#sophie holler

[queen-helaena109]

I'm working on one shot for a story that I've created since I was only 16 but never knew how to write, but now, after many years and writing other indelible stories, I feel like I know what I'm doing. So here's the story in a nutshell!

questions?

#xmen #xmen fanfiction #x men movies #x men #x men fanfiction #x-men fanfiction #audrey holler #sophie holler #wolverine #erik lehnsherr #logan howlett #magneto #magneto x oc #wolverine x oc

[keefe-in-da-strawberry-dress]

au where sophie grows wings from her alicorn genetics and loses a bet to keefe so she has to give him rides places because “it’s so much more fun and cool foster!” and “we’re reliving old times!” (when they rode silveny, before sophie got her wings)

at one point she shows up late to a Big Important Meeting with all the councillors and black swan leaders and just drops down with keefe on her back

#she has to start wearing ear plugs because keefe just keeps whooping and hollering in her ear #its making her go a lil deaf #kotlc au #kotlc #keefe sencen #sophie foster #kotlc council #wait does sophie know all forms of sign language since shes a polygot??? #what about braille???? #i need answers neow #inclusive queen #i think it’d be cool if jensi was deaf #thats my hc now

[nebulablakemurphy]

But can we get a Daryl fic sample?

It’s like a Dead City/Daryl Dixon spinoff combo situation that follows Y/N and Daryl on their accidental trip to France. And their daughter Sophie, Carol, Maggie and Negan’s storyline to rescue Hershel Jr. in Manhattan at the same time. So that said, I hope you enjoy this free sample of ‘Way Down We Go’

“Never thought I’d get this close to seeing Lady Liberty in the flesh.” Negan huffs, staring out at the abandoned city of Manhattan.

“Not from ‘round here?” The girl, trailing behind him, inquires. Not that she really cares, but there’s not enough history between them for her to hate him the way Maggie does. And the silence is deafening.

“Virginia, born and raised. You?”

“I was born in a prison.” Sophie raises a shoulder, her Y/H/C hair shifting in it’s ponytail.

“Ain’t that some shit, kid.” Negan remarks.

“It was hardly a prison by then, try compound.” Carol interjects.

“It was a prison, Grandma.” Her parents used to tell her stories about it. How she was named after her mother’s little sister, who didn’t live long enough to see it. Sophie was the second baby born there, almost a year after Judith. They’re both grown now. Adults by all accounts of the old world. Still, when she wants to do anything even remotely dangerous, Carol follows…or her mom…or her dad. “But tomato, tomoto I guess.”

Y/N and Daryl are…different. As parents, they were fair, never came down too hard on her. Her father is an outdoor cat who learned to survive indoors. Her mother is the opposite.

They met at the first camp Rick’s group ever had and the rest is history. To this day they grumble when people ask what they are to each other, or assume that they are together, or worse; married.

They are Y/N and Daryl. That’s all.

Growing up, Sophie always thought they were in love. At least in the way she perceived love to be. Her father would come home after a long day and cling to her mother like it was the first and last time he’d see her for years. Sometimes her mother would cling. But it was rare and often meant that something was wrong.

He let Y/N drive his bike on occasion, hollering all the while, “watch where ya goin’, girl!”

Otherwise her father is a quiet man, her mother is more outspoken. And though Daryl Dixon is more than capable, Y/N Peletier never hesitates to put anyone who messes with him in their place.

Leaving their only child behind was not a decision they made lightly. But Sophie is old enough to make her own choices and she’s never been a risk taker. Staying in a place that’s familiar, versus abandoning it for the great unknown was a no brainer.

Which only adds to the irony of her current situation. Sophie and Carol on a mission with Maggie and Negan himself, to rescue Hershel from some guy called the Croat.

What a time to be alive.

————————————————————————

“Damnit, girl, stop movin’.” Daryl growls, applying pressure to the blade wound on Y/N’s thigh. Something to remember the prick they stole this boat by.

Aaron told Daryl a long time ago, that he could tell a good person from a bad one. Daryl doesn’t know if that’s true anymore, but this last group was not good people.

“Fuck,” Y/N shakes her head. “We’re fucked.” There goes any chance of getting home.

“Why don’t ya say it a little louder, maybe it’ll help.” He lets up slightly when her hand rests over his.

Her lips pressed together to contain the sound of her suffering.

“Lemme see.”

Y/N removes her hand and his. The muscles of her afflicted leg spasming of their own accord. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“You’re gonna live.” Daryl murmurs, prodding around the gash. “Needs stitches though.”

Thunder cracks down, booming behind dark clouds in the overcast sky.

Y/N can’t help but laugh as the first drops of rain hit her upturned cheek. There’s a storm brewing and they’re stuck bobbing in the middle of nowhere.

“Now we’re fucked.” Daryl grumbles, under his breath.

Part 1

#the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion x reader #daryl x you #daryl imagines #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #twd fic

[sincerely-sofie]

Hey Sophie ! I saw you accepted giftfics as well, so here is my attempt at it. This happens way after Opal first enters the picture. Here goes !

***

The night was well underway, and while a desperate Dusknoir was (fruitlessly) trying to stop Celebi from cooking her ‘world-famous mudpie’…

‘Celebi !’ he shouted, ‘Dead leaves do *not* a topping make !’

‘Why don’t you trust me for once, Dusknoir ?’ replied the Legendary. ‘I swear, you are no fun at all !’

Grovyle and Twig were busy cleaning the dishes, the two siblings-in-all-but-blood bantering all the while.

This left Kip with not a lot to do, other than twiddle his paws. Twig had told him that him bringing the main course was more than enough help, and that he was banned from doing so much as lifting a finger for the evening.

‘Here’ said Ark, suddenly appearing at his side, a steaming cup in hand. Kip was used to the Legend’s antics now, so he didn’t even flinch. ‘Cinnamon and mint infusion.’

‘Experimenting, are we ?’ said Kip, grateful for the cup and the conversation partner.

‘My usual chamomille stock, regrettably, is expired’ said Ark, shrugging. ‘And I didn’t have the time to go to the market today, alas.’

‘It’s all good’ soothed Kip. ‘I like it spicy, anyways.’

He took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised by how well the two flavours combined together, spicy but not too much so.

‘This is very good !’ he said emphatically. ‘You should keep this one !’

‘I am afraid Twig wouldn’t appreciate this particular blend’ replied Ark, his tone as even as always to someone who didn’t know him, but the hint of teasing was unmistakable to Kip’s trained mind.

‘She’s lucky to have you, looking out for her poor tongue like that’s teased Kip in return. However, unlike the agreement he expected to receive in return, Ark flinched at that, to Kip’s surprise. ‘Ark ? Did I… say anything wrong ?’ Anxiety was beginning its familiar build-up inside him.

‘No !’ hurriedly said Ark. ‘No, nothing wrong, I apologize, I was just…’ he paused for a moment, as if looking for the right words. ‘Do you… do you truly mean what you just said ?’ he settled on asking, hesitant, more withdrawn than Kip had ever seen him, and now, now he understood the problem.

‘Oh !’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-I mean yes I… I meant what I said. You two are good for each other.’ He waited for an answer, but none came. Kip turned around to fully look at Ark, and the Legend was still, a rigid statue, his lone eye looking back at the Marshtomp with shock. ‘I mean-’ said Kip in a nervous laugh, ‘you’ve been together for, what, half a decade now ? And you still look at each other like the other is Arceus’ second coming on earth.’

‘Which is honestly adorable’ said Celebi in a giggle.

‘Ack !’ shouted Kip, still not used to Celebi’s feats of appearing and disappearing out of nowhere. ‘Could you please stop that !?’

‘Whatever are you talking about, dear ?’ she said, all innocent, blinking her eyes.

‘Please refrain from giving my guests cardiac arrest, Celebi’ said Ark in the world’s smallest disappointed sigh.

‘Oh, nobody is any fun tonight’ replied the pink fairy. ‘First Dusknoir kicking me out of the kitchen, now you. Honestly, I wish Opal and Lucky didn’t have their playdate, they would have been fun to be around.’ She raised her arms in the air, making a show of her frustration, while she drifted back towards the kitchen counter, hoping Twig would take pity on her and humour her, no doubt.

‘…Man, I don’t know how Grovyle and Dusknoir can keep up with her’ said Kip.

‘A mystery for the ages’ replied Ark, unwilling to disclose that Celebi told him she was playing up her attitude to push her two partners to get out of their shells. The two men looked at each other for a moment, then another, before Kip erupted in giggles.

‘Man’ he said between two fits. ‘I just realized two of my best friends are Legends, but they’re also complete goofs.’ A new holler. ‘Sandslash would lose her mind learning about this.

‘I resent that’ replied Ark without any bite. ‘I am a very serious individual.’ Then, a seconde later : ‘…Did you say best friend ?’

‘Ark’ said Kip, wiping a tear out of his eyes, ‘I spend more time with you all than with anyone else but Lucky, and perhaps Sen, and I live hours away from here. I wouldn’t do this for everyone, you know ?’

Ark didn’t reply, and Kip first thought that he was looking for an answer to give, but a quick glance at the Legend dispelled him of this illusion : Ark’s lone blue eye was shining wetly, as if on the verge of tears, and when next he spoke, it was with a very noticeable break in his voice.

‘Thank you’ he said, solemn and quiet, and Kip couldn’t help but scoot closer to him.

‘Hey, whatever for ?’ said Kip, now slightly uneasy. ‘If you cry, I’ll end up crying too’ he sais in a weak chuckle.

‘I’ll endeavor not to, then’ replied Ark in a surprised laugh. ‘I just… to hear you, of all people, acknowledging me as your friend, after all I did…’ another wet laugh. ‘It’s more than I deserve.’

‘Oh, no, no, no !’ said Kip, shaking his head. ‘We are done with this self-hate period of yours ! Do you want me to call Twig over ?’

‘It is not necessary, I assure you-‘ tried to say Ark, but it was too late : the Charmeleon had heard her name.

‘What’s up, dudes ?’ she said, turning around to face the pair, before she immediately frowned. ‘Ark ? You okay, hun ?’

‘He’s doing the *Twig Special*’ replied Kip with utmost seriousness.

‘Whaaaaat ?’ said the Charmeleon. ‘Oh hell no, this ends right now. Everyone !´ she shouted. ‘Group hug time !’

‘Finally, something exciting !’ said Celebi, her eyes shining in excitement.

‘You do not need bother’ said Ark, ‘It was just a momentary lapse-´

But a Charmeleon shaped missile barraged into the pair, followed by a pink fairy, then by Grovyle and Dusknoir following soon after (despite the latter’s protests). You *never* refused group hug time in Twig’s home or so help her.

***

Celebi let out a formidable yawn, as the Future Trio made their way back home.

‘I don’t know about you two, but I feel like I could drop dead tired.’

‘You didn’t do anything but eat, Celebi’ replied Grovyle, a slight smirk in his lips.

‘And that was really taxing for me, my dear Grovyle’ dramatically sighed Celebi. ‘If only a knight in shining armor could carry me home, I feel like I could faint.’

Wordlessly, with a sigh, Grovyle extended his arms. Celebi gladly took the invitation, nuzzling herself into her partner.

‘Oh, thank you, Grovyle’ she said, playing the part of damsel in distress very well. ‘You are the kindest in all the land.’

‘I feel like I’m intruding here’ dryly interrupted Dusknoir.

‘You could carry me’ laughed Grovyle.

‘Never’ replied Dusknoir. ‘I’d rather eat Celebi’s mud pie.’

Celebi huffed at that, but said nothing else.

‘Speaking of you’ continued Dusknoir, ‘do we have you to thank for Twig calling a group hug tonight ?’

‘It’s not my fault if Kip and Ark had a big heart to heart tonight’ primly replied Celebi from her seat in Grovyle’s arms.

‘I’m sure you didn’t pester me on purpose then’ replied Dusknoir, ‘to leave the both of them alone.’

‘No one will ever believe you’ replied Celebi, smug as one could be. Grovyle merely laughed.

‘Please never change Celebi.’

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH.

The entire intro scene is adorable and hilarious. And then there’s Celebi giving everyone heart attacks, Kip dropping the emotional bombshell of best friendship, the mandatory group hugs, the entire exchange between the future trio at the end, all of these little character interactions— I just—

hnghhghgfgffhh EMOTIONS. This is gold!!! Thank you for making it!!!!

#the present is a gift fanart #pmd celebi #pmd2 partner #pmd darkrai #pmd grovyle #pmd dusknoir #pmd future trio #future trio #pmd future crew #future crew #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokémon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #pmd sky #pmd eos #pmd2 #pmd #swear warning #sofie answers asks

[newtonsheffield]

Ok but imagine the scenes when edwina and Ben are the lead dancers together. Utter mayhem at the bows, The whole Bridgerton/sharma clan show up

Edwina Sharma and Benedict Bridgerton as the Principal Dancers in Swan Lake causes a ruckus like the Royal Opera House hasn’t seen in quite some time.

Kate’s hollering. Anthony’s even louder, and louder again is Josie screaming

“That’s my Wife!”

And Sophie just shrieking wordless excitement.

#lavender haze au

[goldilocks-pony]

“Trust me. For once in your damn life, trust me.” + with tally? dont know if you still write them, just felt like it fit lol

Trust Me, Doll

I'm so sorry for taking thus long to write this, I promise I didnt forget about this. And yes I do still write tally

Ships/characters: tally

Warnings: cursing and violence

Tagging: @sarcasticpenguini @k0smik0phobia @butchisopods @papa-no-cheese @footnotesnake @mx-misty-eyed @sophie-i-guess13 @cha0s-incarnated

---

He let out a cry of pain as a foot collided with his spine. He bite his lip and closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was anywhere but on this dirty concrete. He felt someone pull him onto his back and straddle him. He pulled out his forearm and started carving with a knife. As the blade peirced his skin he let out a howl of pain.

"God fucking dammit, didn't anyone tell you that screaming is for pussies?" A guy kneeling above him cursed. "Someone with a reputation like you shouldn't be screaming like a little girl."

All of the three guys began to chuckle, but was cut off soon by footsteps and hollers. "HEY! HEY! YOU FUCKING BASTARDS STOP THAT SHIT!" Dallas felt the weight of than man lifted off his chest and he gasped for a breath of air. He sat up and clutched his arm, panting trying to catch his breath after that beating. He looked to his left and saw Tim shepherd. The two smaller guys ran as he wailed on the guy who was cutting his arm. He stood up and threw him to the ground, wiping his hands off his shirt before yelling, "You fucks better watch your backs."

As the final guy ran away he knelt next to Dallas. He took his arm in his hand, looking at the deep gash in his arm. "God, Dal, you got yourself in deep shit this time."

Dallas began to grunt and mumbled, "Didn't need any help, I can handle myself."

"Shut up for once amd accept they wouldve killed you if I didn't." He paused and sighed as the blood began to run onto his fingers and hands. "Listen, I know we didn't end on good terms last time but for once in your fucking life trust me and let me help you."

Dallas looked away, "Only if you promise you won't take me to no E.R."

Tim scoffed, "Ya ain't dying so there's no reason for that." He stuck out a hand to help Dallas up. "You might as well just crash at my place, only the kids are there."

Dallas just nodded as he grabbed hold of Tim's arm to steady himself.

"Thank you for trusting me, doll."

#the outsiders #dallas winston #dally winston #ponyboy curtis #two bit mathews #johnny cade #darry curtis #s.e. hinton #outsiders #sodapop curtis #steve randle #mintt writes

[senditcolton]

What Do You Want?

summary: you met Anthony at a frat party and he was nothing like you expected him to be. but when his true colors were exposed, it started a two year long feud between you both. but on the night of graduation, the truths you two had kept hidden come to light leaving you wondering, what is it that you truly want? 

songs: x x x x x word count: 17k warnings: college au! strangers to almost lovers to enemies to lovers? angst, smut [oral (m&f receiving) + protected sex] and an emotional ending. flashbacks in italics!​

The question is; what do you want? The question is: do you want me?

There were few things that could be louder than a college party. Especially a college party the night before graduation. And those things… were oftentimes never a good sign.

Fire alarm. Police sirens.

A group of hockey players.

Two out of the three, no one wanted to hear over the din of the current rager. But you – you wanted nothing to do with the third.

So, when you started to hear the hoots and hollers rise over the pounding bass and multitude of voices of this, your final college party, you let out a defeated groan, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“What are they doing here?” you huff to your friends. They don’t even have to ask; they heard the same thing you did and knew how much you dreaded their arrival.

“It’s not they wouldn’t come Y/N! What are you going to do, kick out Kalokiari’s star athletes from the party that everyone has been talking about since finals ended? From their teammates own house as well?” Ali shouted over to you.

“No, it’s not – like, I knew they would be here, it’s just – why do they have be here?” you complain, your frustration and the alcohol already in your veins causing exasperated laughter to fall from your lips.

“Babe,” Sophie says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just ignore it. It’s a big house and there’s a whole lot of people here. I’m sure you can manage to avoid them.”

“He’ll find me, trust on that,” you growl, taking another drink.

Okay, perhaps your first assessment was unfair. You didn’t despise the sound of the arrival of the university’s hockey team because you didn’t hate the entire team. But you knew that every time they came to a party, he would be there.

The bane of your existence.

Anthony Beauvillier.

“I still don’t understand why you hate him so much,” Lisa says as if she can read your thoughts. “Like, he didn’t do anything to you, right? Because you know if he did, we would all murder him. Or help you bury the body after you murdered him.”

“The only thing he’s done is been an arrogant, stuck-up, cocky fuckboy. And that is enough reason for me to despise him.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you thought that highly of me, sweetheart.”

The sound of his voice was enough for you to tense, clenching your jaw as you stared down Lisa, the ‘I told you so’ look painted across your face. Lisa shoots you a small apologetic grimace before you square your shoulders and turn to face him.

The minute your eyes connect with his, you curse that fucking rush of heat that ran through you at the sight of him. You would think that his personality would affect his looks somehow, but no. He was just as gorgeous as he was the first night you met him. Those stupidly blue eyes, those plump lips, that perfectly ruffled brown hair that had a slight curl to it. You would have an easier time hating him if he didn’t look like that.

Although, he made it a little easier every time he opened his mouth.

“I would say don’t flatter yourself, but we both know that would be a pointless request,” you reply, crossing your arms and leaning back against the counter. You subconsciously feel Sophie, Ali, and Lisa peel away, having enough experience watching you and Anthony verbally spar to know it was better to stay out of it.

“Well thankfully I always have you to keep me humble.” The sarcasm that flows from his voice makes you roll your eyes.

“Isn’t there someone else that you should be annoying? Or do you really have nothing better to do?”

“I have all night, sweetheart,” he says, walking closer to you. “Now, mind if I get a drink?” He nods to the variety of bottles sitting on the counter behind you.

