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anika-ann · 7 months

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Seven Minutes (S.R.)

Type: TWO-SHOT, independent, canon-ish

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 8700

Summary: You’re not obliged to go to that party, but you go because it’s a rare occasion during which most of your fellow Avengers meet and have some fun together. Until someone suggests a stupid teenage game. Until you and Steve end up locked in a closet together and things take a turn you couldn’t have possibly predicted.

Maybe you should have. Whenever Tony or – god forbid – Loki gets involved, it’s bound to end up in a disaster. Only this time, the victim of the shenanigans might be your heart.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, (unprotected sex, fingering, glimpses of size kink and praise kink, soft hints of D/s, mirrors, possessiveness;), alcohol, a drop of angst, language (a lot)

A/N: written for @jtargaryen18 Halloween challenge. Prompt in the final notes. I toyed with it so much that it might have been cheating 😅 dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕

Part 1: Seven Minutes in Hell

“I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don't dare to let out.” ― Ally Carter, Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

The party had died down; or as Tony said, only the fittest had survived. Banner, drunk on Asgardian liquor, let out a sensible chuckle at the words and fell asleep as he was, sprawled over one of the couches in the communal area, which looked more like a war zone than an aftermath of a giant party.

It wasn’t the mess of empty bottles and glasses and cushions having been thrown around at some point. It was the skeletons. The fake blood. The few smashed pumpkins, literally beaten to a pulp. Luckily, the one single torn-off arm which some idiot had smuggled in despite the strict ban on those, based on the fact that at least half of the guests suffered some form of a PTSD, had been kicked under the bar and covered by a cloth as soon as you had found it. Tony, despite already finding himself in a drunken haze, agreed to kick the asshole who had brought it out. Steve had shot you a grateful look when you had asked Tony to do so. Bucky – thankfully – never learned about the tasteless joke ever taking place.

Unlike the space, the Avengers had an aura of comfort around them. Lying around, some chatting sleepily, chuckling every now and then, some talking animatedly with a few friendly nudges under the ribs, they lounged in the area and welcomed the 1 a.m. announcement by Friday with relative grace.

Except for Tony, who booed and proceeded to glare at every single conscious Avenger present, one by one; Natasha and Clint comfortable on one couch, Steve and you on the other, Thor filling out a huge armchair, Rhodey looking a bit small in the other in comparison, Wanda practically lying in a lounge pug with Vision hovering by her like a guard, Helen and Maria crossed legged on tiny tabourets, Sam and Bucky, having been fighting each for their space on the couch, now sitting carelessly with Bucky’s feet against Sam’s thigh. And then there was Loki, spinning slowly in his egg chair he had charmed up and kept up in the air with his magic, Pepper having reluctantly sat down in the other which Loki had graciously made for her with a snap of his fingers.

“Seriously, guys! Just… boooo! This party is dying! We need to shake things up!” he called out theatrically, standing in the middle of the Sleepy Hollow with judgement written all over his face. Then, he lowered his voice, a wicked smile twisting his lips. “Do you wanna play a game? I do.”

At least four distinct snorts sounded around the group at his poor impression.

“Really, Tones?” Natasha questioned, probably referring to both his acting skills and the suggestion.

“I do want to play a game. It’s called let’s go to bed,” Bucky groaned, rolling his shoulders and throwing his feet back to the ground, startling Sam in the process.

“The night is still young, Barnes,” Clint huffed despite his eyelids barely staying open as he kept twisting a rubber imitation of femur between his fingers. “You sound like an old man.”

“Oh? That coming from you really says something,” Sam pointed out, a good-natured smile curling his lips; at the same time, Tony hummed: “Or a kinky one.”

“I must say I agree with Stark this once,” Thor boomed, nodding thoughtfully as several voices groaned at the gleeful grin lighting Tony’s face. “There seems to be a lull to these revels and it is indeed too soon to retire to bed. The sun has not even risen yet!”

A single clap of hands and Tony was gesturing towards Thor. “See! The Asgardian agrees with me. I must be right.”

“I bet he’s already regretting his words,” Steve noted, drawing a small chuckle from you.

In all honesty, you would be inclined to agree with Bucky on this one. Going to bed sounded heavenly, but there was one huge disadvantage to bed compared to the Sleeping Beauty Castle the Halloween party had turned into: the company wasn’t nearly as good. You weren’t greedy – you wouldn’t need all the Avengers present to come cuddle you in bed. Just one would do. The one whose thigh occasionally brushed yours as you talked about anything and everything, all kind smiles and a slightly tipsy spark in his gorgeous blue eyes which were complimented by the treacherous midnight shade of his one-size-too-small shirt.

“Now, now, Captain. The other Asgardian agrees too,” Loki’s voice slowly sneaked in, something in his tone causing your heart to skip a startled and yet excited beat.

Loki was… a friend. After trying hard for redemption, he had begun to join the Avengers business on occasion, his magic always proving to be of enormous help. His humour was a little wicked and twisted, but his heart was not nearly as dark as people had believed – or even he himself had. You sensed Steve’s wariness towards him still and understood his reasons; and secretly, you revelled in the worry Steve expressed whenever you spent time with Loki, which the golden-hearted captain feared you did so with a little too much trust.

The only reason why you wouldn’t throw it back to Steve’s face that he was questioning your judgement was the fact he had admitted he did actually not do that, ever – but simply cared for your safety – and that fact that he attempted to be as respectful about it as possible. That and the heartwarming knowledge that he thought of you, one way or the other. Maybe him being the person who was giving out the gentlest hugs could have played a role as well. Or perhaps even that you had – like a silly, silly girl – fallen for him long time ago and would let him not only get away with murder at this point, but probably also ask him if he needed any help to hide the body. Because you’d either believe him it was for a good reason that he had committed the crime, his moral compass just about perfect, or simply because he deserved the most loyal friends and loved ones he could get.

The sudden heavy thud snapped you back to present, causing you to jump in your seat. Steve’s warm hand covered yours in an instant, gaze trailing to you to make sure you were alright. As he gently squeezed your hand, you glanced at him and shot him a grateful smile.

He let go as soon as your gaze returned to the source of the noise: a large closet now standing a few feet from the seating area.

“How about this?” Loki suggested, calmly beckoning to the piece of furniture having just appeared out of this air.

“Do you… want to play Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Wanda, suddenly wide awake at the stronger present of magic, questioned.

“Why not? I was under the impression Midgardians enjoyed this game during a party.”

“What are we, thirteen?” Sam asked, eyebrows creased sceptically.

“…going on thirty? Good movie,” Clint hummed, his grin showing pride at his reference.

“Ew, no-“

“Do you even know what Seven Minutes in Heaven is about?” Natasha asked, her expression intrigued; you had no doubt her mind had already begun to race as she tried to decipher the trickster’s motivations.

“Yes. I am quite pleased by the concept. If we play, perhaps I will be lucky enough to spend some private time with lovely Lady Speedy.”

Your eyebrows shot up as your gaze found Loki’s, a provocative smirk twisting his mouth. Interesting. Maybe even intriguing. Except it was not; at least not for the reason one might think. Loki was not at all interested in you. If he had, you would have known without a shadow of doubt. He wasn’t one for subtlety; if he had had an eye on someone, he would make sure to court them, persistently so. Or perhaps he would simply take.

No, Loki had not spent time thinking of you, much like you hadn’t spent time thinking about him.

There was only one Avenger whose company and love you longed for and had for the longest time – and you wouldn’t be surprised if Loki knew. What you hoped he had no idea about was the fact that you could have had it, once.

You could have had Steve, but you had mucked it up, too shocked to yes when he had asked. It had felt too fast, too surreal to be even happening – Steve Rogers asking you out for a cup of coffee – too good to be true.

Naturally, in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he had been too polite to disrespect your decision or let it negatively impact your blooming friendship back then; he had not made a single attempt to ask you out again since. In return, you had been too embarrassed to explain yourself – to explain that you felt like the luckiest girl on Earth, if not in the universe, that you would have jumped at the chance if he as much as hinted he was still interested – and in a very mature way, you never mentioned it again.

That was fine. You and Steve had become friends. Perhaps even good enough friends to mention it as an awkward memory; and only that, because you doubted that he was still carrying a torch for you. He had even briefly dated with Sharon Carter after the incident; he clearly moved on, because there was nothing to move on from. You had barely known each other back then. It wasn’t like you broke his heart or something. You just decided mess up what could have been a beautiful relationship.

Instead, you had a comfortable caring friendship. That counted as a win, yes?

