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spotaus · 1 month

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The Judgement Hall

A semi-awaited drabble about Doppletale's Sans and Asgore! (Specifically about Sans becoming the Royal Judge!)

Word Count: 2,663

Tw: Death, Cannibalism(kinda? eating humans)

No revisions, I die with my typos 🫡

(aaaaand @oodlesndoodles and @mylackofgrammaristerrifying because it's not Oc lore but it's Dopple-stuff lol!)

(It's under the Cut for viewing convenience ♡)

The day was different.

Not like any others.

It'd been a week since Gaster's death. A week since Sans had had the hard talk with Alphys about quitting his work at the lab. It'd been a week since he'd moved as far away as possible, all the way to Snowdin to the vacant house at the edge of town.

Now he found himself in the Capital.

He'd gotten a letter asking him to come visit. King Asgore wanted to see him. To have some tea and chat.

Part of him worried the King was going to convince him back to the Lab. The CORE was structurally sound, but Gaster's research went unfinished and now was left entirely to Alphys. He knew one scientist couldn't handle it alone, but he couldn't bare to be in that place anymore.

Maybe Asgore would reprimand him for moving so far off. Away from the Capital where the King said his door was always open. Sans knew, but it hurt to think of taking up residence in the castle while other monsters were starving.

He worried on these thoughts as he walked down the streets. The buildings here stood tall and crooked, white stone buildings having been shoddily constructed when Monsters finally arrived here. The Capital held most monsters, but the numbers were dwindling.

Even now as his boots clicked against the white stone street, very few monsters were out and about. He thought he spotted Madjick entering a shop, two whimsum further down the street sat with eachother on the front steps of a building. It was barren compared to the lively and exciting streets he'd used to shy away from in the past.

It was a ghost town.

The castle that always loomed tall over the white stone city was closer now. He could see a few of the remaining Royal Guard stationed outside at the top of the steps. The doors were wide open. They were never closed, just as Asgore always promised.

Sans hardly acknowledged the Royal Guard when he passed by them. He doubted they'd even recognize him if he did say hello. The skeleton-look was new. Without his lab coat, his glasses were the only defining feature of his that was truly left.

It didn't matter. He clearly wasn't human, so they let him pass uncontested.

The halls were just as he remembered, if not a bit more dusty. White brick that was painstakingly chisled and pieced together. A far cry from the messy work outside. The walls, the floor, all flawless. The floors had long purple carpets running along them, and the walls were covered in tapestries, each one painstakingly woven before their imprisonment, and a few more that were made after.

One, at the very end of the hall, sat unfinished. Sans wondered if the one who'd been weaving it was taking a water break, or if they were long gone. He didn't bother to look for dust.

And soon enough? There stood the hall he knew well.

He entered, and he thought about just how much had happened here. The white pillars spanning up and far above his head into a ridiculously tall ceiling. It was completely consumed by shadow, but he could see the twinkling of crystals they'd had moved from Waterfall. He'd been the third to see it finished after all the construction. They still glimmers brilliantly like stars.

The windows were all stained glass, seemingly untouched by the years. Blue and purple glass, all of it picturing different monsters of glory from their past. Each one portraying them as they heroes they were. Sans knew no more would be added, but he humored hinself to think that a few monsters he knew deserved a glass pane of their own.

He remembered the coronation. The day the monsters big and small, disguised and not, gathered here in this hall as King Asgore and Queen Toriel introduced their children as their royal heirs. Asriel and Chara. They'd appeared in their disguises at the time, and they'd been the most precious little creatures. The underground had partied for a week straight.

No one regretted wasting those precious meals, it was worthy of celebration, but the memories were bittersweet now that both heirs were dead.

Sans sighed gently, dragging himself away from memory lane. The door at the end of the hall was still shut tight, but he knew it wasn't locked. It never was.

So, he pressed his palms against the heavy wood, the wood that had been stripped white with water damage, and pushed.

The hinges didn't squeak. The rush of hair that flew past was nice. Asgore's throne room had always doubled as his and Toriel's garden. A safe-space for them, so close to the barrier that sunlight could leak through the windows and allow sunlight to reach the plants. The burst of wind once smelled like a forest, earthy with a tinge of dew. Now it smelled of sickly sweet perfume. The plots that once held different types of plants only held buttercup flowers, the golden yellow blooms constantly swaying in an unseen breeze.

He missed that old smell, but he knew, at least, that the scent of Buttercups would always alert him to the King's presence. He hardly ever left this room anymore, as far as he'd heard.

At the thought, his eyes skimmed past the flowers and to the throne.

Empty.

He tried again. To the left, closer to him.

There.

Asgore was stood with his back to the door, leaned slightly over a small table that made Sans' soul squeeze with nostalgia. He hadn't seen that table since before Gaster's condition turned for the worst. Asgore had started bringing Tea to the lab instead of meeting here.

The king himself was just as Sans remembered. He was a perfect replica of a human. He was tall for a human, maybe 6'4" with his boots on. His shoulders were broad, and while he was a walking wall of muscle, his flesh was soft and jiggled when he laughed. His blonde hair was a bit messy, long enough to barely fall over his shoulders, and his beard was fuzzy and rough.

The king stood upright, and shifted a bit. His head turned, and from the few meters away that they stood, Sans could see his confusion turn quickly into a soft smile as the King recognized him.

"Sans, my old friend." His voice was deep and held authority, but his tone was perfect. Gentle lilts at the end of his commands that made them feel more like suggestion. "Come, sit."

Asgore gestured to the table, one arm escaping the confines of his heavy blue cloak. In the shadow, Sans could see the familiar galaxy mist that swirled purple. The truth behind the king's facade. Though as he started moving wordlessly, he couldn't help but notice how Asgore's hands were calloused and wrinkled with age, scars along his fingers that told the story of a kindly, aging king. One whose people were unjustly locked away.

Sans let the king leave his vision as he rounded to the opposite side of the table. A familiar tea pot sat in the center, two cups sat ready to be used, one where Sans sat, one where Asgore was moving to sit himself.

The king gazed at him, and Sans stared back. It was only a second to two, but it was enough for Sans to really take it in. Asgore's tanned skin had just the right wrinkles draped around his face. His eyes were soft and a bit sad. Disarming. The folds of his skin were largely laugh-lines, things you'd expect to see from a kindly older man whose spent most of his life laughing.

Hid eyes were a deep brown, almost black. His pupils were perfectly round. A few stray strands of his blonde hair fell infront of his face, his crown displacing the strands with its weight.

"It's been some time since we last spoke outside of our duties," Asgore supplied warmly to the silence, "How are you faring, old friend?" He knew the answer to that. Sans knew he did.

He answered anyways.

"I've been better." He supplied, "Losing G has been hard." It was obviously what Asgore wanted to bring up. He'd just get it out of the way.

Asgore nodded sadly. Knowingly. His movement was perfectly natural.

"I see that you've taken on a new shape. How long have you held your old one?" Asgore questioned gently. Curiously.

Sans thought for a moment. "Must've been 200 years or so." Being underground had gotten rid of the need to constantly make new disguises. He'd been content with his latest one.

Asgore took that with a grain of salt. Pretender kept an unconscious notice of how often Asgore blinked as the silence dragged on.

"Sans, I heard that you left the Lab. Alphys says you have no intention of returning, either." Asgore cut to the chase. His brows furrowed. He wasn't mad. The wrinkles on his forehead were still too undefined to imply he was mad.

Sans agreed. He really did have no plans of going back. He couldn't stand another second in there after what his team had done.

"Very well." Asgore said, then. "I will respect your wishes. Though, I do not want to let your kindness and talent go to waste. Your grief should not consume you." Many monsters had fallen down after the loss of loved ones. Asgore had seen some of the worst here in the Capital. One monster dusted, and entire families fell into despair and couldn't recover.

He thought the same would happen to Sans.

The skeleton said nothing, but Asgore didn't hear a refusal yet. He pressed on. "Old friend, our people are dwindling. Many of them have never hunted, those who knew how are losing themselves." He informed. The grim truth was just that: Even if they could escape, how would they survive? "I know you've always dedicated yourself to the survival of our people. I want to ask a favor of you once more." Asgore's voice was growing soft.

Sans couldn't help but be a tinge worried.

He'd met Asgore for the first time when the underground was first their prison. Sans had a surplus of supplies, as he was well-liked by his local humans and they'd escorted him to the entrance to the mountain without taking his things. Asgore and Toriel had been hard-pressed to provide for their people, and had asked Sans for assistance. He'd given all he had. It was for the greater good.

After that, he'd been the royals go-to for problems they just couldn't solve. Sans wasn't often called upon, but when he was he was efficient and smart with his solutions. That was how he'd met Gaster and joined the team working on the CORE.

Now Asgore wanted more?

"I have an offer for you, Sans."

The skeleton let one of his sockets fall closed as he tiredly tilted his head. "You stopped blinking." He said casually.

The grin grew on his face as Asgore jolted a bit and raised a hand towards his face. He rapidly blinked, seemingly startled that the skeleton had replied with such an absurd statement.

Then he laughed.

It was a hearty and playful laugh, one that held no malice or grudges. One that shook the tea cups on the table. Asgore was smiling wide. Pleased.

"You had me worried." Asgore chimed when he finished his laugh.

Sans shrugged slightly, "Have ta keep you on your toes, old man. How else are we gonna escape?" He teased right back, voice calm and drawling. "Now, what's this offer?"

Asgore, a lot less tense than before, smiled at Sans. His eyes squinted so much that Sans could hardly see his eyes past his eyelashes.

"That keen skill of observation. I'd like to offer you the position of my Royal Judge." He announced pleasantly. "Someone to keep myself, and the Royal Guard, in top shape. To help settle disputes. To tell us if a human has entered the underground and guide the Guard in how to properly hunt it." The ball was dropped. Asgore had outlined a job that Sans knew had been vacant for a long time now.

Gerson, he remembered. A turtle-monster who rarely looked human. He'd been through the ringer, but had an extremely strong moral code. He'd been the one to suggest that the Dreemurs keep Chara alive. He'd starved pretty early on, passing his lessons onto his apprentice...

"Isn't Undyne training the guard?" He voiced without thinking on it. Undyne was Gerson's pride and joy, abd Asgore had taken over training her when Gerson passed. Besides Asgore, she was the most human-like monster he knew.

Asgore's shoulders raised a bit as he tilted his head slightly. "She... is a skilled warrior, and is sure to train her men in combat, but she lacks the knowledge of what a human is meant to look like if it does not look like myself or her. The disguises beneath their armor are very... messy." He admitted wearily.

That would explain why the guard outside had their armor on. Monsters who'd not eaten or seen humans alive had a much harder time understanding how they worked. Had a harder time imitating them.

"Your disguise is like your very own skin, Sans. You know well what makes humans trust you. What's normal and what is not. Our people need that." He explained.

It was true.

Sans was friendly. He spent most of his life on the surface learning what drove humans. What their system of customs and morals were. Not because he cared, but because it made things easier for him. No one was suspicious when he had just the right amount of flaws, or threw an awkward laugh into the mix of his words. People never asked about his staring problem when he learned to seem hurt by it and explained his vision problems.

Every muscle twitch and hand motion meant something for humans, and he'd studied all of it for hundreds of years.

He'd also taken the time to hand-pick what humans he killed. That was something monsters couldn't afford to do anymore. He'd seen it time and time again, but did his best to work through it. He was lucky those he'd encountered in the past gave him bad vibes. He'd felt justified killing them.

He wondered how hard it would be to teach his fellow monsters human morals. He wondered if Asgore or Undyne would respect a judgement if he found it unreasonable to kill someone. Maybe they'd ignore him. Would he have any authority?

But then again. Humans weren't worth dying over. They'd trapped them down here. The humans were starving his people. He could teach the Guard how to survive this. He could kill again. Humans were food, and as much as he could delude himself into thinking otherwise, even the ones he liked were glorified animals. Things to let live because they behaved. Underground was different, and he couldn't afford that luxury.

"I'll do it."

His voice was still calm and confident. It didn't betray his racing mind. The idea that maybe if he'd given up these fake morals a bit sooner then he could've gotten more meat for the Lab crew. Maybe this would make up for it.

Asgore smiled at him, and Sans smiled back easily.

Sans was given his uniform, a heavy set of robes and sashes and belts. A hood could be pulled up to cover his face, and he realized it brought him a bit of comfort.

Every week he'd visit Asgore and the Guard. Every week he had tea. Every week he'd have a training session that could last 3 hours just to help the guard hone their disguises.

Every other day, he stayed at his home in Snowdin and patrolled. Every other day he walked the sane exact route.

Every day was the same.

#utmv #doppletale #dopple!gaster #dopple!asgore #pretender!sans #utmv au #tw death #tw cannibalism #cannibalism tw #death tw #If I need more tags lemee know?#spot!wrote #for the record Sans *respects* Asgore. he doesn't pay this close attention to just anyone #but there's no romance here. just two guys being dudes (with a weird power imbalance thrown in)#w/o Sans (or his supplies)? Asgore couldn't have kept the underground from rioting. They both know this. they never bring it up #Sans is an Acts of Service guy I. realize now... omg.#oh. and Undyne is double-mad at Sans rn. her Crush tells her that this guy just left her alone to the Lab and then said guy shows up and #ends up basically doing half her job as though she couldn't?? that's a slander on Two fronts now. She'd pick a fight if Sans wasn't so close #with Asgore. or if he wasn't actually kinda good at teaching disguises.

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blackroseraven · 4 months

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I am again surprised by how I'm doing LESS riding these days than when I was going to the barn but. The whole 'can't ride outside except during daytime and when the weather is good' thing keeps surprising me.

Like even TODAY the ground was squishy when I rode around, to the point where I didn't want to do too much.

Quattro was... a butt. I think he's mad at me, though, as well as just... energetic because the temperature is in that nice for horses zone.

He was really hard to get on. But I made him stand still over and over again until he finally stopped threatening to buck or pushing on me, and then we rode down to the 'arena' I've squared out. No ropes or anything, just t-posts for now until I figure out what I want to do with it.

He was very cranky at first, but we did some of his old tricks and he calmed down quite a bit. We aren't running or anything because of a mix of wet and slippery and him being high energy and me being post-migraine-nervous, but. We got some good time in. Some good breathing, found a bit of sync at the end, which I was pleased by.

Today I also put in the posts for the gate and laid the cement, which will sit for the next two days before I attach the fencing to them. I had a hard time finding a proper place to dig. Like. I dug into a pane of glass in the ground? I'm starting to think I actually dug in the basement wall of an old house or something from all the bricks and cement and weird stuff I've hit.

I also did some cleaning in the barn. I've got it looking a bit better but... it's still super gross. I want to move the "usable" wood and pipes from the barn to the garage at some point, so the barn itself can be. I dunno, burned down.

It's like a Level 4 Hoarding situation in the barn, ugh. Two inches of wild animal poop, piles upon piles of old glassware and discarded china plates and forgotten toys, all kinds of wood and steel and PVC pipes. I've worked out from the setup of things hanging from the beams and stuff that it used to be a tobacco barn, and all these left-behind bamboo/wood shoots would have been used for drying the tobacco.

Also like at least three old rocking chairs and tool parts that "might" be usable? But might not be worth the time and effort to fix, on the other hand.

So yeah, been busy. Yesterday unfortunately I was in Migraine Hell and literally just. Tried to sleep for 24 hours. Fever dreams. Probably exacerbated from some of the cleaning I did in the barn the day before without a mask because I'm an idiot and also didn't expect it to be THAT awful in there.

Just gotta keep moving, ignore the voice in my head that says I'm never going to be done.

#horse #life

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marvelite624 · 1 year

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Is this a story from the world we know or just imagined to make it seem so? Either way, this is...

She sat half in, half out of the last rays of daylight which pierced the darkness to spite several panes of broken, dirty glass. There on the filthy floor, she did what she could to remain in the shadows of the old tool shed. Soon enough, pale shades of the moon would surround her in ambiance enough to chill the bone.

Nissa was not alone as she fondly recalled her day, uttering endearments to the delight of her new friend, held tightly upon her lap. He was a five and a half month old Redbone Coonhound named "Goody". He sat, head tilting side to side, wide-eyed, invested in every syllable she spoke. Nissa began to fiddle with one of his large paws and he licked, and then playfully gnawed at her hand, ears flopping, so cute she had to laugh.

What was it Paulie had said? "Goody will protect you." Those had been his words earlier when he loaned his cherished pup to Nissa. The two had only just met, but it quickly became clear who needed him most.

She'd been picking wildflowers in the field next to her home when a voice from behind startled her, "Those goin' in a vase when you get 'em home?" She turned quickly to see a boy not much older than her, dressed in worn jeans, loose-fitting tee, and stained, white canvas hightops. His long brown hair was clean, but needed brushing in the worst way. He sported a small scar, passing through his left eyebrow, the kind that only served to accentuate his boyish good looks. Over his shoulder hung a quiver. In one hand he held a hunting bow which he lowered to his side as he patted the anxious ball of fur that tagged along.

"Oh, my heavens...you gave me such a fright!", Nissa sputtered nervously. "Didn't mean'ta, Missy. I hope you'll forgive me.", came the boy's reply. He noticed she seemed a tense bundle o' nerves as he shyly studied this sweet girl who looked, for all the world, like she might bolt and run at any moment. She was pale with freckles across her small, upturned nose. Hair like his mother's...strawberry red, which she wore in a single braid down her back. Her shirt was a pastel green plaid that, like her eyes, complimented her locks nicely. Tied at the waist, the shirt topped a pair of white Levi's and sandals. Nissa was quite tomboyish at first glance. She wore no make-up. She didn't need to.

"Name's Paulie, Missy an' I'm very pleased to meet you. I don't bite an' neither does my dog here. His name's Goody." The puppy hopped up barking as if to say hello in his own way, turned a circle or two and flopped down on his backside, panting. "That's a silly name for a dog, ain't it?", she suggested, giggling slightly. "I think it's a swell name for 'im. My pops gave 'im to me right before he left for the war. Said he'd help protect Maw an' me while he's away. My pops takes a medicine powder to make him feel better sometimes. For me, it's my dog what makes me feel better, so I named him after my pop's powders cause he's as good as any medicine."

"Well, that's sweet and it makes sense. You can stop calling me 'Missy' though, I'm 'Nissa' and very happy to meet you too." She reached down to pet the pup as she spoke and was greeted with a heavy paw which she gladly shook. Paulie couldn't help but notice as she shook that paw, the three-quarter sleeve of her shirt rode up a bit revealing curious bruising on her arm. He realized they were impressions left by fingers, from a strong hand large enough to encircle her entire arm. The sight appalled him as it threw a damper on an otherwise pleasant encounter. Now he found himself scrutinizing every inch of Nissa that he could.

"So what's the bow for, Paulie?" He found it a fair question as they were strangers after all. He wondered if she was feeling in some way uncomfortable at the sight of it. "My pops was teaching me to hunt before he left. Small stuff mostly. Now, I'm showin' my dog. We're gettin' pretty good at it too, but I don't like to brag." Nissa listened intently as he spoke and Paulie hoped she wouldn't notice his eyes, investigating her further. She coughed softly, turning her head to one side as she covered her mouth politely. Sure enough, the bruising was in evidence on both arms now and disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt, similar markings all but faded. Paulie was growing angry, struggling not to let it show.

"Well, if you were planning to do any hunting here, don't let my daddy catch you. He don't fancy to strangers on his property. If he catches you...just for everybody's sake, do your hunting someplace else." He noticed a sudden lack of eye contact as she spoke of her daddy. Her right hand crossed in front of her to gently hold the left arm even as her gaze had dropped to the ground.

Hesitantly Paulie asked, "Is your daddy not a nice man, Nissa?" He hoped the question wouldn't upset her. "Why do you ask that? Of course he's nice! He just...well, he just has a bad temper and can't help himself sometimes. When he drinks...he thinks nobody loves him an' it makes him hate everything. Sometimes I think he regrets marrying my momma an' don't want to be stuck with us anymore." "So, he's not your real daddy then?" "Cole? Oh,no. My real dad passed into the arms of the Lord a few years ago. He left me an' Mom the house and a patch of land...a couple of horses too, Emily and old Levi, but Cole sold them. He said the feed was way too expensive. He did a lot of things I didn't like. Sure wish he hadn't taken away all o' my daddy's pictures like he did. I can barely remember his face these days. If it wasn't for the little one I keep hidden..."

"You have a picture hidden?" "Yeah, I keep it in the old shed at the edge of the woods. Noone ever goes there but me. You want to see my real daddy? C'mon, I'll show you!" With a new-found excitement, she ran past Paulie, wildflowers still gripped in one hand, giggling. Goody hopped up into a quick gallop, one sharp bark signaling the boy should follow. The shed wasn't very far, he could make it out just inside the woods across the field.

When Paulie reached the dilapidated, old shed, Nissa was bent over, hands on her knees huffing and puffing as she looked to the straw-covered earth beneath her. A slight turn of her head then toward the boy as he stopped nearby, "Ya know, for the outdoorsy, adventurous type, Paulie... you run like a girl." Her snarky grin was adorable, the boy thought.

"Yep, ya beat me fair and square dit'n ya." As he spoke, Goody, sitting slightly behind Nissa scratching his neck with a very busy hind paw, looked to Paulie with an inquisitive glare and issued a suspicious whimper. Paulie let go a quick gasp raising a finger to his lips to shush the mut. The wink which followed went totally unnoticed by the young miss. "I got bested by a girl! How will I ever live with myself?" Goody shook his flopping ears and just lay down. Truth is, the boy could have overtaken her at any time but, being the chivalrous gentleman his momma had taught him to be, he let her claim this little victory.

"So what'cha got here? Some secret hideaway?" "Sorta, but the way it sticks out like a sore thumb hardly makes it secret. Me coming here sometimes though, that, I try to keep to myself." She moved into the old rat trap with a confidence that surprised her new friend. The interior smelled of dead wood and decay. It was dank and dusty with very little light for maneuvering. Several random planks missing from the floor gave the girl no pause to her advance. It was obvious she'd been here many times before.

There was a row of counters across the back wall which rounded the corner to continue partially down one side. The opposite wall was bare except for some rusted chain hanging haphazardly. Paulie's eyes began to adjust enough to make out the many old, near useless tools strewn around the room as well as the roof in one corner barely fighting a long overdue collapse.

"You be careful now, Nissa! This place don't look none too safe." The girl shrugged as she squatted onto one knee, reaching under a shelf below the sagging countertop. Paulie leaned side to side, neck stretched trying to see what she was up to. "Here we go!" Her arm returned holding a ragged cigar box. She blew the dust from the top and lifted the lid. Inside lay a solitary black and white photograph.

She raised the picture delicately to her heart. Eyes closed, she whispered something the boy couldn't quite hear. Paulie waited patiently for what seemed a long time before offering, "You don't have to show me if you don't want to. It's okay if you changed your mind..." "No, no. I was just makin' sure he doesn't mind."

She passed her little treasure to him anxiously, squirming a bit as she did. The picture was of a man, wearing a rancher's work attire. He stood between two horses holding their reigns. On the back of one of the horses sat a very young girl, best guess, not too long out of diapers. Both of their faces sported the biggest smiles they could possibly manage. One of Nissa's happiest moments no doubt, preserved forever.

"Now, this is worth holdin' onto. Keep it hidden, Nissa. Don't let him take this one away from you too. Ever! He was very happy to have you in his life, just look at those faces." "Momma would've been in there with us, but she was taking the picture. I remember, she was all smiles that day, too. I miss him so much, Paulie, sometimes I can feel my heart ache. I tried for the longest time to remember his voice," her eyes welled as she spoke the words, "but it's faded. Left me, same as he did. If it weren't for this picture, I don't think..."

