#brown leather bath stools

[daisiedee]

Walk Out Basement in Calgary Inspiration for a large transitional walk-out carpeted basement remodel with gray walls, a ribbon fireplace and a stone fireplace

[morghiesart]

Walk Out Basement in Calgary

[blueberryarchive]

The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; heavy non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to him. And if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” He muttered as he snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind his vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course, when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had, you know?” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses, folding the flowery pieces and tucking in it away in her closet. Peacefully humming gospel songs.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more. And then...

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw: the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please don't kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the mirror on the wall: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back of your panties, hickies covered your stomach. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

[danikamariewrites]

can i request elriel x reader, where az is pampered by Elain and reader? Like he sees reader sitting on top of elain and plucking her eyebrows/giving her a face mask or smth, and they invite him. So now reader is putting pink little hairlips in it while elain puts on a sheetmask, then they give him a manicure and massage him bc he has a lot of tension. He’s all relaxed, dressed in a pink robe with a headband on and they think he’s the cutest ever and they coo and literally fall head over heels😭

Pampered

Elriel x reader

A/n: This is my first Elriel fic and I was so happy to write this. In the opinion of ships, I don’t have a one. Personally I want the best for Elain and Gwyn and I just want them to heal. Both my girls have been through so much they deserve peace.

Warnings: none

As Azriel drew closer to the bedroom he heard the sweet sound of you and Elain giggling. It was late for you two to be up, he thought to himself. He loves the two of you dearly, but if the two of you were going to be up all night Azriel would just go sleep in one of the many guest rooms the House of Wind has to offer.

It had been a long, exhausting day. Rhys brought him along on a quick trip to Illyria, then he had a meeting that lasted forever with a few of his spies, and to end the day he spent hours trudging through the underbelly of Hewn city searching for a lead on a potential serial killer who was after poorer residents.

Pushing open the door Az is greeted by the sight of you straddling Elain with tweezers in your hand, both in fluffy pink bathrobes. Small bowls of different snacks sat on a blanket at the end of the bed while the rest of the duvet had different beauty items spread out. Azriel held back his sigh. He just wanted to sleep.

When the two of you finally notice him smiles break out on your face. Scrambling off the bed you and Elain rush over to your mate, throwing your arms around him. “Azriel you’re home!” “We missed you love!” Your eyes meet Elain’s soft brown ones when you both feel how tense he is in your grip. Your smiles turn into concerned frowns as you pull away from him.

Taking in his face you notice how tired he looks. There are bags under his eyes, his shoulders droop, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest to keep his mighty wings from touching the floor. Elain brings a hand to rest on his cheek. “Az, you look tired. Did you have a long day?” He didn’t feel like talking. All he could muster was a lazy dip of his chin.

“I’m sorry Az. Have you eaten?” He shakes his head. You and Elain look at each other. The same plan forming in your heads. “There are some left overs, I’ll go make you a plate.” You say, quickly leaving the room before Azriel can object. Elain takes one of his rough hands in hers, “And I’ll draw you a bath. We love you Az, but you can’t get in bed smelling like the sewer.” Elain jokes, trying to make him smile.

Pulling him towards the bathroom Elain lets go of his hand. Azriel sinks onto the vanity stool, no longer possessing the strength to stand. He watches with half closed eyes as Elain bustles around the bathroom making sure the water is the perfect temperature and that Az has a soft towel and his robe for when he’s done.

Azriel didn’t even realize Elain was undoing the clasps and ties of his leathers. He undid the clasps under his wings, helping Elain pull his shirt off. Forcing himself to stand Az does the rest and steps into the tub, moaning at the warmth of the water loosening his muscles.

By the time you return Elain is washing between his wings. You shoo her away so she can clean up the bedroom and you can take over. Azriel perks up at the loss of her touch. Relaxing again when he spots you taking her spot. “Relaxed yet?” A tired smile forms on his lips as he shrugs. He finishes washing and finally pays attention to the plate you had been trying to shove at him.

He reaches a dripping hand out to pick at the dish. You pull it away from him and click your tongue. Picking up the piece Az went for you hold it up to his lips. He reluctantly eats it. As you keep feeding him, he relaxes again letting you take care of him.

You notice goosebumps along Azriel’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you out.” After drying him off you help him into his bathrobe, leading him into the bedroom. The snacks and beauty products have been cleared away. Leaving only Elain sitting in the middle.

You have Azriel lay his head in your lap while Elain sits next to him. “You don’t have to do this. Truthfully I just want to go to sleep.” He says softly. “We can’t let you go to sleep tense Az.” “Yeah, just relax and let us take care of you.”

You two work in tandem to pamper Azriel. Elain lotions and massages his hands. Digging her thumbs into his palms, pulling on each of his fingers to work out the stiffness. You oil in his hair, massaging it into his scalp moving down to his temples to get rid of those pesky headaches.

Elain puts a head band on him while you prepare a face mask to soothe his skin. You apply it with a brush and while it drys you rub his shoulders. Wiping it off Elain switches with you to wash and moisturizing his face.

Once you’re finished Azriel is half asleep, his limbs heavy as you try to push him to the middle of the bed. You go to turn off the lights while Elain pulls down the covers. She waits until you’re back in bed to tuck you all in. You each place a soft kiss on one of his cheeks. He lets out a soft hum, mumbling goodnight.

The two of you lay on his chest and he lazily wraps his arms around you. As you drift off to sleep your hand finds Elain’s. She brings your knuckles to her lips placing a lazy kiss on them.

[dmitriene]

𝗚𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗡.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘥𝘪 𝘣𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘹 𝘨𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

❝𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬❞ 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱

❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, 𝘶𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦

❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢, 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭��𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵!

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

The deep evening fell over the country bar like a velvet curtain, bathing the cozy interior in a soft, dim light, the streets outside were shrouded in a slight chill, but the warmth of the alcohol quickly spread through your body, creating a comfortable cocoon enveloping you.

The bar became your sanctuary today, a haven of familiarity and intimacy, the floor was carpeted, leather sofas lined the walls, and countless conversations and shared secrets were kept on the wooden tables.

Here you sat at the bar and enjoyed your favorite cocktail while Leon, your boyfriend, sipped on a long island iced tea.

The taste of vodka was soothing on Leon's throat and you looked at him with a soft smile, his brown hair falling over his forehead and his piercing blue eyes filled with mischief, the way he looked at you like an adoring puppy always made your heart flutter.

You reached across the counter, your fingers brushing against his and he turned his hand to gently kiss your knuckles, a gesture that spoke of his deep affection for you and made you laugh softly.

— «How's your work been, Leon?» you asked, your voice filled with genuine concern as you knew the dangers he faced as a government agent and you constantly worried about him.

He leaned closer, and the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the soothing woody scent of the bar — «Well, t's been a wild ride, but i can handle it» he assured you with a confident smile — «Knowing that you're waiting for me at home keeps me going, sweetheart»

You felt a swellnes of love in your chest as you looked into his eyes, Leon wasn't just your boyfriend — he was your rock, the one who made you feel safe and wanted, his lips found yours and you shared a soft, long kiss, the taste of his long island iced tea mingled with your cocktail, infecting with its sweetness.

The bar was filled with the subtle hum of conversation and the clink of glasses, the dimly lit room was decorated with vintage posters and vintage memorabilia, giving the space character.

There was a talented musician performing on the wooden stage at the far end of the bar, and the sweet music flowed through the air, setting the mood for the evening, so you couldn't help but tap your foot to the beat, feeling the music seep into your soul.

Leon placed his hand on the back of your bar stool, pulling you closer to him — «I thought» he said in a low and thoughtful voice — «Maybe we should plan a trip somewhere away from all this chaos»

Your eyes lit up with excitement at the thought — «I'd love that» you answered with obvious ringing enthusiasm — «Somewhere peaceful, where we can forget about the world for a while»

The two of you discussed potential destinations, sharing dreams of sandy beaches, serene forests and foreign, bustling cities, and the more you talked, the more you realized how much you both wanted a break from the constant demands of your lives.

The deeper the evening went, the more you noticed the background music, suddenly a jazz melody began to sound, finding a certain response in your soul, and you leaned closer to Leon, touching his ear with your lips and whispering — «I like this song»

He nodded in agreement, his hand found yours on the counter, and his head occasionally swayed to the beat — «A good choice indeed» he muttered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

In the midst of the music, your thoughts drifted back to the adventures and trials you had faced together, Leon had always been there for you, no matter what, a constant presence in your life, and you couldn't help but feel a flash of affection for him and reached out to stroke his cheek with your fingertips.

The touch of your fingers against his skin sent a delicious shiver through Leon's body, and he turned his head and took your hand in his, kissing your palm tenderly.

After a moment, his lips moved higher, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek, leaving a warm, lingering sensation on your skin, sliding intimately before he reached your earlobe and whispered that he needed to leave, promising to return soon.

You nodded, smiling tenderly at him as he disappeared into the crowd, the warmth of his presence and the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air.

Turning your attention to the bar, you decided to order another round of drinks, the music continued to play, its soothing melodies still touching your heart, and you tapped your nails on the counter, lost in the rhythm.

As you leaned towards the counter, your thoughts drifted back to the plans you and Leon had discussed earlier, the idea of a peaceful getaway seemed more tempting than ever and you couldn't wait to make that dream a reality, allowing you to wistfully draw pictures in your mind of vacation together.

Just as you were about to signal the bartender to order, a sudden touch on your shoulder made you raise an eyebrow, you turned around, wondering if Leon had returned earlier than expected, but when you saw the stranger sitting down next to you, your heart sank to your feet.

He was clearly drunk, with the distinctive smell of alcohol surrounding him, a few buttons on his chest were carelessly undone — the disheveled aftermath of some previous encounter, his disgusting appearance and bold behavior were red signs that made you wary.

His hand, bold and inappropriate, reached for your waist and you tensed, the invasion of your personal space sending a shiver of discomfort down your spine.

You looked around for the bartender, but he was busy at the far end of the bar serving other customers, so your heart began to pound like in a cage as you tried to stay calm.

— «Please don't touch me» you said firmly, your voice laced with irritation, but the stranger seemed to find your protest amusing.

He let out a deep, unsettling laugh, his alcohol laden breath washing over you — «Don't play hard to get» he slurred, his words full of arrogance — «You're a real beauty»

His hand moved further down, landing firmly on your thigh and you quickly had enough, with a sudden and decisive movement you turned away from his touch, causing your bar stool to sway dangerously.

The loud scraping sound caught the attention of the surrounding patrons and you were no longer willing to endure this man's advances.

You stood up abruptly, the bar stool toppling over and the stranger's grin turning into an indignant grimace, you stood your ground, your voice firm and decisive as you spoke to him, asserting your safety, radiating disgust — «I told you to keep your hands to yourself, this is your final warning»

Your abrupt reaction caused the stranger to frown, his drunken arrogance faltering as you firmly asserted your boundaries, to which he rudely retorted, accusing you of overreacting to a simple compliment.

There was a hint of condescension in his words, and one could not help but be outraged by the insolence of this vile man.

You stood your ground, the discomfort of the situation fell heavily on your shoulders — «I didn't ask for your attention» you replied, disappointment evident in your voice as you spoke, you took a few steps back to distance yourself from the man invading your personal space.

In your rush, you bumped into other people, prompting irritated grumbling and comments telling you to be more careful.

The man continued to taunt, his arrogance undiminished, his alcohol laden breath burning your nostrils as he leaned closer and you felt a wave of anxiety course through your veins.

The situation was out of your control, you clenched your hands at your sides in trembling fists, starting to panic and nervously look towards the dark crowd in the direction where Leon had left earlier.

And as soon as you began to despair and your thoughts turned to your boyfriend, a strong hand pulled the stranger by the shoulder, making him recoil, and the collar of his disheveled shirt clenched tighter, while Leon’s whitened fist hovered menacingly before the man’s eyes.

The stranger, in a drunken stupor, grinned defiantly — «Who do you think you are, handsome?» he slurred, his words were rude and mocking — «It's none of your business»

Leon's voice was cold and authoritative as he growled — «That became my business when you couldn't respect her boundaries»

The stranger's bravado faltered as he drunkenly muttered that your taste in men was terrible, realizing who Leon was to you, to which Leon rolled his eyes, his patience running out, and in the next seconds, without hesitation, he delivered a powerful blow, landing it right in bastard's face.

The man staggered back, his cheek instantly red and swollen, and all his courage was washed away as if by water, because he stood stunned by the sudden blow.

Leon hurriedly paid his tab at the bar, his jaw clenched into a thin line as he gently took your hand and led you outside, walking quickly in tense silence through the cool of the street, evaporating all the alcohol and built up stress.

As soon as you reached the car, Leon stopped, his grip on your hand gently loosening and he turned to you, his stormy expression giving way to concern and regret, his calloused hands cupping your cheeks as an apology fell from his lips — «I'm sorry i wasn't there in the first place, i should have been»

You couldn't help but let out a sudden giggle, either from the alcohol or his sudden sensuality, but you were still overcome with a warm feeling of affection — «Leon, it's okay, you arrived just in time, and this blow will surely be remembered by this guy»

Leon's surprise showed in his eyes, your easy acceptance of the situation pleasantly surprising him as his lips curved into a reluctant smile and he leaned down, gently kissing your lips before wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace.

The tension of the night began to melt away in the warmth of his presence.

Pulling back, you looked at Leon, your eyes is a lake full of love and gratitude for his presence and protection, his solid shoulder — «Thank you for always taking care of me, Leon»

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers were gentle and affectionate despite the usual texture and hardness of the skin — «My job is to protect you, love, and i'll always be there when you need me»

With a shared smile, the two of you got into the car, letting the warm interior envelop you in its calmness to everything outside as Leon started the engine and you headed home, leaving behind the dimly lit bar and the unpleasant meeting, replacing it with much more pleasant memories while Leon's free hand reverently clutched your thigh, drawing patterns on it while driving along the long streets.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthearecs, @kennedyswhore-old dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist

[pinksugarscrub]

Congrats on your one year! ❤️ may I order a tiramisu with Hobie and bounty hunter!R arguing about how they do their vigilante work until R accidentally reveals why she takes paid jobs (provide for family/ relative by anonymously sending them money out of guilt for making their family think they’re dead)?

You can change up the prompt to best suit your writing imagination 😚🥹

@hyperfix-wip

Crossroads

Bard! Hobie x Bounty Hunter! fem! reader

I had a lot of fun with this as you can see. There are very mature themes including blood, violence, and implied assault. Please read at your own discretion. I tried my best to keep it vague.

Word count: 3,070

~

What does a bounty hunter and a bard have in common? Absolutely nothing. Why pose such a question you may ask? It’s because you’ve had the unfortunate privilege of learning this answer.

How much longer you’ll have to endure endless rambling you do not know. What you do know is you would gladly kill this man for free.

It started over four weeks ago. Enough time to witness all of the phases of the moon.

A measly drink, a moment of peace was all you wanted when the bard came crashing into the stool beside you.

Now, normally this would not have provoked you to action but after having a very high ranking target stolen from right under you. It’s safe to say you needed to blow off some steam.

You paid the barkeep for all of the damages and stepped over the groaning drunkards on your way out. Who had started and likely would have continued an all out bar fight with every patron.

Either way you were ready to retire when the bard came stumbling out. Hair braided into several and tied back by a leather band. You can recall just how irritating the conversation was then.

No matter how much you tried to deny his praises, he assumed you a hero. Trying to invoke a life debt that was quite common to pirates. You were not interested.

He stayed anyway.

You figured after a time he would come to his senses and eventually sneak off when he thought you weren’t looking. Violence did that to people. It pushed them away.

His name was Hobart Brown but he insisted on being called Hobie. He dubbed you Lily after spotting a field of lily of the valley and also because you would not provide him with your name. ‘Pretty but deadly’ he said.

He wanted to travel by the Great Sea and find adventure. You almost felt sorry for the poor sod and he must have noticed because he reassured you that being in your debt did not create a dent on his plans.

You could tell he was fascinated with you. You knew that would be short lived as you cocked your pistol and killed a man you recognized from a town bulletin board. He was worth five hundred gold.

Hobie was off put. Expression wary and heavy as he asked you that night by the campfire who you were. You simply responded 'bounty hunter' and continued stoking the fire.

When you awoke he was still there. Saddling the horses and murmuring that the next town over would be less than a day’s travel.

You did not show your surprise as you slid out of your bed roll and prepared to depart. You felt uneasy the entire trip there. It was silent between the two of you even after you passed the town’s gate.