“Knock yourself out. And I do mean that literally,” you say, pushing off the edge of the island, intending to walk straight ahead, shoulder-checking him. But Anthony seems to read your actions before they happen, turning in just enough time for your arms to barely brush against each other. Your skin ignites everywhere he touches and you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder back at him.

And he was already looking at you.

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to tear your eyes away from his, more than you’d care to admit. But you manage. Once you’re looking forward, you take a deep breath – in through the nose, out through the mouth – roll your shoulders and walk to the makeshift dance floor, looking for Sophie and the rest of your friends.

And as you push through the bodies, you curse the night – the night that was so similar to this one – when you first met Anthony Beauvillier.

And how he hasn’t stopped tormenting you since then.

~~~

“You’re too pretty to be all alone.”

You hear the voice sound from behind you and you spin around. Part of you doesn’t expect anyone to be there, like perhaps you overheard a conversation happening close enough to you to make it sound like they were addressing you. But considering that you sitting at a picnic table in the corner of the backyard of some frat house you had forgotten the name of – Alpha Nu Chi? – it wasn’t likely.

So, you turned. And you saw him.

Holy shit, he’s hot.

That was the first thing that popped into your mind and you curse silently, blaming the alcohol that you had drank for your snap judgement. But, like, he was.

You could see his muscular frame outlined by the lights of the house behind him and he was close enough to you for you to notice the curls that slightly fell over his forehead.

“I’m not alone,” you finally say, coming to your senses and finding your words. The stranger looks around you and you know exactly what he sees: nothing and no one.

“I mean, I’m not here alone,” you clarify before he can speak again. “My friends are inside. I just needed a break from the party.”

“Is this your first college party?” he asks, coming to sit down on the wooden seat next to you. At this angle, you can finally see his face and you have to stop yourself from another reaction.

Those eyes. Those lips.

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m a first-year, I’m not. Junior. This is just… definitely not the parties I’m used to.”

“Where do you usually hang out?”

“The senior townhouses where the parties kind of bounce around. That or some of the dorms.”

“Hard to have a party in a dorm room.”

“Only if you’re not creative,” you reply and you feel a thrill run through you when you hear him laugh.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking back towards the house.

“So,” he says, looking back towards you, “if this isn’t your scene, what are doing here?”

“My friends dragged me along,” you sigh. “I thought about saying no but so many people say you should go to at least one frat party during college. Just to see if you like it.”

“Do you?”

“Not really,” you instantaneously reply and then you stiffen when you realize the words that have just come out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” you start to apologize. “It’s a fun party, just not my thing and like I’m sure your fraternity itself is great and –”

Your rambling is cut off by the stranger laughing again.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not my frat.”

“You mean, you’re not part of… ”

“Of Delta Sig? Nah. Some of my teammates are but not me,” he explains, leaning back and you can’t help but notice the muscles in his arm flexing in the shadows of the porch lights.

“Teammates?” you ask, wanting to get to know this handsome stranger a little better.

“Yeah, I’m on the hockey team here. Most interesting thing about me, to be honest,” he jokes, once again catching you off guard. Self-deprecating. Not a very common trait in athletes, at least the ones that you had met before.

“I don’t think that’s true,” you speak honestly. He turns his blue eyes on you, one of his eyebrows raising in question. You have to fight the heat that rises to your cheeks. You were never good at flirting; all of your friends told you so. But perhaps it was the alcohol or perhaps it was simply the fact that this stranger was almost the blueprint of every romance novel protagonist; tall, handsome, mysterious, and still somehow caring.

The silence weighs over the two of you for a moment but only a moment before the stranger smiles at you and you can’t stop your lips from curling up in response.

“I’m Anthony,” he says and you finally get a name with the face. “But most people call me Tito or Beau.”

“Y/N,” you reply, holding out your hand to him, pulling another chuckle from his chest.

“Interesting way to introduce yourself at a frat party. Shaking hands?”

“I’m an interesting person,” is your only retort but Anthony lets it slide. He takes his hand in yours and you swear you feel a thrum of electricity course through you. He shakes it a few times, getting the cliché nicety out of the way… but he doesn’t let go.

He keeps his hand locked in yours and if you thought you felt butterflies or electricity or what have you before, it was multiplied by a thousand when he dragged his thumb across the back of your hand.

“Do you wanna go back inside? Get another drink? Maybe dance a little bit?” he asks you, head cocking towards the house where you could still hear the din of the crowd and the bass pounding. You gently bite the inside of your mouth, thinking on it for a minute but your fate was sealed when Anthony kept a hold of your hand.

“Why not?” you reply, smiling back at him and receiving a grin in return. Lifting himself off the wooden seat of the picnic table, Anthony holds his hand out to you and you gladly take it as he helps you up as well.

He leads you back to the party, a hand hovering near your lower back; a gentle guide as you both enter the crowd, weaving through bodies into the kitchen. He grabs you an unopened can of beer and you thank him, opening it and taking a few gulps while Anthony stands next to you, pouring himself a quick drink.

Once he finishes his drink, he takes your hand and you pour the rest of the beer down the sink, throwing away the can and gladly let him lead you to the packed dance floor. You don’t recognize the song, just some generic college sounding tune with plenty of bass to move to.

Which, you do.

You spin, moving your hips and body to the rhythm of the music, letting go of your inhibitions and your fears and simply getting lost in the melody. But the one thing you don’t lose is sight of Anthony, dancing to the music as well, his eyes never leaving your frame. A rush of confidence surges through you, simply at the way he is looking at you, like you’re the only one in the room. You wave your hand, quietly beckoning him over to you and he gladly accept your silent request, pushing through the few bodies to connect with yours.

His hands land on your hips and you lean back into him, pushing and moving against him and you almost laugh when you manage to hear a hitch in his breathing. His hands remain on your hips, not influencing your movements but simply keeping him connected to you. Once again, so respectful. But now, part of you wants him to stop deferring to you and make a move of his own.

Placing your hands over his, you let him feel the movement of your hips against him, pushing his hands to direct your motions, letting him know it was okay. He picks up on your unspoken acceptance and starts to guide you, his hands becoming more insistent and you can’t help the gasp that falls when you feel his head drop down, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your bare shoulder.

Anthony’s hands continue to move against your frame, one coming to the front of your hip pressing you further into him. Jolts of electricity tingle through you when you feel a few of his fingers sneak under the hem of your shirt and caress the skin above your waistband. You melt against him, letting him support your weight as the two of you continue to sway against each other, Anthony’s breath still falling over your neck and shoulders.

A sharp gasp tears from your chest when you feel Anthony’s elegant fingers dance across the delicate skin of your throat, your eyes flying open. He doesn’t move them, just keeps his fingertips resting on your pulse point and you know he can feel your heartbeat underneath them. His thumb is a tender press on your jawline, turning your head towards him and you look up into his beautiful blue eyes.

The two of you stay that way, breathless, until he finally leans in and captures your lips in his.

The kiss is everything you had anticipated it to be: passionate, needy, but laced underneath it all was desire. For you. It made your head spin and your heart race.

You break the kiss but only to quickly spin in his arms, your hands coming to pull his face back to yours, connecting in another kiss, smiling as you swallow a surprised gasp from Anthony’s chest. He recovers from his shock quickly, his hands landing on the small of your back, sneaking down into the back pockets of your jeans, gripping you and pulling you impossibly closer. It is your turn to gasp when you feel his muscular thigh slot between yours, his hands guiding your hips to grind against him.

It takes a few moments for you to find enough strength to break away from him. You don’t move far, your foreheads still touching, sharp shallow breaths intermingling as you stare into his eyes, your hands still resting on the side of his face.

“I - ” you begin, the words stilted as you attempt to catch your breath. “I um, I need a… need to take a moment – a breather, if that’s okay.”

Anthony doesn’t give a verbal reply but you can feel his head furiously nodding in agreement, his hands falling from you as the two of you untangle from each other. As soon as the two of you are separated, you feel an ache to fall back in his arms but you restrain yourself, just standing there for a few moments, simply looking at Anthony. His eyes appraise you similarly and you knew you would get drawn back in if you stayed any longer.

“I’m gonna…” you trail off, vaguely gesturing behind you and you see the smile pull at Anthony’s lips, a gentle nod as a reply. You laugh lightly, a shy smile appearing as you gently bite your lips, turning away from him to find a quiet area.

Although, you do look back at him to find a similar smile on his face as he watches you leave.

Weaving through the crowds, you somehow manage to sneak into a hallway and miraculously find an empty bathroom at the far end. You slide in, locking the door behind you and a heavy sigh releases from your chest, your head falling forward to rest gently against the wood.

What were you doing? Were you actually doing this? Who the fuck were you?

Those thoughts buzz through your mind as you make your way over to the sink, running some cold water and gently patting it onto your cheeks and neck, cooling yourself off to the best of your abilities.

This wasn’t you. Or at least, this wasn’t the usual you. You never thought of being someone’s random hookup at a party – a frat party most of all. So, why were you entertaining the idea? Were you really genuinely considering going home with Anthony?

That’s not you. You were the rational one out of your friends and you were sure they’d be shocked to see you acting like you were out on that dance floor.

Who cares what they think?

That sharp voice hiding in the back of your mind cuts through your critical thoughts. You look up at your reflection in the mirror, taking yourself in.

Who cares what your friends think? your mind reiterates. Who cares what anyone else thinks? It’s not up to them. The real question is: what do you want?

And when that question is asked, the answer comes through, clear as a bell; you want him. You want Anthony. The undeniable attraction you had for him, the way he had been polite and funny and respectful to you throughout this night, and the way you felt when you kissed him. There was no doubt in your mind.

You wanted Anthony.

After a few more deep breaths, steeling yourself and your confidence, you creep out of the bathroom, once again weaving through the throngs of people, constantly on the lookout for those chocolate curls and those insanely blue eyes.

You finally spot him in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the countertop as he talks to some guys who he seems familiar with, a new beer bottle in his hands. Moving towards him, you are about to pluck up the courage to interrupt and steal him away when you hear your name falling from the mouth of one of the guys standing next to him.

“So, are you gonna fuck her, innocent little… what’s her name? Y/N?”

You freeze in your tracks, a shock running through you at the callous way this guy is talking about you. Your eye dart over to Anthony, waiting for his response, waiting for him to defend you, to say something. But he doesn’t. You just watch as his lips wrap around the lip of his beer bottle, taking a swig as his shoulders nonchalantly raise in a shrug.

As if it didn’t matter.

As if he didn’t care about you.

You want to run; your mind is screaming at you to run. But your body can’t. The only thing it can do is slump against the wall right outside the doorway. You can no longer see any of them but you can still hear them clear as day, even with the party raging around you.

“Didn’t think that was your type, Tito,” a different voice speaks up and you feel trapped, forced to listen to them. “Don’t you usually like them a little more experienced?”

“Yeah,” comes the first voice in retort, speaking for Anthony. “But I suppose it does get boring sleeping with puck bunnies.”

A cacophony of laughs assaults your eardrums and you can feel the bile rising your throat at their words; so casual yet so fucking cruel.

“More interesting this way right?” Another voice. “Something brand new just for tonight?”

There is a silence and you can tell they are waiting for his response. You wait too, wanting to hear the words fall from his lips, a tiny flame of hope still burning in your chest. Until you hear that beautiful voice.

“Exactly.”

One word. That was all it took for the tears to come, for the water to douse that hopeful little fire.

You feel your throat constrict as you hear the jeers and hoots from his friends and you rapidly blink, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. Finally, you manage to find your legs and you push off the wall, shoving through the crowds of people, no longer caring to be considerate. You simply wanted to get out of there, to get away.

One word. That was all you were worth to him.

You trusted him. You thought he was different, thought that he cared about you. Thought that he saw you as a person, not a fucking piece of meat. But it was all an act; just a way to get into your fucking pants. Love them and leave them.

How fucking stereotypical.

And you fell for it.

You managed to find the front door, pushing through and almost running onto the porch. You hit the railing, letting your body fall forward, the sobs threatening to wrack through your body. Your hands grip onto the painted wood as you gasp in a few shuddering breaths, letting the cool air hit your lungs. It calms you down enough for you to haul your body upright, your hands coming to wipe away any lingering tears and you tilt your face to the sky, letting the silence of the night bring you some much needed peace.

That’s where he finds you.

You first feel his fingers, gently dancing over yours and you almost, almost, let yourself lean into his touch. But when you open your eyes and see that it’s him. Those blue eyes looking at you.

And that’s when you recoil from his touch, like he was a brand that burned you. Which, in a way, he did.

You see his eyes flash with confusion at your reaction.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You laugh, not hiding the cruelty of it.

“Oh, so now you care,” you snap and you can still see him reeling at your sudden change.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, you can honestly drop the act. I heard you back there… with your friends.”

You watch and see the moment of realization cross his face. And it makes your rage feel justified.

“Something different. Just for the night,” you continue, spitting the words back at him. “You know, I was going to go home with you. Because I thought you gave a shit about me, as a human being. Not just another fucking notch in your bedpost. At least I figured it out. Found out exactly who you were. Before I made that mistake.”

You begin to turn away from him, starting to walk away when you feel his fingers grasp around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait, Y/N, you don’t understand, I” Anthony begins but you cut him off, ripping your hand away from his, spinning to face him.

“I don’t understand what? I heard you, I heard you. You can’t say that I imagined that because you know it’s true. You know exactly what you did. So, you can drop the act because I’m never falling for it again.”

Anthony’s hands fall to his sides and you watch as he takes a step back. Then, something strange happens. You see the slight almost imperceptible change in his facial expression, as if a wall fell into place, separating you from him.

And you didn’t want to acknowledge the small ache in your chest that screamed for him to come back.

“It was nice meeting you, Anthony. Now stay out of my fucking life.”

~~~

“Hey, Y/N, we’re gonna head out okay?” Sophie’s voice breaks you out of your reverie and tears your eyes away from the one person who starred in them, his body lounging in a chair across the room.

You glance around to see Ali and Lisa headed towards the front door. You look back up at her from your spot on the couch in the living room.

“What? Why?” you whine, reaching out and grabbing her hand.

“The party is dead, Y/N. No real reason to stay anymore,” Sophie laughs and you are about to retort but you knew she was right. What used to be a crowded dance floor was now an empty stretch of carpet and there were only a few people left in the room, huddled on the other couches and sitting on the any free space, caught in their conversations. The music was still going but it was softer, now just acting as a backing soundtrack instead of the star of the show.

The party had turned, like a switch was flipped and you knew that soon, you’d be caught in that weird liminal space of a party that should’ve ended.

But it wasn’t there yet. And you didn’t want this night, your last night, to end until it was meant to.

If this was supposedly the last chapter of your four years here at Kalokiari U, you wanted it to reach it’s natural conclusion. And something told you that your story wasn’t quite finished.

“So, are you coming with us?” Sophie asks, her voice once again pulling you back to reality.

“I’m actually gonna hang around for a while. I heard Donna mention going to the golf course and watching the sunrise and I’d like to see that,” you explain, lightly nodding towards the blonde in question, perched in her boyfriend Mat’s lap.

“Alright,” Sophie replies with a small shrug. “But remember, we have to be at graduation pretty early tomorrow so don’t do anything stupid.”

You can hear the teasing in her voice and you laugh with her.

“When have I ever done anything stupid?”

Sophie’s only reply is a soft shake of her head before she walks away, following the other girls out and back to their respective dorms. You watch as they leave, taking a small sip from the drink that you had been cradling for the past few minutes before glancing around the room again, taking in what was left of the party.

It was practically abandoned, with only a few people remaining. You recognized a few faces, most of them Anthony’s teammates, even though you only knew Mat by name. Anthony was still there as well but you were doing your best to ignore that fact. You knew Mat’s girlfriend Donna, having taken a few classes with her since she shared your major. From what you could gather, the other three were friends of hers; a somewhat serious looking brown-haired guy, a very stylish girl with a blunt bob and another girl with a pixie cut.

You sigh, sinking your body further into the couch cushions. Maybe you should leave. You didn’t really know anyone here except for Donna… and Anthony.

But there it was again, that pull that there was something more for you to experience. That this wasn’t the end of your story.

So, you stay, kicking your legs up on the couch, and pulling out your phone, mindlessly scrolling through your socials to pass the time.

“Is that seat taken?” A warm husky voice sounds, pulling you from your screen and you look up to see a very handsome man standing above you. You see can see the stubble forming on his cheeks and the smile playing on his lips.

“No, not at all,” you say, moving your legs off the cushion, opening up the space for him to sit down.

“Thank you,” he sighs, leaning back and looking towards you again. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Pierre-Luc. Most people call me Luc. That or Duber but that’s more for the guys.”

“Duber?” you question, the laughter evident in your tone.

“Yeah. My last name is Dubois so, y’know, shorten it and add an ‘er’ and you got a nickname.”

“No offense, but that has to be the worst nickname ever.”

“Hey, no one said that hockey players were creative.”

“You’re on the hockey team?” you ask, even though you knew that. You recognized him as one of Anthony’s teammates but you didn’t want to seem rude. He made the effort to talk to you so you might as well return that effort.

“Yep. Have you been to a game?”

“Once, a long time ago.” Before you met Anthony.

“A shame,” Luc replies, shooting a grin in your direction. “You missed some good times.”

“I’m not sure how good a time I would have at a hockey game,” you laugh.

“I would’ve made sure you had one. If not at the game, definitely afterwards.”

You shake your head, lightly biting the inside of your cheek at his not-so-subtle innuendo. Pierre just continues to grin at you. And you won’t deny, it feels nice. Being flirted with, being desirable, even though you knew it wouldn’t go further than this. But still, it was nice.

That is until you hear Anthony’s voice ring out across the room.

“Hey, sweetheart, what do you think you’re doing with my boy Luc?” You can hear the teasing in his voice but that doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. You glance towards him, fixing him with a cold stare.

“None of your business. At least he is giving me some attention.”

Anthony’s only reply is a smirk as he leans back in his chair across the room from you, taking a casual swig of his drink. You tear your attention away from him, bringing back to Luc and see his eyes bouncing between the two of you, the question clear on his face.

“I’m sorry, are you two, like, together or something?” he asks, carefully, as is he is afraid of crossing some sort of invisible line.

“No, absolutely not,” you laugh. “He’s just likes to annoy the shit out of me any chance he gets.”

“But, you two know each other?”

“Yeah, we met like two years ago.”

“Anything happen?”

“What are you asking Pierre? Did we hook-up? Why? Are you only allowed to hang with girls that haven’t already been claimed by your teammates?”

“Woah, no, that’s not what I’m implying at all. I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of… whatever is going on between you two.”

You feel a heat rush to your cheeks, the guilt at your quick judgement pricking at you when you hear the defensiveness in Pierre’s tone.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shooting a small smile towards him. “For assuming. I have that problem a lot.”

