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redgillan · 4 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 10

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,179

Warnings: nothing new

A/N: Hey it’s me, daddy! ...well apparently. I really gotta take a chill pill... these chapters are getting way too long. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it, my babies are soft and sensitive :’) Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate it!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

You looked around the bar while you sipped your drink, a 12 dollar grapefruit juice and club soda cocktail. There weren’t many people at one in the afternoon, mostly suits and wealthy tourists, though you half expected to find Natasha hiding in the back with a hat, a large pair of sunglasses and an unfolded newspaper.

From the rug to the chairs and armchairs, everything was either black or white. You ran your index finger over the intricate calligraphy on the back of your chair. It was a number: 5.

Turning back around, you glanced at the clock and mentally cursed yourself for always being so early. You hated being late, and arriving less than ten minutes early counted as late in your book. You were nervous to see Wanda after all this time.

You hadn’t been expecting her to stay at a hotel on the Upper East Side. You wondered how she could afford it, but decided it was none of your business.

“I had a feeling you’d be here already.” That familiar voice brought back fond childhood memories and other not so pleasant memories. “You’re always early.”

You didn’t move a muscle as Wanda took a seat next to you, number 6. She signalled the bartender and ordered a latte. Meanwhile you played with your straw, trying to subtly steal a glance at her.

“What did you do to your hair?” you asked with a grimace, turning your body toward her.

Without looking at you, she raised her brows in mild exasperation. “I dyed it.”

“It’s orange.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I get it. You’re angry with me.”

“Oh,” you drawled out. “I’m well past angry. I was angry four years ago, now I just don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t care about me anymore?”

“No, and it’s not like you cared about me, or Scott, or Okoye.” You paused. “Or mom.”

Wanda had a shocked look on her face as she finally met your eyes. “That’s low. You have no idea-”

“No, you have no idea what it was like to live in that house after you all left. You have absolutely no idea,” you said, enunciating each word between your teeth, “because you weren’t there, because you left us –you left me. Six years, Wanda.”

She looked away and you saw her bottom lip quiver. She clenched her jaw and took a small sip of her latte. You instantly felt bad for snapping at her. You didn’t like confrontation. Hated arguing. You internalized. It was difficult for you to acknowledge that you had a right to express your feelings.

“I, uh,” Wanda said, then cleared her throat. “I knew you weren’t going to welcome me with open arms, and I know what I did was wrong, but I’d like us to be a family again. If it’s not too late.”

“It’s not too late,” you said with a small sigh. “But I’m not going to instantly forgive you just because you’re back.”

“I know.”

“What made you come back?”

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap and you noticed the ring on her fourth finger. It was a beautiful vintage-inspired ring made of black rhodium with an ornate cadenza halo in the centre.

A terrible thought occurred to you, making your stomach twist painfully. You didn’t know her at all. Not anymore. You had missed so much of your sister’s life. Or more accurately; she had cut you out of her life, and it was painful.

“I went to London,” Wanda said, unaware of your inner turmoil. “I saw Uncle Michael. He asked me if I was here to see mom, and I said, ‘No, mom’s in New York.’ And then he told me-” she tilted her head to look at you “-he told me mom was sick, that you and Okoye put her in a nursing home not far from his apartment. I didn’t believe him, so he took me to mom and she-” She paused, staring straight ahead as if she was caught in the memory

“She looked at you like she didn’t know you,” you said, knowing exactly where the story was going because it had happened to you too.

“Yeah,” Wanda breathed out, tears in her eyes. “I never felt so alone. They told her I was her daughter, but she didn’t recognize me. She kept asking Uncle Michael who I was, then she got mad because she was adamant she never had children.”

“I know,” you said sympathetically.

“I wanted to see you and apologize for not being the sister you deserve. For not being here when you needed me most.”

“Where were you all this time?” you asked, practically begged for an answer.

Her shoulders tensed and she straightened up in her seat. “Just travelling.”

“I know, I got your postcards.” You nodded toward the engagement ring on her finger. “I guess I should say congratulations.”

“Mhh,” she said running the pad of her thumb over the diamond. “It’s funny I never thought I’d fall in love and get married. I don’t need a man in my life to make me feel whole. Mom raised us alone, we’re independent and strong.” A small smile graced her lips. “But I found someone sweet and charming, someone who makes me feel safe and calm.”

“Are you writing your vows?”

“Har har,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes, a faint smile on her lips. You’d missed her, missed your banter. “You haven’t changed.”

“If you say so,” you said in a sombre voice. You looked at the clock above the bar. “Listen, I have to go but I’m happy you found someone. I’d like to meet him one day. I bet he doesn’t know about your Baby Spice phase.”

You jumped off the bar stool and picked up your jacket. Wanda turned in her seat, catching your wrist as you looped your purse over your shoulder.

“Can you stay a little longer?” she asked, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Just a minute.”

“Okay.”

She let go of your wrist. “Scott’s been released last month. I talked to him on the phone and asked him to fly to New York. He should be here tomorrow. I also talked to Okoye, I asked her to come here. We have things to discuss. I know things will never be the same, not after Pietro, not after mom, but we can try. We’re still a family.”

“Great,” you replied. Your word came out with more force than you had intended, but you didn’t apologize. They were all coming back for Wanda but when your mother needed help, you were all alone.

“Yeah,” Wanda whispered, her eyes cast down. “I was thinking we could all meet up for dinner. Okoye’s bringing her boyfriend so if you... if you have a partner-”

“I’m single.”

“Oh, uh, you can bring Natasha if you want.”

“No, thanks.” You reached into your purse and pulled out one of your business cards. “Text me, okay? I really gotta go.”

She smiled as she read your card. “You’re an artist? Splotchy, I’m so proud of you!”

That damn nickname... “I still haven't found a gallery. Not many people want to represent an unknown artist but I’m not giving up.”

“You never give up,” Wanda said with a gentle smile. “That’s why I love you.”

You took a cab to Natasha’s apartment. It had been three weeks since Sam moved to D.C., and Nat was having a hard time finding a job in her field.

She didn’t want to find another sugar daddy. It seemed ridiculous since she was still carrying a massive torch for Sam. She had saved enough money to live on until she could find a job and a new place to live.

“I’m officially done,” she grumbled in lieu of a greeting. “Job hunting sucks. New York sucks. Life sucks.”

“Pretty bold statement.”

You entered the apartment and plopped down next to her on the sofa. With a groan, she wrestled out of her blouse and threw it on the floor, leaving her in a simple white spaghetti-strap shirt and a pair of black trousers.

“I hate wearing a suit.”

“You look good in them.”

“I know,” she cried out. “I hate wearing suits when it’s all for nothing. I’m not the boss, I’m no one. Just another doofus with a college degree standing here like-” she cupped her hands together, as if she was holding a bowl, and looked at you with a pout. “Please, sir, I want some more.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t get the job,” you said, biting back a laugh. “I would hire you for that spot on Oliver Twist impression.”

She laughed. “I think I lost my fire. People used to be scared of me. Remember? I miss that.”

“You’re a psycho,” you snorted, using her shoulder as a pillow. “If it’s any consolation, Bucky’s terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Hey!”

She pressed her cheek against the top of your head and sighed. You stayed in that position for a few more seconds before you told Natasha what had happened with Wanda. She offered to go with you to your family gathering but you insisted you wanted to go alone.

“I gotta go,” you said. “Bucky’s taking me to dinner.”

“Oh,” she cooed, “is he finally going to propose?”

“That’s very funny,” you deadpanned. “I was starting to feel cooped up in our apartment so we decided to go out. Have fun, y’know.”

“Our apartment,” Natasha repeated with a lopsided smirk before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, embarrassed.

“That’s cute.” She pinched your cheek and you batted her hand away. “You should talk to him.”

“Don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying-”

“Natasha,” you cut her off. “Stop asking me to talk to him. It’s not going to happen, and it’s giving me so much anxiety. You couldn’t talk to Sam, what makes you think I can talk to Bucky?”

She looked at you for a long moment. “I know you love him.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, considering. You had never really been in love before but falling in love with Bucky had been so easy. And it was particularly scary because you had never been in a relationship, only flings.

“I do,” you admitted quietly. Saying it out loud was both freeing and terrifying.

“Don’t lose him.”

You knew Natasha missed Sam, she’d told you about it, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who let others see her pain. She confided in you and her friend, Clint, but other than that she rarely shared her problems with others.

Her bony shoulder was digging uncomfortably into your cheek so you shifted and let your head rest against her chest. She started playing with your hair. “Have you heard from Sam?”

“Not since he left,” she replied, then glanced down at you. “Have you?”

She tried to sound casual so you played along and acted like you couldn’t hear her heart jackhammering in her chest. “He called the landline the other day. Bucky wasn’t home so I answered.”

“The landline?” Natasha repeated with a scoff. “Your husband is old.”

“He asked if you were okay,” you said, choosing to ignore her comment. “You should call him.”

She stayed quiet for so long, you began to worry. You tilted your head to look at her, she had a faraway look in her eyes. You didn’t want to break her trance but she was starting to scare you.

You booped her chin and almost immediately a soft smile touched her lips. She cleared her throat, then checked her watch.