You’re unsure of why but perhaps it’s because his company has lifted a weight off of your shoulders that you stop him by the shoulder and check into an inn. Spending more coin than you would on yourself for a more than decent room and food that you ask to be sent to his just across the hall. A proper place to rest instead of dirt clearings and forest floors.

When you sit in the first warm bath you’ve had in months it dawns on you what you’ve done. You can’t afford any setbacks. He needs to go.

You cannot handle this kind of guilt in your heart that will inevitably follow you when you have to complete a bounty so you’ll leave first thing in the morning.

-

A quiet knock at your door stops you. Midcount of the gold and copper pieces in your pouch. They all clink together as you let them slid back into the leather bag.

“Yes?”

Hobie’s face immediately brightens when he catches your eye. A grin you've grown accustomed to. A stark contrast to the relaxed line of your lips.

“Good evening darling. Would you like to accompany me to the nearest tavern? I would say I owe you a drink.”

You give him a pointed look.

“Come on!” He laughs. Resting against the doorframe of your large room. “I know you are just as bored out of your mind as me. We can come right back if you’re still not up to it after one drink.”

Is it the way he smiles at you that gets you or the small quirk of his brow? The challenge. You have to wonder if the man is secretly a siren. It would match with his profession of choice.

“Fine, meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man sprint to his room like his life depended on it.

The nicest thing you owned was a flowy white dress that hung onto your shoulders and went just above your knees. The holster of your gun still fits snugly around your waist along with the pouch of coin you have since emptied to seem less heavy.

It isn’t particularly cold so you don’t take your signature coat with you. In a flourish you’re out the door and waiting with the fae handing out room keys and pretty smiles.

Not a minute later you catch the sound of the steps creaking and you swiftly move around. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to-” You caught yourself before you could finish that sentence but it didn’t seem like he caught on to your blunder.

He was looking at you with a slight part of his lips. It made your hair stand on end.

Hobie could now clearly see your figure. He could see more skin than you had previously shown in the last thirty two days. Heavens did you look beautiful.

He promptly cleared his throat and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

He let out a sigh of relief as soon as your attention was off of him.

Kill him, kill him now.

-

The walk to the tavern was short. The loud bumbling and bustling patrons spilling out the windows meant to look like painting archways. Sets of tables outside of the tavern as well which was new but not all that surprising. The population was bigger here compared to the last town.

Hobie stumbles and almost falls flat on his face as a boisterous woman steps into his path. You’re quick to catch him. Pulling him to your side with a firm grip around his waist. The woman apologies but it's obvious by the ale on her breath that she does not really mean it.

You look up to check on your companion only to find him already staring at you. With the same distant look he gave you at the inn.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he answers. Raking his eyes over your face before smiling. “Let’s go in.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious lie. Ignoring how it bothers you that you want to know what he is thinking.

A set of two glasses is set before you. Filled to the brim with froth coating the top of the glass. Apple cider. The town specialty given by the apple orchards the two of you passed on the way in.

You’re ready to slide your pouch off of your belt when a hand stops you.

“I’ll get it.” Hobie grins—fairy feathers doesn’t that hurt his face?—and hands a handsome amount of coin into the barmaid’s hand.

She’s ecstatic to which Hobie responds with a wink. It causes a pit to form in your stomach and you find yourself reaching for your mug to find something else to do with your mouth than scowl.

“Eager are we?” Hobie teases. Reaching for his own glass and taking a drink. He moans as soon as the liquid hits his tongue. “This must be made of liquid gold.”

You have to agree as your shoulders relax. The crisp taste is so satisfying you’re tempted to take bigger gulps.

Hobie smiles as he admires you behind his glass. He has to stop himself from reaching out and wiping away the froth from your lip. Thank the stars you are too distracted to notice.

“So,” Hobie hums,“was I right in taking you out of your room?”

He avoids using the word cage like he had planned to because he does take into account how luxurious the space they were staying in was. It wouldn’t be very proper of him to degrade the money she spent. Even as a joke.

You only nodded as you took the time to scan your surroundings. Everyone was having a good time. Glossy eyes and rosy cheeks were proof of that but you could never be too careful.

Hobie frowns but doesn’t say a word. Just shifts in his chair and tries to find something clever to say.

“How is your knee?” You ask above the cheers and laughter. “The foal took a pretty nasty hit to you.”

Hobie laughs. He looks pleased at the way you initiate conversation. It feels as though he is always the one talking.

“Oh, that. I’m fine. Was my fault for getting in her space anyway.”

Your lips break into a smile at that. “You should consider yourself lucky that it was her and not the mare.”

Hobie shivers at the thought. Bigger horse shoe, bigger hit. Yeah, that would not have gone well.

“I’m normally very good with animals, you can’t blame me,” he pouts.

That peaks your curiosity and yet again, he is perceptive enough to see this.

“I was born on a farm.” He grins again as he explains. “With more than a dozen cattle and sheep. We didn’t have horses though.”

Well, you might as well humor him.

“So your family owned land in the Northern region. That’s pretty far from where I found you.”

Hobie would fist pump the air if he could. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah?” He leans forward. “You know where that is?”

You nod, taking another sip of your cider and sighing. “I’ve never traveled up there. Aren’t many jobs and I haven’t found the need to explore.”

Hobie stiffens and glances at the holster holding your gun. “Right.” He licks his lips. His voice wasn’t as steady as he would have liked. “And you? Where do you come from? Because I’m certain it wasn’t from daisies.”

A chuckle leaves your lips that sounds more like a huff. “You do not know that. Haven’t you heard of the legends?”

“Ah, yes,” he pauses. Relaxing again as he slouches in his chair. “You truly want me to believe you came from stardust and laughter?”

“It’s startdust and happiness actually,” you correct. Smiling as you feel the bubbles of cider in your belly.

“Happiness,” he nods. Clicking his tongue as he grins. “Forgive me.”

You again, roll your eyes at his playfulness. Clinking your glass with your finger as you look off to the side. He still wants an answer, you know it.

You perk up as you notice a crowd gathering around a table. The perfect distraction. With a smile you reach for his hand and pull him with you. It doesn’t matter if your heart jumps into your throat at how warm his palms feel against your own. It was a necessary course of action. To protect yourself of course.

<

Commercial break - You’re almost 2,000 words in, take a break. If a project, work, or homework is staring you in the face, go finish it and come back. The story will still be here 💕

>

You’re laughing. Actually laughing as you leave the tavern with your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Hobie exhales. Disbelief still etched in his features as he kept his grin. “Where did you- how did you-”

“Family secret!” You snicker. A bit lightheaded from all of the alcohol you had just consumed. Ten times lighter but ten times heavier in coin after winning the bet.

“Oh so now you’re not even going to share that with me?” He guwaffs. Also a bit buzzed but definitely sober enough for the two of you.

“Fine fine,” you grumble. Squinting your eyes and scrunching your nose. “The secret is- my secret is-” A hiccup interrupts you but so does a cry of pain. You immediately sober up as your eyes dart toward a darker pathway of the town.

Hobie calls after you and soon he’s hot on your heels as you race to your destination.

Pain was something you were familiar with. You dealt with it every day. Whether you were inflicting it or someone was inflicting it upon you. You recognized it. It was what you lived for now.

A sort of numbness followed. It was a comfortable routine. Find the target, pull the trigger, find the next. But right now there was a panic and fear you hadn’t felt in years. Not since this entire ordeal first began.

You don’t think. It’s muscle memory at this point as you toss a man flat on his back. Cobblestone digging into his shoulders.

You can faintly hear the cry of the woman he was previously above. Hobie’s soft voice rushing to comfort the woman. That causes some of the fear to dissipate but not all of it.

It’s fist after fist and the blunt end of your pistol as you scramble to get some footing. Something to put you on top.

With a harsh shove to the path the man’s face comes to light. You recognize it in your haze. The sketch of his picture. The number under his name. You could do that, you could fix this issue no problem.

The cock of your gun snaps Hobie out of his frenzy. Eyes wide as he quickly rushes the girl to get out before she witnesses something to add more to her trauma.

The gurgle of the man’s throat is the next thing he hears as you hold him down with the heel of your boot.

“No, no, no-” he calls out. Grabbing you by the waist and tugging back so hard you both fall. The first shot rings out and hits one of the lanterns lighting the pathway.

“This isn’t the way to do this love!” He begs, pleas with you.

You struggle in his grip as the man in front of you finally manages to catch his bearings. Wobbling onto his knees as tears sting in your own eyes.

The second shot narrowly misses his boot. Hitting a stone before rolling away into the dirt.

The third you take as Hobie grips your arm. Opposite hand gripping tightly over your wrist as you close one eye and aim. It’s like clock work. As simple and easy as breathing.

The shell clatters to the ground and so does his body. The sight makes you nauseous.

Hobie finally manages to wrap his hand around your gun and toss it away. He doesn’t know where. His heart is beating too fast to understand.

For a moment you both sit there with heavy breath. Staring at the dead man that will owe you eight hundred gold pieces once you turn his body over along with his wanted poster.

“Love…” Hobie’s voice sounds so utterly broken that it brings you back to reality.

You reach up as you feel how sticky with tears your cheeks have become. When did you start crying?

“Love,” he repeats. More strength in his voice when he turns you around to face him. “Why would you do that?”

Why? Your brows furrow in anger. Hurt. Why? He’s asking you why?

This isn’t the way to do this

“You- do you even understand what you’ve done?” He shakes his head. He himself is shaking. “Do you just shoot everything that gets in your way? That brings you coin?”

He sounds so accusing. Like you are the one that has done something wrong. You look back to the man. Pooled in his own blood.

“Is that what you think?” You finally manage to say. Fingers curling into your soiled white dress. “That I do this for the satisfaction of money?”

You find the strength to push away and stand on your own two feet because that is what you have always done.

You turn to look down at the man before you. The man you were beginning to trust. The one you were willing to give your heart to if only in your dreams because you had no one else. Because at least someone would know you existed in this life. Laughed, cried, loved.

“I don’t do this because I enjoy putting a bullet between someone’s skull!”

Hobie cowers as you step closer and that only makes your heart ache more. Placing your finger fight at the base of his skull with your hand in the universally understood gesture of a gun.

“I do it for this!” You grip onto the pouch on your side. Tugging on it so the coins scatter like locusts. “All of this because that’s all I’m good for! That’s all I can provide for my family!”

Your chest hurts as you smack your hand against it. How many times have you placed a bullet there too? Counting the man on the ground, plenty.

“I don’t want to do this,” you choke. Throat feeling tight like there was a hand squeezing at its base.

You regret letting your guard down. Drinking like you didn’t have a care in the world when in fact, you did.

“I don’t want to do this.”

You sob as you fall to your knees and Hobie can’t stop himself from reaching for you and pulling you into his chest as you cry.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper. The cider pushing forward the thoughts you held back in the deepest part of your mind.

‘How shameful’ he would say when you returned. ‘Your family shouldn’t need you after all’. Then he would shoot you dead in his office much like you did countless times before tonight.

Hobie held you so tight someone might wonder if you could breath. His own tears rolling down his cheeks as he hides the mark he’s found on your neck. A number with the symbol of the king.

Hobie regrets his poor choice of words but shit can you blame him? He cries into your neck as he vows to repay his debt to you.

A life, for a life.

[leresq]

Rocket Raccoon short one-shot fanfiction (not MCU or comics or game, my own universe drawing from all of those)

I sat there, trembling in my scuffed and torn clothes, as the space pirates circled around me, their taunts piercing through my skin making me jolt through the cage they had put me in. They jeered, mocking my helplessness as I clung to my cream-white aran knit sweater. There were two of them: one was a human with a bizarre haircut that had the top of his head shaved, and the rest stuck straight down as if motor grease had been put in it. He had goggles on, and was missing too many teeth. The other one was an alien of some kind, looking kind of like a mix between a tree and a lizard with scales that looked like leaves. Both of them were wearing mixes of leather and brown cloth that made them look like scarecrows, and boots that clopped on the metal floor as if they were solid metal I beams. Other aliens passed through the ship, wearing similar mishmashes of fabrics with vibrant skin and weird features. Some of them stopped for a moment to stick their tongue out or make faces but it was the human and the tree-lizard who must have had nothing better to do than this. After a while I started to calm down a bit, what little I could, and I didn’t react as much to their clawing through the bars of my cage or lunging at me, and so they got bored and sat down on metal stools and stared at me like I was a zoo animal. The ship itself was industrial, with dirty pipes on every wall that occasionally hissed steam and screens that blinked and beeped, otherwise mundane noises that in this scenario seemed threatening. 

I thought about what had happened to me in the last… thirty minutes? Had it been an hour, or more? I had been peacefully strolling along a familiar path in a forested park, surrounded by the gentle rustling of leaves and squirrels jumping from trees. Then, out of nowhere, the tranquillity shattered as something massive blasted overhead, casting an ominous shadow over the serene scene. A beacon of blinding light descended, bathing the entire area in an eerie glow. Panic had coursed through me, and before I could process what was happening, I was aboard an alien spaceship.

Suddenly, the ship's interior was bathed in crimson light, alarms blaring in discordance as my heart humped. The bravado of two pirates who were watching me evaporated as they scrambled to respond to the imminent threat. They pulled guns or blasters from holsters and my eyes widened, I wondered if they were going to shoot me. They didn’t even pay attention to me, they just ran off. I watched as aliens scattered in every direction, leaving me sitting, bewildered. One alien ran into the hallway where my cell was and noticed me, glaring into me with piercing yellow eyes. They looked human, except they were a vibrant shade of blue.

They shouted something in a language I didn’t understand to another human who appeared at the left side of my cage. It sounded like sharp ‘z’, 'r’, and ‘k’ sounds mostly, like ‘zarg’ or ‘karg’. She pointed to me and said something back, then the blue alien who was wielding a rifle turned to me and stood there, tensing. I straightened up too, not knowing if they were going to shoot me or not. They just stood there as other aliens raced around them. I guess this one was told to stand guard.

Then I heard shots coming from the hallway to my left where the human woman had come from. I jolted to stare at the entrance at the same time as the blue alien did. The blue person must not have known what to do because they just stood there, rifle blaster raised through the corner of my cage out into the passageway on the left. Then a figure emerged from the corner, diminutive in stature, rushing forward. with a few quick blasts of light from both sides the blue person fell over on their stomach. I gasped loudly and shoved myself against the wall as the invader turned to look at me. After all this I thought nothing could be stranger, but the person who shot the blue alien was a raccoon, standing on two legs holding a gun that looked way too big for them. Their head looked a little off but unmistakably that of an Earth raccoon. They were clad in an orange and tan tough suit-vest, cutting off at mid-shin where black boots began. His blue shirt peeked out from under the vest, and I couldn't help but notice the scuffs and well-worn appearance of their attire. They were unlike anyone I had ever seen before, even compared to plant lizards and blue people, and I hesitated, trying to make sense of the situation. Were they rescuing me or just stealing me? Was I going to go into another cage?

The raccoon spoke at me, the same harsh language I had heard earlier. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just shook my head. They must have noticed my eyes did not change as if I understood, and they said something else. They said something short which sounded like ‘flark’ I guess to themselves and they pulled a satchel around from behind them and began digging through it until they pulled out a tiny metal crescent. They came up to the bars of the cage and tossed the device on the floor where it skidded across the metal grate until it came to me. The raccoon held up articulate fingers that would be unnatural if it were any other animal, but raccoons already have pretty opposable fingers. They made a pinching motion with space in between their fingers as if they picked something up; they probably meant the metal crescent, then they put their fingers behind their ear. 

I picked up the gadget and pressed it behind my left ear so that the crescent's inner curve rested against the outside of my ear. I felt what must have been a plate on the side of the thing that touched my fingers, then a snap sound rattled through my head and I jumped as I began to get lightheaded. I noticed the raccoon fidgeting at the door to the cage as my vision blurred and my ears began ringing. I grabbed at the device but it felt almost riveted into my skull. I began swinging my right hand around trying to keep the raccoon away from me. Did this thing just attach itself to me? Was it poisoning me? 

I yelled loudly as the raccoon grabbed my hand with theirs and pulled me up with surprising strength. I fell forward a little bit but grabbed onto the cell bars with a clatter. My vision began to clear up and the ringing subsided, and I could hear them talking to me. Instead of the harsh consonants I had heard before, what they were saying sounded as understandable as I knew English, even though I knew they weren't speaking English. 

"I said, can you hear me Terran?" They said, with a bit of a scowl.

"Wha- what did you make me put in my head?" I said in English.

I guess they understood me because they said "It's a universal translator. We gotta get outta here fast before more guys with guns get here."

