#and that it's not fair to either of them to be together

[copper-16]

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow

Alexia had lost her childhood love at the last moment. Or did she?

{a/n: Hello everyone! Fair warning: I make a lot of changes about the “world” in the fics I write. Alexia grew up in Madrid in this and started out at Atlético Madrid (don’t worry she’s still the world’s biggest culer, trust), and the timing, clubs, etc are often somewhat fudged because I am lazy. If you come on here and start correcting me I’m just going to block you because this is a STORY, it’s not supposed to be accurate to real life because it isn’t real life. This starts in March of 2021, but there are a series of flashbacks. Reader is a few months younger than Alexia in this.

This story can either be: just the 1 part with an ambiguous ending if everyone is satisfied with that, 3 parts with a more solid ending, or 10 parts with a longer story structure (and I like the ending better personally but to each their own). Curious as to everyone’s thoughts are, and it’ll probably dictate how much I end up writing! I hope y’all enjoy the read! Title is from Drops of Jupiter and Spotify link can be found here!}

Dahlias. 

Resilient. 

Warm-hearted. 

Protective. 

Optimistic. 

Mysterious. 

Grounded. 

Alexia thought of the intricate flowers often. She even went so far as to plant some in a garden box on the balcony of her apartment, just so that in the warmer months she could go out and trace the petals gently under her fingertips. A reminder of everything wonderful she had been fortunate enough to have in her life, held in her grasp for just a little bit longer out in the warm air. 

She admitted it was a long time ago, but even if she tried to move on she simply couldn’t. 

—

Alexia is grateful she opted to wear pants for the event, if for no other reason than the fact that she has somewhere to put her hands. The event was on the smaller side, not quite intimate but still not overwhelming either. It’s March now in Barcelona, with warmer weather and sunshine, even if the event for this evening is held indoors. 

It was for Spotify, bringing together ambassadors of the brand from around Spain to interact and connect with the team. Naturally, Barcelona has sent Alexia and Robert along with a few of the staff members to represent Barcelona. The midfielder has spent the better part of the event making small talk, trying to be polite and sociable. These events are inherently exhausting for her, but she still understands the importance of them, even if there isn’t quite enough football talk for her liking. 

As grateful as the blonde is for the visibility of the team and women’s football, there are still moments when she has to force herself to remain appreciative. She sometimes misses the days of kicking the football around in the dirt, where the heaviness of expectations never plagued her. She misses cozy nights on the couch laughing until her stomach hurts or having someone pull her from her work, insisting that she take a break. 

The footballer struggles to remember the last time she took a break. Her life is full steam ahead, all of the time. It was rewarding and exhausting all at the same time. Even when she has a day off or a moment of peace, it never quite felt like hers. 

Everyone expects something of her. 

Everyone wants a part of her. 

But nobody wants her in her entirety. Nobody has in a long time. 

When the midfielder finally breaks away from the delegate of Barcelona members under the guise of going to the bathroom, she takes the time to just explore. The event space is lovely and spacious, with high ceilings and a gorgeous conference room 

She is aiming to head toward the restroom, but she wanders aimlessly. The brunette ends up in a hallway with a gorgeous light fixture, and she finds herself looking up at it in vague awe. She catches movement in her peripheral vision, and when she glances down, her breath catches in her throat. 

It can’t be? 

Could it be? 

After all of this time? 

Your head is turned up toward the light fixture as well, your face partially obscured by the angle of your neck tilting upward to admire the beauty of it. The dress you’re wearing is a deep emerald green, a crushed velvet material with a high cut neckline. There are draped sleeves that barely hit your mid bicep, and the cut of the gown is long enough that it hides that you’re wearing loafers over more socially appropriate heels. 

You’ve always claimed that a woman who spent her life stuffing her feet into uncomfortable shoes simply wasn’t doing life right. 

The ceilings are tall, and the hallway is nearly empty, but Alexia is pretty sure that there is a lack of oxygen in the air. 

And then you turn your head down from the lights above you, making direct eye contact with you.

Her heart stops for just a moment, unable to comprehend the reality of the moment. 

But the footballer realizes at that exact moment that it’s really you. 

—

When Alexia is six, her immediate family moves from the Mollet del Valles to Salamanca for her father’s job. Besides her Mami, Papi, and Alba, the rest of her family stays behind in Barcelona, a fact that Alexia both hates and struggles to understand. 

Concepts of a job and moving are a little far out of her realm, but she tries her best to calm Alba when she cries quietly out of homesickness. Alexia is strong and refuses to cause trouble, so she takes the move with a silent despair as she is abruptly pulled from everything she has grown to know and placed in a new environment. 

Her Mami explains to the two girls that they will return to Barcelona in the summer for a few weeks to visit family, and that they can still go to Barcelona games here in Madrid. The little brunette girl struggles to contain the disgust her face twitches with at the thought of Real Madrid, and Eli forces herself to hold in a gentle laugh. 

In Alexia’s second week of living in Madrid, she meets you. 

Your family lives in an apartment down the street, with your Mama and Papi alongside your two younger brothers. There’s an area between your house and Alexia’s for children which could technically be classified as a park because of the pathetic patch of grass inside a ring of concrete. It doesn’t matter for Alexia, who brings a basketball outside to play in the space after growing bored one afternoon. 

You were already out there, sitting in the small grass patch and playing with the flowers, gentle in the way only a young child could be. That precarious edge where you could crush the petals at any moment, but for whatever reason don’t. 

The brunette perks up, her steps quickening at the sight of you. She has yet to make a single friend here considering that school has not yet started, and now would be the perfect time. 

“Hola,” she introduces herself apprehensively, soft spoken but not exactly shy. You look up at her, surprise melting into a small smile that seems to spread through the rest of your body. 

“Hola,” you repeat, and Alexia sets the basketball down before sitting beside you. 

“I’m Alexia, I live over there. I just moved here,” she explains as she points toward her own apartment complex. You nod in recognition, turning to the opposite side of the street to point out your own home. 

“Nice to meet you Alexia,” you state resolutely, but your focus is still on the flowers underneath your hands, the  caléndulas. 

“Are you a big fan of la flores?” She questions, and you nod, tucking some hair behind one ear as you look over at Alexia. 

“Flori loves la flores,” the brunette declares, giving you a nickname that will stay with you as she pulls you up to go play basketball with her. 

—

When Alexia is seven she joins the Atlético Madrid academy, playing alongside boys her age. She also learns that you hate football with a burning passion. 

After that day in the street, the two of you have become fast friends. One could not be found without the other, wandering around the streets playing imaginary games or dancing together. You could even be coaxed into a game of basketball or handball sometimes if you were in a good mood, but never football. 

It’s strange to Alexia, because football comes so naturally to her. It is a part of her family, but it is not a part of your family. While you are light on your feet, graceful in dancing, other sports are not your cup of tea. 

You’re smaller than Alexia is, smaller than the average girl your age, and it shows when you’re trying to play games with everyone. You never complain about it, weathering the storm of fouls and near fatal injuries from competitors twice your size without so much as a spot of negativity. 

But Alexia knows that it is not your favorite, and she only asks you to play sometime. 

“Come on Flori, please? I need to practice before tomorrow?” Alexia begs, and though you threw her some sass, you quickly agreed when you saw the look in her eye. 

The desperate look on her face was enough to convince you that she really did need help. 

While you weren’t terribly skilled at football, you weren’t horrible at it either. You agreed to help Alexia because she is your absolute best friend in the whole entire world, and when she looks at you with that face, you know she really means it. 

It is all worth it when she comes home the next day, dropping her bag at home and sprinting over to your apartment. She barges past your Mama at the door to run to your room, jumping on your bed and telling you every detail of the day with excruciating detail. 

You want to listen to every single minute, filled with warmth from the clear excitement on her face. You’re happy that she is happy, and you know that football brings her peace in the same way dancing does for you.  

Which is why when Eli asks Alexia to stop playing football at school as a result of her joining a team outside of school, you are the one who covers for her. You easily vouch that she was pushed on the playground rather than scraping her knees playing football. 

The look her Mami gives you lets you know she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide regardless, much to your relief. 

—

When Alexia is eight, she learns of how fiercely protective you are. 

It had only been a small thing, a disagreement on the football pitch behind the school you all attended. She was playing with some of the other girls, the few ones her age who still wanted to play football. The ones who didn’t mind getting their knees muddied and running until their lungs gave out. 

Not that it mattered how much they tried, because Alexia always beat them anyways. 

You had chosen not to participate, electing to teach Alba how to weave daisy chains and making sure that your little brothers weren’t getting into trouble while they played together. You had just moved Alba’s hand gently to show her how to twist the stem of the plant correctly when you heard the ruckus. 

You lift your head, taking in the scene in front of you with a renewed urgency when you notice that Alexia was on the ground. One of the other girls is practically standing on top of her, she was so close to the brunette. The girl, Isabella, is practically pink in the face with her anger, yelling about some foul or dirty move on Alexia’s part. 

You didn’t care though, standing up in a flash and stomping your way across the football pitch to the two girls. 

Alexia is by no means a shy person, but she usually leaned toward being more reserved. She has a deep sense of justice though, and has always pressed for everything to be fair, even when it was not to her advantage. 

When she played games with Alba, the brunette would hold her dominant hand behind her back or close her eyes to even the playing field. And while she never let Alba win without reason, she was never overly cruel in her celebrations either. Especially not as one would expect a bigger sister to be. 

She did not have a chance to get a word in edgewise today, not when you stuff your body between the two girls and press your finger into Isabella’s chest, all but shoving her back. 

You tilted your head up in defiance, a positively ferocious look on your face. 

“Hey! There is no need to yell,” you argue ardently, your face twisted in complete and utter vexation at Isabella’s tone toward your best friend. 

Isabella just stares down at you for a moment, probably more shocked to see you there than bothered by the words you just said to her. You were smaller than her and Alexia, and it is rare to see you get angry or irate like this. 

“Right…sorry Alexia,” Isabella says after a moment, offering a sheepish smile before she turns away, walking off of the field over to a few of her other friends. 

You let out a small sigh as your body language settles into something more relaxed and calm. When you look back at Alexia behind you, you find her looking up at you with a tilted head and a look of confusion on her face. 

“What?” You question carefully, back to the serene best friend that the Catalan had come to know over the last two years. There is concern pooling in your eyes as she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. 

“Nothing I…” she pauses for a moment before she shakes her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she lets out a chuckle. “Thank you Flori.” 

You smile up at her broadly before you turn and make your way back to your younger siblings, sitting down and going right back to teaching Alba how to make a daisy chain as though nothing ever happened. 

—

When Alexia is nine, the two of you dance together. 

You are both signed up for folk dance classes by your respective mothers, who have become powerless in trying to keep the two of you apart. The pair of you might as well be attached to one another, as if you need the other in your orbit to continue on with life. 

It’s not that you both don’t have other friends, because you do. But the connection between the two of you is strong, not understood by anyone else. 

Dancing with Alexia is different. She makes you laugh in ways you cannot quite understand, and despite being only nine years old, there is a gracefulness to her movements that the other girls do not possess. There’s an ease to your steps when you are partnered with her, almost as though you two can anticipate the movements of the other without speaking about it. 

Perhaps football has helped her dance abilities, you wonder silently, but even that might be a stretch. 

You aren’t sure it matters though, not when she looks at you with that wide smile that she only ever seems to give you. 

—

When Alexia is ten, she finds you on her walk home from football practice. Her Mami had just started letting her walk home alone, alongside another boy from her team who lived in the area. It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it gave the brunette a feeling of huge independence that only a ten year old could possess. 

She has just turned the corner to head down her street when she hears loud, loathsome voices. 

“Flori, really? That’s a stupid nickname, just like you are a stupid friend. She only hangs out with you because it is an easy option, not because she likes you.” 

Alexia doesn’t even have time to consciously think before she sees red and surges forward, finding you cowering just slightly under the intense gaze of two older boys. They are in the year above you and Alexia in school, but they always hated the brunette because she was better at football than they were. 

It seemed that their response to this embarrassment was to take out their anger on you. 

Alexia could tell you were trying to show minimal fear, but you were a good head smaller than the boys who towered over you. Luckily for you Alexia wasn’t about to let them get away with it, and she came around the corner yelling in anger. 

The boys weren’t expecting her, and they certainly weren’t expecting the vehemently angry words that flew out of her mouth. 

You watched the exchange with a strange sense of detachment. 

Were you a stupid friend for Alexia? She was getting better at football now, getting noticed by people and places much bigger than the little neighborhood you guys lived in. She could be popular, have any friend she wanted. No longer was she beholden to you in any way. 

When Alexia grabs your arm gently, you look up to find that the boys are nowhere to be found anymore. It is just your best friend with you, her eyes scanning over every feature on your face with a furrowed brow. 

