to holding a certain driver. However, you did fall asleep about halfway through the drive, tired from your emotional rollercoaster you still hadn't even told Jamie about yet. You needed to see Rebecca before you told anyone else around you what you had decided on. Once Jamie had pulled into the car park, he gently shook you to wake you.

“Rise and shine sleepyhead,” His voice was soft, as if afraid waking you would result in you being startled. To his credit, it was a valid fear and concern.

You are slow to wake up as its probably the best sleep you've had in a few weeks, but you do stir, glaring exhausted daggers at Jamie, “if it wasn't for the fact that its your car i would go back to bed.” you let out a loud yawn and stretch in the seat before looking around and sigh. “Alright thanks for the lift back.”

Jamie nods, “I can give you a ride home if you want?”

You think about it and shake your head, “ill be ok, i want to get my run in at some point today.” you gather your things before getting out of the car. “Thank you Jamie. I mean it.” you wave before heading into the building. You had made it to the base of the stairs to Rebecca's office seeing she was getting ready to leave, you call up to her, “Rebecca do you have a moment?”

Rebecca had been chatting with Higgins on her way out the door for the day and both stopped talking and leaned over the railing to see who was there, seeing you they both seemed surprised as they both knew you left.

“Oh! Of course, come on then!” Rebecca headed back towards her office, “my apologies Leslie, do have a good night though,” she gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Leslie nodded and smiled politely, “thank you, you too Rebecca, good night (y/n)” he wished you as he headed out the door and you wave him off heading up the stairs.

As you enter Rebecca's office she is setting her coat and bag back down by her desk, she looks over at you with her pleasant smile, “how are you feeling, you left earlier but I hadn't had the chance to check on you.”

“Ah, I'm alright.” You set your bag down on the floor and sit in the armchair quietly

“That's good, glad you're feeling better,” she grabs herself a glass of water, “so what is it you wanted to talk about?”

You sit still, staring at your hands for a moment before taking a deep breath, “Rebecca, I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn down your offer to be a coach, assistant or otherwise.” you couldn't bring yourself to look at her out of shame. You didn't want to hurt your bosses feelings but you couldn't feel but that you let her down.

“Oh.”

There was a long silence before the sound of the couch fabric rustling after a moment and Rebeca was now holding both of your hands in her own, comforting and firm, you managed to gain enough courage to look at her. Rebecca gave you a comforting smile, she was disappointed yes but there was understanding in her eyes.

“Its alright (y/n), i wanted to see you come back to the pitch, not everyone's career trajectory after injury is the same, you're not Roy, you're not Chris Karma, you're you. And what ever you want to do next is your choice.” she gives you a gentle pat on your hands, “i would just hate to see you leave.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “oh I'm not going anywhere yet!” you now hold her hands in yours with a strong grip that you barely realize you had, “that i can promise you but you'll have to prepare for that eventually.”

Rebecca's eyebrow raises in interest and concern, “then what do you want to do (y/n)?”

You smile, a fire in your soul that you didn't realize you'd been missing for such a long time, determination and wanting.

“Rebecca, I want to play again.”

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#Spotify #jamie tartt x reader #afc richmond #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #jamie tartt #ted lasso series #ted lasso #slinkys last three brain cells talk #slinkywrites #slinky #Standing again Fic

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cozage · 1 year ago

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The Daughter's Return Part 3

Chapter 26: Thereafter

Start From Beginning | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 1k AN: This is more of an epilogue of sorts. There's not a lot of dialogue, but it does kind of wrap everything up. I really have enjoyed writing this, and I hope you have enjoyed it as well :) thanks for a fun time and a great ride. I could say 5,000 more things about this fic and how much I love you for supporting it, but let's finish this up :)

It had taken Ace a few days to make the house liveable, but plenty of people had opened their homes for you to stay in while you all finished the essential repairs. They never made you feel like a burden, and even though you tried to keep to yourselves, they were eager to get to know you.

You had expected to pay for all the tools you needed, but the townsfolk on this island were kind and generous. Several families had lent Ace tools, and some had even come by to offer their help. Even though you were on a hill outside of town, people dropped in throughout the day, bringing baked goods or hand-sewn linens as welcoming gifts.

So much for privacy. You had more of it in your shared bunkhouse on the Moby Dick.

But you didn’t find yourself irritated by the townspeople’s check-ins. While most of them asked basic questions about your past and eyed Ace’s scarred back, they never pried. And even better, they always seemed to know when it was time to leave.

After a few weeks, you had fallen into a strange pattern of familiarity. Even as your belly grew bigger, you tried your best to help Ace as much as you could every day. In the morning, you would get up and make him coffee. He would always scold you, claiming that you were the one who was supposed to be pampered right now, but he continued to allow you to do it for now.

You all would eat a quick breakfast, and then begin to work on house improvements. The morning was the best time to work, since it was still cool out. The two of you patched up holes in the walls and began to decorate the inside of your little two-bedroom cabin. The projects never seemed to end.

And every morning while you worked, Mr. Cheddle would deliver a newspaper, and you would invite him in for breakfast. If he declined, you would send him some kind of snack to thank him for bringing the paper up the hill. You knew he didn’t mind, but you still felt obligated to send him away with something.

You’d leave Ace to go make lunch, and usually find some variety of baked goods on the counter from someone welcoming you to the town. You often found yourself wondering if people would ever stop sending you things, or if you would become someone who baked for your neighbors just for the hell of it.

At lunch, you would read the paper and update Ace on anything interesting. Afterwards, the two of you would typically walk to town together to find something to do. Some days you would shop, others you would go your separate ways. Whether it was tea with Arabelle, or a walk in the park with Crilly and her three dogs, or even sitting at Sellie-Tien’s shop and catching up on gossip, you always found something to do.

And as the sun set, you and Ace would walk back up the hill, talking of your time spent apart, and even stopping to chat with others along the road.

What a strange life you were living. How mundane it all was. And yet…perfect.

On one particular day it had been too hot for you to work, even in the morning. And with nothing to do, you decided to read the News Coo early. You kept your eyes peeled for any words of Luffy, but there had been no news of him since his stunt at Marineford.

However, today there was far more interesting news on the front page. One you had been waiting for.

One about Portgas D. Ace.

“You’re dead!” You cheered, holding up the News Coo to show Ace.

Ace dropped his tools and ran over to you, reading it over quickly.

“They made a grave for me and everything,” he said. “Impressive.”

“It helps that they took your hat,” you mentioned. He pouted at the thought.

“I’m gonna miss that hat.” He handed the paper back to you. “What about you?”

“Still nothing.” You read through the article once again just to make sure you hadn’t skipped anything. “I doubt they’ll officially say I’m dead.”

“Really?” Ace asked. “Why’s that?”

“Because they reported it wrong once,” you admitted, setting the paper down. “They can’t do that again. Can you imagine the embarrassment?”

“But they won’t bother us here.” Ace looked out over the ocean. “They don’t have jurisdiction.”

“That’s why Marco chose it for us,” you said. “It’s quiet. Out of the way. Nobody will bother us. It’s perfect.”

“Seems like a more than fair trade off,” Ace said, and you nodded in agreement.

“We finally get to have our happily ever after.”

Ace smiled at you, kissing your cheek. “And I can’t wait to spend it with you. Our perfect little family.”

---

Sengoku stared long and hard at a small piece of paper with little hearts doodled all over. Against everything that he knew and had been told, the card sat between his fingers in perfect condition.

Garp walked into the room, full of drive and purpose. “Listen Sengoku, I need to tell you something. I-“

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to retire. But before you turn in that resignation letter, I want to give you something.”

Sengoku handed off the piece of paper covered with hearts. “Do with this what you will. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never seen it.”

Garp examined it, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the name written across it in perfect cursive. Ace.

“Where did you get this?”

“We took it off Portgas D. Ace when he arrived at Impel Down. We thought it belonged to him, but that must not be the case, since he’s dead now.”

Garp held the card in his hand carefully. The paper slowly inched away from him. “So who’s it belong to then?”

“Probably nobody,” Sengoku shrugged. “I’m about to retire myself, and that little scrap of paper seems like a lot of paperwork and a lot of personal investigation. I just don’t have it in me. Especially for some pirate who we all saw die. Take it off my hands for me. Do something with it, just don’t tell me what. As a favor.”

“Yes sir,” Garp said, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“No Garp,” Sengoku said. “Thank you.”

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ltbarnes · 2 years ago

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‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ��cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

#stark u #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes angst #sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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clip-the-simp · 1 year ago

Text

Not Much Else [Pt.2]

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,233

Warnings: burning, cannibalism, canon typical violence, swearing, slight angst, unwanted touch (not from The Ghoul), (I’m bad at warning tags so just let me know if I need/should to add some)

Tags: Mild Proofreading, eventual smut (if I can get the balls to write it), reader had bat wings, Bounty Hunting, deviation from TV show, pre!show events(?), (Again I'm bad at tags so let me know)

Summary: You're a vault experiment that makes it to the surface. Quickly you learn the lay of the land and a few years later end up working the same bounty as The Ghoul. You convince him to let you take a long after having a feeling that you just had to follow him. Where will this story lead? Only time (and my motivation) will tell.

A/N: This is part 2 to the cringy ass shit I call a fanfic. Be forewarned that this is going to be incredibly inaccurate to cannon events and really unrealistic honestly. But listen. If Lucy can have her finger zapped back on and working properly anything can happen.

The pair of you had been traveling for two days by the time you caught wind of the target's whereabouts. After stopping at several towns to get supplies and information, you had been pointed east, away from the coast. He was trying to get over the mountains, or what remained of them, in order to get as far out of town as possible.

Once knowing this, The Ghoul and yourself continued on. Not much had been said in the two days of traveling together. You didn’t take The Ghoul for much of a talker so you kept your thoughts to yourself in hopes of not disturbing his peace. Most of your time was spent pondering over that feeling that continued to linger.

The familiarity from before continued to pluck at your thoughts the more you took in The Ghoul’s demeanor. Surely he couldn’t be someone from your past. There was no way someone could live over a hundred years, but maybe there was. With some of the other people and creatures you had encountered, maybe there was a possibility. This world was odd like that, and you had heard that The Ghoul was a lot older than most. So just maybe he was someone you truly recognize, however the wasteland changes people. Let alone someone who had been doing this for over a century.

So one night after you had settled at the ruins of a worn gas station and started to fix a meal, you decided to pry. It was a difficult situation. You couldn't be too blunt or he would quickly shut you down. However you couldn't tiptoe too much or he would get agitated and again shut you down.

Having managed to haggle some ingredients off someone at the market in the last town you were in, it could make for a good bargaining point with The Ghoul. Perhaps if you gave him a good meal he would loosen up a bet to talk. You had been contemplating the proper way to ask your questions the whole time you sat over the pot of stew. So when the food was done, you spooned out a bowl full of the stew for The Ghoul and waited a moment before to ask your questions.

“So, how long have you been wastelanding?” You started, making a bowl for yourself and blowing on it lightly to cool it off. The Ghoul was already a few bites in before dividing to take the chance of prying for information, and when you did he stopped momentarily to stare at you. His shoulders straightened as the bowl in his hands lowered to his lap.

“Why y’asking?” He asked bluntly as his expression stayed stone cold. The blood in your veins felt cooler than before as your gaze left his to reside on the bowl in your hands.

“I-” You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to scare him off. However, you could feel The Ghoul’s gaze burning into you as you searched for an answer. Against your better judgment, you decided to be upfront.

