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dilatorywriting · 2 years

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 1

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spacerockfloater · 3 months

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hi! i noticed you learnt about what ryan condal said regarding blood and cheese. it was…something. i would like to know your thoughts on the matter. though it would be completely understandable if you need sometime to gather them together or if you would rather not at all! thank you and bye!

Hello beloved, thank you so much for asking me! I’d love to share my opinion!

If anyone’s wondering, @rhaenelle is referring to this interview where Ryan Condal essentially says he believes that Blood & Cheese’s brutality and heinousness was exaggerated by the Greens in a propagandistic attempt to convince their subjects that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the worst villains ever born, hence why he toned the event down; to show us what he thinks is the accurate version of Jaehaerys’ murder.

Now, I am aware that Condal had already warned us that HOTD was going to be a feminist retelling of the events of F&B, which practically means that his plan has always been to whitewash the everlasting fuck out of Rhaenyra. So what do I think about this?

Well, for starters, I think that Ryan Condal is an excellent businessman. He knows what kind of tropes are going to make the audience engage with his show. He understands that people need a hero to cheer for and a villain to hate, therefore he removed the moral ambiguity from all of the characters and divided them into two categories: the Blacks, enlightened revolutionaries full of passion, deserving of admiration and correct in everything they do, and the Greens, pious fools with a moral superiority complex who are stack in the ways of the past and commit despicable crimes. The average viewer does not possess the intelligence to comprehend that both parties have their good and bad moments, and that they’re both correct in fighting for what each believes is rightfully theirs. Simultaneously, he benefits from the modern trends that want women in media to take revenge when they are wronged and emerge as triumphant girlbosses, because of course a white upper class woman’s suffering in a western world (or Westeros) society has everything to do with her gender and nothing to do with her personality or decisions (even if this works solely for Rhaenyra, because Alicent seems to be held accountable for every single one of her actions). Finally, it is obvious that Condal is trying to appease disgruntled Daenerys fans, so he has rebuilt Rhaenyra into this tortured martyr that wishes to change the world for the better in an attempt to make her resemble her great granddaughter six times removed.

For all of these reasons, I find it very logical that he is going out of his way to minimise the tragedy the Greens experience. It just doesn’t make Rhaenyra look good and honestly, who wants that? The producers saw how unhappy Danny’s stans were when they made her lose her shit; they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. They don’t want their show to tank like the last season of GOT did, so they’ll do everything in their power to keep the audience happy. And it’s working! What’s the last thing Condal says in this clip? “You kinda start rooting for [Blood and Cheese]!” and boy oh boy, the TB stans sure do! Literally hundreds of memes that rejoiced at Jaehaerys’ death were posted on X this week, with tens of thousands of likes. But when Lucerys died, it was presented as the most foul thing to ever happen in the ASOIAF universe. It is the TB supporters that dictate which child murder is good and which is bad, and that decision usually depends on which child came out Rhaenyra’s womb, not let’s say, the fact that one kid was a toddler that could barely walk, while the other was a teenager that laughed at the disabled person he mutilated himself.

It’s all just marketing

That being said, I want to clarify that I understand why Condal and the HOTD producers do what they do, but being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a literary genius. Now, I’m not gonna explain why stripping Rhaenyra off of every character trait that made her interesting is a bad decision and that in their attempt to remove the blame from her so that they can elevate her as this righteous patron of feminism, they’re accidentally removing all of her agency and turning her simply into a victim, because I have a whole blog dedicated to that. But let’s just say that presenting Rhaenyra as this sexually liberated idol that’s incapable of evil, when in fact she’s an entitled aristocrat who’s completely at the mercy of men around her, from her father to her husbuncle, is the most performative activism move ever pulled in recent TV history, as well as pushing the narrative that Alicent suffers from internalised misogyny because duh, a woman can only be good and a feminist if she supports Rhaenyra, not when she pursues her own interests.

