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lonerwolff · 3 months ago

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𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ⌇𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑤𝑠

you can also read this story on @lonerwolff on wp and ao3 !

warnings: mentions of injury and blood

chapter 2: What the heck Tai?!

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THE TEAM was doing their warm-ups. Stretching, cracking their joints, and jogging. Daisy stretched her arms above her head, then let them drop to her sides as Coach Scott's whistle pierced the air. "Alright, bring it in. Take a knee, ladies."

The girls quickly gathered in a loose circle around him, dropping onto one knee.

"What's up, state champs?" he said, clapping his hands together. Making Daisy and a few other girls cheer. "Okay, so JV is gonna help us out with a little scrimmage today. Uh, Coach Martinez had to take care of a family thing, so JV, you're gonna grab a pinny from Misty, and let's get started!"

"Uh, excuse me, Coach Scott?" Laura Lee raised her hand. "Shouldn't we say a prayer first?"

A few groans and eye rolls echoed through the group. Daisy looked around and noticed some of the girls exchanging annoyed expressions. She felt bad for her friend; she didn't deserve to be treated badly by them. Actually, by no one.

Daisy looked over at Laura Lee, who stood firm despite the obvious annoyance from the rest of the team. She admired that about her— how she never let other people's opinions shake her faith.

The two of them had been close ever since they realized they shared something in common— church. Or something that they once shared, at least. Daisy wished that her faith was still as strong as Laura Lee's; she wished that her parents didn't have to keep an eye on her to make sure that she would remain faithful to the religion and that she could spontaneously choose to go to church.

Daisy's family expected her to go, but Laura Lee wanted to be there.

Obviously, every Sunday morning, while most of their teammates were probably sleeping in or recovering from a party, Daisy and Laura Lee sat side by side in the pews. Desirèe could probably have skipped it if she wanted to, but the truth is that she didn't want to leave her friend alone. Not that Laura Lee would feel sad to be alone at church, she knew she wouldn't be. But still, a part of her didn't want to disappoint the people around her.

Even if she hadn't the same devotion as the other blonde, she still found comfort in the familiar routine. In the quiet moments when she could pray, when everything else faded away, and it was just her and her thoughts.

Coach Scott hesitated, shifting his weight. "Uhh...it's just a scrimmage, Laura Lee." But Laura Lee didn't back down. Instead, she turned her head slightly, locking eyes with the blonde beside her.

Daisy opened her mouth, not knowing what to say. It was a simple and subtle plea. Laura Lee didn't say anything, but her look obviously begged her to do so. She sighed but didn't hesitate. "Well, a small prayer won't hurt," she smiled up at the coach.

Coach Scott sighed, already looking like he regretted allowing the discussion to continue. But he agreed with a nod. "Sure. Yeah, knock yourself out." Laura Lee beamed, pressing her hands together. Daisy followed suit, closing her eyes as she intertwined her fingers.

"Heavenly Father, let our efforts be fruitful, so that we may perform in ways glorious to You. Guide our feet, steady our hands, and let us play with both strength and grace. In Your name we pray. Amen."

Daisy murmured an "Amen", along with a few others. while others clapped their hands together before quickly rising to their feet.

Desirèe opened her eyes and glanced at the girl on her side, who gave her a grateful smile. Daisy smiled back before dusting off her knees and standing up. She nudged her shoulder playfully. "You owe me for that one."

Laura Lee grinned. "I'll pray for you extra on Sunday." The other blonde chuckled, shaking her head before jogging toward Jackie, who was adjusting her scrunchie.

"I still have no idea why she insists on praying before every game," Jackie muttered under her breath.

Daisy shrugged. "It gives her peace of mind."

Jackie rolled her eyes but didn't argue further as she tugged on her socks.

Daisy may not have known exactly where she stood with faith, but she knew one thing: Laura Lee was one of the best people she'd ever met. And no matter what anyone else thought, she'd always have her back.

The whistle blew again, signaling the start of the game.

NATALIE SPRINTED FORWARD almost instantly, slipping through the defenders and sending the ball to Allie. Daisy watched intently, noticing the tightness in the younger girl's shoulders.

Panic washed over her face as the defense closed in, and in her rush to react, she sent a reckless, uncontrolled pass straight out of bounds.

Coach Scott blew his whistle sharply. "Come on, Allie! That should've been yours." His tone was sharp, and Allie flinched, her face flushing with embarrassment.

Daisy frowned. She hated moments like this—when someone would mess up, and instead of being reassured, they were put on the spot.

Taissa jogged up to Coach Scott, muttering something under her breath. Whatever it was, he nodded, and Tai turned, jogging towards one of the JV's. She exchanged a few words with the girl, then pulled a red pinny over her jersey.

Jackie nudged the blonde. "What the fuck is Tai doing?" Jackie muttered.

Daisy shook her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "I have no idea...But something bad is gonna happen," she watched as Taissa moved into position on the other team.

Coach Scott's voice cut through the confusion. "Alright, let's go, Varsity! Taissa wants to see you step it up, and quite frankly, that makes two of us."

Daisy shared another glance with Jackie, both of them confused. Whatever Tai was planning, it wasn't anything good, for sure. she could feel it in her guts.

The whistle blew again.

Daisy ran across the field, keeping up with the pace of the game, but her eyes kept flicking to where Taissa and Allie were running side by side. She saw Tai nudge closer than necessary, her shoulder pressing into Allie's, forcing her slightly off balance.

"What-" The freshman's voice wavered.

"This is the game," Taissa said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Step it up."

Daisy frowned, and she quickly adjusted her pace, running up beside Allie as Taissa jogged away. "You okay?"

Allie nodded quickly, forcing a smile, but Daisy could see through it. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Daisy wasn't convinced. The look in Allie's eyes told a different story.

She exhaled, glancing toward Taissa, who had made her way back to Shauna. The two were speaking in hushed voices. And when Daisy jogged toward them, they immediately stopped talking.

She narrowed her eyes but decided not to ask about their conversation; she instead crossed her arms. "Go easy on her," her tone firm but soft. "She's just a freshman."

Taissa barely glanced at her. "She's gonna have to learn to play under pressure," Tai replied simply, then turned on her heel.

Daisy stood frozen for a second, watching her go. She looked across the field, locking eyes with Jackie, who stood across the field, watching with the same uncertainty.

The team captain raised a brow, silently asking for answers, but the blonde could only shrug.

She didn't know what the hell was going on.

THE GAME CONTINUED. And Daisy sadly had to admit, whatever Taissa was doing, it was kind of working. Allie was definitely playing a lot better than before, But that feeling never left her, even when Daisy passed her the ball amd she neatly caught it. Her chest felt lighter for a second, filled with pride

and then Allie was on the ground.

Taissa's foot that had met Allie's ankle instead of the ball created a sickening crack that was louder than it should have been as the freshman rolled on the floor.

Daisy's breath caught in her throat as she stood frozen, watching as Allie clutched her leg, screaming. Then she snapped out of it when she saw the red dripping off of it.

"Allie!" Daisy snapped out of it and sprinted toward her. "What the heck, Tai?!" she glared, her heart pounding as she dropped to her knees beside Allie, trying to calm her down and keep her hands away from the injured leg. Tai took a step back, her face unreadable.

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, barely convincing herself, her own hands shaking. "Just breathe, okay?"

The older girl tightened her grip on Allie, trying to keep her still. The younger girl was sobbing, her hands shaking violently as she tried to reach for her leg. Daisy quickly caught her wrists.

"Allie, don't...don't touch it, okay?" She said urgently, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "Just breathe. Help is coming."

But no one was doing anything.

The team stood frozen, staring in shock at the gruesome sight in front of them. Even Coach Scott looked momentarily stunned, his mouth slightly open.

"Someone call an ambulance! Do something!" She shouted, her voice sharp enough to snap them out of their trance. "Now!"

Misty was the first to react, already rushing forward, a cloth clutched tightly in her hands. "I-I'll do it!" she said eagerly, dropping to her knees beside Daisy.

"Okay, apply pressure to stop the bleeding-" Out of nowhere, she pressed the cloth to her injury, making Allie scream even more at the contact.

Daisy furrowed her brows, turning to her just as more of the girls kneeled around the freshman, "Misty! Stop!" Daisy snapped.

"Misty, get the fuck out of the way!" Coach Scott shoved her aside, kneeling.

"We need an ambulance," Daisy tells him, her voice urgent, her throat dry from all the screaming she wasn't used to doing.

The coach nodded. "There's a phone in Bill's office."

Misty blinked. "You... you mean Coach Martinez?"

"Christ, yes! Go! Now!" The coach lost his patience. Misty immediately took off towards the school building.

The team got closer, murmuring reassurances as Allie continued to cry. Allie let out another pained whimper, and Daisy squeezed her hand. "It's okay, Allie, just hold on," she soothed, even though her own stomach churned at the sight of all the blood. And more importantly, the bone sticking out.

Taissa stood a few steps away, her face still unreadable. She hadn't moved since Daisy yelled at her. Daisy's anger grew as she stood up, carefully leaving the injured girl's side. "What the hell was that, Tai?!" She snapped, getting closer to the curly-haired girl, who looked surprised. "That wasn't just playing under pressure. You took ittoo far..." she whispered-yelled.

Taissa finally met her gaze, guilt obvious on her face, but she hid it with a calm expression. "She'll be fine," she said simply, but her voice trembling betrayed her.

Daisy raised her eyebrows, "fine? Her bone is sticking out of her freaking leg Tai!" She pointed to the girl laying on the ground in agony.

Taissa didn't respond. She didn't like to be yelled at—everyone knew that. She was always pretty defensive of herself, and if it would've been anyone other than Daisy yelling at her, she would've probably yelled back. But it was Desirèe, so she could only look down in remorse as she scolded her.

Plus, she knew that she had fucked up. It was her idea in the first place, so she had no else but herself to blame for her actions.

A few of the girls exchanged a glance, unsure whether to step in or let them conclude on their own. Lottie, who had been kneeling beside Allie, carefully caressing the younger girl's head, eventually looked up at the blonde's rising voice. Daisy rarely ever got mad, it took a lot to push her to this point. But right now? She looked pissed.

Normally, she would get into action only to defend her friends, and yeah sure, Allie wasn't her friend, they didn't even talked much—at allactually— but Daisy was mad that the team had just lost one of their players, and sure, Allie wasn't the best player on the team, but she was slowly getting better at it. But even if she wasn't that good at playing, it didnt give Taissa or anyone else, the authority to treat the young girl that way. She knew Taissa made a plan, and she also saw how the sweet, puppy eyed Shauna was involved.

Lottie caught Van's gaze from across the field. The redhead raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly in question. Lottie let out a quiet breath before she carefully shifted away from Allie, making sure one of the other girls had her, then rose to her feet, dusting some of the dirt off of her. Without a word, Van followed suit, both of them making their way toward the two friends. Jackie caught sight of them moving and quickly got to her feet as well. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, jogging over before things could escalate further.

Daisy's chest rose and fell sharply. "Do you even feel bad?" she demanded, her hazel eyes locked onto Taissa's in a way that made the other girl shift uncomfortably. Tai kept her gaze steady, but her look indifference was starting to falter. "I didn't mean for that to happen," she muttered, her voice quieter now, less certain.