You let out a tight breath as you realize that you two were alone, sinking down to sit on the curb. Alexia joins you, taking your hand and holding it tightly in her own. 

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, and you don’t answer her for a long moment. 

“Do you think that I am a stupid friend? Do you wish you had more popular friends?” You counter, not really answering her question. You don’t want to burden your friend with your own emotions, sticking to the facts of the case rather than the maelstrom of unease swirling in your stomach. The brunette all but flinches at the question, shaking her head fiercely. You turned to inspect her face gently, to see that there were no signs of lying in the set of her jaw or the twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Why would you think that?” She prods softly, her voice only loud enough for you to just hear it. Alexia can tell that this is about more than just what the boys said. The crinkle in your brow gave away the depth of your worries, especially to the footballer. 

“I am not like you Alexia. I don’t like sports, or getting dirty, or playing with the boys. I am not talented like you, I will never be the star people think you will be. I hear them whispering about you, certain that you will be great,” you insist, reticent to a fate that you have seemingly already aligned for yourself. 

But then Alexia moves, crouching down in front of you instead of remaining beside you. 

“I don’t care about any of that if you aren’t my best friend,” she confesses with a sharp intonation, and she means every word of it wholeheartedly. 

She never thinks of herself as doing anything with football, because there is no path for a woman like her to play professionally like the men do. Even if there was, she has no clue if it is something she would want for her future. 

She loves football dearly. 

But she also loves you, and she tells you as much. 

“I will always need you in my life, no matter what. Now that you are here, you are stuck with me and I refuse to give that up. You are my best friend, and I don’t care what I do in life or who I become, you will always be my best friend Flori.” 

And despite everything that told you that you probably shouldn’t, you believe her with everything in you. 

—

When Alexia is eleven, she moves in with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona for the year to train at La Masia. 

You miss her terribly, even though life moves on. Your schedule every week is filled with friends and dance and time spent outside, but it’s never quite the same with Alexia. When you receive a little flip phone, your heart leaps at the thought of being able to talk to her even when she is far away. 

The two of you call every day, and patiently you listen to her describe every bit of frustration and excitement about football. It’s a huge opportunity to play in La Masia but there remain huge obstacles, and the program for the girls is unorganized and frustrating at best. 

You listen patiently, and Alexia is reminded all over again of how her life wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Gratitude and a strange swirling feeling twist in her belly, but it fills her with a warmth all over regardless. 

—

When Alexia is twelve, she returns to Madrid. The La Masia program for the girls has fallen apart, and she comes back to Atlético Madrid. 

She comes back home to you. 

You are unsure of when her smile started to make your stomach flutter, or when the brush of her hand against yours made your heart jump. And honestly, you don’t care. It is the most natural thing in the world to you. 

When she holds your hand for the first time and glances over at you shyly, you simply knew that your heart belonged to her, and somehow hers belonged to you too. 

—

When Alexia is thirteen, you ask her to be your girlfriend. 

Perhaps it's silly and juvenile and you two are the only ones who believe in the seriousness of it. 

She is caught by surprise at you asking, and suddenly the footballer finds herself throwing out her elaborate plan she had come up with to ask you in the following weeks. 

Alexia says yes to you, unequivocally and with a soundness she has never felt before. 

The first brush of your lips against hers lasts for a few seconds, but it’s exhilarating in an entirely new way.  

It’s perfect, as is the way her arms wrap securely around you.

—

When Alexia is fourteen, the two of you begin to experiment a little more for the first time. 

It’s awkward and bumbling sometimes, but there's a layer of comfort and ease above it all. Her lips on yours and the feel of her body next to you keeping you grounded and comfortable, ready to stop at any moment. 

When she pulls away, you find yourself giggling at the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against your skin. You bury your head into her chest, holding tightly to her as you feel a laugh rumble in her chest. . 

Even as she gets better at football and you grow into your own intelligence, it’s still the two of you together, taking life at your own pace. 

—

When Alexia is fifteen, she begins to struggle in school. 

You are the first person she talks to because she knows that you will meet her without judgement. You have always been a good student, and don’t mind spending the time patiently tutoring her. Topics that she should probably understand but do not are broken down into easily digestible ways, and for the first time in weeks her arithmetic work begins to make sense. 

She is able to continue playing without any problems, and her marks improve rapidly with her focus and your dedication. 

“Thank you Flori,” she sings as she walks out of the first session, and you can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. 

The footballer beams at you when you declare that your payment is a kiss for every correct answer. 

She pays her pension and then some without an ounce of complaint. 

—

When Alexia is sixteen, she makes her first team debut for Atlético Madrid. It’s a proud day for the whole family, and you sit squished between her father and Alba as you watch her race onto the pitch. 

There’s a sharp determination on her face, and though she only plays ten minutes you can tell she is going to be good. You can’t say you’re surprised, and when she turns toward her family and you and beams as the game ends, you know that you wouldn’t be anywhere else other than here. 

—

When Alexia is seventeen, she reminds you of what you mean to her. 

Atlético games are never terribly well attended with how little importance is placed on women’s football. But there is still a steady crowd, and it is beginning to grow more and more. 

Alongside that growth come some…interesting characters. 

You’re a regular in the stands, alternating between reading your book, watching the game, and doing homework. It’s rare for you to miss a match, though you have missed a goal or two when your nose is shoved in a book. Luckily, Eli, Jaume, or Alba will nudge you if Alexia is doing something important. If they aren’t there, then one of the other players' family members will, a fact that you’re extremely grateful for. 

Your commitment is unwavering, but your interest in any sort of PDA or anything is limited. Alexia is much the same, a characteristic you’ve always been grateful for. 

But then a group of girls from your school start to show up at games. There’s four of them, always sitting in the front row of the stands, no matter what. They cheer Alexia on as though she is their best friend, despite the fact that she told you herself she doesn’t really know them. When the footballer comes toward the stands after games, they rush to greet her. They fawn over her easily, throwing their arms around her for hugs and pressing chaste kisses to her cheek. 

You always find yourself standing awkwardly in the background, wishing to talk to your girlfriend but unable to stop staring at the scene in front of you. 

At first, it’s more funny than anything. You and Alexia’s family joke about her fan club and delight in the way her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. 

But they never stopped coming to games. And by the time you figure out that they aren’t going to stop, you realize that perhaps you need to take a step back. Those girls are popular, sweet, they love football and seem to understand everything. You are intelligent and well liked, but nowhere near as popular or well versed in the game Alexia lives and breathes by. Trying to follow along to each whistle or hand signal is impossible for you, and your interest in learning comes and goes like an ocean tide. 

“I don’t think I can come on Saturday, I have a calculus project I need to work on,” is what you tell Alexia one weekend. But the brunette didn’t buy it for a single second, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“You always just do it at the games – I’ve seen you in the stands with a glue stick before you were so determined to be there,” she points out, calling your bluff easily.

“Well…this is important Ale. It’s our final year of school, I need the marks to get into university,” you defend weakly, but it’s a lost cause. Your grades are extremely good, and you’ll have your pick of schools. One calculus project will not make or break that opportunity by a long shot. 

“Is this about those girls from school?” Alexia questions softly, her voice careful. You glance over at her and sigh after a moment, knowing that there's really no use in lying. The brunette could read you like the back of her hand. 

You don’t even need to voice your concern for Alexia to know exactly what you’re thinking, and she moves to sit down next to you on the edge of her bed. 

“I promise you with everything in me that I do not care about those girls. I don’t care if you are certain that they are nicer or popular or more pretty than you are. You are perfect to me, and I don’t care about them at all. I only care about you, and I only want you. You are my peace and my life, not them,” the footballer insists, and you look over at her with a quiet resignation. 

“Even if they understand football better than me?” You ask, your voice impossibly small. Alexia smiles sadly, reaching out to gently cradle your face in her hands. 

“When I look at the stands, it’s you I search for. It’s you who makes my heart skip a beat when I realize that you’re there. It’s you who fills my stomach with butterflies and sets the wind into my sail. How could I even notice them when I have you, Flori?” 

At the next game, Alexia politely smiles at the girls but moves straight past them to charge up the stands, still in her kit and boots. She gently lifts your calculus project off your lap so that she can press a resounding kiss to your lips, smiling into it when you gasp into her mouth with surprise. 

—

When Alexia is eighteen, two things happen. 

Everything somehow falls together, and falls apart all at the same time. 

The first is that her father dies. 

It's not unexpected, though the reality is still jarring. It feels like she is free falling, unable to find a moment of stability or rest. 

She finds herself in her old bedroom in her Uncle’s house in Barcelona, avoiding the mass of people downstairs paying their respects. While the sympathy of others is heartfelt and sincere, it’s heavy. 

She already feels heavy. Any more of it and she might break into a million pieces, that she is sure of. So she escapes up stairs for a moment, leaving Alba with a cousin and her Mami with an old friend. 

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks over to see that you have poked your head into the room. 

“Ale?” You inquire gently, the question unspoken between the two of you. Four years of dating and endless years of friendship have left you with an innate ability to know when the brunette needs space, and that doesn’t feel like where she is right now. 

You’re nothing if not respectful though, aware that as much as you sympathize, you really might not have the answer here. Nothing this big had ever happened in your relationship before, or in either of your lives before. There was no book or manual to prepare on how to deal with a grief so complete and overwhelming as this.  

Alexia loved her father deeply, and no amount of time to anticipate or process her thoughts of his illness actually prepared her from the shock of him being gone. 

You had loved Jaume too, how he passed out love like it was free to give, how he laughed without inhibition, how he welcomed you into the Putellas family with ease. But it wasn’t the same, and you were aware. You knew that you felt only a slice of what your girlfriend did, and even just this amount of grief was unbearable. 

You didn’t know how the footballer was even standing. 

Alexia’s eye’s silently pleaded with you to come in, so you did. You moved across the room before laying down on the bed next to her until the two of you were laying parallel, staring up at the ceiling together. You’re exhausted as well with all the stress and worry, but your first thought is always her. 

It always has been. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you for a long stretch of time. 

What is there to say? 

Your heart aches for her, and for her loss, for her family. Alexia screws her eyes shut, trying to regulate her own breathing. Everything about her feels erratic and out of control.

The footballer turns to her side, tucking herself into your body. She clutches to your arm tightly, forcing herself to copy your steady, dependable breathing. 

As much as she needs her Mami and Alba in this time, she has to work to be strong for them. She was the person they looked to, the decision maker, the leader. They need her, and she would kill herself before she neglected that need. 

But you are her strength, you always have been. You are the one who protects her, whose only thought is her. You have always been constant and steadfast for her through anything, a pillar of strength. She relies on you, and it scares the hell out of her. 

And yet you’re right there, and you seem to take it with a practiced ease that makes Alexia want to sob with gratitude. 

Loss engulfs her and brings her back, your steady hand in hers the entire time. There is rarely a moment when she needs you and you are not there for her, always attuned to her moods and thoughts. 

But then a huge curveball is thrown in Alexia’s way. 

Two weeks after her father passes away, Barcelona calls her. They are creating a women’s team, and though it is not professionalized, it is a team. 

Alexia accepts the request on the spot, not even stopping to consider the consequences. 

It doesn’t matter, the answer would still be yes. Her Mami and Alba are thrilled, quickly deciding that they all should move back to Barcelona together. It was time, and as much as they had built a community here in Madrid, Barcelona would always be home for them. 

Alexia goes to you that night and asks you to move with her. She explains her plan vividly, how you can go to school, she will play football, and you both can get part time jobs. You’ll get a little apartment together, actually start the beginning of your lives together. 

There was never a world in which you were not together, not with how happy you both were together. It was a no-brainer, an easy solution to a problem that had never existed. Life for her didn’t exist without you in it. 

Alexia would move first, and you would follow her in two months once you had received your university acceptance letter. It was a fool proof plan in the Catalans mind. 

At least, it had been a fool proof plan. 

The night before Alexia was scheduled to leave, you arrived at her door. The surprise and excitement on her face quickly gave way to intense concern when she saw the trepidation on your face. 

“Can I come in?” You asked gingerly, stepping inside as the Catalan made way for you to come into her house. 

“Yes, of course you can,” she replied, following you into her kitchen and taking a seat across from you at the table. For several moments there is silence as you seem to work up the courage to finally choke out the words you need to say. 

“I…I can’t come to Barcelona with you Alexia,” you finally stated, your hands folded neatly in your lap

“What?” Alexia isn’t sure she heard you correctly, because certainly you couldn’t be saying what she thought you had said. 

“I have to stay here with my Mama, to help her with the boys and the house and everything. I’ll get a job for a year before going to school, I think,” you explained slowly. 