Suddenly, from somewhere across the field, a voice interrupted, "Nissy! Where you at?", as a look of dire concern crossed the girl's face. The words were slurred as, once again he called out, "Nit! Don't tick me off!". An almost wicked laughter followed. Her gaze had snapped to the door upon first hearing Cole's voice. He was coming. Nissa turned quickly to her new friend, "You gotta go! Gotta leave, now!" "But, I think I should..." "No, you don't know him like I do...please, for me, Paulie!" He lingered just long enough to whisper something to Goody and utter those four well-remembered words to her, "Goody will protect you." Paulie turned and darted from the shed as quickly as he could manage. The pup whined softly, but made no attempt to move from her side.

The reverie of recent events dissolved now. She'd sat quietly long enough to let her believe Cole had lost interest, given up. His pale shadow slowly stretching headlong into the room, and comment relieved her of that notion, "Heeere you are, my li'l nit. You got some 'splainin' to dooo." Goody felt an instant dislike for this obviously besotted menace, evidenced by the low growl that Nissa tried to cover, moving the guarded animal to the side.

She stood, wiping the traces of dirt and straw from her hands. "So, who was that I shaw running away? Got'choo a boyfriend, do ya?". "No, Cole, we was just...". "Oh, 'Cole' is it now? What happen'na 'Daddy'? You done got too big for 'Daddy'? Lookin' for boyfriends to teach you the ways of a man?

He stood there in front of her, teetering slightly, his eyes red and glassy as all inner light continued to fade. Her mother had chosen him largely based on his good looks. His dishwater blonde hair and prominent jaw, highlighted with killer blue eyes and perfect pearly whites, led her to believe she'd hit the jackpot. The nearly copper-colored hair across his chest and arms was a bonus for her, too. She'd begun calling him "wooly" and loved that he sported a mustache that "tickled her so much". There he was, in denim coveralls, no shirt, and what was obviously a pint of alcohol in his right pocket. He was sweating heavily, and the smell of old liquor hung in the air.

"Lookin' for some leshons are we? Well, the thingsh I can teach...letsh jus' say, Momma ain't complainin'. You been needin' nis a while now. Cole gonna show ya 'bout life. C'mere, Nit." "Stop calling me that!", her voice was raised louder than she'd intended. He reacted as expected. The back of his right hand lashed out across her cheek. She was staggered backward into the old countertop. Goody bravely rushed forward, howling, to sink his teeth into the man's leg. Cole shook and tried to loosen the pup's grip to no avail. Reaching out and sweeping the counter, he managed to find an old claw hammer. Firmly gripped, he brought the rusted tool down onto the little soldier's skull. A pitiful yelp accompanied the crunch that ended the brief battle. Cole immediately kicked the puppy away, sending him bouncing, then sliding to a halt against the wall just to left of the door.

Nissa raised her fists and began pounding at him. Screaming, crying, defenseless...he found it all very amusing, looking down at her. "Cole likes it rough, girlie...", he said as he reached to undo a hook on his coveralls, "you'll see."

Before that strap had finished its fall, there was a low whistle and rush of air. Confused by the sound, Nissa ceased her struggle. Cole dropped to his knees, finding himself suddenly face-to-face with the child he'd been charged to raise as his own, to protect and nurture selflessly. All the ways he'd failed at that must have crossed his mind as he knelt there, a perverse grin still mocking the girl, unable to move. One last wet gasp drew her attention down. Down to the point protruding from his throat. A mixture of blood and saliva bubbling at the edges. Cole fell sideways then.

Aghast, Nissa lifted her hands to her mouth. She wanted so badly to scream, but nothing came. She saw poor Goody against the wall, "Goody? Good boy?", and realized she'd gone numb. Had she spoken? Had she wanted to?Before her mind could even begin to process all these horrors, Paulie stepped back into the shed, bow still drawn and aimed.

"This ain't none'o your doin', Nissa. None of it, your fault...mine neither. He brung it on himself, had it comin'." Still unable to share a coherent thought, she rapidly nodded her head, signaling her agreement. We got work to do now...plans to make. He gently lifted his quieted boy into his arms and began to tell her what she needed to do. As they spoke, she stroked Goody's side. It began to make sense, all of it. Finished, Nissa retrieved her treasure-bearing box and rose to leave. She was surprised to find that Paulie had already done so. Nissa would see him once more before putting this behind her, once and then, perhaps never again.

Many seasons have come and gone. Nissa, now a young woman, somewhere in her mid-twenties, has blossomed and grown into a proper lady, the apple of all the young men's eyes. She never married for reasons "most personal and private", so she says. Yet, she has a recurring dream of a man lifting her high overhead as he spins her round and round before placing her atop her favorite horse. That smile and the scar slicing through his left brow hold her captive until she wakes to a mist she can't quite grasp. This dream she mentions to none. The only tragedy to alter the course of her life since childhood was Momma having a stroke a few years back and much of her time is spent providing desperately needed care to her.

She sits on the porch every day, occasionally revisiting "the plan" and how small her role had actually been. Paulie had told her to give him what time he needed, but when she heard his whistling, and lame, impersonation of a Robin...or was it a Bluejay...no matter, that was her cue to distract her mom so he could slip into Cole's truck and drive it away, carrying some of his clothes and personal items Nissa had used the time to sneak out with. She'd watched through a window as he slipped behind the wheel and disappeared.

"Where is that crazy man going now? Supper's almost done and I was about to set the table. Made his favorite, too. Did he say anything to you, honey?" "Nope. He'll probly be right back though. Outta smokes or somethin', don't fret. I'll set the table for us." But Nissa knew.

Cole was gone without a trace. No sign of him at the shed the next day. Paulie had been thorough in dealing with what remained. What she didn't know was that Paulie's plan was to include him driving away for good. To this day, she's never seen him again.

She'd made a life for herself here. Got some horses. 'Socrates', 'DeMilo', and 'Sam', named for her father. Nissa always made time for them, always made time for the ones she loved. She managed to spare a little time for herself, too. Like I said, she would sit on her porch every day, but not just to sit. She was waiting.

Every so often, a vehicle would stop at the end of her lengthy drive, just off the highway. It changed over the years, of course, so many times, she gave up keeping track. Never knew what might show up next. It would just sit there. At first, it was a bit creepy. Each time she'd head down the drive, the engine would crank and the vehicle would pull away, leaving her bewildered, wondering why.

After a while, Nissa had an inkling of what it could mean, but never dared hope. She kept her basket handy and walked the fields each time it appeared, almost always in the Spring when the wildflowers bloomed. Today would provide an unexpected surprise as, sure enough, there it was. A newer model truck for once. And this time she heard it. The distant call of an old, familiar friend. Oh, it wasn't him, but so similar as to conjure the memory of one pair of flopping ears and that relentless tongue lapping at her face.

She closed her eyes, allowing her head to drift backward. She felt the breeze on her cheeks and a joy coaxed from a cherished memory filled her heart. The warm scent of wildflowers also like the summons of an old friend wafted into range. She stood as she reached for her basket and waved at the truck slowly pulling out of sight.

Nissa had crisscrossed these fields so often, she could have made the trip blindfolded. From one fragrant patch to the next, she gathered as many as she could carry, being unerringly led to one particular spot, as always. She used the time to remember the cute young boy who'd startled her so with his brash introduction. The same boy who'd presented that brave little soldier to her so proudly. The one who'd let her win a footrace because he believed it was what she needed from him. Oh, she knew from the start, but let him have what she believed he'd needed from her. The boy who gave up what he valued most to...well, we know.

She looked down to begin placing her lovingly gathered cashe, and there, on a cross crafted from an old floor plank, were the words she'd read so many times before. Like the truck she'd just seen, the paint was new, even if the message was not:

"HERE LIES GOODY, MY TRUEST FRIEND. HE DONE HIS BEST AND EARNED HIS REST. MAY JESUS HOLD HIM IN THE END."

Sam began to neigh in the distance, another message she couldn't ignore. She had responsibilities. Momma and the boys for now, but maybe one day...maybe one day soon...she still waited for so much more.

Terry G. Nunley

#terry g nunley #writers on tumblr #Nissa's Tale

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hasufin · 9 months

Text

Enshittification

This post is about search engines.

I'll get to that.

One of the relatively small home improvement projects on my plate is to replace the shutters.

Shutters, historically, were a necessary and functional element of a house which either served as the sole means of closing a window to the elements, or late as a way to protect the expensive and fragile glass of the windows.

Today, however, we retain them mostly out of tradition. Modern windows are made with tempered glass, multiple panes, and various coatings. So we do not actually need shutters (hurricane shutters are a different beast, but not what I am speaking of right now).

In fact, most shutters are purely decorative - simply screwed or nailed to the side of the house, with no hinge to close them. You'll only find functional shutters on historical buildings.

Personally, I don't much care for exclusively decorative elements. Which is not to say I don't like decoration, just that I prefer it be a functional part which is also aesthetically pleasing.

Unfortunately, a shutter has an effect: it causes discoloration of the siding. Or, more accurately, it prevents the siding under the shutter from becoming discolored. Either way, you can't simply remove shutters which have been up for any length of time unless you want to have a rather unsightly spot where there clearly WAS a shutter.

Thus, it was with some consternation that I observed a rather horny woodpecker completely destroying the shutters in the front of our house. At first I hoped it was salvageable, but he kept coming back, and there is nothing to be done for the damage he did. (And yes, he was horny: this was mating behavior, we don't have termites.)

Well. We had been thinking about replacing them: our new doors are black, the shutters are blue. which was helpful when we moved in, to distinguish our house from the other houses, but that's a non-issue to us now. And as repairs go, it could be worse. Right?

The first step was to determine the size of the shutters. No, they're not all the same size. There are common sizes, but one must check. And this is where we get to search engines.

I found that our existing shutters are 16.25" wide by 47" tall.

Something I have learned the hard way is, apparently the people building these houses were idiots who had acquired a large quantity of recreational drugs. They very often made wildly non-standard choices which cost substantially more, for no discernible reason. The double door opening in the back is 70" wide; standard is 72". That cost us a good $4000 more because we needed custom doors. The deck is made with 5/4 lumber (normal) which is nominal 4" wide (HOW??? You can't buy that!). To replace rotting deck board I have to either rip lumber to width, or route out divots in 2x4s.

And so, apparently, the shutters are NOT a standard size. They could have gone with a standard size. But they did not.

Understand, standardization is key to reducing construction costs. A complete idiot can build a rectangular 16'x 10' deck in an afternoon. A 15'x 13' deck with curves will take four times as long and require Actual Skill. And when you're talking whole units like shutters or doors, the materials cost goes way up: a 36" exterior door might run $250, while a 34" door will be around $900. And let's not even discuss a 35" door, which would have to be custom-made.

Which means that while a 14.5" shutter pair might run $50-$75 at Home Depot, and I could just walk in and pick them up, the ones I need are simply not available at Home Depot or Lowe's, and I must order from a specialty shop for only(!) twice the price. Delivery to occur between next Tuesday and the heat-death of the universe, please have a responsible adult available to sign for the delivery.

Except, I'm having a hard time finding the damned things at all.

The thing I am searching for:

"16.25 wide 47 tall black raised panel vinyl shutters". This is not some wildly out there thing. Common color, common style. Just an unusual width.

What am I getting? Wood shutters. Composite shutters. Louvered shutters. Every color except black. Oh, and each one is 14.5" wide.

Basically the search engines - and this isn't just Google, it's whatever they're using on the company websites, it's DuckDuckGo, it's Wayfair and Amazon - are all just going "Nah, he must want the common results for shutters."

So I'm annoyed at the woodpecker. And generally hateful of the builder.

But, honestly, Search engines were supposed to make it possible to find things online. They weren't supposed to hide what we wanted.

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 2 years

Text

In the Belly of the Beast: Part 2

Hm...It looks like no one’s down here.

Well, that makes sense. The security mainframe is hard to access after all. There’s no real need for standing guard with all the security measures.

Ok, so recap so we’re all sure...The things Emilia Feng needs for the Kerokuma Initiative are down here, right?

With Oliver’s virus in the system now, this will be our only chance to destroy it once and for all. We need to get this done as fast as possible before anyone catches on.

I’ll stay here and be the one to push the self-destruct button, or whatever we need to end this. You three will be tasked with infiltrating the security mainframe of the building, and destroying the central power. However, even that has super tight security.

*Makoto pulls up a set of instructions from his phone.

There’s a titanium door that’s impossible to access unless we get into a security room down here and press the button to open it, but said security room is behind a laser field. If we touch the laser, the alarms go off and we’re done for.

Alright, then here’s an idea. Toko and I will make our way down to the mainframe and get ready to wreck it.

We’ll be leaving the laser field and access to you, Akeru.

Alright...I really was looking forward to smashing the security up though...

Don’t misunderstand kid. We would happily let you if we could.

But you’re the only one agile and nimble enough to get past the laser field. You’re the lynchpin of this whole operation, so we’re trusting you not to get caught.

Well, when you put it like that...Fine, I’ll do it.

Good luck~

*Komaru kisses Akeru on the forehead.

Yeah, thanks.

...

*Ker-CHUNK!*

Hup!

*Akeru slides through a ventilation system and pries the grate off the wall.

Hey! Akeru! I can see you!

Oh, you can?

*She sees Makoto looking at her through a pane of glass.

Well then, Uncle Koto, watch a master at work!

B-Be careful Akeru! Don’t get a big head!

*Makoto’s sweat runs a mile a minute as he watches Akeru dance through the laser field. She comes very close to just grazing the lines, but despite her playfulness, she displays expert athletics and skill.

Hup! Hyah! Wooh! Woah! Yagh! Rogh! WAHOO!

Uuuugh I can’t watch!

*After a minute or two of backflips and stunts, Akeru makes it to the other side. She knocks on the glass to get Makoto to open his eyes.

You worry too much Uncle Koto. Look, we’re all good!

Oh thank god! Sorry, I guess I underestimated you.

Now hurry and get that door open.

Roger!

*Akeru crawls through another vent into the empty security room, and scans the desk for buttons. She easily identifies the one for the gate, and switches it on.

Alright mom’s. Crash that security grid.

*CHUNK!* *CHUNK!* *CHUNK!*

*A short distance away, the titanium doors allowing access to the mainframe clunk open.

Akeru did it!

Of course she did it. Now let’s get going.

*Toko and Komaru storm the mainframe.

This place is like a labyrinth...How are we supposed to know where to go?

Well, based on what is common knowledge, we should aim to go deeper in. The central security hub should be right at the center of the mainframe.

Ok...in that case...!

*The girls head towards the general direction that feels right, but they immediately run into another door.

Damn! There’s more!

I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a whole set of these doors. We’ll need to let Akeru know to-

*POW!*

EH!?

*Before Toko can finish her sentence, Komaru shoots the door with her hacking gun, after equipping a Move Bullet. The door opens with ease.

There we go. Let’s get moving.

...

What!?

You mean you could’ve just done that the whole time!? What was the point of letting Akeru slip past the laser field!?

I didn’t want to take away my girl’s moment of glory.

Besides, I didn’t know if it was gonna work without setting off any alarms...

Fine...whatever...let’s just move.

Ugh...Toko!

Yeah, I see it. Don’t touch those.

It’s gonna be tight...there’s not a lot of places you can put your feet here...

*Komaru and Toko shimmy along a narrow ledge to avoid stepping into an electric field and being electrocuted to death.

*FWOOSH!*

WOAH!

KOMARU!

*A sudden burst of wind blows out from behind Komaru, and nearly knocks her into the field. Toko grabs her by the back of her shirt to stop her falling. She then hoists her back up.

Phew...Thanks!

That was close.

Sorry...I...

That wasn’t your fault. Don’t worry about it.

*They get to the other side on more secure foothold.

Should’ve known this place had some extreme ventilation. I mean, it’s freezing in here.

Yeah...I don’t think it’s ventilation though...Despite how cold it is, it’s kinda hard to breathe.

You’re right actually...then...what’s going on?

Well, I’ve thought of something. While we’ve been exploring looking for the central energy supplier, we’ve passed by a lot of things that look familiar to me. Electric fields, fans, wires, platforms...

The type of stuff that you’d typically find in...well...

A computer...which means...

I think this entire building is one giant computer. Maybe it doesn’t look like it on the outside, but there’s no denying we’ve run into what are basically giant versions of PC components the entire time we’ve been in here.

You’re right. In fact, what we’re standing on now look suspiciously like steel cables.

*POW!* *POW!*

*Komaru blasts another door and opens it.

Honestly though, whether it’s a big computer or not, I don’t care to stick around and find out. Let’s just destroy it and go.

Right behind you.

Rgh...This is getting tight...

*The girls hoist themselves through a tunnel with connecting wires sprawled across the space. They struggle to squeeze themselves through and around them.

Come on, it’s not that tight. Maybe you’ve just put on a bit of weight.

Shush! I’m not fat, you’re just skinny! Maybe it’s my boobs getting in the way, did you think about that!?

If that IS the case, that just annoys me more...Here, take my hand.

*Toko pulls Komaru through, causing her to come stumbling out of the wires and into Toko’s arms.

Well, hello there~

Shut it you.

*Toko prods Komaru’s forehead with her finger, but smirks affectionately.

So...where to...huh?

What’s up?

...Is it just me or did it suddenly get...kinda warm...?

!!!?

TOKO! MOVE!

GEGH!

*WHIIIIIIIII!*

*Komaru grabs Toko and the girls dive out of the room. They do so just in time, as the room suddenly glows with heat and radiation.

Agh! We almost got microwaved!

Damn! We need to hurry! If the computer’s heating up like that, it means it’s being used for something!

In that case, let’s go this way!

*Komaru points to a long winding tunnel that goes downwards.

Well, this might take us where we need to go, but...

Come on, you said we didn’t have much time, right? Let’s go!

WooooOOOAAGH!

WEEEE!

*Komaru practically shoves Toko into the tunnel, and they slide down it like a long, dark, winding slide.

Hey! Do you think-!?

Yep, this has gotta be it!

*Toko and Komaru arrive in a large, spacious area, with 7 large, vibrating structures around them.

These have gotta be the cores to the whole computer. We need to destroy them to help Makoto get to where he needs to be.

Yeah...but...are we sure we wanna do this?

Why is it NOW that you try to pull things back?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not leaving here until these things are demolished. It took way too much effort to get here. I’m just trying to consider our options.

This entire labyrinth is the inside of one big computer, so if we take out these cores, it won’t just open the doors and shut down the security, it’ll take out power in the whole building. Are we sure that’s a risk we can take.

Heh...Look at you, considering all your options for once.

You’re right, but also...I imagine Leona’s already planned ahead of time for that. And even if she hasn’t, there’s no way that Four, Oliver or any of the other Freedom Foundation members didn’t. I trust them to have a plan.

...Yeah, I guess. But we’ll need to dip as fast as possible as soon as we do this.

Yep. But in the meantime...

*BZZZT!*

*Toko grabs her taser and shocks herself.

Ooh! Is it MY turn now!? Good! Let’s get cracka-lacking!

Yeah!

*SMASH!* *BAM!* *SLICE!* *BOOM!*

*Komaru and Jill then go to town on the cores.

*BOOM!*

Huh!?

*ZRRRK!* CHEOOOW* *FIZZ!* *BOFF!*

*COUGH!* *SPLUTTER!*

*The building suddenly goes dark, and the door blocking Makoto off from the project room opens. Lots of smoke and sparks from the malfunctioning technology spews out into his face, causing him to splutter.

Welp, looks like they did it...

That’s my mom...s...

Akeru, don’t wait for me. Go back upstairs, and find Byakuya and Leona. Don’t get caught. Those soldiers are gonna be on high alert.

Got it! But...what about Toko and Komaru?

They’ll be fine. They’ll find a way out somehow.

In that case, I’ll see you up top.

*Akeru leaps up and vanishes into a vent. Makoto looks towards the smokey door and cracks his knuckles.

Time to ruin Emilia’s fucking day...!

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #danganronpa 1 #dr1 #danganronpa ultra despair girls #drae #danganronpa blowback #drb #makoto naegi #komaru naegi #toko fukawa #akeru yozora #into the ocean arc

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sinner-as-saint · 3 years

Text

I saw you and I knew.

Biker!Bucky x Reader AU

Run-through: You met Bucky unexpectedly at an unfamiliar bar one night - one of your last nights of freedom before your parents marry you off to some rich, young man. Bucky happened to be so different from all the men you had dated or you were used to seeing that it was a little bit of a surprise how reckless and open he was. You had been subconsciously looking for a way out of the situation you were in for days, so when Bucky makes you a rather unusual proposal; you accept immediately. And it ends up being one of the best things you ever agreed to.

Themes: smut, fluff,

a/n: remember this Bucky? Yeah, me too.

The moment you stepped into the bar, you felt all eyes on you.

Not in a bad way, more like in an intrigued way.

A couple of steps in and you realized why; there was no one but bikers in this club. Large, built, mean looking men. But judging by the sound of laughter and the bouncers scattered around the room, you felt oddly safe in the environment.

You went up to the counter and ordered yourself a drink. Once you found a seat in the less crowded area of the bar, you settled in next to the large window pane; looking out at the passing cars while sipping on your drink. The sun would set soon so the sky was all pink, and-

You felt a tap on your shoulder. “This seat taken?” A male voice spoke up behind you.

You placed your bottle down and turned to face him. You were aware that you did stare at him for a while. How could you not? Dark, slightly long hair, worn out leather jacket, and tattoos… a lot of them, peeking through his collar and around his wrists. And a perfect face. He gave you a slight smirk when he noticed that you were checking him out but you soon recovered, your heart racing.

“No, it’s not.” You gestured to the seat across from you, which he then walked over to.

You watched him, how he moved so confidently. You kept watching as he placed his own beer down, and took his leather jacket off to reveal a loose, ripped t-shirt underneath, as well as his muscular arms; one of them metal and glistening in the dimmed lights of the bar. He folded the jacket carelessly into a ball and placed it down on the table before taking a seat in front of you, leaning back and placing his muscular, tattooed arm over the seat of the booth. You noticed his pierced ears then.

It almost felt like a strip show. He had barely said enough to you and you were already feeling a little hot, with him staring at you.

“I’ve never seen you around here before.” He said, and something about his ease, and the softness of his tone, despite his rather mean and dangerous appearance, chased away the little bit of awkwardness which was forming in between you too. It soon vanished.

You licked your lips and answered, “It’s my first time here actually.” You gave him a polite smile which he returned, giving you the same look that everyone gave you for the first nanoseconds you walked in - an intrigued look.

He leaned forward, and gently toyed with your car keys laying on the table top. You got a whiff of his scent. You expected him to smell like cigarettes but he smelt like some fading, strong and expensive cologne. Very manly. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Princess?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him slightly, not minding the nickname. “How’d you know?”

He chuckled, and the sound echoed in your head. He sounded so boyish when he laughed, it warmed your heart for some reasons. Something about him screamed trouble, and recklessness and danger.

“You drive a Benz which no one here does, you’re drinking a martini while everyone is having cheap beers and you’re dressed like a classy lady in a place filled with leather and chains. So tell me, am I right?” He pointed out, his tone cocky and confident like one would expect.

You leaned back into your seat as well. “You’re judging me.” You pointed out. Funny, you thought you were somewhat blending in here with your little black dress - but clearly not.

He laughed again, making you crack a little smile. “Princess, look around. You don’t belong here. So tell me, what’s your story? How did you end up in a place like this?”

You sighed. “I was just… driving around, and I ran out of fuel not far from here. So I called for my chauffeur and didn’t want to wait by the side of the road until he arrived so I figured I could get a drink while waiting.”

He looked you dead in the eyes while you talked. Nodding at each bit of information. “I meant your real story, Princess. You drove a long way, why? I see it in your eyes. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

He was reading you like you were his favorite book. And you found that quite… interesting because no one was ever able to do that normally. It felt intimate.

“And why should I tell you?”

“Because you want to. You need a friend, and I’m not half bad, am I?” Cocky, as expected.

You chuckled. “You won’t get it.”

