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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

'till death blooms us art

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

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

Characters: Sam Wilson/Plus-sized Reader

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

Word Count: 12796

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

main masterlist | AO3 | playlist by @tripleyeeet

—STUBBORN WEEDS—

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” you lie.

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

“They are beautiful,” Wanda says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—BETTER TOGETHER—

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

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

“Are you calling me fat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam Wilson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t want to leave the Tower.

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

“Well—”

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

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

Because, well, why would he want you there?

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—NEW BEGINNINGS—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello? Who is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it happens.

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

“I’m gonna kill you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You are going to die.

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

Steve’s here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go,” he murmurs.

“Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—KEEPING SECRETS—

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

From beside you, Wanda giggles.

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

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

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

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

She’s staring at you, eyes narrowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s getting bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is it?” Natasha repeats.

You look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” you say again.

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

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

“No,” you say simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wanda calls your name and it sounds broken.

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

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

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

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

—INNOCENCE—

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

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

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

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

And you’ve never looked better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Bucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, Steve. I know.”

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

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

“Alright Rogers, she’s ours now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay, girl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you inside, Sam.”

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

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

—THE SUN AND ALL ITS STARS—

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

“Breakfast in bed,” she says monotonously.

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

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

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

“Eat,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t stay here,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll tell him.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sam Wilson doesn’t love you.

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

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

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

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

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

Sam Wilson doesn’t fucking love you.

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

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

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

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

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

You need the sun.

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

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

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

—FAREWELLS—

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

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

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

Did churches always smell so much like blood?

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

You’re dying. This is it.

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

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

You were right. Death is so beautiful like this.

“It might be too late.”

Helen Cho’s heels clack on the tile of the medbay’s room as she shoos the nurse out with a wave of her hands, shaking her head. He shoots to his feet, fingers already curled into fists, and he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket to hide them.

“Too late?” It’s impossible for him to keep his voice low. “How can it be too late? What even—What’s wrong with her?”

She frowns at Sam, folding her hands together in front of her.

“It’s… rare,” she says. “Some of us didn’t think it was real, to be frank with you.”

His brow furrows. “What is it?”

“A disease caused by unrequited love,” Helen says plainly, staring straight at him. “Typically, the patient finds themselves in what is regarded to be true love, but the feelings are not returned, so they build up. It’s theorized that the stress of that creates the problem.”

Sam swallows and it tastes like vomit. “Unrequited love?”

She ignores him, continuing, “The part that is normally so hard to believe is that flowers begin to grow inside the patient, the roots puncturing their lungs and creating masses that eventually will suffocate their host.”

It’s a bag of bricks to his stomach. A super soldier punch to the gut. A bomb blown up in his face. Sam doubles over, clutching his middle, trying to breathe again. He can’t breathe at all. The flowers. The flowers.

“It seems she was swallowing them in an attempt to save herself,” Helen explains. “It’s what kept her alive much longer than she should have been. But now, I don’t know. It may be too late to save her. If she’d just said something earlier, than the surgery might have been able to stop it, but—”

“Surgery?” Sam asks, still gasping for breath. “What surgery?”

“You can extract the roots,” she tells him, glancing at the sleeping woman in the sickbed. “It’s a difficult procedure but it would have saved her. But, from the very little research we have on it, removing the roots also removes the feelings entirely. The love that the patient has disappears. They aren’t able to ever feel anything for that person ever again.”

He falls back into the plastic chair, his limbs numb. Or, at least that’s what he wants to do. But Sam doesn’t. He steadies himself, crosses his arms over his chest, plants himself so firmly there in the hospital room that he doesn’t think an earthquake can move him, and looks at her.

She’s sleeping, but she doesn’t look at peace. Her eyes, lovely things, are sunken in and it makes him so mad. Her collarbones have shadows beneath them and he feels fury wracking his own bones. And how long has it been since he’s seen her smile?

“Do the surgery,” he demands.

“You know I can’t do that without her consent,” Helen says, sighing.

“Then I’ll wait until she wakes up and get her consent,” he seethes through a locked jaw.

Helen’s face doesn’t change. “She might not wake up.”

“She will.”

Sam doesn’t get it. He understands—in a way—but he doesn’t really get it. He knows why she wouldn’t want to get a surgery like that. But he loves—he loves just as fiercely as she does, and that’s why he understands. Why he knows.

So why did the flowers pick her? Why would they pick her and not him?

Helen glances down at her feet, says nothing, and turns to exit the room. He’s left there in the silence, with the crowing of the machine keeping her alive to punctuate all his thoughts. If there is one thing he hates in the world, it’s feeling helpless.

He lowers himself in the plastic seat, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.

“You’ll wake up,” he says to her, but he can’t look at her.

Or maybe he’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.

There’s a soft rapping of knuckles on the door, and it opens slowly and quietly, and Sam has to lock his fingers around the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up and sending a right hook right at Steve’s face.

“How’s she doing?” Steve has the audacity to ask, has the audacity to look worried, has the audacity to pull up another plastic seat next to Sam.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters under his breath, spite burning his tongue.

Steve glares at him. “Yeah, that’s why I asked. What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you, Rogers.” Now, Sam can’t help but stand, towering over the super soldier. He immediately grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him out of his chair, through the door, and out into the hallway. Steve stumbles, a hand on the wall, and Sam’s nostrils flare.

“How could you do this to her?”

“Me?” Steve sounds genuinely taken aback, but Sam doesn’t buy it. “What are you talking about? Helen told me—”

“I thought you loved her, too!”

He really did. That’s why Steve brought her to the Tower, didn’t he? That’s why they go out for lunch every other week and why Sam never gets a chance to take her out himself. Why he always makes sure to say goodbye to her before a mission, like he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He really thought Steve loved her too. If he had thought for one second that Steve didn’t love her...

“What?” Steve’s jaw slackens. “Not like that! She doesn’t—She’s not in love with me, Sam!”

He pants, unable to catch the breath that’s leaving him like a slow leak.

“Then who the hell is she in love with?”

Steve stares at him, a look that Sam can’t recognize, can’t name, in his eyes. Steve stares at him and smooths his hand down his beard, shaking his head.

“She’s in love with you,” he says, and Sam chokes.

Because all the pretty things in his world lead back to her and man, if she loved him, it would all be so perfect that he would never want to leave it. He would never want to say goodbye. He’d ask god and anyone else who would listen to grant him a deathless life so he could look at her forever, with no end in sight, because he would. He would. Sam would love her forever.

“No,” he says, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “That can’t be true.”

“It’s true,” Steve says.

“That’s impossible.” He backs up, against the wall, holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” Steve repeats, staring past Sam and through the window of the medbay’s room to look at her, lying so still in her bed. “I know it is.”

“Steve, I’m in love with her,” Sam confesses, an ache in his chest. “It can’t be me. I’m in love with her. I’m so fucking in love with her.”

A heavy hand clasps his shoulder, and when Sam looks up, his breathing unsteady, Steve has a look of regret smeared all over his face.

“But does she know that?”

And, for the first time in years, Sam cries.

(“It’s me. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”)

—SINCERITY—

Sam Wilson thinks she’s starlight.

When she first arrives she’s a collection of stars and their ashes, explosions and deaths, supernovas and black holes and earthbound meteorites.

What he means by that is she’s covered in bruises but she’s so beautiful, and he wants to gather her in his arms and tell her it’s going to be okay.

Steve introduces her, and Sam tries to bite his tongue, but all his words pour out of him anyway as she holds out a hand to him and he takes it, soft and trembling, and he knows she’s special somehow. She’s special.

“You’re the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” he says, and he means it, but she ducks her head and tries to hide the little smile on her face.

Sam Wilson thinks the world of you. But even when the bruises fade, you’re still left with all the land and the water and the galaxies hidden in your eyes when he catches your gaze, and he looks at you and he swears that you’re reaching into his chest and taking his heart in your small hands and squeezing him dry. You have realms inside of you, he’s sure, all the worlds and all their wonders. But you—you look at Steve like that sometimes, and then Sam is just grateful that you even let him breathe in your general atmosphere.

He can fly, sure, but he certainly isn’t an astronaut, so this is about the closest he can get to you.

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

—TRUE LOVE—

The first thing you see is the ceiling, hazy and sleep-filtered, but it looks just like the ceiling in that bathroom, back in Danny’s apartment, back when you thought the pain of love was bone crushing, before you knew the pain of love was slow suffocation.

It makes you stutter back to life and that sends you into a coughing fit. You can still taste them—the daisies. They taste like the rawness of sunlight.

Hand pressed against your chest, your eyes dart around the room, trying to catch your bearings. There’s an IV in your arm, the bed railings are plastic, Sam is sitting in the corner, the lights are dimmed.

Sam Wilson is sitting in the corner.

You gasp, looking at him, and he’s staring right back at you, a familiar book in his hands.

Sam Wilson is sitting beside your bed, holding The Flowers of Evil, and the look on his face is far from happy to see you. It’s not anger. And it’s not sadness. It just… is. And Sam is never “just” anything.

Even if he thinks that sometimes, like the times when he calls you and says, “It’s just me,” as if he isn’t something special, so important you can’t live without him in your life.

Well, you can’t live with him, either.

After a solid minute, Sam looks down at the book between his dark hands, and he begins to sift through the pages. He stops sometimes, lingers on the sheets of dried daisies that have been pressed, their color leaking onto the text only slightly. But then he moves forward, searching for something. You don’t know what.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, throat sore when you speak.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Your teeth gnash together, bite into your bottom lip, worry a sore there as he doesn’t look at you. He just keeps flipping through the book as if he didn’t just thrust a dagger straight through your heart, as if it isn’t beating so fast and hard like it’s trying to stay alive. You feel like you can’t breathe and you don’t know if it’s the flowers crawling out of your lungs and trying to get to him or if it’s the fact that he knows.

You can’t answer him.

Sam stops on a page, his finger trailing over the script, and then he begins to read.

“And yet

to wine, to opium even, I prefer

the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself;

and in the wasteland of desire

your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.”

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” he says, shutting the book with a thump and striking his palm with it. “Baudelaire sure had a lot to say, didn’t he?”

Your mouth is suddenly so dry. There’s a pink pitcher of water next to the bed, just like a hospital would have, and you reach weakly for it. Sam grabs it immediately, pouring you a cup, and passing it gently to you. You gulp what you can down through the straw, hardly breathing.

When you finally feel like you aren’t going to cough your lungs up into your hands again, Sam takes the cup back from you, and embarrassment is a cold shiver down your spine.

He sits back down beside you, looking straight at you. “Do you want to get the surgery?”

Your lips part to speak, but he interrupts.

“Be honest.”

Chewing your lip, you take a deep breath. “No. And I never planned on it, either.” From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten.

“Why not?”

“Because what is a life without the fucking sun, Sam?” The words are spat from your mouth. “A life spent not loving you—not knowing you, not feeling you anymore—it wasn’t worth it. Because I love you, Samuel Wilson. I have loved you since the day I met you and you told me—told me I was pretty for some goddamn reason. And I’ve loved you every day since. I love everything about you and there is not a single iteration of life that I would want to live if it meant not loving you.”

This time, nothing tastes like blood. It’s all just daisies, like they’re populating your mouth, changing the way your tongue works, turning to paste in your teeth. It’s so strong that it hurts. Like you’re eating paper valentines and crying too many tears as you say goodbye to a body in a casket.

But it’s beautiful and lovely and gorgeous because you swear that, somewhere beneath it, you can taste what you think love might taste like.

Sam doesn’t speak and it hurts, but it tosses your book down on the side table and reaches into his pocket and it still hurts. He pulls out his phone. You swallow down the rising earth in your chest.

He pulls out his phone—no, it’s your phone. He turns the screen toward you and punches in your password. You furrow your brows. When did he learn your password? But it doesn’t matter, really, because he just swipes to your call log and pulls up your voicemails. And then he begins to play them.