"It surely looked like you did," The blonde commented.

Before Tai could respond, a firm but gentle hand landed on Daisy's arm. "Okay, let's calm down," Lottie said, her voice calm but firm. Daisy turned her head sharply at the contact, her frustration still burning beneath her skin, but Lottie's steady gaze softened her anger just a fraction.

Van moved between them, looking from Taissa to Daisy with her arms crossed. "Yeah let's not turn this into an episode of Jerry Springer, okay?" she joked, but it was obvious that she wasn't actually amused. The last thing the redhead wanted was her girlfriend and best friend to hate each other.

Daisy took a step back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, her breath still coming a little fast. She wasn't even mad. It's not like she was about to throw hands or something, she was just a little pissed. And she had every right to be.

Taissa clenched her jaw, glancing away as if she couldn't bear to hold Daisy's gaze any longer. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else.

"Look, let's all take a breath," Jackie finally spoke up, stepping closer. "Tai, you fucked up. Big time." She shot her teammate a look before glancing at the blonde. "But screaming at each other isn't gonna magically fix Allie's leg."

Daisy exhaled sharply through her nose but didn't argue. She turned, glancing at the freshman still sobbing on the ground. The sight made her stomach twist all over again. Lottie gently squeezed Daisy's arm before letting go. "We need to focus on Allie right now," she said softly.

Daisy blinked, then sighed, looking down to play with a string of her blonde hair. Lottie was right. She hated that Lottie was right.

Taissa finally found her voice again. "I didn't mean to hurt her," she repeated, and this time, she actually sounded like she meant it. The blonde let out a slow breath, fiddling with her hands. "Yeah. I know." Her voice was quieter now.

Van gave a short nod, then clapped her hands together. "Cool. So no one's getting punched today." She turned her head, glancing over at the injured freshman, immediately looking away. "Now, can we all agree to never let Misty handle a medical emergency ever again?"

Jackie let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Yeah, that was terrifying."

Even Daisy—despite her frustration— chuckled and nodded, letting out a quiet "yeah."

The sound of distant sirens filled the air.

Daisy exhaled, turning her attention back to Allie, jogging back to her, kneeling beside her. "You hear that?" she murmured softly, brushing damp hair from the girl's forehead. "Help's almost here, okay? Just hold on a little longer."

Allie's grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. Daisy squeezed it back giving her a reassuring smile.

Coach Scott suddenly yelled at the team. "Ambulance is on the way, give her some space!" The girls backed up slightly at his command. Daisy let out a breath as she got out of the freshman's grip. The paramedics pulled up to the field moments later, rushing towards them.

From behind her, Daisy could hear Van asking Tai, "You good?" Taissa didn't answer right away. Then, finally, she muttered, "Yeah."

Daisy simply by hearing her knew that she wasn't, and she was sure that Van, as her girlfriends, knew as well.

NO ONE SPOKE. No one even made eye contact. The only sounds were the rustling of clothes, the occasional clang of a locker door, and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

Daisy sat beside Van, who looked like she was about to throw up. Her best friend had barely moved since they came in, her elbows resting on her knees, hands gripping her legs like she was holding herself together, apparently the only thing she could think about at that moment was Allie's injury.

Jackie, who had been pacing for what felt like forever, finally appeared from behind the lockers, scanning the room. Daisy wished she would just stop moving; watching her circle around like a restless animal was making her head spin.

Jackie took a deep breath. "I know we're all worried about Allie. But it might not be as bad as it looks."

Natalie scoffed, the first to break the silence. "You could see her fucking bones, Jackie," she looked her up and down. "I'm pretty sure it's exactly as bad as it looks."

"Oh, God. I'm gonna throw up," Van muttered, tightening her grip on her legs.

Daisy reached over, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. "Deep breaths, V."

Jackie exhaled, glancing around at the uneasy faces of her teammates. "Okay, but, I mean... we're still a team. And we still have each other." Her voice wavered slightly, like even she wasn't sure she believed it.

"And the Lord works in mysterious ways," Laura Lee added.

A loud slam made everyone flinch. Natalie had slammed her locker shut.She turned, walking toward the door, while saying, "Nice work, Taissa."

Taissa inhaled sharply, dragging her hands down her face, but she didn't say anything.

Daisy stole a glance at her, watching as Tai kept her hands fixed on her face. Looking at the curly haired girl like that suddenly made her feel guilty for how she screamed at her earlier.

Silence settled over the room again. Daisy let out a breath, rubbing her temples. She glanced at Van, who was still looking nauseous, then at Taissa, who still hadn't moved.

#lottie matthews fanfic #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie yellowjackets #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #slow burn #. ݁₊ ⊹𝐯𝒊𝒄 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.ᐟ𝜗𝜚 #𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ⌇𝑙𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑤𝑠

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ajortga · 2 years ago

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lead, part 1

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

a/n: I don't know how to work this, it's my first story on tumblr, i use wp and I found this story so interesting, so I wanted to try tumblr out, we'll see how this goes!

in which, you get paired as a lead with your crush, jenna ortega.

part 2

Theater.

That's where home is to the heart.

It's just so captivating. You never want to let go of it. You know you won't.

You want to do it forever when you're older.

It all started when you were in 6th grade, you can remember it like nothing could ever be forgotten. Your teacher told your class that you would be visiting the high school and experiencing their performance of Matilda. You sat in the second row, next to your friend as the shining lights began to dim and the chatters quieted.

You can just remember how captured you were in the performance. Part of it was the actors, the freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors that worked together so perfectly. Your focus was on them, the setting, everything. But you knew that day, something changed.

You remember telling yourself,

You want to do that for the rest of my life.

You remember thinking of directing or acting whenever your parents asked what you wanted to be when you were older, those careers were one of the only ones that stuck each time. Sure you knew it wasn't going to be easy, but a part of you told you that this is what you wanted. That's why you were trying, even after every time you were told no.

So you applied, 9th grade year. You remember crying to your parents when they rejected the dream of acting.

You had never cried so hard more than how much you did that day. Even when you knew your parents weren't so supportive of your film future, you just..

You just wanted to try.

So you did. Then you got into advanced theater and that was all it took for your passion to grow.

You auditioned, you sang okay, you loved to act, you wanted to do everything with film.

–

Today was the day of terror.

Well you wouldn't say terror, more like the anticipation was killing you.

Middle of sophomore year, which was now, you had auditioned for the lead role. Before you only got ensembles or tech, well there was a reason, you never had the guts to audition for a lead role.

The whole day you were shaken up, biting your nails, your heartbeat quickening whenever you heard even a mention of the musical.

During your film elective, right before theater, you were nearly dying.

Not even taking in any of the teacher's words, they were translated into musical songs. You shouldn't be so excited or afraid, you were in theater already, you were certain to get at least one role.

Something was different though.

You wanted the lead.

"Nervous feelings for the theater, huh?" It was a soft, sing-song voice next to you.

You turned to see your classmate, Jenna.

She was a small brunette with pretty wavy dark brown hair and warm caramel eyes that you could drown in.

You couldn't tear your eyes off of her, she was so pretty.

You glanced at your shoes, "Yeah.. Yeah sure, I wouldn't say nervous though."

She laughed, looking at you for a moment, "You know, I was there when you auditioned, your vocals were on spot and your acting was captivating to say the least."

You broke into a small smile, "Well thanks Ortega. I'm not used to compliments, especially in theater. You auditioned for which part? I saw you practicing lines the other day."

Now it was Jenna's time to smile, she looked back at you, "Yeah, it was pretty quick, I auditioned for one of the lead's too, not your part though. I just went through my script real quick, I honestly feel that when I look at scripts once, it sticks to me."

You were going to respond but the bell for last period rang, it was the moment of truth.

You held your breath, exhaling a sigh after a moment and turned to Jenna.

"Well I think this does it, good luck then?"

She nods, grinning, "Goodluck y/n."

Wait a minute, isn't the only other lead role the love interest?

Now that you are in theater, with everyone talking, you decide to grab your headphones and click play on your spotify.

You eased, you shouldn't be so nervous but you were. If you didn't get the lead, it would show your talent and you would under look any of your true abilities in film. If you got the lead, it meant that all eyes were on you, you would be playing next to Jenna.

Your heart sang.

Lie.

Not a lie.

Stop!

Your legs bounced up and down as your classmates were waiting for your theater teacher's response for the cast of the musical.

Your teacher, Mrs. Jenn went around the classroom, almost all of your friends getting ensemble or background roles, could it be any worse? The small roles were taken by your much more talented friends, didn't that mean that you could get a small role too? Or was it just life telling your oblivious brain that you were going to get the lead?

The teacher turned to you, grabbing a card from her basket, and made eye contact, she smiled.

"I loved your audition y/n. You depicted and portrayed the part perfectly, you got the lead role along with.. Oh! Ms. Ortega! Congrats girls!" She clapped her hands together, "Alright team, rehearsals start after school starting next week on every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday! Let's wrap it up, I'll be handing you your scripts that we'll memorize in class."

Your stomach flipped, your heart was jumping out of it's chest, you got the lead you wanted!

That is what you wanted...

Right?

Then why is your heart beating so quickly?

Maybe it was knowing that the girl you developed puppy love for was going to play a love interest to you.

As Mrs. Jenn came up to you, she handed you a script that held lots of pages..

A specific page caught your eye, a scene where you and Jenna had to kiss, your eyes widen, nearly choking on nothing.

This was going to be a big problem..

#jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna marie ortega #vada cavell x reader

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japanesedoramaandanimelover91 · 3 months ago

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The translation of article with Aiba Masaki from "Safari". April 2025.

Photo 1:

Terrace cafe for relaxing? Time for adult games!

Photo: Takaharu Tsuchiya. Styling by Takeshi Yanagawa. Hair and make-up-Akane Shibata(Okumatsu Katsura). Text-Takumi Endo.

You can have a healthy smoothie on the outdoor terrace. Today is a day for rest and relaxation. The real purpose of the day-activity at the facility where the cafe is located. Echo Mouton jacket-55,000 yen ("WP WESTPOINT"/"Safari Lounge"), shirt-28,600 yen ("YANUK/CAITAC International"), denim pants-29,700 yen ("Theory"/"Link Theory Japan"), necklace-265,000 yen ("GINZA TANAKA"), sunglasses-47,300 yen ("MOSCOTT"/"MOSCOTT TOKYO").

Photo 2.

‘No, i came to challenge street sports in a sacred place of the Olympics!’

This time we visited the "LiveDoor" street sports park. Here we're going to sweat it out by participating in various competitions, including a sport we're trying for the first time. Coat-195,800. yen ("INVERTERE"/"BIND PR"), Cardigan-22,000 yen ("Lacoste Customer Service Centre"), T-shirt-6,490 yen ("ARTEX"/"BRANCH OUT"), Trousers-29,700 yen ("Theory"/"Link Theory Japan"), sunglasses ¥53,900 ("Moscot"/"Moscot Tokyo"), necklace ¥265,000 ("Ginza Tanaka"), watch ¥704,000 ("TAG Heuer"/"LVMH Watch Jewelry Japan TAG Heuer"), shoes ¥29,700 ("Ambitious"/"Takihyo Co. , Ltd".).