Ultimately, I think we just have to accept that this show is not meant for TG fans. We are not going to find any satisfaction in it. Everything that was unique and admirable about the Greens in the book has vanished. Their family dynamic is fucked up, Alicent’s children hate her, Aegon and Halaena cannot stand one another, Alicent is constantly a victim and never someone that chases her own ambitions, Halaena is very vague, Aemond appears to be more angsty than angry, Aegon is a stupid rapist, Jaehaerys’ death was turned into a mockery, Alicole was weaponised in order to make us shit on Alicent and Criston even more and so on. This show barely caters to us because we’re not making them any money.

The reason that there are more TB than TG stans is because (I’m gonna get so much fucking hate for this) most people who watch TV are fucking morons. I swear, when F&B came out 6 years ago, no one gave a flying fuck about Rhaenyra, because we all understood that everyone involved in the Dance of the Dragons was fucked up in their own way and that the message of this story, just like the general message of ASOIAF, is that nobody deserves to sit on that fucking throne. We were all in agreement about that. But then this fucking show came along and all the oblivious simpletons that swallowed whatever the producers shoved down their throats, grabbed the book and decided that “Woah, this book is obviously a critique on patriarchy and Rhaenyra is obviously the victim of the story”! As if GRRM, the man who said that he doesn’t sit down and think “Oh, I’m going to write a woman now” but instead he believes women to be people just like men, with complex personalities, would ever do that. And they just can’t believe that it is possible for book!Rhaenyra to be an evil racist classist full of entitlement! Surely it must be because the Greens are rewriting history! There’s no way GRRM, the man that created Cersei fucking Lannister, would ever make a female character that’s vicious and crazy just because she feels like it! Y’all need to sit down for a moment. I say this as a radical feminist that supports the 4B movement: you’re projecting your own ideas onto George’s work. Not all the media we consume has to reflect our ideologies, but if you think that it has to, then this book isn’t the anti misogynistic masterpiece you wish it was.

Like, when it comes to F&B, I am firmly anti Targaryen and did not wish for any side to win. I wanted them all wiped out to be honest. But when it comes to HOTD, I’m TG basically out of spite at this point.

All in all, I just think that things are going to go downhill for us from this point on. They’ll just keep glorifying the Blacks until the very end.

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

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Love in Bloom

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Plant!Dad!Bucky)

Word Count: 2,863

Summary: You and Bucky have the best coffee date then meet up at the Farmer's Market. Every minute you spend with him makes you fall harder.

Author's Note: More plant!dad!bucky for you! I'm so excited that you all liked meeting him so much! I'm having a lot of fun with him! You can read the first story HERE! And please check out @nalonzooo art to see how amazing it is! 😍Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS If you'd like to see the shirt Bucky is wearing you can HERE and the two plant pots, ONE and TWO. 🥰💕

Warnings: plant talk, Alpine fluffs, sweet and soft fluffs all around :)

You and Bucky have been texting every day since you met at the garden center, silly plant memes and pictures of Alpine filling up the lines between sweet words and soft flirting.

You couldn’t wait to see him for coffee today.

The bell above the door dings as you enter and your eyes search for him. He’s standing at the counter, a large black backpack slung over his shoulders and a bouquet of flowers in one hand. He’s not wearing his hat today and his long hair is pulled back into a low bun with several strands sticking out.

When he spots you he smiles wide and waves you over.

“Hiya doll,” he says when you get close. “You look beautiful.”

You preen under his sweet words and kiss his cheek hello. “Hi Bucky.”

At the sound of your voice, Bucky’s backpack starts to move and Alpine’s white furry head peeks out between the open zipper.

“ALPINE!” you squeal, rubbing his head.

“He would have been very upset if I showed up without him,” Bucky laughs. “You can take him out if ya want.”

You reach down and gather up the cat, carefully lifting him out until he’s in your arms. You coo and gush over him while Bucky waits for your coffees.

The barista sets them down with a smile.

“Oh…shit,” Bucky mutters, finally tearing his eyes away from you when the coffee arrives. “Uh…I almost forgot,” he continues, holding out the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

You take them with your free hand and bring them to your nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance.

“They’re so beautiful Bucky! Thank you!”