"Universal translator?"

"Did you not hear me, is that thing on all the way? I said guys with guns are coming."

Before I could ask another question they dodged right past me and ran down the right passageway prompting me to shake off the last mental fuzz and chase after them.

I panted as we darted through the dimly lit corridors of the spaceship, "What's your name? Are you here to save me?"

The raccoon spared a quick glance in my direction as we navigated the maze-like passageways. "Names don't matter much in my line of work, kid. And I ain't your saviour, just in it for some business." Then after a bit; "Rocket. They/he."

Their words stung cold, but I couldn't blame them for not wanting to be a hero. 

"Why did you save me then?"

"You were there. Now shut up."

We continued our mad dash through the ship, the red emergency lights casting eerie shadows around us. We burst into a dimly lit chamber, a safe room of sorts with a large door at the end, but otherwise looked exactly like the rest of the ship. The clinking of bottles and hushed voices signalled that we weren't alone. A group of pirates lounged around a table, clearly unaware of our intrusion until one of them looked right at us. There was a yellow human-looking alien and someone with lots of horns. My heart froze as they jumped up and pulled out blasters.

Rocket didn't waste a second. He raised his blaster and fired a barrage of shots that sent the pirates tumbling out of the way, their yelps filling the air. I leapt behind a nearby barrel, my heart pounding in my chest, the fear clawing at my throat.

I peeked out to see Rocket almost dancing around the bullets, their quick and precise movements were a stark contrast to the fumbling pirates. In seconds it was over but it might as well have been minutes. 

I looked out further, the acrid smell of burnt metal lingering in the air. The pirates lay defeated, with trails of smoke coming from their bodies which made me feel a bit ill. Rocket stood amidst the aftermath, scanning the room for a panel at the corner of the massive metal door. They went over and tapped something on the pad before it blinked in red.

 With a huff, they muttered, "Two-factor opening door. Figures." They reached into their satchel and pulled out a little disk. "Groot, can you shut off the d'ast alarm already?"

Someone said something on the other end of the radio device and within a few seconds the red lights bathing the vacuous safe room flicked back to their normal warm glow. It wasn't comfortable, but better than the almost haunting crimson alarm light.

Rocket sighed, his frustration palpable. "Hey kid, you there? I need your help, get over here."

I hesitated, my fear still gnawing at me. I looked at the exit to the hallway. I could run back and down the other way, maybe there was a way out that way. But even if there was a spaceship or something out there I had no idea how to fly so much as a remote controlled plane.

I looked back at Rocket, and they were looking at me. After a moment they dropped the tense look in their eyes and their scowl and sighed. Their face rearranged a bit, the gruff exterior softening. "Kid, I know this ain't your gig, and you're scared outta your mind. But I need to get that door open. I'll get you home safe right after."

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I stepped out from behind the barrel and came up halfway. "What do I do?"

They gave me a small, encouraging nod, smiling. "You see that panel on the right side exactly opposite from me? There's numbers over there and you gotta press them as I tell them to you. Press the big blue button on the screen when I tell you to and hold it down. When I say 'now,' you release it, got it?"

I went up to the screen and looked at what was on it. There were 10 small buttons and one big one, all blue. The screen was greasy and cruddy, and I realised it wasn't the numerals I was used to on Earth.

“Um, I can’t read this-” I faltered.

“Flark, right. I’ll describe them to you.” Rocket sighed.

Rocket pulled another little device out of their satchel, this one cylindrical and red with a tiny screen like that of a simple calculator, and attached it to their panel. It began making ticking noises, then finally a beep.

“Square!” Rocket barked, and then another beep as he inputted the number. I saw a little green bar appear on the side of the screen as I pressed the button, I could feel some of the oil touching my finger. The bar went up a little more.

*beep* “Square with three lines in it!” I pressed this button and the bar went up again.

*beep* “Two lines!” Button pressed.

*beep* “One line!” I pressed the last number pad key.

“Now!” I put my palm on the big blue button and the bar filled all the way up, with a satisfying reward sound playing over the speakers.

“Great job.” Rocket remarked as the door began to unhinge and slide open into two parts. Past the door were boxes and boxes of small metal bars, along with some guns and other shiny trinkets. Rocket patted me on the forearm which was all they could reach as I wiped my finger on my already messy sweater. 

The room itself was about the size of a walk-in closet, not as big as the door would have suggested. Rocket went straight for the gun barrack and began taking a few weapons and strapping them to their back. With the size of the one they already had I was surprised they didn’t topple over. Then they scooped up some of the metal bricks and put them in their satchel, then they turned to the centre of the room where a case stood, and atop the piles of gold rectangles there was a black container. Rocket stood up on his toes to pluck it off and snap it open. The lid slid off to reveal a little computer chip of some sort. 

“This is what I’m here for. Take what you want, I doubt these flarkers’ll care.”

I scanned the room and just took a few of the shining bricks and stuffed a few into my pockets. I assumed they were currency of some kind but I had no idea. Then I found a small white and red object that was shaped like a gun, but instead of a barrel it appeared to have a long spindly antenna on the end. It had a metal canister attached to it that had a blue feather emblem. I took it off the rack and it was surprisingly lightweight. I waved it around before Rocket called to me.

“C’mon kid, I bet backup ships will be here soon.”

I jogged over to them and we ran out of the safe room, down the hallway past the cage I had been trapped inside minutes earlier, and down the other end where after passing a few rooms I saw an open dock area, with a window without a barrier that looked right out into space. I gulped a bit as I took everything in. This must have been the place I was unloaded from when I was kidnapped. I was blindfolded from the time I was brought to the cell.

As we reached the middle of the space dock I was overwhelmed by the vast expanse of the cosmos stretching out before me. Stars scattered like diamonds against the infinite black canvas of space, and the Earth seemed like a distant dream from now. A small yellow ship was waiting there which was about the size of a semi-truck without the trailer. It had two distended legs that jutted out from it which had smaller engines on each one compared to the two larger ones attached to the body. The bottle green cockpit was open, and crawling out of it was a living tree stump with a face on it, sutured to metallic spider legs on which it moved. Once again outer space surprised me.

"I am Groot" the tree said matter-of-factly.

“This is Groot, he/him. Groot, get ready to fire up the engines. We need to get out of here fast," Rocket hollered, and the tree creature responded with “I am Groot” once again.

"Didn't he already say that?" I said.

"He did. It's his language, it's just three words." Rocket responded.

“Why can’t I understand what he’s saying?” I inquired.

“The translator doesn’t work for empathetic languages.”

“What’s an empathetic language?”

“Are you just going to keep asking questions?”

I was a bit taken aback so I looked away.

“It’s feelings.”

That didn’t really answer my question but I didn’t push further. 

Just as Groot began to prepare the ship for departure, a new vessel appeared out of nowhere, seemingly materialising in the void of space. It glided smoothly up to the space dock. This new arrival was no friendly craft; it was a menacing pirate ship, round yet covered in red plated armour which was scuffed from laser blasts. Before I could fully grasp the situation, five pirates clad in jumbles of armour, helmets, and various cloths emerged from a door that suddenly opened. With blasters in hand, they jumped onto the space dock and immediately spotted us. Their intent was clear as they aimed their weapons at Rocket, Groot, and me.

Panic gripped me once more as the pirates opened fire, their blasters unleashing a storm of energy bolts. Rocket, Groot, and I ducked behind some crates for cover as the barrage of shots rained down upon us. The air was filled with the sizzling and crackling of energy bolts, and I could feel the heat of the blasts even from our hiding spot.

"Kid, see those barrels with the fire symbol on them?" Rocket said, gesturing towards the end of the port where the entrance they had come out of was. There were a couple large canisters that had symbols resembling a flame, so they were definitely flammable. "I need you to get over there and push one of those barrels into the way. I'll cover you and Groot can give you some shield. We're gonna get outta here." 

"I can't!" I said, flustered.

"You can." They commanded, and it kind of felt honouring to have that said to me. If aliens weren't shooting at me while I was talking to a raccoon on two legs with a friend who was a tree spider I'd think about how nobody had ever really shocked a sense of esteem into me. 

I nodded solemnly and turned around to face the barrels which I could see. The pirates were beginning to spread out as they continued firing and it wouldn't be long before they would surround us. Groot scuttled beside me and I looked at him.

"Alright, one-" I started, bracing myself. "two, three!"

I leapt forward with my hands outstretched, and I landed on my head and arms in such a way that I was able to push myself into a forward tumbling roll. I watched as Groot ran in front of me and a net of branches suddenly extended out of his stump to catch lazer bolts before they could reach me. It was like for a few seconds I was in slow motion. Then I was against the wall on my back, shielded from any bolts by the barrels. 

Before one of the pirates could try to come around at me, Rocket was already firing a heavy barrage back at them with his massive gun. The recoil was barely shaking them and they seemed to almost enjoy it. Two of the pirates were gunned down by Rocket as Groot and I shoved the barrel onto its side with a slam. The remaining three pirates were trying not to become Swiss cheese, so they didn't notice as I aimed and rolled the canister directly at their ship which still floated outside the port.

"Get behind something!" Rocket yelled, not stopping the rain of blaster fire.

In the moment, I realised behind more explosives probably wasn't that safe, so in another slow motion moment I grabbed Groot's mechanical leg, stood up, and dashed back behind the crates Rocket was atop. I was just able to see the pirates finally notice the barrel, but jumping out of the way was too late. Rocket's blaster punctured it and it erupted in flame as it rolled directly into the pirate's fighter ship. The barrel exploded, pushing everything back. 

BHOOMP

I was thrown against the wall, the crates being stopped from crushing me because of how heavy they were. The three pirates were flung in every direction, one went out into space while the last two were caught in the explosion. The small pirate ship's hull was torn open, and it began moving away from the port until it too exploded. Shards of the hull shifted in every direction, some coming flying back into the port, skidding against the metal. The port was scarred with torn metal and burnt paint, with bits of the destroyed craft still on fire everywhere. Rocket’s ship was relatively unharmed; it had been just out of range of the explosion and only suffered some ash marks on the already dirty yellow paint. 

I hadn’t even realised my ears were ringing from the shockwave until they began to clear. As I struggled to regain my senses, I looked around in a daze, smoke and sparks swirling in the aftermath of the blast. I scanned the wall we were hiding against for Rocket and Groot, my panic escalating as I couldn't see them anywhere. Then, I spotted Rocket lying on the ground a short distance away, his orange and tan vest scorched and tattered, and his furry body covered in soot. They had been standing on top of the crates we were hiding behind, so they would have been exposed to the full brunt of the blast. My heart clenched as I rushed over to him, dropping to my knees beside him.

"Rocket!" I called out, my voice trembling. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a groan of pain. Blood oozed from a wound on his side, staining his vest. I didn't know what to do, how to help him. Groot pushed some debris that must have fell on top of him and he scuttled over.

“I am Groot.” he said.

“He says get me on the ship-” Rocket coughed, choking a bit.

I carefully scooped up Rocket as if I were holding a cat, except they were much larger. Their fur was warm and prickly, and covered in ash and grime, grooming that had faded away as the day called for movement and action. Their tail almost reflexively wrapped around my arm. It was soft and bushy, but then they pulled it away. I supported them as we made our way back to the small yellow ship. Groot scurried over, continuing to watch Rocket as I crawled into the cockpit and climbed over the levers and screens and dashboards into the back. It was cramped, clearly meant for two people at most, but there was room on the ground where I set them down.

Rocket managed to prop himself up on one elbow, grimacing in pain. "Kid, listen up. You see that white and red thing you picked up earlier?" He pointed weakly to the white and red tool I had taken from the safe room in my left hand. I didn’t even notice I had never dropped it since I had picked it up. I nodded frantically, my hands trembling as I held it, looking it over. 

"That's a medgun," Rocket rasped. "Point it at me, press the button on the side, and hold it steady. It'll do the rest." They pointed to the wound in their abdomen.

With shaking hands, I followed his instructions, aiming the medgun at his injured side and pressing the button. A soft blue light emitted from the wispy antenna as it shot forward and began dancing around the wound like a feather being pushed by wind.

"That's it," Rocket said, his voice steadier now.

Soon I saw pink skin fill up the hole through the bloody vest, and fur quickly began to grow back. 

Rocket exhaled loudly in relief and let themselves collapse onto the floor of the ship, breathing heavily. I too let myself sit down and sigh. I dropped the medgun and looked at my body. My aran sweater and grey sweatpants were utterly beyond repair, covered in dirt and muck. There were a few tears in it, the knees on my pants were rubbed till I could see my knees through them, and there was blood on my chest, probably Rocket’s. I felt my own face was just as dirty, and I felt my own blood run down my temple. 

Just as  one of the screens began to blink and a piercing chirp echoed out of the cockpit into the port. Rocket pushed themselves up and winced, looking over at the screen which I couldn’t read.

“D’ast! Flarking-” Rocket went into a flurry of swears. They tried to sit up but they stumbled back down and grabbed their stomach.

“Are you alright?” I said.

“Yeah, I can’t fly the ship and there’s more flarkin’ pirates coming.”

My heart began racing again.

“They were taking the chip I stole to their mothership, and it’ll be here soon. Groot can co-pilot, but you’re gonna have to steer.”

I gulped. “Alright, what do I do?”

Groot climbed up the wall of the ship and his metal body plugged into a socket on the ceiling. The green front window closed and there was a hiss as the cabin pressurised. I looked out through the spaceport into the vacuum to see a hexagonal portal snap open some ways away. A massive ship, about the size of a skyscraper floated out of it and began heading straight towards us. It was terrifying, something so big shouldn’t be able to move, there was nothing like it on Earth. The bellow of machinery moving closer rattled my core.

“Grab the controls, and when I tell you to, push forward and lean to your right out the port.” Rocket commanded.

“I am Groot.”

“Ok.” I affirmed, sliding into the pilot’s seat. It was pretty comfortable but a little small for me. The two handles were straight up, parallel to each other. I grabbed them and they were relatively firm.

One of the screens inside the ship crackled and a scratchy voice came out.

“This is the Bhokan Marauders, do not escape or you will be obliterated.”

“Put ‘em through Groot.” Rocket groaned as the screen changed colour. “We got your key you fuckin’ morons! Flark you!” Rocket howled, finishing with a dastardly laugh. “Shut off the comms Groot.”

“I am Groot.”

“You will return that to us imme-” the person over the radio started, but the screen changed colour again and their voice was cut short.

“Now, pull out now!” Rocket hollered.

I jumped a bit, then pushed on the steering controls, gently forward. I saw the forward engines on the extended rods jump to life, flicking upward as I felt the rear engines sputter on. The ship levitated sharply, and I nearly fell out of the pilot’s seat. The craft began moving forward and I turned the handles to the right so that we hovered out of the port and into space. Immediately the emptiness of it all overwhelmed me and I felt a little sick.

“You got this, just move away from the pirate ship and out into space. Groot can plot a course. Groot, take us to Xandar. My bigger ship is there.”

“I am Groot.” Grood muttered as screens blinked to his command.

“He says the jump point is a klick away.”

“How far is a klick?” I asked.

“Just fly, I’ll tell you when we’re there!”

I was surprised Rocket had more than one ship, but I was too flustered to ask questions. I pressed on the controls as the ship flew through the floating debris from the destroyed smaller pirate vessel. It was like driving a car, except there was up and down as well as left and right. The two extended boosters worked like chariots, helping to steer the ship.

The pirate mothership turned to face us, and suddenly with a shuddering bang a bolt of yellow energy flew right over the ship.

“Shit!” I grimaced, moving Rocket’s craft downwards to avoid it, barely missing the blast. 

“You’re good, just keep going!” Rocket said.

Bang, bang, bang. More shots, increasing in number, followed after me as I pushed the controls to their limit. The ship was creaking as it reached maximum speed, but the pirate’s craft was slowly lumbering towards us.

“Groot, are there shields on this thing?” I called out.

“I am Groot.”

“He says they’re already on.” 

I didn’t say anything more and continued on, trying to dodge the blasts of energy coming from the enemy ship. A rumbling boom shook the cabin and a red light blinked on.

“Did we get hit?” I asked.

“We’re fine.” Rocket assured. One of the screens to my left showed a wide bar with a picture of the ship on it, with the left engine flashing red. The bar was less than half way full and slowly going down.

I swallowed my fear and continued pushing.

“Ten seconds!” Called Rocket.

Another rumble, the screen flashing again. The bar dropped even lower.

“I am Groot!”

“Shut the flark up, we're gonna make it!”

Boom, *beep beep beep*

The bar was now deep red, and I could feel the ship slowly losing control.