“I…okay. Are you sure Flori?” You nodded with clear reservation, but the brunette continued forward regardless. 

“Well then…we can call. And take the train to one another when possible, and then maybe when the boys are older you can come to – what is it?” Alexia’s voice grinded to a halt when she finally seemed to notice your despondent expression

“I cannot come Alexia, and I don’t know when I will be able to. I will be very busy, and I am sure you will be as well, so perhaps it’s for the best if–” You were cut off, unsurprisingly. 

“If what?” Alexia challenged, her anger flaring. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, and you see right through her. But still you do not yield, your expression entirely unreadable to the midfielder. 

It only makes her more and more mad that she cannot tell what is going on. 

“Are you just going to give all of this up? I don’t even know what life is like without you, and what – now it gets a little hard and you call it quits? Did you ever even care about me? Did you ever even love me, or has this whole time just been a huge li–”  Alexia yelled from across the table, her hands slamming down to splay on the wood in front of her. 

“Enough!” You yelled, standing suddenly. Alexia seemed surprised at your outburst, but there was nothing other than a quiet resignation across your expression. There was no anger or outrage or fury on your face, but rather a strange form of acceptance mixed with defeat. 

When you spoke again, it was with softness and finality as the footballer looked up at you. 

“I love you Alexia. And I am very excited about this new journey you are going on, even if it is not with me.” 

You walked over to her side of the table before bending down to press a kiss to her temple.  You slipped out the door in a flash. Alexia was so completely thrown off that she didn’t have an answer or a response, she didn’t even have time to stop you. 

She had never sobbed so hard in her entire life than she did at the dining room table that night. Grief had become her shadow, but this was an entirely new kind of grief. It poured over her, consuming her, and she for once found herself completely lost in it. 

When she arrives in Barcelona, it is with red rimmed eyes and a renewed resolve to make something of herself. 

If it meant losing you, it had to be important. 

—

Alexia left Madrid when she was eighteen. 

Barcelona Femeni wasn’t even a professional team, and she was a nobody who had come into the system with promise and drive but nothing to her name. 

Throughout the past nine years, so much had happened to her both personally and professionally. Barcelona was not the same team at all, having been professionalized a few years after she arrived. They were taken somewhat seriously now, with titles and dominance in the domestic league. Though the Champions League eluded them, Alexia knew it was coming. 

She was in the prime of her career, playing better football than she had ever expected herself. The brunette was achieving everything that she had wanted, and she remained hungry and focused toward the future. It was never enough for her, and she always thought she could be doing better. 

There were times though…when she stopped and wondered. 

Was it worth it? 

She wanted so badly to say yes instantly. Football was her passion, her purpose, it had always been her goal to be the best she could be. It had driven every decision she had made in her entire life, and she wanted so desperately to believe in it wholeheartedly. 

But there had always been a flicker of doubt. She held it closely to her heart, never sharing it with anyone, not even Alba or Eli. She did not want to seem weak or doubtful of her decision.

Her apartment was empty, devoid of practically any women, and that had been her choice. Even after all of these years, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone long term. 

The brunette wanted to be angry at you for staying behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to really mean it. She loved you far too much, and the ache of missing you only seemed to strengthen as the years bled on. She had other women, she really tried, but never did she feel the same connection that she had with you. 

Alexia had admittedly tried to look for you, when her initial hurt had bled away in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But you were a ghost. 

The footballer wasn’t surprised, considering that you had never been a big social media person. She found some of your relatives online but their accounts were mostly private and rarely were you photographed. When she returned to Madrid for games, your family was gone from the home you had been raised in, and she wasn’t shameless enough to start banging on neighbors doors to find out more. 

Your phone number had seemingly changed by the time she worked up the nerve to call you, and eventually it just seemed wrong. You never reached out to her, at least not that Alexia was aware of. 

She had simply been forced to accept the fact that she had lost you, for reasons she still did not comprehend or understand. All it took was one singular month to lose both her father and her…to lose you, and that thought gnawed away at a piece of her soul relentlessly. 

But suddenly here you were. 

Nine years later, and here you stood right in front of her. 

“Hello Alexia,” you stated, your face a veil of carefully constructed neutrality, even if your heart beat was erratic beneath your dress. The sound of your voice seemed to bring Alexia back from wherever in her mind she had been. 

“Hi…hi there,” the brunette stuttered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. She couldn’t quite get herself to believe that you were standing in front of her. . 

“I know it’s been awhile but it’s…it's good to see you. Congratulations on your team's success these last few years,” you commented gently, a true smile on your lips. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. You…you follow the team?” Alexia inquired, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion. You had always been so apathetic to football, she never could have imagined you sitting in front of the television watching games. 

“Ever since you moved to Barcelona,” you confirmed with a nod of the head. Alexia felt her perplexity only ballon in size. 

If you still cared, why did you let her leave in the first place? Why did you give up so easily? 

A silence lapped over the two of you, but it was filled with so many unsaid words, so much tension that had never existed before. 

Alexia and you both looked the same, and yet somehow completely different. You could tell how much the footballer had grown into herself given the ease at which she stood, her hands tucked in her pants pockets loosely. There was an air of elegance and power to her, hazel eyes piercing into you with purpose. 

She looked at you as though she never wanted to look away again, and selfishly, you felt hope in your heart that perhaps…

“Are you with anyone?” You asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the forwardness. It could be interpreted as for the event specifically, but the potential broader implication suffocated you despite the fact that you were the one to ask the question. 

“No, I am not with anyone Flor–” Alexia cut herself off, seemingly realizing her mistake. 

It didn’t feel like much of a mistake to you, and you longed to hear the word come out of her mouth, just once more. If this was the end for the two of you, you would have sold anything you owned to hear her say it just once more. 

You nodded slowly, before replying that you were here alone as well. 

“Perhaps…perhaps we could go on a walk?” Alexia suggested, and you allowed her to set the pace of whatever you guys did together. After all, it had been you that had left in the first place, a fact that you would never forget. 

You nodded in affirmation, explaining that you needed to grab your clutch before you could meet her at the door. 

It was divine timing as well, considering that your boss had just let you off for the evening and you were planning to go home soon anyways. This was a more welcome surprise than whatever you had been planning in your mind. 

—

There was a wave of relief that rushed through Alexia when you appeared in the door frame a few minutes later, almost as though she was positive you were not going to arrive. But there you were, a light jacket thrown over your dress and a small purse in your hand. 

You both walked out of the event space together, silence lapping between the two of you as you continued forward. Alexia was struggling to organize her thoughts in any sort of productive way. She was so caught off guard by everything. 

She thought she would never see you again. 

“How long are you in Barcelona? Just for the weekend?” She questioned, her voice soft. You shook your head, your posture straight and somewhat tense. 

“No actually, I live here now. I moved a few years back,” you replied, voice unwavering. 

Alexia couldn’t help the stab of hurt that ran through her heart at that piece of information. She had always wondered deep down what she had done to cause all of this, why you had let her go. At first the distance was the only thing in Alexia’s mind to explain the break up, but now she knew you had been here for years. She didn’t understand it, even after nine years. Every piece of logical information told her that you had loved her, and yet here you were. 

Was any of this even salvageable? 

Did she want it to be? 

“Oh…I see,” her voice was flat, but in a way that oozed grief rather than true apathy. 

“I come to your games sometimes, once I moved out here,” you admitted, thinking of all the times you had sat up in the stands watching her play. The brunette glanced at you in clear shock, and you shrugged, unable to conjure an appropriate answer to explain yourself further. 

Things were…things had been so complicated. By the time all of it had cleared and the world made sense to you again, she was gone. You knew you had lost your opportunity to be with her, to be a part of her life. 

As much as it haunted you, it was the reality of your life. You never could have changed what happened, but that didn’t mean it cut you just as deep as it did Alexia. 

But perhaps there was hope for the two of you, here and now. Maybe it would be messy and complicated and painful, but it would be real. There was so much left unsaid between the two of you, and whether the two of you could face it headfirst or not would make or break the whole situation. 

“Where did we go wrong? How did all of this fall apart?” 

The question was sudden, a shock but not a surprise. 

You took a deep breath, stopping and looking back at Alexia. The Catalan had stopped walking when she had spoken, as though she was unable to move forward even an inch. Her hands were balled into fists, and everything about her body language communicated her discomfort. 

“Did I do something to make you stop loving me? Where did I mess up?” She questioned, nearly begged. 

Was her career worth losing this, losing you? 

Had she lost you? 

“Alexia, you did nothing wrong. You were perfect, you are perfect,” you promised, summoning every last bit of strength to imbue into your words. You walked back to her, reaching out carefully to place the backs of your fingers to her cheek, just barely touching the warm skin there. She closed her eyes at the feeling as tears burned in your eyes. 

“I lost you,” she whispered, both startled and settled that you still smelled the same, your perfume unchanged after all these years.

“I know, I know. But I’m right here now, I’m right here,” you vowed, still unsure and desperate of what to say. 

“I know that this is fucked up, and complicated, and it’s been years. I might as well be a stranger to you, but I need you to trust me when I say that nothing that happened was your fault. I made the decisions I did because it was what I had to do, but don’t for a minute think it didn’t kill me inside. Don’t you dare think I didn’t spend the last decade of my life missing you,” implored, almost as if trying to force her to understand the depth of your love, even after all this time. You turned your hand to cradle her cheek gently, your thumb stroking across the skin there as you spoke again. Your voice was barely audible, crackling with emotion. 

“Maybe this is crazy for me to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And if I never see you after this, I want you to know how much I loved you. How much I still love you. ”

She reached her hand up to grasp at your wrist, holding your hand in place against her cheek. 

“Please don’t leave,” she murmured, and you nodded insistently. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here Ale.” 

The look of relief on her face at hearing you call her that was palpable. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, lost in one another. It could have been a minute or a year, and you didn’t care. You would have stood there forever, content to ignore the rest of the world if Alexia remained this close to you. 

But eventually the telltale signs of rain began to stir, drops of water falling onto your jacket and in your hair. You pulled back, taking Alexia’s hand and squeezing it before you reached for your clutch. Opening the bag, you pulled out a business card and a pen, writing your personal number on the back of the card. 

“The number on this is my office, but the back is my cell. If you still want to…if you decide you want to talk more, call me,” you insisted lightly, placing the card in her hand. 

“I promise I’ll pick up,” you soothed after a moment, your words gentle. 

Alexia stared down at the card, at your loopy handwriting, for far too long. It reminded her of being fifteen, watching you write equations on the wall for tutoring. It was jarring, and it stirred up emotions she didn’t realize she had buried. 

When she looked up again you were gone, and yet not a single ounce of her felt alone as she stood on the sidewalk. 

She had a new possibility. The chance to return to who she was in her youth and understand the past. Or the option to continue forward in her career, focusing solely on football and her dedication to the sport while leaving the past behind. 

She had no idea what she would do, but at least for once she had the choice to decide.

[peachesofteal]

Tip of my Tongue - single mom fic Azriel/female reader

Original musing - based on/rewritten for this anthology

He hears the beginning of the conversation before he sees it.

"Eight copper marks." The merchant drawls, tone half soaked in disdain.

"Eight for five ... ? That's robbery."

"You're either good for it, or you can move along." Azriel's brow furrows. You're not wrong, it is robbery to charge that much for a measly five apples. The going rate is one for four, at the most. One copper mark is usually enough to buy a loaf of bread.

He shakes it off. Market value and bartering is not within his scope of interest. 

None of his business. 

"I can give you four."

"Not interested." He turns at that, looking over his shoulder to find the source of the back and forth, curious to see who the merchant is, the one gutsy enough to rip someone off. He expects to see some pompous High or Lesser Fae, a male with his nose in the air, a sneer scrawled across his lips. 

Instead, all he sees is you.

An Illyrian? You're rigid in your stance, a half stride away from the stall, hair and skin glowing in the midday sun, trying to face off with the extorter. The shadows make a rare daylight appearance, peering curiously through the crowd, assessing you with interest, and he cocks his head. You look like an Illyrian, almost, but... no wings, shorter stature. Why? 

Above all, you're beautiful, but it's marred with a bone deep exhaustion, expression kind but grim at the same time, impatience and stress battling for the brilliance shining in your eyes. His muscles tense as he sweeps the market looking for another, a male, shadows on high alert. It's not that Illyrians are forbidden from entering Velaris since its existence was exposed, it's just that they choose not to.

An Illyrian in the city could be cause for alarm, or at least, suspicion.

His breath catches in his chest when you shift your weight. 

There's a baby on your hip. A baby... with wings. Tiny, delicate, claw tipped wings. Membranes so thin, so fragile they're almost see through, flexing and fluttering while also trying to stay tucked together. 