He raised an eyebrow. A warning. “What is it? Your conservative and rich father won’t give you your pocket money in thousands this month?”

Despite the words, he managed to get yet another laugh out of you. “I earn my own money, thank you.”

“I’ll believe you. Then what is it? Your snobbish, rich playboy boyfriend is acting up?”

And yet another chuckle left your lips. “You seem to have issues with people who are well-off.”

He smirked. “Trust me, I don’t. I just want to figure you out.”

“Why?”

“Because your eyes are telling me that you’re sad. And that you’ve been contained for too long. You want to be freed. Am I wrong?”

Your lips parted at the accuracy of his words. “No, you’re not.” You lowered your eyes to the table, but he was quick to reach out with his metal arm and grab you gently by the chin. He tilted your head just enough so you could look at him.

“What is it, angel?” He asked softly.

“I… I don’t want to go home.” You whispered, your voice tired and low.

“Okay. Parents?” He spoke like he could relate.

You nodded and he gently let go of your face. “Parents.” You confirmed. “They want me to marry one of their friend’s son because according to them it’ll be good for the both of us. And you know, for each of the families’ businesses.”

He frowned. “You don’t like him, I assume.”

You sighed. “I don’t know him. He’s a good man according to my mother, who also hasn’t seen him since we were kids. Apparently I met him once or twice but I was too young back then to remember…” you sighed again, “It doesn’t matter anymore.” You shook your head, picking up your glass and taking yet another sip. “ Whoever he is, I can’t say no.”

He scoffed. “Yes you can.”

You chuckled, dryly. “You don’t understand. My dad will make my life a living hell if-,”

“Who cares what he thinks? He married the one he loved, didn’t he? Then why not let you find love on your own as well?” He did make sense.

You smiled sadly, thinking of your parents and their marriage. “I don’t think so.”

He stopped midway through picking his beer bottle up. “What?” he asked, then went back to picking it up again, bringing it to his pink lips.

“My dad. I don’t think he married out of love.” You let out a quiet scoff, “I don’t think my mom did either. They just realized that that would be the best for the both of them, I suppose. Now that I think about it, I don’t think they ever truly loved each other at any point.” You tilted your head while looking out at the passing cars out the window. “Mom always told me that marriage isn’t always about love, it’s about convenience.”

He let out a shameless chuckle. “I’m sorry, but what a bunch of bullshit! You believe her?” He asked in disbelief.

“It’s all I’ve ever been told all my life. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice anymore, might as well.”

He frowned at you, setting his bottle down to give you his full attention. “Come on, Princess. You can’t be serious. You can’t give up on love just because your parents did.”

That earned him a smile from you. “You sound like you know a lot about love.” You leaned forward, placing your elbow on the table, resting your chin on your fist. “It’s your turn, tell me, who has you under their unescapable love spell?” It was surprising how easy it was to talk to him. Almost felt like you had known him all your life.

He laughed again, that same boyish look on his face. “Nah, none of that. But I do know what it’s like to be contained, and I also know what it’s like to be finally free, with no worries about family pressure or expectations and let me tell you, Princess, it’s the best feeling in the world.”

That sounded exquisite. It sounded like… like everything you wanted right there and then. To not bother about what mom and dad might think and live for yourself for however long you wanted to.

“And what gives you that freedom? Riding down the highway at full speed on your mean bike?” You sassed.

You watched how his eyes lit up. “You’re right. And that’s exactly what you need, Princess. Come on, let’s go!”

Before you could process anything, he grabbed your hand and stood up. All you could do was quickly grab your purse and keys and you went along with him. You only realized what you were doing once you stepped outside.

“Wait! I- I…” You were stumbling over your words. A million thoughts rushing through your head all at once. And the piercing pair of blue eyes staring deep into yours weren’t helping at all.

He walked up to you. “It’s your life. They can’t tell you how to live it. You have every right to find love on your own, and if you don’t want to marry what’s his face then don’t. Parent or not, they can’t do that to you. Come on, let’s go before some old, broody chauffeur gets here.”

He tugged on your arm gently, walking towards the many bikes which were parked outside the bar.

“But, I- I’m supposed to leave tomorrow, to see the guy. I’m… I can’t just disappear. Where are we even going? I just met you and I- I don’t even know your name. Besides, you had alcohol. You can’t-,”

“Apple juice.” He stopped, and turned around to look at you. He repeated, “Apple juice. Don’t tell anyone.”

You looked at him like he was speaking another language. “What?”

“The bartender is a cool guy, I told him I don’t consume alcohol when I ride so he poured apple juice in beer bottles for me so that I can mingle with the crowd but also get home safe.” He explained.

You giggled uncontrollably at his answer and he lowered his blushing face. “That was funny, but I don’t believe you at all, I-,” you cut yourself off as you laughed; quite unladylike.

Without another word said, he circled his arm around you and pulled you into him, and his lips were on yours in less than a second. He kissed you deeply, thoroughly. Still gentle, but passionately. He held you by the neck with his metal hand and you melted in his embrace. You kissed him back and you heard a little moan escape his lips - sending shivers down your spine and making your heart flutter, and other places throb. He teased you by biting down on your lip, making you gasp as his tongue soothed it right after. He pulled you closer, pressing you against him even more, kissing you deeper if that was possible.

Your hands found themselves around his neck, your fingers sliding into his hair. He chuckled against your lips once he noticed that you were getting a little breathless. “Now tell me. What do I taste like, Princess?” He whispered against your lips, his voice sending shivers throughout your body.

Your face felt really hot at his question and only then did you realize that he did in fact taste tangy, and sweet. “Apple.”

He smiled against your lips before kissing you deeply again. “Told you. Now come on, trust me and let’s go. You can go home later tonight, or tomorrow morning. I’ll drop you wherever you wanna go. But right now, come with me.”

Fuck it.

“Yes.” You agreed. He gave you a big smile and tugged you along once again. You spoke up again. “And if you plan on killing me, just make it quick. Please. And don’t do weird things to me after I’m dead. Definitely do not feed me to animals, or humans for that matter. And don’t-”

He cut you off with another kiss once you reached his bike. “Shh.” He laughed. “I won’t do any of that. Now come on, put these on.” He handed you his jacket from earlier and a helmet.

You put those on quickly, not giving yourself the chance to overthink and prevent yourself from living a little. Once you climbed onto his bike, you realized that you would be pressed up against his back quite a bit. You didn’t mind it, it just made your heart race a little. His leather jacket felt nice and cool against your skin.

“Hold on tight, Princess. It won’t be that long of a ride. But it’ll be great, trust me.”

You nodded, and he chuckled at how adorable you looked with his huge, black helmet on. “Don’t kill us.”

“I won’t, angel.”

He kicked the engine to life. It roared so loudly that you couldn’t help but feel the adrenaline rush already. You giggled as he drove off, away from the pub, away from where you had left your car, away from where your chauffeur was supposed to pick you up. Away.

You felt the wind against your bare legs and parts of your face. Cold, rushing - making you forget. You wrapped your arms tight around his waist and tipped your head a little, looking up at the saturated, pink sky, the stars had started showing faintly and suddenly you realized how much of your life you had missed while chasing the dreams your parents had assigned you to chase.

Your friends would often talk of reckless nights back in university, but you never got to experience those because you were always busy studying to make sure your parents remained proud of you.

But you were now. You were on a mean bike with a drop dead gorgeous man, riding down the highway while the sun set in the background. You felt alive. Slowly, you loosened your arms from around his waist, lifting them away from his body. You lifted your arms upwards, feeling your hands tear through the icy winds and you let out a genuine laugh.

You noticed he slowed down a little when you did so. You let your arms up for some more time before you lowered them and wrapped them around his waist again. You inched closer and pressed your chest to his back, feeling his warmth seep through the many layers of clothing.

“Thank you.” You whispered close to his ear. You knew he heard you even if he didn’t respond right away.

“Wanna see the sunset better?” he asked, barely a second later.

“Yes, please!”

About ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of what seemed like a motel. You got off the bike once he came to a stop and he did too. He helped you take the helmet off and immediately grabbed your hand and ran towards the motel.

You followed, giggling like a kid. “Where are we going?”

“The roof. Come on, quick.”

He answered and led both of you to what seemed to be some sort of fire escape. You climbed the metal stairs as fast as you could, not more than a few steps behind him until you reached the roof. It was filled with empty cans, cigarette butts and what not but it also gave you a view to die for.

The sky had turned orangish by now, the sun was halfway down the horizon and you were mesmerized. You couldn’t look away. The sky darkened with each second, and you felt too much at the same time. You wanted to run. And never come back. You wanted bike rides everyday. You wanted to take the time and admire each sunset like this. You wanted to not worry about anything for a while.

You felt strong arms wrap around you from behind. Then he placed his chin on your shoulder, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel.” Only then did you realize that you had a tear slowly falling down your cheek.

You wiped it away and kept staring at the sky, watched it change colors. Your racing heart calmed down and a certain body heat wrapped around you, comforting you better than any blanket ever could.

You turned in his arms, facing him once the sky turned a darker shade of blue when the sun had set completely. Another tear escaped your eye. He caught this one before it fell down your cheek. He looked down at you with a soft look in his eyes. It almost made your heart hurt.

“I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want any of it.” You whispered, keeping your eyes on his neck, admiring his tattoos through your teary eyes. You couldn’t tell what they were just yet, but they looked incredible on his tan skin.

“Then don’t.” He answered, easily. “Don’t go home right away. Don’t marry him if you don’t want to. Stay.” He whispered the last bit, his metal arm reaching up to cup your face. “You might just be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You giggled through the tears. “So this is where you bring all the girls?” You asked, your tone much more playful and teasing.

He shook his head, laughing quietly. “I don’t. I don’t even live in this town. I have a family thing I need to attend in a day or two, so I was just passing by. I got a room for a couple of nights and boom, now here we are.”

You nodded slowly. “Here we are.” You whispered back, your eyes flicking down to his lips a couple of times before looking back up into his eyes.

He gave you a faint smile before leaning in for a kiss again, sighing once his lips touched yours like he had been craving it. You wrapped your arms around him, kissing him back. He kissed you recklessly, tugging and biting your lip, allowing his hands to slide up and down your side and he tilted your head to the side, stroking deeper into your mouth with his tongue.

“Let’s go.” He murmured against your lips before kissing them again.

“Where?”

“Downstairs.” He kissed along your jaw until his mouth reached your ear. He gave you a kiss and you visibly trembled in his arms. “It’s my turn to see what you taste like.” He whispered, blunt and hot.

Your face felt really hot, again. And when he pulled away, he had a handsome smirk on his pretty face. You got over the shyness and leaned in to kiss him again, aggressively. He chuckled into your mouth and pulled away before tugging you along as he took the stairs again, leading the two of you downstairs.

The night was properly dark by the time you got to the front of the motel, both of you unable to keep your hands off each other, stopping multiple times to push one another against the wall and make out like there’s no tomorrow.

There were not many people in sight. You could hear murmurs of muffled conversations coming from the restaurant which was attached to the motel, and a group of bikers were having a chat and smoking out in the parking lot but that was all.

He led you to his room, unlocked the door and pulled you inside, both of you giggling and moaning as you kissed like horny teenagers.

He pulled away again, “Oh and, my name’s Bucky. Remember that when you’re moaning later.” He whispered breathlessly against your lips as he slammed the door shut behind the two of you and wrapped his arms around you immediately, pulling you closer as though he needed you like he needed air.

“I’m Y/N. You remember that too.” You moaned into the kiss and shrugged his leather jacket off as quickly as possible, eager to feel his skin on yours. You helped him take his shirt off, tossing it aside carelessly. You briefly let your hands roam around his torso, feeling each indent and firm muscle, your heart racing with each inch of skin you explored.

He unzipped your dress while walking the two of you backwards, and by the time you made it to the queen sized bed you were both left in just your underwear.

Bucky pushed you down on the bed, it was surprisingly soft and comfortable. He was on top of you not even a second later. You whined when he moved to kiss down your neck, nibbling on your skin and leaving dark red marks behind. You wrapped your legs around him, moving your hips against him slowly, grinding on him out of desperation and he chuckled against your skin. “Eager, are we?” he whispered and peppered your neck with soft kisses.

You moaned when his hands reached up to wrap around your breasts, fondling and teasing you through the lacy bra. He moaned against your skin as your fingers slid through his hair and tugged at his roots.

“Bucky…” You dragged his name out, squirming under him as he took his sweet time kissing down your body.

“Hmm?” He acted oblivious as he took your underwear off and tossed them on the floor as he settled himself in between your legs properly. His handsome, perfect face just inches away from your dripping core.

You whined. “I want you, please…”

He chuckled, kissing your inner thighs. “I know, angel. I know.” His warm breath fanned your sensitive skin as he spoke, and he noticed the way the goosebumps erupted all over your skin. He looked up at you for a quick second, scanning your face.

You held your upper body up on your elbows by now, looking down at him with your bottom lip in between your teeth. He sent you a shameless wink before leaning in and kissing your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease. He teased your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than earlier.

A pressing need to release formed deep inside you as you felt his tongue stroked your most sensitive parts. “You taste better than I imagined…” Bucky chuckled as he looked up at you and found you with your eyes shut, head thrown back in pleasure.

He grinned to himself, glad that he was the one bringing you such pleasure. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to him. He placed his mouth back on you again, and licked in between your wet folds, making you whine as he tasted you. His touch was slow, pleasurably agonizing. “Please…” you cried out, whimpering and begging.

“Oh?” He taunted. “But I’m not quite done, so don’t you come yet angel.” He whispered against your wet skin. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin, making you hiss in pleasure. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you, one drop at a time. But Bucky didn’t let none of it go to waste, he leaned in and latched his mouth onto your core, sucking and licking and teasing you. Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

He watched how you lost control under his touch; legs shaking as he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue. His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud. He had you coming undone all over his mouth in no time.

“That’s a good girl… cum for me, Princess.”

You were gasping for air in no time, your body squirming under his. Bucky kissed his way up your body again. He gave you a brief kiss on the lips then lifted off you for just a moment to get rid of his underwear and grab a condom from the drawer and put it on. Once done, he was hovering over your naked body again.

Bucky’s body settled in between your legs comfortably again, and he leaned in to kiss you on the nose and then down to your lips. You smiled through the kiss as he pulled you even closer. You could feel his thick and hard cock resting against your thighs. He touched you wherever he could; letting his hands linger at your breasts and taking his sweet time; caressing and kissing your skin. His hands slipped in between your legs with ease; caressing your inner thighs as he went.

You moaned into the kiss; his touch was slow, and gentle and enticing but also fiery. He ran his fingers up and down your folds, gathering and smearing your arousal around. He stared into your eyes, his face still dangerously close to yours. “You okay, angel?” he asked. His voice strained and deep, gravelly with lust.

“Yes… please, I need you.” You whispered against his mouth. You were burning up under him.

Bucky pushed his tongue into past your lips while he pushed his erected cock past your tight entrance. You immediately lifted your legs up to wrap them around his waist like earlier. You moaned quietly as he pushed into you. He grunted once he filled you up entirely, and gave you a couple of seconds to adjust. He grabbed both your hands, laced your fingers together with his and pinned your interlaced hands down on the bed, above your head.

He pulled out and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to keep quiet. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear. “It’s okay, angel. Let me hear you.” He whispered, groaning by the end and let go of your hands to hold your body.

He gripped your waist and pushed deeper into you. You heard him gasp and swear under his breath as he rocked into you. Your nails sank into his skin, around his shoulders; which you held onto for dear life as he pounded into you. He kissed you, bit your lips, kissed your open mouth, and shoved his tongue past your lips while he rammed into you; and you never once complained.

Your legs trembled around his waist, he thrust deeper into you, and in the daze he was in, he mumbled right in your ear about how good you felt. The sound of his moans and grunts sent tingles dancing down your spine.

Never in a million years did you ever think that you would find yourself in a motel room, having mind blowing sex with a hottie you met about an hour ago, but here you were. And you loved each moment. Your back arched off the bed as you felt a familiar warmth washing over you. Bucky growled and bit down on your shoulder to keep himself from making any loud noises while he fucked you. He was relentless. And you loved it.

“Cum for me, angel. Come all over my cock…”

Your moans got louder as your walls clenched violently around him, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure washed over you. You gasped, trying to calm your racing heart but he wasn’t done with you yet. Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips. He kissed the back of your neck.

“More.” He growled against your skin and pushed your face down against the pillows, making your ass stick out for him. He gripped each side of your hips, tightly. He pushed his cock into you without a word said; earning a sinful moan out of you. He groaned and grunted as he filled you up again; your butt cheeks pressing into his pelvic bone as he pounded into you.

You moaned out loud at the new sensation of him rocking into you from behind. Bucky’s hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm of his hand against your lower abdomen. He liked the rush of excitement which coursed through him each time he felt his cock deep within you.

You felt him quicken his pace. “Fuck…” he moaned.

You tightened around him, and he groaned, pounding into you; growling and mumbling swear words under his breath. You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you could barely hold back anymore. His other hand reached around and toyed with your folds; his fingers furiously rubbed the skin around your clit and made you tremble and whimper again.

“Bucky… please,” You moaned, craving more and more of him.

With a few more strokes of his thick cock, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls. You tightened around him, feeling the burning hot need to cum grow hotter and hotter inside you until it exploded. You came with a loud moan, gushing all around him. Bucky came right after you; buried deep within you – growling and mumbling swear words under his breath.

His soft kisses are the last thing you remember feeling before you snuggled up to his warm body under the sheets and drifted off to sleep without a single care in the world for the first time in a long time.

---

You laid your head on his bare chest, a thin white sheet barely covering either of you properly. The sun was coming up and you could tell that your phone would be blowing up by now if you hadn’t turned it off the night before. You quickly chased those thoughts away, you didn’t want to think about anyone this morning.

Just Bucky.

You lifted your head up slowly so as not to disturb him but when you looked up you found him staring down at you with a soft smile on his face. “Hi.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and strained.

He chuckled, pushing some of your hair out of your face. “Hey angel. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He asked, concern written all over his face for a moment.

You shook your head. “I’m okay.” You lowered your head again, placing your ear right on top of his heart. You let out a sigh. You knew you wouldn’t be able to escape your family forever and your father will track you down and you would have to explain yourself, possibly even marry whoever they ask you to but this right now, last night and this morning - you would cherish that forever.

You lazily ran your fingers up and down Bucky’s tattooed arm wishing for a different reality, while he played with your hair. You gently traced the lines and curves of ink on his skin, some were hard to decipher because they overlapped with the others. Some words you could make out, some you couldn’t. A few of the discreet, smaller tattoos looked like he had done them himself, and their messiness made you giggle. Like the poorly done smiley face on the inside of his wrist, and the fading initials next to them: j.b.b.

You froze. Hang on…

“Bucky?” You felt like you would explode with the amount of emotions and thoughts which rushed inside your head.

“Yes Princess?” You could hear the sleep in his voice.

“What’s your last name?” You asked, anticipation building inside of you and almost choking you. It couldn’t be… could it?

“Barnes. Why?” He answered, looking down at you with confusion all over his face meanwhile you looked like you had seen a ghost.

You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Let me guess, your real name is James. And your father has a very close friend and fellow businessman named Y/L/N?”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Yes. How did you-,”

You got up and straddled him, pinning him down under you. He didn’t mind the nudity, quite the contrary actually. “Bucky! You’re the guy I’m supposed to marry! You’re James Buchanan Barnes!” You went on to tell him your full name and you watched how the realization hit him just as hard as it hit you.

“Oh…” His smirk faded for a moment as he processed what you had just said, before it formed again. “Well in that case…” He flipped the two of you around and pinned you down under him just like he had last night. “It’s nice to finally meet you, future wife.” He leaned in for another kiss.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #biker!bucky #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes

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xjoonchildx · 3 years

Text

snapshot | jhs x reader

summary: after a day at the beach, hoseok has some surprises in store for his longtime love

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, smut, fluff OH MY GOD SO MUCH FLUFF y'all i apologize

word count: 4.7K

notes: this fic is a commission fic for the lovely @wwilloww as part of the @armyadvocates fundraising initiative to stop hate crimes against AAPI. miss willow asked for an old house, candles and soft smut as well as a mystery box. i did my best to deliver on all counts because willow is amazing and deserves all good things.

thanks go to @hobi-gif @ladyartemesia and @btsarmy9593 for beta reading parts of this story, thanks so much for keeping me on track ladies! a very special shoutout to @sahmfanficbts who helped me come up with a very *key* part of this plot.

warnings: no one dies? no one is in danger of dying? who am i? standard smut, unprotected sex. liberal sunscreen use. low air quality due to paint fumes and sawdust. references to yoongi, who we can assume is cranky offscreen, references to @untaemedqueen first suggestion of what was in the box.

Warm.

Hoseok is so warm right now, inside and out. He stretches his long body out on the length of his beach lounger, enjoying the feeling of the sun beating down on his skin. His buzz is mellow and pleasant. He lets his eyes drift shut, lulled into a lazy calm by the sounds he can hear all around him.

The steady lap of the waves against the shore. Kids laughing as they run around on the sand. Off in the distance, a bluetooth speaker thumps out a song that’s too far away for him to recognize. And after a few minutes, another sound.

Your bright laughter, carried to him on the breeze.

God, he loves that sound.

“You are such a lightweight,” you tease. Hoseok can hear the smile in your voice. “Two beers and you pass out on me.”

He cracks one eye open to find you standing beside his lounger. The early evening sunlight streams through the strands of your dark hair and warms your bronzed skin, bathing you in a kind of golden halo. He gazes up at you, languid and content.

“I’m not passed out,” he argues with a slow grin. “I’m relaxing. Come relax with me.”

Hoseok doesn’t give you a chance to accept his offer, leaning up to grab your hand and pull you down into the narrow space beside him. You laugh when he wraps his arms and legs around you like a starfish, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“I’m just enjoying the perfect day,” he murmurs, nosing at the back of your ear, “With my perfect girl.”

“Flatterer.”

Hoseok can’t see you rolling your eyes, but he knows you’re doing it anyway. Just like he can’t see the way you flush and he knows you’re doing that, too.

“We should eat,” you say after a while, shivering when he strokes the pads of his fingers up the soft skin of one bare leg. “Grab something before we have to take the bikes back.”

Hoseok hums under his breath as he slides his palm up the curve of your thigh, boldly searching for trouble under the hem of your sundress. You bat his hand away and he laughs, hugging you tighter.

“Alright,” he agrees in a whisper, ghosting his lips down the nape of your neck. You jolt in his arms when he sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, nipping playfully. “Just a quick bite.”

There’s not much difference between a sundress and a négligée is there?

Certainly not from where Hoseok is sitting, anyway.

He studies you as he rides close behind, watching the way your hair whips in the breeze as you pedal. One delicate sundress strap slips down your sun-warmed shoulder, exposing just a bit more of your back. Then the wind grabs a hold of your sheer skirt, lifting it just long enough for Hoseok to get a glimpse of the pretty white panties underneath.

God, he loves those panties.

Could stare at them all day, really.

But instead he forces himself to pedal faster and take the lead, grinning when you take note of his advance and glare. It’s for the best because while you think this is just some meandering evening ride, he’s the only one who knows where you’re really headed. For the best because if he falls off his bike and breaks his face because he’s too busy staring at your ass, the entire night will be ruined before it has the chance to start.

It’s quiet on this street just a few blocks from the shore.

Dolmeori Beach is rockier, more wooded than the beaches preferred by most tourists and that’s always suited Hoseok just fine. When he was a kid, he’d steal away when the weather was warm and hop the train here from Gwangju any chance he got.

It’s always felt like his place, his personal piece of sea and sand.

Pine trees loom high over the pavement, canopies so dense they block out much of the waning sunlight streaming down from above. The shade beneath the leaves makes the heat bearable, but it also makes it hard to judge the time. Hoseok steals a quick look at his watch.