Photo 3.

"I remember those emotions. It's wonderful that this is being preserved. The equipment used in the Tokyo Olympics."

"Although it looked like i was just lifting, my arms were actually very tense (laughs)." Sweatshirt-31,900 yen ("Lacoste Customer Service Centre,") T-shirt-12,100 yen ("JACKSON MATISSE"/"Show Room Hand D'Intree"), Athletic pants-9,900 yen ("Ocean Pacific"/"Show-Room Hand D'Intree." ), socks-2,200 yen ("Traditional Weatherwear"/"Traditional Weatherwear, LUMINE Yurakucho"), bracelet-115,000 yen ("GINZA TANAKA"), the rest are personal items of the stylist.

Aiba, who was a little more agile in his second and third runs, recalls the sensation he experienced when he first entered the bouldering complex. The first stop was the bouldering complex, where the holds used in the Olympics have been relocated to allow visitors to enjoy a variety of sports. An entertainment complex that will continue the legacy of the Tokyo Olympics. A sports park whose theme is "a sacred place where everyone can play together" is a sports complex associated with the Tokyo Olympics. Getting to know "Livedoor Urbans" was also a highlight of the visit. He also visited "Livedoor Urbans" to see the national team athletes fighting for their lives and said: ‘I really enjoy sport.’ In addition, as a navigator for the Tokyo Olympics programme, he often watches "NBA" games. "I felt that I should love both watching and playing golf," he said, "and not just watching, but setting aside more time to play, which i think has a positive effect on both sports. I feel like it gives me more time to play, not just watch, and that has a positive effect on both." The first test of the day was the tennis game. Here, too, we had to work up quite a sweat. Athletically. "When i first came to the skateboard court, i was amazed to find a rail on which i successfully pulled off a "big shot" of Pickleball, which is in high demand in the USA. Afterwards, he joined Yuto Horionae in demonstrating his dribbling skills on the skateboarding court. Easily he practised the skills with enthusiasm. He was so excited that he said: "I'm enjoying the feeling of playing this at the next 3x3 basketball facility." He was looking for a place to hold on to, "I'm starting to feel what i can hold on to," he said as he finished the climb. This surprised all the staff who were watching him.

Photo 4.

Dossier:

Aiba Masaki-born on 24 December 1982 in the city of Chiba. He is currently playing the lead role in the play "Goodbye Lenin" at "PARKO Theatre". The play will be performed in Tokyo in March and in Fukuoka and Osaka in April. He also appears in his own programmes as a presenter, such as "Aiba Marubatsubu" ("Fuji TV"), "Aaaah! Minna No Doubutsen" ("Nippon TV") and "Aiba Manabu" ("TV Asahi").

Photo 5.

Shooting practice on a 3x3 basketball court with the relocated Olympic equipment. As his shooting accuracy improves, his expression becomes more and more serious. Jacket-53,680 yen, pants-18,700 yen ("Remi Relief"/"Unite Nine"), necklace-265,000 yen, bracelet-115,000 yen ("Ginza Tanaka"), socks-2,200 yen ("Traditional Weatherwear"/"Weatherwear, Lumine Yurakucho"), sneakers-22,550 yen("Air Jordan"/"Nike Customer Service"), Other items: stylist's personal belongings.

He first tried his hand at Pickleball, now in vogue on the West Coast, on a court organised by the "Pacific Pickle Club", a cafe attached to the establishment. Accustomed to the paddle, which is shaped like a ping pong racket, he shows off his brilliant spinning kicks! Half shirt with cut and seam-15,400 yen, cap-6,600 yen, wristbands [set of 2 pieces]-2,200 yen("Wilson"/"Amen Sports Japan, Wilson Customer Centre"), T-shirt-12,100 yen ("Theory"/"Link Theory Japan"), trousers-18,700 yen ("REMI RELIEF"/"Unight Nine"), sunglasses-27,500 yen ("EYEVOL"/"Eyevol Tokyo Store"), necklace-265,000 yen ("Ginza Tanaka").

Photo 6.

The Skateboard Park is a remnant of the structures at the site where Yuto Horionae won his dramatic victory. Standing here, you can relive the emotions of that time. Blouson-136,400 yen("Aspesi Toyoda Trading Press Room"), sweatshirt-13,200 yen("Watts Up"), pants-61,600 yen("C.P. Company"/"C.P. Company Shibuya"), sneakers-11,550 yen("Nike SB"/"Nike Customer Service") That's where we played this month! "Livedoor City Sports Park", In addition to a wide range of sports facilities, there is a semi-subterranean jogging training area and a large outdoor athletics track. Outdoor dining options include gourmet burgers and barbecues.

Address. 1-13-13-13 Ariake, Koto-ku, Tokyo 13:00-21:00 Sat/Fri/Holidays 10:00-21:00 Closed on the 3rd Monday of the month (or the next day if it falls on a public holiday).

Website: ariake-usp.com/.

"I feel it's good for both mind and body."

#Aiba Masaki #相葉雅紀 #Arashi #嵐

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thesugarclubs-blog · 1 year ago

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Put A Little Love on Me - Sam Wilson x OC

warnings: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, air force friends, soft smut, 18+

word count: 8.4k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1437355323-put-a-little-love-on-me-lane

vibe: "That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.

Sam shook his head and stepped closer to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "No it's not, but it's all I had. We promised we'd always have each other no matter what happened. After everything you helped me through when Riley -" his words cut off and her let out a breath, keeping his dark eyes on hers, "I just wanted to be able to help you the way you helped me," he finished

Masterlist

A few raps sounded at his bedroom door as he changed his tie once more.

“Mr. Wilson, sir?” Sam smiled at Peter’s voice coming from the other side. “I don’t mean to rush you but Barnes-”

“Completely means to!”

Bucky’s exasperated voice boomed through the first floor of the compound interrupting him causing Sam to snort out a laugh as he tightened his tie and looked over himself quickly in the mirror. The soft pink tie he had finally landed on looked great against the crisp navy suit he had chosen for tonight.

They had been invited to a spring gala in honor of the Armed Forces tonight and they’d asked him, as Captain America and former Air Force, to say a few words.

“Looking good Wilson, looking good.” He winked at himself before pocketing his phone and wallet to head out the door.

Sam made his way over to where Bucky was sitting alongside Peter in the common room, looking like he was going to burst into flames as the youngest showed him something on his phone excitedly.

“Don’t scare him off Parker, he might bail on us.”

His partner rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before standing and running a hand through his hair.

Sam whistled, “You know for a person who didn’t wanna go you clean up real nice Buckaroo.”

“Don’t push your luck Sam,” he replied pointedly.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Sam grinned as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Are you guys coming?” He asked innocently, just catching the way Bucky glowered, unimpressed, as he followed with a heavy trudge.

The car waited outside, tinted windows and a security detail that felt entirely unnecessary and did little to ease Sam’s nerves. It’s not that he hated public speaking, it was a given now, but the cause for tonight was important. It sat close to his heart, in both pride and heartbreak, and he just hoped the small speech he had prepared did it justice.

As the cavalcade approached the Plaza, Bucky looked through the tinted glass and whistled. "Very fancy Sammy boy." The car pulled up in front of the huge double doors, the red carpet lined with press and reporters. "And they're all here for you." As the door opened Bucky held his arm out, "After you, I insist," he smirked to Sam, "Me and the boy will just hang here until the heat dies down."

"So much for moral support, " Sam complained, over his shoulder as he stepped out of the car. The camera flashes and the cacophony of voices that greeted him confirmed that Bucky had the right idea.

He took a breath and transformed his face into the friendly, all-American grin that he knew the public loved and stepped forward. He held his arms out slightly, as if he were about to give the crowd a hug, and then waved. Here, there, up to the right, wherever he heard his name called as he slowly but resolutely made his way towards the doors of the building.

His right hand went to the watch on his left wrist and he surreptitiously fingered the tiny control panel. Gasps of delight came from the crowd as Redwing swooped down and performed some aerial acrobatics, guiding Sam the rest of the way to the doors through a chorus of cheers and applause.

Once inside, he took a moment to steel himself with a breath as everyone in attendance bustled around the room; taking pictures, grabbing glasses of champagne from trays. He took his phone out quickly typing out a text to Bucky and Peter letting them know he’d find their table. As soon as Bucky responded, he pocketed his phone and made sure his speech paper was still safely tucked inside his jacket pocket before making his way through the crowd of attendees.

He scanned the room until he found the seating chart by the bar — open, he hoped — and found their names under table number one, right front and centre.

The table was still empty when he arrived, eight exquisitely laid places and a beautifully crafted centrepiece. Sam wandered around the table, searching out his name and slid into his seat, just taking a moment of calm before he would inevitably be thrown into the fray.

Bucky and Peter’s voices mingled with the music as they bustled over behind him.

“I was waiting for a text so we could sneak in, Wilson. Do you know how many hands I had to shake tryin’ to find you?” Bucky grumbled, slumping into the chair beside him.

Sam cocked an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, "Poor little super soldier, having to mingle and get appreciated"

The small stifled laugh from Peter caused a chuckle to bubble from his lips as Bucky rolled his eyes. Sam knew the spotlight was something Bucky was still getting used to and for the most part he always supported his friend's decision to hide in the shadows but with their recent successes and their new team growing, he'd have to accept the supportive attention, even if it was just for one night.

"To be fair Bucky, you were the one who insisted every man for himself," Peter started to explain, before seeing the look Bucky was sending him and pulling himself short. "I know, shut up kid, " he finished, pushing his chair backwards, he stood and suggested, "should I to go see if they have any Asgardian Mead?"

"Good idea, kid," Bucky replied, "I've a feeling I'm going to need it."

"You need to go easy tonight Buck," Sam advised.

"I know how to behave in polite society," Bucky shook his head at Sam, "I was brought up by a lady and know how to treat the dames."

“Rule number one,” Sam countered, “don’t call ‘em dames. They don’t like that anymore.”

“Aw, shucks! That’s why I can’t get a date.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was probably time to get this show on the road, be the man of the people and shake some hands.

“I’m gonna go mingle, hold down the fort and don’t let Parker drink.” He pointed a finger at Bucky as he stood. Brushing his hands down his suit, he took a deep breath and headed towards Rhodey, the first face he’d recognised since he walked in.

Clapping his friend on the back, Sam grinned his signature grin and extended his hand to the two council members that Rhodey was talking too, "Gentleman, I hope my friend here isn't boring you with his tank story, again,"

"That story is a classic and always kills," Rhodey defended as the men with him laughed, shaking their heads.

"Only to people who haven't heard it ten times," one of them retorted with a booming laugh.

Sam nudged his shoulder into his friends with a smirk as the conversation moved on to the recent PR that was needed for their growing team and how it was going to be handled. They wanted Kate and Yelena to make appearance's at schools and Peter needed to do tech presentations, stepping into the shoes that Tony had left for him. But something caught Sam's attention, and the councilman's words drifted out to a dull whisper.