The sight of them does something to him. Scrambles his mind, distracts him, nearly blackens his vision. He's not sure he understands what he's seeing at all.

What're you doing here? Are you alone? Is that your baby?

And why do you look so damn exhausted? Are you sick? Is there something wrong with you? 

It becomes abundantly clear why the merchant is trying to jack the price up on the produce.

Instinct takes over and he closes the distance between himself and the situation, coming to stand to your left, blackened tendrils snaking towards the merchant, and his face drains of color. He looms over you, lethal edge in his voice cutting to the quick. "She'll pay you the standard market price of one." You stiffen into stone, glancing at him once before looking down, and he doesn't miss how you curl your arms around the baby like you're trying to hide them. Protect them. He wonders if he should say something to put you at ease, but he can't find the words.

"O-of course, of course. Here," he scoops them into a net as quickly as possible, and shoves them across the counter, eyes still fixed on Azriel as he practically shakes behind the stall. It's the right thing to do, he assures himself, intervening. This male and his prices are predatory. He'll need to be reported to Rhys, probably looked into. 

It’s not his standard practice, the shadows hiss, he’s fair to others. 

Anger burns in the pit of his stomach. 

You’re still frozen, avoiding his attention, and the male glances at him hesitantly. "Your mark." Azriel murmurs, trying for an encouraging tone, but it comes out jagged, as his nature. For some reason, he has an urge to touch you, place his palm on your lower back for support, for comfort, for… he doesn’t know. 

It was none of his business. 

The merchant scuttles away, grumbling something about restocking under his breath, and shadow slowly dissipates, fanning out, following him, collecting all the necessary information. For another day. 

You don't turn to face Azriel. Shoulders bunched high beneath your ears, you're vibrating with tension. He’s rarely at a loss but something about this, you, is unsettling. "Are you alr-"

"I'm fine, thanks for... thanks for that." You shrug in the direction of the stall, but you still won't look at him. You stare at your feet, hand cupping the back of the baby's head, arm partially blocking them from view, though they twist in your grip, trying to track the sound of his voice.

"Do you-“

"I should get going." You cut him off, again, and physically turn away, half nodding over your shoulder. "Thanks again." The evasion catches him off guard but before he can say anything else, you're gone. Vanished into the crowd, easily lost among the sea of others.

Rose and pink pepper lingers on the wind in your wake, floral and sharp, sweet.

Hel.

[midnight-mourning]

Hearts & Home

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 4💘💘

Woahhhh more cowboys.... That's CRAZY... hehe anywho, i very much enjoyed taking another crack at these idiots, hope you enjoy reading about them :)

Prompt: Valentines continuation of the prev wild west x yn request i made last time perchance :)c i liked your story you made with em a lot teehee

Word Count: 2203

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

You keep your eyes on the horizon, mouth a firm line as you scan the distance for any sign of life. 

Nothing but the vast expanse of white and grey stares back at you. They're not here. Again. 

The breeze blows by, chilling you once more, and you shake your head, deciding it's for the best to head inside. Despite they're seeming lack of care for you in the moment, you know they wouldn't want you to freeze. You think, anyway. 

This was the third week in a row now, they'd promised they'd be back this time. Not another letter, not another empty promise. But, you couldn't be too harsh on them, they still had jobs to do, and with the weather as of late, you're sure they're being worked hard to keep their ranch in tip-top shape. You were doing the same here, afterall. Though, you were handling roughly the same size property on your own, whereas their boss had multiple hands to help out besides your cowboys—

You shake your head, the door slamming shut behind you. 

The warmth of your home greets you, but it does little for your mood. You're less worried and more, disappointed. For well over a month now they'd been promising to visit you, their usual trips having become few and far between. 

You hadn't been given an explanation for this shift either. Only noting that when you did see them this last time they'd become a bit skittish, off-put even. Your usual affections weren't returned in full, and if you had thinner skin you'd be alarmed by this. For now, you were just concerned. And annoyed, incredibly annoyed. 

 You thought that after the confrontation of your feelings, things would be more defined between you. You'd been mistaken of such. Rather, you felt as if you were stuck in a bit of a limbo. Though, part of that was your own fault to be fair. 

You were each seemingly too scared to take that next step. To go from casual flirting, joking back and forth, late nights spent together to something more, intimate neither you nor Sun nor Moon has made the step. Sure, you'd gotten close. On several occasions.

When Sun would corner you in the barn for a brief 'chat' that was filled with far more actions than words. Or when late at night, when you couldn't sleep, you'd find yourself in your kitchen and Moon would come up behind you, offering sweet nothings of comfort in whispered words and chaste kisses. 

But that's all it was, wasn't it? You bitterly think as you swirl the coffee in your cup, the black liquid seeming to taint your very being in the moment. 

All of it, it meant nothing. And again, perhaps you were to blame for such. In those moments, it was you who pulled away in the end, it was you who hesitated and froze upon hearing those murmured expressions of desire. And for what, fear? Fear of what? It surely wasn't rejection, not at the surface level at least, you knew they both wanted for you as you wanted for them, to an extent at least. 

Commitment then. Stability. Even if you told yourself it's what you wanted, the idea of it seemed impossible, and therefore terrifying to you. Being able to trust someone, multiple someone's was unfamiliar to you, it always has been. To have it all so easily within your grasp made you feel as if you were living in a dream. So you were doing everything that you could to wake up. 

But still, even with your own insecurities, that didn't explain their odd behavior, or their sudden disappearance altogether. That, was something you'd need to determine on your own. 

And the best way to do that, was with a confrontation.

So, you sent another letter. And another. And another. 

If that damn courier was going to pass through here daily and use your land as a shortcut, you were going to make well sure you made use of him. 

You sent letters without waiting for a response. As despite your insistence and incessant writing, somewhere deep in you you knew that one was never going to be enough. 

But as the days grow from one, to three, to seven, and still no answer to even one, you had enough. It didn't help matters that Valentine's a day you never really celebrated truthfully, but now desired more than anything, was about to be upon you. If anything, that fact pushed you over the edge finally. 

You hadn't wanted to resort to it, but now felt as if you had no other choice. You would have to do this directly. 

Face to face. 

You didn't pick the best day to go for this, you realize. The wind, once merely just a bother while going about your day to day around the farm, now bites mercilessly at the uncovered skin of your cheeks. You pull your hat down further with one hand, and snap the reins again with the other. 

Besides the wind, it's snowing hard, covering the plains in a way you hadn't seen in years. Just your luck it seemed, that a blizzard like this would happen right at the worst possible time. But, you're too far out to turn back now, even if you're admittedly beginning to lose your way a little. 

You knew it was only a half day's ride between your ranch and theirs, so surely you must be close by now. But with all the snow, your field of vision is nothing but white. Which frightens you just a tinge. 

Your fright becomes genuine alarm when suddenly, Felicity spooks. Unprepared, the reins slip from your hands as she bucks, sending you flying into the snow. You land, face first into the powder, almost grateful for the softer than normal landing. But still, it knocks the wind from you, and you groan in pain as you lift your head just enough to see Felicity fade off into the distance. 

Out of either desperation or disbelief, or maybe even delusion, you start to laugh. Quietly. Not because there's anyone around to hear you but because you're in pain. 

A lot of it, actually. 

As you lie there you become increasingly aware of two things; the cold, and your ribs. 

The first of which is starting to seep in despite your many layers, and the second you think might be broken. 

What a grand situation you've put yourself in here. 

You find yourself with a lack of care however, perhaps because of the dire absurdity of it all. No one's coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. Well, Felicity does but she's long gone. 

You may very well die out here, you realize. All for a couple of cowboys you couldn't even say 'I love you' to. 

Your own fault, truly.

You close your eyes, face cold against and feel a pull for sleep in you that you know is dangerous. One that tempts you, so, alluringly so. 

But luck was on your side, as right when you feel yourself beginning to slip, there's a muffled noise out in the distance. A shout. 

Soon enough you can make out the sound of hoofsteps and then footsteps that rapidy approach you. 

Your body is suddenly hoisted up, the light blinding even against your eyelids. Whoever it was, you weighed nothing to them. 

You find out soon enough, based on voice alone. "Come on darlin', stay with me now."

It's a struggle, but you find your voice.

"Tryin' to, Lone Star." You wheeze out, cracking open an eye to see his worried face staring down at you. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead then, hissing once he feels how cold you are. "You're frozen solid. Just what were you thinkin'?"

Sun starts to walk back over to his horse, you bite your cheek to hide the agony it causes you. 

"I wasn't. It's called desperation—" You can't help but cry out as he shifts you to mount his horse, biting your tongue again after a moment and speak through gritted teeth. "Can't a poor rancher be with their loves on the most romantic day of the year? Or some sap horseshit like that. You get the point."

Sun's too busy examining your body for damages, poking and prodding until he makes his mark against one of your ribs and you hiss. "Save that for somewhere warmer, won't you? Bit too cold to get a peek under there don't you think?"

He tsks, shifting you hold you tight against him with one arm, using the other the grip the reins and start moving. "I think the cold's made you delirious, Sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer for me, yeah."

"I'll try."

You're only able to half register as Moon rides up to the two of you, concern plastered across his features. They speak to each other, but you can hardly listen. Now that you have a sense of safety surrounding you, that urge to fade in the black pulls at you stronger than ever, and you can't help but close your eyes. Though, the  jostling pain of your broken ribs keeps you from falling asleep entirely. 

Soon enough, you find yourself in a warm bed in the boss' house, despite your protests the bunkhouse would be fine. You're treated and fed and warmed from the moment you step in the door. Something you're not taking for granted. To make matters better, you learn the reason you were found was because of Felicity wandering near the outskirts of the ranch, thus confirming to you that she was okay after all. 

With that news, you crash, weight off your shoulders—and ribs—waking up some time much later. 

When you open your eyes, you spy two restless cowboys nearby. Sun sits with his hands clasped in a chair beside you, frown settled heavily on his face. Moon is on the end of the bed, eyes trained on your face and thus, the first to notice you were awake. 

"You sure know how to make an entrance, don't you Starlight?" His tone is a mixture of displeasure and relief. 

You chuckle, wincing a little as you sit up. Sun reaches out to stop you but you wave him off. "Ah, couldn't help myself, Moonshine. Figured I needed to get your attention somehow, since it's been lacking here lately."

"You really risked your life for something so simple?" Sun asks, taking hold on your hand in both his own, squeezing tight. "All of that?"

You shrug, though not very well. "I didn't say it was a good idea. But it all worked out in the end, didn't it?"

Moon huffs. "If you call ‘working out’ almost dying, sure." 

You lay back again a bit, looking up to the ceiling as a quiet settles over the three of you. 

"An explanation would be nice."

"Suppose that's fair." Sun says. "Moon can share."

A tsk. "Of course you'd put it on me..." He grumbles, then takes your other hand and you glance back down. "Long and short of it is, we got fired."

Your eyes widen and Sun lets out a long, disappointed, sigh. 

"We didn't get fired. But we did ask to quit. Move on to somewhere else. Boss asked us to find replacements before we left." Sun explains. 

This does little to comfort you. "Somewhere else? Can't stand it and have to put more distance between us, huh?" You can't fight the bite in your tone. 

But, they both chuckle at this. Moon shifts to lay on his stomach beside you, grin cheeky as he leans in close. "Closer actually. Much closer. Within walking distance. You might even say kissing distance."

Before you can get further confused, Sun juts in, halting any chance of Moon getting what he wants for the time being. 

"We'd like to come work for you. If you'll have us. No need to worry about payment or the likes, just a place to stay, your hand to hold." He nods once. "That's more than enough."

You're more than surprised, shocked even. "I, you mean it?"

"We haven't been great 'bout it, but we care a lot, darlin'. Let us prove that to you." Sun kisses your hand, looking up to you with a plea in his eye. 

Moon pulls your focus by taking his free hand and setting it on your cheek. "You look ready to cry, Sweet Thing."

"Truthfully, I just might." You swallow, shaking your head. "You two are somethin' you know that?"

He tuts, leaning in and kissing you softly. "We take pride in it."

"One of us does." Sun grumbles. 

A snicker from his counterpart. "How about you wait your turn in silence, Sunshine?"

"How about you,"—You feel a tug on your arm pulling you away—"Learn to play fair?"

If you weren't stunned from your previous kiss, or in so much pain, you might've interfered with there argument. But, with the combination of both, you're content to simply lay back and watch it go down. 

You're getting kissed by someone, someway eventually, and that's good enough for you.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the request @alynwrench! The cowboys are always a delight to write for, especially when I get to put them in SITUATIONS >:)c

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[seitmai]

Your real-life daily routine had no time for Grant Stevens. Sorry to that man.