And if you ended up in a closet with him for seven minutes now, you would, once again, acted like mature adults and… hug or something, yes? You would not give in into some stupid game and kiss him just because you’d have an excuse to do so. You would not be tempted to--- no. You respected Steve too much for that. You would never make anything to make him uncomfortable; if you had, you would not only not deserve to call yourself his friend, but even a decent human being.

And you were not thirteen anymore. You knew better. The awkwardness would not be worth it; the rejection would not be worth it. Losing the gift of Steve’s friendship would most definitely not be worth a few seconds of Heaven, of testing whether his lips were be as soft and gentle as you thought, if they tasted like you dreamed of. Knowing whether he would respond, whether he would kiss you, whether maybe, just maybe, there could be the faintest traces of seeing you differently than a friend and colleague.

No, the stakes were be too high.

“Hm… I think we should play,” Natasha said, earning at least five shocked stares, including yours.

“What?!”

“We should definitely not,” Steve protested, leaning forward with a very displeased frown, his eyes burning as he glared murderously at Natasha for entertaining the trickster’s whim.

“I mean… why not, after all? Two people in a closet, in cramped space? What is not to enjoy?” Bucky added, clearly changing his mind about going to bed. He was next at the receiving end of Steve’s disapproval.

“Ask a claustrophobic, I’m sure they’d come up with a reason or two,” you hummed, earning a sardonic ha ha from the dark-haired supersoldier.

“I mean… who knows. Could be magical,” Tony wiggles eyebrows.

“Are we back to 13 going to 30?”

Wanda, Pepper, Maria and Sam said NO with impressive coordination.

“I must say I am intrigued as I cannot quite see the appeal. It would be an enriching experience for me to understand. What is the worst that can happen?” Vision questioned.

“You did not just ask that,” Sam complained.

“Please tell me it’s just a closet and not some sort of a portal to Narnia?” Pepper chimed in, Loki’s smile surprisingly pleasant as he turned to her.

“It is simply a closet, my dear Lady Potts.”

“I don’t know, you guys, it still sounds like a pretty bad idea,” you chuckled nervously as you felt the air shift towards agreement to participate in this ridiculous game.

“Seconded,” Steve grunted by your side – but it was too late.

“Too bad, I’m getting an empty bottle,” Tony blurted out as he practically sprang after the nearest bottle indeed.

It was the perfect opportunity to walk away; it was the last chance to get out.

You didn’t.

Perhaps you didn’t want to look like a coward. Maybe you didn’t want to be a party pooper. You guessed you hoped they would scrape the idea after one round, because they would realize the game was lame and boring. Maybe, just maybe, a little part of you wondered if something interesting would come out of it – and you didn’t want to miss it.

Those were the things running through your head when you walked side by side with Steve, cursing the universe or some sort of physics cheat Tony had pulled or maybe Loki’s magic. Because of course it happened. Of course, the bottle pointed at you – and then on Steve.

Could have been worse, you reasoned with yourself. Could have been… yeah you didn’t know who. Bruce who might turn in to the Hulk while in there was asleep, so he never was an option.But it was too late to back out now.

Steve, ever the gentleman, let you walk in first, offering a hand, a gentle smile on his face as he rolled his eyes at your friends being children. You squeezed his hand and smiled back, grateful – and calm.

Yes, being with Steve in such tight space with the knowledge what the game was about sent a few tempting thoughts into your head – but you’d be fine. You’d just chat, privately; you had done that countless times before, late night talks and maybe even your head resting on his shoulder when you got too sleepy to sit straight. You’d be fine.

Steve climbed up after you so you stood face to face, flashing you one last comforting smile. And then Tony closed the door behind you, leaving you in utter darkness.

Your first thought was that the inside of the closet was a lot smaller than it had appeared from the outside.

Your second thought was that perhaps that was not the fault of the closet or your eyes; the sheer width of Steve’s shoulders and other proportions of his body which had starred in too many of your dirty dreams and innocent fantasies alike were to blame instead.

Your third thought was that the air was becoming a little too hot and heavy to breathe a little too fast and that you weren’t certain you could last seven full minutes in this space where it felt you might as well already be wrapped in Steve’s arms. The subtle tones of his woodsy cologne, the heat radiating off his skin, the faintest light peeking through the door reflecting in his slightly ruffled hair and in his eyes, caressing his features the very way you always wished.

Your fourth thought was, incidentally, less of a thought and more of an emotion – a red hot one at that. The flash of anger that ripped through you honestly took you by surprise, and hit you too hard to be ignored.

Because this was stupid.

This game was the stupidest thing possible that your friends could come up with. Steve was entirely stupid with his brilliance and courage and care and morality and outrageous handsomeness and most of all with giving you hope once that you could be good enough for him, that there was a glitch in the universe large enough that would somehow made the two of a potential couple. And you, oh you. You were the most stupidest of it all. To allow yourself to hope as well. To not let go of that fleeting seconds when the light of Steve Rogers was in your reach and you stood there like a dumbass without grabbing it, never speaking of it again then and yet still carrying a torch for him for two idiotic years.

Maybe if one of those things had been different – most likely of all, you – you could have been making out now. Maybe, you would feel his gentle touch in these shadows; or maybe hungry touch even. Maybe, because your friends were nosy assholes and drama queens, they would have banned you from participating in this in fear that they would have to disinfect the closet after you got full seven minutes in here.

Instead, all you had was a tentative brush of Steve’s hand to your elbow and the kind rumble of his voice, laced with worry.

“Hey, Shines. Are you okay?”

Ah yes. Another maddening thing: Steve’s sweet nickname for you. Where others called you Speedy – because of how quickly you had finished the intelligence test and made your way up in the Initiative – Steve had expressed his distaste in the nickname because just around the same time, he had learned about the modern term “speed”. Apparently, he did not like the idea of calling you something that reminded him of amphetamines. So instead, he had once admitted, he converted it in his head to the speed of light. And so Shines had been born.

The affection he sometimes spoke the single word with – the affection you longed for and mostly only imagined – was perhaps even more idiotic than your lack of reaction to his slightly shy advance two years ago.

For someone with your IQ score, you really were surrounded by stupidity and radiated it generously yourself.

The chuckle that escaped you tasted bitter on your tongue. “Why, sure. You?”

Even with the limited amount of light, you could see Steve’s searching gaze clearly. You could practically hear his mind whirling, wondering where the sudden ire had come from.

In an instant, you felt bad for snapping. Your trouble and your insecurities nor your anger at yourself were something he deserved to bear consequences for.

“I’m… fine,” he said after a while, kinder than you would have in his place. “Is there anything I can do to make the ‘sure’ better?”

Yeah, you thought. There were quite a lot of things; either put his mouth on yours – or elsewhere on your body, you weren’t picky – or maybe stop being so damn good of a person and being so damn loveable all the time when he didn’t mean anything beyond friendship by his behaviour.

You swallowed the once again bitter note and charmed a smile, your hand covering the back of his, still softly resting on your elbow.

“No. But thank you. I’m… sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he replied, eyes still searching. And soft. So annoyingly soft and caring.

You lowered your gaze and gulped, not finding it in yourself to respond. What could you even say to that?

The problem with Steve was that even if you weren’t looking at him, you could still feel him looking at you. At rare times, it felt like a punch, if he got truly angry with you – when you did something he considered stupid and dangerous as if you hadn’t been quite inspired by his own bravery – but at other times, like this, it felt like a fluffy blanket and a warm cup of tea pressed to your hands when the blues came knocking on your door.

No words were spoken for a long minute. And then, like you should have known they would, Steve’s arms carefully pulled you to his chest and wrapped you in a hug which felt just like his gaze a moment ago; except this feeling was real. He sucked up all your anger and frustration you into his chest with ease, breathed in once, then twice and unlike you, he simply let it go, allowing you to soak in his affection instead.

You could cry at the sweet gesture. Sweet, sweet Steve: deadly force, righteous passion, beautiful soul and infinite kindness locked in a body of a gentle giant.

“Thank you,” you muttered into his shirt and you could hear the smile in his voice when he responded, arms tightening just a fraction.

“Any time.”

You felt your lips curl up in a smile too, allowing yourself to bask in the goodness he was. Strong embrace, but kind. Almost too hot to touch, like a sun, but somehow still feeling like sunshine instead. Lips soft as they touched your hairline, fingers gently running through the length of your hair-

You stiffened. It felt too good; it felt like what you wanted but didn’t actually have. Steve Rogers did not kiss you; not your cheek, not your lips, not your forehead or the crown of your head.

Or at least he never had before.

“Steve?”

His smile was a little bashful as he retreated, his hand sliding down your hair, holding your chin in gentle hold you could easily escape should you want to. But you didn’t. Why would you when his thumb caressed your cheek, eyes firmly holding your gaze even as his smile was slightly shaky?