“It’s okay,” Pierre says, returning your smile, his hand reaching out to rest on your knee, the warmth of his palm melting through the fabric of your leggings. “I just wanted to get to know you more.”

“I get that,” you reply. “But there’s nothing going on between me and Anthony. Never has been and never will be.”

“Don’t let them fool you, Luc,” you hear Donna’s voice carry over the empty room. “They’ve been pining after each other since they met even if neither of them wants to admit it.”

“You’re not helping,” you playfully whine, shooting a light-hearted glare in her direction which she returns with a challenging look of her own, as if daring you to prove her wrong.

You aren’t entirely sure where she’s gathered her information from to make her so confident in that statement. Maybe it was from the night she invited you to a party and you realized she was dating Anthony’s best friend. Maybe it was from all those times she casually mentioned Anthony in conversation and you had to stop yourself from reacting to his name.

Or maybe it was from somewhere else entirely.

“Not to be rude but I don’t care about… whatever that is,” announces a curly-haired boy that you recognized as another of Anthony’s teammates.

“Tyson, how is that not rude?” Luc asks, his laughter rumbling through him.

“Whatever, I’m just bored. This is boring.”

“Dude, it’s like 2 am. What the fuck did you expect to be happening right now?” Anthony replies.

“I don’t know,” Tyson shoots back. “I guess just something more exciting than… this.” He gestures vaguely to the common room where you were all sitting.

“Hey, Donna,” the brown-haired guy you didn’t know at all calls out, “you’re usually the one that comes up with all the crazy party ideas. What’s your suggestion?”

“I don’t have any, Harry,” Donna laughs, nestling into Mat’s arms. “I spent all my energy helping plan this one. And it seems like it’s over so… the floor is open to suggestions from anyone.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone’s eyes bounce back and forth, waiting for someone to take the leap and speak first. You might have, if you had any ideas. But you had nothing. So, you waited along with everyone else.

And it’s Anthony that speaks first.  

“Truth or dare?” You roll your eyes, directing your gaze over towards him.

“Really Anthony? Truth or dare?” Anthony doesn’t react to your scathing tone, doesn’t back away. Instead, he flips on that fucking smirk and leans forward, his elbows coming to rest on his muscular thighs.

“Well sweetheart, we could always just play spin the bottle,” he teases, eyebrows jumping flirtatiously and you don’t have to fake the scoff that comes.

“On second thought, truth or dare is probably the smartest thought you’ve had,” you retort, a smirk that was almost an identical reflection of his tugging at your lips. “Although, that’s not that difficult of an accomplishment.”

He doesn’t respond, just continues to look at you, that smile still on his face, his blue eyes still sparkling with challenge. And you are sure yours look the same.

If you were asked, you wouldn’t deny it. You enjoyed this.

You enjoyed this verbal sparring that you and Anthony had been trapped in since that night junior year. It was fun. You loved the thrill; of knocking him down a peg or two, of thinking of a clever comeback to his words. It was like dance. One that you and Anthony knew all too well.

“Jesus Christ.” A different voice knocks you back to the present moment and your eyes tear away from Anthony. “I vote for truth or dare so I can dare you two to kiss and we can all move on with our lives.”

Without warning, you feel your cheeks heat and your head ducks at Mat’s words. And then you hated yourself for your reaction. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed by what he said because you didn’t want to kiss Anthony. You didn’t want anything to do with him… and he didn’t want anything to do with you.

You sneak a glance over towards Anthony, expecting him to be rolling his eyes, casually draped over the back of the chair, shooting you that flirtatious look that made a fire burn within you. But you are taken by surprise when he wasn’t. In fact, he looked as embarrassed as you.

It takes a beat, time to collect yourself as you roll your shoulders back, falling back into that personality that you put on when confronted with anything to do with Tito.

“In his dreams,” you scoff, leaning back and feeling that satisfied thrum run through you at the laughs that come from those around you. You look back at Anthony, a grin on your face, ready to gloat but that smirk falls as soon as your eyes connect.

And he’s looking at you with such sincerity that you can feel that twinge in your heart; that little ache for him that hadn’t silenced, no matter how hard you fought it. You thickly swallow, not breaking eye contact until you hear someone else speak.

“Okay, so, if not truth or dare, then what?” Luc asks, spinning his half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

“Here, how about this,” the stylish girl speaks as she hops up from her spot on the couch.

“What do you got, Tanya?” Harry asks as everyone watches her grab a kitchen chair and bring it into the room, placing it on top of the (surprisingly sturdy) coffee table in the middle of all of you.

“Hotseat. It’s basically… well, honestly an interrogation, I suppose. You can ask any question, usually the limit is five, to the person in the hotseat and that person has to answer each question truthfully. But it is fun, I promise. You get to learn a lot about people, especially people that you thought you might have already known. Just go with it.”

“I’m down,” Tyson says, downing the rest of whatever was left in his cup before sauntering up to the ‘hotseat’ and settling in place. “Hit me.”

“Who was your best fuck?” Harry shoots out.

“Diving right in, I see,” Donna scoffs, still perched in Mat’s lap.

“That’s the point of the game, right?” Harry defends himself with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Maddie. One thousand percent.”

“If that’s true, why haven’t you seen her again?” Anthony asks.

Your eyes flit from him to Tyson and back again, taking in the embarrassment on Tyson’s face.

“I don’t know man,” Tyson begins, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Because that’s college. You know; hook up once and then pretend that you don’t know each other.”

“That’s the stupidest thing ever,” the last girl, the one with the pixie cut, chimes in, her bold declaration not phasing any of the others, leading you to believe it is a common occurrence. “Tys, do you want to see Maddie again?”

“Yeah…” he replies hesitantly.

“Then I dare you to ask her out the next time you see her.”

“Hey, that’s not the game,” Harry complains.

“Don’t give a shit,” Rosie shoots back, taking another swing of her wine and you can’t help but smile at her blunt words.

“Okay, okay. No dares allowed in hotseat,” Tanya says, cutting between the two of them. “But, Tyson, I do think you should ask Maddie out.”

“Noted. Now, come on, ask me more questions.”

The game continues without a hitch. The questions range from stereotypical (what’s your favorite color?) to funny (what’s your most embarrassing moment?) to sexual (list your kinks) to downright bizarre (would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?).

And you find yourself enjoying it.

You were learning a lot about the people around you and you were somewhat surprised that you sort of liked Anthony’s teammates and their friends. If you were to guess, you would say the first conversation you overheard, the conversation that turned you off of Anthony, turned you off of getting to know the group of people that spent their time with him. Granted, none of the people from that night were here with you all now, perhaps already graduated. But this group… they were pretty cool.

Tyson was the biggest mama’s boy ever, calling his mom at least every Sunday but sometimes more. The one place Donna wanted to go visit more than anywhere was Greece. Pierre spoke fluent French and his Spotify was filled with French rap, which he almost exclusively worked out to. Harry used to have an almost embarrassing angst punk-rock phase in high school, which you wouldn’t know looking at the business school prep that he turned into once entering college. Mat had known Anthony since they were kids and had plenty of embarrassing stories about the shit the two of them got in to. Rosie was an aspiring cook and she wanted to publish a cook book, sooner rather than later.

And as you sit in that living room, laughing and joking with these people that you thought you would despise because of one singular moment, you realized that making that judgement might become the biggest regret of your college career.

“Beau, your turn!” Mat cheers and you watch as Anthony waltzes up onto the raised chair and settles onto it. Like a throne.

“Shoot,” he says, leaning down to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Any hockey superstitions?” Tanya asks.

“No superstitions. But I do write ‘have fun’ on my stick before each game. So, I guess that could count. I don’t believe it will jinx us if I don’t do it but it’s something I always do.”

“Aw, that’s so adorable!” Rosie coos, the wine in her system making her compliments come a little faster and a little more unfiltered.

You can’t help the small laugh that falls from your lips at her declaration, her refusal to be ashamed making you like her more. You were certain that you two would’ve been really good friends if you met earlier. But Anthony ruins the moment when he hears your giggle.

“What’s that Y/N? Do you not think I’m adorable?” he asks, that teasing edge to his voice dancing in. You lock your gaze to his, letting that ice build in your eyes.

“I have some shocking news for you Anthony; I don’t spend every minute thinking about you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Okay, cool it you two,” Tyson pipes up. “Tito, what’s your favorite dessert?”

“Anything really,” he shrugs. “But I do like anything with vanilla the best.”

“Does that extend into the bedroom?” Luc chimes in and you, as well as a few of the others, laugh at that impressive transition between questions.

“Nah. I mean, like, never say never to anything that is ‘vanilla’. But it’s usually not my style.”

“You’re more of a love them and leave them type, right?”

The biting words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. But you didn’t think you could help it even if you wanted to. The way he was talking made that bile rise in your throat, the words sounding like a distant echo of the ones spoken that first night you met.

Anthony fixes his eyes to you once more. And you expect that singular word to fall from his lips. The one that broke you all those months ago.

“Never.”

That… was not the word you had been expecting.

Anthony continues to look into your eyes and you can see that there isn’t a joke hiding behind them. This isn’t a moment of teasing or insincerity from him. This was real.

You find yourself, blinking a few times and clearing your throat as you tear your eyes away from him. The moment passed, whatever the moment was, and you lightly shake your head in an attempt to refocus on anything but that look in Anthony’s eyes.

“Last question,” Anthony says, leaning back and, for maybe the first time in a while, you are thankful that he spoke.

“Was there ever a ‘one who got away’?” Donna asks, her voice eerily soft and gentle.

Anthony heaves a sigh, leaning back in the chair, his arms lifting up to create a makeshift headrest for him as he thinks. You can see those blue eyes lifted up towards the ceiling as he combs through his memory before he speaks again.

“There was this one girl I met at a frat party last year. Really cute, funny, not afraid to be her own person and speak her mind. And things were going really well until… well, until I fucked it up.”

“What did you do?” Mat asks, his voice intrigued, like he hadn’t heard about this before. Which, if that was true, surprised you. He was Anthony’s best friend after all.

“I was an ass. Let other people influence my words even though they were the exact opposite of what I really thought. And she overheard me. Hasn’t trusted me since then. Not sure if she ever will.”

It was you. He was talking about you.

There was a certainty there, an unspoken assuredness. He couldn’t have been clearer about it unless he was standing in front of you screaming your name.

And there it was again. That fucking ache in your heart when you’re around him.

“That’s… really sad,” Donna whispers, her own deep brown eyes lightly bouncing between the two of you.

As if she knew.

Another sigh escapes Anthony as he adjusts in the seat once more.

“Well, I still have the rest of the night. Who knows what might happen?”

He’s looking straight at you when he says those words and you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips when you see that challenge glimmer in his blue irises. But beneath that, beneath all the bullshit and grief the two of you had given each other, there is something more.

And now, you feel as if you can finally place a name to that look.

“Y/N.” The sound of your name startles you back into reality and you see Luc looking at you expectantly. “It’s your turn on the hotseat.”

You let out a light laugh as a way to set your mind straight and prepare for the onslaught of questions you were about to receive. Lifting yourself up off from the couch, you head towards the makeshift platform at the center of the room just as Anthony steps down. And as the two of you pass, you feel his knuckles drag across the back of your hand. You want to look back at him, to confirm if it was on purpose or just a happenstance.

But you don’t. You don’t acknowledge him until you are perched in the ‘hotseat’ and even then, it is just a quick glance, disguised as perusing the room for who will ask the first question.

“When was the last time you cried?” Tanya starts.

“Oh, like two days ago,” you answer truthfully. You see a flash of concern in her eyes but you laugh it off quickly. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t for anything bad. I was just listening to the new Florence + the Machine album.”

“If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?” It is Tyson that asks next.

“Hmm, probably potatoes. You can do so much with potatoes.”

“Hear, hear!” Rosie cheers from her armchair perch.

“Would you rather shave your head or get your nose pierced?” Luc asks and you roll your eyes.

“Are those really the worst two options you could think of? Or am I getting a glimpse into your ever so stereotypical tastes in the female appearance, Luc?” you laugh, keeping your voice airy so the teasing was extremely obvious.

It was a different tone than the one you used with Anthony. Light, maybe even a bit flirty, but all you were trying to accomplish was to make sure Luc knew you were kidding and not actually attacking him.

It seemed to work because even with his muttered ‘shut up’ and his cheeks turning a rosy shade, you could see Luc smiling at you.

“Considering that I’ve actually considered doing both of those things, I would have to say probably a nose piercing first. It’s a little less drastic and a little easier to fix if I end up hating it.”

“That’s fair,” Pierre replies and shoots you a dazzling smile that would’ve definitely knocked the breath out of you if you met him at any other party, in any other circumstance.

But it’s hard to focus on Pierre’s smile when you can feel Anthony’s piercing gaze on you.

“Luc, arrête de flirter, elle est à moi,” Anthony’s voice echoes across the space of the living room. You head spins, startled by Anthony’s secret message to Luc as well as the sharpness in his tone. Your eye bounce from him back to Luc, who you see raise his hands in surrender. That action just causes more confusion and you look back at Anthony for any form of explanation but he has his stare focused back on you, his eyes betraying nothing.

“Y/N,” Mat calls out, redirecting your attention back to the game at hand. “Who’s hotter; your crush or Justin Bieber? And why? And remember to choose your answer carefully because you are talking to a true Belieber here.”

“My crush,” you say, without hesitation and you laugh when you see the hurt on Mat’s face, as if you had personally offended him with your answer. “Nothing against Justin, he’s decently attractive. But not nearly as attractive as An- my crush.”

You silently curse yourself for almost letting his name slip out of your mouth. In front of all these people. In front of his friends. In front of him.

There wasn’t any denying it: Anthony’s face was the first one that appeared in your mind.

But you recovered, you kept his image locked behind your walls, and you looked around the room, waiting for the next question when you heard Harry chime in.

“Ah, that was a two-part question. Why is your crush hotter than Justin Bieber?”

Shit. Didn’t get escape it as much as you hoped you would.

“Well,” you say, drawing out that singular word to try and bide more time, think of a backup plan. But then your eyes connect back to Anthony. And he is giving you that look, that look that makes your heart once again reach for him, despite all protests against it.

And you realize in that moment, those protests had waned as the night went on. What were you really hiding from? Being hurt? Or being wrong?

“Again, nothing against Justin Bieber,” you continue, “but my crush is just more attractive. I mean, his body is amazing, specifically his thighs and his arms. Muscular but not too insanely buff. Also, his hair. I’m a sucker for curls on guys. But, I think the main reason are his eyes. Just a beautiful ocean blue, and when I say ocean, I mean it. They’re the kind that you just want to get lost in.”

You end your explanation with a conviction that you hope displays the sincerity of your words. You purposely kept the description just vague enough to not tip off anyone as to who you were talking about. But you knew the truth.

It’s you, you think, wanting Anthony to have the same realization that you had only a few minutes earlier. I’m talking about you.

And when you sneak a glance back to him, you can see it in his eyes that he understood your words.

There is a silence, not uncomfortable, but something thrums unseen just above you all. Something that feels electric if you reach out at touch it. You aren’t sure exactly what it is or what action would cause this energy to surge.

But Anthony seems to.

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

Your first instinct is to scoff, to laugh it off, another joke so much like the ones that Anthony always seems to shoot in your direction. And you almost do.

But you know it’s not a joke, it isn’t a jab. This is a genuine question that Anthony is asking you, based on everything that happened between you two: tonight, the first night, and every night since then.

What would you do?

Your breath escapes you, a slight hum to it, one of disbelief or confusion you aren’t sure. You didn’t have an answer, or maybe you did but you had no idea what it was. There was no certain response ringing through your mind. Your head is spinning, thoughts jumbled the way they usually where when you were around Anthony. But now, it was exacerbated more because he put you on the spot.

“I, um, I don’t know,” you manage to mumble out, your voice soft and your eyes downcast, hoping that it would be enough to end the conversation.

“Nope! I do not accept that as an answer Y/N! That’s not how this game works!” You hear Tyson’s light voice and you know that there is no malice in his prodding. But it feels like it. It feels like you are a butterfly that he is gleefully trying to pin down onto a board, simply because he wants to.

You lift your head, turning towards Tyson and you feel that comforting fire ignite in your chest as you lock your eyes on him.

“Well then you need to get used to disappointment because that’s the only answer you’re getting, Tyson,” you snap and you can see him almost shrink back into his chair. A small part of you feels guilty and that fucking feeling piles on top of all of the others until it’s too much.

“Well, that was five questions so I’m done,” you mutter, sliding off the lifted platform smoothly. But instead of returning to your original spot next to Pierre on the couch, you retreat. The fight disappeared from you and all that was left to do was fly.

A few quick steps, the opening and closing of a door and you find yourself alone in the late-night air on the back porch of the townhouse.

Unfortunately, that was as far as your flight took you. You collapsed onto a chair resting in the corner, your head falling into your upturned palms.

What the fuck were you supposed to do?

You were supposed to hate Anthony. You had hated him for the past year. It was easy to hate him. Why did that have to change now, on tonight of all nights? One night and one night only; that was all you had to make it through. But then he had to be here, with his stupid body and his stupid curls and stupid smile and stupidly blue eyes that you wanted to drown yourself in and –

Why did he have to do this?

It was his fault: his fault for disarming you that first night, his fault for fucking up whatever could’ve happened between you two, his fault for making you push him away for months, his fault for causing all these feelings that you had been pushing down and silencing to bubble to the surface.

And you wanted to hate him for it. But you couldn’t. Because you knew the truth. You knew that behind every glare, every jab, every sharp word, there was a desperate need.

You wanted him. You had never stopped wanting him. And it scared you; the depth of your desire.

You let your chest rise, taking a deep breath, letting the welcomed sting of the nighttime fill your lungs.

One more night. Not even that; just a few more hours. That was all you had to survive before all this would be over. A few hours and you could walk away and leave Anthony and all the conflicting feelings he stirred in you behind.

Just a few more hours.

The creak of the door hinges brings you back to reality and you lift your eyes. To see Anthony standing there.

“Hey,” he says softly, closing the door behind him with such delicacy, like he was afraid you’d bolt at any sudden noise. You don’t bother to acknowledge him, instead turning your eyes back down to look at the floor beneath your feet.

“What do you want?” you say, trying to put as much venom in your voice as you could muster.

“I just… wanted to see if you were alright,” comes his gentle reply and you fight the urge to look back up at him.

“I’m fine. You can go back to your friends now.”

A silence follows. Then the sound of footsteps over concrete. You start to breathe a sigh of relief. That is until a pair of sneakers comes into your line of sight. Then the grey cotton of sweatpants, pulled tight over knees and thighs as Anthony knelt down in front of you. In your periphery you can see his hands reach forward, most likely wanting to place them on the top of your knees but you see them flex, Anthony second-guessing the movement, hesitant. He instead settles his hands on the back of your calves, featherlight and barely noticeable through the fabric of your own leggings but it ignites a fire in you, regardless.