Fair

You were such a cutie, from your sickeningly cute, sensible heels, to the fucking cute pencil skirt that conformed to your curves and caused more than one person to crane their necks as you passed them, to the damn cute cashmere sweater that wasn’t tight, but still molded to the body that Steve itched to feel for himself.

Somebody sound like he is in love 🤭

When he came in to Regine on Friday, you were sitting at the bar with your head in your hands. It was 2 pm and you were about an hour and a half early for work. He was instantly concerned. He was about to crash out, knowing that he would never rest knowing that someone out there might have hurt you, or made you sad. He would either kill them or fix it.You looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes watery. You gave him a weak smile, and he just wanted to take you into his arms. He didn’t know you wanted the exact same thing.

He is ready to everything just for a little smile

There. You said it. The truth was so freeing. You felt as if you could be yourself with Grant, not put up the thug front that you did with everyone else.

🥺🥺🥺

“I mean… you seem to have it all together. Are you okay? ” His sentiment had you in your feelings. “I’m pretty much my own family.”  Steve looked into your eyes and wanted to belong to you. He looked down and took your hand. You took a shuddering breath as your stomach flipped.

He is ready to be her family

“I’m not telling you this to ask for money. I just need a ride. Just wanted to be honest with you.” Steve felt like a jerk. He wanted to tell you the truth.

😬🥴😬🥴

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an elaborate scheme to get my digits.” Steve laughed. He already had your number, but now he’d have an excuse.

Good save 🤭

Customers were making it rain. You felt Grant’s eyes on you all night and the more you danced for him, the more money came your way.

I would say it's a win-win🤷🏻‍♀️

It was a simple question, and one that would make Steve’s life infinitely more complicated if he took you up on it. Yet he didn’t hesitate.

That's the rose colored glasses 🫣

Steve felt like it was his first time touching a girl, the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. As he felt your perfect little body, he realized that he was aiding in the ruin of himself for anyone else.

🥹🥹🥹

You teased her relentlessly for being a simp, and continued to swear that you were a thug. You were a complete comedian, putting on a show for your family until the moment the man you knew as Grant Stevens stepped into your Aunt and Uncle’s home.

👀

Peach, Part II

Part I

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky because it's the right thing to do. When Steve meets you at one of his businesses and lies to you about a myriad of things, It becomes a sticky situation, especially since the attraction you feel for one another is so sweet.

Pairing: Bartender/ Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two and there is so much to say. More parts to come.This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and occurs up to the events in the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part will be published next week! ☺️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angsty angst! Steve is called ‘Steve’ and ‘Grant’ alternately, depending on POV. Mutual pining, masturbation, financial difficulties, mild stalking/surveillance, Steve lying, Steve using an alias, exotic dance life; wild thoughts, flirting, hand holding, intense sexual tension, kissing, making out, feeling each other up, third base, dirty talk, voice kink, praise kink, fingering, finger f ucking, betryal. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

November

“Peach…” 

Steve whispered it like a prayer, or a spell, trying to conjure you to appear next to him in the king sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets at the Four Seasons. His voice was a gravelly groan and he tried to keep his hands off himself despite the lurid thoughts playing behind his eyelids.

He couldn’t stop thinking of you and he couldn’t calm down. 

And it was all your fault. 

Steve felt as if he had a hangover although he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. His mind was clouded with dreams of you all night. Your eyes, your voice, and your wit were drawing him to you. 

The image of your body and that pole, the sway of your generous hips, the swell of your breasts made him breathless and made his cock thicken under the covers. It rose and pounded to the beat of his heart when he thought of those eyes. 

The fantasy of those eyes blown with lust as you opened your mouth wide to deep throat him impelled his hand to his thick staff and tight balls.

“Fuck!”

He wasn’t going to do this. 

Steve flung the sheets away as he stood up to pull on some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing his key card as he left his room on the way down to the hotel gym. He only nodded politely at the hot brunette who smiled at him as she got on and stood too close. Steve shifted away and stared up at the floor indicator panel as he thought of you.

There was no one else in the world as he floated to the treadmill on a cloud of thoughts of you. As he increased his speed, he replayed all of the different colors in your eyes as you talked to him yesterday. He ran toward an impossible dream of you and him together.

Yeah. Steve Rogers, known to you as Grant Stevens, was screwed.

—--

You woke up with a gasp as your body convulsed from your wanton dreams. You sat up in bed and tried to capture the wisp of your vivid imagination that had gotten you there. You were so wet for a certain new bartender at your night job.

The only thing you could remember from the dream was the image of Grant’s lips and the sensation of his fingers on your hand from the day before. You ran your hands down your body and tried to imagine what his touch and those lips would feel like everywhere you wanted them to be. 

Your fingers found your clit and your tight nipples, squeezing, pinching and rubbing in time with your desperation for Grant. You came quickly as you imagined those lips replacing your digits and his deep voice in your ear. 

After, you lay in bed a moment longer, satisfied for the moment, yet yearning for the real thing. It had been too long since you’d had human romantic contact.

But you barely knew the man. You shook your head as you padded to the shower to start the water and then to the coffee maker to turn it on. 

Your real-life daily routine had no time for Grant Stevens. 

Sorry to that man.

—

Steve sat in the coffee shop at the corner of Peachtree and West Peachtree street at 10:30 am. He grumbled to himself thinking of all the streets similarly named in Atlanta which also reminded him of you. 

But the streets weren't making him stalk you at your day job. He was there to research his investment. 

That was it.

He looked down at his laptop, open to the file that his tech guy, Miles, was able to send over to him in just under two hours. Thanks to the information therein, Steve knew that you would be in at any moment to get the typical online pick up order for your morning break. He also knew that you’d been at work since 8:30, which was amazing considering you got home at 3:45 am. 

Steve learned that you worked as the Adult Dance Coordinator at the Atlanta Ballet, which seemed like a high end job, but when he saw your salary, 40K a year, he realized that was just a little over $700 a week. Your bank balance was at zero and your student loans were astronomical. 

He understood why you worked your second job.

Your degree was in Dance Performance and Choreography from Spelman, and based on the look on your face when you went into Regine the day before, the way you were immersed in the music when you warmed up, and the way your body moved, he knew that you were good at it.

Steve looked back at his laptop to see that you also had your own fledgling dance school, Peach Preserves. The photos on the website made him smile. He could feel your energy with the kids through the screen. It warmed his heart to know that you were trying to make your dream work.

He happened to look up at the moment that you entered the cafe. He almost ducked under the table, but you didn’t see him, just went to the counter, picked up your drink and chatted briefly to the barista. Then you headed out of the door, in the opposite direction of Atlanta Ballet headquarters.

Five minutes later, Steve was tailing you on a walk around the huge Atlanta city block as you sipped your coffee and smiled at almost everyone.

You were such a cutie, from your sickeningly cute, sensible heels, to the fucking cute pencil skirt that conformed to your curves and caused more than one person to crane their necks as you passed them, to the damn cute cashmere sweater that wasn’t tight, but still molded to the body that Steve itched to feel for himself.

As you went back into your place of employment, Steve felt a loss at you being out of his sight. He felt like a 14 year old kid watching his crush go to class. 

But this was not that, he thought. He had to know what type of employees Regine had, and you were the sample. He was just handling business.

That was all. 

—-

Steve was busy the next couple of days straightening out the finances and employees at Regine, especially Sully, who had taken a sudden leave of absence in the middle of the night and would not be missed.

Steve decided to keep the club, and that would be far more work than getting rid of it. Bucky was annoyed, but he wasn’t anyone’s boss. Rebirth and its holdings was a group project.

Despite all that he had to do, Steve could not stop thinking about you. There were numerous times that he caught himself daydreaming about being with you, but he did not allow himself to believe it could really happen. 

It was an impossibility. 

When he came in to Regine on Friday, you were sitting at the bar with your head in your hands. It was 2 pm and you were about an hour and a half early for work. 

He was instantly concerned. He was about to crash out, knowing that he would never rest knowing that someone out there might have hurt you, or made you sad. He would either kill them or fix it.

But instead he took a deep breath.

“You okay, Peach?”

You looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes watery. You gave him a weak smile, and he just wanted to take you into his arms. He didn’t know you wanted the exact same thing.

“Yeah, Grant. I’m just great.”

You shook your head and then laid it down on the bar on your crossed arms.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He slid into the barstool next to you.

“Well, a lot of shit has happened in the last couple of days, but long story short, I left my work bag all the way in Kirkwood, and I’ll never get there and back on the bus in time. It will take all night.”

Steve was confused. He looked down at the bag on your lap.

“Is that not your bag? Why are you going on the bus?”

He had so many questions.

You took the bag in your hands and huffed, frustrated.

“Yes, this is my bag, but it’s my dance class bag with my day job clothes in it. I usually leave it in my car when I come in here. But my car is… in the shop…”

You started crying in earnest and jumped slightly when Grant put his hand on yours then relaxed. His touch distracted you, but you were still upset.

“How long will it take in a car? I can give you a ride.”

You looked up hopefully, then your face closed, wary.

“About 45 minutes, but I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. As a comrade.”

You looked up into his eyes again and sniffled.Grant was a nice guy. And you felt that you could trust him. 

“I’d owe you big time.” 

Steve smiled, making you feel warm inside. 

“Give me five and we’ll be ready to go.”

He left to go talk to the other bartender and was back by your side in moments.

“Car is out here.”

Stepping into the cool November Atlanta night let you take a deep breath and clear your head, but now your nerves were ramping up for another reason as you walked next to Grant until you came to a red Audi RS7.

You peered up at him as he held the door open for you. 

“Nice car for a bartender.”

Why did your voice come out all breathy like that?

Grant smiled down at you, making your stomach do that little flippy thing it had been doing the past few days when you thought of him.

“It’s a loaner. My car is in the shop, too.”

You nodded slowly and settled into the leather and wood interior thinking about your story. You looked over at him as he drove, the afternoon light from the road playing over the planes of his face, and marveled at his profile.

Those eyes, the cheekbones, the lips. He glanced over and caught you ogling him. Your cheeks heated and you smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… can I tell you something?”

—--

Steve had been driving, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel in order to get you to where you were going safely. Your scent in such close proximity was making his mouth water and his dick hard.

Thoughts of pulling over and dragging you over onto his lap were driving him crazy. He was lost in thought until the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Glancing over, he saw you staring at him. Your flush and shy smile made him even harder.

Were you checking him out?

Did you want him too?

He raised his eyebrow at you, his heart beating double time at the thought. 

But then you asked the question.

Can I tell you something? 

You were basically asking if you could trust him. Shit.

You sighed, your breasts rising and falling with the filling of your lungs. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but it was hard. He was hard.

“What do you need to tell me?”

“My car is not in the shop. It was repossessed.”

There. You said it. The truth was so freeing. You felt as if you could be yourself with Grant, not put up the thug front that you did with everyone else.

He looked over at you, switching quickly between you and the road until you hit a red light, his jaw ticked tight with some mysterious emotion. 

Your stomach flipped when the heat of his full attention was on you.

“What?”

“Yeah. Happened the other day. Woke up and my car was gone. My neighbor said they saw it towed about 2 am.”

Steve's mind whirled, thinking of the financial information in your file. 

“But I thought you—” 

He stopped short, not wanting to give himself away. He did want to pull over so that he could see your face, but he knew that you were anxious to get back to the club.

“I mean… you seem to have it all together. Are you okay?”

His sentiment had you in your feelings.

“Yeah. I’m used to hustling. I’ve been juggling finances ever since I graduated college. Spelman is a great school, but it’s hella expensive. 30K a year after my scholarship. I owe close to 100K on student loans, and then there’s rent on the studio.”

You looked over at him, barreling ahead despite knowing that you were word vomiting all over him.

“I’m trying to start a dance school. It’s my dream. But it costs money. So I took out a title loan on my car, even though it was paid off.”

“Wow.” 

Steve cleared his throat. Those predatory title loan places often didn’t legally record the loans, just charge outrageous interest and repossess at the first missed payment. That’s why it wasn’t in your file.

“What about your folks?”

“My parents died in a car accident my sophomore year at Spelman. No insurance. My family is aunts and uncles and cousins, and they help when I ask and if they can but…”

Your eyes glazed over as the car pulled to a stop light.

“I’m pretty much my own family.” 

Steve looked into your eyes and wanted to belong to you. He looked down and took your hand. You took a shuddering breath as your stomach flipped.

“Grant…”

He frowned as you called his name.

“I’m not telling you this to ask for money. I just need a ride. Just wanted to be honest with you.”

Steve felt like a jerk. He wanted to tell you the truth.

“Peach…”

“I’m serious. If I have another night like I did Tuesday, I got it. I need three stacks to get the car back..”

The wheels were turning in Steve’s mind. 

“Okay. You should easily earn what you need tonight.” 

He’d make sure of it.