You didn’t dare to stop whatever this was; because this was what you wanted. Whether this was Steve giving into the game only or anything else, you’d take it. Because you didn’t start it, you didn’t force him into something you wanted. He initiated it; he held you as if you were something precious all on his own. If this behaviour expired in a few minutes, well. At least you would have a sweet memory to cherish, wouldn’t you?

“I’ve been thinking of you.”

Your eyes must have been wide – even ridiculously so – at the admission, your heart like a thunder in your chest and in your ears. You… certainly you must have misheard. You must have misinterpreted what he was trying to say. That was not right. Was it?

“…you have?”

His smile widened, eyes full of good-natured amusement. “I’m always thinking of you, Shines. I’m honestly surprised I’m keeping it so subtle that you are this shocked by the revelation.”

You licked your suddenly dry lips. You must have breathed in something. You had too much to drink. Tony sneaked some edibles into the refreshments – yes, that had to be it.

But then the even more rational part of your brain chimed in: you could never dream up something as detailed. And Steve would have been immune to the drugs. He hadn’t drunk too much of the Asgardian liquor from Thor’s flask either.

You were both perfectly sober at this moment – as insane and surreal as it felt. Did Steve really…? You swallowed the slightly hysterical giggle trying to claw its way up your throat.

“You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t make fun of this, would you?”

Steve’s eyes grew serious even as they remained kind.

“No. I wouldn’t,” he assured you, the slightest hint of offence in his tone. “You’re just… you’re everywhere. I try to focus on work, but you’re always on my mind. That smile, those pretty eyes. This… this drive and passion you have and turn it into hard and good work and kindness. Those gorgeous, gorgeous lips…”

You licked again them on instinct, not missing the fact that Steve’s gaze flickered down at the motion.

No way. No way.

You had hit your head. This was a fever dream, this… this was all you wanted and needed, it couldn’t possibly become true all of sudden. Right?

But if this was a fever dream, you might as well enjoy it. If it was reality, even the better. Because Steve Rogers was serious in matters of heart – he was most definitely not pranking you. So if he was saying he had been thinking about you, you had no reason to doubt him.

There rarely ever was a reason to doubt Steve Rogers.

“I… I think about you too,” you reluctantly admitted, his lips suddenly so, so close you could feel his breath when he spoke only one word in response.

“Good.”

The first touch to your lips was nothing but tentative; nothing but temptation and yet everything you could ever want. His hand cradled your face like precious porcelain and his kiss was like one of an artist asking his muse to allow him into her favour. Warm and soft; his lips were as soft and gentle as you had always thought they would be. The tender brush of his fingertips to your face however made your first kiss all the sweeter, as did his smile and the sparkle in his eyes when he released your lips. The giddy feeling burst inside your chest with intensity you couldn’t possibly contain.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna have to agree with good,” you whispered; and before you could feel silly, Steve’s low chuckle echoed in the limited space, his thumb tapping your lips.

“Yeah.”

That was the only warning you received before his mouth were back on yours, letting you taste that smile of his; his arms, still around your waist, pulled you closer against the hard planes of his chest, the sensation reminding you that you could in fact too do more than simply lay your hand on him. He appreciated your initiative with a content hum, the vibration against your lips sending pleasant shivers down your spine and into your belly. When he deepened the kiss, his touch on you growing firmer, angling your head to his liking, you felt like you could melt from the inside, all nerves on the most beautiful fire.

Your startled sound when your back bumped into the wall of the closet drowned in Steve’s mouth, your parted lips but an invitation for him. The sensations were quick to rise into your head like a heady wine and suddenly only seven minutes in whichever alternate reality you felt as if you had entered seemed unfairly short. Your fingers flexed in the material of Steve’s shirt, his large palm sliding to your hip and squeezing. His hips rocked ever so slightly against yours and the semi-hard bulge pressing against your core had you whimper his name just as his lips moved to your jaw.

“Love hearing my name like this from your lips, Shines,” he whispered like a secret into your skin, teeth grazing your sensitive flesh and nearly causing your knees to buckle. I’ll say it as much as you want, you wanted to say, the words stuck in your throat, only a breathy Steve coming out again, much to his apparent delight. “That’s it. Wanna hear it more… but not here.”

The flash of a rationality was brief; before it could take, his lips were back on yours and you felt yourself falling, leaning into his touch, hands wandering over his exquisite body, hips rutting forward at the beautiful, beautiful groan your touch elicited from him.

I did that. He wants me, he wants me like this. I want him. I need him.

The simple thoughts occupied your brain, a last portion of coherency you managed as his palm slid to your ass with purpose and pressed you against his hardness in a promise of what was to come. You decided that you could die a happy woman right there and that you needed his mouth on your more than you needed oxygen; you grabbed onto his face, pulling his lips back to yours, rewarded by a deep kiss and both of his hands grabbing your hips, fingers digging into your flesh with a little too much vigour.

You succumbed to the pleasure of his touch, head spinning, the world passing by in a blur.

It didn’t matter how you got into his room next; it didn’t matter, not when his hands were on you again, an absurdly polite can I? as his dextrous fingers slid the strap of your dress off your shoulder, a kiss to every inch of the newly revealed skin, leaving nothing but hunger for more in their wake.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he praised as he mouthed at your skin, the new endearment causing your heart to tremble, stomach fluttering pleasantly. “The times I imagined this, imagined you… turn around, Shines.”

You’d swear that you would let Steve Rogers get away with murder; but asking you to turn away from his hot lips, that was toeing the line of insanity.

“Steve-“

“Shhh… I’ve got you,” he cut of your protests, strong hands simply spinning you around.

He rewarded you for the lack of resistance by placing his hand over your stomach, skin hot even over the thin fabric, pressing you back against his chest and his more than evident arousal, lips attaching to the column of your neck, sliding the other strap of your dress down. Instinctively, you leaned your head back, exposing your throat to him, a small but sharp nip of teeth sending a fresh wave of arousal into your core.

Long fingers slid up your throat, turning your head so his lips could meet yours again, demanding and yet so giving, hand inching from your belly down your thigh, toying with the hem of your dress and causing your breath to hitch.

God, you needed him. You wanted him in every way possible, but if this was what came before he’d take you out, you had zero problem with that. You needed to feel him.

The please escaping your newly freed lips sounded almost pathetic to your ears, but Steve clearly disagreed with your assessment.

“Oh sweetheart, you sound so pretty like this… and look at you,” he rasped, nudging you to actually look ahead, only for you to realise you were now facing the tall mirror of his closet, gaze setting on your own face, dominated by the kiss-swollen lips and pupils blown up by lust. “Gorgeous… and you’ll look even more beautiful when you’re coming apart for me. First on my fingers and then…”

You shuddered when his fingers finally slid under your skirt, caressing the lace of your thigh-highs, chest vibrating against your back with an appreciative hum. Your gaze strayed to Steve’s face, only to find his eyes laser focused on your face in the mirror, flashing darkly when his fingertips found the soaked fabric of your panties and pressed.

“So wet for me, Shines. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me. Can’t wait to make you mine… you want that, don’t you?” he whispered, your lips parting wordlessly and at the very moment, he pushed the offending fabric to the side and dipped his index finger in your slick. He stroked a few times, coating his fingers in your essence and entered you with two with laughable ease. You pushed your hips forward on instinct, already needing more.

“Steve, oh god-“

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, free hand pressing your back to his front, hardness digging into our ass. “I can’t wait to see you take my cock. You’ll be as pretty as a picture…”

Vainly wriggling against his strong hold because that was exactly what you wanted, you caught his smile in the mirror, his lips pressing softly against your temple as his fingers begun pumping in and out of your tight channel, stealing the breath from your lungs. Resigned and secretly thrilled by his dominance, you leaned against his chest, letting your head fall back against his strong shoulder, praying he’d give you more soon.

Instead, he pulled his fingers out altogether, painting your inner thighs with your slick, stepping back, leaving you cold and empty.

“St-“

His hand landed gently on your shoulder, his other hand easily sliding the zip of your dress down your back, letting it fall to the ground. Standing in front of the mirror in nothing but your stockings, soaked panties and lace bra, you shuddered under Steve’s hungry gaze; but at the same time, the adoration and admiration shining from his gaze even made your stomach flip and stopped your hands from self-consciously covering yourself at least a bit.

You weren’t shy. You weren’t ashamed of your body; but goodness, Steve’s eyes trailing the length of it, taking in every inch of bare skin and appreciative of how the fabric hugged the parts still covered made you feel like a goddess. A muse.

His gaze was hypnotic as his eyes met yours in the mirror again, his smile soft before it earned a lustful edge.