He grabs your coffees and starts toward a small empty table in the back. “You’re welcome doll. I got them at the Farmer’s Market in Union Square this morning.”

“You picked them out?” you ask, softly fingering the petals of the different blooms.

“Yeah,” he answers, looking both proud and slightly shy at the same time. “I like makin’ bouquets but I don’t really get the chance much.”

Bucky puts the coffees down and pulls your chair out for you.

“Well, it’s perfect,” you tell him as you sit, setting the flowers down on the extra seat. “Thank you!”

Alpine promptly curls up in your lap, his tail swishing contentedly back and forth as you pet him.

Bucky sits next to you and unhooks the front strap of his backpack before slinging it off.

You stare at his chest.

“Oh my god,” you giggle.

“What?” he asks. “Did I drop some of my breakfast on my shirt?”

His worried eyes shoot down and he pulls his shirt away from his body, studying it closely.

“That shirt is so cute!”

He sighs in relief and lifts his eyes with a chuckle. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist.”

You press your hand to the soft fabric to smooth it out, poking the spot where the cat sits on the shelf in between all the plants. The feel of his hard chest beneath your fingertips has you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and it takes all of your willpower to drag your hand away.

“I love it,” you whisper. “It feels soft too.”

“It’s really comfortable,” he agrees. “I’m glad you like it. I didn’t even realize I put it on. Sometimes I wonder if all the plant and cat stuff is a bit much…”

“No way,” you interject. “What’s not to love about plants and cats?”

You sip your coffee and eye him over the rim of the cup.

“You get it,” he says, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

“Mmm,” you hum, “this is so good. I can’t believe I’ve never been here!”

“This place is great,” he agrees, “and they allow cats!”

After some yummy sips and comfortable silence he asks, “so how’s Spidey? Still alive I hope?”

“Thankfully still alive,” you giggle. “But I still don’t know the best spot to keep him and how often to water him and if I should repot him? If I kill another plant I’m not sure my confidence will recover…”

You laugh but the look on your face must say it all.

“You’re not going to kill him doll!” he assures you before launching into a barrage of questions and information.

You’re long done with your coffee and scones by the time you both feel satisfied that you have enough starter plant knowledge to keep Spidey thriving.

“When he gets too big for his pot I can’t wait to pick a new one out! They have so many cute ones on Etsy!”

Bucky drops his head with a playful scoff. “Don’t even get me started on Etsy. I have two new pots on the way right now.”

“Lemme see!” you squeak, smacking him in the arm in excitement.

He feigns pain and rubs the spot. “Ouch.”

“Oh please,” you tease. “You’re like solid muscle. There is no way that hurt.”

You squeeze his bicep and he instinctively flexes.

“Well now you’re just showing off,” you tell him, “and if you don’t stop I’m going to feel you up in the coffee shop.”

He goes still, his eyes laser focused on you before they drop to your lips when your tongue darts out to wet them.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “I would never…”

“Doll,” he says, stopping you. “It’s fine. More than fine actually. I have zero problem with you touching me.”

“Oh.”

His eyes wander over your face before he leans in a little closer.

“That’s good,” you whisper, getting a good whiff of him, clean and spicy.

“Here are your blueberry muffins to go!” the barista says as she sets down the boxes.

You and Bucky move apart quickly, clearly startled out of the heat of the moment.

“Thanks,” you say, giving the barista a small smile.

When you take out your wallet he stops you with a warm hand over yours. “I got it doll.”

“But you already got the coffee and scones,” you explain.

“And I’ve got the muffins too,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He leans in and gives you a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary and your skin tingles.

“Thank you,” he whispers before pulling out his phone.

He scrolls around for a few seconds before turning his screen around so you can see it. There’s a picture of a white pot with a cat shaped face, the cat’s expression sweet and serene.

“So I got that one anddddd this one,” he says, scrolling again to a picture of another white cat planter, except this time it has four little legs.

“I love them,” you say. “They’re perfect and almost as cute as Alpine!”

Once you’re outside in the sunshine and back to some form of reality you reluctantly hand over Alpine.