You relaxed and smiled at him, noticing that he still had your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand and you shivered.

“Thank you for telling me, Peach.”

“Thank you for listening, Grant. And for not trying to rescue me. I really appreciate it. Not that you could. You probably don’t have over a hundred K just lying around…”

He threw you a look while driving, his expression unreadable.

“Anytime, Peach.” 

His voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat. 

“I do know of a private endowment in New York that might be able to help. It’s called the Rebirth Foundation. It’s an Arts organization. They have awards up to a million dollars a year. You could apply…”

“Hmmmm. How do you know about this endowment?”

“I’m from Brooklyn. It’s a thing up there.”

You smirked.

“I knew you had a funny accent, Been trying to place it.”

“I have a funny accent?”

“Asshole!”

You hit him on the shoulder. He chuckled. 

“Anyway, I know a couple of people who’ve benefited from the endowment. Worth a shot.”

You were skeptical, but he was just trying to help. 

“Okay, send me the information.”

“I’ll send it to you when we stop. Just put your number in my phone and I will text it to you.”

Grant handed his phone to you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an elaborate scheme to get my digits.”

Steve laughed. He already had your number, but now he’d have an excuse.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fuck you, Grant Stevens.”

He cleared his throat, thinking he’d allow you to fuck him. You riding him in the back of a town car as you drove around New York City was in his top three. 

“Cool. You know, you don’t have to pretend to be angry. You can just ask to use my body...”

You scoffed.

“You know what? I think I hate you.”

“I think it’s the opposite, but you have a wall up.”

He was right. You didn’t hate him, you just hated how he read you right then.

“Grant–”

“Okay, we’re here...”

You stared at him until he raised his eyebrow at you. Then you lowered your eyes and chewed your bottom lip. Next thing you knew, his hand was on your chin pulling your lip from between your teeth, rubbing his thumb over your mouth. Your eyes went wide as saucers as you gasped for breath. 

Steve dropped his hand rather than push his thumb into your mouth like he wanted to. He nodded at the studio. 

“Do you want me to get your bag?”

His voice was gravelly with desire and you struggled with the ability to speak. You wanted this man.

Badly.

You were doomed, was the companion thought.

“No… no. Tameka is holding it for me. I’ll be right back…”

“Okay.”

Steve was holding the wheel in death grip and staring out of the window. He watched you go into the studio and thought of all the reasons why what he was happening was a bad idea. Women were a means to an end for him, occasional companionship, physical satisfaction. 

No strings. Ever. 

The ones he dealt with knew that very well. 

Unfortunately, you had him tied up in all kinds of strings with knots at the moment.

—--

By the time you got back to the club, Steve sent you a fake website that Miles had constructed in 30 minutes. As soon as the application hit, more money than you needed would be headed your way.

He just needed you to actually apply.

The night went by painfully slowly. Grant insisted that he give you a ride home after work and you agreed, causing some weird anticipation anxiety thing that was, for you, only alleviated on the stage. You zoned out and earned the most tips you ever had, partly because he was your inspiration. 

Customers were making it rain. You felt Grant’s eyes on you all night and the more you danced for him, the more money came your way. The tension between you was only building, and you both knew that him driving you home would be the climax. In more ways than one.

After work, at three am Sunday morning, with over $2K in your bag, Steve drove you to your place. This time, both of you were silent, and both your eyes were on the road. It was like time and all coherent thought were suspended. 

When the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you turned to him.

“Want to come in?”

It was a simple question, and one that would make Steve’s life infinitely more complicated if he took you up on it.

Yet he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

—

As soon as he stepped behind you at your door, the raw animal in Steve was activated. He crowded you, standing much closer than necessary, breathing on your neck and making you shiver as you unlocked the door. But you didn’t mind. No. Not at all.

He was overwhelming this close, but in a good way. His scent, his warmth, his power. You wanted all of that. All over you.

When you got inside, you turned around in the entryway and he.

Was. Right. There.

You looked up at him under your eyelashes as he stared at you, nostrils flaring and jaw ticking with restraint.

Damn him, it should be illegal for him to look that fucking good. 

“I’m just itching to kiss you Peach. Can I? Want to so bad.”

His blue eyes roamed your face, then down your body in a possessive glare. 

God, it made your nipples tight and panties wet.

“Please…”

The way he begged for you broke any resolve that you may have had. You reached for him, grabbed the white tee shirt that was underneath his flannel and pulled him close to you. 

His jaw relaxed as his mouth slanted in a side smile as your arms reached up and wound around his neck, fingers tangling in the long, thick hair spilling over his collar and pulled him down as your lips connected. 

The kiss was tentative: slow sweeps of lips over lips, and shy reaches of tongue to tongue. Then, the urgency increased with nips and licks and sucks of thick lips on lips with tongue and teeth. Moans and gasps and whimpers spilled out between you.

Grant raised both hands to palm your head as he tenderly pulled himself away from your lips and rested his forehead on yours. 

“That was…”

His thumb swept the moisture from your lips and this time you captured it between them, sucking it while looking him in the eye. Steve’s cock throbbed even harder. 

“Fuck. I want you…”

Your eyes looked down to see the bulge in his jeans, up to the clench in his jaw and that goddamn pretty face of his, and you bit your lip, causing him to groan. 

You reached down and palmed his hard on as he pumped his thumb in and out of your mouth. He pulled his finger out, groaning as he watched your lips and you whimpered, causing him to silence you with another kiss. 

His hand drifted down your body, exploring until his long fingers reached inside your sweats to find your panties drenched and sticking to the wet folds of your pussy. 

“Fucking soaked, Peach. I-I need this. Need to feel this. N-need to eat this…”

Grant’s raspy baritone and the stutter made your head fall back against the wall as your pussy clenched. His brilliant blue eyes found yours when he felt it. He kissed the side of your mouth and you chased his lips, a fiend for him.

His tongue invaded your mouth again just as his thick fingers pulled your panties to the side and parted you, the calluses on his fingertips feeling just a little like heaven against your wet, sensitive skin.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear. 

“You’re so wet, and soft, Peach. See? I can slide through these fat pussy lips so easy.”

He was skating, rubbing between your folds along your slit, teasing your entrance and your clit. 

Your hands were yanking his shirt free of his jeans so your hands could feel his thick, hard abs, and your nails could scratch his skin. Grant shuddered under your touch.

Steve felt like it was his first time touching a girl, the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. As he felt your perfect little body, he realized that he was aiding in the ruin of himself for anyone else.

He collected your wetness and proceeded to pull his fingers out and push them into his mouth, making you watch as he suckled them, his eyes rolling back in his head. He concentrated to regain thought as he slipped his fingers back in and pinched your clit, then plunged up and down the split of you, finally breaching your entrance. 

Your legs were shaking and your thighs clamped around his hand. You held on to his shoulders as you rolled your hips into the thrusts of his fingers. He was full-out fucking you now, kissing you in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers. 

“So fucking tight, Peach. Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

Your body bowed into him at his filthy words and he watched your face with rapt attention. You’d given him the key to you. His words.

His fingers pushed deeper inside you and curled, making you moan and quiver. 

“That’s right, Peach. Take my fingers like a good little girl.” 

He whispered it calmly against your ear, not betraying how feral he was on the inside. 

You pressed your lips together as you clenched down at his words.

“You’re so sweet. So cute. So desperate.” 

His fingers reached that bundle of nerves, causing your brain to short circuit. 

“Needy.” 

Grant licked your neck as he dragged his long fingers in and out of your sodden, dripping cunt. You tried to stifle another moan as he curled his fingers inside you. 

“What I need is to hear you, Peach. Been dreaming of you screaming for me for the past three nights.”

“Please!”

You were practically sobbing now, a result of the skill with which Grant was playing your body. His neck was craned as he marked your neck, and he was searching your skin underneath your shirt with his free hand. 

“You're so beautiful Peach, and wet for me. So warm and snug.”

He leaned over again to suckle on your pulse point and then whisper into your ear.

“But you’re gonna struggle to take my long thick cock in this tight little cunt.”

“Fuckkkkkk!”

You erupted into a mind-blowing orgasm, shuddering between Grant and the wall, holding on to him for dear life as your knees gave out. He held you up, gingerly removing his fingers from around you and hugging you to him, his heart gone from his body and now in your possession. 

He never wanted to let you go.

But then you spoke again.

“No one has ever…”

You giggled and looked up into his impossible blue eyes. He smiled down at you. For a split second, you were the happiest you’d ever been.

“No one had ever done that to me as effectively as you, Grant Stevens.”

Steve’s smile fell. 

He felt the power of his betrayal in advance of you finding out who he really was. 

Not only had he lied to you, he wasn’t good enough to be around you, yet touch you. 

He looked down to see that you were steady on your feet now, and straightened your clothes for you. He felt terrible, knowing what you expected to happen next, if nothing more than intimacy with someone who was honest with you.

He kissed your forehead, then your lips again, chaste this time.

“I’m so sorry, Peach. We can’t do this.”

“What?”

He kissed your forehead again and left your apartment, leaving you standing there wondering what just happened.

—-

When you went to work that night, they said Grant quit. The number you had for him was disconnected. He’d vanished into thin air.

You were a thug, so you powered through the night but you spent all day Sunday in bed wondering what you did wrong. And what he was really about.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, you were grateful to go to Hilton Head and get away with your family. You heard about your cousin’s big adventures in the City with her Mr. Big and crew.

You teased her relentlessly for being a simp, and continued to swear that you were a thug. You were a complete comedian, putting on a show for your family until the moment the man you knew as Grant Stevens stepped into your Aunt and Uncle’s home.

Except his name wasn’t Grant Stevens.

It was Steve Rogers.

And you were a fool.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Can you talk more about your opinion on Mary and Arthur’s relationship? I genuinely don’t think that they could have ever worked, with Arthur being an outlaw or not, it seems more like they loved the idea of each other and even if they had ran away, that they would end up resenting one another (something that is sadly quite common in high school sweethearts who end up married)

Absolutely!!!

So before I get started, I just want to say that I don’t necessarily like Mary. Okay, I said it. It’s off my chest. Guys, don’t come for me yet. I’m not saying I don’t like Mary because she’s a woman or anything like that. It is entirely a personal opinion on why I just don’t enjoy her, and it’s absolutely debatable on the reasons I’ll be giving as to why I don’t enjoy her or their relationship.

A few things that sort of rubbed me the wrong way are the way that Mary talks about the gang and the people in it. They’re bad people, they’re murderers and outlaws, and she doesn’t have to have a high opinion of them. However, she knows that these are people who are dear to Arthur that he loves and cares for, and speaking of them to him in such a demeaning manner has to sting. In her letter to him the first time, she says something along the lines of not knowing the polite term for the women that ran with them, as if those women are beneath her or not deserving of the title of just being women because of where they are in life or what she assumes they do (this assumption of them being SWs is fair, but being uppity about it is not). She makes a few other off-comments that rub me the wrong way about the people themselves, which leads into my first point of why I don’t like their relationship.

Mary doesn’t see herself and Arthur on the same level. Again, that’s fine; she doesn’t have to, but that to me brings their relationship down a peg. If you don’t see your partner as an equal, then it won’t ever work; you won’t ever have a healthy relationship, and we can see that by how quickly they argue with one another. I mean, Arthur yells at her in the middle of the street, and she just takes it because she has said some stuff too—they aren’t this perfect lovey-couple, and I don’t think they ever were. You don’t feel that comfortable being that nasty with one another if it isn’t a staple in your relationship. They both felt fine doing that and acting like it never happened after.

This one is overdone, and it can go either way, but their relationship on her end, in the game, is completely transactional. I know, I know, but before you come after me with the “it’s a video game! That’s the point,” hear me out first. Other members of the gang, even in stranger missions, will have missions or scenes where you’re not doing anything for them: Charlotte making Arthur dinner as a thank you, Albert inviting Arthur to the gallery and hanging a picture of him, same with Charles (painter), The Nun sits and talks to Arthur, comforts him as he confides in her, even Rains Fall takes Arthur to get some herbs for his cough. In camp, you can interact with people like normal; there are even times where you can sit down and talk with the women in camp about everything, have heart-to-hearts. The only time they see one another was when she needed something, and the only way they go out on a date is if Arthur agrees to it. This is after the mission where you help her get her brooch back. I feel like this is intentional. There are no fun letters sent back and forth, no additional interactions of them just being (other than the date, which again, only was out of convenience). The only time they see one another is for transaction. Which I feel was intentional.