“Rocket?!” I cried.

“Five seconds!”

Boom

“Three! Two!”

In front of us, a yellow spark of energy flashed, and a hexagonal tear in space like the one the pirate ship had come out of. It widened, and I could see an Earth-like planet through the hole. It was like a painting in a museum if it led to another dimension. I looked out to my left and saw another yellow energy blast heading towards the cockpit.

“One!”

We zoomed through the portal, and immediately it closed right before the bolt hit us. It was closed exactly on the blast, which caused an explosion directly behind us, pushing the ship forward a bit. 

“Great job kid!” Rocket praised.

I flung myself back and tilted my head in repose, with a hoarse exhale venting all the anxiety and fear. My nerves felt like they were on fire.

“They almost blew us up!” I said in disbelief. 

“They didn't, did they?” Rocket remarked.

“I am Groot.”

“So what? The ship’s still flying.” 

Rocket sat up, grimacing a little.

“I’m good to fly.”

I nearly fell out of the chair and pushed myself into the little empty area as me and Rocket traded places, with me lying on the floor breathing stiffly.

The screen that had the radio on it buzzed awake again.

“Starsleigh, this is Xandar, do you read?”

“Xandar, this is Starsleigh, permission to land. Sorry for the close jump point, we were in a bit of trouble.” Rocket said, grabbing the controls. They seemed to have regained enough strength to pilot the ship.

“Thank you. Proceed to landing. Your personal hangar is open.” Crackled the voice.

“You have a personal hangar?”

“Yeah I’m kinda a galaxy saving hero around these parts.” Rocket said like it was no big deal.

Within seconds we were descending to the surface of the planet.

The surface of Xandar stretched out below us as we descended, and it was unlike anything I had ever seen. The was a bustling hub of advanced technology and alien culture. Skyscrapers with sleek, curved designs dotted the landscape, their surfaces gleaming with a metallic sheen. Solar panels and plants were flush with the architecture, which was a blend of organic and futuristic elements. As we got closer I saw the buildings were adorned with holographic displays that showcased various advertisements and messages in all sorts of different languages, most of which my universal translator understood. The streets were bustling with all sorts of beings, from humanoid creatures to those with more exotic forms. Some wore elaborate outfits and carried advanced gadgets, while others seemed to be going about their daily lives in simple attire. As we descended to a metal half-cylinder that had to be the hangar, I could see that Xandar was a planet of vibrant colours. The buildings came in various shades of blue, silver, and iridescent hues that seemed to shift with the changing light. The streets were lined with lush greenery and colourful flora, creating a harmonious blend of nature and technology.

Rocket expertly piloted the small ship through the cityscape, weaving between the towering structures until we approached the massive hangar as the two sliding doors on top of it rumbled open. The opened doors revealed an even larger spaceship, gleaming with sophistication. It was flame orange and bird-shaped, with thick wings and silver highlights. It was clear that this was Rocket's primary vessel. 

“That’s the Rhapsody, I didn’t bring it on this mission because it’s pretty big.” Rocket boasted. “You can get cleaned up on board, there’s a shower. I can get you a new outfit. You people wear shit like that on Terra?”

By Terra he must be referring to Earth. “Yeah, uh most people aren’t anticipating being abducted by aliens.”

“I know a Terran, exact same thing happened to him.”

I could have inquired further but I didn’t know if Rocket was going to answer or shove it off with a backhanded comment.

We landed smoothly inside the hangar, and Rocket powered down the ship's engines. It settled with a clunk, and the engine sputtered and died as a panel on the ceiling of the cabin beeped and blinked, signalling damage. 

“D’ast…” Rocket cursed under their breath as they flicked a few buttons and the shield opened, the full light of the planet Xandar being let in. I blinked my eyes trying to take it in. I had become adjusted to the low light of spaceships and it was like taking sunglasses off at the beach on a sunny day. As I stepped out of the cockpit, I couldn't help but feel like this place was very similar to Earth. The air smelled cleaner though, and the sky was a little bluer, with perfect little clouds dotting the airspace. All sorts of ships were flying up and down, but they looked like little specks to me down on the ground.

With a snap Groot unplugged from the ceiling and his spider legs carried him down to the ground.

“This isn’t freakin’ you out too much?” Rocket said, clutching their side and stretching as they hopped out of the ship.

“This feels like Earth actually, just… greener.”

“Yeah your planet’s a real shithole, surprised you wanna go back.”

I thought a bit about that as I moved around the controls and set my feet on solid ground for the first time in what felt like days. 

I looked around the hanger and gained a sense of awe at the surroundings. The hangar itself was a technological marvel, stretching for what looked like half a kilometre, with some of the spots filled with spaceships, no two looking even remotely similar. They were all sorts of colours and shapes. Rocket’s ship which they called the Rhapsody sat close, both it and the smaller ship which I overheard as the Starsleigh on the same square pad. It was as the cool and comforting air surrounded me that for the first time in a while I was able to take in how dirty I really was. I looked like I had crawled through a chimney, and it felt gross both physically and mentally to be dirty in a place like this.

Rocket and Groot walked to the end of the Rhapsody followed by me, where there were two large thrusters. Under them, as Rocket pulled a key fob out from their satchel, was a lowering door that angled itself to the ground, creating a ramp to the inside. The Rhapsody was about the size of a tour bus from the inside. It wasn’t as spacious as a house but felt more like a place to live than the Starsleigh. It smelled a little funny, like alcohol, motor oil, and musk, but it was all very faint. Up at the cockpit I saw a little green tree air freshener that really failed at its job. There were empty bottles piled on one side of the floor, along with what looked like a pizza box, but it was in another language that I couldn’t read. I guess the universal translator only worked for spoken words, nothing written.

The ship’s main hallway had a wall of pipes and various cabinets, with a barrack holding four different guns of all different sizes. On the right wall there were three cots with metal sliding doors covering two of them. The one that was open was stuffed full of different trinkets, like something was being deconstructed. The floor was similar to that of the pirate ship I had been on; metal grate covering pipes and wires. Near the cockpit, far from us, was a door on the left and on the right a flat space where something that looked like a microwave atop a freezer stood. There was a computer on the left wall that had whirred to life as the door opened, 

“There’s a shower stall to the left near the cockpit, there’s one inside the hangar I’ll use. There’s some of Peter’s old clothes that’ll probably fit you in there.” Rocket said, pointing to a door as they dropped their satchel on the floor. They must have left the guns inside the Starsleigh. 

I didn’t know who Peter was, but I just nodded. “Thank you. I don’t think I ever said that…”

Rocket stopped for a bit as they were walking back down the ramp. “No problem. Groot, make sure they don’t flark up my ship.” They didn’t look back at me as they went out to the main building of the hangar.

“I am Groot.” Said Groot, who climbed on top of the open cot past some tools and sat on the pleather padding.

“Can you understand me?” I asked him.

“I am Groot.” 

I didn’t bother pushing further and went to the door Rocket said contained the shower, putting the medgun on the countertop as I walked past it. The door looked like one in an aeroplane’s bathroom, with a little handle that clicked open when I grabbed it. The restroom was dimly lit as the one overhead light buzzed on. There was a metal toilet, a small sink, a tall closet door, and a shower stall that I could fit in comfortably. On the closet door was ‘clothes’ written in English surprisingly enough, on a yellowed piece of masking tape. 

Without much hesitation I stripped off my dirty and torn clothes. I scrubbed the grime off my face with my sweater, and turned my pants inside out so I had something to stand on after the shower. I took the metal sticks from my pocket and set them on the edge of the sink, about fifteen of them. There were dark green rag towels on the door to the stall.

Inside the stall, the shower wasn’t as complicated as I was expecting. There was just a knob that had a blue and a red half, with a large head up at the top facing down. There was a bar of green soap on a ledge built into the metal walls. The surfaces of the shower were slightly tarnished and rusty. I stepped inside and turned the knob to the middle of red, and without any delay a barrage of warm and comforting water surrounded me like a blanket. I gasped, I must have forgotten something like this even existed in my short time in space. As the filth flaked off of me, I felt the fear go with it. I felt confident. The slightly stained shower disappeared beneath me as I cleaned myself. 

When I was done, I grabbed the green towel and swiftly dried myself, stepping out onto my inside out trousers. I moved forward and opened the large cabinet and saw all sorts of clothes, mostly red and grey and green. I didn’t know how sizing works, so I just started filing through the contents, not entirely sure what to expect. Among the assortment of attire, my eyes fell upon a pale olive green suit with no sleeves. It appeared to be in excellent condition compared to everything else there, smooth and clean.

Next to the suit, I found a grey undershirt. It looked soft and comfortable, a stark contrast to the dirty and torn clothes I had been wearing. I put it on and noticed it was a bit thicker than I expected, with reinforced elbow pads. It was breathable and durable.

I carefully donned the pale green suit jacket, which required me to open a flap like a peacoat and slip inside. It came with leggings attached, and I fit into it like it was made for me. There were a pair of light grey socks that looked fit for a human in a compartment on the floor of the closet, which when put on went up to my knees and gently pressed against my legs on all sides. There were a few pairs of boots but they all looked too small or too big for me, so I just put on my own shoes.

After finishing my look I examined what I had assembled. The olive green colour of my vest suit was sophisticated, and it was double stitched so there was a more comfortable material on the inside. I admired my reflection in the slightly tarnished mirror on the wall, feeling like a completely different person. This wasn't like anything I had worn on Earth before, and even if I ever found anything similar to this it would cost a fortune for the quality. I grabbed the currency bars from the sink and stuffed them into my new pocket before scooping up all my old clothes and opening the restroom door with a click. 

When I went outside Groot was exactly where he had been, and Rocket was sitting on a stool eating noodles out of a cup with colourful packaging in blocky alien letters. Rocket was wearing a soft tan undershirt which was topped by a pale blue vest and green cargo pants. They weren’t wearing any boots. Their brown and cream fur had been washed and brushed and appeared much more fluffy, and their tail twitched as if they were thinking. 

I found another stool by the wall and I pulled it out to sit.

“I am Groot.”

“I know, I know.” Rocket muttered, forking the noodles which I saw were a watery purple into their mouth.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“So… Thanks for the clothes I guess..?” I said, hesitating.

“That’ll be 200 units.” They stated blankly.

My face widened a little bit in shock, then I dove into my pocket.

“Um, I have this from the ship.” I said, pushing the fistful of bricks at them.

“That was a jo-” Rocket started, but then they stopped and held a paw out to take them. They could barely hold them but they grasped every one and chucked them into a pail which was already full of them.

“So what was that computer chip you stole?” I questioned, looking at the hem on my grey shirt sleeve.

“It’s the key code for a bank.”

“You’re gonna steal from a bank? I thought you were a superhero, or a galaxy saver or whatever you said?”

“I’m not stealing from the bank, I’m stoppin’ someone else from stealing from the bank. There’s a very powerful artefact in this bank, and an old acquaintance of mine wants what’s inside. I don’t know how the Bhokans got it. I remember hearing an old coder friend sayin’ that they hide their shit on Terra cuz nobody goes there. I guess that’s the time they picked you up, about the same time I got an alert from that coder buddy.

“Why would they have wanted me?

“I don’t know, most space pirates don’t go after Terrans if they’re looking to traffic, and you don’t look like you’re worth anything besides.”

I took the benefit of the doubt and assumed they weren’t trying to insult me, but I don’t know if I should have. 

“They didn’t take anything from me.” I said. “I didn’t really have anything anyway.”

“I am Groot”

“He says maybe they just wanted to mess with somebody.”

There was a solemn pause.

“You’re not that useless y’know?”

“Yeah?”

Another short pause.

“You ready to go home? Back to that mudball?”

“About that…”

“What does that mean?”

“I am Groot.”

“No, no. I’m not doing that!” Rocket said, grouchily looking away at the wall.

“What’d he say?” I asked Rocket.

Rocket flipped his paw in the air, pushing the subject off.

“I never did get your name.” Rocket said, looking at me finally.

I chuckled, leaning back and looking up at the wonderful mess of pipes and metal and wires above me. It was like a map, different paths and different adventures. 

[aloudplace]

Chapter 13 temperature

It felt good to be clean and warm again. Their bath with the plants in the icy pool couldn’t compare to proper soap and hot water.

After washing—and a brief but titillating episode of touching and kissing in the big pool—they went upstairs naked and found the biggest, most luxurious bedroom in the bunker.

Loklan stretched out on the rich green coverlet and watched Eiara rifle through the closet.

"They left all their clothes," she said, pulling out a simple green dress with a braided bodice and long, cream-colored sleeves. "Do you think they meant to come back?"

"Maybe. The terraforming project ended abruptly, as I recall."

"There's some men's clothing as well. Looks like they should fit you..." She rustled around in the closet some more and reappeared with a pair of soft brown leather trousers and a plain white shirt. "Well, the shirts will. The trousers might be a bit short." She eyed his naked legs up and down. "Maybe a little loose in the waist, too."

Loklan tucked his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. "The other rooms might have something better. They'd have recruited a few farming families to do the heavy lifting around here. Probably had at least a few big, strapping peasants on site."

She put the clothing back and crossed to the vanity opposite the bed, perching on the small cushioned stool. "There's not even dust on anything. They might have left here yesterday, by the look of this place."

"Preservation spells," he murmured, admiring the curve of her naked back. "They'd have used them to protect the place from the weather and the dirt."

Her hair had begun to curl as it dried. It hung in rich bronze waves against her shoulders. It was an ongoing pleasure to see her in proper lighting. Her coloring was extraordinary.

"Ah," she said softly. She'd begun opening the little drawers in the vanity, pulling out a number of typical feminine items. Hairpins and various lotions. She turned with a wide ivory comb in her hand. "Shall I brush your hair?"

"Mmm. If you like."

She rose and crossed to the bed as Loklan sat up, climbing onto the mattress behind him.

The gentle tugging and the scrape of the comb against his scalp were delightful. Loklan turned into melted butter as she worked the tangles from his hair.

"You have such beautiful hair," she murmured. "So black. And it curls so beautifully."

"Mmm."

She kept on combing long after the tangles were gone.

"Do you think they left any food?" she asked, having abandoned the comb in favor of running her fingers through his damp curls.

His stomach growled at the thought. "Probably."

He felt her lips on the back of his shoulder and then the base of his neck, nuzzling through his hair. "I would kill for something other than fish and cactus roots," she murmured, pressing closer.

Loklan reached back blindly for her hand and drew it around to the front of his body. "This first," he said huskily, molding her fingers to his cock.

Eiara flattened her breasts against his back and curled her other arm around his waist, slender thighs bracketing his hips. "Are you hard from having your hair combed?" she asked playfully.

"I've been hard since the bath, and you know it," he growled. She'd been admiring it on and off the whole time.

The little sound of pleasure she issued against the back of his neck made him shiver. "How do you want me?"

"Bound and helpless," he growled, turning to pin her roughly against the pillows. "But since we haven't any rope yet, and I'm not prepared to go looking for some right now, we'll have a game." Then he pushed her legs up and thrust unceremoniously inside.

Eiara made a sound—half yelp and half gasp. It made his blood boil, and his cock jump hard inside her.

"Quiet," he commanded.

Her eyes widened.

"Not a sound," he continued darkly. "No moaning, or whimpering. Not. A. Peep."

Her gaze darkened in understanding.

This was the game. And since Eiara was quite vocal, it would be difficult for her to win.

Loklan planned to make it very difficult, indeed.

With that in mind, he pushed deep until she shuddered and tensed around him.

"You may gasp," he said, "As long as there is no vocalization."

The breath left her in a loud, shaky gush. She nodded.

"Good," he crooned, bending to her, "Give me your mouth."

She lifted her head and opened for him, gasping around his tongue as he began to thrust.

Loklan held her legs up and to the side with one hand behind her knees. With the other hand, he grasped her breast and held on, pumping forcefully.

After about half a dozen thrusts, he paused to wedge himself deep, rooting for the mouth of her womb.

Mouth closed, teeth clenched, Eiara gave a soft, muffled whimper.

He pulled out immediately, and her lips parted on a gush of breath. "Loklan—" she protested.

"Quiet," he snapped, releasing her breast to stroke himself roughly, holding his cock over her sex, so he could look at the swollen lips while he touched himself. "You get one more chance."

Her expression was agonized, but she kept quiet. Her head fell to one side.

"No," he growled. "Watch me."

Luminous green-brown eyes focused reluctantly on his moving hand.

"Can you see how wet I am?" he asked darkly. "My cock is slick from you."

Her throat worked silently as she fought not to moan.