“Guess I have to give him back huh?” you joke.

“Well,” Bucky begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re going to be at the Farmer’s Market again tomorrow morning. If you’re around you could join us?”

“I do need to stock up on fruits and vegetables,” you muse. “I’ll be there, just text me a time later.”

Thankfully Sunday morning comes quickly and you’re out the door in record time, strolling down West 17th street in the sunshine.

When you don’t see Buck you start to amble around the stalls, picking through various fruits and admiring the jarred jams.

“That one is really good.”

The deep and familiar voice makes you smile before you even turn around and when you do you see Bucky standing there with his backpack against his chest and Alpine’s head sticking out.

“Hey you two!”

He quickly but carefully swings the bag to his shoulder and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you toward his chest for a sweet kiss on the cheek.

His hair is down today, brushing his shoulder and you have a strong urge to take one of the strands hanging in his face and twirl it around your finger.

Instead, you reach up and tuck it behind his ear, your eyes studying his face while you lean into him.

“I also have that in fig and raspberry flavor.”

“I think she’s talking to you,” Bucky says with a smirk.

“Huh?” you mumble, still staring at him.

He delicately takes your chin between his fingers and turns your head toward the stall.

“OH!” you squeak. “I’m so sorry…I was just saying hello and um…right. Did you say fig and raspberry?”

The vendor nods with a knowing smile.

“That’s great. I love figs. I’ll take one!”

You slip from Bucky’s arms and finish the transaction, taking your nicely packaged jam and walking toward the next stall, still feeling a bit awkward.

When you stop at the sunflower stall Bucky says, “I’ve always wanted to grow these but I don’t really have anywhere to do it.”

“They get really tall right?”

“Yeah, taller than me,” he says with a laugh. “I have to do more research.”

“They’re beautiful! Have you ever been to a farm to see them. It’s amazing!”

“I haven’t yet but I’d really like to do that,” he admits.

“We can go together…if you want?”

“How about you let me take you on a proper date first then we’ll go out to the farm and pick sunflowers.”

“I love that plan.”

Even though you’re still standing beside the stall and there are people walking by and around you, it seems as if it all fades away as Bucky steps closer and his fingertips graze your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

He whispers your name, his eyes falling to your lips just before Alpine’s paw shoots between your faces and bats away a loose piece of Bucky’s hair.

“Alpine!” Bucky chides. “Watch it buddy!”

You cover your mouth but can’t stop your eruption of giggles as you watch Alpine continue to try and bat Bucky in the face.

“Told you he was a menace!” Bucky says with a pointed look at Alpine who simply meows with a blink.

“Aw but who could be mad at that face?” you coo, scratching under Alpine’s chin.

“ME!” Bucky practically pouts. “I’m mad!”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and after a moment of silence you both start laughing again.

“Come on,” Bucky says as he slings his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s buy some food!”

By the time you’re done perusing and purchasing it’s almost lunch time.

“I’m starving,” Bucky says as he rubs his stomach.

Your eyes fall to the action just as his shirt rides up and you catch a glimpse of his taut skin lined with a dark trail of hair that disappears into his jeans.

With a hard swallow you avert your eyes and mumble, “me too!”

“Wanna get some lunch doll?”

“What was that?” you ask, lifting your eyes to find him watching you intently.

“Do you want to grab a bite? It’s lunch time.”

“Shit, already! I’m supposed to meet my best friend for lunch at one!”

“It’s only a little after twelve, don’t worry,” he assures you with a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d invite you to come along but it’s our girl time,” you explain, looking disappointed yourself.

“Nope, I get it doll. That’s important time but let me at least walk you back to your place.”

“I’d like that.”

He adjusts Alpine and his backpack then takes your bag from you, switching hands so his free one is swinging next to yours.

Every so often your fingers brush as you walk and finally he hooks his pinky through yours, gauging your reaction. When you smile and tighten your grip he entwines all his fingers with yours, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

You walk back to your apartment hand in hand.