“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Have fun, girl. Save a dance for me, baby. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”

The sobs fall from the broken seal of your lips, loud and crashing, like a waterfall. Your hand, shaking and weak, comes up to try to cover your mouth, but Sam lunges forward and catches your wrist in gentle fingers.

He’s looking at you like you’re everything—and you know, you know now that you are—to him.

“You’ve been saying that this whole time?” you ask, a laugh bubbling up from your lungs. No flowers retch up your throat.

Sam smiles, lips pulling back to reveal that gap in his front teeth.

“You haven’t been listening, baby girl. I’ve been tryin’ to tell you I love you for months.”

He rests his forehead upon yours, and as close as he is, all you can smell now is the spice of his cologne. Nothing smells floral.

“I never would have thought,” you whisper. “I was sure—so sure—that you didn’t love me. I thought because of the flowers, I thought that meant for sure that you didn’t love me. I mean, why would you? Why would you ever love someone like me?”

“Honey,” he says, so softly, “you’re starlight.”

Tears flood your cheeks and Sam cups your face in his large hands, wiping them away with gentle thumbs.

Sam Wilson is sunlight. You never considered that you could be starlight.

“Why wouldn’t I love you, darlin’? You’re so good, so gorgeous, so perfect.” He laughs and it makes you laugh too, but it comes out like a sob. Your heart feels lighter. “But you’ve never considered yourself worthy of love before, have you?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

He hushes you, soothes you, smooths his palms over the planes of your face and over your hair,

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He presses a warm kiss to your forehead and the memory of every single time he’s kissed your forehead like this flashes through your mind, an electric current, and you wonder how you never saw it before now.

“I love you,” you say, and this time, your lungs don’t feel as though they will burst from the pressure, the roots, the vines twined around them. You don’t feel choked by petals. You don’t taste blood in the back of your mouth.

“I know,” he says, “and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my days with you convincing you that you are worthy of love, honey. Because I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you.”

When he presses his lips to yours, he doesn’t taste like flowers. Not like the daisies that wrote your death sentence. He tastes like golden pools of sunlight, warm and wanting. This is your heliotropism. You are a magnet for him, Sam Wilson, god of the fucking sun.

And maybe he’s phototropic, always drawn to you, moving toward your starlight.

(“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I missed your call! I’m on my way home now, and guess what? I have a surprise for you. It’s a bit ironic, but I think you’ll like it. What do you think of the name Daisy for a baby girl?”)

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x plus sized reader #plus sized reader #sam wilson angst #sam wilson fanfiction #hanahaki au #sam wilson fluff #thanks for supporting me!#divine masterlist #the flowers of evil

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vomitgoreslut · 3 years

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comfort - rengoku kyojuro x reader a/n : sorry for not writing for a while. my poor self needed some comfort so i decided to write this. this is also inspired from the song butterfly's repose by zabawa so yeahhhhhhhhh tw : literally one swear word but- jhasfjh okay i'l put it here ig 1,485 words -------------- you once again were having one of those chemical imbalances in your brain that was causing not even a crumb of serotonin to produce in the central nervous system part of your brain.

it was extremely frustrating to deal with because one moment you'd be completely fine, or surprisingly happy, and for some reason something'd switch it off in your brain and you begin to think of your past mistakes and regrets, ruining your mood completely. it sometimes got to the point where there was no way to cope with it, and you had to fake a smile on your face frequently, which you think you're good at considering rengoku hasn't even noticed yet, and that man notices everything. literally everything. he can read you like a book and tell what you're feeling in the span of a fucking millisecond.

but faking an emotion can be very tiring after doing it for a while, and you were starting to slip up on your desperate act of trying to look happy. you could tell because rengoku started asking if you were okay more frequently, as if he didn't do it all the time because man does this fire boy care about you. you could only tell because of the concern that was beginning to plaster on his face the more he asked.

one fateful day for you, he 'put his foot down' and led you to a place that was remote of anyone hearing or god, even seeing.

the place was beautiful though. it was very well taken care of and littered with flowers and dangly trees. the aroma of the flowers were very strong and sweet, it was very comforting and you felt more at ease after rengoku gave you the 'wtf is going on' look and led you somewhere.

rengoku patted a big, clean rock for you to sit on and you obeyed, avoiding eye contact with him. you felt his eyes burning into your face as he kneeled down to your level. he slid his hand onto your outer thigh and raised his other hand onto your chin, turning your head towards him to make eye contact. you felt your heart hammer in your chest, trying to predict what he was going to do or say. was he trying to do the dirty? no, why would he be doing that here, of all places? you could sense the negative tension in the air, and whatever that was going to happen next wasn't going to be very fun for you. after you began looking at him in the eyes, he dropped his hand from your chin and grabbed both of your hands.

"y/n..." rengoku spoke. your eyes slightly widened at the soft tone in his voice. you weren't used to this at all, "i'm worried about you. for the past week you've seemed more down than usual. what happened?"

your breathing was beginning to get a bit raggedy from his now-intimidating presence. you weren't used to this at all. you were used to his happy, loud sounding voice. you were used to the warm smile almost always plastered on his face. but right now, it his face was full of worry and concern. you felt guilt for making him worry.

"i-" you paused. you felt your hands getting a bit clammy from the nervousness that you felt. all the memories and regrets flooded your head and all that anxiousness started to turn into sadness. you sat there with your mouth slightly open as you shrugged and shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes swiftly. rengoku acknowledged that and his face softened. he felt his heart ache for you. he hated seeing you upset, even if he's never seen it before to these measures. surely, you've been upset and he held you for a while, but he's never seen you cry. you always hid it from him. you wanted to be happy for him, you didn't want to bring his mood down or make him worry either.

tears began waterfalling from your eyes, biting your lip to contain the cries fighting to make it up your throat. rengoku frowned at the sight and felt his heart drop. he couldn't stand seeing you like this, so he just enveloped you, arms wrapping above your shoulders.

"you don't have to speak, just let it out..." rengoku muttered into your ear.

with those words and feeling his warmth surrounding you, you broke down into a fit of sobs. you hid your head into his shoulder and embraced him back, holding onto him so tightly as if your life depended on it.

his hand starting petting your head sweetly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head every few seconds. with every deep breath you took, a sob came out.

"kyojuro..." you croaked, breath extremely uneven, "i'm s-so sorry..."

"don't apologize, love. it's okay to let your emotions out, never feel ashamed about how you feel. what you're feeling right now is perfectly okay and it makes you human."

you nodded before continuing your meltdown. in a few minutes, your sobs quieted down into sniffles.

rengoku pulled away, examining your facial features. your bloodshot eyes, your puffy nose, and red cheeks. he softly smiled, wiping the dampness off of your cheeks with his thumb.

"you still look appealing even when you cry," rengoku smiled wider, rubbing your arm comfortingly. you softly grin at the compliment.

"what's going on to make you this upset, y/n?" rengoku questioned, face immediately changing back into the concerned look.

"there's nothing specific that really makes me sad, but i still feel upset regardless even if something positive happens. you don't do anything to make me sad, no one does anything to make me sad, it's just me. i get hit with these sad feelings out of nowhere and it's starting to become an everyday thing. it's really starting to concern me."

rengoku's face was just blank, but you could feel the sadness emanating from his aura. this man knew how to deal with physical pain quite well, but when it came to emotions, he felt so helpless. he just wanted so desperately to take away all of those negative emotions and put it on himself, even if he had his own problems, which he claims are just 'minor things'.

"how long have you been feeling this way?" rengoku quizzed.

the icky feeling after crying had subsided and was immediately replaced with guilt. you could tell that your answer wasn't going to make him feel any better. you could most definitely tell by the pained expression that lied on his face in response to your silence.

"well," you glanced around, thinking for a moment. you thought about lying about how long it's been, but it would make the situation only worse. your honestly will not only help you but make him feel better, since he can catch on to lies because like i said, he can read you like a book.

"it's been about two months..." your voice lowered to a hush, looking down to your hands lying on your lap, "i'm sorry for not telling you..."

his eyebrows furrowed upwards, "why didn't you tell me, baby?"

he took your hands into his and rubbed soothing circles into your palms, looking into your eyes that were once again brimming with tears.

"i just didn't want to make you worry about me, i just want you to be happy." you faltered and blinked the tears away. rengoku stared for a moment with his eyebrows still furrowed and lips pressed together. it was a more mournful face than a frustrated one.

he let go of a shaky breath before pulling you into his arms once more whilst rubbing your back in a soothing pattern, "i appreciate your concern, but i really want you to be happy too. if you're happy, i'm happy. thank you so much for telling me and being brave enough to do so. is there anything that i can do to help?"

you pulled away, "honestly, you just being here for me is enough. your love and affection and your presence is 100% enough. thank you for being so kind and lovely," you replied to his question, which put a smile on both faces. his was especially warm, like it usually was. but there was something about his smile this time that was so genuine. it was so full of love and that itself wanted to make you cry again.

you caressed his face with both hands before exchanging a mellifluous lingering kiss onto his lips. he kissed back and slid his hand onto your waist. before you could pull away, he pressed a kiss onto your cheek.

it was kind of funny because the sound of rengoku's stomach rumbling ruined the sweet moment. you didn't mind, though. the both of you erupted into a fit of laughter.

"hungry?"

#demon slayer #demon slayer imagine #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku #tanjiro kamado #tanjiro #zenitsu #inosuke #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojurou x reader #sorry if this sucks

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hqcult · 3 years

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SWITCHING POSITIONS ## akaashi keiji

doms and subs are overrated. it's hella fun being a switch and keiji couldn't agree more.

. tw smut, switch! akaashi, switch! reader, some baby girl and baby boy calling, mommy kink, sir kink, drunk sex, unprotected sex (dont try this at home), oral (m receiving), creampies, slight degradation . wc 3.8k

the night is young. as young a night gets for two college students after finals week. while countless people from different frat houses have already invited you to come to their year-end parties, you never really enjoy that scene. it's too much of an effort to dress and doll yourself up when, after such a stressful week, you just want to wind down and get drunk here in your dorm with your best friend.

plus, keiji tells way more compelling stories than boys you've encountered at parties and that's saying something, considering you had been drunk as a skunk but didn't find them funny at all.

yeah. offense.

right from the get-go, you figure he's never one for small talk but there's a fondness in his eyes when he talks about his days as a volleyball player. he becomes more loose-lipped, sharing to you memories of his teammates and games. you really didn't care whatever topic he chose to talk about, you just know you'll listen to him anyway. it's great listening to him talk with that comforting voice of his.

"you know," you lean your head back against the couch, cozying up in your hoodie. "maybe you should start a part-time job as a youtuber. you can be one of those people who do asmr videos or something." you chuckle, finding the random thought amusing.

"but i'm already on a full-ride. i don't think i need to get a part-time job," he lies comfy on your couch. one arm hanging, hands over the can of beer.

you sighed staring up at the ceiling. "lucky. it's hard maintaining grades when your professors are a bunch of snobby assholes who don't care about their students."

his knee nudges the back of your head lightly. "don't say that," he scolds. "that's bad. they're still your teachers."

always so polite.

just as you reach forward for another slice of pizza, akaashi speaks again, eyeing you thoughtfully. "well… maybe i can start an asmr channel and we can split the money i earn."

you laugh, torso turning around to face him. you bring the beer can up to offer a toast.

"see, this is why i love you, keiji."

after clicking his can with yours, you turn around to have a bite of your pizza — completely missing the red flush on his cheeks, thrown off-guard by the strong proclamation you just made, albeit he knows you probably meant it in a platonic way. he didn't know what to say next so he took another swig of his drink.

he doesn't know. really. what triggered him to look at you as something way more than a normal friend would. for someone so self-aware as him it's frustrating not knowing how and when his feelings for you even changed. because the only time he realized he was knee deep into liking you was when he was also at the brink of losing you.

which reminds him…

"what happened to that guy you were texting two weeks ago?" he asks.