You finally hazard a glance up, your head lifting from your palms to look at Anthony. And there are those eyes. And he’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“Actually, I can’t do back inside,” he says with such gentle conviction.

“What do you want from me?” Your voice is quiet, all form of fight drained from you. A tiny smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and you can see the gleam in his irises, the one that only appeared for you.

“I want you to answer my question. What would you do if I kissed you?”

“Anthony…” you draw out, attempting to turn your head away from him but his hand darts out, cupping your jaw and gently pulling your gaze back to him. You feel your heart jump into your throat at the feeling of his fingers against your skin and you swear you can feel it threatening to leap out of your body when he keeps his hands there.

“You know, you’re the only one who calls me that,” he says, his fingers barely caressing the skin of your jawline and you know he has to feel your pulse pounding underneath him. “Anthony. Never Tito or Beau. Always Anthony.”

You can barely think when he lifts his torso up towards you, entering your space, the scent of his cologne flooding your senses and you close your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself. But you don’t retreat. You didn’t want to. And when you feel his breath fanning across your cheeks, feel his forehead press against yours, feel his hand dance from its place on your jaw to the side of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair, every rational thought escaped you. You thought of one thing: him.

“Anthony…”

“I need an answer,” he whispers to you. “What would you do if I kissed you?”

You swear you could feel the tension between you, as if it were a real and tangible thing that you could reach out and touch. It had always existed, always appeared whenever the two of you came into contact with each other, had even reared its head a few times throughout this night. But before, it was always like a tangled piece of yarn, jumbled and mixed in with every other feeling, something frustrating and pushed aside and ignored.

Now, it was nothing but clarity.

“I would kiss you back.”

You feel him shift against you, the hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer to him to the point where you can sense his lips hovering millimeters from yours. Your own lips part, the breaths falling from you sharp and shallow.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

One word. That is all you manage to breathe out and that is all either you and Anthony need before he connects his lips to yours.

And then… there were no words.

No words in the English language could possibly describe how it felt to kiss Anthony. It was passionate, it was fiery, it was magical, it was wonderful, it was breathtaking. It felt like the first kiss you shared, every kiss that you could have shared in the past year, and every other kiss that you had yet to share. It was nothing, it was everything, all at once.

And you wanted more.

Your hands fly to tangle in Anthony’s hair, grasping at the base of his skull and pulling him impossibly closer to you. He understands your silent plead as he mirrors your actions, the hand that wasn’t in your hair coming to press against the small of your back as he raises himself up another few inches. His body easily slots between your thighs and you can’t stop kissing him.

You never want to stop kissing him.

You move forward, wanting to press your body into his even more and you feel yourself scoot off the edge of the chair as a result of your attempts. But Anthony is there; he is holding you tight so instead of flying forward and knocking him and yourself onto the cold concrete, he manages to maneuver your body until you are basically sitting in his lap.

The kisses become hot and desperate as your tongues clash, breathing heavy, hands scrabbling: yours on his back and shoulders and hair, his on your back and waist and hips. You can feel all of him, everywhere. There was no telling where you ended and he began and yet, you still wanted more.

It is almost excruciating, breaking away from him. But you force yourself to, lips detaching from his as you take a moment to catch your breath. Although, you don’t let him go and he doesn’t relax his grip either.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Anthony asks, seeming to find words faster than you could, his question a mere glimmer of the one you asked him when he first came outside.

“You,” comes your breathless reply, the best you could muster at the current moment as you try to chase his lips down again. But Anthony retreats and you feel a twinge in your heart until you connect your eyes back with his. And he’s giving you that smile that always made you weak.

“I need better than that, sweetheart,” he says, the teasing lilt in his voice reappearing and you can’t stop the smirk that appears on your face as the two of you fall back into your familiar dance.

“Really? Are you going to make me beg?” you laugh and you see something flash behind Anthony’s eyes before his hands tighten on you, pulling you closer, your giggle turning into a sharp gasp at his actions. He once again torturously leans in, lips brushing yours as he replies.

“Maybe later,” he whispers, a shiver sent down your spine. “I bet you look really pretty when you beg.”

“Anthony,” you gasp before he pulls you into another kiss, this one short and sweet because you know he is still waiting for an answer. “Anthony, please, take me home.”

He chuckles, the vibration of which courses through your own body.

“I’d love to sweetheart,” he replies, his lips moving to press a whisper of a kiss into the pulse point on your neck. “But unfortunately, I have roommates.”

“Well, thankfully, I don’t.”

The two of you share a grin, one that is laced with desire and a healthy bit of disbelief that this was actually happening. That this was about to happen. But neither of you linger on it for too long.

Instead, you manage to remove yourself from each other, untangling and lifting your bodies off the cooled concrete. You start to walk away, over the grass and towards your dorm, pausing only briefly to hold out your hand to Anthony, another silent confirmation that you wanted this, wanted him. He accepts quickly, gladly, and you pull him towards you until he matches your pace and the two of you waltz across campus.

The energy between you two remains tame, almost like a dormant animal, until you get to the front of your building. You hover in front of the entrance, pulling out your keycard to open the door to your dorm, which proves difficult when Anthony decides to press against you, his breath hot against the shell of your ear and his hands wandering.

The door finally swings open and the two of you stumble inside, Anthony’s hands keeping a firm hold on your hips as you lead him through the winding corridors. You stop outside of your dorm room, about to punch in your code to the old worn doorknob when Anthony’s grip on you forces you to turn, your back now effectively pressed up against the hard wood.

“Anthony” you start to say, attempting to put some form of frustration in your voice.

“Please, baby,” Anthony pants into your ear, his hands gripping you tight. “One more kiss and then I’ll let you open the door. Just one.”

“Look who’s begging now,” you scoffed, locking your eyes with his so he could see that glint that loved to leap between the two of you, like sparks from a fire. You watch as his eyes change, a glimmer of something, perhaps a warning of what was to come and that just made the need build in your lower stomach.

You don’t back down though, the challenge still sparkling in your eyes. Anthony leans in, his lips once against ghosting over yours and now, there is no question that he enjoys this. Enjoys invading your space, if only to hear your shuddering breaths, to see you squirm with that insane want. You gladly tilt your head to the side, waiting to feel Anthony press kisses into the delicate skin of your neck. But he never does.

“Numbers?”

It takes a minute for you to understand his single-worded question and even a minute more to try and wrap your head around the four-digit code to your dorm room. Anthony doesn’t give you much time to think as he continues to press his muscular body into yours, his breath still hot against your neck.

“Anthony…” you whimper out as you feel his thigh slide in between yours, pressing against your center.

“Come on, pretty lady. Tell me your code so I can hear you scream my name instead of whispering it.”

“Fuck me,” you sigh as he kisses the spot right at the corner of your jaw, a shudder running through you at his actions.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m planning on it,” he practically growls in your ear, flexing his thigh again, forcing you to grind against his tight muscles. “Numbers.”

It is no longer a request. It is a silent demand, one that you readily follow.

“5-2-6-2,” you finally manage to whisper out and you hear the faint beeping of your code being punched into the keypad. You feel Anthony’s arm wrap around your waist, keeping your body tight against his, making sure that you don’t fall as the sturdy weight of the door disappears from behind you.

Anthony swallows the gasp that escapes you, pulling you into another searing kiss as he pushes your over the threshold of your room, the lock echoing with a resounding click as he kicks the door close behind him.

You continue to kiss as he backs you into your room, both of your steps small and stilted as the two of you remain tangled in each other. It continues until the corner of your desk hits the back of your thigh, the impact causing a hiss to fall from your lips and the few items you had resting on the surface to rattle.

“Shit, sorry,” Anthony says, breaking away and trying to pull you in the proper direction, which he had no way of knowing what that was.

You laugh at his words, maneuvering your body and spinning him around until you were the one pressing against him, pushing him deeper into your room. You attach your lips to his and he submits, letting you guide him. There is a pause in your forward motion, the back on Anthony’s legs hitting a piece of furniture and you smirk into the kiss as you know exactly where you are. With a quick motion, you move your hands down to the planes of his chest and, with all your might, shove him back.

The smirk remains when you hear his soft gasp as Anthony careens back, falling down until his body makes contact with your mattress, the springs creaking under the sudden weight of him. He bounces lightly as you just continue to smile down at him. You watch as his face morphs into one of shock to one of excitement.

In an entirely unfamiliar situation, this was comfortable. This was normal; the teasing, the feistiness, the push and pull.

The dance.

Anthony lifts himself up onto his elbows, leaning back against the sheets as he shares your smirk, his bright blue eyes looking up at you. Your only reply is a wink and your hands wander down to the hem of your t-shirt, grasping at the fabric before pulling it over your head, exposing your body to him. You hastily throw the shirt to the side, your eyes connecting back down to Anthony.

A power surges through you as you watch his gaze rake over you and you feel like he is devouring you with nothing but his eyes. There you stand in a simple plain bra and Anthony is looking at you like you are the finest piece of artwork hung in the Louvre.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you murmur.

A simple jab, another challenge from you and Anthony meets it head on, like he always does. He mirrors your previous movements, tearing away the fabric of his own t-shirt and you have to stop yourself from being distracted by his chest, his arms, his muscles. Your eyes bounce over his broad shoulders and you can’t stop them from tracing the lines of the two thin gold chains hanging from his neck.

Anthony quickly leans down, kicking off his shoes and you follow suit. You manage to move a little faster than he does and grasp the waistband of your leggings, shimmying out of them just as Anthony lifts his torso back up. There is a brief pause in his movements as he stares at your body, almost fully exposed to him. He seems to snap out of it quickly, his hands fumbling with his belt. But you step forward, stopping his movements with your hands resting gently over his.

He looks up at you, eyes wide and yearning as you grasp his hands, guiding them to your body. You feel his fingers flex under yours, still hesitant to touch you and you softly smile placing his hands onto your hips. You feel the featherlight touches of his fingertips on your skin, a mere caress.

Your feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest as you feel Anthony become bolder, more confident, his hands moving to dance along your sides, the small of your back, your outer thighs. Your hands come to rest on his bare shoulders, touching him as reverently as he is you.

The two of you stay like that; Anthony perched on the edge of your bed, you standing in between his thighs, as you explore this new uncharted territory of each other. Finally, you once again make the first move, bracing yourself against him as you lift your leg, coming to rest it on the bed. The other moves similarly and you lift yourself until you come to sit perched in Anthony’s lap. His arms come to wrap around you as you lean over him, connecting your lips in a kiss that you could only describe as delicate.

One of your hands glides down his back, feeling the muscles ripple underneath your hands as Anthony pulls you impossibly closer to him. The other comes to tangle in his hair as the kiss deepens, the hesitancy from before transforming into utter desperation. A mutual gasp slips from you both as your hips grind down on him, Anthony’s hands flying to your ass as he pulls you into him again, swallowing the whimpers that fall from you as you feel him hard underneath you.

Your hands move again, scrambling back over his shoulders, down his chest, dancing across his abs before resting on his belt. You deftly remove it, your lips never leaving Anthony’s as he continues to kiss you and grasp at your body. The leather of the belt snaps as you tear it from him, the metal buckle clanking against the tile floor.

Once your hands have made short work of the buttons and zipper of his jeans, you lean your body forward, pushing Anthony back down to rest against the mattress. You hover over him, one arm braced against your sheets as the other tugs at the denim roughly. It is only then that Anthony’s hands disappear from your body to help you tug his jeans down his legs, kicking them off the rest of the way until the both of you are in your underwear.

Anthony’s hands return to your body, tracing back up your frame and you shudder at the feeling. He reaches behind you, his hands grasping at the clasp of your bra. You feel the material loosen around you and you lift your body up, seating yourself against him again as you let the straps fall down your arms. You remove the fabric from your chest, baring yourself to him.

“Fuck,” Anthony whispers as he drinks in your body, his hands moving up to your breasts and the goosebumps rise as he grasps at you, gently squeezing the flesh, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. “I knew you were beautiful but this…” he trails off, continuing to caress your skin.

“Anthony,” you gasp, your hips rolling in response to his movements.

“What is it, sweetheart? What do you want?”

You aren’t sure. That’s the problem. You want everything; want him to keep touching you, want to feel his lips on you, want to get your lips on him, want to have him inside of you. There are too many options so you resort to leaning down and capturing your lips together again.

Your lips break away from his, coming to trail down his jawline to his throat and you smile against his skin when you feel his Adam’s apple bob in response to your actions. You continue your path down, kissing his shoulders, his collarbones, down the center of his chest. The muscles in his stomach tighten as you continue, stopping only when you reach the waistband of his briefs.

Your eyes flicker up to him and you are met with a sight that you had only imagined in your wildest fantasies: Anthony looking down at you with pure desire.

Fingers dance up to his hipbones, nails scraping over the taut delicate skin and Anthony’s soft groans fill the room as you trace the lines of his body, moving closer to their destination.

“Fuck, babe, please do something,” Anthony pants out as your fingertips move to the edge of his waistband. You gladly oblige to his request, sneaking underneath the elastic and pulling down the fabric, his erection springing free. Your eyes widen at the sight of him bare above you, his cock resting heavy against his stomach.

If asked, you’d be the first to admit you weren’t very experienced when it came to this. All you had were a few ex-boyfriends who didn’t really teach you anything, just simply used your mouth for their pleasure. But here was Anthony, big and broad underneath you, laying back and letting you make the decisions and you couldn’t deny the power it made you feel.

You reach out, wrapping your hand around his base and give him a few tentative strokes, hear him moan above you and feel him hardening in your grasp even more. His response makes you bolder as you move your head towards him, your tongue darting out to lick the small pearl of precum resting on his tip.

“Fuck, babe, more,” Anthony whines and you can’t help but oblige his request, leaning down and wrapping your lips around the head and hollowing your cheeks.

Anthony’s hands fly up to tangle in your hair as you continue to suck on him, your tongue tracing what you could feel, the hand still wrapped around his base moving in an attempt to find a rhythm. You feel his hands tighten and he starts to guide you, helping you set a steady pace, the groans falling from his mouth continuously.

His noises encourage you, daring you to try and take more of him. You lower yourself down, Anthony’s hand a firm press against the back of your skull. He moans as more of your mouth envelops him, hot and wet and goddamn obscene.

You want him, want to be good for him, want to make him feel good. But eventually, you push yourself too far and he hits that spot that causes your gag reflex to shudder and you pull yourself up, not fully, just returning to the tip of him, hoping he didn’t notice. But he did.

“Shit, sweetheart – fuck – stop, please,” you hear Anthony’s voice ring out above you and you pull away from him, eyes jumping to his face.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting; maybe anger, maybe disappointment, maybe nothing at all. But what you didn’t anticipate was for Anthony to lift his torso up, his hand reaching out to cradle your cheek, the look in his eyes tender and understanding.

“You’re not enjoying this.”

He states it so simply, so matter-of-fact that you are caught off guard at his words. Your mouth falls open, a retort poised on your tongue. But nothing comes out.

This was entirely new ground. Not just between you and Anthony but in the world of college hook-ups, or hook-ups and sex in general. It was about the man’s pleasure. That’s what society expected, that’s what almost every man expected. That’s what you thought Anthony expected.

But here he was, once again proving your assumptions entirely wrong.

And as if Anthony can see this realization, see your thoughts in real time, he leans forward and kisses you. Deeply, without pretense or expectations. He kisses you like… like he loves you.

The hand on your cheek gently pulls you forward, his other hand coming to grasp the back of your thigh to continue to pull your body up from its original position. You willingly let him guide you, your legs moving to straddle his body once more as he reclines back onto your mattress.

You believe that it will end there; with your body draped over his and the two of you continuing to make out, getting lost in each other’s kisses. But you feel the hand on the back of your thigh, persistent, pressing you forward, the other hand falling to join it as Anthony continues to pull you up his body. Your head is spinning, drunk from the way Anthony is kissing you, from the way he is touching you, so you simply let his strong arms move you. He doesn’t stop drawing you into him, that continuous pull on you and it isn’t until your knees are almost up to his shoulders do you tear your lips apart.

You look down at him, your eyes blinking in confusion as you still feel the tug of him against you. His hands slide in between your thighs to hook his arms around your legs and that’s when your hand falls to his hands, stilling his movements.

“What – what are you doing?” you ask, your head spinning.

“What do you think?” he shoots back at you, a small smirk appearing as his arms pull at you again.

You are at a loss for words, only sharp breaths falling from you, every emotion dancing across your face as your head slightly shakes in complete disbelief. It isn’t until you feel the smooth press of Anthony’s lips against your skin do you look back down at him.

“Please,” he says, those ocean blue eyes practically begging you, “let me show you how badly I crave you.”

How the fuck could you say no to that?

You nod your head, giving him the greenlight and you can’t help but mirror the smile that appears on his face. He presses another small kiss against your knee before his arms pull you forward, his body sliding down as well to meet you halfway, reaching that final destination; his head settled between your thighs.

The shuddering gasp that comes from you is involuntary as you feel his hot breath against your core. His lips dance over the skin of your inner thighs, just whispers of kisses trailing to your center, a promise of what was soon to come. You feel as if you can’t even breath until he comes to kiss the fabric that still covered you, a soft moan rumbling through him as he feels the arousal soaked through.

He is torturing you, even though you are sure he isn’t intending to. But ever slow deliberate movement that comes from him makes you just want more. And you were tired of waiting.

One of your hands flies down to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging as your hips roll, chasing his lips.

“Please…” comes the choked whimper from you as you glance down at him. You watch as a fire lights behind his pupils and you swear you can feel the curve of his smirk against you. But it doesn’t matter because as soon as that word is out of your mouth, you feel Anthony’s fingers lift between your thighs, tugging the fabric of your underwear roughly to the side and finally – finally – his mouth is on you.

There is no stopping the moans that come as Anthony’s lips start to move against you. He is everywhere; his tongue delving into your folds, his lips coming to close around your clit, his hands needy and insistent on your thighs as he brings you closer. You can’t form a coherent thought as he eats you out like a man starved, his ministrations never ceasing, never pausing, and constantly changing to keep you on the edge.

There is nothing you can do but let him continue, not that you’d want him to stop anyway. The only guiding you provide is a chorus of whines and gasps, your hand still tangled in his hair, the other coming to grasp the wooden headboard in front of you for some sort of stability.

“Fuck,” you curse when Anthony’s tongue comes up and flicks against your clit in the most exquisite way, making you see stars. “Anthony… fuck, right there.”

He listens and repeats his movements, pushing you further and further to that precipice, groaning against you as your hand twists deeper into his hair. Your whines take on a higher pitch and your white-knuckled grip on the headboard tightens as you feel your orgasm nearing.

