#out of all the people I never thought it would be sophia that drops the bomb

[holdfastperseus]

So, Loki is in love, as confirmed by Isaac Bauman. But it’s not with Sylvie, as can be inferred from Sophia’s interview. I wonder who he’s in love with. Gotta be whoever he’s looking at like this, right?

[theplanetsandstars]

Touch. F.W

A/n: this is very short and rushed but I needed it out of my drafts. English isn’t my first language and I apologize for any grammar errors. This is shit angst but that’s what I love <3

Summary: You and Fred have been dating for a couple of months. Now that it’s public he’s acting less affectionate towards you, why?

Fred Weasley was unlike anyone you had been with before. Those who had you before only wanted your body, not your heart. The showed you off like a prized possession instead of treasuring you. But Fred was caring and told you to express you’re feelings and never hold anything from him. That he was there for you for all you’re pretty and all you’re ugly he would stick around, that’s what he would say. That was even before your relationship with him went public he was so sweet.So why wasn’t he the same around his friends?

Sure around yours he was touchy-super touchy. Always had his hand on you no matter what, whether in was on you’re thigh, the small of you’re back or even just snakes around you’re body that was his love language, physical touch. It scared you at first the touch, because it usually came with intentions. But with Fred it was different, it was affectionate.

So of course it meant something to you when he almost refused to touch you when his friends were around.

One day you were going off to hogesmade with you’re friends and without Fred, just a girls day. But you knew that he would be out with his brother and friends as well. When you entered the three broomsticks with youre friends you immediately recognized the red head sitting with his friends in the far back corner he simply smiled at you. No big hug or even just a wave just a smile which you didn’t return back

Luckily you’re friends helped you forget all about it but, that’s wasn’t enough of a distraction to prevent you from seeing him wave at some blonde Gryffindor who walked in. That’s the first time an instance like this has happened and even though it bothered you to you’re core, there was no point in arguing with him, you didn’t want to be a bother.

About a week later you were heading to one of his quidditch matches cheering as loudly as you could for you’re boyfriend. Once it was over Gryffindor had won, as expected you were so excited and proud of you’re boyfriend who had worked so hard for this. You rushed to the outside of the changing rooms to wait for him where many other people were waiting as well. “Hey! Who are you here for?” You heard a girl ask you turned and saw the blonde who Fred waved to from the three broomsticks you smiled at her “Hey! I actually here for Fred” you said and hee smile dropped a little “oh I didn’t know Freddie had a girlfriend” she said and that made you’re heart drop

Not only at the nickname but also at the fact that they’ve probably talked and hung out but he’s never mentioned you or the fact that he has a girlfriend? You needed to leave you could not see him when you were like this, reafy to argue and yell at him but he’s cluleless and just won a match you thought. It’s better to simply distance yourself for right now. With that in mind you turned around and pushed through the crowd of people and ran back to you’re dorm.

Unbeknownst to you Fred did look for you. Looked everywhere high and low wasn’t listening to what anyone was saying because he was trying to find his girl. Once he couldn’t find you he saw Aubrey, the blonde Gryffindor girl and decided to talk with her all the way back to the Gryffindor common room where again, you were no where to be found. Fred was starting to get irritated just wanting to find you and be in Youre arms. He turned to Audrey who kept talking about quidditch match “hey have you seen y/?” He asked interrupting her mid sentence “uh yeah she was waiting for you outside the locker rooms but then she just left” a frown appeared on Fred’s face you wouldn’t just leave like that you had reason “uh any chance she said where she was going?” He asked and Sophia simply shook her head no

Fred decided to look for you in you’re dorm knocking anxiously “Hey love it’s me open up please” you had been crying in Youre dorm but you couldn’t let me know that “one sec!” You called out as you quickly composed yourself and cleaned up you’re dorm a bit “hi Fred” you said once you opened the door. He just looked down at you and admired you, although it had only been a couple of hours he missed you so much. He bent down to kiss you but you turned you’re head the other way “um Fred I’m really not in the mood, I’m really tired” you said while looking down.

He flashed a sad smile at you “no intention dove I wanted to kiss you just to kiss you” he placed two fingers under you’re chin and brought you to look at him, but tears were slowly forming in you’re eyes. Once Fred noticed this he immediately started wiping You’re tears. “Hey hey love, it’s just me you’re okay it’s okay” you turned around ashamed that you allowed yourself to cry in front of him “M’fine im sorry im just-I don’t Even have a reason to be crying” you tried to laugh it off while Fred simply soothed you and brought you to sit down on the edge of you’re bed.

“Love I know you said it’s nothing and it’s fine if it’s nothing but it doesn’t seem like that, no one cries for no reason, so talk to me please, I’m always here for you” you tried you’re best to smile at him “m’fine i promise i don’t know hormones or something but I’m fine” you lied, he looked disappointed he knew you were hiding something and he just wanted you to tell him “so why weren’t you outside the locker room then like you said you’d be?” Fuck, lie quick “I wasn’t feeling very good I actually left a little before the game ended” you lied again but Fred didn’t want to pressure you any further.

“Okay c’mon let’s go to sleep” he said with a smile on his face. You two had gotten accustomed to leaving you’re belongings in each others dorm. You just smiled and nodded while he made his lips meet you’re temple before getting ready to sleep.

———-

The next day you woke up and reached for Fred, wanting to feel comforted. Only thing was that he was gone, he left before you had gotten up. Even though you guys didn’t have a sex you wondered why you felt used, off. But you got up and got ready for you’re day.

“Hey y/n!” Luna smile at you “hey Luna how are you?” You asked her and her smile dropped “i should be asking you that don’t you think?” You loved Luna but sometime you truly had no idea what she was talking about “what?” You politely asked. “Oh well I simply thought that you’re boyfriend leaving early in the morning from you’re dorm to hang out with Sophia wasn’t a very nice thing to do” Sophia, the blonde Gryffindor, what the fuck was he doing with her? “Oh I didn’t even realize” you told Luna and she simply frowned and walked away

You went through you’re day wondering what you had done to fuck things up with Fred. We’re you too much? Too hard to love? Or not enough and that’s why he spent so much time with Sophia. You’re thoughts were interrupted by Harry, “Hey y/n you alright? You seem a bit well, off” you put on a smile “yeah yeah im fine what’s up with you?” You asked “okay well you better be alright Fred said you were going to the party with him tonight” he said happily. Harry had always been a good friend so of course he didn’t realize what he’d said would affect you. “Oh. Oh yeah! Um of course I’ll be there” you said catching yourself. You and Harry continued walking through the halls when you saw Fred with his group of friends.

You’re face dropped and you stopped waking. “Um I’ll meet up with you later Harry alright?” You told him before turning away, but it was too late Fred had already spotted you and excused himself to go after you.

“Love wait up!” He called out but you continued walking.But of course Fred’s height and legs helped him watch up to you rather quickly he stood in front of you looking down to meet you’re eyes but you couldn’t look at him. Trying to escape you tried to go around him but he quickly caught you.

“Hey is this a joke? Cause it isn’t fucking funny what’s wrong?” He asked concerned “It’s nothing Fred I’m just trying to get to class go back to you’re friends yeah?” You told him “no no you’re not trying to get to class you’re trying to get away from me so can I at least know what I did?” He asked now pleading praying that you would tell him, but you didn’t if you were already too much why keep bothering him?

“It’s nothing to do with you okay? I’ve just been super stressed lately is all” you told him calmly finally getting the courage to look up at him. He frowned a little “okay dove is there anyway I can help, you know I could do you’re muffle studies homework for you” he offered “no I just need to resolve this on my own thanks though” you said with a slight smile. “ I hate to see my pretty girl like this okay? So truly if there’s anything you need love I’m here okay?” He reassured you, you simply nodded and said you’re goodbyes.

Walking through the halls all you could think of was how he called you “my girl”. If you truly were his why did he barely let anyone know? Why didn’t he show you off around his friends but was completely fine with touching you behind closed doors. Why didn’t he mention going to the party, one that he’d told Harry that you’d both attend?

How had you now ended up at that same party looking for you’re boyfriend. You decided to go to the party and finally explain to Fred you’re feelings and actions. You prepared yourself for the worst.

Even after preparing yourself-you got scared. As soon as you got to the part you started taking drinks swearing it was for “courage”.In reality at this point in the night you were trying not to see him

The common room was loud, lights and people everywhere. Fred? Nowhere to be found. He really never was going to tell you about the party. So imagine his surprise to see you

“Love?” He asked from behind you, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. Or was it yours? You were unaware at this point.

“Im so happy your here! Come say hi to everyone” he exclaimed. His face fell once he saw tears run down your cheeks.

“You don’t want me Fred. You don’t want me around your friends, so.. I don’t want you around me at all.” You whispered

Fred looked confused. Had he heard you? You didn’t stick around long enough to find out before bolting out of the common room.

———————————————————————

You woke up in Fred’s bed, how? Once you opened your eyes and realized where you were you freaked out, but the pounding in your head was enough to make you stay in his bed. He was in the shower, you had enough time to run out but you decided now or never.

He walked out of his bathroom with only a towel around his waist. “G’morning love, you doing alright?” You just smiled at him as he got dressed and then sat beside you.

“So, do you wanna talk about last night?” You made eye contact with him and nodded slowly. “Fred yesterday was not the way I wanted things to go but I do believe I meant what I said.” He looked confused “so you don’t want me around you?” Just the thought brought tears to your eyes.

“Fred I may just be dramatic but I tried to ignore it I really did, I tried to ignore the way you wouldn’t hold me around your friends, the way you never invited me around them, God I tried to ignore Sophia and how you act with her but I just can’t!” You sobbed

“Sophia? The way I act with Sophia? Love please explain I’m begging to understand you take deep breaths okay?” He said softly. That was enough to make you hide your hand in your face as you cried. “Hey, hey no let me see your pretty face, take your time. Deep breaths my love”

“Fred you know how I’ve been treated in the past , the whole physical affection thing. But you never touch me around your friends. I’m sure you don’t mean to do it to hurt me but holding me, showing me off or something would be nice.” You confessed while looking at the bed sheets, looking up to see him with a soft smile on his face.

“I love holding you alone as much as I love holding you in front of others. I have no problem holding you in front of my friends I just fought you didn’t want it! I know how you’ve been treated and I would never want to show you off like an object. Then I thought you would feel obligated for me to touch you so I’d retract. From now on I promise to always hold you in front of my friends, anyone, fuck even the entire world okay? I just need you.” He declared

“All I need is you.” He reassured

“Then what about Sophia?” You asked with your insecurities taking the best of you.

“What about her?” He asked confused

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately, talking to her and acknowledging her more in public than me.” You said with a frown on your face

“You even left your dorm with me in it the other day to go to her!” You exclaimed

“Your right I have been doing those things, if I can be mean with you for one sec darling she’s been annoying me. I don’t really enjoy any other girls company besides yours. So the other day I left our dorm early” he corrected “ so I could tell her to fuck off, just more politely of course”

You laughed, your tears had stopped, Fred always knew how to do that. How to make you feel better.

“So am I still yours pretty girl?” You laughed and kissed him in response

———————————————————————Today you were supposed to go to hogesmade with Fres friends. You walked in together, hand in hand. He made sure everyone said hello to you and most importantly. His hand was on you at all times.

[allaboutnayeli]

May I request something with Ms. Ashley Sanchez please? I’ll take anything

most annoying person ever [a.sanchez x reader]

prompt: ashley claims to hate you, but one day the lines blur.

author notes: my first angst-y type fic and i felt it fits ashley so well. two people asked for ash so i had to give it. hope y'all enjoy!

you and ashley are absolute rivals. on the pitch with ashley playing for the spirit and you for the thorns. even off the pitch, she can't seem to stand you. the way you speak, act, and hold yourself just irritates her. you consider those feelings to be mutual. the way the blonde talks with such a chill tone that felt so condescending, her aura of being nonchalant, and how she knew every button to push to make you feel like pulling out your hair.

absolutely insufferable, that's what you consider eachother. even with you both being on the national team, that hatred lingers between you two. sometimes sinking into whatever room y'all are in like a poison; it couldn't be helped with ashley and you being too stubborn to get over whatever problem y'all have with eachother. unfortunately, you two have the same group of friends so there is no avoiding eachother when you are in washington d.c. for the off season.

good thing there is a thin line between love and hate that is always close to being crossed every time you two are together.

you sit comfortably on trinity's couch as you watch some vlogger on the tv. the sound of the front door opening makes you perk up, thinking it's trin who is at the store buying snacks for tonight's movie night. "did you get the chips i wanted?" you say, not even bothering to look at the door.

"why would i do that?" the nonchalant voice of ashley says as she drops her keys on the dining table. walking past it to come sit down on the farthest part of the couch from you. the frown that creeps up on your face is quick. "i thought you were trin. why would i even ask you for something like that?" you glare at her. the blonde just roll hers eyes, leaning back on the couch pillows.

ashley looks so good today. with the blonde of her hair highlighting all the sharp features of her face. her crop top showcasing her abs and her legs looking alittle too good in those shorts. it pisses you off.

"so trinity is your servant now? you could had gone and bought your own chips," she says sharply. smiling once she hears you groan in irritation; seeing you get all bothered just satisfies something in her. "never said that. i don't see everyone else below me like you do" you snap back.

"that's how i know you're dumb because you know i don't think like that"

"do i really? don't act like i remember details about you" you say before ignoring her presence. trying to focus your attention on whatever the vlogger on the tv was saying. something about what she's cooking, you could honestly care less. you just wanted to see ashley's reaction to your words. the american player just has the same indifferent expression she always seem to hold on her face when she's around you, choosing to remain silent. that pisses you off even more.

you two just sit in silence with you watching tv (glancing at ashley) and ashley scrolling on instagram (looking at your story).

later on that afternoon, trinity comes back with the snacks. with you getting the chips you wanted.

the other girls in trin, ash, and you's friendgroup show up for the movie night too. with alyssa and savannah showing up right after trinity than sophia.

now it was time for the best part of the night, setting up all the snacks and the living room to be all cozy for the night. alyssa and savannah are on blanket duty than sophia and trinity are on snack duty. leaving you and ashley to go get pillows out of the spare room for all of the blankets. despite the hatred between you two, y'all agree to go together.

"can you back the fuck up?" you grumble as you bend over the bed to grab some pillows in the far corner. ashley stands beside you, with her hip touching yours. she can't seem to hate how close you two are right now but tells herself the sight of you so angry is what makes it enjoyable. totally not the feeling of your skin against hers. "how about.. no," ashley leans over beside you to grab pillows. her hands glazing yours. her response is plain annoying. it's just so her and you totally can't stand anything about her. "i hate how i have to restrain myself from hurting you off the pitch," you mumble as you pull back from the corner. several pillows crowding your arms.

"you actually don't. i would love a reason to punch you, but i bet you would like that. with you being pathetic and stuff like that," she taunts as she pulls back as well. a bunch of pillows sitting in her arms too. "shut your mouth" you say before walking out of the room. stopping in the hall as you almost trip over whatever trinity forgot to clean in the hall.

"what if i don't? are you going to find a way to shut me up?" ashley says nonchalantly, teasing hanging in her tone. she pushes past you just enough that a few pillows fall out of your arms.

what a bitch.

it's long into the night when ashley and you even look at eachother again. the small friendgroup of you two's have been watching movies back to back. starting off with horror movies than eventually transitioning into kid movies once everyone got too scared to go down the hall by themselves.

soon enough, the only ones left awake are you two. with trinity and sophia knocked out on the couch, alyssa cuddled up with a pillow on the floor, and savannah sleeping on the corner of the couch.

ashley is the first one to look, sparing you a glance. you can feel her eyes on you but act oblivious. not giving her the satisfaction of your eyes meeting hers. of course ashley couldn't let that be. "what? you can't look at people now?" she scoots closer to you. it takes everything in you to not roll your eyes.

"not at you. we just watched some horror, wouldn't want to get scared again" you sass back. not even mentioning how ashley was closer to you than before. your heart beat starts to pick up as you move slightly closer to her too. just so you two wouldn't disturb the others with y'all's bickering or aleast that's what you think to yourself.

"oh please, you know you enjoy seeing my face" ashley moves close enough that you two's hands meet. you don't try to move away. "says who?" you finally turn your head to face her. she was way closer than you thought. you two's faces being close enough that y'all noses could bump against eachother.

"says the way your heart is beating right now, says the way you're looking at me. i know how you are"

"you don't even know me like you think"

"that's what you think?"

"that's what i know" you say as you resist the urge to look at ashley's lips. the blonde roll her eyes. knowing damn well in the back of her mind that she knows alittle too much about you. always telling herself it was so she can easily tease you every time y'all meet.

ashley's eyes glance down at your lips, "than you must be clueless because you don't know shit."

"shut your mouth"

"make me than since you couldn't wait to hurt me off the pitch. here's your opportunity"

that sentence is all it takes for you to lean forward and kiss her. ashley at first wants to pull away to keep up the facade of hating you, but she gives in. her hand going to hold onto the back of your neck. the kiss is rough with all tongue, the buildup of arguing and bickering to seem to push through it. the feeling of ashley's hand on your skin drives you crazy. ashley was just as addicted, chasing after you once you pull away. she stops once she realizes how that looks.

"could had bit my lip a bit more if you wanted to be violent like you said," she teases as she lets go of your neck. "shut the fuck up," you stand. grabbing a pillow and a blanket as you make a move to go down the hall. determined to go into trinity's room and forget this even happened (dream about it).

"out of kisses to give? you know how to shut me up now" ashley taunts as she watches you walk away from her. just leaning back onto the pillows on the floor once she sees you walk into trinity's room.

in the morning, you come out of trinity's room to the sight of everyone awake in the kitchen. trying to make breakfast, heavy on the trying part.

you let a soft yawn as you come up to the kitchen island. sitting down on a chair there. "what's for breakfast, chefs?" you say. your eyes look over the kitchen to find ashley in the fridge. you look away once sophia speaks, "eggs and bacon. alyssa wanted pancakes but that's too much effort for right now."