"ah, him? he's too… what's the word, assertive? intrusive? i don't know — it's like he wants to monopolize my time. like he wants my whole world to revolve around him and it's… kinda creepy actually."

akaashi scoffs, sitting up to get a slice of pizza. "you guys were only talking for two weeks."

"i know! that's what i'm saying!" you say, hands wildly gesturing to and fro. he's afraid you might spill the beer. "like — dude. maybe it's either he needs to chill the fuck out or i'm just not into doms. or maybe he's a walking red flag."

he hums thoughtfully, slumping next to you on the floor before dusting his hands off from pizza crumbs. "he's a red flag. obviously."

"okay but random thought: doms are overrated," you reach forward to open another can of beer, thinking out loud. "subs too. i feel like it's kinda tiring being a top as much as it is being a bottom. being a switch, on the other hand, is like getting the best of both worlds and who wouldn't like that? it's some good hannah montana shit."

now akaashi keiji can't help but laugh at that. "are you drunk? how did our conversation end up this way even."

you bump his shoulder, laughing with him before drinking your beer. "oh, come on. humor me a little, keiji. think about it. i'm right. aren't i?"

"and how do you know?" he turns his head towards you. "have you been a top? or bottom —"

"i have," the smile you gave him sent butterflies to his stomach. "both. back in my all-girls high school. being a bottom's not too bad but… eh, still. i'd rather just be a switch. it's exhausting to top all the time."

"don't i know it," akaashi mutters under his breath. flashbacks of all those awkward and embarrassing endeavors filling his mind. "guys are always expected to top. it's like a stereotype. can't i just sit back sometimes and follow orders, too?"

he feels the heat crawling up his neck and it makes him shrug off his jacket, leaving him with the plain white shirt underneath.

"i can give you orders."

akaashi almost chokes on his beer.

"you literally just said it's exhausting to top."

you shrugged. "yeah, but — i mean, it is! it is but… you know."

he can see exactly how embarrassment is taking over your features and he wants to stop and move on from the conversation. he wants to. he should. but there's an inkling feeling inside him that doesn't because he wants to see how this unfolds. his heart is beating erratically and he can't take his eyes off you since that little comment you made.

"i'm sorry," you chuckle, a dismissive tone in your voice. "nevermind. anyway…"

akaashi shouldn't entertain his thoughts.

it's improper. you're his best friend. literally one of the few people who he's managed to befriend in college. he can't lose you. he can't risk being awkward with you. his not-so-platonic feelings for you should never get in the way of that. never. plus, you're both intoxicated right now and you were probably just kidding around. akaashi isn't that kind of guy. he respects you. he should dismiss the conversation but —

"then give me orders."

you froze. eyes widening as you stare at the forgotten netflix movie playing on your laptop, unable to look at the man sitting next to you. afraid of the weight of his stare. you didn't know why you blurted out whatever you did a few seconds ago but you never thought he'd entertain it. not that you mind, anyway. this is your best friend we're talking about. well-mannered akaashi keiji with the ocean eyes hiding behind those cute square glasses.

the akaashi keiji you've been crushing hard on since you saw him at the freshman orientation two years ago.

"would you… spread your legs for me?"

light rustling can be heard as the microfibers of his socks drag against the carpeted floor. just as you reach forward to push back the coffee table, akaashi beats you to it and does it for you. making sure to push it far so you won't accidentally hit your back on the edges.

with one smooth swing of your leg, you're sitting snug on his lap. the rough fabric of his jeans grazing your thighs as your hands tremble whilst dragging down the planes of his torso.

akaashi grabs your hands, stopping you.

"you look hesitant. you don't need to do this if you don't want to." his tone is low, understanding as always.

you look at him straight in the eye. leaning forward until your lips are all but grazing each other as you spoke. "i want to. i want you."

you dive down to start peppering kisses down his neck and you hear him let out a shaky sigh. you lick a stripe up the side of his neck before kissing the shell of his ear. "go on, keiji. you can touch me. don't you want to touch mommy?"

you feel him shudder, his dexterous fingers mapping random lines underneath your hoodie, slowly raking higher and higher until he's saying "mommy, please take it off" in low hushed tones. the blush in his cheeks prominent as he can't seem to stare at you in the eye. so cute. so submissive. so stupid thinking you'll let him undress you so easily.

"did i say you can take it off?" you hiss, reaching down to cup him from over his jeans and shoving his hands off you. "don't tell me baby boy is being bad, are you being bad? i thought my baby keiji's a good boy for his mommy."

"but… but i am a good —"

akaashi hisses, knees jolting when he feels you tracing circles on the insides of his thighs with the tip of your nails. for someone who just claimed they didn't like topping, you're doing an impeccable job at it and he doesn't know whether or not he loves it or hates it. when your sneaky little hands unbutton his jeans and teasingly pulls the zipper down, okay, no, he definitely loves it. the determined look in your eyes as you pin your gaze on his features, watching like a hawk at every furrow of his brow, of every sharp intake of breath, every time he throws his head back.

"if you're such a good boy why don't you strip for mommy, hm? won't my baby boy give me a show?" he can't take his eyes off you as you smile, sultry, leaning over to lick at his bottom lip as your ass slowly grinds against his jeans. how merciless you are, when you gave him a peck and pulled away. "go on. strip and sit on the couch."

blindly reaching around the coffee table, you grabbed whatever beer you can hold before raising it up to your lips and staring at him over the rim of the can as he throws his shirt off. you suck in a breath when his abdominals come into view. his torso lean and smooth, siding a little more on the petite size with a tiny waist. and you shamelessly check him out even more when he leans over and hooks his thumbs under his jeans, pushing it down.

you didn't speak until you saw the black waistband of his boxers.

"those, too."

he pauses, looking a little lost. "i'm sorry, what —"

"everything, baby boy. i want everything off… including those boxers. wanna see your dick throbbing. bet baby boy's already hard because mommy kissed his neck and gave him hickies, isn't he? bet you'll love it if mommy licks you all over, or when mommy rides her baby boy's cute thighs. would my baby keiji like that? would you? does my baby boy deserve it?"

damn were you good at this. the more you spoke the more it's making him ache and he wastes no time in shoving everything down. true to your words he was throbbing. the mushroom tip oozing precum and his dick standing tall. maybe it's the alcohol in his system or maybe it's the desire for you that he had kept locked away for so long, but akaashi can't bring it in himself to feel embarrassed. not when you're looking at him like you want to devour him whole.

the same bright eyes of his adventurous best friend who's stuck by his side since being wide-eyed first years in this huge university — he'll probably never see you in that same halo ever again, already tainted by the image of you now.

he sees you swallow, eyes never straying away from his girth and akaashi feels a little proud to have you looking star-struck. when you rise from your seat, his muscles tense in anticipation, staring at your hand as it slowly reaches forward — only to pause mid-air.

akaashi looks up at you questionably and he sees the unspoken question in your eyes, asking for his consent. and your baby boy's answer was instantaneous.

"please, mommy. touch me?"

the smile on your face was cocky. definitely cocky as your hand wraps around his girth, the other wrapping around his throat as you coo. "aw, how can i resist when you're asking so nicely? why don't you sit on the couch and i'll grant whatever my baby boy wants, hm?"

he mewls, leaning back on the couch and eyes you with lust. "like this, mommy?" he mutters, desperate. he even tilts his hips up a little to offer you a better view as you hum in approval, straddling his hips as you stroked his cock.

"such a good boy for mommy, aren't you? how pretty."

he hisses when he catches sight of you kneeling before him in between his legs, looking at him with the most captivating sultry gaze he's ever seen. "mommy's gonna give you a 'lil prep, yeah? so it won't hurt when i ride your dick, baby boy."

"yes, momm — ugh."

akaashi throws his head back when you finally wrap your lips around him. the image of your hollowed cheeks forever ingrained in his mind. his eyes fly close, focusing his attention on your swift tongue as it lies flat against the underside of his cock, taking him eagerly from the base to the tip. your tongue swirls around the head, sneakily poking around the hole where precum oozes out.

"mommy," he whines when your tongue travels back to his girth, tracing one of the prominent veins in his dick before your hand comes up to play with his balls. "mommy — shit. so good… feels so good…"

it urges you on, hands retracting to wrap around whatever your mouth couldn't cover. his back is arching and you suck him with fervor, eager to push him to the edge, to make him believe you're going to lick and play and suckle until he's creaming around your mouth — only to pull away at the last minute.

"no!" he moans, looking down at you desperately as you rise from your seat. "i was-i was gonna cum!"

you dismiss him easily with a wave of the hand, too busy shuffling out your clothes. maybe if you had the energy, you would've punished him a few rough spanks but you were far gone already. thoughts of that dick splitting you in half as you ride him consuming your mind like a plague.

akaashi groans when you hop onto the sofa and crash your lips on his. you never would've imagined kissing him this way. sloppy and wet and painfully induced with lust. the stretch is amazing, there was the lightest stinging sensation but was overridden by pleasure. he groans, pulling you close and peppering your shoulders with kisses.

you grabbed his shoulders and started bouncing on his lap in a slow, stimulating manner that made you feel every vein and curve of his cock as it deliciously drags against your walls. you hear him wine. you hear him talk about how it hurts and how he can't take it anymore. how he needs his mommy to move faster. faster, mommy. please fuck me faster. but you ignored him, so caught up in domspace to see the growing irritation in your baby boy's eyes. to see the sudden shift from clinging onto you so desperately to gripping possessively against the soft flesh of your sides.

the air was knocked out of your lungs when he slams you down on the sofa.

"you dare ignore me?" his face is passive, eyes cold and steely as he pinned you with a dark stare. "time's up. i think you got a tad bit carried away there, don't you agree?"

"want me to show you how it's done?" you shiver in excitement when he takes your wrists in one hand. his thighs flex as he gets on his knees before hooking your legs over his shoulder, thrusting his dick deeper into you. akaashi bends forward, a hand firmly gripping your face. "i want you to address me as 'sir' and nothing else, do i make myself clear?"

his low assertive tone so painfully attractive you clenched around him as he drills into you with vigor. akaashi chuckles, the low rumbles of his chest stimulating your perked nubs as it grazed against him with every thrust. "yeah, you like that? like it when i speak to you like this? ah, fuck you're so tight. you're pussy's practically choking my dick — look, fucking look, baby girl."

your head grazes his as you both watch his member disappear inside you, getting off at the lewd sight of the glistening sheen of your essence wrapped around his cock and the loud squelching noise it makes when he rams it into you again. you whimper, pulling akaashi down for a kiss as your ankles hook around his back, pulling him deeper as his pace quickens and his balls slap against your skin.

"see that? your pussy keeps sucking me back in. bet you're desperate for my cock, aren't you?" you never thought akaashi to be the type who's into talking dirty, you thought he was the gentle, vanilla type. but alcohol always brings around quite interesting things about a person after getting drunk.

you cling onto him for dear life as his hand reaches down to draw figure eights against your puffy clit, eliciting the most feral of moans from you that could rival that of pornstars. "sir," you shudder. "please, sir. please."

"please what?" he grabs your lower back, pulling your torso up to hit an angle that makes you see stars.

"please, let me cum! please."

akaashi clicks his tongue before raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "you didn't listen to me when i was the one begging, why should i listen to you?"

your hands wrap around his neck, sobbing against the crook of his neck by the sheer pleasure you felt. he can't understand your mindless babbling. all inside keiji's mind is the feel of your perked nipples grazing his chest and your plush walls wrapping around him so prettily. he never did it raw, having you as his first time doing it without a condom pushed him way over the edge than he wants to admit.