You try to say something, to let him know but it only comes out as a broken whimper. That is enough for Anthony as he pulls you impossibly closer, his hands tight on your body as he silently coaxes you let go. And you do. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body slumping forward as Anthony never quits his ministrations, drawing your release out further until your thighs are trembling, the only sounds falling from you are soft gasps and breathless moans.

Your breaths shudder through you as you come down, the gentle press of Anthony’s lips against your inner thighs bringing you back to reality. Your grip on the headboard loosens as your eyes flutter open to connect with Anthony’s.

And the small smile that pulls at your lips when you see that confident spark in his eyes as he kisses your soft skin. You lean your head back, your eyes closing as you revel in the bliss of your post-orgasm.

“Oh my god,” you whisper out.

“Oh my god?” Anthony questions and you glance back down at him, that fucking smirk on his face and that challenge in his eyes.

“Shut up,” you laugh out, lightly shaking your head. Anthony doesn’t reply; he simply continues to smile up at you, his hands tracing up and down your sides.

You feel him shift underneath you, reversing his movements from before as he pulls his body up, his arms sneaking between your thighs to come to the front of your legs, gently pushing your body back down. You let him guide you, walking your knees back until you are hovering over his waist. Your hands run over his chest, before coming up to rest against his cheek, your thumb reaching out to trace over his lips, plump and shining with your own arousal from his previous actions. His mouth falls open, his eyes looking up at you in adoration.

You lean down to capture his lips in another kiss, desperation still dripping from both of you. You can’t resist the urge to reach behind you, circling your hand around his length and giving him a few languid strokes, smiling into the kiss as you feel his breath jump, swallowing the moan that escapes him. You continue your movements for a few brief seconds before you lift yourself off of him.

It is Anthony’s turn to whine at the loss of you, of your lips against his. You climb off the bed, bare feet hitting the tile floor but you don’t move far. You simply wander to the nightstand, leaning down as you rummage through your drawers. Anthony’s hand reaches out, his fingertips barely brushing the back of your legs. You turn your head to look at him and are met with a smile that is filled with desire. You return it, raising your body back up and hold out the foil packet of the condom out to him.

There is a bare nod of Anthony’s head at your silent request as he takes it from your hands, ripping it open and you watch in breathless excitement as he rolls the condom onto his length. He looks back up at you, another challenge sparking in his eyes, daring you to once again make the next move and you relish it, the easy trade-off of power between the two of you. Your fingers come to hook around the waistband of your underwear and you pull the remaining fabric away from your body.

Your hand reaches out towards Anthony and he gladly takes it, tugging you back towards the bed. You lift your leg over the edge, coming back to straddle him, your other hand settling on his shoulder for leverage as you position yourself above him. You roll your hips once over him, both of you letting out a soft gasp as you feel his cock slide against your soaked folds.

Leaning down, you kiss him again, your body still moving above him, hands still intertwined. You feel Anthony’s free hand trace down your body, coming to grip your ass and pull you closer, guiding the roll of your hips.

You break the kiss, lifting yourself up again and your hand sneaks down off his shoulder, down his chest and stomach and in between your thighs. You grasp him, stroking him once, twice, before lining him up with your center. Anthony gives your hand a light squeeze in reassurance and that is all you need before you sink down onto him.

Another simultaneous gasp falls from both of you as feel yourself stretch around him, the length of him slowly filling you. After a moment, you start to move, your hips circling against his and you moan at the feeling of him deep inside you. You gently lift yourself up before dropping back down, mewling as he glides against your walls. Anthony’s hand moves from your ass to your hips across your stomach and up to your chest, slightly teasing your nipples again.

Anthony gives a gentle thrust of his hips up to meet your movements and you gasp, your body falling forward, hand tearing away from his as your arms fall to the sheets on either side of his head, caging him between them. The two of you grind against each other as your lips hover over his, your breaths intermingling. Anthony stretches his neck up to kiss you and his hands grip your hips, controlling your movements.

You feel the press of Anthony’s palms against the front of your hips and a gasp falls from your lips as he pushes your body up, his own body lifting to chase yours. One of your hands flies to the space between his shoulder blades, the other coming to cradle the back of his head.

The force of one of Anthony’s hands disappears from your hip, and he plants it into the mattress next to him, bracing himself. Another sharp breath tears from your chest as Anthony wraps his other arm around your waist, his hips twisting to flip you over, your back gently falling against your messy sheets as Anthony’s muscular body comes to cover yours.

There is a slight adjustment, your legs opening for him to settle his body between your thighs, but as soon as you are comfortable, Anthony moves again, his hips grinding into yours and you let out a small moan, feeling him deeper than before.

Anthony continues, thrusting into you slowly, sensually, his entire body rolling with his hips, the weight of him pressing you into the bed. You pull his head back down, kissing him again, tasting the longing lingering on his lips. There is passion there, no doubt about that. But beneath it all is an ache, a desperation that hung heavy between the two of you since that first night. A desperation that was finally getting its fill.

It was as if now that you two had each other, neither of you wanted to be the first to let go.

One of Anthony’s hands comes to trace down your side, gently cupping your thigh and lifting it over his hip. This new angle causes him to brush against your g-spot and you break away from the kiss with a whine.

“Fuck, Anthony,” you whimper, head thrown back against the pillows. He reads your reaction perfectly, maneuvering your body so he is constantly hitting that spot within you. You are caught off guard once again that he doesn’t just start jackhammering into you. No, instead he keeps that same consistent rhythm and tempo that forces your orgasm to come slowly, the feeling of it creeping into your body.

Anthony’s lips trace against your jawline, down your neck, sucking hickeys into the delicate skin. Your hands grip his body, hanging onto him for dear life as that coil within you tightens, your entire body starting to shiver with anticipation.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Anthony whispers against you, his voice rough yet soothing, coaxing you once again to let go, let your release rush through you. It isn’t until he gently grazes his teeth over your pulse point does the rubber band finally snaps, your orgasm thrumming through you, from your center up your spine and back out. Your body tenses, legs pulling Antony’s hips into you, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You hear Anthony’s groan against the shell of your ear and his hips continue to move, pulling shockwave after shockwave out of your body and all you can do is lie back and let it run its course, let Anthony draw your pleasure from you as he chases his own release. The feeling of your walls fluttering and clenching around him pushes Anthony to his orgasm, managing to drive a few more languid thrusts into your core before his body stills, your name falling from his lips, mixed with his beautiful moans and curses.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, tangled up in each other, Anthony kissing your temple as you both come down. You feel his weight shift on top of you, his forearms coming to rest on either side of your head and he lifts his body up, his hands brushing your hair back from you face. Your eyes connect again and an identical smile appears on your faces. You lift your head towards him and he leans back down to kiss you once more.

A choppy gasp escapes you as you feel Anthony pull away, sliding out of you. He silences you with another comforting kiss before completely removing himself from the bed.

“Trashcan’s by the desk,” you mumble, your head falling against your pillow as you burrow underneath the sheets, the sweat on your skin cooling rapidly in the night air without the heat of Anthony against you. You watch him cross the room, discarding the used condom before he turns back towards you. You lift the covers, opening up your bed to him, one hand reaching out as you beckon to him. He happily accepts your request, darting across the room before slipping beneath your sheets.

Once he is nestled under the blankets with you, you move your body to curl up next to him, your head coming to rest on his chest, his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you close.

There is a silence between you, the only communication you share is the feeling of your hands tracing the others skin, your chests rising and falling in tandem. Your eyes wander around the room, your mind wandering along with them as your head fills with the memory of everything that happened tonight and what it all could possibly mean.

This was proof, right? Proof that Anthony was a good guy, proof that he cared for you, proof that you both wanted each other. Proof that maybe you even loved each other, although that was a big word to attach to this one singular moment. But still, if it the love was there, regardless of how dormant it may be, that would be enough. Wouldn’t it?

But then your eyes fall to the window across your room and through the glass, you can see the sun start to peek over the horizon, the world lightening as it rises and you are plunged back into reality.

This was over. School was over. The two of you would be graduating in mere hours. And after tomorrow, you would be separated by miles and miles of country. He was off to New York to pursue his career and you were leaving to chase yours and who knew if you would ever see each other again.

You feel the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, threatening to fall before you can even register when they started to well. Anthony’s chest heaves in a sigh underneath you and you glance up, not bothering to hide the look on your face. And you are met with a similar look of sad realization painted on his.

You close your eyes, a teardrop falling onto your cheek as you shake your head, as if you could deny the passage of time and the ending that was inevitably coming. You feel Anthony’s hand come to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing the singular tear off of your skin and you lean into his touch.

“I feel so stupid,” you say, fighting back more tears. “All this time, we could’ve had this. We could have had almost two years together. Then maybe this wouldn’t feel so permanent. If only I trusted you. If I just believed you that first night. If I gave you a chance sooner.”

“Hey, hey,” Anthony hushes you, pulling you closer. “Look at me.”

You open your eyes to meet his, that ocean blue swimming with every emotion you could possibly name.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “We both made mistakes. I had every chance to tell you the truth, to tell you how I really felt about you and I never did. Not until some stupid game.” He lets out a light chuckle along with his last statement, pulling a small laugh from you as well as you remember what started all of this.

“Maybe we should thank Tanya for this,” you smile, which Anthony returns.

“Maybe we should.”

Your eyes fall as your fingertips begin to play with the chains pooling his collarbones, the sadness sneaking back in as you feel Anthony’s skin warm underneath you.

“What are you thinking?” he whispers, his fingers twisting some lingering strands of hair that had fallen across your face.

“I just… I just don’t want this to end,” you murmur.

Anthony is silent and you sneak a glance back up at him, his eyes upturned to the ceiling, deep in thought. There is a strange part of you that is certain you know what he is thinking. Simply because the same battle is being waged within you.

One voice begging: Who says this has to end? Why can’t you two try to make this work?

The other voice stating: It has to end. This could’ve worked if you had more time. But it’s too late now.

Anthony’s eyes move back to yours and you see that begrudging acceptance reflected in his irises. He lifts his head up, pulling yours closer as he presses a heavy kiss against your forehead. You sigh, your body leaning into him. He breaks away, head resting against yours, his face lingering close to yours and you watch as his lips move again.

“At least I had you for tonight. That’s better than never having you at all.”

There is no stopping the tears that fall in response to his words. Anthony doesn’t say anything else, just pulls you close to kiss you once more and you swear you can feel it; the pain, the tragedy, the knowledge that this was over and the understanding that neither of you wanted it to be.

You break the kiss, coming to nestle your head against his chest once more, Anthony’s arm pulling you impossibly closer, his fingers soothingly tracing over the ridges of your ribcage, the crests of your curves. The two of you lay next to each other and stare out the window, watching as the sun rises, coloring the sky grey, then pink, then yellow.

Finally, you feel Anthony shift underneath you, his head turning to look at your alarm clock resting on the nightstand.

“I have to go,” he whispers and you wonder if it would hurt less if he said it louder. If that would make it seem more definite instead of having to hear that lingering hope that painted this edge of his words.

You don’t say anything, don’t even attempt to move your head from its spot against his chest, wanting to listen to the steady beat of his heart for a little while longer. Anthony sighs before leaning down, pressing a quick kiss onto the crown of your head before slowly unwinding from you. You reluctantly let him pull away, your legs untangling from his, your hands falling from his skin.

Anthony lifts himself up off the bed and you feel the mattress sigh, like even it missed the weight of him. You stay curled up in your sheets as you watch him gather his clothes from where they were carelessly thrown and start to redress, his warm skin disappearing from your sight.

He returns to sit on the edge of your bed next to you, leaning down to re-tie his sneakers. You lift yourself up, holding the sheets against your frame as you lean in close to him, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as you breathe in the scent of cologne still lingering on the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Anthony’s head lifts up, leaning it against yours as you two remain pressed against each other, still trying to fight the inevitable.

Anthony turns towards you and you follow his movements, locking eyes with him. He breaks the tension first as he leans in and kisses you and you can feel all the emotions pouring from him into that kiss. You reciprocate tenfold, your arms coming to wrap around his shoulders as he angles his body towards yours, his arm snaking to wrap around you.

He holds you there, close to him as your kisses continue because neither of you wants to accept that one of them will be the last. One has to be though, and the kisses slowly dwindle as the two of you pull away. Anthony looks at you with such sadness, an emotion that you are sure is reflected on your face, until he finally moves, lifting his body off the mattress and coming to stand next to your bed.

He grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with his as he stands there, looking down at you. He starts to walk away and it feels like someone is stabbing your heart, cutting you open with every step he takes away from you.

You can feel his fingers slipping from in between yours and you know that you could tighten your grip and never let him go. That was a choice you could make.

But you also knew that wasn’t the right choice.

So, you let your grasp go slack and let his hands fall from yours.

You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs as your chin comes to rest on top, in a feeble attempt to trap some of his warmth against you. Anthony walks towards the door and you don’t think you are ready to watch him leave.

And like he has all night, he seems to read your thoughts, his retreat stopping when he reaches your desk.

With your eyes following his every move, he plucks a pen from the cup where you kept all your writing instruments and scribbles something down in the margins of whatever notebook you had lying open from your last exam.

He raises himself up, eyes connecting with yours as he grins and you can see the attempt to mask his sorrow beneath it.

“Hit me up if you’re ever in New York,” he says, the words causal but his tone anything but. Your only response is a small nod and soft smile.

Anthony turns, continuing his path to your door and you watch as his hand closes around the knob. With one last quick glance over his shoulder, he pushes it open, disappearing into the hall. The heavy wood returns to its resting place, the latch sliding back into place with a soft click.

Then, just like that, Anthony Beauvillier walks out of your dorm and out of your life.

But not for good. That much you were certain of.

You didn’t know if it would be days, or months or even years before you got to see him again. But you knew with a fierce conviction that he would come back to you.

And you couldn’t wait for the moment that he enters your life once more.

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[tilly-tilly-2827]

You must be Joking, Mr. Bridgerton!

Reimaging An Offer from a Gentleman#2/ Missing from moments from My cottage

Synopsis: When Benedict offers her a glass of whiskey, Sophie gets slightly drunk. And, also, how Benedict starts to see Sophie Beckett in a new light.

⚠️  This dabble is set before their marriage, a moment before the lake scene in An Offer from a Gentleman. Benedict hasn’t finished his character development, so……..he’s kind of a dick?

Ao3 post from here!!

“Then, Gregory broke his arm the moment he held the arrow in his hands…”

“He didn’t!”

“Unfortunately, this part is true.”

Sophie burst out laughing as Benedict imitated the stern yet exasperated look and the voice of his elder brother, I’m taking that away from you.

“Does he truly sound like that?”

“Like a 60-year-old man with 9 kids? Yes, he does sound and acts like so, ”

The kitchen again was filled with the merry laughter of Sophie Beckett. No longer the quiet, reserved girl he had imagined her to be, Benedict began to notice that he rather liked the sound of her voice, the sound of her laughter.

Although Sophie had repeatedly insisted that he should take his supper in bed, or at least, in the main dining hall, Benedict was quite persistent on having his meal in the servant’s kitchen. Firmly stating that he would dine in there. With Sophie.

But Mr. Bridgerton, I believe it is not suitable for you to dine there…

But you are dining there, am I correct?

Well yes, but…

If it is suitable for you, it must be suitable for me, isn’t it? I’m only saving you from further trouble, Ms. Beckett. It must take quite an effort to carry that quantity of food from the downstairs kitchen. I’ve also been brought up of the logic; the more the merrier, Ms. Beckett, have you heard that…

Sophie did not exactly understand either of those logics. But seeing as he dabbled on and firmly seated himself on the head of the table in the servants’ kitchen, she did notice that Benedict Bridgerton was a stubborn man indeed.

“…And that is why Colin was confiscated from giving gifts to Gregory for the next couple of years.”

“A wise decision for your brother,” Sophie chirped back, barely suppressing a giggle.

Sophie had never felt so peaceful in her life. With the fireplace cracking by the side, the peaceful summer night breeze, and the love of her life gulping down her stew quite enthusiastically (This is remarkable, Ms. Beckett, Benedict had beamed at her ), every moment felt like a dream. She had imagined every fantasy of him since two years ago, but sharing a stew in the countryside had not been on her list.

Sophie was quite worried that the dinner might end in awkward silence, just as it had been in the phaeton from the Cavenders. But Benedict has been gallant and sweet, sharing stories about his family, and his siblings.

Although their plates had been finished at least an hour ago, they were pushed aside in the corner of the table. Sophie couldn’t bring herself to start cleaning them up, and Benedict was beginning to wonder why he couldn’t stop rambling on. He noticed that he wanted more of Ms. Beckett’s smiles, her laughter.

Benedict was thanking the stars that the Crabtrees had not returned from their travels yet. Mrs. Crabtree would be furious to have him in the kitchen, let alone have a young woman be in the same room with him unchaperoned.

Sophie was almost hollering with laughter as Benedict continued to talk about the time his father had put glue on his boots. It had been quite a while since he even talked about his father, but words kept slipping out as if he couldn’t help himself.

“So, it was your father, who encouraged you to sketch?”

“Well, Anthony was rather wild, so I presume he wanted his second son to engage in more …quiet pastimes.”

“…I wouldn’t call it a pastime if I had your skills,” Sophie smiled softly.

“How could you be the judge of that?”

“…I accidentally came across one of your sketchbooks the other night,” Sophie answered sheepishly, but Benedict must have been frowning because Sophie suddenly broke into a burst;

“I’m incredibly sorry, Mr. Bridgerton. I was overstepping, I knew that I was intruding on your privacy…”

“No, no. No need for apologies, Ms. Beckett. I was merely…surprised you saw them.”

Silence had fallen between the two.

“Any thoughts, by the way?”

He asked hesitantly.

“I thought they were beautiful,”

“…You flatter me, Ms. Beckett,”

“I mean what I say, Mr.Bridgeton.”

Sophie’s serious gaze met his.

“…I loved the one with your siblings,” Sophie’s voice was barely above a whisper, “The one with the mallets. I could just feel the merriment. The expression of your sister that you sketched, she looked just like you.”

The fire in the fireplace was burning down, but Benedict noticed Sophie’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes were cast down as if she were imagining the sketch in her mind.

She is quite fetching, he thought, and Benedict suddenly wanted his sketchbook in his hands, desperately wanting to capture that exact expression on paper.

“I truly loved that sketch,” she sighed, “your father must have been so proud if he had seen your works.”

Benedict felt a stroke of heartache, remembering how he would sketch in his father’s study on his lap, and his father would ruffle his head, the first time to have an artist in the family, eh?

“Well, your father must be proud of you as well, to have a daughter so well-spoken and educated as yourself. With expert culinary skills.”