"no it's not! you and trin are just lazy" alyssa says as she comes around the kitchen island to sit beside you. "if you want them so bad than make them yourself" trinity turns around from the stove to wave her spatula at alyssa. the younger player just rolls her eyes, "i'm the youngest. that's not my job."

you laugh softly and shake your head in agreement. too tired to speak. savannah also agrees with alyssa.

trinity and sophia are quick to disagree. defending their case on why alyssa should be making the food herself if she wants something. during all this your eyes are still fixed on ashley who is now looking back at you. leaning on the fridge. the smug look on her face makes you want to slap her or maybe even something alittle less violent.

after the mild fight over breakfast, you all eat it happily in the living room. watching cartoons as y'all stuff y'all faces. it wasn't much later when everyone started to get ready to head out and go shopping. trinity was the first to be done so she went out the car first. one by one everyone was leaving the apartment until ashley and you were the only two left.

"you didn't have to run away, but i know it's hard being a coward" she says as she walks past you to get to the door. you're at the table near the door, putting things in your purse.

"you could had pulled me back but okay.." you snap back, finishing up with your purse before going to the door. with ashley leaving out of it first than you after. "you would had liked that, wouldn't you?" she says against your ear once you both are standing outside of the apartment door before walking ahead to the car. leaving you to not respond, your mind full of thoughts of the night before.

the hatred from years of arguing with ashley still hangs in the air as you get in the car behind her but it's something else in the air as you sit beside her in the back seat.

[bumblesimagines]

you haven't changed a bit.

do you ever think about what happened between us?

you look really good. i'm happy for you.

Donna Sheridan

you haven't changed a bit.

do you ever think about what happened between us?

you look really good. i'm happy for you.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

"Where the hell did Laz put it? Jesus." You hissed quietly under your breath, back aching from the time you spent crouched or bent over searching for the damn bottle of whiskey Lazaros had hidden for his own personal use after his mother had forbidden him from drinking in front of customers, not that the bar got any, to begin with, given Lazaros... unique singing and Sophia's often stern nature. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna-"

"(Y/N)! I've been looking everywhere for you, boy! Come meet our new singer." Sophia's voice sliced through the air, demanding and attention-grabbing as always, prompting you to flinch and lift your head only to slam right into the underside of the counter.

"Ow, fuck-"

"Language, (Y/N)." Sophia tsked as you properly wiggled out from under the counter and straightened up, one hand rubbing the sore spot on the back of your head. You heaved a sigh and spun on your heel, eyes drifting over the rather empty bar while you made your way to the end of the counter and finally took in the new singer. 

And she seemed just as surprised as you.

"(Y/N)?" A breathless, surprised, and giddy laugh escaped her as her eyes widened into saucers, the jaw-dropped look almost comical. You stared back at her in silence, your mind trying to piece together how your spunky ex from college managed to find you on a semi-remote Greek island. Donna moved first, practically throwing herself over the counter to wrap her arms around your shoulders. "I can't believe you're here! In Kalokairi, of all places! I mean, I know you mentioned you wanted to travel around Greece but I never expected the first place I visited to be where you were staying!"

"You know each other?" Sophia questioned, one brow arched as she watched Donna wiggle off the counter and plant her feet firmly back on the floor. Donna nodded excitedly in return, brushing some of her loose curls away from her face and laughing again. 

"Yeah! We, uh.. dated briefly in college and then... (Y/N) graduated and..." Donna trailed off, her fingers toying with a ring on her hand. Her teeth dug down into her bottom lip, a dejected look briefly appearing in her eyes. "We broke off. Totally mutual." She assured Sophia with a forceful laugh and you winced when you caught the squinty-eyed look Sophia shot your way.

"Good, good. This means you'll get along, right? That's good." Sophia pursed her lips, the look in her eye telling you that you'd receive an earful later. Donna had a way of making people like her, making them care for her. It seemed her charms even wormed their way into the stern, always straight-faced Sophia. "Feel free to warm up on the stage. I'm sure my son is... somewhere around here." 

"Oh, Laz went to see if Korianna would take him back. Again. With the whole band." 

"Ugh, God," Sophia sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose and heading toward the back doors to retrieve her son from his ex's porch again. You watched her go, withholding the urge to snort until she was out of earshot and out the door. Turning back to Donna, you licked your lips and cleared your throat.

"Uhm... I'm sure you know your way around here. The band will be back soon but, as Sophia said, you can warm up in the meantime. I'm sure you'll bring in customers without them, though." You offered her a smile and glanced over your shoulder, eyeing the selection of drinks you could offer her. "Do you want a beer? Wine? Ouzo?"

"Maybe later." Donna dismissed with a wave of her hand, her brown eyes slowly raking over you. "You... you look really good. I'm happy for you. I never thought I'd find you here. I thought you'd be putting that law degree into use in Greece, not working in a bar in the middle of the ocean. What- What do your parents think about it?"

"And you haven't changed a bit." It was comforting, at the very least, to know Donna hadn't changed her spunky, adventurous nature despite the time that'd passed. She still sported her typical vibrant, almost hippie-esque clothes and was still a singer. She'd always performed wherever they let her back when you'd been attending Oxford. England, Bristol, Reading. At any place in dire need of entertainment, Donna and the Dynamos would show up and show out. "What does the Ruby Sheridan think of her daughter coming to a small, basically unknown island to sing for the locals? This isn't Las Vegas, you know." 

"Well, she doesn't think anything of it 'cause she doesn't know. Like always, she didn't bother showing up to my graduation." Donna rolled her eyes, head shaking slightly, but you caught the hurt that appeared on her face. Despite every complaint, every huff and puff, and insult she threw at her mother, Donna never stopped caring or hoping for Ruby to turn a loving eye toward her. "I went to Paris, you know. Sang there a night or two but something was telling me to come here... to come to you, I guess."

"Maybe if I'd said Spain instead of Greece, that something would've pulled you to Ibiza or Tenerife."

"Maybe," Donna repeated softly, bracing her arms against the counter, her curls tumbling over her shoulders and framing her face perfectly. She traced random shapes into the wood with her fingertip, eyes jumping between looking at you and staring at the counter. "Do... do you ever think about what happened between us? Two years is a long time. Longest relationship I've ever been in."

You pursed your lips and sighed, leaning against the counter and crossing your arms over your chest, head tilting toward some of the fishermen stepping into the bar for their evening beer before they headed back out into the water. You acknowledged them with a nod and fixed up their usual drinks, feeling Donna's eyes locked on your every move. You returned once finished and finally looked her back in the eye. "Sometimes. I- I don't really know what to make of it, Donna. My parents always said it was some whirlwind thing that wouldn't last in 'the real world' and your friends always said it was fated. I was... confused, I guess. I told my family I needed a break and heard of this island when I was in Chania so I came here, found a job and a place to live." 

"I just wished you would've waited for me. You know I would've said yes to traveling, to anything, with you." 

"I'm sorry." You apologized softly, reaching out to curl your fingers around her arm gently. "I'm glad you're here, though. I think you'll really like this place."

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Reckless

Title: Reckless

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Y/N goes on a date with Steve Rogers and, unbeknownst to him, comes to the conclusion that he’s a very gentlemanly, albeit very boring, person. However, she decides to give him a second chance before she forms her final opinion of him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and supporting me! I hope you enjoy this quick little story about our lovely Steve. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

“So how did the date go?”

You have your head propped up with a hand under your chin, so you simply sigh and try to keep your expression neutral as you search for the words. If this were a video or phone call, your friend wouldn’t be able to read you so easily, but you know that she’s caught on already when she winces across the table from you.

“That bad, huh?” Sophia asks.

Shaking your head, you sigh again and gesture vaguely with your free hand. “It was fine. It was good, I guess. I didn’t have a bad time. It’s just…”

“What? He wasn’t a creep, was he? I thought you said he was nice!” She leans in, almost knocking her drink over as she reaches across the table for one of your fries.

“No, no, he was nice. That’s just it, though. He was just nice.”

She chews, humming around the fries as you drop your arm and finish off the rest of your drink to occupy yourself. You don’t want to say anything too specific since you know his life is already so public, so you pick up your fork again and move some of the food around on your plate. At that, Sophia raises an eyebrow, then swallows and takes a sip.

“So… Are you gonna go out with him again?”

The waitress comes by to refill your water and you both offer her polite smiles and murmur thank yous, which gives you time to consider your answer. Steve had been a nice date—an almost perfect one, at that—but that was all you could say about your time with him. Sure, he checked all the boxes. On paper, he was the perfect match for you, but in reality, there was no spark, and you’d found him fairly boring. You feel a little bad calling Steve Rogers boring, of all people, but you can’t lie to yourself about it, no matter how great a person he is.

“I don’t know. Maybe? It feels rude to judge whether I like someone or not after only one date, since everyone’s nervous on first dates, and he was really nice…” You trail off, tilting your head from side to side with a grimace. “I don’t know.”

Sophia arranges her dishes so they’re easy to collect. “Well, you don’t have to make a decision right away. I mean, it’s not like he’s asked you out again so soon already, right?” Her smile fades into a gasp of disbelief when you don’t agree, and she smacks her hand on the table. “Already? Man, this guy moves fast!”

You nod. You’d been just as surprised as she is. You hadn’t known what to say when Steve had texted you this morning, so you’d just left the message on read. Thankfully, the dating app would never tell him that, but you still felt bad about not responding right away. Hopefully, he just thought you were busy at work.

“Already. He wants to go out again tonight,” you tell her. You wince again and fall back against the booth, crossing your arms. “Am I crazy if I tell him no?”

“No! Absolutely not, you can totally tell him no. You don’t have to go out with him if you don’t want to. You’re not obligated to go on a second date with him either,” Sophia reminds you.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you dig it out, glancing briefly at the screen to make sure it’s not important. And it’s not, really, because it’s a message from Steve telling you that he won’t be offended if you decline his offer to take you out for dinner. The twinge of guilt you felt earlier is more like a stab now.

“How can someone so boring be so sweet?” you whine, more rhetorically than anything, but Sophia jumps on the question.

“Is that Steve?” 

Nodding, you shove the phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. I don’t know, I’ll probably tell him yes. One more perfectly boring date can’t hurt..” You shake your head a little. “I’ll let you know what I decide to do.”

Your friend smiles and slides out of the booth, taking her bag with her. You do the same and wait for her to be ready before you walk beside her to the diner’s exit. After a quick hug, the two of you part ways and you head back to your apartment.

That night, there’s a knock at your door precisely at six o’clock, exactly when Steve said he’d be there. You sigh a little, expecting just as much, and you smooth out your dress. It’s one you haven’t worn in a long while, but you’re hoping it will inspire a reaction from him. At this point, any reaction besides the politest one would be a welcome change.

You open the door and smile when Steve meets your eyes. He smiles back, small and polite. He’s dressed well, in jeans and a white shirt, with a navy jacket over his shoulders. It’s infinitely more casual than the button-up and khakis he’d worn to your first date earlier this week, and it’s a good sign.

“Hi, Y/N. I hope I’m not early?” he asks, though you both know he’s not.

“No, it’s alright. I just need to get my shoes on. Come on in?” You step out of the doorway and gesture for him to enter. Once he’s inside, you shut the door and turn, only to find him inches closer than he was before. You inhale sharply and meet his gaze, then look down at the singular flower in his hand.

“For you,” he says. “I was afraid a bouquet would get damaged on the ride here.” He glances down at your dress and clears his throat. “I think it would probably be better if you changed into pants, too.”

You blink. “Pants? Why? What’s wrong with my dress?” This wasn’t the response or reaction you’d been hoping for. You step back a little, suddenly self-conscious about your choice in outfit.

Steve looks a bit sheepish as he hands you the flower and steps back to give you more space to breathe. “Yes. I rode my… bike.”

Raising your eyebrows, you glance over at your closed curtains. The window faces out into the street, where you know from experience most people park if they’re only staying for a short time.

“Your bike,” you repeat. He nods, and you carefully step around him to go look out the window. There is, in fact, a motorcycle parked in one of the spots. The light from the lamps reflects off the shining black and silver metal, and you let the curtain fall back into place with a quiet laugh. It seems that Steve Rogers could truly be the daredevil that some of the internet prospects him to be.

When you turn, Steve is still standing by your front door. The golden glow from the lamp by your couch casts a shadow behind him, making him seem taller and darker, but he watches you with such trepidation that he doesn’t seem as intimidating as you know he does to some. 

“It’s a Harley,” he tells you.

You smile a little. “Gotcha. I guess I’ll go change, then. Just give me a minute?”

Steve nods and you hurry to your room to change into a different outfit. In a moment of panic, you drop the flower into a half-finished glass of water on your nightstand. You don’t want to make Steve stand awkwardly in your living room any longer than you have to. 

With very little time to spare, you quickly change into jeans and one of your favorite tops, then head back into the living room. Steve has moved to look at your shelves, inspecting your photos, books, and knick-knacks in silence. He’s got his hands in his pockets and you watch for a second as he stands so relaxed in a foreign space.

“I’m ready if you are,” you finally say, stepping further into the room.

He turns and nods, then glances back at one of the photos. “Where was this taken?”

Frowning, you move closer so you can see, and then you smile a little. “That was back in college, at some restaurant near campus. It was this little local place that my friends and I used to go to. I think that was after one of their trivia nights.”

“You like trivia?” he asks, and you shrug.

“I’m not very great at it. Probably not as good as you—you’ve had a lot more time to study up.” Inwardly, you cringe. Steve probably doesn’t like to be reminded of his past.

There’s a beat where you and Steve stare at each other, and then he smiles at you. “That’s what Clint keeps telling me. He’s been trying to convince me to join his team. Maybe I’ll take him up on it the next time he offers.”

“That sounds like it would be fun,” you reply, nodding.

“Are you ready to go?”

You nod again and grab your things, sticking your phone into your pocket before following him out. He opens the door for you and pauses so you can check that it’s locked once you’re in the hallway, and then you let him lead you down to the motorcycle parked out front.

It’s even bigger than you’d thought. You hesitate at the curb, and Steve smiles encouragingly when he holds out the helmet he’s clearly brought for you.

“I promise to drive safely,” he says.

“Do you not normally?”

He ducks his head at that, smiling a little more. “Some of my friends tend to say I’m a little reckless.”

“Reckless?” you scoff. “I wouldn’t have pinned you as someone who’s reckless after the other night. I figured you’d be the exact opposite.”

You take the helmet and carefully fit it onto your head, then drop your hands when Steve steps closer to check that it’s secure. He buckles the strap underneath your chin.

“Well, I’m not great at first impressions. I was nervous. I don’t spend a lot of time eating dinner with pretty girls.”

Cheeks warm at the compliment, you laugh and follow him over to the bike. He climbs on first. You straddle the bike behind him once he’s holding it straight, then carefully slip your arms around his waist.

“Is this okay?” you ask.

“It’s great. You’re doing great, Y/N. Make sure you hold on tight, okay?”

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

He glances over his shoulder as he starts the bike. “Brooklyn!”

The engine is too loud for you to ask any more questions, so you simply tighten your grip around his (very firm) waist and tuck your head against his shoulder as he backs the bike out of the spot and then onto the street. There’s little traffic and not a single red light, but as he maneuvers you to wherever in Brooklyn you’re headed, he still swerves around and between the cars and trucks. It’s exhilarating, and a little wild, and by the time you arrive, your heart is pumping and you’re smiling from ear to ear. Once he’s parked, Steve looks back over his shoulder at you, then laughs as you detach yourself from him.

“That was fun!” you tell him as you carefully climb off. Your legs are a little unsteady, and he quickly holds out a hand to help you regain your balance.

“Good, I’m glad. We have to walk a little from here, is that okay?” Steve asks. He climbs off the bike, but you don’t fail to notice that he doesn’t release you from his grip. Not that you mind. His hair is ruffled from the wind, and though you’re sure that yours is too, you can’t bring yourself to fix it. You’re not so worried about being so perfect when he’s relaxed like this, unlike last time.

“That’s fine, yeah. Where exactly are we going? Besides Brooklyn, that is.”

You and Steve start walking, with him on the outside. He keeps hold of your hand as he explains, “It’s an old diner. It’s not one that I grew up going to, but it’s authentic enough that it feels like it.” He pauses and glances over at you. “I know it’s kinda cheesy to go to a retro diner for a date, but—”

“I love it,” you interrupt before he can say anything otherwise. “It sounds like fun. Do they have a jukebox? I don’t think I’ve used one of those in forever!”

Your hands swing between you slightly as you walk, and Steve glances over, smiling. “If they don’t, I’ll keep that in mind for our next date. If you want to go out again, that is,” he quickly adds, the smile faltering.

Unabashed, you squeeze his hand with a grin. “So far, so good, Steve.”

The rest of the walk to the dinner is filled with conversation, and though you still talk at the table, you realize that he’s more comfortable talking when he’s moving. His hands are constantly fidgeting, as if he has too much energy for his body, and when you’re finally done eating and the bill has been paid, you glance out the diner’s windows.

“Is there a place we can go for a walk around here? It’s nice out, and I don’t think I’m ready to go home yet,” you say.

Steve seems a little surprised, but pleased, and he nods as he slides out of the booth. You do the same, waving at the employees behind the long painted counter as you leave.

“There’s a park about a block that way,” Steve says. He points further down the street. “It’s got a trail that goes around it. I’ve run there a few times.”

“Wanna race?” you ask, grinning. You’re full from the meal, but you’ve been wondering just how fast and strong he really is since you first started talking. He certainly eats like an athlete, and you’ve seen pictures and videos of some of the things he’s done. You just want to know what it’s like when he uses his abilities for fun instead of work.

“Really?”

You take off without another word. Behind you, Steve laughs. Your shoes aren’t made for running, and neither is the rest of your outfit, but you give it your best effort. It’s not a surprise when Steve passes you only seconds later. His figure quickly becomes miniature, but you see him stop at the corner to wait for you before crossing the street.

“You weren’t even going full speed, were you?” you pant once you reach the park. He’s grinning wide in the light from the lamps, standing tall while you’re bent over with your hands on your knees. “And you stopped!”

Steve laughs. He’s not even slightly winded. “You wanted to race!”

“What happened to polite, chivalrous Steve from the first date? Would you have let me win if I’d asked then?”

He laughs again, nodding, and leans against the lamp as you swallow thickly and try to catch your breath. “Probably. Like I said, you made me nervous.”

“Do I still make you nervous?” you ask. You start walking again, heading down the paved trail that loops around the park. 

Steve falls into step beside you, his hands in his pockets. “A little. I don’t normally go out on dates. I only had the app because I lost a bet with Natasha.”