“I can’t believe I didn’t buy any flowers or plants today,” Bucky states, looking surprised as he holds the door of your building open for you.

“Oh my gosh, you didn’t!”

“It’s your fault,” he teases. “You’re a distraction.”

You press your teeth into your bottom lip and shrug demurely before turning and heading up the steps.

“Thankfully I’m only on the second floor…this is me.”

You point to the door on the left and start to fish for your keys. Once you have the door open you tell him to come in so you can take your bag and show him Spidey.

He approves of your placement and also Spidey’s overall health and you clap your hands together happily.

Your phone dings and you grab it, quickly reading a text from Nat.

“Thank goodness she finally picked a place to eat,” you laugh.

“Me and Alpine will have to pick some pizza up on the way home,” he says with a wink.

You stand only a few inches apart, staring at each other.

“Well, I guess…” you start.

“Thanks for meeting…” he begins at the same time.

You both drop your heads and laugh.

“I had the best time Bucky. I wish we could have had lunch too…”

“Nah don’t worry, it’s ok doll. I mean I do too. I would have loved to spend the rest of the day with you but you have plans. I understand.”

He turns and starts toward the door.

“Don’t forget to say goodbye to Alpine. He’ll bitch the whole way home if you don’t.”

As if on cue Alpine’s two white ears perk up and he pops his head out of Bucky’s open backpack.

“Bye handsome,” you croon. “Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

“He’s not coming on our dinner date next week,” Bucky chimes in. “I don’t want him stepping on my toes again.”

“Awwww,” you say with feigned sadness. “I’ll miss him!”

When Bucky’s standing in your doorway he turns to face you again and licks his lips.

“Text me when you get home?” he asks, his tone unsure.

“I will,” you say with a soft smile.

“Have fun doll!”

You both stand there staring at each other again and you finally take a step closer, your eyes focused on his before they drop to his lips.

“Bye Bucky.”

You practically invite him to kiss you, pressing yourself against him as you lean up. You lay your palms on his chest and feel his muscles flex beneath you. He dips his head, his lips brushing your cheek before he gives you a quick peck in the same spot and turns on his heel.

You try to hide your disappointment with a smile but the corners of his mouth turn down as he backs up.

“See you soon,” he says quietly.

“See you soon,” you reply as you start to shut the door.

With a wave you shut it softly and let out an exhale as you deflate.

You’re not even two steps away when you hear a knock. Your stomach erupts in butterflies as you twirl around and swing the door open, staring at Bucky on the other side.

“That’s not at all how I wanted to say goodbye,” he murmurs before he steps back inside your apartment, shuts the door and spins you against it.

You realize there’s nowhere to go as you find yourself pressed to the door; Bucky’s hard body lined up with yours.

The first thing you feel is the strength of his metal hand as it wraps around your arm and his other clasping the nape of your neck as he drags you closer and covers your mouth with his.

You make a throaty sound you can’t control and cling to him, the smell of him, the feel of his hands holding you to him, it’s all overwhelming in the best way. His hand at your neck tightens every so slightly and he groans, the sound skimming across your skin like electricity.

He deepens the kiss, demanding more and it’s enough to steal your breath. Your hands dive into his hair and you moan into his mouth again, unable to stop it as his hand on your arm slips behind you and traces the curve of your spine.

With a muttered curse he breaks the kiss, pulling back only an inch to look into your eyes. His blue eyes are dark, his long lashes lowered as he traces his tongue over his swollen lips.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry if that was…”

“It was perfect,” you whisper.

His eyes open and he lifts his head, reluctantly putting some space between you.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

He still looks like he wants to kiss you again and again as his eyes wash over you and his expression looks pained.

Your phone dings again.

“Nat,” you state, not taking your eyes off him.

He wavers, leaning toward you before he mutters, “fuck,” and runs a hand through his hair. “Right. Lunch.”

“I’ll talk to you later doll,” he says.

“Ok,” you manage, willing your body to keep holding you upright.

He gives you a slow and sexy smile before turning and walking down the steps.

@book-dragon-13 @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @goldylions @sebstanwhore @kmc1989

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