"be-because — ah — i didn't —"

akaashi hauls you up into a sitting position, arms wrapped around you securely as you straddle him. he yanks you away from his neck, a tight grip wrapped around your throat as he stares straight into your eyes as he fucks up into you, feeling his balls slap against your skin. "what? cock's that good you can't even speak?"

he feels your hips stutter as you sob, tiny hands wrapped around his wrists. you didn't even try bouncing and meeting his thrusts anymore. "sir, please! s'too much! wanna cum —"

"then fucking work for it," he stils his hips. "fuck me back, baby girl. come on. you said you wanted to ride me, didn't you? bet this is what you've been thinking about for the whole night. that's the only thing my baby girl's capable of right? thinking 'bout my cock and nothing else? such a dumb little baby."

your legs quivered and shook as you obliged and pulled yourself half way up, before meeting him halfway and impaling yourself back down his cock. the first time you did it had both of you whining, akaashi quickly threading his hands through your hair to yank your face towards him. he wants to imprint this memory into his mind. to be able to merely shut his eyes and be transported back to the night you both were intoxicated and you let him use your cunt like a fleshlight.

all sense of manners were thrown out the window as his ocean eyes memorized the way your eyes rolled back when he hits a sweet spot, the way your nose scrunches when the pleasure becomes overwhelming, the way the drool shamelessly trickles down the side of your lips as your tongue sticks out and he so badly wanted to spit but he didn't in fear of making you uncomfortable. everything. he wants to memorize everything.

"just a little more, pretty girl. you can do it. together, okay? cum before me and you'll fucking regret it."

he grabs you closer, burying your face in his neck and planting his feet firm on the ground as he pistons his cock into you. it's not the heat of your body, or your pretty cries, or the lewd sound of skin slapping that made him cum. no. it was your sheer desperation and vulnerability as you bit his shoulders and yelled at the top of your lungs.

"keiji!"

he pulled out at record speed and had made a mess on his torso but he was hardly able to register any of these. so fucked out and sated and content to have you sitting on his lap as he stares at your plain ceiling. he doesn't even realize you've dropped down to your knees and started lapping up the essence splayed on his torso until he felt the hot muscle of your tongue. "(y/n) —"

"what happened to baby girl?" you tease, a playful smile on your lips as you meet his eyes. "you were so into it, 'kaashi. you should've seen your face — well, i was… kinda into it too, anyway."

it took akaashi around three seconds for everything to finally sink in, to fully sober up and let the gears work in his head. the realization of what had gone down on your sofa, of the things he told you, brings about an embarrassment greater than anything he's ever felt in his entire life. suddenly, he's shoving you away from him and draping the discarded blanket around your naked form whilst politely looking away. then he quickly covers his soft dick with one of your throw pillows.

"oh, my god. i'm so sorry. this is a mistake — shit — i'm sorry! you see, i've liked you ever since and not as a friend and i swear i'm not the type to just —"

"keiji" you snap him out of it. "i like you too, okay? now don't go around saying it's a mistake or i'm going to throw you off the roof. do you want me to throw you off the roof? right. i don't think so. now, come on! get your sexy ass dressed, we're going somewhere."

"where... are we going?"

"i'm craving ice cream. so for our first date, buying ice cream at 2am!"

#(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ queue’d!#thirsthours #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu scenarios #hq scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu #akaashi keiji #akaashi smut #akaashi keiji smut #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x you #akaashi keiji x yn #hq akaashi #akaashi haikyuu

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nakachuchu · 3 years

Text

Blueberry Cheesecake | Fushiguro Megumi

SYNOPSIS: You don’t know how to swim and he promises to teach you.

READER: female

WORDS: 1066

WRITTEN: 04/09/2021

NOTES: Thank you for requesting from my event! You don't know how to swim + "Eyes up here, baby."

Gojo, your friends, and you got a few vacation days at a resort in the countryside. They all had plans to go to the pool for one of the days, and when Megumi noticed how nervous you were, you revealed to him that you didn't know how to swim.

He didn't make fun of you. He simply looked at you and told you he would teach you.

You were embarrassed enough that you didn't know how to swim, but having to wear a swimsuit and feel so naked in front of Megumi made it worse.

Of course, the two of you had been dating for a while now, but it didn't mean you weren't self-conscious, especially with how pretty Kugisaki was in her two-piece while dunking Itadori in the water three lanes away from you.

Megumi held onto your hand as he let you into the shallow end. You had never gone near water because you never learned how to when you were younger and you developed a fear of swimming pools and the ocean since you would most likely drown.

"Megumi, this is embarrassing," you whined.

It was embarrassing for him as well. Even if you were wearing a one-piece swimsuit that barely showed anything, his imagination took care of it.

He was used to seeing you in your uniform every day or maybe your long pajama pants, but never a swimsuit.

"I promised to teach you," he said.

You pouted. "If I drown, will you save me?"

"I wouldn't let you drown in the first place."

You felt a bit better at his response and shivered when you finally got into the water. You were embarrassed, but not that nervous since the water in the shallow end didn't reach your nose.

"Can you float on your stomach?" he questioned. "Hold onto my hands and I'll guide you."

He held out his hands and you placed your hands in them, gripping them tightly when you floated onto your stomach.

"I'll start walking so kick your feet—not your legs—softly."

You nodded as he slowly walked backward, letting you kick your feet softly as he guided you through it.

"I'm going to let go," he said.

"Don't you dare."

"Y/N."

"I'll kill you, Megumi."

He sighed. "Trust me, Y/N. I'll keep my finger on you."

He forced you to let go of his hands but kept two fingers out so that your index fingers touched both of his index fingers.

You faltered in your movements, but he was quick to reach out and press on your stomach to make sure you didn't sink.

Your heart was beating quickly because of how scared and nervous you were, even though you were still in the shallow end.

Your eyes focused on his fingers and you were doing your best to breathe, but your breaths came out shaky.

"Hey," he called out.

You didn't answer him or look at him. You didn't even hear him. You were too focused on trying not to drown.

"Y/N," he said loudly.

He stopped walking backward, allowing you to stop. He carefully got you back into your feet before tilting your head up by placing a hand under your chin.

"Eyes up here, baby."

You snapped out of it once you heard 'baby' and blushed immediately, raising your head to look at him. Megumi seemed to be embarrassed as well because of the pink hue on his cheeks.

"You did good," he said.

You smiled softly. "You're lying to me."

"I'm not. I don't lie when it comes to you."

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. He placed his hand on the back of your head as you pressed your cheek against his chest.

"You're cheesy today," you mumbled. "But I like it."

Suddenly, Itadori splashed you two with a wave of water. You and Megumi were soaked and stood there for a moment before slowly turning toward him.

You let go of Megumi as he ducked under the pool lane in the water to get over to Itadori, chasing after him to hit him on the head and dunk him in the water.

You smiled and climbed out of the shallow end to sit on one of the plastic beach chairs that had your towel in it.

"Y/N, mind getting my back?" Gojo questioned as he held out a tube of sunscreen.

"Sure, Sensei. Are you going to join them or are you going to go eat sweets again?" you asked as you squirted the sunscreen onto your hands and rubbed them onto his back.

"Maybe I'll drown Yuuji a bit before getting some shaved ice. You know, I saw they had blueberry cheesecake on their menu."

"Really?" you questioned, perking up immediately.

Blueberry cheesecake was your favorite dessert and you rarely had time to eat it because of missions.

"Thanks, Sensei. I'll make sure to get some. Have fun drowning Itadori," you said as he grinned at you and gave you a thumbs-up before running and cannon-balling into the pool.

You walked over to Megumi by the deep end and knelt. As soon as he noticed you, he swam over to you.

"I'm gonna get something to eat. Keep an eye on my stuff?" you asked.

He nodded and you smiled as a thanks before getting up to go order your blueberry cheesecake. Once you ordered, you got it immediately since they already made it.

You walked back to the chair and began to eat the cheesecake with a smile on your face.

Megumi climbed out of the pool when he noticed you were back, then sat on the chair next to you. You handed him a towel so he could dry off.

"Thanks," he said.

"Have fun?" you questioned, glancing over at Itadori flailing his arms around as Gojo chased him.

"Mhm."

You held out a forkful of the blueberry cheesecake to him and he ate it.

"It's good," he said.

You hummed as you fed him some more. When you noticed a crumb on the corner of his lips, you brushed it off with your thumb and licked it off. He opened his mouth for more and you fed him again.

He was comfortable enough with you to allow himself to be slightly babied by you, but mainly when it came to getting fed.

"Cute," you said.

"I'm not cute."

"Whatever you say."

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #Fushiguro Megumi x reader

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bjornthorsson20 · 3 years

Text

Give Us a Break!

Had this Rarry drabble unfinished for 2 months now, and finally, the inspiration hit to finish it yesterday. Hope y'all enjoy! ^^

Harry entered the kitchen to find Ron already leaning on the counter, munching on some toast. Even now, in his disheveled morning state, Harry thought he looked positively stunning, especially with the sun rays reflecting off his flaming red hair, making it shine even brighter.

Ron looked his way, grinning as soon as their eyes met, and made a gesture for Harry to come closer. Harry had to stop himself from biting his lip at how sexy just that little wag of his finger was. He walked up to Ron, keeping a good distance away from him, but Ron wasn't having it, as he tugged on Harry's sleeve to pull him in until their faces were mere inches apart. Harry involuntarily bunched Ron's shirt with his fist, his breathing already ragged due to their proximity.

As soon as Ron dipped his head, they heard footsteps coming in, alarming them both, and before Harry could jolt away quickly enough, Ron burped on his face, laughing afterward.

"What the fuck, Ron?! Fucking hell!" Harry bellowed, frantically waving his hand in front of his face.

"I told you not to get too close, Potter. Your mistake," Ron chuckled, but with a subtle wink his way, Harry understood why he did it.

"Er, am I interrupting something?" Hermione asked by the doorway, with an amused half-smile and one eyebrow raised.

“Not at all, no. Harry was just talking big for someone who was clearly unprepared to handle the Weasleys’ dirty tricks,” Ron laughed, having way too much fun watching Harry blush profusely from the embarrassment of almost getting caught by their best friend.

“Okay,” Hermione enunciated, barely holding in a chuckle as she grabbed a piece of toast, taking a bite of it. “I’ll be outside reading in the shade if you boys need me or wish to keep me company later.” As they nodded, she left the kitchen, leaving them alone once more.

“That was close,” Harry breathed a sigh of relief, messing his hair up with a shaky hand, the blush still present on his face.

“But not close enough,” Ron said in the deep voice he knew always made Harry’s knees weak, bringing him closer again. Harry’s hand landed flat on Ron’s chest and he could feel his heartbeat speed up, his own breath hitching as he took in the deep-blue desire in the ginger’s eyes. Their lips moved at the same time…

“Good morning! Nice to see you both already up!” bellowed the Weasley patriarch as he came in.

“Ron, you really are a messy eater,” Harry quickly said, swiping away nonexistent crumbs from Ron’s shirt, hoping Mr. Weasley would buy it, despite the nervous squeak in his voice.

“Mate, you’ve known me for how many years now? It’s not news at this point that I’m a pig when it comes to food. Oh hi, dad,” Ron greeted his dad nonchalantly, and Harry wondered how he managed to stay that calm in this kind of situation.

“Sorry, were you two in the middle of something?”

“Oh, no, Harry was just practicing his crumb swiping technique on me. Apparently, it’s a muggle thing boys our age do,” Ron smoothly lied, as Harry was trying very hard not to laugh, sure that Mr. Weasley would never buy such a-

“Oh! Fascinating! Remind me to pull Harry aside later to inquire more on that. I’ll be heading off to work now. Take care, you two!” And with that, he was off.

Harry blew out a huge breath, crying from laughter as he gasped out syllable for syllable, “I can’t believe he bought that!” Ron soon joined him on it, both of them clutching their stomachs from the hilarity of it all.

Finally, they both sighed, spent from their bout of mirth, wearing identical silly smiles and stepping closer to one another. Ron caressed Harry’s cheek lovingly, his trademarked lopsided grin showing up. “I guess we should just wait for tonight. You can hold on until then, right?” He chuckled as Harry nodded.

“What can wait for tonight, our dear Ickle Ronniekins?” The twins chorused in unison, popping out from seemingly nowhere, startling them both.