You raise an eyebrow and glance at him as the two of you move out of a biker’s way. “Natasha? Like, Black Widow?”

“That’s the one.”

“What was the bet?” you ask him. You’re nearing a playground, and it’s dark enough that it’s empty except for a couple pigeons, but there’s a mother walking with a stroller up ahead.

He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with one hand, smiling sheepishly. “I bet her that I could do more handsprings in a row than her.”

You stop and gape at him, and there’s a definite pink tint to his cheeks, even in the dim park lighting. “You’re kidding me. Are you serious, Steve? She’s like, the queen of gymnastics. She could probably go to the Olympics!”

“Probably,” he agrees, laughing. “It was a stupid bet.”

The two of you resume walking again, weaving around the stroller mom, and Steve puts his arm out to block you when you almost walk into a biker you don’t see. You give him a grateful smile and fall into comfortable silence as you walk, but there’s a question nagging at you from the back of your mind, so much so that you can’t ignore it.

“So how many handsprings did you end up doing?” you finally blurt out.

He chuckles. “Not as many as her.”

“What a political answer,” you tease. “Really, how many?”

There’s silence, and you nudge his arm with yours, stopping beside a tree. He looks at you and you raise your eyebrows expectantly.

“Two,” he sighs, and you have to cover your mouth when you snort. He gives you a scathing look, but it’s only a farce because his smile peeks through a minute later.

“I’m sorry, but I was expecting something a little more… heroic than two,” you tell him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m better at other things,” he says.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

He starts walking and you catch up, taking a few extra steps until you’re beside him again. His hand bumps against yours and you look down, then smile as you lace your fingers with his.

“Pull ups, push ups,” he lists. “Painting, piano.”

You glance over at him, surprised. You hadn’t suspected something so artistic.

“You paint and play piano?” you ask. He nods and you smile wider. “That’s so cool. Maybe you can show me one of your paintings sometime? Or hear you play?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

The rest of your walk around the park and back to his motorcycle is easy and comfortable, and you hold hands the entire time. You talk about everything, from work and your family to the practical jokes he and Bucky had pulled on Bucky’s younger sister back in the 30’s and 40’s. He gives you his jacket when you’re heading back in the direction of the diner, after you shiver. You protest, but he insists, and the jacket wrapped around you is much too warm and comforting for you to truly argue. By the time you reach his Harley, it’s been an hour and you still feel like you could keep going. 

Steve’s driving is a bit tamer on the way back to your apartment. There are more stop lights, too, and you take those moments to rest your chin on his shoulder and ask him questions or point out things you see. You have to yell, but he nods and smiles along, and when you’re finally parked outside your apartment building again, he recaps his comments and thoughts for you as he helps you off the bike once more. Your balance is better the second time, but Steve still holds your hand until you’re steady, and you hope he doesn’t notice how giddy it makes you.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you say as you arrive at your door. Carefully, you pull your arms from the sleeves of his jacket and hand it to him, then dig out your keys. You fiddle with them as he slips on the jacket again, shrugging his shoulders until it’s firmly in place. 

“Me too. I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay,” Steve replies, and you smile wide.

“I’d like that too.”

There’s a moment of silence where you stare at each other, and you look away first. You want to kiss him, but you know that as much as he’d surprised you tonight, Steve was still raised in a different time. He might not be comfortable kissing you so quickly, and you don’t want to push him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, so suddenly that you jump a little.

You blink, looking up from your keys. “What?”

He seems to take that as a sign of disinterest because he smiles politely and steps back a half step, the tips of his ears rosy in the dim hallway light. “Never mind. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Wait, no,” you quickly say, stepping forward to regain his attention. “You just surprised me. Yes, you can kiss me.”

He smiles a little wider and closes the distance between you even more. His hand rests on your side, warm and solid as he leans in to press a chaste kiss against your lips. It’s sweet, and he somehow tastes like peppermint, though you’re sure he hasn’t been chewing gum.

A bit bashful, you rest your hand on his chest for a second after you pull away. You’re smiling like a fool but you can’t help it—Steve has proven himself over and over tonight, and he makes you feel like nothing could ever go wrong while he’s around. You’re close enough that you can smell his cologne, and you close your eyes for a second as you take a deep breath. Whatever it is, it’s warm and sweet, like coffee with cinnamon, and it makes you want to curl up against him forever. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmurs.

You meet his gaze and slide your hand down, then away. “Goodnight, Steve. Let me know when you get home, okay?”

He nods and watches as you unlock your apartment, then open the door and step inside. You give him one last look and one last smile before closing the door. Silently, you stand in the entry area and listen as he heads back down the stairs. Once you’re certain he’s far enough away that he won’t hear, you let out a little laugh before darting across your living room to peek out the window. He’s climbing onto his bike when you pull the curtains back, and after the bike roars to life, he tilts his head back and gives you a little salute, a small smile curling on his lips. You wave back, grinning, and then Steve is pulling away, racing down the street towards his home.

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[reminiscingtonight]

Hoodie

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

[WOSO Masterlist]

You never thought you’d be one of those girls. Break ups happen all the time. People move on all the time. Not moving on, is something you have never found yourself doing. 

You pride yourself in never getting caught up in the past. Dwelling on those who don’t want you isn’t something you’re keen on doing. You’re a big girl, you can handle rejection.

At least you could, until Leah Williamson came along and ruined all of your plans.

Signing for Arsenal has been one of the highlights in your career. A lifelong gooner, you jumped at the chance to play for the club. Leaving behind your friends and family was hard, but it ended up being worth it when you met who you thought was the love of your life. 

The two of you kept it on the downlow for a while. Leah was still fresh out of her break up with Jordan and you were dealing with your own failed relationship. Neither of you were looking for anything serious, but months of spending time with each other both on and off the pitch developed into something real. She asked you to end things or start something real, and you chose the latter option. 

Nearly a year and a half later, the two of you were as happy as could be. Or at least as happy as two people in a secret relationship could be. Neither of you outright told anyone you were dating, but it wasn’t like you were hiding it either. All of the girls on your club team knew about your relationship, but outside of that, everyone just thought you were two close friends, including your national teammates back at home.

You were fine keeping your relationship to yourselves, but you couldn’t deny it bothered you a little bit to not be able to tell your closest friends about your lover. You dropped multiple hints, even outright asked Leah if she thought it was time to go public, but the blonde always seemed to avoid answering your question with ease. 

It all came to a head when you asked if she wanted to go visit your family and friends in the off season. You were set to leave for camp, the WSL season ending soon, but you wanted to check your holiday plans before you left.

When Leah offhandedly said she thought your time would be better spent chilling around London, staying around her family and training here, you snapped. 

“Is it too much to ask if I could introduce you to my friends and family? I’ve met all of yours, Leah.”

She blinks, taken aback by your outburst.

“I can only fend off those ‘are you seeing anyone in London?’ questions for so long before my friends know I’m lying. I love you, Leah. And I want to tell people that.”

“I know you love me. And you know I love you too. Why can’t that be enough for us?”

“I don’t want to hide us anymore.”

“We’re not hiding.”

“We are if no one knows about us except for a couple girls on the team!”

“My family--” 

“Yes! I know your family knows about us. But what about mine? Why can’t my family know about us?” 

Leah follows you as you stalk to the bedroom.

“God, it’s almost as if you’re embarrassed to be seen with me,” you mutter, grabbing your bag off the bed. 

When you look up, Leah’s stiffened, knuckles grown white. She looks like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

Your blood goes cold when she still doesn’t answer. “You are, aren’t you.”

“I-- I’m not!” she eventually stutters out. But it’s too late. Her silence has been telling enough.

You leave England fuming. The team can tell you’re in a foul mood, but since none of them know about Leah, they remain oblivious to the real reason you’re so angry.

Sophia tries asking if everything’s okay once. You nearly take her head off. It’s only the memory of her terrified face that has you muttering an apology to the striker a couple hours later.

Camp ends without much fanfare, you play your last game with Arsenal, and then you’re back in the states. You ignore all of Leah’s attempts to talk to you during the two weeks you spend in London before leaving again. You only stay long enough to pack up and send Leah a box of her things from your place before you’re back on a plane headed for LA. 

Christen meets you at the airport and you sink into her hug with a loud sigh. It’s been far too long since you’ve been back home. 

Finding the hoodie is a mistake. Christen’s helping you unpack when she finds the red pull-up with the number six stamped on the back. “I thought you were number--”

You snatch away the piece of clothing from Christen’s hands before she can finish. “Um, I must have accidentally grabbed Leah’s. She’s always leaving her things everywhere, even at other people’s places.”

You had grabbed whatever pieces of clothing you could find sitting around your living room as well as a couple pieces from the back of your closet back in London. You didn’t recall purposefully packing Leah’s clothes, but it wouldn’t be a surprise, given she had a habit of leaving her clothes all over your apartment.

You can tell Christen doesn’t fully believe your story, but she doesn’t push. 

When she leaves, you have every intention to throw the jacket back into the furthest corner of your closet. 

Instead, you find yourself wearing it to bed a couple hours later. The faint smell of Leah’s perfume still lingers on it, and you find it annoyingly comforting. 

A month passes. 

Leah must have taken your move back to the states in the offseason, as well as the deliverance of her things to her apartment, as confirmation of your break up. She doesn’t contact you once, choosing instead to leave you alone. 

You’re not sure if her unwillingness to fight for the two of you hurts more than her unwillingness to meet your friends and family.

You split your time going to your friends’ games and keeping your soccer skills on point. You do everything you can to keep busy. Any time you’re alone, all you can think about is Leah’s stupid face and her stupid jacket that you’ve gotten into the habit of wearing whenever you’re back at Christen’s. The forward never says anything, only gives you pointed looks when she spots you wearing it. By now you’re past the point of caring. You have a feeling your best friend knows about you and Leah, but you’re thankful she doesn’t say a thing. 

“Ever thought about coming back to the NWSL?”

The two of you are out for breakfast at a new pop up joint that Christen loves, when she drops the question. She gives you a look, but you shrug, focusing more on your breakfast than Christen’s question. 

“Look, I know the break up with Sonny was--”

“This isn’t about her,” you interject, frowning at Christen. You haven’t thought about Sonnett in a romantic sense for a while now, so Christen’s line of questioning takes you off guard. 

“You did hop the first plane out after your break up.”

“Emily and I have made up, we’re fine.” Things hadn’t worked out with the defender, but it was a mutual parting. Yes, you took the Arsenal contract in the midst of your separation from Sonnett, but the two of you agreed that you worked better as friends than lovers. Plus, after meeting Leah, your relationship with Emily became the last thing on your mind.

Christen hums as if she doesn’t believe you, but goes back to her initial question. “You did always say you wanted to play in LA.”

Although she was a couple years older than you, the two of you had grown up together. You always followed in Christen’s footsteps. You went to Stanford years after Christen had graduated. You joined the national team years after Christen had already broken through. Despite this, the two of you have never played on the same club team. You know your best friend has been dying to do so, and if you’re being honest, a part of you has been too. 

“Christen,” you drawl out, fixing her with a look.

“Okay, fine, fine,” she chuckles. “I won’t push it. Just know that Angel City would love to have you on our front line.”

As much as you loved playing for Arsenal, you can’t deny you haven’t thought about coming back home to play. And now that you and Leah have broken up?

You sit on Christen’s words for the next couple weeks. Another camp rolls around, and by then you’re itching to get back on the field. 

When you pack the red hoodie, you do so subconsciously. You spend the first 30 minutes after arriving in your room staring at the piece of clothing. It isn’t until Ashley opens the door, excitedly yelling your name, that you shut your luggage. 

Later, after all the festive fun of seeing all your friends have worn off and the two of you are settled back in your room for the night, Sanchez falls asleep in seconds. You’re jealous, left glaring at your friend’s sleeping form. 

You do everything you can. You count sheep. You run through plays. You do your damndest to fall asleep but nothing works. Swallowing your scream, you sit up with a huff. Careful not to wake up your roommate, you stalk to your suitcase. 

Promising yourself this would be the last time, you shrug on Leah’s hoodie. By now her perfume has long disappeared, but it’s the comfort it brings you that somehow has you falling asleep in minutes. 

---

The night before the game, Ashley posts a picture of the other girls crashing your hotel room. In it, you’re buried under a mess of bodies, but the red hoodie hanging off your frame is visible. The girls give you a ribbing when they notice you wearing it, but you’re all quick to forget about it. 

You’re half listening to a story Emily’s telling the room when you hear the notification of your phone go off. 

You frown when you spot the name on your screen. 

Leah Williamson

After all this time, you’ve long stopped expecting Leah to contact you. The absence of contact stings, but you get used to it soon enough. After all, you couldn’t do anything else but move on.

As covertly as you can, you open your text thread with the English defender.

[That’s my hoodie]

It’s quickly followed by a:

[I’ve been looking for it]

You grit your teeth, anger quickly mounting. Out of all the things she could’ve sent you, Leah really wanted to discuss your wardrobe? 

Smashing your keyboard with more force than necessary, you type out: [Come get it then]

You see the gray ‘read’ instantly, but you don’t get a response. 

Scoffing under your breath, you throw your phone down next to you. Lindsey doesn’t miss the action. 

“Uh, everything okay?”

She watches as you shrug your way out of the sweatshirt. 

“Doing great,” you grit out, tossing the hoodie back towards your suitcase. 

You tell yourself you won’t touch the sweatshirt ever again. 

Your resolve lasts less than 24 hours.

You’re wearing the familiar piece of clothing the second you’ve finished showering after the game. 

Fueled by your anger, you score a hatrick during the friendly. Every time the ball hits the back of the net, you’re stuck between wishing Leah was in the stands and picturing her face inside the net. 

Regardless, you bask in your teammates’ praises. The heavy pats on the back and screaming of the crowd follows you all the way back into the locker room. 

The second you’re in the shower though, you feel all the emotions hit you at once. The sadness. The pain. It’s always moments like these, when the adrenaline has worn off that you miss Leah the most. You’re not sure why you had stuffed her sweatshirt into your duffle, but you’re quick to pull it on when you walk out. 

“Movie night at your place when we get back?” 

You give Rose a non-committal hum, knowing that her and the rest of the girls would be over regardless of your answer.

The small midfielder starts off on a tangent about her English Bulldog and you nod where appropriate, feigning your interest with ease. It’s not that you don’t care about the conversation, you actually do miss Rose’s big pup, but it’s there, when the two of you are just exiting the building that a familiar flash of blonde hair catches your attention. 

Your feet come to a stop, body spinning towards the parked cars before you can stop yourself.

Your first thought is Leah looks stunning. Dressed in a simple pair of sweats and a sweater that suspiciously looks like an old university one of yours, she looks as beautiful as the day you first got together. Her hair’s down in soft waves, and you have the sudden urge to run your fingers through her hair. Despite all that, you can’t ignore the fact that Leah looks like she hasn’t slept in days though. Your heart clenches at the thought, but you don’t dwell on it much, because your next thought is that Leah must have some nerve to show up here unannounced. 

You’re crossing the parking lot in seconds, angrily spitting out, “wow, I didn’t realize the hoodie meant so much to you.”

Leah seems partially taken aback at the anger in your voice. She opens her mouth but you don’t give her the chance to say anything.

“The fact that you actually flew out to get it back? Ballsy, given you never shown me the same care in the year and a half we’ve been dating.” Yes, the two of you have been keeping your relationship under wraps, but it wouldn’t hurt to visit each other’s games every once in a while. You’ve been to plenty of England’s, but Leah has never been to one of yours, at least she hasn’t until today.

You’re well aware of the eyes you’ve attracted, but neither of you pay your teammates any heed.

Peeling off the hoodie, you hit Leah right in the chest with it. “Take it. I don’t want it anyways.”

The feel of the hoodie hitting her snaps Leah out of her daze. “I don’t want it back. I didn’t come here for it.”

You stare at her. She stares right back. 

The longer you stare at your ex, the more certain you are that you’re going to scream. Or do something worse. If Leah doesn’t leave any time soon, England’s going to have to find a new captain, and Arsenal a defender.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” You’re well aware you’re stomping around like a petulant child, but Leah’s testing the last of your patience. 

“I didn’t come for the sweatshirt,” Leah repeats. She takes a hesitant step towards you.

You can’t help but gape at her, stuck between wanting to throw yourself into her arms and getting on the team bus.

“Leah--”

“I came for you.”

She takes another step forward, close enough to place a hand on your arm. 

Her touch sets your skin ablaze, but it’s enough for you to jerk yourself back. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s not funny. Leave me the hell alone.”

You spin around, but Leah’s hand shoots out again, this time lightly gripping your wrist.

“I’m not playing games, honest. I miss you.”

You try to yank your arm away, but Leah holds tight, tugging you back towards her. Stumbling backwards, you crash right into Leah’s chest. Leah wheezes out in surprise but stays upright, steadying both of your bodies. 

“Sorry, I--”

“You can’t do this, Lee. It’s not fair and you know it. Let me go.”

“I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for us.”

Leah’s words hit you right in the chest, heart clenching painfully at her admission. Shutting your eyes, you let out a long breath of air. “It’s been almost two months. You’ve had two months to call me or say something or literally do anything but this. Why now?”

Leah nervously chews on the bottom of her lip. “Jord talked some sense into me.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “So you went to your ex and--”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to go public because I was terrified that I couldn’t handle it if we were to ever break up.”

“So you thought it would be better to hide our relationship like it was a dirty secret?”

Leah drops her eyes to the ground, nervously scuffing her feet on the ground. “I know I messed up, okay? I just loved you so much and was so scared that you’d find someone else and realize I wasn’t worth the effort.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Someone like who? Leah, you’re the only person I wanted.”

“Wanted?” For the first time tonight, Leah sounds meek, terrified of your answer.

You sigh heavily. There’s only one of two ways this will end. Either you break it off now and finally move on, or you risk it all again, giving your relationship another go. You’re not sure which one would be the better choice.

The longer you sit on your words, the more you can see Leah visibly deflate in front of you. You can feel her hand starting to loosen around your wrist, so you quickly shoot out:

“Want. The only person I want.”

“Still?” Leah looks surprised by your words.

“Are you really going to make me spell it out?” You’re glaring at her now, but Leah knows there’s no real heat behind your eyes. 

“Keep the hoodie?” she implores, pushing the balled up sweatshirt towards you. “And my love as well?”