Right on schedule. He hopes Yoongi followed his instructions to the letter.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” he teases over his shoulder, and he chuckles at the sound of frustration you make as you pedal faster to catch up. It takes a few seconds for you to coast into position at his side.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” you fuss, “Wanna clue me in?”

Hoseok turns his head to smile at you, sly like a fox.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

The realtor had said the place would need a little love.

Turns out, it needs a lot more than a little. But Hoseok was able to see right past the weathered wooden porch and salt air-worn paint right away. When he found this place online, he knew it was the one.

He slows his bike to a stop as the two of you make your approach, taking note of the warm light that glows just behind the frosted glass pane in the front door. Looks like Yoongi came through.

“What is this place?” you ask, skidding to a stop beside him. You stand over your bike on tiptoes as you survey the house, brow knit in confusion.

“It’s a surprise,” Hoseok grins, hopping off his bike. He shoves the kickstand into place and offers you his hand, which you accept with a suspicious smile. “Wanna go in?”

“Yeah sure,” you shrug. “We’ve probably already stolen these bikes. What’s a little breaking and entering on top of that?”

Hoseok laughs, leading the way to the front door.

He cringes when the porch floorboards creak loudly beneath his feet, making a mental note to put that project next on his to-do list. You stand with arms crossed, watching silently as he crouches down to lift the mat at the front door, fingers feeling beneath for the concealed key.

You stop him with fingers wrapped around his forearm when he gets to his feet.

“Wait,” you whisper frantically. “We can’t just walk into someone’s house, Hoseok.”

He chuckles before leaning down to kiss the adorable confusion right off your face. Then he slides his key into the lock and pushes the door wide open.

“Not someone’s house,” he corrects, watching you peer skeptically inside.

You step slowly through the threshold and scan the candle-lit front room before turning to him with wide eyes.

“Our house.”

“You bought a beach house.”

It’s the third time you’ve said it by now, and not once has the hushed observation been directed at Hoseok. You said it when you brushed your fingertips over the freshly-dried spackle on the living room wall, said it again as you passed your hand over the base coat of stain on the mantle over the fireplace.

You say it again as you turn to him, jaw slack with disbelief.

“You bought a beach house.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok admits sheepishly, uncertain of your reaction. He tries to see the room the way you must see it now, candles and tools scattered across the tables, floors covered in drop cloths, cans of paint and plaster stacked up in the corners.

Yoongi had done a decent job of clearing up most of the clutter before he left, but judging by the astonishment on your face, he’s probably been romanticizing the mess in here.

He’d really hoped to have a lot more done the first time he brought you here, but he’s learned the hard way that some home renovation projects don’t go as smoothly in real life as they do on YouTube. The process has been a bit of trial and error, with a lot more error than he’d originally counted on.

“I know it doesn’t look like a whole lot right now,” he says, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, “But it’s going to look great when I’m done. Yoongi helped me sand all week.”

You shake your head like you’re coming out of a daze.

“Oh my god Hoseok, no -- ” you vow with a shaky laugh, “ -- no, this is incredible. This is amazing. I’m in shock.”

“Yeah?” Hoseok grins, relief melting over him. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted -- ”

“ -- Wait,” you interrupt, one brow quirked high as you step closer. “You said… you said something important. You said this was our house.”

“Did I?”

You narrow your dark eyes at him and he chuckles uncomfortably, nerves kicking in for the first time tonight. The feeling -- and the occasion both call for more booze. Which he’s prepared for.

“Are you going to give me a tour?” you ask.

“Later,” he says. “After.”

“After what, Hoseok? You’re killing me slowly with all this suspense.”

“Hang out here for a second,” he instructs, ducking into the small kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes him no time at all to find the bottle of Moet he’s stashed in the fridge and the clean champagne flutes tucked away into the corner of his dutifully-dusted kitchen cabinet. He double-checks the contents of the box on the counter, making sure everything is in place.

Then he takes a deep breath.

Your brows lift in surprise when he walks back into the room with that box in his hands. You watch him set it down on the floor, saying nothing when he turns back to retrieve the champagne and glasses.

When he finally returns, you’re on your knees -- examining the package. Lips pursed thoughtfully as you press your fingers to the gold flecks on the fabric lid.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, flicking your gaze up to find his. “I have so many questions right now.”

You look so damned beautiful in this candlelight -- like you brought your golden glow from the beach indoors. Like you absorbed the sun’s rays and you’re emitting them now like some kind of superpower.

“Have a drink with me,” he murmurs, “And I’ll answer them.”

Something in the room shifts then; the temperature changes. The silly fun of the afternoon evaporates, leaving behind something heavy and heady. Hoseok knows you feel it too, when your half-smile slowly drops and you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

“Okay,” you agree softly, “Let’s have a drink.”

You watch him with those focused dark eyes as he pops the champagne. The drink bubbles over the lip of both flutes as he pours, on account of his haste and shaky hands. Then you take one of the glasses in hand and offer him the other, which he quickly accepts.

“To this surprise housewarming,” you declare, raising your flute for a toast.

Hoseok clinks his glass against yours, taking note of the way you watch him carefully over the lip of your glass as you’re tilting back the flute to take a sip. He decides he can’t keep you -- or himself -- in suspense any longer.

“You know how special you are to me, right?”

You make a face.

“Did you bring me to your new house to break up with me?”

Hoseok’s startled laugh turns into a cough and tears prick his eyes as champagne bubbles blaze a path up his sinuses.

“Yes,” he says dryly, once he’s managed to collect himself. “I figured dumping you by candlelight sounded like the most romantic option.”

You tip your head back when you laugh, light playing off the curve of your neck, your collarbones, the tiny gold pendant that sits in the pretty dip at the base of your throat.

God, he loves your skin.

Hoseok looks at you long and hard before lifting his flute to take a long drink.

“This is for you,” he says quietly, acknowledging the box out loud for the first time.

“What’s in it?”

“A human head,” Hoseok snorts, flinching when you reach over to pinch his leg. “Don’t be a pain. Just open it.”

Your eyes light with excitement as you smooth your hands over the lid and Hoseok can’t help but smile. But your excitement turns into confusion the moment you open the box and find the neat row of plain white envelopes inside.

“What is this?”

“Quit asking me questions,” Hoseok deadpans, pouring himself another drink. He tops off your glass, too. “And start at the front.”

You shake your head with a wry smile as you work the first envelope open, slipping your fingers in between the paper folds to fish out the contents inside. Hoseok sips his champagne as you produce the polaroid photo, head cocked to the side as you study it.

It was cold that day, he remembers that. You’d been bundled up in a pretty scarf and matching belted coat. In the photo, the mid-morning sun flares behind you, illuminating your profile as you squint up at a display of laminated menus.

“This is me,” you murmur, mouth quirking into a disbelieving smile, “At the coffee truck outside of work.”

“Yup.”

“We’d just started dating.”

“Yup.”

“How did you take this without me noticing?”

“Easy,” Hoseok laughs. “You stared at that menu for five minutes straight. I’ve never seen someone take coffee selection so seriously. Thought you were gonna order the most complicated drink in history.”

You roll your eyes but you laugh. So does he.

“Turn it over.”

You flip the polaroid over in your hands, eyes moving over the neat block handwriting on the back.

coolest girl i ever met

“This is the day I knew I liked you,” Hoseok murmurs, “Like, really liked you.”

Your eyes are a bit glassy when you look up at him now, the corner of your mouth tugging into a soft smile.

“You were that sure that fast, huh?” “Yeah,” he admits, scratching self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was.”

You move onto the next envelope, this time prepared when you pull out yet another polaroid picture. This one is harder to place, taken in the dark, mostly black but for a few splashes of vivid light.

“I don’t know this one,” you frown, ghosting your finger across one particularly colorful blur of red and gold. “I can’t make it out.”

You turn the polaroid over, looking once again for Hoseok’s neat block letters.

she’s into me

You laugh out loud.

“That was the lantern festival in Cheonggyecheon,” Hoseok explains. “I’d invited you, but you’d had plans, remember? And I was just going to get Yoongi to go with me but you called me last minute to say you’d decided to come.”

“I remember,” you say with a smile. “Yeri invited me to a movie, but I cancelled on her. I wanted to hang out with you instead.”

“Yeah, well that’s the night I knew you really liked me.”

“Cocky,” you smirk, reaching for another envelope. “But warranted.”

Your eyes light with recognition the moment you pull the next picture out. You’re crouched down at the edge of his mother’s koi pond, one finger making ripples on the surface of the water.

“First time we ever went to Gwangju together,” you muse quietly. “First time I met your parents.”

You flip the polaroid over.

pretty sure my mom loves her more than she loves me

“Okay, this might actually be true,” you tease, taking a sip of your champagne. “Your mom and dad love me.”

“Yeah, well that was the day I decided I loved you, too,” Hoseok chuckles. “The point where I kind of knew there was no turning back.”

You look up from the photograph then, eyes glassy with emotion when they find his. Candlelight flickering across your face as you look at him fondly.

“You still feel that way?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” he laughs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Keep going.”

The next polaroid is a selfie of Hoseok in bed but it’s by no means sexual. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin has a sallow tint. Next to his pillow, the bedside table is littered with cold medicine and empty cups.

“Is this when you had the flu?” you ask, flipping the polaroid over. The neat block lettering on the back confirms your theory.

she took care of me

“You were so pitiful,” you laugh, shaking your head at the memory. “Wrapped up in your blankets like a burrito. I swear, men have zero tolerance for discomfort.”

“I nearly died,” Hoseok protests dramatically. “But you dropped everything to come take care of me. That’s the day I knew you loved me, too.”

Your smile is brilliant now, open and sweet as you reach for the last remaining envelope. Hoseok takes another swig of champagne, slugging it down as you pull out the polaroid and study the image.

You are wearing your delicate sundress, leaned up against the wooden railing that separates the sand and rocks. Standing just next to your bike, nose in the air as you breathe in the salt carried on the wind.

“This is today,” you murmur, brows knitting together when you flip the picture over and find the back side blank. “And you haven’t written anything here.”

“Yeah, well,” Hoseok starts and stops, clearing his throat. “I haven’t had a chance to write it in yet.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the day I asked you to marry me.”

“Oh.”

You blink. Once, then again. Hoseok can hear the shaky breath you take in when your mouth parts in surprise. He sets his champagne flute down, sufficiently bolstered by the booze.

“So that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m asking you to marry me.”

You’re still mute with shock, eyes wide as they go from Hoseok to the picture and back to Hoseok again.

“But uh, the longer you don’t say anything, the less confident I feel about this entire plan,” he chuckles awkwardly.

You take him off balance when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your thighs around his waist. He keeps you both from toppling over with a palm flat to the floor, laughing as you pepper his face with kisses.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you sigh, pressing your lips to his temple, his neck, his jaw. “Yes. To you and to these amazing pictures and to this beach house. Yes to all of it.”

You pull away from him to grab the champagne, eyes flashing mischievously as you take a drink straight from the bottle. “Yes to champagne, too.”

Hoseok feigns shock. “Naughty.”

You kiss him deeply then, thoroughly, enough for him to feel the remnants of the carbonation on your tongue. You tease him with a barely there roll of your hips and his cock responds instantaneously, at the mercy of the warm friction he can feel straight through the thin material of his board shorts.

“You know what I’m thinking?” you murmur against his mouth.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah,” Hoseok chuckles, sucking a breath between his teeth when you bite the skin just below his ear.

“We have a lot to celebrate, right?” you reason, tone light. “But we came here for a housewarming.”

You lean back just far enough to pull your sundress over your head, tossing it carelessly aside, leaving you in nothing but those pretty white panties he loves so much.

“So we should warm it.”

Hoseok grins, pulling the champagne bottle out of your grip. He turns it up just like you did, finishing what’s left before setting it back down.

“I like the way you think.”

The only bedroom in this house is buried beneath a two-inch thick layer of sawdust right now.

Not that making it to a bedroom seems high on your list of priorities.

The fact that you’re both sitting on top of a drop cloth on Hoseok’s living room floor isn’t stopping you from threading your fingers into his hair, slipping your tongue into his mouth, grinding against his lap.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” you laugh, pressing your bare breasts to his chest once he’s managed to untangle himself from your limbs long enough to shrug out of his shirt. Your pebbled nipples drag across the lithe planes of his chest and his cock jumps in his shorts.

“Clever.”

“That’s me,” Hoseok murmurs against your lips, deft fingers slipping beneath the damp cotton between your thighs. He slides the pad of one long finger across your wet slit and you gasp, rocking against it.

“Gotta get you out of these panties,” he laments, pulling one nipple into his mouth and working it with his teeth. You shudder in his hold. “Quick.”

“What are you in such a hurry for?” you tease, circling your hips to chase the perfect pressure of his fingertips. “We have all night.”

“We have about three more minutes if you keep grinding on me like this,” Hoseok laughs, shifting your bodies to lean you back onto the floor. “So give me a break because I want to enjoy this.”

You lie back for him dutifully, dark hair spilling onto the drop cloth around you, skin gleaming in the candlelight. Your gold pendant twinkles at the base of your neck.

God, he loves the way you look like this.

Flushed with excitement and anticipation. Like a feast laid out just for him. He rids himself of those pesky board shorts as fast as he can, leaning over you on hands and knees.

“You’re gonna marry me,” he muses, burying his face into the soft skin under your jaw. “You already said yes, can’t take it back now.”

Your laughter is echoing in his ears as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, across the bronzed planes of your shoulder. He can taste the day on your skin; the ocean salt and sunscreen mixed with that flavor that’s so uniquely you.

“I don’t want to take it back,” you sigh, whimpering when Hoseok kisses a path down the velvety skin between your breasts. He travels lower, kissing just below your bellybutton as he starts working your panties off with one hand. “I’m gonna keep you.”

Hoseok chuckles as he tosses your panties away, off to somewhere unimportant. What’s important is the way you take a deep breath and hold it when his mouth hovers coyly over your cunt.

“Look at me,” he directs, peering up at you from beneath heavy eyelids. You open your eyes to meet his gaze, candlelight dancing over your pretty face.

“I love you,” he breathes, lowering his mouth to make contact with your clit. The air leaves your lungs in that moment, a soft exhalation of air that makes the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

“I love you too,” you sigh, hips jerking at the contact, fingers digging hard into his hair. “So much.”

He knows you by now, knows how you like to be touched. Your rhythmic panting goes a bit ragged, when he slides two fingers into your cunt, crooking up to stroke you the way you like while his mouth works your clit.

God, he loves this part.

The part where you lose any semblance of control. The desperate sounds you make when you start to come apart beneath his mouth and hands.

“Hoseok -- “ your voice is strangled when you call out, “ -- Hobi, I’m gonna come.”

Something about the way you say his name goes straight to his dick. He grits his teeth when your nails dig almost painfully into his scalp as you start to tremble, shuddering against his mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothes, pinning your hips down with his strong hands, keeping you from pulling away from the pleasure that borders on pain. “That’s it. Sound so good when you come for me.”

Hoseok stays face first in your cunt, nose and tongue pressed against you, until he’s certain the last wave has come and gone. Between his own legs, his cock pulses painfully, leaking pre-come at the thought of finally being inside of you.

Your body twitches with the aftershocks of your release as he slowly kisses his way up your thighs, your mound, your stomach.

“How was that?” he asks with a teasing tilt to his mouth, stealing your ability to answer when he kisses you deeply, fitting his slim hips between your legs. He reaches down to grab his stiff cock, sliding it across your slick entrance. You clamp your thighs together to tighten the drag and he groans at the friction.

“Amazing,” you sigh, dragging your nails over his ass, up the lean muscles of his back. “Perfect. You should let me return the favor.”

His dick practically jumps at the suggestion, stomach contracting hard at the prospect of feeling your pretty mouth wrapped around it. But Hoseok is too worked up, too riled up by the alcohol and the excitement.

“Can’t tonight,” he pants, arousal shooting up his spine when you wrap one hand around his now-wet cock. You pump him lazily, trailing soft bites from his jaw to his shoulder. “Need to be inside of you.”

“Yeah, I’m ready for that too,” you admit, guiding the blunt head of his cock to your entrance.

He surges forward then, pushing past the tight grip of your fingers, groaning as he’s enveloped completely by your warm cunt. You whimper at the stretch, locking your legs around him, gasping when he bottoms out.

He pulls back to the tip only to drive in again, earning another strangled moan. You’re squirming beneath him, breathless and dewy, looking like some kind of wet dream.

“I’ll never get over how good it feels to be inside of you,” Hoseok admits, burying himself as deep as he humanly can into you.

You’re so wet he can feel you spilling out onto the base of his dick and for one fleeting moment he wishes you knew how good this feels for him. How wet and hot and tight you feel around him. How being inside of you like this makes his brain go haywire, reduces him to only instinct and need.

You lift your hips to meet each snap of his, the wet sound of your joining echoing off the walls in this mostly empty house.

He hears you moaning his name in between the other sounds you make, in between the panting and mewling that makes his balls tighten. You grip his forearms as he grinds against you, kissing you in between desperate breaths.

“I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hoseok groans, pulling back to get to his knees. He hooks one of your legs over the crook of one strong forearm, using his one free hand to press a thumb to your clit. His rhythm falters as he watches himself slide in and out of you, hypnotized by the sight of his body joined to yours.

You lift your ass off the floor, back arching as you chase the pressure of his fingers. Hoseok strokes you desperately, feeling his orgasm looming menacingly at the base of his cock. It takes just a few more strained pumps of his hips to set you off.

The second he feels you clamp down around him, Hoseok folds back over you, arms braced on either side of you as he thrusts through his own orgasm. He shuts his eyes and groans as he empties his cock inside of you, thrusting until he can’t anymore.

He collapses onto you, heart racing as he tries to catch his breath.

“Don’t leave me,” you groan when Hoseok peels his damp skin away from yours to get to his feet.

He strides across the room, completely nude, grinning when you turn onto your side and go up on one elbow to ogle him.

“Just for a second,” he calls out, pulling out every unorganized drawer in the kitchen until he finally comes across a pen. “Gotta finish something.”

He makes a show of holding it in the air as he walks back into the living room, opening the gold-flecked box, and pulling out the last unmarked polaroid photo.

You’re smiling the entire time you watch him pen the last caption on the last photograph.

she said yes

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

'till death blooms us art

Summary: You’d rather die loving him than never getting to see the sun ever again.

(“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. This number is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”)

Characters: Sam Wilson/Plus-sized Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), strong language, Hanahaki AU, angst with a happy ending, weight insecurity, allusions to eating disorders, talk about death, blood, past domestic abuse and trauma, gun violence, original male character, book quotes, anxiety

Word Count: 12796

A/N: Thank you for reading! This fic won the vote during my 500 follower celebration and it's finally out now! This story has a lot of meaning for me, due to it being a bit of a metaphor for disorderly eating. I know that will make some people uncomfortable, but as someone who has struggled for a long time, I want to talk more openly about this kind of thing. Anyway, thanks so much for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!

main masterlist | AO3 | playlist by @tripleyeeet

—STUBBORN WEEDS—

They are everywhere—covering the space of the sitting room like an overgrown garden made of glass and paint, canvas and pages torn from old waterlogged books, stained mugs filled with decaying brushes. Wanda walks through your room like it’s a maze, her fingers trailing over the air but never touching the art. She’s pretending she’s in a museum, or a gallery, or something fancier than what you could ever appear in, but a twinge of something akin to warmth stabs through your heart at the thought.

“These are incredible,” she says, not looking at you. “How do you do it?”

With a shrug, you bend down and pick up one of the canvasses from the floor, holding it out to look at it.

“I don’t know,” you lie.

White space in the shape of flowers, uneven and missing petals here and there, is outlined in streaks of paint that go every direction, in every different shade, hard edges and soft, blurred lines and covering the entirety of the canvas except for those spaces where flowers once sat, pinned to the medium.

“They are beautiful,” Wanda says.

Your nail sneaks under one of the dried chunks of acrylic and you chip it—a fleck of ultramarine blue falls from the painting.

When you turn, Wanda studies a different piece in careful hands. It’s a glass case, trimmed with shitty, shaky lines of gold you painted on a whim. But inside, between the thick panes, dried flowers painted over are encased in eternity, arranged to match their exact placements on the canvas where your brushes stroked life onto them, around them, through them. Two perfect pieces that once belonged together, separated like an act of Adam against his God.

Maybe they were meant to be together, but no one will ever know their story.

“They’re amateur,” you tell her, laughing. “I’m not much of an artist. It’s just for fun.”

She smiles at you, placing the glass piece down. “You have a talent.”

Wanda takes another turn about the room, another circuit, another spin. She looks at every piece in such focus, taking in every single detail, fingers stretching and curling as if she wants to caress the dried flowers, the dried paint, and feel their meaning. You wonder what she would say if she could read their minds—the art you’ve made. Would your pieces tell her the true meaning behind their existence? Or maybe they would laugh, or cry, or howl in pain.

But Wanda only stares, at the paintings and at you, a small smile on her face like she knows something you don’t. Like she’s keeping a secret. Is she keeping the secrets that the flowers have whispered to her when you weren’t looking?

“What inspired them?” she asks, the very tip of her nail tracing a different glass box filled with dyed petals reconstructed into a larger artificial flower, protected by its own display.

You wring your hands together. “I like flowers.”

She laughs. “That’s obvious. But what makes them special enough to paint? To—To make such lovely art out of?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you place the small canvas you’d been holding back on the side table, crossing the room to your bookshelf. Your fingertip finds the spine of a hardcover book you’re too familiar with, pulling it out and into your awaiting hands. Sheets of paper, a little bent and crooked, stick out of the pages.

You crack it open, the dulling white petals of a daisy pressed flat between the crackling spine fluttering from between the black inked words, then fall to the floor at your feet.

“The Devil’s hand directs our every move,” you read. “The things we loathed become the things we love.”

Wanda stares at you as you fiddle with the book, tracing the words of the cover.

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” you say. “The Flowers of Evil.”

Gently and without word, she bows at your feet and picks up the drying daisy, cradling it in her pale hands, but you don’t have the strength to take it from her.

(“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I had to run some errands this morning, y’know how it is, so I’m out of the Tower right now. I was just wondering if you needed anything while I was out. Anything—really, anything at all. Even breakfast, or maybe a latte? Just a little pick-me-up. Well, give me a call back if you need anything. If not, I’ll be back soon. See ya.”)

—BETTER TOGETHER—

“Steven Grant,” you say his name like a curse, shaking your head. “This is why you spend three hours a day in the gym.”

Too busy shoving the first bite of his first hoagie into his mouth, Steve doesn’t reply. You roll your eyes, but the smile on your lips gives you away. When he’s finally swallowed, wiping crumbs from his mouth, he looks a little indignant.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Well, you would be if you didn’t have that serum running through you.”

He frowns, brows furrowed, a little confusion on his face. “I thought it was because I work out three hours a day. And I’ll have you know—”

“—you work out six hours a day between your morning runs and training, I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before Steve.” You groan at the thought. “It’s like it’s your job.”

“It is my job. Saving the world and all that.”

“Okay, you really need to let America know that it’s giving you a complex, ‘cause if I hear one more thing about you saving the world, I think I’m going to scream.”

He shrugs, taking another gigantic bite out of his sandwich. Scraps of shredded lettuce fall out from between the buns and litter his plate. You pick at your own, pulling uneven pieces of sliced onion and stray pickles from the hoagie, content to sit and stare at it instead of eating.

Food is good. You brush the grainy crumbs of bread from your fingers. Food is good, but you just aren’t hungry. And you don’t work out three hours a day. Maybe you should start. Your body feels like a balloon with all your insides threatening to come up in a retch and choke you. Food is good. Food is good. You just have to pick up the sandwich and eat it.

Fingers shaking, you take the sub in your hand and stare at the corner where you mean to take the first bite.

“You good?”

Steve, still chewing, looks at you with concern clear in his crystal blues and it makes you put your food back down on the plate. Instead, you busy yourself with another sip of your water, nodding at him.