A girl with soft brunette waves stood by the bar in a navy blue satin gown, her deep chocolate brown eyes trained on his with a soft smile playing on her lips as she took a sip from her wine glass. Sam's chest squeezed as his mind jolted to the last time he'd laid eyes on the girl in front of him. The soft goodbye she'd whispered into his ear, and the press of her lips to his cheek before she'd walked out for her last mission. The day she'd walked out the door, taking his heart with her.

"Yeah, yeah that sounds good, we'll talk about it Monday," Sam mumbled, squeezing Rhodey's shoulder, "Will you excuse me?" He didn't wait for an answer before he walked away, his tunnel vision setting in as the rest of the room faded.

His heart rate picked up with each step he took towards her. Sam slowed to a stop in front of her, those eyes he'd fallen into time and time again trail up and down the navy suit he wore. "Lanie?" Sam breathed out her name like an unanswered prayer and her smile only grew.

"I'm a little disappointed you didn't wear the wings." She quipped, taking a sip of her drink.

He was too busy admiring just how much more beautiful she had gotten since the last time he saw her for her words to register and when they did he couldn't help but chuckle. "Shoot, I left them in the car."

Lane laughed and the sound hit deep in his core. The feelings he had bottled up and tucked away started to bubble in his chest as her laughter slowed and it was just the two of them.

"You look good, Sam," Lane said softly.

"This old thing," he gulped, trying to get his racing heart under control.

Lane had always had this effect on him, even before the feeling was mutual. Just a look from her in his direction or a parting of her lips sent his pulse through the roof. Lane had been so weary of the guys in their squadron, conscious that they were a bunch of entitled A-holes, who made a female pilot work twice as hard for the privilege of wearing the wings.

She'd finished in the top 5% of their class, proving herself and nabbing a commission most of the other flyers could only dream of. When Sam had transferred to Dulles Air Force base a year after graduating he'd been delighted to discover not only was Lane still there but had blossomed into a confident, pack up your shit and take a hike, no-nonsense lady. Well-liked and respected by her squad, she had remembered Sam fondly and had been happy to show him the ropes and eventually allowed him to take her out for a drink.

“You, uh… you look good too, Lanie,” Sam murmured softly, taking her in properly. She’d always been beautiful, even with her hair in the regulation bun, slicked back and shining with gel and a fresh face. Now though, he wasn’t sure he could be in her vicinity much longer without a drink in his hand.

“Thanks, big shot,” she smiled, that heart-stopping, flirty thing that always sent his heart a flutter. “How is that going? Being Cap?”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Big shoes to fill,” he chuckled as Lane caught his elbow gently, leading him towards the bar.

“And yet they fit you so well, Sam,” she replied, “I certainly had no doubt they would.”

A familiar fluttering filled his chest as Sam felt a blush creeping up his neck, “Thanks Lanie, that uh, means a lot coming from you”

She smiled again, that smile that was seared into his brain from the first moment they met at training camp. A smile that brightened the room and dulled away all the worries that plagued his heart since taking up the mantle.

“And you,” Sam cleared his throat, as his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, “I hear you’re basically running the program now, but not flying anymore what’s that about?”

A flash of a pained expression crossed her face, before she covered it with a soft smirk and shook her head, “you keeping tabs on me, Wilson?” She questioned, teasingly.

His heart flipped at the question. He had been keeping tabs on her, a small obsession and mainly just to make sure she was still kicking. "You know how airmen and women are."

Lane raised a brow, "and what about you? Any new aliens I should know about."

Sam chuckled and shook his head thankful for the change of subject. If she knew just how much he had been following her career on his own it would open that can of worms they decided to close a long time ago. "Androids maybe, aliens..." he shook his head, "not as of late."

"Good to know the world's in safe hands." She turned to the bartender. "Can I get an Old Fashioned and...?"

"Just a beer for me," Sam ordered. The area around the bar was getting crazy busy, with other attendees pressing against them trying to get served.

Lane passed him his beer and stepped away from the bar, taking a gulp of her drink, she then motioned her glass towards the balcony doors. "I need to get some air, it's a little warm in here." She turned away from him and took another couple of steps. "It really is lovely to see you Sam," she smiled, a shy smile which reminded him so much of their first time together. "Maybe we don't leave it so long next time."

He wanted to say something else, to follow after her. To continue the conversation that he craved so desperately but he could see she needed out. She had never quite fit in events like these. She was beautiful and good at pretending she was social but Sam could see the obligatory scowl flicker to her face when the important people weren't looking. Same old Lane. Wanted to be anywhere else than where she had to be.

Sam spent the night fielding questions from politicians, and making sure his overgrown, chaotic dates, Bucky and Peter, stayed out of the mead. It wasn't until he was sitting alone with his third beer in the wind and the band started to play the after dinner music that he realized his mind had been on Lane all night. She floated around the room, avoiding the big crowds and speaking directly to a few important people but it never lasted long and she disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

"Why don't you ask her to dance?" Peter slumped down into the chair beside Sam. "I've been watching you, watching her all night."

"I haven't been watching no-one, Squirt." Sam brushed him off but his eyes found her again, slender curves and bright, fake smile as she awkwardly shook hands with another man.

"She looks like she needs saving," Peter shrugged.

But Lane had never needed saving, not really.

"Chicken," Peter resorted to name calling and as soon as he turned on him the squawking stopped.

“I will put you on mission laundry duty,” Sam threatened, “and I know for a fact Barnes leaves his go-bag far longer than he should between washes. Every. Single. Time.”

Peter shuddered and Sam cackled as the younger man scurried away to the bar.

“No mead!” Sam called after him before his gaze fell back to Lane. She was holding her own against the man, a Sergeant in full dress who was pushing his luck with how close he was standing. It wasn’t until his hand skimmed across the small of Lane’s back and she stepped out of his reach that Sam chugged back the rest of his beer and heaved himself up.

“Not saving her, just deterring the creep,” he muttered to himself as he headed in their direction.

"Sergeant, I think it's important to remember we are in the company of many of our superiors." Lane reminded the man with that sickly sweet smile that to others seemed just polite, but Sam knew the venom around it.

The man was just about to part his lips to counter when Sam stepped to her side, "Sir I believe Rhodey was looking for you."

He frowned and shook his head walking away from them.

"I didn't need saving Cap." Lane said after a moment when the man was out of earshot.

"No you didn't, but he did. I remember when you almost roundhoused a guy who thought touching you was a god given right." Sam responded, "And as you say, we're surrounded by superiors."

"That was a lifetime ago Sam, the new me doesn't get violent, I just get even. Unfinished business and all that." She bit her lower lip and looked like she wanted to say more, but took another sip of her drink instead.

Sam watched as another uniform approached her from behind and instead of leaving her to the dogs like she so clearly wanted to be Sam extended his hand.

"How about a dance?" He asked.

Lane eyed his hand, thoughts swirled around behind those pretty eyes and then she downed her drink and set it aside and slid her hand into his.

"You still step on toes?" She teased and Sam huffed. "I'll take that as a yes."

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Sam quipped, leading her onto the dance floor and Lane laughed lightly.

“I’m a risk taker, Wilson. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

The music grew louder the closer they got to the band, big brass swelling around the crooning of the singer they’d hired. Sam pulled Lane closer, holding her slender frame against his body as they began to sway gently.

“Now, I don’t know about that, Lanie. You’ve never hidden yourself from me.”

"That you know of." Lane smirked up at him, her long hair cascading down her back as her chin lifted to look up at him. Those dark eyes finding his, "I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."

Sam raised a brow, "you can't keep a secret for the life of you."

She grinned up at him again, a mischievous look behind her eyes, "that you know of."

Sam led Lane around the dance floor, the two of them in comfortable silence, but he was sure she could see the words brewing in his eyes, something he had been dying to offload ever since they parted ways.

He cleared his throat, pulling her closer to him so that their cheeks met, entwining their fingers so that there was no escaping his nearness. "Before, when you mentioned unfinished business, did you mean us? Is that what we are?"

"What do you think, Sam?" she asked softly, "Are we unfinished or was this over a long time ago?"

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat before speaking, "You tell me, Lane. I wasn't the one who took a mission and didn't come home."

"That's unfair Sam," She said, "you know what it's like on those missions..." She trailed off. Her hands tight in Sam's as they spun in a lazy circle.

"Out there, sure," Sam answered, "but you came home, all I expected was a phone call."

"Phone calls can still be hard when you don't know what to say," She hummed and let him spin her out and away from him, before gently bringing her back against his chest. Her back molded to his front as their cheeks pressed together as they silently worked through all those hard unspoken emotions.

"We were never very good at talking anyways, Lanie."

Sam felt the reverberation of her hum through his chest and he turned his head, letting his lips graze lightly over her jaw.

“Sam,” she said softly, her breath hitching.

“Tell me you didn’t want it to be over,” he whispered lowly, “because I know I didn’t.”

Lane tensed in his arms and Sam sighed. He should have known.

“Sam, you have a speech to make soon. Let’s not do this now, please? Just dance with me a little longer.”

"Give me something, Lane," he was battling to keep his voice neutral. He was sure that once he left her to make his speech, she'd take off again.

"I can't do this here, tonight Sam. Just for now let's pretend that we're a couple," she rested her head against his shoulder and Sam tightened his hold on her slightly as she turned her face and rubbed her nose up and down his neck. If Sam closed her eyes, he could imagine that he was her wingman, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, making her shudder with want.

When she spun away this time, her fingers slipped from his and just like before she slipped into the crowd and away from him.

He made to go after her when the crowd parted and the mic screeched over the heads of everyone, "everyone please welcome to the stage our very own Captain America, Sam Wilson!"

Sam nodded, turning on his heal and painting a smile on his face and raised his hand in the air making his way to the stage to do his speech but his mind wandered to his Lanie, where she would have run off to and how far he'd have to go to chase her down this time.

Jogging up the steps to the microphone, Sam squinted against the lights and gathered his wit, feeling a little out of sorts now.

Under the attention of literally everyone in the room, he cleared his throat and patted down his pocket for his speech as his eyes settled on Bucky and Peter, the two of them lounging at their table with tumblers that were definitely filled with the Agardian mead he told them to steer clear of. Bucky grinned up at him and flashed two over-enthusiastic thumbs up and Peter cupped his hands around his mouth, whooping and cheering far too loudly for such a dignified gala.

Still, it settled something within him and he dragged his eyes across the room, telling himself he wasn’t searching for her as he unfolded the piece of paper in his hand.

His entire speech felt distant, like he was on autopilot as he said the words and the crowd laughed from time to time. When the applause started and he folded the paper back up his heart raced with one last scan of the crowd. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of navy satin disappearing out onto one of the balconies that he finally took a breath and followed her outside.

As he tried to make his way through the crowd, people clapped him on the back and stepped in front of him to comment on his speech. His eyes stayed trained on the balcony door, politely and professionally stepping around everyone who got in his way. He'd fight his way through an alien battlefield if it meant Lane was waiting for him on the other side. The glimmer of hope that clung to his chest drew him forward, through everything.

Stepping out into the fresh spring breeze, Sam felt his breath catch in his throat once more as the moonlight shimmered on across her gown and illuminated her eyes, "Leaving me again so soon, Lanie?" he commented.