“Well, uh, Harry likes me to read this muggle fairytale to him before bed, helps him sleep better, but lately he has been asking me to read it to him during the day, and I just wanted us to come back to it being a bedtime story. Makes it more special.” By the end of this convoluted lie, the twins were already reduced to tears on the kitchen floor, laughing even harder than Harry and Ron before. By the time they managed to get up again, each one leaning on Ron’s shoulders for support, they were laughing right at a very red Harry’s face, trying to form coherent sentences, but being overpowered by the laughter. They eventually calmed down enough to taunt Harry with questions like “Do you need your special blanket to sleep well too?” or “What thumb do you sleep sucking on?”, before thanking Ron for the gold mine of jokes and promptly disapparating.

The silence hung between them, Ron doing his best to not laugh at the terrible attempt at an angry stare Harry was giving him. Eventually, with a twitch of his lips giving him away, he muttered, “You’re the fucking worst.”

Ron did laugh then, dipping his head with their noses almost touching, “I am. But you love me for it,” he said, before finally giving Harry a proper quick kiss.

As Ron broke the kiss, Harry was left with a smile, and, with his eyes still closed, let out a content sigh.

“I do.”

#rarry #rarry fanfic #ron x harry #ron weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #arthur weasley #george weasley #fred weasley #weasley twins #ronarry #hp fanfic #hp drabble

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dreamii-yume · 3 years

Note

When you said しし (shishi) I thought about a piss kink... Mainly because I used to say 'shishi' instead of pee when I was younger

LOL I FORGOT TO ADD THE THIRD SHI—

ALSO— WHY does my brain work better ideas once there’s that one questionable kink in an ask (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾I don’t even know if this was a crumb idea or— aaaaa

Ruggie is just that skillful guy who knows a lot about what he’s doing, doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll learn and master it soon enough.

The act of distraction by talking about topics that he knew you would be interested in, that’s also a piece of cake. His voice and seemingly genuine interest in the conversation had you so lost that you didn’t even notice how constantly he kept pouring drinks in your cup. Just as you would finish a glass, he’d rile the conversation towards himself and muses as he saw your eyes sparkled, before you know it, there’s a new batch of drink in your cup once again. He had to stop himself from chuckling out loud every time you would cluelessly down one glass, excited of how this outcome can do for you. Soon enough though, you started reacting as the liquid you consume began building up inside you and visibly froze in your spot.

Ruggie glanced down to see you fidgeting with your thighs squishing against each other, that blush on your face made you look hot and cute at the same time. You were trying to find an opportunity to excuse yourself in the midst of Ruggie’s words, not wanting to seem rude to cut him off mid-sentence. Being the little shit that he is, he purposely prolonged his point of the conversation, observing how you were more focus on keeping your bladder in control rather than actually listening to him now. When he finally finished talking, you hastily stood up from your seat the moment he breaths in, giving him a shaky smile and excusing yourself to the toilet. It was so funny how you didn’t even wait for his answer and just dashed away, Ruggie wonders if you even know where the bathroom is here in Savanaclaw but he guessed that was the least of your worries at that point.

Of course, like the little lost bunny that you are, frantically searched without a plan with Ruggie just watching you from behind. You look like you’re on the verge of tears, closing your eyes from time to time as a way to control your shaking legs. He noticed how you purposely avoided asking for guidance, probably because you didn’t have enough willpower to stomach in the nervousness and your impatient bladder at the same time, but surprisingly, you went and tap a Savanaclaw dorm member’s shoulder for instructions. Now, this made Ruggie tensed up since being a Savanaclaw dorm member himself, he knew their responses would either be as aggressive as he’d imagine, or reasonably rational. Luckily, with your pitiful appearance alone, the Savanaclaw dorm member just instead back down and pointed to the designated bathroom you were looking for.

This made Ruggie sigh, relieved yet disappointed at the same time since his little enjoyment of watching you struggle like a new-born fawn is reaching its end. However, as he trails after your dashing figure, one little fun yet cruel idea came to mind and he isn’t quite sure whether to be disgusted with himself or to praise himself for it. But if he was going to commit in such morbid kind of enjoyment then might as well just partake in it to the fullest, right?

Reaching the toilets filled with different stalls, you found yourself sighing a breath of relief since no one seemed to be around, too distracted by the party going on outside. You walked over to one stall and open it, revealing a perfectly clean toilet and you almost saw it as your bright savior at that moment. However, once you were actually ready to step in inside, a hand snaked its way around your shoulder, startling half of your soul out of you. Your heart began beating so fast once again that you thought your bladder had given out from that shock.

“Hey there, (Y/N)~” His playful voice rang out and you immediately recognized him, the arm began wrapping itself around your neck this time, preventing you from moving away any further. “Fancy seeing you here~”

“R-Ruggie-senpai…” You whimpered out, tears on the side of your eyes as the sight of the toilet in front of you had only urged the temptation of your bladder to just burst. “P-Please let go, I-I need to-“

“Mm-hm! I know, why else would you be here then?” He said in a mocking way, yet is making no actual efforts to comply with what you requested. Instead, you squeaked as his other hand moved up your thigh, brushing his fingertips so gently to create goosebumps along the way. “I just…kinda want to help you out, y’know?”

“Eh!?” You widened your eyes, gasping as his hand reached your clothed flower and started rubbing against it.

“…Oh, you’re already a little wet down here…” Ruggie said, blinking as he rubbed circles around the wet patch of your underwear before smirking right back at you. ”I wonder if you just couldn’t hold yourself longer? You’re such a baby, aren’t you~?”

“N-No, I- Aah…!” You tried protesting and struggling out of his hold, yet he already has your head in an inescapable arm lock and resisting could more or less choke you. He slipped his hand inside, his cold hands making you squeak from a single touch and tried to close your thighs to deny access. “R-Ruggie-senpai…!”

You whined, but Ruggie only hummed in fascination as his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, gathering your slick juices. You tried struggling forward, but that only got you in a more awkward bending position, which oddly worked on his favor. You gasped a shaky breath as his fingers began experimenting on your folds, occasionally pulling on your labia apart and stimulating your insides. The pressure inside you increases and you could only widen your eyes at it, especially when one of his fingers had slipped inside of you as a test. “You’re soaking up, and reallyclenching down on my finger, (Y/N)…Can’t take it anymore?”

You began to sob, mostly out of embarrassment as your nails dug on his arm around your neck, airy moans unconsciously coming out of your mouth as he began to pump in and out of you. You tried your hardest not to burst at that moment, too ashamed to do it in a position and place like this when there was a ready-to-use toilet in front of you, but it was getting more and more difficult at every second. But try as you may though, you couldn’t really control some small streaks of urine to come out of you, especially as he added another finger in. With thrusts that was getting faster and deeper, teasing your bladder out of its constricted binds to just let every dirty liquid you have to just flow in a messy impact. You heard Ruggie chuckling from behind your ears, likely really enjoying his little play and how it was affecting you.

Then, as the cold surface of his thumb came in contact with your sensitive clit, that’s when the last bit of your persistence suddenly crumbles away. Your voice cracked at how sudden the action was and your walls close in on his fingers the tightest it ever had. “Aah!” You exclaimed as a little rub on your nub was all it took for you to break down just like that.

In the midst of his brutal finger-fucking, a surge of liquid came bursting out of you, the relief of your bladder finally being released from the insane pressure had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Streaks of yellowish liquid trailed down your thighs and stained your panties in an instant, squirting out messily on the floor as your legs shook. “Ah, there it goes!” Ruggie exclaimed but still lodged his fingers deep inside of you, as if curious to see how it flows out like this. It took a good five seconds for you to calm down on your high, there was so many emotions that came out of you; The relief, the pleasure, and soon, the humiliation, but most notably, the sudden exhaustion.

“Alright~ That’s a job well-done, (Y/N)~” Ruggie praised as he adjusted his hold on you as your legs were practically dying at this point. He pulled his fingers out that made you flinch and groan at the same time, and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up to the toilet. Sitting there listlessly, you finally saw your Hyena senior grinning smugly at you from ear to ear as if feigning innocence with that signature laugh of his. He looked down at your soaked panties and breath out. “Well, I can’t just leave you here like this, so be a good girl and wait for me inside this stall, okay?”

You groaned in response, not knowing what to actually say or even having enough energy to say anything at all. However, you squeaked as you noticed Ruggie was slowly slipping your ruined underwear off your legs and panicked. “You probably don’t need this anymore, right? I’ll bring you something else to wear so, just sit here and be pretty little thing that you are like always.” He said as he stood up, casually waving your panties around, causing more heat to spread in your face.

Of course, Ruggie noticed such thing and just grinned at your reaction, it’s really fun to mess with you like this. He stepped out of the stall and as he was about to close the door, he stopped and gave you one last look. “Oh, by the way-“ He called out, showing your piss-stained panties tangled on his fingers once again before chuckling. “This counts as a gift, right? Thanks, (Y/N)~”

Then, he finally closes the door, leaving you to contemplate on what the hell just happened.

Now I just need Jack to complete the “Helping-Darling-Pee” series and the Savanaclaw Watersports™ Event would be completed- Seriously, HOW did I end up doing this lol Yume's not even an extreme piss kink fan wtf ─=≡Σ((( つ＞＜)つ Happy fckin Birthday, Ruggie lol

#twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi #Birthday Crumbs (Ruggie)

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misora-msby · 4 years

Text

night drive

rating : mature

word count : 1.9k

themes : fluff, fwb, mutual pining, implied sex, drug use (alcohol and marijuana)

notes : originally from my ao3, thought i might post it here as well :) // you can kinda imagine this is an au where atsumu’s not doing volleyball in college because this dude would definitely take care of his body better than this as an athlete lmfao

miya 🤢 : “im driving over rn. be ready in 10?”

You grimaced slightly. Atsumu always did this; he’d text late at night, insisting to meet up without giving you much of a choice.

“bitch it’s so late and i literally just finished my assignment gimme a break”

Your reply was read and within a few seconds you received a reply;

miya 🤢 : “Sorry! I’m driving right now and will reply later.”

An annoyed groan escaped you at the use of the automatic reply function. You knew he definitely read the message. It was just like Tsumu to do this.

Throwing on a light cardigan and applying a bit of lip gloss, you grabbed your phone and a little tin box you always brought along on your drives with Atsumu. After stuffing them into the pockets of your sweatpants, you double checked your appearance in the full length mirror by the door. A spray of perfume was used and you slipped on a comfy pair of sneakers before exiting the flat to wait at the entrance of the building.

As promised, Atsumu arrived and you got into the passenger seat of the car. It was a little messy and you had to dust off some crumbs on the seat but it smelt just of him and the cologne he loved to use.

“You gotta stop doing this. Especially the impromptu texting.” you muttered, leaning back in the seat as he began driving.

“But ya always agree to it anyways. And as promised, I never do it on a Tuesday, Friday, or Sunday night, just like ya asked.” he hummed while giving the smirk you hated but loved. And as much as you hated to agree, he was right.

Six months ago, you two had been set up on a blind date with each other by some friends. Miya Atsumu, known as a notorious flirt all his life, and you, a regular student just looking for a change in life. The date itself didn’t go too well but the sex that followed was incredible and so you two had continued with this agreement for the past half year.

And here you were now; on a drive to someplace out of town, a packet of cigarettes to share in the cupholder while the little tin in your pocket contained something a little stronger to smoke. And not to forget the cooler in the backseat which most likely contained at least two bottles of beer.

“Fine… you’re right.” you sighed, crossing your arms as you kept your eyes on the road to try and guess where you two were driving.

“Hey, doll. Light me a cig, would ya?” Atsumu asked. As always, you pulled out the stick of tobacco from the packet and lit it before passing it to him. He took a long draw on it before rolling down the window to breathe it out.

“I don’t get how you’re still so fuckin’ handsome after all the ciggies and drinks you take.” you muttered while taking the cigarette from his hand to have your own draw of it.

“Same goes to you, doll.”

“... T-Thanks.” you muttered while reaching back to grab a beer from his cooler.

Neither of you saw it but there may have been the slightest flush on both of your cheeks.

After that, the drive was silent for half an hour, save for the soft R&B that played and the occasional humming from Atsumu. It was always like this, and somehow the two of you had grown to like it. As much as you complained over and over about it, you enjoyed it. Enjoyed the thrill, the sex, the debauchery, and strangely, the company.

“This place looks good.” his smooth voice hummed while turning into a forest. It was dark and a little scary with how cramped it felt with the towering trees, but your pride refused to let him know that. Plus, you knew you wouldn’t be thinking about it for much longer. He parked his car in a decent spot and unfastened his seatbelt before turning to face you who was just a little drowsy from the beer you had. “There’s a real pretty place I wanna go in there. But first…” Atsumu’s eyes looked darker than ever as he placed a hand on your thigh.

No words had to be said before lips were locked and soft moans were pulled from your lips. It only took a few more seconds before you were both scrambling into the backseat, with him pushing you down onto your back as he grinded his strong hips into your more delicate self. The kiss ensued, though at this point it was hard to call it a kiss as it seemed more like a battle between lips. He groaned softly as he felt your fingers entangle themselves in his blond locks.

The two of you pulled away for a second to gaze into each other’s eyes, dark with lust and passion.

“You taste like beer,” he chuckled while wiping off a little bit of saliva from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch was strangely soft, contrasting the way he had kissed you just seconds before.

“Yeah? You taste like nicotine.” you replied with a slight grin on your face. He replicated that smile, a rare sight from him, before resuming your kiss.

* ･゜ﾟ･ * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * • * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * ･゜ﾟ･ *

“Think you can walk over to that place I was talkin’ ‘bout?” Atsumu asked while pulling his sweatpants back up.

“Hmm… I don’t know, you were pretty rough tonight. You might have to carry me,” you laughed while putting your own clothes back on.

The man rolled his eyes, though there was the slightest hint of endearing in them as he took the blunt you had half finished smoking earlier and lit it himself, leaning back in the seat a bit.

As he did so, he glanced over at you - hair messy and strands stuck to your brow from the sweat, your clothes were in a disarray, and marks he had left on your skin covered your neck and collarbones. It gave him a weird feeling to look upon you, like a sort of strange pride. Whether it was because he had given you that messy look, or because he was just proud of you in general, he didn’t know.

“No way, I’m tired too,” Atsumu scoffed and redirected his gaze out of the open window for a second before looking at you. His eyes softened slightly at the pout on your lips before he sighed, “Fine, I’ll do it. Help carry the drinks.”

He opened the door and carefully carried you out in a princess carry before kicking the door shut and beginning to walk. His steps were a little uneven and shaky as he was just slightly intoxicated.

As he carried you, you looked up at him, eyes tracing his sharp jawline and his blond hair. There were bags under his eyes and the scent of sex and everything you two were consuming today mixed into the cologne he wore with his natural scent. Somehow, it was still attractive.

“You’re hot.” The words left you in a whisper without you even realising it. Atsumu looked down and nearly stopped walking for a moment before laughing as he continued to walk.

“You’ve got the weirdest fuckin’ timing. But yeah, I know that.” he replied before setting you down a little later.

“Where are we?” you raised a brow at him, still holding onto his arm.

“Just take a look, would ya?”

Tearing away your gaze from his handsome self to look at the sight before you, you gasped softly.

You stood near the edge of a cliff, just beyond the fence-like barrier, there were paddy fields and the occasional farmhouse providing a small source of light. It was a pretty normal sight, but upon closer inspection, you could see the reflection of the night’s stars in the water of the fields. The twinkling stars shone in pitch blackness, undeterred by the city lights you were used to. The moon looked brighter than ever too. A cool wind blew past your face, refreshing it after the stuffy feeling of having sex in Atsumu’s backseat, carrying the faint scent of spring on it.

“You know, I think being here would feel so much better if I didn’t have your cum in me.”

“Shut the fuck up and enjoy it. You asked for it anyways.”

Atsumu flicked your forehead lightly before pulling you closer to the edge and sitting down on a log, looking out over the fields and up at the sparkling sky.

“Happy 6 months.”

“Tsumu, I don’t think anyone celebrates a fuckbuddy anniversary.”

“Eh, whatever. Fuck and drink buddy.”

“...well uh, happy anniversary!”

“Happy anniversary, doll.”

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, slightly dazed expressions on your faces before breaking out into giggles.

“Oh! Right!” you passed him a bottle of beer and opened your own with a spare coin in your pocket. “Cheers!” you clinked your bottle against his before drinking about a third of it.

“Cheers.” Atsumu replied and took his own large gulp of the drink.

You leaned against him the moment he moved the bottle away from his lips. His muscular arm, strengthened by years of playing volleyball made him rather comfortable to lean against. You hummed an unfamiliar tune before sighing in content.

Atsumu looked down at you resting against him. He could get used to this. He realised that lately he had been opting to stay the night after the fun you had together. Whether the time contained pillowtalk or it was just falling asleep in silence, he enjoyed it. Atsumu enjoyed being around you.

You enjoyed it too. People often claimed the blond was an ass but you knew better. There were nights when after you two had sex, the worries of the day or week would catch up to you and you’d end up crying to him. It was awkward at first but he slowly got used to it and eventually would comfort you with food he ordered or a few words of encouragement. (“Yeah it’s that bitch’s fault, go fuck her up.” was probably the most commonly said thing). As the nights passed, you found yourself wanting to spend more and more time with him.

“Hey… the sun’s coming up.” Atsumu said, making you finally look up from your silence. You hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep on him for a bit.

As you narrowed your eyes and looked over the fields and fields of crops, you noticed he was right. The first rays of sunlight could be seen peeking over the landscape, bringing light to the sky.

“Woah… it’s pretty.” you whispered in awe.

Atsumu looked over and studied your features for a few seconds. The way your eyes sparkled and was lit by the early morning sunshine, the way your hair bounced just a little as the wind blew, and the way your feet tapped quietly on the dirt in tired excitement. He didn’t want to admit it but he realised he might’ve been falling for you for a while now.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I love it.” you grinned up at him. At the man who you hadn’t realised you had fallen for weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he replied, and in a voice just barely audible to the two of you, he whispered, “and I love you.”

This moment seemed like a perfect time to properly ask you to be his, but he figured he would just let you two enjoy it in silence for a little longer.

#atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu #hq x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #atsumu miya #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #atsumu scenarios #misoramsby #gn!reader #i wrote it with fem reader in mind but i think i changed it enough to be gn?

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quickspinner · 4 years

Note

Hi, Miss Quickspiner, umm please "you’re good enough" whit Lukanette? I think Lu need hear that so badly. Also I really love all yours art, you are amazing 💙

Thank you so much 😊I continued from this one, hope that’s okay.

When Marinette woke, she was alone, but it didn’t scare her. She was comfortable and more relaxed than she’d been in a long time, and the gentle rock of the Liberty along with Luka’s god awful wallpaper a few inches from her nose were more than enough to ground her as she clawed her way up from sleep. Music was playing from a speaker somewhere, which wasn’t surprising, but the song playing was. Not the usual Couffaine style. Her curiosity gave her enough energy to sit up, drag herself off the bed, and open the door of Luka’s room.

“The only way to live now is to know you’re gonna fly, don’t listen to the lying liars and there lies,” Luka’s voice rang out, and Marinette followed it to the main room. Marinette covered her hand to keep in her laughter when she saw Luka behind the galley counter, dancing in place as he put together two plates of snacks. Tikki sat on the counter beside him, munching on a cookie. Based on the crumbs on the counter, it wasn’t her first one. She smiled as best she could with her puffy cheeks and waved to Marinette.

“I know she’s superwoman, I know she’s strong,” Luka sang, “I know she’s got this because she’s had it all along. She’s phenomenal, and she’s enough…”

Marinette couldn’t stop the giggles anymore when she heard the way he altered the lyrics, and he stopped singing as he looked up.

“Hey,” he smiled, not the least bit embarrassed that she could. “Feeling a little more rested?”

She nodded. She did, actually. Rested and...lighter. “Much, thank you.” She tilted her head slightly, indicating the music. “Really?” she grinned.

Luka shrugged. “I maybe needed to process a little, and well, if the song fits, it fits.” He winked at her. “We don’t music shame in this house. Probably listened to it a dozen times in the last hour.” He reached over and tapped something on his phone, restarting the song, and then held out his hands to her. When she took them, he pulled her in to dance with him, swinging their hands between them. “I might write a Kitty Section cover. I bet Rose would love it. Maybe we could convince Juleka to make it a duet. They’d be amazing.”

“Rose would love it,” Marinette grinned, moving with him. Gosh, when was the last time she danced, just for fun? Was it really Clara’s video? “And that would be amazing, the two of them together. Although I like your version too.”

Luka grinned. “I know you’re superwoman,” he sang, as Marinette laughed. “I know you’re strong. I know you’ve got this cause you’ve had it all along. You’re phenomenal, and you’re enough. I don’t need to tell you who to be—” He cut off with a slight oof as Marinette threw herself into him and hugged him tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Oh, Marinette,” Luka sighed, slipping his arms out from where she’d pinned them and wrapping them around her. “I only wish I could do more. You’ve got so much piled on you.” He hesitated slightly. “Tikki and I have been talking, and we had some thoughts, if you want to hear them. It’s...it’s not much,” he admitted, blowing out a sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair. “When I think about it it seems like practically nothing at all. I wish—” He broke off and looked away.

Marinette leaned back a little, and took his face in her hands so she could make him look at her. “Luka. Even before you knew, nobody has done more for me than you. You’ve always let me just be whatever I needed to be, and that’s been so important to me. Now, just...just knowing that you know...that you see me…it’s enough. I feel so much better already.” She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, not quite able to look in his eyes, afraid that what she might see there would overwhelm her. “I don’t need you to be a hero or fix everything or come up with all the answers. You’re good enough, Luka, just like this.”

Luka let out a shaky breath, and then wound his arms around her, pulling her close, cradling one hand behind her head to guide it to his shoulder.

“Unbroken and still beautiful,” he sang softly with the end of the song, and Marinette snuggled closer, holding him tight.

In a few minutes, they’d have to let go, and they would have to have that talk, and then she would have to leave, to go back to the lies and the secrets that she lived every day.

But Luka would still know. And for now, that really was enough.

So the song here is Kelly Clarkson, Broken and Beautiful, which I’ve probably heard a million times but only really listened to just recently. Of course I went looking for covers, because I love covers, and I didn’t find many, but I did enjoy this one and I keep imagining Rose and Juleka doing it this way together. (not really sure about the whole singing while driving while filming a video thing, but nobody died, so we’ll just ignore that)

youtube

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evelyn-tries-her-best · 4 years

Text

I Should Have Written This Down

Title: I Should Have Written This Down

A Chris Evans x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Babysitting your niece and nephew turns into a moment of realization for the both of you.

Warnings: Fluff, crying but the good kind.

A/N: Hahahe she says she’ll post soon and doesn't post for over a month ok I GET it! im terrible at this so far! I didn't even finish the fic I was gonna post last year but here we are. This idea came to me while I was at work and I wrote most of it at work but it was bad, so here it is. Have fun! Let me know what you think. Try not to send me anon hate but I won't blame you if you do.

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Your older sister was out of town for the weekend for her wedding anniversary, so that tasked you with taking care of her kids. You immediately agreed because you loved spending time with them. You did not know how she did it, but she raised both of her kiddos to be absolute angels. Caleb was only 6 years old and he showed more respect and restraint than some adults you know; Naomi was almost a year old but she hardly ever cried or fussed. You loved them dearly. The four of you had had a full day and made it home just in time to make dinner. You and Caleb tasked yourselves to make chicken alfredo while Chris volunteered to put Naomi to bed.

“Are you sure? I can take her if you want.” You asked Chris, who you loved very much but you knew he didn’t have much experience when it comes to babies.

“It’s ok babe, I got her. Now, Caleb, make sure Auntie Y/N doesn’t make a mess!” He said to the little boy who giggled in response, and with that he left the kitchen. So you and Caleb began to prepare the meal. It took twice as long because you wanted him to learn a lot and to do everything correctly. And as much as you made sure he couldn’t make a mess, the child somehow managed to spill bread crumbs all over the counter and onto the floor. A gasp came out of the both of you, followed by your giggles.

“Little boy?! What did you do?” You asked the worried boy.

“I’m sorry Auntie Y/N! It was an accident, I promise! I was trying to wash my hands and it was an accident!,” stammered the child, on the verge of tears. You smiled and embraced the boy, rubbing his back while you whispered words of comfort.

“I know baby, you just have to make sure you’re careful in the kitchen ok? It can be a dangerous place in here. Can you put all of the breadcrumbs on the floor with a paper towel, I’m sure Dodger would love it! I’m almost done ok?” you assured him. You set the table and plated everything before you went to check the baby camera. There you see Chris sitting in the rocking chair with Naomi in his arms, who was undoubtedly asleep. While he held her, he caressed her little face with his fingers, going over all of her features. And while you stood there, monitor in hand, images of your future begin to flood your mind.

You’ve been with Chris for a bit over two years, and you’ve talked about children and marriage so you know he’s in it for the long run. You begin to think about kids of your own, and what raising kids alongside the love of your life could be like. The thought alone filled you with excitement. Your mom always did say that if you wait until the right time to have a child, you’ll end up waiting your whole life. You were both in a good place in your careers, a kid right now wouldn’t be a bad idea, huh?

Caleb snapped you out of your daydream by asking if he could eat now. You told him to go ahead, you were just going to get Chris so he could join them. Quietly entering the nursery, you nodded at him to let him know dinner is ready. He slowly got up and very carefully set Naomi down into her crib. You creeped up behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, sighing into his back while both of you stared at the calm face of your niece. You gave him a small squeeze.

“Come on, food’s ready. Make sure the mic is on,” you softly said, while walking towards the door. He lingered by the crib for a moment before following behind you, small breathes escaping him.

The two of you ate your dinner with the chatty 6 year old for nearly an hour before Naomi began to fuss. You heard the small cries coming from the baby monitor and began to clean up the table, assuring the boys that you had it handled and to please clean up when they finished eating. You prepared a warm bottle for her and picked her up. Cooing and whispering at her, you sat down in the same rocking chair Chris was in and began to feed her. While she drank, your mind began to wander and filling with possibilities again. This time interrupted by Chris who walked into the room right as Naomi was finishing her bottle.

“Hey, how did you like dinner?” you asked.

“Dinner was great, thank you. Caleb was telling me that he helped you with the chicken?”

“Yes. Yes he did, did you see the mess he made on the floor?” you both laughed.

“Ha, yeah Dodger was having a blast cleaning up Caleb’s mess,” he chuckled out. He slowly began to crouch next to you, instinctively wiping Naomi’s face.

“She’s so small,” you whisper “it makes you think.”

“About what?”

“Us, our future.” you waited for his reply. A small silence hung in the air.

“I-It does,” he let out a shaky breath “Listen, I've been meaning to talk to you. Privately.”

“Yeah, me t-too.” You put a burp cloth over your shoulder and began to pat Naomi's back rhythmically. You inhaled, reading yourself to disclose your secret but he cut you off with

“I love you. Babe, I love you so much. I love you more than anything I could have ever imagined I could love. I love your laughs, all 12 of them, I love your face, I love your silliness and I love your boobs and I - I should have written this down.”

You began to tear up, and let a small giggle escape your mouth. He sighed, looking down before continuing.

“Y/N, I love your brain and how good you are with me. And how good you are with these kids. Good god, I see you with them, and it’s like you’ve been doing this your whole life, and it’s not even just you with the kids, it’s you with everything you do. How you seem to bring so much light and warmth everywhere you go. And how much love you have in your heart, there is so much love inside you, and I am so blessed and fortunate that I am one of the things that you love. And believe me Y/N I love you.”

He was rambling, you were shaking.

“And yes, I 100% should have written this down, but you get my point. But in case you didn’t. Y/F/N Y/L/N. I love you with everything I am made of, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he was already kneeling so all he did was reach into his back pocket for the small box and open it to show you the beautiful vintage ring. You hadn’t realized how long you had been holding your breath but Naomi’s little burp brought you back to life. The roar in your ears was so loud, and you stood up to put her in her crib, sitting her up and surrounding her with toys. You turned to face Chris, who was still kneeling and now with a slightly surprised expression on his face, and you knelt in front of him. You grab his cheeks and stare into his blue eyes, slightly shaking, trying to regain your breath.

“Ask.”

“What?”

“You have to ask, you didn’t ask.”

“Oh shit yeah. My love, will you marry me?” A shaking laugh escapes the both of you, as do the tears.

“Yes. Yes! A million times yes!” You both smiled. Then cried. And laughed. He fumbled putting the ring on your finger. You held each other’s hand, just smiling at each other. You kissed him, trying to tell him how much you love him without words. You kept laughing into each others lips.

“Uncle Chris? Are you done now? I want ice cream.” You turned to look at Caleb who was giving Chris his best pleading eyes, which only fueled your laughter.

“Oh gosh Caleb really? Fine! Fine, you know what? Thank you, for waiting that long, that was perfect,” he gave him a thumbs up, “now go back to the kitchen, we’ll be right there big guy.” The young boy walked right back out, running towards the kitchen.

“Wait, Y/N, you wanted to say something too.”

“Yes but it can wait, I really want ice cream too.” you explained while you tried to stand, but Chris pulled you back down.

“No, babe, tell me.” he whined, pulling a chuckle from you. You held his face, smiling like a love-struck fool, and took a deep inhale. Looking around the room, you kept shaking your head.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I definitely should have written mine down too. It was going to go something like ‘I love you’, ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’, ‘Marriage isn’t something I absolutely need’,” the last statement pulled a look of confusion onto Chris’ face, “Chris, baby. I really want you to know that I was in no hurry to get married, and I know it sounds bad because you just proposed. But I know how it could look. To everyone else, I mean. Because I am pregnant.”

He froze. His eyes bulged out of his head, and he stopped breathing. You just kept smiling, holding his cheeks and giving them a small squeeze to help him come to. It didn’t work, you could see his eyes had sort of glossed over, and he was still frozen.

“But then you went and proposed which completely upstag-” he cut you off with a kiss, pressing his body into yours, wrapping you with his arms, and knocking you off balance. You both fell back, intertwined in each other. You kissed him and he kissed you while you clung to each other, passionately and obviously in love. He finally stopped, and wiped your tears, and laughed. He gave you one quick kiss, before helping you up. You both couldn’t stop giggling, or holding your stomach, or glancing at the ring.

“I love you Chris.”

“I love you Y/N” He kept giving you quick kisses and small stomach rubs followed by more kisses, it was like you were caught in a loop that neither of you wanted to escape. But a loud crash from the kitchen brought you both back to reality. Quick little steps echoed through the hall into the nursery where you and Chris stood.

“It was an accident I promise! I was trying to get the sprinkles down, but I’m ok! Dodger just has a lot of sprinkles on him now.” a small giggle escaped the little boy while he explained how he dropped the container of sprinkles in the kitchen, before the room erupted in laughter.

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Tags:

@silentcoyotesong - @what-is-your-plan-today - @marvelousqueen89 - @littlemoistcarrot - @jesseswartzwelder

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #evelyn writes

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entering-mymind · 4 years

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The Mandalorians - Season 2 Chapter 1

If you have not read my Season 1 of my Mandalorian fanfic I would highly recommend that first, would love to hear feedback! I do not own these characters, just having fun!

Season 1 Chapter 1 https://entering-mymind.tumblr.com/post/190778426753/the-mandalorians

Osa’s “Date of Existence” should have been special, celebrated until the night’s end, but instead other matters had to be addressed and questions would be finally answered.

Din entered the coordinates into the Crest while Osa navigated the route making sure their jump to lightspeed would have no interferences, plus she was always on the look out for any possible tails.

Osa gave the clear as the Crest made the jump heading to the planet Din believed he would never return to, let alone bring Osa back to; Tolarian.

Their journey didn’t take long and as they came out of hyperspace right directly in front of them was a large, grey planet that seemed dormant and vacant of all life. There was no operator coming over the Crest’s comms in order to guide them to a hanger. Actually there was no spaceport to harbor arriving ships because the planet had been owned by the Empire who kept the planet off astrological charts. Only certain scum and villainy knew about the planet and what it was truly meant for, Tolarian was used for something more as Din found that out years ago.

He let the Crest hover for a moment glaring back at Osa waiting for her approval. With a nervous breath Osa nodded her head giving her father the go ahead. Causally Din flew the ship to the approximate coordinates he could remember Anara giving him fifteen years prior, but the journey wasn’t smooth like before.

The atmosphere had gotten thicker, creating no clear visual with their decent while the ship’s consoles (which would guide them) began malfunctioning.

“My screen went black Papi,” Osa informed in a panic.

Din hoped he could somehow reboot the Crests system, but nothing seemed to be working because of so much interference, “Hold on, we’re flying in blind.”

Din kept his hands firmly on the wheel focusing with all his might when the child started making gibberish noises trying to get anyone’s attention. Osa realized her father needed full concentration so she picked the little one up when the two telepathically connected.

Instantly Osa understood what the child was trying to say, since he couldn’t convey words himself, as she became his voice. Like a shock to her system Osa could see what he saw and immediately yelled at her father, “Pull up, now!”

Never doubting her judgment Din complied and diverted from colliding into a mountain.

“Fly straight,” Osa instructed as the thick smog wasn’t clearing up the further they descended, “Veer to the left and make a hard dive downwards,” it was as if Osa could see where the Crest was heading, she just had to guide her father, “There,” she pointed when a dismal city was finally in view.

Memories from the past crept their way forward within Din’s mind but nothing appeared the same. Din put the Crest down just on the outskirts of what was left of the city. Buildings had been demolished, there was no sign of any life forms while an eerie sound of stillness filtered through the air.

Din attempted to get the controls working again but something was preventing the function. Giving up he powered down the Crest and instructed Osa to gear up. The three made their way to the lower deck where Din checked his weapons because a Mandalorian always anticipated a battle, when Osa strapped the child onto her back in the new harness she constructed.

Satisfied with all the artillery he was packing, Din lowered the platform but his daughter wasn’t by his side. He glared back seeing the stunned little girl he thought he helped break through. Without thought Din ran to her hoping she wasn’t about to have an episode but she was more frozen by terror.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Osa honestly said.

“You don’t have to, I can go and find out what I can,” he encouraged.

“I’m not living up to the Mandalorian title very well,” she said lowering her head.

“Osa, everyone embodies the role in their own way, there is no set path because you mold it on how it fits you,” Din declared, “Fear only exists if we allow it, but you have every right to be frightened. I tried to take those nightmares away, envelop you with compassion, but I can only do so much Osa, it is up to you to conquer those fears,” Din placed his hands on her shoulders when she peered up and the two glared at one another through their visors.

“Thank you Papi, you are my strength,” Osa said in honesty.

“And you are my everything, Mi Pequeno,” he replied grazing the side of her helmet with his thumb, “Ready to tackle this together?” Din held out his hand and without hesitation Osa took it.

“With you, we can achieve anything,” when the three made their way out of the Crest to uncover more then what they bargained for.

* * *

The air felt thick, while the grey fog kept visibility hindered. Din and Osa stayed close attempting to use their heat sensor setting within their helmet to help lead the way, but everything had gone cold on the planet.

“Where do we even start?” Osa questioned.

“At the building where you were given to me,” Din informed trying to remember his exact route from before but nothing was the same, “Can you sense anything?” Din looked to Osa for guidance.

“I’m trying not to,” she honestly said.