“You should go, you’re going to be late.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You couldn’t leave, not when she looked so sad. You knew Bucky would understand. “We can order some pizza, binge watch something on Netflix and go out for ice cream later. Like we used to.”

She laughed softly. “That sounds amazing. I kinda want to be alone tonight though, and Bucky’s waiting for you. I’m fine, I promise.” She looked down at you with a kind smile. “Rain check?”

“Absolutely.”

With a heavy heart, you left Natasha and started walking to the restaurant. The clouds above you were low and dark, masking the setting sun. You smiled, remembering the day you and Bucky went to the park.

You had wanted to go paint outside but you got caught in a rainstorm on the way home. As rain poured down on the both of you, you caught Bucky’s hand and tried to run to the nearest subway entrance but he didn’t budge.

He stayed in the middle of the street, still holding your hand, and grinned at you while people rushed around you. His hair was plastered to his head, little rivulets of water running down his nose. He smiled at you, bright and playful, and you almost melted on the spot.

What’s the rush, sweet angel?

When you got home, you both changed into dry clothes and sat in front of the fireplace with a bowl of soup. He looked adorable with his slightly damp hair, a few big curls flopping down onto his forehead. When you started sneezing, he adjusted the blanket around you.

The next day, you felt a little feverish and Bucky took care of you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, checking your temperature. Your mother used to do that too. You doubted the accuracy of that little test but you couldn’t care less. It felt incredibly comforting. They should teach it in med school.

Bucky was waiting for you in front of the restaurant. The weather was warmer now, and you were pleased to see that his maroon bomber jacket was back. It was a rerun of the night you had met him.

“Hey you,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek. “How did it go with Wanda?”

“Good, I guess. It could have been way worse.” You paused to look at him. “You okay? You look a little nervous. We don’t have to-”

“I’m okay,” he chuckled, smoothing his hand down his jacket, lightly patting his pocket. “Shall we?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Promise me you’re not over-exerting yourself again.”

He stood in front of you, smiling kindly. “I promise.”

It had been a while since he had a panic attack, but they were always impressive and you couldn’t stand the thought of him trapped in his own mind, battling his demons alone.

You must have been silent too long because Bucky cupped the side of your face and said, “Thank you for taking care of me, angel. But I promise you, I’m fine. So what do you say? Wanna have dinner with me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him as he flashed you a cocky grin.

The restaurant was a quaint little place in Midtown with curved black leather booths lining the walls and simple cutlery. There were books everywhere, arranged neatly on the shelves along the walls. The place was well-lit, yet still cosy and calm.

Despite the hour, the restaurant wasn’t crowded. There was a couple, probably in their sixties, enjoying their meals together. Several people were eating alone, a book opened next to their plate, and a few others were browsing the shelves looking for something to read.

While you ate, you filled Bucky in on your conversation with Wanda. He didn’t interrupt you, he listened to you ramble on about how much you didn’t want to go to her reunion dinner.

“You can invite them over for dinner,” he said. You almost choked on your food. “Call me crazy but I think you’d feel more at ease if you were in a familiar environment.”

He had a point. You had no idea what that night had in store for you, and you definitely didn’t want to cause a scene in a restaurant. You weren’t one for airing your dirty laundry in public.

“I know that our... um, friendship is a little unconventional but I’d like to meet them.”

“Really? Wait,” you said, spotting a bit of tomato sauce on his chin. “You have something on your chin.” You reached over and used your napkin to wipe it away. “You eat like a wolf.”

“Mhh thanks.” He swallowed his mouthful of pasta and washed it down with a gulp of water. “To be honest with you, I’m a sucker for family reunions. I love watching people’s faces when they see someone they haven’t seen in a very long time.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be a happy one.”

“Well, then you could probably use some moral support,” he said. “And I’m curious if they ever gave you a silly nickname. Or maybe they’ll share some funny anecdotes.”

You stopped mid-bite and swallowed quickly, your eyes widening in fear. You couldn’t let that happen, Scott and Okoye would jump at the chance to tease you. “Oh, no, no, no! You are never meeting them.”

He laughed. “I bet you were a cute kid. I imagine you in some paint-stained overalls, hula hooping through the 90s, listening to the Spice Girls and watching Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of cereal or a plate of pancakes.”

“You’re not too far off.” You grinned.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he said in a more serious tone. “But think about it, okay?”

Inviting your siblings and their partners over for dinner was a bad idea. You could already picture their faces upon seeing Bucky. It would turn into an interrogation, and it would be absolutely unbearable.

But then again, you didn’t think you could endure the reunion without him.

The waiter came over to collect your dirty plates and asked if there would be anything else. He recited the dessert specialties and you ordered something that sounded both extravagant and mouth-watering.

“I have something for you,” Bucky broke the silence between you.

You responded with a curious yet playful frown and a tilt of your head. He glanced down at the table for a second as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim jewellery box.

He placed it on the table next to his glass and let his fingertips linger on the lid, caressing it slowly as he hesitated. Then with a smooth flick of his wrist, he slid the box across the table. Your eyes flickered between the box and Bucky’s worried expression.

Inside the box, nestled in cream velvet, was a gold artist’s palette pendant with a delicate chain. The pendant had two paint brushes sticking out of the palette and four tiny stones representing the colours waiting to be mixed; ruby, sapphire, emerald and topaz.

It was incredibly tiny, about the length of two staples, but it made the details even more impressive. You could tell it was an old piece. There were light signs of wear and the design reminded you of the 1930s. It looked full of stories from previous owners. A testimony of love, passion and devotion.

“Oh,” you gasped as if all the air had been punched out of you. Bucky straightened up and jerked forward in his seat, his eyes round with anticipation. “Oh,” you repeated dumbly, at a loss for words.

“I saw it in the window of an antique shop on the way here,” he said.

That was a lie.

He had spent weeks searching for the perfect charm. He had a very specific idea of what he wanted to buy. Until one day, he found it. It reminded him of you; delicate, discreet, irreplaceable.

“Bucky,” you sighed, spellbound. “It’s... it’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of you.” He met your eyes, smiled, and extended his hand in your direction. “Can I?”

Without hesitation you removed the necklace from its box and gave it to Bucky. After living with him for about six months, you knew there was nothing he couldn’t do. Even fasten your necklace with one hand.

He stood up and rounded the table, sitting next to you on the booth. You turned, giving him your back as he slipped the necklace around your neck. You held the pendant in the little dip between your collarbones at the base of your throat and let the ends of the chain dangle down your back.

“I noticed you haven’t been painting a lot since-” Bucky trailed off. Since you had a meltdown in your studio, since you realized your art was not good enough. Since you realized your dreams were too big to accomplish.

You looked over your shoulder and watched him fumble with the spring ring clasp. You couldn’t see what he was doing but he seemed entirely focused on the task at hand.

“Inspiration is a fickle thing, it comes and goes,” he continued. “I worry about you. You put too much pressure on yourself visiting galleries and trying to match their vision. I want you to remember who you are. You’re an artist. Never doubt yourself or your skills.”

He secured the chain around your neck and adjusted the necklace so that the little palette fell nicely above the neckline of your sweater. You stared at him wide eyed and amazed, and he smiled tenderly at you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ll never take it off.”

“My pleasure, angel.”

“I really love it but it’s too much,” you said as he returned to his seat. “I don’t want you to think I’m after your money. I’m so grateful for your help, you do so much for me already.”

“I know you’re not after my money, but it’s mine and I’ll spend it as I please. I know you like gifts with meaning. And all I want is to make you happy.”

“You want to make me happy?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course, I do.”

It was a foreign concept to you, you could hardly comprehend it. He wasn’t your childhood best friend, he wasn’t your brother or your mother’s brother, and yet he wanted to be the one who put a smile on your face.

You weren’t used to random acts of kindness. You spent most of your life taking care of others, making sure they had everything they needed, you forgot what it was like to feel loved.

And it all became so much clearer.

You knew in your heart that your feelings for Bucky weren’t one sided. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

There was a mutual, yet silent, understanding between you. This is good. Let’s not make things complicated. Even though we both want to. And you abided by that unspoken rule, not wanting to make things more complicated.

Your eyes were overflowing with tears. When a tear escaped, you felt it bounce on your cheekbone before it landed near your pendant. You rolled your eyes at yourself and smiled.

“Why am I always crying?” you said, laughing a little. “I’m not sad, I swear. These are happy tears.” Bucky’s smile was calm and sure. “Wait, I’m just gonna-” you trailed off, wiping the back of your hand under your nose with an embarrassed laugh.

“You’re beautiful.”

You lay in bed that night, replaying those three words in your head until you fell asleep.

It took you a couple of days to come to term with the realization that your feelings weren’t one sided. A little voice in your head tried to protect your heart, it said: Don’t get your hopes up. Remember what happened last time.

But that voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

Against your better judgement, you agreed to invite your siblings over for dinner. All you had to do was call Wanda’s hotel and ask the hotel staff to pass along a message. Easy-peasy.

Well, in theory, because it turned out to be stressed depressed lemon zest.

There were things Bucky didn’t know about you and your family, things that you had intentionally kept from him. One of these things was your brother’s criminal record.