"That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.

She stood there, throat bobbing.

"Listen, I don't want to spend anymore time here and I don't think you do either. I did my speech, I paid my dues," Sam stepped forward, "why don't we go home?"

Sam watched as her whole body tensed at his use of the word. He knew what he was doing, they had never lived together but home was less of a place for the two of them, more of a feeling. "You can talk," Sam said quietly but firmly as he reached out to her, "I can listen."

He watched the tears pool in her eyes as they darted softly across his face, almost like she was looking for the man he was all those years ago. Trying so hard to ground herself before putting her hand in his. Lane never did like showing her feelings, she always felt like she couldn’t and he could only hope to make her feel as safe as she did for him.

"Damn you, Sam Wilson," she muttered, but there was a soft, tentative smile on her face as she threaded her fingers with his. "If we're gonna do this, I need the greasiest, cheesiest burger you can get around here."

"I'll do you one better. You come back to the compound with me and I'll cook you up somethin' special, maybe somethin' from my Mama's secret recipe stash."

"You mean Sarah finally shared them with you?" Lane chuckled, her eyes still glistening. "God, I used to love going home with you for that cooking."

"Just for the cooking?" Sam replied, flashing her his best smile as Lane rolled her eyes. "What do you say, Lanie? We're both here, now, and if this is the only chance we get..."

"Take me home, bird boy," Lane smirked playfully, squeezing his hand gently.

Another swarm of butterflies fluttered against Sam's rib cage at the familiar nickname he'd earned from his friends back on base. He let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back, "Oh that's what we're doing now?"

Smiling brightly, Lane hummed and nodded once, bumping her shoulder into his as she dragged him back towards the door. Sam shook his head once more as he followed, tucking the two of them close to the wall as they snuck through the crowded room. Only a few people tried to catch his attention but there was nothing that was going to take him away from escaping with his girl.

The car was waiting out front and when he finally had her in the back seat it was like a tidal wave of relief had washed over him. He always knew how much he missed her, but seeing her here, ready and finally willing to just talk to him. It was different. He couldn't explain how real it all felt. So he kept his hand tucked in hers, craving the sensation of her skin until he could get her alone.

Lane was nervous, he could feel it in her touch when she squeezed his hand with worry. He couldn't even remember the last time she had gone home with him.

God he had missed her. "We're almost there," he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

Lane smiled, small and tight, when the car pulled in through the security gate and she peered out the window at the sprawling compound. Once parked up, Sam helped her out, tucking her under his arm as they headed through the front door and through to the common room.

The place was in relative darkness, the soft lighting usually set for night time, and Sam caught the way Lane’s shoulders fell, tension physically oozing out of her.

“Take a seat,” he murmured softly, “I’ll open a bottle of red.”

He wandered over to the small wine storage, searching for the bottle of Lane’s favourite he knew he kept for memory’s sake, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Sliding it out, he was met with a selfie of Bucky the idiot took when Sam wasn’t looking — Peter’s doing really, he’s sure — and he brushed his thumb across the screen to quickly take the call.

“Are you allowed to bail on your own gala?”Bucky asked immediately, “at least tell me you’re alive.”

Sam breathed out a short laugh, "Alive and well, Buck. Just something I need to take care of," he smiled softly, grabbing the wine bottle off the shelf and turning it over in his hands.

"Something or someone?" Bucky pressed, the hint of a joke in his grumpy voice, "If I have to stay here, I don't think it's fair that you got to leave, even the kid is leaving with Kate and Yelena, something about playing Kings" he grumbled, "but there's no royalty visiting the city,"

With a shake of his head, Sam couldn't help the roll of his eyes, "It's just a game Buck and you can leave too, just give the kitchen and common floor some space, I'll talk to you later"

Letting out another laugh as he hung up his phone, Sam sauntered back into the living room presenting the wine bottle to Lane, with a proud smile, "Rippon Pinot Noir, just the way you like it,"

"Almost like you kept that sitting around in case I showed up," Lane teased but her voice was tight.

"Better to be prepared than empty handed," Sam uncorked the wine.

"Don't," Lane covered her glass with her hand, "straight out of the bottle or not at all," she smiled.

"Just like the good old days?" Sam nodded.

"I wouldn't call them good, but they were days, and there was wine." Lane added, "and you."

"Then we got all we need," Sam replied softly as he took a seat beside her on the couch. Lane had kicked off her heels and made herself comfortable, and something about that made him smile. That she could be so comfortable in his space again after so long apart.

"So," she started, making grabby hands for the bottle and sipping it delicately. "Are you ready to listen?"

"I'm all ears, sweetheart," he breathed, pressing his body against hers as offered him both the bottle of wine and her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently as Lane took a deep breath.

Lane turned her eyes down to their intertwined hands and swiped her tongue over her lips. Using two of his fingers, Sam lifted her gaze back up to meet his with a soft nod of his head, ensuring she knew that he was right there, whatever happened, he was with her. With a gentle smile ghosting her lips as her dark eyes skated over his face, Lane cleared her throat and began the story of her last mission. The amount of people they'd lost, and how she did everything to save as many as she could, but even the ones who came home didn't really. The emotion in her voice as she talked about her troops, the soft voice cracks and the small tear that escaped down her cheek made Sam's whole body ache. It was supposed to be a track and report mission, but it turned into a search and rescue. He'd been on difficult missions himself but this was something else all together.

Sam wanted to gather her up in his arms and never let her go. To remind her that she was home and safe back in his arms. To tell her that he was never going to let anything bad happen to her again.

"... I was shot out of the sky, just like Riley," she whispered, taking a small sip from the wine bottle in front of her, "My wings wrapped the wrong way and I just... fell. Shrapnel from the shot was lodged in my back with bits from my pack, if I hadn't been over water, I would've -" her voice broke again and Sam traced his thumb over her cheek, catching another tear.

"There's a reason I didn't wear an open back dress tonight," Lane tried to joke, "The scars from surgery after surgery, it's not pretty Sam... and the - mental scars that I carry, it was too much to put on you. You were working with Steve Rogers when I got back, I wasn't about to swoop in and take that away just because I'm broken."

The words caught in Sam's throat, broken. He'd never once thought of Lane as anything but strong and fierce. Like a tidal wave. To hear her talk about herself in a way that was anything less than that, it broke down a wall inside of him.

"Show me, Lanie," He urged, knowing the chances of her saying no were high but he also knew that telling her that she was beautiful, unmarked and flawless. Those words would mean nothing to her, he needed to show her. "I'll show you mine," he added with a soft smile.

"I've seen all your scars, Sam." She whispered, her fingers tighter around the bottle now.

"I have some new ones," he returned the tease, trying to make her comfortable enough to give in and trust him just one more time.

"I don't know, Sam." Her voice was hushed, a quiet murmur in their little corner of the common room.

"How about I go first?" He responded, and with the slight nod of Lane's head, Sam hopped to his feet and shrugged off his jacket, chucking it across the arm of the couch. She looked up then, her sad eyes fixed on his fingers as he worked quickly to undo his tie. Sam flashed her a grin, wiggling his eyebrows as if he were undressing for any other reason but to show off the jagged lines and mottled skin he carried with him now. And he'd do it a million times over if it meant Lane could see the beauty in the scars she carried herself.

Once he reached the last button of his shirt, he let it hang open before he moved onto his belt, ridding himself of his clothes until he stood in nothing but his boxers and his socks and he began to point out his most recent scar, a long, freshly pink line that was a deep slit in his thigh just a few months ago.

"Sam," Lane breathed, her breath hitching.

"One for one?" Sam replied as he held his hand out, waiting patiently for her to take it, to trust him with her hurt like he had with her all those years ago.

Hesitantly, Lane placed her hand in his and stood, leaving a few inches between them as she spun slowly and paused with her back to him, looking over her shoulder, "could you help me?" She whispered.

Sam trailed his fingers softly up her back until he reached the zipper of her dress, pulling it down agonizingly slowly. A long line of raised, discolored flesh ran along her spine, growing the lower he got. He stopped his fingers when he reached the end and Sam swallowed thickly, tracing his thumb over the scar that ran the entire length between her shoulder blades.

"Surgery number one," Lane breathed, leaning into his touch and meeting his gaze once more.

His breath caught in his throat as she let the dress slip from her hips and stepped out of it, turning around to face him. Her face was tight and every agonizing motion she felt was on display as she arched her neck and closed her eyes. "Number two," she whispered, showing him a fleshy twisted scar that spiraled over her bicep and cut into her shoulder. Sam couldn't believe the pain she must have endured from the fall. Not knowing if she was going to survive it, even worse the agony she must have felt waking up alone, completely transformed by the accident.

The strength she must have held, still held, to get through that. Sam would never know what it was like to come out the other side of something as intense as what Lane had been through, but he knew a little something about grief, about the loss of something and the heaviness you live with after as you rebuild your life.

"I think you might be the strongest woman I know," he murmured, taking a small step closer. "but then, you always have been."

Lane's mouth curved into a soft smile, not quite meeting her eyes as she reached for Sam's hand and brought his fingers to her stomach and around to the side of her waist.

"Scar number three," she murmured, as she pressed the pads of Sam's fingers along the thick, raised line that stretched around to her back. "This one's from a piece of my pack that decided to embed itself in my side on impact."

"Lanie," her name came out as a breath as his fingers traced over her skin.

Scar after scar, each and every little one a small reminder of everything she'd been through. Every moment he wasn't by her side to remind her how amazing she was to him. He didn't see the ugliness that she did, all Sam saw was a strong, incredible woman who had been through hell and stood taller because of it. He saw her.

He used his free hand to place two fingers under her chin and bring her eyes up to meet his, "You're beautiful, Lane. Every piece of you. Inside and out. And I will show you that as many times as you need me too and more, if you'll let me," he spoke quietly, drawing her closer, pressing their bodies together.

Sam felt her tremble when he dipped his head and his lips pressed to the scar on her shoulder. Her entire body giving into the soft, slow praises in the form of kisses. A tiny moan slipped from her tired lips as Sam began to show her just how beautiful each scar was.

"I missed you," he said, so quietly it might have been missed over the sound of their breathing but it was out there and it was true. "More than anything."

"I missed you too, Sam," she breathed, as she tilted her head back and to the side as Sam's lips trailed up her neck to her earlobe.

His fingertips dug gently into her skin as he moved up and pressed his forehead to hers. He needed her. He needed her to understand just how much he missed her. Just how beautiful she was in his eyes. Sam swooped down, and lifted Lane into his arms, pulling a giggled from her perfect lips as she pulled back a little to look at him.

Sam shook his head once, and rounded the couch, heading straight down the hallway to his bedroom. There was no way his first time with her was going to be on a couch or the floor of the living room. Those pesky butterflies tickled his chest once more the closer they got and he let the feeling of them wash over him just like her warm citrus scent.

"Sam," Lane practically whined as she dipped her head and kissed a small scar he had on his collarbone.

Electricity shot down from his head to his toes as her lips touched his skin. He’d been waiting, dreaming of her back in his arms for so long and here she was, finally. His Lanie.