“Fair enough,” he ventured deep into his subconscious trying to resurface any familiar surroundings.

Din decided to head inwards hoping for anything to jump out at him when something finally did. The insignia of the Rebels was painted on a crumbled wall, if the Rebels were here then they would have focused on taking down the laboratory Osa had been kept in.

In hope Din followed the debris and low and behold he was back in the same alley he had waited down fifteen years ago, but it was more of an open walkway now due to the surrounding buildings being destroyed.

“Stay close,” Din said out of habit.

“Wasn’t planning on venturing off,” Osa stated with a shaky voice.

The hole Anara blew open seemed to have been repaired because new destruction carved itself into the bricks. They walked through the newly developed entrance and carefully walked over uneven terrain due to debris covering the actual surface.

Upon entry the room was dark, only the dim natural lighting filtered through the cracks of the structure, painting unique streaks on the cold surfaces. Din and Osa ventured further when suddenly Din heard a soft whimper come from his daughter. He turned and saw her hunched over, hands on her knees, concentrating not to give in. The child cooed in sorrow like it was experiencing his own nightmares.

“Hey,” Din rushed to them, “Look at me, hear me Mi Pequeno,” he hoped he was reaching her while he stroked the child’s quivering ear.

“I’m okay Papi, we’re okay, it’s just the way the energy given off from this place, how I can see past events play out in this very room,” she tried to explain.

“You don’t have to put yourself through this, you have nothing to prove,” Din reassured her, “I took you away before.”

“No, there are answers here,” Osa glared past her father and pointed, “There.”

They walked over to a circular console with a hologram viewer directly in the center so any viewer could have a gander.

“Let’s hope this still functions,” Din said noticing the partial destruction to the unit.

He began flicking and pushing buttons, performing the standard protocol with any computer unit, the tricky part would be how to navigate the system and hope it wasn’t encrypted or erased, but to his surprise there appeared to be no tampering with. It seemed everyone associated with this building just abandoned it when the Rebels arrived.

Unsure on where to start Din began opening any file and following the bread crumbs of clues, in the mits of his search he opened a folder when several images of all different species of children came up on the screen, but over the image (typed in bold red letters) was one word: Failed. A sudden wave of emotion inflicted Osa knowing these children’s outcomes.

“Why? Why did they have to die and I didn’t?” Osa questioned.

“Don’t do this, you are entitled to your life, you cannot have survivors guilt. I could be doing the exact same by the loss of members from our covert, instead we must honor the fallen, live on so then they live on as well. These children’s stories will be eternal because of your survival because of his survival,” Din pointed to the child, “You have every right to be alive Osa.”

All she could do was nod her head in agreement while staying quiet, memorizing her fellow captives faces. Quickly Din began searching in other files when he stumbled upon one titled “Priority” but had only vague information. A headshot came up of a green creature while a list displayed itself of speculated facts accompanied by video clips of the individual in action.

“Papi that looks like,” Osa started.

“I know,” Din replied looking at the child.

“But older, who is this Yoda?” Osa questioned when she began reading, out loud, the file’s contents, “Name: Yoda, could be a first or last name. Gender: Male. Status: Jedi Master. Is Jedi another term for the ancient sorcerers the older Mandalorians compared me to?” Osa asked her father.

“I assume so,” Din replied remembering the Armorer using this terminology.

“Species: Unknown. Ya da ya da ya da, ugh this information is useless,” Osa was becoming frustrated believing all of her answers would be awaiting her in a nice package, “Why is there hardly anything on this Yoda?” Osa clicked on some of the footage showcasing the Jedi Master’s skills with a lightsaber when the child became excited.

“Do you think the little one recognizes him?” Din questioned.

“No, he thinks that’s him on the screen, wait,” Osa pondered, “Could it be?”

“What?”

“This footage was taken during the Clone Wars, could he be Yoda?” Osa pointed to the child who seemed to be mesmerized by the green figure who looked just like him but older.

“How?” Din asked hoping his daughter would indulge him.

“Wasn’t that the whole reason of the Clone Wars, was for cloning, what if he is a clone of Yoda? We have been to all areas of the galaxy and this is the second time in my life where I have seen his kind. What if his species was going extinct, why lose that kind of power?”

“Or someone else wanted that power,” Din began searching through other files when one called “Yaddle” surfaced but there was nothing in the file except for the word “Deceased.” Din continued on when he came across one about life expectancy, “It seems this little one can live for a very long time, about 800 years give or take,” Din read, “And has the highest midichlorian count among any Jedi, but most important can live on through the Force.”

“The Force? What’s that?”

“I can only assume it is a reference for your abilities,” Din speculated when he clicked on another file showcasing a dozen children with Osa in the mix.

“Hey that’s me, where are you?” she asked.

“In a file called Midichlorian Infusion,” Din clicked on Osa’s image when her file appeared.

“Name: Test Subject 25. Parents: Donors – Anara Xcee (part Changeling) partnered with Silent D (warrior),” Osa stopped reading due to a small chuckle she heard escape from her father, “What’s so funny, that you were put down as a warrior?” Osa laughed to herself.

“No, the silent D, Anara always goofed with me when we were teenagers about my last name. She said ‘what is the purpose of the D being there if it isn’t going to get pronounced in Djarin?’ Hence forth she would call me silent D,” Din reminisced.

“Oh you crazy teenagers,” Osa loved making her father squeamish and he only displayed it when talking about her mother.

Din quickly went back to over looking his daughter’s file when nothing appeared to be helping.

“Inquisitorius Program, what do you think that meant?” Osa pointed out on her file for future occupation, but Din kept quiet only hearing rumors about a select group who were governed to Lord Vader, “We’re getting no where,” Osa complained when Din looked closer.

“Not entirely,” he hovered over Subject 25 infused by Test subject “Y.” Hesitant Din clicked and was brought to several videos and a very small file about the child. Osa’s focus was so intent she didn’t even see her father delete the footage.

“Hey, what are you doing there could be valuable information,” Osa shrieked hungry for any intel.

“No there wouldn’t be, those videos only showcase torture, something I can’t bare to witness because I saw the repercussions,” Din referred to the terrifying night Osa fell ill and if not for Wildaldro’s father Din would have lost Osa.

“Papi,” her voice almost broke when she placed her helmet on his pauldron.

“Alright let’s see what the Empire has on this little guy,” Din stated when Osa straightened and the child’s ears pricked up.

“Do you hear that clinging?” Osa asked half turning around when suddenly a wire lassoed around her body, constraining her and the child, and then finally whipping them backwards.

An escaped scream exited Osa’s mouth as she fought to get free while being dragged across the floor like an untamed beast. Din immediately pulled out his Vibroblade and ran after the two but got slowed down by blaster fire. His beskar armor held up with each blow, but Din was propelled backwards inching him farther and farther away from his children.

Trying to take matters into her own hands, Osa attempted to use her abilities and propel anything loose towards the perpetrator, but the assailant was one step ahead and sent a huge electro shock down the wire and into her and the child’s bodies. Immediate pain surged through their frames instantly knocking them unconscious.

Now that the captives became dead weight this gave Din an opportunity to make his move. Din wished he had his jetpack on so he could reach them easier when instead he ran full force towards the enemy who (to his surprise) was another Mandalorian, but one he was not familiar with nor whom was apart of his clan. Mandalorian or not Din would protect his kin with his life and leapt into battle.

The two were well matched as Din could tell his foe had been in plenty of fights before due to the wear on the green and white armor. Din would add more scraps to the enemies Beskar but had, somehow, become bested.

The assailant threw, what appeared to be an orb filled with a liquid, when Din dodged the item but it bounced off the ground, ricocheted and magnetized itself to Din’s thigh guard. Instantly the orb erupted releasing a deadly toxin when the acid ate straight through Din’s Beskar.

In fear of losing his leg, Din drastically attempted to unclasp his thigh guard but the straps had become soldered together, practically sealing his fate. Din could smell and feel the acid eat its way towards his skin as there was only one venom he knew of that could penetrate Beskar and it came from the Sarlacc, but the erosion would take days where this was happening in seconds.

Somehow this Mandalorian collected Sarlacc venom and advanced it. Din had to think quickly in order to save his appendage and his abducted children when suddenly a female Mandalorian, in blue and white armor, entered the scuffle. She hovered in midair by jetpack while sending blaster fire towards the rouge Mandalorian.

In haste he threw another Sarlacc bomb her way, but she seemed to be prepared and released a hand full of powder dissolving the hazards orb. Hearing Din’s flustered cries, she landed by Din and threw a hand full of the powder on his leg to seize the acids chemical reaction. She pulled out a small laser and burned through the singed straps releasing Din.

Once he had become freed, Din immediately detached the Beskar but upon removal ripped a huge hole in his pants exposing redden skin. Luckily he only suffered minor burns instead of losing his leg.

“Damn, he got away,” the woman exclaimed in anger, running towards the entrance Din and Osa used earlier, pointing her blaster ready to end the rouge Mandalorian’s life.

Without thought Din went to Osa and the child identifying their status of injury, “Mi Pequeno can you hear me?” Din cut through the wire, releasing them from the bond.

No immediate response, he lowered his helmet hearing his daughter’s breath while he rubbed his hand gently over the child’s head. In unison Din received a groggy groan from the both of them. A sigh of relief washed over him knowing they were alive.

“Who are you, friend or foe, who was the other Mandalorian, and why have I never seen either of you before?” Din questioned almost in anger.

“I could ask you the same questions except I am aware of who the imposter is. No one steals Mandalorian armor and wears it without being sworn in to a Creed,” she spat, “And which clan have you sworn your allegiance to?”

“Which clan? There is only one, Clan Saxon,” Din informed.

“So the rumors are true, huh and he still believes he is the leader of the Mandalorians,” she said with acid on her tongue.

“If you’re talking about Tiber Saxon his leadership was short lived. The clan was inherited by his kin,” Din stated.

“I presume Starling Saxon took control?”

“She did, but in the efforts of keeping us safe and hidden she lost her life as did so many others,” Din lowered his head out of respect.

“And now?”

“Hard to tell, the leadership was between Ivee Saxon and Paz Vizla, but since she donned the role of Armorer Ivee out ranked Paz.”

“I have searched across the entire galaxy hoping to find any remaining Mandalorians but none were ever found until now, until a bounty was placed on both your helmets,” she pulled her blaster.

“Hey we’re not the enemy,” Din spoke with his hands up in defense.

“No, then why did the Creed vanish? Mandalorians aren’t frightened children who hide from the enemy, we are fighters until our end,” she spoke in pride.

“Starling wanted the Creed to live on so we took to the sewers on Nevarro where she only allowed two above at a time. We would live in secrecy so our numbers could grow once again instead of being hunted down and being eradicated, but even she couldn’t prevent that,” Din said saddened remembering the pile of armor back at the covert.

“How many are even left?” her voice almost sounded shaky.

“Hard to tell, we have become scattered again.”

“And is this the reason why you both are out here, trying to escape from the bounty placed on both of your helmets?” she questioned.

“No, a scuffle broke out between the Guild and I, resulting in the bounty but has now been resolved,” Din informed.

“It’s not the Guild who placed the bounty, a new order issued it, someone under the command of Moff Gideon,” she corrected.

“So is this your true intentions on why you helped us, in order to obtain us and collect your reward?” Din slowly reached for his blaster ready to battle again.

“If I was looking for a quick score I wouldn’t turn in someone from my own Creed.”

“But you were willing to end that other Mandalorians life?”

“Do not declare him as a Mandalorian, Boba Fett brings dishonor to our heritage, he is not apart of the Creed and shall not wear our armor. One way or another I will end him.”

“Then what do you want with us?”

“It is time for the Mandalorians to come out of hiding, you will help me find my people as we will unite once again,” she commanded.

“Who are you?”

Din was shocked and surprised by the woman removing her helmet as she revealed soft angular features, yellow greenish eyes, and red hair, “My name is Bo Katan, rightful ruler of Mandalore.”

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