Bucky had asked you a few times what Scott did for a living and you always gave him the same rehearsed answer. “Scott has a master’s degree in electrical engineering but he’s between jobs at the moment.” It wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

You finally decided to tell him everything.

Scott was a thief. Before Cassie was born, and thanks to his computer skills, he used to steal from criminals and give back to those they had stolen from. He promised his wife, Maggie, that he would stop after Cassie’s birth.

He took up a job at VistaCorp but noticed that the company was overcharging their customers. Thinking that it was a coding error, he fixed it before his boss, Geoff Zorick, ordered him to change it back. It made him realize that the company was intentionally overcharging their customers.

He was fired soon after. Maggie begged him not to get involved, she begged him to think of his family but Scott didn’t listen. He broke into the company’s headquarters, hacked their system and redistributed the stolen money. Then he broke into Zorick’s house, stole a bunch of stuff and drove Zorick’s car into the pool.

He got five years.

Bucky was a little shocked but he took these new revelations well.

“People make mistakes,” he said. “He paid for his mistake, and not seeing his little girl for five years is punishment enough.” He bumped his shoulder against yours and grinned. “He sounds like a chaotic Robin Hood. I can’t wait to meet him.”

You chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“So... you’re not going to hide your valuables in a closet somewhere?”

“I would but I’m not sure you’d like to be stuck in the closet all night.” You rolled your eyes and huffed, thinking he wasn’t taking you seriously. He laughed quietly. “The only valuable thing I own is the bookmark my niece made for me, everything else is meaningless. And I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”

“You sound like Natasha,” you chuckled lowly. “But I’m glad you think that way.”

“That being said, they have a lot of apologizing and making up to do. They left you all alone. It isn’t right.”

You squirmed in your seat. “Argh, I don’t know. It’s in the past now, I don’t want to dwell on it. We were all miserable back then, and I’m not exactly blameless here.”

Bucky gave you a puzzled look. “You took care of your mom when she was sick, you sold your childhood home. You found your mom a nursing home where she gets the best treatment possible. You put your dreams on hold to pay her hospital bills. You did everything you could.”

“No, that’s not true,” you replied, biting your bottom lip.

You tried to find the courage to say it out loud. It was something that ate away at your soul. Your biggest mistake.

“I should have known something was wrong with her,” you said, rushing the words out. “At first she started misplacing things like her car keys, her glasses or the remote. She always had a good excuse, like was tired or stressed, but I should have known.”

“I misplace my keys all the time, angel. Sometimes it doesn’t mean anything. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“She’s my mom, I’ve known her all my life. I should have noticed something was wrong. If I had, maybe she’d still be with us, living in our old house.”

“C’mere,” he said, extending his arm toward you. You didn’t hesitate, you abandoned your seat on the sofa and wrapped your arms around him, your face buried in his chest. “I understand why you feel that way,” he said, stroking your hair. “But you did everything you could. You didn’t fail her. Alzheimer is... well it’s a sneaky disease. There are a lot of things we don’t understand. It’s unfair to blame yourself for something completely out of your control.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” he cooed, his fingernails grazing your scalp. “I know, my angel.”

You stayed like that for some time, your cheek pressed against his shirt. You focused on the calm rhythm of his breathing and tried to match it. He gently ran his fingers up and down your back, calming you almost instantly.

You were terrified to see your siblings again. Despite Bucky’s reassuring words, a part of you still believed that you could have done more to help your mom, and you were afraid your siblings would feel the same.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bucky said, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I won’t let them belittle your efforts.”

The next day, you called Wanda’s hotel and left a message with the receptionist. Wanda called you back a few hours later, saying that she would love to have dinner at your place instead of going out.

She sounded surprised, and you could tell she had a lot of questions, but she knew she wasn’t in your good graces yet so she simply told you that she couldn’t wait to see your apartment and spend the evening with you.

Meanwhile Bucky was having some sort of nervous breakdown.

A few days before the party, he started to obsessively clean his apartment. Every single room had that distinctive lemony scent, his homemade disinfectant, except your room. It was still a line he refused to cross no matter how strong the urge might be.

He often had those spells but they usually didn’t last more than a few hours. You could see the tears in his eyes and the disgust on his face; grimaces that had been triggered by the realization that he still couldn’t control his need to constantly clean and tidy. His OCD had been dormant, not gone.

You knew it was hard for him to meet new people. He had offered to invite your siblings because he knew it would make you feel more at ease. He didn’t care about his own needs. This man was willing to endure anything for you. How could you not fall in love with him?

You let him clean. You knew from past experience that it wasn’t something he could control and getting involved usually did more harm than good. You made sure he knew you were there and that you were not judging him in any way.

He felt so physically and emotionally drained afterwards that you simply held him in your arms until he fell asleep.

On the day of the party, you were chopping dried apricots in the kitchen while Bucky was making sure the chicken pieces weren’t sticking to the bottom of the pan.

You had wanted to order dinner from the restaurant down the street, and Bucky wanted to cook. You told him that cooking a meal for seven people was pretty stressful but he simply shrugged.

“I can do it, angel.”

“I know but you don’t have to do it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied with a sad smile.

You remembered him telling you that his ex-girlfriend often babied him in front of her friends and that it always made him feel weak and pathetic. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to prove that, even with only one arm, he was able to cook a meal for an entire family.

“Okay, fine,” you reluctantly agreed. “But you’re not doing this alone.” He opened his mouth to protest but you raised your hand and touched a finger to his lips. “You can’t change my mind. I’ll be your sous-chef, and that’s final.”

So you ended up cutting vegetables for him. He made two tagines, one with meat and one with vegetables, in case anyone had any allergies or dietary restrictions.

Once the kitchen was spotless, you both went to your rooms to get ready for the night. It didn’t take you long so you checked on the tagines and waited for Bucky. The smell of harissa and coriander wrapped around you like a comforting hug.

You stole a dinner roll and checked the time on your phone. Nearly seven. A wave of anxiety rolled through the pit of your stomach. You took a deep, calming breath and decided to go check on Bucky.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard a deep, frustrated groan followed by a whine. Stifling a giggle, you tiptoed down the hallway towards his bathroom.

“C’mon, stay put or I’ll cut you!”

“Do you often threaten your hair?” you asked, leaning against the door frame. He gasped and jerked away from the sink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything okay?”

“I can’t do anything with my hair,” he complained. “I’m this close to shave the whole damn thing.”

You pushed yourself off the door frame and moved toward him. “Mhh, why not. A buzz-cut would make you look super dangerous.”

“You think so?” he frowned.

“Yeah,” you replied enthusiastically as you perched yourself on the counter by the sink. “A buzz-cut and a beard. Now that’s a look.”

He ran his hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks. “I already have the beard.”

“You’re halfway there.” You watched him consider what you were offering. “You know what, never mind. Your hair is too pretty to cut.”

“I should cut it though. It’s getting too long, I can’t style it.”

“Oh, poor you with your thick, fluffy hair,” you teased.

“It’s a gift, and also a curse,” he sighed with a whimsical grimace.

You laughed. “Come here, I’ll help you tame the monster on your head.”

He chuckled as he stepped between your parted legs. You took the hair dryer and a comb from the counter and started working on his hair. Despite its messy appearance, the comb ran smoothly through the strands.

“I think we need a safe word tonight,” you said while you worked.

“A safe word?” he repeated, confused. “Why would we need one?”

“Just in case,” you replied with a shrug. “I love my siblings but they can be quite a handful. So if you’re tired or if you feel overwhelmed, you just say the word and I’ll politely ask them to leave.”

“All right. Same goes for you.” He made a face. “What’s the safe word?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your eyes focused on his hair. “Flamingo?” You pulled back to look at him. “I saw an amazing documentary about baby flamingos the other day. See? It works.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “Flamingo it is.”

You picked up his hair gel and applied some to his hair.

“There you go,” you said, smoothing the hair over his temples before sliding your fingers down the sculpted curve of his cheekbones. “Ready to break some hearts.”

It was a joke, but your voice came out breathy and small. Bucky didn’t say a word. He pressed himself closer to you, and you resisted the urge to wrap your legs around him.

He rested his hand on your thigh, then slid it from your thigh to your waist and lingered there for a few seconds. He gazed into your eyes for a moment; careful, cautious. You cupped his face between your hands, feeling the bristle on his cheeks against your palms. It was rough against your sensitive skin.

He slid his hand up your side, fingers passing over your ribs, and you let out a gasping sigh as he rested his hand over your heart.

“Did I break your heart, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

“Just cracked.”

He cupped the back of your neck and massaged lightly while he looked at you longingly. He continued to stare at you as you moved your hands to his chest, feeling the strong thud of his heart beneath your palm.

“I-uh,” he started, then licked his lips. “Angel, I-”

The intercom buzzed loudly, awakening the two of you from your trance. Bucky took a step back and closed his eyes. You were glad you were sitting, because your legs felt unusually weak.

“You ready?” he asked, breathless.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded.

You followed Bucky to the kitchen and answered the intercom, giving Wanda the apartment number. Bucky busied himself setting the table, unable to look you in the eye. You didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he stopped moving around and faced you.

“Who am I tonight? Who do you want me to be?”