“You’re a piece of art, Shines…” He stepped back to you, lips attaching back to your neck and his fingers pushed the panties down and let them slide down your legs, hand sprawling over your pubic bone and teasing your core with his fingers again. “And I’m going to appreciate that in every way I know… but you’re gonna watch. I wanna watch you as you fall apart for me, and I want you to see how beautiful you look when I make you mine. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

You didn’t think. You nodded at the promise of pleasure, instantly rewarded by three fingers stretching you, one of your hands landing on his wrist to keep him inside, the other grabbing at his head behind you. You felt his smile against your neck before he sucked on your skin, setting a punishing pace, this time letting you meet his advances. The sight of his large hands over you was insanely erotic; his size and strength captured in a repetitive picture, your muscles contracting as you tried to encourage him to give your more. The pleas seamlessly blending with his name were falling from your lips as the pressure inside you built and built, the wicked curl of his fingers nearly having you reach for the stars.

“Oh my god, oh my god, Steve-“

“Watch, sweetheart,” he reminded you feverishly, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by his blown pupils, dark, pleased and unabashedly on you taking his fingers one moment, on your face contorted with pleasure next, the sheer hunger in his gaze aimed at you only adding fuel to the heat in your abdomen.

You tried to keep your eyes on your pair, you truly did, just to please him, just to gain more. It earned you a whispered praise to your ear, a sucking kiss on your throat and circling motions on your clit.

That had you were done for. Your eyes fluttered close as you clenched around Steve’s fingers with a breathless cry, ecstasy exploding inside you and lighting your body on fire.

You could feel Steve’s burning gaze on your still, but he didn’t push you again, didn’t deny you just because you didn’t give him what you couldn’t at the moment, too wrapped in your bliss. Of course, he didn’t. He was still Steve; much filthier than you imagined, but still himself. Warm and safe, holding you close when his motions slowed down, prolonging your pleasure, still supporting your weight when your legs nearly gave out. Chuckling silently with an adoring soft kiss to your jaw when you breathed out a thank you, thinking about the fact he caught you, probably sounding as if you were thanking him for absolutely ruining you with his fingers only, not so subtly showing you that you might not survive when he’d turn it up a notch and actually took you.

“You’re beautiful, doll,” he whispered into your hair, carefully pulling out his fingers as not to hurt you. “Even more beautiful that I imagined.”

You shuddered, unable to respond with words, turning around and chasing his lips instead. He obliged and kissed you sweetly, wrapping his arms around you close, only now having you realize he was still fully clothed himself. And that the way his had cock pressed against his slacks must have been painful at this point. For that reason alone – that he put your pleasure before his, as you knew he would – you would sink to your knees in an instant if your core wasn’t already throbbing for him.

“I want you,” you said against his mouth, revelling in his smile and the playful nip on your lower lip he graced you with upon your admission.

“Good. Because I need you. I need to see those pretty lips parted for me and unable to speak anything but my name when I fill you up so well you’ll never even think about another man again,” he said slowly, letting every heavy syllable sink into your skin and have your already racing heart nearly give out – and letting your lips loose.

“Yes. Please.”

When you suddenly found yourself in the air, held firmly in his arms and carried to the bed, you couldn’t find the shame in you to be bashful about your needs.

Because when he sunk into you and delivered on his promises, you felt like you entered another plane of existence. When his hands grabbed onto you, his body an art piece you could feast your eyes on and touch, you suddenly understood his need for a mirror, for a glimpse from every angle, the absolute beauty of your bodies together as one, of seeing him lose himself to pleasure of his own.

His chants of endearments, praise and mine echoed in your ears, your lips indeed only remembering to speak his name, whisper it and scream it. When he lifted you to your high two more times, filling you with his spent to make you his indeed, you knew that you would be his forever; you had been for a long, long time.

“You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine…”

“Yours, I am yours.”

Blinking your eyes open, you slowly realized you never knew darkness could feel so violent to your eyes. Steve’s deeply concerned gaze was firm on you, frown settled in his brows, both hands on your biceps holding you as if you were about to pass out any second.

His relieved breath brushed over your face, shoulders sagging.

“Thank god, Shines. I was starting to get worried. Are you alright? It’s like you went to a completely different place for a moment there.”

Why were you standing? You had been just lying down, the heat of Steve’s skin seeping into yours from your back and his arm wrapped around your middle as you had fallen asleep.

“What?” you rasped, feeling the ghost of the soreness in your throat as you nearly lost your voice having screamed his name. You blinked again as the image of his beautifully red parted lips trembling with your name flickered in front of you, disappearing just as fast – replaced by him growing worried by the minute.

In a closet. You were in a closet. The sound of idly chat and chuckles dimmed by the walls of the closet reached your ears. The party was still in a sleepy swing; a stupid game was still on.

The realization was like a bucket of icy water dumped on your heated body, all-consuming confusion swallowing all your thoughts.

But… how? You--- that wasn’t- you had been to Steve’s room. He had—- he had kissed you, right here, a dream coming true when he admitted he was still thinking of you and was ready to act on it, his hot soft lips, his hands, deliciously long thick fingers, wickedly dextrous as they sneaked between your legs, opened you up for his--- he had stretched you so good, in every way imaginable, his gaze so dark as he watched you both in the mirror, so sweetly and devilishly delighted at filling you up to the brim, making you his-

“Okay, that’s it, Shines. We’re out of here-”

“No!” you blurted out, horror seizing you at the mere thought of coming out to the light right now. With you face flushed; with your core painfully empty and slick even as the aftershocks of your orgasms, having felt so real, turned from echo of pleasure to mortifying all-consuming shame. “No, no, it’s fine! I’m fine. I just… I must have had too much to drink and zoned out.”

“You didn’t drink that much,” Steve opposed swiftly, his gaze so unnerving, and could he just stop, stop looking at you like he cared, so sweet and nice and so frustratingly not yours even if the affection in his gestures felt all the same as in whatever fucked-up dream experience you just had just been through. “We should-“

“Please, don’t-- they’re never gonna let us live this down if we bail,” you argued lamely, unconvincing even to your own ears, feeling tears burn in your eyes and desperately trying to stop them from showing.

“Fuck that. It’s just a stupid game.”

‘Fuck, look at you. I can’t wait to see you take my cock. You’ll be as pretty as a picture…’ echoed in your ears, so crystal clear you would have sworn it had happened – but what other evidence did you need that it was just a wild creation of your mind?

Steve didn’t love you. Steve didn’t want you this way. It had never happened. You were still in this closet in the dark, blinded by the light his persona, this time annoyed since the light only hurt your eyes.

And you heart. Your stupid little foolish heart.

“…yeah. Yeah, just a stupid game. Just… so so stupid,” you muttered, no longer talking about the game – and unable to stop the tears from coming anymore.

You laughed bitterly, understanding nothing, but not caring, even more irked at the alarmed expression on Steve’s face when he noticed the few glistening drops rolling down your cheeks.

“Shines… what is it? What can I do to make it better?”

His hands, having been burning a brand onto your biceps, shifted, one caressing your arm, the other rising to your face; and you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t take the touch, not when it meant less than what you wanted and needed, not when his fingertips brushed your cheek as if it was something precious to him – not when you knew it wasn’t.

You stepped back out of his reach hastily, your back hitting the wall; but not without catching the flash of hurt on his face when you rejected the affection and comfort he was offering.

“I’m sor-“ The words died in your throat, the sudden almost electric shift in the air making your hair stand on end.

As fast as if you snapped your fingers, Steve was no longer looking at you.

In fact, he wasn’t looking at anything.

Your stomach dropped.

“…Steve?”

Your whisper was tentative, but your step forward was not. Heart thundering in your chest, your eyes roamed his suddenly expressionless face. What the hell was happening?

Gulping, you reached out for his hand with yours; but as you squeezed, his hand remained limp by his side.

“Steve, can you hear me?”

Frustration and shame swiftly forgotten, your fingers slid to his wrist, feeling for his pulse. It fluttered under your touch like a hummingbird; but with how fast your own heart was beating, it might have been that you could feel your own.

You went to a completely different place for a moment there, you recalledhis words, real words, right after you found him observing you with concern rather than pulling you to his bare chest after an intense session of fucking.

Whatever had happened to you, be it blamed on alcohol or anything else, was clearly happening to him now. That or you accidentally triggered some kind of a flashback with the way you had reacted. If you had, you’d never forgive it yourself; but you’d have time to feel like an asshole later. Now, Steve needed your help. Fast.

Except you had no idea what was actually taking place in here, let alone how to solve it.

“Yeah, fuck this game.”