“Yeah. We can’t all be Steve Rogers, demolishing two hoagies in less than two seconds, y’know.” You throw in a snort, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wipe your mouth, Captain. You’ve got mayo on your cheek.”

He doesn’t, but him grabbing a napkin to embarrassedly wipe a nonexistent condiment from his face gives you enough time to pick your sandwich back up and contemplate taking the first bite. You’ve just gotta start with the first bite and the rest will go down.

But you aren’t hungry. How can you be hungry when you’re already so full? Stuffed, even. There isn’t room in your insides. All your organs are bursting. It’s so painful sometimes, the expanding of your skin to accommodate. Waves of sickness roll through you, spreading. Your stomach is stretched, bloated, filled with all the swallowed—

“What are you doin’ to my girl, huh Steve?”

The sound of his voice alone makes the ache inside of you dissipate, the nausea escapes from your throat, the anxiety twitching through your hands steadies. Your head perks up, shoulders rolling back as your entire body relaxes, and you look behind you.

And there, dressed in a tight blue polo and a pair of pants clinging to his legs like they were made for him, the very angel who blessed you, the devil who cursed you, the god of the fucking sun and everything it could ever touch, stands before you with a smile saved just for you.

Sam Wilson.

His dark eyes are piercing, like he’s trying to peel back the layers of your skin to see underneath, as he shoves his hands in his pockets and grins with all his teeth.

“Hey honey,” he says—simply and easily and not serious. Never serious.

Your lungs burn. Your mouth feels too dry to answer him.

“Oh, your girl?” Steve asks him, brows a little too furrowed to be joking. “When did she become your girl?”

Sam shrugs, walking toward the empty seat next to you, placing his hand on the back of your chair so dangerously close to your body that it makes you pull in a deep breath. His thumb could brush against the fabric of your shirt, run along the seam of your spine. And, goddamn, it should be illegal for him to look so casual and so unbothered while still looking that handsome.

Like this, you can smell the spice in his cologne, a powerful mix of something you’re sure is designed to drive you crazy.

He looks down at you, still hovering over where you sit, and throws a wink your way that brings heat to the surface of your cheeks.

“Aw, she’s always been my girl, ain’t that right? Tell him, darlin’.”

You stare at Sam for one second too long, breaking away to gaze down at your uneaten sandwich again. With every flutter that Sam sends down your stomach, the heaviness inside it seems to fade away. Your fullness is replaced by a familiar hunger—the rawness of your throat waning as a burning itch takes over. A cough is threatening to bubble up. You choke it back, smiling instead.

“He’s right, Stevie,” you say all bright and cheery again.

Steve meets your eyes with a stony gaze, unreadable, his blue eyes looking gray in the light. Beside you, Sam throws himself down in one of the chairs and pulls up to the table, hand still sitting on the back of your seat. His knees are spread a little wide, thigh resting against yours.

It’s so innocent but your brain thinks it’s so intimate. A lie. A lie.

In the end, Steve relaxes back, his eyebrows lifting as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. He tosses one of the sticky plastic menus toward Sam, nodding at it.

“Order up, man,” Steve says, his tone more neutral than you think you’ve ever heard it in regards to Sam. “But I’m not paying for yours. You’re on your own.”

At that, Sam laughs, full and robust with his face up to the ceiling. He rocks back in his chair, shaking his head, and he looks so beautiful even in the shitty sub shop that Steve drags you to for lunch every other week that it makes you ache and your lungs contract in an attempt to cough.

You swallow it back again, trying to even out your breathing. The itch in your throat is so bad that you almost pick up your sandwich to eat again, but your hand passes it up to take another few sips of your water. It’s cool, clear, refreshing—but it can’t make the tickle of the cough go away.

“So,” Sam starts once he’s finished ordering his own hoagie, “how’s that apartment hunting going? Found anything good yet?”

A frown forms, heavy, on your lips. You pick off a flaking piece of bread from your sandwich, watching it turn to crumbs underneath your fingers.

“It’s going,” you say, but anyone who ever responds to a question of how’s it going with it’s going is absolutely lying and it is absolutely not going—and maybe Sam knows that, or maybe Steve does, or hell, maybe they both do but it makes you look weak to admit that things aren’t going so well out loud.

And you—you can’t admit the truth, so it’s just better to lie about it.

You don’t want to leave the Tower.

“It’s going, huh?” Sam asks, his tone proving that he can see right through you. “You need help looking at some places or something?”

“Well—”

“You know,” he barrels through your words as if they are nothing, “I think I actually know a realtor around here. Maybe he can get you some leads on rentals or something. I could make some calls for you, honey.”

It’s not supposed to—Sam only means well, he always does, always trying to do so much for people—but it hurts to hear. Because you don’t hear him saying that he’s trying to help you out. You hear him saying he doesn’t want you around the Tower anymore.

Because, well, why would he want you there?

To him, you’re just an outsider. A girl who doesn’t belong. Someone who daydreams and doodles flowers on every surface as soon as she thinks of him. And you always think of him.

Before you can think about it, your hand flies to your mouth reflexively to hold back a cough. Instantly, Sam’s leaning closer and that damned hand of his falls soft against your back.

“You okay?”

There’s barely a moment for you to nod, signaling that you’re fine, before Steve’s got on his game face, all hard lines and furrowed brows and thin lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Sam’s attention. “She’s allowed to stay as long as she wants, alright? The Tower is her home now, too. So there isn’t a rush for her to find a place unless she wants to leave.”

The passion and care in Steve’s voice is strong, almost so overpowering it’s oppressive, and something rises up from within you and threatens to send salty tears careening down your cheeks if you don’t blink them away.

Sam raises his hands in front of him dramatically. “Okay, okay, I get it. I wasn’t trying to run her off or anything, just wanted to lend a hand if I could. Damn, Steve.”

Something changes at the table, then. It’s like a fog, thick and cloying, falls over the three of you and keeps you lethargic—so much so that the only words spoken in the next few awkward minutes are Sam’s thanks when the waiter brings his sandwich by.

You still haven’t even touched yours, and you hope it seems like you’re just waiting for Sam to get his, because Steve’s tearing into his second and by the looks of the mustard dripping down his fingers messily, he’ll be done any minute now.

But as you prop your head up on the table, leaning on your elbow boredly, Sam nudges his leg into yours to grab your attention. When you turn to look at him, he’s got that grin again, all pearly and white with the little crooked gap you think you could stare at forever as long as it meant he was smiling and laughing and happy.

“You gonna eat, girl?” Sam picks his sub up in his hand and gestures at you to do the same. God, he makes you dizzy just by talking. The butterflies in your belly are fighting tooth and nail against your organs, trying to take up all the space, but they aren’t really butterflies. The soft monsters in your stomach leave a taste on your tongue you can’t explain.

“Oh.” You mimic his movement and then Sam toasts his hoagie against yours with a chuckle.

“First bite,” he says, and there’s no thought in your head or balloon in your stomach and no bloated skin to make you second guess yourself.

You follow Sam, sinking your teeth into the bread of your sandwich, and its flavor explodes over your tongue just enough to take away all the bitter, floral, fragrant taste of the daisies that are building up in your stomach, their petals choking you out, downy fluttering things inside you.

(“Hey girl, it’s me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I was coming to see if you wanted to grab a bite with me for lunch, maybe at that little Italian place you like to go to around the corner? Or maybe sushi or something? Been a while since I got to go out for lunch, so I thought I’d ask, but I guess you’re busy right now. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Enjoy your lunch.”)

—NEW BEGINNINGS—

You’ve got to call him. You have to. You have no choice anymore.

Danny is on the other side of the locked door, his fist pounding on the wood and threatening to cave it in from the repeated force. The sound is louder than it should be, really, echoing off the tile of the bathroom you’ve barricaded yourself inside. He’s shouting above the sound.

“You fucking bitch. I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna fucking kill you. You lied to me? What else are you lying about, huh? You fucking whore. I took you in, I gave you a home, I gave you everything. Fucking fat slut—how many other guys are you sleeping with, huh?”

None, you had answered earlier when he was questioning you in your shared bedroom, his fist tight around your soft arm and squeezing so hard it made you want to scream. None.

But that wasn’t the answer Danny was looking for. And, well, once he threw you onto the ground and stomped to the dresser, clothes strewn around the room as he furiously ripped through it until he found the shiny black firearm you didn’t know he had, you were gone.

But there was only one place to go and that was the bathroom.

Now, trapped inside, you know you have no choice. You have to call him—the man from the coffee shop you’ve been going to regularly for a few months. The man who noticed the bruises Danny always left on you after a rough night. The man who pressed and pried and tried to do anything to get you to open up to him even as you refused over and over again. The man who put his number in your phone because he wanted you to call him if you ever needed him, not because he was a hero, but because he was worried about you.

You press the number two on speed dial. The phone rings.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Steve?” Your voice is nothing but a sob. “Steve, you were right.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, but you hear the rustle of clothes and a jingle of keys on the other side beyond the static, a sound that makes you almost cry with relief or hope or maybe just stress.

“Hold on,” he tells you. “FRIDAY is pulling up your address. I’ll be there as quick as I can. Are you safe?”

“Bathroom,” you’re able to mumble out from behind the waterfall of tears rushing down your face. “He’s locked out but—but I’m scared.”

“I’m on my way. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise you.”

And then Steve hangs up, and you wish he hadn’t because now you’re left all alone with just a flimsy wooden door, painted fucking white so the blood will show up real pretty when Danny kills you, between you and your boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend if you get out of here alive.

“Four fucking years!” he shouts from outside. “I gave you four fucking years of my life, you stupid bitch. I put up with your dumb fat ass for four years and this is what you do? Is this love? Do you think this is love?”

You figure anything is love as long as it doesn’t look like this. The ring of bruises around your upper arm from Danny’s grasp is already turning black and blue, a sight that makes you flinch.

Honestly, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. All the cash you were stashing should’ve been hidden better. You knew better. A shoebox up on the top shelf of the closet? Amateur. You should’ve cut a section out of one of your prized books or something. Danny never fucking reads. He probably doesn’t know how. He would’ve never found all the money if you’d stashed it there.

“Six thousand dollars!” he roars, punching the center of the door. The wood bends slightly. “How long’ve you been fucking stealing from me, huh? Fucking bitch. Stupid fucking bitch.”

And then it happens.

Danny’s fist breaks through the first layer of the door with a curse of pain falling from his lips. Then, a laugh. He’s laughing.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He punches the door again and then his hand is through, wood splinters shattering and flying toward you, and with a scream you shield your face with your arms and duck down. You’re sitting beside the bathtub, squished against the toilet, and you scoot back as far as you can trying to wedge yourself to safety.

But there is no safety here. Danny’s bloodied fingers find the doorknob and unlock it with a click, and it’s over. It’s over. It’s fucking over.

With a kick, the door comes flying open and you’re screaming again at the top of your lungs, throat tearing itself raw. Danny’s broad frame possesses the entire room as he shoulders his way inside, his lips pulled back to show all of his teeth in a feral grin, the overhead lights catching the shine of the sleek gun he’s carrying.

You can’t even look at him. All you can do is stare at his back in the bathroom mirror hanging over the counter, your mind completely devoid of thought.

“Fuckin’ dead,” Danny says, and you don’t see him aim the gun at you. You stare in the mirror, right in the mirror and memorize the pattern of the plaid jacket he’s wearing, how the colored stripes form new colors, how the fabric all blends. It’s a pretty shirt. You bought it for him two Christmasses ago. He looks good in it.

You are going to die.

Then, suddenly, you can’t see the plaid anymore. Instead it’s a gray shirt on a much bigger body blocking out the mirror, and when you turn your head to look, Steve’s there.

Steve’s here.

He’s got Danny in a chokehold, grappling for the pistol in your boyfriend’s hand. Ex-boyfriend. Despite Steve being completely unarmed—he’s Captain America for christ’s sake, a goddamn super soldier, he doesn’t need a fucking weapon—he easily brings Danny down to his knees and onto the floor, kicking the gun away from their bodies and out of the bathroom completely.

“Fucking whore,” Danny manages to spit out, the sound strangled as Steve’s arm buckles over his neck. “You’re fucking him too, huh? I’m gonna kill you.”

“Shut up,” Steve grits through his clenched teeth, pulling Danny toward the destroyed door. “You’re done.”

They disappear from the bathroom in a tangle and thrashing of limbs. Danny curses the whole way down the stairs, struggling to break out of Steve’s grasp you presume. He’s a fighter—that’s what he always said. Dog meets dog eats dog world, he would tell you. You can’t ever trust anyone.

And, well, he certainly proved his beliefs. You had the bruises to show for it. The scars as evidence.

Sitting alone in your wrecked bathroom, still sprawled out on the tile, you stare down at your hands. The lines run deep in your palms, fingers stubby and chubby and not at all feminine. Too small to grab Danny the way he always grabbed you. Too soft with fat to deliver a good punch.

You don’t know how much time passes before a much larger hand enters your vision, slowly, like approaching a kicked mutt on the street, and when you don’t flinch, Steve lays his fingers across your palms. Apprehensively, you grab onto his hand, and he squeezes back.

Looking up, he’s crouched in front of you, the beginnings of a bruise forming on his left temple. With your free hand, you reach out and let your fingers brush over it, but Steve just smiles at you.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here,” he says, gently tugging on your hand. You hold onto him a little tighter and let him help you up off the ground, his arm immediately sliding around your waist to steady your shaky legs.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you say. “The money I saved…”

You don’t even know what happened to it. For all you know, Danny burned the cash. Or stashed it somewhere else.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Steve says in a soft voice. “I’m taking you back to the Tower. The police are dealing with Danny right now. Can you help me pack some clothes for you?”

And so you sat on the bed among your wrecked bedroom as Steve picked through the messy drawers that had been pulled from their dresser, some articles of clothing crumpled on the floor where Danny flung them in his mad search for your secret money stash. And the gun. You almost forgot about the gun.

Steve helps you pack, his face only a little pinker than normal when you’re shoving your intimates into the black duffle bag he fished out of his car, and then he’s helping you slip on your sneakers and guiding you out of your house.

You don’t say goodbye to it, though. That house. Even after four years, you don’t call it home. In a lot of ways, you’re happy to watch it disappear from Steve’s rearview mirror, hoping you’ll never be back.

“They’re going to love you there,” he says quietly in the silence of the car, both hands tight around the steering wheel. He glances over at you, then back at the road. “You’ll fit right in. You’ll be safe. Right at home.”

But you think Steve is a bit of an optimist. Homes, you think, are for people who are loved.

(“Hey honey, just me here. Look, I remembered you saying something about how you wanted those, what were they called, the fairy lights for your room? The ones that look like Christmas lights? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You’re too short to do it yourself, girl, you know that. Anyway, give me a call if you want to, or just come down to my room and get me, anytime. I’ll be waiting. Talk soon, honey.”)

—KEEPING SECRETS—

Wanda hums a tune under her breath. “I just can’t wait to get out of this place! It’s been too long. Mission after mission after bloody mission.” She sighs and starts to apply a thick coat of mascara, eyes wide as she stares in the mirror.

“Agreed,” Natasha says from somewhere behind you. The sound of her bare feet on the bathroom tile is the only warning you have before she sidles up beside you, gracefully lifting herself up onto the counter and sweeping various cosmetics aside to make room.

You’re still undressed, standing in your panties and an old t-shirt with a stretched out neck, just finishing up your eyeshadow when Nat taps a black bottle on the marble top near your fingers.

“Want me to do your eyeliner?” she asks.

A few months ago, you would have seen it as an insult—a beautiful, dangerous woman telling you in less words that your makeup looked like shit. Now you know it’s an expression of Natasha’s unending love for you. A willing act of service. A small thing she can do for you.

“Yes please.”

Natasha motions you forward, between her legs, and when she takes your face in her hand you close your eyes.

“Pretty colors,” she says, probably about your eyeshadow.

“Thanks,” you reply, and then you feel the cool wetness of liquid liner right on your lash line as she begins to paint a wing on your lid. “You always look pretty.”

“So do you.” She blows softly on your left eye. “It’s like you never need makeup, I swear. Are you even wearing foundation?”

A smile works its way onto your face. “Nope.”

From beside you, Wanda giggles.

“Slut. You’re so perfect it makes me want to scream sometimes,” Natasha says, tongue clicking her teeth as she finishes off your right eye.

All the breath seems to leave you in that moment. Like someone punched you straight in your gut, your bones like the gel shock-absorbing layer protecting your organs. Your eyes want nothing more than to shoot open, but Nat is blowing cool air over the newly formed wing and you force yourself to relax so you don’t mess everything up.

“I’m not perfect,” you tell her. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Don’t deflect.” You hear her cap the eye liner and set it down on the counter, then her palms engulf your cheeks. Slowly, you let your eyes open, blinking gently.

She’s staring at you, eyes narrowed.

“Just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful,” she says, simply, as if it’s just easy for her to not compare herself to anyone else. “If you’re perfect, you’re perfect. Doesn’t matter if I’m perfect, too. And that Wanda is perfect. Or that anyone is perfect.”

Natasha takes your chin in her fingers and grabs a tube of lipstick—the one she and Wanda always tell you to wear because it looks so damn good on you.

“Your beauty and your worth doesn’t come from other people.” She runs the silken rouge over your lips. “It comes from who you are, not comparisons to other people.”

And, god, you want to scream at her. You want to shout and tell her that she isn’t allowed to say that to you when she looks the way she does—slim and picturesque and every human being’s wet dream. She doesn’t get to say that you shouldn’t compare yourself, with your heavy chest and your wide hips and all your soft pockets of skin, to someone like her. To someone like Wanda. To anyone else that doesn’t need liposuction with a side of diet pills, please.

You can’t be perfect, because if you were perfect, if you were enough, you wouldn’t be dying in agony every night over someone that doesn’t look twice at your too-large stomach and your too-large thighs.

They’re just trying to make you feel better, but all it does is make you feel worse.

“Look,” you say when she’s done with your lipstick, “I get what—”

In a split second, your chest is wracked with hard coughs, lungs struggling for air. It’s choking you, your own insides, and you’re hacking and wheezing and grasping at the bathroom counter and Natasha’s hands are on your shoulders and Wanda is slapping your back in hope that it will help and someone, somewhere, is saying the word heimlich and you can taste it on your tongue like old wallpaper from the 70s, floral and disgusting and toxic and ugly.

You throw your arm over your mouth, smearing your lipstick. It doesn’t help. Natasha is looking at you, eyes wild. You’re coughing and coughing and you think you taste blood underneath the overwhelming velvet on your tongue.

They’re saying your name. Shredded petals are between your teeth.

And then you break, pushing past them to the toilet, skidding on your knees until you’re doubled over and retching. It’s all burning acid and fresh flowers. Rot and fester and earth and greenery. A pair of cool hands—Wanda’s, you think—rest upon your forehead and move your hair away from your face.

Vomit and daisies leak from your mouth until your stomach is done contracting and your insides are empty. All that’s left is your sputtering coughs that taste caustic and beautiful.

It’s getting bad.

When you finally pull away from the toilet, slumped back and wiping your mouth, the toilet is full of an explosion of crisp white and bright yellow, tinged with the faint pink of blood. Wanda is glancing back and forth between you and the unflushed toilet, horror stitched on her face.

Before Natasha approaches, a glass of tap water in hand, you lean over and flush the petals down the drain. The look you shoot Wanda is pleading, but you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

Everything on the inside hurts, burning like a pit of snakes in your belly, hissing and spitting venom and biting into you like they mean to kill you. Perhaps the daisies have grown fangs. Your lungs feel chewed.

Nat places the glass in your shaking hands, her fingers holding your own as if she knows you can’t do it yourself. She helps raise the glass to your soiled lips and you gulp the water down like it’ll flood the valley unfolding in you.

“Who is it?” she asks, her voice calm but her eyes uneasy. You nearly choke, a hand pressing against the middle of your chest as if you need to feel your lungs as they work to assure yourself of your own survival.

“What?” you barely eke out, throat thick and scratchy. One of Wanda’s hands strokes down your back and she doesn’t speak, only shakes her head.

“Who is it?” Natasha repeats.

You look away.

“God.” Wanda sniffles behind you. “How could we not have realized?”

“Because it doesn’t happen,” Nat says, shifting from crouching in front of you to sitting on her knees on the floor, a hand resting on your thigh. “I’ve never known a single person—until now, I guess—who had it. I thought it wasn’t real.”

“They tell it like a fairytale in Sokovia,” Wanda says, her words just as watery as her eyes. “A story you lull children to sleep with! But I should have seen it. We should have seen it.”

A new abundance of petals tickle the back of your throat.

“All that art,” Natasha hisses, but she isn’t looking at you. She’s glaring down at her lap.

“All the daisies,” Wanda cries. Her head drops against your shoulder. You feel the wetness of her tears.

“It’s okay,” you tell them, but your voice is too small. “It’s okay,” you say, louder this time, tasting the flowers like they are the blood of your bitten tongue.

“Who is it?” Natasha asks again, a begging in her voice you don’t think you’ve ever heard before.

“It’s okay,” you say again.

And with this, Nat’s face changes from one of concern to something of realization—like she’s been struck with a thought she never considered, like she’s seen the future.

“It’s him.” Her jaw is slack, staring at you even as Wanda looks at her with confusion etched on her visage. “You have to tell him.”

“No,” you say simply.

“This is bad,” Nat snaps, as if you don’t know it already. “This is getting bad. You need to tell him or you’re—you’re going to die.”

A laugh breaks through the bathroom, echoing. “How can I tell him? How could I ever tell him that I love him when the simple fucking fact that these flowers are growing—rooting—in my goddamn lungs is proof that he doesn’t love me the way that I love him?”

You lean back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“Sam Wilson doesn’t love me the way I love him,” you whisper.

The tips of Natasha’s fingers catch the tears you don’t feel streaking down your cheeks like the screaming of shooting stars, hot and bright and dying.

“It’s sort of beautiful, don’t you think?” Your nails dig into the fat flesh of your thighs, trying to puncture skin. “To make art of your own death. To make something lovely out of something so tragic.”

You can’t swallow it back this time. A cough wracks through you, jostling your bones, and you fold yourself in half as soft white petals emerge from your esophagus and choke you. You grind them against the backs of your teeth with your tongue, trying to mash them into nonexistence, but it’s not enough. You retch another wave of daisies into your awaiting hands.

Wanda calls your name and it sounds broken.

“Death like this,” you rasp, catching your breath, “is the most beautiful way to go.”

Your finger drags over one of the downy petals, a bead of blood catching on your skin and smearing across it like a brushstroke of paint, ruining it.

“Death like this is the only way I want to go.”

(“Hey beautiful, it’s me again. I heard you were going out with the girls tonight—I hope you have fun. I just wanted you to know that if you need a ride back home, or you get into trouble and need a hero, or anything, really, I’m just a phone call away. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I’ll be up if you need anything, at least ‘till you get home. Have fun, girl.”)

—INNOCENCE—

You’re beginning to ask yourself if the mirror lies.

It doesn’t. You know that. You’ve been trying to find the lies in it for years at this point, pinching and pulling at all the places you find are thicker than the women you see on TV, the women you see floating around the Tower, the women you’ve seen on the arms of Sam Wilson. Chubby hands caress down your soft belly, poking and prodding the skin you wish you could make disappear. The mirror never lies.

But you wish it did when you stare at yourself and all you see are the bruises beneath your eyes, the hollows in your cheeks, the drained look in your gaze. The longer you stand there, the less you recognize yourself.

You aren’t hungry anymore. You never get hungry—the flowers filling up all the space in your stomach, coughed up from your lungs and swallowed back in pieces. Perfume is what your mouth tastes like now. Perfume and iron. The vomiting hasn’t stopped since the night your secret was revealed to Natasha and Wanda.

And you’ve never looked better.