You eye the red hoodie, debating how much of your ego you’re willing to sacrifice tonight. Wearing your formerly ex-girlfriend’s hoodie every night for the past two months and then nearly duking it out with her in front of your teammates is already embarrassing enough. You’re not sure you can handle the amount of teasing sure to be heading your way if you pull on Leah’s hoodie again. In the end you settle with pushing it aside, wrapping your arms around Leah’s waist.

You sink into her arms, sighing at the feel of being pressed against Leah’s body again after all this time.

“You should keep it,” you mutter, pressing your face against the side of her neck. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

Leah’s chuckles reverberate through her chest and straight into your heart. “I’ll give you another one.”

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand like that. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or hours, but eventually Leah presses a kiss against your forehead. Her hands run soothingly up and down your back, as she nervously asks, “Can you introduce me to your friends?”

“I don’t think you have a choice anymore,” you chuckle, pressing a light kiss against the piece of skin right in front of your lips. Leah shivers under your touch and you have to hide your smile. “If they stare at us any harder, we might combust into flames right here.”

Leaning back, you quickly press a kiss against Leah’s lips. It’s so quick that she doesn’t have a chance to kiss you back, eyes widening in surprise. You slip your hand into hers, yanking the English defender towards your teammates. 

“Who’s your friend?” Sonnett teases as the two of you approach, the smirk on her face not faltering at all.

“The woman responsible for giving me orgasms now,” you deadpan. The result is instantaneous. Leah stiffens next to you, Emily chokes on nothing, and the rest of your team dissolves into cackling laughter. 

Your ex sputters about as she tries to come up with something to say, but she takes the quip with good humor. Christen shakes her head in amusement but you give your best friend a blinding smile. 

The questions start coming from everyone everywhere but Leah takes it like a champ, never shying away from all of the questions. If anything, she stands taller with every question, arm tightening around your waist. 

It’s there, body pressed against Leah’s that you know the two of you are going to be just fine. You just have to grab ahold of another one of Leah’s sweatshirts and the two of you will be just dandy. 

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Agitation 3.1 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

Bank Job Arc LET'S GOOOOOO!

(I Think?)

There was something appealing about being out and about before the city had woken up. 

There are many things I'll never be able to relate to wrt Taylor, I'm sure, some already, but this

Yeah. this has to be on top of that list. Becoming a warlord villain of the city? Sure what the fuck I'm all for that.

Liking being out and about at an ungodly hour? Fuck that noise.

It was like Brockton Bay was a ghost town, in a good way.

Taylor? One question:

What The Fuck?

 In February, Sophia had goaded some boys into trying to catch me, I think the goal had been to duct tape me to a telephone pole. I had escaped, helped mostly by the fact that the boys hadn’t really cared enough to run after me,

Huh. So that actually happened. I figured the fic I read here they do catch her (and then she accidentally goes wild with the Swarm, etc) just had that written as Sophia doing an escalation she didn't do in canon.

Christ, that bitch is just... someone really needs to stab Sophia. A lot.

(Like, yes, I can grant it's... not great when the story has so few black people and one of them is Sophia and she's written like... that, but still. Sophia - fucked up and vile)

Three and a half months had burned away the body fat, leaving me very lean, and had given me the stamina to run at a steady jog without leaving me panting for breath.

Lucky bitch. Three and a half months of jogging wouldn't do that for me.

(Maybe if I actually committed to it like she has, but I'm lazy so :rofl: )

There were only a few people out and about, which made it easy to find Brian.

Wait, you were here looking for Brian? Maybe clue is in sooner, Taytay?

“I want,” I said, then I felt dumb for the awkward lapse into caveman speak.  I blamed the early hour of the day.  To try and save face, I added, “Thanks.”

:rofl:

 “Don’t coffees there cost, like, fifteen dollars a cup?” Brian chuckled a little, “We can afford it, Taylor.”

And? Still a waste of money I'm willing to bet.

Also, like whomst the fuck, in 2011, was selling $15 coffee to go? Is Wildbow mistaking US and Canadian Dollars? Even in canada that feels like a lot for coffee?

Did Leviathan make coffee more expensive or something?

These guys were raking in thousands of dollars on a given job, and they had given me two thousand dollars up front. 

Yeah but you don't stay rich by just casually dropping $15 on your morning coffee.

I extended my arm, clenched my fist and relaxed it to demonstrate, “Only hurts when I flex it.”  I didn’t tell him that it had been hurting badly enough to cost me some sleep last night.

Trying to seem tough in front of the guy you're into, or just used to pretending she doesn't hurt as much as she does? Or both?

“Makes sense,” I said, then I added, “I read her page on the wiki.” “So you’ve got the gist of it,”

An accurate wiki!? LE GASP!

I spotted a crab scuttling across the beach almost directly below us.  I reached out with my power and stopped it in its tracks.  Though I didn’t need to, I extended my finger and pointed at it, then waved my finger lazily as I made the crab follow where my my index finger was pointing.  Since Brian and I were both leaning over the railing, and there was practically nobody on the Boardwalk that wasn’t busy with work or getting their store opened for the day, I was pretty certain nobody else would figure out what I was doing. Brian saw the crab dancing in circles and figure eights and smiled.  Conspiratorially, he leaned closer to me and whispered, “You can control crabs, too?” I nodded, feeling just a bit of a thrill at how we were huddled like this, sharing secrets while the people around us were totally in the dark.  I told him, “I used to think I could control anything with an exoskeleton or shell.  But I can control earthworms too, among other things, and they don’t have shells.  I think all it takes is that they have to have very simple brains.”

But there have to be other animals that also have simple brains she can't control? Some birds and mammals can, no?

It's time to say it again: POWERS

ARE

BULLSHIT

(I suspect I'll be saying that a lot. :rofl:)

Of course, it could be her powers run on what she conceptually thinks are bugs or buglike? Like, if she could convince herself that squirrels are bugs, could she control them?

I shook my head, “I gotta get home and get ready for school.” “Ah, right,” Brian said, “I forget about stuff like that.” “You guys don’t go?” “I take courses online,” Brian said, “My folks think it’s so I can hold a job to pay for my apartment… which is kind of true.  Alec dropped out, Rachel never went, and Lisa already applied for and tested for her G.E.D.  Cheated using her power, but she has it.”

It is kind of remarkable that Taylor doesn't just... give up on school, from what I gather she keeps going sometimes even well into her Villain career. I doubt Winslow would really care enough to reach out to Taylor's dad if she just... stopped actually attending.

“Ah,” I said, my focus more or less dwelling on the idea that Brian had an apartment.  Not the fact that Grue the successful supervillain had an apartment – Lisa had mentioned that to me – but that Brian the teenager with parents and schoolwork to focus on did.  He kept changing my frame of reference for trying to figure him out.

Villains are human and complex!

“That’s to our place,” he told me, “And I mean that.  Ours as in yours too.  You’re free to come by any time, even if nobody is there.  Kick back and watch TV, eat our food, track mud on our floor, yell at the others for tracking mud on the floor, whatever.” “Thank you,” I said, surprising myself by actually meaning it.

Well fuck. Yeah.

Fuck.

All this poor girl wants is a place to belong. A place to be welcome.

I mean, not all she wants, really, I suppose, but a huge part.

That wasn’t to say I didn’t like Lisa, but just being around her made me feel like I had the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

Understandable.

Heading back home and preparing for school left me with a gradually increasing feeling of dread, like a weight sitting on my chest.  I’d been trying not to think of Emma’s taunting and my fleeing from the school with tears on my face.  I had spent an hour or two tossing and turning in bed, the event replaying over my head while the throbbing of my wrist jarred me awake every time I started to drift off.  Beyond that, I had been pretty successful in avoiding thinking about it.  Now that the prospect of going back was looming, though, it was impossible not to dwell on the subject as I headed home, got ready and caught the bus.

Taylor "Repress Repress Repress" Hebert!

I still had to face the consequences of missing two afternoons.

Do you?

This wasn’t the first time I’d needed to psych myself up to going to school.  Deceive myself into going and staying.  The worst days had been back in my first year at high school, when the wounds of Emma’s betrayal were still fresh and I wasn’t yet experienced enough to anticipate the variety of things they could come up with.  Back then, it had been terrifying, because I hadn’t yet known what to expect, didn’t know where, when or if they would draw the line. 

Ooof

Or, I thought, maybe I could just look forward to hanging out with Lisa, Alec and Brian.  Outside of the part where I nearly got mauled by Bitch’s dogs, it had been a nice night.

I mean, that's like saying "Apart from the part where she mindraped and then actually raped her sister, Amy Dallon does wonderful things in Worm"

Okay, not really, not even close, but still. That is a very big 'apart from' to just... set aside. :rofl:

 it had been a nice night.  Thai food, five of us lounging on two couches, watching an action movie on a huge entertainment system with surround sound.  I wasn’t forgetting what they were, but I rationalized that I had no reason to feel bad about spending time with them when we were – for all intents and purposes – just a group of teenagers hanging out.  Besides, it was for a good cause, if it meant they relaxed around me and maybe revealed secrets.  Right?

Capacity for self-rationalization, thy name is Taylor. :rofl:

Even though I knew, rationally, that I probably wasn’t on the list of their top five things to talk about and that they likely weren’t talking about me, I felt my heart sink.  

No, you probably are. I'm pretty sure you live rent free in both Taylor and Emma's heads and always will. A year and a half of targeting bullying, day in, day out.

Honestly, like, forget the immorality and awfulness of doing that, just... committing to that much bullying to one person that consistently - It just feels like it would be exhausting.

 One of the other girls noticed and chuckled, leaned closer to Sophia as Sophia whispered something in her ear, then they both laughed.  My cheeks flushed with humiliation.  

Like I said. Rent Free.

 For one and three-quarter school years, I had been putting up with this shit.  I’d been going against the current for a long time, and even though I was aware of the consequences I’d face if I kept missing school like this, it was so much easier to stop pushing so hard against the current and just step in the other direction. My hands jammed into my pockets, already feeling an ambivalent sort of relief, I caught the bus back to the docks.

Life advice from Skitter:

"Drop out of school, and become a supervillain kids!"

:rofl:

(But also, good on you Taylor. In this case, quitting school is the better choice. Fukitol and all that)

[eeblouissant]

Unorganized (angsty? Also unedited) Dorothy thoughts I wrote down on the train this morning :)

- Dorothy seemed much more passive before the divorce, & regardless I headcanon her being that way (until Stan effectively destroyed it). She was unhappy & then became very depressed through being married to him, I think she coped by disassociating whether she was aware of it or not. I don’t think Dorothy remembers a lot of her time with Stan (not her kids, Never her children. she’s separated Stan from them for a long time now) simply because she wasn’t there mentally - she chose not to be. We see (or, at least I do) a drastic shift in the way she behaves around Stanley even when she’s in a room with Blanche, Rose & Sophia. Some of the only people she feels like she doesn’t need to “disappear on” in order to tolerate. Her pessimism was a result of Stanley (specifically before & during the divorce, it was a painfully slow process.) & she uses it as a defence mechanism, or a safety blanket. I like to think that she wasn’t that way growing up, even the opposite.

- Dorothy is Very good at tuning out. If she doesn’t want to pay attention to you, she won’t. And you’ll never know the difference. (I saw a mutual mention her also just straight up taking out her hearing aid, so, she also definitely does that lmao– poor Rose gets the most of it)

- Anyone who’s spoken to Dorothy since the divorce, & knew her before it happened, especially before Stan – will tell you that she is Not how they remember her to be. And I think this is why so many of the people around her (besides the Obvious Reasons to hate him) have immediately taken to disliking Stan, the damage is so visible & absolutely undeniable that it would be impossible not to have something against him, no matter what role they might play in Dorothy’s life. Sophia would obviously harbour the most resentment, next to Dorothy. I don’t think Dorothy has been able to grasp just how badly Stan hurt her yet & I believe that is partly another choice she’s made. That &, she doesn’t remember much about who she was before anymore, anyway. It would just depress her to try & uncover.

- Side note on that last point, Blanche & Rose have definitely not believed Dorothy whenever she might have shown them old photos of her. Jaw drop moment for sure. & of course cursed Stan to all hell – I think Blanche would have gotten a little emotional. As much as she’d want to poke fun for a laugh I don’t think she’d have been able to bring herself to. She recognizes how tragic what happened to Dorothy is & was immediately. Not to say that Rose wouldn’t.

- I love love picking apart the ways Dorothy’s changed, the drastic change in how she chooses to dress (ignoring trends, & all that, just for a second) has always been interesting to me. We see a younger version of Dorothy in clothing that hugs her figure & creates an explicitly, traditionally, feminine silhouette. While after Stan dumps her, she’s begun leaning towards a style that could at times be considered more masculine. Especially in the new silhouette she’s created. This could for sure just be me reaching. I like to compare her to Rose, though, who still dresses in styles Very reminiscent of the 50s’. I’ve talked about Rose dressing the way she does because of Charlie before but I’ll address it here again, because Blanche is also very similar here. They never really changed because they never felt a need to, it’s obvious that Dorothy felt the need to do something. (brought on through insecurities, Stan, her own mental health, the list goes on. She needed to match the outside to the inside because she didn’t feel like that same passive person she was once. Imposter syndrome … question mark? Just a touch, perhaps.)

[losfacedevil]

Change // SFK (Pt9)

a/n~ Last weeks update was a bit heart wrenching. Was Sammy able to deal with the heartbreak he knew she felt? Was he able to get her out of her slump? CATCH UP ON THE FARMERS MARKET HERE!

“I literally don’t know what to do. You should have seen her face, I’ve never seen her look so scared before.” Sam lounged across the small two person seater couch in his brothers living room. 

Jake stood at the kitchen table, mixing cocktails for the boys to have with their dinner as he pondered everything Sam had confided in him. They had all known about Sophia — she was all Sam talked about for weeks, but no one knew of her broken past other than Sam. Jake knew the information Sam had shared was confidential and was proud to be the brother he was confident sharing it with. 

“That’s rough, trying to heal someone you’re not responsible for breaking is such a huge task to take on. Are you sure you want to do that?” Jake asked, knowing full well what his brother was about to take on. Sam shrugged, pushing himself up off of the couch and made his way into the kitchen. 

“Am I sure? Not really. Is it a scary thought to try and mend a heart I didn’t break? Absolutely. But there’s something about her drawing us together and honestly I’m gonna try like hell to bring her back to the girl she once was.” Jake nodded, sliding the drink in his hand across the table to Sam. 

“Hypothetically speaking when would you see her again?” Jake asked, his eyes trained on Sam’s face. 

“Hypothetically she hasn’t missed a market day since we met so if she’s the creature of habit I think she is I’ll see her Saturday.” His older brother nodded and reached up to run his hand along his chin. 

“I know you said she doesn’t typically hang more than a few minutes but see if she wouldn’t stay the day with you. Have her help you drive your sales, something to keep her mind off of things.” Sam nodded and a soft smile caressed his lips.

“That could actually work. I knew we kept you around for something!” Jakes jaw dropped and he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You’re not funny.”

~*~*~

“Why are you so nervous?” Danny couldn’t help but notice the nervous tick of Sam’s hands as he began loading up another milk crate with mason jars. The younger boy shrugged his shoulders gently, sliding the full milk crate across the counter and bent at the waist to grab the basket off of the floor. 

“I don’t know if Sophia is gonna come by or not. I haven’t heard from her all week.” He mumbled, carefully placing everything he had made specifically for her into her basket. Confusion kissed Danny’s features as he turned to face Sam. 

“Wait why? What did you do?” Danny quipped, arms crossed over his chest and he shot a death glare at Sam. The younger boy held his hands up in surrender. 

“I didn’t do anything. Something happened last week and she shut down on me. I’ve tried reaching out but she either doesn’t answer my call or leaves my texts on read.” Sam shrugged his shoulders, his heart aching in his chest for the girl he knew cowered behind that of her trauma. 

“But she’s reading the messages? I’d take that as somewhat of a good sign. I wouldn’t worry too much. Something bad happened, right? She needs time to process her emotions and what happened before she’ll be your Sophia again.” 

Sam couldn’t help the sigh that slipped past his nose. His eyes trained on the monarch butterfly that fluttered around just beyond the window as his mind reeled.  Danny watched on as the younger boy ran through his emotions, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

“You have to understand you can’t always be the knight in shining armor that protects her from her predators, Sam. Things are gonna come up, people are gonna rear their ugly heads and you’re gonna have to allow her to work through it alone.” Danny clapped his hand down on Sam’s shoulder, gently shaking the boy lovingly. 

“I know, but I can try like hell, can’t I, Rose?” Sal cooed, bending down to love on the pup sleeping near his feet. 

~*~*~

Sophia paced the length of her living room, tears streaming down her cheeks as she thought about not going to the market. She wasn’t sure she could face him after a week of silence; fully unsure if he would still accept her for her or if he would have already written her off. 

His messages had stopped coming a few days prior. Something she saw as him losing faith in her and in what they had. She didn’t understand what having someone willingly give her space to work things out felt like. She pulled his contact up in her phone, finger hovering over the call command as her mind raced, thoughts of losing Sam something she couldn’t mentally cope with. 

“He cares you nitwit, you know he does.” She mumbled, tossing her phone onto the couch before collapsing to her knees on the ground. A sob ripped from her chest as the scene in the thrift store played through her mind once again.  How mad her ex had looked, how Sam had jumped into protective mode and just how sad his facial expression had become when he realized he couldn’t do anything for her. 

“Just go, wallowing in your pity isn’t going to change anything.” She mumbled, pushing herself to her full height. A sigh slipped past her lips as she slid her feet into her shoes and picked up her phone to find a message from Sam. 

Samuel <3

Thinking of you, sweets. Hope to see you soon! 

She couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes as she snatched her keys up off of the table sat beside her front door. The cool air kissed her skin as she stepped outside for the first time in days; her eyes landing on what looked like a day old vase of roses sat on her doorstep. 

She cocked her head to the side, looking around to see if there was anyone nearby before stepping forward and sitting on the top step. She reached out and touched the rose petals gingerly, fearful they were going to fall when her eyes landed on the card. 

‘I’ll be here when you’re ready. - Sammy’ 

Her chest heaved as she pulled in a deep breath and gently scooped up the vase in her hands. 