You had anticipated his question. After all it was a legitimate question to ask giving the nature of your relationship.

“Just you,” you told him. You were tired of lies and half-truths.

A knock at the door startled you.

You opened the door, your hands shaking uncontrollably. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of Wanda, Okoye and Scott standing in front of you, each with a bottle of wine. There were two men behind them, both looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Hey Splotchy, long time no see, right?”

Part 11

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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first-and-last-neocount · 3 years ago

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Whumptober Day 3

Now we’re really kicking into high gear on the AUs. This is one of the two AUs for which I’ve written multiple Whumptober fills; this one I’ve been referring to in my head as the Happy Families AU, which is only barely sarcastic, because most of my headcanons for this AU are sickeningly sweet domestic fluff. There’s a few darker bits, though, and that’s what ended up in these fills.

A couple of notes on this AU setting: Jenseny survived her attempted martyrdom, she ended up leaving the Eastern Continent with Damien and Gerald due to the extreme social unrest there and the lingering prejudice against adepts, and after dealing with Calesta the two of them adopted her. Similar to another AU I’ll be showcasing among these fills, the fae is still Workable and Gerald still has some of his Hunter traits; I’ll go into more detail on my headcanons surrounding that whole topic on a later day, when my head isn’t splitting open from a migraine, which it is currently giving its best shot at.

Day 3 - Theme Chosen: “Who did this to you?”

“Jen? What's wrong?”

Damien was no adept, but he didn't need to be. He knew something was wrong the moment he walked in the yard. On any other day, his adopted daughter would have been bolting out the front door the moment she heard him reining in his unhorse at the gate; her school let out an hour before he got home from work, and she was invariably waiting, bubbling over with stories about her day. Today, however, the yard had been empty except for the dozing form of their pet weiler, a massive brown-and-black beast named Marchosias that Gerald had picked out – and named – as a puppy two years ago. When Damien unlatched the gate, the dog lifted his blocky head and whuffed once, before rolling over and going back to sleep; reassured that nothing was too terribly awry, Damien had stabled his tired horse, then gone in search of his daughter.

He found her in the sitting room, curled up on the window bench with her homework spread in front of her. She was still wearing the sky blue blouse and ruffled indigo skirt she'd had on when he dropped her off at school that morning, but she'd taken her hair out of its thick braid and let it spill over her shoulders; bent forward over a heavy textbook in her lap, it hung like a curtain, partially shielding her face. Her legs were tucked up alongside her on the cushion, and the position of the door relative to the window meant that Damien was seeing her in profile, limned by the watery autumn sunlight outside. She only barely looked up at him, a sideways flash of her dark brown eyes before her gaze returned to the book in front of her, but her expression was calm and her voice steady when she replied.

“Nothing's wrong, Dad. I just had a long day at school.”

Damien frowned, leaning against the door frame for a moment. Jenseny still didn't look up at him, strangely avoidant; she seemed to only be focusing very hard on whatever she was reading, but the lack of a smile combined with her studiedly level demeanour made a hard knot of anxiety start to form in his gut. He waited a moment, picking his words carefully, before he spoke.

“If something's bothering you, Jen, I'd like to talk about it... but I understand if you don't want to, and you don't have to give me any details if you'd rather not. I'd prefer you to be honest with me, though, so I know it's not something serious.”

Halfway through turning a page, Jenseny's hand froze in midair. The knot in his belly tightening, Damien waited silently. After a moment, Jenseny let go of the page and allowed it to flutter back into place, dropping her hand to rest on her leg where it was tucked up beside her. Damien could see her gnawing on her lip, just a little, her internal war more than obvious; he held himself still, wanting desperately to cross the room and pull her into a hug, but resolved not to pressure her while she made her decision.

Then, hesitantly, she finally turned to face him. She swung her legs off the cushion to do so, sitting upright properly – and as the far side of her face came into view, Damien gasped.

“Jen.”

There was a large, misshapen bruise blooming over her left cheekbone, dark and damning against her warm ochre skin. The facade of calm finally cracked, and Jenseny's lower lip began to tremble, her eyes welling up with a glossy sheen of tears. His heart breaking, Damien was across the room in a few strides, sinking onto the window bench next to her and putting his arm around her; instantly, she sank into him, burying the uninjured side of her face against his shoulder as she muffled a sob. Damien smoothed a hand over her dark curls, the first sparks of fury warring with the sorrow coursing through him.

“Sweetheart, who did this to you?”

For a moment, Jenseny was quiet, though Damien could feel the damp heat of her tears soaking his shirt. When she started to speak, her words were soft and muffled.

“Some of the other kids in my class... don't like me because I'm an adept. They say I shouldn't be in Sheva, because the Forest makes people like me go crazy. The boys mostly just avoid me, and that's fine. I don't need them all to be my friends. Some of the girls, though...”

Of course. Damien felt those sparks of fury start to catch, growing and brightening in his chest. The prejudice of mankind knew no bounds, after all, and even living on a world where the planet's very lifeblood seemed determined to kill them hadn't changed that. He and Gerald had known, when they debated where they were going to live, that there were risks in every answer; Gerald was more than capable of Working a protection that would keep Jenseny shielded from any of the Forest's influence, he was its master after all, but any adept living so close to Jahanna's borders was bound to draw a curious eye or two. They had decided it was worth it, for the distance it afforded from the cities where the Church kept a closer watch, but they had recognized even then that it was far from a perfect solution.

Perhaps more surprising, that the first outright aggression had come from a girl – but it sounded as if it had been more than one, and maybe it wasn't that surprising after all, given how vicious teenage girls could be when emboldened by numbers.

“What did they do?” Damien murmured.

Jenseny pulled in a deep breath and straightened up, wiping at her wet eyes as she choked out the words.

“They cornered me after class. There were five of them – they're the most popular girls in class, they always hang out together. They were making fun of me, saying that I'm going to go crazy too, that I'll probably wind up jumping into the river like that poor man last year... but then, one of them said that I might take somebody else with me.” Jenseny paused for a moment, drawing in a shuddering breath. “The whole mood shifted, I could See them all getting angrier – and they were scared, too. I could feel it pouring off them, and I was so afraid, because it felt – it felt like it used to, in the cities, on the nights when they...”

She trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought, but she didn't have to. Damien felt as if an iron band was squeezing his chest. He knew exactly what she was referring to; those horrific nights, on the Eastern Continent, when the governors of the cities had staked adepts outside in the forest to act as bait for demons. He could only imagine the atmosphere of mingled terror and bloodlust that must have accompanied that practice, and for Jenseny's classmates to be in that same state...

After a few steadying breaths, Jenseny went on. “One of them, the girl that always bosses the others around, said I should leave. That I need to get out of Sheva, and never come back, so I won't make any trouble for normal people.” She shut her eyes, pain flickering over her expression, and Damien felt the first true flames of fury igniting in his heart. “Then they were all shoving me, and one of them tripped me – I didn't see which one – and I hit my face on the side of the flowerbed when I fell.”

When she opened her eyes again, they shone with fresh tears. “I ran straight home, but I didn't – I didn't want to make you and Papa worry. I know it hasn't been easy adjusting to living here, especially for Papa, not having his books or his workrooms anymore... we're all just finally starting to settle in. I don't want us to have to move. I don't want you to be worried every time I'm at school, either. They were all so angry at me, though... I don't know if I can just go back and pretend nothing happened.”

Damien had to close his own eyes for a moment, overcome. God. She's been through so much, and still, her first thoughts are for others. Was I ever that selfless? If I was, I've forgotten what that felt like. Age and loss have made me selfish.

And then. Selfish enough to be willing to do almost anything, to protect my family.

Drawing in a deep breath, Damien opened his eyes and met his daughter's worried gaze steadily. “We're not going to have to move, Jen. And those girls aren't going to hurt you again. I need you to give me their names, though.”

Jenseny's eyes widened, and Damien wondered what she saw, as her eyes flickered over the air around him; he knew she was reading the currents, Seeing the reflection of his emotions in the fae. At last, she whispered the question he'd known was coming.

“What are you going to do?”

“They won't get hurt,” he said quietly, answering the question that she really meant but hadn't quite asked. “But they also won't ever hurt you again.”

Jenseny considered that for a moment. Then, quietly, she gave him the names of the five girls.

“Thank you.” Damien opened his arms for a hug that Jenseny gladly leaned into, then pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her curls. “Why don't you go call Marc in for dinner, and then you can help me make our famous family spaghetti, how does that sound?”

Jenseny's eyes lit up. “That sounds great!” she exclaimed, her natural cheer finally breaking through the melancholy that had gripped her. She kissed his cheek, then bounded off the window bench and headed out of the room. At the doorway, she paused with one hand on the frame and glanced back, her smile falling into something smaller, warmer, and profoundly meaningful.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Then she was gone, around the corner and out the front door, calling enthusiastically for Marchosias. Hearing the dog's booming bark in response, Damien smiled and closed his eyes, reaching for the link that lay between his own soul and his husband's. Currently quiescent, but always present, and only ever a thought away.

Gerald?