Them running away together could’ve never worked. Mary even says so herself. She has this wonderful idea of Arthur in her head when they’re together, but as soon as they’re apart, all of the flaws and demons he has come rushing back in. I can’t imagine how maddening it would be for her to be with someone who she knows deep down is someone she loves the idea of, the prospect of what they CAN be, not what they are. For him, it would be maddening to know that the person you’re with looks down on you, that they don’t see you as an equal, that you’re beneath them. Pushing this notion in their head, you can be better than what you are while never truly accepting you as you are, flaws and all. Not to mention that irresistible pull for him to go back to that life eventually. Those demons he does face would always be right around the corner, and giving into them even in the slightest would strain the relationship more.

There was a reason their engagement didn’t work, and Mary has every right in the world to not want to be with Arthur or be involved in the life he leads, no woman who has had the experiences and life she has would. We can see how that works out with Molly. Their relationship is built on idealistic versions of the other and transactions. They miss the nostalgia, that first love. Not to say they don’t have love for one another because it’s very clear they do, but not the love that’s going to weather any storm. Mary and Arthur have such a complex relationship, and I love to talk about it, but I don’t like them together as much as I may get flamed for that. They would, as you said, absolutely end up resenting one another because of these issues. They would never have truly worked out as much as I wished for the both of them.

Loved this ask!

[coleeeitgysn1infi]

Another day rant-

(not an analysis, just my boring take and bad grammar cos I suck at english.)

People don't seem to care much on the difference about SaneGiyu and GiyuSane and saying they don't care about the role they just want to see these two goofballs together. Which, ofc it's cute, common. But why I see such a big difference between Sngy and Gysn is because sngy is so off character to me. This is mostly on the shippers, most of them mischaracterize both of them, and when confronted about it, they just either cuss you out or don't care at all and with continue to mischaracterize them (happened to me). Which is wrong, isn't it? SaneGiyu just feels like a whole different ship where people just took the name and the design of the characters and paste it a whole completly different personality and call it canon. This happens a lot, most of the SaneGiyu stuff you see is Giyuu being a twink and Sanemi with big bad boy who has no good intentions. It's really really rare to see people keeping them canon and thank God, I came across two or three artist who ACUTELY keep both the characters in their character, with or without smut.

To be fair, I will always pick GiyuSane over SaneGiyu. SaneGiyu became so bad to me that my day gets ruined when I see it, I fr cried when I saw Giyuu on the trailer of season four, cos I damn knew the fandom was gonna do some stupid shit with that horrible redesign. 😭 (yes,I'm a season 1 Giyuu truther, come at me, I dare you).

SaneGiyu mostly is focused on Giyuu's POV and people mostly exaggerate his personality and past trauma a lot which makes people think, this version they have a Giyuu is actually his character, which is not. While GiyuSane is mostly focused on Sanemi's POV, because, unlike Giyuu who's a simple person and doesn't have a problem with being vulnerable, actually has a lot of things people can prospect on which in the fandom, is tossed aside because they already got this image of Sanemi in their head from season 1 and some do not even want to believe other wise and will continue to push that Sanemi is this horrible person.

There's a lot of messed up SaneGiyu stuff out there, mostly the people shipping it are Giyuu fans, and want him to be this submissive, feminine, twink who needs protection all the time, and who else to be that person but the aggressive over protective scar boy Sanemi who can't catch a break, calm down, not be on alarm 24/7 who actually needs to feel that protection, but will never admit it or even realize that he needs to be vulnerable.

[moodycowplant]

Between Distance and Desire - Walls Come Crashing Down.

They wandered the streets of Britechester long into the evening, until darkness settled in and the street lights flickered on, casting a warm, golden glow over the stone paths.

The city felt more alive at night, cozy and inviting, as if welcoming them back.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, drifting from music and favorite artists to art and literature.

Lana gushed about her love for sitcoms—an obsession that Conrad didn’t exactly share but tolerated with amusement. He wanted to know her, all of her, quirks included.

By the time they returned to the dorm, the building was nearly empty.

Most students were still away on break, and the few who remained were either buried in work or already asleep.

The dim lights created long shadows, the glass ceiling above adding to the atmosphere, making it feel almost like they had stepped into an ancient castle.

Conrad walked her to her room, exchanging lingering glances and light brushes of fingertips.

“I had an amazing time tonight,” Conrad admitted, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. His lips curled into a teasing smile. “Even if I still don’t understand your sitcom obsession.”

Lana gasped in mock offense. “Obsession? It’s called appreciation.”

He chuckled. “I just don’t get how you can rewatch the same thing a million times.”

“Because it’s comforting! And funny!” she argued, playfully crossing her arms.

Conrad shook his head, smirking. “I guess I’ll have to see for myself then. You know, for research purposes.”

Lana’s eyes lit up. “You really should! And I’ll rewatch with you—it’ll be a completely different experience if we do it together.”

CW: May contain scenes suitable for individuals 18+, light NSFW.

<Previous- Next>

Slight pause. Something shifted in the air between them. The lightness of their conversation gave way to an unspoken charge, a tension that made her breath hitch.

Lana didn’t think—she just acted. Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss started slow, thorough, exploring. He let out a breathy sigh against her lips, then deepened it, losing his control, as he pulled her closer.

She clung to him as if she could melt into his warmth, his touch setting every nerve in her body on fire.

She barely noticed when her fingers found the doorknob, twisting it open. They moved together, never breaking apart, stepping inside as the door clicked shut behind them.

But then, just as things began to spiral, Conrad suddenly pulled away. His breath was ragged, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to regain control.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I—Lana, I’m sorry. I lost control. That’s not fair to you.”

He took a step back, putting distance between them, as if he was afraid of himself. “I was the one who said we should take things slow, and here I am, acting like—”

“Like you missed me?” she said watching the way his shoulders tensed, how he refused to meet her gaze.

She stepped forward, gently touching his arm. “Hey,” she murmured, tilting her head to try and catch his eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Lana, I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.” She reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Do you know what I want?” she whispered.

His eyes darkened as he studied her face, his finger gently tilting her chin upward.

“Tell me,” he murmured, in low almost pleading voice.

“I want YOU.” She said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I need YOU, Conrad.”

A quiet groan escaped his lips as he pulled her into another kiss, this time with no restraint.

He lifted her effortlessly, his grip firm yet careful, as if she was something precious.

“What are you doing to me, Alanya Snow?” he murmured against her lips.

She smiled. “Showing you how much I need you. How much I missed you.”

Conrad exhaled deeply, pressing his forehead to her. “You make me feel… like I’m losing myself in you,” he admitted. “And it scares me. I’ve never let anyone emotionally close like this before.”

“Maybe you’re not losing yourself,” she said gently. “Maybe you’re finally finding the part of you that’s been locked away behind the stone cold wall.”

His eyes flickered with something raw, something vulnerable. Slowly, he pulled her against him, holding her in a way that felt more like an embrace than just desire.

“I can’t put those walls back up,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not with you. I don’t want to.”

Lana turned in his embrace, cupping his face between her hands. “And you don’t have to,” she murmured, brushing her lips softly against his.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if letting the words sink in, before meeting her gaze once more.

“I think I’m falling for you, Lana.” His voice carried the weight of an unspoken fear.

A warmth spread through her chest from his words.

“I feel the same way,” she confessed. “And I’m not scared.”

His lips curled into the smallest of smiles. “Of course you’re not.”

She kissed him again—slowly, reassuringly. The passion between them ignited once more, and this time, neither of them pulled away.

Their hands moved instinctively, exploring, memorizing, savoring.

Piece by piece, their clothes fell away, each touch was deliberate, each moment stretching, as they surrendered to the intimacy between them.

Conrad was careful, attentive, making sure she was comfortable, making sure she enjoyed this as much as he did.

And she did.

The moment was everything—vulnerable, raw, passionate.

A culmination of unspoken longing, of patience rewarded. Something that, in the end, was worth waiting for.

<Previous- Next>

[snifflesthemouse]

Meghan was Harry's Revenge. Once He is Over it...

Hello ALL YOU LOVELY READERS!!! How this mouse has missed the cheese! How is everyone out there? It feels like years since I've decidded to sit down and make time to repeat myself for others to use for content on their own videos (I'm not hating, I love it.). But this is a bit different.

You see, there was a Vanity Fair article that recently came out revealing things we all knew already if you were already paying attention. We all knew that Meghan was horrible to her staff. We all knew Harry ignored and allowed her abuses to be hurled upon anyone around her. We all knew that she would be shopping a divorce book deal one day, too. So what is the point in keeping on keeping on, if it's just the same stuff on repeat?

WAIT... WHY IS IT JUST THE SAME OLD SAME OLD STUFF, AND NOTHING NEW??

Why no new patterns of behavior as of lately?

Meghan is infamous for playing the Flying Pasta Game (go read what that is below, on my blog). She has the same exact pattern for every single project she has been rumored to start since she got with Haz. She finds an idea to copy, she tries to 'elevate it' and spin it as original and fresh, and then she doesn't fully commit until she sees if it becomes an instant sensation. That is the problem with the narcissist; they won't finish anything unless they know it will be more than viable. Anything less than a smash isn't worth the signatures for the USPTO for ARO to legally proceed. She did this with EVERYTHING. But, I am not here to talk about Meghan's hair-brained schemes and failures. I am here to talk about the truth.

The truth is, Harry and Meghan were never star-crossed lovers with their backs against the world. They were two mentally disturbed people, both with abandonment issues. Both with insecurites stacked to the ceilings. But one was a prince, and the other had to use people to get her platform.

Let's be real. Harry was never in love with Meghan. Love wouldn't leave you hanging that way. And Meghan caught on early that Harry was using her for revenge. They were both using each other.

The problem with two mutual people who don't love each other coming together to scheme and scam is, that it almost ALWAYS blows up. For regular people, they end up caught and either go to jail or some just desserts come EVENTUALLY.

Harry hates his family. He doesn't love his wife, either. He doesn't love his brother, and he didn't love his grandparents. Love doesn't hurt. But hurt people do hurt. And Harry has been plotting his revenge for his mother for a while now. He knew he'd never be able to be KIng or topple the monarchy. But he knew he could marginally disrupt, embarass, and bring doubts to the people. That could, potentially, cause lots of harm.

But you know what happens when someone is built off of hate and bitter? It takes a lot of energy and steam to keep the hate going. Just like this mouse told you before... the same song and dance numbers would be replayed on repeat because they've been cut off. They have no new source materials.

The whole world finds them boring and atrocious. If Meghan was smart, she would go away and be silent for a while. A few years of her nose to the grind and working from behind the scenes would do us all some good.

Because they aren't working on their podcasts or Netflix deals. They were professionally separated until the next devastation station came about for them to trauma tour. We've seen it for years, and I have no idea why the mainstream media hasn't made a montage of these events.

Eventually, Harry will be tired of being mad. BUT, He will be even more tired of being broke and being tied to her. He will hate her like he hates his own because that is how hate works. It is a cancer. When people are miserable on the inside, nothing can fix that but them. Harry will get bored and need someone else to be mad at that will make new drama and money.

This mouse told you all years ago this was coming. They would run out of steam and turn on each other. Harry did his damage, and he tested the waters to see how truly loved he was... and he got a bad grade. He learned a lot of people wouldn't tolerate everything like he was Diana.

Meghan got tired of waiting on Trevor to help her career. She will do the same with Harry, too. But see... there is this pesky problem they both have. Meghan is spiteful enough she would expose the whole thing re the surrogacy issues. That's a whole other post in and of itself, though.

I miss you all and love you dearly!!!

[chiisana-sukima]

Saw that you also wanted to be asked this and I’d love to here your thoughts too. Exact same ask: What’s your thoughts on the idea of Soulless Sam losing his inhibitions and so giving into his darkest desires, and sexually assaulting Dean (which is how the vampire turning scene is read). I often see this tied to the idea that because of the incestuous deal and Azazel’s blood, Sam’s tainted and has this inherent darkness, specifically playing around the idea Sam’s sexuality is dark and perverse, and he harbours these feelings towards Dean and desires to assault him but feels shame and guilt for it. But as Soulless Sam he doesn’t. This reading always felt a little weird and uncomfortable to me but I couldn’t put into words why

In terms of the canonicity component, I have nothing to add to what @aliusfrater said. In isolation, I do think it's fair to read that look in Live Free or Twihard as at least metaphorically sexual, but it's one camera shot with no dialogue doing an awful lot of work in 327 hours of television.

This reading always felt a little weird and uncomfortable to me but I couldn’t put into words why

This is the part I wanted to write about. It feels weird and uncomfortable because it's an especially volatile subcategory of rape fantasy presented using the structure and language of an academic argument.

I feel like I should disclaimer that rape fantasies are fine and normal (and among my personal faves) and that stories are meant to serve people, not vice versa, so I'm not complaining about either the content of these headcanons or their lack of support in the canon version of spn per se. What's frustrating is the way the meta format mixes together assertions of fact about the source material, assertions of fact about rl, and shit an OP made up out of thin air because they thought it was hot, and turns it all into an indiscriminate fact-y sounding stew.