~*~*~

“There’s just a lot and it’s not my business to tell but just remember if she does stop by to not be a knuckle head.” Sam chuckled, rearranging the baskets that sat on the table in front of him. It was quickly approaching mid-day and he had sold through more than half of his stock for the day. 

“And it has to do with whoever you guys ran into? She didn’t disclose who it was?” Danny questioned, curiosity getting the best of him. Sam shook his head lightly, a shrug of his shoulders punctuating the end of the conversation as his eyes landed on her. 

“Yeah I really don’t know. I just know that it wasn’t good and turned a good day into a shit one.” Sam mumbled as he turned his attention to her. 

“Hi boys.” She kept her voice low, almost so soft it couldn’t be heard over the hustle and bustle of the market. 

Sam kept his eyes trained on her, the way her shoulders slumped, the dark circles under her eyes, and the way the corners of her lips tugged downwards into a frown. He side stepped around the table and opened his arms in her direction. A soft smile tugged on her lips as she took a step forward and wrapped herself around him; burying her face into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. He swayed her gently, reaching up to thread his fingers through her hair.

He let his hand slide down the back of her head and around her neck until he could curl his fingers underneath her chin and tilted her head back gently. Tears pooled in her eyes as she locked eyes with him, the soft smile of relief never leaving her lips. Sam leaned forward slightly, capturing her lips with his in a short and sweet peck. 

“Well excuse me! You and her? And what?! KISSES?! When were you gonna tell me? Hmmm?!” Danny quipped, making his way over to them as they broke from each others embrace. 

Sophia couldn’t help the belly laugh that escaped her as she turned on her heel and smacked Danny’s arm. She grabbed his hoodie pocket, pulling him closer to her before gently wrapping her arms around him. Danny’s eyes grew wide and he looked at Sam who shrugged his shoulders and mimicked that of wrapping his arms around someone. 

“It’s good to see you, Soph.” Danny mumbled, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around her shoulders; eliciting a suffocated sounding giggle from her. 

“I thought Sammy told you already! I figured you’d know all about me and all about us by now.” She giggled, turning on the charm Sam knew was hiding the broken heart in her chest. Danny chuckled, resting his cheek against the crown of her head, following her cues. 

“Sammy probably doesn’t tell me as much as you think he does. Hell I didn’t even know he came home the night he went to see you. I thought he forgot where he lived.” She giggled softly, pulling away from Danny. 

“No he left me because he didn’t want you to be upset, or at least that’s the story he fed me.” She shrugged. Her eyes began wandering along the line of booths and lit up slightly as they landed on one manned by a young girl. 

“I’ll be back.” She mumbled, holding up a finger towards the boys as she took off at a jog down the path. 

“What was that about?” Danny asked, nodding in Sophia’s direction.

“She’s struggling, there was a lot of lies in her last relationship. I mean I did tell her I had to leave so you wouldn’t lose your mind that I was out with your car but I’m sure in her past relationship that meant he was somewhere else with someone else. There’s still a lot of trust to earn.” Sam shrugged, knowing full well he was in it for the long haul. 

Sophia glanced up from the young girl she was speaking with and locked eyes with Sammy, a quick movement of her hand beckoning him towards her. Sam drove his finger into his chest, cocking his head to the side as she nodded. 

“Go be lovebirds, I’ll hold this down today. I don’t want to see you back here, got it?” Danny chuckled, placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders and gave the boy a gentle push. 

Sam couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he made his way over to her. Shoving his hands in his pockets as he sidled up next to her. Sophia quickly finished her conversation, slipping a new beaded bracelet onto her wrist as she bid her farewells to the young girl.

She reached up and looped her arm through Sam’s, resting her other hand against his arm as she nodded her head in the direction of the exit. Sam leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to her temple as they maneuvered their way through the small crowds. 

“Will Danny have your head if you take off? This is the last place I really want to be but… I…” her voice trailed off as she stopped in her tracks, collecting her thoughts. 

“I love Danny, I do but, I just… I just want to hang with you today. I know it’s selfish and it’s okay if you don’t want to.” Sam reached up and placed a finger against her lips, silencing the ramble she was on. 

“It’s cool, we can take off if you want to I just have to give Danny the keys.” A relieved smile spread across her face as she unraveled herself from him. 

“I’ll meet you at my car.” 

Sophia turned on her heel and slowly made her way back to where she had parked, her mind reeling with everything she had been mulling over the past week. She knew that she had to tell Sam everything, after the show her ex had put on she felt like she had no choice. She had slept her week away, the sheer exhaustion the mental toll took on her ripping away her freedom.

It wasn’t long before Sam was jogging up to where she stood leaning up against her car. She toyed carefully with the array of beaded bracelets that adorned her wrist, her eyes trained on the one she had picked out for him. 

“You left your basket again. Are you over all the sweet treats my magic hands make?” He joked, placing the basket down on the hood of her car. She smiled up at him sadly, the corners of her mouth not quite meeting her eyes. He followed her lead, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. 

“What’s wrong, doll face? He hasn’t been bothering you, has he?” Sam asked, rubbing his thumbs along the apples of her cheeks. Sophia shook her head gently, 

“No he hasn’t bothered me but, you bother me.” Sam’s face dropped, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a pout and he dropped his hands from her face before taking a step back. 

“I… um… I’m sorry. I can go.” He mumbled, throwing his thumbs over his shoulder in the direction of his market booth. Sophia’s eyes grew wide and she took a step forward, wrapping her arms securely around his middle. 

“No! No, no. That didn’t come out right. I…. Uh. Fuck.” She mumbled, resting her chin against his sternum. Sam reached up to rest his hands on her cheeks.

“You want to fuck? Wow, that’s a bit forward, don’t you think?” He joked, leaning down to rub his nose against hers. 

“Samuel! I’m trying to be serious and you’re trying to get it in. Typical man. What I was trying to say was it bothers me that there’s so much about me you’re still in the dark about. And I so badly want to tell you it all but I don’t… I don’t want to scare you away. There I said it!” She nearly yelled, letting her eyes flutter shut and pulled in a chest heaving breath. 

Sam moved his hands from her cheeks, reaching up to thread his fingers through her hair. He cupped the back of her head and leaned down to capture her lips with his. She melted into his touch, following his lead as his tongue poked out from between his lips and danced across her bottom lip. She happily obliged, allowing him access to slip his tongue softly against hers. 

Her grip on him tightened, almost as if he would blow away on the wind if she let go. He chuckled lowly as she bit down on his bottom lip as she pulled away from him. 

“Well that was um, unexpected.” She giggled, burying her face into the soft material of his hoodie. Sam pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut as he realized it was now or never. 

“Be my girl. Let me in that pretty little mind and be my girl.” He mumbled, poking his fingers into her ribcage to elicit the sweetest giggles. 

“That’s a pretty big ask, Samuel. Are you sure that’s what you want?” She teased, resting her chin against his sternum once more. 

“I know there’s a lot you’re still working through and that you’re still trying to love yourself as you are but, cmon make a guys day and be my girl. Please?” He pushed his bottom lip out in a pout, puppy dog eyes on full display as he leaned down and peppered kisses against her forehead. 

“Before I agree I need you to know. There’s gonna be days where I don’t like you and I don’t like me and it’s nothing personal so if I snap or I shut down don’t take it personal, okay? There’s a long road ahead.” Sam nodded enthusiastically, fully understanding weeks like the one they just had may be the normal for a while. 

“So is that a yes, my sweet girl?” Sam mumbled, peppering kisses all over her face. She nodded gently, turning her head just enough to capture his lips with hers in a sweet kiss.

TAGLIST: @gretasmokerising @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @puzzle-gvf @sunfl0wer-power @vanfleeter @aintthatapity @twistedmelodies @gvfpal @psychedelicsprinkles @miguelnation @gracev0609 @runwayblues @jordie-gvf-admin

[under-rated-characters]

Love song

Beth Greene x reader

This fanfic is inspired by the song (From the start by Laurey) and it includes some lyrics as well

This is my first fanfic, and English isn’t my first language so if there are any mistakes please let me know.

Angst (I think?)

400-500 words

Ever since you met the Greenes after Carl got shot, you and Beth have been inseparable. Through thick and thin, you knew you would always have your best friend with you. When her boyfriend, Jimmy, died trying to look for Sophia, She was devastated. She thought her life was over, but you were there to comfort her. You were her rock, her shoulder to cry on.

As time passed, she didn’t seem to get better, so you got out your book and started writing. Writing songs and poems have always been able to calm your thoughts, so you decided to write her a song to try and cheer her up a little. Something short and sweet you could wipe up in a few minutes. And it worked. So you kept giving her songs after songs, and poems after poems. Even when you all got to the prison, you didn’t stop. Seeing the way she smiled and the way her eyes shined when she read them and the way that she loved singing them for the rest of the group was enough to make you keep fitting for more. But as more and more people got to the prison, your best friend started to drift away. You were going out to search for supplies a lot more, and she started getting attached to other people and after a few months she was completely in love with another. But it wasn’t until she was out of your grasp, that you realized you were completely and utterly in love with the one and only Beth Greene.

And with that, you decided to write her one final letter. Poring every word you wanted to tell her from the start. How you’ve wondered how she never noticed when you got quiet when there was no one else around. Just the two of you in awkward silence. Just wanting to tell her not to look at you that way because you didn’t need a reminder of how she didn’t feel the same. To tell her about the burning pain of listening to her talk about a new soulmate “he’s so perfect”. How you’d wish she would wake up one day, run to you, confess her love, and at least just let you say. That when you talk to her, Cupid walks right through and shoots an arrow through your heart. You knew you sounded like a loon, but couldn’t she feel it too? Confessed you’ve loved her from the start.

It was the middle of the night when you finished the song with tears in your eyes. You got to her sell, when you opened the curtain your eyes filled with even more tears than before. Seeing her hug her boyfriend in their sleep was just too much. So you dropped your final song to her on the desk, left the prison, and never came back.

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 45

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = Tommy is off doing business leaving Ana back home at Small Heath where she has a heart-to-heart with her father?

Warnings = Language, Grammar,  Alcohol, mentions of selling a person. Mentions of possible Death. 

Word Count = 2040

Note = Thank you all for the continuous support and patience when it comes to this story. I am slowly but surely getting back on track. Please enjoy, there is a bit of a shock at the end of this, I don’t think any of you are expecting it? At least not vocally. Love you all, you are honestly the best! 

Standing next to the cooker I continued to cut the carrot into smaller, more manageable pieces before putting the cut pieces into the simmering pot of hot water. My mind was continuously going back and forth as to whether or not I should go and say goodbye to my parents.

After the conversation I had with my father yesterday, I felt upset. I had forgiven him for using me as leverage with the Changretta’s - after understanding the predicament he had found himself in. It wasn't a nice situation and at that time he had agreed to what he had to do, to protect his family.

I found myself upset, not due to the situation but because I knew I was going to miss him. We hadn't spoken in weeks. This was a man who raised me and showed me how to perfect my passion for tailoring. He supported my relationship with Tommy even when my mother didn't, he had tried to correct his mistake long before I knew about it.

He wasn't perfect, but he was my father.

My apprehension about returning to the tailor shop came because of my mother. She never supported my relationship with Tommy. After finding out about our relationship she treated me like I was nothing more than a common criminal. A whore you would find walking the streets looking for her next customer to provide a living for herself.

I never properly understood her complete hatred for our relationship until a conversation I had with Esme one evening - when the boys were drinking at the Garrison.

She explained to me how it felt to go into public before marrying a Shelby. The jeering, the abuse and the racial slurs she was subjected to was disgusting. She was a beautiful woman, with gorgeous brown hair with chocolate eyes, ridiculed because of her ethnicity.

I couldn't believe my mother would be so shallow but I shouldn't have been surprised. Thinking back to her mother and how she would speak about other people, it should have been glaringly obvious. I was just surprised I didn't carry on the same traits.

No, I carried after my father's mother, my grandmother Sophia. She was a good, kind-hearted woman, unafraid to stand up for what she believed in. Always there when someone needed her, taken too soon just after the Great War.

Reaching up I scratched just above my eyebrow with my third finger, knife still balancing in my hands when I heard the front door of my apartment open.

Instant panic chilled me to the core as the footsteps started to shuffle towards me. Tommy wasn’t due home until later tonight, information relayed to me late yesterday evening by Esme after her shift at the betting shop.

Clutching the knife tightly in my hands, I swallowed back my fears turning around in my spot. Keeping my back pressed against the counter, the shadow of the person peered through the opened door.

Shakily holding the knife out in front of me, I prepared myself for when the person finally revealed themselves. I was unsure of what I would do with it but silently prayed that the presence of the knife alone would scare whoever it was off.

“Damn it, Tommy,” I growled, breathing out a sigh of relief when he appeared around the door frame. My heart was beating so fast in my chest that I found it hard to regulate my breathing once again, dropping the knife to my side. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t back till tonight?”

“I can always leave again if you want.” He smirked, his blue eyes travelling from the knife by side, back up to my eyes. His eyebrows raised, silently questioning the intentions I had with the weapon.

“I thought you were an intruder.” I sighed, turning on my heel to resume my chopping.

I was preparing one of his favourite meals, rabbit stew. I was following the recipe Polly had given me, a recipe written down by his late mother.  It was a meal she would make whenever her husband came home after months of being away or whenever she felt like her children needed a special pick-me-up.

The recipe called for the stew to be simmering on low heat for a few hours during the day. This allowed the meat to soften and the flavours to blend perfectly together. A hearty home-cooked meal.

“Do you think the men out front can't protect you?” He asked stepping up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and hugging me from behind.

“Of course I do, I just wasn’t expecting you.” I nodded, allowing myself to fall back into his embrace as his face nuzzled into my neck. His arms loosened slightly on my waist so that his hands were pressed against the bump that was steadily growing.

“Smells amazing Stace.” He inhaled the aromas flowing through the pot.

“Thank you love. Did you get the horse you wanted?” I asked, placing another carrot in front of me, ready to begin chopping once more.

“I always get what I want” Tommy cockily chuckled in my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth, the action sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

“That you do Mr Shelby.” I moaned, head lulling to the side, allowing his lips to work their way from the back of my ear to the column of my neck. “But I need to finish this before I have to leave, otherwise it will not be ready.”

“And where is more important than here in my arms Miss Adler?”

“My parents are leaving tonight, for Scotland,” I replied, the assault on my neck stopping at the mention of them. I felt Tommy pull his head from my neck, his hands moving to my sides, turning me around to face him. “My father visited yesterday...”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Tommy, we talked. I forgave him” I sighed, looking him dead in the eyes. "I just have to let him go now, say goodbye."

Tommy simply nodded, pulling me close to him. His chin softly rested on the top of my head, he held me tightly against him. Nothing needed to be said, Tommy knew I had to do this. For myself more than anyone else.

******

Brushing down the front of my dress again, I re-adjusted my coat around my waist for what felt like the hundredth time. Walking down Marshcroft Street towards my former home and workplace, I felt strange and heavy. I had an overwhelming bad feeling.

"You look beautiful, stop fussing," Tommy spoke, bringing my attention from my coat and back towards him.

"I just don't want to give my mother something to pick on"

"It's your mother, Stace. You just have to breathe wrong." Tommy joked, lips wrapping around the end of his cigarette, pulling the nicotine into his lungs.

"Maybe this was a bad idea." I stopped just short of the shop, pulling Tommy to a halt next to me. "I have a bad feeling about it Tommy."

"You will regret not saying goodbye. That's why you are doing this" Tommy reminded me, his arm slipping behind my back as he pushed me toward the black doors.

Stopping outside the tailor shop, the first thing I noticed was the door was open. Glancing back at Tommy, he shook his head, hand reaching forward to pull me away so he could take the lead.

Quietly, he removed his gun from its holster, pulling out the weapon before slowly pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Rushing up behind him, I held my breath as he entered through the door, his gun raised. Glancing over at me, his eyes widened slightly at my closeness before continuing inside.

The memories came flooding back the second I stepped through the door. The good and the bad.

The shop was exactly how I left it the day I walked out. My desk still sat in the corner, the needles and thread still sitting where I had left them. It was like a museum of my life before.

"All clear," Tommy commented, placing the gun back in his holster, a confused look on his face as he took in the appearance of the shop. Nothing was packed away. It simply appeared as if it were closed for the evening, ready to start anew the following day.

"They must be next door." I nodded, running my fingertips along the wooden edge of my desk, moving towards my chair and taking a seat, grinning up at Tommy.

"What's that look for?" He asked, walking closer to me, lifting the fabrics that were sitting on the spare chair next to me and resting them on the desk.

"This is where it all started for us, well here and the betting shop." I mused, reaching over, and placing my left hand on his knee. The diamond engagement ring glittered up at us. "James sat right where you will sitting when he figured out how I felt about you."

"That right?"

"Mmm, it was the night you came to collect your suit. Taking me with you to Charlie's yard to repair the window."

"I remember the night well." Tommy nodded, pulling his cigarettes from his pocket, rolling the white sick along his plump lips before lighting it.

"You only wanted me to go with you so you could kiss me again." I giggled, feeling my cheeks heat up at the memory. The day, Thomas Shelby stole my first kiss and had me addicted to him.

Tommy looked over at me, an amused smile playing on his lips. His hand came up, taking the white stick from his mouth as he thought of a response.

"I was addicted that day, still am." I continued, pursing my lips together. The action brought a laugh from deep within Tommy's chest.  

"I know the feeling all too well" Tommy commented, placing a hand over my own on his thigh and giving it a tight squeeze.

"I feel so lucky to have found you" I smiled, my head lolling to the side as I looked loving towards him. "Come on, let's find my father and go home for the evening. I can show you just how much I missed you"

"I can't say no to that now can I?" Tommy chuckled, taking my hand that was already in his to pull me to my feet and back out the door.

Standing outside the second door, I knocked gently on the wooden door, patiently waiting for a response but nothing. Trying again, I could feel Tommy's impatience next to me as we waited.

"Maybe they have gone early?" Tommy spoke, stubbing the end of his cigarette out on the wall next to the door. Peering into the living room window, when his entire body stiffened.

"Tommy, what is it?" I asked, taking a step forward only to be held away by his outstretched hand.

"Stace I need you to go get Arthur and John, now!" He spoke turning around to face me. His eyes darker than usual, the stress lines returning to the corner of them.

"Not until you tell me what's going on," I demanded, trying my best to push past him to look through the window but he wouldn't allow it. His hands wrapped around my hips stopping me from moving forward.