“I just have this feeling that I know you is all. Maybe that’s why I wanted to follow you in the first place.” Your eyes rose to meet The Ghoul’s once again only to find his expression to no longer be cold but instead a bit sorrowful. However that moment was brief as he asked you another question.

“What makes y’think that?” His voice was not as harsh as it usually was. It was as if he was trying to remember, just as you were, who you could’ve been to him in a past life. That sudden change in him sent a pinged of pain through your heart. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for making him recall the old life he once had.

“Your demeanor just reminds me of a man I once knew.” You said. Setting your bowl to the side, you remove the goggles from your eyes only now realizing they still lingered on your face even after the sun had fallen. Your gaze lingered on them for a while before you began to speak again.

“He was popular in western films back in the day and I had the pleasure of Co-starring in a few films with him. He was a good man which wasn’t too surprising.” You chuckled to yourself as you remember the time you had tripped over the bottom of the costume dress you were wearing on set. Cooper Howard had caught you mid fall and the two of you joked about it a bet after.

“It’s funny now that I think about it. If I placed you two side by side there wouldn't actually be much that y’all have in common. Maybe the cowboy physique but that's about it.” When you looked back up, The Ghoul’s gaze was trained on you. It was full of mixed emotions that were balancing sadness and anger. Guilt settled itself low in your chest as you realized perhaps you had gone too far. Picking your bowl up, you quickly raised it to your lips and started to drink some of it. Hoping to relieve some of the tension in the air.

“I’ve been doing this shit for over 100 years. The waste land changes people.” The Ghoul finally answered your question. His voice was still angry but the somber undertone didn't go unnoticed. As the two of you continued to sit in silence, the man sitting across from you, past the fire, spoke.

“I’ll take first watch.” The Ghoul grumbled as he finished his soup and went to spoon the last of the stew into his bowl. A worry he was going to leave in your sleep crossed your mind and as you began to voice your concern he spoke before you.

“I’m not gonna leave y’stranded. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. So sleep.” The Ghoul growled the last bet which caught you off guard but definitely got the point across. You leaned against a rusted gas pump while pulling your wings over your arms and partially over your legs. It never took you long to fall asleep, but the guilt from hurting your traveling companion lingered. You wanted to make it right but reasoned you could mend things while traveling again tomorrow.

An abrupt crash caused you to wake up with a start, but before you could get your bearings, there was a heavy weight on you that hadn't been there before. It had you pinned to the ground as your senses came back to you and you realized it was a raider. The fire was still blazing which allowed you to see the man on top of you clearly. He was barking orders to his group which you weren’t coherent enough to make out.

“Get off me!” You shouted as you squirmed to fight against the man’s hold on you, the ground digging into your back. Your pulse pounding in your ears as panic washed over you. How had they gotten the jump on us? Your eyes frantically looked for The Ghoul only to see him lying face down in the sand. It was far too dark and you were in far too much of a panic to focus on if he was breathing or not.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight?” The raider leader said as he leaned down and ran his tongue up the side of your neck to your ear. At that moment instinct kicked in as you turned your head and bit down into the raider’s cheek when he was pulling away. Your teeth, having been abnormally sharp canines, beat through the flesh with ease and left a large hole in his face. The chunk of meat was left in your mouth as he jerked back in pain and held his face.

Taking that opportunity you got out from under the man but quickly yanked him up as you went to promptly throw him in the fire. His screams as he hit the flames alerted his group who quickly pulled out their weapons to attack. The fire was being smothered by the man writhing in it which put your opponents at a disadvantage. You spat out the flesh that remained in your mouth and beard your teeth, now stained with blood. Most of the raiders carried knives and close ranged weapons which only put them at an even greater disadvantage, as long as you stayed out of range.

You pulled out the pistol holstered at your thigh as you aimed and fired the first round. The bullet landed square in the chest of the raider closest to where The Ghoul laid motionless. As the body fell the other two charged in your direction which you quickly ducked away from and led them out from under the gas station canopy. They quickly followed suit as they chased after you. Not wanting to take a chance of them ripping your wings you stayed nimble on your feet.

Firing off another two rounds, one landed in the thigh of the farthest while the second lodged in the shoulder of the other. They continued to come after you which led to the last fatal two shots fired, but not before the one closest to you managed to swipe his blade across your forearm and leave a trail of blood running down your arm.

You quickly applied pressure to the wound as the bodies fell and you ran over to The Ghoul’s side. The man in the fire was no longer a threat and was burned bloody. Examining The Ghoul you realized he was still alive, but saw a bruise beginning to form on the back of his head. The raiders must’ve been hiding out and waiting.

What had The Ghoul so distracted he didn’t see them? You thought to yourself as you sat up. Rummaging through your bag you looked for your med kit to wrap your arm. It was going to be hard to bandage the arm with only one hand to work with but you would make do.

The Ghoul had been out for the rest of the night which worried you as you kept watch for him to recover. However, when morning arrived he came too and in a bet of a panic at that. His weapon was immediately in his hand as he waved it around looking for the raiders. You had already taken care of the bodies and harvested whatever meat you could manage off of them along with any supplies they could’ve had.

“What happened?” The Ghoul demanded as he leaned back on the wall behind him. You had flipped him over while he was sleeping so he wouldn't be lying face down in the dirt all night. His demeanor and frantic actions had startled you a bet so had your hands raised in defense.

“Raiders must’ve been camping out and ambushed us in the middle of the night. I took care of them.” You lowered your hands as he returned his gun to its holster and rubbed the back of his head. Slowly, you brought forward a makeshift bag filled with the remains of the raiders. You took it upon yourself to dry out the meat last night as you kept watch, not wanting to fall back asleep by accident. The Ghoul raised an eyebrow as his gaze moved from the bag, to you, then to your bandaged forearm.

“I figured if you don’t want it, someone in the next town will.” You explained as realization slipped into The Ghoul’s expression. Tossing it over to him, he looked in the bag to find what he was expecting.

“Well look at that. Looks like y’have more uses than y’let on.” His voice was teasing as he wrapped the meat backup and found a place for him to carry it. The Ghoul stood as he checked his belongings. Soon after, stretching to relieve the ache in his body from being shuffled around while unconscious.

“I got a lot of talents if you’re looking to test my limits.” You chuckled lightly as you stood up from your spot near the burnt out fire. Gathering your belongings, you quickly stretched your wings before tucking them back under your jacket. Your eye’s met with The Ghoul’s which caused you to startle as you saw the expression it held. It wasn’t something you had seen on him before, but it looked almost hungry as he smirked at you.

He began to walk closer to you leading to you stepping back into the gas pump you had been sleeping on. Your eyes rose to hold The Ghoul’s stair as he leaned forward to your ear. Worry settled into your veins as you wondered if he could hear the pounding in your heart against your rib cage.

“Maybe I should, darlin.” He whispered before turning away and beginning to trek into the wasteland. A deep red plagued your face as you tried to get your bearings. Why did he do that? Was he trying to rile you up? No he couldn’t have been. Could he?

“Come on now! Don’t make me wait on y’.” You heard The Ghoul shout over his shoulder as you realized he was already far ahead of you. Quickly gathering your composure, and throwing your goggles over your eyes, you ran after him to catch up.

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #x female reader #x reader fanfiction #fallout franchise #fallout fanfic #fallout #writing #fanfic #fan fiction #female writers #writers on tumblr

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luvangelbreak · 1 year ago

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Deprived | Five

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of drugs (weed) word count: 3.3k a/n: the italics are a flashback to allie and layla in their gym class btw! love you guys <3

pov: layla

I decided to stay home from school for the rest of the week, I just didn't have the energy to endure the looks people would give me. The whispering during my last two subjects after Matt and I came back at lunch was already too much and it was worse in gym when Allie stuck to her word and paired up with me.

She seemed nice, much nicer than Mia was to me. She talked my ear off the whole lesson but I didn't mind because then I didn't have to talk.

"Don't worry about Mia, by the way. She can be really bitchy at times but she just doesn't like change. I promise she is usually a lot nicer," Allie rambled as we walked around the gym as a warm-up, "It was kinda funny though. No one ever really stands up to her when she gets bitchy because everyone's scared that her dad will arrest them."

Oh, I've met her dad.

"Matt also stood up for you after you left. I trust Matt's opinion on people, he's kinda my scapegoat when it comes to talking to people. I told him to start talking to you like three weeks ago so I could ask you to hang out. I just get nervous talking to people I don't know sometimes."

You don't seem nervous now, motor mouth.

"Sorry if I'm rambling a lot. I'm just really glad you decided to pair up with me because I've been paired with Mia for like the past 2 years. It's nice to have a new friend. It's not like I don't like my friends but Mia is my only girl friend and the guys are such guys sometimes it drives me mad. You get your nails done?"

I shook my head no before she continued, "We should go get our nails done sometime. My shout of course, I'm not gonna force you to get your nails done as well as make you pay."

She was a ray of sunshine and I was sure people were confused as someone as sweet as her was talking to someone like me who looked like they had a constant rain cloud over their head. I found myself amused by her rambling and I decided that it wouldn't be the worst thing to talk to her every now and then.

I spent the rest of my week smoking weed when my father wasn't home and drawing on the last few pages of my sketchbook. The time passed quickly considering I slept for most of the days. Suddenly it was Friday afternoon and I heard a knock at my front door.

I paused my music, frowning when I looked at the clock to see it was 3:30. It was far too early for my dad to be home so I grabbed the metal bat that was lying on the bottom of my underwear drawer, sneaking towards the door silently. Another round of light knocks were placed on the door and I crept up to it before looking through the peephole.

My tense shoulders slumped as I looked at two people with the same face and their familiar brown hair. I unlocked the deadbolt on the door as well as the regular lock before I swung the door open.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, leaning my left hand on the handle of the bat now that the other end was placed on the floor.

"Hi to you too," Chris mumbled as he looked side to side, clearly tense to be in South End as Matt smiled at me.

"I figured you would forget about the game. Decided to come earlier in case you were ready which..." he looked down at my outfit which was my small sleep shorts and an old ratty t-shirt, "I don't think you are?"

"You didn't say it was this Friday!" I frowned and Chris looked down at the bat I was leaning on before shaking his head.

"Good thing I came early then," Matt smirked at me and I chewed at my lip. I tapped the bat on the ground as I thought making Chris look at me again.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna use it on you," I deadpanned to Chris and he just shrugged, looking back out at the street. I felt a nervousness in my chest because they were at my house but I knew if they stayed on the porch or in their car, someone would try something. So I reluctantly said, "Come in."

"We can wait in the ca-"

I cut off Matt quickly, "Get inside now." They looked at each other in surprise before shuffling past me and I closed the door behind them before saying, "Do you have anything valuable in your car? Phone, wallet, laptop?"

They both shook their heads and I locked both of the locks on the door before I spun around to face them again.

"Why?" Chris asked and I tilted my head, giving him an unimpressed look.

"I'll just say you're lucky you drive a fucking soccer mom car or it would be broken into within 15 minutes," I answered blandly and they seemed somewhat shocked but didn't talk, "Come on."

I walked down the hall towards my room, slipping inside and they followed shortly behind me.

"We could've waited on the couch," Matt said as I closed the door of my bedroom and raised my eyebrows.

"If my dad came home and you were sitting on the couch, say goodbye to hockey for the rest of your life," I replied dryly and he pursed his lips, "If he comes home, you will just have to go out my window and jump the fence around the side of the house."