He held her tighter reaching a hand out to open his door as quickly as possible, once inside he kicked the door shut and walked them over to his bed. Lane kissed a line up his neck as she ran her fingers delicately through his scalp. A shiver ran up his spine as she reached his jaw and pulled back to meet his eyes. He propped his knee on the mattress before softly laying Lanie against it. He stared at her, looking just like the angel she was to him with her hair spread out along the mattress. Her throat bobbed under his gaze, and her breaths picked up, Sam smiled at her soft and full of all the love he’d been holding onto for her.

He pushed her legs open a bit with his leg before he settled into a hover atop her body, holding onto his weight he dipped his head and touched his nose to hers eliciting a gasp from her lips.

“Can I kiss you Lanie, please?” He whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

“If you don’t I’m definitely gonna kiss you,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Sam didn't hesitate, dipping into her soft laughter and consuming it whole. He wanted everything. Her lips felt like heaven dancing against his as he cupped her face and tangled his fingers into her hair. He missed her so much that nothing else mattered, he barely remembered to breathe. Her mouth parted and he swiped his tongue against hers, deepening their connection as her hands roamed his chest and back.

Her fingers dragged over his shoulder blades, tickling his skin and drawing a throaty laugh from him as he broke away.

"I'm glad we haven't forgotten everything," he winked at her as he pulled away and started to work down her throat with his teeth and lips.

Her soft laugh turned into a breathy moan as he moved over her skin, paying attention to the little scars that littered it like a story of everything she'd overcome. "My strong," he dragged his lips across her collarbone, "incredible," a soft kiss to the scar on her shoulder, "beautiful, girl" he moved down to press his lips to the large scar on her side.

Her breath picked up pace as her fingers trailed, "Baby please," Lane whispered, as her eyes followed him down her body, "Come back to me,"

Sam obeyed, stretching his body back up and capturing her lips with his with more passion than he knew what to do with. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was laying beneath him and it was his new mission to make her understand how much she meant to him.

Sam pulled his lips from hers with a soft tug of her bottom lip, pulling a whine from her with the action. He kissed along her jaw and down her neck the soft mewls coming from her pushing him forward. He reached the curve of her breasts and breathed in her scent, smiling against her skin.

“Sam please,” Lane whispered.

He pressed wet kisses along her clothed breasts, flicking his tongue lightly along her pebbled nipples. He pulled back, smiling at her and moved a hand under her lifting her gently, pressing her chest flush against his.

“I’m taking this off now, yes?”

Lane nodded and took his lips in his in a feverish kiss.

Sam smiled against her skin as his fingers worked deftly at her bra, unhooking it with ease and tossing it aside. He palmed her breast and brought her exposed nipple between his lips, sucking gently until her hips arched into his touch. Her hands raked over his scalp as he massaged her chest.

"What do you want?" He asked her, not knowing where to start himself. His touch was fuzzy against her warm skin and all he wanted to do was kiss her until she begged him to stop.

"You... just you," Lane breathed, moving her hips up into his, "touch me, baby, please"

Sam groaned into her skin at her words, kissing his way down her body and stopping at the edge of her panties, "Can I take these off, beautiful?" he hummed.

It still felt surreal to him that she was here, allowing him to explore her body and take in each and every sound she made for him. He wanted to savour the moment, remember every movement but his own body betrayed him. It ached to touch her and drink her in, to keep her skin pressed against his and make her whine his name over and over.

With a nod of her head, Sam hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down her legs, pressing soft kisses along the way until he flung her panties across his room, landing them over a picture of him and Steve, making Lane giggle softly.

He sat back and admired her taking his time to commit every single inch of her body to memory. He wrapped his fingers delicately around her ankle lifting her leg up and pressing his lips to her calf with a teasing smile as she writhed under his touch.

“Really, all this time and you wanna tease me now?”

Sam breathed a laugh against her skin, pressing more kisses along her leg, inching closer to her center painfully slow even for himself.

“I’m savoring you,” he hummed. “Two very different things, your cute little scowl is just a bonus.”

"This cute little scowl is impatient," Lane cooed at him but her words were swallowed by a sharp gasp.

Sam's tongue flickered out over Lane, already so wet and sweet. He couldn't stop himself as his hand roamed over her hip and pressed against her stomach. He peered up at her, drinking in how euphoric she had become under his touch. He worked in slow circles that drew the sweetest sounds from her lips as he quickened in pace, chasing the sounds of her pleasure.

Lane’s hands ground him in place, soft but firm as her hips moved in sync with his tongue. Her moans filling the room as she whispered his name over and over like a prayer as she chased her high. Sam felt her tense up beneath him before he fingers reached for his cheek, calling his attention to her.

“Sam please, I need to feel you,” She panted and he smiled pressing a kiss to her thigh, “Come here handsome.”

Despite wanting to please her, Sam took his time, kissing his way back up her body, paying specific attention to each scar that littered her torso. A soft whine escaped her lips and her soft hands found his cheeks as she gently tried to pull him back to her.

"So impatient," Sam whispered, ghosting his lips up her throat and capturing her with his before she could say anything, tangling their tongues together and letting her taste her sweetness.

He settled himself between her legs and teased her entrance with the head of his cock, ignoring his own throbbing to take in more of her beautiful pleading sounds. He hoped to any god listening that they would have many more moments like this, just the two of them enjoying each other, but he also knew that life could be reckless and unpredictable, their scars telling that exact story to one another. It just made this moment with his girl all that more important to him.

Lane's hand travelled down and cupped his ass, urging him forward, "Sammy," she breathed against his lips.

Nothing else mattered in that moment as he slipped into her entrance with a soft, silky thrust that melted their bodies together. She was so tight that it took him an moment to adjust, gently rocking his hips back and forth until she was a puddle of breathless moans and tiny huffs. His lips found hers again, needy and hungry for more. He wanted to be closer than ever before and he accomplished that mission with each thrust forward.

"You're so beautiful," he hummed when he parted, cupping her face with his hand and admiring the soft freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose. Her lips partially open and her eyes searching his as they rocked together at a delicious pace chasing their high in unison.

His fingers danced along her skin trailing from her cheek down her side. Her scarred skin was soft and smooth under his touch while he mapped a constellation of scars on her side. Lane wriggled beneath him, her moans bringing a smile to his face. There were so many times that he felt an incredible pang in his chest with every moment he ached for her and now having her so close feeling the way her body molds to his, Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let her go after this.

“Lanie,” he breathed, dipping his head and pressing soft chaste kisses along her collar bone to the spot on her neck that always makes her squirm. His hands traveled down her sides to the outside of her thighs, pulled her even closer and hiked her hips off of the bed in a new angle, one that dragged a delicious moan from her lips.

Lane's head lifted as she pressed a kiss to the scar on his collarbone, gasping into his skin as he thrust forward and hit her sensitive spot. A shiver of pleasure shot down his spine as she gripped his length tighter and fluttered around him, her orgasm growing within her. They're soft sounds echoed through his room as his pace became quick and needy, chasing their highs together.

"Sammy," she whined, moving her hips in tandem with his, craving the same closeness that he was as her head fell back into his pillow and pressed backwards.

The pressure grew deep within his stomach but Sam needed her to reach her climax first. He needed to give that to her, to feel her pleasure erupt around him.

Her nails dug into his skin as her breathing became ragged and her body tensed in his arms. He felt the cord snap within her as his name danced off her lips in a series of breathless moans that made him heavy dizzy with pride.

"That's my girl, keeping going," he praised both verbally and physically as he picked up the pace, his rhythm growing sloppy as he chased her orgasm in search of his own. Her lips on his skin was enough to drive him crazy as her cunt fluttered around him, dragging him inch for inch closer to the edge.

She felt like heaven around him, gripping his length and still fluttering. Warmth spread through his veins and pleasure curled around his lower back the further he pushed himself. Lane’s moans turned into soft whimpers as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, whispering soft praises as his hips snapped against hers, out of rhythm until it was too much. He felt her nails dig into his back, her legs hooked around his waist as he came.

His hips slowed, rocking lazily as he trailed kisses along the inside of her neck.

Her fingers trailed up his spine and scraped into his scalp as she did her best to catch her breath. The overwhelming sense of comfort drifted over Sam as he kept his lips pressing into her skin, relishing in the moment of their bodies together. The sound of a hitch in her breath made him sit up slightly, catching her soft brown eyes with his own as he furrowed his brow.

"Lanie, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He asked, his hand coming up to cup her cheek gently.

She shook her head with a ghost of a smile and placed her hand over his, "I just - I missed you so much, Sam"

With a small breath of relief, Sam returned the smile, leaning his forehead down against hers and brushing their noses together, "I missed you too, Lanie. More than you know"

#sam wilson #sam wilson au #captain america #captain america au #sam wilson oneshot #sam wilson one shot #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson smut #sam wilson x oc #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot #marvel one shot #marvel au #marvelous #fluff #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers #one shot

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kylorengarbagedump · 10 months ago

Text

Playing Soldier: Chapter 5

Read on AO3. Part 4 here. Part 6 here.

Summary: Thank God you're feeling better. Just in time to put on the performance of your life.

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: None, remarkably

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

Um sorry but we have unfortunately fallen victim to having plot in our short 3-chapter P-Nearly-WP that now is shaping up to be Plot Without Porn. BUT THE PORN IS COMING I SWEAR IF YOU'VE READ OUR OTHER STUFF WE'RE LITERALLY CRYING TO GET TO THE PORN OK BUT IT NEEDS TO BE WORTH IT

You may notice that we have, perhaps, eliminated a potential definitive amount of chapters for this chapter. Oops! Not sure when this is ending - but we very much hope you continue to enjoy it. Truly, we're writing for you LOL. Thank you so so much <3 <3 <3

Breath.

The hot, sharp intake of air, a rhythmic roll from your body to his.

Pressure.

Pulsing between your thighs, a burgeoning ache, a wet, swollen demand.

Need.

You pulled his face to yours, seeking his mouth, begging for liberation, please, please.

He was nude. You were nude. Your hands, your tongue, your cunt cried out to claim him. A palm on your throat, a rush of bliss, you were close, so close, and his lips dipped to your ear, murmuring, promising—

She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

You shot into reality with an aborted scream, sweat soaking your neck. The sick near you shifted in their beds, shooting an ugly eye in your direction before rolling to their sides. Behind your bed, the sun had already shifted into late morning, pouring golden warmth into the ward. A long, weary sigh left your chest. It was your second day in the hospital, and you’d dreamed about him again.

When you’d arrived in Charleston yesterday afternoon, you hadn’t even seen him. The officers who received you had all been unfamiliar, but only needed one look at your bandaged wrists, limp arm, and absolutely-blood-soaked clothing and face to ship you straight to the City Hospital.

Upon arrival, you’d met the matron, been scrubbed down, provided a nightgown, and examined by the physician, who had wasted no time painfully reacquainting your arm with its socket in your shoulder. Next, upon removing your poultices, he had been predictably aghast. Unfairly so, in your opinion, as all traces of your burgeoning blood malady had in fact vanished.