"Anastasia, I am serious"

"So am I Tommy. That is my parents I demand to know what is going on." I huffed out, determination clear in my eyes as I went to move forward once again. Tommy's grip loosened, but only slightly.

"Stace, look at me. Look at me." Tommy demanded, an unknown emotion glazing over his eyes as looked at me. A dark, sinking feeling churned in my stomach.

"Are they dead?" I asked with as little emotion as I could muster. I didn't want to fall apart, not yet.

Tommy inhaled sharply, holding his head high. Placing my hands over his wrists that were holding my hips, I gave a soft squeeze, silently telling him I would be okay with however he put the next few words to leave his mouth.

"It appears that way, Stace, yes."

Taglist 

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76   @midnightmagpiemama  @pierre-gasssllyy    @duckybird101

[julietashton]

it’s hard to be anywhere these days (when all i want is you) - five

part one. // part two. // part three. // part four.

five.

Sophia didn’t return for a whole month, and Peter’s despair grew.

She had always been hard to read. In that sense, she was unpredictable like Tony, but Tony was more emotional than the man himself would ever admit. Sophia, on the contrary, had a control of her emotions that made Peter absolutely clueless as to what she could be feeling.

Objectively, she cared about him—she had told him so. But what did that entail? Was she in love with him too or did she only see him as a friend? Had she broken off her engagement because of him? Had she kissed him because she loved him, or had it been an impulse she was regretting now? Was she avoiding Peter because he deserved it after everything he’d done or because she didn’t want him to get any strange ideas?

It was driving him insane, especially because, part of him, had already started imagining what it would be like for them to be together. He had never allowed himself to think about that before—it had always seemed impossible. But now, he’d gotten a taste of what it could be like, and he believed he would die if he spent another day without her.

“I’m throwing a party,” Tony commented as he observed the bots tidying up the workshop—or, really, making more of a mess of it.

He had finally decided to move back to his penthouse in the Upper East Side because ‘it was closer to Pepper’s work’ and ‘that hippie era of his life where he lived in a farm was over now that he was as recovered as he would ever be’.

Or that was what he’d told Peter. After what Sophia had said, he knew that he was doing it to be closer to Peter now that he was ‘done with his rebellious era’, as Tony also liked to call it.

It made him incredibly happy and cherished. He didn’t even try to hide his tears when Tony had told him he wasn’t moving to LA after all.

“A party?” Peter echoed, confused. “What for?”

“To christen the penthouse, of course.”

“But you’ve already lived here before.”

“Let’s start celebrating the little things in life, kid,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, Pepper has remodelled the whole thing. It’s practically a new place.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. When is the party going to be?”

“Well, it’s just a fancy dinner.” Then, as an afterthought, he added: “Sophia’s coming too.”

His brain short-circuited. “What?”

Tony shrugged as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him. Peter knew him too well not to have seen the devious glint in his eyes though.

“Shall I expect you and May too?” he asked instead, cocking an eyebrow the same way Sophia did.

Peter could only nod, his cheeks on fire.

***

Every superhero and/or enhanced being was there.

Iron Man. Thor. Captain America. The Falcon. Hawkeye. Doctor Strange. Quill. His fellow insect people, Ant-Man and the Wasp. The chick with the antennas. The Hulk—was he even still the Hulk? Didn’t matter. There were some Peter had never even heard of.

Even Miss Potts had come to fight, which had surprised him beyond belief, wearing a suit Peter hoped she would let him check out later—if they survived, that was.

After seeing her, he thought he’d seen everything and everyone—until the Valkyrie dropped him on the ground after taking the gauntlet and one of those gigantic monsters tried to cut him in half.

Except someone blasted it off before Peter could get hurt.

At first, he thought it was Pepper. The suit had a similar colour at first glance, and the shape was different than Tony’s, more feminine. When it landed at his feet—he was all sprawled out on the ground—and the helmet showed the person inside, Peter’s jaw dropped.

It was Sophia.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, widening his eyes. “He made you a suit?! That’s so freaking cool and—”

But Peter’s excitement died in his throat when he saw her expression.

He’d seen that expression before. It was similar to the one Tony had had when he’d seen Peter just a while ago—hope, disbelief, amazement, pain, sorrow; all in one look. Before opening the portal that took them off Titan, Doctor Strange had mentioned Thanos’ success in his genocidal plan and how they’d been dead for six months, but everything had happened too fast for him to process what that meant.

It hit him then. He’d been dead for six months and—thank God—Sophia hadn’t. She’d had to mourn him.

He took off his mask but, before he could say anything, Sophia jumped on him, hugging him tightly as her body shook.

“You’re back,” she sobbed, the sound coming out muffled by the way she was sinking her face on his neck. “You’re really back.”

She was still in her suit but that didn’t stop Peter from surrounding her with his arms, closing his eyes to tune out the mayhem and brutality of the battle and appreciate her presence. He breathed her in, his heart taking off at the feeling of her.

For him, it had only been two days since he’d last seen her, not six months, but it might as well have been. She had been in his mind all the time while he’d been on his spontaneous space quest, wondering if he would ever see her again.

“Yeah… yeah, I am. I’m here,” Peter mumbled, pressing his mouth on the crown of her head without thinking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fight it.”

She let out another sob that also sounded like a laugh, hugging him even tighter. “Only you would apologise for dying.”

He smiled. “Well, I did keep you waiting for a while.”

Sophia drew away slightly, probably to get mad at him, but an explosion coming from nearby startled them.

“A LITTLE HELP, LOVEBIRDS?” The Falcon shouted as he flew over them, firing his whole arsenal like a madman.

Peter quickly put his mask back on; more to hide his blush than anything else. Sophia, on the other hand, rolled her eyes and blasted something off over Peter’s shoulder.

“I thought you were the bird here, pigeon,” she shouted back.

“What did you just call me, young lady?”

Sophia shot Peter a cheeky grin before her face was covered by her helmet and she took off to assist Sam.

“I can see those heart-eyes even with your mask on, Queens,” Captain America’s voice said through the intercom. “Get your arse over here.”

***

Peter had been avoiding people for over two years, so it was a bit overwhelming when he arrived with May at Tony’s penthouse and he found it so crowded.

Pepper and Happy were there. So was Colonel Rhodes and some of the Avengers, but he couldn’t really focus on anyone except on the girl he’d been missing for a month—the girl he’d been missing his whole life, actually.

Sophia looked breath-taking in a dark green dress, with her long hair down in natural waves and her huge eyes standing out even more because of the subtle make-up she was wearing. Her smile was blinding as she talked to people, and Peter felt a stab in his chest, wishing he could be on the receiving end of one of those smiles.

“We should go and say hi,” May said, giving him a pointed look before looking in Sophia’s direction.

Peter nodded, feeling like a small kid again as he followed behind his aunt with hunched shoulders.

“May!” Sophia exclaimed when she saw them approaching. Her eyes found Peter’s briefly and her smile faltered for a second before she plastered it back on. “I’m so glad you came!”

The two of them hugged as he stood there awkwardly.

“It’s so good to see you, sweetie.”

“You too. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m as good as new.”

They started to chit-chat and exchange pleasantries, completely ignoring his presence, particularly Sophia.

“She was faking,” Peter blurted out because his social skills had never been the best. He blushed when both of them looked at him. “May did know who I was.”

His aunt bit back a smile as Sophia arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I know,” she dead-panned.

Peter blinked. “What? You did? But you said—” he trailed off, and realisation dawned on him. “You were only trying to make me go see her.”

She shrugged. “Yep, but it still didn’t work. I guess you only needed a near-death experience to make you realise you were being an idiot,” she bit with a sharp smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go say hi to the new arrivals.”

And with that, she shot May a smile and left without giving Peter another glance. He watched her go, motionless on his spot, his stomach churning unpleasantly.

“She hates me,” he whispered.

His aunt gave him a pity look. “She doesn’t hate you, sweetie. She’s just—angry. It’ll take time.”

“How much time?” he asked hopelessly.

“It’s proportional to how much you’ve screwed up—which isn’t exactly little,” his aunt tried to joke, but it didn’t help.

Pepper came over them, probably sensing Peter hadn’t been very welcomed by Sophia, and tried to smooth things down. Soon enough, however, Peter was forgotten again as May and Pepper began catching up, so he sneaked away from them.

Peter didn’t want to look so desperate or make her feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help but follow her around like a lost puppy. He kept his distance, never getting close enough to be in the same circle of people she was chatting with, but he was always around—and he could tell that it bothered her.

At first, Sophia was doing a wonderful job at pretending he didn’t exist, but as time passed and he didn’t relent, her eye began to twitch, and her shoulders tensed. By the time Tony called everyone to the huge fancy table he—well, Pepper—had set up and she found out that they would be sitting next to each other, her irritation was palpable.

However, dinner went by pleasantly. Mostly everyone participated in the conversation and the food was so good it kept everyone distracted. Besides, it was a time for celebration—things would never go back to being the same as they used to be, but they were finding peace and happiness in what they were rebuilding together after so much loss and pain.

Sophia was in a good mood. She was clearly happy to see her father doing so well and spending time with people he loved. But Peter could easily notice the three moments that drove her to explode—and they all had to do with him.

The first one was truly an accident. He noticed her glass was empty and he wanted to have a nice gesture, so he attempted to fill it with more wine. It was just bad timing he chose to do it at the exact same moment she went to reach for the bottle, making their hands brush.

It felt like touching a livewire; his whole body reacting to that simple touch as if it had been electrocuted. Sophia quickly drew away, the only sign that she had realised it had happened being the tight clench of her jaw.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly.

She didn’t try to reach for her glass again.

The second moment was kind of his fault. He heard her phone vibrate before she felt it, so when she pulled it out to look at it under the table, Peter was already paying attention.

Brad, the ID caller said. With a heart emoji.

It was Peter who tensed then, albeit involuntarily, and she noticed him looking down at her phone as well. She declined the call and glared at him.

“Don’t be such a busybody,” she snapped under her breath.

He blushed but couldn’t find it in himself to let it go.

“I thought—I thought you’d broken it off,” Peter stuttered, conscious of how lame he sounded. “The engagement.”

She looked away, fixing her gaze on Rhodey, who was telling one of his anecdotes, even though it was clear she wasn’t really listening.

“Who told you that?”

Peter’s heart fell. “Tony and May. Were they wrong?”

She didn’t answer immediately, and he felt like he was choking, until:

“No,” she said quietly. “No, they weren’t wrong.”

“Then why was he calling you?” he insisted. “Are you—Are you still together?”

Sophia finally looked at him, her expression harsh. “That’s none of your business, Peter.”

He wanted to argue and say something like you made it my business when you kissed me, but he didn’t want her to get more mad. It wasn’t the right time or place to discuss it either, with Tony just two seats away and half of the Avengers sitting at the same table.

“Please,” he whispered instead. “Just say yes or no.”

He held her gaze with begging eyes and, ultimately, it was her who looked away again. She filled her glass with more wine and took a large sip before she obliged him.

“No,” she ground out.

He was so relieved he could have laughed hysterically, but he was already walking on a thin line. Even so, he couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on his face and she clearly noticed it.

“Stop talking to me,” Sophia bit, shooting him a glare. “You already have practice on that. Put it to good use.”

Peter ignored the jab, even if it hurt, and shook his head.

“No,” he said stubbornly and determinedly. “I’m not doing that any more.”

She huffed. “Until I get kidnapped or something and you make it all about you again.”

Ouch.

“You are too smart to get kidnapped,” Peter shrugged. “And I’m sure they would beg us to take you back in only a matter of hours. You’re a pain in the ass.”

Her eyes widened at his reply, not having expected it, which made him feel incredibly smug—especially when he caught her lips twitching, as if she wanted to smile but was trying hard not to.

The third moment happened later, while they were having dessert. It was brief and he had nothing to do with it, but it was the last straw. Sophia was, after all, known to be short-tempered.

“We should do this more often,” Sam commented. “When’s the wedding again?” he asked Sophia innocently.

“There’s not going to be a wedding,” she replied with a tight smile. “But what makes you think you would get invited to it anyway?”

“What?” Sam blinked, genuinely surprised. And, to Peter’s horror—or delight—, the Falcon looked at him. “Did you get cold feet or something?”

A silence so tense it could be cut with a knife fell on those nearby them. Sophia turned as white as Peter’s face was red. Bucky, who was sitting next to Sam, shook his head imperceptibly, as if his friend was a lost cause. Rhodey winced visibly and Bruce pretended to be enthralled by his cake. But it was Tony, out of all people, who raised the bet.

“Nah, I still have hopes for that wedding,” he said nonchalantly. “But in a few more years.”

Sam looked so confused that it was tempting for Peter to laugh and tease him the way he would have done in other circumstances. The fact that Tony had said something like that wasn’t to be taken lightly either, as one of his biggest concerns had always been the man’s reaction to Peter’s not-at-all-platonic feelings for his one and only precious daughter.

He looked at Sophia, but she was already throwing her napkin unceremoniously on the table and walking away.

It took Peter five whole seconds to hastily get up and follow her.

“What the fuck?” he heard Sam ask. “Will someone explain to me what’s going on?”

six.

[myocsfanfictions]

The Road Ahead of Us - TWD Season 2

The Walking Dead Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

They had left Atlanta behind, trying to reach Fort Benning; but during an apocalypse nothing ever goes at it is planned. Sarah and Nicolette will have to face new challenges and dangers. How will they survive?

<< Previous - Next >>

CHAPTER 22

NICOLETTE

Nicki was more sure every day that Shane was getting crazier by the day. He was jumpy, aggressive, and impulsive. He had pulled Carl in that way; he never did that. Treating him as if he was his son.

Nicolette had tried to find the Little Shit after he ran away, but she didn't manage. So she decided to take a walk around the farm. The whole Randall situation was getting her agitated; his only presence managed to do so. And she didn't like it.

She had been scared before; she had witnessed a city fall, her friends die, and a man trying to burn them alive, and she had seen Sophia getting back as walkers, but this felt different. People were scarier than walkers. They could think, and people like Randall's group seemed to enjoy hurting others. She never thought she would be scared of humans in that situation, but she was.

"Carol, send ya?" Daryl's voice made her look up. She hadn't realized she had arrived at his self-made camp. He was looking at his arrows, gathering them, and with him, there was Dale.

"Carol's not the only one that's concerned about you," Dale said.

"Sarah?" he asked again, but Dale shook his head.

"Not just them," Dale said again, "With your new role in the group."

That was true, Daryl was growing on everyone in the group, well, maybe everyone except from Shane. But after what had happened to Sophia, they all realized that there was more of Daryl Dixon than they had noticed before.

"Oh man, I don' need ma head shrunk," Daryl scoffed, bending over to take some other arrows. "This group is broken," at his words, Nicki put herself behind a tree, wanting to listen to what they were going to say at that point and she was afraid that if they'd noticed her, they would have dropped the subject.

"I'm better off fending for myself," Nicki remembered that he moved away just after Sophia died. He could act tough all he wanted, but she was sure that if he moved, it was not because he had enough of all of them. Not after he beat up Randall to know what they all risked.

"You act like you don't care," Dale said. Dale was watching Daryl take a step towards a tree where his jacket was hanging.

"Yeah," Daryl replied, "It's 'cause I don'."

"So live or die, you don't care what happens to Randall?" Dale said, observing Daryl closely, but he didn't wait even a second to answer that he didn't, "Then why don't you stand with me and try to save the kid's life? If it really doesn't matter one way or the other," Dale suggested. And Nicki frowned.

Why did he want to save that kid so badly? From what she had understood, threats should be eliminated. Randall was a threat, so why try to save him? His group had attacked Rick, Glenn, and Hershel, and it was to kill them. And then, they figured out what their group did to people. They were dangerous. They were a threat.

"Didn't peg you for a desperate son of a bitch," Daryl answered.

"Your opinion makes a difference," Dale said, trying to convince him.

"Man, ain't nobody lookin' at me for nothin'," Daryl answered, taking his crossbow, ready to walk away.

"Carol is," Dale said, following, "Sarah is," Daryl stopped walking, "And I am. Right now," the hunter turned to the older man who kept talking, "And you obviously have Rick's ear."

That was true; Rick trusted Daryl more and more by the day.

That seemed to piss Daryl off as he hissed, "Rick just looks to Shane. Let 'im."

"You cared about what happened to Sophia," Nicki found herself looking at the ground at the mention of the girl's name by Dale, "Cared what it meant to the group," that seemed to have gotten Daryl's attention as he became to walk back towards Dale.

"Torturing people?" Dale kept saying, "This isn't you. You are a decent man," Nicki said. She was sure that if Sarah had been there, she would have agreed with what Dale was saying. She often defended Daryl when the others didn't trust him, "So is Rick. Shane... he's different."

Dale didn't trust Shane, either. She had noticed that, and she was curious to know what Daryl thought about the man.

"Why's that?" Daryl asked, "'Cause he killed Otis?"

Nicolette's eyes widened. She knew it was like that. She had been thinking that for a long time now.

"He told you that?" Dale asked, his eyes wide but not surprised. Would Shane really say something to Daryl? Something so confidential?

"He told some story," Daryl began to explain, "How Otis covered for him, saved his ass. He showed up with the dead guy's gun," she had noticed that, but others didn't, maybe if they'd listened to their conversation something would have rung a bell, "Rick ain't stupid. If he didn't figure that out, it's 'cause he didn't wanna," the started to walk towards the woods, "It's like I said... the group it's broken."

Could Rick really let Shane go around after he killed a man? Of course, Shane getting back was the only reason Carl was alive, but by killing someone... was Rick letting that slide? Seeing how Shane was behaving.

"Ya listened, alright?" Nicki's head shot up when she noticed Daryl standing by the tree.

"Did you notice me?" she asked, still kneeling on the ground.

"Ya make a lot 'f noise for a quiet girl," he said, fixing the position of his crossbow over his shoulder, "Your sister knows ya here?" Nicki shook her head as she stood up.

"But better you than Shane," she answered, and he looked closely at her.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because Sarah trusts you more than she does with Shane," Nicki answered cooly. She noticed him chewing the side of his cheek before heading towards the trees.

"So Shane killed Otis," Nicki said following him.

"Ya can't come," Daryl scoffed.

But Nicki ignored him. "Are we safe with him?"

"Randall?" Daryl asked with a frown.