"You don't know when he's coming home?" Chris asked as he leaned against the wall beside my mattress and I shook my head. I was suddenly very conscious that I had the two most loved boys in our school standing in my dirty bedroom. I looked around my room, realising that I looked like I lived in a trap house with my mattress on the floor, empty beer bottles in the corner of my room with cigarettes stuck in them and clothes all over the floor.

"Sorry about the mess. No one ever comes over," I mumbled as I moved a couple clothes off of my mattress, "Sit wherever. Just don't look over here because I'm gonna get changed."

I travelled to the corner of my room where my chest of drawers sat and I saw them both turn to face away from me quickly. After placing the bat beside the drawers, I pulled out black baggy jeans, took off my shorts quickly and slid them on. I then took off my old T-shirt and slid on a baby blue hoodie. I didn't bother putting on a shirt since it would be cold at the game and I wouldn't have to take my hoodie off at any point.

"I'm dressed," I let them know as I grabbed my boots off of the floor, sitting down next to my dresser so I could slide them on easily. I looked up to see both of them sitting on my mattress, looking around my room. Their expressions were unreadable as they looked around my room.

"I like your posters," Chris spoke up and I looked to the wall above my mattress where my Bob Marley, Frank Ocean and Kurt Cobain posters were hung.

"Thanks," I answered, a half-hearted smile being sent his way which he reciprocated, "When do we have to leave by?"

"Four," Matt answered and I nodded, checking the time to see it was 3:40. I hopped off of the floor, walked over to my desk and sat down on the old desk chair.

I scribbled some eyeliner on my eyes before smudging it with my finger and then putting mascara on. I grabbed my lip balm, placing it on my lips before I ran a hand through my curly hair. I grabbed the white beanie that was thrown onto the floor, sliding it onto my head. I jumped up from the seat, grabbed my leather jacket that was hanging over the back of the chair and slid it on.

"Do I need to bring anything?" I asked, having no clue what else to bring to a hockey game.

"Just your team spirit," Chris cheered sarcastically and I tilted my head with an amused look on my face.

"I'm not a cheerleader for a reason," I answered and he shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't cheer when we win," he retorted and I nodded in agreement.

"I'm good as long as I'm not expected to start screaming 'Go Bats go!' like an idiot," I did a small jump when I said the slogan that I heard all the cheerleaders say proudly and Matt laughed in response as Chris shook his head with a smile.

"You wanna get food on the way?" Matt asked and I shook my head in response.

"I'm good, I just ate," I explained and he nodded, quickly checking his phone.

"We should probably go," he said, turning his phone to me to see that it was 3:55. I couldn't believe another 15 minutes had passed so quickly but I nodded. Making sure I had my phone, cigarettes, lighter and keys in my pocket, I swung the bedroom door open as Matt and Chris followed behind me. I unlocked the front door swinging it open and motioning for Chris and Matt to go outside.

They walked past me and walked to their car as I turned around to lock the door with my keys. After triple-checking the door, I wandered down the driveway to the minivan. I noticed that Matt was always the one to drive and Chris was seated in the passenger seat, phone already plugged into the aux.

I slid the back door open, jumping inside before I closed the door behind me. As I buckled myself in, Matt started the car and Chris played a song by Lil Skies.

"We good?" Matt asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror and I nodded before he spun around to look at me, "I didn't even have to remind you about your seatbelt, so proud."

"Start driving before I change my mind and go back to the comfort of my bed," I smiled slightly and he beamed back at me before he spun around and we took off down the street.

Within 5 minutes, we were in the parking lot and Chris was wriggling his body along to the beat of the next Lil Skies song. I could take a wild guess as to who his favourite artist is.

Matt turned the music down, earning a glare from Chris but he turned around to look at me ignoring his brother for a moment, "You waiting in the car or coming in?"

"I'm gonna have a smoke first then I'll come in," I explained and he nodded before turning off the car.

"You head in. I'll be there in a sec," Matt told Chris who was clicking away on his phone. With a nod, he jumped out of the car and walked around to the back of the car.

"You want me to take your shit inside?" Chris called from the trunk as I turned around to see Chris lugging his huge duffle bag full of hockey shit.

"Nah I got it," Matt called back to him and Chris raised his eyebrows as he leaned into the trunk again.

"Don't start fuckin in the car or I swear to god," he deadpanned before slamming the trunk closed and I saw him start walking towards the building.

"Sorry about him," Matt mumbled apologetically and I shrugged as I turned to face him.

"It's fine. Wouldn't expect anything less," I told him with an amused smirk making him shake his head, a smile creeping onto his lips, "Are you gonna go inside?"

"I'll wait for you to finish and then I'll show you where to sit inside," he explained and I nodded before hopping out of the car. I closed the door behind me before leaning against the car, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between my lips before lighting it. I heard Matt's door open and close before he rounded the car to get to the trunk.

As I began smoking my cigarette, a car pulled into the space next to Matt's and a few moments passed before Nate and Allie appeared out of the car.

"Hey! Matt told me you were coming," Allie beamed at me and I observed her outfit, feeling strange to see her out of her usual cheer or gym attire. Instead, she had blue jeans, a black puffer jacket with a blue beanie on and black and white vans.

"He failed to mention the game was this Friday," I told her and she rolled her eyes as Nate waved at me. I sent him a wave back with the hand that held my cigarette before I took another puff.

"Is Nick coming?" Nate asked and Matt appeared beside me, duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Nah. He said something about doing homework tonight. Chris is already inside," Matt explained with a shrug as Nate rounded the back of his car and popped the trunk open, grabbing a duffle bag of his own hockey gear.

"You coming in?" Allie asked me and I held the cigarette up.

"When I finish this," I told her, a smile tugging at my lips at her beaming personality.

"See you guys in there!" Nate called as he started walking towards the building with Allie following behind him.

"Is Miss Cheer herself coming?" I asked Matt once Allie and Nate were out of earshot and he shrugged, moving to stand in front of me as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

"No clue. She usually shows up late if she comes though," he told me honestly and I nodded, noticing my cigarette almost being done. I quickly finished it before dropping it onto the ground and squishing it underneath my foot. I went to push away from the car but Matt stopped me by saying, "Hold up."

"What?" I asked, confusion written on my face. He held his hand up before he dropped his duffle bag to the ground and squatted down to rummage through one of the smaller pockets.

He pulled out a small pot of black face paint and a brush before standing back up, "Move your hair."

"What are you doing?" I squinted at him as he opened the pot of black face paint and he smiled at me.

"Just trust me," he shrugged and I squinted my eyes at him for a moment before I tucked my hair behind my ears. I tilted my head back as I peered up at him and he dipped the brush into the pot before he started painting my right cheek.

"If you're drawing a dick on my face I'll kill you with my bare hands, Matthew," I mumbled, trying not to move my mouth much as his tongue poked out between his lips in concentration.

"If I was gonna do that..." he trailed off before leaning back with a smile, "I'd use a sharpie."

"What did you do?" I asked and he just shrugged as he closed the pot again, sliding it back into his bag before swinging it over his shoulder again. I slipped my phone out of my pocket, opening the front camera to see he had painted the number 81 on my cheek, "What does this mean?"

"You'll see," he shrugged with a smirk and I frowned as he started to walk backwards before he tilted his head towards the building, "Come on. I gotta warm up."

I pushed away from the car, trailing behind him as we walked towards the entrance. He swung the door open, standing behind it as he let me walk in first. We walked through the front area, some of his teammates being gathered around to grab snacks or energy drinks.

"Matty B!" one of the guys called who I recognised as Daniel and he jogged over to us as Matt paused, dapping him up quickly, "Who's this?"

"Layla, Daniel. Daniel, Layla," Matt introduced us and I just nodded at Daniel, not surprised that he didn't know my name.

"No Mia?" he asked Matt and Matt just shrugged in response.

"She's being weird. I don't know dude," Matt answered before he looked towards the rest of their team, "You guys gotta hurry up. We have 45 to warm up."

"Sir, yes, sir," Daniel sent Matt a salute before he started walking backwards and looked at me, "Nice to meet you, princess."

I sent him another nod before Matt started walking towards the doors of the rink, "Ignore Dan. He'll try to fuck anything with legs."

"Don't worry, Captain. I don't do goalies," I smirked and he chuckled in response, holding the door open to the rink for me to enter first again. I walked in, the cold air hitting my cheeks making me shiver.

"Layla!" I heard Allie's chirpy voice call out from the bleachers and I looked to my left to see her sitting front and centre, I sent her a small wave as I started to walk over to her with Matt following behind me.

"I gotta go get ready but are you good to sit with Allie?" Matt asked me and I turned my head to look at him now that he was on my right and I nodded.

"Yeah. Go make sure your hair is nice before you play," I joked as he rolled his eyes, pushing my shoulder slightly before spinning around to walk backwards while I paused at the steps that led up to where Allie was seated, "Break a leg, pretty boy."

"Thanks, pretty girl," he smirked at me and I bit my lip to hide my smile as he spun back around and walked into the locker room at the end of the rink. I shook my head to get rid of my smile as I walked up a few steps before sitting down next to Allie.

She smirked at me and I gave her a confused expression, "What?"

"Nothing," she hummed, her smirk turning into a smile as she looked out onto the ice. She pulled a packet of Sour Patch Kids out from her small handbag that I hadn't even noticed before she pulled open the packet, "You want one?"

"Sure," I shrugged, picking out a couple before throwing them into my mouth and her actions followed mine.

"So you and Matt..." she trailed off and I looked back at her as she smiled at me.

"Me and Matt?" I questioned, waiting for her to continue.

"You guys are cute," she shrugged, a genuine joy spread across her face and I let my mouth fall open.

"Uh... I don't even know if we're friends let alone anything else," I told her honestly and she rolled her eyes playfully before she hummed.

"Matt doesn't talk to just anyone. If he's asking you to come to his games clearly he wants you around," she told me as if it were obvious and I shrugged as I chewed on my lip. A few players from the other team skated onto the ice with their full gear, doing laps around the ice lazily.

"I don't think Chris and Nick like me though. His brothers' opinions probably mean a lot to him," I answered, looking at the players skating in circles. A couple players from Matt's team slid onto the ice as they started doing the same as the opposition.

"Chris is just focused on other shit. Nick tends to stick to himself a lot so just give them both time," she tried to reassure me and I looked back to her before she continued, "Besides, I like you so they're not getting rid of you that easily while I'm around."

"What about Mia?" I asked, genuinely curious as to how heavily Mia's opinion influenced her friends.

Allie sighed as she looked out at the rink, "Mia will figure it out. I don't know why she's being so weird about it. I think it's because she's protective over us."

"Matt's the one that came to me. I don't know why she was acting like I'm tryna break up your entire friend group," I mumbled as I looked out onto the ice to see a couple more players.