You were not going to stay here another second. Not when Steve, sweet kind Steve who deserved the world, was stuck in some strange trance you might have caused.

You were just about to bang on the door of the closet with all your might when a gasp for air had your head snap back to Steve so quickly you almost gave yourself a whiplash.

Your hands were on his arms to steady him before you could think about it twice. Relief flooded your body when his gaze unmistakably found yours, even if he stared at your wide-eyed, clearly rattled by whatever had just happened.

“Shines?” he rasped, blinking a few times as if to adjust his sight to the darkness again, following the lines of your arms to where you were holding onto him with confusion. You swiftly dropped your hands, his frown only deepening at that.

“Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I--- I think so?”

The uncertainty in his voice and the suddenly unreadable emotion in his face made a lump grow in your throat.

“Yeah, the fact that this sounds more like a question than an answer really tells me you were right,” you stated, feeling small as you saw Steve had trouble finding his footing. As his friend, you had the privilege to see him vulnerable more often than the general public, but that didn’t mean the fact he seemed clueless and slightly lost now was still unsettling. “We should get out of here, right now. You were staring blank ahead for at least a minute. You really scared me, Steve.”

His eyebrows shot up as he learned that was what happened.

“I was…? That’s what-- you scared me too. You were staring into space before too... What happened to you in that time?” Steve queried, gently despite obviously being affected himself. “Do you… do you remember any of it?”

You let out a small distressed noise, heat of shame flooding your body all over again.

Yeah, no. You were not going to tell him what exactly happened, regretfully only in your head.

You rarely lied so blatantly, less so to Steve, but these were desperate times. You’d rather keep at last some of your dignity.

You licked your lips. “I… I just zoned out. And then suddenly you were here, asking if I was sure I was okay. You?”

His eyes searched your face for a moment as if he could sense your lie – or at least lack of complete honesty. Yet, he didn’t press, swallowing loudly instead and giving you a shaky smile.

“…yeah. Yeah, same. That was… strange.”

No kidding. You believed him losing consciousness the way he had was strange indeed.

Except when you zoned out, you dreamed of a world where Steve railed you into oblivion while watching you both in a mirror. Until now, you thought that shoving you against a wall and hauling you up in those enormous arms and railing you like that would be more than enough to satisfy your cravings, but apparently you were wrong. But never mind that, right? You could be flexible… flexible enough, in more ways than just one. God knew sex with a man as fit as Steve might require some stretching.

You licked your lips again, mouth feeling dry at the memory. And yet. It wasn’t all a memory. He still was so close, watching so intently. Almost as if… no.

You laughed without a trace of humour.

“Yeah, well, maybe Stark laced the walls with something when he was closing the door-“ your voice trailed off, eyes growing wide as you entertained the wild thought. “Actually, you know what, I wouldn’t even be surprised.”

Honestly, it would be a perfectly plausible explanation. In fact, you wanted that to be the explanation; it shifted the blame. You and Tony could share the blame for the inappropriate images still flashing in your mind at least.

Not to mention that theorizing was the most welcomed distraction you could get in the tiny space growing hotter by the minute, full of Steve’s masculine scent seeping into your skin and making your underwear even damper by the second.

“Hm…” Steve hummed, intrigued, his concern melting into outrage. “Loki suggested the game and made the closet. Whatever happened could be on him.”

You frowned at the implication, instinctively protective of the god of mischief; Tony was the kind of guy who would pull this kind of shenanigans using precisely the fact Loki might end up being blamed while he’d laugh his ass off.

“Tony didn’t exactly protest, maybe he just jumped at the chance.”

“Hold on a second… do you think they would team up? To deliver some sort of an advanced Halloween prank?”

Your first instinct was to say no. The thought was absurd. Loki and Tony tolerated each other at best, Tony being one of the people having the hardest time forgiving Loki for the destruction he had once caused… when it suited him. Other times… well.

“I’m…” you hesitated, “I’m not sure, actually. But I know I’m not laughing.” For sure.

Steve face was serious as he observed you, worry creeping into his expression again – you only hoped he forgot all about your earlier outburst, even as you were aware that was very unlikely.

“Can’t say I do. Once we’re out, this game is over.”

“Yeah, good idea,” you agreed instantly. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

He seemed a little flushed, a little shell-shocked still. Then again, you imagined you did too. At least you hoped you did; you hoped Steve couldn’t read you like a book… and you hoped Wanda was smart enough not to enter your mind while you were in here.

Oh god, Wanda.

“Yeah… but that’s only cause it’s not a terrible imposition to be here with you of all people,” Steve said lightly, a ghost of a genuine smile curling up his lips, an unvoluntary smirk passing over yours at his choice of words.

“Well, I’m honoured not to be a terrible imposition to you, Captain,” you sassed, unable to stop the warmth spreading in your chest. “I suppose there are worse people to get stuck with.”

“Such a compliment,” he threw back readily, eyes twinkling. Minutely – and you would swear it – his gaze flickered to your lips.

You heart started racing. You only imagined it. There was no way. Was there? Or…?

“Shines, I… there’s something I think I should tell you,” Steve said slowly, voice turning surprisingly soft.

You blinked, the feeling of déjà-vu hitting you like a train. You had to be dreaming again. There was no way he said those words, not so tenderly, not-

The door opened so suddenly you had to squint against the flood of light; light as harsh as the truth, overtaking all of your senses.

You stumbled out of the tight space with a deep breath, the colder air sobering you up fast. Whatever Steve was about to say, it didn’t matter; it was probably your mind playing tricks on you again and if it wasn’t, it was probably just words of consolidation he came up with at the spot, an attempt to sooth whatever had bothered you before. Nothing more.

Because whatever you had fantasied about in the closet, it was just that: a fantasy. True, one you weren’t aware you had, but a fantasy nonetheless.

Steve had long moved on from asking you out two years ago. Whatever could have been, you had missed your chance then; he was just being friendly. He tried to offer comfort, because that was what he did. Even when you hurt him by your rejection of it, even when he was rattled himself by whatever he had experienced, he tried to comfort you again what could be two minutes later, because that was what good friends did.

Not a terrible imposition – that was what he said, after all. Even as you knew he probably chose the words on purpose to distract you and amuse you, it was not exactly a declaration of love. There was nothing but friendship between you, not from his side and that meant you would keep it that way unless you were ready to risk it all.

Which was going to be never.

As Steve firmly announced that the game was over, contrary to the booing from several Avengers, you wondered what it would take to rename the stupid activity to Seven Minutes in Hell.

Part 2

Steve Rogers masterlist

Complete masterlist

Thank you for reading 🥰 I hope you had fun! Leave feedback if you have the energy and time, we love interaction in this house💕

I suppose this is where you could end it, but you won't find the what the heck actually happened and how - and what will happen next 👀 I hope to post part 2 soon since it's almost done 🎃 If you enjoyed and wish to be tagged, let me know :)

Prompt: 7 Minutes in… Where?: You know the game. Only when you and your significant other are locked in the closet for 7 minutes, you’re transported somewhere else.

Many thanks for Jamie for hosting this challenge and stirring this sleepy fandom to life 🥰

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers lemons #steve rogers #captain america #JamiesHalloween2023 #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #seven minutes #anika ann

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josephinekhawaja · 2 months

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The most beautiful Kaya Scodelario looked in "The Gentlemen". And the overall scene is something that can actually be so personal. Him seeking her out. Like ending episode 6 thinking mom and dad (mum and dad) are going to war with each other...and then this...and then still the last two episodes being a roller coaster of whether or not they are going to be the literal death of one another. I have never had so much Good Stress from a ship that was Bad Stress when I was actually going through it. I aged and greyed so much through parts of this show, my poor heart.

To me, they have this low-key Bruce Wayne x Selina Kyle dynamic (sooooo, Bobby Glass would be Carmine Falcone? I can work with that), which, given how BatCat is one of my lifelong OTPs, I am sure subconsciously pulled me in. Like posh boy that can get down and dirty (so his ski mask era would be his Batman era 😅😂 "We're not criminals, Freddy"), however much he sees himself holding a higher moral ground over the underworld he must move through. And working-class girl, street smarts, that can no less look "elegant and stylish" and navigate the upper echelons; but at the end of the day is who she is and matter-of-factly💋💋💋💋a career criminal. (Kaya honestly even works as a face claim for Selina though her eyes may be closer to blue than green. I mean, the Gunnverse has to cast a Catwoman eventually, depending on the age range of their Batman... I will just leave this here for you for free, James.)