"Shane," Daryl stopped, taking a breath before turning to her, "Go back to your sister. Everything's fine."

"I think he is dangerous," she stated, looking up at the man. "I'm afraid of what he may do."

The twilight arrived soon. Nicolette had spent her time shooting her arrows against trees or targets. She needed to feel ready; she didn't like to feel so jumpy. The woods now seemed even darker, and the girl asked herself how long it would have taken Randall's friends to find them.

As the sun started to disappear over the horizon, Nicki got back to the house, like she had promised to Sarah. The adults would all be there; they had the meeting to decide what was going to happen to Randall. As she was walking, Carl's frame caught her eye; he, too, was heading toward the house.

"Look who's here," she said, her tone flat as she observed his clothes. "Have you been rolling on the ground?" His pants were dirty with mud.

"You're so annoying," he muttered, passing next to her.

"Thank you," she answered, following him. They walked in silence for a bit, but she could see him glaring at her from time to time.

"What?" Nicki asked with a frown.

"You always shoot without fear," he stated, annoyed, and that got her confused.

"I don't think I'm following," she admitted, and he just scoffed.

"You're really annoying."

Nicolette usually had no problem with the Little Shit being pissed at her, she even found it funny, but at least she would have liked to know what she did so as to annoy him more.

They arrived at the house, where Lory was waiting for her son, while the other entered the house, "I want you to stay with Jimmy."

"But I want to listen," Carl protested.

Lori shook her head, "Not this time."

Nicki got closer to the woman, "Is Sarah inside?" she asked, and Lori nodded her head, leading the three of them inside.

*******

If you liked it, please leave a ♥️ and reblog!

[naivesilver]

hmmm I'll give you a lot of options with this one and say anything of your choosing off the 'questions starters' for lies of p? 😊

Listen. There are SO many characters I love in LoP - the boi himself, Romeo etc. But do you know who I will ALWAYS go to bat for? That's right, it's Eugénie 💞💞💞 this is inspired by my absolutely batshit first run of the game AND its "Free from the Puppet String" ending, thanks

Question Starters

"Do you feel alright?"

Eugénie doesn't expect the boy to come look for her because, frankly, she doesn't expect to be the person he needs, right now.

Not that there are many people left, honestly. Sophia is gone. Geppetto is gone. Antonia is wasting away to nothingness, and Polendina is an ever vigilant shadow by her side, as helpful and devoted as he always was. If there weren't a thousand and one things Eugénie can and must do to keep herself busy, she wagers she'd be going insane at the moment, what with the world falling to pieces as she speaks.

Still, fixing things is her job and her vocation. Perhaps taking a hammer and some boards to the walls of Hotel Krat might be a slight misuse of it, but weapons and machinery - that she can still do blindfolded, so when the boy comes and wordlessly holds out his legion arm for her to inspect, she accepts it without question, clearing some space on her cluttered worktable and turning on the nearest lamp. She might not be Mr. Venigni, but that doesn't mean she's useless, thank you very much.

He remains silent as Eugénie pokes and prods at him, but that doesn't faze her - he's a quiet one, this guy, always has been. She's plenty used to having to fill the silence herself, and heavens, does she need to, presently, with the doom and gloom still hovering over their heads. "It's not doing too bad- you took good care of it, you know? I just need to replace a couple springs in here."

No answer, which is just typical. What's not typical, however, is the way he seems to freeze at the words - Eugénie lifts her head from her work, pushing her glasses up to squint at him, and finds him staring vacuously ahead, all tense and curled up on himself, the other arm tucked in the folds of his coat. "Do you- are you feeling alright?"

It wouldn't be unheard of for him, to be hiding some sort of injury or- or mechanical damage, she guesses. He seems the type to avoid drawing too much attention to himself, especially at a time like this, with their generous host dying a painful death and after what Geppetto tried to make him do. Eugénie is quite ready to bully him into getting a check up, personally, but before she can conjure up a good scolding he pulls his hand out, dropping something on the table between them.

It's not blood, or grease, or, God forbid, a metal plate from his chest. Instead it's a pair of leather gloves, wonkily stitched but brand new, clearly never worn before. Eugénie chokes out a gasp, despite her best intention - she recognizes those gloves, because of course she does. She made them, after all. She made them for Alidoro, long before he...before they...

"Where did you get these?" She asks, breathlessly. "Why do you have them?"

Once again, she gets no reply. What she gets, instead, is the legion arm pulled out of her weak grasp, almost guiltily and still half-opened, and a weak, low voice whispering: "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand. Why- what happened?"

"I lied to you. Alidoro never...he said they were rubbish, but I knew it would make you upset, so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh. I see." Eugénie glances down at the gloves again, feeling a small shiver run through her like a drop of icy water. She is a solid, practical woman, she's always thought, but these things look as dark as a bad omen, right now - the betrayal is a sharp stab in her chest, but then again she should have gotten used to it by now, shouldn't she?

"I guess I should have seen it coming," she hears herself say, distantly, forcedly light, as though it came from someone else's mouth. "He was never as nice as I'd remembered him, once he got here."

"That's because he wasn't the real Alidoro." He hasn't raised his voice even a smidge, damn him. Eugénie has to strain to hear him, and yet she feels as if paralyzed, hypnotized by what he has to say. "The real Alidoro is dead. That man killed him for- for gold. He'd been lying to everyone about his identity, for months."

"How- how do you know that? When did he tell you?"

"After the Alchemists' attack, I- I wasn't looking for him, but he was in the path, and he was cowering, and- and then I killed him."

Where earlier he was as still as a slab of stone, now he's shaking like a leaf, a full-body tremble that goes from his hair to the tip of his shoes. His face is crumpling into something that might be fury, or shame, or even just realization of all that's fallen on their shoulders; if he was capable of crying, Eugénie thinks he would be, by this point.

"He called you a stupid girl," he continues, and he's never sounded as hoarse as he does now, nor as emotional, far from any other puppet she's met before.

"He lied to you and- and he said you were the reason why he told the Alchemists about the hotel, and I know he was just a coward, but he- He did all that for money, and he couldn't even be nice to you. And he used me. I- I shouldn't have done that, but I'd seen the hotel and I was so angry-"

He won't meet her gaze, but Eugénie simply stares at him as he trails off all the same, hands folded in her lap. There is a cynical, logical part of her that tells her that she should be angry, horrified, even, at all these lies and tall tales, at a friend of hers killing a man out of pure frustration, like a rabid dog. This is what she would have done, no doubt, before Hotel Krat was destroyed.

But Hotel Krat is in shatters around her, and all she can think of is this boy, this angry, fragile thing that isn't fully human and yet isn't a real puppet anymore, who's had to watch his father die after being forced to make many a terrible choice and still wanted to come clean about what he did in the name of caring for her, as though that was the worst mistake of his life. As though it had been the last straw who managed to break his back, even after Simon Manus did his worst to get the same result.

She could be giving him any of her usual witticisms, right now. Instead, she gets up, slowly and without a word, and steps around the table to get closer to the boy, wrapping her arms around him.

He startles in her grasp, stunned, but Eugénie doesn't let go. He smells of gasoline and decay, and this is hardly her preferred method of comfort, but all of it only makes her hold him tighter, and for a split second she almost forgets who's actually holding who upright, in truth.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," she whispers, low enough that it doesn't echo, even in the hotel's cavernous, suddenly too empty arched galleries.

"And- thank you for trying to spare me, earlier. I know you only wanted to make me happy. It's not your fault that any of this happened. You were just trying to do the right thing."

There is a lull of silence, one that seems to stretch for decades. Then, haltingly, the boy lifts his arms and clings to her, the motion feeling nearly desperate, like a child begging for company after a long, dark nightmare even if the chandeliers above them are still burning sun-bright. He doesn't stop shaking, but it seems more focused, almost, true relief instead of simple rage.

And all throughout that Eugénie holds him, waiting for the moment to pass, watching those small, blasted, handmade gloves just lay there, innocently, mockingly, amongst her beloved tools.

[satashiiwrites]

snippet sunday

making progress….getting closer to the end of the fic. Tagging anyone who wants to play along this fine sunday morning.

Title: Choices and Regrets, Chapter 13

Fandom: 911, Dark Matter (2024 tv series)

Pairing: Buddie, Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz/Evan Buckley

summary:

If you could go back and change the choices in your life, would you?  Would you love the same people, go on the same vacations, have the same career? Or would you have regrets?

After the lightning strike, an unexpected visitor makes Buck question all the choices he’s ever made. From dropping out of the Seals to never making a move on Eddie because the time hasn’t been right. He’s going to get an up close and personal look at what could have been because another version of Buck is focused on taking his choices away from him—including Eddie and Christopher Diaz. 

Tags/warnings: dark themes, dubious consent, explicit sex, kidnapping, murder, major character death, drug use, identity fraud

Eddie tries to process Buck’s entire story but his brain is still stuck on how he didn’t recognize that Buck had been replaced.  It’s edging towards 0300 and all he can think of is the difference in how it is to touch his Buck versus the monster that had attempted to replace him.  The kiss from earlier buzzes under his skin, reminding him of how Buck had responded, had been just as desperate. 

Buck wants him.  

His Buck wants him.  

So does the other, monstrous version of Evan Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, chilled. 

Buck returns from the shower, wearing Bobby’s tank top and athletic shorts.  His skin glistens, still slightly wet and his curls are loose without gel coaxing them into a tighter style. “If you want it, shower’s free.”

“I’m good,” slips out.  He is, surprisingly.  He’s good as long as he’s here with Buck—this version of Buck.   His fingers itch to grab Buck’s hand again and thread their fingers together.  Eddie yearns for the anchor that touching Buck provides.  Buck is safety and love, the man who always has Eddie’s back. 

“I..uh,” Buck pauses, appearing nervous as he licks his lips, “I’m glad that Bobby gave you the rest of the night off.”

“Oh?” Eddie isn’t surprised.  Bobby knows him well enough that Eddie isn’t in the right headspace to be at work.  They’d had a talk after he’d come back from dispatch about being mentally present at work. Eddie’s good at compartmentalization—the army had taught him that along with his family from a young age.  However, not even Superman would always be able to compartmentalize what they see on the job every day according to Frank and Eddie’s had some hard lessons learned that way.  

Bobby knows that when it comes to Buck, Eddie’s compromised.  Eddie can’t shove shit to the side if he thinks Buck’s hurt and looking back at it, Eddie’s pretty sure Bobby clocked them early on on their codependency that Hen and Chim like to tease them about is about more than just dating each other.  Hell, until two weeks ago, Eddie’d never thought dating Buck was a possibility but he’s been compromised as hell for years when it comes to the leggy blonde. 

Eddie is never going to hear the end of being into leggy blonde jokes from his sisters once he tells them he’s dating Buck. Sophia already has been making jokes for years about Eddie’s type and yeah, Eddie’s been blind as a bat when it comes to Evan Buckley and how much he’s in love with him. 

Buck ducks his head, cheeks pinking adorably.  “We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Eddie easily agrees.  He’s in his work t-shirt and boxers but feels overdressed, sitting on the foot of the bed. 

“Uh, which side…”

“Buck,” Eddie calls and Buck’s head snaps up, eyes electric in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “Come here.”

“Eddie?”

“We have some unfinished business from earlier,” Eddie points out. 

Buck shifts his weight on his feet, not coming any closer.  He’s just out of Eddie’s arm reach. “Earlier?”

“Yeah.  I mean, should we talk?”

“We weren’t doing much talking,” Buck spits out and his ears are turning red as the blush spreads.  

Eddie wants to know how far it goes.  He supposes that’ll mean getting Buck’s shirt off again. 

Buck is right though—they hadn’t been doing much talking. 

“C’mere, Buck.”

Buck steps forward at Eddie’s command, stopping only when he’s between Eddie’s spread knees.  Eddie reaches for Buck’s hand and twines their fingers, squeezing in reassurance.  Buck’s eyes don’t leave Eddie’s and his breath catches as the make skin to skin contact at the knee.  

“Eddie?”

Eddie tugs and Buck sinks to his knees, crowding into Eddie’s space but leaving barely a handbreadth between their chests.  At this level, with Eddie sitting, they’re eyes are level.  The crystalline blue of Buck’s eyes are so vivid in the light that Eddie wonders how he could ever have missed that the other version of Buck didn’t have the gentleness and love there when he looked at Eddie because it pours out of Buck.  The goodness within him, the brightness of his soul shines on Eddie and he feels the other man’s touch fade from his memory. 

“Buck,” Eddie calls again, cradling Buck’s face in his hand.  Buck presses his cheek into Eddie’s palm, dark eyelashes fluttering as he sighs in contentment at Eddie’s touch. The rub of a thumb opens those cherry red lips and the press of a kiss has Eddie moving forward to join their mouths.  

Unlike their previous kiss, there’s no desperation in this one.  It starts gentle, a meeting of mouths and a sharing of breath before deepening as Eddie’s tongue sweeps into Buck’s mouth to taste.  Buck’s tongue greets his, licking and teasing as teeth nip at the swollen lower lip and Buck crowds closer, arms slipping around one another in an embrace that’s been years in the making. 

Careful of the bruises he now knows are there, Eddie pulls Buck in fully.  They’re pressed together from groin to mouth and the answering hardness in Buck’s shorts emboldens Eddie to slip a hand underneath the waistband of Buck’s shorts to wrap his free hand around the cock he finds there.  The shaft is slippery and warm against his palm as he gives an experimental pull, making Buck groan and shudder in Eddie’s arms. 

“Eddie,” Buck mewls as he breaks the kiss to breathe, quivering in Eddie’s hold.  

“I got you,” Eddie tells Buck.  “I got you.”

“Eddie, please.  I…”

“You what?” Eddie asks, smiling as he nips at Buck’s lip and gives the cock in his hand another stroke.  Buck is so responsive to each touch and it’s empowering to feel how much control he has over his lover, the permission he’s being given and the trust. It’s the complete opposite of how it was with Buck’s doppelgänger. 

How could Eddie have mistaken that other man for the one in his arms?  He’d been so blind by the idea of finally getting to have Buck that he’d ignored so many warning signs and he’ll carry that grief until the end of his days. 

“Please, Eddie,” Buck begs and Eddie knows he’ll give the one thing he couldn’t give the facsimile of him.  

“Come to bed, Buck,” Eddie coaxes.

“Eddie,” Buck whines, already reduced to repeats of Eddie’s name but Eddie can read the paragraphs of words behind his name.  The love that Buck has for him.  The same soul deep need to be together for the rest of their lives. 

He’d been missing this.  Now that he’s found it, Eddie will never give this up.  

Read the published chapters on AO3

[freuleinanna]

trials (and errors)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 AO3

Chapter 3: Lovers

Love is not a static force. It needs a vector, and god help lovers whose vector is rage.

Masriel reunion (derogatory)!

Also, am I going to push my Marisa and Father MegaFail being besties (worsties) agenda? Yes, yes I am.

The crowd parts before the sinner.

No, to correct that: the crowd parts before a man of church who, in his turn, is followed by the sinner.

Either way, Marisa walks past lawmen and clerics hardly recognizing ones from the others in their black attires. The comfort of isolation has now scaled off of her entirely: after roaming endless stuffy rooms, the air feels too fresh to swallow, too brisk against the skin. Not unlike tiny cold burns. Her dress – the only moving spot of color – cuts through the pool of black drawing unreserved attention from all angles. Makes for an easy target. Whispers and looks hit it equally.

Oh, the prudes. A year back they'd stare even worse. Of course, a year back she was still a respectable, well-married lady they didn't mind eyeing occasionally as an indulgence, not a whore dragged out of exile. Maybe not the exact words she'll hear today, but surely the prevailing sentiment.

Marisa keeps her face neutral and wishes them all dead.

Another corridor, less packed with people.

'You'd profit from looking more sorry,' her guide mutters, finally slowing his step to walk side by side. 'Repentance will go a long way.'

He seems a bit nervous, but then he always does, that's the most Hugh MacPhail trait Marisa could think of. Heaven forbid people notice them frivolously conversing, today of all days. He throws lots of quick, alert glances around. The lizard daemon on his shoulder scans the space and gives him a little tap whenever someone gets too close – a note to drop his voice, or pause.

Marisa's tone, when she leans closer to reply, is a heartless mockery of his hushes.

'I think you underestimate how sick I am of acting sorry.'

Without fail, a frowning look follows. He recoils from her touch, but in a manner that speaks of habit rather than resentment: Father MacPhail, always so diligent in his priestly ways. On some level, Marisa applauds him for not falling victim to her beguiling nature. On all others, she knows that statement lacks a great big ‘yet’. She scoffs, bemused.

'This is serious,' MacPhail snarks, clearly misinterpreting the sound.

Doesn't she know.

'I'm not sure... Yes, Father Jamison,' a shoulder tap – Hugh greets another cleric with a nod and waits until he's far enough behind them before continuing. 'I'm not sure you see how serious it is, Marisa.'

He appears genuinely concerned. There’s evidently an affection, except the why of it remains as elusive to Marisa as his goals. She’s twenty-three, Hugh is bearing on his forties. She would have understood physical desire, what woman of her looks wouldn’t, but it’s not all there is.

Hugh encourages her ambition. When she’s denied academic growth, Hugh suggests she takes advantage of her husband’s status, along with his access to the sacred libraries of the Magisterium, and puts her brain back to work. Hugh even writes to the Saint Sophia’s board and inquires about a place for a prominent young scholar to give her grounds.

It’s not exactly a patronage. She’s not exactly his protégé. Should the concept of friendship be more familiar to Marisa, she’d probably recognize the similarities, but the thought never visits her. Fits of spite do, though. Spending weeks locked up in a house, wallowing in rage and a mind-numbing lack of anything to do, certainly didn’t help her moods, but it wasn’t when it started. She’s always pushed away, and one time she didn’t, look what happened.

'What do I care if I’m done for anyway,' she hisses.

'Stupid girl,' MacPhail hisses back–

–and shoves her into a narrow passageway, making a sharp swerve. It would be wonderful to break his neck for calling her stupid, but she ambles angrily along in her heels until Hugh grabs her ‘round.

His eyes are transparent-green and heavy. Perhaps, the best precaution against sin: Marisa can't imagine them offering compassion. Better not sin at all than confess to those eyes.