Only then did I realise that number 81 with a small C on the chest of his blue and white jersey was skating around the rink and it was none other than Matthew Sturniolo.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo

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xxepherr · 9 months ago

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.ೃ࿐IF WALLS COULD TALK | CL16

summary — in which pillow talk leads to wondering if the growing feelings charles has for his best friend’s sister is worth bringing up

pairings — charles leclerc x fem!unnamed!verstappen!oc

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1276

note — i'll eventually learn to write in second person or smth some day. im so used to third person that anything else makes me feel so cringe but im working on it! hope you dont mind the unnamed ocs for now <3

WALLS HOLD SECRETS, MEMORIES, dreams and nightmares in the intricate confines of the gyprock and paint, locking themselves into the framework inside like the padlocks once on the pont des arts in paris. they hold conversations and phrases and sounds as if caught in a spider web, and the longer charles stared at the wall across the room, the more he reflected on the past.

the past two years where he’d been trying not to cross the line, and the past year he had finally given into the insatiable need clawing in his stomach. he was finding it easier to breathe again, to sleep again, especially when the spot beside him in his bed was no longer cold and lifeless.

she was the warmth taking up space on the left side of his bed, tucked up under all the blankets even though it was hardly cold. she wore just his shirts to bed, and the only time she would be able to sport ferrari was in the confines of his place in monaco, hidden away from the world so it was just them and their little puppy, leo. leo, who was thankfully still snoring in the other room so that they could enjoy the peace for just a little bit longer.

if the walls could talk, they would scream. they knew things others didn’t, secrets strung together and tangling to form unbreakable bonds, and if it were to get out there . . . neither of them wanted to find out. the thought was frightening enough.

she had her brother to worry about, and charles also shared that worry. max verstappen was one of the loveliest people in the world, but he had one rule: and that was that his baby sister wasn’t to get involved with his friends and coworkers. charles had thought nothing of the rule at first, always remembering her to be this little bubbly girl with her head in a book whenever he caught sight of her when they were kids. with the two years between them and the fact that he was always busy battling max for championships in karting, charles never had time to think about her until she’d started showing up to max’s races in 2021.

“you’re thinking about it again,” she hummed softly, and charles’ trance was broken. her accent never seemed to thin out like her brother’s had, with her whole life still set in the netherlands, not too far from her mother’s place. he liked the thickness of her accent, especially when she was tired, no matter how much she claimed it wasn’t as pretty as his was. little things. “you think too much, charles.”

“it always surprises me how casual you are about all of this,” he sighed quietly. he tightened the arm he had thrown over her side, pulling her into him so that she was a little bit closer than she was before.

“i just do not care much for it anymore,” she responded in her usual buttery tone, more words for the walls to catch in their wake. “i don’t want to care what max thinks anymore . . . i just want to enjoy the time i have with you before you go away again.”

the summer break was almost over, it was almost time to come out of hibernation again. they’d spent this last week of the break cooped up in his home, basking in the calamity of closed doors and hushed secrets, away from prying eyes and tabloids. as far as anyone else knew, she was back home in rotterdam, and her sister victoria had been covering for her because she was the only one to truly know what was going on.

“mhm . . .” charles hummed in reply, eyelids fluttering shut to ignore the strips of sunshine starting to peek through the curtains. he felt her turn in his arms, her hushed breaths tingling the bare skin of his chest with the closeness. “i could stay here forever,” he whispered like anything louder would shatter their walls, airing them out for the world to see. “would you like that?”

“more than anything,” she lifted her head slightly to take him in. with his eyes closed, he didn’t even flinch as her gentle fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, lingering longer to trace his cheekbone down to the smile lines painted delicately into his skin. “then you would have to give up your career for me . . . would you do that?” and charles swore his heart stopped, she watched his lips part but no words could form in his throat to spill. she giggled softly, kissing his jaw before settling back down until her head was back on the silk pillowcase. “please, charles, i’m joking, you should say no to that. i wouldn’t give my career up for you, so . . .”

sighing, charles let amused chuckles escape him. his eyes flickered open, adjusting to the lightening room for a moment before resting back down on her. “you had me scared, ma chérie,” his voice rumbled over the nickname, the hours of not talking prior to waking up strumming at his vocal cords and producing a honeyed rasp. “i wouldn’t give up racing, but i would make more opportunities to see you whenever possible,” he said honestly, and the intensity of the gravity his seriousness held had her wide awake. “it is hard because it’s so,” he felt blindly for her hand, lacing their fingers together, “secretive, but i would do it. i would fly you out to me or i’d travel back home to you . . . i’d do anything.”

there was a moment of silence between the two, broken only by the streets below starting to come to life and the birds flying past the balcony in song. “but i would start by telling max about us.” it took courage to say. keeping this secret from one of his best friends was eating at him, gnawing through everything in its path until it reached his heart. he was running out of time until it stopped beating, but what did time care? time takes you, drills you, drives through bone and vein until you are rendered useless and devoid of what once was. the clock was ticking; not telling max was going to tear him apart, and it would break him further if it damaged the relationship between a brother and sister. “i think i should be the one to.”

she understood why – chances are, if she were to, max would immediately be upset and go straight to finding charles rather than hearing her out. at least if it came from charles in the first place, he had more reason to listen before deciding if he wanted to knock the monegasque out or not. “you are very sweet,” she wanted to cry, just pure tears of happiness. the most kindness she had ever been shown had been at the hands of charles leclerc, and him only. he just kept one-upping himself, forever his own competition, and each knew thing made her heart melt until it was nothing but a puddle. “so very sweet. i adore you so much, charles. so, so much.” “aw,” charles cupped her face for a moment, eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. “i adore you. now,” he let go quickly, rushing to kick the blankets off him. it was in such a hurry that all she could do was sit there and laugh, quite confused. “i’ll be right back!” he was into the adjoining bathroom, undoubtedly to quickly brush his teeth so he could return to pepper her face with minty kisses until they both forgot about the world, just for another day.

#xeph writes about f1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 x oc #f1 fic #cl16 #formula 1 fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader

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curioushabitforarivergod · 1 year ago

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dark(ish) academia books that I don't see recommended enough

I read a lot, both fiction and non-fiction, and a lot of the stuff I've read over the past 2-3 years has had underlying academic tones. I've tried to include books I've at least enjoyed, although there are a few 3 star ratings. All of these books are ones I haven't really seen mentioned in compiled dark academia lists (mainly because some of them fall outside the general scope and are more ✨vibes✨). Feel free to add more less well-known books. I've included my own blurbs of the books but I've got shit memory and some I read like 2 years ago so yeah

Fiction

"Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world." Voltaire

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Takes place over 10 years and explores family and the destruction left behind after WWI. It discusses the feminine vs. masculine in art and while it can be a little slow to read (took me close to 3 weeks!) theres some really beautiful passages and also some funny ones as well — the characters spend several chapters at a dinner party convinced everyone hates them and constantly hating other people too.

The Dark is Rising (series) by Susan Cooper

Okay, yes this is a kids book series from the 70s/80s but it explores English, Cornish and Welsh mythology and has really good characters and world-building. Even though chronologically the series goes: Over Sea, Under Stone; The Dark is Rising; Greenwitch; The Grey King; Silver on the Tree, it's best to read The Dark is Rising first and return back to Over Sea, Under Stone. Anyway, I love this series and I read The Dark is Rising every Christmas because it corresponds pretty much with the days and is easy to place and that's kind of what makes it feel very cozy and academic. Also, theres some brief moments of time travel to the past.

The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova

This is a beautiful written masterpiece set across the 20th century featuring plenty of train rides across Europe and vampires. It explores some of the history of Walachia and Dracula, as well as the Ottoman Empire and European politics of the time. It's a hefty read but I loved it because it combines history, dark academia, fantasy and vampires.

Macbeth by William Shakespeare

My favourite of Shakespeare that I've seen so far and honestly murder is so dark academia I don't need to talk any further. Strangely, I don't see this recommended enough.

Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell

This was quite popular a year or two ago, and honestly for good reason. I think it's only really academic because it's linked to Shakespeare and explores the less well-known lives of Shakespeare's family, but it's very good and I thought I'd include it anyway.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

This one feels really light academia to me, but I think it's mainly because of setting. It's set in this fantastical old and crumbling mansion that goes on forever. It's filled with statues and it floods and only two people live in the world. The story is told entirely through diary entries, but it's so well-written because it defamiliarises the reader entirely. It was a light and easy read for me, which is probably why I'm associating it with light academia rather than dark academia.

The Book of Goose by Yiyun Li

This book kinda mixes chaotic academia and cottagecore academia and is a reflection of girlhood and youth spent in the French countryside in the 50s. There's a toxic relationship between two friends who write a book together before one of them attends prestigious girls' school in England. Also the opening lines are amazing: "You cannot cut an apple with an apple. You cannot cut an orange with an orange. You can, if you have a knife, cut an apple or an orange. Or slice open the underbelly of a fish. Or, if your hands are steady enough and the blade is sharp enough, sever an umbilical cord."

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

Another classic! I love Waugh, and Brideshead revisited is amazing and my favourite of what I've read of his. The book is quite homoerotic — explicitly so at times, which is fascinating for something published in 1945 — and deals with romanticisation. It nestles quite snugly between Picture of Dorian Grey and Secret History in terms of a dark academic literary canon.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

This is more gothic than dark academia, but it's also a satire of the gothic genre so I feel like it counts. It's definetly not as well known as some of Austen's other works and feels much more raw, particularly because its her first work (although not published until after her death). It's not my favourite Austen, but I love it all the same, especially because of its commentary on warning the romanticisation of other peoples lives and the gothic/dark academia. Although dark academia wasn't a thing in Austen's day!

Possession by A. S. Byatt

I love the main story but because its so metafictive and explores the relationship between two made-up poets (one of whom is bi and cheats on her gf with the second) from the perspective of modern academics, it can get quite hard to read sometimes. It's also really long, but definitely worth reading.

Non-Fiction

I feel like non-fiction is pretty over-looked when it comes to the academia aesthetic which really says something, given that its… kinda the whole point of academia?? Anyway, I read a lot of history books, but I only put down the ones which I found interesting or easy to read, so they're more popular histories than academic histories. Also; essays.

The Year 1000: What Life Was Like At the Turn of the First Millennium by Robert Lacey

This explores early medieval life in England based on the Julius Work Calendar, an Anglo-Saxon manuscript believed to date to 1020BCE. It's honestly a really light and interesting read and it talks about what everyday life was like, which I think is important in history. It's in a narrative style so it's quite easy to read even if you don't consume history often.

Oh, to Be a Painter! by Virginia Woolf

This is actually a short, published collection of Virginia Woolf essays on art. I read the essays all in one sitting because they're quite short, but if you're into art and art academia, I'd highly recommend. There's also an essay on the cinema which provides some interesting insights into todays world particularly as Woolf was writing at the time when cinema was only just becoming widespread and an industry in its own right.

A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift

This is a satirical essay on attitudes towards the poor and it suggests that poor people might sell their children as food for the rich, highlighting the callousness of the upper classes. It's available free online and very much relevant today, despite being written close to 300 years ago.

The Time Traveller's Guide to Elizabethan England by Ian Mortimer

Very useful if you ever find yourself stuck in the Elizabethan period! It's read as a sort of travel guide but includes plenty on history as well, providing a picture of what England looked like in the late-Tudor period. Also people will think you're a time-traveller if you carry it around, which adds to your intrigue and mystery.

A Memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austen-Leigh

If you like Jane Austen and haven't read this memoir, you should. It's written by her nephew, so it's quite biased and it's not amazing in any way, but it provides a lot of context to her life and is a good light-read or coffee table book. Also my copy was pale pink so win.

Thats it folks. Feel free to include your own less well-known book recs that follow dark/light/chaotic, etc. aesthetics! I'd love to compile a huge list and read more outside my comfort zone.

#dark academia #light academia #chaotic academia #art academia #cottagecore academia #books and reading #book reccomendation #book reccs #books

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sariahsue · 1 year ago

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Wherefore Art Thou (My)stery Lady

When a failed attempt to let Chat Noir down easy ends with Ladybug learning his name, she does what any lovesick teenager would do: teases him mercilessly. Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3

Chapter Four

“She really hasn't given you any more hints?” Nino asked. “It's been five days!”

Adrien loved group projects. It meant that there was a chance that he could visit with friends outside of school hours. And given how lucky he had been over the past few days, it didn't even surprise him when Ms. Bustier partnered him with Nino on their history project.

They sat on his floor together, taking a much-deserved break. Adrien was rereading his texts from Ladybug again, looking for any clues he might have missed.

Nino was right. It had been five days. Five long days of torture. He hadn’t seen her since their rendezvous on top of Montparnasse Tower, but she had seen him. She’d sent three pictures she’d taken of him when he wasn’t looking. He had his back turned in each one, and he’d been in large crowds as he walked in the hallway in between classes or at the end of the day. Times where there were so many people around that he couldn’t narrow down who she could be, which was deliberate on her part, he was certain.

They were so close, and he still couldn’t find her.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message.

My Lady – I accidentally called you Kitten in front of my best friend this morning. So embarrassing! My Lady – I told her I chose that nickname because of all the stupid cat emojis you send me. Adrien – Is that permission to keep sending them to you? My Lady – No. Adrien – Too bad. Adrien – 😻😽😸

Nino shuffled over, and Adrien scanned the message quickly. Nothing that would arouse suspicion if read.

“‘My Lady’?” Nino said, reading the contact name at the top. “Getting a little possessive already, huh?”

“No!” Adrien flipped his phone over to hide the messages. “Uh, ‘My’... is short... for ‘mystery.’ She's a mystery lady, but that was too long to fit. So, My Lady.”

“I don't believe you at all, dude, but I'll give you full points for that excuse.” Nino returned to his spot on the floor and started scrolling through his own phone, which he kept hidden from Adrien's view. “You like her already, huh?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said. He and Nino hadn't talked much about it, aside from that first day. Adrien had been too busy trying to piece together who Ladybug was, and he was getting frustrated. All he'd done so far was eliminate everyone in the school. Realizing he missed her on his first pass, he tried again. He looked at the yearbook, made a list of everything he knew about her, spent almost all his time in class puzzling over her, and he'd still come up empty.

“You should ask her out,” Nino said. “I've known her for a long time, and I think you two would be good for each other.”

Adrien nodded. He'd always thought so. “I asked already.”

“You did? Why didn't you tell me?”

“She said yes, assuming I could figure out who I'm asking!” Adrien flipped onto his back and stared at the high ceiling above him. “You’re not allowed to give me any hints, but what is she like?”

“How's that not a hint?”

“Because I already know what she's like.” He raised the phone, implying that he’d gotten to know her through texting and not midnight rooftop strolls. “I just want a different perspective. Maybe I just need the same information from a new angle.”

“If she gets mad at me, I'm blaming you.”

“But she wants to go out with me, right? So you're really trying to help her.”

“How about this,” Nino said. “I won't tell her if you won't.”

“Deal.”

Nino had been typing away on his screen, cap hiding his eyes, through the whole conversation and finally lifted his head.

Adrien listened intently as Nino started listing Ladybug's familiar traits.

“She's very creative and sweet, but still tough when she wants to be.”

Adrien knew both of those well from fighting alongside her. She could come up with the most ridiculous plans and execute them flawlessly. She'd stare down a monster and then turn around and help someone who'd been trying to kill her moments before.

“She's good at video games.” Another one that he knew, but had forgotten. He'd have to write that down on the list.

“And she can be pretty shy and nervous sometimes. It took her forever to tell you that she likes you.”

Adrien hadn't thought about it like that. She'd admitted to being anxious and awkwardly obvious about her crush (not that he'd been able to figure out that clue either), but he hadn't mentally added that trait to his image of her. She always seemed so confident and self-assured, and he loved that about her. He'd only ever seen her truly nervous on that first day.

“That's all you're getting.”

“None of it was really new information,” he said. “But thanks for reminding me of some things.”

“Sure, dude.”

Adrien's phone alerted him to another message.

My Lady – So... Mystery Lady, huh?

Adrien turned to Nino. “You texted her about that? Since when have you had her number?”

“Since the day she got her phone.”

My Lady – That was smooth. Plus, now you can use my favorite nickname! Adrien – I could just break into Nino's phone and check his messages, you know. My Lady – That would be cheating! Don't you dare!

“Am I going to do this project by myself?” Nino asked. “Or should I call your girlfriend and ask if I can borrow some of your attention?”

“Sorry, sorry.” And he was, until the next text from her came in. Nino sighed but didn’t complain as Adrien reflexively reached for his phone.

My Lady – Kitten, my homework is boring, and I don't want to do it. Talk to me. Adrien – What do you want me to say? My Lady – I don't know. Anything. Adrien – Okay...

He searched the room for inspiration but found none. The first thing that caught his attention on his phone was his name for her.

Adrien – What did you name my contact? My Lady – Uh... My Lady – … My Lady – Nothing... Adrien – Nothing as in just a blank space, or nothing as in something that you don't want to say? My Lady – NOTHING Adrien – Uh huh. So what is it? Adrien – Hm? Adrien – Aren't you going to tell me? My Lady – No. Adrien – Why not? My Lady – I'm going to delete your number if you don't stop asking! Adrien – That won't do anything. I'll just text you again, and then you'll have it again. My Lady – Please unsubscribe me from your mailing list. Adrien – Is it just a string of hearts or something? My Lady – The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Adrien – Or maybe it's “Hot Stuff”? My Lady – New phone. Who dis? Adrien – Wow. It must be reeealllly embarrassing if you don't want to tell me this badly. My Lady – FINE! My Lady – When I found out who you were, I changed your contact to “Future Husband.” OKAY?!?!?!

If Plagg could see his face right now, Adrien was sure the kwami would gag. He was probably smiling like an idiot. She really thought that it was a possibility?

“You good, dude?”

Adrien only nodded because how was he supposed to explain? Ladybug - LADYBUG - really had decided that she wanted to marry him?!

She was also still waiting for his response. Probably anxiously. Should he gush about how much he loved her or continue with his teasing?

Teasing won out.

Adrien – Oh, Bugaboo, you didn't even buy me a ring yet! My Lady – SHUT UP I'M GOING TO CHANGE IT Adrien – Please don't. Adrien – My ring size is 29, in case you were wondering. My Lady – That's not even a real size. Adrien – Oh. Adrien – Father doesn't sell jewelry, so I don't know anything about it. Haha. My Lady – Average sizes are usually between 5 and like 10 or 11. My Lady – In case you were wondering... My Lady – Mine’s 4 and a half.

---

Adrien walked into school the next morning (on time, thankfully! The photographer had been 10 minutes late to the shoot and traffic was horrible all morning) ready to watch the front door for any stragglers who showed up late. He still didn't have any ideas about who Ladybug could be, and he was starting to think he was missing the obvious. So he stood in the middle of the courtyard and scanned faces as they trickled in, but no one in particular stood out to him. No girl was the same height, looked just right, sounded like her, or moved the same way. Over several minutes, the courtyard started filling up. Starting from the doors, he slowly rotated until he’d done a full circle, double checking if someone had slipped past him. Nino was the only one in the crowd who caught his attention.

“Hey, bro!” Nino said, waving as he approached. “You look distracted, which means you haven't figured it out yet.”

“No! And she still won't give me another hint!”

“That's because you have enough to figure it out with, man. You're trying too hard.” He swung an arm over Adrien's shoulders. “Just look at your contact list and find the hole. Should be obvious, my dude.” It was easy for Nino to give advice. He had found out who she was the easy way ages ago.

But Ladybug kept telling him that, too. Plagg, when he didn't avoid the subject entirely, said much the same thing.

Adrien reached for his phone, but his scroll through his contact list was interrupted by an incoming text image.

There he and Nino were, in the middle of the crowded courtyard, looking at his phone. Adrien's head snapped up. The photographer had been directly in front of him on the upper level, but that area was now deserted.

“Come on,” Adrien said. “Maybe we can catch her.”

He took the stairs two at a time while Nino hollered for him to slow down. Adrien had no plan to do anything of the sort. His Lady had been there just a few seconds ago. She couldn't have gotten far.

Reaching the top step, he took another look around. There were a few corners that she could be hiding behind, or she could have ducked into a classroom. He debated for only a second. What would Ladybug do if she was trying to trip him up? Probably go where the most people were so she could hide in plain sight. He poked his head into the nearest classroom. A few people waved to him, but no one he knew well enough to have traded phone numbers with.

He tried a few more, then doubled back and checked the alcoves. There were a lot of people that he knew, and because he was in such a hurry, all of them seemed to want to say hello to him. He stayed only long enough each time to give a very hurried explanation that he was looking for someone in order to excuse himself before running off again.

“Hey!” Nino said, finally catching up with him. “Will you slow down?”

“Did you see her anywhere? Please tell me that much. Did I overlook her again?”

“I haven't seen her,” Nino said, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. “What did you eat for breakfast, man? Rocket fuel? I haven't seen you run like that since the last akuma. Or…” Nino put his hat back on and smiled, “do you really just want to find her that bad?”

Two minutes after running out of the courtyard, Adrien found himself up at the top of the stairs overlooking it. He walked to the railing, where Ladybug had been standing when she took her picture of him. She'd been so close, and she'd slipped through his fingers again. He needed to figure her identity out soon, or she’d be the death of him (in the best way possible).

The courtyard was emptier than it had been a few minutes prior. The flow of students through the front doors had been reduced to a trickle. Only a few stragglers remained at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to go to class until the very last second.

“I think the bell's about to ring,” Nino said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We should go.”

Adrien sighed. Another attempt to find her had ended in failure.

They trudged back down the stairs to their first class. A few of their friends were ahead of them in the hallway, including Alya and Marinette, who were whispering together. He heard Alya congratulating Marinette about something. He heard only a few words, “likes you a lot!” and “interested.” What were they talking about? He picked up his pace, hoping to get close enough to catch more of the conversation, but Nino called out to them over the crowd to get their attention before he reached them.

Alya cut off her next sentence abruptly and spun around, eyes going to Adrien first before landing on Nino.

“Good morning!” Marinette said, eyes shining. Was he imagining it, or was her gaze lingering on him longer than it usually did? “What have you two been up to this morning? Looking for that mystery lady of yours again?”

“You know about that?” Adrien groaned. “How many people know?”

A few people shoved past him to get to their classrooms. He hadn't realized they were blocking the traffic.

“Nino told me about it,” Marinette said, starting to walk forward again. “He said you were having some trouble figuring out who she was. Do you want some help?” Behind her back, Nino and Alya exchanged deadpan looks.

“Yeah,” he said. “That would be great. I've tried everything I can think of.”

Marinette thought about it for a few seconds, tapping her finger to her lips in a slow, exaggerated movement. He glanced down at the finger briefly before turning his attention back to her eyes.

“Have you tried tricking her into giving you more information? Like ask her about something that happens at school today that only some people know about. Then, if she sees it, you have fewer people to guess from. Maybe you could cat-ch her that way?” She put more emphasis on the first half of the word “catch,” but he wasn't sure why. “What about the assembly today?”

“That's a great idea, Marinette! Thanks!” That was a fantastic idea. The assembly was only for their grade, and if she saw it too, that would really narrow down the pool of candidates. And even if she didn’t, he could exclude an entire grade from his search. He would have to word his questions just right, so she wouldn’t think he was asking for another hint. If she knew he was looking for a way around the rules of her challenge, she might not answer. Or worse, be unhelpful on purpose.

“You're welcome,” she said. “I really hope you find her soon.”

Adrien blinked, surprised to find himself and Marinette alone in the hallway in front of their first period class. His mind was still thinking up exactly how he would pose his questions to seem the most innocent.

“Really, Marinette. Thank you. I really want to find her.”

She beamed at him as the bell rang, and they both ran for the classroom door.

With Marinette’s help, and a little bit of his Lady’s luck, he might know was behind the mask by the end of the day. And he couldn’t wait.

Chapter Five

---

Tag list: @eclipsesmoonshine14, @alittlewolf2, @mlbigbang

#adrinette #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #ml

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breadraccoon · 3 months ago

Text

Ghost of a Parent Preview

Chapter 3: Findings One's Footing

Summary:

Past - Stuck but not without hope, Miles puts together a plan to get him and his growing family out this strange dimension. As he worked out the finer details, Miles finds himself doing things he otherwise wouldn’t have.

Present - Starting training with an apprentice who is new to their powers is one thing. Settling in a child from another dimension in the home of a recently sobered addict is another. Gwen and Charlotte try to figure out how this whole living together thing should run.

Here's a little preview of the past:

Okay, so every day he and his wife made about 50 iron pieces together. They both worked 6 days a week, that meant they would have made 300 irons in a week.. The Inn they were staying at cost 15 iron pieces a day, so then 105 irons were just used for sheltering. Budgeting in for food cost, that was another 50-ish iron a week. Taking out travel expenses to get around the city total about 10 irons. Which left… 135 irons saved a week. Not a great amount. They already had 50 silver, 94 bronze, and 230 iron saved away. The tickets for the boat costed 10 gold pieces each. Doing the conversions…

Jesus Christ! It would take them a little over three years to save up at their current rate.

Miles’s shoulders slouched. He really thought he found a breakthrough in their situation. But as it turns out, even in a weird, twisted amalgamation of a universe, cash still ran the world.

Damn. Guess that meant he needed to look for a higher paying job. He needed a lot of cash and he needed it quickly. Miles would be damned if he let his first child be born here.

Well, that is if they decided to even keep the fetus in the first place...

They hadn’t really talked about it since that night. Two- Three days have passed? As much as Miles wanted to bring it up the next morning, Gwen had gotten up early and left out for work before Miles’s fuzzled brain could even wake up enough to string two thoughts together. When Miles returned to the inn later that afternoon, both were too tired to even want to start that heavy conversation. It’s just… The timing never felt right.

Miles hoped Gwen didn’t feel like he was ignoring her. In reality, she was never far from his thoughts. With everything going on, they just had so little free time to spend with each other. These days their check-ins were brief and mostly spent on planning ways to get back to their home universe.

But at the end of the day, they needed to have this talk. This decision could alter how they planned their way out, not to mention their future. It was frustrating to be stuck in such an ambiguous position, but it’s not like Miles was doing anything to solve it. He hadn’t even figured out his own feelings about this potential baby. If they were back on earth-1675, he’d been ecstatic. But here?

The stress felt crushing.

“Morales! Get your head out of the clouds and hand your box over!” A coworker ordered

“Huh? Right!” Miles passed his crate up to his coworker on a carriage before turning back to the dock to grab another. Of all the jobs kid Miles had imagined himself working in the future, a dockworker was far from anything he had ever imagined.

Sweat pooled on Miles’s brow. Despite what his coworkers may think, it wasn’t the labor of this job making him drench his clothes in sweat. These boxes practically weighed nothing to him. It was the damn sun. He swore it seemed to burn brighter in this weird amalgamation of a universe. With the sky being clear of clouds, it felt like a laser was staring him down.

The dock Miles worked at looked something straight out of historical film. History was never Miles’s strong suit but he figured this city was model off of 19th century America. Back before any of the world wars had happened. Though a much more diverse crowd roamed the streets here. While most of the people here were dressed in period correct clothes, Miles would spot people of vastly different time periods roaming the streets. Just the other day Gwen saw an advertisement for a fight between a roman soldier and an Aztec warrior.

Miles and Gwen knew this universe was going to be weird going in. This universe was a tangled knot in the web of fate. But this? Neither Gwen nor he had ever seen anything like this before.

Knots were never a good sign. Not only did they stop web readers from reading or making predictions, they were often a sign of a distortion in the fabric of reality. These were the most dangerous types of mission. Only the most senior spider-totems were offered these assignments. Gwen and he had accepted this mission practically blind to the danger of this world. They had two objectives, find the cause and solve the problem, if possible.

None of that mattered to Miles anymore. His only goal was getting him and his wife out of this damn universe.

Despite the randomness of this universe, there were still trends to be found. Through the many talks Miles had with the people here he found that most of the societies dotting this earth came before the industrial revolution. Gwen and he had only lucked out landing in a city where they could at least keep their tech charged. There were only two places on this earth where modern technology could be found. If Miles could get his hands on a modern lab, he could figure out why their watches stopped working and find them a way home.

Their biggest roadblock was the fact it cost an arm and a leg to get to the nearest modern society, Kiester. Not an impossible block, but a big one indeed.

As he was about to grab another large crate from the pile building on the dock a deep, gravelly voice called, “Hey, Morales.”

Miles stopped and turned. His boss was sitting on one of the dock’s posts, waving him over. He was an older fellow. While his movements were slow and shaky, his eyes had this undeniable sharpness. It was hard to pull anything over him. A white beard covered the entirety of his jaw. And just like the way he dressed, his beard was perfectly manicured and fashioned. He was a man of means. It was easy to see. Though the old calluses on his hands hinted that might not always have been true.

“Griffiths, you called,” Miles answered as he approached.

“Sit. If you keep working yourself out like that, you’re going to hurt yourself son. Give those arms a rest,” he ordered

Had he really been going that long? Looking back, Miles couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a break. That made him break out into a worse sweat. Normal. That’s what he was supposed to be pretending to be. A normal powerless human. And normal powerless people don’t effortlessly carry heavy crates for hours on end…

Miles sat down in the shade of the ship as he whisked away the sweat on his brow. In the distance, he could hear the call of a ship’s horn. He turned to the sound. A metal sailboat was coming to port. That was a rare sight. Probably from Kiester he guessed.

“How’s the Mrs?” Griffiths asked.

“Good. She’s good.”

“Glad to hear. It’s nice to see couples of your age keeping strong. Though I am surprised you two don’t have any little ones running around already.”

A nervous chuckle escaped Miles’s throat. They weren’t that old. 27 and 28 respectively. But maybe times were different back then. “One day maybe... I’d rather be back with my family before Gwen and I start to build our own.”

“Ahh, I see. If you don’t mind, where is family?”

Should he be honest? Miles doubted NYC existed here. Even if it did, it wasn’t in the way he knew his home city. Instead, Miles said the first place that came to mind. “Kiester”

“Well, aren’t you a long way from home.” Griffiths laughed, a deep bellyful laugh.

“Yeah, I’ve always had a bit of an adventurous spirit. Wouldn’t have met my wife without it,” Miles joined in. In a more somber voice, Miles continued, “But now, I think I am ready to settle down. I just need to get the finances together.”

Griffiths hummed. He was thinking. Miles could see it in his eyes. “It cost a lot to get a ride to Kiester. Do you have the pieces you need to cover that kind of cost?” Miles could only look away and shake his head. “I’m sure you know this kind of work isn’t going to get you home any time soon, but what if I told you there was another way to make some silver pieces real quickly.”

Miles looked back to Griffith with a careful eye. “How so?”

Link to the fic if you want to check out the beginning. Just know the fic mainly takes place in the present. The past is a mystery to be slowly unraveled.

#When will I finish this chapter? who knows :)#But it's the wip I'm closest with finishing #ghostflower #ghostflower fic #my fic #gwen stacy #miles morales #charlotte morales stacy #ghost of a parent #my previews

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reki-of-the-valley · 8 months ago

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Summer Time (Family) Madness

lmao it's been like 6 months since the last time the last revision. And like 2 and a half years since the end of this fic. But alas. At least I'm still working on the revisions. So here's an updated chapter 6!

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It wasn’t uncommon to find Langa hidden under the counter at DopeSketch. Normally, it was to avoid having to interact with any of the customers; Reki was just naturally so much better at the whole customer service part of their shared retail job. Now, however, Langa found himself more often than not with a book on his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Now, he spent his shifts groaning about the homework that was assigned on summer break of all times.

Thankfully though, DopeSketch really wasn’t the busiest shop in town. Langa could get away with his time wasted watching videos instead of reading his novel, or all his lost minutes staring at the same math equation. Barely anyone entered the little shop, and those who did never stuck around for more than a few minutes, browsing the few shelves of skateboarding equipment. So, during the shifts where Langa remained cooped up in the small shop, watching the sun beat down on the smiling people in the streets, he got to do homework. If he had to explain to someone what he was being paid to do, the most honest answer he could muster was that his paycheck covered the cost of someone playing the role of a babysitter for a store that most definitely would not up and run away. Or maybe he was being paid to keep his grades up since he had nothing better to do than work on his assignments.

It was a miracle Oka still gave him shared shifts with Reki. It didn’t take a genius to know that employing two best friends was not the ideal recipe for productivity, but maybe the man knew how lonely it could get in the shop. Maybe that was why he let the boys keep each other company during their long shifts. And that was what they did; even if they silently did their own separate thing, at least they had each other. As long as they were together, everything would be okay. As long as they had one another, the day wouldn’t feel eternal. And sometimes, a calm and silent afternoon was exactly what they needed.

Langa groaned as he leaned back against the counter, tipping his head back in annoyance. He had tried, he had really tried to get a head start on his summer schoolwork. He had really tried to power through his assigned readings as fast of possible. He had tried to get it over with as soon as possible, but that determination was too good to be true. When it came to actually doing it, it proved itself much harder than anticipated. And Langa hadn’t been proud to admit that his reading skills could almost rival his handwriting.

“I don’t get it.” His eyes fell shut as another sign fell from his lips. “Why do we need literature? What’s the use of old books no one cares about? Even in English, I sucked at it. I just…” The world reappeared before him, brighter than he remembered it to be just a few seconds ago. “I don’t get it! And I just don’t care!”

A pen was clicked a few times as Reki hummed to himself. He must have been sketching in the margins of his notebook instead of doing the math problems he had said he would be doing. He had to have been; the pen strokes were far too methodical and repetitive to be that of writing.

“I don’t know, man. Something about culture and it’s important we know about our past.” A smile broke across Langa’s face as he peeked out from under the counter just as Reki surrounded the last part of his statement with air quotes. “But I can help you if you want. But in exchange,” red hair fell to the side as Reki leaned over to get a better view of Langa, “you gotta explain to me our next English project. ‘Cause like, that man talks way too fast for me to catch a single thing he says. I’m pretty sure I understand those American sitcoms better than him, and I never know what’s happening in those.”

Langa chuckled as he agreed on their deal. Reki would be helped with some English homework and Langa wouldn’t fail yet another written assignment; this friendship definitely had its perks beyond the whole having a friend thing. And it wasn’t even like Reki was exaggerating about their English teacher; the man really did speak way too fast. It also did not help that he had the heaviest accent Langa had ever come across, occasionally slurring his words and making it hard for even Langa to perfectly understand what was being said. But at least he had the advantage of being completely fluent, even if his grades didn’t always reflect that, which meant he could rely on the instruction sheet rather than the verbal expectations.

Silence reigned once more in the little shop, both boys having returned to their individual activities. Quiet, methodical pen strokes echoed against the walls; the sound of rustling pages made its place in the song being composed in the little skateboard shop. It was quiet and relaxing, peaceful even.

Langa had come to appreciate watching Reki work his crafts, be it doodling in the margins of his notebooks or his repetitive shaving of a board. Whether he knew it or not, he made the funniest faces as he concentrated on his work. Sometimes he would furrow his brow, leaning closer to the paper before straightening out to continue adding endless details to his drawing. Other times, he would stick his tongue out as if that was what helped keep focus on his work. And once he completed something he was particularly proud of, his eyes would glow with pride as he held his piece up to the light. That was the face Langa liked the most; it was the face of someone who was proud of themselves, and Reki deserved most of all to be proud of himself. He deserved to be proud of himself, to see himself the way Langa saw him. None of that frustration that would often overcome him as he would huff and rip the page out of his sketchbook or notebook. No more crumpling and tossing of masterpieces he simply could not see. If it were up to Langa, none of that would ever happen again, but for now, he would content himself in collecting Reki’s trashed art. Even if they weren’t up to Reki’s standards, they would always be works of art to Langa.

Langa loved watching Reki draw. It was quiet and tranquil, a moment where Reki wasn’t bouncing around, talking with his hands, words stumbling over themselves as he went on and on. And as much as Langa loved Reki’s endless energy, he also deeply appreciated the calm moments they would share. But as with everything else, good moments must come to an end, the door chiming as a customer walked in.

“Welcome to Dope— Oh, hey Emily!”

Langa perked up at the name. Emily? Why was she here of all places? Langa had purposely avoided telling her where he worked in hopes of getting away from her. Dope Sketch had been the only place Langa could go to escape the teasing remarks and those eyes that stared straight into his soul. It was the one place where he felt safe from her badgering questions about his oh-so-obvious crush on Reki. Work had somehow become his little slice of quiet heaven, and now that bubble had burst. Now, she had found him and his hiding spot.

Reluctantly, Langa pushed himself off the ground only to smash his head against the counter and crash back down. He held the top of his head as she let out a whiney cry of pain.

“Dude! Langa!” Amber eyes fell onto him, eyes filled with worry and shock. “What’s up with you and hitting your head lately?”

If Langa had known the answer, he would have told Reki. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe it was all those distractions, distractions disguised as the people hovering around him. Maybe it was Reki and just how absolutely distracting he was, be it while he would sketch, his face will with concentration, or when he would kneel next to Langa, his beautiful eyes still wide and filled with worry.

Between Reki and Langa, there was no doubt that Reki was the more accident-prone one. He was the one constantly sporting bandages for his sprained ankles and wrists. He was the one scraping his knees after wiping out from trying another new trick he had found on the Internet. He was always the one laughing as he fell on his ass, his board flying from under his feet. Reki was so much more the accident-prone one, at least when it came to skating. When it came to their daily lives, Langa was starting to believe he was the clumsy one, if the last two weeks were any indication. He was the one tripping over his untied shoelaces, eating pavement as Reki choked on his laughter. He was the one splitting his eyebrow open on a window frame in the dead of the night. He was the one smashing his head against the counter instead of greeting his cousin.

“Is he… Is he alright?”

Emily’s head poked from above the counter, her hair a curtain for the nook under the counter. She must have climbed onto the counter to see what mishap was happening away from her prying eyes. And given the frown that pulled at the corners of her mouth, she mustn’t have been proud of clumsy Langa.

A flood of memories washed through Langa at the sight. It wasn’t the first time she had looked down at him like this. Somewhere, somewhere long lost to the fog of memory, this exact situation had happened. But somewhere in those memories, there had also been smiles. A flash of a faceless childish grin. A flash of a girl hanging above his head. A flash of blond hair blocking the sun. Some distant chatter. A storybook. A treehouse. Grass. Laughter. Summer.

Reki pulled Langa from the floor, pulling him out of his impromptus trip down memory lane. He looped his arm around Langa’s waist, holding him tightly as if he were afraid that Langa would drop back down to the ground as soon as he would let go of him. Or maybe Reki feared that Langa had concussed himself; thankfully, that had yet to happen. A miracle, really.

Langa let himself be guided towards the stool Reki had been using earlier. He let his body crash against the wood as soon as he felt it brush against his thighs. If Reki was asking him to sit, then Langa could not refuse. He could never refuse Reki, no matter what it was he was asking. He had learned that the hard way, and there was no way he was going through those torturous days without Reki ever again. No way, especially not when Reki was this close, squeezing his way between Langa’s knees, his rough yet soft fingers holding onto Langa’s burning cheeks. Especially not when he was letting Langa hold on to his waist as he steadied himself onto the stool. Because obviously he needed something to steady himself; otherwise, he would have risked falling again. And he couldn’t fall again. Or was it too late for that?

Reki was so close. So fucking close. Langa could practically count the freckles scattered across his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his ears… He could almost count every short lash of Reki’s. And he was talking so softly to Langa. His voice was just so mesmerizing, so magical.

“How’s your vision? Do things look blurry?”

“Not more than usual.” A frown pulled at the corners of Reki’s mouth; so much for cracking a joke to lighten the mood. “My vision is fine if that’s what you’re asking. I see just fine. It was an accident; didn’t think I was that far under the counter.”

“And your head? Does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Do you feel like—!”

Now, had this been some teen summer romance blockbuster, then maybe Langa would have quieted Reki with a spontaneous kiss. And maybe that would have been the beginning of the best summer of Langa’s life. But Langa was no movie protagonist and, while he was gutsy, he wasn’t that impulsive. So instead, he simply tightened his grip on Reki’s waist, interrupting the boy’s panicked questions.

“I’m fine, Reki. I barely bumped my head against the counter. I’ve dealt with far worse in the past and I’ve survived every one of those blows.”

“You smashed your head against my window frame the other day! I don’t know dude, but that’s kinda worrying! You could be concussed or something! Like, it’s not normal or good for you to constantly be hitting your head! You’re,” Reki’s voice dropped, his eyes finding Langa’s, “you’re not lying to me, are you?”

Reki had never made it easier to smile. “I’m fine, I swear. And I’m not lying to you, I promise.”

Reki huffed as Langa held up his pinkie finger. A light chuckle fell from his lips as his hold on Langa fell away before returning, his own finger curled around Langa’s. A promise had been formed and sealed, a promise that could no longer be broken, at least according to the rules of pinkie promises. But that touch didn’t linger, Reki finally backing away from between Langa’s legs.

“I’m getting you some water and you better not have moved when I get back, you hear me?”

Langa scoffed but still gave Reki a curt nod. There was no point in arguing with Reki; if he had to tape Langa down to the chair to keep him from getting up and wandering around, then he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. So Langa knew better than to try to argue. He simply watched the boy dash to the backroom where their bags were stashed.

It never took much for Langa to look absolutely smitten. All he needed was a door swinging shut behind Reki, leaving Langa hidden from judgement. All it took was that adorably serious expression on Reki’s face as he ran off. All it required was for Reki to be, well, Reki. Everything about Reki was enough to leave Langa floating, because Reki was adorable. Seriously, absolutely adorable.

“He sure it touchy with you.”

Langa jumped at the sound of the voice, having forgotten about the girl standing by him. She had since gotten off the counter, but still, she leaned over it, eyes also glued to the door. The English almost sounded strange, like a foreign dialect taking over a safe space. Emily’s presence felt wrong, as if she had no business being here, next to him. Her presence left Langa annoyed once more, the feeling tugging on his insides. Work had always been one of the places where it truly was just him and Reki. Sure, sometimes Manager Oka would pop in, but most of the time, it was just Reki and Langa. Most of the time, it was a space for just them, somewhere where no one could burst their little bubble.

Dope Sketch was one of the few places where Langa didn’t feel self-conscious every time he snuck a glance at Reki. It was the only place where he knew he wouldn’t be caught by anyone. It was the only place where he felt he could be so unapologetically himself, knee-deep in his feelings without the fear that someone would bring it up, tease him about, or worst of all, call him out on his dumb crush. Here, at work, it was a land that belongs to only Reki and Langa.

“He’s just treating me the same way he treats his sisters when they get hurt.” Langa’s tone was sharp and dry, leaving little room for a retort from the queen of annoying. “Probably just his brotherly instincts kicking in or whatever. It comes naturally to him to be caring, y’know?”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Emily clicked her tongue as she climbed back onto the counter to sit cross-legged on top of it. “You keep telling yourself that, Lover Boy.”

Langa had gotten his fair share of nicknames over the course of his life. He had gotten used to being called a variety of names by the people surrounding him. Reki often teased him by calling him Prince Langa, a name which made no sense to Langa given that he was the furthest thing from a prince. His mother still called him her little man or her baby, which, the more Langa thought about it, were hilarious things to be called. And Emily had gotten into the habit of calling him whatever passed through that thick skull of hers, though she did tend to favor the twig insult. There had been so many names that had shaped Langa, but Lover Boy had never been one of them. Lover Boy was… it wasn’t Langa. It was a name for someone with confidence, someone who was a smooth talker, things that were definitely not Langa when it came to people. Those were things that left Langa’s inside squirming with discomfort. It was a name he wanted to run from, and the best way to do that was by completely changing the subject before Emily could ever bring it up again.

“Hey, Emmy? Did we have a treehouse as kids?”

Emily scrunched her nose as she turned towards Langa. Her brow was pinched, looking strangely at her cousin. “Yeah? Grandpa built it when I was 10, but had to take it down that same summer for some unknown reason, don’t you remember?”

Langa shook his head with a shrug.

“We spent nearly the entire summer in that tree. But why bring that up now? That’s so random.”

Langa shrugged once more. He wanted to change subjects and had had a flashback right after hitting his head. It was random, but that was the thing with foggy memories: they reappeared at the strangest of moments.

“Seeing you looking down on me reminded me of that summer, but I wasn’t sure if it was a real memory or just my brain making things up. It’s just… It’s all a little haze, like every summer memory overlaps. I can’t really tell what happened and when, except the really big events that often got us in shit. Like that one time everyone thought I broke my arm after I fell from a tree? The first time we were allowed to go to the park alone and got home like an hour after the set time? Or that time we accidentally splashed paint on Grandma’s carpet?”

“Oh man! She was so pissed at us! The stain is still there, you know? Almost faded, but you can still see it if you know where to look. And like, I was so sure she was going to rip our heads off that day.”

“Yeah, she was not happy about that one. But the treehouse…” Langa leaned back on the stool, careful to not tip over and crash once again. “The memory feels fake. It’s like I had made it up to give myself some resemblance of a real childhood.”

“But you did have a real childhood, Langa. Sure, it was maybe a little unconventional with all your snowboarding training and competitions, maybe a bit of a gifted kid childhood, but you did still have a childhood. Your parents still took you out to the park when you were a kid and weren’t such an antisocial mess.” Emily stuck her tongue out at Langa’s pointed glare, grinning at the low blow. “But for real though, you had a pretty normal childhood otherwise. Like your parents used to push you on the swings for hours on end when you were a baby. Apparently, you like those things so damn much that the only time you would cry was when someone took you out of your swing.”

Langa slumped down on his stool, ducking his head in embarrassment. The swings were one of those vague baby memories he still had. He had forgotten the whole of it, but he did remember the wind in his face and how much liked it. Still likes it, actually. That had maybe played a big part in why he had gotten into snowboarding in the first place. Maybe that was why he still loved skateboarding so much. All Langa wanted was to be able to fly.

“We spent summer after summer together, playing in the basement and outside and all around the grandparents’ house. And you even throw the biggest temper tantrum ever in the supermarket because your mom didn’t get you the cookies you wanted.”