"Are you going to be quiet?" he asked. "Or shall I make myself come like this?"

She shook her head vehemently.

"Say it. 'I won't make another sound, Loklan.' Just like that."

"I won't make another sound, Loklan," she whispered, eyes glazed with hunger.

Loklan pushed back inside and started pumping again, nice and hard, watching her face. She licked her lips, then bit them anxiously, eyes nearly closed, brow furrowed with focus.

He rode her like that for a long time, alternating between aggression and tenderness, rough and then teasing, working her into a frenzy.

She managed to remain silent for much longer than he'd expected, though her soughing breaths became more and more ragged.

But he wasn't done with her yet.

"So good," he breathed, tucking her knees over his shoulder and holding her thighs against his chest. "I'm going to come soon."

Her sex tightened.

"Goddess, you're so wet. You like this game, hm?" He bent and nipped her breast, bending her double in the process.

The angle made her gasp and stiffen.

"Does that hurt?"

She nodded once, eyes squeezed shut.

"Shall I stop?"

Immediately, she shook her head.

"You like the pain?" he said wickedly, thrusting harder, hitting bottom.

She tensed under him and nodded quickly, biting her lips to keep silent. It still amazed him—thrilled him—that she liked this. That his aggression, his violence, pleased her.

Her face bore the flush that heralded climax.

"Mmm. Good girl. You're starting to flutter inside. Are you going to come?"

Again, she nodded.

"Not until I say, alright? I want to come with your orgasm milking my cock."

Eyes still closed, she nodded yet again.

Then, as the pleasure gathered, Loklan proceeded to feed her a long, erotic description of how her sex felt around him, how sweet her little body was folded up beneath him. How hot she was and how he wanted to make her come.

Spoken in a low, silky growl, the words made her wild—just as he knew they would.

As his orgasm began to coalesce into a pulsing burn, she let loose a soft, helpless whine—Loklan tore it from her with a series of punishing thrusts.

When he pulled out she gave a tiny sob of frustration.

"You broke your promise," he growled. "And I was right on the edge. No orgasm for you, I think. How's that for punishment?"

He expected a pleading look—maybe even another whimper—but she glared at him.

Just try and stop me, that look said.

His cock twitched hungrily against the lips of her sex.

Time to up the ante.

Loklan gave her a heavy-lidded stare of challenge. "How shall I finish myself off, hm? Between your breasts? In your mouth?"

Still glaring, she waited.

"Perhaps I should sample a different orifice this time," he murmured.

Her eyes widened a fraction.

"No? You don't want my cock in your arse?"

Eiara swallowed loudly and said nothing.

"Undecided, then." He grinned. "I suppose you don't remember if you've ever been penetrated there before. It can be quite pleasurable for a lady if done correctly. It can also be very painful."

Her glare subsided into a faint pout.

"I want to come inside you," he went on. "I can fuck you that way without making you come. I feel quite certain."

"Loklan..."

"I did not give you permission to speak," he snapped with a funny little thrill. A wicked sort of excitement.

Eiara's teeth clicked together, cheeks flushing.

Damn, this was a delightful game. He put his fingers between her legs and slipped one digit inside.

"Still wet," he crooned. "Even wetter than before. You're enjoying this."

She glared again, playing her part beautifully—but her thighs flexed together, sex tightening on his finger.

"I can turn you over and spend in your arse," he said, "Or I can fuck your mouth. Your choice." He let go of her legs and sat back on his heels. "If you make it good for me, I might let you please yourself on my fingers afterward."

Eiara set her feet on the mattress beside his hip and lay there glaring up at him with narrowed eyes.

Loklan openly admired her breasts and belly while he waited.

"You have 30 seconds to choose," he prompted, "or I'm going to finish myself off with my hand and leave you to your own devices."

To his surprise, she turned over onto her belly.

Blast, his woman was going to kill him!

Releasing his breath in a loud gush, Loklan crawled up her body and straddled her ass, bending down to press his face into her hair.

"You wicked little monster," he groaned, resting a good deal of his weight on her. "You called my bluff."

She looked back over her shoulder in surprise.

"You win," he mumbled into her hair, pleased and disappointed at once.

"You're not going to do it?" she asked huskily.

"I can't take you that way without considerable lubrication," he explained. "I was only teasing."

She sighed and dropped her head to the mattress. "That was mean."

"And terribly fun," he added. "Did you really want me to do it?"

"I just want you inside me," she replied in that same husky tone. "I don't care where."

Goddess save me. Now those were words a man could get used to hearing.

"I thought you would choose to suck me." He nudged his cock into the crease of her ass and rocked gently. "But I would like to take you here."

For some reason, the thought of having access to every orifice in her body filled him with ferocious possessiveness. Also, intense lust. He wasn't particularly partial to anal sex—nor opposed to it—but he wanted Eiara in every way that he could have her.

She shivered a little beneath him. "Add it to the list, then."

"What list?" he asked, licking her neck and rubbing the tip of his cock against the puckered little mouth of her anus.

"Item one: over the table. Item two: bondage. Item three..."

Loklan chuckled. "I guess we do have a list." He lifted himself a bit and guided his cock between her legs.

Eiara gave a surprised little squeak as he penetrated. She was so wet her sex seemed to draw him directly in.

"I thought—" she broke off on a low moan. He seated himself to the hilt.

"You won our little game," he said. "Now you tell me what you want."

Her answer was immediate and wonderfully decisive.

"Fast," she breathed. "Hard. Bite me. Don't be gentle."

Gratified—body singing with illicit excitement—Loklan complied.

.

[atlasdiatia]

Change Fates Design

Charles lay on the bed staring at the ceiling of a place that didn’t belong to him, but in the same senesce did belong to him. 

The last thing he remembered was starting up her PS5 to play Hogwarts Legacy when his screen flashed and his head hurt first before his eyes and then blanked out before waking up in the bed, he now lay in.

The wood of the ceiling was a medium tone of brown that flowed to the wood frame of the walls that weren’t covered with dark red and fleurets wallpaper to the floorboards that were covered with different rugs that ranged from reds to tans and greens.

Charles sat up and looked at himself and the bed, the bed itself was a large king-size bed with wine-red covers and creamy white pillows his skin was the same as it was from before light but not ghostly white his long brown hair seemed longer as it pooled around his shoulders.

Throwing back the blankets to slide out of the bed and let his bare feet touch the rug under the bed Charles felt like he was younger than 15 but when he tried to recall something he had done the day before but was only greeted with a sharp pain throughout his whole head almost bringing her to his knees.

Seemed like what or who brought him here wanted him to forget his old life and accept his new reality, sighing Charles started walking about the room there was a vanity made of dark wood with an oval mirror attached to it the wood was worn but still had a slight polish to it.

 Across the table of the vanity were brushes, combs, cologne, jars of cream, and a few small jewelry boxes with a cushioned stool placed underneath.

At the foot of the bed was a large trunk with worn leather straps and brass buckles kneeling down Charles opened the lid to find it full of clothes that looked his size, closing the lid he stood up looked around, and noticed a wardrobe going over to it and open it to find nightgowns, shirts, vest, sweaters and coats with shoes and boots that ranged from ankle-high to boots that came to his knee or mid-upper thighs; also at the lower part of the dresser were two draws that held sock and stockings as well under-wear of that era.

    There were two doors in the room one opened to a bathroom while the other must lead to the rest of the flat, deciding that it would best to get clean and dressed first Charles went into the bathroom and took a bath finding his fav smelling soaps in there he chooses sandalwood and amber(or what you like) after drying off and wrapped in a towel Charles walked back in the bedroom and picked out clean undergarments and sock before pulling on light brown pants that came to his mid-calf and fastened the buttons at the ends to keep the socks from sliding down then he pulled out a cream undershirt and white blouse putting them on before tucking them into the pants and pulling a belt through the loops.

     Charles picked a light brown vest and dark maroon sweater; finally pulled on a pair of dark brown ankle boots and pair of fingerless brown gloves. Tying his hair back in a low ponytail Charles let out a breath and pulled open the door that revealed a short hallway with a few other doors, the first one was an empty room with faded flowers and animals on the peeling wallpaper…once must have been a nursery at one point or another.

     Another door was to what he guessed was the guest bathroom the last door was an almost empty study. All that was in there was a desk, desk chair and empty bookshelves, and a large that took almost the entire floor. 

Closing the door he made her way to the end of the hall to the open room that was the sitting room/dining room/ open kitchen.

    On the dining table were three letters and two keys, picking up the first letter Charles opened it,

     ‘Hello Charles as you might have figured out you are now a permanent resident of this world, I can not tell you who I am, nor will we ever meet. I leave in a second letter the address and time as well as the date you should send the letter to Mrs. Fig to prevent her death and what you will need to help you in warning her while still getting the key.

    You will find in the second note the date and time to stop Anne from getting cursed, and how to keep Lodgok from dying and getting the book. People will see you as a Seer, and that is what we want because after the year is over you really will gain the powers of a Seer, this is the easiest way to explain how you will know the events that will happen before they happen.

The third letter is of how much money you have in both muggle and wizarding money, that is what the second key that lays above the third letter is for; your vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. You will find the muggle money enough to get you through till you get your letter from Hogwarts or before the Fig’s come to you, now you must burn this and the second after you have written and sent the letters off.

             Goodbye and have a wonderful life, Charles.’

     Sitting there Charles looked the letter over again before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, looking at the second letter he reaches for it giving it a quick look over before getting up and finding paper, envelopes, quill, and ink and started writing two letters one to Mrs. Fig and the second letter to Mr. Fig before sealing them with melted wax and pressed it with a flat circle since he didn’t have a family or a family crest.

Charles looked at the third letter to find where the money for the mail owls was and almost died from what he read was in his wizard bank “Godric heart! I think I’m richer than the oldest pure-blood family in the wizarding world!” Shacking his head Charles found the muggle money and wizarding money before grabbing a coat and a shoulder bag.

      After locking up the door, he takes out the note he made for the directions on where to find the hidden wizard mail post, after mailing the letters Charles went to go buy some books and food before heading home again. 

After getting home he puts stuff away before opening his new cookbook and started cooking, all the while he can't get rid of the chill that runs up and down his spine from the feeling of someone or something watching him from somewhere.

 *Time skip*

      The next few days followed slowly Charles tried to stay out of people observing eyes when he was out in public, but in his house reading every book to kill time from plants, star gazing books, animal care, history, and even muggle fairytales till one day he heard the hooting and tapping of a mail owl at the kitchen window.

 Wiping his hands dry from doing the morning dishes with the sleeves of his black long-sleeved shirt rolled up with black leather suspenders attached to his mocha brown pants that were tucked into his knee his black boots took the letters from the owl giving it some toast before it flew off happy of the treat, taking the letters to the study he started occupying recently.

      Opening the curtains to let more light in Charles sat down and picked up the first letter breaking the wax seal with a letter opener and pulled out the letter and started reading, it was from Mrs. Fig thanking him embarrassingly for saving her life with her ‘vision’ and followed his instructions he had asked her to do to ensure future event he ‘saw’ would fallow to fruition.

     She wished to see him soon along with her husband since they just got the news of his late awakening and her husband was looking forward to meeting the young ‘seer’ who saved his wife's life. 

Putting down the letter Charles leaned his head back against the chair looking at his hand as he sees traces of magic slowly encircling it…yes just two to three days ago his magic awakened finally: clenching his hand in a fist as his eyes squint in determination now for the tricky part…. saving Anne and keeping Sebastian from going down the dark path.

     Looking to his left as he started seeing things start to float cause of his slowly rising emotions. Charles takes a breath letting it out and sighing as things settle back into place, he takes out a paper and writes that she needs not thank him, he was only doing what was right before sealing it away to mail later before opening the second letter which was from Mr. Fig thanking him as well and agreeing to what he asked Mr. Fig to help him with more than anything now and would meet him soon to not only take him where he needed to go not bothering to ask how he knew of Feildcroft.

    Probably thinking I ‘saw in a vision’ but also start to help you learn what you need to know before the term of school begins. After putting Professor Fig’s letter down Charles knew the third letter was more likely his Hogwarts’s letter of Acceptance opening it seeing as he was right quickly folded it up without really reading it before putting all three letters away to head out he needed to get a disguise for the trip to Feildcroft walking past a mirror in the hall made Charles stop and pause looking at the small crescent-shaped scar that ran from under his soft somewhat round face that shines when the light catches the healed skin.

    Not many people really notice it so hiding the upper half of his face should work good enough right? After coming back with a long black fabric and sewing supplies to make a cloak he placed the supplies on the table when he noticed that the fire in the stove was already lit, and the tea kettle was on the stove boiling away grabbed a cane from the umbrella rack made his way slowly down the hall peeking in the bathroom then the bedrooms before making it back round to the study just as the kettle whistle the door opens Charles waits and just as he is about to swing Professor Fig steps out making him sigh.

    The sigh makes Fig jump pulling his wand and pointing it at Charles who was now standing there holding the cane standing it on the floor with both hands folded on top of it chuckling his bangs hanging down as his head was bowed while laughing.

     “You know sometimes my ‘visions’ don’t give the times my guest decides to arrive earlier than when I see them the first time did something change to rush you here, I was expecting to see you in a day.” Charles lied as he stood upright raising his hand to brush, his hair back into place reviling to the old man an extremely handsome young man.

  ‘My word…’ Fig mused as he looked over his new charge/future student from his thick soft looking locks that had a slight wave to it that reach his shoulders and looked like it fell a little down behind his shoulders, his eyes were a dark blue with a little brown/hazel around the middle framed by thick lashes.

 His face is slightly round but with a slight sharpness to give a mysterious look to him his lips were cupid bowed shaped and were a dark dusty rose pink which stood out on his slightly creamy tan skin, Charles tilted his head innocently to the side slightly an equally innocent smile as he waited for Fig to say something his blue eyes dancing with silent laughter.

    Fig cleared his throat slightly blushing at being stuck dumb by the young man's good looks. “Uh. Yes, sorry about that, and for coming in uninvited.” Charles waved it aside “You’re not uninvited Professor. Remember I knew you were coming you just came a day early.” 

Nodding to Fig to follow Charles put the cane away before pulling out tea leaves, and two teacups. Pouring each a cup along with cream, sugar, and tea cakes before setting the cups down taking a seat across from the Professor taking a sip before looking back at him smiling “So shall we properly do this then?”

[tv-fanfic-archive]

Meet Cute

Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader | Masterlist | Ao3

Reader meets a man in a bar, takes him back to her hotel room, sex ensures, and then love?? Maybe. Fem Reader, no y/n, no body descriptions

Word Count: 3105

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: ABO, omegaverse, smut, feral Bucky (for a bit), creampie, aftercare, alpha bucky, omega reader, scent blockers, soulmates, AFAB reader

The smokey interior of the bar was cloying your mind with the mulled scent of old wood and booze. It was dark, the only light in the room came from dim yellow light bulbs in dingy fixtures along the paneled walls. You sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey and eyeing the options of the bar. At 11 PM everyone who was gonna be here was here already. You resigned yourself to the greasy guy shooting looks over to you every couple minutes when a cold draft blew in from the door. A newcomer was tromping over to the bar. His shoulders were hunched and he had the hood of a grey denim jacket pulled up to hide his face. Your well-trained eye saw right through that jacket; he was jacked, you knew it from the way he walked. Your attention instantly dropped away from the greasy guy and laser-focused on this newcomer (his scent was all straight alcohol anyways, disgusting). As he sidled up to the bar you turned your seat away to show off the side of your legs, crossing one leg over the other, letting your dress slip up a bit to expose the top of your stockings. He glazed over at your movement but turned back to the bartender. He pulled off his hood and ordered.

“Johnny Walker Black, neat.” His voice was reedy, low, and utterly perfect. He took a seat two stools over from you and rested his elbows on the bartop. Before he had a chance to get his drink and leave, you hopped over the two stools separating you and set your own glass down with a clink on the bar next to him.

“Hey there, handsome.” the drinks you’d been nursing since 9 were flowing steadily through you, instilling you with false confidence. His eyes slid up your body until they reached your eyes, a bored look firmly in place there. He looked away. Hard to get? You could almost purr at the challenge he presented.