That’s the part you hate. The part where when you look in the mirror and you can see the places where those daisies have shaved you thinner. It almost makes you laugh. People say you pack on the pounds when you find love. Maybe they should try having toxic flowers take root inside of them and slowly steal their lifeforce while they watch the person they love never love them back.

It’s a slow process, this death. You wonder which will kill you first—the starvation or the suffocation.

The walk down to the gala is as equally exciting as it is dreadful. You’ve never been to a Tony Stark gala before and you’re eager to dance the night away with your friends. But you’re also exhausted.

Oh well. The makeup helps you look less like a corpse and more like a dancing queen. The dress, which you’re sure someone paid far too much money for, is part of the solution. It’s all flowy and gorgeous as if you are a Greek goddess meant to be worshipped and highlights your figure while hiding all the imperfections the mirror seemed to find.

And when you finally enter the room, classical music playing from the live band and people laughing loudly and champagne twirling about the floor for people to take, the first thing you see is him.

Grin taking up his entire face, lighting up the entire ballroom, dressed beautifully in a navy suit that makes him look utterly dashing, is Sam Wilson.

He’s surrounded by people—women who are better dressed than you are—so with a shaky breath and a pain in your lungs, you quickly turn on your heel and head toward the next familiar face.

“Woah there, doll, where you hurryin’ off to?” Bucky, hair neatly pulled back and wearing a black suit, grabs you by your waist.

“Nowhere,” you blurt. “The bar. I just got here.”

He raises a thick brow at you, a silent question, but when you choose not to answer he shrugs.

“Well I can’t refuse to escort a pretty lady, can I?” With a charming smile, he holds his elbow out to you and gestures for you to grab on. You slip your hand around his arm and grasp him tightly, shooting him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

But as the two of you start dodging through the crowd of excited party-goers, on your way to the bar in the back, Bucky stops short and gets a look on his face that you’re not quite sure you can describe as mischievous, but it’s close enough to make you frown.

“Y’know what,” he says, glancing over at you with that boyish grin, “I think we should take a spin on the dance floor instead.”

“Oh no,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I can’t dance—”

He snorts. “I’ve seen you dance around the kitchen, doll.”

“I can’t dance in front of all these people.”

“Can’t is a word for losers.” Bucky closes his hand over yours, locking you to his elbow. “Don’t wanna be a loser like Stevie, do ya? Oh Buck, I can’t stop fighting, gotta teach ‘em a lesson. Oh Buck, I can’t rinse out my cereal bowl, I gotta go for a run.”

It makes you laugh, maybe a little too loud, but it eases you just enough for Bucky to pull you into the menagerie of dancing couples, and then he’s moving your hand from his arm and onto his shoulder and clasping your other in his fingers.

“There we go.” His eyes shine like the ocean sparkles under the Tower lights.

Bucky has something magic in him, you decide, after two songs of him swinging you along the floor. He has something magic that makes everything so easy, which is something so admirable after all he’s been through. He has you laughing and smiling and spinning across the room with so little effort you forget all your worries in an instant.

“See?” Bucky dips you in his arms, making you squeal with glee, collecting the stares of the people peppered around the room. “Knew you could dance, doll.”

Panting, you rest a hand on his chest, still giggling. “Only ‘cause you’re so good.”

“Song’s over, Buck,” a new, familiar voice cuts in. When you look up, Steve is standing there, eyes crinkling with his own smile. “I can’t wait for another.”

At that, Bucky rolls his eyes with such drama it has you laughing yet again.

“See? I told you. It’s all can’t this, can’t thatwith Stevie. But fine.” Bucky guides you by the waist over to Steve, passing your hand over, and then gives you one last grin with all his teeth. “I had fun, doll. Thanks for dancin’ with me.”

“Anytime,” you tell him, and then Steve’s adjusting your grip on him. The song changes from the upbeat tune Bucky was twirling you to down to a slower classical piece.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Steve asks, his eyes roaming over your face.

“Yeah,” you hum. “Bucky and I had a lot of fun.”

Steve’s grip at your waist tightens a little. “No, I mean in general. Are you doing alright?”

There’s worry there—in the wrinkles on his brow, the blue skies of his eyes, the curve of his lips. You know he’s staring at you and seeing everything the mirror told you. All the gaunt places. The hollow, haunted look you’re parading around. The weight you’ve been steadily losing. You know he sees it.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and you wonder yet again if the mirror ever lies. You know you do.

Steve sways you gently, more carefully than Bucky had. Steve dances with you like you’re made of something fragile. You still don’t understand why. You don’t know why he ever looked at you and saw something important, someone to protect. Maybe it’s just how he was born to be.

“You can tell me anything,” he says, so seriously that your heart breaks a little.

You move your hand from his shoulder and up to cradle his cheek, smiling.

“I know, Steve. I know.”

And if he pulls you into him, crushes you against his chest, and holds you like that for the rest of the song, no one mentions it. Steve lets you rest your head on his shoulder and, not for the first time, you think this must be how it feels to have a family.

But then the lights in the ballroom brighten a little and a spark finds its way into the music, changing into something jazzy and fun, and someone slaps Steve on the shoulder.

“Alright Rogers, she’s ours now.”

There, dressed like she could kill a man with her heels alone, Natasha has her arms crossed over her black satin gown. Beside her, in a red, flowy dress, Wanda has her hands on Nat’s shoulders, giggling from all the bubbly you’re sure she’s consumed.

Steve pulls away from you with a chuckle, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright—she’s all yours, ladies.”

With that, Natasha pounces on you, and the three of you start to shimmy the night away together.

You lose count of the songs you spend dancing with them, sweaty and out of breath and having the time of your life, before you wave them off and step out onto the outside patio where hardly anyone is loitering. You pass up a couple sitting on a bench, cuddled up in the cool air of New York, and leave a man smoking a cigarette to himself.

Instead, you find a lonely bench far away enough from the gala that you can hardly hear anything but the bass strings resounding through the building. There, you sit, and turn your head up to the stars you can’t really see anymore.

“You okay, girl?”

Startled, you whirl around to face the object of your affections, standing behind you with his hands shoved casually in his pockets. He isn’t wearing his usual smile. Just staring.

And then you taste dirt. Freshly upturned soil coated in congealing blood. You cough into your hands and hear him approach, laying a warm palm on your back as you choke the daisies down and down and down, swallowing as many as you can, the pungent taste still ripe in your mouth.

“Honey,” he calls out all smooth and sharp like whiskey. “Honey, are you okay?”

You lick the blood from your lips. Sam crouches before you, gathering your cold hands in his, looking up at you with such a fucking expression that you want to kiss him so solidly he can taste the vines growing up your throat. You want his tongue to taste the soil of your suffering—the flowers of your own doom.

“I’m worried about you,” Sam says, his dark eyes searching your face for something.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, just as you’ve been telling everyone.

“You’re not looking so good these days,” he murmurs, and you recoil.

“Wow.” The hurt in your voice is so palpable it makes you cringe. “Thanks, Samuel.”

You move to get up from the bench, heart twisting, but Sam grabs your arms and cages you there.

“I didn’t mean it like that, darlin’, you know better than that.” He gives your arms—too soft too wide too fleshy too—a squeeze of reassurance. “You’re not painting much anymore either. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Sam holds your gaze until it’s too much and you have to break away.

“C’mon, girl. Are you even sleeping?” Sam shakes you a little. “Eating?”

The flowers of evil root in your chest. See, you know how this book ends. You don’t need to read the last page to find out. It’s just as Baudelaire wrote, you know: “My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.”

Your organs have been replaced by daisies. Sam Wilson won’t love you—not tonight, not tomorrow, and not in time.

So you shrug, forcing your lips to curl into what you think might be a smile.

“I can’t paint. I’ve got too many flowers to press,” you tell him. Sam’s visage morphs into confusion, and he shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t understand. He won’t understand.

You take his arms from your body, holding his hands for a split second, long enough to steal their warmth and imagine what it would be like to hold them every single day, and then you pick yourself up off the bench and give him a wave.

“See you inside, Sam.”

And you leave him there, confusion still frozen on his face, the gritty blood ripping shreds in your damaged throat as you swallow it again and again and again in an attempt not to taste it anymore.

(“Hey, uh, it’s Sam. I was just calling to, uh, y’know, remind you about the gala. You have a date yet? I didn't ask anyone. I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. Try not to kill me with your good looks tonight, you hear? Save a dance for me, baby.”)

—THE SUN AND ALL ITS STARS—

Dishware rattles into your room, signaling Nat’s arrival. By the time you gather the energy to sit up in bed, she’s already entering, a tray of food in her hands and an icy look on her face.

“Breakfast in bed,” she says monotonously.

You shift and pull your duvet up as she fits the tray over your lap. There’s not much—a sweating glass of cold water beside an amber glass of apple juice, two slices of buttered toast, and some melon she cut up.

“Thanks,” you say, voice strained and weak.

Natasha doesn’t leave, but you wish she would. She seats herself on the edge of your bed, staring you down as you sip on your water. You purse your lips in frustration, but pick up the fork and begin to poke at the fruit.

“Eat,” she says.

“I’m trying,” you grumble back. “Stop staring at me.”

Natasha throws her hands up on the air. “Well if I don’t watch you, you’ll just sit here and waste away,” she snaps. “You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, hell, you aren’t even coming out of your room anymore. You go to work, you come home, you don’t talk to any of us. Steve says—”

“Steve doesn’t know anything!” you shout, interrupting her. As soon as you do, her eyes narrow into slits and you shut your mouth, gulping. That wasn’t what you wanted to do.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Steve says you’re still looking for a place.” It’s eerie how calm she keeps her tone. “Leaving isn’t going to stop them, you know.”

Even now, not doing anything but staring at the food in your lap, you can taste them like a funeral home, saccharinely floral, covering the smell of death.

“I can’t stay here,” you say.

“You’re dying,” Natasha stresses. “Please. Please, I am begging, krasavitsa. I’ve not begged for much in this life. But I am begging you to please, please tell him. Tell him or consider the other option.”

Two options in the scale, tipping weights. To die or to have the roots of true love carved out of your lungs, peeled away from where they wrap around your heart.

You stab your fork into the tender flesh of the melon. It gives way so easily, letting the tines puncture it. Natasha stares at you, her gaze heavy. Your fingers fumble with the fork and it falls, clattering, to the tray of dishes.

The blood is too hard to swallow anymore—it builds up in your mouth and stains your teeth red, the petals colored pink when they fall from your lips.

“Okay,” you whisper. Maybe you don’t even say it aloud.

“Okay?” Natasha asks. You nod your head, not looking at her.

“I’ll tell him.”

It takes you hours, it feels like, to gather the courage. With all the energy you have left in your bones, muscles only satiated a little by Natasha’s breakfast, you drag yourself out of bed and to your bookshelf. It’s memorized, the place where your book sits, and you pull it out with a gentle tug of your finger.

The Flowers of Evil, its pages nearly chock-full of pressed daisies that have ejected themselves from your body, eager to find the man you love and spill all your desires to him. You thumb through it, gaze flitting over all the damn flowers that have dried in this damn book, and you close your eyes in order not to cry this time.

You press the book tight to your chest, feeling the desperate beating of your heart echo through it, and you head to Sam’s room.

The walk is long and lonely—the Tower feels empty. Devoid of people. You’re a little glad because you’re sure that anyone could see the sickness painted on your body, the illness from inside you that’s staining your outsides. It’s not anyone’s fault but your own, really. The flowers are too beautiful to supplant.

And now, you’re in front of his door, a fist raised to knock, a loud buzzing in your head that keeps saying no, no, no. But your heart, traitorous thing still hammering away in your chest, it just keeps saying yes, yes, yes, finally.

Sam Wilson doesn’t love you.

But do you have any other choice except to take a garden spade to your lungs and dig them out of your chest cavity, to destroy your ribcage and break through the mulch that makes up your nervous system? Is the only option left to die at the hands of Sam or to wither away until your decomposition will feed the very things that killed you off?

You shudder a breath and knock on the door. And you wait. And wait. And wait.

He doesn’t come. He isn’t there. He doesn’t love you.

The tears come suddenly—unexpectedly. They are hot and stricken and fast. They drip off your chin and careen down your neck and dampen the collar of your shirt and your hands are trembling, grasping your book too tightly, to even begin to wipe them away.

You don’t know why you’re crying. You already know this. Sam Wilson could never love you the way that you love him. Sam Wilson is perfection, you know. He possesses the strength of gods, he radiates love, he’s passionate about every fucking thing he does. He’s beautiful. He’s everything and you are nothing when standing next to him, but you love him. You love him.

Sam Wilson doesn’t fucking love you.

“Well,” you laugh to yourself, “I can either die a fool or live a life without you.”

I can either die in love or live my life not knowing what it feels like to be in love with you.

Something tickles your tongue. You reach between your lips and pluck it from your mouth, letting it sit upon the center of your palm. Blood drips down your arm like a river, violent and sooth.

The daisy covers your entire hand, white petals tinged with pink reaching toward your fingers. The center, all yellow florets seeming to seek out warmth, are so bright and full and so big—these are too big, they could choke anyone, anyone, they are choking you.

And like them—god, just like them, just like these daisies that grow from your lungs and destroy you from inside out—you are heliotropic. Everywhere you go, you’re focused on the sun, looking for the sun, stretching toward the sun.

You need the sun.

So you crumble the daisy in your hand, fist tight, blood still easing from between your fingers. You back away from his door, then turn and break away to head back to your room in silence.

You’d rather die loving him than never getting to see the sun ever again.

(“Hey girl, it’s me. Just calling to let you know that Steve and I got called for a mission. It looks like an emergency, wheels up in ten and all that. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. To Steve, I mean. Just in case. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness.”)

—FAREWELLS—

It happens faster than you think it will. You swear you have weeks, or a month at least. You swear you have time.

Four days later, your knees buckle and slam into the wooden floor beneath you, stomach contorting and contracting, balloon finally bursting. Someone is shouting your name from the common room, something is knocked over, scrambling. You barely hear it over the sound of your own vomiting.

On your hands and knees, you stare down at the lump of flowers you couldn’t swallow back. They’re coated in a mixture of soil and blood and stomach acid, but the sweet perfume scent breaks through the rest and makes you retch again. It smells so sweet. So sickly sweet. Dead people and churches.

Did churches always smell so much like blood?

There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s pulling your hair from your face. Someone is saying something—something—something you can’t make out over the blood rushing between your ears.

You’re dying. This is it.

You collapse upon the ground, rolling onto your side, arm thrown over your mouth as if that will stop the flowers from pouring out of your body. And when you blink, trying to see through the dizziness, it’s him again.

The god of the fucking sun, your sun, mouth moving frantically as he says things you can’t hear and the little gap in his teeth that makes you feel at home when he smiles at you and his eyes, oh, Sam Wilson has eyes that set you on fire and burn you alive and you’d be happy to die like this, you’re so happy you get to die like this, so thankful that the daisies chose you, so thankful you chose him.

You were right. Death is so beautiful like this.

“It might be too late.”

Helen Cho’s heels clack on the tile of the medbay’s room as she shoos the nurse out with a wave of her hands, shaking her head. He shoots to his feet, fingers already curled into fists, and he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket to hide them.

“Too late?” It’s impossible for him to keep his voice low. “How can it be too late? What even—What’s wrong with her?”

She frowns at Sam, folding her hands together in front of her.

“It’s… rare,” she says. “Some of us didn’t think it was real, to be frank with you.”

His brow furrows. “What is it?”

“A disease caused by unrequited love,” Helen says plainly, staring straight at him. “Typically, the patient finds themselves in what is regarded to be true love, but the feelings are not returned, so they build up. It’s theorized that the stress of that creates the problem.”

Sam swallows and it tastes like vomit. “Unrequited love?”

She ignores him, continuing, “The part that is normally so hard to believe is that flowers begin to grow inside the patient, the roots puncturing their lungs and creating masses that eventually will suffocate their host.”

It’s a bag of bricks to his stomach. A super soldier punch to the gut. A bomb blown up in his face. Sam doubles over, clutching his middle, trying to breathe again. He can’t breathe at all. The flowers. The flowers.

“It seems she was swallowing them in an attempt to save herself,” Helen explains. “It’s what kept her alive much longer than she should have been. But now, I don’t know. It may be too late to save her. If she’d just said something earlier, than the surgery might have been able to stop it, but—”

“Surgery?” Sam asks, still gasping for breath. “What surgery?”

“You can extract the roots,” she tells him, glancing at the sleeping woman in the sickbed. “It’s a difficult procedure but it would have saved her. But, from the very little research we have on it, removing the roots also removes the feelings entirely. The love that the patient has disappears. They aren’t able to ever feel anything for that person ever again.”

He falls back into the plastic chair, his limbs numb. Or, at least that’s what he wants to do. But Sam doesn’t. He steadies himself, crosses his arms over his chest, plants himself so firmly there in the hospital room that he doesn’t think an earthquake can move him, and looks at her.

She’s sleeping, but she doesn’t look at peace. Her eyes, lovely things, are sunken in and it makes him so mad. Her collarbones have shadows beneath them and he feels fury wracking his own bones. And how long has it been since he’s seen her smile?

“Do the surgery,” he demands.

“You know I can’t do that without her consent,” Helen says, sighing.

“Then I’ll wait until she wakes up and get her consent,” he seethes through a locked jaw.

Helen’s face doesn’t change. “She might not wake up.”

“She will.”

Sam doesn’t get it. He understands—in a way—but he doesn’t really get it. He knows why she wouldn’t want to get a surgery like that. But he loves—he loves just as fiercely as she does, and that’s why he understands. Why he knows.

So why did the flowers pick her? Why would they pick her and not him?

Helen glances down at her feet, says nothing, and turns to exit the room. He’s left there in the silence, with the crowing of the machine keeping her alive to punctuate all his thoughts. If there is one thing he hates in the world, it’s feeling helpless.

He lowers himself in the plastic seat, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.

“You’ll wake up,” he says to her, but he can’t look at her.

Or maybe he’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.

There’s a soft rapping of knuckles on the door, and it opens slowly and quietly, and Sam has to lock his fingers around the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up and sending a right hook right at Steve’s face.

“How’s she doing?” Steve has the audacity to ask, has the audacity to look worried, has the audacity to pull up another plastic seat next to Sam.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters under his breath, spite burning his tongue.

Steve glares at him. “Yeah, that’s why I asked. What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you, Rogers.” Now, Sam can’t help but stand, towering over the super soldier. He immediately grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him out of his chair, through the door, and out into the hallway. Steve stumbles, a hand on the wall, and Sam’s nostrils flare.

“How could you do this to her?”

“Me?” Steve sounds genuinely taken aback, but Sam doesn’t buy it. “What are you talking about? Helen told me—”

“I thought you loved her, too!”

He really did. That’s why Steve brought her to the Tower, didn’t he? That’s why they go out for lunch every other week and why Sam never gets a chance to take her out himself. Why he always makes sure to say goodbye to her before a mission, like he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He really thought Steve loved her too. If he had thought for one second that Steve didn’t love her...

“What?” Steve’s jaw slackens. “Not like that! She doesn’t—She’s not in love with me, Sam!”

He pants, unable to catch the breath that’s leaving him like a slow leak.

“Then who the hell is she in love with?”

Steve stares at him, a look that Sam can’t recognize, can’t name, in his eyes. Steve stares at him and smooths his hand down his beard, shaking his head.

“She’s in love with you,” he says, and Sam chokes.

Because all the pretty things in his world lead back to her and man, if she loved him, it would all be so perfect that he would never want to leave it. He would never want to say goodbye. He’d ask god and anyone else who would listen to grant him a deathless life so he could look at her forever, with no end in sight, because he would. He would. Sam would love her forever.

“No,” he says, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “That can’t be true.”

“It’s true,” Steve says.

“That’s impossible.” He backs up, against the wall, holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” Steve repeats, staring past Sam and through the window of the medbay’s room to look at her, lying so still in her bed. “I know it is.”

“Steve, I’m in love with her,” Sam confesses, an ache in his chest. “It can’t be me. I’m in love with her. I’m so fucking in love with her.”

A heavy hand clasps his shoulder, and when Sam looks up, his breathing unsteady, Steve has a look of regret smeared all over his face.

“But does she know that?”

And, for the first time in years, Sam cries.

(“It’s me. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”)

—SINCERITY—

Sam Wilson thinks she’s starlight.

When she first arrives she’s a collection of stars and their ashes, explosions and deaths, supernovas and black holes and earthbound meteorites.

What he means by that is she’s covered in bruises but she’s so beautiful, and he wants to gather her in his arms and tell her it’s going to be okay.

Steve introduces her, and Sam tries to bite his tongue, but all his words pour out of him anyway as she holds out a hand to him and he takes it, soft and trembling, and he knows she’s special somehow. She’s special.

“You’re the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” he says, and he means it, but she ducks her head and tries to hide the little smile on her face.

Sam Wilson thinks the world of you. But even when the bruises fade, you’re still left with all the land and the water and the galaxies hidden in your eyes when he catches your gaze, and he looks at you and he swears that you’re reaching into his chest and taking his heart in your small hands and squeezing him dry. You have realms inside of you, he’s sure, all the worlds and all their wonders. But you—you look at Steve like that sometimes, and then Sam is just grateful that you even let him breathe in your general atmosphere.

He can fly, sure, but he certainly isn’t an astronaut, so this is about the closest he can get to you.

(“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. This number is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”)

—TRUE LOVE—

The first thing you see is the ceiling, hazy and sleep-filtered, but it looks just like the ceiling in that bathroom, back in Danny’s apartment, back when you thought the pain of love was bone crushing, before you knew the pain of love was slow suffocation.

It makes you stutter back to life and that sends you into a coughing fit. You can still taste them—the daisies. They taste like the rawness of sunlight.

Hand pressed against your chest, your eyes dart around the room, trying to catch your bearings. There’s an IV in your arm, the bed railings are plastic, Sam is sitting in the corner, the lights are dimmed.

Sam Wilson is sitting in the corner.

You gasp, looking at him, and he’s staring right back at you, a familiar book in his hands.

Sam Wilson is sitting beside your bed, holding The Flowers of Evil, and the look on his face is far from happy to see you. It’s not anger. And it’s not sadness. It just… is. And Sam is never “just” anything.

Even if he thinks that sometimes, like the times when he calls you and says, “It’s just me,” as if he isn’t something special, so important you can’t live without him in your life.

Well, you can’t live with him, either.

After a solid minute, Sam looks down at the book between his dark hands, and he begins to sift through the pages. He stops sometimes, lingers on the sheets of dried daisies that have been pressed, their color leaking onto the text only slightly. But then he moves forward, searching for something. You don’t know what.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, throat sore when you speak.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Your teeth gnash together, bite into your bottom lip, worry a sore there as he doesn’t look at you. He just keeps flipping through the book as if he didn’t just thrust a dagger straight through your heart, as if it isn’t beating so fast and hard like it’s trying to stay alive. You feel like you can’t breathe and you don’t know if it’s the flowers crawling out of your lungs and trying to get to him or if it’s the fact that he knows.

You can’t answer him.

Sam stops on a page, his finger trailing over the script, and then he begins to read.

“And yet

to wine, to opium even, I prefer

the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself;

and in the wasteland of desire

your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.”

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” he says, shutting the book with a thump and striking his palm with it. “Baudelaire sure had a lot to say, didn’t he?”

Your mouth is suddenly so dry. There’s a pink pitcher of water next to the bed, just like a hospital would have, and you reach weakly for it. Sam grabs it immediately, pouring you a cup, and passing it gently to you. You gulp what you can down through the straw, hardly breathing.

When you finally feel like you aren’t going to cough your lungs up into your hands again, Sam takes the cup back from you, and embarrassment is a cold shiver down your spine.

He sits back down beside you, looking straight at you. “Do you want to get the surgery?”

Your lips part to speak, but he interrupts.

“Be honest.”

Chewing your lip, you take a deep breath. “No. And I never planned on it, either.” From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten.