And then Princess Roseanne, the Countess of Tournai, would be Talia Al-Ghul especially when Susie lets slip some jealous vibes towards her (made me think of Anne Hathaway's snark about Marion Cotillard in the last Nolanverse film...the characters, not the actresses). Though ultimately I do see Eddie and Princess Roseanne as Just Friends and no conflict in that direction unless further miscommunication. (So much Misunderstanding Drama in this series and between OTP. When a good romantic comedy is not a romantic comedy; or even entirely a comedy.)

But really it comes down to their having such an *easy partnership*, naturally yielding to one another when it comes to it. The way Susie has her way about things -- most notably when she invites herself to meet Stanley Johnston -- and Eddie smoothly submits to her without in any way seeming whipped. Like their actions are always in agreement, even when their words are not. Those two are more married than most married folks I have seen on screen. Should have blacked out in Nevada than on the estate.

(Also, gotta love how she has him saved in her phone as "The Duke". Like forget Bridgerton...I would watch an entire season of TheoKaya going at each other in, Bridgerton ways. As it stands with this though, I could see how the greater artistic choice might be to just make this a stand-alone, but I would be greedy for any subsequent season. This is already technically an expansion on a film -- that I have yet to see -- so Guy Ritchie does not mind a revisit. I could use any more of these 2 families who fully drive the story of this world.)

#OTP: Refined Aggression #OTP: Not Without Danger #Eddie Horniman x Susie Glass #Eddie x Susie #Edward Horniman x Susan Glass #Edward x Susan #I call them EdSie #but their shipping name is Horniglass #Guy Ritchie BatCat #I need Susie to be the next (unconventional) Duchess of Halstead like I need in every universe Selina to inherit Martha Wayne's pearls

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takearisk-xo · 2 months

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WIP tag

Thanks for the tags @nodirectionhome-ao3 & @missgryffin!!! both of you are incredible writers and i am just chuffed that you thought of me. <3

List the titles of your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

my wips (and the fact that they are still wips and not finished) make me so sad but we're working through it. also the priority levels have changed massively in the past week or so (whoops)

WIPS:

already gone--amnesia hinny au, ginny wakes up without six years of memory and no context for the world she finds herself in

the path from you-- a post-war hinny au/bodyguard fic, ginny is receiving anonymous letters and harry gets assigned to her case... will their shared history get in the way of solving the mystery?

love wasn't designed for the cynical-- (not posted/oneshot) amnesia/timeloop percabeth au, percy pisses off hera (again) and gets stuck in an alternate universe where he and annabeth never got together. he has to relive the same day over and over with no idea how to get out

spring fever-- a/b/o & sex pollen hinny au, a mutation in the cherry blossoms reactivate a long dormant biological reaction and humanity dissolves into a sex crazed pandemic. through absolutely no fault of their own, harry and ginny end up riding out the stay at home measures together... and maybe, accidentally, trigger each others designations

it's a match!-- (not posted/oneshot) an epistolary (text fic/socmed au) where harry and ginny keep matching across all dating apps over the span over several years. will they ever move past their casual acquaintanceship and actually go on a date?

scenes i'm excited to write:

harry takes ginny to the holyhead harpies stadium. ginny has some expected, and some unexpected, interactions

i'm really looking forward to writing the entirety of chap, 19 to be honest, but specifically harry and ginny trying and failing to have a secret relationship

mr d knows exactly what's going on, and refuses to help percy even a little bit lmaooo

spring fever is tough. i feel like the smut i'm writing right now isn't hitting the plot beats that i want so i am taking a SHORT break from it and focusing on some other things that have more momentum. but i'm excited to write harry and ginny going into a full sex fog and this fic finally earning it's dubious consent tag

i made the graphics so all i have left to do for this one is format the messages... and i'm actually not looking forward to this part because it's so time consuming and trial and error and it's frustrating for me so that's why i haven't posted it yet whoops.... other than that it's done 😅

POLL TIME

my plan was to update already gone next but as always i will honor the results of the sacred tumblr poll

tagging: @thenicestthingiveseen @displayheartcode @brightlybound @starlingflight @nena-96 @celestemagnoliathewriter @corneliaavenue-ao3 @four2andnew @historyevolving @ginnyw-potter @greenhousethree

(sorry if you've already been tagged)

#tag games #wip games #NO TIES THIS TIME DAMMIT #UPSIDE DOWN SMILEY FACE #polls

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misty-moth · 11 days

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*Gil route spoilers toward the end*

You know the isekai stories where the character reads a book at some point, doesn’t pay very close attention to it, but then is thrown into that book (and often are “born” into one of the book’s characters, so they start as a baby)?

Isekai AU where that happened to Chev.

He read a book outside of his usual genres on a whim, and he was launched into it soon after. He was an adult when it happened, and a rather competent one at that. Now he had been born into a position of royalty and was fairly convinced he could rule the entire continent with his knowledge. He just needed to win the story’s war against Obsidian, where the story’s timeline had ended.

So he knows *almost* everything that happens, especially key points that would otherwise be impossible to guess. He knows the tragic end of his mother, so he didn’t try to stop it. He knew about Bloodstained Rose Day, so he accepted his decision as necessary. The closer he stuck to the original plot, the longer he’d know what was going to happen.

The problem with the book for Chev was that he thought it was stupid. Because it was a romance novel. He hadn’t really considered looking for it until he came across a ~random~ romance novel in his stack of books, and soon he’s been reading every romance he can get his hands on, on the off chance he finds the book again. He’s hoping there’s a “rare book” somewhere that would become a prophetic treasure for him…

He knows about Emma the future Belle, but he’s convinced that Belle is a pointless position because he plans on firmly changing the plot once she comes into play. By the end of the book, he will no longer need to bother with romance— he’ll have secured an entire continent instead. Surely Emma can pick one of his brothers, so it’s fiiine…

So he’s pretty close to the original timeline, but he’s still a little thrown off when a woman in town slaps a drunkard in front of him. He wasn’t expecting to meet Belle on a random day and in such a weird way (did the original Chev point a sword at Emma’s throat? New Chev can’t seem to remember that part happening…)

Then he had to be on his game as far as pushing her away, toward any of his brothers (he was positive that whoever she chose, they would love and cherish her). He’s spent all of his new life preparing, so it should be easy enough to push one last person away. No time for kindness or love if he wants to rule this fictional world.

And, well, we’ve seen how well that went for him in his route 😅

And his route could end with loving Emma, how it was originally written, even having known everything beforehand. Dude’s a certified genius now, but he couldn’t destroy fate…

Sure would be a shame if another “genius” was isekai’d into an enemy prince’s body that would also want to take over the continent and meet Belle (essentially the perfect, ideal woman with the purest heart). A prince who ended up in a body/family/life that tore his own pure heart to shreds.

He’d read the romance novel because he liked happy stories, and he’d liked how lovely and strong Emma was. So ending up in the last possible person to meet her was a huge blow for him.

Gil couldn’t find the novel in the fictional world, either, though he didn’t try quite as hard as Chev (who he’d met as a child, not realizing that the gallant prince in the story was now the grumpy kid reading in a corner).

Gil gave up trying to find it after realizing survival had to be his ultimate priority. Eventually in his adult years he was able to think about her again. He’d looked back on the stories the bookseller told him, which were curiously similar to the Belle he had read about. Maybe if he couldn’t find the romance novel… he could write it?

And finding out that Emma had finally become Belle at the same time he’d learned he’d had nothing left to lose? Time to visit Rhodolite.

Two isekai’d princes, one the pre-destined lover of Belle, the other an enemy who was born into the life of a doomed side character who had to make himself a main character to survive.

Neither knows the other came from their original universe, so they are both pretty perplexed at how competent the other is. They’ve been side-eyeing the other their whole lives: Gil eventually realizes he’s talking to Chevalier, the ML, but that he’s a lot grumpier than he remembers. Chev doesn’t understand where this prominent enemy character came from or why he wasn’t mentioned in the books 🤔

#this was nooot meant to be this long of a post #i just woke up like an hour ago thinkin bout chev if you can believe it #chevalier michel #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri #ikemen prince #long post

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fatuismooches · 2 years

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Okay, first of all..

YOUR WRITING AKSJAKSJAKAJAAK OMG I'M SQUEALING SO HARD, U DONT KNOW HOW MUCH HAPPINESS U BRING TO ME (ESPECIALLY UR CAPITANO IS SO 💓🥺😩💞), THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR MAKING SUCH A GOOD CONTENT TO A LOT OF US 💓💓💞🛐

second,

If ur request is still open and if u dont mind, may i request Capitano with a female reader that has an ability to heal whenever she sings? But her voice is so soothing that it makes him fall asleep 😅 (but he doesnt mind about it bcs thats the only time where he can finally release all of his tension and feel at peace) So everytime Capitano came back from a war and has some injuries, she will hold his hands and start singing to heal him while he slowly descent to his peaceful sleep

U dont have to do it if u are not comfortable with the idea and sorry for the bad english 😅

-🥝

♡ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ♡

synopsis: Capitano carries a great burden as a Fatui Harbinger, but it starts to take less of a toll when he's blessed with your lovely songs.

includes: capitano w/ fem! reader

notes: This is literally such a sweet request and I love this dynamic so much <33. I just know that Capitano would love someone the opposite of him!! I hope you like this!