Now that you were closer to him you could see his face better. Good lord, he was beautiful, but in a tired sort of way where you knew he’d fought with life and barely came through kicking. His eyes were the blue of an ocean after a storm and just as deep. Short brown hair in messy tufts from the hood. He brushed a hand over it to smooth it down and you noticed that his left hand was made of shiny metal. Your eyes followed it back down, then dragged your eyes up his body. He had to be strong under all those layers. Dark jeans and his thick denim jacket were attempting to hide his muscles but the way the fabric of his jeans stretched against his thighs let you know all you needed to. With the proximity, you also caught a whiff of his scent, leather, coffee, and something unfamiliar, gunpowder maybe, but you couldn’t quite tell, but his scent was entirely too muted. It was hard to get a good read on him through smell; you couldn't even tell his designation. Maybe he was playing the same game as you, you thought. A new product marketed to hide designations just hit the stores recently and you’d be practically bathing in the stuff every night you went out to avoid overzealous alphas trying to get you home without a fight just cause you were an omega.

“Let me buy your drink.” Putting your arms up to rest on the bartop, leaning over a bit, giving the bartender, and hopefully your prey, a better look at your breasts. The bartender set his glass next to yours. You looked up to him through your eyelashes and told him to put it on your tab then return your full attention to your prey. He picked up the glass and slid his gaze to you once more. 

“Thank you,” he grunted

“So what brings you here?” You slipped your finger around the lip of your glass, keeping eye contact.

“Drinks.” One word kinda guy you guessed

“Nothing else?” Your pointed look was met with a quirked eyebrow and a chuckle

“Not originally, but things can change.” He sipped his whiskey, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

“Why don't we up the chances, huh?” With that, you knocked back the dregs of your own whiskey and motioned to the barman.

“Two zombies, please.” Then you said to the man “So what’s your name?”

“Call me Bucky.” He knocked back his own drink. You told him your name. The bartender sets two novelty skull-shaped cups in front of you. The tangy smell of pineapple and rum hits your nose as you bury your face in the cup. You were gunning for a fast buzz and you got it with this drink. 

Soon Bucky was leaning closer to you as you chatted to him. Another round and his hand was on your thigh, squeezing on and off as you continued talking. Your two swivel stools had you facing each other now. Your legs were tucked between his, his hand moved to your knee and your faces were close as if he couldn't hear you. You made a motion for another round but the bartender cut you off and asked for payment for your tab.

“I guess that's the sign to get out of here, huh?” You slid your card over the bar and leaned heavily into Bucky. He got off the stool and you followed with only a small stumble. He caught your waist and kept his arm around you as you pocketed your card. The two of you left the bar only to be confronted by an icy wind. You shivered in your thinner dress. When you’d left the hotel room today it was warm; you hadn't expected this. It seems Bucky had, however, as he shed his denim jacket and draped it over your shoulders. His muted scent hit you at almost the normal strength. Your cloudy mind wondered at that for a moment before moving on. 

“Such a gentleman,” You laughed 

“Guilty as charged.” he smiled and put out his arm for you to take “Where we going, sweetheart?”

“My hotel room.” Leaning heavily into his arm, you led him down the street to your hotel. 

----

At the door to your room, you fumbled with the keys in your cold hands. Bucky was pressed up against your back, mouthing over your neck, not helping your fight with the keys in the slightest. His lips dragged across the side of your neck, just barely grazing your gland, making you whine and close your eyes.

“I can't get the door open if you keep doing that, Bucky.” But there was no fight in your voice, with lips like those you’d let him do anything he wanted right now. But he left your neck and you were able to slide the key into the lock and open the door. Soon as the door shut behind you, Bucky pressed you up against it. Your mouths locked together in a down and dirty open mouth kiss. His metal hand was splayed out on your stomach while his other forearm pressed against the wood next to your head. You leaned back opening your mouth more to let his tongue stroke along your own. Separating for a moment, you panted, chest heaving. You dropped the jacket off your shoulders and pushed Bucky back. The room was so small that he stumbled back a few paced and hit the back of his knees on the bed, falling to sit on it. You walked up to him and turned around with your back facing him.

“Unzip me?” You felt his hands, one cold, one warm, on the skin of your back as he eased the zipper down to the small of your back. You shrugged off the dress and kicked it away, leaving you in your stockings and bra-panty set. Turning back around you straddled his thighs and ran your hands up into his hair, mussing it and pressing your mouth back to his. Your hands traveled down to his shoulders then scratched down his chest. He hissed at the tickle of your nails through his shirt. You grasped the bottom of his shirt and undershirt together and dragged them up, tossing both behind you. Oh yeah, your guess was dead on, he was jacked. Again you raked your nails over his chest, leaving red lines from his pecs to his defined v-line. You smashed your mouth back on his and pushed him down flat on your bed. He let out a huff as he bounced a bit before your arms caged his head in and he was locked back on your mouth. He brought his hands to your ass and pressed you down onto him. You moaned into his mouth and ground down to meet him, leaving a wet patch on the bulge of his black jeans. Slick was coating your thighs in response to all the action. In a moment of separation, Bucky scented the air and growled deep in his chest. You could feel it rumble against your chest, pressed so close against him as you were. Suddenly he rolled the two of you over so he was on top. He pushed you up the bed to hit your back against the pillows. His face met your stomach and he nuzzled up into your breasts. Quickly you fumbled at your bra strap, trying to get it off as quickly as possible. You shucked the bra and grabbed Bucky’s hair. He moved a hand up to cup one of your tits., rolling the flesh around in his hand and squeezing.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He groaned, his Brooklyn twang strong in those few words before his mouth was busied nipping at the flesh of your breasts, leaving little dark marks littered across your skin. Your head fell back and you whined. Your hands scratched at Bucky’s scalp, giving you his own hum of enjoyment at the feeling. Soon his mouth trailed down the valley of your breasts to the top of your panties. His metal hand picked at the elastic band and let it snap against your skin causing you to jolt at the sting.

“Can I get these off you, doll?

“Yes, please, just do it.” You breathed, your voice quiet and rough. He slid your panties down and off and buried his nose between your lips. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of his tongue slipping down to tease your hole. After circling for a moment, he zeroed in on your clit and sucked, leaving a little nip on it. Your hands shot down to grip white-knuckled at the roots of his hair. Bucky lifted his head from your center enough to speak, “You smell so good,” then dived back down, doubling his efforts and making your insides twist into knots. You could hardly feel your stomach at this point, it was a mess of taught, burning muscles that only one thing could defuse. Bucky’s metal arm came up around your thigh to part your lips, opening them up to an unfiltered onslaught by Bucky’s tongue. The metal was cold on your leg and you shivered. You brought a hand up to bite, desperately trying to ground yourself to something tangible while Bucky was blowing you out of this world. A few more seconds and the white-hot feeling in your stomach burst and your entire body went limp, a long whine escaped your throat and you shuddered uncontrollably. Your other hand pressed Bucky’s face to your pussy and you felt him run his tongue around your hole. Your grip released his head and he pushed himself up over your exhausted body. He caught your lips in his again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. When he pulled back you found yourself leaning forward, almost trying to follow his lips as he sat back on on the bed. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Of course I am.” you panted, still not having caught your breath from the back-to-back orgasm and heart-stopping kiss. “Are you okay?” your eyes wandered down to where he strained his jeans. 

“Course I am” He lied down next to you. When you caught your breath and you moved to get on top of him again. The skin of your thighs was sensitive against denim. You reached up and raked a hand through his hair, connecting your lips together once again, reaching down with the other hand, you popped the button on his jeans. He sighed against your lips. #Working his jeans down off his thick thighs, he lifted his hips to help. Now just in his boxer briefs, you could clearly see the main prize of the night. Making quick work of his underwear, you freed his member. He kicked off both garments and raised his hands to grip your hips, canting them towards the head of his dick. You dropped your hips in turn and rolled them, slipping the shaft between your lips. He groaned, falling back out of your reach. His abs clenched. Finally, torturously slowly you dropped down, impaling yourself on Bucky’s thick dick. At the same time both, you hissed at the stretch and another low growl resonated from Bucky’s chest. He shot up from his back as he bottomed out, cradling your back and holding you down. He snarled, nosing at your neck and thrusting sharply up at a nearly frantic pace. With the breath knocked out of you, your hands scrambled for purchase on his back. Nails dug in in long lines leaving welts up the length of his toned back. 

“Buckyyy” You whined “I can’t-” Before you could finish he pushed you down onto your back and hoisted a leg high over his hip, 

“You can.” He growled, steadying himself on his knees before driving into you with short, quick thrusts designed to reach the finish line as fast as possible. With every thrust, you felt the spark being reignited, but from Bucky’s every movement you could tell he’d reach it before you did until he reached his metal arm down to the wet mess of your front, rubbing decisively up and down. You threw your arms up around his neck, yanking him down to your face and smothering him in a furious kiss. Your tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting all the rum you’d shared before. 

Bucky’s thrusts got slower, but deeper, harder, shaking your body in his arms and striking up against your deepest parts. A dull ache rose to mingle with the tightness of your pelvis. He released your mouth and buried his face in your neck, licking and nipping at your skin. His hand on your clit quickened, the tightness reaching breaking point as he took one last deep thrust into you before stilling, releasing his cum as deep as he could within you. A sharp bite on your shoulder sent you spiraling into your own release. Soft kisses over the bite mark brought you down slowly from your high. The feeling of him pulling out brought you sharply back to reality. It felt like what you imagined a bottle of honey felt like when drizzled over a nice stack of pancakes. Bucky sat back on his heels to watch his cum ooze out of you. You just lied back, catching your breath and watching him watch you. 

After a bit, the afterglow was fading and leaving you feeling sticky and decidedly ready for at least a washcloth if not a full bath. You rose from the bed and, with Bucky trailing behind you, started up the hot water in the shower. 

From either the drinks or the sex, the two of you were too tired to do anything more than rinse off the sweat and any other fluids accumulated before collapsing into bed and falling asleep. 

#break

Sometime before the sun rose, you woke up. As you came to, you tried to extract yourself from Bucky’s arms that had wrapped you up in their tight embrace sometime while you slept. Still, in a haze of exhaustion, you decided waking him up wouldn't be worth the trouble; he’d roll over eventually and you get up and leave to catch your flight. But just as you’d vowed to stay awake, Bucky’s warm chest pressed up against your back rising and falling with his slow breaths lulled you back to sleep. 

When you awoke again it was with your face pressed against Bucky’s chest. His arms were around your back now and his hands were rubbing smoothly against your skin. He was awake. Fuck. You’d meant to sneak out before he woke up so you wouldn't have to deal with the morning after talk. But as soon as you really shook the fog of sleep from your mind and took a good breath you realized, his scent blockers had faded to nothing. A flood of his scent washed over you. Still strongly coffee and leather based, but without the blockers you could pick out the more subtle notes of it, vanilla and a splash of some flower you couldn't place, but the most damming and important facet of it all was the unmistakable scent of Alpha, but not just any alpha, no there was something different there you’d never smelled before, something you’d heard of. It was intoxicating and indescribable. You took a deep breath, pressing your nose hard against his neck on instinct. Mate. That had to be it, nothing else could be as captivating, as perfect. You withdrew from his neck and cast your eyes up to his, a shaft of light from the window falling perfectly over his face, lighting up his eyes from within. 

“D’you smell it?” he all but whispered, pushing you up his body to bring you to eye level. 

“We’re…” You trailed off

“Yeah.”

“I was supposed to go to Japan this morning.” His face fell, eyebrows furrowing. His arms lifted off your back and he moved away from you until you pressed your lips hard against the spot right at the junction of his neck and shoulder, where a mating mark would go. A groan ripped from his throat and his hands returned to clutch at your hips. 

“I’m gonna have to cancel it. D’you have a place in the city we can go?” You nipped at the spot

“Course. Got a place downtown. You can stay as long as you want, princess…”

“Mmm that sounds perfect” One last kiss to his gland and you pulled off. “We better get going then.” 

[sam-and-buck]

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM 

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit. 

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials. 

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first. 

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time. 

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him. 

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’ 

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience. 

“Who proposed and when?” 

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’ 

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included. 

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce. 

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room. 

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on. 

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’ 

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to  know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect. 

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher. 

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to. 

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one. 

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist. 

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is. 

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends: 

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

[honey-dewey]

Bomb (of the Bath Variety)

Pairing: Ezra/Reader

Word Count: 2,184

Warnings: None! 

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Someone please introduce this man to the concept of a spa day. He just needs to relax in a tub with Epsom salts for the muscle pain and a bath bomb because they smell nice. He needs someone else to wash his hair for once because god knows he can’t do it. He needs to be introduced to moisturizers and other skin care products. He also needs (wants) funky colored nails. 

“Jesus Ezra!” You shouted, seeing him shuffle into the pod, covered in grime. “What did you do all day?”

“Uh,” Ezra hesitated, biting down on his glove and pulling it off. “Cee pushed me into a dirt hole.”

Cee nodded. “Can confirm,” she said with a grin. “I’m headed next door so I can bathe.”

You waved to her, watching the hatch shut once more. “And you,” you said to Ezra as he tried to sneak past you. “Get in the bathroom.”

Ezra pouted, but listened. He didn’t hate bathing, but he wasn’t super keen on it either. It was a hard task when you only had one hand, but today would be different. If you’d set it up right, today would be pure bliss for Ezra.

Starting with you turning the shower off.

“Moonlight?” He turned when you cut the water, clearly confused. “I thought I had to bathe.”

“You do,” you agreed, kneeling beside the bathtub and turning it on. “Ez, you’re taking a spa day.”

“A what now?”

You stood, slowly working a still confused but now considerably more relaxed Ezra out of his work suit, pushing the leather harness off his shoulders. “A spa day, Ezra. Where you take a day to just relax. Get all clean and done up with nice products.”

Ezra shrugged, looking into the bathtub that was steadily filling with water. “That’s gotta be some fancy tradition from your planet, because I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You were a state ward!” You pointed out, bending to grab a cardboard box of various spa day supplies you’d been saving for an occasion such as this. “You’d also never held a real book or eaten a full meal until you started prospecting.”

“Fair,” Ezra hummed. He wasn’t one to open up about his past, especially his days as a state ward. But you’d caught glimpses of the life he’d led prior to becoming a prospector. Cold bunks crammed into a room full of underage orphaned boys, all shivering. No one had a family name, and it was rare any one of them was happy, or really even survived to make it out. Apparently, at the state house Ezra had been raised at, the suicide rate was almost 40%.

But that was the past, and this was the present. You opened the box and pulled out a bath bomb, reading the label and setting it on the counter. “You like mint, right?”

“Of course,” Ezra said. “Reminds me of you.”

You smiled, turning to kiss Ezra. “Get in the tub Ez.”

Ezra, with that beautiful crooked grin on his face, removed the last of his clothes and stepped into the tub. “You know, this tub has room for two.”

“Shame I won’t be getting in,” you said. “I already bathed.”

Ezra pouted. “Moonlight, you wound me.”

“My sun, this is about you, not me.” You handed him the bath bomb. “Go ahead and put that in the water. I have some epsom salts in here, I know it.”

As you knelt down to find the pesky bag of salts, Ezra put the bath bomb in the water, gasping as it began to fizz. “Moonlight! It’s dissolving!”

“It’s supposed to,” you said, standing with the bag of salts. Ezra poked the bath bomb with a happy grin, his finger going green from the fizz. “It’s called a bath bomb for a reason. Scoot.”

As Ezra moved reluctantly from the bath bomb, you measured out two cups of epsom salts and poured them into the bath as well. Ezra was clearly disappointed when they didn’t fizz like the last thing you’d put in the water, but the slight rosy smell was enough to make up for it. “What is that for?”

“Epsom salts help with muscle pain,” you said, putting the bag down and dragging a stool over so you could sit at Ezra’s height. “I use them sometimes after we do really bad prospecting trips. Hopefully, they’ll help with your arm.”

Ezra’s face darkened, the delicate subject of his right arm, or lack thereof, causing the mood to sour. You sensed the change in the air and immediately brightened your tone. “But, that’s not all we’re here for,” you said. “Depending on how far you’re willing to let me go, we could be here for hours. I bet Cee would join us for face masks,” you added as an afterthought.

“Face what now?”

“Masks.” You held up one of the tubs of clay masks you had. “They help with your skin.”

Ezra grinned. “I shall partake in this face mask ritual on one condition.”

Rolling your eyes playfully at your poet of a boyfriend, you crossed your legs. “And what would that condition be, my sun?”

“Paint my nails?”

It was an odd request, but one you weren’t about to turn down. “Okay. Consider it done.”

You let Ezra soak for a while, sitting beside him on the stool and reading. It was a book aimed mostly at teenagers, but Ezra had said something about it being Cee’s favorite and now you were determined to read it. So far, it was pretty good.

Eventually, you put the book down and convinced Ezra to dunk his head under the water. When he came up, water running in thin streams down his skin and hair plastered to his head, you laughed and picked up a bottle of rose water shampoo.

“Lean back,” you instructed softly, laying a towel across your lap so Ezra wouldn’t soak your pants. He rested his neck on the edge of the tub, head falling back into your hands. “Comfy?”

“Could be worse,” Ezra decided. You leaned down to kiss his damp forehead, making a face when the soapy tang of the bath bomb and epsom salt water rolled over your tongue.

Sitting back up and popping open the shampoo bottle, you squeezed an appropriate amount into your hand and began to massage it into Ezra’s scalp.

The effect was immediate. He groaned, entire body relaxing as your deft fingers worked away the dirt and buildup from his hair. Ezra bathed every few days, just like everyone else, but with his once dominant hand gone, his job washing himself was lackluster at best. For him, you properly washing through his hair must’ve felt like pure heaven.

You scratched through his hair for longer than was probably necessary, keeping him in that blissed out state. When you finally lifted a plastic cup with water to his head and began to rinse the suds away, he keened softly, vocalizing his dislike of your lack of touch. You apologized, taking your non-dominant hand and sliding it up his forehead, settling it just before Ezra’s hairline to shield his eyes from the soapy water trickling down his face.

Tugging on the blond streak in Ezra’s hair, you discretely ran your fingers through it, slowly spiking it up into a mohawk.

“My moonlight, what are you doing?”

“Shit.” You didn’t stop in your actions, only finished what you were doing despite being caught. “Take a look.” You held a hand mirror out, giving Ezra a view of his new hairdo.

“Moonlight,” he said, turning to face you. It was too much. You broke down into laughter, doubled over and Ezra smiled and ducked his head beneath the water to return his hair to its plastered look.

Once your laughing fit had come to an end, you straightened and began to massage a small dollop of conditioner into Ezra’s hair. Restraining yourself from giving him yet another mohawk, you scratched your fingers over Ezra’s scalp for almost five minutes. He relaxed yet again against the porcelain rim of the tub, breathing evening out as he practically fell asleep beneath your hands.

You were slow going in your rinsing out of Ezra’s hair, trying not to wake him from his impromptu nap. He hummed, and when you put the cup down and seemed his hair free of conditioner, he reached up and cupped your neck. Pulling you close, he kissed you, lips molding perfectly despite being upside down. “I love you, moonlight.”

Smiling and pressing an upside down kiss to Ezra’s forehead, you softly murmured into his skin. “I love you too, my sun.”

Ezra got out of the tub some time later, once you’d helped him scrub dirt out of every crevasse of his body. The water was more brown than green at that point, but Ezra was clean. You held his hand as he stepped out of the tub and watched as he dried himself off, insistent that he could do it by himself.

As he dressed himself in soft sleep clothes, you called Cee in. She was eager to partake in your spa day, also dressed in her pyjamas. She had a few bandages spanning her skin, small ones indicative of minor scrapes. You counted three, one on her right wrist, one further up her right forearm, and one on her left foot. How she’d scratched herself through the boots and suit she wore on her jobs, you had no idea.

“I didn’t even know you had clay masks!” Cee said happily, opening the jar and taking a wooden popsicle stick to start applying it to her face.

“I made it myself,” you said, grabbing a second jar to start plastering the grey/brown paste to Ezra’s face. “It’s one of the only things I can make myself.”

Once all three of you had been properly covered in the clay, you began to slowly diffuse Ezra’s wet hair. Cee sat by, reading the book you’d been reading earlier. Nearly twenty minutes later, Ezra’s hair was dry and shockingly curly and the three clay masks were hardened.

“Thanks for sharing,” Cee said as you handed her a damp washcloth. “I don’t remember the last time I had a spa day.”

“We’ll have to do them more often then,” you decided firmly, passing Ezra the other washcloth. “My sun, do you still want me to do your nails?”

Ezra nodded. “Yes please.”

“Should I do yours too?” You turned to Cee, who shook her head.

“I don’t paint my nails,” she said softly. “Plus, I am exhausted. That prospect was hard as hell. Gonna go nap as soon as I’m clay free.”

True to her word, once Cee’s face was clean, she bid you both good night before leaving to go take a nap.

You took her washcloth, but Ezra stopped you before you could lift it to your face. “My moonlight, can I clean your face? Please? After all you’ve done for me, I want to make it even.”

You smiled, letting Ezra take the washcloth. “You don’t need to worry about making it even, my sun. I’m doing this because I love you.”

Despite your reassurance, Ezra gently began to rub the washcloth across your face in small circles, clearing away the clay as he worked. His hand was warm and soft, and you carefully put your forearms on his shoulders to keep yourself still.

When Ezra was done, he kissed every inch of your face he could while you writhed with laughter underneath him. “Ezra!” You shouted happily, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Ezra, my sun! I yield!”

Ezra pulled back, lips quirked in a smile. “I’m sorry my moonlight, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You hopped off the countertop you’d been sitting on and grabbed your small box of nail polishes. “Give me your hand,” you said, getting back on the counter and pulling out a small nail file. Ezra put his hand in your lap and sat on the stool you’d been using.

It was a gentle, silent process. You filed Ezra’s nails down, wincing at the bitten away stubs you were trying to fix. “Ez, it’s a miracle you don’t have an infection,” you said softly, finishing on his little finger. “This is bad.”

Ezra looked at his knees, shrugging halfheartedly. “I know.”

You kissed each of his fingertips, pressing one final kiss into his palm. “I love you anyway.”

That brightened Ezra’s downcast face. “I know.”

You found a beautiful mustard yellow nail polish and a glittery gold polish, slowly painting each of Ezra’s fingernails with expert precision. He was still, watching you work with a look of wonder on his face. “You’re amazing.”

Putting the finishing touch on Ezra’s thumb, you put the cap back on the gold bottle and smiled. “Thank you, my sun.”

Ezra waited a few minutes for the polish to dry before looking at it properly. The yellow color was muted, but still a nice rich shade. What really made it pop was the gold accents, reflecting the shitty bathroom lights and drawing attention.

“I like it,” Ezra decided firmly, curling his fingers and watching the gold dance.

“I’m glad,” you said, sliding off the counter. “Wanna make dinner?”

Ezra nodded, kissing your forehead and pulling you into a firm hug. “We’re doing spa days more often,” he said into your shoulder. “Please?”

Hugging Ezra, you nodded, relishing in the mint and rose water smell. “Absolutely, my sun. Absolutely.”

[pillage-and-lute]

Consider: Geralt.Exe has some difficulty understanding Jaskiers dress sense; like he wears pants that are cut off above his ankles, and his travel cloak is bright but is NOT weatherproof. Can’t his bard afford good things? Does he spend all his money on Geralt and roach and not have any left to take care of himself? Geralt tries to help and gets Jask practical clothes but Jask sometimes wears the other things to events and he doesn’t understand until Jask explains fAshION DarLiNG

Hi Silvermidnightprincess!

I’m behind on my askbox and this took me too long but it’s here!

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

Geralt is fretting. He knows this. But he’s not going to stop until he gets to the bottom of the issue. Jaskier is wearing boots, but they aren’t the boots Geralt bought him a week ago. 

Almost two weeks ago Geralt had noticed that Jaskier’s boots were no good for travel. Kind of...pointy at the toe, a bit of heel, and the leather was poor quality. It was all shiny and bright but they were bad for walking. Geralt had worried for the bard’s feet and bought some good boots for him. Contracts were going well, there was certainly enough coin to make sure his companion didn’t get blisters.

But here, in this tavern, Jaskier was dancing about in the shiny, pointy boots, strumming his lute and stomping his feet. Then Geralt noticed the pants. They were well made and colorful, but too thin. Even in this rather closely packed tavern, the weather outside was chilly and damp. The silk looked attractive in the low light, dully glowing and the embroidery was done in something shiny and caught attention. Nevertheless, the pants were too thin. 

Couldn’t Jaskier afford warm clothes? Summer had been wet and unusually chilly this year and now autumn was closing in, if he didn’t have warmer clothes before Geralt left for Kaer Morhen he’d surely freeze in the winter. 

A horrible image appeared in Geralt’s mind. Jaskier in his bad boots and thin clothes all curled up against the snow, caught in a blizzard between some village and the next. 

Of course Geralt wouldn’t let that happen. Jaskier was happily strumming away and the patrons seemed friendly enough, so Geralt slipped away. 

A few streets away there were clothing shops, but they were all full of the sorts of things Jaskier had, shiny, light clothes and bad, pointy boots. Another street over and he found a second hand shop run by a cheerful, plump woman with three teeth and frizzy grey hair rapidly escaping her bun.

She grinned at him. “Buy or sell, sweetie?” she said.

Geralt felt a little dumbstruck. He must have looked it too because she cackled at him.

“I’m guessing you want to buy, yes?” She hopped off her stool and began rummaging. “I don’t know what all I have for a big boy like you.” She gave him an appraising look. “My second husband was about your size I think, but I haven’t any of his things.”

“I’m not shopping for myself,” Geralt managed. “My friend needs a new cloak, something warm for winter.”

“Hmmm,” said the lady. “Wool would be right, so’s it’s warm even if it’s wet.” She began rummaging along a different rack. Geralt looked absently at the rack next to him. 

“Aha!” said the woman, holding up a brown cloak triumphantly. Geralt wrinkled his nose. Some chemical had been used to keep moths away. It was a good cloak though, thick and made to last. Geralt happily shelled out what the woman asked for it, not bothering to haggle. There was a glint to her grin that told him he wouldn’t win if he tried. She folded it up in some brown paper and rough, hairy twine. Geralt tucked the package under his arm, thanked the shopkeeper and walked back to their room in the inn.

It was a very small room, and it smelled of mildew. The inn was much too small to offer baths too, but Geralt schucked off his boots and sat on the bed, sinking in to meditate.

Maybe a half hour later Jaskier clattered up the rickety stairs and Geralt slipped back in from semi-consciousness to the sound of the pointy boots on the plank floor. 

“You missed the last half of my performance,” Jaskier pouted, flopping dramatically onto the bed. 

“Went shopping,” Geralt grunted. He proffered the parcel.

“For me?” Jaskier pulled at the twine. He held up the brown cloak and looked at it.

“You don’t have a warm cloak, all your clothes are just bright and thin,” Geralt said, feeling some explanation was needed. Jaskier was giving him a look, but he couldn’t tell what sort of look it was, so he continued. “And I thought, with winter coming on...”

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier said, trying the cloak on. “I suppose I am prone to fashion before function.”

“Fashion,” Geralt said a little blankly.

“Yes, dear heart, fashion,” Jaskier said, wrapping the brown cloak around himself like a blanket, then twirling to see the fabric spin out. “I trust you are familiar with the concept.”

Of course Geralt was, but the idea very rarely featured in his day-to-day life. Jaskier must have seen something in his face, however, because he crossed to the bed and sat by Geralt.

“I wear your lovely comfy boots on the road most of the time,” he said. “But I’m a bard, and part of my job is looking bright and being noticed, the same way much of your job it holding swords. Clothes can be a weapon too, sometimes.”

Geralt knew his expression was skeptical but didn’t bother masking it. Jaskier chucled and patted his face.

“I’m often at court in the winters, I don’t need warmth but the right clothes tell people a lot about you. If I have the right doublet on I’m in at the high table, I get the best job offers and invitations. The wrong clothes can see me insulted or ostracized.”

“So the shiny boots...?” Geralt said, undertanding the vauge concept, but the details were jogging behind in his mind.

“The shiny boots look good, which is part of my job,” Jaskier confirmed. “But the boots you got me aren’t for performing, they’re for walking, and I’m very glad to have them...and the lovely warm cloak.”

Geralt settled in for bed, Jaskier’s familiar routine creating an ambient silence of lots of little noises. He supposed that now, question answered, he could stop fretting. He wouldn’t he knew, he’d probably always fret when it came to Jaskier. 

And court sounded awful, a trap of social ques and bitchy nobles. And Jaskier could be safe and comfortable elsewhere, without the pressures of his job. Geralt knew he loved performing, but he could perform somewhere else, with a less judgmental crowd...like Kaer Morhen. And the keep had a good library, plenty of poetry no one had bothered to appreciate for years...

“Jaskier?” he said.

“Hmmm,” the bard said, sleepily from the other, narrow bed. 

“I think the cloak will be useful this winter, when you come with me to Kaer Morhen...if you want to, I mean.”

Jaskier sat up. “Really?”

“Really,” Geralt said. “Now sleep.”

Jaskier fell back, and Geralt began a list in his mind. His bard would need gloves, probably a hat, warmer shirts...and sleep claimed him. In the corner, the brown cloak sat, draped over the back of the chair, waiting for use.

[indiacater]

It has been forever and a day and I apologize. But hopefully I'll be working more on posting stories and other things such as food and travel posts. Hopefully I'm not as rusty and hope you'll enjoy it.

Disclaimer: This story with contain topics of racism, sexism, prostitution, sex and violence. I do not own the characters or setting of TRR or Red Dead Redemption those are owned by their respective companies. If you find anything in my stories that you find appalling or upsetting to you then don't read it. Its that simple.

Tagging: @ao719 @bebepac @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @dcbbw @speedyoperarascalparty @kingliam2019 @kingliamandriley @kimmiedoo5

Part three

Liam grabbed a washing cloth on the dresser and headed into the bathroom. After relieving himself in the toilet, he removed his filthy clothes and sat in the hot bath, taking comfort in the hot water he closed his eyes to take in the satisfaction of being a step closer to getting justice. A few moments pass and Liam was startled by the feeling of hands on his back. He violently turned around to see Jèan. Liam’s eyes widen as he turned to cover himself. The display made Jèan giggle a little.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Since you were bathing I figured I can check to see how you're healing." She says as she moves and lowers herself to Liam’s side. "Also this a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better than just word of mouth and reputation." Jèan grabs the wet cloth Liam was using to cover himself, causing him to stiffen and take a sharp breath as she moved back behind him. 

"So Liam Rhys, son to Constantine Rhys of the Cordonian Orchards plantation. Famous for the Cordonian Ruby." Jèan said, as she carefully washed Liam’s back with one hand and examined his bruises with the other. 

"You know of me?!" Liam muttered, surprised. 

Jèan chuckled. "No. I know of your family. Plus it's not that hard to know who owns the largest apple orchard in the country. I'm sorry that you lost your mother so young. I lost my mother pretty young as well." 

Liam turned around to look her in the eyes. "I'm sorry. How did she die?" Liam asked. Jèan smiled sadly as she began to wash his chest, causing Liam’s heart to beat fast. "My pa killed her.*" She answered. "Get to know me more and I may tell you the rest of the story." Jèan returns to examining Liam. After a few more minutes she hands him back the washcloth, stands up and rinses her hands off at the sink. "You’re lucky you only manage to get a few serious bruises, but they are healing nicely, so it should be a few weeks for them to be fully healed."  She then walks over a little stool in the corner and brings it to the tub and sits down again taking the washcloth and resumes washing.

*Historic disclaimer: Bass Reeves son, Benny Reeves murdered his wife, who had cheated on him. Conflicting stories of how Reeves learned of his son's warrant is hard to determine, but in the end Bass Reeves took the writ and brought his son in to face justice. Benny was sentenced to life but was released after serving 12 years, and spent his days as an upstanding citizen. 

"So I'm curious to know why you chose to ride out and search for me rather than stay in Saint Denis and put your trust in the authorities?" Jèan asked as she continued to wash his chest. Liam struggled to remain calm, but his body was betraying him.

"The authorities couldn't get my mother's killer." He answered with a shaky breath. "I couldn't do anything then. I'll be damned if I just sit by when I can do something now." Jèan saw the look of despair and determination in Liam’s eyes. She dropped the wash cloth and with both hands cradled his face. Her soft hazel/brown eyes staring deep in his ocean blue ones. "I'll do all that I can to help you get that." Jèan said. With that she got up and headed to the door. "When you finish up, come to the sheriff’s office and we'll discuss our next move. I went and got you fresh clothes and brought up your food. You'd want to hurry before it gets cold." And with a smirk she walked out. 

Liam continued to stare at the door for a brief minute, wondering if she may come back. He finished washing and walked out to dry off. He checks the outfit that was laid out, a cotton button down shirt, denim pants, and a new pair of leather boots. The clothes were more common than he was used to, but this is his life now and until his father’s killer is dead his life before no longer exists. After getting dressed he spotted the meal Jèan had left on the nearby table. 

After he finished eating he grabbed his father’s platinum watch. He opened it and for a brief moment watched the seconds tick away. "You may not have been a great father, but I still miss you just as fiercely. I will bring your killers to justice" he silently prayed before tucking the watch away and headed out the door. The bartender flagged Liam down as he descended the stairs and pointed him towards the sheriff office and jail. Walking towards the building he was grumbling over the fact that Drake had added himself into this matter. Liam didn't care for the man due to his rude behavior towards him, but for Jèan's sake he should try to be civil.

"Jèan". The thought stopped him in his tracks again bringing his hand to his cheek. After a couple of moments he shook out of his trance and continued on. As he arrived at the station he looked around but no one was around except the ones in the cells. Confused Liam looked around until he noticed a stairwell leading upstairs. Not sure what to do he ascended the stairs, getting closer to the top he can hear voices. Getting closer still he made out that Jèan and Drake were on the upper floor. 

As Liam climbs the steps he hears a strained conversation going on. He stops halfway and decides, against his better judgment, to listen.

"Drake, why do you keep bringing this up?" Jèan asked, sounding frustrated. "You know that it's something that can never happen."

"Jèan." Drake sighs loudly. "I will not push this further right now. That Rhys boy should be here. Do you still plan on coming to my room later tonight?"

Jèan chuckled lightly. "You did pay, didn't you?"

After hearing enough Liam resumed climbing the stairs. Both Jèan and Drake looked up to see his arrival. Drake went back to looking at a large table map as Jèan walked over to him to inspect the outfit she got for.

"Its a good fit for you." She said, smiling. "Not what you're used to but with what we'll be embarking it will be what you need." Again Liam’s heart jumped as Jèan caresses his face before leading him to the table. "Come we've got a long journey to plan. Let's get to work."

[xiakha]

FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #8 - Adroit

The Warrior of Light, Savior of Eorzea, Azure Dragoon, Van Baelsar's Downfall could not read Eorzean letters.

Though it was a thought that made the Literati of Aldenard tremble, should it not be expected? After all, it was naught six moons after she set foot in Limsa Lominsa that she laid waste to the Praetorium within Castrum Meridianum and destroyed the Ultima Weapon. There was hardly a moment for the Warrior of Light to sit down with phonics.

...Not that she could read other languages. She grew up with one of the Southern Seas Moonkeeper tongues that lacked an alphabet entirely.

...Not that she spoke Eorzean. Though one would never realize it through simple interaction with her, the Echo's ability to translate all languages for her meant that, unless she was consciously attempting to listen to the rolling babble that made up the Eorzean syllabary, she had spent the last six months, and year and a half before that whist privateering, understanding everything in the roil that made up her Moonkeeper dialect. Most people would describe her simply as stoic, the strong silent type. Actions speak louder than words, after all.

However, her chosen entourage were the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, which had a core of Sharlayan graduates and post-grads. And Minfilia and Yda.

Mayhap that was the key to why Xiao seemed to prefer their company by default. It was difficult to participate in the conversations and arguments about arcane marginalia when your only responses were an emphatic nod, a shrug, and an expression of careful consideration to mask cluelessness. But the Sharlayan scholars were not all indifferent to her struggles.

Y'sthola and Alphinaud had made it their mission to slowly have Xiao learn Eorzean. Y'shtola did it for the sake of wishing to have actual conversation and also wanting to hear Xiao express herself (What little she remembered of her own Miqo'te tongue was a tattered mess from childhood), and Alphinaud did it for the principle of the matter (But of course he did). Thus it was that Y'shtola had frustratingly plodding immersive conversations with Xiao, and Alphinaud lectured fruitlessly through a Sharlayan children's primer on phonetics.

But all of that came to an abrupt close when the Warrior of Light was accused of assassinating the Sultana. Beset on all sides with hardly the words to explain herself, what was she to do? No amount of nodding was going to help her there. Perhaps that was what Teledji Adeledji was banking for. Perhaps a cynic would say that, after so many moons of people assuming and showing good will, it was inevitable that someone would use the Warrior of Light's mute nature to their own advantage.

* * *

The three processed grief in very different ways.

Alphinaud sulked and brooded before landing himself in the library. Maybe if he read the right book for the situation he could take advantage of it all, or at least ease his sense of guilt.

Tataru had perhaps the healthiest coping mechanism. She threw herself into work, yes, but it was sociable work. It was surrounded by those that learned to care for her as they cared for the other inhabitants of Camp Dragonhead. It was acts of creation and crying on the willing shoulders of her growing network of friends and acquaintances.

Xiao Longbao destroyed.

Murder would have spoken some sort of intent to harm, a vendetta or motivation. Nay, she destroyed for the sake of destruction. Camp Dragonhead went through more training dummies in the first fortnight after the banquet than it had since the Umbral Calamity. They were all expertly dismantled with strength that rivaled Ralghr's despite the fact that she never used anything but the practice weapons one was supposed to use within the confines of the fortress. They were also running out of those as well.

As for the Dravanian incursions, House Fortemps soldiers would rally and charge the enemy to only find blood and limbs littering the mountainside, and if they were fortunate, a tired looking Miqo'te, her hair matted with blood, leaning on a spear, looking out towards Mor Dhona.

If they were unlucky, they'd find an axe wielding beast hacking apart an already dead ogre or Vodoriga.

Then, once the destruction was through, the Warrior of Light would imbibe enough to kill a horse. Perhaps it was normal for a former privateer, but it still gathered rumors and whispers when the supposed Savior was found slumped over in the mess hall deep in the cups almost every night. She would rise from this state in the morrow and repeat. Outward destruction by day, inward destruction by night. Alas, who would confront her? Camp Dragonhead enjoyed the first fortnight without an injury or casualty among her garrison for the first time in memory. It wasn't that they were ungrateful just, just... who had the words?

So the concern reached all the way to the top, and Lord Haurchefant, Commander of Camp Dragonhead, decided finally that it would no longer be improprietous for intervention. Oh, he had flirted and expressed his interest once upon a time, but as the debt his small dominion began to accrue in the Warrior of Light's ledger, never mind that she would never come around to collect, he distanced himself for he knew his place. He was not one to risk scandal for House Fortemps. But surely, surely now that Ishgard proper was indebted to the Warrior of Light, now that, begrudgingly, she was recognized as another Azure Dragoon by Estinien and even by Ishgard's vaunted Dragoon Corps, surely there could be no fuss to be made.

It was why he immediately received the trio, shivering and alone in the cold, without question and gave them rooms and the intercessory. But the embers he felt, he dared still not fan. Let them stay cooling coals, both he and the Warrior of Light had other fires to attend to. But now, but now, he would risk fanning the flame. After all, did they not work well together? Did they not admire one another?

So it was that, upon her return one bloody afternoon, Haurchefant greeted Xiao with a still steaming bucket of water.

"I had thought your hair ever a dashing violet. When did it become so faded and browned?" he said, wrinkling his nose, "Moreover, when was the last time you bathed?"

Xiao barely had the time to hiss at him when the water hit her. But whatever rage she felt was utterly wiped out by the shock of water, and the feeling of comfort it brought to her stiffening body, following by shivering as the warmth quickly passed.

Haurchefant looked down at the pooled gore that the first bucket knocked off her. With impunity he tossed at her a second bucket's worth, then a third.

"There is a bath of this very same water prepared for you," he said, "But I had been forewarned that you mayhap require a pre-emptive soaking. 'Tis unfitting of a lady to smell as if she has crawled into something that had died and wear it as a dress."

Xiao opened her mouth, her voice a hoarse growl from disuse, "Not lady, a weapon."

"Very well, but a weapon without maintenance and cleaning is liable to break, and the fortress ill needs a broken blade on the battlefield."

So it was that Haurchefant lead Xiao by the hand into the Manor, to his own private quarters, where a bath was drawn and waiting. Xiao did little to resist the careful hands with which he removed the plate amor that she had slept in and the caring and precise manner with which he undid the bindings of the leather she wore underneath. She sat as in a stupor on the stool as Haurchefant scrubbed her back and limbs with warmed rags, delicately dabbing at bruises and areas where her skin had chafed away without her realizing. She merely grunted at the stinging, her eyes still staring off thousands of yalms away. The bathroom floor was soon a muck of brown with the filth that was wiped off her, and the bathwater didn't quite change colors nearly as dramatically when Haurchefant finally settled her in.

She hadn't realized how weary she was. She hadn't realized how hard she pushed herself. She hadn't realized how disgusting her tail fur was. It was as if she were waking up again after a long, troubled dream.

But the pain returned. The anguish, the failure. Y'shtola...

Lost and adrift with thoughts that she had been avoiding, she didn't notice Haurchefant leave and return with a clean shirt and a book.

He began reading from it, and the lyrical timber of his voice was enough for Xiao to push away the Echo and ask, "What is this?"

"A book of poems, written in old Ishgardian tongue. They would bring me comfort in my youth as my mother read from them."

The rise and fall of his voice entrained her thoughts on it, despite not quite understanding the words, the skillful play of tones and syllables, the steady dah-dih-dah-dih-dah-dah of the verses.

Immersed in warmth and the beauty of Haurchefant's voice, Xiao drifted off peacefully for the first time in days.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Down the Rabbit Hole

Summary: After meeting online, Belle French and Aiden Gold have their first date in a rather unusual location - a bookstore.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “A room without books is like a body without a soul.”

Rated: G

Down the Rabbit Hole

After seven and a half months of what could only be described as truly horrendous internet dating, Belle French knew that she had found the one when her latest match agreed to have their first date in a bookstore. 

Aiden Gold was a little older than most of the others she had matched with, and looking at his profile, it was obvious that he was far different from all her previous potentials. 

Belle knew that it had been a mistake to let Ruby set up her profile for her. Aiden was the first person she had matched with after having gone through and laboriously changed all her settings. Belle was somewhat ashamed that it had taken her so long to realise what the problem with her online matchmaking service was. 

The first thing it said on Aiden’s profile was that he was a single father. He was looking for a serious, lasting relationship. He was an antique dealer by trade, and liked reading, cooking, and spending time with his son, who was fourteen and had been the one to set him up on the website in the first place.  

He seemed to be just the kind of person that Belle was looking for, and yet, when he had come up in her matches, she had been reluctant to make the first move and contact him. He was almost too good to be true, and she couldn’t help wondering what the catch might be when she did meet him. 

Eventually, though, curiosity overcame her, and she had made that first tentative step, sending him a message and beginning the dialogue that had led them to their first date. The first litmus test of any potential partner for Belle was the bookstore test. If they agreed to their first date being at Down the Rabbit Hole, the antiquarian shop tucked away in the heart of the city, then she knew that she had met someone who was likely to be a kindred spirit in some way. 

Aiden wasn’t the first to agree, but he was the first to agree with the same amount of gleeful enthusiasm that Belle herself always felt at the prospect of spending time in the company of very old books. 

She was waiting just outside the shop, looking around for her date. She hoped that he would turn up. She’d had plenty of experiences in the past where she’d just been left standing outside the shop for half an hour waiting for someone who was destined never to arrive, to the point where Tilly had come out and taken pity on her, inviting her in for a cup of tea as consolation. Belle peered in through the window; she could see that Tilly was behind the counter again today, and she wondered what her young friend would say when she saw her come in with another prospective partner. 

Aiden rounded the corner right on time, and as he got closer, Belle gave a tentative wave. He waved back a little shyly, and she smiled. Yes, she was definitely on to a good one here. True, she might be projecting because this was the first match she’d had in so long who was even halfway decent and there was a tendency towards rose-tinted spectacles in such cases, but even so. 

“Hello.”

“Hello. You must be Belle.”

Belle nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Aiden. Thanks for agreeing to meet up here.”

“Not at all, I love this place.” There was a little pink tinge of embarrassment to the tops of his ears, but it seemed to fade under Belle’s optimistic nod of agreement.

“I do, too. I think that it’s my favourite place in the whole city. Well, aside from my own home, of course.” Now that she came to think of it, with the gurgling pipes and the old, creaky infrastructure, maybe the bookstore took her top spot after all. 

Aiden opened the front door for her, and Belle gave a little curtsy before stepping inside. “Why, thank you.”

“Hi Belle!” Tilly jumped off her stool behind the counter as Belle entered. “I’ve been waiting for you to come in all week; we’ve got a brand-new George Eliot first edition in. Well, brand-new to us, obviously, not brand-new to the world in general. It’s Middlemarch, I know that’s your favourite of hers. Do you want to take a look? I kept it back off the shelves especially so that you could have first dibs on it.”

Belle smiled at Tilly’s infectious enthusiasm and good mood.

“Not right now, Tilly. Thank you for thinking of me, though.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, hello Mr G, I didn’t see you come in there.” Tilly paused, and Belle could almost see the cogs turning in her mind before her face lit up in a eureka moment. 

“Oh, this is perfect! Fate is a wonderful thing. I was just saying to Margot the other day that I really need to get you two to meet, and I don’t know how it hasn’t happened before since you’re both in here so much all the time. Belle, Mr Aiden Gold. Mr G, this is Belle French.”

“We’ve actually already met, Tilly.” Aiden’s ears had gone decidedly pink again. Tilly looked between the two of them and a knowing little smirk began to show at the corner of her mouth. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you from getting to know each other better. Just call if you need anything.”

With that statement, Tilly skipped off into the back room of the shop, and Belle wondered how long it would be before she came out again offering them cups of tea. 

There was an awkward silence for a few moments; she and Aiden were the only ones in the shop, after all, and Tilly’s sudden absence seemed very noticeable.

“So,” Belle began, going over to the shelves and beginning to run her fingertips along the familiar faded spines. “How did you find this place?”

“It was a very long chain of events, really.” Aiden came and joined her by the shelves. “I was looking for a bookbinder to assist me with a tricky restoration, and eventually I tracked down Margot. Through her, I found Tilly and this treasure trove.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Bae says that I spend more in here than I do on paying off the mortgage. What about you? I know you’re a librarian, so I know you love books, but swapping one palace of books for another?”

“I don’t know. I think that there’s something about old books in particular that just draws me to them. They contain so much magic and mystery, all those secrets waiting to be uncovered. You can find things in here that you would never even consider before you saw them here, and some truly one of a kind works that would never make their way onto library shelves. Take this one.” Belle pulled out an anthology of fairy tales bound in faded brown leather. “You’d never find something like this in my library.” She flicked carefully through the old pages, looking at the exquisite illustrations. She was aware of Aiden looking over her shoulder, but she didn’t mind. 

“It is beautiful,” he said. “I think there’s something in the atmosphere of a place like this. The secrets of old masters waiting to be retold and rediscovered. What was it that Cicero said? A room without books is like a body without a soul.”

Belle couldn’t help but giggle. “I have that quote framed on my bedroom wall.”

“And I’m sure you subscribe to the notion.”

“Of course. There are books in every room in my apartment. Including the bathroom. It’s good to have an old favourite to read the bath. One that can take getting dunked in bubbles.”

“Not one of these ones, then.” Aiden returned to perusing the shelves as Belle desperately tried to get all thoughts of bubble baths out of her head. That was not at all appropriate for a first date, even if said first date was really going swimmingly and Aiden was just as good-looking in real life as he was in his profile picture on the website. 

“You know, you’ve both been in here enough times to know that there are some comfy armchairs on the second floor if you want to have a cosy chat.”

Tilly had come out of the back room again and was pointing up at the mezzanine above them. Belle looked at Aiden, who looked back at her. It would be harder for Tilly to interrupt them up there, even if she was doing it with the best of intentions, and Belle was definitely comfortable enough not to need a timely rescue from this date.

“Shall we?” she asked. Aiden nodded and they made their way towards the tight spiral staircase in the corner of the shop.

“You know, Tilly, I’ve never managed to work out how you managed to get those chairs up there,” Aiden said. 

Tilly just laughed. “Oh, getting them up there was easy, Mr G. I’m more concerned with getting them down again.”

Leaving them with that cryptic comment, she took her place on her stool behind the counter again, and Aiden and Belle made themselves comfortable in the chairs on the mezzanine. Tilly’s acknowledgement and overt approval of their date gave Belle encouragement that this was definitely something that could go the distance, an independent third party who knew them both giving it the thumbs up, so to speak.

“You know, I think that Cicero was really on to something. You can’t deny that it’s these books that give this place its atmosphere. It wouldn’t be the same if the shelves were full of kitchenware.”

Belle burst out laughing at the image and before she knew it, she’d set Aiden off too. It was so long since she’d found someone that she could laugh with like this, and about books as well. 

Once they’d collected themselves, she sneaked a sideways glance at Aiden, only to discover him doing the same thing. The blush in his ears really was adorable, and Belle couldn’t wait to get to know him better.