Sophie’s corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, her green eyes somewhat dimming.

“…I doubt he would.”

“Why so?”

“He was…rather distant. I don’t think he ever wanted to…” Sophie suddenly stopped, surprised that she was even talking about this. She softly placed her hand on her cheeks, trying to raise the corner of her lips. No, she wasn’t going to break down in front of him.

“It must be lovely, to grow up in a family like yours.”

“…You don’t have a family.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Just when she tried to change the subject, she thought, she could feel her spine become rigid, her fingertips curling.

“You said that your mother was a housekeeper, but you never mentioned your father.”

Curiosity was quietly bubbling inside him, he oddly had the urge to know more about the woman who had taken such good care of him. Who was she? What was she?

“Where does he live now?”

“…He passed on as well when I was young .”

“What did he do?”

“……………….he was a gardener.”

“Who took care of you, Ms. Beckett?”

“I told you before, Mr. Bridgeton,” The more he asked, the more stubborn her tone became. “The family that my mother worked for was very generous and took care of me after her death…”

“They took care of you, but they didn’t love you.”

“…They took care of me the best they could do…”

“Why so many lies, Ms. Beckett?”

Benedict saw her eyes widen, almost as if she were in shock.

“……..How did you know I was lying ?”

“I could see it in your eyes.”

Benedict knew that he should have stopped interrogating the poor girl moments ago, but he couldn’t help himself from rambling on. There was so much sadness in the girl’s eyes, and he had to know the depths of it.

“Aren’t you ever lonely Ms. Beckett? With no one to protect you, filling your gaps with deception ?”

“I have become quite accustomed to my lifestyle.”

“But that makes it more miserable, doesn’t it?”

“And what would you know of that, Mr. Bridgerton?” There was a sharpness in her tone, and Benedict felt his cheeks redden, Sophie was not looking for his pity or sympathy.

“I suppose I do not know,” he mumbled, noticing that he had overstepped. He stared down at his empty plate, regretting that he had pushed too hard. “But I do wish to understand…”

“Understand, Mr. Bridgerton? There is no need to understand…”

“I care about you,”

Benedict blurted out, almost instinctively.

“ I……I ….I meant that…I …worry about you.”

Benedict saw Sophie, who had a soft smile rising on the corner of her lips. Her shoulders and hands were relaxed, but there was a look of disbelief on her face.

“…I apologize that I have overstepped.”

Sophie quietly shook her head.

“…I will never understand your loneliness, truly.” Benedict fidgeted his hands. “But I do know how it feels to …be lost. Alone.”

“Even with a family like yours.”

“Even like a family like mine.”

He gave a weakening smile.

“You must think me of a privileged git,” Benedict continued, but Sophie quietly shook her head.

“You could feel lost and alone in a room of a hundred people, but at the same time you could feel most fulfilled when there’s only two in the room,” Sophie said softly.“ You don’t have to feel guilty about feeling lonely or lost, no matter what position you’re in.”

“Mmmm”

Benedict noticed that he couldn’t quite respond to her words. But there was something incredibly soothing about her voice, her words.

“But personally…” Sophie continued hesitantly, “ I never knew you felt so…lost. You seemed so sure of yourself. You didn’t hesitate to help me at the Cavender’s”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to help you,” He replied quickly, “I just feel so lost because…”

I lost the love of my life two years ago and have failed to find her ever since,

“…Ever since Eddie was born, and Miles, that is, Anthony and Kate’s boys,” Benedict couldn’t believe those words were coming out of himself. “I’ve been…uh, struggling..?”

Sophie suddenly noticed that the man in front of her was not the debonair, gallant Prince Charming Sophie had known in the masquerade, but a simple, honest man struggling to find purpose in life.

Sophie desperately wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but she knew that was out of the question. Instead, she quietly put her hands on his, rubbing the palms of his hands. She knew she was overstepping, but she just needed to touch him somewhere.

“You’re hands are cold,”

Benedict smiled softly.

“I’m sorry, I’m meddling …”

Sophie quickly withdrew her hand, but Benedict caught it at the last second.

“No. I..… I like it.”

It was truly a silent night. Not like the ones in London, Benedict thought, and he could only hear the crackle from the fireplace.

“………I’m no longer the spare or the spare of the spare. Anthony wouldn’t need any help managing the estate in a few years…and I’ll be just a useless uncle.”

“You’re not useless.”

“But I am!” He groaned, grinding his head in his arms. “I have nothing in my hands, I don’t have any professions, trade, or specialty…”

“What about art?”

“What about it?”

“You’re talented. The sketches I saw…”

“I just…I just lost the passion for it. Or the love for it. I don’t think I can put myself out again.”

“What was once lost could be found,” Sophie quietly replied. Her voice was incredibly soft. “Sometimes the lord gives us chances in the most unexpected places,”

“I never thought you were a religious sort,”

“I’m not.” Sophie had a rather guilty look on her face. “I’m saying this from experience.”

But it was a sad smile Sophie had given him.

Benedict was in strong need of a cigarette. Or at least a stiff drink.

----------------------------------------

Benedict regretted ever giving a drink to one Sophie Beckett. He had forgotten that he had been drinking with an inexperienced woman of two and twenty, not the lads from Will’s bar or the bohemian artists in Granville’s parties. Benedict had offered too much, and apparently, Sophie had too much to drink.

I’ve never had a drink, Sophie timidly had admitted an hour earlier when he offered her a glass.

Oh, I do believe you will enjoy it, Ms. Beckett. Benedict foolishly had said, passing her one of his finest. Go on, a sip wouldn’t hurt you.

Oh, how ignorant and careless he was. Sophie Beckett was now on her eighth glass, currently giggling away happily to pour the ninth. Benedict would have to come up with an excuse to Mrs. Crabtree why one of his finest whiskey had disappeared in just one night.

The extent of her influence? Sophie had been rambling on how talented he was with his artistic pursuits, and how he truly resembled Prince Charming she had read in her childhood fairy tales.

Admittedly, Benedict did feel rather smug.

“You are a very charming gentleman, Mr. Bridgerton.” Sophie declared for the fifth time that night, softly tracing the graining on the table. He noticed that her fingertips were grazed with blisters and cuts, painful cracks on each side. He should get a bottle of lotion on his way back, he thought to himself. Although Benedict was bewildered by the amount of her consumption she decided to take, he knew how much she deserved a nice, good drink.

And he did enjoy seeing Sophie Beckett, always so prim and reserved, ramble on so high-spirited and…utterly drunk.

“…Why thank you, Ms. Beckett.”

With her pale cheeks flushed and her green eyes glowing, Benedict suddenly felt an immense amount of thirst, quickly taking another shot of his drink.

“It is your eyes, I suppose. Or is it your smile that pleases the eye?” Sophie slurred, dropping her head on the table, “With your talents and charms, you must have every man and woman at your disposal,”

Should he kiss her? A flash of thought skimmed through his mind. No, he firmly thought. He was a gentleman for god’s sake, and his father and mother had taught him better than to take advantage of an intoxicated lady. Taking liberty with a helpless maid, he would be as obnoxious as Cavender, the man he had saved Ms. Beckett from. He shuddered, reminiscing the moment he saw her in Cavender’s arms. Benedict sighed, ashamed that even the thought of kissing her had entered his mind.

But Benedict was sure that Sophie Beckett did hold some affection towards him, listening to her drunken slurs, he knew that somehow, unconsciously, he had captured Sophie Beckett’s heart, her subconscious entirely. Was it his looks? Was it his charms? Was it his family name?

It was true that Sophie Beckett was tempting, very tempting indeed. With her soft blond curls and her captivating green eyes, he could see the parts that would capture the eyes of a gentleman, despite her scrawny figure and the worker’s rags.

Just fifteen inches, Benedict thought, if he leaned over just a little, he would have her lips on his, and somewhere in his mind, instinctively, was screaming, demanding that she would be his. He simply just knew.

He could ravish her, cherish her, adore her with his whole body. He could dress her up in silk and satins, buy her ribbons and jewels, bonnets and dresses, everything a young woman would dream of. He could hide her away, she could be there for his pleasure, as his muse, his inspiration. He would sink her in his silk sheets. Perhaps he could even give her a family, which she seems to desperately want. She would never be alone.

For the first time in his life, he was making excuses to his lady in silver, the woman he had sworn would be his future wife.

A little one on the side wouldn’t hurt, would it?

But he was a gentleman. He knew that a drunken state was far from ideal to be making an offer, and there would be a perfect moment to ask her for her hand, to come to London and live with him. He would have to wait for that exact moment.

He just simply stared at Sophie Beckett, who seemed to be drifting off, her ample chest softly rising and falling.

Maybe he should just kiss her.

Benedict Bridgeton realized that he was also quite drunk as hell.

He staggered as he stood up to take a pitcher of glass, hoping that it would sober him up and water would drain the immense lust that seemed to be creeping up on him.

“Ms.Beckett, I advise you to be more careful with your drinks on future occasions.”

“…Mr. Bridgerton, you were the one who offered me these refreshments!” She mumbled, barely cracking an eye open.

“Well yes, I did, but…”

“You are quite a hypocrite.”

Benedict chuckled at the direct insult.

“The world is a dangerous place, Ms. Beckett. Typically a man would take advantage of you in such a secluded space as this…”

“Men are beasts,” She hummed,

“And men are beasts,” He sighed, searching for another glass to hand over to Ms. Beckett. She would have a terrible hangover, he thought, remembering the first one he had when his schoolmates smuggled a bottle of wine into the dormitory. He would tell her about it tomorrow morning, perhaps over a nice strong cup of tea….

“But you would never hurt me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Up until that moment, Benedict thought that he knew Sophie Beckett. He knew what ticked her, what made her laugh, what she wanted from him. He knew how she lied about almost everything of her past, how damaged she was, but how she firmly kept it inside. He knew how fragile, yet strong she was, how kind and caring she was. When he looked at her, he thought he knew everything.

“I know that you would never hurt me.”

But Sophie, simply looking up at him with her evergreen eyes, he saw an overwhelming amount of innocence, faith, and confidence towards him; a passionate gaze he couldn’t help but avert.

Benedict Bridgerton could read Sophie Beckett like the back of his hand.

Yet, she was a labyrinth he could never decipher.

----------------------------------------------

Carrying her up from the kitchen to the guest bedroom did not take that much effort. Her figure was so petite that she fit easily in arms, and he noticed that she was morbidly light, to the degree it concerned him. She must be skin and bones, he thought, was she not fed enough at the Cavenders? Although her face was still flushed, he winced at the coldness of her hands and feet as he tucked her in bed, putting extra blankets on the covers.

Benedict smiled at the little stuffed dog that sat on the dresser, not imagining that a practical maid like Sophie would keep such childlike trinkets. It was, rather dirty and worn out as if it had been kept for years, but he could see that it was made with intricacy. Made with fine velvet and beautiful beads for the eye, it was something his sisters would have, not something a housekeeper or a gardener could give to a poor child. Perhaps, it was the generous family that had given it to her.

Quite generous indeed.

He should get her a dog, he thought. Perhaps a Pomeranian or spaniels. But he was sure that she would love an English terrier. Benedict’s mind wondered happily as he imagined life as Sophie’s patron, promenading in the London streets with a puppy on the side. Oh things he could give her, the things he could teach her…

“Are you going to leave me, my lord?”

Benedict almost jerked at her address. No one had addressed him that way, except for a few women who had teased him for that lack of a title despite his wealth and prospects. Mostly in bed. He certainly did not expect it from one Sophie Beckett. Especially when he was fantasizing about Sophie as his mistress.

But Sophie’s tone held no teasing nor sultriness. It was almost childlike but hesitant and timid.

“Are you going to leave me again, my lord?”

Benedict noticed the quiver in her voice. It was the same tone Eloise used when he left school for Eaton, furious that she couldn’t leave with him, and would throw a tantrum every time holidays came to a close.

Are you going to leave me, Benedict? Again?

But while Eloise’s words were fumed with anger and frustration, there was a desperation in Sophie’s voice, a fear for loss, a fear for…abandonment. Almost as if she were begging him not to leave her.

What did she mean by My lord? Was it her former lover? A deceased partner? A former master? Thoughts wandered through his mind like a hurricane, but Benedict couldn’t help himself but go down on his knees and take her hand into his, softly caressing them as he had done every time with Eloise.

I’ll be back before you know it, Benedict had said gently as Eloise sobbed against his shoulders. You wouldn’t even notice that I was gone.!

With his knees on the bedside floor, Benedict finally saw that she was sobbing in her sleep, her endless tears gleaming in the candlelight.

“Please don’t leave me again,”

“I would never leave you, Sophia,” Benedict whispered, softly wiping off her tears.

“How could I ever leave you all alone?”

----------------------------------------------

Sophie woke up with the most terrible headache that she had ever had. It was as if humongous drums were banging in her head, and her body had never felt so heavy, so nauseous. Her throat was dying of thirst, but as she rolled over the covers, she was pleasantly surprised when she found a glass of water on the bedside table.

Ever so thoughtful, Sophie smiled softly. As she took a sip from the glass, she looked through the window, admiring the beautiful gardens that surrounded my cottage. Birds chirping in the distance, flowers blooming ever so radiantly, sunlight softly shining across her bedcovers….

Sunlight. Sunlight. ….sunlight?

Sheer panic was the only thing Sophie could feel for the next few seconds. With so much haste Sophie fumbled across the room, splashing water across her face, and rinsed her teeth to make herself, at least, presentable to Mr. Bridgerton. It had been years since she had overslept, and one time she did so, Armintia had torn her into pieces, punishing her with the terrible belt. Her fathers’s chocolate-colored belt from France. She could still remember the pain that struck her, the metal fittings that gouged her skin, staining the floor with sweat and blood.

Such a stupid, stupid girl, she cursed herself as she ran down the stairs. She could hear Armintia screeching in her head; you incolent girl, why do I even keep you here?! You foolish, lazy, girl. Good for nothing, son of a bitch…a child of a whore…Basturd, Basturd, Basturd….

“Oh, good morning Ms. Beckett.”

Benedict Bridgerton greeted her with a cheerful smile.

“You must feel terrible this morning. Aren’t you hungover, Ms. Beckett? I was hoping that you would wake up around noon so I could clear the mess…”

Benedict softly chuckled seeing Sophie look flabbergasted, her mouth hanging open in shock. He must have made a terrible mess, he was starting to regret even thinking that he could do it…

“You…you are not angry, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Why would I ever be angry at you?”

“Because I overslept!” Sophie burst out, “I haven’t got your tea ready, or your breakfast, or your eggs, your bacon, your toast, and I haven’t got your sugar and milk and”

“Sophie, I want you to take a deep breath.”

Benedict’s voice was achingly soft and tender.

Sophie could finally see that there was no anger or annoyance or hatred in his eyes there was glee, almost as if he was going to break into a grin.

“I’ve never seen you with such messy hair,” he gave her a teasing crooked smile, and she felt her cheeks burn.

“I didn’t have time to tidy them up.”

“I’m surprised that you even woke up, Sophie.” Benedict gallantly replied, softly brushing a lock of hair off her face. The morning light shined on her like a halo, her blond curls almost glowing. “Considering the amount you drank, I thought you would sleep till noon,”

“…Was I that drunk?”

He was, standing rather close to her, she noticed.

“You were so irresistibly drunk,” Benedict grinned at her so dearly. “So adorably drunk.”

Benedict took a step forward, narrowing the distance between them. Perhaps this is the moment, he thought quietly to himself, he could lean in a bit more and…

Sophie took a step back.

“I hope I did not say anything to offend you, Mr.Bridgeton.”

“Offend me? Oh, no, no, no, no. Not at all, Ms. Beckett. Not at all. We had a lovely conversation didn’t we?” He frantically waved his arms around him. “I did enjoy our midnight chats, truly. Very engaging, very educational, very intriguing, very interesting, very agreeable. Wasn’t it Ms. Beckett?”

It was NOT the moment.

“…I’m afraid I don’t remember what we talked about, or what I said…” Sophie peered into his eyes guiltily, awkwardly fidgeting over the apron ribbons. “Or at least, after your glass of whiskey, I must have lost control and caused you so much trouble…”

“No, no. no no no no no. No. No trouble at all, Ms. Beckett.”

Sophie finally regained the emotional leeway to observe her surroundings, and she finally noticed that Benedict Bridgerton looked quite disheveled. No, he wasn’t disheveled. He was in a mess. His soft brown curls were disarrayed as if he ran his fingers through them too many times, flicked with sawdust and ashes. His white shirt was stained with…something, and his dark breeches were covered with flour and egg yolks.

And Sophie noticed that it was not just Benedict Bridgerton who was in the mess. The kitchen was an absolute fiasco. Flour, eggs, milk, wood, ashes, everything she saw on Benedict was scattered on the floor, every pot and pan were scattered every inch of the room, and he had taken out every bottle of seasoning from cupboards.

Even a Roman army couldn’t have caused such a catastrophe, Sophie found herself thinking.

“I was thinking that I could clean it up before you woke up.” Benedict’s voice was meek as mice.

“I knew you would wake up late, and you’ve been taking such wonderful care of me, so I wanted to show you my gratitude.”

“Oh.”

“So I thought I could make you breakfast.”

“Oh.”

“First I tried to make a loaf of bread,” he muttered, staring at the bags of flour that lay under the table. In heaps of flour that were sprinkled across the table, Sophie could see some kind of a lump he managed to make.

“Until I understood that bread was not made from just water and flour.”

“..Right,”

“Next, I tried to make an omelet. Initially, I thought, nothing hard, is it? Just mix them up and put them on the stove…”

Sophie saw at least a dozen eggs smashed miserably on the floor.

“And that didn’t end well, did it?”

“I see.”

“So I decided to reheat the delicious stew you made for us last night.”

Benedict gave a sheepish look at the window. The handle of the ax lay broken next to the stump, while the blade was stuck horizontally to the stump, not the chunk of wood lying next to it. At least he tried, Sophie thought.

“Until I realized I didn’t know how to put on the stove.”

Sophie didn’t know if she should kiss him on the lips or just strangle him to death. It was infuriating, almost maddening, considering the mess he had made (And how much food he had wasted); but there was something so endearing about the fact that he had attempted to do something for her.

Sophie broke out in a small grin, and Benedict felt a rush of relief. He was beginning to feel quite anxious, seeing that Sophie hardly reacted to what he was rambling on for the past few minutes. She looked…quite happy.

“So, I decided to rearrange the wonderful stew with what I could find. To refresh up the taste!”

“It is a wonderful idea, Mr. Bridgerton.”

His eyes lighted up like a candle.

“Isn’t it? Please, Ms. Beckett, go on and help yourself. I’ve already got it on a plate right here. You don’t mind cold stew, would you?”

“No, not at all.”