You are his beautiful, perfect little maiden. Really, Capitano does not know how he got so lucky to have met someone as peaceful and soothing as you. And for you to fully reciprocate his feelings? To wholly love this monster, when he takes lives and you save them instead? He feels almost guilty but can’t give you up. And when you show him your magnificent ability, this feeling amplifies a lot more. He’s never cared much for weak people, but you’ve opened up his eyes some more to the abilities of others. You may not fight, but your songs lift the spirits, both physically and mentally, of the wounded soldiers and increase morale. Everyone quite literally loves you (cue Capitano in the back, jealous of the attention the rest of the soldiers are getting.) He’s a silent person by nature, so he never ever interrupts your singing. Shows his displeasure quietly if anyone else were to do so.

There’s only so much bandages and medicinal salves can do to treat wounds. You have to let time pass to fully recover. But nope, not anymore. Even if he gets the tiniest scratch, you’re running to him to you can sing the wound away. (Just think of Capitano trying to tend to the flowers like you do and ends up getting pricked by a thorn. Begins to do it on purpose so he can hear your songs more often. Honestly, he thinks it’s adorable how he’s so much more bigger and stronger than you, yet you get worried about him over anything.) He loathes to leave you alone, but duty calls of course. But something cute I think, is that you’d sing a song and record it on a Radiant Spincrystal so he could listen to it when he’s out fighting. (Don’t ask me how that would work. It just works because I said so!) So now every day after a battle, the whole camp can hear your singing voice coming from Capitano’s tent. No one says a word about how all of them can hear it, they enjoy it too after all and no one has the heart or guts to report this to their Lord Harbinger. Your singing really calms him down - if he’s having a rough day away from you he just plays the spin crystal and it relaxes him a lot. Tends to think about what kind of souvenir or trinket he should get you this time after he wins this war. Another thing - he likes to write down things about the scenery, people, animals, etc about the nation/area he’s visiting, so that you can use it as inspiration for your songs. Secretly feels really happy when you come up with something based on his notes.

But of course, nothing is better than the real thing in person. This is why you always make sure to sit by the window every day when your lover is supposed to be returning soon. To greet him with a welcome home melody! And boy, is he ever so internally excited for this every time. Everyone else sees his stiff, upright emotionless posture, but he’s literally beaming internally that he finally gets to hold you again, hear your lovely chirpy voice, feel your gentle caresses… a battle worn and torn warrior in love with his tender and soft healer at its finest. (It’s also amusing to think about the maids and butlers just standing there silently while you're draped over your lover singing a sweet tune to him. Capitano has learned to deal with it.)

The best part is when you urge him into your private quarters and badger him to take off all his heavy armor and clothing so you could heal him already. It’s always a mesmerizing process actually - the big, fluffy coat goes first and drops to the floor, then the multiple armor pieces he wears on different parts of his body. Finally comes the regular clothing that is quickly thrown off. Sometimes the wounds are small and infrequent, or they’re big. (Well, for the sake of the story let’s say that… who is wounding such a high ranking Harbinger lol.) And then you get to work, pressing your hands gently against the wounded areas and beginning to sing. You’ve memorized which songs he likes the best of course. The first few times you did this Capitano fell asleep sitting up and you were literally trapped in his lap. Now you make him lie down before you heal. And while Capitano has some… thoughts about your ability to make him doze off some quickly, he grows to not mind it. At first, he was cautious of it. He has concerns about appearing vulnerable in front of anyone, even you. He’s just not used to it. But he begins to wake up feeling more rested than usual. Of course, your healing made him feel better physically but these naps after hearing your singing just made him feel better. And he got to wake up to you clinging to his arm. You described this as him feeling “peaceful” since his body and mind were free of tension from your singing. He grows to look forward to injuries now…

Capitano also gets frequently worried about the state of your throat (he’s protective over you by a WHOLE LOT.) You’ve been singing for too long and your throat is getting all scratchy and hoarse? Too bad for the other soldiers - he’s escorting you to your shared bedroom so you can get some rest. The kind of lover who would actually hold the glass of water and tilt your head back so you can drink it. You are not lifting a finger after your performances. (Thankfully they have big cups that are big enough for his hands hehe.) And if there’s specific food you want to eat for your throat? You’re going to have it, no matter what. And if you ever lost your voice for a few days?! He would genuinely be so sad and make you stay in bed all day. I know he’d keep all of the notes you wrote down to communicate with him though. Haha, it’s very cute to imagine that Capitano is standing there, watching the recruits train menacingly, while you’re there on standby in case of any injuries, radiating sunshine. Everyone is used to you two strolling down the hallways, hand in hand, your singing filling the empty and desolate space while Capitano dutifully marches behind you. Quite an unusual pair, but a very good one.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #capitano #capitano x reader #capitano genshin #genshin capitano #capitano fluff #genshin impact capitano #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui harbingers #fatui

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skz317cb97 · 1 year

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A Familiar Face

Changbin x Female reader

Word count: 3.4k

Synopsis: When you see a familiar face in the crowd, you know who he is. You think. You just can't figure out how.

A/N: 18+ ONLY! Gah, how do we keep getting to the end of these! 🥺 This one isn't as long as some of the others but I definitely cried writing it, so be warned 😅! If you enjoy reading it, please reblog, like, comment, jump in my asks, I absolutely love all the feedback and interaction this series has had! Okay, as always, warnings and smut below the cut!

Warnings: 18+ONLY MDNI! Cursing/ strong language, violence, depictions of war and battle, main character death, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, cream pie. I think that's everything but if I missed something please let me know so I can add it!

You were rushing to catch the train. The next one would add at least thirty more minutes to your commute home and you were already exhausted from your workday. Unfortunately, a bunch of other people were doing the same thing. You made it to the train and you were waiting to file your way in with the others when you looked up, across the crowd of people, and walking onto the train from the other side of the platform was a man you... knew. How did you know him? He was very handsome, was that it? He was cute so you thought you knew him? No, you knew him. You just couldn’t place his face. Almost as fast as you’d seen him, he disappeared onto the train and then the doors were closing in front of you. You should have been upset you were missing the train, but you were upset that you lost him before you could figure out who he was and how you knew him. Only when the train pulled off did you remember what you were doing and realized you missed it. You sat on the bench to wait the thirty minutes before the next one and ran the man’s face through your head again and again.

That night when you finally got home, you ate something small, got washed up quickly and into bed. As you laid there and looked up at the ceiling you started to think about the man again. You didn’t know why it was bothering you so much, but you had to figure out how you knew him. It took you a bit longer than usual but you finally drifted off to sleep.

Being at war in another country was scary, there was no way around that, but something about Seo being there made it a little less scary. You had known of him from your high school back home although he was a couple years ahead of you. Your paths crossed again once Seo was in the military, and you had become a nurse. When that happened, it was like the stars had aligned for the two of you and you fell madly in love with each other. You were walking into the medical tent on base when suddenly arms wrapped around you from behind. A hand cupped over your mouth before you could scream.

“Shh, it’s just me baby.” You spun around and slapped his arms and chest.

“God damn it Seo! You scared the shit out of me!” He laughed and pulled you in for a kiss. You allowed him but before he could deepen it you pushed at his chest.

“You know if your superior comes in here and finds us, I’m gone and you’re in trouble.” He pouted and let go and you pecked his lips once more.

“Thank you.” Seo cleared his throat and it was clear he wasn’t just there to steal a kiss. He looked at you nervously.

“What?” He hesitated a moment more before he finally spoke.

“You know the town they’re sending us to for the mission yea?” You nodded. You did. It had been very active there recently and was a well-known hot zone. It was precisely why you were being sent there.

“Don’t go.” He said. You scrunched your eyebrows confused.

“Seo... orders are orders. You know we don’t get to just not go. Besides it’s my job to be there and make sure anyone hurt is tended to.” He shook his head.

“Say your sick anything, just... please don’t go.” You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Seo, it will be okay. I’ll have you right there to protect me.” You kissed him and his shoulders slumped knowing he wasn’t going to be able to talk you out of going on the mission. He just had a bad feeling. The next morning the two of you, along with a team of others, would wake up and head towards the town.