But you’d been far too exhausted to argue, instead declining his offer of bloodletting in favor of a long sleep and a sling for your arm. You’d even woken to a meal and water that evening before sinking right back into your sheets. It was a much, much needed respite from the past few days of body-breaking travel across South Carolina.

Other than the chains attaching your ankles to the bed, you couldn’t have been in better condition.

Of course, there was the intangible clock in your mind that continued to tick in mockery, counting as if there was a fixed, unknowable deadline when the bell signaling your sister’s death would toll. The only person you knew in the entire British army had vanished, and you’d not heard anything about your intended intelligence turn over, either.

Certainly, you thought, he wouldn’t leave any potential loose nooses untied.

You flopped against your pillow—oh, what a relief to have a pillow underneath your head again—and stared into the ceiling. The encounter in the magazine hadn’t spent more than ten minutes from your thoughts since his hand had released your throat. Just the memory of it pricked gooseflesh alive, and you groaned, covering your face with the sheets.

God above, you couldn’t escape him. Whether he was ruining your life as you breathed or haunting it as you slept, he was on your mind—and in the most maddening of ways. Your thighs pressed together, hoping to stave off the pressure that had been growing between them for the past few days. If you were home, you’d at least have the opportunity to make quick work of this and flush him from your body, but the hospital afforded you no such privacy.

A man having this sort of hold on you seemed disgusting—unacceptable, almost—to you already. But for him to be the kind of man he was made it worse. Hadn’t you told Grace that kind is good? What happened to that? What sort of example were you setting, aching for someone who killed with impunity so many people she knew and cared for? Someone who clearly cared so little for the lives of all of your family members, including you?

What would she think of you if she knew?

Chest tight, you flipped over in bed, burying your face into the pillow like you could hide from your shame. Why did he have to be so heartless, or delight so much in taunting you, or look so bewitchingly magnificent when possessed by bloodlust?

“Stop!” you ordered yourself, though it came out like “Stmph!” through your pillow.

Your only hope was that he was just as damned by your connection as you.

It was just when you’d started reluctantly recounting all of the different ways his muscles had flexed when you’d spotted him by the river that a feminine voice called your name.

Pausing in your reverie, you curled to the side, peeking at the entrance to the ward. A young woman stood there, craning her neck in search of someone. Your eyes fluttered in disbelief.

She looked so much like your mother that at first, you’d thought it was her, risen from the dead. But there was only one other person it could be, and it was the person you’d least expected to see.

She called your name again. “Are you here?”

“Grace,” you croaked, voice thick from a day of rest. Coughing, you tried again. “Grace!”

Her smile when she spun and spotted you could’ve sustained you for days.

“You are here!” she cried, and rushed to your side to gather you into her arms. The familiarity of her embrace melted you, and you sank into it, your good arm locking her against you. “Why are you in the hospital? Are you well?”

“I am. I’m well,” you replied, though it was muffled by her shoulder. Just as you wanted to hum in contentment, the bizarreness of the situation struck you. You eased her back and pinched yourself. Not a dream. “What are you doing here?”

Grace beamed. “They released me!” she said, then nodded toward the two redcoats waiting at the ward entrance. “Well, contingent upon some sort of arrangement. But they let me come see you after they informed me you were alive.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she blinked them away. “I told them I wasn’t complying with a single order unless they let me see you for myself.”

You snorted. Of course she did. “Papa thinks I’m the stubborn one.”

“Oh,” she began, sitting on the bed. “You are.” She dug a finger playfully into your leg to punctuate her sentence, but prodded the cuff on one of your ankles instead. “What?” Her eyes widened, connecting the bond to the chains at the foot of your bed. “What's this? What happened?”

You shifted your leg away from her. “Ah, nothing.”

“Nothing?” she said. “What do you mean ‘nothing’?” Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t told me what you’re doing here. What is this arrangement they spoke of?”

A sigh waited in your chest and you lingered, truly beholding her for the first time since she'd entered the room. Grace couldn't have spent more than a couple days aboard the prison ship, but her eyes were like bruises, her fingertips carved out with dirt. When you met her gaze, it flooded again, and she looked to the floor, wiping her cheeks.

No words were coming to you—not in the least because you weren’t even sure yourself. The last interaction you’d had with Tavington, you’d demanded her release right as he was panting into your neck. He hadn’t said a word to you in response. As far as you knew, Grace should’ve still been rotting aboard that vessel.

“Grace,” you said. “I…”

What was there to say?

I… don’t know what I’ve agreed to?

I… may have to stay here for the rest of my life?

I… want to lie in bed with the Colonel of the Green Dragoons?

Well, you most certainly wouldn’t say that last one.

“Don’t fret over it,” you said, placing your hand on top of hers. “I have it managed.”

She frowned, looking at your hands. “I knew that’s all you would say.” More tears. Her teeth worried the inside of her lip.

You sighed. “Come now,” you said, “don’t be that way—”

“What way?” She met your eyes with a crackle that startled you. “Papa doesn’t tell me where he’s gone off to, that horrible man kills Mary Hutchens right next to me, and the next thing I know, I hear another gunshot and I’m dragged off to that dirty, terrible ship in chains!” She displayed her wrists, red and swollen from the rub of metal. Her voice was quiet, but hoarse with hurt. “I spent days thinking you were dead!” A tremble shook her chin. “And now you refuse to tell me what’s going on. I don’t know how you arrived here, I don’t even know where you’ve been!”

The other residents of the ward snuck glances in your direction, as if you were loving this conversation and couldn’t have been happier that it was happening in the hospital. For a moment, you wished Grace hadn’t insisted on seeing you, that she’d simply gone home and waited. It was a fleeting feeling, but one that stuck you with guilt nonetheless.

You gripped her hand, and she looked down again. Before you could even think of a word to say, she grabbed one of your fingers and dangled your arm in front of you.

“And what happened to your wrist?” She gasped at your sling as if she’d just noticed it. “And your arm?”

“Please,” you said, averting your eyes. “It’s a long story.”

She bit off your full name like an admonishment. “You are going to tell me something before I leave.”

You gave her a withering look. “Don’t do that.”

The tiniest hint of a smirk crossed her lips. “Do what?” she said, before mouthing your full name again.

Your eyes rolled to the ceiling, a smile breaking containment through your huff. Grace pounced then, always one to strike the second you relented. She tucked herself carefully against your uninjured side, nestling into you and blinking up in expectation as the bedframe creaked to accommodate the sudden breach of its capacity.

“I’m the stubborn one, am I?” you said.

Grace nodded. “Yes.”

Grinning, you shook your head, draped your arm along her side, and quietly began to recount your journey. From your fiery escape, to your capture, and your backcountry trek alongside three redcoats until you’d made it to Charleston. You left out the fight at Dorchester, the identity of who you’d spent that trek with, and how very beautiful you found him—especially since she’d referred to him as that horrible man. Not an inaccurate assessment, of course, but also not one that harmonized well with attraction.

Once you finished, she hummed, worrying a corner of your sheets between her fingers. “It sounds like you might have had a rougher time than I did.”

You shook your head. “No reason to compare them,” you replied. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you on that ship.”

“I know.” Another smile managed to eke across her face, and she drew your arm from around her shoulders for closer inspection. “Your burns are healing quite well, though.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you said, gazing at your handiwork. “I used the gin trick on them. Well, the whiskey trick this time, I guess. And a poultice for good measure.”

She shook her head in loving disbelief. “I’m sure the redcoats loved hearing you scream.”

An unexpected thrill shot from your thighs up your spine. You remembered Tavington watching you, studying you as you applied the whiskey, remembered the firm deftness of his hands as he wrapped the bandages around your wrists.

“Yes,” you said, avoiding her eyes. “I’m sure they did.”

“Especially if they were anything like that… that brute.” She curled into your side, clutched you closer. A particular crack on the ceiling struck you as interesting. “Poor Mary.”

You grimaced. She didn’t know about Nathaniel Jones or the others either. You weren’t sure how to explain that to her. Or if you even wanted to. Perhaps it was better if she thought they were imprisoned, instead of brutally killed and then unceremoniously cremated.

“I wonder what made them select Mary Hutchens,” you said.

“Her father left months ago to join the Continentals, remember?” she replied. “Made a whole big show of it. I think he’s passed on now, though.”

“Right.” You nodded, pulling her closer. “I want to apologize for not telling you about Papa,” you said. “But I won’t.”

She offered a half-laugh. “So generous of you, sister.”

“You can’t realize the safety you’re afforded by not knowing anything,” you said. “I… Knowledge you don’t possess can’t be used to harm you.”

“I can understand that.” A small sigh left her. “But at some point, I’d like the opportunity to make that decision for myself.” She sought your gaze. “I’m not a child.”

Yes, you are, were the words that wanted to leave, but you stopped them. Grace was right—she was a grown woman now, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

“You’re right,” you said.

“Lord above, she actually said it!” Grace whispered with a grin.

“All right,” you said, shaking your head as you laughed. “All right.”

You supposed then, that maybe she did deserve to know what happened to the boy who had been courting her. It stalled on your tongue for a moment, as if you knew you’d be sullying Tavington’s reputation even further in her eyes and didn’t want to. As if he deserved your protection. The realization made you spit it out in spite.

“That brute,” you said. “He killed Nathaniel. And Adam Brown and Elijah Smith. All three of them.” You paused, clearing your throat. “That was the gunshot you heard.”

Grace clung to you, unmoving, her eyes tracing the seams of the walls beyond your bed. Another round of tears welled. “Oh,” she said. “That’s awful.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I know you cared for him.”

She swallowed. “I did.” A sniffle, and she rubbed her cheek onto you. “But I’m so grateful that it wasn’t you.”

You raised a brow. “Can’t say I don’t feel the same way.”

The minutes with her snuggled next to you passed too quickly. One of the redcoats by the door stepped toward your bed.

“Miss,” he said, gesturing for Grace to move, “we need to move you to temporary holding until the order for your release is signed.”

Grace stiffened. You frowned.

“And just when will that be?” you asked, sticking your chin toward the ceiling.

The soldier met your gaze with eyes that already looked exhausted. “Very shortly,” he said. “The, ah, General is on his way here to personally escort you.”

You blinked. “The General?” you said. “Cornwallis?”

He nodded, motioning again for Grace to move. “If you please, miss.”

She looked at you, easing away. “Will I see you again?”

The truth was too difficult to say. “Of course you will,” you replied. “I’ll ensure it.”

“All right.” A grin crept upon her lips. “I believe you.”

Holding your breath, you pulled her into you and closed your eyes, willing a day for your lie to become truth. If the British won the war—which it seemed they most certainly would, at least here in South Carolina—you had no idea what would become of you.

Grace squeezed you close before letting you go, kissing your cheek and pushing herself to standing. As she walked with the redcoats to leave, she glanced at you from over her shoulder.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.” Your throat was suddenly tight. You swallowed. “I’ll see you soon.”

She nodded, offering a tiny smile before she was guided outside of the ward and beyond your sight.

The following minutes performed their best impression of eternity. Each tick of the clock plucked a nerve, every cough or groan from a neighboring bed set your teeth on edge. If your ankles weren’t shackled to your own bedposts, you would have started pacing.

The General was on his way here to personally escort you?