A moment later, he felt a warm thrum of acknowledgement, mixed with a thread of concern; Gerald's hours at the city's Historical Archives weren't much different from Damien's hours at the hospital, and it was rare for them to communicate through the link during the work day unless something fairly urgent had happened.

I'm just finishing my last lecture of the day. What's wrong?

Damien opened his eyes in time to see Marchosias go bounding by the sitting room door, an entirely too-large blur of black and brown fur skidding across the polished wood floor as his own enthusiasm exceeded the friction of his paws, Jenseny following after him in a burst of laughter. Damien smiled more widely, and directed another thought down the link.

Tonight, after dinner, we're going... out.

He felt a burst of surprise from his husband, shifting into anticipation and curiosity; Gerald's focus on the link grew, and Damien felt his husband's mind slide against his own, picking through his recent thoughts for an explanation. He offered up the memories of his conversation with their daughter, and felt a flicker of understanding and recognition.

I see. Yes. I couldn't agree more.

As the thoughts intertwined with his own grew dark and hungry, Damien stood and headed for the kitchen to start dinner. He and Gerald might still have their ideological differences, but there was one thing they agreed perfectly on.

No one was ever going to hurt their daughter. Not without answering to them.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #Who Did This To You?#coldfire trilogy #fic #bullying #discrimination #evil is what you make of it #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #jenseny kierstaad #the neocount writes

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chilling-seavey · 5 years ago

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Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Twenty-Three

A/N: A chapter just in time for Daniel’s birthday! 🥰 Maybe I’ll post two to celebrate? 🤔

T/W: brief mention of abortion

Tuesday, July 28th, 2020

“Well it’s good to see you have some company this time around.”

Florence smiled at the doctor from her place on the white clinic bed. Her blouse was pushed up past her swollen stomach, the clear gel spread messily over her skin. Emilio stood on her other side, a gentle hand on Florence’s arm.

“So, thirty-five weeks, we got a solid heartbeat here.” The doctor stated, dragging the wand across the gel, the rapid rhythmic beating echoing gently through the room. Florence watched the screen with wide eyes, seeing the almost fully formed baby there.

“I think it has my nose.” Emilio whispered to her. She smacked his chest playfully.

“You didn’t want to find out the sex after all?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t know. I’m still on the fence.” Florence chuckled.

“No harm in that.” The doctor shrugged. She took a few notes on her paper as she checked the baby’s movement, breathing, muscle tone, and amount of amniotic fluid. The hour went by quickly and smoothly, filled with suggestions for the next month by the doctor in preparation for the birth. Florence held onto a few pamphlets she was handed as they left, Emilio leading her to the car as she flipped through them.

“Oh my God.” Florence sighed as Emilio helped her into the passenger side of his black BMW.

“What?” Emilio asked.

Florence shoved an open pamphlet in his face, a list of post-partum creams and routines listed in bold font. “I forgot my vagina turns into a post-apocalyptic world after birth.” She stated plainly.

“Ew, did not need that visual.” Emilio shuttered and gently pushed the pamphlet away from his face. He closed the passenger side door and let himself into the other side.

“And you bleed for like…six weeks straight.” Florence added as he reversed out of the parking spot.

“Way too much information.” Emilio shuttered. “Again, did not need to know that.”

Florence shrugged, looking back at the pamphlet in her hand.

The previous seven months had gone by fast and a lot had changed as well. Emilio and Grayson soon fell into a civil and friendly relationship, realizing they were both sort of stuck under the certain situation. Tensions had since eased and Florence felt more comfortable around both young men since everything had settled into a unique reality. She was still extremely nervous, however, as she was carrying around the silent burden of who was the father of her unborn child. It was a sticky spot to be in and the guilt she had was heavier than the twenty-five pounds she put on by the start of her third trimester.

Florence’s apartment was arguably the one consistent thing in her life. Although expecting her second child, she could not afford to upgrade to a three bedroom and was therefore stuck with the place she had. Callum was still sending a consistent amount each month for her rent which helped greatly.

Emilio parked in the underground garage beneath the apartment building and the two took the elevator to the familiar 25th floor. Grayson had already arrived earlier that morning, gladly offering his assistance in putting together the crib in the master bedroom. That’s right where Florence and Emilio found him, quiet music playing through a Bluetooth speaker as he sat on the floor surrounded by tools. Clementine sat nearby, a small plastic bowl of cut up strawberries set in front of her as she watched Grayson work.

“We’re back!” Emilio called, falling onto the neatly made bed on his stomach, glancing over Grayson’s work.

“How was it?” Grayson asked, looking up from the floor, pushing his messy hair back from his face. “Everything still okay?”

“Everything is perfect.” Florence nodded, setting her hands on his shoulders. “This looks great, Gray.”

“We’ve been working hard, haven’t we, Clem?” Grayson looked over to the eighteen-month-old who nodded excitedly.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of the old one.” Florence sighed, sitting on the end of her bed.

“New is fun.” Emilio shrugged.

“I agree.” Grayson nodded, pressing the screwdriver into the last beam and turning it clockwise. Clementine crawled over to him, her small hands pressing onto his light blue pants with white stripes as she got herself to her feet. She reached for the screwdriver as Grayson pulled it back.

“All done!” he told her, tickling her sides.

“Please.” Clementine whined, reaching for the bright orange handle that he held behind his back.

“Grownups only, remember, Clemmy?” Grayson said, starting to pack up his tools.

“The nap was okay?” Florence asked as she picked up her daughter from climbing over Grayson.

“Yep. She slept a good hour. I got her up at 2.” He said, also getting up from the floor. “We’ve been having fun. She’s been a big help. I think she’s going to take after me with her building skills.”

Grayson tickled the toddler’s side and she giggled loudly, slinging her arms around her mother’s neck.

“We should get ready to head out.” Florence said as the group headed into the living room. “I’m going to throw on a dress.”

Clementine was passed over to Emilio and Grayson set his tool box on the kitchen island before unzipping his bag that was on the stool. He took out a new shirt and slacks and the two separated to different rooms to change in preparation for their plans for that night.

Once dressed and touched up, Florence came back into the living area where Emilio had Clementine situated on the floor with a puzzle. Puzzles were Clementine’s new favourite toy.

Florence set her purse on the island and shuffled through it, “So-“

“I got dinner at 5, bath at 5:30, and bedtime at 6 if you aren’t back.” Emilio finished without even looking up.

“And there’s-“

“Left over spaghetti in the box in the fridge and I should warm it up but make sure its not burning.” Emilio sent a small smirk in Florence’s direction.

“Yeah.” Florence sighed. “What would I do without either of you?”

“God only knows.” Grayson tisked playfully as he emerged from the bathroom dressed in a black t-shirt tucked into olive green slacks and finished with his usual designer belt. He set a hand on Florence’s shoulder, his other ruffling through his mess of brown waves.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Florence said.

“Don’t rush.” Emilio assured her. “We are going to be just fine.”

“Like every time.” Grayson added.

“Tell mama that we’re fine.” Emilio whispered to Clementine.

“Fine, mama.” Clementine whispered through a grin, leaning into Emilio’s side.

“Now let’s get a move on. Daniel didn’t take it well the last time you were late for a meal with him, remember?” Grayson shook his keys in the air, ushering Florence towards the door.

“Wait! I can’t forget my pamphlets.” Florence grabbed the small stack from the table and rushed after him.

“Good luck.” Emilio said more to Grayson than anyone. The other boy rolled his eyes teasingly before closing the door behind himself and Florence.

It was approaching 4pm as they arrived at the restaurant, Grayson’s light blue Porsche earning many glances from on lookers as he handed the valet his keys and helped Florence into the building. The casual restaurant was bustling as the hostess led the pair to their table. Daniel was already there, sat next to a brunette girl on one side of the booth. The girl was named Cayleigh and she was Daniel’s new girlfriend.

They had been dating only a couple months, meeting near the end of the school year on an app that Florence didn’t care to know the name of. Cayleigh was a nice girl and Daniel seemed to really like her but there was something about the whole situation that just made Florence annoyed. She was not looking forward to sitting through an entire dinner with them and having to deal with Cayleigh’s overly chipper personality.

When Grayson and Florence got to the table, the friends greeted each other happily, Florence plastering on her best fake smile that she had perfected over the years of attending boring functions and dinners with her parents and brothers.

Cayleigh was quick to start with an excited, “How was your appointment today, Florence? I haven’t seen you in so long! You look like you’re ready to pop!”

Grayson shifted awkwardly at the slightly controversial statement and Florence gritted her teeth through her offence, replying with a simple, “It went well.”

While she was pregnant with Clementine, Florence’s body was going through massive changes for the first time, meaning she was barely showing well into her fifth month. Now, with a second child, Florence was shocked to see the difference in how easily her body stretched, the massive weight gain and large, round belly being a sensitive topic to the still young girl. Of course, having Cayleigh of all people point it out so bluntly made Florence’s cheeks flush with anger more than embarrassment. She covered it with a long drink from her water glass and hid her pamphlets deep in her purse.

“How have you two been?” Grayson asked, trying to turn the subject away from Florence as she was clearly already on edge and dinner hadn’t even begun.

“We’ve been fine.” Daniel said. “I’ve managed to pick up a few gigs around the city this summer.”

“And I’ve been working as a sports camp counsellor. It’s so fun.” Cayleigh boasted. “The kids are so crazy but literally relentless. Plus they all love me, so it’s good.”

“I wish we could see each other more but things have been busy.” Daniel said quietly, offering Florence a gentle smile from across the table. She could barely force one in return, her eyes focussed on the minimal space between the two love-birds across from her, Cayleigh’s hand rubbing against Daniel’s thigh. Florence drank more water.

Dinner progressed slowly, lighthearted chatter filling the space between the group of four as they ate. It had been a while since Florence and Daniel had a moment to talk once summer started, although their relationship was never quite the same after their little hiatus in the fall. She knew he was always there for her but things were simply different. Plus, Cayleigh coming into the picture put even more of a strain on their already weak relationship. At least from Florence’s point of view.

But Daniel adored Cayleigh and that was clear. They were almost never apart and whenever they were seen together they were always touching. It was like they couldn’t keep their hands or eyes off of each other. Daniel would stare at her when she spoke, seeming to absorb the way her lips moved and how her brown eyes would squeeze closed when she laughed. Florence hated that she noticed that.

She was glad Grayson was there, though. Even in their simply platonic standing, Grayson’s presence always made Florence feel calm. He told the group a story of how he had been getting into building in his spare time that summer. Grayson always spoke loudly, especially when he was excited about something and a few customers at other tables glanced their way as he continued his story of his recently constructed coffee table. Florence leaned into him, her hand falling to his leg. He shifted a little, almost in a movement to get Florence off of him but he didn’t miss a beat with his story. Florence frowned but turned quietly back to her meal.

Florence pushed the remining food around her plate with her fork before breaking the conversation with a gentle, “I have to pee.”

Grayson stopped his story and quickly got up from the table, letting her slide out of the booth ungracefully.

“I’ll join you!” Cayleigh said, getting up from the table as well.

Florence sent a small glare in Grayson’s direction but he merely smiled in response as he sat back down in his spot. The girls walked slowly across the dining room to the washroom and Cayleigh held open the door for them. Florence thanked her quietly before getting herself into a stall, having to wiggle her swollen stomach through the small door opening.

“Isn’t Daniel amazing?” Cayleigh spoke from the stall next to her.

Florence, now shielded by four walls, rolled her eyes, “He is.”

“He’s literally so sexy. I have no clue how you haven’t snatched him yet, girl.” Cayleigh’s voice echoed through the empty bathroom.

Florence’s eyes widened at her statement and she ran a hand over her face. The whole dinner was tiring her out. Cayleigh was tiring her out.

“We are only best friends and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“So I don’t have to worry about you stealing him from me?” Cayleigh teased with a laugh although Florence could tell there was a hint of seriousness in her tone.

“No.” Florence could hear Grayson in her mind telling her to be nice. She then asked a question she could have cared less about, “How are you two doing?”

“So good!” Cayleigh’s groan made Florence physically cringe. “Although we haven’t slept together yet. I’ve been trying!”

Florence gaped at the stall door at the girl’s bluntness.

Cayleigh flushed and Florence heard her approach the sink as she continued, “I mean I don’t know why he won’t. Sleep with me that is. He’s a literal man, shouldn’t they want sex all the time?”

Florence exhaled deeply, wishing she could have just gone to the bathroom alone, but she got herself out to the sink as well, starting to wash her hands. She caught Cayleigh’s expectant gaze in the mirror.

Clearly wanting an answer, Florence complied, “Daniel is not much of a physical person. He shows love in different ways. Don’t take it personally if he’s not jumping in bed after three minutes.”

“I guess.” Cayleigh shrugged, pulling a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied a generous amount of pink to her pursed lips. She fluffed up her light brown hair and made a face in the mirror that reminded Florence of early pubescent girls. Florence glanced at herself in the mirror, stood next to such a unique character. Florence’s knee length blue floral dress was pulled tight around her belly, and her blonde hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the happy, wild, free-living twenty-year-old girl beside her; the girl who’s biggest worry in life was why her celibate boyfriend didn’t want to sleep with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Cayleigh speaking through the mirror, “Okay but honestly though, have you seen Daniel’s fingers? Like, holy shit, can he put them to use yet?”

Florence forced a small laugh to hide her disgust, turning for the door so Grayson could keep her from screaming.

Much to her relief, dinner concluded not long after that, and with a quick one-armed hug from Daniel, Florence was back in the passenger seat of Grayson’s car. The exhausted sigh that she let out once the doors were closed made Grayson chuckle.

“That was awful.” Florence shifted in her seat, rubbing her hand over her belly.

“It wasn’t awful.” Grayson shrugged, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

“You didn’t hear what I heard in that bathroom trip.” Florence held her hands up. “I think I am traumatized.”

Grayson’s laugh filled the car and, like it always did, it made Florence crack a smile. She let her two hands intertwine on her lap, her gaze drifting out the window as the city lights zipped by.

“Well while you girls were bonding in the bathroom, Daniel and I had a nice chat.” Grayson spoke after a moment.

“That’s nice.” Florence said, not turning her attention from the window.

Grayson glanced at her before turning back to the road, “He asked how you were doing. Have you not been talking?”

“No.” Florence shrugged, nervously playing with the hem of her dress. “It hasn’t been the same. Not since Cayleigh is around. She takes all his time.”

“He says he misses you. That you haven’t been calling as much.” Grayson spoke gently.

“Because I don’t want to call him just to hear all the new details on his girlfriend and her new fucking lip gloss she bought.” Florence said sharper than intended.

“Why don’t you like Cayleigh?” he asked. “She’s nice.”

Florence held onto her two hands like it would save her life, “She’s taking him from me.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were starting to be better again and she took him away. Now we don’t talk anymore. I miss how things used to be, Gray.” Florence sniffled. “When I was pregnant with Clementine and there was no Matt and no drama and it was just Dani and me. And I was happy.”

Bright lights flooded the car as they pulled into the parking garage, Grayson’s soft sigh at her recently consistent tense emotions barely audible. He pulled into the parking space and put the car in park before turning to face her. The hormonal girl let out a soft sob into her hand.

“Are you not happy?” he asked quietly.

Florence took a trembling breath and shook her head slowly, almost ashamed at the admittance of it. “I keep hurting you. And that doesn’t make me happy. I’m stressed, Gray. So stressed. And I-I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when this baby is born and one of you is going to get hurt. I can’t do this! I just want to go back in time and change so much! Change my choices and my actions and everything! Fuck! I wish none of this happened! I just want this baby gone!”

The panicked inhale that followed her sentence made her choke on her tears, her free hand tightly grabbing a fistful of her hair as almost to punish herself for admitting such a thing out loud.

Grayson simply watched her cry, staring at her expressionlessly. His silence made her heart ache in her chest and she tried to smother her ridiculous sobs into her hand. Grayson ran a hand through his hair, his gaze falling to his lap with a sigh.

“I-I should go.” Florence hiccupped, reaching for the door.

“No.” Grayson said quickly, reaching for her wrist to keep her from leaving. “I just…this is a lot. And I don’t know what to think or what to do. It’s hard on me too. On both of us.”

“I should have gotten a fucking abortion when I had the chance.” Florence grumbled angrily at herself.

“Don’t you dare say that.” Grayson replied sharply. “I’m allowed to still be hurt, you’re allowed to be upset, but you cannot say things like that. That is not how you better yourself and that is not how you solve this situation.”

Florence took a shaking breath and wiped her eyes with her the back of her hand as she turned away from him slightly.

“Everything is going to be okay.” Grayson whispered, but he sounded more like he was convincing himself rather than her.

Florence wanted to believe him, she really did; but even his gentle words of assurance didn’t spark comfort in the girl. She was stuck in her own mind, spiralling to where she felt she was unable to be saved. But she let herself stare at the wall of the parking garage, missing what life was like before everything changed.

#daniel seavey #wdw #why dont we #daniel seavey fanfic #why dont we fanfic #emilio martinez #martinez twins #limelight #martinator #daniel seavey fic #wdw fanfic #happy birthday daniel #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #college!wdw #writing #anything but mine

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kallura-icedcoffee · 6 years ago

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poppy: secrets & surprises

A flower that blooms in the desert

Plance x Kallura Week 2018

A/N: for the prompt secrets//surprises. I decided to do both. :)

The Spy Who Loved Me: They should have gone out to eat instead

Pidge brought the large soup spoon to her mouth and sipped the sauce slowly, analyzing the taste.

“Hmm, needs more salt” she muttered to herself.

The boys were going to be here any moment and she wanted to make sure dinner was perfect. It had been a long time since either she or Allura had dated. Everything needed to go smoothly, even this damn spaghetti sauce.

“Pidge!” Allura yelled from the living room she was currently tidying up.

“What?!”

“What did I tell you about leaving your things lying around?”

Allura stood there in a very flattering red dress, one hand on her hip, the other pinching the barrel of a pistol between her thumb and index finger as if it was a smelly sock.

“Ooh, my bad sorry!” Pidge jogged out from kitchen, took the gun from her and disappeared down the hallway.

Allura rolled her eyes and continued to fuss over the room, fluffing pillows, lighting candles, making sure the space looked inviting. When the doorbell rang Allura skipped to the door just as Pidge ran back out, removing her apron.

“Hi!” Allura grinned as she opened the door. “Come on in guys!”

Lance and Keith entered the townhouse, Keith’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

“I thought you said Pidge works at the café with you?” Keith whispered.

“She does” Lance whispered back.

“How the hell can they afford a place like this making minimum wage at a coffee shop?”

“I dunno maybe Allura’s an investment banker or something can you focus please?”

“So I get the rich one? Cool.” Keith smirked.

Lance and Pidge had just started “hanging out” but this was the first time he was to come over to her place. When Pidge mentioned she had a cute roommate and he mentioned he had a single friend they decided to make a night of it.

The two boys walked into the living room where Pidge joined them.

“You look amazing.” Lance eyed her black blouse and skinny jeans before taking Pidge’s hand and kissing it.

“Heh thanks…” She pushed up her glasses up off her reddening cheeks.

“Would you two like a drink?” Allura offered.

“Yeah that’d be great” Keith replied, looking her up and down with a pleased expression.

She walked to the fridge and came back with two beers. Without even thinking she pulled out a switchblade from lord knows where and used it to pop the caps off the beverages, spinning it around in her fingers casually before folding it back shut.

Keith and Lance stared at her with their mouths gaping open.

“What.” She blinked.

“Allura!” Pidge yelped before laughing nervously.

“Oh uh…self defense class.” She shrugged anxiously before handing them the bottles.

“Well damn in that case remind me to let you walk us to our car tonight” Lance joked.

Allura quickly scurried into the kitchen where the two girls huddled quickly before pulling down dishes to set the table.

“Really?” Pidge hissed.

“Habit. I’m sorry!” She growled before taking the plates into the dining room.

The boys helped the girls bring the food to the table, along with more beers and the four sat down to eat.

“So Allura Lance tells me you work at a gym?” Keith asked, making conversation.

“Yeah, I’m a fitness instructor.”

“Cool, must be nice to have a job that helps you stay in shape.”

“Yeah, I’m really active in general so it comes in handy, whether it’s needing to run long distances, climb the side of a building or repel down into a room from a ceiling vent.”

Lance and Keith stared at her with furrowed brows. Pidge kicked her under the table.

“Just kidding!” She giggled halfheartedly before cringing at herself while twirling pasta in her fork.

Everyone sort of chuckled. Lance attempted to move on to a different topic when Pidge’s phone went off. She looked at it and her eyes went wide.

“I’m so sorry I have to take this,” she excused herself from the table.

She stepped out of the room but not before they overheard a portion of her conversation.

“Ich habe dir gesagt, dass du mich nie unter dieser nummer anrufen sollst...” she reprimanded whomever was on the other end.

Lance chewed his meatball slowly.

“I didn’t know she spoke German…” he said.

“Uh…heh she didn’t tell you? Yeah she speaks lots of languages. Her parents wanted to make sure she was very cultured.” Allura smiled with gritted teeth before downing her beer. “Does anyone want more rolls?”

She excused herself from the table as well and Keith immediately leaned in.

“Ok look, I’ll admit these girls are hot, 10 out of 10, but they’re weird as hell!” Keith snapped.

“Maybe they’re just more nervous than we are?” Lance tried to be hopeful but he was starting to feel suspicious as well.

“Two girls working regular ass jobs affording a place like this? One just happens to speak fluent German and you’re always telling me how she suddenly has to leave work or your dates for weird reasons. The other one is talking about dropping down from ceilings like some sort of jewel thief and I’m pretty sure she could gut us both with the knife she had hidden…where exactly?”

“They’re just eccentric?”

“McClain!”

Pidge returned before they could finish arguing and Allura reappeared with another basket of bread.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Lance suddenly blurted out.

“Uh sure, down the hall and to the right.”

He smiled and disappeared from the room.

“So Keith, what do you do for a living?” Allura tried to save what she felt was a bumbling evening going downhill.

“Nothing as interesting as what you do I’m sure.” He pushed his food around on the plate eyeing her suspiciously.

“E-Excuse me?”

The two locked eyes and it seemed like each person was waiting for the other to give something up when they heard Lance scream from elsewhere in the house.

“HOLY SHIT!”

The three at the table all exchanged concerned glances before bounding from the table and heading to the source of the noise.

Keith got there first, following the light into a small walk in closet in the bathroom, past shelves of towels and toilet paper into a hidden room that had revealed itself from the accidental pulling of a coat hook when Lance attempted to hang up robe that had fallen from it. He stepped inside to see a very upscale posh looking space. Glass cases on the wall were lined with weapons, accessories and disguises with cherry wood drawers opened up to reveal various gadgets. It looked like the kind of thing seen in the spy movies they watched during their “boys night” sessions. Lance was already standing in the middle of the room, looking at everything in complete confused shocked awe. Keith staggered in to join him.

“Oh fuck” Pidge uttered standing in the doorway as Allura came up behind her.

The two boys turned to their dates with expressions that demanded an immediate explanation.

“Heh,” Allura bit her lip sheepishly, “surprise!”

Pidge elbowed her in the stomach.

“You don’t just work at the gym and the café do you?” Lance stood with both hands on his hips.

“No,” Pidge pinched the bridge of her nose wondering how in the hell they were going to get themselves out of this mess, “no we don’t.”

AO3 LINK

#kallura #plance #plancekalluraweek2018 #ficsbyKIC

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tomatodeals · 2 years ago

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Summer time Gown for Ladies Chiffon Blouses Skirt Spaghetti Sleeveless Tops Halter Ruffle

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miasnm · 3 years ago

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#aestheticgirloutfits

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vermafashion · 3 years ago

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rushush · 3 years ago

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legrandepapillon · 7 years ago

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At the Pool (pegtha)

Summary: Peggy takes a break and meets a new ‘friend’. Prompt: Person A's sister teaches swimming lessons and is waiting for her so they can go to lunch. Person B is picking up their child from lessons, and is very attractive. Despite the other single parents vying for B's attention B shamelessly flirts with A. Author’s Notes: more marggy (after all that smut lololol). i think they’re my new fave ship. + more butch!Peggy. also, i get my prompts from here but i never really remember where i got them from. if any of you guys notice a prompt that you posted that i did, please let me know! i’d love to have your opinions on my work

Contrary to popular belief—popular being amongst her sisters and the rowdy boys that she occasionally had the misfortune to call her friends—, Peggy Schuyler didn’t mind socializing outside of her various protests, rallies and marches. In fact, she often times thoroughly enjoyed being in an environment where there wasn’t an end goal, where she didn’t need to shout to be heard, where there weren’t so many eyes on her and what she was doing. Shocking, right? And unlike her brother-in-law Hamilton, who so hypocritically criticized her rigorous work ethic, she was completely capable of taking a break from the mountain of work she somehow always managed to accumulate out of nowhere. Like most humans that didn’t run on 5 hour energy, coffee and redbull, she enjoyed being able to kick back and relax.

She just never had the time to do so.

When wasn’t deployed to wherever the army sent her for her station, she was at the little floral shop in Harlem her mother had co-owned helping her mother’s best friend and co-owner, Martha, keep up with the workload. Or she was taking on pro-bono cases she did to help fight an unjust system that worked against disenfranchised and marginalized people—she had gotten her law degree before joining the military because someone had bet her that she wouldn’t be able to handle the stress, and figured she could use the dusty degree for some good. Or doing some public speaking at schools and colleges around Harlem, trying to reach out to the kids there in hopes that she could help cultivate the next President or Nobel Peace Prize winner. She already had a mountain of work lined up for her right this moment, and she had just gotten back into the city on leave.

The money she got for her public speaking affairs and the flower shop was good because it allowed her to help out the impoverished, crime-riddled communities that she had been adopted out of, so she had to keep working at that on a daily grind.

The rest of her spare time was spent organizing various protests for Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ+ and Feminist rights, many of which often intersected. It was frequent that she found herself at a ‘Black LGBT Lives Matter’ rally alongside her favorite protester and closest friend, John Laurens or at an ‘LGBTQ+ Womens Rally’, co-organized by a determined Maria Lewis. She used her father’s status in the government to give a voice that shed light onto big issues, since she knew he had the platform available. But this didn’t exactly allow for her to have time for normal human things—like spa days, or going out, or even dates.

Peggy is eventually faced with just how stressed she is from her workload when Eliza, finally fed up with almost never seeing either of her sisters—Angelica was just as, if not more busy than Peggy was—had instructed her to pick her up from the local YMCA so that the three of them could grab lunch and a movie. Eliza taught swimming listens to kids from the ages of four to eight at the Y, something she got to do because she was a stay-at-home mother. Sometimes Peggy envied her—all the free time she had. Sure, she was a Mom first and she was always with her kids, but sometimes her husband would watch them for the night so that she could go out or just relax for a moment.

There was no one for Peggy to share her workload with.