Sophie took her seat at the edge of the table, trying to ignore the flour and eggs scattered around the floor. The stew did look different from the night before; when she had made it, it was in a lovely shade of yellow, but now…it was rather grayish.

What on earth did he use? Sophie thought to herself as she took a sip.

“Any thoughts?”

“….It tastes remarkably marvelous, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible liar, Sophie?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benophie #benophie fics #sophie beckett #benedict x sophie #bridgerton fanfiction #an offer from a gentleman

[bigweldindustries]

23. Also 36-40 for the music asks

VERONICA I OWE U MY LIFE <3

song asks

23 - a song from the year you were born

I had to go rootin round BC fuck if I know what was going on in 2000 I was in da hospital for all of it but One More Time by Daft Punk came out in 2000??? Axel wins again

36 - your favorite song you’ve heard live

I HAD TO THINK SO FUCKING HARD ABOUT THIS I've seen some absolutely fucking banging songs live so this took some real soul searching. I've seen so many powerhouses live - Charli XCX, SOPHIE, Justice, Pendulum, Porter Robinson, Madeon, both of them together, fucking Swedish House Mafia after waiting a decade to see them. But I think it's got to go to No Love by Death Grips. One of the rawest fucking experiences I've had in my life - DG are fucking UNREAL live, I was high as balls in the pit, everyone was throwing themselves around whilst hollering the lyrics, absolutely feral fucking experience I wish I could relive every day of my life

36 - a song that reminds you of your best friend

Genghis Khan by Miike Snow. I had it in one of my house party playlists and we for some reason dramatically tried to recreate the music video in our friends living room and everytime I hear it I think of her and crack up lmfaooo

37 - your favorite song from childhood

outing myself as the oddball kid I was but I got Waiting 4 (very specifically the Hi_Tack UK Radio Edit) by Peter Gelderblom on the back end of a pop compilation when I was like 7 and I was OBSESSED. small child me heard a dance song interpolating by the way by rhcp and was like "is anyone else gonna obsess over this or am I gonna have to"

38 - a song you always sing along to

I'm not much of the singing type I'm too shy but I was home alone earlier and was hollering along to Hollywood Baby by 100 Gecs so let's go with that lmao

39 - your favorite song in a language different from your native one

FUCKIN CO1N BY LVL1 GOES SO FUCKING HARDDDDD I fucking love all of lvl1's songs they're so fucking talented dude but Co1n in particular makes me lose my mind it's a killer fucking track

#ask #chemicalbrew #TYSM RAGGH my taste in music is atrocious

[queen-helaena109]

"When is dad coming?" Audrey asked as she fixed the wrinkles on her for the eleventh time.

"Around 6 o'clock sharp." Charles said as he moved his wheelchair around the front hall. "Don't worry, he wouldn't be a second late."

"It's not him that I'm worried about being late. It's how this dinner is going to go." She lowered her head and sheepishly said, "You know how heated a conversation with him can go."

Charles chuckled. He wasn't unfamiliar with the Lehnsherr father-daughter arguments. He has both consoled and advised both parties.

"Don't worry, darling." Charles assured. "I believed this one would run smoothly."

...

16 minutes into dinner, Charles was eating his own words, and in front of him at the other end of the table, Hank was giving him an "I told you, so you" look as he chewed on his food.

"I knew it! I knew it; you're going to start it!" Audrey shouted, pointing an acussive finger at Erik.

Both father and daughter were standing up and waving their arms around as the conversation got heated.

"Starting what? A conversation with my daughter about her safety and that of her kind!" Erik shouted back, his voice sharper and louder.

"No, start your indoctrination process and try to make me join your cult!" 

Erik raised his brows. "Indoctrination?! It's not a cult! How many times have I told you that?"

"Have you heard yourself talk? You talk like those preachers on TV. I'm just waiting for you to start asking for donations and come back with a weird and ugly Versace suit."

Charles feels that the Lehnsherr's will turn him into an alchoolic. Hank was unbothered by the shouting match, having heard his fair share from the few.

"You know what, young lady? You are grounded! Go to your room!"

Audrey scoffed. "For what? Using my right to the 1st Amendment? That's ridiculous! " She asked. "Besides, you can't ground me!"

Charles was starting to wish he had some scotch nearby.

Erik looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean I can't ground you? I'm your father!"

Audrey put her hand on her hip and pointed a finger at Hank. "That man has changed more of my diapers than you ever did in your lifetime." Hank raised his thumb and continued eating. "And this is Charlie's house, and I am his ward. So only he can send me to my room, isn't it right, Charles?"

Charles was rubbing his temple, trying to soothe the migraine.

Father and daughter stood silent, staring at each other, daring each other to say something. Charles had had enough of it.

"Audrey, go to your room. We will discuss your behaviour later." There was a twinge of sadness in Audrey's voice as Charles spoke those words with a dissatisfied tone. She turned around and walked out of the room without saying a word.

Erik let out a sigh and sat down. "You spoil her too much!"

"Don't even start it, Erik."

God, how much I miss you, Sophie Holler! Charles thought.

...

AN: I have to start to focus on my stories that create OC lore!

#erik lehnsherr #eric lensherr #xmen movies #xmen #charles xavier #xmen fanfiction #xmen universe #Audrey Holler #Sophie Holler

[sea-owl]

I am fairly new to the omegaverse. But the philose content drew me in.

Philip causes her to go into heat. She is scared shitless because of her feelings, wanting to flee but also wanting to be with his pups.

I would love to know how it ends. 🌶 or otherwise.

This sounds like it might be coming from @thekatebridgerton omegaverse post I rebloged found here. But let me take a crack at it and put my own spin on it.

I'm getting a little stuck, so here's what I got so far.

Now to be fair to Eloise when she had snuck off to Romney Hall to see Sir Phillip Crane she had thought he was a beta. Not that there was anything wrong with betas! Eloise’s older brother, Benedict, his true mate was revealed to be a beta,and the whole family agreed Sophie was too good for the alpha. Sir Phillip was always just so extremely polite in their letters too, there was a calmness to them that Eloise had only seen in betas before. His pine scent, one of the most delicious scents Eloise had come across, had been faint in the letters like most beta’s scents. Eloise had always been the odd omega, so maybe her true mate was a beta too like her brother’s.

That pine scent was no where near faint when Eloise stepped into Romney Hall.

Eloise felt her omega perk up. Alpha?

The butler, Gunning she believed he said his name was, had returned with the owner of the house, and Eloise felt her knees grow weak. Her honeysuckle scent spiking as the source of the pine scent came nearer.

Alpha! Her omega cooed.

The Sir Phillip that was brought before Eloise was a rugged looking, mountain of a man. His hair was brown and he didn’t wear the clothes she seen other lords wear before. Instead the man before her wore plain and simple worker’s clothes. A simple shirt, pants, and boots. No cravat in sight that the men usually wore to hide their mating glands. Dear God she could see his neck, and more importantly the unbitten mating gland on the side of it.

Eloise felt herself grow nervous, and unfortunately or perhaps rather fortunately when Eloise got nervous she started to talk, a lot.

As Eloise continued to babble on Sir Phillip just watched her. Eloise felt herself begin to grow hot.

A loud thump finally cut her off and distracted her.

"What was that?"

Another loud thump. Phillip winced. "That would be my pups."

Eloise's eyes widen. Pups? He had never once mentioned being a father in their letters. She was just about to say so when a third thump was heard, this one sounding worse than the other two. And followed by a scream.

"Are you going to investigate?" Eloise urged.

Phillip sighed like it was the last thing he wanted to do. Going to the stairs he hollered, "Oliver! Amanda!"

Eloise held back a shiver from the alpha voice, leaking into Phillip's tone.

Small footsteps could be heard until a pair of twins were seen hurrying down the stairs.

"What was that noise?" Phillip asked them.

"What noise?"

"The scream."

The boy pointed at his sister. "That was Amanda."

"Amanda why did you scream?"

"There was a frog in my bed," the little girl answered.

Phillip turned back to Oliver. "And why was there a frog in Amanda's bed?"

"I put it there!" Amanda said.

Eloise held back her giggles. It reminded her of her own time as a pup. Especially when she teamed up with her younger siblings to drive Anthony up a wall.

The twins took notice of her. Immediately their scent soured. "Who is that?"

"This is Miss Eloise Bridgerton." Phillip introduced her. "She’ll be staying here for. . .

Eloise stood up and came closer. "Two weeks."

Phillip nodded.

The twins continued to stare at Eloise with suspicion before turning back to their father, begging for his attention.

Eloise’s heart went out for those pups. At their age they should still have their mother’s and sire’s scents marked on them. Or at the very least the pack leader should be scent marking the young if the parents are unable to do so. That’s what Anthony had done when their father passed and their mother unable to rise from the bed. Why was Phillip’s scent not there?

-

Eloise growled at her brothers. “Take me back to alpha!”

“Eloise Bridgerton!” One of them called out her name, Anthony maybe? Eloise didn’t care. Her body was slowly setting itself on fire and the cramps in her belly were getting worse with each passing minute.

A calming scent of lavender rushed Eloise as a cooling hand pressed to her forehead. Eloise stopped growling, but still bared her teeth. The hand was too soft and small to be alpha’s hand. Why won’t they take her back to alpha?

“She’s going into heat,” a new voice said. Sophie.

“Well have the staff prepare a room for her.”

Eloise growled again. Absolutely not, she needs alpha, why do they not listen to her? Please just take her back to alpha!

Eloise could feel Sophie pull her in for cuddles, pushing her head into the right side of Sophie’s neck. Eloise breathed in the beta’s calming scent. She needed a semi clear head if she was going to get back to alpha.

“I don’t think that will help,” Sophie said. “And I don’t think this is a regular heat.”

Sophie was right, Sophie was always right. Why doesn’t Benedict listen to Sophie more?

#bridgerton #philoise #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #im a little stumped but this has been in my drafts too long

[haveihitanerve]

Day 1 Gregor/ Overlander:

She was running late. She always was. “Hey darling.” she cooed to the newest baby in the building. “He's growing bigger everyday.” Grace smiled. “He is. Shouldn't you be-?” “yep bye!” she called and hurried out. The wind was whipping around wildly, which is what she blamed for what happened next. Coco never saw the hole. She would regret that for eternity.

“Haha man you can't throw for your life!” he called. “Oh shut up and just go long!” Chase hollered back. He shook his head but did as his best friend asked, running faster, until suddenly he tripped and fell into the pit. At least, that's what Mickey thought it was, until he didn't stop falling. 

“Come back!” Sophie whined. “Its getting dark!” “oh hush you big baby.” he shot back. “Please brother.” she whined. “Fine. If you can catch me!” then he took off. He heard her startled shout then the leaves crunch as she gave chase. But she wouldn't catch him. Fred hated that, for one moment he was running, the next he was falling.

As he hurried across the laundry room, Gregor heard a metallic klunk and then a giggle from Boots. "Great, now she's dismantling the dryer," thought Gregor, picking up speed. As he reached the far wall, a strange scene confronted him. The metal grate to an old air duct was wide open, secured by two rusty hinges at the top. Boots was squinting into the darkness, but then a wisp of, what was it? Steam, smoke? The strange vapor surrounded boots, she held out her arms and leaned forward curiously. “No!” gregor yelled and lunged for her, but boots tiny frame seemed to be sucked into the air duct. Without thinking, gregor thrust his head and shoulders into the hole. The metal grate smacked into his back. The next thing he knew, he was falling down, down, down into empty space. 

She hummed as she walked, skipping lightly over a root in the ground. She breathed in deeply. She loved Virginia. Suddenly she spotted a small cave, hidden inside a large boulder at the edge of the field. She cautiously stepped forward, walking inside. It was dark. Very very dark. She stumbled and fell. She landed hard on the ground but when she looked up, she spotted a light. She walked quicker and quicker, until finally she was flat out sprinting towards it. Just as she reached it she tripped, sprawling head first into vines. She looked up to find a man watching her. He was pale, paler than any man she had ever seen, and he had purple eyes. “Hello.” she said quietly. “I'm Hope.” the man blinked. He examined her and after a second answered. “Hamnet.”

#gregor the overlander #the underland chronicles #tuc #how the other overlanders fell into the underland #and how gregor did

[lunarfleur]

Heyy mick

Can u write a Mush x gn!reader, you have free reign over what u write, but I do want some fluff pls 🙏

Shaking sobbing I love that ur writing for newsies

ofc I can Slug :) this is the perfect way to start my writing for Newsies!

Love At First Sight ~ Mush Meyers

Tagging: @/sluggmuffin @sophie-i-guess13 @juneberrie @collieflower215 (idk if anyone really reads for Newsies so if you want to be tagged lmk!)

Warnings:slight language probably but that’s it

Summary: Mush met the potential love of his life running from the Delancey brothers. He just can’t help but tell the boys about it.

This is x gender neutral reader!

The Delancey brothers always loved roughing up the Newsies. It was their favorite pastime.

Mush had been taking a walk when he first spotted them, leaning against a wall as if they were waiting for him. They had shot him a grin and that was all it took to sent Mush running.

He took of sprinting-running around every corner he could fine in hopes of losing them. Even when his legs ached and his chest stung, you were all that stopped him from running.

Mush had ran into you-literally. You were just minding your own business and then you were on the ground, your items scattered around you.

He stopped running, turning back around to see you picking up your things and grumbling to yourself. Mush jogged back over, kneeling on the ground.

“sorry, sorry,” he heaved, “you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you managed a chuckle. At least he came back to help.

Mush took a second glance at you and you couldn’t help but stare back. Fluffy hair, a strong jaw, a round nose, a tan, flushed face, and eyes of chestnut that held more energy than the sun. He was cute, that’s for sure.

Mush felt small. Small. The way your gaze seemed to wrap around him. There was no denying how embarrassed he was. He had been around attractive people before, but never had he been looked at like this.

“Uhm-My name’s Mush,” was all he could think to say. You smiled, all signs of frustration melting away. Even his voice was cute.

“I’m [name].” You nodded at him. Mush smiled, kicking a rock past your feet.

“Sorry I…tackled you…that was weird.” His lips tightened into a fine line, his eyebrows furrowing. It brought a laugh out of you.

“It’s all good, but what were you running from?”

“The Delancey brothers,” he shrugged.

“Oh,” you grimaced, “are you one of the kids they like to pick on?”

Mush nodded, a shy laugh escaping his lips. You sighed.

“It looks like you got away,” you shrugged your shoulders and Mush grinned proudly.

“I’s too fast for those lugs.” Mush jabbed his thumb against his chest proudly.

“I’m sure,” you laughed.

Mush looked at the sky. It was a deep purple painting with light stars spotted here and there. A deep orange sat against the buildings.

“It’s gettin’ late. You gonna make it home alright?”

The question was surprising, if you were being honest. Before you could say anything, Mush began again.

“Wait-no, that was weird. I just meant-like, do ya need help?”

“No, I think I’ll be okay,” you chuckled. “But if I ever need help I know who to find.” You shot him a playful wink and he almost fell exploded.

“I’ll see ya around, Mush.”

——————————————————————————

When Mush made it back to the Lodging House, he was quite. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Mush, whats’a matter?” Race asked. “You’re awful quiet.”

“Nothin’,” Mush shrugged, “I’se got a lot on my mind.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Davey snorted.

“Well, what is it?” Crutchy cut in.

“Ain’t it obvious?” Specs hollered. “The boy’s in love!”

Mush went red, nodding shyly.

Questions sounded out loudly. “Who’s,” and “when’s” and “why’s” filled the room.

“Okay-shut up!” Jack screamed, sitting on the stool in front of Mush’s bunk. “Tell us.”

“I met ‘em earlier. I’se was running from the Delancey slugs and I ran ‘em over.”

“Why’d you do that?” Race teased.

“It ain’t like I meant to-but…they was just…different.”

“Different how?” David asked. Mush huffed.

“The way they was looking at me, it was different. I’s never been looked at like that before.”

A silence followed. Mush had always paid a lot of attention to the small things-body language, eyes…it all mattered to him. How someone felt about Mush, he always knew.

“Is that a good different?” Boots filled the quiet.

“I thinks so.”

“Well good for you, Mush.”

#newsies mush #newsies #92sies #mush meyers

[nebulablakemurphy]

Way Down We Go (Part 2)

Summary: Y/N and Daryl follow a dead end that leads them to wash up on the shores of France. While their daughter takes an impromptu trip to the big city, in hopes of saving her childhood friend. Warning: cannon typical violence and Dead City/Walking Dead/Daryl Dixon spoilers.

Part 1

“Where ya rushin’ off to?” Bryan smirks, his knife held at Y/N’s throat.

He seemed like an alright guy when they first started traveling with his group. Not so much now.

“We don’t want no trouble. Just lookin’ for our friends.” Daryl says, calmly. His crossbow is aimed, poised and ready, he might make the shot. But he won’t risk it, not with her standing right there.

“I thought we were friends, pretty.” He cooes, into Y/N’s ear.

Friends don’t creep around each other’s tents in the middle of the night to spy on them. “We appreciate your hospitality, but we really need to keep moving.” Y/N tells him.

“No.” The man shakes his head. “Take off your shoes. Stay a while.”

Daryl keeps his eyes trained on his mark. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s a real shame it had to end this way.” The other man clicks his tongue. “I really did like ya.”

“Please, just let us go.” Y/N pleads.

“Tell your boyfriend to drop his bow.” The man demands. “Then we’ll talk about this. I’m sure you can be very persuasive.”

Y/N huffs, “he’s not my boyfriend.” Stomping down on his foot as her elbow lands in his gut. Knocking the wind from him.

Bryan loses his balance and the knife comes down, slicing her leg in the process.

“Get ta tha boat.” Daryl says, holding Bryan at the point of his arrow.

They need to be out of here before his real friends show up.

“Bon Voyage, asshole.” Y/N growls, pulling herself upright.

————————————————————————

They leave the girl, Ginny, back at Hilltop. She’ll be safe there. She doesn’t speak, not since her father was killed, Negan took her in.

Then Maggie, Carol, Negan and Sophie high tail it up towards Manhattan. Stealing a guy’s boat and taking him hostage to sail it. Turns out, he’s one of those Marshals, looking for Negan. Together they broach the entrance of the dead city.

“Never thought I’d get this close to seeing Lady Liberty in the flesh.” Negan huffs, staring out at the ruins.

“Not from ‘round here?” The girl, trailing behind him, inquires. Not that she really cares, but there’s not enough history between them for her to hate him the way Maggie does. And the silence is deafening.

“Virginia, born and raised. You?”

“I was born in a prison.” Sophie raises a shoulder, her Y/H/C hair shifting in it’s ponytail.

“Ain’t that some shit, kid.” Negan remarks.

“It was hardly a prison by then, try compound.” Carol interjects.