“I did not do that.”

Emily snorted at Langa’s defensiveness. “Uh, yes you did. Auntie Nanako even has the pictures to prove it and she showed them tome. Something about despite not being pleased with her yelling child, she needed physical proof of you being a total brat out in public so that if ever you have kids and want to kill them for screaming in a public place, then she’d show you that you were no better despite being the quietest, shyest kid ever. Something about every kid throwing a temper tantrum at the most inconvenient of times. And then you’d just have to deal with it and understand your kid’s point of view of some shit like that?”

Langa bit the insides of his cheeks, not quite wanting to believe the story. His mother had always insisted that he had been an exceptionally easy child, though a little worryingly emotionless. He would rarely argue or cry, so the possibility that he had been an absolute monster in the middle of a supermarket because of a box of cookies, it felt wrong. It felt impossible. Out of character. Fabricated, especially since Langa didn’t like cookies that much.

“But it’s not because you weren’t part of the popular group at school or that you didn’t hang out with the other kids at the park after class that you lack a childhood. Childhood is… It’s a lot of things. Like trying to teach you how to do ballet. Or watching movies during lunchtime. Or playing video games in a basement.”

“I think you mean repeatedly hitting me with a Wii remote because I somehow managed to beat your high score on Just Dance.”

“You weren’t even trying!”

Langa chuckled at the girl’s outburst. “Just have to learn the mechanics of the game to win. You don’t actually have to be good at dancing. Or dance at all.”

“You…”

Emily huffed, but it wasn’t long before her frown broke into a grin. Laughter spilled from her lips as Langa swatted her hand away, dodging her attempt at a hair ruffle. Because even if they were going down memory lane, Langa sure as hell was not letting her treat him like he was 5 years old again.

“I know you feel like you’re a big weirdo and you didn’t have a childhood since your past doesn’t look like some American Walmart Thanksgiving commercial, but I can guarantee you had one. And a damn good one, for that matter! And you also definitely made mine a whole lot more memorable and fun. Like, I don’t know what I would have done without my little baby cousin to play with all summer long. Most probably would have turned out a whole lot worse than I have had you not been there to entertain me and keep me in check.”

Despite Emily’s teasing tone, it was her sentimentality that really stood out to Langa. And he never knew what to do with that. He didn’t know how to respond to the girl who always seemed so energetic, always so ready for the future. She wasn’t one to reminisce, tripping over memories from the past. Or at least, that was how Langa had always perceived her; that wasn’t the Emily he knew. To him, she was someone who lived to tease and annoy him, wholeheartedly. She wasn’t one to smile as softly as she was now, a light mist covering her eyes as the ancient years rolled by like a silent film. Those brown eyes, they were made to shine from mischief and scheming, not from the threat of tears.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Langa felt something in his chest. His heart? Was it beating? If it was, it sure wasn’t the same heartbeat as when he was around Reki. It also wasn’t the same heartbeat that would race as he would slide through the world on a board. No, this time, it was going slower, feeling calmer. It beat with such a different feeling that Langa could not name it. It wasn’t excitement; it wasn’t anticipation. Was it perhaps nostalgia? Safety? Was it remembering what it was like to be a little kid, scrapping his knee as they played soccer against the garage door? Was it finding his first best friend, the person who had once been so important to him? It wasn’t anything like being with Reki, exciting and energetic and new, but still, it was nice. It felt like forgetting the distance that had estranged him from the girl who had been his only friend for so many years.

“Em,” Langa felt himself choke up, but he had to say something. He couldn’t remain silent. He couldn’t let the moment die. He couldn’t leave things unsaid, things he’d later have to bury deep within himself because it would be too late. He couldn’t let this moment pass, let the words fester until there would be no one to say them to anymore. “You also—!”

“Sorry it took so long! I just couldn’t find my water bottle anywhere, but I finally found it!”

Reki’s head poked out from behind the door as he held the bottle in the air. Almost like magic, all signs of tears vanished from Emily’s face. She perked up, a grin lighting up her face. And with such a grin came the dawning realization that all hell was about to break loose, the girl leaning dangerously close to Reki.

“You should feed it to him.”

Never had Langa felt so mortified in his life. He didn’t even dare look at Reki; his eyes remained on Emily who was now giggling hysterically to herself as she kicked her feet in the air like a child. For the first time since landing in Japan, she didn’t stumble on her Japanese words. They came as naturally as if they had been English. There had been no hesitancy whatsoever, which only made it worse for Langa and his stupidly burning cheeks. No need for a mirror to guess the color of his face; the blossoming heat was the only indicator he needed.

“You feeling sick, man? If you need anything else, you’d tell me, right? If you’re not feeling well, you can go home. I’ll tell Oka what happened, don’t worry about it! I promise he’ll understand and I’m totally capable to working alone! You don’t have to worry about me at all!”

Emily may not have hesitated, but bless her word for word translation passing over Reki’s head. And bless his not asking what she meant; explaining would have been far too awkward. Otherwise, there would have been more hesitancy in Langa’s grabbing of the water bottle before chugging down half of its contents.

“I’m fine, Reki. Really. You have to stop worrying so much about me. And Emmy’s just being a bitch who thinks I can’t do anything on my own.”

“Not my fault you were a mega crybaby back when you were a kid.” The shrug was just for show, but the twinkle in her eye was the real jab. “Took you forever to figure out chopsticks, I was convinced the grandmother was going to have to feed you until the day you die.”

“Wait, but if I remember correctly, weren’t you the family’s crybaby? Because I’m pretty sure I saw you sobbed uncontrollably that time your pink spoon was dirty and you were forced to eat with a purple one.”

“I—!"

“I can’t imagine either one of you crying.” Reki’s voice cut through the argument, both turning towards the boy. He was glancing away, refusing to meet either of their gazes. “You guys are both just so… not like me.”

The forced, bitter laughter that fell from Reki’s mouth broke Langa’s heart. Crying had always been a sensitive topic for Reki. He had never liked how easily his emotions could get the best of him. He hated how easily tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Just the idea of crying left him insecure, feeling like less than those around him. And Langa, well, he hated how Reki felt obligated to bottle up his feelings, not wanting to let others see his sadness or distress out of fear of being seen as less.

Langa remembered the first time he had seen Reki cry. It had been a hard time for both of them. It had been hard on Reki who had been holding back his tears until the dam broke free, a flood of tears pouring from his usually bright amber eyes. All his sadness, all his stress, all his insecurities had been let out, a ticking timebomb that exploded at the worst possible moment. And it had been hard on Langa who hadn’t known what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort Reki. He didn’t know what to say to him either. He didn’t know how to deal with everything that was happening so quickly, all around him.

Since then, Langa made sure to remind Reki that crying wasn’t a bad thing. There was no reason for him to be ashamed of the tears. They weren’t a weakness. They weren’t a character flaw. It didn’t matter what other said or did or how they looked at him. None of it mattered; all that mattered was that Reki knew that crying was natural. All that mattered was that he didn’t find himself hating himself more for letting it all out.

“Someone willing to let others see them cry is the bravest and strongest kind of person out there,” Langa had once said when Reki looked like he was holding back tears. “Not only are they honest with themselves, but they’re also not afraid to let others know how they’re feeling. There’s no point in hiding when you’re hurt.”

It wasn’t every day Langa knew what to say, but in that moment, he remembered his mother’s words. They had been said to him when he was at his lowest, but still, he hadn’t taken them to heart. Still, he hadn’t let himself cry. But thankfully, Reki had listened. Thankfully, Reki had let it all out, weeping into Langa’s shoulder, hiccupping muffled words into a soaked t-shirt until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Reki didn’t need to be like Langa. He didn’t have to put up some emotionless person. He didn’t need to be ice cold like Langa. He didn’t need to look like he was ready to fight whoever got in his way or brush off everything anyone said. He didn’t need tears to be foreign to him.

Reki, he was allowed to be emotional. He was allowed to be messy with his feelings. He was allowed to care about everyone around him and he was allowed to feel something about what as being said about him. He was allowed to cry his frustrations out if that was what helped him because Langa would be there. Langa would always be there. He would always be a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold if Reki so wanted.

Emily’s fingers curled around Reki’s forearm, leaning in closer than strictly necessary. “Don’t cry! I was kidding, you know! Langa is more than capable of taking care of himself! See? He can drink all on his own!” Her fingers dug into Reki’s skin, nearly breaking it as she gestured frantically at Langa with her other hand. “See? He’s a big boy! Totally capable of using his weird lanky body all on his own!”

Had it not been for the far more natural and pretty laughter that bubbled out of Reki, Langa would have hit his cousin upside the head. Or thrown the water bottle at her. Really, anything to shut her up. But Reki was rubbing at his nose, a grin slowly making its way across his face once more. There he was, smiling and bright, just the way Langa like it. Because while Reki was allowed to cry, it didn’t mean Langa liked it. If he could have it his way, he would have kept Reki happy for the rest of eternity. If he could keep Reki laughing, then there was nothing Langa wasn’t willing to do for that. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to see that pretty smile blossom across Reki’s face.

“So,” Reki straightened himself out as he fell back into his more cheerful and professional voice, “can I help you with anything? Looking for anything in particular?”

Emily slid down from the counter, her eyes scanning the environment as she hummed. It was obvious she hadn’t come here for anything at all; all she knew of skateboarding was that they had wheels and Langa could go fast on his board. Other than that, she had never shown interest in the sport.

“Not really?” Langa rolled his eyes at the girl’s words. “I mean, I was looking for something, but that was mostly company from you guys. I’m just so bored at the apartment with Auntie Nanako at work and Langa’s not there either and there’s just so much tv and doomscrolling a girl can do in a day. So yeah, I was just bored and wanted to check out where you two spend your days.”

Reki leaned against the counter, his eyes following Emily’s gaze and fingers. “That sucks. Can’t you visit around or something?”

“Not fluent enough and definitely can’t read anything. I’d be lost in a matter of seconds.”

Her fingers swept over rough boards and smooth helmets. The colors reflected against her skin, staining her momentarily as she moved across the little shop. She seemed so out of place here, surrounded by loud t-shirts and colors. but at the same time, Emily seemed at ease. She browsed as if she were in any other shop, her eyes flickering between the many pieces on display. There were no questions or disgust in her eyes; there was an understanding that this was just another sports shop.

“Well, you know how to skate?”

Emily turned back to the boy and shook her head. So much was obvious; she didn’t have the scars that Langa had or the fearlessness. She was dainty and princess-like, the exact opposite of what a skateboarder should be. Or maybe she did have what it took to be a skateboarder. Maybe Langa was just afraid of the sudden direction of this conversation.

“I tried to do a bit of figure skating back in the day, but I highly doubt that’s the skating you’re referring to. I always had to be careful to keep my bones intact since, you know, dancing and all that.”

“I can teach you if you’d like. I promise I won’t let you get hurt. You got my hand to hold for as long as you need and want.”

Reki’s smile was… Emily’s laughter… Everything started to fade out. Everything but the ringing in Langa’s ears. Everything but the tightness in his chest. Everything but the twist in his gut. Everything but the choking sensation building up at the base of his throat.

Everything was fading. Everything was buzzing. Everything was going to hell.

Oh no.

#Hello my friends #I know I havent written anything new in a hot minute but alas #I have a full time job now #but have this!#reki #reki kyan #kyan reki #sk8 reki #langa #hasegawa langa #langa hasegawa #sk8 langa #renga #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #lils writes #stfm

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