Escort you where? To do what? Something to do with Grace’s release? Surely that would mean you’d be handing over the information you had promised.

The violent whirlpool of your thoughts deposited your pulse into your temples, and you rubbed them. That information had been promised to Colonel William Tavington. If he were a part of this, if you were going to have to face him again already, before you’d had a chance to allay this nettlesome hysteria he’d sown…

The sound of your name from somewhere to your left made you jolt. The matron of the ward was approaching, a small bundle clutched in her hands. A youthful-looking redcoat accompanied her. She came to a stop at your bedside, all clicking shoes and ramrod spine, and her neat grey bun dipped as she deposited the bundle on your bed stand. Then she took a key from the redcoat and unfastened the cuffs at your ankles.

“Up you get,” said the matron in a tone clearly accustomed to dealing with belligerent sick.

Blinking, you complied, swinging your liberated feet out of bed and standing. Your legs ached from hours of disuse, but it felt good to stretch them nonetheless. You smoothed down your nightgown—little more than a shift, really—and a feeling of exposure settled on your shoulders, your bare calves, that made you fold your arms in discomfort. The matron peered back at the redcoat, who was still watching you intently, before raising an arm to clutch your shoulder, halfway hiding you from his view.

“For God’s sake,” she barked at the man. “She’s a lady. Avert your eyes.”

Growing a shade of crimson to rival his jacket, the soldier slowly turned his back. You let out a small breath, still uncomfortable, but feeling rather less like a blemish begging to be broken. Before you could direct a grateful glance at the matron, she was waving a hand toward the neatly folded cloth laid on your bed stand.

“Go on, then,” she said, reaching up to untie the sling from around your shoulder. “Get dressed.”

You grabbed the bundle with your good hand and shook out a simple yet dignified pale blue linen dress. The matron helped you gather the fabric and ease it over your head, deftly guiding your injured arm through one sleeve with minimal movement before situating your sling once again.

“A personal escort from His Lordship,” she tutted, moving on from tying your sling to fussing with the laces of your bodice. “Never heard of such a thing.”

“His Lordship,” you repeated, filing the title away while she tugged and plucked at you.

The matron finished adjusting your dress with more mutterings of quite unusual and must be very important, before spinning you around and dangling a pair of plain black woolen shoes before you. You quickly slipped them on and fastened the buckles, surprised that the fit was tolerable. As you straightened, the matron stepped back to appraise you. Then, with one more frown, she stepped forward again to quickly neaten your hair.

“Right,” she said with a deep breath, shooing you toward the redcoat. “That’ll do. Off you go, then.”

The soldier peeked over his shoulder. Upon seeing that you were now dressed and moving toward him, he stepped to intercept your path. Before you could react, he had grasped your elbow.

You stumbled to a halt, affronted.

“Apologies, miss,” he said in response to your bewildered glare, and produced a pair of manacles from his belt. “I’ll need to put these on you.”

“You jest,” you replied, looking pointedly at your injured arm in its sling.

The redcoat shrugged apologetically as he clasped the cold iron around your wrist. “Orders.”

Clearly at a loss for what to do with the other end of the manacles, he simply turned and used them as a leash to guide you toward the ward’s entrance. Cheeks burning, you could do nothing but follow him.

He led you along the same path that had brought you to the ward. Down the stairs, the main floor hallway, and through a large set of double doors that opened to the sunlit bustle of the street outside. The rush of light and sound momentarily blinded you.

“Ah,” came a voice from somewhere beside you on the landing. “This must be our guest of honor.”

The redcoat turned with you, and you blinked against the midday sun to see a round, regal-looking man in a powdered wig. His attire resembled Tavington’s, though laden with an additional royal vault’s worth of pretension. He gleamed in the sun like a bursting bag of golden buttons.

The man stepped toward you, a frown creasing his brow as he spied your iron leash.

“Ensign Goddard, what is the meaning of this?”

“Lord Cornwallis, sir.” Your escort, Goddard, straightened. “The, er, the prisoner you requested?”

“Prisoner?” Cornwallis gave a blithe chuckle. “This woman is a Loyalist to His Majesty’s cause and is to be treated accordingly. Please remove her restraints at once.”

“Sir, respectfully, the colonel strongly advised that she be restrained at all t—“

“I dare say my own jurisdiction quite supersedes that of Colonel Tavington, does it not, Ensign?”

“Yes, sir.” Goddard took your arm and began unhitching your shackle. “Of course.”

Now freed, you wagged the echo of weight off your wrist and looked toward Cornwallis, who was already gazing at you with some sort of excited expectation.

“Let’s be off,” he said, tilting his head to the road behind him. “A short walk, but much to discuss.”

You wondered if perhaps a cloud would swallow the sky and strike you with lightning, since you’d clearly been marked for something by some greater force you had no influence on. The thought of following a General of the British Army anywhere to do anything seemed so at odds with your life even twenty-four hours ago that a smidgeon of you was certain there’d been some kind of mistake. He’d called you a Loyalist, after all.

But in your position, there was only one smart move for you to make.

Nodding politely toward him, you bowed your head. “Of course,” you paused slightly, the next words odd on your tongue, “my Lord.”

Cornwallis returned the nod and offered his arm to you. The contrast of it all—a Lord giving you a gentleman’s escort against the background of Tavington’s meager ration of bread—nearly made you laugh. You imagined his expression, watching you waltz around as an accessory to his superior officer. Perhaps you’d make good on that promise of riding Cornwallis’ cock, too, just to see whatever remained of Tavington’s soul melt into the sea from rage.

You took his arm and followed his lead. Your new shoes clicked across the cobblestone.

“May I ask where we’re headed?”

“Oh, of course,” Cornwallis replied. “Colonel Tavington awaits us at the State House to record your intelligence. I’ve been informed you have information that might be of particular value to the effort here in South Carolina.”

So you were going to see him. The twitter of glee in your stomach irritated you, as if his company brought you anything but a headache.

“Yes.” Salt hung in the early afternoon air, filling your chest as you breathed it in. “I’ve been looking forward to the opportunity to contribute what I can.”

Cornwallis nodded. “From what the Colonel tells me, you’ve already managed quite the noteworthy contribution.”

Biting your lip, you hummed in agreement. Did Tavington tell him about what you’d done in Dorchester? You hedged your bet. “The Colonel, I’m sure, speaks of me with great hyperbole.” This earned you a laugh from the General, and you exhaled in relief. This would be far easier than Tavington. “You’ve gotten to know him well already, then, have you? I hope his first impressions were not entirely disagreeable.” A blessing that Cornwallis paid no particular attention to the smile you attempted, which more resembled a grimace.

“The road is long from Catawba,” you replied lightly, hoping the sweat on your forehead was from the sun and not embarrassment. “As such, I have surely met with his more rancorous humors, and he with mine.”

Cornwallis chuckled, shook his head.

“He can be a well-natured sort, if you’d believe it.” You did not. “Let us hope today can offer new beginnings for us all.”

“Indeed, my Lord.”

“Now, you must tell me,” he said, “what influenced your decision? After all, I understand your father is an officer in the Continental Army.”

Your decision—a wonderfully vague reference to something real or imagined you’d done that Tavington had decided to share. You glanced at Cornwallis. His cheeks burned ruby, his step was light. You knew he must still be gorged on his victories at Charleston and Waxhaws, eager to taste even more. His ego was overflowing. There was nothing stopping you from collecting it in a cup and bathing him in it.

“I understand strong leadership when I see it,” you began, noting with satisfaction the way Cornwallis’ chest puffed out just a little more. You recalled your father’s lamentations regarding the Southern Army’s own disjointed and sparse leadership. It had been his determination to help mend the tattered cloth of patriotism across the south that had driven him to enlist. “My neighbors may not yet understand, but I can see plainly that His Majesty’s rule will lead the colonies to greater prosperity than we could ever achieve independently.”

“Yes,” Cornwallis said, as if you’d recited some sage wisdom. “Precisely what we've been campaigning to provide.” He grinned, basking in the praise. “What of your father?”

You offered a half-shrug. “What of him?”

“Surely having a Loyalist daughter might inspire him to reconsider his own allegiance.”

Tavington, you knew, wanted your father captured, squeezed for intelligence, and killed like a fat sow once in custody. You saw in Cornwallis an opportunity to provide an alternative avenue should your father end up a prisoner.

“My father is an experienced and shrewd commander,” you said. “He would have much to offer the Crown, given the opportunity.” You sighed heavily. “However, we never had the chance to discuss that option before he departed.” Shaking your head, you looked up at Cornwallis. “I just know that if I could speak to him, I could likely get him to see reason.”

“I see,” Cornwallis said, nodding to himself. “Our objective now is to rally as much support for the Crown as possible. If conversations went well, I am certain your father could find a welcome place among the ranks.”

You smiled. “Your Lordship is most generous.” The amount of deference you were displaying was more than you’d had to practice in years. It made your teeth raw. “There’s so much unease, where I live,” you murmured. “Stories travel of burning towns, slaughtered livestock. Murdered civilians.”

Cornwallis exhaled, gazing down the road. “Yes,” he replied, “that is sometimes an unfortunate and unnecessary cost of war.” The grit in his voice as he said unnecessary convinced you there was a particular colonel he had in mind. “Though please believe me when I say it is not at all a cost I wish to incur. Many of my men agree.”

The instinct to roll your eyes was not easily suppressed. But you managed. “I have no doubt your Lordship speaks true. I am grateful to hear it for myself.” As an extra measure, you added, “My gratitude as well for the release of my restraints.”

He gave a pleased huff. “The Colonel, as you know, has a tendency towards asperity,” he said. “Though it serves him well in battle, we must also know when to reward colonials who make the appropriate choices.”

“Ah,” you said with a grin, “perhaps such acumen is what grants your Lordship the rank of General and him the rank of Colonel, then.”

“You must tell him so when we arrive,” Cornwallis replied in a hushed tone, as if he were telling you a secret. “He resents to hear it from me.”

“Oh, I have no issue reminding him, resentment notwithstanding.” You gave a chuckle, and Cornwallis laughed again. Perhaps this would be even easier than you thought.

“I fear my formidable Colonel may have met his match.” He gave your fingers a fond pat where they curled around his arm. “Fortuitous indeed that our loyalties should align as they do. Ah—here we are.”

In front of you, a proud building with arched entrances came into focus—the State House, you assumed. Cornwallis noted the redcoats standing outside, who caught his approach and stood straighter, tipping their hats in deference to him. You bowed your head toward them, in case it was necessary, though you weren’t really sure what they’d be expecting.

Cornwallis paused at the door, fingers on the handle. “Shall we, my dear?”

In the shadow of the building, your gaze turned upward. It seemed to yawn above you, stone-brick teeth waiting to gnash, to swallow. In moments, you would be fighting your way through the belly of this beast, feigning as one of its own vile innards, meeting with the captivating, bloodthirsty scalpel that would see you purged.

Breathing deeply, you nodded. “We shall,” you replied, and allowed the general to guide you inside.

#william tavington #colonel william tavington #colonel tavington #the patriot #jason isaacs #playing soldier #fanfiction problems #actually so nervous to write the next chapter bro AHHHWEOFIJWEOIJFW

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