Considering that neither Angelica nor Eliza had afforded her the opportunity to decline the lunch date, Peggy finds herself pulling into the parking lot of the community center at eleven—which is thirty minutes before Eliza said her morning lessons ended. It’s a surprisingly nice Saturday—a bit warm for Peggy’s tastes, but sunny and bright. Spring was sweeping over New York, and the Y is packed with cars. It’s Spring Break for the kids in schools right now, which is probably why there were so many people at the center. She knew Eliza had mentioned there’d been some sports and arts programs gearing up for the week of Spring Break, and wonders vaguely if her sister is teaching in one of said programs.

Peggy is lost so deep in thought that she doesn’t really pay attention, and accidentally bumps into another woman on her way inside the center. Reflexively, Peggy reaches out to grab the womans arms to steady her, all while profusely apologizing.

“It’s okay, darlin’, it happens,” the voice says, thick with a Southern twang that Peggy knew wasn’t native to New York. Releasing the woman’s arms, Peggy finally gets a good luck at the woman’s face. She’s gorgeous, probably the most beautiful woman that Peggy had seen in New York yet. With long, dark curly hair streaked with blonde strands, wide green eyes brimmed with thick, black eyeliner and unmarred, smooth tan skin, the woman possessed an unconventional beauty. The lines of her face were sharp, with high cheekbones. Her eyes were deeply set and a bit wide, almost as though she was in a state of perpetual shock. She wore heavy makeup—highlighter, foundation, mascara and striking candy apple red lipstick—but it didn’t make her look like a clown, but like some sort of goddess. Both of her arms were sleeved with tattoos, and there was another one of a heart with the name ‘Frances’ over her left breast.

If Peggy were even to ignore her physical features and judge the woman by her clothing, she’d guess she’s a biker. Or at least, she hung with a biker crew. With tight black skinny jeans, high-heeled leather boots, and a tight black spaghetti-strap blouse. The chick dressed—at the least—awfully sexily to be hanging out around the family-friendly YMCA, but Peggy isn’t one to judge.

“Sorry again, ma’am,” Peggy says, putting both of her hands up in placation. The woman smiles a shiny white, perfect smile at her before turning and hurrying into the Y—which reminds Peggy of why she’s there in the first place.

The young soldier makes a beeline for the swimming pool, checking her watch to find that the class would be ending in twenty-five minutes. Once there, she waves at her sister—who’s in the water with a little freckled girl, helping her learn to float—and decides to take one of the seats that are lined up against a wall by the lifeguard ladder. She notices that parents are slowly starting to trickle in, filling in the seats beside her as they wait for their children to be done with their class. Most of them are Dads—probably put on babysitting duty for the weekend while Moms went to treat themselves after being with the kids all Spring Break—but there are a few mothers there too.

Peggy almost doesn’t notice when her nose is filled with a familiar perfume, but eventually a hand on her arm alerts her to the fact that the woman she’d bumped into in the parking lot has chosen a seat beside her.

“Oh! Hi, again,” Peggy says, surprised that the woman was sitting with her. The woman gives a finger waggle as a wave, and the younger of the two gestures towards the pool. “Your kid in the class?”

“Yeah, my little Frankie,” Biker Bombshell says, pointing to the freckle-faced girl that Eliza had been helping earlier. Both women watch as the little girl floats in circles, shouting ‘I’m floating! I’m floating!’ in elation. “You?”

“Me…? Oh! Oh, no. My sister is the instructor, I’m here to pick her up,” Peggy points at Eliza, who has moved on—she’s now with what looks to be a toddler, trying to prevent him from gulping down the chlorine water.

By now, the fathers around them have noticed this woman and her striking beauty—and all of them seem to have made it a mission to get her number. One father even sits on the other side of her as he enters the swimming center, in an attempt to get her attention. But he’s swiftly ignored by the bombshell beauty, who is giving Peggy all of her attention.

“Oh, just where are my manners? I’m Martha, darlin’. Martha Manning. You are…?”

“Peggy Schuyler,” the younger of the two responds, extending her hand for the woman to shake. She notices that Martha’s hands are really soft, despite her rough exterior, and they’re also well-manicured. Sharp, well-filed blood-red nails stand out against Peggy’s hand and she flushes at how domestic it looks with her hand in Martha’s.

Dropping the handshake, Peggy chooses instead to change the subject. “I hope you don’t take an offense or anything, but your accent… you’re not from here, are you?”

“No, I’m not. My ex-husband and I moved here from Charleston, South Carolina after we had li’l Frankie. We’re divorced now, but my little girl loves New York so much. I couldn’t bring myself to make her go back to South Carolina. I notice your tattoo… you’re in the military?”

She gestures to the ARMY STRONG tattoo on Peggy’s bicep, something she’d gotten while drunk after she completed BT. She hadn’t intended on joining the military becoming her career, it had just been something she’d signed herself up for on a whim when her father had told her she needed to find a direction in life. Though, he'd probably meant doing something with that law degree she didn't use. After waking up with the tattoo, however, she’d decided that it was pointless to try to find something new to do. The army paid well, she always had a place to sleep at the barracks, and a lot of her deployment time was spent around computers or planes anyways.

“Uh, yeah. I’m an avionic mechanic,” she says. “I work on the planes and shit, basically.”

“That’s hot,” Martha says, a flirtatious smile on her lips. One of the fathers that had been watching her approaches now, opening his mouth to interrupt the two of them. Immediately, the flirty smile slips from Martha’s face and her eyes narrow icily. “I’m sorry, don’t you see we’re having a conversation?”

Taken aback by the sudden fury and iciness that emanates from the woman, the father raises his hands in defense and mumbles an apology before returning to his seat. Sighing in annoyance, Martha turns back to Peggy, “I’m sorry. It’s like everywhere I go, men are hounding me.”

“I wish I could relate to you,” Peggy shrugs. She’d always been a bit more tomboyish growing up—trading in the frilly dresses and ribbons her parents wanted her to wear for slacks and dress-shirts. Philip Schuyler didn’t mind so much—he’d always wanted a son, but he and Catherine had never gotten around to adopting one. He treated Peggy like his son—more than happy encourage ‘boyish’ behavior within his daughter. Even going so far as to allow Peggy to stay out late after giving her sisters a curfew. When she’d realized she was a lesbian, Philip just got even more lax—without having to worry about his daughter going out and getting pregnant, he pretty much allowed Peggy to do whatever she wanted.

Despite all of these perks that came with being ‘butch’, one of the downfalls was that unless it was a woman, Peggy never really got flirted with. Now that she’s older and knows her sexuality, she’s perfectly fine with going unbothered by the men she encountered. But when she was younger, she’d always thought something was wrong with her. Boys flirted relentlessly with both Eliza and Angelica—there’d been more than a few times they had sent their scrapper sister to go deal with a boy that couldn’t take the hint—but none really showed an interest in her. To this very day, Peggy had never had a man approach her in any effort to flirt with her.

“No, honey, ya don’t,” Martha snorts, glaring at another man who’d found himself staring at her tits. He flushes and looks away, at least having the decency to be ashamed of his creepiness. “I deal with shit like that all the time. It’s a shame that I have to put up with this just because I wanna look sexy.”

“Here, here. But hey, the attention isn’t all unwanted, is it? There’s gotta be someone you don’t mind flirting with,” Peggy says optimistically, looking around at the men gathered at the pool. Some of them were fairly attractive—in fact, some of them were really attractive. She may be a lesbian, but she could recognize when someone’s features were aesthetically appealing no matter what the gender and some of the guys were handsome.

“Yeah, there is,” Martha says, though she’s not looking at any of the men. Peggy flushes, cheeks turning a bright shade of tomato red, when she realizes that the mother is looking at her. Unfortunately, she is unable to say anything, as they’re interrupting by the woman’s daughter hurrying over to where they sit.

Frankie jumps into her mother’s lap, still soaking wet from the pool, and wraps her arms around her. Peggy gently scoots a little to the side to avoid getting wet, but waves at the young girl goodnaturedly.

“Hi, angel,” Martha says, giving her daughter a giant kiss on the cheek. Frances giggles and returns the kiss. “Did you have fun today?”

“Yes! Miss Liza taught us how to float, Mommy! Did you see me floating!?”

“I did! Go get your clothes on—we’re gonna get pizza and then you get to go to Daddy’s house this week.” Frances nods and hops out of her mother's arms to grab her duffel bag before darting towards the locker room to change. Martha stands, running her hands over her now wet jeans, and Peggy for some reason feels the need to stand to.

Martha’s a little taller with her heels, so Peggy feels small and shy for just the splittest of moments—which isn’t the status quo for her, as she’s usually very suave, outgoing and electric. “Well, we’ve gotta get goin’ soon. But I’ll see you next Saturday, right Peggy?”

“Of course!” Peggy exclaims, too quickly for her own liking. Clearing her throat, she relaxes. “Yeah. But just in case I don’t, we should exchange numbers. You know, for just in case.”

Martha agrees and the two women put their numbers in each other’s phone—Peggy blushing when she realizes that Martha had inserted some kissy-face emojis beside her own name. Giving another light wave and a wink, the older woman disappears into the locker rooms—probably to help her daughter.

“Hey! Sorry class ran a little late,” Eliza’s voice says from behind her, startling her little sister. She gives a quizzical look at Peggy’s frightened little jump, but says nothing. “Ready to go? Angelica found a nice little sub shop in Upper Manhattan.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

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