No, actually. No he isn't and no it wouldn't.

Another part of the uncomfortable feeling, at least for me, is the way fandom does intimacy backwards. First we put our blorbos in Situations, then we talk about our favorite Situations and why we love them, then we talk about politics, and then if we really, really like each other, we might discuss the weather. And it's all done in public, often without direct communication.

Usually I love that for us, but sometimes it causes problems we don't have great protocols for solving. I feel super-uncomfortable scrolling past 'It makes a tragic kind of sense that a csa survivor would grow up to be a rapist' without adding 'speak for your own damn self', and I think that's entirely fair of me.

Butttt, I can also guess that an OP who looked at Sam having smoking hot consensual sex and thought 'looks like rape to me' probably has a reason. Maybe the reason is poor sex ed. Probably not.

(Another part of the problem: that 'probably not' was a lie for politeness' sake. I went to the OP's dash and I know they have a reason other than poor sex ed. But I'm not supposed to say that, or especially have guessed it beforehand, despite the fact that such experiences are incredibly common and isolating, and despite the fact that knowing that information makes the OP's error more sympathetic. Because we're supposed to be ashamed that we were victimized, and never speak of it again. So if I could be assed to follow social norms, we would now have two survivors of sexual violence arguing about sexual violence--though only indirectly with each other--and both pretending their only investment was detached academic concern for the sanctity of the canon of a stupid 2000s era ghost-hunting melodrama. Which we both probably like in large part for the exact reason we're not supposed to admit to. Nobody wins that fight but patriarchy).

And you know, ig the thing that's most murky, and therefore most uncomfortable of all for me personally, is how I feel about the fact that this is so obviously a Dean girl (gn) take about Sam. Idek why that's so clear or why I care. I actually really enjoy "soulless Sam, freed of his guilt and inhibitions, does evil sexual things to Dean" fics. One of my all-time favorite fics (Flying Weight by flesh) is in this genre and is even about the vampire bite in Twihard. And I can't always tell, nor do I ever even care, whether they're written by Sam fans or Dean fans. But the chances of a Sam girlie conceptualizing it all this specific way, with the Evil Desires from the csa/demon blood and the predatory (consensual) sex and all, and then writing it all down as a meta, idk man, it would just never happen. And I'm kinda icked out that a meta that posits Sam as a csa survivor also so clearly uses him as a cardboard prop.

And on the one hand, yeah, they're all barbie dolls and everything, so who cares. But on the other, I hope if I wanted to write a meta, for example, about Dean correctively raping Sam in the panic room as part of the demon blood cure, I would build a more careful frame around it. One where it was clear what aspects I thought were consistent with canon, what aspects I thought were plausible in a semi-analogous rl situation, and what ones I just thought were hot.

I was really mad at the OP of the post I took that screenshot up there from when I read the meta and I'm glad I managed to slow down enough to be way less of a douche about it than I initially wanted to be. Maybe this is still too much of a douche, idk. Anyway, ty nonny for giving me the opportunity to process it all.

[zahri-melitor]

inspired by your recent ask about the birds of prey - i like how you said it's basically bbs and her harem - er, i mean, teammates and contacts - instead of a team where the "center" is less rigidly defined like 90s young justice or early teen titans (i know dick was the leader but it always seemed like they were all pretty equally close even with early stuff like the roy+garth rivalry). but also i'd like to know more of your thoughts on bop as a whole! personally i loved babs in amanda waller's suicide squad and her on the jla but i can't stand her in bop because all her batty traits come out, my fav is helena so i always feel so sad on her behalf and i thought babs's "apology" was so flimsy and inadequate (maybe i'm biased though because i loved rucka's godfather-esque take on helena so i was disappointed by the sex and the city-esque writing for her prevalent throughout bop)... but babs doesn't treat outsiders like powergirl well either... and that's not even getting how various asian female characters like lady shiva were characterized but to be fair i think that was a DC-wide problem in the early 00s and not just a gail simone thing, though it doesn't make me dislike simone's writing choices any less.... but sorry, sorry, enough of my whining!! please share your thoughts on bop, i'm listenin and learnin over here!!!!!

…I think if you find Barbara as having too many ‘batty traits’ in Simone’s BOP you’re just generally going to have a hard time with Birds of Prey runs. The basic concept of Birds of Prey is Barbara being paranoid, over-controlling and running private ops for her own purposes. It’s essentially an outgrowth of the position she held in Suicide Squad 1987, only Babs is doing it independently without oversight now, rather than working as control for Waller.

Dinah does not see Barbara’s face or find out her name until BOP #21, 29 issues + 2 crossover issues into Birds of Prey as a concept. BLACK CANARY.

I actually personally am very fond of the work Simone did on Helena and Barbara’s relationship together, because she had to sit there and carefully untangle a decade’s worth of drama between them, where they were both extremely justified in being mad at the other. Sticking points that had to be worked through on both sides included: both of their relationships with Dick; Helena’s use of the Bat costume during No Man’s Land and the argument over whether or not that counted as being ‘Batgirl’; the costume going to Cass and Barbara being supportive of Cass as Batgirl; Helena breaking into the Clock Tower in No Man’s Land; Helena’s willingness to use violence and kill. There was lore there and years of encroaching on the other’s territory. So yes, it was rocky to start and they had to learn to trust each other, because they both went in with justifiable hurts, and had done things the other considered completely unacceptable.

Barbara is very much able to work with people she doesn’t like, but she is also a notorious grudge-holder, which means if she’s pissed at a character, she will go out of her way to snub them and avoid them all together. (Your most obvious examples of this are the Babs v Power Girl problems – the origin of which is actually a Dixon story and an example of Babs’ control tendencies meaning her emotional intelligence did not kick in; and Babs’ grudge against Kory). The fact she was willing to get over her problems with Helena was in many ways a reflection of the fact that despite all the conflicts, they both had fundamental base respect for each other, and understood they had to work with or around each other in Gotham.

BOP 1999 is Barbara and Dinah together against the world’s problems, and from Simone and Bedard’s runs it picks up a bunch of extra characters to widen the team and use various people for various specific needs, and to also explore female friendship. You know how Roy promises Dick at the start of Outsiders 2003 that it can just be a team, it doesn’t have to be a family? Babs tries to pull that on HERSELF in Bedard’s run while she’s grappling with the fact that Dinah’s not on the team (and fails. Miserably). What I think one of the upsides of Simone’s run (that I think may be part of what you’re categorising as the ‘Sex and the City’ vibes) is that Simone, being a woman, is actually aware that most women have more than a single female friend, and actually portrays those networks of friendships and different vibes together.

BOP 2010 is Barbara getting the team back together in the wake of Dinah and Ollie’s divorce to give Dinah something to distract herself with and lure her back.

BOP 2011 is technically Dinah’s strike force team, not Babs’, and is missing some of the vibe because they’ve lost a control figure by Barbara being present as Batgirl, not being Oracle. It’s not awful but it is pretty formulaic with occasional bright spots.

Batgirl and the Birds of Prey 2016 is an attempt to get the team back to basics in the Simone team model, by re-establishing the baselines of the Barbara-Dinah-Helena friendships. It is successful at that, but it could have dealt with the fact that Babs was Batgirl not Oracle in a less aggravating manner.

There’s an assortment of short Harley Quinn-based stories next that I’m skipping over as they’re mostly slight and dreadful.

The villains and antiheroes BOP that exists for a hot second in Urban Legends for a story really should have been a Ravens team.

BOP 2023 is still having a few issues with figuring out the balance of tension between this being Barbara’s Team and the fact that Dinah stood the team up specifically trying to work around Barbara for Plot Reasons, but a lot of the knots have been worked out by now. It’s very much moving towards having the core of Barbara-Dinah-Cass-Barda-Sin as solid.

[team--charlotte]

everyone stop what you're doing, go to tubi and watch dinner at fred's. i don't care if it's not christmas, this is about a guy trying to leave kevin mcdonald's house after staying the night but because of a cursed turkey they can't leave. it's gil bellows as the main character, christopher lloyd as the father trying to kill the turkey, parker posey as the quirky daughter the main character will fall in love with since it can't be the titular fred, who is played by kevin mcdonald in probably my new favorite role of his. just having all the best lines, delivery, and vibe of the whole movie while being the most attractive man i've ever seen. the curse is broken by a magic trick. once upon a time ripped this off

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Suddenly somewhat sad Roy and Jamie didn’t get more violent with each other in 1x05, not because I’m Barbara and like them a bit bruised*, but because having them both getting red-carded would have been extremely funny.

And by extremely funny I mean them being sent to the dressing room all by themselves and worked up, and the tension and frustration and anger and shame and—

Because the thing is, they’d still be really fucking furious but without the presence of an audience spurring them onto Extra Performative Masculinity, and with the dawning embarassment of being sent off for fighting your own team mate and leaving your team two men down…

Mmm. Super tense. Uncomfortable. Weird. Could go a number of ways, and they’re all really fucking delightful.

[yuwuta]

If megumi asked uzhsjdhshd omg I totally see it tbh him wanting you, but I don't think megumi would ever ask yuuji to share you, in any type of way at all. (not trying to push my own hc here!!) I feel like yuuji himself would be the one asking megumi. Yuuji knows that he's yours just as much as he knows you're his. And he loves you too much, a lot, it's purest type of love he has ever felt for anyone. And megumi is his best friend, he loves him just as much, right? Yes, not the same love between you and him ofc but yes. And I have no idea what they were doing but yuuji's just says, kind of out of the blue, that he'd let megumi fuck you. The reason being exactly cause he knows you're his, and you're just so so good that he needs to have someone to talk to (about you and always so respectfully) and who better that his best friend?

you’re opening the pandora’s box that is itfs + reader…. god….. 

okok i agree. if you’re dating yuuji, megumi would never ask, yuuji would be the one to bring all three of you together. definitely because he loves you and you’re his, and he loves megumi too, so it just makes sense that his two favorite people also get to have each other—but also, yuuji can tell megumi likes you, and he can tell you think megumi is attractive and since yuuji’s so nice, what kinder thing to do than to set you two up so he can watch (: he definitely enjoys being the mediator, also enjoys the somewhat awkward air between you and megumi, how yeah, maybe it’s a little taboo that the two of you are about to make out while you’re boyfriend watches, but yuuji likes that too… also he likes knowing that you both like him. like how lucky is he that his best friend and his girlfriend adore him so much :(( you two together makes so much sense in his head, because he talks to megumi about you, and he talks to you about megumi, and now, he can just pour all his love for both of you out at the same time

but also…. i’d like to think that yuuji’s maybe not so nice when it’s the other way around—when he and megumi get together first, and you’re megumi’s best friend. he’s not mean, but he does like to tease... how naughty of megumi to ask out yuuji knowing he’s still got a crush on you, and god does yuuji like to tease him about it :/ jerks him off and taunts about how he knows megumi’s dirty little secret—that he’s in love with his best friend and fantasizes not just about having you, but about watching his own boyfriend fuck you too… 

yuuji knows megumi would take his feelings for you to the grave if he could (he’d have done the same with his feelings for yuuji if yuuji wasn’t the one to ask him out), but where’s the fun in that! you and megumi are sooo cute together after all, so yuuji doesn’t mind trying to get you two to confess to each other too. uses his proximity to megumi to get closer to you, takes advantage of his bubbly disposition to be physically affectionate with you, uses megumi’s feelings to his advantage to tease, to wink, to smirk whenever you and yuuji hug a little longer, when he texts megumi that he’s meeting up with you for lunch, when he gives you his jacket and doesn’t ask for it back… there’s so much fun in watching megumi blush and whine and get off at the thought of his best friend and his boyfriend together. and the thing is, yuuji genuinely does like you, too, he sees what megumi sees in you, and he thinks megumi is crazy to have not asked you out before, but he supposes everything happens for a reason, because now, this way, yuuji gets to be there and watch it all happen under his guidance. there’s something about the power, about being the bridge between you two even though you and megumi have known each other for much longer, about being in control of a dynamic that could have, but wouldn’t exist without him…

[entriprises]

i think we should stop letting not knowing about a fandom or franchise get in the way of writing together or simply interacting and sending questions. canons are no different from ocs, they're simply ocs with merch. you don't have to know a fandom or world to ask a question, to start a conversation!! if you don't know where to start or you don't know something or know how two muses would interact - truly i encourage everyone to ask! we are all here to learn and to talk about the stuff we love!!!

[chantillyxlacey]

Tomorrow it will be 10 years exactly since dad died

What do you even do with that

[swordmaid]

my hag romance murder mystery au turning to magistrate astarion working with executor shri’iia we kind of like that development