“It was a prison, Grandma.” Her parents used to tell her stories about it. How she was named after her mother’s little sister, who didn’t live long enough to see it. Sophie was the second baby born there, almost a year after Judith. They’re both grown now. Adults by all accounts of the old world. Still, when she wants to do anything even remotely dangerous, Carol follows…or her mom…or her dad. “But tomato, tomoto I guess.”

Y/N and Daryl are…different. As parents, they were fair, never came down too hard on her. Her father is an outdoor cat who learned to survive indoors. Her mother is the opposite.

They met at the first camp Rick’s group ever had and the rest is history. To this day they grumble when people ask what they are to each other, or assume that they are together, or worse; married.

They are Y/N and Daryl. That’s all.

Growing up, Sophie always thought they were in love. At least in the way she perceived love to be. Her father would come home after a long day and cling to her mother like it was the first and last time he’d see her for years. Sometimes her mother would cling. But it was rare and often meant that something was wrong.

He let Y/N drive his bike on occasion, hollering all the while, “watch where ya goin’, girl!”

Otherwise her father is a quiet man, her mother is more outspoken. And though Daryl Dixon is more than capable, Y/N Peletier never hesitates to put anyone who messes with him in their place.

They each lost two siblings to this world. One by blood, another forged in the fires of the apocalypse. Merle and Sophia both turned, a pain Y/N and Daryl both understood.

When Y/N lost Glenn, there was something to bury. A way to lay him to rest, with the promise of caring for the family he left behind. Daryl still blames himself for it, even though Y/N never did.

When Daryl lost Rick there was nothing left. No body, no closure…he spent weeks, months, years looking for him. Trying to get back a piece of what he lost. Daryl blames himself for that too.

Leaving their only child behind was not a decision they made lightly. But Sophie is old enough to make her own choices and she’s never been a risk taker. Staying in a place that’s familiar, versus abandoning it for the great unknown was a no brainer.

Which only adds to the irony of her current situation. Sophie and Carol on a mission with Maggie and Negan himself, to rescue Hershel from some guy called the Croat.

Sophie knows that without Hershel, Maggie will lose herself and her mother will lose them both. Severing the final tie between Y/N and Glenn that she’s clung to for all this time.

She would start chasing ghosts too.

————————————————————————

Aaron told Daryl a long time ago, that he could tell a good person from a bad one. Daryl doesn’t know if that’s true anymore, but this last group was not good people.

“I ain’t yer boyfriend, huh?” Daryl attempts to distract Y/N as he tends her wound.

“Boyfriends and girlfriends break up,” she bites out.

“Could marry me.”

“Daryl…” Y/N balls her hands into fists. Fighting the urge to push him away, as he applies pressure to her thigh, to stop the bleeding.

“Damnit, girl, stop movin’.” Daryl growls.

“Fuck,” she shakes her head. “We’re fucked.” There goes any chance of getting home.

“Why don’t ya say it a little louder, maybe it’ll help.” He lets up slightly when her hand rests over his.

Her lips pressed together to contain the sound of her suffering.

“Lemme see.”

Y/N removes her hand and his. The muscles of her afflicted leg spasming of their own accord. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Yer gonna live.” Daryl murmurs, prodding around the gash. “Needs stitches though.”

Thunder cracks down, booming behind dark clouds in the overcast sky.

Y/N can’t help but laugh as the first drops of rain hit her upturned cheek. There’s a storm brewing and they’re stuck bobbing in the middle of nowhere.

“Now we’re fucked.” Daryl grumbles, under his breath.

“Did you mean it?” Y/N wonders. “What you said?”

“Ya want me ta beg?” This isn’t the first time he’s asked her to marry him.

“No,” she decides.

“No?” He rears back. She always reasons her way around it, that’s never bothered him. There was some understanding that they’d spend the rest of their lives together.

“No, to the begging,” Y/N clarifies, “yes, to…the other thing.”

Daryl huffs a laugh, “took ya long enough.”

“Shut up,” Y/N scoffs.

Twenty years well spent.

————————————————————————

Bang!

The sound is odd, too loud to be a gunshot, too quiet to be an explosion.

“Tha hell?”

A walker, then another. Hitting empty cars that litter the streets beside them.

“This way!” Maggie calls as they run for cover.

“Walkers are falling from the sky now?” Negan roars, in disbelief.

“The high rise buildings…they must’ve heard us and walked right off the edge.” Carol reason, following the others to safety.

There’s more walkers, piling up at the glass doors behind them. They need to move. There’s an opening with a scaffolding, just across the way. They’ll have to make a run for it.

“We should go now,” Sophie insists. “Clear the bottom floor, can’t just stand here with our asses hangin’ out.”

Part 3

#way down we go #twd fic #daryl x you #daryl imagines #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixion x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #negan smith #maggie rhee #carol petelier

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 13/01/2023 (Liam Gallagher/John Squire, Lewis Capaldi, Bring Me the Horizon)

Welp, Noah Kahan’s back at #1 with “Stick Season” for a second consecutive week - kinda surprised this is the hit song we start off the year with but alas, welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

Now this is the kind of balls-to-the-wall week I expect from early January, and we’ll get to that, but as always, we start with our notable dropouts, songs exiting the UK Top 75 after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40. This week, we say farewell to “ten” by Fred again.. and Jozzy, “Take on Me” by a-ha, “(It Goes Like) Nanana” by Peggy Gou, “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac, “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” by Whitney Houston, “Giving Me” by Jazzy, “Miracle” by Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding, "Escapism." by RAYE featuring 070 Shake and "As it Was" by Harry Styles.

Now as for songs still showing up on the charts, we have our notable gains, and given January actually has a lot of stuff going on pop music wise, I’m not entirely sure how well these will maintain their momentum but regardless, we do see boosts for… “When We Were Young (The Logical Song)” by David Guetta and Kim Petras at #53, “Riptide” by Vance Joy at #49 - oh, this is dire. Noah Kahan’s good, sure, but it really does not mean we need to stomp and holler our way back to 2014. Sigh, elsewhere, at least we have “Never Lose Me” by Flo Milli at #41, but also “Toxic” by Songer at #39 - God, let’s not do this, please - “Perfect (Exceeder)” by Mason and Princess Superstar at #26, “Feather” by Sabrina Carpenter at #19, “Popular” by The Weeknd, Playboi Carti and Madonna getting a second wind at #11 and finally, Teddy Swims with his first top 10 as “Lose Control” rises to #6, not really complaining about that one.

In addition, we see another film-related return with Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” finding use in this romcom Anyone but You which no, I haven’t watched and unlike Saltburn, probably won’t. Regardless, the song debuted and peaked at #6 in 2004 the week that “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” by Band Aid 20 debuted at the top of the charts, and it’s now back at #24. I’m a lot less fond of this one, but it’s mostly fine, I’m more exhausted by how 2024 seems to be going even harder in just reviving catalogue songs instead of having new hits.

As for our top five, it seems pretty standard with “greedy” by Tate McRae at #5, “Prada” by casso, RAYE and D-Block Europe at #4 and “Lovin’ on Me” at #3, but then we have Sophie Ellis-Bextor reaching the same peak she reached back at release with “Murder on the Dancefloor” at #2. I don’t really get why the scene in the film, which whilst memorable, is hardly a worthwhile payoff to that shitfest, but I digress, is what propelled this but I almost think it was just sitting there, ready for any excuse to start skirting up the Spotify charts. Oh, and Noah Kahan’s at #1, of course, let’s check out what’s new, because there’s actually more here than last week… and it’s a bit more interesting… Hell, it’s actually pretty incomprehensible this week, so let’s just find some kind of through line, and we start with a certainty that is oddly comforting nowadays…

New Arrivals

#72 - “Skims” - D-Block Europe

Produced by THESCAM and Hash-K

Ah, my good old friends Young Adz and Dirtbike Lb. It’s even produced by… “THESCAM”, wow, I guess it says gullible on the ceiling of your mansion, guys. They released a mixtape or album or whatever and this is a single from it - yes, we’re getting back to back DBE weeks - and it’s just terrible as you’d expect. The tuned-out piano is almost plugg-esque, and surprisingly enough, Dirtbike Lb handles much of this, talking about women mostly as well as a lot of flexing, and whilst he can’t make a catchy hook to save his life, I like Dirtbike’s voice here, he sounds more… stable than usual, and the drums actually hit fairly hard through the whole song. On an objective level, if there is one, this is one of their most competent lead singles until Young Adz comes in with “Presidential, Emmanuel Macron”. That’s the French President. That’s just the French President, you can’t just say the French President. That’s not a bar. He’s mixed too loud and brags about paying with crypto and giving a girl so much money that she… can’t tax evade anymore. Sure. Good to have you back, guys.

#71 - “Nothing Matters” - The Last Dinner Party

Produced by James Ellis Ford

Alright, we have our first of many sleeper hits to debut this week, but this is actually one of the newer ones, being released just early last year. This is the debut single for all-female indie rock band The Last Dinner Party, hailing from London and getting James Ellis Ford, who’s produced for a who’s who of British alternative acts and Kylie Minogue, to work on their debut album coming out in February. We start with an organ, which is almost ironically religious for this kind of song, as lead singer Abigail Morris, through her very British delivery, pretty much condemns herself prematurely for what she’s about to say, “I have my sentence now”, it seems final and self-loathing for what is pretty much a newfound love song, where her partner is struggling to move on but it’s a complete rush for Morris, who seems to hold a lot of power. They can hold her like they held their last girlfriend, but what she’s going to do is fuck you so good that none of that matters, and yeah, this is brilliant. There’s such a bending character to Morris’ vocals, I love the flailing yacht rock guitars in the verses that end up picking up into an incredibly catchy bass groove peppered by the claps in the basic yet anthemic chorus that doesn’t change because, well, it doesn’t change like much will change at this point. To her, there’s not a third person that matters, or at least there’s not a third opinion she values more than getting off on their misunderstanding, and then that staccato bridge explodes into a great squealing guitar solo that ends up seamlessly mirroring the plastic horns that appear in the back of the - admittedly maybe a bit too compressed - mix for that final chorus, where we get a switch up in the rhythm and some impressive vocal runs from Morris.

#59 - “A Cure for Minds Overall” - Lewis Capaldi

Produced by TMS

…Can I use my free Get Out of Reviewing a Lewis Capaldi Song card? Oh, there are two Lewis Capaldi songs both from his deluxe edition? Sigh… well, I guess I’ll use these for another time. Well, for now, I can say that’s an ugly Britpop guitar tone that easily sounds like it could be a MIDI guitar just playing the same chord again and again, and like all of the songs from this album, Capaldi’s voice is mixed bizarrely, and really close, which could help the song’s intimacy, and mostly does, especially given it’s just as self-loathing and wordy as the others, and it goes for the same explosion of strings and belting as the others for the chorus… but God, it’s so tedious. I actually don’t mind the strings, the lyrics are pretty great, but this mix is such a blur of nothingness and the guitar just doesn’t stop. There are supposedly drums in this but they’re so unimpactful and shrouded by the terrible blending of the strings that it just sounds like a guy arguing with clouds and losing… which may actually be what he’s going for, in all honesty. I suppose it works?

#52 - “Ophelia” - The Lumineers

Produced by Simone Felice

…Why? Okay, so this is a sleeper hit from folk rock group The Lumineers and like I said, we’re stomp and hollering our way back to the days of “Ho Hey” as somehow, “Ophelia”, despite releasing in 2015 and being a minor hit Stateside, had never crossed over to the UK. This is really not my thing, even if I know that it’s really not a bad song. The reverb envelops the mix in a cinematic if slightly cheap, commercial-sounding way, and Wesley Schultz is far from a bad singer, his feature on my favourite song of last year kind of proved that I like his voice way more than I should. The jaunty hook is catchy if a tad unmemorable, carried by the gimmicky piano frolick that I’ve never liked, and you can hear he’s straining a bit in the third verse, out of a slight frustration but not a specific one. This song has always felt like vague-posting about a relationship to me and not in a very effective way because there’s little poetic about this song. I’m sorry, I don’t dislike these guys, I’m just not big on this one at all. I get why it’s going to probably be a hit now, I’m not really happy about it.

#37 - “Strangers” - Lewis Capaldi

Produced by The Monsters & Strangerz and Michael Pollack

Okay, our second effort from Mr. Capaldi here… he references “Wonderwall” within 10 seconds, and that’s not the last time we’ll be talking about Oasis, it’s one of those weeks. Anyway, this is just awkward: Lewis isn’t really fit for the fast-paced melody he uses given his frail, froggy voice, and there’s not much to cover that up given the minimal piano and strings backing. I genuinely think this could be a great song if just put against some real rock guitar and groove, it has an insanely catchy lead melody in the chorus that would rip in a pop rock context, but here we just have adult contemporary mush about a breakup… has this guy had 47 breakups or is he just talking about the same one each time? I mean, I guess it’s better than the last one because the mix sounds slightly more professional, but there’s not exactly much to latch onto here either.

#27 - “Practice” - Drake

Produced by 40 and Drake

This is a deep cut from 2011’s Take Care. What the Hell is going on?! To be fair, it’s still Drake, but it’s not even a song he’s pushing or got any kind of boost outside of a TikTok trend and, well, it fits the climate of pop music right now at least, since it samples the bounce classic “Back that Azz Up” by JUVENILE featuring Mannie Fresh, who also produced one of the most recognisable beats of all time, and a young Lil Wayne on the bridge. The Weeknd says he wrote the hook but it’s word for word from “Back that Azz Up” so not really sure what he’s going on about there. The explicit yet undeniable club jam actually never charted in the UK, but hey, now we have Drake singing it to yet another stripper he’s in love with. As for that version, I’ve never been a fan of this era of Drake, where he takes himself uber-seriously, can barely sing and is pathetic in a murkier way that just bothers me more than it allows me to laugh at him, especially when he just… recites the chorus to “Back that Azz Up” over a cloudy alternative R&B beat, and a lot of Juvie’s first for that matter. Outside of the drums, which sound straight from 2011, this isn’t exactly a beat too far from what Drake is putting out right now - he’d probably add a female vocal sample and 21 Savage guest verse if he were to make it today - so I suppose I guess why it’s here, but I can get this vibe done much more compellingly from early Weeknd, I see little value in this, or really the album as a whole in 2024, other than constructing the guy’s wounded armour in the public eye. I do hear people say they want the old Drake, so I guess the fans just put their streams where their mouths were.

#21 - “Kool-Aid” - Bring Me the Horizon

Produced by Zakk Cervini, Oli Sykes and Dan Lancaster

This cover art looks like an edgy AI prompt for “Kool-Aid Man digital art”. The Horizon boys have released many a single from this upcoming album, and I’m actually less excited with each one I hear, so I’m cautious here, especially given… well, it’s called “Kool-Aid”. Welp, is this an “Oh Yeah!” moment? No, not at all. This is an “Oh no” at best, and maybe that’s giving it too much credit. I do like the build-up with the shuttering synths and two-clap drop in the intro, but the rest of the song spends so much of its runtime in muddy breakdown mode that it just fails to function in any other way, despite going for screaming breakdowns afterwards as if the song had any momentum in the first place, with Oli Sykes going on about drinking the Kool-Aid and, man, I don’t think the social commentary is that interesting or up to date, and the violent relationship analogies aren’t nearly as transgressive as he thinks they are. The haunting backing vocals from Lucy Landry in the bridge are pretty sick, but they once again find themselves in a song that REALLY wants you to convince you on something, but never really tells you what that something is. They go all out with every Bring Me the Horizon trick in the book for the final chorus and it just seems desperate. I’ll pass on this, I hope there’s more to the deep cuts.

#16 - “Just Another Rainbow” - Liam Gallagher and John Squire

Produced by Greg Kurstin

This was headed for #1 on Sunday, really. Now at a much more reasonable spot but still higher than Liam Gallagher should be in 2024, this is the lead single from a collaborative album between Mr. Gallagher and John Squire, who used to be the guitarist for The Stone Roses, an influential and for what they were, incredibly popular rock band from the Madchester scene in the late 80s and early 90s. They actually released two top 40 comeback singles in 2016, to which Squire contributed, but have otherwise been largely inactive, with this being his first top 40 hit to his own name, with Squire making a guest appearance at Gallagher’s recent Knebworth performances in tribute to him guest starring at Oasis’ classic 1996 concert there, which I guess rekindled something in the duo. Is this slice of 90s alt-rock nostalgia going to be any good? You know what? Probably not, but on this week I’ll take it. Liam’s voice is still grating but that psychedelic guitar lick is pretty washed-out and cool, and I think the way the mirroring bass is mixed against it makes it sound pretty interesting instrumentally. It sounds lost and uncertain, finding itself only when the drums come in and it turns into a bit of a bluesy rocker that is just solid. There’s little to complain about other than Liam’s voice just being an acquired taste, as the song just slides itself to and fro, with some lyrics where he literally just lists the colours of the rainbow at some point, it’s kind of silly. I don’t see this lasting even a second week and it’s of course not the best of the rock songs of this week, even if it has the coolest solo of all of them: it feels really dynamic and kind of goes on forever in a soaring linger. If anything is proven by this song, I mean, John Squire still has it after all those years just painting away. That’s good to know.

Conclusion

Best of the Week should be pretty obvious, it’s going to The Last Dinner Party for “Nothing Matters”, which is actually fantastic and almost shocked me since I don’t expect much to stand out from the charting remains of indie landfill. Speaking of, I mean I guess it’s typical that another rock song gets the Honourable Mention, but no one was really competing with “Just Another Rainbow” by Liam Gallagher and John Squire, since the rest of this week really was kind of garbage. I actually think Bring Me the Horizon, who I do like around half of the time, snab Worst of the Week for “Kool-Aid”, which I feel second-hand embarrassment for. The Dishonourable Mention… give it to Lewis Capaldi. Moreso for the first one, but it’s not like “Strangers” is saving that sinking ship. As for what’s on the horizon, no pun intended, we’ll probably Ari and Lil Nas X playing an incredibly unbalanced game of tug-of-war for the #1. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you next week!

#uk singles chart #pop music #song review #liam gallagher #john squire #lewis capaldi #bring me the horizon #drake #d block europe #lumineers #last dinner party

[newtonsheffield]

Molly I just came across this Ciara look and god if this doesn’t just SCREAM Like a Hurricane Kate maternity style??? She would be so fierce in every single carpet look can you imagine!!!

Like???? Anthony would have to be revived mid red carpet from this I’m sure of it

Anthony just hollering the entire time

"That's my wife!"

"We're having a fucking baby!"

"Yes baby! Yes! Isn't she fucking stunning?!"

"You're too in love with your wife." Sophie tuts, nudging him along the carpet. "It's... honestly it's sweet but it's too much. It's absolutely too much."

"You see, the crazy thing is: I literally didn't hear anything past wife!"

#like a hurricane #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers