#maybe their last name even IS Pleasant-Tree

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

it does pretty clearly say "WOMAN'S evening primrose"

i am always on some level thinking about aloe vera evening primrose

[angelremnants]

Stuck With You | S. Wilson

summary : The last thing you wanted was to be trapped in a room with a person you didn't know, much less be forced to team up with them. But thanks to your best friend's meddling, you now find yourself headed for a peculiar blind date, paired with someone who’s anything but a stranger. You swore you’d moved on. He said it was for the best. But maybe you were never meant to let each other go.

pairing : Sam Wilson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), second chance romance, friends to lovers to kind of enemies to lovers?, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, angry/heated makeout, heavy feels and yearning, fluff and humor, truthfully two idiots in love, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 14.2k

author's notes : To celebrate the rise of our brand new Captain America and Valentine's Day, I wrote this little piece to pour out my appreciation for Sam Wilson who is, imo, an insanely underrated character.

This is also my entry for the wondrous @elixirfromthestars 's Cinema Writing Challenge, which I stumbled upon mid-writing this one-shot and found that I was going in a direction that could've fit this in a fun way. I referenced the "Why didn't you write me?" scene from The Notebook though in a lax manner, so I hope to have still respected the general guidelines.. This is my first time participating in a writing challenge, so please bear with me :')

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Know that even if you're as alone as I am, your existence is greatly valued in this world. <3

(ao3 version)

⠀

Driving back to Delacroix was nothing short of a pleasant experience—just you, one hand on the wheel and the other idly hanging out the window with fingers slicing through the warm morning air. It was one of the few times you enjoyed driving, which is why you insisted on not having your chauffeur be the one to take you to your destination, preferring the solitude of watching the road stretch ahead like a ribbon of sun-bleached asphalt, flanked by swaying marsh grass and the slow-moving waters of the bayou. The old jazz station buzzing over the speakers only further enhanced the atmosphere, with the crooning trumpet blending effortlessly into the continuous murmur of cicadas in the background.

It was early enough that the mist still clung to the marshes, curling around the gnarled roots of cypress trees like ghostly fingers. The world shimmered gold in the pale dawn light, an untouched moment as the weight of the day settled in. You could also make out in your passing spanish moss draping lazily from the branches, swaying ever so slightly as if still waking from its slumber. 

You had always loved this route. It felt like a portal to another life, one that belonged solely to a place where your name wasn’t headlined in articles, where your every move wasn’t scrutinized by strangers looking for something to pick apart. Here, you weren’t the subject of speculation or the topic of gossip columns. You weren’t “the one from the titles” or “the name in the papers.” You were simply you.

The familiarity of it all only served to bring you back to those late-night drives after absurdly long college lectures, when the stress of exams and deadlines melted away over seafood and pleasant company, the briny scent of the ocean mixing with the fried goodness of whatever had been thrown together for dinner. It reminded you of sunburned afternoons spent on the docks, the sound of waves lapping against the wooden beams, of kids that you used to babysit laughing as they chased each other barefoot across the pier. Life was indeed much nicer in the olden days.

The docks finally came into view as you veered off onto the dirt road. You could see that the morning had already settled into its rhythm—fishermen hauling in their first catches, their voices rising and falling over the water while the low rumble of boat engines punctuated the exchanges in the salty air, mingling with the occasional bark of a stray dog nosing around for scraps. Seagulls routinely circled overhead and swept low whenever someone tossed a handful of bait into the sea. The scent of fresh fish, damp wood, and the ever-present Louisiana humidity all wrapped around you, strong-filled even at this hour.

And there was poor Sarah, up to her elbows in work as always.

She stood near a stubborn crate, her brows drawn together in frustration as she struggled to pry it open. The morning suns of July had already kissed her skin a shade darker and a streak of dirt ran across her forearms, evidence of a morning repeatedly spent wrangling supplies and fixing whatever had inevitably needed mending. She also had that look—the one she always got when something should have been done yesterday.

Pulling up alongside the dock, you stepped out of your fancy car, rolling your shoulders with a slow stretch. The thick and stifling heat settled around you instantly, encasing itself around your skin like a second layer along the faintest promise of an approaching summer storm.

“Didn’t know we were wrestling furniture today,” you called out while your expensive shoes thudded lightly against the weathered planks, the wood creaking ever so slightly beneath your steps.

Sarah huffed, blowing a loose curl from her forehead as the sheen of morning sweat glistened against her sun-warmed skin. “You show up just in time to save the day, as usual.”

You smirked, pushing up your sleeves. “That’s what I do best.”

Together, you pried open the crate with a loud crack, the wood groaning in protest before finally relenting, revealing neatly packed supplies of nets, ropes and a few spare tools, all stacked with military precision. 

“I swear, whoever sealed this thing had a personal vendetta against me,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You leaned against one of the weathered wooden posts, letting the briny breeze roll over you. The dock swayed ever so slightly beneath your weight, creaking in quiet protest. Out beyond the harbor, the bay stretched wide and glittering, rippling with the soft push and pull of the current. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady lull of the water, the occasional cry of seagulls, and the distant clang of metal against wood as fishermen worked their boats. A rare pocket of peace.

At least, that was the case until Sarah spoke.

“Sam’s coming home today.”

The words landed on you like how a stone would sink to the bottom of a river. 

You kept your expression carefully neutral, inhaling through your nose before exhaling slowly. “Fantastic,” you deadpanned, flicking a piece of splintered wood off your palm.

Sarah sighed, already bracing for the reaction she knew was coming. “I know you two don’t—”

“Like each other?” you finished for her. “Get along? Want to exist in the same hemisphere?”

She shot you a flat, unimpressed look. “I was going to say see eye to eye.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement.”

Sarah crossed her arms, leaning back against the wooden beam beside you. The steady rise and fall of the tide lapped at the pylons below, filling the brief silence between you. “Are you ever going to tell me what really happened between you two?”

You hesitated. The problem wasn’t just Sam. It was everything that had happened because of him.

And worse—the things that had happened before. But how could you explain that to your best friend, who was also his sister, that before the cameras, before all of the unwanted attention, there had been a spark?

Befriending Sarah in college had meant stepping into her world, with frequent afternoons spent at the family’s restaurant but also evenings that bled into weekends. And with this eventually came Sam, who was at the time a cheeky guy too charming for his own good and with a tendency of getting under your skin in the most enjoyable way. The kind that your mama told you not to approach too much if you didn’t want to stray away from a good line of life.

You honestly wouldn’t have paid him much attention if not for the quick-witted banter, a push-and-pull that became something of a ritual every time you would come over. He would saunter into the restaurant under the pretense of bothering his sister, but his eyes would eventually find yours first, the corner of his mouth twitching upward just before he threw out some teasing remarks in hopes of riling you up. You would roll your eyes, fire something back, and somehow, without realizing it, you had begun to orbit each other.

It had slowly bloomed in the way where summer warmth shifts into the first breath of autumn—almost imperceptible until you’re standing in the midst of it. Eye contacts that lingered just a little too long. Making even the most absurd excuses simply to accompany you through your journey of going to college. A growing familiarity that turned into late-night conversations on the dock, where the world was nothing but the hush between you. There had been something easy about it, an understanding that neither of you ever had to say out loud.

And then, one fateful night—

A kiss was added to the list.

You could still precisely recall how it had unfolded. It had been one of those thick Louisianan nights where the land was quiet except for the gentle slosh of the tide against the pylons and the occasional chirp of cicadas hidden somewhere in the dark. You and Sam sat side by side on the wooden planks with your legs dangling over the edge.

He had shown up at the restaurant after closing, claiming he had nowhere better to be. You had scoffed, knowing damn well he could’ve gone to the arcades where he usually hung with his small band of friends, but instead, he’d lingered—elbow on the counter, tossing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth while Sarah cleaned up. When she suspiciously shooed the both of you out under the pretense of wanting to finish tidying the place in peace, you both ended up in your favorite spot and falling into conversation with the same ease you always had.

Strangely enough, that night was different.

It was felt in the way your knees brushed when he shifted closer, in the way your laughter had simmered and turned quieter, softer. It was the night where plans for the future were spoken of, and how you learned that Sam would soon leave Delacroix behind to join the Air Force while you were still figuring everything out.

“You ever think about getting out of here?” Sam’s voice cut through the quiet.

You smirked, tilting your head toward him. “What, and give up all the fine dining of your family’s home cooking? I don’t know if I could handle that.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because there’s nothing more to do than eating fresh seafood and watching the sunset every day.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you’re the one talking about getting out of here, Wilson. What, the dock life not glamorous enough for you?”

His grin was easy, but there was something contemplative beneath it. “I always knew I’d leave. Not ‘cause I don’t love it here, but... I want more. I wanna see what else is out there.”

Your smile faltered, just a little. You weren’t sure why the thought of Sam leaving sat uncomfortably in your chest. "You make it sound like you’re never coming back."

He turned toward you then, one leg kicking idly at the water below. "I’ll come back." His voice got fainter this time, lacking its usual teasing edge. "It’s not like I’d just disappear on you."

You arched a skeptical brow. "Awh, don’t tell me you’re going soft on me. You saying that ‘cause you mean it, or ‘cause you think I’d cry if you didn’t?"

Sam smirked. "Maybe both."

You scoffed, pushing at his arm, but he barely budged. "Please, you’d be the one crying your eyes out first."

"Uh-huh," he vaguely affirmed, unconvinced. "You could write me letters, you know."

"You gonna write back?"

"Every time."

You regained your smile at the answer, and it was when you turned to glance at him that you noticed that he was closer than before. You weren’t sure if he had leaned in or if you had, but your shoulders touched and your knees pressed together. He was close enough that you could see the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed and caught his eyes flickering from yours to your mouth and back again.

You had felt it coming before it happened—the moment slowed, stretched, and his tentative fingers had brushed yours where your hands rested between you on the dock. He was testing out the waters, and neither of you pulled away.

Without a word, he leaned in.

It felt like a kiss engaged between adolescents discovering intimacy for the first time. He was slow in his doing, as if waiting for you to stop him, but you didn’t. You tilted into him instead, your hand resting against his jaw upon the faint scratch of stubble he had grown. His lips were warm and coaxing, stealing the breath from your lungs as he deepened the kiss while his hand curled lightly around your wrist. The world beyond the two of you fell away, drowned out by the rush of your pulse.

It was the kind of kiss that felt like the beginning of a promise. But promises, as you had learned over time, were far too easy to break.

You thought that this kiss was supposed to mean something. Evidently, it didn’t to Sam.

Months passed without a sign, not a single mail in your box or a phone call. Then years came by, and silence continued to reign like a chasm.

The first time Sam Wilson came back to Delacroix after becoming the Falcon, it wasn’t for a homecoming or a celebration—it was for Sarah’s wedding. By then, he was no longer just the annoying little brother, the immature sod who used to throw shrimp shells at you when you weren’t looking. He was an Avenger. A hero. Someone whose face people recognized, whose name carried weight.

And you? You had built a life of your own. A business. A name that had nothing to do with anyone else but yourself. 

He had changed but so had you, and whatever had been between you had withered away a bittersweet memory, more sour than sugary.

The wedding had come and gone in a whirlwind of music and laughter, of his sister glowing in a way you had never seen before, of toasts and dancing under strings of warm lights. You had somehow ended up outside, trading the muffled sounds of celebration drifting through the open doors of the reception hall for the cold silence of the outside.

You hadn’t planned to talk to him. In fact, you had spent most of the days of his visit avoiding being alone with him, dodging him and whatever it was that lingered between you both like an unfinished chapter. But he still managed to find you anyway, stepping out into the night with that same infuriating ease as if nothing had ever changed.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you scurry away like a mouse?” he jokingly prompted, hands tucked into his pockets. “For someone who’s supposed to be the maid of honor, you disappeared pretty fast.”

You didn’t look at him, instead fixing your gaze on the rippling water. “Didn’t realize I needed a chaperone.”

“Never said you did.”

Stillness settled between you, cut by the cicadas humming in the trees and the warm breeze rolling in from the bay. He was watching you. You could feel it.

“You been good?” he asked eventually, almost hesitant.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Business still going strong?”

Another nod.

Sam exhaled a soft laugh. “Damn. You always this talkative?”

Finally, you turned to face him, arms crossed over your chest. “Well, what do you want me to say, Sam? That it’s good to see you? That I missed you?”

He blinked, caught off guard.

“You know what? I did,” you admitted, your jaw tightening. “I missed you when you left, when you didn’t write, when you didn’t call. But then you show up years later on TV with wings on your back and a whole new life, and I—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Listen, I never meant to—”

The sudden burst of camera flashes cut through the dark like lightning. Movements danced from the shadows beyond the dock. Figures. A handful of people, cameras raised, lenses trained on you both.

Your blood ran cold.

The pilot turned, his expression shifting in an instant. He stepped in front of you, partially blocking their view. “Hey! Back the hell up.”

The damage was already done. Your name was already in their mouths, in their cameras, and in their notes. And by morning, the world would be talking.

You knew it wasn’t his fault. Not entirely. The blame didn’t belong to him—not for the cameras, the prying eyes, or the intrusion. But the continuous letdown, the unresolved past, the hollow promises left unanswered—it all boiled over.

Maybe it was the years of unspoken resentment. How he had left and never looked back, only to come home like no time had passed—like you hadn’t once meant something. Or maybe it was the fact that for one fleeting instance, the world thought you belonged to him like you selfishly wanted to back then when he had never even fought to keep you.

The fight was inevitable. Hurtful words, raised voices. Raw anger tangled with accusations you didn’t mean spilling from your mouth before you could stop it, among the ones you did. And to his credit, he gave as good as he got. You weren’t the only one harboring old wounds. You weren’t the only one who felt burned by your shared past.

By the time the shouting stopped, the damage between you was just as permanent as the damage done by the eye-catching headlines. Some words couldn’t be taken back, just as ties, once broken, could never be pieced together the same way again.

The next morning, as you predicted, the internet had been set ablaze with speculation.

The press was relentless, churning through the story like a wildfire swallowing dry earth. The Falcon and his Mystery Woman—Who is She? New Romance or Old Flame? Falcon’s Secret Love Life—Exclusive Details Inside!

It was absurd. Laughable, even. You had snorted at the first few articles, rolling your eyes at the grainy photos that painted a story far more dramatic than the truth. You and Sam barely tolerated each other. If anything, your history was a testament to mutual irritation, not some clandestine love affair.

But the laughter didn’t last because the headlines didn’t fade. Because the story didn’t die.

Because soon enough, it wasn’t just some passing tabloid gossip. It was everywhere.

Paparazzi began to linger outside your workplace, their lenses snapping up every movement as if they could capture something scandalous in the mundane act of you stepping out for coffee. Your inbox flooded with emails—some from reporters fishing for a statement, others from people you hadn’t spoken to in years, suddenly eager to "reconnect." 

Social media became a nightmare all on its own. Strangers dug through your past with eager, prying hands, dissecting old photos, analyzing every public interaction you’d ever had, and spinning theories about a relationship that had never even existed.

The worst part of your predicament was certainly work-related. Every handshake, every business meeting, and every new acquaintance suddenly all came with a question mark. Were they here for you or for the association? Were they interested in your work, in you, or just in the proximity you offered to something greater, to a man whose name counted amongst Earth’s greatest heroes?

And through it all, Sam had remained frustratingly unbothered.

"It’ll pass," he had dismissed with a shrug accompanying his words. "People move on when it comes to these kinds of things."

At most, he made sure you were surrounded by constant security and had some sort of secret service he was apart from watching over you in case malevolent spectators deemed it a good idea to bother you. While you were grateful for the protection, you had wondered if his lack of intervention to correct the situation with both words and actions wasn’t motivated by underlying factors. 

Ultimately, you had been the one left dealing with the aftermath. The one picking up the pieces and untangling the mess, sifting through the wreckage of your privacy. And that was something you could never forgive.

You slowly exhaled, massaging your temple at the exasperating memory. “Let’s just say your brother has had a knack for making my life difficult and I got tired of it.”

Sarah hummed, skeptical but wise enough not to press too hard. “He’s really not as bad as you think.”

You shot her a dry look. “Sarah.”

She held up her hands in surrender, lips twitching. “Alright, alright. I won’t push.”

Before you could say more, the sound of a door swinging open interrupted you. Then came the hurried patter of feet and the excited shout of your name before two small bodies crashed into you, all limbs and boundless energy.

You caught them both with a grin, stumbling slightly under their weight as they clung to you.

“You taking us to school today?” Cass asked, beaming up at you.

You ruffled his curls, feigning deep thought. “I don’t know... you guys gonna behave?”

AJ gasped, scandalized. “We always behave!”

Their mother snorted at the blatant lie while you laughed, nudging AJ’s shoulder. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Sarah shook her head, a familiar mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. “They listen to you better than they listen to me.”

“That’s because I’m the cool auntie. Right, boys?” 

Both of them cheered in agreement, to which she rolled her eyes and shooed you toward your car. “Go before I change my mind about letting you take them.”

You steered her children toward the vehicle, their voices rising in an animated debate over which of them would get to call shotgun and put their playlist to play for the drive. But even as you settled into the driver’s seat, their excited chatter filling the space around you, your mind remained elsewhere.

Sam was coming back.

And whether you liked it or not, you were going to have to deal with him.

⠀

⠀

The restaurant was already alive with the late afternoon rush by the time you strolled in with the boys coming back from school. Orders flew in, plates stacked high and the scent of fried seafood and rich gumbo diffused in the place. The kitchen bustled with movement—Sarah barking orders, cooks shuffling between stations, the sizzle of oil, the clang of metal on metal. Fortunately, you had worked enough shifts here during college to comfortably throw yourself into the chaos and fall into the rhythm with ease, balancing trays and dodging wayward elbows like second nature.

You had expected a busy night.

What you weren’t prepared for—what you could have gone your entire life without dealing with—was walking out of the kitchen, only to come face-to-face with the one person you had been dreading.

The door swung shut behind you, the sudden quiet of the dining area making the moment feel even heavier. Sam Wilson stood near the counter, arms crossed, an easy smirk already in place as if he hadn’t just been gone for years. The sight of his tall, broad and annoyingly self-assured stature made something stubborn coil in your chest. The golden glow of the setting sun slanted through the restaurant’s windows, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight curl of his lips, settling into the warm brown of his eyes with an infuriating sort of ease.

It had been years. But of course, of course, the first thing he did when he saw you was smirk and look at you the way he always did—like he was expecting a fight.

“Well, well,” he drawled, eyes flicking over you with the kind of scrutiny that made you itch to throw the nearest dish towel at his head. “They’re really letting just anyone work here now, huh?”

You scoffed, stepping behind the counter. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

“Hey, I actually own part of this place,” he shot back, leaning against the wooden bar. “What’s your excuse?”

“Sarah asked me to help,” you replied smoothly, grabbing a clean set of glasses from the shelf. “What’s yours?”

“Thought I’d check in, be a good brother and say hi,” he sassily answered. “Didn’t realize I’d be graced with your presence too.”

“Lucky you,” you deadpanned with a tight-lipped smile, brushing past him.

And to your luck, he followed you to the back, offering unhelpful commentary while you restocked supplies, then bickered with you while you both helped—or at least attempted to—his sister with the dinner rush. Arguing over everything with the soldier felt like muscle memory at this point, and it showed in the way he reached for the same things you did, your movements accidentally falling into sync. 

By the time things slowed down enough for dinner, you were already nursing a headache. It wasn’t until the pace had slowed and Sarah finally sat down with a plate of food after her kids were put to bed that the conversation turned against you.

“So,” Sarah stabbed a piece of calamari with her fork, looking at you with a glint of something announcing nothing good. “You seeing anyone yet?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Across from you, Sam let out a low chuckle.

“Oh, this should be good,” he mused, propping his chin on his hand and settling in like he was about to watch a show.

You shot him a glare before turning back to Sarah. “Not really.”

“Not really, or not at all?”

“Not. At. All.”

Sam let out a whistle, shaking his head in mock pity. “Damn. That’s rough.”

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “Well, it’s kind of your fault.”

The smirk fell right off his face. “My fault?”

You didn’t waver, locking eyes with him. “I don’t know if you remember, but you kind of put me on the map. You know, with that whole ‘mystery woman spotted with the Falcon’ thing?” You waved a hand vaguely. “Hard to trust people when they might secretly be fans. Or worse, spies.”

The hostess hummed in interest, taking a slow sip of her drink. “That does sound inconvenient.”

Sam scoffed. "Oh, be real, miss fancy pants. You can’t be serious.”

“But I am,” you shot back. “Because of you, I have to second-guess every new person I meet. Even for business.”

Sam shrugged, looking way too entertained. “Could be worse.”

You raised a brow. “Would you trust random people throwing themselves at you if the roles were reversed?”

He let out a sharp laugh, cocky and dismissive. “Sure, after a small background check.”

You leaned forward, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, totally. It’s so much fun when I get approached because people think I’m some tragic ex or long-lost lover of yours. Or getting bombarded with people asking if I ever hooked up with the Falcon, or if I have ‘tea’ to spill on our ‘relationship’, or if I’m ‘jealous’ that you’re off saving the world and not wasting time.” You tilted your head. “That’s just peak entertainment.”

For once, the Avenger had nothing to say.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, and let’s not forget the weirdos who DM me saying they’d be happy to ‘fill the hole’ you supposedly left in my life.”

Sam choked on his drink, coughing violently. “What?”

“Oh yeah.” You pulled out your phone, tapped a few times, then held it out to him. “Here. Go ahead. Take a look at your legacy.”

He grabbed it hesitantly, scrolling through your inbox, his expression shifting from amused to horrified. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered. “What the hell is wrong with people?”

Sarah smirked. “Damn, Sam. Ruined her dating life and left her with internet weirdos. That’s cold.”

Sam dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, fine, that’s bad.” He handed your phone back. “But still, you could’ve just—I don’t know—ignored it? De-activate your socials?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just ignore the fact that I have to Google every guy I talk to just to make sure they’re not running a secret fan account for you.”

He burst out laughing, to which you childishly responded by throwing a fry at his head.

Sarah, watching all this like it was prime-time TV, suddenly perked up. “I might have a solution.”

You groaned. “I don’t like that tone.”

“No, no, hear me out,” she insisted, grinning. “I saw this thing the other day—apparently, there’s a place in town that does blind dates in escape rooms.”

You blinked. “You saw what now?”

“It’s a fun concept,” she continued breezily. “Two people, locked in a room, working together to get out. You don’t know who you’re paired with beforehand, and it forces you to communicate.” She took another bite of her food, then added, “I think you two should try it.”

You both turned to her at the same time. “No—” “Hell no.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You two are so dramatic. It’s literally an escape room—”

“With a blind date,” you interrupted with frantic gestures. “As in, being forced into a confined space with a random stranger and trusting them enough to help me get out.” You shook your head. “Not happening.”

Sarah gave you a pointed look. “You do realize that’s exactly what dating is, right?”

You glared. “Don’t make points right now.”

She turned her attention to Sam, who was still muttering under his breath. “And what’s your problem?”

Her brother shot her a disbelieving look. “You seriously don’t see the issue?”

“Nope.”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s way too risky for me to go in public and have my info given out to some company and get paired up with someone potentially crazy like her right here. Yeah, no way in hell I’m signing up for that.”

You turned back to Sarah. “Do you hear the way he talks to me? And you think I should be dating?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly why I’m setting you up with other people. You both need a reality check.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Okay, ignoring the audacity of that statement—why an escape room? If I wanted to be locked in a room with a stranger, I’d call my internet provider.”

Sarah once again ignored your rebuttals. “It forces you to work together. Communication, problem-solving, a little trust—”

Sam let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather skydive without a parachute.”

“You literally have a parachute,” you deadpanned.

“Exactly,” Sam said. “Which is why I don’t need to go on some experimental dating hostage situation.”

Sarah huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. Let me put it this way—if you don’t go, I’ll tell Bucky you’re both too scared to put yourselves out there.”

You wanted to put up a bigger fight, if not for the very real threat of James Buchanan Barnes getting wind of this.

You had met him once, years ago, during one of Sam’s very unwelcome, very impromptu visits. You hadn’t even been expecting company that day, let alone a literal ex-assassin sitting at Sarah’s dining table like it was the most normal thing in the world. And to make matters worse, Sam had introduced you in the most obnoxious way possible.

“This is my sister’s best friend. She talks a big game but couldn’t win an argument if her life depended on it.”

And Bucky, with all the smugness of someone who absolutely enjoyed making your life difficult, had just smirked, leaned back in his chair, and smugly commented—

“Huh. Sounds familiar.”

You hadn’t even known him for five minutes, and he had already sided with Sam. Ever since, the latter had made sure to weaponize their friendship against you at every opportunity, regardless of the fast-growing amicability between his former partner and you.

And you knew that if Bucky found out about this, you would never hear the end of it. He’d be relentless. Casually dropping mentions of your lack of a partner into every conversation, even if the irony lied in him being in the same situation—though he’d probably argue that unlike him, there was a lack of trying on your part as well as the absence of an excuse as astronomical as being a well-known mass murderer with an insane past. And also probably betting money on how fast you’d walk out of the damn escape room.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

His sister’s grin only widened. “Oh, I absolutely would.”

You could already picture it—Bucky, smirking like he had all the dirt in the world on you and bringing it up at the most inopportune moments. Teasing you mercilessly every time you so much as glanced at your phone. Probably making some dumb comment like, “So, can’t find anyone to put up with you?”

Nope. Absolutely not.

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “I so hate you right now.”

Sarah just smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

The Falcon groaned in desperation. “This is blackmail.”

She simply shrugged at the accusation. “I like to think of it as strong encouragement.”

"How long is it?” you finally asked, defeated.

“One hour.”

Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Sixty minutes of my life I’m never getting back.”

The restaurant’s owner shrugged, too pleased with herself to care. “Think of it this way—worst-case scenario, you get out and never see the person again.”

The pilot grumbled under his breath before sharply exhaling after a long pause. “Whatever. But when this goes horribly, I want it on record that I called it.”

“Duly noted.”

⠀

⠀

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet as you gripped the wheel of your car with the force of someone actively trying not to commit murder. The drive to the escape room was supposed to be uneventful. Key words: supposed to. But Sam Wilson had never once encountered an opportunity for peace without promptly deciding to mischievously ruin it.

It started small. A shift in his seat, a glance at the dashboard, an exhale so faint you almost didn’t catch it. Then, before you knew it, his fingers were wandering, prodding at the glossy screen in the center console with an exaggerated curiosity that made your temple throb.

You gritted your teeth. "Stop touching things."

“Relax,” he drawled, ever the picture of unbothered arrogance. "I’m just exploring my environment."

“It’s not an environment, it’s my car.”

Sam clicked his tongue, grinning in a way that meant nothing good. “You got all these fancy-ass features, and you don’t even use ‘em? Shame. Really makes me question your judgment.”

“You’re about to question your life choices when I push you out onto the freeway.”

With all of your previous spouts, you should have known that issuing such a warning would only serve to encourage his childish behavior.

It started with him cranking the seat warmers up to their highest setting, slowly enough that you didn’t notice until your lower back was mysteriously drenched in sweat. He followed by playing with the ambient lighting, flipping through every color at an alarming rate until the inside of your car looked like a malfunctioning disco ball. But the worst, the absolute worst, came when he discovered your Bluetooth. 

A horrendous mix of static and Sam’s laughter blasted through your speakers as the system synced.

You gawked at him. “If you so much as—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the familiar bright and bouncy opening chords of Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus blared from the speakers, the bubbly pop song catering a stark contrast to the slow-building horror creeping up your spine.

Sam, entirely unbothered by your stricken expression, immodestly threw his feet up onto the dashboard with the air of a man settling in for a long, leisurely road trip rather than someone actively testing the limits of your patience. With the unrestrained passion of a performer standing before a sold-out stadium crowd, he threw his head back and belted at the top of his lungs, “And a Jay-Z song was on!”

You recoiled, grimacing as his voice cracked mid-note. But before responding, you reached over and smacked his legs off the dashboard, sending his sneakers thudding back to the floor. “Get your dirty feet off my dash,” you snapped.

Sam clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Oh, live a bit, woman. Damn, you really have no appreciation for the arts or my comfort?”

Your grip tightened around the steering wheel as you ignored his jab, leveling him instead with a flat, unimpressed stare. “This,” you slowly voiced with incredulity, “is the choice you made?”

“Hell yeah.” He nodded in affirmation, not even pausing in his off-key, wholly committed performance. “This is a certified anthem.”

“This is a cry for help.”

Sam gasped, scandalized. “You don’t like Party in the USA?”

“I do. I just don’t like you singing Party in the USA.” Without breaking your focus on the road, you lunged for his phone, yanking it from his grip with the precision of someone who had endured one too many of his antics. A dramatic click later, and blissful silence fell over the cabin.

Your passenger, however, was anything but deterred. He cackled, shoulders shaking, entirely too smug.

You inhaled deeply, willing the tension in your fingers to ease before you left permanent indentations on the wheel. “I swear to God, Wilson—”

“Hey,” he cut in, still grinning like a man with no fear of consequences. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve switched it to romance audiobooks.”

“I will crash this car.”

The silence was short-lived. Like a cocky thief in the night, Sam moved with the precision of a soldier and the recklessness of a man who knew exactly how to test your limits. One second, the phone was in your grasp, victory assured. The next, it was snatched away with infuriating ease.

You barely had time to register the offense before the speakers flared back to life, the cabin suddenly swelling with the smooth, honeyed tones of a song that hit far too close to home.

"I see the crystal raindrops fall…"

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing in slow, dawning realization. The Falcon, unbothered and wholly self-satisfied, leaned back against the seat with his arms folded behind his head as if he hadn't just detonated a nostalgia bomb between you. The smooth timbre of Grover Wshington Jr.’s voice accompagnied the melodious instrumental of Just the Two of Us, the saxophone bringing more than just nostalgia of a classic.

You knew exactly what he was doing. You remembered the easy rhythm of laughter between verses as you'd vaguely engage in a clumsy waltz, tripping over both feet and lyrics and pretending it was intentional. You remembered Sam’s off-key falsetto and your equally disastrous harmonies, along with the unshakable euphoria and certainty that no matter where life took you, you’d always end up in the same place.

But life had a way of rewriting certainties—the choices that wedged themselves between you was certainly proof of it. And yet, despite everything that happened, that song still had its hooks in you.

Sam, ever the instigator, drummed his fingers against the dashboard, slow and patient, like a fisherman waiting for the line to tug. When you didn’t react, he turned his head and elbowed you in your arm. “C’mon. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I do remember.”

“Then sing.”

You scoffed, pretending it didn’t get to you. “Pass.”

His grin sharpened. “Boo, loser. What, so you can’t sing anymore? That’s crazy. Didn’t know losing your ability to sing was part of getting old and bitter—”

Your glare should have scorched him and wiped that insufferable smirk right off his face, but he only leaned in, fully basking in his role as an unrepentant menace.

"We can make it if we try…" He sang it pointedly, nudging you again with his elbow like an annoying kid brother. You swatted him away without sparing a glance. He did it again. And again. Until finally—

You exhaled sharply, grip slackening. “I hate you.”

But as the chorus approached, the words left your lips before you could stop them.

"Just the two of us…"

It was barely a whisper at first, something fragile and unintentional. But Sam caught it immediately and grinned just as quickly, victorious, before singing louder.

You rolled your eyes, but the fight was already lost.

“That’s my girl,” he cheered on, and before you could roll your eyes, he threw his head back and belted out the next line with all the fanciness of a Broadway performer.

By the next verse, you were both loudly singing off-key. He purposely overstated his notes, while you botched entire lines just to tease him. Laughter flowed freely between lines, busting through the barricades you'd both painstakingly established.  Sam, ever the dramatist, went full concert mode, wiggling his shoulders like an overenthusiastic backup dancer and pretending to hold a microphone as he crooned into his fist.

“No,” you moaned in exasperation between bursts of laughter as he hit an ungodly note. “That was—oh my God, Sam, stop—that is a crime against music.”

He only doubled down, adding unnecessary falsetto flourishes and pointing dramatically out the window as if serenading the passing trees. The harmonies were an absolute disaster. The timing was questionable at best. But for those few minutes, it didn’t matter. It was just you and Sam, the car, and the open road, voices colliding in the space between you.

It shouldn't have felt so natural, to slip into something that had been tearing around the edges for years. But for a brief while, it did—which was perilous, like plunging into still waters.

No matter how lighthearted it appeared, you were smart enough to understand that the political choice in this song was not only to reminisce about one of your favorite memories, but also to convey a hidden message, as the song still had meaning in its lines. “We can make it if we try”. It was a promise, one you had scarcely believed in with your whole heart before you had to learn to live without him. 

By the time the final note of the song was hit, the magic was broken. You cleared your throat and adjusted your grip on the wheel. You mumbled, "Still sing like a damn goat," since it was easier than admitting anything else.

Sam snorted. "You still talk big for someone who sounds like a dying cat."

Quietness regained its rightful place, this time more charged than before with the shadow of something lost between you. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down, looking like he was trying to collect his thoughts—or just avoid whatever was about to spill out.

“Look, about everything that happened...” He hesitated, voice trailing off, before he tried again. “I didn’t mean—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to keep the ache from spilling over. “Honestly, I should’ve expected it. You’re always going to be tied up in something bigger than us. I get it now. I should’ve known better.”

The pilot didn’t respond right away but you still made out the sound of him breathing down his nose, betraying the turmoil that was spiralling in his mind. “I just—I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring what happened. I—”

“No.” The word came out before you could stop it, hard and final. Your lips twisted into a smile, but it was bitter, hollow. “You don’t need to apologize anymore. It’s not necessary. I mean, the Air Force is a big thing. And now with the whole Avengers thing…” Your breath hitched slightly. “You had big priorities. It’s understandable.”

The words left a bitter taste on your tongue, every syllable a shard of resentment you had tried for so long to swallow. “It’s okay. You don’t need to make up some excuse.”

Sam’s expression flickered, his features shifting subtly as he processed your words, but he didn’t respond. His silence felt like another slap in the face, the unspoken weight of his guilt settling over the car.

"It just hurt," you continued, the words uncontrollably tumbling out of your mouth, as if you couldn’t hold them back any longer. "You said you’d make time. That we could figure it out." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on, your chest tight with the pressure of everything you’d been carrying. "But then... it was like I was just some side story to your life. I had to deal with everything on my own. You didn’t just leave me, Sam. You left me hanging in front of the entire world, like I was an afterthought."

You could see him flinching and opening his mouth to speak, but the reply stayed stuck somewhere behind his teeth for awhile. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way,” he finally admitted, his voice tight with frustration, lips pressed into a thin line. “You have to know that.” 

You let out a dry laugh, bitter and edged with years of pent-up anger. "No," you spat, shaking your head. "I don’t know that. I really don’t. And now you want to apologize? You think a few words will make it go away?" You turned to him then with glaring eyes, the dam inside you breaking wide open. “But I guess I should’ve known better, right? You’ve always got more important things on your plate than me. And I was just dumb enough to think I could be part of it." You let out a shaky breath. "That’s on me, not you.”

Sam’s shoulders tensed, his fists clenched so tightly against his knees that you could see the tendons in his hands strain. "That’s not fair," he rasped.

“No,” you bit out with the bitter burn of years of disappointment. “What’s not fair is pretending everything’s okay now, like you didn’t leave me in the dust. You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to forget how much it hurt when you left me behind.”

Sam growled, his gaze snapping to yours with an intensity that could’ve burned brighter than the sunlight reflecting on the windshield. “I didn’t mean to do that. It wasn’t like that. If you’d just let me explain—”

But you were already shaking your head, a bitter laugh slipping out as you cut him off. "It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this again."

The rest of the drive stretched on in silence, bouncing on the precarious mix of unsaid words and the sharp sting of old wounds reopening. By the time you pulled into the parking lot of the escape room, your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, your body wound tight with the tension of everything you’d let out during the ride.

You almost yanked the car into park with more force than necessary, the engine’s rumbling metaphorically serving as a harsh reminder of how you were both still reeling from your slight altercation.

The door slammed shut behind you, but neither of you made a move to walk toward the entrance. The space between you felt wider than the parking lot itself. You weren’t sure what else to say, if there was even anything left to say. 

“You should go inside first,” you finally said, your eyes staying firmly on the building in front of you. “I still need to arrange a few things in the car.” You were making a conscious decision to create some distance, to not go beyond what you could navigate through the dangerous waves of this confrontation. “Good luck with your date… or, uh, escape game.” You gave a small, tight smile, though it felt more like a bitter farewell than any kind of encouragement.

Sam silently hesitated, his eyes searching yours, like he was about to say something—but the words never formed. Instead, he took a deep breath and gave a short nod. "You too. Good luck with... whatever it is you're gonna do, too."

Without another word, he turned his back to you and walked toward the entrance with stiff shoulders. His footsteps echoed against the pavement as he left you alone, marking said distance you were so adamant on implementing once and for all.

You didn’t watch him go. You couldn’t. Instead, you opened your door with a soft creak, the cool night air rushing in as you slid back into the driver’s seat. It felt like a strange kind of closure, the door clicking shut behind you as if you were signing the definite end of a chapter, even if nothing really felt settled. With a shaky hand, you wiped the stray tears that had fallen down your cheeks, quickly brushing them away like they never happened, like you could pretend they weren’t there.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. There was still the night ahead, the escape game to focus on, even if your heart wasn’t entirely in it.

⠀

⠀

The artificial chill of the air conditioning wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, abruptly differing from the lingering warmth of dusk. The area smelled somewhat floral, though not in a pleasant way—more like a half-hearted attempt to conceal the antiseptic, even clinical ambiance. The welcome space looked sleek and modern, with clean lines and soft, ambient lighting, but something seemed odd.

A trio of employees stood behind the clean counter, their demeanor courteous but impersonal. Their uniforms were clean, their smiles practiced, and their eyes assessing—not in a way that made you feel welcome, but rather processed.

"Just need you to sign a few things," one of them said, sliding a clipboard toward you with the kind of ease that suggested they had done this a hundred times before. Maybe a thousand.

You picked up the pen and skimmed the pages, your brows knitting together. Waiver. Consent form. Limited liability in the case of mild distress.

Everything screamed shady.

Even though you knew they conducted a comprehensive background check on their clients' criminal records—you knew because you boldly inquired beforehand—your gut twisted with disquiet, a silent warning you had long since learned not to ignore. But you forced yourself to exhale, suppressing the mounting doubt. Sarah planned this, and she wouldn't throw you into an underground horror movie scenario, right?

Still, the blindfold part? That was peculiar, to say the least.

“Standard procedure,” the staff member assured you in a smooth and clearly rehearsed tone. That didn’t make you feel any better.

But you weren’t about to back out now. Soundly sighing, you allowed them to tie the fabric securely over your eyes, and in an instant, the world went black.

A friendly but firm hand took you down what appeared to be a long corridor. Each step heightened the sense of disorientation, the absence of sight accentuating everything else—hushed murmurs in the distance, the continuous flaps of an air vent above, the dull pressure of the floor under you. Then a pause. The air became colder. A door opened, and you were gently guided inside.

The door shut behind you, and the person beside you vanished.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at the sides. The lack of vision made everything feel too much—the faint shuffle of your own feet as you shifted nervously, the way your breathing seemed louder than it should, the slight press of your pulse on your temples. How long were they going to leave you here?

The weight of the silence stretched, and so did the edges of your nerves. Finally, the door creaked open again. Your spine became rigid. Footsteps, slow and measured. The door clicked closed once more.

Someone was here.

You exhaled, forcing an easy tone into your voice despite the unease creeping up your spine. "So, uh… I guess this is the part where we introduce ourselves? Hi, I’m—"

A strange, loaded silence tightened around you like a noose, twisting in your stomach. Were they simply joking with you? Or was there something else going on here?

Your patience, already thin after the day's events, had fully frayed. Screw this. Against your better judgment, you reached up and ripped the blindfold off, blinking rapidly as your eyes acclimated to the room's dull, amber hue.

And there, across from you, stood Sam. A solitary rose danced between his fingers, whirling aimlessly, as if he had all the time in the world. His attitude was unreadable—calm and poised, but his eyes held something you couldn't quite identify.

"Oh, hell no."

Sam let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing his temple like the sheer force of his fingers could press back the headache forming there. “Unbelievable,” he sneered, shaking his head. “I should’ve known Sarah was up to something when she kept dodging my questions.”

You let out a scoff, dragging a hand down your face as the reality of the situation settled over you like an unbearable weight. “This is what I get for trusting Sarah with this. Honestly, I’d rather deal with Bucky’s endless teasing right now than… this.”

The veteran arched a brow, folding his arms. “To be fair, you did let her set you up on a blind date with a stranger.”

You leveled him with a look. “Yeah, and so did you!” You threw up your hands. “And we came here together. Did she seriously think we wouldn’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, his expression caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Guess she figured we’d be too busy arguing to put the pieces together.”

You scoffed. “Well, congrats to her, then. She got exactly what she wanted.”

Determined to put an end to this ridiculous setup, you turned toward the door, grasped the handle, and gave it a firm tug. It didn’t budge. Your pulse ticked higher. You tried again, more forcefully this time, but the door remained stubbornly locked.

Behind you, Sam sighed, the sound far too entertained for your liking. “Still locked?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, jaw tight. “Obviously.”

Before he could toss out another quip, the overhead speakers crackled to life, the static buzzing through the dimly lit room before a saccharine, overly cheerful voice filled the space.

"Welcome, lovebirds, to the Valentine’s Day Escape Challenge!"

Your entire body went rigid. Sam, standing just a few feet away, had stilled completely, his eyes narrowing like he was already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"Over the next hour, you and your partner will work together to solve puzzles, uncover secrets, and—most importantly—ignite a spark between you!"

Your eye twitched. "The what?"

The Falcon was still staring up at the speaker, but you could feel the sheer amount of unspoken profanity radiating off of him.

"You have sixty minutes! And remember... teamwork makes the dream work!"

A mechanical clunk sounded somewhere in the room, and a timer flickered to life on the far wall, its neon numbers casting an ominous glow.

59:59. 59:58. 59:57.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, forcing down the overwhelming urge to scream, then turned to Sam. He met your stare, equally exasperated, equally resigned.

The room was an assault of saccharine love-themed aesthetics, as if Eros himself had suffered a violent, glitter-drenched demise. Heart-shaped garlands draped along the walls in looping chains, glowing pink fairy lights casting a hazy, dreamlike blush over every velvet-draped surface. A gilded vanity stood against one wall, its mirror smeared with cryptic riddles in waxy, crimson lipstick. The simulated fireplace screen let out crackled sounds, its flames flickering just a little too artificially, a cheap illusion of warmth in a space meant to seduce.

At the center of it all sat a small, round table, dressed in pristine white linen, set for two. A single wax-sealed envelope rested atop the china, like the final invitation to some grand, elaborate joke.

Sam let out a low whistle, slow and unimpressed as he took in the spectacle. “It’s like Cupid threw up in here.”

You crossed your arms, exhaling through your nose. “More like a discount wedding venue.”

“Either way, I already hate it.”

“Great. Common ground.” You stepped forward, plucking the envelope off the table, breaking the seal with a sharp tear. “Means we’ll get through this faster.”

Inside, a delicate pink card gleamed under the low lighting, its cursive gold lettering gliding across the surface like a whispered dare:

"To escape, one must first unlock the heart. Find the key, answer truthfully, and embrace the game."

You flipped the card over, your frown deepening. Blank.

“Well, that’s unhelpful.”

Sam leaned in over your shoulder, the warmth of his unwelcome presence creeping at your back. “Sounds like a load of nonsense.”

“Sounds like we need to find a key.” You tossed the card aside and swept your gaze across the room. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He followed at an infuriatingly lazy pace, hands tucked in his pockets. “You always this impatient on dates?”

You shot him a glare. “You always this obnoxious?”

“‘That a rhetorical question?”

You huffed, stepping toward the vanity. Its antique gold frame was chipped, and its once-opulent beauty weathered down to something just shy of decadent. Trinkets littered the surface—heart-shaped perfume bottles, a pearl necklace draped over a porcelain hand sculpture, and a plush teddy bear wearing a satin bow tie.

You picked up the bear, giving it a shake. Something rattled inside. Without hesitation, you grabbed the bow and pulled at it, to which the Avenger let out a sharp breath. “At least pretend to have some finesse. Poor guy.”

You turned, leveling him with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I politely ask the stuffed animal for the key?”

His smirk was all teeth. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

With an exaggerated tug, the bow finally tore away, revealing a tiny brass key stitched into the lining. Triumphant, you held it up between two fingers, letting it catch the candlelight. “Hah. Suck it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded toward the oversized keyhole carved into the farthest door. “Moment of truth.”

The lock clicked smoothly, the door groaning as it swung inward to reveal the next part of your prison—a room bathed in deep red velvet, dimly lit by flickering candle sconces. A loveseat sat at its heart, a small pedestal beside it, where a single glass dome encased a perfect red rose.

You exhaled sharply. “Great. More romantic fuckery.”

Sam rolled his shoulders, his stance widening. “Starting to think this whole thing is just an excuse for people to make out in a locked room.”

You shot him a warning look. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re really killing the mood.”

Your attention shifted to the plaque beneath the rose. The words, engraved in curling script, sent an uneasy shiver down your spine: "A promise once spoken, never fulfilled, lingers in the heart forever." You took a step back, exhaling a little too precipitously. “Alright. Where’s the next clue?”

Sam didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the plaque before flickering back to you. “That bother you?”

“Nope,” you said too quickly. “Just wanna get out of here.”

He studied you, and for once, he wasn’t all for the laughs. “You’re lying straight to my face.”

You stiffened. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” His voice was laced with the same exasperation you remembered from years ago—when things were different. When things were good. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t see it?”

You pivoted angrily towards him. “See what, Sam? I told you everything already. You want to talk about how years later, when you came back, I was the one whose name got dragged through the dirt because some paparazzi decided I made a convenient headline?”

His jaw ticked. “You think I wanted that to happen?”

“Well you barely did a damn thing to stop it, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, so that was my fault?” His voice rose, heat sparking in his eyes. “I was trying to keep you out of that mess! You think I had any control over what the media did?”

“Maybe not.” Your breath came hard now, uneven. “But you had control over what you did. And you chose to stay silent.”

The room’s candlelight flickered violently, shadows dancing along the walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in on you, encaging you in this intolerable and toxic chasm of tug-of-war fight. Sam’s hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to grab something—grab you, maybe, or stop himself from doing exactly that.

“Say it,” he finally murmured, voice rough.

You swallowed. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been dying to say since I walked back here.” His gaze burned into yours. “Go ahead. Get it out.”

The pathetic words escaped before you could stop them.

“You lied to me and I hate you for it.”

Sam flinched, but you pressed on, voice breaking on the edges. “You promised I wouldn’t just be some forgotten thing in your past. And you never even tried.”

His nostrils flared. “You think I didn’t want to?”

“Oh, please.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You were fine. You left, became a hero, and forgot all about me until you came back wearing a fucking jetpack.”

“You were never something I could forget.”

You felt something crack in your chest. “You don’t get to say that now, Sam,” you whispered.

He stepped closer. Then again. You barely realized you were moving too, until the air between you collapsed, the heat of his body pressing into yours, the tension a live wire sparking between your ribs. 

"Then look me in the eye," Sam rasped, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. "Look at me and tell me I’m lying and this doesn’t mean anything anymore. Tell me you don’t feel it—say the words, and I’ll walk away. But say them like you mean them." 

Your throat worked, but no words came. Because as much as you wanted to deny the allegations, you did feel it. The frustration, the anger. And beneath it all—the wanting, the aching. The bone-deep longing for something neither of you had the courage to claim when it mattered.

In an unfurling of sudden movement, his back hit the wall with a dull thud, but before he could react, you were on him, fisting the front of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his, engaging in a battle more than a kiss. It was akin to a wildfire—scorching, desperate, all teeth and heat, the culmination of every regret and every second wasted.

The pilot groaned into it, his hands flying to your waist, strong and sure as he hauled you against him. A sharp gasp left you at the feeling of his body flush with yours, but he didn’t give you room to think or to breathe. He spun you, pressing you back against the wall, his mouth relentless against yours, moving with a punishing, consuming intent—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Your fingers twisted further into his meticulous white shirt, attempting to pull him impossibly closer than you already were. He swallowed the sound that escaped you, deepening the kiss like a starved man, like he needed this, needed you, needed to make up for all the time lost.

His lips dragged over your jaw, hot breath ghosting against your skin.

"Still mad?" he murmured against your lips, voice thick with want, teasing even now, even like this.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip, seizing it and savoring how his breath hitched at your doing, the way his fingers flexed against your waist. "Furious."

Sam’s breath stuttered against your lips, a ragged sound caught between a groan and something dangerously close to surrender. His fingers curled into your waist, holding you like he needed to anchor himself, like if he let go, you’d slip through his grasp and take the last shred of his self-control with you.

The kiss burned, devouring, each second unraveling the years of restraint neither of you wanted to acknowledge anymore. You felt the tension in the way he pressed against you, in the way his hands slid beneath your shirt, palms searing against your skin. Your nails raked down his back, dragging over hard covered muscle, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fists as if you could pull him deeper into you, as if there was any space left between you to close.

"Tell me to stop," Sam gasped through the clashing of your mouths, the words nearly lost to the breathlessness between you. His request went ignored as his lips traced a slow, punishing path down your jaw, his breath hot against your throat as his hands wandered, gripping, relearning, claiming back what was once his for a brief instance. 

You tilted your head, granting him more access, shivering as he took it without hesitation, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. Your fingers roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, the solid weight of him beneath your touch. It wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed skin, heat, the press of him without barriers.

Your hands found the first button of his shirt, fumbling in your urgency. One button slipped free, then another, the fabric parting under your fingers.

Until the door slammed open.

You barely had time to gasp before Sam reacted on instinct. In a blur of movement, he thrusted you behind him, body braced like a shield between you and whoever had just interrupted.

A pair of employees stood in the doorway, frozen like deer in headlights. One clutched a clipboard, the other a maintenance checklist, both staring like they had just walked in on a crime scene.

A heavy silence stretched between all of you.

"Uh…" The clipboard guy cleared his throat, his voice weak, almost apologetic. "This… isn't a private room."

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience clearly dangling by a thread. His chest still heaved with unspent frustration and the lingering burn of what had been seconds away from happening. He ran a slow hand down his face before fixing them with a dark, pointed look.

"Clearly," he said flatly.

The maintenance guy swallowed hard. "We—we knocked. Three times."

Clipboard guy shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting everywhere but at you and Sam. "Look, we know you signed up for it and all, but this is too much—you can’t stay here. We have to ask you to leave. Immediately."

The Avenger stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he looked them up and down. The movement was subtle, but the effect was instant. Clipboard guy flinched. Maintenance guy tensed, suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"You saw nothing," he declared lowly. "And whatever you think you saw? No you didn’t." His gaze flicked downward, locking onto the phone peeking out of the employee’s pocket.

The guy scrambled to pull it out, hands shaking as he unlocked the screen. "N-Nothing there! See?" He turned it around in a panic.

Sam barely glanced at it before nodding, satisfied. "Good. Smart choice."

You bit your lip, caught between laughter and mortification as Sam slid an arm around your waist, steering you toward the exit with purposeful ease.

"Now," he continued, voice laced with something smug as he leaned in just enough for only you to hear, "if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere else to be."

His grip on your hip tightened as he led you outside, your pulse hammering in response, the rest of the world fading as the need he had ignited moments ago roared back to life with a vengeance.

⠀

⠀

The ride back to the restaurant was enveloped in a heavy silence—not the brittle awkwardness of unspoken apologies nor the tenseness of imminent confrontation, but a solemn, almost sacred quietude laden with things neither of you yet dared to name.

You kept your eyes fixed on the road, though the lingering warmth of Sam’s hand on your waist remained—a memory of intimacy that had evaporated the instant you stepped out of that room. The echo of what had nearly transpired clung to your skin like a phantom caress, simmering just beneath the surface, an unacknowledged secret shared between you.

When you finally reached the restaurant, the usual mix of clamors of conversation and the tinkling of glasses felt jarringly discordant against the subdued cadence of your thoughts. You both hesitated at the entrance, lingering in the threshold. After a long pause, Sam sighed deeply, his hand drifting to his jaw as if to smooth away the remnants of the night’s turbulence. “Go wait for me,” he ordered you, “at our spot.”

That command stopped you in your tracks.

Our spot.

It had been years since either of you had dared to approach it, much less mention it aloud. The old corner by the water hidden from the prying lights of the city, where you had once spent long, languid nights nursing cheap beer, debating everything and nothing, and watching the world settle into quiet dreams. Back when neither of you had been bold enough to risk shattering that fragile haven.

You searched his face, but his eyes were fixed beyond you, as if he were still uncertain whether the words should have been spoken at all. Still, you nodded.

The dock greeted you like a cherished relic from a bygone era. Weathered wooden planks stretched over dark, rippling water, the faint, distant glow of the city shimmering in its reflection. The air was crisp and invigorating, hinting at the encroaching chill of night and making you wish you had remembered to bring a jacket.

You sank onto the edge of the dock, letting your feet dangle freely above the water, your fingers twisting together in quiet contemplation. Time slipped by in muted anticipation until, at last, the sound of footsteps echoed softly behind you. Then, as if conjured by the very night, a presence settled beside you.

Without a word, Sam pressed a cold bottle on your forehead that burned as it met your skin, making you almost jump out of your place before you took the flask of whiskey—and set another beside him. He then unfurled a thick, timeworn blanket, draping it over both of you with a fluid, almost reverent motion.

The warmth of the blanket combined with the closeness of his body seeped into you instantly, chasing away the chill of the night. For a long moment, you simply sat there, the dock creaking softly beneath your weight, the gentle lapping of water against old wood composing a quiet symphony for your shared solitude.

You sighed, rolling the bottle between your palms. “So..”

One simple word laden with the totality of everything left unsaid, a distillation of years of longing, regret and the raw, unspoken truth of your intertwined past.

You exhaled slowly, tightening your grip on the blanket as though holding it could tether you both to this moment. This was it—the precipice upon which you both now stood. There was no turning away, no hiding behind silence any longer. 

“So,” Sam repeated, his voice tinged with playful mischief as he copied your idle toying with the cold bottle in his hand, “that was… something, wasn’t it?” 

“Ugh, don’t say something cliché like that. But yeah, that was definitely something for the books, I guess.” You managed a shaky smile, your words emerging in a hesitant cadence. There was a lightness in your tone—a mirth that felt like a delicate mask over the swirling emotions that both terrified and enthralled you.

The Falcon grinned, arching an eyebrow. “You know, if it weren’t for how noisy Sarah is, we might have savored it in peace.”

You chuckled softly, the sound both amused and rueful. “She practically narrated our every move. You know she loves her piece of drama.”

“Exactly,” he agreed in a playful tone yet laced with something deeper—a hint of regret, perhaps. “I think she made sure we were loud enough for at least the entire escape room to hear.”

You shook your head, still smiling despite the vulnerability threading through your laughter. “I guess sometimes a little noise is inevitable. I mean, if everything were hushed, we’d never have the chance to remember just how messy and magnificent it all was.”

Sam’s eyes softened as he took a slow sip from the bottle, the amber liquid catching the light. “Sounds like the perfect way to put it,” he murmured absent-mindedly. Your fingers moved on to fidget with the edge of the blanket draped around you, and Sam’s gaze frequently wandered to your flushed face, as if silently pleading for some unspoken reassurance.

“Ask me,” he suddenly requested, his voice both gentle and edged with a trace of desperation, as though he believed that the right question might finally untangle the knots of regret and longing that had haunted you both for so long. “Ask me the question you’ve been holding back.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, each beat echoing with years of missed chances and unspoken words. In a trembling rush of emotion, you blurted out, “What—uh, did you like it?” Your voice quavered, carrying the weight of the moment like a fragile plea.

Sam’s eyes shimmered with a mixture of relief and sorrow as he slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied, his tone soft yet resolute. “I mean—yes, but that’s not what I meant.” He paused, carefully choosing his words as if every syllable carried the gravity of the past. “Ask me the one you’ve wanted to ask for so long.”

A delicate tremor passed through you, and your breath caught in your throat. After a long, painful silence, you whispered, “Why didn’t you write me?” 

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the dock, as if the night itself awaited his answer. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and slowly extracted a tightly knotted bundle of papers. Unraveling the thread with careful fingers, he revealed a stack of letters, yellowed with time and crinkled at the edges.

“I did write you letters,” he softly admitted, his gaze fixed on the fragile pages as if they contained his very soul. “That’s what I wanted to tell you for so long. Three hundred and sixty-five of them… one for every day.” His voice trembled with both pride and regret. “But you have to understand—the Air Force policy was tight as fuck. I couldn’t send them, and once I realized that, I… I knew you’d resent me for not keeping in touch.”

He paused, running a hand over the neatly stacked pages. “This whole thing took a toll on me—physically, mentally. I was drowning in obligations and fear, and eventually, I stopped writing because I thought maybe it was the only way to spare you from more pain.” His eyes darkened as he continued, voice barely a murmur now. “And as for the paparazzi… I thought that by not speaking, by keeping my distance, I’d protect you. If I wasn’t seen with you, they’d assume there was no connection—no real relationship worth prying into.”

A single tear glinted in the corner of your eye as you absorbed his words, each one a quiet confession, a secret revealed in the darkness. The letters lay between you like relics of a lost time—a testament to love, duty, and the unbearable cost of silence.

Your fingers trembled as they hovered above the fragile stack of letters, each page heavy with the weight of stolen years and unspoken regrets. The unsent words pressed against your chest as though they carried every moment lost between you, every silent apology and longing unfulfilled. You swallowed hard, the night air thick with an unspoken tremor that danced at the edge of every exhale.

“Tell me about them,” you professed, your voice scarcely more than a whisper carried on the breeze.

The pilot exhaled sharply, his thumb absently caressing the frayed edges of one of the letters as if it were a relic of his former self. “You really want to know?” he asked, his tone tentative, laced with both caution and the burden of truth.

You nodded, your silence affirming that, despite your uncertainty, you needed to hear every word.

For a long moment, Sam’s eyes remained fixed on the ink-smudged pages, the ghostly script of his past gazing back at him in silent testimony. “One of the first letters was angry,” he began, a wry, self-deprecating chuckle trembling at the edge of his words. “Not angry at you. Never at you. I was furious at the situation. I remember that first night in my bunk, where all I could think was how I’d have to let you down. I thought I should’ve fought harder, found a way to make it work. So I wrote it all down and thought that I would probably be out soon enough to give you them in person.”

His fingers tightened around the bundle, as if the letters themselves could anchor him to a past he both cherished and loathed. “I started writing about the small, absurd things—like how the coffee on base was godawful, the jibes from the guys when I apparently mumbled your name in my sleep—which I did not, to make things clear. I even wrote about an old couple I saw on television one day and how it reminded me of when you joked that we’d be arguing over directions even when we were eighty.” His tone faltered, growing quieter, more solemn. “And then there were the letters where I just… missed you. God, I missed you so much.”

Sam’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his grip on the letters slackened, as though holding them was too painful. “And it got harder. Days turned into months, and I convinced myself that you’d moved on—that I had no right to cling onto us. But even then, I never stopped wanting you.”

He turned his gaze to you then, the glow of unsent confessions and quiet grief shining in his eyes. “And it shouldn’t matter anymore because it’s over. Or at least, that’s what I should believe. But it does. It always has.”

The wind whispered softly around you, stirring the fragile pages in his hand and carrying away echoes of moments lost to time. Your heart clenched, caught between the relief of knowing and the heartbreak of what might have been.

In one sudden, desperate motion, he reached for you. His fingers brushed your jaw lightly at first, then cradled your face with a tenderness that belied the cool night air. His thumbs, warm and steady, traced gentle arcs over your cheekbones—anchoring you both to this moment, to the years lost and the yearning that had bridged every mile of distance between you.

His eyes, dark and unwavering, burned into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. “Hear me out, please,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, as though the very thought of you slipping away again was unbearable. “I was a coward. I should’ve done better than that but I let fear, and everything else, win. I told myself I was protecting you, that I was doing what was best. But all I did was make it worse. I made you think I didn’t care when the truth is... I never stopped.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp, but Sam did not wait for you to speak. His grip on your face tightened, firm enough to keep you tethered to him without causing pain.

“I love you.”

The words fell between you like fragile glass shards, the shatter of the barriers of years resonating with their fall. “Yeah, fuck this corny shit. I have loved you every single damn day since the moment I let you go. I know it’s selfish to say it now, after everything, but I just need you to know that I love you. And I’m so goddamn sorry that I ever made you doubt that.”

A shudder ran through you, and your hands clutched his wrists as if they were the only lifeline in your storm of emotions. Every syllable struck like a slow-burning flame, peeling back layers of anger, heartbreak, and longing until all that remained was the undeniable truth—him, you, and a love that refused to fade.

“Sam—” you began, but your voice cracked, the word lost to the tumult of your feelings.

It didn’t matter anyway, because before you could speak another word, he kissed you with the same fervor from earlier, as if he were a man finally allowed to feast upon the love that had sustained him in torturous silence. His lips met yours with a desperate ardour that sent shivers racing down your spine, his hands roaming to trace the soft curve of your neck and leading you to melt into the perfect fit of his embrace.

The world around you—the creaking dock, the ghostly remnants of past regrets—faded into insignificance. All that remained was the kiss, deepening with every heartbeat, as if he were trying to reclaim every lost day, every stolen hour of absence. And you, with equal fervor and need, returned his kiss. Your hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as if in that embrace you could mend the ruptures of time itself.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, your foreheads pressed together in the cool night air. “Please, tell me that wasn’t a mistake.”

Your fingers trailed slowly down his chest, grasping the fabric as if to hold onto the fragile promise of the moment. “No,” you whispered back, your voice tender and resolute. “This time it wasn’t.”

A slow grin spread across Sam’s face, and relief flooded his features like the first rays of the morning sun after a long, storm-ridden night. He swept you into his arms, lifting you clear off the ground to bring you closer, almost sitting on his lap. The world tilted delightfully as a rich, unburdened laughter bubbled from his chest in a way you hadn’t heard in a while, full of joy and the promise of new beginnings.

“You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind,” he crooned against your hair in a husky blend of disbelief and something infinitely tender, a softness that belied the wildness of the moment.

A breathy laugh escaped you as your hands instinctively clinging to his broad shoulders as if anchoring you both to the present. “You’re acting like I just solved every world crisis,” you teased, even as your heart pounded in its rhythmic cadence.

“Nah,” he replied, his thumb traced reverently along your jaw, as though memorizing every curve and line of your face. “Just mine.” 

A quiet ache formed in your chest at the way he looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real, as if he were etching every detail of you into memory in case the universe ever dared be cruel again.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and with a voice steadier than you felt, you whispered, “I love you too, Sam.”

For a heartbeat, his lips parted as if to utter more, but before the words could spill, a familiar voice shattered the reverie.

“Hey, lovebirds! Dinner’s ready!” Sarah called from the restaurant’s back porch, her tone playful as she leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and a knowing smirk that practically screamed, took you long enough.

Sam groaned, tipping his head back. “Jesus, can I have one moment—just one?” he protested.

Laughing, you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the warm glow of the restaurant. “Come on, loverboy, before she comes out here and drags us inside herself.”

The golden light of the restaurant melted away the coolness of the night, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. As you walked back to the shack, a spark of mischief danced at the edges of your lips. You shot Sam a sidelong glance, the playful glimmer in your eyes challenging him.

“Wait a second…” you drawled, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head. “Did you—did you quote The Notebook in your big, dramatic profession of love?”

For a moment, his grip on your hand tightened, and he faltered, pigment further coloring his cheeks. “What?” he managed, his tone caught between indignation and bashful amusement.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, pressing a hand to your mouth as barely contained laughter bubbled forth. “You did! That ‘it wasn’t over’ thing—straight out of The Notebook!”

His arm looped around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a quiet, playful threat. His large palm briefly covered the back of your head as he guided you forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Say one more word about that, and I swear I will stuff you so full of oysters you won’t be able to utter a single syllable for a week.”

You snorted. “Really? That’s your big intimidation tactic?”

“Ever tried eating twenty oysters in one sitting?” he shot back, arching a brow and letting his lips twitch in a smirk. “I don’t think so. Now, go sit down and eat before I make it happen.”

Grinning, you leaned into his side, feeling the easy warmth of his arm as it draped around you. After all the lost time and shattered dreams, everything felt achingly, irrevocably right. Perhaps the years apart had only deepened the truth: the time you thought was lost might, in fact, still be yours to reclaim, as you were fated to be stuck together no matter what.

⠀

⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @cafekitsune .

angelremnants ©️ 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

chapter two of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. shame that he was just so intriguing.

↬ sfw; wc: 5.8k; cw: mentions of blood; tags: enemies to lovers; gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader

( masterlist )

To your pleasant surprise, your detention, as you were informed the next day, would take place that evening with Hagrid. Years ago, you had befriended the gamekeeper through Harry. And though this meant that there was a good chance of going into the dark forest for the detention, you would much rather do that with Hagrid than clean some classroom under Filch’s scrutinizing stare. Only the prospect of spending the evening in the presence of Riddle and Malfoy sent your nerves ablaze as you walked out into the dark school grounds the following evening, your book bag over the shoulder and heading straight towards the little speck of light that was Hagrid’s cabin.

It was a cold November night, and even in your coat, you felt chilly. Your breathing was visible as a curling fog in the air, wandering up into a clear sky that displayed an incredible assortment of stars. As you made a point of following the rules to the tee, you were rarely outside at this our, and you didn't belong to the groups of people who headed up to the Astronomy tower for a fuck or a smoke. Laying somewhere in the Scottish countryside, the castle was far away from any city deserving of the name. The lack of artificial light made the stars shine impossibly bright. It was as if the skies opened their gates as you stilled to look up and admire, they seemed to take up even the corners of the vision as if you yourself hovered in their midst.

In a moment of silly delight at the beauty surrounding you, you blew out a long breath and it swirled above you before fading quickly. With half a mind, you realized how stupid you had to look right now, standing still and gazing upwards. The lack of movement made coldness creep up your body and you shivered, but you were still transfixed.

“Well, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a soggy old place like this?”

You shot around, startled. Riddle and Malfoy were approaching you. The former had spoken and now wore a smile of ridicule. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked like smiling was the last thing he would ever think about. His wary eyes flickered to the great black mass that was the dark forest, then to you with a glare.

Ignoring Riddle’s comment, you accelerated your steps and gripped the handle of your book bag tighter. But still, he was but a few steps behind you, evident by the sound of moist leaves ruffling under his feet. Draco, cursing under his breath, seemed to trail behind him at a short distance. Riddle caught up with you when Hagrid’s hut became clear against the blackness of the trees. You expected him to say something derogatory or mean, so his question surprised you. “Always carrying around a bag of books with ya, around ya, princess?” A teasing smile pulled at his lips, but he didn't seem outwardly aggressive.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself responding to him. “Maybe we need the school stuff for something. In detention I mean.”

“Need?” Riddle mocked your tone and chuckled. “You could always throw it at a werewolf when it jumps at you, I suppose.” Against your will, you found yourself throwing him quick glances. His hands were in his pockets, he'd ditched his cloak and his white shirt shone bright against the dark. With comical precision, you found the inevitable specks of blood at the collar. Riddle seemed fully relaxed at the idea of going into the forest, but that didn't surprise you. Slimy, dark, cold… It probably felt like home to him. You bit your lip at the thought, glad you hadn't said it out loud. Even for a guy like Riddle, it seemed harsh.

“If you want to undress me, no need to only use your eyes.” A lazy grin tugged at his lips as he blew you a kiss and reveled in your flustered reaction. Stupid fuck. Turning scarlet, you stuffed your hands in your pockets with the intent to ignore him for the rest of the night.

Hagrid awaited you in front of his cabin, a crossbow over his shoulder. When you arrived, he greeted you cheerfully but regarded Malfoy and Riddle with a resentful frown. Upon hearing your voice, Fang came running from behind the hut, wagging his tail and barking excitedly at the familiar face. You crouched down and ignored how wetness seeped through your clothes to scratch the dog behind his ear and let him lap at your face. The remaining dog slobber, you brushed away with your sleeve.

“You lot will be helping me out tonight,” Hagrid announced as you stood up, Fang still glued to your leg and wagging his tail. A soft thumping sounded through the cool night air when it hit the ground in rapid succession. “We are taking a look at the plant population of one grata insidia today, whether they've been affected by the cold weather, since this is the first season they're growing here. You should know how they look from your herbology class.” Right. You remembered the plant. A blue, phosphorescent flower with flowing leaves that could ensnare flies in an instance.

“When you found some,” Hagrid continued, “You sketch ‘em. Make sure you get the leaves in detail, they're the most important part. Don't make light with your wands, though, they might retract.” Clearing his throat, he looked around at the three of you. You noticed he looked away from Riddle quickly and were reminded of the fact that he had known his father before he had shed his mortal parts. Then, you, shaking like a leaf, and Malfoy. As you glanced at the latter, you noticed he was even paler than usual and looked a little green around the nose, as if he was about to throw up. Reminded of the last time he'd had detention in the dark forest, you hid your grin in your scarf.

Hagrid seemed to remember the encounter as well. “We're pairing up in two’s. Malfoy, you're with me,” he grumbled, “after last time. Except-” He glanced at you worriedly, as if he'd just concluded what that would entail for you. “I mean… if it's alright with you?” Smiling at the guilty look on his face, you nodded into your scarf. Though his large face was still etched with concern, Hagrid scowled as he looked at Riddle, and it seemed to cost him a lot of willpower. “Don't try anything funny, or you'll be in real trouble.” Riddle answered mit no more than a derogative glare, quite unlike the teasing grins he threw at you when Hagrid turned away.

You had noticed before how scowling, sinister Mattheo Riddle would be much more, for lack of a better term, cheerful around you. More at ease, maybe. He probably didn't even see you as a person and therefore felt relaxed enough to subject you to an endless stream of those mocking smiles that didn't deserve to be nearly as attractive as they were. Objectively, of course. Now, as you looked at him, he met your gaze and the scowl was exchanged for a smirk. “Looks like your bag'll come in handy, princess.”

“Told you,” you muttered as Hagrid told Fang to stay by his side, still throwing suspicious looks at Riddle. He announced what parts of the forest you would cover and when to return. Then, it was off into the dark.

The trees seemed to engulf you the moment you set foot in their midst, they swallowed all light, even shielded you from the stars. You couldn't even see your own hands as you carefully felt your surroundings. Behind you, Mattheo ignited his wand and you shot around. “We- we’re not supposed to do that!” you hissed at him but he only raised his brows at you. “The plant retracts when there's light,” you reminded him, knowing he was fully aware.

“If you want to stumble around the dark, be my guest,” he said dryly. “But you looked like an idiot there and also pretty tasty to all sorts of predators.” You didn't like his smile. But as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. If you trotted blindly into the most monster infested forest in Great Britain, you'd not come back in one piece. A problem such as that didn't occur to a half giant like Hagrid, of course, but you… An idea plopped into your head and you turned back to Mattheo, who seemed to have been watching your silent contemplation with mild interest.

“If it's so important to you,” you said, “cast a patronus. The light is dimmer and it can lead the way.” You thought it was a good idea that united both your interests, but Mattheo suddenly looked at you as he'd never looked before. A dark, dangerous look in his eyes that you'd only witnessed from afar. The cold glare was menacing and it had cold shivers run down your spine.

Mattheo looked into your widened eyes and enjoyed the fear on your face. Hopefully, you would be too scared to ask again. You didn't, but it was worse. Your eyes widened even further before you quickly averted them, shuffled away from him and cast your patronus yourself. A lean cat that glanced at him grumpily, then disappeared into the dark with you hot on its heels. You were just running into the dark, wand somewhere in your pocket. Did you not have a single survival instinct in your body? For a moment, he considered just letting you run off and having a laugh about iu. But alas, with a groan of annoyance, Mattheo followed suit.

Though your path was now illuminated by the soft blue light of your animagus, in your haste, you still tripped over roots and got scratches from thorny branches and bushes. You were somewhat relieved to hear footsteps behind you. Upon his arrival, your patronus slowed down a pace until Riddle had caught up with you. You walked in silence and you pulled your cloak tighter around yourself in a feeble attempt to banish the coldness that had seeped down into your bones. Next to you, Riddle sauntered on with an unreadable expression, wand lazily at his side. Other than you, who kept glancing behind bushes and into the undergrowth, he didn't seem remotely interested in finding the damn flower. Not that you felt any excitement to find some flower and sketch it, but perhaps you felt the need to show your moral superiority.

After a few awkward minutes of walking in silence, you finally spotted a faint glow against a tree. Without a word to your silent companion, you accelerated your steps and made a beeline towards the tree, your coat getting caught in a thorny bush and you ripped it away. It was the right one. You knew the second you rounded the tree. A blue hue painted its surroundings in a ghostly cold color. When Riddle joined you with an expression of all this being beneath him, you had already crouched down and pulled out parchment and pencil. Then, you hesitated and looked up at him. You were a lousy sketcher.

Riddle rolled his eyes and took the parchment from you, mumbling something under his breath. As he kneeled down onto the ground and started his sketch, he threw you a sharp look. “Since you can't even draw, would you kindly look out for giant spiders or something?” He was tense, but you weren't sure that was because you were in here or because of the patronus thing. By his aggressive reaction, you had a pretty clear suspicion that he couldn't conjure a patronus. Surely not for lack of trying, though. Before he could snap at you, you turned away and glanced into the dark, aided by your patronus, without really seeing anything.

After a few minutes of this, you noticed you'd started creeping closer to Riddle without even noticing. In the dim light of the flowers, you were able to glance over his shoulder at the parchment, and your jaw dropped. It was good. He'd managed to sketch a damn near perfect replica of the flower, including shades and careful weighting of pencil pressure. You watched his hands work as he frowned in concentration. Long, elegant strokes were interrupted by sharp, repeated patterns. Though you didn't know anything about sketching, you were pretty sure he was amazing.

A sound of surprise left your throat and Riddle’s hand you had been studying intently stilled its movement. He raised his brows at you and you bit down on your cheek. Stupid. “Uhm,” you said, suddenly nervous, but no longer afraid. Seeing him draw made him somewhat human. You'd never even considered Mattheo Riddle could have interests and skills beyond the dark arts. Like normal people. “That… looks good, I- I mean-” You felt thankful for the darkness, “it's really beautiful, I didn't know you were so good at this.” Of course you didn't. You were such an idiot.

Riddle looked somewhat taken aback, but quickly resumed his sketching. His lack of an answer made you step from one foot to the other and you fiddled at your wand. But you couldn't help yourself, you simply had to turn back around and watch his moving hands. It was a graceful motion, which was not an adjective you'd ever thought you'd apply to Mattheo Riddle.

“Thank you.”

You did a double take. Surely, you had to have misheard, or a trickster spirit had messed with your senses. Riddle gave no indication wether he'd actually thanked you, but got to his feet and threw the parchment at you. When you rolled it up and studied the drawing, you realized just how detailed it was. How he had somehow managed to translate its glow onto the parchment. With a clearing of your throat, you put it in your back and looked up at him. Riddle was already looking, studying you closely, as if he was trying to measure your reaction. Giving him an instinctive, nervous smile, you crooked your head towards the black wall of trees. “Should we…?”

With a nod, Riddle stepped into the undergrowth and you followed behind. Small animals crossed your path, and you were thankful they weren't bigger. Somehow, Riddle seemed to have much less trouble getting past bushes and overgrown trees than you, and you wondered wether he was using a spell on himself or on you. Just when you violently ripped at your sleeve, stuck in a thorn bush, he spoke up and you froze. His tone was conversational, but there was a teasing edge to it, like he wanted to test you. “So, what would your parents say when they found out you were alone in the dark forest with Mattheo Riddle?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn't see that. “Nothing, probably.” With a few long strides, you managed to catch up with him and now, the spell that he had cast around himself seemed to apply to you as well. At least you got through the undergrowth way more smoothly. Mattheo didn't know if you were joking, but when you cast him a side glance, he didn't need legilimancy to know you were telling the truth.

“Huh?” he said and you frowned, as if he was supposed to know. You didn't answer at first, taking the lead as if you wanted to escape his eyes. Curious that you chose to do that by turning your back on him. Then, you spoke into the impenetrable darkness before you. “They're muggles. If I told them I was going into a dark forest with a Mattheo Riddle, well…” you seemed to smile, he could hear it in your voice, “My mum would tell me to use protection and my dad would get his club.”

So you were a muggleborn. He didn't know why that surprised him so much. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure Draco had mentioned it once, but he hadn't cared enough to remember. When he didn't say anything, you seemed to feel obligated to break the silence. “Funny, huh? If I told them your name, it wouldn't mean anything to them.” That thought was funny. Mattheo was a little shocked at how much he liked it. It just now occurred to him that there was a giant mass of people that had no idea of his parentage, his legacy. That would just see him as a normal guy, nothing special there. If he'd known anyone who knew anything about muggles, he'd considered asking what kind of jobs they had available.

“Yeah,” he said after a short silence and you tried to grasp his reaction to the news. Though you'd never heard Riddle say something hateful at muggleborns since second grade, you gripped your wand a little tighter. You'd thought he knew, and that was why he loved to annoy you. Would the news change how he saw you? And, more importantly, why did you care? “Your friends weren't stoked though, were they?” he asked and pulled you out of your thoughts.

Biting down on your lip, the truth just sort of slipped past them. “I … didn't tell them.” In your peripheral vision, you caught him raise his head subtly but you stared straight ahead. “They're protective,” you explained, as if you had to justify yourself before him.

“Yeah, I saw that yesterday,” Riddle snorted and rummaged in his pockets for something. “Weasley went mental, just his bad luck that he doesn't have anything to back the attitude up."

“What?” Your head shot around so fast you thought you heard something crack in your neck. That was not in alignment with the story you'd heard. Then again, you didn't put it past your friends to lie to you to protect your feelings.

“They didn't tell you, did they?” asked Riddle mockingly and you could practically hear his smirk seeping through his poisonous tone.

“Tell me what?” you inquired, frowning at him. Riddle had found what he was looking for and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his robes. He took his time with the answer as he twirled it between his fingers and lighted it with a bit of wandless magic. After a long drag out of the cigarette, he blew out a cloud of smoke and looked back at you. “Potter and Weasley overheard Nott talking about you."

“Heavens, that whole brawl was my fault?” you entreated anxiously, fisting your robes in one hand as you remembered the bruises on Harry’s face and Ron’s broken bag that he spent the whole evening trying to repair. Guilt gnawed at you at the thought that they'd gotten hurt defending your honor. If you had just been there, you could have stopped them, told them that it was no big deal.

“Your fault?” echoed Riddle incredulously and you shrugged and avoided his gaze. "Well... I mean... I never meant for anyone to get hurt because of me."

“Apology accepted,” he grinned and the audacity made you splutter out an indecipherable response. Riddle chuckled, the cigarette dangling dangerously loosely out of his pink lips. To your surprise, his amusement did have something contagious, because you found yourself grinning against your will. You could only hope the light of your patronus would be dim enough to allow your smile to go unnoticed.

“So,” you asked as your eyes swept the area for other flowers. “What did Nott say to make Ron freak out?” It wasn't so much that you wanted to know, more so that you wanted to keep the conversation going. Riddle was less terrifying when he didn't just stare menacingly. He took his time to answer and twirled the cigarette through his fingers. Then, a teasing smile tugged at his lips, though his voice was free of malice. “Don't know if you can take it, princess.”

Defiance welled up in you and you shoved your hands into your pockets. “Believe me, I can. There is nothing you could say that I didn't already think of myself." It came out a little more bitter than you'd planned, so you concealed the hard undertone with a little laugh. Riddle didn't react, so you walked on in silence for a few minutes. When he hadn't said anything in a while, you considered changing the topic, but that was when he finally spoke up. “He called you a walking encyclopedia nobody asked for and, that you probably get up early to polish prefect patches."

You had expected way worse and chuckled to yourself. “That's pretty creative.”

“You don't seem offended,” Riddle said. It was not a question, it was a statement.

“I do polish my prefect patch sometimes,” you shrugged with an embarrassed grin. You were astounded how easy it was to talk to him all of the sudden. "I just don't get why Ron got so worked up on that."

Riddle’s lip curled slightly. “Nott may have said some other things, didn't really listen." After another few seconds of silence, he discarded his cigarette and changed the topic to light hearted teasing. “So, tell me, do Gryffindors practice being so annoyingly righteous, or is it just instinct?” If it hadn't been Riddle, you'd have almost mistaken his tone for a flirting one.

“Oh, we practice,” you replied. “Right after the lesson on how to tolerate Slytherins.” In the dark, you somehow felt more confident. Riddle seemed more human, more approachable, so far away from the castle, from your friends, from anyone. You realized you had been burning to finally engage with his little games instead of attempting to ignore them and letting him have all the fun. At the same time, his teasing seemed more conversational than mean tonight. “Why are you being so nice?” you asked into the silence without looking at him. “It's weird.”

“Would you rather I be mean?” asked Riddle. “Because I can go back to that if it makes you feel better.” Maybe it would. You felt almost guilty at the prospect of going back to Gryffindor tower and telling your friends, who probably had found out about the detention through Ginny by now, that it hadn't been that bad spending the evening with you-know-who’s son. But still, you answered: “No. it's okay.”

“Tell me something, will you?” He'd stopped walking and you hesitated, turning back around to face him. The dim light of your patronus left part of his face shrouded in darkness, but his eyes glinted and they were locked on you. His dark locks were moved in the wind like sea grass, but even still, the cold didn't seem to affect him one bit. His voice was soft, unnaturally smooth, perfectly balanced to slip past your walls and your lies. Not for the first time, you felt as if he could read your mind. Helplessly, you nodded, and a shiver ran through you when a gush of wind caused the dead leaves to dance around you.

“Are you scared of me?”

The question caught you off guard and you had to take your time to think about the answer. Up at the castle, you were scared of him, at least intimidated, and preferred to keep your distance. In here, alone with him, however, you felt no fear, only intrigue. To say you weren't afraid of him would be a lie, but its counterpart as well. Your eyes flickered down to his hands, his wand. No doubt he'd detected it, Riddle was awfully good at picking up on the slightest movements. As if he was trying to test your reaction, daring you to flinch back, he took a step closer to you.

“A bit,” you confessed truthfully, but you didn't step back. In fact, you dared to shuffle a bit towards him, so that only few inches separated the two of you. “You have to admit you're pretty intimidating, Riddle.”

“Am I?” A predatory grin adorned his face and he inched closer in an effort to find it. The barrier you wouldn't dare to cross. The point when you'd turn away or avert your eyes. Somehow, you managed to work up the courage to do neither. You lifted your chin and stared into his dark brown eyes defiantly. His grin widened and pleasant surprise and he hummed under his breath. “Are you intimidated right now, princess?” Somehow, you couldn't lie. Maybe because you guessed he would know, or could hear your thundering heartbeat.

“A little.”

When he’d first spotted you at the sorting ceremony, he'd thought you looked pathetic, trembling and glancing around nervously. When you had snapped at him in fourth grade, he'd noted you down as an annoying up-tight brat with more bark than bite. In fifth grade, he'd started to see you as a stupid little fangirl of Potter’s. Then, when you were sixteen, you were just some easy to rile up teacher's pet. Seventh grade had only worsened that condition. But Mattheo had never noticed that you looked… pretty. Too busy hating you, he'd never looked twice. But now, he found himself drinking you in.

Your patronus illuminated half of your face, slightly quivering lips, adorably furrowed brows. But your eyes were the most mesmerizing part, which was something he never expected to think about anyone. You looked him straight in the eye when admitting your weakness, as if it were a strength, as if your weaknesses and fears didn't need to be hidden. It was infuriating, he realized. Immediately, he regretted noticing these things about you. This had gone too far, and he'd been too intrigued by you to stop the situation from escalating.

Mattheo had meant for you to be his plaything for the evening. It was him who was supposed to be holding the cards and play you, but now, it felt like you were an active player yourself. For some reason, he even felt slightly disarmed, as if you'd gotten one over at him. But by doing what? Admitting defeat? Abruptly, he stepped back and turned away. “Let's find that stupid half-giant, I've got enough of walking around this fucking forest aimlessly.”

You were a little shocked by his sudden change of mood and didn't speak up again until you emerged from the trees and spotted Hagrid and Malfoy. Both looked disgruntled and the latter had leaves and twigs all over his robes and in his hair. You realized you probably didn't look any better. Riddle, on the other hand, was free of any forest remnants somehow. With a sinister glare, he stepped over to Hagrid with long strides, so you had to hurry after him.

“Oh, there she is!” greeted Ron’s voice when you slipped through the portrait hole twenty minutes later, exhausted and out of breath and not very excited at the prospect of finishing your homework for the day. Your friends were huddled around the fire, looking both worried, amused and angry. You had been right, they had been informed of your detention- and the nature of it. Without a reply, you plopped into the seat next to Hermoine’s with a groan and pulled your legs up to your chest to rest your chin upon your knees. Finally, you were warmed up by the common room fire and the chilling cold of the grounds seeped out of your bones.

“Didn't think we would get you back in one leave,” Harry muttered darkly and scanned you up and down. “You look like you were just chased by an acromantula straight through the forest.” Leaning over in his seat, he plucked a few twigs and leafs out of your hair to throw them into the fire. You let him and sighed. “Ginny told you, huh?”

“Neville did, actually,” Hermoine said, somewhat accusatory. “What were you thinking, attacking Malfoy in the hallway?” You looked at her. Neville seemed to have left out the part about her, and you weren't keen on telling her what Malfoy had said either, so you only shrugged.

“I think it's cool,” grinned Ron, who seemed the most relaxed out of all of them. “And look, she's back. Told you guys Hagrid wouldn't let her go off into the dark forest alone with Riddle.”

“Actually, I did,” you corrected him and immediately came to regret it. Hermoine's eyes widened, Harry asked “what?” sharply and Ron shot up from his seat. “Blimey, is he mental? Imagine what he could have done to you in there. Honestly, I figure you're lucky you made it out of there.” Their concern was touching, and it was so genuine you felt the need to reassure them. “It wasn't all that bad,” you attempted to calm Ron who was running his hands through his ginger hair in silent outrage. “He didn't do anything, didn't even know I was a muggleborn apparently.”

“You told him you were a muggleborn when you were alone in the dark forest with him?” Hermoine asked incredulously and you shrugged. For some reason, you were staring to feel bad, as if you'd wronged them somehow. Their reaction was sweet, but also overbearing. Harry fist-fought Riddle every other week, why couldn't you have a talk with him in the dark forest?

Hermoine soon announced she was going to bed and the two boys soon followed, bidding you goodnight. When they'd gone, you threw another piece of wood into the fire place to illuminate the room some more and got out your transfiguration books. After yesterday's disgraceful fiasco with McGonnagall, you were determined to get back in her good grades. The thought of stepping into her classroom tomorrow with nothing but her disappointment looming over you was awful, so you decided to work on some extra class work to submit and hopefully appease her. But you just could not concentrate.

No matter how hard you tried, your head was filled to the brim with memories of the hours in the forest. Riddle's voice echoed through your tired mind, his strange mood shift. The way he'd sketched that flower and worked with such concentration, but also the way he'd closed off when you mention patroni. When you started writing about flowers instead of rabbits in your essay, you finally gave up. But you knew you weren't about to get any sleep this way. Your thoughts were too loud for your brain, so you needed to drown them out.

A good ten minutes later, you hurried along a corridor and down the stairs to the dungeons. Your footsteps echoed louder the deeper you got, and the walls you sought out for balance became moister and colder. Only the faint glow of the lamps on the walls provided you with enough illumination to avoid tripping and breaking your neck. At the same time, you were glancing around in a constant anxiety that Filch or Mrs Norris would turn up at the next level. You had sneaked down to the kitchens before to bake something and relieve some stress, especially when exams rolled around, but you'd never done it after curfew. It seemed like today was a day for first times.

You tried to make as little noise as possible and not let yourself be scared off by the ghostly shadows on the walls, flickering like the flames that cast them. Finally, you had reached the second lowest level and scurried up another corridor. Being this far under the earth was never a pleasant experience, you shivered at the thought that the Slytherins had to sleep down here. Finally, you reached the painting of the laughing pineapple, your heart racing in your chest. Expertly, you tickled the fruit and it giggled and opened to reveal the kitchens.

It was strange to be here at night, but the quiet was welcome. You found some candles in a cupboard, ignited them and cast a spell on them to make them float above you as you got out all the necessary ingredients and equipment to make chocolate chip muffins. As you mixed the flour and sugar in a bowl, you finally felt some of the tension leave your body. The quiet, the working with your own hands and the solitude managed to do what homework hadn't: finally draw your thoughts away from Mattheo Riddle. Humming to yourself, you kneaded the batter and filled muffin cups with it. When you'd finished with the last touches, you put them in the oven, cleaned your working area and sat down on one of the desks.

Now that your head was pleasantly silent, you felt tired. It had been a nerve-wracking day. You watched the candles float, glanced at the oven from time to time and waited, occupied with nothing. Your fingers drew small circles on the desk as your eyelids started to drop. But you shot up at once when there was a loud bang and the entrance sprung open with such force the painting’s handles creaked dangerously- and there he stood.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, knuckles still stained with the dark red of drying blood. His brown hair was a chaotic mess, wild curls fell into his stormy eyes, which burned with some unspoken rage- or perhaps mere adrenaline. The candlelight of the room flickered across him, illuminating the sharp contrast of the crimson streaks marring his jawline and collar. His shirt was rumpled and torn at the hem, blood smudged along the fabric as though he'd wiped his hands there in a haste. He looked slightly feral, yet oddly composed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips when his eyes landed on you.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice low and edged with amusement as he stepped into the room, boots heavy on the flagstone floor. His gaze roamed over your sitting figure, taking in your startled expression, the nightdress you'd thrown on prematurely and now regretted even owning as it made you feel utterly exposed and vulnerable under his heated stare.

“Didn't think I'd have company tonight.” He swiped a hand through his hair, smearing the blood further, the act almost calculated in its casualness. His lips quirked into a crooked grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, princess? Can't deal with a little blood?” There was a teasing lilt to his words, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long, as though he were trying to decide what to make of you- or what you might make of him. Your alarm rang, but neither of you averted your eyes from one another. Finally, you raised your voice, but it was but a timid mumbling. The strange sense of security of the forest had left you.

“Would you like a muffin?”

taglist: @aespaslut @kricketwritesstories @catching-fire-in-the-wind @a-little-funny @thejediprincess56 @polireader @voidangxls @artsyle @nkvgt @ashrocker123

[the-trailblaze]

The beginning of our Era Nova

Mydei x fem reader

Synopsis: Your parents sent you off to marry the King of Castrum Kremnos. They sent you to hope the rumors of the ruthless king be true so he could kill you. Yet Mydei proves the rumors wrong

Warnings: violence, blood, injuries, fluff, angst, comfort, threats, mentions of assassination

Author notes: ITS FINALLY HERE!! this took so long and is sooo long. but I am so happy it's done. so I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! BUT MYDEI COME BACK, I MISS YOU SO MUCH

You stare out of your bedroom window for the last time before your life is about to change forever. Dramatic? Maybe, but not with what your parents are saying about your husband-to-be. 

Mydeimos, the Son of Gorgo. The new and appointed king of Castrum Kremnos. Who was crowned in blood. The ruthless soldier that has fought everything, even death. Who is known not to hesitate when killing someone. He and his people slaughter without mercy. A warrior mindset and all. 

That is who you are marrying. Why?  Just because your parents want you dead. They see you as a failure compared to your siblings. Not as pretty and not a proper lady like your elder sister. Then also not as smart and useful as your elder brother. You’re the last child that apparently has nothing riding for yourself and will be nothing but a useless burden. 

With the rumors so effortlessly passed around, your parents thought that marrying you off to an executioner would solve all their problems. You’re not shocked your parents made this decision, but you are shocked the king easily accepted. He has never accepted anyone, no matter how many proposals he has gotten. So why did he accept?

You sigh and run your hand against your windowsill. You feel the dust coat your fingertips the further down you go. You reach the end and face your palm towards you, staring intently at the dust. You rub your fingers together and watch the dust along with all the hope you’ve ever had crumble to the ground. 

You hear a hard knock come to your door and a muffled deep voice, “Time for you to get out of here, you waste of space.” 

Your father is as pleasant as ever. You don’t even think he’s ever called you by your name or ever a nice nickname. You look back out your window taking in the beauty of the gardens and forest you’ve grown to love and know like the back of your hand. The beautiful willow trees you’d sit under and read. The little open area in the gardens where you would make flower crowns. The thought of this being all taken away from you breaks your heart.

You raise your hand and rest it gently against the window and murmur a soft goodbye. Turning quickly on your feet you start the lonely and scary walk life has planned out for you. 

                                     •

Dirt, rough and gray lands is all your hit with when getting closer to Castrum Kremnos. They barely have any wildlife walking around either. It’s truly upsetting to see. You were hoping the view would at least be decent but you should probably stop your wishful thinking. 

“Stop looking like an upset child.” A stern voice cuts you out of your thoughts. 

You turn and look at your mother and father who are glaring at you. “I’m not upset-“ 

“Do not talk back to us. Better you learn that now because your husband will not accept it either. You talk back once he will not hesitate to hit you. If you keeping annoying him he won’t think twice about killing you.” Your father scolds you. 

“He is not going to be gentle and soft with you. He will take you when he wants and you’ll let him. Don’t cry and beg him to stop because it’s not going to help anyone.” Your mother adds on.

You swallow the bile rising quickly in your throat. You can’t even manage to answer them. Giving a simple nod and turning your gaze back to the “scenery”. 

You already hate this arrangement and knew the meaning behind it but your parents really don’t care? They don’t care if you get abused and even assaulted? You don’t understand how you manage to anger them this much to earn this type of punishment. 

You feel the tears trying to break free but you bite your lip and blink frantically trying to have them go away. You don’t want to accept this fate but there’s nothing you can do now. Maybe you should have ran away to the forest last night and never looked back. Why couldn’t you have thought about that last night. 

The carriage is abruptly stopped and you hold your seat to prevent you from flying forward. So lost in your own mind and thoughts, you didn’t even realize you were in the city now. Well now you’re in front of the castle. 

Your parents get out first and you follow behind them. Neither one of them helps you down so you try your hardest to not stumble so you don’t look clumsy. You flatten your dress once your feet hit the solid ground. After you make sure you’re presentable you look up and see the king standing only a couple feet from you. 

“It’s nice to see you all got here safe and sound.” The king calmly says. 

You make eye contact with him, that’s when you realize he’s already looking at you. His golden eyes are beautiful. The refraction of the light makes his eyes even rival the brightness of the sun. What catches your attention next is the big braid on the right side of his hair. His hair is a beautiful blonde with red tips. It’s so pretty and unique. 

You take in the rest of him and you can’t be helped by the interesting choices of clothes he has on. His top half is mostly bare with massive golden gauntlets on both arms. He has red marking running all around his body. The suit him well you think. He is also wearing black pants with even more golden armor on his legs. It’s like he could march off for war right now and be completely fine. 

But this is the ruthless king? He doesn’t look as bad as everyone makes him out to be.

A sharp elbow almost knocks you off balance. Looking in the direction it came, you see your father bowing but sending you a glare. Right you have to bow before him so you don’t look disrespectful. You face the king again and curtsy. 

“Thank you for your kind words Your Highness.” Your father states with practiced ease. 

Picking your head up you see the knight with white hair smirking at you. Oh no, did he catch you staring at the king? The knight whispers something in the kings ear and gets a sharp elbow to the gut as well. The knight coughs and bends over a bit. 

“Know your place knight.” The king comments. For his serious demeanor and sharp words, you think you see a light blush appear on his face. Maybe you’re just seeing things or it’s due to the heat. It is a lot warmer here compared to your little territory. 

The king calls your name, “Did I pronounce that right?” 

“Oh uh- yes! Yes you did Your Highness.” You quickly stutter out. You can already feel the death glares you’re getting from your parents. 

“Good, I’m glad. Let me escort you to the room you’ll be using to get ready.” 

He holds out his hand to you and you take a couple step forwards to hesitantly connect yours together. He then leads you up the stairs accompanied by his knight. The king also never looks back to your parents. You hear servants collecting your things but also hear your parents getting back in the carriage. 

The knight pushes open the massive doors and the king leads you into his castle. 

“You didn’t want to say goodbye?” 

You look to the knight you casually asked you that question. You pause not sure how to respond. You can always feel yourself shaking at all the nerves and fears running through your body. If the king realizes, you’re glad he hasn’t said anything or hit you.

“Why would you ask her that?” The king demands.

“Ugh Mydei it’s just a question. It’s not like I asked her to have a kid with me.” 

You blush madly and look away not being able to handle what the knight just said. You feel the king tighten his grip on your hand and start to drag you away. 

“We will talk about this later Phainon. Prepare for a month of picking up the horses waste.” 

You hear a whine in the distance, you turn to look back but the king speaks up again. “Don’t give him attention. He loves it when all eyes are on him.” He clears his throat, “I am sorry for his rude comment.” 

“It’s fine Your Highness.” 

“No it’s not. It was uncalled for and unnecessary.” He quickly refutes. You can feel the anger radiating off of him. His gaze is also sharp enough it could cut glass. Maybe the rumors were right. 

That thought sends your stomach into painful knots. You shrink up on yourself trying to not be a nuisance or bothersome to him. 

Mydei takes a deep breath and returns to a cool headed mind. Phainon has really been on his nerves today. Been following him around like a lost puppy begging to see you before the wedding would take place. Then making the comment about you admiring him deeply outside. Now that absurd comment. He’s lucky he isn’t face down in the ground right now. 

Mydei then feels you shaking again. He didn’t bring it up earlier because you’re probably just nervous from the whole situation going on right now. But now you’re shaking even more. He looks down towards you and sees you shrinking in on yourself. Your gaze never leaving the floor and you swallowing deeply. Are you okay? Is something wrong? Did he scare you? 

Oh Aeon’s above please say he didn’t scare you. His mother taught him how to be a man and respect every woman he crossed paths with. She also taught him how to protect the future woman he would grow to love and be with as he got older. He promised his mother back then he would always protect, respect, and love his future wife. But now you two are starting off on the wrong foot. 

“Lord Mydei.” 

He tears his gaze from you at the call of his name and sees Castorice standing outside the room you’re suppose to get ready in. Mydei walks you two to her and stops before her. 

He calls your name again, “This is Castorice. She’ll be helping you get ready for the wedding tonight but also be your personal handmaiden.” 

You finally look up from the ground but avoid his gaze. He furrows his brows and doesn’t know how to go about this. 

“Nice to meet you Castorice. Thank you in advance for all the help.” You smiley lightly at her. 

Castorice can tell you’re scared but also don’t fully mean that smile. She looks at Mydei out of the corner of her eye and sees him confused. 

She smiles back at you, “No need to thank me My Lady. Why don’t you go in and sit in front of the vanity? I’ll be inside in a second. I need to confirm the schedule with him.” You nod quickly releasing your hand from Mydei’s and walking into the room.

Castorice turns to Mydei, “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” he groans. “She’s just been super shaky and hesitant since we started holding hands.” 

“Did you do anything before that?” 

“I mean Phainon was being his normal annoying self and I may have elbowed him and assigned him to clean the horse waste.” 

“Did you yell at all?” 

“No but I kinda did snap at her… wait-“ 

“That’s why she’s probably scared.” 

“But I didn’t even say anything rude or threatening.” 

“Lord Mydei think about it this way. You go from a tiny land being the youngest child that got no attention to the woman who is marrying the king of a big kingdom. Then hearing all of the nasty rumors about how ruthless and aggressive you are. Now she saw a little glimpse of it and it couldn’t scare her more. You have no idea what her parent’s goal was offering her up so easily and even what they said to her. There’s obviously a bigger problem but she’s terrified of you right now.” 

Mydei drags his hand down his face and curses underneath his breath, “Then how do I go about fixing this?” 

“Teach her that you are not the man the rumors depict you to be. Show her you are a caring and loving man, but also one that protects the people and things he loves. Be the real you in front of her.” 

Mydei nods and thanks Castorice. He goes to ask if what he has in mind is good but you peak your head out of the room. He then turns all his attention to you. 

“Sorry for the intrusion. I just have one question.” 

“You didn’t intrude on anything. What is the matter?” 

“Since my father isn’t coming to the wedding… um- is there someone who could…” you feel the words get lost on your tongue. “Never mind just ignore what I was saying.” 

You turn to walk back into the room, “You want someone to walk you down the aisle?” Mydei asks

You turn back and slowly meet his gaze and nod. “But if it’s too much trouble, don’t worry about it.” 

“Well I have two men that can do it. One is the knight you met earlier or the highest ranking scholar in the kingdom, who was my professor growing up.” 

“I think Professor Anaxa is busy helping Tribbie with the venue.” Castorice cuts in.

“Of course.” Mydei sighs, “Are you okay with the knight earlier? If you’re not I’ll find someone else.” 

You can see this stressing out the king and it makes you feel bad, “He’ll be perfect. Thank you for accepting my request.” 

“Just ask and I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that! I wouldn’t want to get in your way-“ 

“You’re not getting in my way. Today we are going to be husband and wife. It is my duty as a husband to make sure my wife’s needs are taken care of.” Mydei says confidently with  a determined look. 

“Thank you Your Highness. That’s very kind of you.” 

Mydei goes to respond but his name is being called again. 

“Your Highness it’s time for you to get ready.” Claims the older man. The man looks you up and down. An immediate frown etched itself onto his face. You have a feeling this guy already does not like you that much. 

Mydei steps in front of you, his back facing you. “Understood.” He looks back at you, “See you later.” He walks off with the man but makes sure the man’s gaze is on him and not you. 

You watch them leave and Castorice taps you on your shoulder, “Ready My Lady?” 

“Oh yes. I’m sorry for the delay.”

“You haven’t delayed anything.” She gives you a smile and walks into the room. Castorice sits you down on a chair by the vanity. She pulls out a massive bag of makeup. She grabs the things she needs and starts getting you ready. 

Her touches are soft and gentle. Never pressing too hard or moving your face aggressively. You’re not use to a handmaiden being this nice to you. 

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” 

Your eyes snap open and you stutter out an answer, “What!? Of course not… why would I be?” 

“Don’t worry I won’t say anything. I just want you to feel comfortable. It’s very easy to tell that you’re uncomfortable and scared.” 

You deflate at her answer and hang your head. Great you blew it already and you haven’t even been here for an hour and the wedding is going to happen in a couple of hours. You didn’t care that you were getting married the same day you got here but you do care that you’re already wearing your emotions on your sleeve.

“My parents sent me here so I could die…” 

Now Castorice’s eyes go wide. You don’t even need to look at her to know that. You see her feet leave your field of vision and hear her put the brushed down. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I bet you’re no stranger to the rumors about the king. His strength, ruthlessness, and his temper. My parents heard about it first at a ball he attended. The whispers followed them all night and they thought it’d be perfect for me. I’ve always been a useless failure that never compared to my elder siblings in their eyes. So they want me dead. I don’t know why or what I did but it’s what they want.” 

You look up at her and see her covering her mouth with her hand and the other one holding tightly to the vanity. 

“In their eyes the king will kill me soon. They told me if I ever stepped out of line I would be hit or killed.” You bite your lip before continuing. You can see that this is already affecting her and don’t wish to ruin the mood more than you already have. But you know she knows that you still have more to say. 

“They also said whenever he would want me, I would have to give in. No crying or fighting back. That I’m just someone he can use…” you quietly whisper. 

Castorice immediately grabs your hands when you finish. You stare at her tear filled eyes and you panic. You didn’t mean for this to happen. You should have kept your mouth shut. 

“My Lady, I’m so sorry that happened to you. You are an incredibly kind person and shouldn’t have to have gone through that. But I can assure you our king is nothing like the rumors. Sure he is the strongest warrior but that’s how he was raised. But he also has a heart made of pure gold. He cares about and loves everything important to him. He’d do anything for the people around him. You’re going to be no exception, please remember that.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind Castorice. Thank you.” 

She wipes a couple tears that fell from her eyes then goes back to finishing your makeup. It’s nothing too crazy, but something simple and neat. You really love the look. 

“Castorice, you should be a makeup artist,” you giggle.

“Ah I’m not that good.” She blushes heavily. “It’s just something I like doing for fun.” 

There’s a knock at the door and then four women enter. A tall blonde woman and three smaller women with red hair. 

“Lady Aglaea, Lady Tribbie, Lady Trinnon, and Lady Trianne this is the future queen,” Castorice finishes off by saying your name.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” Aglaea says while placing a big dress bag on the bed. 

“De really got lucky with getting such a pretty wife!” One of the red head women say. The others quickly agree and jump around. 

“Thank you but I’m the lucky one. The king is very handsome and I’m lucky he’d even look my way.” 

Aglaea scoffs, “That boy wouldn’t know someone thought he was attractive even if they straight up told him. His mother was worried he’d end up alone because of how oblivious he is to this kind of thing.” 

Not expecting Aglaea to say that, you burst into laughter. The serious and strong king is so emotionally stunted that he can’t figure out people find him attractive? Yeah that’s too good. You laugh bounces off the walls and makes tears come to your eyes. 

Your laugh quiets down and you look at the women who are all looking at you. Oh no. You messed up again. “I am so sorry I didn’t mean to make fun of him or-“ 

Aglaea waves you off, “No laugh all you’d like my dear. It’s only the truth, even though I know he would hate to find out what I said. So keep it between us girls,” she ends with a wink. 

“Agy as much as we would love for you to keep telling embarrassing stories of De, we have to get her in the dress.” 

“You’re right Tribbie.” She calls your name, “I am the seamstress for the kings inner circle, which includes these women. Mydei tasked me with making your dress. He studied your lands culture so I could make a dress that’d make you comfortable.” She unzips the big bag and starts to pull it out. 

It’s a beautiful white gown that isn’t too big and puffy. There are white laced sleeves that don’t fully go to the shoulder of the dress. Throughout the dress there is a flowered pattern. It’s on the bottom of the dress going up towards your bodice and lace sleeves are flowers. 

You stand up and walk over to the dress and lightly touch it, “He had you do this so I’d feel more comfortable?” Aglaea just nods and you turn to face Castorice who is already smiling at you. She gives you a light nod and you turn back to the dress. 

The more you see and think about the kings actions, the more it makes your heart race. In a good way. Castorice’s words bleed true just from this action alone. He’s trying everything to make you comfortable before he even knew you. Maybe you really did have the wrong impression about him. 

The ladies help you into the dress and make sure everything looks good. Once they are done they direct you to the mirror. 

You look at yourself in the mirror and you can hardly recognize yourself. You look so beautiful. You can’t help but have the biggest smile plastered on your face. 

“Thank you all so much. I feel so beautiful.” 

“Well you are beautiful!” Trinnon says. The other women agree and smile along with her. 

“Well the five of us have to get ready but he should be here now…” Castorice comments.

Right on cue this a knock on the door. Aglaea opens the door, “You’re late Phainon.” 

“I know, I know! I’m sorry. Mydei would not stop yelling at me and making me practice my apology.” 

“Apology for what?” 

Phainon freezes, “Uh nothing!” 

“He made a comment about having a baby with her.” Castorice answers truthfully. 

Aglaea looks at you to confirm and you simply nod and look away. 

“Phainon! I did not raise you that way. Apologize.” 

“You sound exactly like Mydei.” Phainon turns to you, “I’m sorry My Lady, I didn’t mean to make a brash comment. I’m terribly sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” 

“You’re okay Sir Phainon.” 

“Ah don’t call me sir. Just call me Phainon.” 

“Now that you two are situated we will get ready and see you two after the ceremony.” Aglaea pushes all of the women out of the room. 

“Ugh thank god. Her and Mydei lecturing me gets annoying.” 

You giggle, “Well it seems like you are a bit of a troublemaker Phainon.” 

He lets out a gasp and holds a hand over his heart, “You wound me My Lady! You’re just as cold as your future husband!” 

You shake your head and walk over to the door. “The king was right, you do like attention.” You say with a smirk and you watch his jaw drop. “Anyways shouldn’t we get down to the venue?” 

“No way he said that about me! We are not just skipping over that part!” He walks over and holds out his elbow, “But yeah we should go before I get in even more trouble,” he grumbles.

                                   •

You’re now walking down the aisle alongside Phainon towards Mydei. He’s in his normal outfit just with the crown on his head this time. He then he still looks so handsome. 

You try your best to focus on him because all the looks you’re getting from the Kremnoans is anything but nice. They are giving you the dirtiest and most judgmental looks you’ve ever gotten in your life. That’s also saying a lot because that’s how your family has always looked at you. 

You get to the steps close to Mydei and he walks down them to help you up. Phainon lets go and goes to stand behind Mydei. This gives him an easier time to help you up. Once you’re by the priest the ceremony begins. 

It is quick until the priest asks if anyone objects. It’s like a nightmare come true when most Kremnoans stand up and say they object. 

She’s not even one of us! 

She looks very weak! How can she ever replace Queen Gorgo?

King Mydeimos have you lost your mind!? 

This is an embarrassment to our kingdom! 

Each phrase feels like you’re getting stabbed over and over again in the back. Why is it such a problem that you’re not from here? Isn’t it good to branch out and expand? You hang your head so no one can see your tears. 

“Silence.” The words as sharp as a night cuts through the venue shutting up everyone quickly. 

“Do not insult my future wife and your future queen. This decision is mine and mine alone. If you disagree after this come and fight me and I’ll put you all in your place without any mercy.” 

The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. The Kremnoans that were standing now quietly sit down and don’t dare to mutter another word. 

Mydei looks down at you and sees you shaking. His eyes widen and his words get caught in his throat. Are you scared of him again? How come every damn time he threatens someone or needs to be extra serious, you’re always right there? 

The priest carries on with the ceremony after Mydei gives him the okay. You’re silent and basically keep your gaze down the entire time besides when he had to put the crown on your head and when you two kissed. 

The kiss was soft but he could still sense how hesitant and nervous you were. It angers him so much. He hates this feeling. He wants to be close. He doesn’t care if you two don’t ever fall in love but he cares that you are comfortable. 

He’s sitting in the reception after the ceremony right by you and you have barely picked your head up. You’ve barely touched your food and when he thinks you’re about to eat he just watches you push your food around. He can tell tears have sat in your eyes all night. He wants them to go away but doesn’t know how to make them. He wants to fix all of this. Why did he have to threaten them? 

He feels a tap on his shoulder and sees Castorice standing beside him, “Can I talk to you for a moment Lord Mydei?” 

Mydei looks around and sees Phainon talking to a couple other soldiers, “Phainon.” 

Phainon turns his head and walks over to Mydei, “Yes?” 

“Stay here and make sure no one comes up and bugs her. I need to speak with Castorice real quick.” 

“You can count on me.” 

Castorice leads Mydei out of the room and pushes him into another room and locks the door. 

“We have a problem.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Mydei sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She thinks you’re going to kill her.” 

“What?” Mydei’s eyes widen. 

Castorice explains what you told her earlier to him. Through the explanation she sees Mydei clench his jaw and fists. 

“They are so lucky they are not in my kingdom anymore. If they were I’d rip their hearts out with my bare hands.” 

“Lord Mydei, I think saying stuff like that isn’t helping anything…” 

He reflects on what he just said and hangs his head. He really needs to work on that now. 

“I told her that you have a heart of gold and to give you a chance. I believe she’s going to but you’re going to have to work hard at this. She doesn’t feel welcome and feels like everyone is against her. I know you can’t change this overnight but you have to start now.” 

“Then let’s head back.”

Mydei makes his way right towards you and sees you eating. Phainon got you to eat. As much as he hates it, he’ll have to thank him later. Mydei sits back down and you turn your attention to him. 

“My King, Phainon said you’re a baker?” 

“I wouldn’t call myself one per se but I do like baking some treats. It’s really only the treats my mother taught me how to make.” 

“What’s your favorite thing to bake?” 

Mydei is shocked by your sudden mood change. It makes him happy to see you talking and not hiding but he can’t help but be curious in what that white haired idiot said. 

“Honey cakes.” 

“Um- could you maybe…” you look away, “make them for me sometime?” 

Mydei’s eyes glance at you and to Phainon who has a devious smirk on his face. Oh so that’s what he’s did. He made you think of something to start a conversation and see a different side of him. Phainon then walks off and goes to talk to Anaxa. 

Mydei decides to make a bold move and place his hand on your cheek to turn you to face him. “I’ll make them for you.” Mydei watches you burn bright red but instantly smile. 

“I can’t wait!” 

The rest of the night passes by quickly and before you know it Mydei is leading you to his room. He tightly holds onto your hand the entire walk. The closer you get to the bedroom you get nervous because of what wedding nights mean. 

Mydei pushes open his door and you see the room set up with candles and flowers. Mydei drags you into the room and slams the door. He drops your hands and blocks you from the view. 

“I do not expect anything from you tonight. We are not doing anything you’re uncomfortable with.” 

“But wouldn’t your people be mad-“

“I don’t care about what they think,” Mydei quickly cuts you off. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I had some servants bring your luggage up here, so why don’t you get ready for bed while I’ll clean this up. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You walk over to wear your luggage is and pull out a nightgown and your toiletries. You then slide into the bathroom to get unready. You firstly take off your crown and place it gently onto the counter. You then take off your makeup, wash your face and then brush your teeth. 

You were thankful you saved your dress for last because you knew it was going to be trouble. You try your hardest to get the zipper but fail miserably. No wonder why the girls had to help you so much with getting this on. The only person you can ask for help is Mydei… he won’t think it’s weird or inappropriate right?

You take a deep breath and walk out of the bathroom, “My King?” 

Mydei finished cleaning everything and blowing out the candles quickly. He’s sitting in a pajama set at the end of the bed clearly he was waiting for you. He snaps his head instantly towards you and sees you standing sheepishly in your dress. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I can’t unzip my dress, could you help me?” You’re very proud of yourself for getting that out clearly and not stuttering one bit!

“Of course.” 

You spin around and move your hair out of the way. You hear him slowly make his way to you then feel an instant warmth at your back. He is like a portable heater. How much heat he radiates is insane. 

You feel his hand on your upper back where the zipper is, it’s a soft touch. He touches you as if you are made of glass and will break if he uses his strength. You feel the zipper lower and you use your free arm and hand to hold the top part of your dress up so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. 

The zipper stops at your lower back and you feel Mydei’s warm hand bringing warmth to your exposed skin. Much to your disappointment he removes his hand but before you can get too upset you feel his lips kiss between your shoulder blades. 

“I know I didn’t say it earlier tonight, but you looked beautiful.” 

You turn your head back to look at him and he’s looking away but you can see the blush rising to his cheeks. His actions and reaction makes you mirror his blush. 

“Thank you, you also looked very handsome.” 

You see him blush even more but clears his throat. “Uh thank you.” 

“Of course.” You step away from him and walk back into the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Take your time. Aglaea dropped off the dress bag earlier so once you’re done we can try and figure out how to get it in the bag together.” 

“Sounds like a plan My King.” You laugh and shut the bathroom door. 

Mydei stares at the bathroom door with his heart racing. Your laugh is everything to him. It’s so cute and contagious. He knows your laugh could make everyone in the room add on to yours. But yours still would stick out to him. 

You come out of the bathroom a couple minutes later with the dress in hand. You two spent about a good fifteen minutes getting the dress perfectly back into the bag. You both roll your eyes and comment how Aglaea makes this look easy. 

You two then get into his bed. You two don’t move close to each other though. You’re nervous and don’t want to upset him at all and take more of his personal space. He is nervous and doesn’t want to push you or make you feel uncomfortable at all. So you too lay on your backs still as stone and unmoving.

“Good night, My King,” you decide to break the silence. 

“Good night, My Queen.” 

You then close your eyes and ponder what your new life is going to be like. You’ve been through an emotional rollercoaster today. You’ve gone through thinking the man you’re sharing a bed with was going to kill you, then not, but then got scared after he got mad at Phainon, Castorice was able to calm you down and make you rethink it, then the crazy wedding ceremony happened, then the awkward reception, but your conversation with Phainon really made you keep an open mind. 

“You’re scared.” Phainon states matter of factly. 

You stop pushing around your food and stare blankly at him, “Why does everyone say that?” 

“You’re easy to read.” 

“That’s what Castorice said too…”

“You know he has to wear many faces.” 

You look at Phainon confused but he continues once he knows he has your full attention. 

“Mydei is probably the kindest man you’ll ever meet. He is always putting others first no matter what, even if he’s in harms way or the situation is inconvenient for him. As long as he’s helping someone he cares about he doesn’t care what he has to do. That being said, he also has to do that as king.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Mydei hates how his father ran Castrum Kremnos. He always preferred the way his mother was trying to have the kingdom be ruled. Since they both died when he was young, he’s had to take on many responsibilities. He’s had to lead men twice his age to war even after barely being allowed back into the kingdom after his failed assassination by his father. He’s had to make difficult decisions that would make many people hate him but would end up benefiting the kingdom in the long run.” 

Phainon grabs a berry from Mydei’s plate then places a finger over his lips and gives you a wink. After he’s done chewing the berry he carries on.

“He’s made many difficult decisions these past few years as a new king and has had to gone through things someone his age never should have to. I know you’ve heard the rumors that follow him like a shadow so I’m not going to sugar coat it. There is sometimes Mydei has to be ruthless but that’s only when there is no option left. He will go through every option there is before having to become a monster in the peoples eyes. He hates bringing unnecessary harm to others and carrying on the dumb legacy his father nurtured so much.” 

“This guy only wants to fight to protect. He wants to protect the innocent, the people he loves, the land he grew to love and the legacy his mother was creating. He’s a man that wears many faces. But they’re all only one side of him.” Phainon laughs, “Did you know that giant man loves to bake sweet treats? They are so good.” 

“He bakes?” 

“Yes, My Queen, he loves to do it. In his free time when he isn’t training or stuck with kingly duties, he’s baking. You should ask him about it. But also get to know his other faces. Ironically enough the king one is the one he wears the least. But that’s the one that holds the most power.” 

He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “Just know when he has to become serious, that’s the face he’ll take on. That’s the one that will make people stop and actually listen. I know that side is more aggressive and fits the rumors but he’ll never use that against you. He’ll use it to protect you like he did during the ceremony but it’ll never be directed at you.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know and I didn’t want to come off as rude. I just don’t know what to believe in all honesty. This is all so new and unexpected. I’ll apologized when he comes back.” 

“There’s no need to apologize. Just talk to him like he’s a simple guy you met on the street. He much rather have that than you holding him up on some podium.” 

“Okay I’ll ask him to bake something so I can try it.” 

“There you go!” He looks towards the door and seems Mydei walking back, “Speak of the devil!” He looks back down at you, “It’s time to put your training to the test!” 

Learning about his other faces might be hard and learning to get use to his king face is definitely going to take time. But you’re willing to do this. You’re willing to get to learn about him. Even if he never falls in love with you, maybe just maybe you two can become close. 

                                     •

Your new routine you fell into was pretty simple. You’d wake up and eat breakfast with the ladies, then be taught about Castrum Kremnos by Anaxa, have lunch, then have the afternoon to do as you please. Normally you would just walk around the massive castle with Castorice learning where things are but it quickly got overwhelming due to its massive size. So you two would just end up sitting outside talking. 

But dinner was always your favorite. That is when Mydei always makes time in his day for you. He would love to make more time for you but he’s been very busy with reshaping the kingdom and changing the people in his council. At the dinners it’s not just you and him but all of his close friends too. Having have met most of them already, the two new ones you met were Hyacine, who was a healer and Cipher, who was a spy. 

Seeing the group joke, tease, and laugh with one another is wholesome. But instead of watching most of his friends your eyes are always on Mydei. You see him visibly relax and with a care free light smile. This obviously isn’t his king face but the one he normally wears. This is Mydei as Mydei. 

Sadly during dinner tonight he was taken away by his right hand council member, Krateros you’ve come to learn his name. Even though most of the time Mydei is cursing the name when he speaks it to you. Apparently there was something urgent he had to attend to. It sucks because tonight he had free time before dinner so he made everyone honey cakes to have as dessert. 

Yes you got to try them and they were absolutely heavenly but he wasn’t here for you to excitedly talk to him about it. You ate in complete silence and that doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends. They try and bring you into the conversation but it doesn’t work out too much. You respond but not with much to add on. Once you’re done eating you excuse yourself to your shared bedroom. 

You walk back dejected because you wanted to see this face of Mydei. The soft one that loves to bake treats. The one where a little boy would be hip and hip with his mother making treats together with smiles and laughter. But fate had to take it from you. You’re starting to believe Phainon’s words of “He rarely wears the kings face,” is absolutely wrong. It seems like that is what he mostly wears and you’re barely seeing the other faces. 

Little did you know Mydei was feeling the same way. He has been annoyed that his duties as king has been increased since you two have gotten married. He’s barely been able to see you which means his plan of trying to make you comfortable and getting to know you has been basically thrown out the window. He was trying to make an effort tonight by making the honey cakes, but of course Krateros had to ruin the moment like he always does. 

Mydei clenches his fist thinking about how he didn’t get to see your first ever reaction to his baking. He wanted to see your eyes light up and the sweet smile that adorned your face when you were happy. He wanted to hear all the words you had to say about it. Good or bad he didn’t care. He just wanted to hear you. But no, here he is dealing with ramblings of Krateros. 

“Mydei we are getting more and more proposals from stronger lands since they’ve heard you taken a wife! We should capitalize, this will make us even stronger. It’s still early and we cut off this marriage you have now and fix this mess!” Krateros states with great enjoyment. 

This makes him clench his fist even tighter. This isn’t a mess and this marriage isn’t going to be severed. Mydei knows it’s selfish but he wants you close. He feels unusually warm and happy when he’s around you. He doesn’t want that feeling to go away. He’s happy with how this marriage has turned out even though you two have barely gotten to see each other. That thought makes him even angrier. Right here, right now he makes a vow to change that. 

Mydei is thinking of a response that doesn’t have him saying he is going to throw this man out of the window but is cut out of his thoughts when he hears the door opening. Anaxa, Aglaea and Tribbie all walk into the room. 

“What are you three doing here? You weren’t given permission to be in here.” Krateros roars. 

Anaxa rolls his eyes, “Don’t you remember that the three of us have permission from Mydei himself to join in on any meetings?” 

“Yes but-“ 

“Then we all are in agreement then. Aglaea and I will take his place for this meeting so he can go spend time with his wife.” 

“That’s not how this works!” 

“Is someone dying, threatening us, or has accident occurred?” Aglaea questions. 

“Well no- it’s just we got more proposals and I was telling Mydei to look into them-“ 

“I told you no.” Mydei finally speaks after his friends have arrived. 

“Mydei I helped raised you-“ 

“Be quiet. You were no different from my father and I hated how you tried to raise me. My mother, the people here, Trinnon and Trianne raised me. Do not make that mistake again.” Mydei’s anger pours off of him. Which makes Tribbie grab his hand and walks him out of the room. 

“Tribbie, what are you doing?” 

“I’m taking you to your wife! She was upset after you left today and quickly left dinner.” 

“Wait, what happened? Is she okay?” Mydei frantically questions.

“I believe she’s just upset she didn’t get to enjoy your treat with you there. De, I know it’s not in your control but you haven’t been present. That is the only time you are there, so getting that taken away must hurt.” 

Mydei drops Tribbie’s hand and runs both hands through his hair. “You’re right. It’s just- I’m trying but it’s obviously not good enough.” 

“De you’ve actually haven’t tried much.” 

“Ugh- don’t… don’t remind me.” 

“Well this is your time to make it up. Take the night off and spend it with her. Then find more time you can spend with her.” 

They arrive in front of your shared bedroom and stop just in front of it. “Okay. I vow to change everything starting now.” Tribbie gives him a thumbs up then skips down the hall. 

Mydei lets out a deep breath then pushes open the bedroom door. He sees you at the window reading the same book you’re always reading. It’s one that he had on his nightstand that he let you read. It was just about the Kremnoan dynasty. Nothing too interesting in his opinion. He knows you finished it the third day you were here so why keep rereading it? 

“I see you’re still reading that.” 

You sit up straighter at the sound of his voice and turn to him. You shut the book and clear your throat, “Well it’s the only book you have in here so…” 

“Yes but I also have a massive library that is opened to you at any time.” 

You blink quickly at his, “Really!?”

“Yes… did no one show you?” He asked confused. 

“No… I mean Castorice and I walked around the castle some days when I got here but it’s a lot to take in so I haven’t gotten to see the full castle.” 

“Well would you like to go and see my library?” 

You shoot out of the chair and rush over to him. You stand just before him and excitedly jump up and down, “Yes!” 

“Okay then let’s go.” He opens the bedroom door expecting you to have followed him but you’re frozen in your spot. “What’s wrong?” He questions. 

“Aren’t you busy right now… I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” You answer honestly. 

“No. I’m off the rest of night and wanted to spend time with you.” 

Your eyes shine brighter than he’s ever seen and he wished he could have taken a picture to always remember that look. “Really!?” 

Mydei just laughs, “Yes really. Now let’s go.” 

You instantly join him and walk to the library. Halfway through the walk Mydei reaches for your hand and threads them together. Your heart races at the action so you look over to him. You then see his trademark little blush coming to his cheeks. That only makes you smile more. It seems like you aren’t the only one affected by this action. 

When you get in front of the library doors when he stops. “Did you have a library back home?” 

“Yes but it was very small. It was basically a little room with one bookcase. It was nothing to brag about.”

“But you love reading and barely had any books?” 

“Yes so I reread all of those books. The reason why I read yours so fast was because it was the first book in years I got to read for the first time.” 

“Well in here I think it’ll take you a long time to read all of these…” Mydei then pushes open the doors and guides you inside. 

You walk in and Mydei drops your hand so you can look around. You’re walk like you’re in a trance. You look around and see bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling wrapped around the massive room. There’s multiple latters to help you reach the higher bookshelf’s. There’s tables and different sitting areas so you can read or even study. There is also two big windows bringing in the beauty of the sunset in here. They light up the entire room. 

“My King this is absolutely breathtaking.” You say while spinning around. 

“Not as breathtaking as you.” 

You stop spinning and face him. Your face flushed and you stare at him shocked. Your jaw drops but you quickly close it and smile, “Thank you My King.” 

“Mydei. Please call me Mydei.” 

“Okay… Mydei, where do we start?” 

“Well what kind of books do you like?” 

“I mean I really like anything… maybe you could show me your favorites?” You nervously asked. 

“I don’t mean to disappoint but I mainly read about history.” 

“I don’t mind!” 

“Okay then let me find a book my mother always read to me.” 

He walks to a shelf in the back right corner and scans it. He runs his hand through one row then pulls a book out that is close to the end. He walks back over to you and nods his head off to the direction of a couch. 

You follow him and sit right by him on the couch. 

“It’s a book about random mythology in Castrum Kremnos. Most of these are fake but it was something you believed in as a child.” He opens up the book and begins to read to you. His deep voice is so soothing and calming. He tells the story with such passion and emotion. It makes it feel like you are actually in the story and experienced these first hand.  

The book is filled with many stories and as the night carries on you grow sleepy while listening to him. As he gets to the fifth story your head falls on his arm indicting you fell asleep. 

Mydei stiffens then looks over at you. He finds you in a deep sleep. It reminds him of when he use to do this when his mother would read to him. He can’t help his heart from racing. Is this how his mother felt when he was younger? The feeling of someone trusting you so much and feeling so much comfort being in your presence that they fall asleep? He can’t help but feel protective over you in this state. He wants no harm to come to you. 

He gently pushes your head back onto the couch and stands up. He sets the book where he was sitting then picks you up easily. He then grabs the book again and places it on you. 

He walks out of the library and heads to your bedroom. He then gets stopped by Hyacine. “Oh my gosh Mydei, is the Queen okay!?!” 

Mydei shushes her, “She’s okay. She just fell asleep when we were in the library. So don’t talk too loud or we will wake her.” 

“Ah my apologies. Have a good night.” 

“Thank you, you too.” 

You stir a bit after that. You feel yourself pressed against something firm and warm. You blink your eyes a bit and see Mydei. You then realize the warmth at your back and knees. Oh he’s carrying you. Oh shoot you fell asleep!

“Mydei?” 

“Shhh go back to sleep. We are almost back to our room.” 

“I’m sorry for falling asleep-“

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” It must be the sleepiness but you just silently obey. You close your eyes and fall back asleep. 

In your dreams you dream of a loving future with Mydei. It’s filled with laughter, flirting, and constant touches. It seems like you two are connected at the hip. You can’t help but wonder, will that ever be true? 

                                   •

You’re sitting in what they call the “gardens” with a sketchbook and pencil. The gardens here are just two small gardens that hold vegetables and fruits that the kitchens end up using. 

You hear a grunt which causes you to look up and see an older lady that was picking fruit, having a hard time carrying the baskets she has. You place your sketchbook down and walk over to her. “Excuse me but do you need help?” 

The lady looks up and pure fear is written all over her face, “No way My Queen! I can’t ask for your help.” 

“I don’t mind helping.” 

“I’ll get in trouble…” 

“I’ll make sure you won’t. Now hand the baskets over.” You softly demand. 

The lady relents and hands you the baskets. You two walk into the back door that leads to the kitchen. She points to a prep table and tells you to place the baskets over there. You did as your told and wish her a good afternoon. 

You walk back outside to your spot but see only your pencil. Where did your sketchbook go? You look around to see if it blew away but see no signs of it. 

“Hehe lookie what I found!” 

You hear a voice but no matter where you look you don’t see the person. 

“Up here My Queennnnnn.” 

You look up and see Cipher sitting in a tree looking down on you. She has your sketchbook in hand. 

“Cipherrrrr, give it back.” 

“You’re quite the artist ya know! Does the king know you draw him a lot?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you. 

You freeze and start frantically asking for the sketchbook back. She declines while hopping down from the tree. She gives you a smirk and you know that does not mean anything good. You try and step forward to grab it but she quickly runs past you. 

“I’m sorry but I have to show the king!” She yells while darting off.

You quickly chase after her while calling out to her. She is much quicker than you and you can barely keep up. No wonder why Mydei has her as a spy. 

She leads you on a wild chase which ends at the training grounds. It is so busy right now because all the soldiers even including Mydei has training right now. You don’t even bother looking to see if you can see him because you’re determined to get your sketchbook back and not letting him see your drawings. 

You look around for Cipher but can’t find her at all. You groan while you walk around the training grounds trying to see if you can find her hiding spot. You make sure to look up this time but due to you not paying attention to what’s right in front of you, you accidentally get in the way of a sparring match. 

You run into on of the soldiers and they were not expecting someone to be behind him. He quickly pulls out a dagger and whips around a cuts your upper arm with the dagger. You automatically wince and cover your now bleeding arm. 

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” you repeat while kneeling down to the ground. You take your hand off your arm to see blood rushing out of your wound. It’s pretty deep and painful. You can’t stop the tears from falling down your face. 

“My Queen!” 

Mydei is instantly alert after hearing someone call out to you. He looks around but can’t see you. He does see a group of soldiers grouping by one another towards the perimeter of the grounds. 

“Mydei!” 

He barely looks at Phainon, when he blocks his sword. He easily pushes his attack off but goes back to trying to find you. 

“What are you doing?” Phainon heavily breaths, “You’re never not focused.” 

“Did you not hear someone say, ‘My Queen’?” 

“Uh no because I was focused on sparring.” 

“Yeah the one time you are,” Mydei murmurs. 

Phainon comes to stand next to Mydei while look at the group of soldiers. Mydei is about to yell at them to have them start fighting again but someone says, “Quickly someone get Lady Hyacine! The queen has been injured.” Phainon looks to his side expecting to see Mydei, but he already sees him dashing towards the crowd.

Mydei pushes through everyone to get to the front of the group. When he breaks through everyone he sees a soldier with a bloody dagger and you on the ground crying. He scans your body and sees your bloody arm and hand. He swears he feels his heart stop. 

“What happened?” He sternly asks the soldier. 

The soldiers turns pale white and slowly turns to Mydei. He goes to wave his hands around when explaining what happened but realizes he’s still holding the bloody dagger. He quickly hides it behind his back to try and save whatever punishment he’s going to get. 

“Phainon, take him away. I’ll deal with him later.” Out of thin air Phainon appears and takes the soldier away. 

Mydei is quick to kneel down in front of you and tilt your head up. 

“Mydei it hurts.” 

“I know.” He wipes some tears with his gauntlet covered hand. He’s being super cautious to make sure he doesn’t cut you again with his armor. “But I need you to move your hand so I can see the cut.” 

“It’s bleeding so much… I- I don’t want to.” 

“Sweetheart, I need you to move your hand for me. I promise to help, but I need to see the cut first.” 

You don’t even register the pet name due to the amount of pain you’re in. You hesitantly pull your hand away and close your eyes. When moving your hand it shows off a cut that is a couple inches long and a couple inches deep. Mydei’s eye widen but he quickly puts on a poker face so he doesn’t scare you. 

You open your eyes again when you hear a tearing sound. You see Mydei ripped a part of his robe off and starts wrapping it around your arm. 

“Mydei, your robe-“ 

“That is the last thing I care about at this moment. All I care about is making sure you’re comfortable and we get this fixed.” He sighs while tightening off the make shift bandage, “You’re always my first thought,” he softly admits. 

That only makes you cry even harder. Once again Mydei picks you up and carries you quickly towards the infirmary. He makes sure to hide your face into his neck so you don’t have to worry about anyone saying anything about you. 

Mydei kicks open the door to the infirmary which has Hyacine jump up from her seat, “Mydei, how can I help-“ she then takes a good look at the situation and points to the bed. 

She quickly grabs some bandages and wound cleaner. She makes her way back to you and Mydei but sees you holding tightly onto him. He’s carrying you bridal style and you’re refusing to let go. 

Mydei lightly calls your name, “Please you have to let go so Hyacine can help you.” 

“I don’t want to let you go.” 

Mydei’s words catches in his throat and he looks over at Hyacine to see if she has an answer. 

“Mydei sit down on the bed and sit with her on your lap. I’ll be able to do it as long as you hold her still.” He sits down on the bed and adjusts your position so you’re sitting on his lap and facing him. While you still have your face buried in his neck. 

Hyacine quickly unwraps Mydei’s make shift bandage and looks at the damage. She quickly goes and grabs a couple towels then comes back and wipes the area. She then takes the wound cleaner and pours it onto another towel.

“This is going to hurt…” she then presses it against your wound and you cry out and bury yourself more into Mydei. He can feel your tears falling down into his shoulder and back and it makes his heart break. 

He tightens his grip on you and whispers, “I’m right here. Cry on my shoulder, squeeze my body, just- do whatever you need to ease the pain.” 

When Hyacine is done cleaning the wound, she sets the towel aside and grabs the materials to stitch your cut. “Okay this is going to hurt even more now, but when I’m done with this all I have to do is wrap it.” 

Once she starts Mydei feels you flinch. You pull him closer to you with your non injured arm and dig your nails into is arm. He has been stabbed, pierced with arrows, smacked, punched, kicked, you name it- it’s happened to him. But that never hurt him. Him and his immortal body after all but this, this hurts. Maybe because he knows he didn’t protect you and now you’re in pain. That thought makes him disappointed in himself, he can’t help but blame himself for this.

He raises his hand to the back of your head and holds you close and whispers once again, “She’s almost done I promise. After this I’ll make you all the desserts you want.” 

“Honey cakes.” 

“Hm?” 

“I-“ you wince at the needle stabbing into you over and over again, “I want to have- have your honey cakes with you.” 

“Then I’ll make them for you.” 

Hyacine finishes and wraps up your arm. After she has you do a couple arm movement to make sure the wrap isn’t to tight you fall asleep in Mydei’s hold. He looks at you fondly and runs his hand through your hair. 

“How did this even happen?” 

“I don’t know. One second I’m sparring against Phainon in our daily training matches then all of sudden everyone saying she was hurt.” 

“Did she want to watch training today?” 

“She didn’t say anything about it to me.” 

“Hmm I wonder why she was there then.” 

“I think I can answer that.” Trianne says while walking into the room with a notebook in hand.

“Cipher was messing with her and was trying to show this to you De. Apparently she didn’t want you to see it so she chased Cipher around and accidentally got in the way of training.” 

Mydei looked down at you, what did you not want him to see? He looks at the notebook placed by him and he realizes it’s a sketchbook. What could be so bad you didn’t want him to see? 

“Thank you Trianne, I’ll have to talk with her later-“ 

“Trust me, Agy is already doing that…” 

“Then there will be no need for me to seek her out later. A scolding from Aglaea is even worse than mine.” 

Mydei adjusts his grip on you again so he’s carrying you bridal style again. “I must take my leave now. I’m going to put her in our room then go speak with that solider.” 

“Mydei.” 

“Hm?” 

“You have to make her honey cakes and you’re going to want to be with her when she wakes up. So don’t go too crazy.” 

Mydei sharply nods and walks back to your shared bedroom. He places you on the bed and gets you under the blankets. He walks over to the windows and closes the drapes so you don’t have to worry about the sun waking you up early. He makes his way back over to you and watches you for a moment. 

He sees you breathing peacefully but the tear stains on your face makes him not too happy with this peaceful sleep. He knows it was because you’re exhausted and needed sleep after what happened but he’s glad you can find some peace. He brushes some hair out of your face the leans down and gently kisses your forehead. He leans back up and watches you stir a little in your sleep but ultimately stay asleep. “I promise I’ll protect you from now on.” 

He walked out of your shared room with two tasks in mind. Punish the soldiers and make you honey cakes. 

                                  •

You wake up a couple hours later to the smell of something sweet. You blink the blurriness out of your eyes and see Mydei sitting on the bed against the headboard looking through something. You squint to see what it is and you realize it’s your sketchbook. 

You pop up and try to grab it out of his hand but he is quicker and holds it out of reach. You quickly realize you’re not going to win this battle so you relent and watch him. 

“So this is what you didn’t want me to see.” 

You wince at his words, “Well uh- I mean…” you don’t even know what to say so you admit defeat again. “…yes…”

“Why? You’re very talented.” 

“I didn’t want you to think I was weird for drawing you so much…” 

“I don’t think it’s weird. I think it’s really impressive. There’s no way I could do this. By the way in this last drawing…” he flips to the one you were drawing this morning, “What kind of tree is that?” 

You don’t even have to look at it to answer, “It is a willow tree. Behind my land was a massive forest and those were all around. I would sit under them almost everyday, all day.” 

“Would you read there?” 

“All the time.” 

“Do you- do you miss the plants and forest?” 

“Yes I do. Castrum Kremnos is completely different terrain wise compared to my home but I still love it here. It’s something different.” 

Mydei is silent for a second. You see the gears turning in his head. He faces you again, “There is a mini forest and plains outside the kingdom. Would you like to go?” 

“I would love to but again I don’t want to-“

“You’re not intruding. I want to go there too so I’ll take time off. Especially after today we should take a relaxing break.” 

“Let’s go then!” You excitedly cheer. “When will we go?” 

“In a couple of days. I do have some important meetings these next two days but after that we will go.” 

“Yay!” 

Mydei then turns to his nightstand and grabs something. He then places a plate full of honey cakes on your lap. “As promised.” 

You eagerly dig in and groan, “Mydei these are so good! You’re very talented.” 

“It’s nothing special,” he tries and wave you off. 

“Not true!” 

You keep eating but see he doesn’t have a plate. Did he not make some for himself too? You know you won’t be able to finish this whole stack by yourself so you cut a piece and offer it to Mydei.

He shakes his head, “No, it’s yours. I’m okay.”

“I won’t be able to finish this all by myself so you’re going to have to help me.” 

Mydei relents and tries to grab your fork. You pull it back and glare at him. He gets the message and blushes even more than he normally does. He gives into your wish and lets you feed him. 

“You know, you’re cute when you blush.” 

He looks away, “I am not ‘cute’.” 

“You’re the cutest!” 

“Stop it.” 

You two end up spending the rest of the night eating the honey cakes and talking to one another. You two end up getting closer than you two ever were before. Tonight was also the first night you ever slept cuddling. While you drift to sleep once more, you think that Mydei isn’t this beast people make him out to be. You can’t help but start to fall in love with him. 

                                      •

A couple days go by and here you two are walking in the forest Mydei was telling you about. It was about a thirty minute horseback ride. It was your first time on horseback so Mydei had you sit in front of him so he’d make sure you’d stay safe. You’ve realized since your injury Mydei has been very protective over you. You get it but it also makes your stomach fill with butterflies. 

“Hey,” 

You look up at Mydei who is pointing to a bunch of flowers, “You said you liked flowers. Are any of those the ones you like?”

“Yes, all of them. I love all flowers. Especially the ones I can turn into a flower crown.” You look at the flowers and an idea pops in your head. You have to make him a flower crown! 

Silently you two walk towards the flowers but another idea comes into your head. You should race him. 

You look up at him again and smirk. He looks at you and raises an eyebrow. “Race you!” You then dart off to the flowers without looking behind you. 

You know you can’t outrun the strongest warrior in all of the kingdom but it’s at least fun to mess around with him. You hear him catching up to you but you’re so close to the flowers! Just as you’re about to get to them you feel two hands around your waist that turn you around. You then are lifted into the air and spun around quickly. 

You can’t hold back your laughter and paint the biggest smile upon your face. Mydei swears that this is his favorite view in the whole world. You are just so enchanting to him. He places you down so his back is to the flowers then smirks, “Beat you.” 

You realize that he is closer to the flowers and your jaw drops, “No way that’s not fair! You cheated!” 

“How? It was a race and I got here before you did.” 

“Only because your insane strength helped!” 

“It’s called a resource.” 

You roll your eyes and get closer to the flowers. You sit on the ground and start plucking some flowers. Mydei sits right next to you and watches you intently but doesn’t say a word. 

You grab an array of flowers. Some small, some big, ones with long stems and ones with short stems. Once you have enough you start weaving them into a crown. You feel Mydei’s golden gaze on your hands. It makes you a little nervous but you’re determined to make it look perfect. 

You want it to be a surprise so you really just have to guess on how big to make it. You used the longer stemmed flowers to make the outline then went back and filled it in with the short stems. Once the shape of it is done you take the stem off of some of the flowers you pick then you put them into open spots of the crown. 

When you finished you turn to Mydei and locked gazes. You swallow thickly then sit up on your knees and gently place the crown on top of his head. You lean back to see him already look at you. Like the day you met the light is shining off his eyes perfectly making them look like little suns. His hair falls perfectly in his face no matter how the wind is blowing. His light smile sends your heart racing. Then there’s his blush. Oh you can die happy with seeing it again. He’s so handsome up close you can’t take it. 

You fall back onto the grass and he is quick to hover over you. “Are you okay?”

“You’re too handsome sometimes.” You mumble out. 

“I didn’t hear you.” 

“You’re too handsome sometimes.” You say louder but shift your gaze to look at the grass beside you instead of at him.

“You say that while you look absolutely beautiful right now.” 

You shift your head to lock gazes again. He looks at you determined as if he’s trying to mind trick you into believing what he said. 

“It’s not nice to lie Mydei.” 

“I’m not, I’ve thought you were beautiful since the first day I saw you.” 

“You mean when I was afraid of you?” 

“No not then. When I went to the ball one of your neighboring lands held.” 

Your eyes widen, “You were there?” 

“Yes. I stayed hidden basically the entire night but I went out to the balcony and saw you in the gardens. You were sitting a bench playing with your blue dress. It looked incredible on you but I could tell it made you uncomfortable. To be honest it’d be perfect if the dress was red but that’s beside the point. That night when you watched the stars all I could do was watch you. You were like something out of the fairytales my mother would tell me. That is why when I saw your request for marriage I didn’t hesitate to accept.” 

Your eyes widen at his confession. “So you’ve known me for a while now?” 

“Yes.”

“I- I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s just I want you to know I think you’re breathtaking.” 

“Thank you.” You say sincerely and Mydei simply smiles down at you. 

You see his flower crown starting to fall off so you reach your hands up to fix it. When it’s securely back on his head you rest your hands on his shoulders. 

“Mydei did you get to play out here when you were younger?” 

“No. I didn’t find out about this until I got back to Castrum Kremnos after my failed assassination. But when I lived outside the kingdom and was traveling around I’d play with some village kids in their grasslands but it wasn’t too often. We’d just play with sticks and act like they were swords.” 

“So what I’m hearing is, you’ve never rolled around in grass before?” 

“Yes, but why-“ 

You then sit up and push him down so he starts the momentum for rolling down the mini hill next to you guys. He is quick to wraps his one arm around your waist then placing his hand on the back of your head so you couldn’t get hurt by something in the grass or him. 

Once you reach the end of the hill and stop rolling you’re under him again laughing. You laugh so hard that it is echoing off the trees and making your eyes fill with tears. It even is starting to get harder to breath with how deep you laughter is. 

You only stop once you hear another source of laughter. You see Mydei with his eyes closed laughing. It’s a boyish laugh that is screaming happiness. You’ve never seen or heard him laugh before. You’re captivated by the sound and the look of him laughing that you can’t turn away at all. 

He stops laughing and gives you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen, “That was fun. Unexpected but fun.” 

You smile brightly up at him, “I’m glad.” 

You two stare at each other and you watch his gaze flick from your eyes to your lips then back to your eyes again. He reads your expression and doesn’t see any unease or a sign of no. So he leans down and connects your lips. 

The kiss is soft and slow but you feel your body instantly heat up. It’s like this kiss has connected everything. It’s like being handed a gift with a pretty bow on top. It feels perfect. 

His lips are a little chapped but you don’t care. They are so soft and gentle. You can feel the tenderness, kindness, and love he’s putting behind the kiss. This kiss felt like it lasted minutes but it actually only lasted a few seconds. 

Mydei pulls himself back and smiles down at you again. No words need to be exchanged between the two of you because you both know how each other feels. 

You two continue to stare at each other until Mydei makes a weird face then looks around. You scrunch your brow trying to figure out what he’s looking for. 

“What are you looking for?”

“We got to go.”

“Why?” 

“Because-“ 

All of sudden you hear and feel it. An instant down pour. You knew it was partly cloud on your way here but you did not think it would have rained. You laugh at the timing. 

“Yeah we should leave or Aglaea is going to be mad my new summer dress got ruined.”

Mydei shakes his head and stands up. He helps you up and leads you to his horse. He picks you up and makes you’re on comfortably before hoping on behind you and having his horse take off. 

Mydei tries to get you back as quick as he can so you don’t possibly get sick. By the time you get to castle you two are soaked to the bone. Castorice and Agalea pull you guys inside and start to lecture you to both on your negligence but neither of you care. When you get to your shared bedroom and sit in front of the fire with warm clothes on you two can’t help but laugh all over again. 

Mydei sips on his pomegranate juice and you can’t help but stare at him for the thousandth time. He’s just perfect. After today you don’t believe in any of the rumors. All you believe in is him. The man you love. 

                                   •

You’re sitting in the study room with Anaxa going over some history from one of the first dynasties in Castrum Kremnos. He’s pointing out every tiny detail and you try to hold onto them all. After all this is Mydei’s favorite subject and one of his favorite things to talk about. You want to be able to converse with him about it and what him get excited over talking about it. 

A timid knock comes at the door which makes you and Anaxa stop talking and look towards the door. You see three little kids nervously walk in. You recognize the three kid, they are kids Mydei saved in a siege and let them live in the castle. The gray haired boy is named Caelus, the black haired boy is named Dan Heng, and the pink haired girl is named March. 

“Professor Anaxa, do… do- do you mind if we play with the queen now?” Dan Heng asked. 

Anaxa looks at the clock and see it’s the early afternoon on a Friday. He smiles at the kids, “Yes on one condition.” 

“What is it Professor Anaxa!?” Caelus questioned while jumping up and down. 

“The three of you need to be prepared for your lessons starting on Monday.”

“We already have all our notes Professor Anaxa don’t worry!” March promised.

“Then you may play with the queen, but only if she wants too.” 

You feel six wide eyes on you and you laugh, “Yes, I’ll play with you three.”

“Yay!” They all cheer in unison. 

March quickly grabs your hand and rushes you out to the little play area Mydei made for the kids once they got old enough to play outside. You found this area on accident when you were trying to find where Mydei said a fountain was. You watched the kids excitedly play with sticks and jumping off a little brick wall. It reminds you of what Mydei told you when you two were in the mini forest.

Once they saw you they excitedly dragged you over and played many games with you. Some games you’re familiar with like catch, don’t drop the ball, tag, but their favorite game was to play was knights. They loved to save you from whoever was playing as the “villain” that day.  

So here you are begging for Caelus and March to save you from the evil dragon warrior, Dan Heng. The boys fight each other with sticks while March will throw little dirt clusters at Dan Heng.   

“What’s this?” 

You recognize that voice, you see Mydei with his arms crossed looking amused at the scene in front of him. But one thing instantly catches your eyes, he’s not wearing his armor today. That is a rare occurrence. He normally only does that when he needs to get it touched up. 

You see the kids light up when seeing Mydei. Mydei apparently use to play with them a lot when they were a bit younger but with the increasing work of his kingly duties he only gets to play with them every so often. But the kids begged you not to tell him you played with them so he wouldn’t stop playing with them when he has the chance. 

“We took your queen, king! What are you going to do about it?” Caelus says while the three of them pose in their fighting stances. 

You cover your mouth and giggle a little bit. Mydei looks at you and winks. He picks up a stick by him and gets into his own fighting stance, “Well you leave me no choice but to fight for what is mine.” 

The comments blows over the kids’ head but it makes your heart flutter. He said it so casually and confidently. He truly meant it. You’re his. You don’t mind being his, not at all. But hearing him say it for the first time and with much confidence makes you so happy.

The boys fight Mydei while March comes running up behind you and holds your hands behind your back. “Look king! She’s under our control!” 

“I’ll just have to beat you three and she’ll be back in my arms again.” 

“You speak confidently king, but we are no easy opponents!” Dan Heng states. 

“You are right, I will not take my opponents lightly.” 

The boys go back to fighting but Mydei is quickly to knock the stick out of their hands. Then picks up both boys and comes over to pick up March too. All the kids are laughing and squealing based on his actions. He then kneels to the ground then lays down on top of them. You can tell he’s not putting all his weight on them so he won’t hurt them. 

The kids laugh and push at his chest and complain, 

You’re too strong! 

No fair! 

You’re heavy, get off!

Mydei stands back up and marches over to you. He hold his hand out to you and helps you down from the little brick wall. “I’m here for you, My Queen.” 

“Oh thank you, My King! You’re my savior!” You dramatically hug him.

He is quick to hug you back and laugh. You two pull back and smile at one another, you then hear the kids yell, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! The saved always kisses the hero!” 

You push yourself up on your tip toes and gently kiss Mydei’s lips, “Thank you. You’re my hero.” 

“I’ll save you any day.” 

                                     •

That was the last day in a while you got to see Mydei for an extended amount of time. He’s been dragged off early in the mornings and kept late into the nights. You’ve barely had dinner with him or got to talk to him before you two went to bed. 

You see the dark circles under his eyes and hear the tiredness in his voice. It breaks your heart to see him this overworked but any time you try to talk about it he brushes it off. It also kinda scares him when you bring it up. Like he’ll jump and widen his eyes and ask “What have people been saying?” When you tell him no one has said anything and that you’re just concerned he waves you off. 

Mydei didn’t have the heart to tell you the truth. He’s currently talking about having a mini siege on a neighboring land due to their threats. Duchess Caenis has been sending never ending threats to him due to him not accepting the marriage proposal between him and his daughter. That woman is a witch, he’d hate to wonder what the daughter is like. 

He doesn’t understand why this won’t get through her thick and dumb skull. He’s happy with his wife and kingdom now. Why is she trying so hard to force this? Even if he was single, he wouldn’t want to make an agreement with that land. She’s caused trauma to all of his friends and the last thing he needs to do is taint Castrum Kremnos. 

Mydei has been super upset he hasn’t gotten to see you or be with you often. Your relationship has been changing and he recognizes that but he can’t talk to you about it. He doesn’t want to talk about it after fighting with Krateros and Caenis all day. He wants to do it when he’s happy and not tired. 

Back to the threats though, Caenis has threatened to bring harm upon you and that is where he draws the line. He can deal with threats towards him or empty threats about attacking the strongest kingdom there ever was. But as soon as she dared to utter your name, he decides he’s going to kill her. 

He stares at the ceiling thinking about how to protect you but also kill that witch. He hears you exit the bathroom and make your way to the bed. He feels the bed dip but doesn’t move at all. 

You hover over him and brush some hair out of his face, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Mydei. Obviously something is wrong but you’re not telling me.” 

“Everything is okay don’t worry about it.” 

“No it’s not! You’re always tired and out all day. I barely even see you anymore and barely get to talk to you!” Your voice cracks then you murmur the last part, “Do even care about that?” 

Mydei is at a loss for words and just stares at you. He can’t even open his mouth, the words are stuck in his throat. But he can’t tell you what someone is saying about you and what he plans to do about it. He’s not about to ruin everything you two built up. 

“Never mind. I’m going to bed” You turn your back to him and turn off the lamp on your nightstand. You bury yourself under the blanket and keep your back facing him. You let the tears silently pour down your face. Does he really not trust you? 

Mydei feels bile rise up his throat and feels his heart stop. You haven’t turned around. You haven’t reached out for him like you’ve done since the night of your injury. You didn’t give him a goodnight kiss. He hates this. He doesn’t even know how to fix this. He wants to reach out more than anything. He just wants you. 

                                   • 

A couple days goes by and you and Mydei haven’t said a word to one another. It breaks your heart but if he can’t talk to you about what’s bothering him then there’s no point in making random small talk. 

You’re sitting in the library and reading a random history book you picked out when the doors slam open. You see Phainon whipping his head back and forth. Once he find you he rushes over to your side. 

“My Queen, I have urgent news.” 

“What’s wrong Phainon?”

“Mydei has left to launch an attack on a nearby land that has been threatening us for a while now. I am to join him after delivering this message. Read it when I leave but also I need you to listen to the guards when I leave. They will keep you safe. See you soon.” He then dashes back out of the room. 

You look at the note in your hand and see your name neatly written. You know that hand writing, it’s Mydei’s. You slowly open the letter and see it nearly takes up the whole page.

My Love, 

These past days of not hearing your voice, seeing your beautiful smile, feeling your body pressed against mine at night, or even the touch of your lips against mine has been pure torture. I know I’ve never been the best with my words and always relied on my actions, that’s what lead me to right now.

When you read this I’m already starting the march to Duchess Caenis’ land. Within the past weeks her threats have grown and grown. I didn’t tell you this but she has been trying to get me to marry her daughter. I’ve always declined but now her threats have gone to you and I cannot stand for that. 

That night I didn’t have the heart to tell you this because I didn’t want to worry you or drag you into this. I made a promise to you that I’ll always protect you and that’s what I have to do now. I knew telling you my intentions in killing her would scare you. I did not want to want to ruin everything we’ve built up these past few months because I’ve come to adore it. I adore you. 

I’m sorry for how I’ve acted these past few weeks and especially these past few days. I promise I’ll apologize once I’m back. But I need you to listen to the guards and stay inside the castle. I need you to stay safe. 

I’ll see you soon, 

Mydei 

You cover your sobs with your hand. Reading the note breaks your heart. He has been looking out for you this entire time and you basically told him he didn’t care. You hang your head in shame. You feel awful for accusing him about not caring. He has obviously cared the most. 

You stand up and walk out of the library. Two guards turn to you and ask you to go to your room and stay there until they can make sure the premise is all clear. You obey and make your way back to your room. When you get to your room you rush to Mydei’s side of the bed and hug his pillow tight. It smells exactly like him and you can’t help but let your sobs out. You miss him. You want to apologize. You just want him back. 

                                    •

You lay in your shared bed for what feels like days, even though it’s been a few hours. Your door swings open and you sit up to see a guard and an older lady walking in. Neither of them seem familiar and it’s giving you a bad feeling. 

“My Queen! Such an honor to finally meet you. Your husband speaks quite highly of you.” Says the elder lady. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are.” 

“My name is Caenis. I am the Duchess of the land your husband is trying to invade.” 

You freeze, did- did she actually just say that!? No way, what are you suppose to do? Where are the guards that are supposed to be protecting you? Are they okay? Mydei is so far away. You’re scared. A million thoughts run through your mind nonstop. You don’t know what to do. 

The “guard” with Caenis comes over and drags you over to her. 

“Your husband won’t marry my daughter so the only way is to get you out of the way. But I want to do it in front of your husband.” 

“As you said earlier, Mydei isn’t here.” 

“Yes but he will be coming. So let us get into position.” 

The guard goes behind you and sticks a dagger at your neck. You take too deep of a breath and you feel the dagger dig into your skin. 

You want Mydei more than anything. You wish you didn’t push him away because if you didn’t, you probably wouldn’t be in this mess. Now you just hope that he comes running back for you. 

                                   •

Phainon ended up catching up to Mydei quickly and joins him at the front of the army. 

“Did you give it to her?” 

“Yes, Mydei.” 

Mydei sighs and pays attention to the road ahead of him. He hates how this all turned out. But if this all goes to plan he will be home soon. 

“Mydei.” 

“Hm.”

“Stop for a second.” 

Mydei reluctantly listened and stopped. He looks around and takes in his surroundings that’s when it hits him. This is all too easy. Something is not right. He turns back to face the kingdom. He can still see the castle and the bell tower. 

He stares at the bell tower as if he’s waiting for something. He squints even more and then he hears the bell tower go off. Invasion. He turns to Phainon and they both turn back and rush to the castle. 

Mydei has never pushed his horse this much before. He is making him run as fast as it possibly can. He should have known an invasion wouldn’t stop Caenis and she’d have her own plan. He feels so stupid. He just hopes you’re not hurt. 

Mydei and Phainon reach the castle and jump off their horses. 

“Find everyone else and make sure the kids are okay. I’m going to find her.” 

“I told the guards to tell her to go to your room. Go there Mydei and be safe.” 

“You too.”

Mydei then takes off running right towards you. He never hated how big his castle was until now. It feels like the halls stretch more and more the longer he runs down them. It’s like the universe is trying to keep him from you and he hates it. He’ll fight kings, gods, a witch, anything if it means you’ll be safe. 

He sees your bedroom door already open and his heart drops to his stomach. He quickly bursts into the room and his heart stops. Caenis is standing there smirking with her guards hands on you with a dagger at your neck.

“King Mydei, it’s an honor to see you again.”

“I can’t say it’s the same.” 

Caneus laughs, “Don’t be like that. I’d told you this would happen if you didn’t marry my daughter.” 

“I’d rather die than marry your daughter,” Mydei spits.

Caenus eyes darken, “Well that will change once the queen dies.” 

“That won’t happen.” 

“You seem confident even though I have the upper hand.” 

Mydei growls, he changes his gaze from her to you. He sees you shaking and a tear stained face. He clenches his fist, “I promise I’ll fix this. Just stay still.” 

“Don’t give her empty promises.” She turns to you, “Any last words for your king?” 

You look at Mydei and feel the tears gather in your eyes again. You swallow thickly and speak up, “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry for saying you didn’t care. But I have to thank you before whatever happens.” 

You sniffle and watch Mydei freeze. “You gave me a new life here. I’ve never been so happy before. The time I get to spend with you, your friends, or even the little kids- I just adore it. The memories we created will always mean the world to me. I know I was scared at first when I came here but you made everything so perfect that I couldn’t help myself but to fall in love with you. Mydeimos, I love you more than anyone or anything in this world. I’m sorry I only told you now and I only wished we could have had more time to spent together to create more memories.” 

Mydei steps closer and the guard puts the dagger against your neck to cut it a little bit. That makes him see red. He has to think about this though. He has to go in with a plan. He thinks for a moment then comes us with an idea. He waves his hand lower to try and get your attention. 

You look at his hand then back to his face. He then gives a motion with his head going back a bit. Is he trying to send you a message? You think hard about what he’s doing then it clicks in your head. He wants you to smack your head into the guards’. You widen your eyes and give him a look, can I really get away with it? 

He just does one nod and you can see him get into a little stance. Not obvious enough for Caenis who is laughing at the situation and not paying attention. 

“Oh how that’s so funny! Finally someone to love the scary beast but they are going to be gone soon.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ll do anything to keep her safe.” 

“You obviously failed. Tomorrow you’ll be married to my daughter.” 

Mydei quickly gives you a thumbs up and you move. You throw your head back as hard as you can and smack into the guards head. You hear a sickening crack a groan. You feel the arms around you fall and you don’t hesitate to move forward. 

As much as you want to hug Mydei you know you have to run past him so he can deal with these two. 

“Go in the hallway, I’ll be out soon.” 

You run out of the room and go a bit further down the hallway. Something tells you that you shouldn’t hear what is going to go down in that room. 

Mydei walks straight over to the guard and punches him in his stomach. The man crumbles to the floor and drops the dagger. Mydei quickly grabs the dagger and shoves it into the man’s chest. “That’s what you get for hurting what’s mine.”

He then turns around and menacingly walks towards Caenis. She backs up until her back hits the wall and she freezes. 

“Come on let’s talk about this-“ 

“Silence or I’ll cut your tongue out first.” 

He points the dagger at her neck and quickly cut its. “That’s for what you did to her.” 

Caenis is quick to try and cover the wound but it’s pointless. Mydei cut her artery and she has no chance in living. She gasps for air and he just laughs. “Not so strong now are you? Too bad you learned your lesson too late.” He then stabs the dagger through her chest and watched her fall to the ground. 

He turns his back to her and sneers, “Have fun in hell.” 

Mydei makes his way out of the room and sees you at the end of the hall. He doesn’t waste time before running to you. 

You hear footsteps coming and you see Mydei running towards you. You don’t hesitate to run towards him. 

You throw your arms around his neck and he is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close. You both shutter into the hug and squeeze each other like this is the last hug you two will ever share. 

You pull back a bit to look him in the eyes, “Mydei, I’m so-“

You are cut off by his lips aggressively pressed against yours. It’s messy, hot, and heavy. His tongue pushes past your lips to connect with yours and pin it down. You feel the salvia running down your chin. 

This is the most heated kiss you two have ever shared and you love it. It lets you feel that he is here and with you. That there’s nothing going to come between you ever again. You are his and he is yours. 

Mydei breaks the kiss and tries to catch his breath. He watches you do the same. Seeing the gleam of your mixed salvia on your chin he raises his hand and wipes it off, “You don’t have to apologize… I do-“

“No you don’t.” You cut him off. “Let’s just put it in the past and enjoy each other’s company now.” 

“But-“ 

“Mydei… please.” 

He relents and places his forehead against yours, “Okay.” You close your eyes and bask in his warmth. It’s silent for a minute before Mydei whispers your name, “I love you so much too.” 

You open your eyes instantly and see his little suns shining the brightest they’ve ever had. He has the same smile he had when you two were in the mini forest. You match his smile and hug him tightly again. No more words are exchanged and none need to be. 

                                    •

A couple weeks go by and everything returns back to normal. Today you, Mydei and your friends and even the kids are outside having a picnic. It was a hard couple weeks for everyone, recovering from the invasion and making sure there is no more spies. 

You look at the spread on the multiple picnic blankets laid out. Castorice made tea, Mydei made honey cakes, then Tribbie and the kids made a little charcuterie board for everyone. You hear giggles and look up to see Mydei and Phainon playing with the kiddos. It warms your heart to see Mydei finally relax and enjoy the people around him. 

“Time for food everyone,” Aglaea calls out. 

Everyone comes back to the blankets and sits down. Mydei plops right down next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close.

You already grabbed some honey cakes before everyone started digging in. You cut a piece and hold it out to Mydei and he doesn’t hesitate this time when you offer a bite to him. He eats the bite of the food and licks his lips after. He smiles down at you, “It’s good, have some.” 

“Awe what cute love birds! Our Mydeimos finally went soft!” Phainon wipes a fake tear and starts clapping. 

Anaxa smacks him on the back of the head, “At least he isn’t a playboy like you.” 

“Professor! You wound me.” 

“Phainon I’d be careful if I were you… or you’ll probably be cleaning horse waste again.” You say while offering another piece to Mydei. 

Mydei eats the bite and smirks at Phainon, “Yeah be careful knight.” 

Phainon shuts up and continues to eat. 

You laugh at the situation and place the empty plate down on the blanket. You feel your shoulder squeezed and you look at your beautiful husband. 

He smiles down at you, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

He quickly presses a kiss to your lips and smiles again at you. “Yeah this is everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Me too and I’m happy I get to have it with you.” 

[livingdeadgirlflorette]

SO HIGH ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ carl grimes x reader

summary : getting caught smoking at your age isn't a good thing, but maybe getting caught smoking by the new guy's son isn't so bad at all, especially since he looked so cute.

tags / rundown : slight angst at the start, almost kissing, underage smoking, shotgunning, set in alexandria, carl is easily flustered, reader's parent's are pronounced dead (womp womp)

word count : 2.8k

a/n : this fic was inspired by me listening to so high by doja lols. since my midterms ended, i've decided to write this with my free time. hope it was worth it (∩_∩;) also i'll be writing a part 2 to "late night kisses", just dk where to start ( ´△｀) lmk if you want to be tagged in it!

dividers by @cafekitsune ꩜ .ᐟ

PART 2: YOUR FACE ⟡₊⋆∘

Alexandria seemed like such a pleasant escape from the shithole of the world we're living in today. Living almost two years by yourself from. . . unfortunate circumstances between your parents and an unexpected herd of walkers that had invaded your base camp. With a heavy heart and an even emptier stomach, that had left you scrounging for anything to survive. Food, water, a place to sleep in— it felt like you were just barely living day by day.

With all hope lost and no destination ahead, you just kept walking— no goal or end in mind, just walk until you found a place that could help you regain the empty feeling in you. To your surprise, a place like that still existed— a sanctuary called Alexandria. The first time you ever entered the gates, you felt like a deer in headlights. It all looked different from the outside world, giving you a sense of hope, a small beacon of hope that it would get better.

But even with all the good things that come with it, it still felt like you were so out of place. The pristine, large houses and the children laughing, acting as if nothing had ever even happened. Unrightfully, it irked you. They didn't know what it was like living day by day, not knowing if the last place you'd stay and shut your eyes for shelter in would be your last. They didn't know what it was like to starve, famished to the point you'd eat raw animal just so you could have something in your stomach. They didn't know what it was like to lose people by shooting them using their own gun. They didn't know.

All the feelings of jealousy, envy, and sadness spiraling in you, was overwhelming you to the point of just crying until you had no tears left. But you would never let them know that. It would be a stupid move to show weakness, especially in the state of the world. So you sneak out.

Sneaking out of Alexandria was a therapeutic event. Every time you do this it relaxes you, knowing what would come after would be the cherry on top to help you wind down and let your feelings fizzle out.

With you far enough from Alexandria where you knew no supply runners or recruiters would catch you, you walked through the forest, trying to find a place that's quiet. Seemingly in a matter of minutes, you find a small clearing. Peaceful and from your scoping of the forest, no walkers.

You sit down next to a tree and put your bags down, then finally sitting down, leaning on the large vegetation. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, you fiddle around your jacket pockets and suddenly stop when you hear a voice call out to you, seemingly unimpressed.

"You know that kills you, right?" You turn around to put a body to the disembodied voice, and you see it's the boy from that one group that Aaron had recruited. You weren't that tuned in to the whole story, but you saw enough to know that they were like you, different, in the sense that you'd been out there, living through the apocalypse.

From overhearing Ron and Mikey talk about if they should him to play videogames, you knew the boy's name was Carl. He was cute, interesting, boyish in a way that he still had that youthful face, yet he was mature to have so much control over his emotions and body language and the way he carried himself.

If it were someone different, you'd just ignore the person and tell them to leave you alone. But you had the idea Carl wouldn't be such an annoyance to you, so you decide to entertain yourself by speaking with him.

"That's kind of the point." Finally, you find you lighter in your back pocket and proceed to tap on the cigarette box, pulling one out and putting it between your lips.

You didn't what to continue talking right now, wanting to just focus on matter at hand. You were thinking how to tell him but you were pleasantly surprised to see that he'd gotten the message, and just walked next to the spot on your tree, and sat down next to you.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you question his motive. Why would he even talk to you? more so why would he try to sit next to you? he has nothing to gain from this. . .

Continuing your actions, you flick open the lighter and the fire sparks burst out, creating a small flame. It fills you with relaxation. You lean in, just close enough to light your cigarette and when you finally inhale the comforting tobacco— you sigh out the smoke, lazily blinking. Your eyes dart up to the sky, watching the smoke from your mouth go up and away.

You look back to Carl, realizing you barely noticed he'd comfortably situated himself— with his signature sheriff's hat that he donned on the grass next to him and a comic book open in his hands.

You guess he wouldn't really be a nuisance, he would just be next to you while you let out your puffs of tobacco. So you scoot a little closer to him. What you didn't notice was how he saw you moving closer, unable to hide a ghost of a smile before it disappeared completely.

The sky was turning into an entrancing shade of cool colors. It seemed like time passes faster when you're smoking, only focused on changing the cigarette when it's on its last puff, and breathing in and slowly out to watch the result of your sighs for it to go up into presumably the clouds. You wish you could stay here forever. Carl was quietly reading the second comic book he'd brought, not having any plan to talk to you and your relaxed state. The boy's company was actually, comforting in the sense that you had someone with you.

But you had noticed he kept glancing at you and more so, your lips. You know the reason. He's obviously curious. From your knowledge, teenage boys are typically rebellious, so you figured he'd want to try a small puff.

The silence that had been enveloping the majority of your time together was broken by you.

"You want to try it?" His eyes jolt up from the scene in the comic he's reading, sincerely surprised you'd ask.

"I- uh- yeah i'd like to uhm— I wanna try it." He tries to find the right words, but seemingly they all just turn into mush when he sees you.

Your eyes are lidded, your body languid— presumably from all the tobacco you'd been smoking, and your lips are plump, slightly open. With that look, it's enough to send blood rushing to his cheeks, his eyes darting blinking rapidly and looking slightly down to hide his blossoming blush.

Even in your smoke-induced haze, you still notice this. Seeing him act all bashful and shy in front of you, it makes you feel giddy inside. You let out an airy chuckle and you hand him the cigarette.

"Knock yourself out." You tell him. With a nervous gaze, he musters up his courage and looks at you. Hesitantly taking the cigarette in your hands. But you undoubtedly notice his hands brush against yours as he took the lit stick of tobacco.

Carl then calculatively puts the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling before letting out a dry heaving cough. You giggle at him, you know it's a common mistake but he just looks so cute trying to do it properly.

"How do you even do it without coughing—" His words were cut off by another cough he let out, he seemed like he was having a hard time so you gently put your hand on his back, lightly patting it to help him cough.

"It's okay, I kept coughing a fit the first time I did it." You assured him, wondering how you could help him get through it, until you finally clicked, realizing what you should do to have him experience it properly.

"Do you want me to help you?" Your voice is gentle and calm so you don't startle him. He looks at you, his coughing had seemed to cease. His posture went straight, eyebrows furrowed. What could you possibly to do help him smoke without him wheezing?

Carl silently gives you an okay, slightly nodding as he does. "Don't freak out, okay?" He's curious, what would you do to help him? But then he sees your actions, you take the cigarette in between his calloused fingers and put it back into your mouth, taking in a small intake.

He's uncertain on what you're about to do, questions going in and out of his head. But you silence those answers by taking the cigarette out of your mouth, then grabbing his chin with your free hand to have his face an inch apart from yours.

His mouth is open in awe and disbelief. He can feel his heart beating out of his chest when you take you open your mouth, slowly blowing the smoke into his mouth. He quickly understands what you're doing, slowly breathing in the puff of smoke with his mouth.

With the last blow of your lips sending the smoke, You make eye contact with him. Your eyes were all this time trained on his lips, focusing so he wouldn't move. His breath hitches when he finally has all of the smoke you had in your mouth.

It's overwhelming for Carl, really— knowing all the puffs of tobacco he had in his mouth were in yours, and how close you still are to his face, it makes him want to shoot his heart out into the darkening sky. Realizing he's been looking too long at your face and not releasing the smoke, he lets it out slowly, watching your every move.

You look at him, letting a small smirk grace your face as you lean back. He doesn't know why he has such a dissatisfied feeling when you pull back though, It's so perplexing to him.

"We should get back to the gates, I think your father would be worried that his son's been missing." You put the cigarette out, standing up and patting your jeans off, shooing the dirt off your clothing. You look back to Carl, the emotion on his face evidently stupefied.

"Yeah— my dad's probably looking for me by now so," He scrambles also to fix himself up, turning slightly away from you. He tries to find more words, but it leaves him with only a few.

"We should go." He finally says. He wanted to save himself from the embarrassment he'd feel from you seeing his blush.

Carl thought what he was doing was ridiculous though; it was getting dark, you wouldn't be able to see color on his face unless you were close and squinted hard enough. But he does so anyway.

The rest of the walk back to Alexandria you're standing side by side, walking with him. You fail to ignore that tingly and rushed feeling whenever his hands accidentally brush yours, making your cheeks flush. You look at him, curious if he also felt the way feeling you were experiencing.

Carl felt quite befuddled, he was so perplexed at the thought of you. There was a swirling feeling in his heart. He wondered if what he was feeling was just from the nicotine in those cigarettes or if it was because of you, but then his question gets answered when he looks at you.

With the eye contact you guys had, you smile bashfully and look straight back at the path. He made you smile, and that was enough for him to know he was interested. He wanted to know more about you, and what it would feel like to have your face close to him again. Hopefully next time it would be to feel your lips on his, and not just the smoke.

I'm not sure if I like this, but it fueled my imagination of smoking with Carl so I don't really mind (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

Optimus Prime x Reader - transformers prime

Delightful music lulled him gently as the moon's bright glow lit up the land around him. Optimus revelled in these quiet moments where it was only him, the silence of the night and the stars, the soft hum of earthly classical music, and your voice occasionally humming quietly. He’d been hesitant by the idea of becoming your guardian, thinking Ratchet had been the better choice seeing as you were quiet and preferred to stay at base, but the medic had been against it… in the beginning.

Now, Optimus wondered whether his old friend had grown to regret his choice as you were nothing like the children. Of course, you were an adult, so that was already different, but your temperament was soft and gentle; timid. You didn’t speak often and when you did it was with a soft voice, one that always caused a hush to fall over the base. Everyone grew to know that once you spoke, they had to quiet down, or else they didn’t hear you.

Your voice reminded Optimus of the harps and the violins singing out through the radio, yet as he listened to you hum along, he found your voice to be more pleasant than the already pleasant instruments. It made him smile.

You’d been so careful in the beginning, keeping your distance and opinions to yourself, as if afraid of speaking out of line or saying something offensive. Yet even now Optimus realised you often preferred to listen and watch, your eyes analysing and soaking up all the information they possibly could. It had been one of the many reasons why you’d thrown such a beautiful Christmas celebration for them all, surprising even Ratchet as you’d stayed up the night to prepare. Gifts had been wrapped, a fake tree set up with wonderful ornaments, lights decorating the space and casting a cosy glow, and you, most wonderful of all, standing with a beaming smile despite the clear tiredness in your eyes.

It'd been well into the night before you’d passed out, exhausted after a whole night and day, and it’d been Optimus who’d picked you up and cradled you within his servo before he’d carefully transformed around you to bring you home.

Ah, your cosy little home so far away, tucked within a valley covered in snow and frost at the height of winter in your country, yet the warmth emanated from within your windows, and though Optimus had been reluctant to awaken you from your lovely slumber, he’d seen it as worth it once your eyes opened and you sleepily spoke his name.

“Oh, thank you for taking me home, Optimus. You’re lovely,” you’d said, and when you’d leaned close to kiss his dashboard, his engine had stuttered, and he’d been rendered speechless. It had been entirely unexpected, but your barely conscious self hadn’t noticed his reaction, only wishing him a ‘Merry Christmas’ before you’d left and begun your short walk through the gate and towards the front door of your home.

Optimus had stood long after you’d gone inside, watching your figure move about before lights slowly flickered off, the last one coming from your bedroom. Only then did he leave, driving slowly to think through what had happened, and how it’d made him feel.

It hadn’t taken him long to realise his growing love for you, though it would take him months to accept them fully within himself, yet as he now drove with you, putting on an excuse of going on a late night patrol as a reason for being alone with you, he found that although he was worried for your wellbeing, he didn’t entirely reject the idea of allowing himself to love you.

He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t say it… not yet. Maybe once the Decepticons were no longer an issue. Maybe if they somehow managed to win the war so that Earth could be left in peace… maybe then he could confess. Maybe then he could allow himself to hold you, to kiss you, to love you fully.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” you asked, gazing out of the passenger window at the full moon, standing out as a bright silver light upon the black night sky. One of your hands held onto the seatbelt, thumb gently stroking the material, feeling it tighten ever so slightly against you.

“Yes, it is,” said Optimus, slowing down slightly to draw out more time with you.

You made a gentle huff as you smiled, so quiet he barely heard it, and you turned to look at his steering wheel, the Autobot insignia in the centre glowing slightly. The look in your eyes was tender and it made Optimus’ spark hum pleasantly.

“I’m glad you asked me to join you tonight,” you said, hand reaching to stroke along the inside of his door. Optimus shuddered at the touch. He wondered whether you knew what you were doing, whether you were aware of how much your touch affected him. “The sky is so clear, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many stars before. I’m glad I get to experience it with you.” You leaned against the door and let out a quiet sigh. “I like spending time with you, Optimus. You’re lovely to be around.”

“As are you, y/n,” said he, trying to calm the aching yearning which had so quickly flooded his spark. Only allowing himself to gently squeeze you with the seatbelt which held you, he took a moment to reflect on the words you’d said earlier to distract himself, the comment regarding the moon. It had sounded so familiar, as if he’d read about it somewhere on the few occasions he had enough free time to indulge in Earth’s literature.

Perhaps he’d ask you about it later so you may enlighten him, but for now, he allowed the sounds of violins, harps, and the piano to fill the silence, sending you both into a lovely trance as he slowly drove at a crawl back towards the base.

Music: Vaughan Williams – The Lark Ascending

[venomvalley]

MOUNTAIN MAN — WEEK 1

chris redfield x afab!reader / 5.3k words

summary:

After retiring from the military, Chris finds sanctuary in the hills of West Virginia. Years of solitude pass until a flash flood plants an injured hiker on his doorstep. He soon learns that loneliness has done him more harm than good.

tags: 18+ (nudity, chris is sexually repressed and also horny), brief mentions of blood and injury, this chapter is mostly just set up before we get to the porn

notes: reader is very heavily appalachian and has a backstory revolving around where they grew up. no physical descriptors are mentioned.

here's how you can help appalachian hurricane helene victims

-> READ ON AO3 | MASTERLIST

He gets out of bed every morning—a sickening, habitual five thirty a.m. three decades in the making—and starts his day off with pain. The location changes depending on the previous day’s responsibilities, some mornings better than others, but he’s no stranger to it. Long-healed wounds that ache in the cold, joints worn down to bone that stiffen when a storm front flies in, migraines when he works himself a bit too hard.

This morning it’s his back. He spent the better part of yesterday evening moving all the lumber into the shed because some weatherman promised rain. A lot of it. Can’t let the wood get wet this late in the season, especially with how hot the nights stay. The weather here is predictably unpredictable.

A glance outside the living room window, blood red curtain shoved aside, reveals the aftermath of a thunderstorm. He thinks about the muddy mess of the forest, the soupy quality of the air, and almost resigns himself to a day of staying in. A little rabbit with barely enough meat for a meal isn’t fucking worth sweating through his clothes, or treading mud up to his knees, or falling prey to a landslide.

But something sends him outside anyway: the itch for a cigarette that gnaws at the back of his head. He plants himself in a rickety wooden chair (his hands were always better served for killing rather than creating) and settles in for a long morning smoke. Doesn’t even bother with coffee today, or else his hands might shake when aiming down the sight of his rifle.

A few guns stashed in the house are the only facet of his old life he allowed himself to keep. He tells himself that their presence calms his nerves living this far out in the woods, but he knows better. Go too long without shooting a gun and he starts to get antsy.

Better killing an animal than… well. Hunting keeps him busy. Busy and alone, just how he enjoys life these days.

Within the hour, he’s geared up and ready. Face washed, teeth brushed. Barely managed a five minute shower last night before collapsing into bed, and he doesn’t bother with shaving much anymore. A small bit of post-military defiance he’s allowed himself.

The rifle slung over his shoulder is a comforting weight, a constant amongst the unknown of the trees that surround him. He chose West Virginia to retire to solely because of Claire’s childhood obsession with Mothman. He remembers his teenage years, all the times they made plans to visit Point Pleasant, and now he lives an hour south of the town but something repels him from going near.

He should call her soon. Tell her he’s still alive. Up ahead, the tree line splits open to make room for a shallow creek, and he wonders where his life went wrong. The bone-deep exhaustion never gets easier to bear.

At least the view is nice.

The screaming that faintly echoes through the trees, however, isn’t.

He almost fails to catch it. A voice, high-pitched from panic, calls out to the endless void of the mountainside. He blinks and he’s back in Edonia, or maybe China or Romania, or maybe his own dreams where screaming civilians always cry out his name.

His feet move on instinct, tearing through the terrain, climbing up the muddy slope and latching onto tree limbs to propel himself forward before he comes to a stark realization that he’s too damn old for this.

But there’s something addictive about being a savior. He supposes he’s never been good at self-preservation, and the act of saving a life gives a solid excuse for the danger involved. It’s all woven into the fabric of his DNA. Predisposed for addiction by way of martyrdom.

He finds you at the base of a steep hill, crumpled in the brush. You call out to him, dragging yourself to a sitting position.

“Jesus Christ are you a sight. Feels like I've been screaming since the sun came out.” A fact made clear by the hoarse grit of your voice.

He takes note of your accent, the weak vowels and lengthy drawl. Even after four years of traipsing around the territory (buying the local produce on sale, traveling to the lake for a day of fishing, occupying a booth at the small-town bar), he hasn’t gotten used to the locals. Too friendly, too outspoken, too communal.

It’s something he outright refuses to be apart of.

Adaptation is a skill that Chris has long-since mastered—like learning enemy strategy, adjusting to a different schedule every week, surviving off of naps for months on end—but there are times when he feels much like a baby taking its first breath.

Now is one of those times.

Overhead, rain threatens to fall yet again, the sky a malignant grey, poisonous clouds moving closer toward the mountainside. No doubt the land around his cabin is more mudhole than grass, and a clap of thunder signals a heavy storm looming just up ahead.

He can't leave you here. The soup-like heat bears down on him, sweat soaking through his flannel and beading on the bridge of his nose. Mud thick on his hands, caked on his boots. It's unbearable and he's used to temperatures twenty degrees hotter.

“Listen, if you can just get me on a trail, maybe somebody'll come by.”

Given the weather, he knows that's not true, and with the blood soaking into the collar of your shirt—head wounds bleed—he's not too keen on dumping you in the woods somewhere and going back home.

Chris experiences a dilemma for the first time in four years. He looks you over on instinct. Takes note of your injuries: the wide gash on your head, a bloody scrape on your chin, skinless palms, a swollen leg. You're filthy in places, and one glance behind you up the hillside shows the path your rolling body carved out. Broken branches, trampled down bushes, deep pockets of compact mud.

The road that leads out of this place has no doubt flooded by now, which leaves only one option.

He explains the situation to you, coming across more short-tempered than he means to, but you're a clean break in his routine. A burden on his responsibilities. An outlier.

“I have a cabin you can rest in until the weather lets up.” Your face twists into a grimace, and he gets it. He's a big man, a stranger, but— “Unless you'd rather die in this heat. Your choice.”

You exhale a sharp breath, eyes trained on a nearby tree. “Fine.” You glance back up at him, eyes flitting between relief, anxiety, and anger. “I appreciate the help.”

Getting back home is a lengthy affair. His first instinct is to throw you over the line of his shoulders like he used to do his men, except he's not military anymore and you're a stranger. Instead, he throws your arm over his neck while you hobble along with the help of the tree trunks on your path.

Your adrenaline wears off when his cabin comes into view. A quaint thing, the yard half-dilapidated—he lives life on the basis of necessity, and he needs nothing more than a small garden, a wood pile, and his tools—while the interior carries a bit more bulk. The house is small, and he’s gathered a lot of things since his stay. Furs, leathers, blankets, canned food, stacked jars of moonshine, winter clothes, a bookshelf overflowing with mystery novels to keep the thoughts at bay.

You digest the living room as discreetly as you can manage, head downturned, both hands cradling your injured leg.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, halfway to the bathroom. Stops in the bedroom’s doorway to turn and glare at you. “Don’t touch anything.”

Your nose pinches up in a scowl. “Trust me, I got more important things to worry about.”

He fetches the first aid kit from beneath the sink, wets a clean washcloth, and grabs a towel from the cabinet. When he returns to the living room, you sit slumped back into the couch, quiet in your pain. Given the swelling of your leg, he’s dealing with a possible break. And a possible concussion. And injuries that need stitches.

Him and his savior complex.

Treating you is a breeze. You don’t complain when he gets too heavy-handed, you let him poke and prod at your wounds, you barely flinch when he pushes a needle through the skin of your forehead. You say thank you even while your eyes water.

“I’m no stranger to pain,” you say, after you’re all bandaged up and snuggled nicely on the couch. “I would argue I’ve had worse.”

You pick at the edge of gauze taped to your forehead, a thin slice of red weeping through the material. He’ll have to change it out in the morning, but at least the cut isn’t as deep as he originally thought. That’s the problem with blood. It tends to hide the severity of the problem.

“Since you ain’t from around here,” you continue, pointing a finger at him. “I should inform you that I broke the cardinal sin of these hills by letting you bring me home.”

He looks up from his piece of wood, knife carving away bits that fall into his lap. (A hobby he picked up during that first winter, when the boredom almost killed him faster than the cold.) “Did you have any other option?”

You glance around the living room in an attempt to locate your patience. “I guess not.”

He can’t help the laugh that leaves his mouth in a sharp breath, or the way his lips attempt a smile.

You’re trouble, even as concussed and incapacitated as you may find yourself. You encompass nicely a bit of the mountain grit he’s gotten so used to during his trips to the nearby town for supplies. It’s a facet of this life he’s grown to appreciate. The no-bullshit attitude reminiscent of his BSAA days.

The ceiling fan creaks with each rotation of its blades as the room falls into silence. Outside, the song of frogs and crickets and cicadas signal the beginning of night. The cavern of loneliness he experiences most days is filled with all manner of wildlife: the snakes seeking shelter from the heat; a rogue doe and her babies passing through on their way to the creek; a raccoon stealing from his compost. All fleeting moments, yet powerful enough to quell the isolation.

“What brought you here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Your voice slurs, eyelids struggling to open each time you blink.

He does mind you asking, and he responds with silence, settling deeper into the chair.

“I just wonder ‘cause people only come out this far when they’re running from something.” You attempt a smile, a pitiful thing given the swelling on your face. “Don’t wanna wind up dead tomorrow morning.”

He wants to be kind—he should be—but the idea of spilling his innards to a stranger leaves him baring his teeth in an effort to protect his soft underbelly. "Just go to sleep already.”

Your face falls, morphs into an anger running on fumes, and the only argument you manage is a grumbling, “Asshole.”

When your eyes close and your breathing evens out, he cleans up his mess of wood chips and sets his half-baked carving on the bookshelf. He hides the knife in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

Come morning, he wakes in a puddle of his own sweat, the cabin sweltering with humidity. He finds his blanket tossed across the room as muddied visions of his dreams play out on repeat (his sister's skin peeling away from bone; Piers begging to be saved; Ethan entrusting him with Rosemary). Sleeping is difficult on his best days, but with the heat swarming like locusts, he wakes every hour in a state of misery. He sometimes wishes that the memories would sweat out through his pores. Maybe one day he can start all over again as some fresh-faced twenty-year-old with his whole life to fuck up. He’d do a lot of things differently.

He leaves his bedroom to find you sat on the couch, furrow-browed and dripping sweat. You huff out each breath, bent at the waist to cradle your leg.

“You look miserable,” he says, moving to fetch the first aid kit from the kitchen table.

“Not to shit on your hospitality, but I am. Can’t believe you live like this. We believe in air conditioners, ya know.”

In truth, he’s never thought to get one. Too used to gritting his teeth and bearing it like he does everything else.

“You’ll live.”

“I beg to differ.”

He leaves for the bathroom to wet a cloth with the coldest water the pipes can manage, then throws it to you on his journey to the couch. You pick it up with a gasp and swipe it over your face and arms.

When you're satisfied, he settles in next to you. Clears the blood on your wounds away with alcohol wipes and replaces your gauze. Unwraps the bandage from your ankle to check the swelling and discoloration.

“You need a cast on this.” An absolute, a fact—one you take issue with.

“And how are we supposed to get to a hospital?”

“I was stating the problem, not the solution.”

“Which ain’t helping.”

“You know, you’re very mouthy for someone who’s completely out of options.”

When you don’t respond, he looks up at you. Arms crossed over your chest, mouth twisted into a frown. The discomfort rolls off you in waves.

“Excuse me for being terrified.”

He huffs out a sigh, lowering his gaze to the painful swelling of your leg. “I’ll try to get you help. Alright?”

You nod your head, and he returns to work.

.

.

.

Chris turns on the radio. Newscasters report on outages all across the region. Collapsed roads, downed power lines, warning after warning to stay home unless absolutely necessary.

Flooding happens semi-regularly around here. It’s the reality of mountain life. Difficult to adapt to at first, but he learned about necessities from a local farmer and now each flood doesn’t carry along the mortality-driven dread that it used to.

Still. The circumstances are different this time.

You sit across from him at the kitchen table, head balanced on your folded arms. He’s kept up a routine of pain meds over the last two days even though he doubts they do much to calm the ache, but you always give a little thank you when he sets them in your palm that makes his savior complex purr like a tomcat.

“They’ll be weeks re-building the road,” you mutter, barely heard over the warning listing off affected areas. “If they even think to.”

“There are a few people nearby. They can’t leave us stranded.”

“They can and do. Look around you…” your sentence trails off before you sit up in your chair, blinking at him. “I just realized I don’t know your name.”

“Chris.” His own name feels foreign on his tongue, like it doesn't belong to him anymore. The locals don’t ask and he doesn’t bother enough to offer. He's a different man now anyway.

“Well, nice to meet you, Chris.” The smile you give him rivals the sun, and his name filtered through your accent feels like hearing it for the first time.

Within the confines of his ribs, his heart starts beating again.

You give him your own, and he rolls it around in his mouth before speaking it into existence.

It suits you.

He wants to say it. Wants to tell you it's nice to meet you, too. That, given the circumstances, you're goddamn lucky it was him that heard your calls for help. He's a mean man, not a bad one. In a world like this, the distinction is necessary.

But the moment passes, and he returns to the radio in silence.

.

.

.

Midday strikes hot and humid, much like most other days in summer.

You watch him chop up meat with all the reverence of a professional butcher. Leaned in close to survey the quality, to compliment the steadiness of his hand.

He had ordered you to rest, that you were likely concussed and needed the healing, but you were adamant about overseeing his carving of the deer on the porch outside. You had even helped him lay down the tarp (after throwing a borderline-tantrum about the necessity of pulling your weight).

“What’re you gonna fix with it?” you ask, shoulder brushing up against his as he turns the cut of rump over in his hands.

He’s never had an audience before. To Chris, preparing venison likens to meditation. He takes his time, ensures accuracy to prevent the loss of good meat. The spill of blood keeps him grounded, a controlled mess that has stained almost every shirt he owns.

Prey animals know the price of sacrifice, and maybe he sees a bit of himself in them. Knows how cruel fate can be.

“Fix?” Confusion twists up his brow as he slices away a stubborn piece of fat, and you scoff.

“For food. You can make all sorts of things with deer meat.”

“I just fry them up like steak.”

“Which is wasting good meat. We should make a stew. Or deer jerky.” From the corner of his eye, you shake your head at him. “You’re so lucky my daddy was a hunter.”

“Why is that?”

“’Cause I’m gonna teach you a thing or two.” He gives a pointed glance toward your injured leg, and you reach down to cover it with your hands. “My leg has no bearing on my ability to give orders.”

He bites back a smile, teeth aching from the force of his grit. “I'll take your word for it.”

Come to find out, it doesn’t. You instruct him on which ingredients to use, how to cut the meat, and when to add everything to the pot from your perch at the kitchen table. You’re like a little bird in his ear, singing away in an accent that grows thicker as the day wanes.

You eat your stew half-asleep. He shakes you three separate times when your head starts to droop and he fears you drowning in your bowl. But it’s the best meal he’s had in four years.

He drags you over to the couch, a feat given the way your legs buckle, and waits until you begin snoring, foot propped up on a pillow, to say, “Thank you.”

It's the first time in years, even before he hid himself away, that he's felt anything close to warmth thaw his insides. Gratefulness, maybe, that you possess the knowledge for self-sustainability. He isn't sure why he's so surprised.

He stares at you for a long moment as the wind howls outside, a sliver of light cutting your torso in half.

And then he goes to bed.

.

.

.

“I need to shower. Or bath. Something.”

He looks up to where you tower over him, leaning against the shelf of perishables he's been organizing all morning. “Then go.”

“I don't have clothes. And I'm not putting this sweaty outfit back on.”

Chris closes his eyes, massaging away the headache blooming across his forehead. It's hard enough to manage everything without your presence itching at the back of his skull. He knows you watch him when he isn't looking, no matter how discreet you attempt to be, and you strike up a conversation every time he's within earshot. He just can't figure out why. A copperhead would be a better housemate than him.

“Alright. Fine.”

With a tired huff, he rises to his feet and passes you on the way to the bedroom. He sifts through his dresser to find an old shirt and a pair of boxers he hasn't worn in a while. You'll bitch about wearing his clothes, but like the rest of this situation, you have no other option.

He doesn't really like the thought of you wearing them, either. Can’t put a finger on why, but the thought makes something foul churn in his gut. Too close for comfort.

Back in the kitchen, you take them with a sigh of resignation.

“That's all I have for you to wear.”

“No, it's fine. I appreciate it.” You survey his choices a moment before your head tilts and a wily grin stretches unsettling across your lips. You stretch out the hem of his underwear between each forefinger. “Comfy.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, butterflies swarming around inside his ribs. He wants to snatch them from you, to forbid you from entering his bathroom altogether, but he doesn’t. He drops to a crouch and picks up a can off the floor, scratching a corner off the dated label with his bitten-down thumbnail. “Jesus Christ, just go.”

A stagnant silence, and yet you still stand beside him.

“I was just playing. I didn't mean to—” He shoots you a glare over his shoulder (tries not to cave at the panicked pallor of your face), and your mouth clamps shut.

A few minutes later, the pipes creak and groan inside the walls as you start your bath.

The distraction of his sorting works for a while, until anger morphs into something easier to indulge in. He can’t think about you stretched out in the tub, naked, smelling like his soap. What you might choose to do with your precious minutes of privacy. Gritting your teeth through the pain of maneuvering your leg.

He’s not sure if wanting to help makes him a better or worse man. Selfish. A creep.

You don’t know him. He doesn’t want to know you. And yet he thinks, when the last of the supplies are sorted and inventoried, his back digging painfully into the shelf. He presses a bit harder to quiet his mind, until the welts of his spine bow beneath the wood, and still—this train of thought refuses to derail.

Because you aren’t a bad thing to look at all day, and he can think of much worse companions to share his home with.

The solitude sews poison in his brain. A rabid beast with gnawing hunger and sharp teeth used to satiate. He wonders how soft you are. How easy your flesh might give from the press of his fingers. The best way to shut up your chirping.

He digs the heel of his palms into each eye socket until he sees stars, and then the inevitable happens.

A thud from the bathroom rattles the house. On the other side of the wall, you spew out a string of curses that would make his old team blush. But you don’t call for help.

He weighs his options as he rises to his feet, already beelining for the bathroom door before his mind makes its decision. A swath of steam smacks him in the face when he opens it, and there you lay: sprawled out on your side, held up by an elbow, the expanse of your back and legs still dripping water. Bare. You missed hitting the sink by only a few inches.

A fresh wave of anger wells up inside his throat—how could you do this to him—before he swallows it down.

“What the fuck did you do?” The question poses more as accusation, rough as the rock that sits in the back of his throat.

He grabs you beneath each arm and sits you up, and you tilt your head back against his shoulder to meet his gaze.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I just—I got dizzy and—fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Every cell in his body fights the urge to look past your face, to the swell of your chest, the curve of your belly, the little heaven between your thighs concealed by a thatch of hair.

If he were a worse man, he would stare, but he spares your body little more than a glance before he’s helping you to the edge of the tub with a growling sigh.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, and that’s good enough for him. He leaves as quickly as he came.

This is where his slow death begins.

You’re wearing his clothes when you exit the bathroom, and you smell like him, and you ignore him all evening. Actual torture would be more bearable than this. Anything but your newfound fear of him.

You eat dinner in silence, eyes glancing up at him when you think he doesn’t notice, but unfortunately for you, he doesn’t miss much. Especially not the pout that contorts your mouth, or the crystalline shine to your eyes.

From your point of view, he must not look too keen on engaging in conversation. Sour-faced and square-shouldered, stabbing at steamed vegetables with a fork.

When he settles in for bed, he thinks of you. The softness of your skin, the curve of your back, the nest of curls hiding away your cunt.

It takes him less than a minute—sharp, wet pumps of his fist—before he cums thick all over his belly, teeth sinking into the fat of his thumb to occupy his mouth. The regret sets in shortly after, when he hops in the shower and stares at the porcelain base of the tub beneath his feet. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt sexual attraction, too occupied with the inner workings of his head. And now that box has been opened, and every horrific, nasty thought kept tucked away for years seeks to drown him.

He wakes the next morning to a revival of guilt. Snow clinging to his lashes. Sand in his hair. Salt in his mouth. Plush thighs and pretty lips and hot wet velvet heat. He fists the sheets to keep from touching himself, until the sunstorm remnants of his dreams die out.

In the living room, you’re still sleeping. Morning has yet to break, the sky outside still dark, his yard a well of thick mist from an overnight rain. At this rate, you’ll be stuck here until winter.

He resigns himself to reading a book on the front porch, chain-smoking the morning away. Fractals of lightning strobe across the sky. A bird takes refuge on the wooden rafter above his head. His fingers itch with a need to busy themselves, but he would rather take his chances out here than share the house with you.

The bees drone on as they drill into the wood of his porch, scattering sawdust everywhere, but he can’t bring himself to care. The screen door opens with a creak, and there you stand, arms cradled against your chest as if chilled to the bone.

You refuse to meet his stare, opting to gaze out along the expanse of trees concealed by a wall of heavy rain.

“You shouldn’t be on your leg,” he says, dog-earing the freshly-turned page of his book before setting it aside.

“Just wanted to check on you. Thought you might be out in this.” You nod toward the yard, now a sea of mud and standing water.

Mosquitos are going to be brutal for the next week.

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again to say, “I really am sorry, ya know. I didn't mean to push you like that.” Finally, you turn to look at him. “Gratefulness aside, you can be an asshole sometimes.”

He knows. It’s what’s kept him alive this long.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to complain.”

Against his better judgement, he pulls out a seat for you. Says, “Well, we have all morning,” with a nod to the sickly grey sky.

The gesture is equal parts olive branch and apology. A rite of penance. One of the hardest things Chris has ever done—giving a chance for you to slip through the cracks of his inpenetrable armor.

You take it with a tender smile, nursing your leg on the way over. Stubborn little thing can't stay still to save your life.

The rain beats a steady rhythm onto the roof of the covered porch, and he has half a mind to slink back inside and sleep the day away. The weather opens his aches like popped-loose stitches, joints ground to the bone, a blooming throb at his temples.

You watch him with a propped-up elbow, cheek resting on a fist. “You're a frustrating feller, ya know that?”

“I'm aware.”

“At least give me something. A last name? Everybody's got one'a those.”

He considers it for a moment. Takes a long drag of his cigarette and ignores (or tries to) the way his shirt exposes the soft curve of your shoulder. The sheen of sweat on your face that makes you glow.

“Redfield.”

You hum. “Chris Redfield. You're one of a kind around here.”

“What, you don't see many Redfields?”

“Wasn't talkin’ about your name, big guy.”

He blinks. The way you smile at him—soft, so soft—makes his teeth bite into the filter of his cigarette. If he were a worse man, he would lean forward and bite the pretty curve of your shoulder instead. Carve his being into something much more giving. Sweeter.

He turns away to stare at the ashtray, to watch the filter burn as he stamps out its fire. From the corner of his eye, you shift.

“Listen, I know I'm a lot, but I really do appreciate you taking me in. You saved my life.”

He nods his head, tracks with his eyes a billowing smoke that mingles with the rain. “Then you should listen to me, for your own sake.”

You sink into your chair with a pout. “I'm not used to sitting all day.”

“You better get used to it.”

And get used to it you do. You stay out of his hair for the better part of four days, only interacting with him during meals and when he passes by the couch for his hourly cigarette. But still, you watch him tinker about the house as the radio drones on in the background. The daily weather report supplementing the rhythmic thump of his hammer.

He's finally gotten around to fixing the rickety dining chair (only because the first time you sat in it, you almost fell on your ass; he knew better).

“Don't you got a TV or something?” you ask him from your place on the couch, freshly awoken from your nap.

He glances over at you. Your eyes squint from the overhead light, shirt rolled halfway up your stomach. He does not take half a second to ponder the softness of your skin, or if you might giggle when he kisses you there.

If you still smell like him.

“Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost five.”

You huff, collapse against your flat pillow with a thud. “Do you even have a phone?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want one.”

“So you're one'a those types. Got away from society to start over or some shit?”

“Something like that.”

You fall silent, turning away from him to face the couch. A swell of regret settles like a rock in his throat. The fear that he's made you angry once again. He shouldn't care, but he does. He's grown used to your endless chatter, always something to talk about inside that brain of yours.

He hates it. Hates himself for letting you worm your way into his skull. A part of you settles there no matter how hard he tries to shake you out. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The flood wasn't supposed to happen. Your presence was never part of the plan, a liability unaccounted for.

He feels like he's been put on the chopping block and he watches the axe get polished. Waiting for the blade to fall, for the pain to end.

With a heavy sigh, he opens his mouth to speak. To indulge you just this once. “I used to work for the government. Had a bad time. That's all you need to know.”

You don't budge at his admission.

He blinks, waits a moment, then turns back to the chair.

A few minutes later, your snores flutter into the kitchen. So pitiful sleeping on his couch, small beneath the pile of his old comforter. Too good for a dog like him.

How sweet you'd be.

[mosaickiwi]

MC/Angel relaxing with Fox Ren giving him all the smooches and cuddles~!!! Or daily life with Redacted with MC/Angel as a house spouse teehee~!!!

Kinda sorta combined them oopsies teehee <3 <3 da best fluffy boi

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~Literal Domestic Fluff~

You’d been busy since Ren left to patrol the territory early that morning. With him out of the way, cleaning up was admittedly easier. The kitchen was spotless, paw prints in the hallways scrubbed away, and the laundry almost finished. A scant few linens fresh from the dryer lay in the basket at your feet, one being carefully folded as you lounged in your favorite window seat to bask in the setting sun.

You paused to bring the warm fabric up to your face. The pleasant floral scent of the detergent was nice, but nothing compared to the fresh mountain air you’d finally gotten used to over the months. You opened the window all the way to let in a breeze.

Something immediately felt different, almost relaxing about the faintly cool air flowing past. It took a moment to realize the real source of the calm that washed over you.

A familiar presence was running through the sparse trees that lined the farthest edge of the garden. Before you could even call their name, he was making leaps and bounds on pink-toed paws to cross the short expanse of greenery between you. In a matter of seconds the ethereal fox morphed into a shape closer to human as they approached, though the tails and ears stayed in place. He came to a skittering halt outside the window.

“Angel!” Ren excitedly spoke as he reached up to you, a sparkle to his pale blue eyes. 

You dropped the blanket and leaned over the window sill to take hold of his outstretched hand, placing a quick kiss to his forehead for good measure. For once, you were the one towering over him—if only by a few centimeters. “Hi, Ren,” you said with a smile.

His excitement only seemed to intensify at your affections. Nine fluffy tails began to wag in delight while you carded your other hand through his hair. “I missed you.”

“Really? I couldn't tell,” you teased, waving away a couple stray leaves and flower petals from his pointed ears. “I missed you, too.”

Your bonded partner immediately flushed pink at your response, then something caught his attention that made his nose wrinkle. “Are you okay? Was it too cold while I was gone?” 

You weren't sure what he meant until you followed his gaze to the disheveled blanket next to you on the cushioned seat. You shook your head to calm him down. “Just doing laundry.”

He was hesitant to accept your answer, but the second kiss you pressed to his lips seemed to distract him well enough. Ren stood up straighter, determined to make it last as long as possible. Shivers ran up your spine when his fingers carefully settled along the base of your neck to keep you steady. 

Though you weren't quite finished, you were forced to pull away and breathe. “Hmm, maybe I am a little cold. We should—hey!” you suddenly laughed, gently pushing them back. He was practically crawling through the window to reach you at the mere suggestion of cuddling. “Let me finish up, okay? Just a few minutes. And use the front door.”

His ears fell flat in embarrassment as he nodded and settled down. No longer crowding the window, but still on his toes to better see what you were doing.

You took your time folding the blanket and what was left in the basket. It was hard to ignore the focused gaze of the man, nor the way he noticeably perked up once you finished folding something, only to pout at the next piece of fabric you grabbed. With a little less willpower you would've abandoned the laundry far sooner to give them all of your focus.

Eventually, you had a neat and tidy pile of sheets to put away. A quick peek from the corner of your eye in their direction was enough to alert him. He bolted from the window in an instant, just for you to hear him loudly sprinting through the villa’s many hallways seconds later. There was barely any time to stand up before you were scooped up in their arms.

He nuzzled into your neck with an almost desperate sigh as he mumbled, “I’m sorry I was away for so long, beloved.” You could faintly feel his teeth nipping at the skin above your collarbone. “Y’smell different.”

“Huh? Oh.” You made a mental note to find a scentless laundry detergent on your next outing into town. Maybe it would bother him less.

The warmth of his silky tails enveloped you, barely tickling you when they brushed back and forth over your form. As he carried you from the room, tucked safely close to their chest, you happily gave them the attention they’d been waiting for.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

For Safekeeping

Written for the Kissing Booth bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Amnesia

Words: 1,017 [also on AO3]

Rated: M

Tags: Fae!Eddie; Dark Eddie; Human!Steve; Mind control; Memory loss; Master/Servant; Implied sexual content; Dubious consent

Notes: Continued from here.

Sometimes, his mind tries to go back. 

It's small and insignificant things that'll trigger it, mostly. A chilly draft riding on the night air, the glint of a blade on one of the guards’ belts. The scent of the flowers that His Lordship likes to put into his hair. He hasn't been able to figure out any rhyme or reason to it, even in all the time he's been here. 

He … 

He thinks he's been here a long while.

Time passes in strange and unusual ways in the realm of the fae. Misty early morning light that seems to last forever blurring into the golden heat of midday giving way to swirling red and purple lights in a starry midnight sky. He tried to keep track of the seasons in the beginning, his feeble human mind desperately scrambling for something to hold on to - some means of telling how many of the five-hundred years of service he promised had already passed. He gave up on that attempt fairly soon. Nowadays, he isn't entirely sure of whether he's dreaming or waking most of the time. He's come to like it, that warm, hazy lull. It's much more pleasant than the alternative. Much less tiresome and exhausting.

“Sweet thing.” 

He blinks. 

His Lordship is lounging in his favorite seat under the ancient willow trees, dark curls spilling over soft pillows, gaze alight with mirth. One hand, heavily adorned in glinting jewels, tips an empty goblet. 

“I am still waiting.” 

“Sorry,” he mutters, taking the carafe of wine off the table to carry it over. Midnight eyes watch him from under dark lashes as he fills the goblet. 

“Where's that pretty head of yours? Memories troubling you again?” 

“No,” he says automatically, then wrinkles his brow. “I don't know, maybe. Forgive me, my lord, it won't happen again.” 

He turns to leave, planning on returning the wine to its proper place, but one pale, slender hand closes around his wrist. His Lordship takes the carafe from his hands and carelessly puts it aside on the forest floor. 

“Sit.” 

He does. His tunic rides up as he kneels by His Lordship's feet, exposing most of his legs and thighs, but the mossy ground is soft and warm. His Lordship likes to wrap himself in long, billowing robes, deep black like the night sky. Him, though, he prefers in shorter and lighter garments. 

“You’re such a pretty thing, my sweet,” he told him once, fingers tracing the patterns of his moles on naked skin. “And pretty things should be put on display, not hidden away.” 

A soft, graceful hand slips another flower into his hair, then travels down to touch a gentle finger to his chin, tilting his head up. 

“Tell me what's bothering you.” 

He sucks in a breath to answer before he knows he's doing it - commands must be obeyed, after all. Then, he pauses and wrinkles his brow, struggling to find the words to explain. When he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, His Lordship tuts and frees it with gentle fingers. He likes his lips soft and pink and supple. 

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “I know you told me not to dwell on them, and I’m trying, but … I can't seem to stop it.” 

His Lordship hums thoughtfully. 

“It was to be expected, I guess. The veil between the realms has been thin, lately, and your mind is a stubborn thing. Always trying to hold on to memories, images, names …” 

Names.

That's right, he must’ve had a name once. All humans have them, don't they? So why can't he remember his? 

“Oh, sweet thing. Don't you recall?” His Lordship mutters, eyes crinkling with fond amusement. Has he been talking out loud again? He supposes he must have. His Lordship always seems to know what he is thinking. “You gave it to me for safekeeping.” 

Oh. 

Oh yeah, that's right. 

“Because names have power,” he whispers. “And this is a dangerous place.” 

“There's my clever boy,” His Lordship smiles. The wine glistens on his lips, red and delicious and tempting. The pressure of the finger against his chin increases, guiding him up, up, up, until he's straddling his Lordship's lap. “That's exactly right. The fair folk are jealous and possessive creatures, and many a Lord or Lady would like a pretty pet like you. You wouldn’t want anyone to take you from me, would you?”

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head so vehemently that some of the flowers slip and tumble into his lap. “No, never. I’m yours.” 

His Lordship is always kind and gentle and patient with him, and so, so beautiful. He would never want to serve anyone else, even if he has seen the looks that some of the other fae give him when he waits on His Lordship during feasts and audiences. 

“My good boy,” His Lordship purrs, voice trickling into his blood like sweet, potent mead. One of his hands slides under the hem of his tunic, pulling him closer. The finger that’s still on his lips tilts his head, gently nudging him to open his mouth. He does. Commands must be obeyed. “That’s right, you are mine. I won’t ever allow anything else.” 

The wine on His Lordship’s lips and tongue is sweet and heady. It fills his blood with warm, heavy tingles and his mind with soft, fuzzy clouds. By the time the kiss ends, he has forgotten what it was he was worried about. 

“Because there’s nothing, sweet thing,” His Lordship smiles. The hand that has wiggled its way under his tunic squeezes, and he gasps. “You do not need to worry about a single thing except obeying my orders. You can do that, right?”

“Yes, my Lord.” 

The answer slips out easily and eagerly, and those pretty, plump lips smile in approval. 

“Of course you can,” His Lordship says, fingers caressing his cheekbones. “Now. I think what we both need is a nice, relaxing bath. You run along and draw one, sweet thing. I will be with you in a short while so you can undress us both.”

More Steddie Bingo

[p-artsypants]

Interference

When Hiccup accidentally overhears a conversation between Astrid and Heather about him, he assumes Astrid's telling the truth about not having any feelings for him, and it makes him reevaluate his life plans. Thankfully, it's only a misunderstanding.

Hi! This is my first time participating in a fandom challenge. This is my entry for the @httydhiccstridweek Day 4 prompt: (Not) Stubborn. It might be a bit of a stretch….

@sorushing

Ao3

Hiccup meandered through the Edge woods. Toothless was taking his mid afternoon nap (poor nocturnal soul) and Hiccup had been tinkering in his hut. He had a few ideas for a tail fin improvement, but he was trying to combine them all and it simply wasn’t working. 

So, like he often did on Berk to clear his head, he went on a walk in the woods. The day was pleasant, Heather was back for a while, maybe even to stay. Everyone else seemed to be finding ways to stay busy, which meant not annoying him. 

Yes, a pleasant walk indeed. 

He found himself heading toward Astrid’s clearing where she’d set up targets for axe throwing. Not surprising he’d seek her out. It would have been more surprising if he hadn’t. 

Through the brush, he could hear Astrid and Heather talking, interspersed with the thunks of blades into wood. 

Maybe he ought to let them catch up in peace. He didn’t have anything particular he wanted to talk about, and both of them could use quality girl time. 

As he turned to leave, he swore he heard Astrid say his name. Not calling out to him, but talking about him to Heather. 

Too curious for his own good, he kept low and his steps quiet. He stayed hidden among the bushes and behind a tree, safe from arrant axes. 

Just for a minute, he told himself. It wasn’t polite to spy. 

“You guys are a thing, right?” Heather asked. 

Hiccup felt his face flush hot as he heard Astrid’s axe fly wildly off in the distance. 

“What?! No! J-just friends!” 

He hugged himself, trying to stave off the heartbreak just that sentence caused. 

“Hmmm. He’s pretty cute.” 

“Sure, if you like the unassuming, heroic, dragon rider type, heh.” 

“Fishlegs said you guys used to kiss. Did it not work out?” 

“Wh-what? Used to—no no, he’s got it all wrong. Yeah, I kissed Hiccup in front of everyone, but it was just the one time. It was after he lost his leg and he was finally up and walking around. I was relieved that he was alive.” 

“So you kissed him?” 

“That’s—er—that is to say, I was relieved, and he had ended the war, so I thought he deserved a kiss.” 

Hiccup couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard Astrid flustered. It was confusing, but exciting? Talking about him, kissing him, made her nervous. 

“Oh, I get it. A reward for a good deed.” 

“Exactly.” 

“What about the other two?” 

“Other—? Oh I’m going to kill Fishlegs.” 

Heather laughed. “You should know better. He gave me all the hot gossip!” 

Astrid grunted, and hurled an axe at a target, sinking the blade into the wood. “Well, no use in lying. Fine. I kissed him a total of three times…but those were years ago! One was during Snoggletog. All the dragons left to go have their mating ritual, which we didn’t know they did, and we were all sad. Toothless couldn’t initially go, so Hiccup made him a tailfin he could use on his own, and then he left too.” 

“I remember this story,” Heather giggled. “Fishlegs locked Meatlug in a barn and she laid eggs…also how he found out she was a girl.” 

“Yeahhhh…”

“And how you guys found out that boulder class eggs explode.” 

“Let’s gloss over that part,” Astrid rubbed the back of her head. “When Meatlug got free, Hiccup somehow got caught up in her escape and went with her to the rookery. A day later, he returned with all the dragons and their babies…all except Toothless.” 

Hiccup craned his head to listen more, as Astrid’s voice had grown softer. 

“We were all so devastated they left. I was heartbroken that Stormfly just left so abruptly, and then Hiccup was there with Stormfly and all her babies. He returned her to me…but he was still so profoundly sad and clearly missed Toothless. I was so grateful and he was so…” she sighed. “So yeah, I kissed him again. Just a peck.” 

“I can see why.” 

Astrid sighed again, grunting at the end as she heaved her axe over her shoulder. “The last time was during Thawfest. An annual tournament to decide the best Viking. Snotlout had won every year since we were in diapers, and you know how much of a sore winner he is.” 

“A little unbearable?” 

“A lot unbearable. Truthfully, I always thought I’d be the one to beat him, but my family has a notorious curse on our Thawfest performance. No Hofferson has won a point in a hundred years. Just bad luck.” 

“So no chance of humbling Snotlout?” 

“Not initially, no. But these Thawfest games would be the first to include Dragons. And with a Nightfury, well, now there was an even playing field.” 

Hiccup smiled at her recollection. Hearing it from her perspective was interesting. 

“Snotlout was always mean to Hiccup, but he became a lot more respectful after Hiccup lost his leg. Thawfest brought the ugly back out, and Hiccup was right there, handing it right back. I honestly didn’t recognize him. He’d always taken bullying and criticism so tactfully, either letting it roll off his shoulders or turning it into a joke, but now he was showboating and hurling insults…granted, Hiccup hadn’t ever won anything before, so he probably didn’t know what that felt like.”

Ouch, Astrid. Hiccup thought.

“He had the chance to beat Snotlout. And I think Spitelout, Snotlout’s dad, was very aware of that. Spitelout’s always been cruel, and reamed Snotlout out in front of all of us, while Stoick just told Hiccup to do his best.” There was warmth in her voice as she finished, “during the final race, Hiccup ‘had a problem’ with Toothless and Snotlout was able to win. Everyone else thought there was a malfunction with the tail, but I could tell it was on purpose. Hiccup gave up his chance to finally win Thawfest and ‘be the best viking’ because he knew the pride and accomplishment would last a little while, but the shame and humiliation Snotlout would feel would last a lifetime. He let Snotlout, the boy that bullied him his entire life, win, because they were friends now and that’s what friends do.” 

“And you thought he should at least win something.” 

“Exactly.” 

Hiccup rested a hand on his blushing face. He assumed Astrid had figured him out, and that was why she kissed him, but to see that she had so deeply and thoroughly read his mind and heart…

But she’d been good at that for years. He could never hide his feelings from her. With one look, she was able to determine what was on his mind or what was bothering him. 

All but one thing, and he was fairly sure she knew and just didn’t comment on it. 

“So you don’t have any feelings for him at all? None whatsoever?” 

Hiccup held his breath.

“I mean…of course I like him, I love him! But like—not love love. A platonic love.” 

“Like a brother?” 

“Ehhh, like a friend. A good friend. I trust him, but that’s really it.” 

Crack. Hiccup was pretty sure his heart just stopped, and maybe they could hear it snapping in half from where they were. 

Tears bit at his eyes, but he was determined not to let them fall. Astrid was entitled to feel however she wanted. Her friendship was so important to him, he’d take it in whatever form she was willing to give. 

No wonder the random kisses stopped. She just…didn’t like him.

Then he started spiraling. What was the tipping point? When did she realize he wasn’t all that special? Because you don’t just kiss your friends, there had to have been some fondness she held for him at one point. And then it disappeared somewhere along the line. 

He did something to repulse her. 

“So…you wouldn’t mind if I asked him out?” Heather asked. 

Hiccup choked, a wheeze slithering up his throat. He had to place a hand over his mouth to keep it silent. 

What?! Heather?! Why?!

It seemed like Astrid had similar thoughts as she barked, “excuse me?!” 

“Yeah,” Heather replied, calm and cool. “If you don’t like like him, I think he’s pretty cool. Maybe he’d go on a date with me.” 

“That’s—!” Astrid balked. Then, after a moment, she said, “you know what? You’re right! You’re both clever and cool, I bet you’d get along great. You should go for it.” 

What?! Hiccup screamed in his mind. Astrid, don’t! 

“Really?” Heather chirped. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Nah, I was just concerned since you just got here. But why not? He seems to like you.” 

Yeah, Hiccup liked Heather, about as much as he liked Ruffnut. She was a friend that he trusted. Granted, he did think Heather was pretty, but that was the extent of his attraction. 

Hiccup shook his head, feeling all sorts of hurt and betrayal. He needed to get out of here. 

Just as quietly as he came, he tiptoed away, careful to not make his foot click or even brush against leaves. 

Once he was far enough away, he booked it back to the Edge, eyes stinging with tears. He didn’t want to cry, but gods how he loved her! 

And now he would have to navigate putting his heart back together while figuring out what to do with Heather. 

He’d turn her down, obviously. He was in no condition to agree to any sort of date, no matter how casual. 

He needed time. 

He turned the path to the Clubhouse and saw Snotlout and Tuffnut wrestling in the grass. He tried to pass them without a word, but Snotlout spotted him. 

“Hey, why the long face?” 

Hiccup didn’t answer, but kept walking. 

“Whoa, yeah! You been crying? What happened?” Asked Tuffnut. 

“I’m fine,” Hiccup protested, his voice thick with sorrow. 

Snotlout and Tuffnut quickly abandoned their training and flanked Hiccup, one on each side. 

“You say that, but your face is soaked with tears,” Snotlout smirked. “What? Did you see a big scary spider?” 

Hiccup never appreciated Snotlout’s teasing, who would? But right now, he was ready to break. Instead, he found a safe lie and said, “my leg is killing me.” 

Snotlout’s face steeled into something more serious. In a blink, Hiccup was up on his back, being carried back to the Outpost piggyback style. 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“Don’t comment on it,” Snotlout grumbled. “Just let me get my weight training in…though you weigh nothing, so it’s not going to do any good.” 

Hiccup just hung on and hid his face in Snotlout’s shoulder. Pain was pain, no matter where it was coming from, and comfort was comfort, even if it was coming from his dickhead cousin. 

Snotlout carried him all the way back to his hut and sat him on his bed. “You good if you just chill for a bit? Or do you need me to get Fishface?” 

“No, getting off of it for a while is fine. Thanks Snotlout, I appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” he smirked. Then he punched Hiccup in the shoulder. “If I see you up before dinner, I’m bringing you back…and it won’t be a pleasant piggyback ride next time.” 

“Noted.” 

Snotlout gave him a salute and left, leaving Hiccup all alone in his hut. 

All alone, and miserable. 

It had been such a nice day too!

Hiccup sighed as he laid down on his bed. Curling up helped with the pain. 

He didn’t want to sulk. He didn’t want to cry his eyes out, but wow how quickly his world flipped upside down! He always thought there was something special between him and Astrid. They could almost read each other’s minds. 

I don’t want to live in a world without you. 

And she had repeated that to him. Had that meant nothing? Or just not as much as it meant to him? 

How many sleepless nights had he tossed and turned thinking about her, dreaming about her, planning when he’d make that step? He was so certain that this was mutual and just unrushed. When he finally did kiss her, she’d reciprocate. 

Because he trusted her. He trusted her too much, apparently, and never thought she’d hurt him. 

And it stung. All the way down to his toes, he felt a blinding ache. He and Astrid hadn’t dated, no, but she was so intrinsic to his life, as deeply intertwined with every aspect, there was no escape. She was in all his happy memories. She was there cheering him on in all his victories. How was he supposed to face her now? 

How was he supposed to move on? 

A sob cut through his mental tirade and he buried his eyes in the crook of his elbow. 

Gods, this hurt. And that meant it was real. It wasn’t puppy love or a little crush, it was all encompassing desire and adoration. 

He loved Astrid Hofferson. And she didn’t love him back. 

“Wurrr?” Toothless warbled in his face. 

Hiccup looked up sharply, meeting those empathetic green eyes. “Oh. Hey bud, didn’t hear you come up.” 

“Weerrp?” 

“I’m okay…or I will be.” 

Toothless sniffed over his body, checking for injuries. 

“No, no it’s…it’s not that. I um…I found out that Astrid probably doesn’t feel the same way I do.” 

“Rrrummp.” Toothless rolled his eyes, clearly showing a large degree of doubt. 

“No ‘rruummp’! I heard it! With my own ears! She and Heather were talking and she asked her if we were a couple and Astrid denied it up and down. Said she liked me as a friend and that’s it.” He clenched his eyes shut as they started to water again. “She actually encouraged Heather to ask me out.” 

“Rreweerr?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong.” He tucked his head into his arm again, putting pressure on his eyelids. 

Toothless, ever the faithful companion, climbed up onto the bed and wormed his legs under Hiccup. Then he dragged him back and cocooned him in paws and wings, blocking out the world and whatever hurt his boy. 

Hiccup could cry in peace. 

Hours passed, and Hiccup cried on and off. He’d gather himself, hype himself up to some sort of mantra of ‘it’s going to be fine, you’ll get over it’. And then he’d break down again as he remembered something else that Astrid’s presence was intertwined with and was now ruined. 

He hadn’t cried like this in years. Not since…not since he lost his leg. That time was a whirlwind of emotion. His father disowned him, and the pain of being cast out of the tribe was excruciating. Losing everything he loved, everything he had tried so hard to protect and those he tried to impress. It was ripped away. 

But Astrid remained, standing by his side and encouraging him in her own abrasive way. She poked and prodded at him until he kicked himself into gear, then she was with him through all of it. She helped him train the others, flew him to Helheim’s gate, did everything he asked of her and helped him fulfill his destiny. 

Back then, gaining his father’s love and acceptance had come from his arrival. Just coming to help was enough for Stoick…though seeing the Red Death with his own eyes probably helped. 

But for the rest of the Vikings, for everyone else that ridiculed him, his outcast had to be traded for. He lost his leg, but found a place in the tribe. 

Except…Astrid never needed any of that. She was there from that magical flight, and by his side, she’d remain. Without her, he’d still be on that cliff, watching his father and Toothless sail away. 

Without her…

What was he going to do? 

Stopping the hunters, saving the dragons, it was all the right thing to do, and he was driven to do it. But for how long? Without her rallying beside him, how long would his spirit hold up before it broke? 

He was just one man. Less than one man, really, with less than a whole dragon. They could do great things, had done great things. 

But without Astrid, the victories wouldn’t be as sweet, and the losses would hurt even more. 

But he’d do it. He’d smile and keep her at arms length, if that’s where she wanted to be. All he wanted was for her to be happy. 

Oh gods, what if she fell in love with someone? With this new perspective, he was certain she was just not interested in love and more interested in the fight. What if that changed? What if she met someone on their travels? What if he had to watch her fall in love and he had to pretend to be happy for her? 

No. No Odin, please no. That might actually kill him. 

The dinner bell rang. Everyone else was probably gathered already, and this was just for his benefit. 

Dare he bother? Well, if he didn’t go, Astrid would surely check on him. And he just couldn’t handle that right now. 

He patted Toothless’ belly. “Alright, you big lug, let me up.” 

Toothless warbled a protest, but unfurled his legs and wings so Hiccup could crawl out. 

From here, Hiccup could see and hear that it had started raining. Not too hard, but enough to be a pain to fly in. 

“Ah, sorry bud. Probably no flight tonight. Looks like you can go back to napping.” 

Toothless cocked his head to the side, concerned. 

Hiccup went to his wash basin and splashed the freezing cold water on his face, hoping that the evidence of tears would wash away. Maybe Snotlout had told them what happened, and any redness would be attributed to his leg instead of the real problem. 

The rain storm did make his calf ache though, and thinking about it made it flare up. A twinge, enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to be debilitating like Snotlout thought. Still, to be proactive and to help with his cover story, he took out his cane. A gift from Gobber when they left home, only used on the worst days. 

Well, this was a pretty terrible day. 

“Weerrr?” 

“I’m okay. I’m going to make an appearance, eat some dinner, and then come back. I might even be able to get some work done on that tail.” 

Toothless didn’t seem to care about the tail, just his boy. He let out another concerned wuff and padded closer. 

“You’re smothering me,” Hiccup scolded. “Just…I’m dealing with it.” 

“Rrrggh.” 

“I know…I love you too, bud.” 

Hiccup gave him a scratch behind the ears and then headed out into the rain. 

By the time he reached the clubhouse, he was soaked. As he thought, he was the last to arrive, and everyone looked up as he entered. 

Astrid was up like a shot, jogging over to him. She took his free arm and draped it over her shoulder. 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“You have your cane.” 

“Yeah…” 

She led him to his normal spot, right next to her, and sat him down. Then she took his cane and placed it out of the way, but close enough for him to grab. 

A plate and mug were placed in front of him, probably by Fishlegs, but he wasn’t keeping track. He just stared at his food and idly pushed it around with his fork. 

Having Astrid fret and dote on him made his appetite evaporate. 

Someone was talking, maybe Snotlout or the twins. They were telling a joke, or maybe a story. There was laughter which petered out to companionable silence. 

“What about you, Hiccup?” Heather asked. “We didn’t see you at all today. What were you up to?” 

He frowned slightly, scrounging up a story. 

“Ex-nay on the ay-day,” whispered Snotlout, still loud enough everyone heard. 

“Yeah, on bad leg days, you don’t want to know what he was up to,” said Tuff, who then received an elbow to the gut. 

He took it and ran with it. “Well, I had an idea for a new tailfin,” Hiccup began. “Then I got stuck and went for a walk. I…pulled something, and spent the rest of the day laying down.” He shrugged. “Not very interesting.” 

“…I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Hiccup nodded, always awkward when people apologized for his leg pain. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. No one needed to apologize. 

Heather got this big, mischievous grin across her lips and said, “I know what will cheer you up!” 

Astrid whipped her head over to glare at Heather. “Not now.” 

Heather seemed to ignore her, however, as she declared, “let’s go on a date!” 

The room went silent. Snotlout dropped his fork. Ruffnut choked on her drink. 

Not so subtly, everyone looked at Astrid. Hiccup glanced at her from his periphery, but didn’t linger. 

Her face was stony cold, and borderline murderous. 

“Well?” Heather prodded. “What do you say? Unless…you have your eye on someone else…” 

“Heather.” Astrid snapped. 

Ah. So this was a game she was playing. Well, unfortunately, this wasn’t a game to Hiccup. His feelings, Astrid’s lack of feelings, it wasn’t amusing. It wasn’t fun. It was beyond painful, and he wasn’t doing this. 

“Not interested,” he said coldly. 

The gasps from the group weren’t a surprise. He never spoke harshly to anyone without good reason. And even then, Heather hadn’t ever been on the receiving end.

Then he stood, left his cane behind, left a full plate of food, and walked with purpose out of the clubhouse and into the pouring rain. 

He could hear the chaos before he was out of earshot. 

“I tried to warn you, Muttonhead!” Astrid shouted, clearly angry. 

“What the hell was that?!” Ruffnut barked. 

“I didn’t think he’d react like that!” Heather defended. 

And then he was off, trying to get away from them. Going back to his hut was a sure fire way to get sought out quickly, or Toothless would be smothering him again. 

Either way, back out into the rain it was. No particular destination, he just wandered, letting the rain soak him through. 

Eventually, he walked to the edge of the landing strip, and his escape came to an end. No where else to go, but he was far enough away for now, and in the downpour, in the dark of the evening, no one would look for him out here. 

Fresh hot tears mingled with the cold rain on his face. 

He sighed in exasperation. “Just stop crying already,” he scolded himself. “It’s not doing any good.” 

But that only made him feel worse and cry harder. 

“Hey,” Astrid’s voice cut through his sorrow. It was stern, almost motherly. “Why are you out here? Why are you standing?” 

So much for getting away for a while…

He didn’t respond, didn’t turn to her, nothing. But he did cross his arms, more to hug himself than anything. 

“Snotlout said he found you weeping in pain earlier. Do I need to carry you?” 

“No.” 

“I brought your cane. Let’s go back to your hut and get you a hot rag.” 

His breath hitched. She was so thoughtful, so thorough. And so self-sacrificing! Heather, her best friend, was here, and Astrid was doting on him. 

He couldn’t let her do that. 

“Astrid, could you leave me alone?” He croaked. 

That was decidedly not the correct thing to say to get her off his back, as she was immediately in front of him, brows drawn and frowning hard. “No way in Midgard am I leaving you alone right now. It’s my job to make sure you’re taken care of.” 

He clenched his eyes shut. “Who gave you that job? My dad?” 

“I gave it to myself.” She poked his chest. “Because you’re too reckless and impulsive for your own good. Someone needs to make sure you don’t break your neck!” 

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“No? You’re all good to just stand out here and get sick? You’re content to be out the rest of the week with leg pain?” 

“My leg isn’t the problem!” He barked. “Now leave me alone!” 

Her eyes went wide and she took a step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?” 

He scoffed and turned away. 

But Astrid persisted. She reached up and pushed his sopping wet bangs out of his face. Her touch was tender and so full of love, it might as well be a blow from a mace. 

“Talk to me, Hiccup. You can trust me.” 

He looked back at her, a lump in his throat. Hopefully it was dark enough out that she couldn’t see the redness on his face. 

Might as well just rip the Nadder quill out, right? Have this conversation and figure out where they stand? That was the smart thing. It would probably help figure out where to go from here. 

A hot tear slipped between the frigid rain drops. 

“I did go on a walk,” he began. “I went to your clearing, and heard you say my name…and I decided to eavesdrop.” 

Astrid’s eyes blew wide as she covered her mouth. “Oh Odin…how much did you hear?” 

“It started with Heather asking if we were a couple and I left when you encouraged her to ask me out.” 

“All of it,” she cringed. “You heard all of it.” 

“So…I just…I thought…” he sighed. “I’m trying to come to terms with it. I had…expectations, or maybe assumptions, and didn’t realize you…didn’t feel the same.” The last bit came out with a croak. 

“Hiccup…” 

“So that’s what happened,” he glanced away. “You’re so deeply involved with every part of my life, I’m trying to figure out how to get over you and —“ 

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Stop right there,” she snapped. “You’re not making any decisions like that.” 

“Astrid…” he mumbled against her hand. 

“Let me finish.” She huffed. “That conversation wasn’t meant for you.” 

“I know, I shouldn’t have lis—“ 

She punched him in the arm, though not too hard, just enough to shut him up. 

“Ow!” 

“I’m not done,” she scolded. “Hiccup, I lied to Heather. I didn’t want to talk to her about my feelings for you, but I know her. She would have pestered me until I told the truth. I still don’t think she believed me.” 

“You were very convincing.” 

She held his face. “But it was a lie. You know I care a lot about you, right?” 

He felt his mouth tremble. “Yeah…?”

She smiled and wiped over his cheek with her thumb. “You think I’d come looking for you in this storm and worrying myself sick over you and somehow not be utterly crazy about you? You’re not the genius I thought.” 

He started to feel better. A smile pulled on his lips. “You’re crazy about me?” 

“Apparently you’re the only one it wasn’t obvious to.” 

“Sorry for being dumb.” He sniffed. “I think there’s something wrong with my brain sometimes, because I can’t accept compliments or take people at face value.” 

She shook her head. “You aren’t dumb, Hiccup. We never talked about it. I guess we both just made assumptions.” 

He nodded, before clenched his eyes shut to stop the fresh round of tears that cropped up. “No no, no more of that please,” he muttered. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Astrid pleaded, gently brushing his face with her fingertips. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

“You didn’t mean to.” 

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.” 

He took a shaky breath. “Why did you encourage Heather to ask me out?” 

She actually laughed. “Oh my gods, that was so stupid! I knew exactly what she was doing. She likes Fishlegs after all. She was trying to get me to protest and get all possessive. But it was obvious, so I called her bluff.” 

“You sure did.” 

“I definitely didn’t think she’d go through with it. Maybe she was trying to get me to throw up a stink at dinner. Or she was hoping that you’d say ‘sorry, but I have someone I like’ or something.” 

“Was I too harsh?” 

“No!” She cackled. “That’ll teach her to be nosy!” 

Hiccup exhaled, feeling much better. Things weren’t as dire as he feared, and he hadn’t hurt Heather’s feelings. “What were your assumptions?” 

She smiled softly, playing with the hair at his nape. “Well, I assumed you still had that ginormous crush on me that you had when we were kids. I figured when the time was right, and you felt like things were stable, you’d make a move. You need a wife and heir, afterall. What did you assume?” 

Even though he knew she’d take it well, confessing still was difficult and his words got caught in his tight throat. With glassy eyes and a wispy voice, he told her, “I thought you’d always be by my side. I thought we’d grow old together. I thought…things wouldn’t be too different, but I’d be allowed to kiss you and hold you…I assumed you were mine.” 

She smiled. “Well, it sounds like we’re on the same page now. I’m not going anywhere. Things are pretty crazy, so feel free to take as much time as you need. Make that move when you’re ready.” 

“Okay.” 

He grabbed her roughly by the hips and pulled her to him. In a flash, his lips were on hers, clumsy and desperately kissing, driven by need and desire. Hope was rekindled in his heart and he wasn’t wasting another moment.

Astrid smiled against his lips and returned the kiss. She dug her fingers into his drenched hair and pressed herself firmly against him. 

Hiccup pulled away far enough to press more fierce kisses across her jaw and down her neck. “I’m crazy about you too,” he murmured against her skin. “I spent the day thinking about how I was going to go on without you. What my life would look like if I didn’t have you by my side.” He hungrily grabbed her and held her tight, nuzzling into her neck. “I don’t think I could do it.” 

“I don’t want to live in a world without you,” Astrid reminded him. “And you don’t, babe. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You swear?” 

“I don’t want to be anywhere else. You’ve made me the person I am today. Even the darkest, roughest days we have are tolerable because I’m with you.” 

“I feel the same,” he confessed, before kissing her again. “I love you, Astrid Hofferson. I'm going to make a contract with your parents as soon as possible, because I’m going to marry you. If there are no objections?” 

“None from me.” 

“Then let’s iron out the details later.” He kissed her fiercely, digging his fingers into her hips as he held her possessively. 

Astrid returned the hold, almost painfully tugging on his hair.

They nipped at each other, trying to figure out how this whole ‘kissing’ thing worked, and trying desperately to devour the other. 

Tongues brushed together, though neither knew who started it. Soon their desperate kisses turned into lustful exploration, filled with pleased moans and the awkward mouth noises that came from sloppy kissing. Then that led to giggles. 

“How long were you waiting for me?” He asked before kissing her jaw and neck. 

Astrid lazily looped her arms over his shoulders and tilted her head to the side to give him more access. “Hmmm…I liked you for a long time. That first flight with Toothless, when you showed me how good life could be and that peace was possible…I remembered thinking ‘I’m probably going to end up marrying this boy’ kind of out of nowhere. And the thought didn’t disgust me, so I hugged you.” 

He remembered that hug. Her arms around him were a sign that he’d won her over to his side. He just didn’t realize how much he’d won her over. “Really?” 

“Mmmhmm. Of course, I didn’t know what the turning point would be. I just knew that you were going to do great things and I wanted to be a part of all of it.” 

“Astrid…” 

“I think I started getting impatient after we took down Dagur at Outcast island. Our enemies were all taken care of, and there was finally peace.” 

“Three years ago?”

“More or less.” 

He frowned. “Why didn’t you make the move?” 

“I did. Three times. But you never really acknowledge it. Just kinda smiled at me.” 

His jaw dropped. She had him. She was absolutely right! “Oh Astrid…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—” 

“Hush. You just weren’t ready.” 

“I’m pretty extra sure I was, I just—I didn’t—!” 

She silenced him with a kiss. “All in the past, babe. You’re mine now.” 

“Always have been.” He returned the kiss, overwhelmed with the sheer love for her that this day had stirred up inside him. “Always will be.” 

She pulled away for a moment, pushing his sopping wet hair out of his face. They were both drenched to the bone, but the heat they were giving off kept them plenty warm. “You know, once we let people know that we’re officially together, Berk’s going to be reluctant to let us live out here unsupervised.” 

He pouted for a moment, knowing she was right, before growing a wicked grin. “You know who you’re talking to, right? I’ve obliterated every tradition thrown at me. If I tell my dad we’re together, he’ll give me some half-assed lecture about being careful, and then he’ll give me a wink with a twinkle in his eye.” 

She chuckled. “You think?” 

“That’s what he did when we moved out here.” 

She barked a loud laugh at that, throwing her head back in delight. 

Hiccup took the opportunity to swoop in and kiss at her throat, tonguing her when he reached her pulse point. 

The action made her shiver. 

“Oh my lady,” he pouted, though he wasn’t all that choked up about it. “You're soaked through! Maybe we should go back to my hut…” he leaned in and spoke in her ear. “And get out of these wet clothes?” 

She poked his nose. “You’re naughty. I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.” 

“You can say no.” 

“I didn’t.”

His eyes widened in excitement. “Race you?” 

“You can try, Peg-Leg Pete.” 

“Excuse me?!” 

She burst from his arms with a cackle and ran down the ramp towards their huts. 

—-

Toothless was resting. Not sleeping, not even dosing. Just resting. He had his head on his paws as he grumbled in irritation. 

Something had hurt his boy. And it was a pain he couldn’t do anything about, because it was inside. One of those pains that would take time and love to heal. 

Just as Toothless shifted on his rock again, trying to get comfortable, the roller door to the hut opened, and he perked up. Hiccup was back! 

With Astrid? 

He tilted his head in confusion. Wasn’t Astrid the cause of his pain? What was she doing here? 

Toothless watched as the two talked in hushed tones, punctuated with that weird human lip contact and giggles. 

The smile on Hiccup’s face reassured him that things were turning around. 

Then the two were taking off their outer skins and draping them near the fire. Then they were down to their vulnerable pink states and touching each other with their paws and tongues. 

Toothless really didn’t want to know where this was going, as humans were notorious for having the weirdest mating rituals. 

Hiccup seemed fine. Better than fine, really, so Toothless made his hasty retreat to the stables to get away…not without smacking his boy’s bare butt with his tail. 

“Hey!”

[pigeonpeach]

The perfect date!

Prompt: Genshin men and women’s ultimate idea of a date by their standards!

Fem reader

Characters: Diluc, Shenhe, Jean, Cloud retainer, Arlecchino, Kujo Sara, Furina

Jean

Jean ,despite her upbringing and high class education, isn’t very picky. What she values most is the effort and thought put in. To earn her heart is relatively easy. Just be a cute little thing and offer her gifts and flowers to cheer her up. Compliment her and overall just look at her with eye contact and a smile as she chats your ear off about the latest romance novel and how disappointing it was.

For you? Your best shot is to go out of your way to pick her favorite flowers, and dress yourself up enough to show you care then she wouldn’t mind where it was even if it was a picnic. In that scenario you would also have to show thought and care. You can’t just smack a blanket everywhere. You have to pick somewhere the knights are available or with a nice scenery. The tree at windrise is perfect as its already her safe spot. A picnic is actually perfect, Jean is a romantic but there’s nothing more romantic than seeing how you fret about every little detail, like a bird preparing the perfect nest for its mate, she is more flattered by effort than compliments. Even if the food you prepared isn’t the best she can see how you tried. Afterall with enough practice you could prepare it properly in the future. When she saw your effort she was starting to swoon. Keep up the effort and you’ll have her last name in no time.

As for how she’d set up the date? A casual lunch at Good Hunter and a stroll through city to Springvale because the scenery is beautiful and the wind is nice but not too cold. She’ll pay for the meal and you will make up for it by being her entertainment. But she’s also picked that route because the wind can pick uo and get a bit chilly with the lake right next to path, giving her the perfect opportunity to offer you her cloak, just like a true Gentlelady!

Diluc

Oh he’s difficult! Not a romantic, not a small talker, not too expressive, not too friendly either. You basically court him the way you would earn the trust of a feral cat who’s never been pet before. Patience and lots of perseverance. The best way to earn his heart however is to be interesting. Go to the bar when nights are slow and tell him interesting stories. Some new fact you learned? Questions that make you stand out from any other bachelorette looking to score it with him. Like “whats your second favorite color? Whats your first memory? Does his hawk have a favorite color?” I should mention to not get too personal too quick. But overtime he maybe endeared by your odd conversations, you stand out in a pleasant way that has him contemplating those questions.

Now that you’ve finally got his trust you can ask him out! Very likely he will take the reins. Likely a typical restaurant date. He picks you up, pays, coat if your cold, walks you home. He isn’t the most creative.

As for you? Well you still won’t be able to spoil him because he will pay you back no matter what. He doesn’t have expensive tastes. You prepare a nice picnic meal? You want to go on a walk through town and lunch? Unfortunately he doesn’t really like the idea because he knows it will spark a huge rumor and end up with you probably glared at by many a lady looking for his hand. The picnic idea is however novel to him. Just be sure to pick a area clear of monsters. Not that he wouldn’t immediately leap into battle to defend you but that he might burn the grass to much. Then you would have to move. But he secretly adores how persistent you’ve been, trying to provide for him, trying to handle everything. He secretly likes that. Unfortunately he has a serious poker face so you don’t notice that until later.

Shenhe

Out of all of them i’d say she’d be the hardest to romance because she’d struggle to understand when she is inlove. She likes you yes. But is it different than how she likes being around Ganyu or sitting in the grass? Overtime it does become different but it isn’t until Cloud Retainer points out that she is obviously being courted that she recognizes your efforts. So she return them.

Easiest by far because she has no concept of romance or what is romantic like everyone else but rather just that: she likes you. She likes spending time with you. She doesn’t care if you don’t get her enough flowers or you don’t pick a good enough restaurant. What she likes is you and talking to you. You could pick a dingy street vendor for a date and she’d still love it. Really its cloud retainer who would disprove. To earn her approval you must work to prove you’re worthy and trustworthy too. She won’t give her blessing out freely. And what better way for Shenhe to learn about romance than by example? But truly, Shenhe would prefer a date on Jueyun karst. With fresh flowers and a gentle breeze in the warm sunlight. Just talking to you, alone. She doesn’t like restaurants unless its a slow or quiet day but she will put up with it for your sake.

Arlecchino

Obviously she lives for the luxury. She knows time away from the children is scarce nowadays so she books a private booth secluded from the other guests, a luxury restaurant with the finest of tastes. She will ensure you don’t go away hungry or feel uncomfortable. The difficulty is the timing. The reason its best to leave her to schedule dates is because she will already have made time for such occasions. One date st least per month! Unless of course there’s complications or scheduling conflicts. Rest assured she will make it up to.

If you’re planning a date for her it would be best to follow her line and not surprise her with it because again, her schedule. The most she’ll let you do is probably make the reservation, she’ll pay for it simply because she likes to provide for you. Better to just let her because she isn’t going to let the mother of her children pay for dinner.

Cloud Retainer

Oh you want to romance a full blown adeptus? Good luck making it up that mountain alot. Your offerings do not go unnoticed by her, as she enjoys your gifts more than most mortals. She even clears out monster camps herself in preparation for your visits. As cloud retainer how ever she isn’t too emotionally available.

But as Xinyun she is far more open minded to the idea. Recognizing you as her favorite human she will humor your offer of lunch. She does prefer more traditional methods but not to a great extent. For instance, a decent restaurant with high quality food. Especially if it’s a date. You dont have to pick the most luxurious of restaurants but if you do it is a good impression to her. But putting effort into your appearance is also very important too. She doesn’t expect you to pay for her tab but she would appreciate. She will find some way to repay you.. perhaps a invention to help you in some aspect of your life? Or perhaps a kiss will do.

Furina

Little bit of a tsundere. It wasn’t actually that hard to win her heart, but she didn’t make it obvious until you asked her out. Just stick with the fancy stuff, flowers and sweets as offerings. She is very traditional in that regard. But oh Miss Furina is so lonely, the second she saw your gentle and loving smile she practically fell face first and head over heels for you.

Of course high end restaurants are her favorite. Especially for desserts. In fact you could just skip dinner and go to a bakery instead, that’s probably cheaper. If you offer to pay though do be prepared for it. She won’t spend too much since it is your money but the things she buys aren’t too cheap either. But overall the perfect date for her is mostly just.. having someone by her side. It may end up be her window shopping or shopping with you dragged along but she has a great time like. She has a great time with you by her side :> after that point the dates can be anything as long as you’re not taking her hiking through the mountains or something, she might like to go outside the city for a picnic though. Maybe even see the cute otters.

Kujo Sara

She was also not that hard to win over, but it was much harder to tell when she did. But her coworkers knew when they saw how she seemed to miss you when you left, or how you made her smile. But before you know it, she’s asking you out!

Kujo Sara will pick the best restaurant for your tastes, preferably a bit high end, and she will encourage you to eat as much as you like. Don’t eat like a pig though that is a bit off putting to her. She isn’t too great at conversing though, especiallt in non professional environments. Considering how nervous she actually is to be on a date with you too, its a bit hard to be confident in such a unfamiliar situation. Just be patient and sweet. Overtime she’ll get better and more open with you.

[uzurimisery]

chapter 5: the call. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Rating: Explicit

WC: 6746

Warnings: MDNI, he's still insane and possessive, he's not a good guy but he's hot, vomit mention, not beta read

AO3 version | Series master

Friday evening had finally come, the pit in his stomach made Coriolanus anxious. Somehow, despite the years he’d known your mother, and the year he’d spent “dating” you, he had never met your father. The man had taken your mother’s last name when they married, something that rarely happened before, maybe only twice. A myriad of questions swam in his head, threatening to drown him. Ancient myths of sirens singing his doom. Would he be just as insane and twisted as your mother? He couldn’t be, he was far too public-facing. Would he be more like you then? A playful actor with a cold nature? You had to get that from someone and it was not your mother. The traits you shared with her were cruel.

Sometimes his mind was his worst enemy. He conjured up scenarios that ranged from disastrous, to pleasant, to ones that ended Panem as he knew it. He couldn’t shake the feeling like he was walking into the lion’s den. 

“Will you quit picking at that seam?” Tigris slapped his hand away from his suit pocket. “I spent too much time making that for you to ruin it.” It was a miracle she had agreed to come to dinner tonight. 

That last time they spoke had ended badly, the confrontation lingering. Despite their difference, Tigris did care for her cousin. 

“Relax, it won’t come undone from that.”

Grandma’am chided, “Now you two play nice. I am far too excited to talk with Mr Gaul about updating the apartment to let you both ruin it.” She was oblivious to the underlying tension and chirped excitedly about getting a look inside your family estate.

“Sorry Grandma’am,” Tigris always backed off when she got in trouble. “It won’t happen again.”

When the car pulled up to the gates, a private force of peacekeepers let them through, opening the gate after confirming their identities. He had known that your mother kept security with her, but not to this extent. The drive up to the front of the house was long, longer than it should be. The winding driveway, flanked with trees, led them to the crest of the hill and when the canopy lifted, Coriolanus could see your house.

Bathed in the warm orange of the setting sun stood the grand chateau-style mansion. Its two-story structure adorned with intricate architectural details and expansive windows lit from the inside. The mansion’s commanding presence, nestled amidst the green rolling gardens, was a symbol of just how important the Gauls were. 

Tonight was going to be a formidable challenge, his nerves building as they got out of the car and escorted through the front door by an Avox. The foyer featured a grand staircase at the back, sleek black railings with intricate breaks in the straight metal showcasing various scientific objects, custom-made to reflect the occupants of the house. The floors were white marble, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the twin crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space. If the Snow apartment was extravagant, this was utter decadence, opulence in inches of the estate.

Underneath the foremost chandelier stood your family, your parents flanked you on either side. 

Mr Gaul was a tall man, taller than Coriolanus. His hair was neatly cropped and styled, the sides tapering into his beard, which was short and neatly trimmed. The combination framed his face, etched with lines of experience and an air of stern authority. Everyone in the Capitol knew him to be a fashionable man, and tonight was no exception. His suit was velvet and impeccably tailored, a testament to his discerning taste and attention to detail, only adding to his imposing physique. He had on a house coat as well. It was in a matching velvet and embroidered everywhere apart from the trim, with fine beads swirling and encircling each other. He had a way of making people look at him. It must be where you got it from. Your mother was speaking to the both of you as he watched on. 

Dr. Gaul was not wearing a lab coat-esque top for once and instead was in a black pantsuit. The trousers hung straight on her, a crisp pleat going down the centre, stopping just past the heels. Her blazer had a white inside that carried out onto the lapels, and under it was a simple black blouse. She had told him once that fashion was something she didn’t care about. 

You were the first to notice the Snow family approaching. It seemed like black was your family’s colour tonight. Your gown was longer, trailing behind you as you walked, turtleneck and long-sleeved. It was simple. Nothing very interesting about it other than the way it clung to your curves. You pulled your hair back and up, a few curls loose to frame your face. You were stunning.

“Welcome Snow family,” Dr. Gaul spoke first. “Thank you for joining us tonight.” She extended her hand for Grandma’am to shake. 

Grandma’am shook it and offered her own greetings. “Thank you for your invitation. I thought it a wonderful idea to get us together before the engagement party.”

“Of course. Mr. Gaul was insistent on it.” Did he have a protective streak? 

Your father finally spoke, his voice bassy and resonant. “I would like to know the man my daughter is marrying before walking her down the aisle.” He was friendly, all smiles, as he grabbed Grandma’am’s hand and kissed the back of it. “You must be Mrs. Snow. Lovely meeting you.”

He moved on to Tigris, offering similar treatment, before coming to Coriolanus. Mr Gaul stared him up and down, picking apart his appearance. Coriolanus felt like a shadow was being cast over him, the man looking down at him as if he was appraising a purchase. His gaze was unwavering, judgement and assessment being made every second Mr Gaul looked at Coriolanus. He could feel the pressure mounting, settling on top of him heavy and grinding, expectations being placed on him. 

“So this is the man that has the Capitol in such a stir, proposing to my daughter without a ring on national TV.” 

Coriolanus stood tall, composed despite Mr Gaul’s intensity. “Yes, sir.” 

The older man cracked a smile, bright and blinding, as he reached out to grab Coriolanus’ hand. Mr. Gaul’s hands were soft, but Coriolanus could still feel the remnants of calluses. “I like your gumption, son.” Relief washed over Coriolanus. 

“I couldn’t risk the chance of ever losing her,” Coriolanus smiled, hoping it was charming. 

“Are you two done, then?” Your question was jovial, playful and light, as you came to the pair. Mr. Gaul pulled you in for a hug and kissed the top of your head. He watched Coriolanus as he did, the smile he previously had gone and his eye holding a warning. Perhaps Mr. Gaul was the judge and jury, and Dr. Gaul was the executioner when matters came to you. 

“We’re done.” Mr. Gaul’s previous expression was back on his face as you pulled away from the hug. “The chef is just finishing up the first course. While he does, I wanted to give you all a tour of Gaul Manor.”

“A tour would be wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Gaul.” Tigris was the first to accept the offer, wanting to get away from whatever had just happened between your father and her cousin. She was followed by Grandma’am voicing excited agreement. 

“I’d like to show Coriolanus the gardens before the sunsets entirely. Would that be alright Father?” 

Mr. Gaul didn’t seem like he wanted that to happen at all, lips tightening into a fine line, but the man was weak to you. He always had been. “Of course, baby girl.” Surrender.

You walked Coriolanus to the gardens, pointing out the different rooms as you went. The click of your heels echoed down the corridors. He could see the back patio lead out to the rear gardens down a set of stairs. The train of your dress was going to get dirty if you walked around like that. He grabbed it, lifting it off the ground for you. Why did he do that? He didn’t care if the dress ruined, clothes were just clothes. Did he care if it had been ruined and it upset you? His emotions had been haywire since he woke up. 

The twilight embrace of the gardens was nice, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of insects. Suddenly you laughed, holding your stomach and grabbing Coriolanus’ arm as you walked through the garden. 

“You looked terrified.” 

Indignation ate at him. “I did not.” 

“You did. I swear I could see you trembling, shaking in your shoes as he stared at you.” You straightened up, facing him. “He’s always wanted to do that to someone. He thinks it’s one dad thing he’s never had the chance to do.” 

“Wonderful” Coriolanus was sardonic in his reply. 

“Oh, lighten up. Let him have his fun. If this alliance is serious, this will be the only time he’ll see me get married.” 

Did you not believe Coriolanus was serious about this? He had told you, in not so many words, that he wanted this. He didn’t make friends, let alone allies, but you were both things. Was your worry about him falling in love with someone and screwing you over serious? How could you doubt him? He had given you no reason to. 

“It is serious. Did you think I’d say that in jest?” 

You shrugged. “Perhaps. You’ve been all over the place for the past couple of months. One minute we’re friends and the next you’re telling me off for standing too close to Dennis Fling, of all people.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Coriolanus knew that the answer was lacklustre. It didn’t account for his actions, nor explain them. The past few months there had been a lot on his mind, grappling with his growing feelings for you and going between acting on them or closing them off completely. He’d get close to the latter, and then he’d see you again and his resolve lost. The want he had for you vexed him, and he’s felt sick to his stomach since realising he loved you. 

“You can talk to me about it.” Your shoulder bumped into his as you spoke. “We are friends, and allies now, too.”

“Another time perhaps.” 

“Sure.”

The rest of the stroll through the greenery was quiet. Coriolanus lost himself in his own head again. Should he give up his previous plan and tell you how he feels now? It was there, threatening to jump out of his mouth. But doing that was risky. You could still walk away from him. He should just wait until you had been married or a few before telling you that being married made him fall in love with you, not that his desire to possess you led to him genuinely coming to care for you in the past year. Sick and twisted bastard he was.

He was in too deep, the surface feet above him and he could not reach it. 

“We should go back inside with the others. I imagine dinner’s ready by now.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Coriolanus held onto the train of your dress until you were back inside, letting it fall and fan around you. He hadn’t realised the chill that had seeped into his bones from being out there. It wasn’t cold today. Maybe he was just sensitive. He made sure to escort you properly, fearful your father would pop out of a corner, glaring at him for not treating you properly. Dr. Gaul had cameras everywhere, so who’s saying there weren’t any in the house?

When the two of you reached the dining room, the rest of the party was seated. This was the smaller of the dining rooms, the other being reserved for large parties. Mr Gaul had designed the one to offer a more intimate space, better for conversing as a whole. It was just as ornate as the rest of the house, the ceiling an ornamental relief. Each of the Gauls sat at opposite ends of the table, Tigris and Grandma’am on the left and right of Dr. Gaul respectfully, leaving the only seat free near your father. 

Coriolanus pulled your chair on for you before sitting on his own on your father’s right. Two waiters came out, putting down plates in front of everyone and filling their wine glasses with crisp white. The first course was some sort of salad, colourful on his plate, a champagne vinaigrette tossed over it. 

“What did you think of the gardens, Mr. Snow?” Dr. Gaul asked him as she took a sip, an eyebrow raised. 

“They were wonderful.” His words were polite, nothing too overplayed.

“Indeed.” Was he supposed to say more? 

Before he could, Mr. Gaul injected. “I spent a long time designing them and then pruning them. When the plants finally matured, I hired a gardener for it, hoping that they’d be taken care of. But much to my chagrin, they weren’t. So I fired that gardener.” 

Your mother hummed. “Finding a new one was a simple task, wasn’t it, husband?”

“Very. You’d be surprised at the number of competent men who lined up for the job.” 

“You had a replacement picked out that same day if I recall correctly, no?” 

“Indeed, I did.” Mr Gaul wiped at his mouth with the napkin on his lap. “Luckily, that new gardener was good at his job.” The threat was hardly hidden in the story. Coriolanus was replaceable to the Gauls. If he acted out of line with you, they would cut him down. He felt your foot rub his ankle, a show of comfort. 

“You’ve always been too attached to those gardens father,” You were aware of what your parents were telling this story for. “Someone might think that it was your child and not me.” 

Mr. Gaul backed off. “Well, they would only be partially blind to confuse the two of you. You’re as pretty as a rose.” 

“Grandma’am are you still keeping up your rose garden on the roof?” Coriolanus could kiss you right now, as you steered the conversation away from him. 

The chatter was light as everyone ate, courses coming and going. Mr Gaul was a jokester, cracking them to make yourself, Tigris, Grandma’am and even Dr. Gaul laughed, but it never reached her eyes. They were always on him, studying what he said and did. How he looked at you. 

It was odd, striking in a sense, so different from the initial stiffness of your interactions and formality that had previously been established. It was homey, a warm blanket on a cold day. You had grown up like this, a sprout the Gauls had watered and tended to until you bloomed one day just as you were now. 

Would you want a house like this? To have family dinners and tell stories of the days you had? Coriolanus didn’t think he could offer that. He didn’t know how to be a good partner, only play at one. His parents’ marriage was one based on fear and obsession, just like his own feelings for you. To him, that’s what love, partnership, was. A foundation of need. Even now he still wanted to hide you away, to run from the situation. Your parents’ overarching care for you is tenuous to navigate. It’d be a tough role, he’d stumble over his lines, his delivery shaky, but he could try if it made you happy. If it made you stay. If it made you love him.

___________________________

“We’ve received an increase in our budget.” Dr. Gaul stood at the front window of her office. It was two stories above the main lab and looked out over it all. 

From here she saw all. Right now she was watching you, her only child, as you led a training session. Your lab coat was an altered one. She had permitted you to wear black over the usual white. It was an older style, pre-war, from a country that was no doubt dead. You had read about them in an old book, Cheongsam, and you told her that when you grew up, you wanted a lab coat just like her but one that looked like that. Her favouritism for you was a quiet thing, often unnoticed, but she gave you that. 

She had summoned Coriolanus to her office with little warning. He had been mid-experiment when his communicuff buzzed with two words. “Office. Now.” 

He was unsure what she needed to tell him that urgently. When the family dinner ended well, he assumed he was off the hook. Mr. Gaul agreed to push the engagement party to the end of the month, instead of when it was supposed to be today, citing that he wanted to make the event more grand. Coriolanus was grateful for that. 

“That’s great news. It allows us to move forward with expanding the arena”

“Yes, it does.” Dr. Gaul’s tone was flat, devoid of her usual sing-song, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared down below. It was always so quiet in her office. There was no ambient noise to soothe the mind, only silence unless you spoke, and she was quiet. 

“Do you need me for anything else Dr. Gaul?” 

“Tell me, what do you think of her?” His blood turned to ice. 

“Of who?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she sighed, low and heavy. “Of my daughter, my Y/N.” 

His panic built, rising in his throat, the taste of bile settling on the back of his tongue. His heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat surging against his ribs. It was so loud he swore she could hear it. Sweat built at his forehead, his palms clammy. This was a test. She had seen something at the dinner that set her off, a bloodhound on a trail.

“I…” his voice caught in his throat, words refusing to form. “I think she’s extraordinary.” 

The words felt inadequate, but too much at the same time. Did she want to hear about how skilled you were? Should he lament on your strongest attributes and how he admired them? Or should he confess to his greatest sin, his need to have you?

“Yes, she is.” The short answer she gave only tormented Coriolanus, unable to determine what course to take. “Did you know she almost killed me?”

He stammered. “I’m sorry?” 

“When she was born, she almost killed me. I carried her for 40 weeks, gave up opportunities for her, and then when she came into this world, kicking and screaming, I nearly bled out,” she spoke without turning to face him. 

“I-”

“I didn’t like her at the start. She was small and fragile and cried so much. I could never get her to latch properly, making her colic. There were times when I wanted to end my suffering and kill her, but each time her father would be there and she’d calm down again. She’d smile. And then one day, three weeks after she was born, she latched on with no issues.” He was afraid to speak again. 

“I started watching her after that, treating her like an experiment. To me, she was one. Was I capable of motherhood? Of loving a child? It’s a hypothesis that is still being tested to this day. Bur preliminary results show one thing.” her body turned and finally facing him. “I care for her. I have killed for that girl and I will do it again, regardless of the consequences.”

Dr. Gaul began walking towards him, her steps silent.

I raised her with everything that I had. I gave her every opportunity and helped guide her into the ambitious woman she is today. From the moment she suckled on my teat, I laid the world at her feet, feeding her independence.” 

They were face to face now. Even though she was markedly shorter than him, she still looked down at him. 

“Are you a threat to her independence, Mr. Snow?”

Coriolanus stood his ground, gaze unwavering under Dr. Gaul’s scrutiny. Her tone laced with pride for you and an accusation for him. She questioned if he was a threat to you. Was she threatening to kill him? Replace him like they had the gardener.

“I would never do anything to jeopardise her independence, Dr. Gaul.” his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Even now, after years of working together, she unnerved him. “I would never dream of doing anything to harm her.”

Your independence with him was still under question. If he could let you do as you please, just like you had been this whole time, was something he didn’t know the answer to. So far, your independence has been good for him. But would it always? People change over time and who was to say you wouldn’t change, no longer view him positively. If that happened, your independence would most likely be lost. He wouldn’t let you get away from him. Would he hurt you then? Nothing life-threatening.

“Her father likes you.” Her eyes narrowed, slits like a viper ready to strike. She tore apart his words as she looked over him, searching for any hint of deceit, but she found none. “Do you know how an actor dies?”

“No.”

“They start to believe the part they play is real, that the story is real, that their feelings are real. Do you believe that it’s real?” He wanted to vomit, expel the contents of his stomach and her feet. To gag and gag as they poured out. She was onto him. She knew everything. 

“No, it’s not real.” 

She had seen the lie there, that he thought it was real, and that his feelings for you were real, and she called him on it. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Snow.”

“It’s real.” He was exposed. “It’s real to me.”

She turned again, walking back to the overlook. What ever anger she had for him now covered. He couldn’t tell what she wanted. Was this the right answer? Had he passed her test? 

Her voice was flat when she spoke. “If you ever hurt her, I will destroy you. I will cut you from pelvis to neck, pull your innards out and suspend them. I will lock you in that state, pump you full of the bare minimum nutrients you need to live and force you to watch your loved ones die, and for her to live on happily. Do you understand?” 

“I understand.” 

“Good. Now get out of my sight.” 

Coriolanus was out of the room before she could finish her sentence as Dr. Gaul’s words rang in his ears. She would always be watching him, making sure that you were safe. You would always be hers before you were his. She knew the truth now too, that his perverse need for you, debauched thoughts, had him in love with you. His tie felt like it was choking him, fingers pulling at the knot to free it. His pace rushed as he retreated into his private lab. This was bad. It was more than bad; it was deadly.

How did he play this out? Would Dr. Gaul demand you stop seeing him, ruin all his plans? She wasn’t someone who spoke in empty threats and Hypotheticals; she spoke only of factual reality. Even if it meant destroying her protégé, she would do it for you. This was a bed of his own making, tangled in the sheets called emotion and desire, that he had to lie in. 

On the walk to his lab, he could feel Dr. Gaul watching from above. Or perhaps he was paranoid, imagining the feeling of a thousand eyes on him. Coriolanus’ mouth was dry, his hands trembling slightly. Weakness prevalent. Panic prevalent.

When the door closed, he nearly collapsed, stumbling across the room, knocking over a cup of pens as he reached his chair. The rows of instruments, intricate machinery with vials filled with different solutions, sat mocking him. They were tainted. Signifiers of his ambition now show just how much he still lacked. 

If your mother knew, did you? Had you known his feelings this entire time and strung him along? If you had known of those, how much did you really know? Coriolanus had never considered what you might know about him and what he’s done. What if Dr. Gaul had told you of his sins, how he turned on Sejanus and reaped the benefits? The possibility of you knowing the truth, his biggest flaws, wasn’t something he could let happen. You’d turn on him in judgment, your affection lost. 

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts, the mask slipping on again. 

“Come in.” He needed to drink something. Speaking felt like sandpaper on his vocal cords. 

The door opened as you slipped in, closing it behind you. “You alright? You looked like you were upset.” 

You were the last person he wanted to see right now, unsure if he could hide what was going on. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Just need to rerun a test.” 

“Oh. That’s unlike you,” you spoke as you plopped down on his couch, clueless about his struggle. “Normally you’re so on top of things.” 

You didn’t believe him. You were questioning him. Have you already spoken with your mother? Did she tell you everything? The temptation to confess, clear the air before it could change, pulled at him. 

“What do you know?” His accusation was sharp. 

Your presence, perceptive gaze that was always watching, unnerved him. “In general or?”

“What do you know about me? About my past?” Coriolanus knew he had to tread carefully, caution in every breath. He had to stay guarded and protect his ambition, but he desperately craved your understanding. The acceptance that what he had done was fine. 

You were silent, unsure what to say, dropping your flashlight in the dark, reaching out to find it. “Well,” He could tell with just that you knew it all. “All of it, I suppose, other than what you were feeling.” 

His voice wavered, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “How?” 

“I was there when my mother got the jabberjay. She almost ignored it, but I pushed her on it.” You had always known what he had done the whole time. “I told her that the extremes she had always wanted me to go to and I was incapable of, you could do them. That you’d be what she wanted.”

You had been the catalyst, the one that saved him from having to live out 20 years of service in District 2. At any point, you could have told the Plinths what he had done, but you didn’t. You had met them many times and never said anything. In fact, you offered condolences for their loss when you had first met them. Said that Sejanus had always been a positive light at the Academy. 

“What about the games?” 

“Just that you cheated, gave her rat poison and made the snakes desensitised to Lucy Gray’s smell.”

You sat there, casual and relaxed in his lab, acceptance clear. There was no question of morality from you, how he could do that to Senjaus, how he could cheat at the games. You understood that the ends justify the means. This was just another ordinary Tuesday for you. 

“I did have one question for you about her actually,” Coriolanus tensed. “Did you love her?” 

“No.” Coriolanus hadn’t loved Lucy Gray. He loved controlling her. He thought that being with her would be enough, but it wasn’t. She would always be District, low class and Covey, and he would always be a Snow. It was youthful naivety to think that being with her would ever amount to anything. 

“Is she dead?” 

“Yes, I killed her.” 

“What changed? You looked close during the games.” 

“She was a distraction, a liability, a threat to my success.” That’s all Lucy Gray had ever been to him. “So I killed her.” 

“You were right to kill her, then. Sounds like she was a loose end and the last thing we need is loose ends.” You were so unbothered by his confession, like you had expected it ages ago. “We should be more truthful with each other if this alliance is going to last.”

“Then it’s your turn to share. You know my biggest secret.” 

He felt calm now. The weight of your acceptance comforting him. Morality was inconsequential in the pursuit of greatness, and you knew that and you agreed with it. He had been vulnerable. You could have struck and crushed his heart by running, but you sat there taking it in. 

“No more secrets?” you questioned, offering to establish equal ammunition on his side. A pact of mutually agreed destruction. 

“No more secrets.”

“Do you remember Emon Quiver? You might have seen him on the Academy campus before. He was in my year.” You went on describing the boy, familiarity reminding him exactly who you were talking about. 

“He’s the one who got sent to District 11, no?” 

“That’s him. I lied about him ever touching me. Poor boys never touched a woman because of me.” Coriolanus watched you pick at the lint on your trousers. “The true story is that I was cheating off of him in history with Professor Demigloss. It was fine for a while. He let me do it with no problems until one day he wanted more from me, tried to say I owed him and if I didn’t sleep with him, he’d tell everyone that I was cheating.”

“What did you do?”

“What needed to be done. Told him to meet me in the library, made out with him a litter, put us in a position where he looked like he was in control and forced me. I waited for a few minutes, letting it happen. He didn’t know it, but they were doing an inspection of the Library that day, and all the staff was there. So they walk in and see Y/N Gaul underneath him. I started crying, begging him to stop, and said that I didn’t want this. Next thing you know, he’s off in 11 with no flesh on his fingers, if he even has fingers anymore.” You yawned as you finished the story. 

Your moral compass was just as fucked as his own. The willingness to crush others beneath your heeled feet, like the bugs that they were, was so similar to his own. “What if they believed him?” 

You laughed. “Why would they?” The point was fair, you were very convincing. “Anyway, that’s my big secret. I was thinking we should go out for lunch today. I’m tired of being in the lab.”

“I think that’d be fine. You can pick where we go.” 

As you started going through the option that you and he could go to, Coriolanus was stuck in limbo. He had expected this conversation to go so much worse than it did. You hadn’t cared that he turned on Sejanus and Lucy Gray. In fact, you commended him for it. Told your mother that his willingness to destroy others, kill their physical form and the memory of them, was a good thing, something she needed. It sent a jolt through him, heady with lust, making him giddy. You were validating his true nature, content with the darkness, at home in it. 

He felt a connection with you he had never felt before. You weren’t the sheltered playing card he had thought you to be, but a formidable force all in your own right. You understood the true nature of power and control, and the extremes one had to take to obtain it. You were cruel and vindictive, condemning a man to District 11 for threatening you.

It excited him. The prospect of navigating the Capitol’s political arena side by side, both of you playing the game well. There might be times when your interests clashed, but you were smart and willing to adapt. 

All he could think about was biting into your cherry-red lips like the fruit they were. Their tempting fullness waiting for him. He used to be afraid you’d run if you knew his truth. Now that you knew it, he just wanted you more.

But could he bear telling you that?

Don't worry! The series isn't dead. Holidays have just had me busy

(edit: forgot to do the tag list originally, silly me)

@serrendiipty @namelesslosers @glitteryblizzardsalad @harrysbitvh123 @secretsicanthideanymore @ayyyeeeeidk @hinata7346 @kisstheskin @sumo-b98 @duds31

[cosmos-coma]

Pine Trees

A/N: Having a little trouble getting into the regular writing spirit, so I thought I'd get into the holiday spirit instead! Here's a little drabble about Bucky being silly and just overly enthusiastic about the holidays haha.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 903

Bucky Masterlist | AO3

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

_________

Thick syrup bubbled and steamed away on the stove, wafting a fragrant orange scent that enveloped both you and the surrounding kitchen. Festive twinkling lights fluttered along the far too-old strands encircling the staircase’s railing. White paws batted at the shimmering orbs on the table who lay in wait for their seasonal home to arrive so they may once again be seen in their full glory. Chaotic paws, led by curious eyes, were quickly followed up by a surprised “Mrrp?” as the ornaments began to fall to the floor, bouncing into areas they likely won't be seen again (namely under the couch). 

“Alpine..!” You called from the kitchen, stirring the boiling pot, “I can hear you messing with those ornaments. Don’t go breaking them before your dad gets back or I'm keeping your new laser pointer…!” you threatened her with a disapproving shake of your head. 

“Speaking of which, where is he…?” you asked aloud, looking toward the clock. Bucky left a few hours ago to go cut down a tree with Sam and Steve, but this was becoming a rather long errand. You've cut up trees before and you don't remember it taking this long- and you weren't even a team of two-and-a-half super soldiers. 

“Maybe he’s just looking for the perfect tree?” You continued to muse as Alpine replied with half-listening meows. 

As yet another turn of the hour passed and you finally pulled the last of the candied orange peels from the simmering pot you heard a group of voices outside the door. 

“Buck I’m not so sure about this…” 

“Nonsense, Sam, It’s gonna be perfect.” You could practically hear Bucky’s grin, “Steve, come and give me a hand, yeah?” 

Sounds of shuffling feet and objects came from just beyond the door, causing your curiosity to only grow and grow. 

Sam was the first to walk through the door, his tired expression a testament to what was to come, but you didn’t know it yet. 

“Hey Sam, everything okay?” You asked, scooping up Alpine before her curiosity regarding the open door got the better of her. 

But Sam just looked at you and opened his mouth to speak, then paused before he continued, “Just… good luck. I don’t think I’ve seen holiday spirit like this before….”

You were about to ask for more when the back end of a tree came jutting through the door, Steve’s large blond figure being overshadowed by the mass of pine needles as he helped to bring it in.

“Oh, Hey! Happy holidays- whoa!” Steve’s pleasant expression turned to surprise as he continued to be pushed along with the tree. About 5 feet of tree were inside the house now and you were sure that would be it, but it just kept going.

6 feet….

8 feet….

10 feet…? 

“Uh, James????” You called as you watched it just keep coming, your gaze briefly glazing at the height of your ceiling. This was…gonna be close…. “Are you there? Did you become part of the tree? Oh my god, this is so much tree…” 

Finally, at 12 feet your joy-filled boyfriend came through the door, carrying the end of this massive tree. His smile was blindingly bright as he waved to you with his free hand. “Doll, look at this!!! We found the perfect tree just sitting out there in the woods- I mean, look at it..!” 

“Oh, I’m looking….” You replied as you watched Steve set the end down in the tree stand and Bucky began to tilt it upward. Taller and taller it grew, its limbs spreading out towards all the surrounding walls as it finally stood straight up. 

Well… mostly straight. 

The top foot of the once proud pine tree curled over itself as it met your already tall ceilings, bowling its submission to your cause and seemingly waiting for its final touches. 

“It’s… big…!” you observed, stifling your little laugh as you looked over its hulking presence with hands on your hips. 

“It is! That’s part of what makes it perfect, Don’t you think?” He said, his grin and his holiday spirit refusing to waver as he came over to your side. 

Looking up at him you couldn’t help but match his luminous smile; dappled lights glowed in his eyes, a symbol of his undying enthusiasm. It was something you greatly admired in times like this, times where, no matter what you do, it just doesn’t feel like the joy of the holidays. But for Bucky, after so many decades of holidays missed, of gifts never given, and memories never made, he was determined to make the most out of every single year he had left. 

A smile slowly crept across your lips as you tried to see it through his eyes, your cheek resting against his shoulder as his arm slipped comfortably around you. 

“I do…” you nodded. It was going to look ridiculous, this kingly young pine arched over inside what surely must have felt like a doll house to it. But it was so… happily silly that you couldn’t resist it. Didn’t you always want something like this as a child? Something so wonderfully grand and over the top that you had no choice but to shake your head and smile. 

“It’s perfect.” you continued, your grin just as bright as you handed him an ornament, “Now come over here, I wanna get on your shoulders and do the star.”

__________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions @yeehawbrothers

My apologies if i missed anyone! If you wanted to be added to the general Taglist please ask and let me know!

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Different First Meeting (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

blown again into instant flame (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Dan reappears in the corner of Phil’s vision, wearing the green suit.

I’m fucked, is all Phil can think.

Because Dan is awfully fit for someone stuffed bodily into a green morph suit. Even the way the hood squashes his curls down and out over his forehead is kind of adorable.

Broken Like You (ao3) - TearDrop1234

Summary: Dan and Phil meet at a theater in a nowhere town. Their friendship is instant, but the rest not so much.

Country Boys (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Phil haunts the only honky-tonk within an hour of his small farm, looking for love, or at least a good lay once in a while. He meets the perfect guy: tall, gorgeous, and only in town for one night.

Doomed, But Just Enough (ao3) - VendettaWound

Summary: Nothing in Dan Howell's life seems to be going well lately. He hates law school, has literally no friends, and is just going about life on autopilot.

However, the sudden appearance of a mysterious stranger throws a wrench in this whole routine. And maybe, it's all Dan needs to finally let happiness back into his life.

Essential Meet-Cute (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Audiobook narrator Dan Howell finds himself embarrassed when he encounters a handsome man named Phil in the romance aisle of his local bookstore. Luckily, he and Phil get along quickly and both enjoy a certain queer romance author named Zack Striker. Still, Dan can’t help but think that Phil might be hiding something…

Find Me Again (ao3) - llama_sidekick

Summary: Phil wanders into the forest and upsets a forest spirit, right when a handsome stranger steps in to help him. Dan didn't plan his day to go this way but maybe it ends in a pleasant surprise.

home renovations (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Phil is a new homeowner with a knack for getting himself into awkward situations around cute guys. Dan is a builder who's always working on renovations around Phil's house. What could go wrong?

(An alternate meeting YouTuber Phil/builder Dan AU.)

ice blue (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: The rink glitters white and vast, the sun somehow brighter for being concentrated between buildings.

(ice skating meetcute, for your december season)

into temptation (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Phil searches, following the sound, and sees the shape of someone moving through the crowd, a shimmer like a fish in water, there and then gone: a bare shoulder in a black tank top, the flash of a silver earring, dark curly hair, the side of a face. A moment later, and the shimmer’s come out by the bar, and Phil forgets to look away.

last disco (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Two ridiculously-dressed guys meet on a night out.

(An AU where Dan gets dragged to the club and meets Phil, who’s dressed as the world’s gayest cowboy.)

Lavender Tree (ao3) - js71

Summary: Different first meeting, post-society's collapse, but hopeful and sweet, with a little bit of angst.

Let's Think of Something Better (ao3) - EverythingIsAsItWas

Summary: Dan Howell has no direction in life. No real friends, a job he hates, and suppressing a huge part of his identity, the end of summer 2009 is looming.

Then, he begins to see a boy in reflections, a boy with black hair and blue eyes he swears he could swim in. And then his entire world falls apart at the seams.

My Sanctuary, You're Holy to Me (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Sister Daniel isn't very good at being a nun, but she's stuck living in a convent because she's got no other plans. The church needs a new priest for Sunday mass, and the responsibility falls on her to meet him for the first time. Will he see through her false devotion?

Neighbourly Nook (ao3) - wednesday_ukiru

Summary: The stranger had a dimple on his cheek that appeared when he laughed.

“I’m Dan,” he said, extending his hand. Phil reached for it with extreme eagerness, their knuckles knocking together in a particularly painful way, and they both winced, but Dan immediately broke into a smile. “I don’t know why I offered you a handshake, I never know how to do them.”

pass around miami party bottom (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: phil just wanted a quiet drink in a bar, he wasn't expecting to meet dan, let alone go home with him

so american (ao3) - ae121

Summary: Phil has been living in London for a year and thinks he's gotten pretty used to the city. He works part-time at a bookstore, using it at first to gain some friends, now it's just fun for him. His friends are constantly trying to find him someone to date, but all of his dates don't go well.

Well, that's until he met Dan.

Sun's out, nun's out (ao3) - m_katiep

Summary: It's pride month, Phil hears about an interesting drag event. He goes and sees a slutty nun. The nun is the most gorgeous non-binary brunette, who gets horny when drunk. They end up spending a night together <3

Sunshine on the street at the parade (ao3) - ForeverJustAnEmoKidAtHeart

Summary: Dan and Phil meet at a Pride Parade.

Sweet Juliet (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: Dan is a baker in his thirties, feeling the weight of the passage of time on his shoulders, living a content yet uneventful life until a mysterious man takes it upon himself to whisk him away.

The Death of Our Star (ao3) - queerbonafide

Summary: Dan Howell has always wanted to be an astronaut. As soon as he graduated, the strange message from the deep space has arrived. As one of the most talented pilots of his generations, he's been chosen to this two-people mission with the purpose of finding out who exactly tried to communicate with them. The second person was Phil Lester, an incredible scientist with PhD in theoretical physics and amazing specialist in black holes.

Warm (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: animal shelter volunteers

[snapdragonling]

by any other name

ozy/kallux, post-campaign, 2.8k 5 times ozy couldn't name the relationship (+ 1 time kallux could)

1.

It’s the third time in as many hours that he’s been roped into helping one of the Sanctuary’s elderly residents pack up their more cumbersome belongings. He’d attracted a small crowd of spectators, too — a collection of wizened pappoúdes with their hands clasped behind their backs, critiquing his form and spatial strategy as he piles a cart high with rugs and crates and bundles of clothes.

Demigod or not, he’s still sweating slightly by the end of it — though maybe that was more to do with the heckling. One of the women appears at his side with a cup of water, her face crinkling into a smile at his rasped thanks. They stand at the edge of the gathering, watching two ancient elves remove and replace the same box three times, arguing passionately throughout.

Ozy’s skin prickles. Months after his return to Asdor and he still wasn’t sure if this was a side effect of demigodhood or some other sense he’d honed solely out of a newfound awareness for everything Kallux did. Either way, he glances sideways to spot a familiar figure approaching from the Sanctuary’s entrance, and is quietly embarrassed by how much the sight pleases him.

“You alright?” he asks, as Kallux leans against the wall at his side, shoulder pressed to his. There were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there the day before, when he’d stayed behind in the Last City at Riv’s request.

“Fine,” Kallux sighs. “I’m not cut out for bureaucracy.”

“Riv seems to think you are.”

“Riv just wants to keep a friendly face around.”

“Well,” says Ozy. “I don’t blame him.”

The corner of Kallux’s mouth twitches. “Flatterer.”

There’s the sound of conspicuous throat-clearing from Ozy’s other side. “And who’s this handsome young man?” his elder companion asks, leaning around to grace Kallux with her warm, creased smile.

“Kallux,” says Kallux, just as Ozy says, “My— uh,” and trails off abruptly.

The woman’s expression crinkles even further, decidedly amused now. “Ah, I see!”

“Do you?” Kallux asks dryly. “It’d be news to me.”

Ozy covers his face with one hand as the woman laughs, and lets the two of them strike up a conversation around him. He’s very aware of Kallux’s arm pressing against his the entire time.

2.

He and the former crown prince of Asdor rarely had reason to be alone together. Maybe that’s why the silence feels particularly pointed, as they watch Kallux laugh and chat with a merchant who’d recognised him on their walk around the market.

There’s a pleasant breeze filtering through the plaza. Ozy is happy to let the silence settle. Riv, it seems, is not.

He clears his throat and waves one hand vaguely towards Kallux and his companion. “So you two are…That is, you and Kallux are…”

He seems unwilling or unsure of how to end the sentence. Ozy can hardly blame him, given that he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence himself — but he understands the question well enough.

“We’re…mm. I don’t exactly know how to put it.”

“You care for him though?”

“Yes.” It’s easier to say it these days, two years out from the Void. “Very much.”

It’s not an answer to the original question, but it seems to satisfy Riv regardless. “Right,” he says, nodding once, firmly. “Well. I’m happy for you, you know. Kallux is…he deserves good things.”

Like a flash of sudden daylight Ozy remembers a conversation held in the shade of the Sanctuary’s great tree, what feels like a lifetime ago; remembers a prince despondently confessing his feelings, and Ozy cheerfully wishing him the best.

“Ah,” Ozy says. “I— thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The breeze picks up. They both watch as Kallux shakes the merchant’s hand, and her husband’s hand too. Ozy rubs idly at his jaw.

“I do intend—” he says, before he quite knows what he’s doing. “I…intend to make sure he has good things.”

Riv looks at him sideways. Nods again. “Good.”

3.

They’d gathered in Selto for Scratch’s birthday, the first time in a year they’d all been in the same place together. Celebrations had been understandably enthusiastic. Ozy had drunk a little more than he’d intended to, but so had Daichi, so at least there was that.

The two of them had claimed the kitchen counter for quiet drinking and observation, while Scratch and Zaref used something called a karaoke machine to make a great deal of discordant noise. Izzy was videoing the whole thing, assumedly as collateral.

Kallux had stepped out onto the balcony some time ago to smoke. Ozy’s eyes keep straying to the door, thinking about joining him — though he couldn’t quite muster the will to move. He’d really had quite a bit to drink.

“So you’re official right?” a voice asks out of nowhere.

Ozy blinks free from his reverie. Izzy had paused her videoing efforts and was leaning against the counter beside him, head tipped back to look at him through narrowed eyes.

“What?” he says.

“You and Kallux. I mean I just assumed, given all the—” She makes some kind of vague hand gesture that Ozy nonetheless interprets perfectly. “But you two are weird, so who knows.”

“Official?” he echoes slowly.

“Y’know. Officially a couple. Together. Dating.”

Oh. “I don’t know if dating is the word I’d…” He trails off, frowning. There it was again. He still didn’t know which word he’d use.

“Don’t tell me it’s still complicated,” Izzy groans, rolling her eyes. “It’s been three years.”

He could say something about elves and demigods and time. He’s still coherent enough to think better of it. He glances sideways at Daichi, hoping for some kind of aid. No dice. Daichi seems suddenly very interested in the live performance. “We’re…that is, we are…together, I suppose.”

“Wow, really selling me on it. Love the enthusiasm.”

Ozy’s thoughts are too syrupy for this conversation. The off-key singing in the background isn’t helping. “I don’t have to name it to know what it is.”

“But you do know what it is?”

“Well—” Ozy flounders. “Why the sudden interrogation?”

“Bored. And you’re funny when you’re defensive.”

“I am not defensive,” says Ozy. “I am drunk.”

Izzy leans over to pat him on the arm, nodding placatingly. “Right, sure. You know it’s okay if it’s just a casual thing, yeah? Nobody’s gonna judge you. Although if this is your idea of casual I’d hate to see serious, to be honest.”

If Ozy had been a little more sober he might have realised that Izzy was goading him. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe he would have had the same response. Either way, the idea of perceived indifference — of his perceived indifference — makes his stomach twist. That wasn’t right at all. Surely even Izzy could see that.

“It’s not casual,” he says, so urgently the words run into each other. “Kallux— he’s everything to me. I just...you know I was — am — a mess. I’m still remembering how to…how to do this. It’s better not to say things until I remember. I want it to be right.”

He’s so focused on getting his point across that it takes him a moment to notice Izzy’s shit-eating grin. All his fervour evaporates abruptly.

The glass door slides open, admitting Kallux from the balcony. The multiple sets of eyes on him seem to give him pause; he looks faintly suspicious by the time he drops onto the couch beside the counter, glancing from Izzy and Dai back to Ozy.

“What’s that look for?” he asks.

Izzy beats him to the punch. “Hey Kallux,” she says cheerfully, “did you know you’re everything to him? He said it himself.” She points at Ozy for good measure, as if anyone could mistake her for meaning someone else.

Kallux’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

Beside him, Daichi actually snorts. Betrayal.

“I’m being bullied,” Ozy mumbles. Izzy dissolves into self-satisfied cackles. Dai hides his smile in his drink. Scratch and Zaref launch enthusiastically into the next song. 

The weight of Kallux’s gaze on him is a comfortable warmth for the rest of the night — and, once they’re back at their hotel room, a good while afterwards too.

4.

The years of travelling back and forth between climates had built up a degree of resistance in him, but Skysong Keep was still abysmally cold. Manon takes pity on him and makes an immediate beeline for the nearest tavern, where the fire that roared merrily in the hearth chases the chill from his bones within minutes.

It was good to see Manon. Good to catch up. Good to needle her about her lady love, who Ozy hoped to meet if he stayed in town a few more days.

“If you’d brought Kallux along we could have made a night of it.”

“Oh, am I not enough company on my own?”

The knight captain chuckles. “You know what I mean. And how is your partner?”

“My—” Ozy clears his throat. “Ah, he’s well. He says to say hello.”

Manon makes a dubious face over her tankard. “What’s that tone for? Are you no longer involved?” 

“No, he’s— that is to say, yes, we’re still…involved.”

“You know I’m not familiar with Asdor’s customs, Ozymandias. If there’s a word you’d prefer I use, tell me.”

She only called him by his full name when she thought he was being particularly dense. Ozy sighs. “It’s not that. Partner is fine, thank you for the consideration, I just…” The comfortable buzz of the tavern fills his silence for several long moments. Manon waits patiently. 

“It feels…dangerous,” he says at last. “To name it so boldly. I’ve told him I love him and I still struggle to name it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but— well. I know what’s wrong with me. It’s still frustrating.”

Manon raises one brow delicately. “You told him you love him?”

“Yes, I know. Hold the applause.”

She knocks her tankard gently against his. “I’m not being facetious. That’s good to hear. Was he happy?”

Ozy recalls the night they’d spent in Selto after returning from outside the barrier, and the look on Kallux’s face when Ozy had said it again; remembers Kallux echoing the words in Elvish against the pulse at his throat, as if to hide the sentiment where nobody but the two of them could see.

“Yes,” he says. “I think so.”

Manon shrugs. “Well then, if it doesn’t bother him and it doesn’t bother you, don’t worry about naming it for now. I’m sure a day will come when the danger no longer seems so real, and you can cross that bridge when you get there.”

Not for the first time he’s grateful to have met this woman, all those years ago. “You have a way of making things seem very simple, you know that?”

“What can I say,” says Manon, spreading her hands. “I do my best.”

5.

It was still a strange sensation, walking someone else’s dreams. The first time he’d met Velasa in the dreamscape he’d thought it was the regular kind of unconscious meandering. Then they’d started talking, and kept talking, and none of the usual dream nonsense appeared to interrupt them.

He still wasn’t sure how it worked — whether it was solely his warlock’s intention that drew him to her, or a mutual subconscious decision. Either way, whenever she needed Ozy he found himself in her dreams.

This time he suspects Velasa just wants someone to talk to. He’s happy to oblige. They sit overlooking a flat, colourless ocean, and Velasa tells him about the state of her home in a flat, colourless voice. It was nice, being able to help someone just by merit of his presence. He was better at listening than he was at providing answers, anyway.

Velasa is just beginning to lose the tense, hunted posture that had followed her into sleep when the dream flickers abruptly. For a moment Ozy can feel the ghostly brush of fingers across his brow; the warmth of someone else’s skin against his, back where his body lay in bed. He lets the sensation wash over him and holds tight to the dream, waiting for the hazy landscape to resolve itself again.

When he glances back at Velasa she’s looking around in confusion. “Did you feel that?”

“I apologise, I think Kallux— I think I almost woke up.”

Velasa frowns slightly. “Kallux…the elf who was with you in the Shadowfell?”

He nods.

“Your husband?”

Ozy makes a sound that’s half a cough and half a choked-off laugh. “No, no. My…well. My other half. Better half.”

The dubious look Velasa gives him suggests she doesn’t see the difference. “Sorry if I’m keeping you from him.”

“It’s alright. I sleep, he doesn’t. We spend enough time together in the daylight.”

Velasa pulls her knees up and tucks her chin into her folded arms. “Let’s leave it at that. This feels like hearing about my father’s love life.”

That sentiment is enough to startle Ozy out of the dream completely. The ocean and Velasa dissolve unceremoniously into smoke, and suddenly he’s back in his bed, jolting awake against Kallux’s shoulder.

“Nightmare?”

He tilts his head back far enough to meet Kallux’s frown. “No,” he says blearily. “I’m fine, just— nevermind.”

“Hm,” says Kallux, but he doesn’t push, and strokes Ozy’s hair idly until he drifts off again.

+1

Kallux brings it up in the balnae of all places. 

(It’s not really surprising. Kallux liked to have these kinds of upfront conversations when Ozy had nowhere to hide, and a bath offered about the same degree of transparency as their bedroom. At least they had a private pool.)

“You know you have my permission,” Kallux says, combing unhurried fingers through his own wet hair, “to call me whatever you want. I’m not fussy.”

Ozy pauses to blink at him, soap still in hand. “Hm?”

“You stumbled again today, introducing me to that cleric. It’s not like I mind. Honestly I think it’s kind of cute—”

Ozy makes a small sound of consternation.

“—but you know you can just…name it. Name me.”

“I know,” Ozy sighs, because after almost a decade he does. He sets the soap back in its tray and sinks up to shoulders in the hazy water - about as close as he could get to hiding here. “I just…I was scared for the longest time, and now I can’t figure out which word is right.”

“You’re overthinking it. It’s not about right, it’s about want.”

“I want there to be a more all-encompassing title than the options I currently have. They don’t do you justice.”

Kallux rolls his eyes so hard his head tips back. “You are so dramatic sometimes, you know that?”

“I’ve been told. Do you have a suggestion, then?”

“Lover,” Kallux offers easily. “Partner. Boyfriend.”

Something warm stirs in his chest at the first two. At the last, Ozy recoils and shakes his head. “I love you more than words can express,” he says gravely, “You know my heart and soul are yours  — but you are not my boyfriend.”

Kallux snorts. “Fine, old man. But you’re my boyfriend. How about that?”

Ozy thinks about it. Thinks about it some more. Finishes washing the soap from his shoulders in the time it takes to examine the idea from every angle.

“Are you blushing?” Kallux asks incredulously.

At Ozy’s embarrassed silence he laughs and moves closer, water swirling around him. “You like that, huh?” he teases, skimming his hand up Ozy’s scarred chest to settle against his jaw, thumb catching on his lower lip. “If I’d known I would’ve been saying it years ago.”

Ozy grumbles wordlessly as he pulls Kallux into his lap. “You already have enough ammunition to use against me.”

“No such thing.” The kiss Kallux bestows upon him is shaped like his smile. Ozy leans back against the tiled wall and lets his hands roam, the steam and Kallux’s hungry mouth a heady combination, enough to idle away a few minutes with nothing more than languid kissing.

“I love you,” he says, as soon as Kallux gives him the room to speak.

“Well I’d hope so, being my new boyfriend and all.”

Ozy makes a show of pretending to push him away. Kallux laughs and holds tight to his arm. “Love you too,” he says, ducking to kiss Ozy’s cheek. “Even when you’re ridiculous and dramatic.”

He’s aware of how lucky that makes him. He tucks his face into Kallux’s shoulder and sinks into the circle of his arms, savouring the sharp smell of soap and the gentle scrape of nails through his hair. “Well I’d hope so,” he mumbles, words pressed to the hot skin of Kallux’s collarbone. “Being my partner and all.”

The hand in his hair pauses. “Hm.”

Ozy doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling.

[mamiya-a]

Playing dangerous - Mother Miranda/reader

Warning for explicit content.

Chapter 2: The "interview"

You happen to have a strange dream that night. It's cold , the ground is wet while chilly darkness surrounds you - the pitch black colour of the night is meant to be scary, yet despite your poor vision you feel comfortable. The mist around you is so thick you can almost chew on it , it shields you from the monsters in the forest.

Your ears twitch when you hear rustling of leaves somewhere close , too close. Long , firm and steady - your legs are able to move faster than usual. Your body feels light as a feather and you run through the trees with ease.

Vision is easily manipulated. You only understand this when you no longer feel soil but cement under your feet. You wonder why your eyes betray you like that,...these eyes... do they even belong to you?

You are out of breath, your heart is racing, but you no longer hear the rustling in the forest. Even if you didn't know what was hidden there, your escape seemed to be necessary.

You don't manage to even turn your head before something hits you. The impact is so strong that your brain begins to pulsate , and you're barely breathing anymore for a totally different reason. A blanket of blood covers you and you barely keep your eyes open when…

The face staring at you is inhumane, grotesque and terrifying. Yet something about those dark, blue eyes seems awfully familiar...

*****

You wake up with a gasp. Eyes wide open , body sweating and mouth hanging open. You swallow, feeling your throat complete dry. Your limps are like boneless when you try to lift yourself up the bed , almost falling down on the floor in the process. You grab your head in sweaty palms and groan.

A nightmare, you haven't had one in years. The images in your head are already starting to fade as you slowly observe your surrounding. Where were you again?

The walls are painted in a pleasant white color, which makes the room to look cozier. It is small, but you can easily live in it. However, the fact that there is not much furniture indicates that it has most likely not been used for some time. And yet it is perfectly clean.

Maybe what you like the most is the individual bathroom. You also find it pleasant how the large window is near the bed yet the light from it does not fall on your face but instead tickles your feet. It's much better to wake up like this.

Feeling a little bit more relaxed you roll your shoulders back along with your head until you feel your back crack, releasing all tension from your body. Then you roll in the bed , stretching your arms and legs.

Now fully awake you find yourself staring mindlessly at the door, as if you expected someone to walk in any moment. When that doesn't happen you decide it's best to go to your car and get your suitcase. Even though the fabric of the nightgown is wonderful you want to wear your normal clothes.

You quickly check your phone. The disappointment is not very severe when you're met with a screen - devoid of any new notifications. Your gaze shifts to see the time - it's still early, you might be able to go get your suitcase before anyone can see you in your pajamas.

A few quick steps are enough for you to cross the room and get a hold of the door handle. Before you can press it though you hear a voice and then you move back as the wooden door opens from the outside.

"...good morning" - the little girl in front of you looks pretty young and despite her soft, sweet voice you can sense coldness in her tone. Her pursed lips expose her slight annoyance.

"Morning...who might you be?" - you force a smile , it's clear to you that the girl is Miranda's other daughter but as you remember the talk with Eveline from last night you try to look as clueless and friendly as you can.

"Eva" - a simple name , beautiful and symbolic. You glare at the kid in front of you - her face looks stone cold, her eyebrows are slightly furrowed as her blue eyes shine in precautionary manner, she looks mean...- "can you move?Now?"

Even her way of speaking reminds you of her mother...rude but not completely, there's a fake amiability covering her words. The girl is a complete copy of Miranda. Almost down to every detail - even her long , golden hair that is nicely tied up in a ponytail.

You surrender , lifting your hands in the air as you take a few steps back, to allow Eva to walk into the room. It's only then when you notice she's carrying your suitcase.

"Hey, that's a bit heavy for you don't you think?" - you extend your arm to grab it from her but she quickly moves to the side , not allowing you to even get close to the handle.

Did she carry the suitcase all the way up here by herself?

You don't have time to make another comment. The girl drops the heavy suitcase in the middle of the room and turns to you - surprisingly with a big smile on her face.

"I did it! You saw that right? I did it!" - Eva jumps around the room , happy and full of energy. Maybe you were too quick to judge her. She is a child after all.

You praise and thank her for bringing your suitcase and she giggles.

"Mommy just lost a bet" - the girl's smirk grows even more and you laugh along, pressing your back to the wall.

"What will you make her do?"

"Not sure yet" - her eyes travel between you and the door - "I'll probably ask her for sweets... speaking of it she expects you for breakfast"

"Breakfast... better to get ready then" - you murmur as you push yourself off the wall.

Eva is quick to run off , down the corridor. Before you can shut the door closed you hear her soft voice echoing from afar - telling you to hurry, as Miranda is not a patient woman.

You try to be fast , you don't want to disappoint your boss...more like future boss if you even get the job today, even more. Your fingers unzip the suitcase and you begin to pull out needed clothes. You don't go fancy with your outfit, though you think about it, but you reject the idea Miranda would go easy on you just because you dressed nicely.

However while brushing your hair you notice your car keys on the nightstand and your eyes widen. You're sure you locked your car last night. And the keys haven't been moved.

Then... how did they manage to take your suitcases from the trunk to your room?

*****

You take your time to find the right way to the kitchen. You vaguely remember the different rooms from last night. Even though you note the mansion is not that big as it seemed, you still need to figure out your way around.

You pass a familiar room - the table with the two armchairs are the same as last night. The only thing missing is the pile of ashes on the floor. And from there you make a turn to finally reveal the kitchen.

The light from the window illuminates the table, highlighting the unusually fruit-laden surface. The colors of the kitchen are a bit brighter than the rest of the house. It's welcoming. The decor of the mansion is really eye-catching.

The contrasts of light and dark colors are well chosen. It is strange how some parts of the estate feel warm while in others you can almost freeze to death. And the portraits, the details, the elements in the architecture are attractively perfect. The mansion surely matches it's owner.

Speaking of which... Miranda sits gracefully at the corner, with her legs crossed and elbows resting on the table. In her hands she holds a notebook whose inscription is in another language and you do not understand it. Her eyes are too busy staring at the rows to notice you.

She only acknowledges your appearance after you clear your throat. She lifts her head and smiles , one of her fingers points to a chair next to her - inviting you to sit.

"Slept well?"

"More than well , that bed is awfully comfortable" - you don't lie when you answer her , the mattress is very different from what you have at home - much more nicer and softer. To think that they don't even use this room... you never understood this , why buy a big house if you're not gonna use all the rooms. Miranda doesn't look like a person to often invite guests either. It's truly a waste.

As you take a sit on the chair next to her you notice how her vision unfocuses and her attention shifts completely off you. You turn your head to the direction of her gaze.

Eveline and Eva slowly approach the kitchen table, loudly discussing something. They both stop to greet their mother and as emerald colour eyes meet yours , you try to pretend you're seeing them for the first time. The test is easy.

"Eva informed me that you have already met her" - Miranda speaks proudly, with her hands on top of her daughter's shoulders. The little girl forces a smile , then she moves to escape her mother's grip - "but I'd like to present you to my other daughter"

Miranda watches closely , curiosity dancing in her eyes, as Eveline presents herself to you, for a second time.

"Wait" - you snap at the blonde woman, acting confused - "i thought you said I'll take care of one child?"

"Did i?" - her voice sounds so confident, so convincing...for a moment you forget yourself and the situation you're in - "I must have forgotten to mention about Eveline"

She's unbothered, her hand moves to the table, grabbing a cup of coffee, judging by the aroma of it , and she guides it to her lip , muttering an excuse as she takes a sip.

You don't have time to consider asking her another thing. A plate full of pancakes is shoved in front of you by the black haired girl. Silence falls around the table as you all begin to eat the breakfast - everyone except Miranda who only writes in her notebook and lifts her head from time to time to give sweet smiles to her children and sip from her coffee.

Her movements are quiet and you're too busy to wander in thought to anticipate her hands grabbing your shoulders sharply. She laughs at your reaction when you jump in your place. Miranda then whispers something in your ear and walks away , leaving you to battle alone with the piercing eyes of the two girls in front of you.

"Do you... know where to find your mother's office?" - you ask nervously, she could have just invited you there normally, why did she have to whisper it in your ear like that?

"Her office!?" - Eva exclaims , dropping her fork in the process - "How? Why!"

"She called me there!" - you defence yourself, not quite understanding what the fuss is about.

"Mother most likely invited her to the interview" - Eveline intervenes - "calm yourself"

Eva scoffs and purses her lips. Her arms are crossed in an annoyed manner as she speaks again.

"It's not fair! She doesn't even let us there"

The black haired girl's gaze falls upon you, her eyes are observing, curious,... vicious. If Eva got Miranda's looks then you are sure Eveline inherited her character and attitude.

"She must be special" - her eyes finally leave yours with these words. You can feel chills running down your spine and you rush to finish your breakfast so you can get rid of these kids as quickly as possible and go where Miranda has called you - to her office.

*****

After all none of the girls really told you where to find that so sacred room - making you wander through the mansion like an idiot. You decide to just knock on every closed door and hope for an answer. You suppose an office should be on the first floor and it doesn't actually take you that much time to find it.

A wooden door with a metal handle. Simple. You lift your hand and curl up your fingers. Miranda's sharp voice invites you in after a few knocks and you straighten your back before opening the door.

The smell of smoke hits your nose before you can notice the lit cigarette between her thin fingers. You resist the urge to cough, instead you close the door behind you and walk deeper into the room. A cunning smile appears on your lips.

"i thought you said you only smoke after long days?" - when she doesn't return your smile something snaps inside your brain, that is her second time lying to you, and it's not even been a full day.

"Sometimes even a morning can be long" - she puts out her cigarette by firmly pressing it on the surface of her desk, a closer look reveals the many small burn marks there , ruining a part of the furniture.

"You could have just told me you were a smoker"

"Does it matter?" - Miranda relaxes and leans against the back of her chair. Her legs cross again and the atmosphere around her changes.

"No..i was just-"

"Then , drop it" - she almost hiss the command, you gulp and obey immediately after she points at the chair in front of her desk. - "didn't your mother teach you not to stick your nose in other people's business?"

You bite your tongue just to stop yourself from snapping back at her. You clench your hands into fists so hard you can feel your nails digging into your skin. Miranda is amused by your reaction and finds it hard to hide her smile.

"Is something bothering you?" - that woman is way too rude. You relax your hands before answering her.

"I would appreciate it...if you don't talk about my mother" - she hums in approval but the look on her face is unsatisfied.

"Why?"

"She...I never got to know her" - you narrow your eyes as that familiar guilty feeling crawls back into your chest. You've always blamed yourself, how many nights you spent in wondering what her life would be if you weren't born? - "she died during childbirth, her first...and last."

Miranda's face is motionless , however her chest feels tight as well. She knows pain , she knows death...way too well. The blonde woman clears her throat to caught your attention and rests her elbows on the desk.

"A motherless child is a tragedy" - she declares , fingers fidgeting with the corner of a paper list in front of her- "almost as big as a childless mother, though yours got lucky...to die before her daughter"

Her comment snaps you back to reality and you really force yourself to stay calm , instead of running away from her , this room and house.

"Can we change the topic , please" - polite, just be polite and calm.

"Of course" - Miranda's hand moves along the desk until her fingers tap on the pack of cigarettes resting there , she opens it and groans - it's empty. - "i suppose...you have questions about Eveline. Now, she might not look like me but i assure you she's mine."

You wonder what she means by that. Despite the difference in their appearances you didn't once think Eveline is not her daughter. They are too much alike for you to even question that.

"I just assumed she looks more like your husband, maybe-"

"Husband?" - Miranda scoffs , there is a hint of mockery in her voice, she looks rather annoyed - "I'm afraid i have no interest in men"

Oh. Oh , great. You quickly understand you're dealing with one very mean lesbian. You don't judge her , not at all , but you're curious.

Your eyes follow the path of her fingers, her knuckles and veins. They stop at the shiny, silver ring wrapped around the fourth finger of her left hand. There's no doubt that's a wedding ring.

"Your wife , then?"

Miranda follows your gaze and the corners of her lips curl upwards, soon she smiles more widely than usual.

"I'm not married if that's what you're asking" - her hand jerks and the ring hits the surface of the desk with a tud , she doesn't even acknowledge it as it rolls down to the floor - "i just happen to adore jewelry."

Your careful observation of her hands proves that she doesn't wear any more rings , however you notice a dark necklace with rose elements wrapped around her neck , as well as the fancy earrings she wears - her ears are definitely pierced more than once. All of her jewelry shines within the sun's reach , making her look devine.

The awkward silence between you two grows with every second you spend in staring at her like a creep. Miranda finds this annoying, the paper she was playing with till now crumbles in her palm and the sound of it shakes you out of this weird trance.

"I remember vaguely about your young age..." - she starts again, trying to make the end of this conversation come faster - "but i don't recall asking about your education. Are you still in school?"

"In university actually"

"What do you study?" - Miranda is curious, not many people these days make it to university. Her desire to know more only grows with your answer.

"Well...for now I'm studying general medicine, but after that... I'm thinking of specializing in something higher"

The woman's smile is wide , revealing a nice set of white teeth beneath her soft looking lips. She is clearly interested.

"Do you want to be a doctor? A surgeon?" - her fingers tap on the wooden desk with every word, the almost silent sound somehow manages to crawl into your head and ring like a heavenly bell.

"More like a... scientist? I'm not sure yet.. but i do want to help people with diseases that are incurable."

"You want to cure something, no... someone specific" - Miranda's palms press on the desk and she lifts herself up , body hoovering over you - "Who?"

You take a sharp breath in , your fingers are trembling for some reason. Her eyes look crazy and awfully familiar but she's not scary. Then why are you afraid?

"My father" - you answer quickly , the memory of him fighting to take a breath running wild in your head - "i study so i can help him ...i- I'm here so i can pay for my education."

And other stuff you decide not to mention. But Miranda seems content, more than satisfied. She carefully sits back into the chair and sighs.

"You turn out to be very interesting" - her hand extend forward and you waste no time to grab and shake it with your own - "I'm looking forward to working with you"

"So i get the job?"

"All yours" - she confirms making your chest warm up with hope - "I've also decided to double your payment."

"Miranda...i don't think i can accept th-"

"If you think I'm pitying you - I'm not" - she snaps , her upper lip slightly twitching - "it's only fair if i pay you more , after all you're going to take care of both my children, correct?"

You nod slowly to show her you understand, even though you're nervously playing with your fingers in your lap you feel happy. Miranda's gaze lingers lower , somewhere under the desk as she speaks again.

"Speaking of which, i wanted to make it clear for you and i hope you understand" - the portrait of her face is yet again annoyed - "my children are no angels and trust me when i say I've lost more babysitters than you can imagine"

You laugh at the unusual way she says that. Lost...as if they all died. You nod again.

"I understa-"

"Lying was necessary" - she sounds concerned.

"I get it , i don-"

"They can be both difficult" - her gaze shifts to the floor again and she groans , looking awfully annoyed.

"I'm sure i can manage" - you give her a confident smile which she doesn't return.

"Very good then, remember your words" - she lifts herself up and slowly walks to a large cabinet near her desk , the long , black skirt she wear drags behind her on the floor like a dark veil - "i have a few rules you'll need to follow"

Of course she has rules. You hope it's nothing fancy or concerning.

"May I hear them?" - again, she doesn't return your friendly smile. Her moods are very... unique, easily changed and colorful as a rainbow.

"Your job is to take care of them , to entertain them. You're a babysitter, not a maid - I don't expect you to cook , clean or do anything like that"

"So... just wake them up, make sure they eat , play with them... do they go to school?" - while counting your duties on your fingers you tilt your head to the side , questioning her.

"They are homeschooled , i teach them everything they need to know" - she's back in her seat, holding firmly a piece of paper she got from the cabinet - "you can help them if they have any difficulties"

"I get it , anything else?"

"My job requires me to work from home...for now" - she looks to the side , glaring at a calendar on the wall , as if she's counting the days she will no longer work in the comfort of her home - "they know not to disturb me when I'm in my office or in the basement where my laboratory is , you can say I'm a scientist myself"

She gives you a warning not to go into her private space while she's busy , not like you were planning to. Yet you tell her you understand.

"Seems like I'm out of rules" - her fingers are alright crumpling the corners of the paper she's holding - "i do however have warnings"

"Let me hear them" - you sigh , leaning back into your chair and crossing your legs. A gesture that imitates her own body language.

"Eva can seem cold at first, she's not used to having other people around, but she's truly a sweetheart once she learns to trust you" - you notice how her face shines as she begins to talk about her daughter - "but i counsel you not to make any bets with her because she'll win and you'd probably loose something you love."

That makes you remember earlier when Eva managed to bring the heavy suitcase all the way up to your room. She said Miranda lost a bet with her. As your eyes meet her dark, blue ones you wonder what she promised to her little girl.

"Eveline is a complete opposite of her sister , she can very quickly become attached to you" - Miranda swallows as her eyes loose themselves somewhere down for a third time - "do be careful, she's more mature than she looks like"

Nothing she says surprises you, you drew these conclusions from your own observation of the children as soon as you met them. They are predictable, unlike their mother.

But Miranda...is weird. She looks young, too young for you to consider a mother with two children. If you were to see her on the street you'd think she's only a few years older than you. You also don't think she's the type of woman to carelessly get herself pregnant despite the fact that her daughters look nothing alike. She also claims to be unmarried but you're sure she owns a wedding ring. Miranda is a weird mystery.

"Is that everything, boss?" - she smirks at the nickname.

"I believe it is" - the paper which now destroyed corners is flipped and turned to you, finally revealing what it was - a contract - "I'll need you to sign this"

"Is this... necessary?" - you ask unsurely.

"Just sign , it's paperwork" - for a babysitter job?

You do as she tells you however you can't help but get this weird vibe, something is wrong. You don't know if it's her creepy smile or your trembling hand but the feeling slowly fades as the contract is pulled away from you - she stores it in the drawers of her desk this time.

Unbothered , she points at the door and waves you off. The sound of curious little feet running away from the entrance of her office as you press the handle makes you smile.

Once you close the door behind you - Miranda drops down to crawl on the floor , in search for her precious ring.

*****

Night comes faster than you expect. Today you understood that kids can be very exhausting but they are cute, you will give them that. As promised, Miranda only left her office to prepare lunch and then dinner, which you all ate together. She didn't have to tell her children what to study, they sat down and started reading and writing in the afternoon, on their own.

You can certainly get used to this life. Even if something bothers you, it will only be for a little while...you will endure. This is what you tell yourself as you lift the warm covers over your body and begin to drift to sleep on the comfortable bed.

One knock , then two , on the third you turn around, ignoring the sound and hoping you can escape from it. A few more follow and when you're sure they won't stop you open your eyes.

The time you spend trying to avoid things on the floor as you slowly make your way to the door seems like an eternity. But you manage and you gasp as you reveal who's behind all this knocking.

In front of you Eveline is crying, her face is red and puffy , her small hands appear to wipe away the tears that flow down her cheeks. Her head moves and she looks back in fear as if someone is chasing her.

"Is everything alright, sweetie?" - you kneel down to be at her eye level and you don't resist when she moves closer , her hands wrap around your neck and she hold you in a firm hug.

"Make them stop"

"Make who stop?" - you ask her , palms gently rubbing her back as she continues to sob on your shoulder.

"They keep on screaming, they won't stop" - she shakes while covering her ears - "make them stop , please make them stop"

"Is somebody here? Do you need me to get your mother?" - you ask nervously as you also begin to look around the corridor and the darkness within it.

"No!" - she exclaims , trying to break free from your grip, you allow her but she seems unsure in what to do. The tears continue to drop from her emerald eyes like rivers down her face.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

She shakes her head.

"Then what is it?" - you look at her with concern while she tugs on her pajamas.

"I can hear them..in the walls , they crawl on the floor and they scream" - she takes a deep breath as new clouds of tears appear in her eyes - "they scare me , they haunt me."

You don't hesitate to grab her hand and immediately start guiding her to Miranda's bedroom. You suprise yourself at how good you handle your steps in the dark. Eveline's sobs silence up when you knock on her mother's door.

For a moment nothing happens so you knock a few more times , only stopping when a lamp's bright light from inside suddenly shines between the cracks of the door.

Miranda's golden hair is messy and her face looks awfully sleepy as she greats you. Yet you notice a playful smile on her lips.

"I hope you're not getting used to waking me up in the middle of the night because-" - she stops when her eyes linger lower and she recognizes her daughter - "what's wrong, Evie?"

The black haired girl's hand jerks and you're forced to let go of her. She runs to Miranda and hugs her tightly, burying her head into the side of her stomach as she begins to sob again. Her mother's soft fingers run carefully through her hair.

"She probably had a nightmare" - you quickly explain, suddenly feeling your throat dry - "she was crying when she came to me and-"

"I didn't ask you"

You freeze. Miranda's voice can be sharp, and mean - you know that very well. But the way she said that , it sent shivers down your spine. You're too stunned to even try to apologies.

Eveline nods her head when her mother tells her to go into the room, you watch her slowly disappear from the door while Miranda's stone cold gaze stays on you.

"Children like attention, they seek it" - she begins to explain, making your vision focus again, on her - "i suggest you lock your door if you don't want to be bothered"

"Wait-"

The door is slammed closed before you can finish your sentence, the last words you hear are a rude "good night" from the blonde woman and then , a clicking sound.

However you stay at your place , staring at the floor, in front of the now locked door. You can hear their murmurs from inside but it's quiet , too quiet. You don't understand the things they are discussing.

You stay until the lamp from inside is turned off and you no longer see any source of light near you. You clench your hands into tight fists as you walk off.

This family is strange, and downright scary. What is wrong with them? What was Eveline talking about and why was Miranda acting like it was your fault?

You groan, grabbing your throbbing head in sweaty palms. You don't even consider locking your door , if it meant to ignore a child's cry for help then you weren't going to do it.

When you decide to go to bed again, however, you listen carefully to the silence and soon you tremble. Scraping, as if someone is trying to break through the wall. Loud banging , somewhere far , from the other rooms. Screaming from downstairs-

You run to the door, locking it not once but twice and you firmly hold the key in your hand while walking back to your bed. It's only then when you remember Miranda's words from earlier that day.

"My children are no angels".