'Now listen to me.' The lizard slides down his sleeve to the crook of the elbow and peers at the golden monkey, him staring up with a scowl. Hugh’s hands are crushing Marisa’s shoulders. 'They want to hear from Asriel – oh, don't make that face. They want to hear from him, and they will. But it's to determine his fate, or the child's. Yours is pretty much decided.'

'And what did I just say,' she breathes out, barely unclenching her teeth.

'They can easily make it worse.'

'Oh, I doubt that.'

'Want to try them?' Hard stones bump against the back. Why does everyone insist on shaking her today? 'Go ahead. See if you like being sent to a convent for the rest of your days.'

It’s so easy to dismiss. For the longest beautiful moment, threats are just threats and words are just words, mere noises they exchange. Silly, even. Marisa opens her mouth to say exactly that, venom already rising to soak up the tongue and every word it forms, when it hits her. It hits her good.

Raw, animal fear.

'No.'

'Oh, yes.'

Splashing all over, on her face, in her guts. Inches away, Hugh is being needlessly cruel, hammering in the point that’s already reached her with sternness one can only expect from a man of god.

'Maybe you'll get to Saint Sophia's still. I hear they offer a place for women in your position, setting them back on the path of righteousness. Repentance and prayers, all day, every day.'

'No!'

This time literally, Marisa pushes away with all her strength. Hugh takes a hard step back, the green of his eyes sparks up with fury. It only takes him a heartbeat to charge at Marisa again but as soon as he does, a painful grimace twists his face – his daemon falls from the sleeve. Kneeling hastily, distracted, he stretches an arm to the floor. The lizard climbs up quicker that the monkey can reach her, leaving black paws to crush air between them.

The four of them freeze, riled up and panting. Someone once said that tragedies caught mid-action always make for the most comic statues, and well, they weren’t wrong.

Marisa breaks first.

She groans in disgust, feeling ill. Serene hallways and dull clothes, never a spark of hope, or a new idea, or an interesting conversation, forever and ever, until she's dead. She'll go mad. She’s half there already.

'I will kill myself. I will kill myself if they do that, Hugh.'

And she means it.

Hugh straightens up, smoothing his clothes, his daemon once again on his shoulder.

'Then don't tease them,' he reasons sharply.

Then, perhaps seeing her distraught face, a little kinder, 'You're very young, Marisa. Think of the future. Don't dig yourself a grave.'

Marisa’s mind scatters, as wild as it was this morning, fingers fumbling with the dress in search of something to torture. Tugging at her consciousness, her daemon's presence. He is raging because she is. He is scared because she is. As if they haven't been horrible to each other all day (and many, many exiled days before that), he's offering support. Marisa cannot bear that any more than the horrid idea of a convent.

Her feelings are too big; that’s the issue, always has been. Swelling up beyond control, they’re threatening to crush this wormhole of a corridor – and they are not for the audience. She’ll feel them later, she decides, analyzing the way her skin stretches, as thin and unreliable as the membrane of a soap bubble; she’ll feel them when she has the space, or power to withstand them. Despite the deal tasting like bile at the back of her throat, making it for the hundredth time comes slightly easier. If only her soul would quit pushing her into emotional pits, always hanging about, always wanting to connect when she can bear it the least – if only he would just quit.

Weakling.

With a sharp headshake, Marisa folds her arms for composure and walks past him, ignoring the way his beautiful gilded tail falls and twitches, tucked between the legs. One day, she’ll walk far enough.

Hugh follows her, resuming the role of a silent guide.

It takes them a few more passages, each narrower than the other, to untangle themselves from a poorly lit cobweb and reach a more familiar part of the building. There are once again people in the corridors, so whispers and looks make their return. Hugh must have taken a longer route to avoid those, for her sake. For what it’s worth, it’s a gesture.

The path ends, as all merciful things do, far too quickly.

'You can wait here. They'll summon you.'

'Will you be there?'

A pause.

'No.'

To think, she had actually hoped.

Hugh leaves.

Anxiety doesn't.

The monkey almost gets jammed by the door because Marisa doesn't care enough to hold it. She hears a loud chatter, rushed steps – and fails to be touched. A golden lightning zings around as she presses her palms tightly to her ribs and takes a few hard, shuddering breaths. Her lungs are spasming. She’d very much like to throw something at her daemon to keep him fucking quiet because it’s all too much. All around, it’s all too much, it’s all…

'I thought you'd wear black.'

Ripping through her, a familiar voice.

Of course, now the monkey shuts up. The only sound bombarding the room is her own gasping for air. Marisa cuts it immediately, then breathes again, quieter, and opens her eyes. Invisible hooks are already pulling at her flesh in multiple directions – what's another one.

Asriel is standing a bit away, as sure as a death sentence: half-turned, cradling a glass at his chest. She doesn’t have it in her to be surprised. Whatever monstrosity they’ve committed together on a cosmic level must have been grander than murder and adultery combined because it’s bound them, pulling at the threads at the worst possible moments. Inside, a morbid feeling rises, about as gentle as a flood that breaks the dam: they won’t ever leave each other alone. She could climb the highest mountain of the farthest north, and he’d still be there.

Marisa gropes for the door handle, fully set on leaving; then doesn’t. Her eyes, for some reason, fixate on that drink Asriel's holding: something pleasantly amber, warm, leaving trails when swirled. A thirst that’s been tormenting her since the morning parts her lips – alcoholics have more will, for heaven’s sake. Marisa can't move. She doesn’t even blink, just holds herself perfectly still. Prey always does.

Asriel chuckles, noticing.

'Need a drink?'

She could kill him. She’s an open wound in indigo, and despises Asriel for seeing it. For mocking it, too. It takes an actual, physical effort to move her eyes up to his face, but finally – there he is, the bastard. Hard jaw and a five-day stubble. She also despises herself for knowing what his five-day stubble looks like.

He nods an invitation: a bottle on the table, some empty glasses.

'Don’t drink alone. Never ends well, especially for women.'

Every word – a taunt. Between the grown hair and the shirt sleeves he, for once, didn’t roll up, it is the same man Marisa knew, yet as soon as the haunting spreads, the image falters. Something fundamental in him has changed, sending a sting of sharp loss right to the heart. It’s not in the stance, or in the voice, or the clothes; more subtle than the line of his cheekbones, less obvious than a grey streak falling on his forehead. His eyes are different, she thinks. The way Asriel is laughing, it only makes them darker with hard, grim triumph. Like he’s playing a game that he knows to inevitably end in a massacre.

Still, it is him.

It is him.

Marisa tries out different phrases in her mind. I hate you. How are you. Are you well.

She says none of it.

Out of nowhere, a long silvery shadow moves across the floor, causing her daemon to perk up in what feels like acidic burns in her lungs. Stelmaria brushes past Asriel’s knees, and for a moment, Marisa loses her god-given, natural ability to breathe. It feels murderous, hope. Whoever invented it must have been a sick brute.

The monkey glances over for permission he knows he won’t have, but the sadness in him. Sadness and excitement, beating somewhere so deep in her own heart she's choking on it. Marisa clenches her fists, pushes it down, and glares a warning. It isn’t a conversation, those have withered between them like flowers on a fighting arena until nothing remained but orders: chisels and scalpels, to carve, to mold. With the same woeful expression, her soul ignores her. Never been mellow, this one, yet now he turns away, treading a few careful steps to sit before the leopard, quiet and mesmerized.

It’s so different from the way he sat this morning, aiming for a strike across Marisa's face. He's looking. He's admiring.

Stelmaria lowers her big head. A touch more–

At the same time, Marisa and Asriel jerk their chins, and the daemons instantly return, yanked back, looking ashamed and scolded. Just before Stelmaria hides behind the table again, she finds Marisa’s eyes. Fresh burns sizzle with guilt. It shouldn’t be possible to hate one part of the same soul, yet love the other.

Asriel seems shaken, too. Conflicted even – he who has always been as one with his daemon. Get used to it, Marisa wants to say but locks her lips for fear of saying something else entirely.

'Well.' He rubs his eyes.

'Well,' she echoes.

Well, first words poorly spent. Should have been something eloquent and scathing.

'She speaks,' Asriel smirks from across the room and just like that, he’s back at it. That first glimpse of a man he’ll become, unparalleled in strength and coldness, goes unnoticed by Marisa at the moment, but will scratch her memory for years to come.

He waits for a reply. With every second, his face falls a little, until finally he just shrugs and starts walking around the table. Wanders mindlessly, deeper into the room. It's someone's study, must be. A giant desk is set on a podium at the far wall. Asriel sips from the glass going shamelessly through the papers lying around, so uninterested in her presence it fires Marisa's insides right up. Oh, she speaks. She will maim you with words as soon as she decides what to say.

Fists and hair, she marches up to him. Asriel doesn’t even fully turn, just looks at her sideways: walls and walls and walls behind storm-cloud eyes. She forgot he was tall. Beginnings of a rough beard make him older in appearance, but that’s the thing. That’s the thing. He is young, and so is she, and youth is violent.

'You have ruined everything.'

Asriel raises his eyebrows, dully unintrigued.

'Exactly what?'

Her emotions are a swarm of foul bugs rubbing wings. Exactly what, he asks. How to even formulate it.

Being thrown back so far, the road she'd taken seems but a vague thread near horizon, completely out of her reach.

Exactly what.

Every door that's now closed, every victory clawed out in battles turned to ashes. All scarcely accumulated freedom, taken.

Him offering her marriage without even realizing how that would be the last shovel of dirt into her grave of public acceptance, and then acting so offended about her refusal.

Exactly fucking what.

The crippling, boiling fear of living out her life among brainless clucks interested only in talking of sin and salvation, because one damned reckless man fired a pistol and did not have a decency to miss, blowing it all out of proportion.

'You killed Edward.'

'Ah,' Asriel exhales throwing his head back, and Marisa feels deranged enough to go for the jugular with nothing but her teeth. Then he looks down again. 'You must have loved him so.'

Massacre.

…massacre.

A slap rings through the air. Immediately, Marisa’s palm stings, stunned from the impact, Asriel's sharp inhale lingering on the skin. His posture, if only for a second, changes to resemble that of an animal ready to chase its prey. Marisa half-wishes he did, because the alternative is watching him slowly straighten his shoulders and sneer in a way that drops the temperature in the whole room.

She hears Stelmaria growl behind him. That, for some reason, feels like an even bigger betrayal because she's never growled at Marisa before.

Asriel touches his cheek. Nods pensively as his eyes wander to the table. Something long and silvery finds its way into his hand – a letter opener, with a thin blade and a richly incrusted handle. A piece of value, it seems. Asriel keeps turning it in his fingers.

'That's right,' he says at last. There's nothing right about that. 'That is exactly why we're here. Let's cut each other's throats and be done with it.'

He doesn't mean, of course, literally – although Marisa wouldn't exclude it. When he looks up, it's like stepping under the waterfall, except instead of water, there's resentment hurling its rushing weight off the cliff. It breaks Marisa's bones a little, just so she can barely stand, but not much else. She wonders where her fear went. As she explores every last corner of herself, she only finds white-hot rage.

Marisa doesn't mean it either, of course, even when she forces his hand out of spite. A silver blade – not too sharp, but sharp enough – presses against her neck: move it sideways, and it will leave a cut. Asriel's palm is wrapped around the handle, warm in her grip.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

They're standing so close you’d think them lovers. Swallowing, Marisa feels the metal scrape her skin with intimacy only sharp edges possess. Asriel stares at the motion with a truly horrible expression. On his face, hunger is bleeding into hatred and contempt has a tinge of admiration to it, all feelings rooting so deep in each other it’s like excavating ancient history from ice. Ice cuts your hands, parting with secrets.

His chest rises, Marisa can feel it with her own.

'You're insufferable,' says he, a man who made her a widow in her twenties when she had plans for life.

Way behind, the monkey lets out a loud hiss – always closer at their worst. Up dart Asriel’s eyes, above Marisa’s shoulder, and she suspects her own eyes looked about the same when she saw Stelmaria. Full of longing. There’s a lot about connecting with someone’s daemon: for one, it doesn’t often happen. For all else, and that’s a nuisance if you come to hate the person, the connection doesn’t break.

No, that’s not it. Connection leaves room for all kinds of things twisted into it, when in reality, you’re specifically unable not to love.

She wakes disoriented, dizzy from the gentlest aching in her heart, only to find Asriel asleep with a ball of golden fur curled comfortably under his arm, the memory flashes and fades in a second. She’d never felt weaker. She’d never felt happier. She’s holding a knife to her own throat and doesn't know how to tell Asriel that she wants to crawl inside his chest. Slither between the ribs, and nestle against his giant pulsating heart, and stay there for a while before returning to her normal size and ripping him up from the inside. A payback for every good thing she still remembers.

'I hate you.'

Asriel blinks. Looks at her again. His hand is very steady, tangled in vines of Marisa's fingers.

'I've taken the child,' he says a little hoarsely, 'just so you know.'

Oh, that is low. And somehow even worse than I hate you, too.

That one time, when they were fighting, Asriel asked, 'Would you rather I’d let your goddamn husband kill our child?' Well, not asked; he was shouting like a madman. Doesn't matter. 'WOULD YOU RATHER I’D LET YOUR GODDAMN HUSBAND KILL OUR CHILD?!' And Marisa thought, yes. Yes, you idiot. Children are replaceable. You know what isn't? Reputation.

Her reasoning hasn't changed much over the days of isolation. Ignoring every reason, her body keeps exploding with the need of a child she doesn't want. There’s not a chance Asriel could have guessed, but pushing random buttons seems to be just as efficient as inflicting pain on purpose.

Another hard swallow.

'Is she safe?' Marisa strikes the perfect dry, pragmatic tone despite the most vicious yearning building underneath.

'From you? Yes.'

'Good.'

It is good. She doesn't know what her body could enslave her to do if there existed the slightest chance of getting near that child. It is very, very good that Asriel hates her enough to spare her the turmoil. She’s almost grateful.

'I'll fight you to death.' It’s not a warning, not a threat, he simply states the fact. They say all the wrong words. Come to think of it, they're both really bad at saying the right ones.

'Mine on yours?'

Oh.

Right there, it slips away from her: yours, with a trill, throat slightly vibrating against the blade. She blinks. That unexpected soft rolling from the language Marisa only spoke in childhood, and still it creeps into her voice whenever her heart is turbulent enough. Maybe it's stuck. Maybe she's stuck. Just an emotional child who's used to mumbling excuses in French, drowning in chamomile.

But she isn't excusing herself now.

Asriel's eyes narrow – of course, he knows that little thing about her, that little sign of her weakness. What an inconvenient thing for lovers to share everything. He'll wander off to the world holding that knowledge above her head like a sword, and Marisa couldn't torture it out of him if she tried. There are parts in her that to Asriel, by Asriel, will never be un-known. The thought is dooming.

Asriel is watching her, their hands entwined over the handle of a knife pressed to her neck. That's probably the best description of what he is to her.

'Have courage, Marisa Delamare,' he says finally, butchering her maiden name into a vague pronunciation of its meaning: de la mer – of the sea. Thorold, for some reason, was ecstatic to learn it, and Asriel...

You're a sea creature through and through.

He never called her anything but Delamare in private.

I love you, sea creature.

'Have courage to hate me.'

He hugs Marisa then. She fights back on instinct, only there's no space between his arm pulling her close and the blade that the bastard doesn't even lower. She reaches for Asriel’s shoulders to push him away. She ends up clinging to him. Nothing about it makes sense, except that her heart is slowly shredding itself to pieces with longing and hatred. That makes perfect damn sense. As they stand in this monstrous embrace, Marisa thinks that if it's always going to be like this, them meeting by chance and instantly wanting to be whole, she'd rather just step forward and slit her throat now.

She also plans on never forgiving him for kissing her hair: after all, she is young, and youth is full of always' and nevers, among other things that rarely stand the test of time.

Asriel's hand is unresisting when she takes the knife from it; silver clanks back on the wooden table, and then it’s quiet. Still close, they stop holding each other.

'Right,' Marisa exhales, taking a step back before meeting his eyes again: storm-blue and sapphire-blue, on the same spectrum, yet irreconcilably different. 'So, let's go kill each other. It'll make a great show.'

She turns to leave. Asriel grabs her wrist.

'I won't spare you, Marisa.'

'I don't need you to.'

His lips are dry and angry, then wet from hers. No fight this time. Resistance takes a coherent line of thought from the impulse to the action, and Marisa is not in possession of such a treasure anymore. Her impulses and actions are all over the place mixing, overlapping, clashing to the point of disaster. It’s all too much.

Somewhere close, their daemons are grumbling in the softest voices. Opening her mouth to Asriel’s tongue, she imagines them playing: gleams of silver and gold, small hands curled around a thick neck, caressing the spotted fur. Noses pressed together; slightly out of breath, because they are. Kind, kind. The sheer need for the same kindness twists Marisa’s insides, leaving her vulnerable, malleable like a piece of clay in Asriel’s arms when all he’s giving her is rough. Not at all like a lover saying farewell, just rough – merciless even, scratching her with a beard, grabbing her, squeezing so hard that her hips are already anticipating the bruises, and soft like bruised skin, she takes it.

Her daemon whimpers in pain in Stelmaria’s claws, and only then, mid-kiss, Marisa chokes on understanding. They’re not lovers, and they aren’t saying farewell. Whatever she’s doing is her fault entirely because Asriel is sealing a deal they made, a deal to crush each other, stealing her breath and lips to sign on the horrors. Only forward with it now.

He leaves abruptly without giving Marisa a second look, just a slight push as he lets go of her, the slightness of it delivering the worst insult. Stelmaria shadows his step across the room – the leopard’s head hangs low, but it’s not enough to matter, let alone change anything – and out of the door.

There's nothing else.

Except – the monkey racing around.

Except – Marisa's own hot gasps and the furious tears she blinks away. That’s what you get for remembering good things, that vile feeling of being killed in a very precise, specific way. She should have stuck with rage. She should have put another promise into her kisses, a violent one. The regret of giving away tenderness slashes at her stomach with full ferocity of a too-late realization.

She tries to rub Asriel's hands off. She rubs, then rubs more: her palms fire up immediately from the dress, but the handprints persist. At least in the process she disturbs a sore spot from when the maid pinched her this morning. It's better to focus on that. Focusing on honest physical pain, Marisa finds, mostly helps.

She allows herself one sip from Asriel's forgotten glass.

Then downs it.