“Why not?”

“Because what is a life without the fucking sun, Sam?” The words are spat from your mouth. “A life spent not loving you—not knowing you, not feeling you anymore—it wasn’t worth it. Because I love you, Samuel Wilson. I have loved you since the day I met you and you told me—told me I was pretty for some goddamn reason. And I’ve loved you every day since. I love everything about you and there is not a single iteration of life that I would want to live if it meant not loving you.”

This time, nothing tastes like blood. It’s all just daisies, like they’re populating your mouth, changing the way your tongue works, turning to paste in your teeth. It’s so strong that it hurts. Like you’re eating paper valentines and crying too many tears as you say goodbye to a body in a casket.

But it’s beautiful and lovely and gorgeous because you swear that, somewhere beneath it, you can taste what you think love might taste like.

Sam doesn’t speak and it hurts, but it tosses your book down on the side table and reaches into his pocket and it still hurts. He pulls out his phone. You swallow down the rising earth in your chest.

He pulls out his phone—no, it’s your phone. He turns the screen toward you and punches in your password. You furrow your brows. When did he learn your password? But it doesn’t matter, really, because he just swipes to your call log and pulls up your voicemails. And then he begins to play them.

“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Have fun, girl. Save a dance for me, baby. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”

The sobs fall from the broken seal of your lips, loud and crashing, like a waterfall. Your hand, shaking and weak, comes up to try to cover your mouth, but Sam lunges forward and catches your wrist in gentle fingers.

He’s looking at you like you’re everything—and you know, you know now that you are—to him.

“You’ve been saying that this whole time?” you ask, a laugh bubbling up from your lungs. No flowers retch up your throat.

Sam smiles, lips pulling back to reveal that gap in his front teeth.

“You haven’t been listening, baby girl. I’ve been tryin’ to tell you I love you for months.”

He rests his forehead upon yours, and as close as he is, all you can smell now is the spice of his cologne. Nothing smells floral.

“I never would have thought,” you whisper. “I was sure—so sure—that you didn’t love me. I thought because of the flowers, I thought that meant for sure that you didn’t love me. I mean, why would you? Why would you ever love someone like me?”

“Honey,” he says, so softly, “you’re starlight.”

Tears flood your cheeks and Sam cups your face in his large hands, wiping them away with gentle thumbs.

Sam Wilson is sunlight. You never considered that you could be starlight.

“Why wouldn’t I love you, darlin’? You’re so good, so gorgeous, so perfect.” He laughs and it makes you laugh too, but it comes out like a sob. Your heart feels lighter. “But you’ve never considered yourself worthy of love before, have you?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

He hushes you, soothes you, smooths his palms over the planes of your face and over your hair,

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He presses a warm kiss to your forehead and the memory of every single time he’s kissed your forehead like this flashes through your mind, an electric current, and you wonder how you never saw it before now.

“I love you,” you say, and this time, your lungs don’t feel as though they will burst from the pressure, the roots, the vines twined around them. You don’t feel choked by petals. You don’t taste blood in the back of your mouth.

“I know,” he says, “and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my days with you convincing you that you are worthy of love, honey. Because I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you.”

When he presses his lips to yours, he doesn’t taste like flowers. Not like the daisies that wrote your death sentence. He tastes like golden pools of sunlight, warm and wanting. This is your heliotropism. You are a magnet for him, Sam Wilson, god of the fucking sun.

And maybe he’s phototropic, always drawn to you, moving toward your starlight.

(“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I missed your call! I’m on my way home now, and guess what? I have a surprise for you. It’s a bit ironic, but I think you’ll like it. What do you think of the name Daisy for a baby girl?”)

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x plus sized reader #plus sized reader #sam wilson angst #sam wilson fanfiction #hanahaki au #sam wilson fluff #thanks for supporting me!#divine masterlist #the flowers of evil

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prfctethereal · 3 years

Note

Can you write James Potter smut please. Thank you

frosted hearts. | james potter

pairing: single dad!james potter x preschool teacher!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: NSFW. smut, sub!james, dom!reader, talk of masturbation, talk of punishment, mommy kink, praise kink, tit sucking, thigh riding, slap and degrading kink only for a short amount of time at the end

summary: you are harry’s preschool teacher and one day james is late to picking his son up from school

It was hard to be around screaming toddlers, all day, every day. By the end of your long shifts, your head was blistered by the engraved sound of whining, moaning, and that smacking sound the children make with their lips.

But for the most part, you loved being around kids. Their tenderness brought so much joy to you and you were happy to have become an early childhood teacher. Your workplace was loving, with your fellow teachers continuously supporting you through everything. Even the kids were decently nice.

The age old stigma that kids were devil spawn seemed like the most foreign concept to as you coddled a near sleeping three year old, his warm body curled up to your side. Reading a children’s story to the kids, you felt so much adoration for the children around you, enough to make your cheeks rouge. All of them looked at you with doe eyes as you finished the last page.

“And the princess and the prince fell in love and lived happily ever after.” You closed the book with a soft clap. “The end.”

Looking around, the children beamed, flashing their pearly, toothy smiles towards you. In that moment, you felt at peace, almost content, knowing that you were bringing enjoyment to the kids surrounding you. Gently, you stroked the arm of the nearest child, Harry, as he slowly unraveled from your side.

“Miss?” Harry asked placidly, his tiny fingers down playing with the hem of your skirt. He looked up at you, fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Yes, Harry?” You responded, once you knew that he wasn’t going to speak without permission.

“Do you have a prince?”

At those words, you frowned, your smile disappearing from your face. Admittedly, you have been quite lonely for the past year. Focusing on work has been devastating for your social life. After your messy breakup with your previous partner, you felt like it was unnecessary to rush into another relationship. Quickly enough, those days turned into months, and eventually a year. Your dry spell was becoming quite unbearable.

As the winter months closed in, you wished for more comfort at night. The smoking fireplace could only fill your lonely apartment with so much warmth before you got desperate - needy - for something more. Some nights were spent with your fingers curled up into your cunt, tight from the months of neglect, desperately trying to churn some pleasure out of you, but, there was only so much your own fingers could do. They couldn’t go nearly as deep enough, or stretch you nearly as much as you so deeply desired. You were starting to become flustered just thinking about it.

“No.” Your reply was short, until you realised the kids around you would want a longer explanation. Sighing, you folded your hands in your lap, pursing your lips forward. “I’m not a princess of any sort. Even then, sometimes people don't have someone with them.”

“Just like my Daddy.” Harry babbled unprompted, dawdling away from you to join the midst of his pre-school friends. “He is all alone too.”

You knew Harry’s father, and just the thought of him made you curl your toes in delight. He was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Deep hazel eyes that light up when he laughs. Plump pink lips that frame his mischievous smile. Strong, muscular arms, complimenting his toned hands, that you can imagine wrapped around your neck...

Before you could even process the dubious insult thrown your way, you felt a sprinkling of fingers press lightly against your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. Furrowing your eyebrows, you traveled your eyeline up, locking eyes with another teacher who worked there, Lily.

She looked absolutely wrecked. You knew she had been on the phone for most of the afternoon, for reasons you didn’t know, but you expected that you were going to be told now, as she beckoned you away from the kids.

“One moment.” You held up your finger, showing the kids an example of counting. As you walked away, you saw the kids out of the corner of your eye. They too had one finger in the air, repeating the same word - “One!” - over and over to each other. It was very cute.

“Roads have been closing because of the weather.” Lily started, her nimble fingers gesturing out of the frosted window panes. She was right; the roads were starting to look pretty bad. A thin layer of snow seemed to be shredding downwards, coating the town like powdered sugar. The sun stayed behind the clouds, not even daring to peek through, keeping the town in a cold flurry, and keeping the children inside. This was going to be a long shift.

“So, we’ll have to stay here longer tonight?” You asked, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. You brought the pads of your index fingers up to the window pane, feeling the chill of the temperature seem into your skin. WIthout realising it, you traced a heart shape into the frost, your own heart sighing as you exhaled.

“Hopefully not.” Lily replied. “I’ve contacted all the parents and have told them to come pick up their kids as soon as possible. This storm seems to not be slowing down any time soon. So, potentially, we might be able to go home early, if the children all get picked up before the snow gets too thick. And, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. The snow’s gonna settle, meaning there will be road closure all across town.”

“Great.” A sarcastic laugh poured from your mouths as you turned back to the kids, who were still being occupied by the thought of having one finger in the air. “We should start getting them ready then.”

You and Lily worked diligently side by side, bundling the kids up in layers of soft clothing, keeping them secure from the storm. The kids joined in too, helping to clean the classroom, picking up litter off of the floor, and clearing off tables. As you sprayed down the surfaces of the tables and kitchen counters, you hummed a soft tune, getting into the rhythm of cleaning.

While you were occupied with cleaning, parents started arriving, greeting their kids with loving smiles and gentle touches. You melted as the kids ran excitedly into their parents arms, wrapping themselves around their mums and dads, wishing to not let go. In those sweet moments, you felt a fleeting pang of loneliness. You longed for your own child, and with that, a loyal husband. You breathed out a sigh, something that was becoming quite regular for you by now.

As more and more parents arrived, you saw the sun trickle behind the horizon. Soon, the night sky appeared, painting the sky in hues of indigo and cerulean. As much as you loved the night, you didn’t love the idea of being stuck here all night, and neither did Lily, who was looking even more restless than you.

Her ginger hair fell across her face, partially blocking her vision as she lethargically signed out the second to last kid. Deep, violet bags were forming under her eyes, her skin borderline white from her exhaustion. It was getting hard to look at.

“Why don’t you just go home?” Your offer made Lily perk her head up. “You look way too tired to even continue standing on two feet.”

“I couldn't do that to you.” Lily yawned, clasping her perfectly manicured hand over her mouth. “And besides, Harry hasn’t been picked up yet. I still have to do my job.”

You looked at her with pity in your eyes. You hadn’t seen her this exhausted in years, and you knew her anxiety was bubbling up as more and more snow fell onto the ground. “Please just go Lily. It’s only Harry; I can monitor him by myself. You need to get home before the snow gets heavier.” Before she could butt in, you continued. “Besides, Harry much prefers me over you.”

Lily laughed, closing you tightly into a friendly hug. “Thank you so much. I’ll get you back another day. Are you sure you’re all good closing up on your own?”

“Go home.” You waved her away dismissively. Lily bounced around and in only five minutes, she had collected herself, and had dashed out the door, leaving only you and Harry in the pre-school.

He was looking quite tired himself, which was understandable. By now, it was nearly eight o’clock at night, a time you knew was well past his bedtime. Harry had curled himself up on one of the naptime beds himself, his raven hair falling over his eyes. Staying by his side, you caressed his back, until he fell into a soft slumber.

You felt lonely again. Harry was asleep and there was nothing left for you to do until Harry’s father arrived to pick him up. You knew a few things about Harry’s father, from the fleeting conversations you had had over the time Harry had been at this school. You knew his name was James, and he looked like heaven. Everytime you glanced his way, you felt yourself grow wet. It probably was a problem, but your secret crush didn’t hurt anyone, so you kept it secret.

Long after it had become dark, you finally saw canary coloured headlights glint in the distance. It was a relatively nice car, something you’d expect a well paid ministry worker, like James, to drive. You watched attentively as the car parked slowly and surely. Then, the car door opened, and you got your first look of James for the day.

He definitely looked a little tired but there was something endearing about it. His fluffy brown hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it greatly. His round glasses sat low on his nose bridge, with his natural eyes scanning the area. There, he locked eyes with you through the window, the same window you had drawn your pathetic heart on. Right then, James was positioned right in the middle of the heart, condensation like a halo.

Before you knew it, James had opened up the door into the school, realising a sigh of relief when he was hit by the warmth of the classroom. Dramatically, he closed the door behind him, leaning up against the frame, apologies falling from his lips like rain from the sky.

“I’m so sorry I was late. Traffic was crazy. Too many road closures.” James seemed frantic, but the solidarity of the preschool was definitely calming his mood down.

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Potter. Harry is delightful to look after.”

“Please,” James held out his hand, “call me James.” You intertwined your fingers with hsi, shaking his hand ever so lightly, the same hand you had fantasised about. It was everything you dreamed of.

“I should drive Harry home now.” James broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension, making you want to salivate. You didn’t like the idea of James driving in his state, especially since he looked so tired. If anything, he would need some caffeine in him before the journey.

You reached your hand up, stroking his right cheek with your left hand, concern filling your eyes. “Oh, please James, you look so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea before you journey back home. You look as though you need it.”

James chuckled. “Alright then, just one though. Besides, Harry seems to be having a lovely nap. Wouldn't want to disturbed him now, would we?”

You guided James into the back kitchen through a secret door. Here was your break room where you could have some peace and quiet away from the kids. It was one of your favourite places in the entire school, because even though you loved the kids, sometimes you just needed a place to help you unwind, and unwind you did. Countless times you had fallen asleep back here and had dreamed of James.

“We have Earl Grey. Is that okay?” You looked through your cupboards, eyes locking onto a small red box, tea bags flooding out of it. Personally, you weren’t a big fan of it, that's why there were still so many, but James didn’t seem to mind it.

“Please, sounds lovely, dear.”

You worked in silence, turning the kettle on to boil. Carefully, you dunked a tea bag into a mug, swirling it around in your fingers as you waited for the water to boil. The emptiness of volume was killing; you could’ve heard a pin drop. James was the one to speak up first.

“Harry really likes you. He talks about you often.”

“Oh really?” You chuckled in disbelief, facing away from James, fiddling with some lint of your sweater.

“Yes. Sometimes, he even calls you Mum. I’m happy that he has a mother figure like you to look after him.” You chuckled when hearing James’ words, which confused him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You said, reaching for the kettle. “He’s just not the only one to have called me Mommy before.”

James furrowed his brows, even more confused. “You have kids of your own?”

“Not quite.” You swung your head around, throwing James a cheeky grin. That’s when he understood what you meant. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his pants seeming just a bit tighter than before. It was definitely hotter in the room.

“What normally happens when people call you that?” James asked, testing the waters. As you stood to move around, the chair scraped against the wooden floors, alerting you of his prowling presence.

When he was a mere inch away from you, you smirked once again. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” You weren’t sure where this rush of confidence was coming from but you both seemed to not want to slow down.

Consciously, James raised his hand to your cheek, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His soft hands lingered a little too long, before his eyes flickered downwards towards your lips. You knew what he wanted, but you never took him for the shy type. Something about this made you aroused. Needing relief desperately, you lunged forwards, connecting your lips to his.

It was everything you thought it would be. Hungry, passionate, skilled. Your lips melded perfectly together with his, as his lips sucked gently on your top lip. Yearning for something more, you moved your hands down to his ass, giving James an experimental squeeze. Just like how you wanted, he gasped, giving you the perfect entrance to insert your tongue into his ready mouth. He moaned, his lips vibrating against you.

“Show your Mommy how much you need her.” You pulled away, whispering those words at the shell of his ear. You could hear James whimper in front of you, positioning himself so he was straddling one of your thighs, as you were pushed up against the counter tops.

James’ fingers worked at the hem of your sweater. Eager to remove as many clothes as possible from you, he tugged at the edge, slow whimpers escaping his pretty mouth, as you tilted your head down to his neck, aching to leave soft love bites on his skin.

He was getting needier and more submissive by the minute, but to you, he was acting like a brat. “That’s not how we ask for something we want, is it baby? Use your words.”

“Please Mommy, may I take your sweater off?”

With a curt nod, you obliged, watching James’ eyes light up in fascination. Quickly, he pulled your sweater over your head, glad to see that your thin shir had stuck to the material of your sweater, leaving you in just a bra on top. His eyes were transfixed by the way your nipples were hard on your pert breasts, sticking out from your bra.

“Can I take your bra off please, Mommy?” James’ hands had already made their way around your torso, preparing for the inevitable.

“Yes love, good boy for asking.” You felt James grow harder against your thigh as you praised him, a thought that made you smirk in delight and what could be in store.

Like you were made of glass, James slipped the bra off of your shoulders, dragging it slowly off of your arms. You knew he wasn’t teasing on purpose, as it seemed that he was distracted by the sight of your tits, but you needed relief anyway, bucking your thigh up against his crotch as encouragement. “They’re all yours.”

Delighted, James leaned in, his whole mouth engulfing your nipple. With vigour, he bagan sucking, the pleasure of it going straight down into your core. You moaned loudly, something you learned that egged James on. Greedily, he started rubbing his hands down your side, eager to feel all of your skin. You didn’t mind though, as you were lost in your own moment.

“Good- good boy.” You stuttered out as James’ mouth left the centre of the nipple, beginning to suck small bruises into the side of your boob. Normally, you would punish him - well, anyone - for doing that without permission, but you didn’t care at that moment.

Content with his handiwork, James moved onto your next nipple, ready to give you the same amount of pleasure as last time. As he worked your nipple to a bright scarlet like the last one, you noticed a curious movement with his hips. Looking down, you saw James, rutting his hips into you, humping your thigh as if he was a bitch in heat. You moaned at the sight.

“You like that, huh? You like,” - you jolted your thigh upwards - “Mommy’s thigh?”

“Mmm, so good.” James mumbled against your tit. You knew he was close to coming, but you weren’t quite done with him yet. Pulling him away from your body, you looked into his eyes to see a hurt expression, something you didn’t like seeing. Luckily, it wasn’t going to last long.

“If you can make Mommy cum from your tongue, then I’ll let you cum on my thigh, alright?” With an excited nod of his head, James immediately sunk to his knees, diving his head underneath your skirt. His fingers worked quickly, stretching the fabric of your panties to the side so he had the best access possible. When you heard a muffled “Oops” against your thigh, you could tell that your panties had snapped from James’ force, but you didn’t mind. He made up for it by being so damn skilled.

He dove in nearly straight away, his tongue licking straight up the lips of your cunt, lapping at it as if it was his first ever meal. The end of his tongue teased the entrance to your velvet walls, pressing in ever so slightly and pulling away, creating tension and frustration for you. But it felt so good.

“Feels so good, darling. Doing so good, my good boy. My good, good boy.” You knew he was spurred on by praise, so you gave him what he needed. Threading your fingers in his hair, you held him down slightly, taking the tiniest amount of control back.

When he began sucking at your clit, that's when you really felt the tide going out. It was ebbing at your senses, the only indication being your shaking body and the mewling whimpers coming from your mouth. This only encouraged James further to topple you over the edge.

Slowly, James brought his fingers up to your cunt, teasing your entrance with his finger. Then, he slipped it inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around his finger. You were so tight that James dreamed of how you would feel around his cock, these thoughts going straight to his straining dick in his pants. He needed relief, so he worked faster, inserting another finger and pumping faster.

You were so close by now. The combined stimulation of James’ lips suctioning at your clit and his fingers working in and out of you was too much. With one last hard suck, you felt your orgaasm wash over you like a tsunami. You could hardly hold yourself up, and that was evident by the way you toppled to your side. The only reason you didn’t hit the floor was because of James’ lightning fast reflexes, keeping you upright.

“Did I do good, Mommy?” James asked, his shiny eyes looking up at you with adoration, his lips glistening with your cum. You smiled sweetly down at him, stroking his cheek with your hand, until you pulled it back and gave him a harsh slap across his face.

“It was so good baby, but I thought I said only using your tongue?” James had the look of realisation on his face, but you kept going. “Naughty boys who don’t follow rules have to be punished, and I don't think you want to get put in the Naughty Corner, do you?”

James whimpered, but it sounded like he was enjoying the degradation. A smile spread across your face.

“Oh so you do? Good boy.”

#James potter #James Potter x reader #James Potter fluff #marauders era #marauders #harry potter

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anne-i-write · 3 years

Text

sweet love

| who would have known that the local bakery could get sebastian to show his soft spot |

sebastian moran x reader

word count: 3609

tw: sexual implications but no actual spice (mostly from sebastian’s “flirting”)

a/n: a little new years gift from me to all of you! i’m sorry it took so long to get another post up but i enjoyed writing this one! hopefully sebastian isn’t too ooc in this idk ig i just have a thing for making characters ooc but it’s very sweet and possibly tooth rotting. i also realize that i got carried away making this one and now you can read through my brain rot lol. ALSO APPARENTLY HES 6’6 THE MAN COULD ABSOLUTELY PUNT ME WHAT anyhow, i hope you all enjoy!! p.s. if you see grammatical errors and incoherent sentences, i just copy pasted from google docs lmao good luck

Sebastian grumbled under his breath, annoyed with the work that William had him do.

“‘Those who do not work in this house aren’t treated as people.’” Sebastian scoffed as he glanced over at the list. “Louis should be glad I’m on good terms with William.”

The ex-colonel should’ve been back at the estate an hour ago but he felt somewhat spiteful and decided to stay out longer. He had finished everything he needed but he had no clue what to do. It was already lunch and his stomach was silently growling but he refused to face the brothers just yet.

That was until he stopped in front of a quaint bakery with the words Fox’s Biscuits painted on a hanging sign.

“Isn’t this…” He looked at the bakery window, mouthwatering biscuits on display for everyone to see.

“These are the biscuits Father bought for me when I was younger.”

Longing for a sense of his childhood, Sebastian walked into the small shop.

In an instant, the sickly sweet smell of chocolate hit his nose and the bell above the door rang out. It was a small space but one could feel the dedication put into the little treats. “Hello?” Sebastian called out as soon as he realized he had been alone for at least two minutes.

“Just a moment!”

Crashes and clangs could be heard from behind a door that presumably led to a kitchen. You burst through the door, your apron stained with chocolate and your right cheek was covered in a light dust of flour.

Sebastian stared at you with wide eyes, not sure if he should focus on the disorderly ruin that was yourself or the absolute charm that you carried. “You have a little something—” He pointed to his cheek and your cute eyes widened a smidge.

You frantically turned around, swiping at both cheeks and turning around when you felt like you were clean. “How may I help you today?”

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat when you smiled widely, his cheeks feeling a little flush. He shook his head.

“Those biscuits by the door; how much are they?” You took a step to the side to see which one he was talking about. “Oh, it’s 10 shillings for each one.” You informed him, walking to the stacked treats with a cloth in hand. “How many would you like?”

A sly grin painted Sebastian’s features and he turned to face you. “3 pieces please.” You barely picked up the second biscuit before you felt a presence looming behind you. “Perhaps, I can have you too if I pay extra.” He whispered in your ear.

Heat spread across your face as you quickly shoved the rest of the biscuits in the small bag. You shoved the biscuits his way and held out your other hand expectantly. “Th-That’s 30 shillings!” You cursed the way you stuttered.

Sebastian laughed at your flustered state as he handed you the payment. He shot you a teasing glance.

“I can’t bake very well but I can show you how good I am with my hands.” Your eyes widened again at the implication and you shoved him towards the exit.

“Thank you for coming to our bakery!” You breathed out a sigh of relief. One patron down… only many more to come.

The ex-colonel swung the bag leisurely as he strode into the manor, forgetting about lunch. “Where were you, Sebastian?” Louis asked as soon as he opened the door.

“Getting myself food.”

The bell rang in your little family shop and you smiled, heading out to greet the next customer with freshly baked biscuits in hand.

“Good afternoon–” Your smile dropped when you realized who came into the bakery.

“What’s with the frown, sweetheart?” Sebastian cooed and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you not wish I would come back?”

“I wish you never came at all.” The man stilled for a moment but laughed when you walked past him to restock the display case. “You were here yesterday, were you not?” He turned to see you carefully placing the treats on the platter. “Yes but I’m here to buy more of those delicious biscuits you sell.”

Sebastian stalked closer to you just as you spun around to point the tray in his face. “Personal space, please.” He raised his hands in resignation and backed up. You walked back to the counter to place the warm tray on top. “You weren’t complaining yesterday.”

“I didn’t expect yesterday. Now, how many biscuits would you like?” Before he opened his mouth, you continued. “And buy enough so I don’t have to see you again.”

Sebastian laughed again, enjoying your quips. “You seem very spirited today, m’love.” You rolled your eyes. “Either you buy something or you can get out of the shop.” The man walked towards you but you stood your ground this time, arms crossed.

“Your biscuits are delicious but I bet you taste even better.” Your face heated up and Sebastian grinned. “Th-The way out is right behind you.”

Why do I always stutter?

“You’re adorable when you get shy on me.” You shot him a pointed glare and he chuckled. “I’ll have the whole display.” Sebastian thoroughly enjoyed the way your shy attitude appeared when he spoke.

“Th-The whole—” Sebastian chuckled and leaned on a nearby wall. “Yes, sweetheart; the whole case.” Of course, you needed the money but could the man even afford it?

“Th-That’s 100 shillings.” Sebastian took another glance at the display and shook his head. “Come now sweetheart, all of that is at least 600 shillings.” You shook your head.

“600 shillings is too much!” The thought of even getting mad at his previous words flew out of your head as he insisted on paying the full price. “Please, I’ll lower the price.”

Sebastian smiled as he reached into his coat and pulled out a satchel of coins. “It must have taken a painstakingly long time to make all those biscuits, it’s only right I pay you in full.” He placed the bag on the counter and you slid it back towards him. “I don’t have time to count 100 shillings! Please, that would be more than enough.”

This continued on for another ten minutes before he finally got you to settle on paying half of the original price.

“Enjoy your biscuits!” You called out to him just as the door barely closed behind him. Thankfully the door had a large glass pane and he turned around, offering a small wave before walking off.

You watched as he left the front of the shop and your eyes drifted to the empty display case.

“What in God’s name happened.”

Sebastian was aware that the last time he saw you was the other day, but he did comprehend that coming back the day after buying 60 biscuits would look rather odd. Telling Louis he had to run an errand in the town, the ex-colonel set off to your little bakery. Considering how empty it was the last two times he saw you, Sebastian expected it to be the same.

What he didn’t expect was a large crowd that seemed too big to be inside of the bakery.

Sebastian carefully opened the door and was greeted with the bustling sound of people chatting as they waited for their treats. Being the tall man he was, he searched for you in the crowd until he saw you rush out of the kitchen with your hair a complete mess.

“Thank you for being so patient, have a great day!” You said breathlessly and the patron nodded, wishing you well before leaving. They passed by Sebastian and he watched as they left the shop. He turned his attention back to you, who wore the same smile that made his heart stutter as you helped the next customer.

God only knows how long Sebastian was in the shop but the last customer left and you slumped against the counter. “Is that how you hold yourself in front of your patrons?” You groaned and he laughed.

“You bought 60 biscuits the other day and I still have to make the next batch, why are you back?” You glanced up at him and he shrugged. “Can I not wait for the biscuits?” You kept staring at him and he shot you a questioning glance.

“I can give you an estimated time for when the biscuits are done.” You yawned as you stood up and stretched. “I saw you come in a while ago, do you not have anywhere to be?”

Sebastian leaned against the counter and sighed. “Not today.”

Not having the energy to make him leave, you simply walked back into the kitchen and he watched as the door swung behind you.

It had been three minutes since you disappeared behind the doors and Sebastian was about to leave before you emerged from the kitchen. “If you’re staying until I make the next batch, then I want you to try this.” You said as you place down a small plate with two chocolate covered biscuits. “My father doesn’t know about these so I want to see if these taste good.” He took a glance at the plate and looked up at you.

“You couldn’t try them yourselves?” He asked as you stood across from him, arms folded. “I’d be favored to like them because I made them.” A beat of silence passed as you stared at each other.

“They’re not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about.” An impressed look crossed Sebastian’s face as he picked up the biscuit and ate it. You watched closely as the man in front of you chewed your creation. “Is that jam and cream?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s indecent.” Sebastian snorted as he took another bite. “You sound like my mum.” You smiled softly as he started to reach for the second one.

“Keep staring like that, I might have to eat something else.” He said as he winked at you.

“Y-You—!”

Sebastian’s visits became routine and each time he came in, your day got a little better. You scoffed. Like you would ever tell him that.

“Darling!” Sebastian called out as he opened the door. “You know, I don’t even know your name and you’ve been coming here for two weeks.” You stated as you cleaned down the counter.

“Aw, you want to put a name to a face so you can moan it tonight?” He cooed and you slammed your towel down, flustered. “O-One day without suggesting those things! I-Is that too much to ask?” Sebastian laughed and you went back to furiously wiping down the counter.

He smiled as he walked towards you and placed his hand on yours. “If you keep scrubbing like that, the wood will wear down.” You sighed and relaxed your grip on the washing cloth. “Your hands are warm.” You said and he chuckled.

“The cloth’s gone cold.” He pointed out and you rolled your eyes. “I didn’t realize.” Sebastian snorted and took the cloth out of your hands. “Here.” He took both of your hands and held them in his, breathing out slowly on them. He looked at you, taking note of the dark circles under your eyes.

If you were working yourself that much, he would make you take this short break to relax.

You looked up at your hands and suddenly felt shy at the intimate contact. “(Y/N),” you muttered, looking away.

Sebastian glanced up at you and huffed softly. “Sebastian.” You continued to let him warm up your hands.

A serene silence fell over the two of you as he exhaled softly on your hands.

That was until your sister barged into the shop, back from the market. “(Y/N)!” All three of you paused as you stared at each other. You watched as your sister’s eyes traveled from yours to your intertwined hands and you instantly flared up.

“I was just handing him biscuits!” You yelped, yanking your hands out of Sebastian’s. You looked at him and nodded your head towards the exit. “Thank you so much for coming!” Sebastian grinned and he leaned in closer to you. “I’ll come back for you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

He knew he said this loud enough for you sister to hear. “Good day!” He smiled innocently, nodding to the girl by the door and walked out.

You watched as he left, not noticing your sister walking up and taking her place next to you. She watched with you as Sebastian walked away and took note of the subtle starry gaze in your eyes.

“Now I understand why you always want to watch the shop.”

You fidgeted as Sebastian walked into the shop once again. What was this? His 40th time at the shop? You shook your head. It didn’t matter.

I will ask him!

“What’s troubling you, sweetheart?” Even through the teasing tone, you could hear some worry and you just decided to spit it out.

“Would you like to accompany me to the moorish dance tonight?” Sebastian’s eyes widened as you stared up at him with unintentionally large eyes. The man knew he had a persona to hold in front of you but felt himself failing as he struggled to fight the blush rising on his cheeks.

“Only if you’ll accompany me to my bed tonight.” He watched as your eyes narrowed and you puffed out your chest, crossing your arms. “Forget I asked.” He laughed as you turned away from him. “I’m just playing around!” You stuck your tongue out childishly and turned away again.

“You’re pouting!”

“No I’m not!”

You two continued to bicker until he apologized, albeit through laughs. “I’m serious though, Sebastian.” He looked at you with a fond smile and he exhaled.

“I’d be honored.” You turned to face him with the same smile you used when you first greeted him, except this time it was wider and you looked like you were about to bounce over the counter. “But I really thought I would be the first to ask you.”

“Let customs lay themselves to rest for a bit, Sebastian.”

The dance was some time later at night so you decided to close shop early and walk around the town with Sebastian.

He had never seen you so talkative before and it was very interesting to see you speak without having to put him in his place every five minutes.

“So, do you and your sister run the bakery by yourselves?” Sebastian asked as you walked down the bustling road. “Lately. My father had been overworking himself so my sister and I decided to take over for him.” You smiled as a girl ran past your legs, her little brother following shortly after.

He watched on with a fond look as you continued talking about the bakery and all the baking mishaps that made you the person you were today. “That sounds like it requires a lot of effort.” You chuckled as you reached a secluded tree, not too far from the town but enough to be alone.

“It does, but the son of my father’s friend likes to help from time to time.” The sound of a possible competitor peaked his interest and sat down beside you on the grass. “The son of your father’s friend?” You nodded as you stared at the town and leaned on the tree.

“He’s a wonderful boy, very enthusiastic about helping me and my sister.” You turned to face him with an excited expression. “Oh, I’ll introduce you at the dance later! He’s helping the men set up but we should be able to see him!” The alpha male in Sebastian refused to let himself lose the one good thing he could possibly have in his life.

“You hid the whole jar?”

“Mrs. Pettor makes the best jams! I wasn’t going to let my family finish it!” Sebastian laughed as you defended yourself.

It was almost time for the dance and you both were walking to the town center.

“I’ve been talking all this time.” You realized and you turned to Sebastian. “Tell me more about—” You cut yourself off with a squeak as you were lifted off of your feet.

Sebastian watched as a blonde boy swung you around. “A-Alexander!” The boy put you down, a grin on his face.

The blond boy looked at you and you smiled back before Sebastian cleared his throat. “Oh, right!” You turned to face Sebastian and grinned. “Alexander, this is Sebastian! Sebastian, Alexander!” The shorter man held out his hand, blue eyes instantly hardening.

“Hello Sebastian,” Alexander said as Sebastian shook his hand. “Alexander.” You looked between the two and felt a tense aura emanating from them before you clapped your hands.

“Shall we go to the dance?” Alexander let go of Sebastian’s hand and immediately faced you. “Of course!” The blond grabbed your hand and you were barely able to get ahold of Sebastian’s before Alexander took off running.

Cheers and music filled the air and the sound of shoes hitting stone echoed throughout the streets. Despite knowing most of the faces, you spent most of your time talking with Sebastian about stories from each of your lives.

“(Y/N)!” You turned your head and saw Alexander heading towards you, out of breath and sweaty from dancing. You excused yourself from the conversation and Alexander stopped in front of you. “I never did thank you for working more than you should have these last few days.” You laughed as you waved him off. “It’s nothing you should thank me for, Alexander. My sister helped so it wasn’t all bad.”

Alexander took a glance at Sebastian, who had been mobbed by most of the town women and looked like he was trying to hold his own. “Would you like to dance?” His question caught you off guard. “I invited Sebastian, I couldn’t leave him…” You turned to see a group of girls crowding around the man and your smile faltered. “One dance wouldn’t hurt.”

“Sebastian!” He looked up from the group of girls and saw you waving. He was about to move until he saw your hand in Alexander’s. “I’m going to dance for a bit!” You laughed as Alexander pulled you to the dance area. Alexander chuckled at you as you told Sebastian of your whereabouts. At least you had the decency to tell him you were dancing with another man.

“So how’d you meet Sebastian?” Alexander asked as you danced to the music. “He came into the shop one day and just kept visiting!” You smiled and the boy in front of you exhaled softly, deciding to drop the topic and talk to your sister about it later.

The former colonel no longer focused on the girls in front of him as he watched you laugh hard at something Alexander said and his heart beat faster in his chest. Out of jealousy or awe, he couldn’t tell. But the way your eyes shone under the golden glow of the street lamps told him to move and get you.

He pushed his way through the crowd of ladies and kept his eyes trained on your carefree figure. Your skin looked so beautiful under this light, maybe you were the one who lit up the town. Your smile alone had enough energy to do so anyway.

“May I have a dance with (Y/N)?” Sebastian asked as he reached you and Alexander. The blond man smiled and your eyes sparkled in delight. “Of course.” Alexander gently let go of your hand and placed it in Sebastian’s.

“Thank you Alexander!” You called out and he turned around, sending you a soft smile and a small wave before walking towards your sister.

You turned your gaze back to Sebastian and you grinned. “Did you get jealous?” Sebastian scoffed before shaking his head. “I don’t get jealous.” You laughed as you felt Sebastian pull you closer. “I saw you looking at Alexander like he was going to steal me away.” You pointed out with a smug smile.

“He did steal you away.” You grinned at him.

“You’re pouting.”

“N-No I’m not!” You laughed and watched as the tips of his ears turned pink. “Aw, you’re adorable when you get shy on me!” You cooed, using the exact same words he said to you a while back.

“You—” He picked you up by the waist and you squealed as he lifted you up. “You think you’re so smart.” He muttered as he placed you back down and you looked up at him, your skin shining from sweat and short breaths leaving your lips.

He instantly leaned in, placing a short kiss on your lips and your eyes widened before trying to chase him before he pulled away. “You do taste better than your biscuits.” You buried your head in Sebastian’s chest in embarrassment and he laughed as he started to lead the dance once more.

“Because of that, I’m charging you the rest of the 60 biscuits you bought.” Sebastian feigned hurt. “But that’s too much!” You rolled your eyes and smiled up at him. “I’m sure if you don’t want to pay, Louis can help me find something for you to do to pay me back.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and you giggled at the sour look on his face. “I’m sure you can help around the shop to pay them off, if you don’t want Louis to get involved.” His eyes softened before gently grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss to it.

“If it means I get to see you everyday, it will have been worth it.”

tags: @zoehanji @infinitebells

#moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #sebastian moran x reader #sebastian moran

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : theatre square

— word count : 2.2k words

— pairing : daigo dojima x reader

— summary : nothing but a nice day spent with Daigo in theatre square .. also Daigo still hates the fact he still sucks at the ufo catcher

— warnings : nothing but a few curses here and there

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

An unending chatter of noise that bleeds into each other from the various conversations of people going about their daily lives as they are captivated by their conversations through their mobile phones or the shopping trip they are using as a way to catch up with their friends to those just on their lunch breaks from their jobs — all do not take in that which surrounds them as you do, your eyes jumping from person to person. While you wait, you find yourself making a story up for each of them, using the game from your childhood to entertain yourself until your date arrives.

As the minutes pass your excitement by, the bright blue of Kamurocho dulls as does your enthusiasm. Time aches by every time you bring your wrist up to check the time on your watch, not a message to say they’d be late. Nothing. A heavy rush of air takes the plunge out of your lungs and into the air, with dejection and gloom the bricks that build its body. You wonder why a person would ask you out only to leave you without even a whisper to communicate their lack of interest despite being the one whose idea it was. People are confusing.

“ What are you doing here by yourself? “

Your view is interrupted as you turn to the recognisable voice behind your shoulder, a forced grin is plastered onto your features — hope courses through your veins that it’s not blindingly obvious that you’re drenched from the stormy clouds of misery above you.

“ Daigo? “ You ask as surprise lights up your eyes as you survey the man. “ It’s been a while. “

Your friendship with him had occurred by accident. There’s not a day that passes in the town where there’s not a poor soul being harassed on the street for some odd reason or another, it’s just you’d never thought that you would be in that very position. Often, you would walk the streets of the neon metropolis making yourself as small and as insignificant as possible.. However on that day your lone bubble had been burst completely. One moment you’d been blissfully content in your own comfort zone as you dipped and weaved in the crowded streets and the next you’d found yourself surrounded by a swarm of drunks.

Had the universe sensed your predicament, the unpleasant experience lasted no longer than a wore on fleetingly as your lips whispered its silent gratitude. They’d scattered once an order to cease had been uttered by Daigo, as if they’d never been there in the first place, not even a shadow in their place. Apologies had been issued and usually you’d not even stayed long enough to accept them but his words were as remorseful as his eyes were true.

“ Yeah, I had something to deal with. “ He responds, digging his hands into his pockets.

“ It didn’t happen to involve this town being under siege, did it? “ You question him, a brow lifts up knowingly as your expression shifts.

His past had been no secret, you made no move to judge — his actions spoke louder than any riotous melody should weave the ability to. As you stared down at the scene from your apartment high above the glowing lights of the town, all you could see was a maze of smoke littering various areas you know well, especially as you’d walked their path that very morning. Terror prevented you from leaving, the unknown of what could occur should you walk that path played into your fear with an unyielding grip on your body.

“ These past few weeks have been something. “ He swallows lightly, his circumstances have certainly altered in the passing days. “ You haven’t answered my question. “

“ I was waiting for someone.. “ You shrug with a mousy chuckle, preferring to not let on how disappointed you feel. “ I don’t think that’s happening now. “

“ Who would stand you up like that? “

It would be a falsehood to say that he’d never imagined a closer relationship between the two of you the more he laid eyes upon your form. Noting mentally how you would persistently shine brighter than venus yet everyone who interacts with you would gravitate towards you as if you took on the form of Jupiter and they became an additional moon to orbit your infectious laughter. No sooner than he’d met you, he fell under the spell that many who interacted with you had — becoming one.

“ Well, we’re not all too close. I’m not bothered about it really. “ You lie, your words to anyone else would have gone amiss, but he’d picked up the soft falter in your voice.

“ Let’s go. “

Your gaze follows his retreating form, your body still glued to the spot it has occupied on the bench. Had you anything to say your mouth would be opening and closing like a fish, it’s not long until you manage to snap yourself out of the stupor he’d led you into and you’re both now standing outside the Club Sega arcade. A mist of uncertainty begins to fog slowly as the wheels turn in your mind, you’d only ever seen him settled into establishments where alcohol was served. Just what has he been through recently?

Chords of a catalog of sources flow through your hearing as your sight scans the area, electronic notes from the games move in rhythm with the joy those emit from the entertainment they gain from the amusements to the despair others make vocal as they lose a battle or have run their turns out on the UFO catcher. Fingers slip into your as you feel yourself tugged into the direction of a game with large seats, already knowing the game you know you’re terrible.

“ Why not another game? I’m horrible at this. “ You complain as you stare at the intimidating structure of the game.

“ It makes it easier to beat you then. “ He chuckles, a spark softly swaying in his eyes as he turns his attention to you.

“ You’re not being fair, Daigo. “

“ The aim is to win, you’re just going to have to try harder to beat me. “

You do as he says. It takes a colossal effort to direct your mind to organise itself in order to give yourself a fighting chance at winning, and it does work — to an extent. A thread of tame curses tumble unceremoniously from your lips as your character is knocked out once more, and the distractions from the male finding humour in your disaster beside you does not help your cause. Your eyes roll as the game ends once more, with you failing to get a win over Daigo, there’s no need to turn to face him for the smugness radiates off of him in waves.

“ See? I’m awful! “ You whine as your shoulders slump in defeat.

“ Let me make it up to you.. “ Daigo speaks with a comforting tone, no longer relishing in his victory. “ I’ll get you one of those toys from the UFO catchers. What one do you want? “

Your lips twist and turn as your teeth sink into the flesh to bite on them in contemplation as you eye up the prizes from your position, the lengthy distance doing nothing to hinder you as the sight of a pillow pups toy stands out confined to its glass prison. The golden retriever is too irresistible to the childishness within you as your eyes narrow as you reluctantly share your desire for the toy with him.

“ Make sure it’s the golden retriever one. “

“ Yeah, I got it. “

“ I hope you do. “ You comment in a steady tone, a palm leaning on the pane.

The music begins and you scrutinise the scene before you with an eager eye as the metallic claw first moves left. Determination chisels itself into his features as his brows lower in a physical representation of his focus. To win the plush toy would be the most simplest effort in the world yet it would be the first step in treating you how he should have been treated at the start. Truthfully, he’d wanted nothing to do with forging bonds that could be so easily disintegrated, however he could never build up the strength to tear himself away from you. Instead of feeling drained from the human interaction, he’d leave your encounters revitalised.

A groan leaves the both of you as the first attempt leaves all of the toys still confined to their places, the one you specifically want at the back firmly in the middle. A tough spot, you remark.

“ Fuck. “

Giggling to yourself, your teeth shine brighter than any star as they are on full display from the action as the frustration of the man is surprisingly amusing to you. Again, the claw had found itself short of where it should be, and the last chance of retrieving the toy desired so much is shown clearly on the metallic panel.

“ Let me, Daigo. “ You comment, pushing him to the side with a weak force. Rolling your shoulders dramatically, you grab the controls of the game. A breath is held as the claw makes its way left, the toy stands out temptingly from its position. I have to get this, it’s so cute! You do not listen to the prompt to let it descend from Daigo just yet, allowing it to inch its way further back ever so lightly. Your eyes are transfixed as you watch the toy is clutched in a clumsy hold, your heart speeds up at the sight of the lessening grip with each jagged movement that leaves the toy released earlier than it should.

A relieved sigh is released as it falls through the empty space at the last minute, just managing to pass through with seconds to spare.

“ I’m still shit at this. “

“ So you know how it feels now? “ You ask him with a smirk, interlocking your arm with his as you reflect on the surprisingly good time you have had with him. “ Ooh, let’s go to Café Alps, I fancy something sweet. “

The proximity between you both is small, with both hands secured firmly in his pockets Daigo enjoys the basic experience. A buzz of energy bubbles between the two of you as you converse interactively, you can’t help but notice a level of tension has been removed from his shoulders, the man next to you appearing a little more relaxed. The walk is short to the café, you can’t help but continue to stare at the bright displays of the stores as you pass by as if you’re witnessing them for the first time. Life is certainly vivid and lively in Kamurocho.

You turn your attention away from Daigo ordering to the life outside from your spot on the cushioned wall couch. It doesn’t go unnoticed that darkness has overtaken the skyline completely, even with the glistening neon lights the stars fight to make themselves seen.

“ Thank you, Daigo. “ You begin, a leading inflection heavy on your words as you sip slowly on the hot liquid. “ I have to ask though, what’s this all for? “

“ Does there have to be a reason? “ He deflects as you cock your head to the side in response.

“ You’re you. There’s always a reason to everything you do, I know you that well at least. “ You respond, before placing a piece of the chocolate parfait. A short wiggle of your shoulders at the enjoyment of the sweet treat lends some amusement to Daigo before an air of sobriety returns to his outward expression.

“ I haven’t been the best to you. “

“ Dai — “

“ Please, let me finish. “ He interrupts suddenly, eye contact unwavering as he continues to study your form. “ I had you as a friend but even then I would hold you at arms length more often than not. I’m surprised you’ve put up with me. “

“ I’m not going to say you’ve not been difficult.. But you don’t see what I do. “ You comfort, there had been days where he’d been more insufferable than a child, but you know humans are more than one dimensional creatures.

A culture of existing in a positive bubble perpetually is no way to live, for it denies you the chance to feel the emotions that slash your soul deeply. Is it easier to think it would be easier to live if you only experience happiness? Perhaps. But never does the find feel clearer after releasing the negativity that darkens your walls.

“ Huh? “

“ You’ve been through a lot, it’s not excusable to be an ass but it’s understandable. “ You shrug with little effort, shaking your head nonchalantly. “ Besides, you haven’t been as bad as you think. You’re human, you have your off days. We all do. “

“ Still, I don’t want to be an ass to you. “ He confides, moving his hand to envelope yours. There’s a surging warmth that the pair of you notice simultaneously threads between fingertips more seamlessly than when ink glides onto paper with the grace of a bird that soars through the bright blue sky.

He’d lived long enough in a world built of paper, using it as a means to escape the reality the world so harshly has built into it.

“ Then don’t. “

#Daigo Dojima x reader #Dojima Daigo x reader #Yakuza fic #Yakuza imagine #Daigo Dojima imagine

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autumnslance · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous

((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))

“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”

Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.

“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.

“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”

“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.

For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.

Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.

“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”

“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”

“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.

She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.

He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.

——

Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.

“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”

“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.

There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”

Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”

Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”

“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”

“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.

“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.

“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”

“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”

Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”

The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”

Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.

As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”

Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.

The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.

“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”

“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”

“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”

“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”

“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”

“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”

“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”

“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”

“And the children?”

Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”

They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.

The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.

He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.

The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.

“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”

Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.

He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.

Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.

His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.

Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.

Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.

He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.

His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.

Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.

Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.

Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.

“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”

“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”

A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”

Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.

“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.

They were the grey eyes of a man.

Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”

When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.

Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.

The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.

The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.

Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.

—————

It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.

Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.

She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.

That was all.

Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.

"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."

Alberic said nothing. What could he say?

“You didn’t tell me.”

He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”

“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”

She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.

“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.

“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”

“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”

“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.

Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.

“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.

“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”

“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”

Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Backstory #Dragonsong War #Alberic Bale #X'hrun Tia #Heustienne de Vimaroix #Corran Striker #Aeryn Striker

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