The sunlight shining through your bedroom window woke you up in the most disrespectful manner. You groaned and leaned over to look at the time. Just a couple minutes before the alarm. You sat up and you felt almost as tired as you had been when you fell asleep. You got yourself together and showered, then you were off to work. When you got to the train station you remembered the guy from the day before and fragments of your dream. Not even after a night of sleeping on it could you remember how the hell you knew him. Your job was busy and fast paced, so once you were there, there really wasn’t any time to think about much besides work. You stayed over a little later than normal at work so when you made it to the train it wasn’t nearly as crowded. You sat there as it raced towards its next destination. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back and all you could see when you did was his face. Why?

You opened your eyes and looked down towards the next car and sitting there reading a book was the man. You sat there studying his face, determined to remember where you knew him from. You considered walking over to the next car and just asking him, but you would be embarrassed if it was someone you should have remembered. No, you wouldn’t approach him until you did remember. You sat there and tried to not look like an absolute crazy person staring at him as you continued to draw a blank. He had kind brown eyes, he was broad and built, when he’d read something funny a little half smile would appear on his face revealing a dimple in his cheek. Your heart raced but you still could not figure out how you knew this man.

After a minute of you looking at him and looking away, the man looked up one of the times you were watching him. Your eyes went wide when you realized you’d been caught. His brow furrowed and he stood up heading towards the doors that separated the two cars. You thought your heart would beat out of your chest. The train slowed down and came to a stop and you panicked. Just as soon as the doors were open, you stood and dashed out before he made it through the connecting doors. Once you were home and having dinner, you were kicking yourself for running away. You knew him so obviously he knew you. He probably recognized you and was going to say hello and you ran away like a crazy person. As you lay in bed that night you almost wished you didn’t see him on the train tomorrow.

The convoy on mission headed into town and stopped at the first check point. It was a larger building that some enemy fire had come from and it needed cleared. They planned on splitting into teams, alpha and delta, and starting from two different ends of the building then meeting in the middle. The commanding officer split the soldiers and medics into the two teams and when Seo realized you were not on team alpha with him his eyes shot to yours. You held your palm down signaling him to stay calm. Right before the teams split to head in he made his way over to you.

“I promise I’ll be right back and I promise I’m marrying you the first chance I get. I love you.” He wanted to kiss you so bad but he couldn’t, not there. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

“I love you too Seo. I’ll meet you in the middle.” You squeezed his hand back and your teams split up. Team delta went through the front and had cleared quite a bit when suddenly there was a huge explosion and the building shook. You heard reports coming through the radio.

“Damage to the left flank! They’re coming around again get out of there!” You heard it. Loud and clear over the radio a soldier was wearing. The left flank, that was the side Seo’s team went in on. Instead of running out with the other members of team delta, you ran towards the left flank to find Seo. A couple of the soldiers that oversaw getting you out of there tried to stop you but couldn’t, you had to find Seo, he had to be okay, he promised. When you got to the left flank of the building, where he was supposed to be, you choked back tears. It was barely standing, walls and supports down everywhere.

“SEO! WHERE ARE YOU!? SEO!!!” You screamed for him, then heard a grunt and a hand raise up. You ran over hoping it was him and unfortunately, when you looked down, you had indeed found him. You gasped and choked back a sob. He was in bad shape, metal pieces from the bomb that hit were protruding from his chest, a support pillar had fallen on him, pinning and no doubt breaking his legs, there were scratches on his face that were bleeding and a bad gash on his head that was flowing freely. You tried to help. You took off your jacket and put it under his head to cushion it for him and to try and slow the bleeding. You were using the sleeve to wipe blood away from his face when the radio went off again.

“CLEAR THAT BUILDING! IF YOU’RE ON TWO LEGS GET THE HELL OUT! THEY’RE COMING BACK AROU-” The radio cut out. Seo started panicking. You tried to calm him but there was no consoling him if you weren’t safe.

“They’re going to bomb this building again you have to go!” Seo choked out. You were certain he was bleeding internally from the shrapnel that shred through him that was still lodged deep inside, most likely bleeding onto his brain as well from his head injury, and the pillar laying across his legs would be impossible to lift with fifty men. You shook your head, tears streaming down your face you, couldn’t just leave him like that.

“I’m not leaving you!” You wouldn’t. He was the love of your life, your soulmate, he was going to be your husband when the war ended and you were going to spend the rest of your lives together. You refused to abandon him to die alone like that. You sat there on your knees by him holding his hand petting it, giving it a gentle squeeze like he’d done to yours before going in, and he begged you crying.

“Please.” You brushed his hair back away from his bloodied face and wiped his tears; he was getting weaker quickly.

“It will be okay my love. It will be okay.” You leaned down and kissed him as the enemy fired bombed the building you were in, obliterating it and killing everyone left inside, including you and Seo.

You woke up gasping for air, clutching at your bed sheets, your entire body covered in sweat. You wiped your face and realized you had tears as well as sweat that had run down your face. Why did that feel so real?! Why did the man keep showing up in your dreams? What was his name? Seal? Steele? God you couldn’t remember! You were so frustrated. It’s all you could think about the whole morning and most of the day at work. In fact, you had been so distracted you weren’t leaving work until well after dark, which probably wasn’t the smartest or safest thing to do.

Your wish from the night before came true, the man was not on the train that night, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the time it was. You got off at your stop and you were making your way up the station stairs, you still had a couple of blocks to walk before your building. You were almost home when a man walking from the other direction stopped in front of you blocking the way.

“Hey!” You looked up. You had no idea who he was.

“Do I know you?” He smirked.

“You could.” You realized then you needed to keep walking. You tried to go around him but he blocked the way again.

“Hey, don’t be a rude bitch.” You went to go around the other way and he blocked you again!

“Are you listening to me bitch!” Your heart was in your throat, you were terrified as this man walked closer towards you.

“HEY! Leave her the fuck alone!” You heard a man shout from behind you. The guy harassing you looked over your shoulder, then bolted across the street and ran away. You turned around and there walking up towards you was the man from the train and your dreams. You froze. As you stood there the two of you looking into each other’s eyes you remembered everything from your dreams. The war, Seo, the mission, dying it wasn’t just a dream though, it had been your life. The life before this one, but that wasn’t all you remembered. You remembered living on a farm with him with your kids and growing old, you remembered walking through a crude stone building in a long gown, meeting him in a secluded hall so that he could kiss you on the lips, a big no no since you were not yet married. You remembered every life you had ever lived with him. You had lived every life with him.

“I found you.” That was all he said before kissing your lips. You held onto his strong body and kissed him back.

“I’m Changbin...” He said chuckling as he pulled away.

“Seo...” You said and he nodded.

“Yes Seo Changbin.” You smiled.

“I’m y/n.” You exchanged numbers that night and started to get to know each other in this life. You were soulmates but you were completely different people in this life. You got to learn about each other all over again. You had told Changbin about seeing him on the train and it triggering something in your brain but you just couldn’t figure it out. He told you about the night he had seen you on the train, when you ran away. As soon as he saw you, he remembered everything. He had been trying to catch up to you most of your way home that next night and then he saw that man messing with you, he had feared the worst, that he might lose you again before he had a chance to be with you in this life, to love you in this life. Luckily that was not the case and the man had run off leaving you and Changbin to find each other, finally.

A year later, on your anniversary, Changbin took you out for a beautiful dinner. He was dressed sharply in a suit, no tie, the first two buttons undone. He had bought you a gorgeous dress that you had mentioned liking around your birthday but thought he had forgotten when you didn’t get it. He’d bought it the day you said you liked it but saved it for this night. A very special night, he hoped. After the amazing dinner the two of you were walking through the canopy of fairy lights, through the restaurant's garden, on the way to the car. About halfway through the path of lights Changbin stopped dead in his tracks. You hadn’t even realized until he pulled at your hand. You turned looking at him confused and he stood there with a hand in one pocket.

“Did you lose something?” Changbin nodded.

“I did.” You were wondering why he wasn’t going back to the restaurant to look for whatever he lost. Instead, he stood there looking at you like you hung the stars.

“I lost you before I got to keep my promise. I’m not making that mistake again.” Changbin pulled a small box from his pocket and got down on one knee. Your eyes filled with tears.

“Will you marry me?” He opened it showing you the small diamond ring, very clearly a family heirloom. You nodded as your tears streaked down your face.

“Yes! Yes! Of course!” Changbin sprung up from his knee and wrapped his arms around you tightly and then kissed you. He pulled back after a second the both of you laughing a little. He pulled the ring out of the box and put it on your finger then kissed you again.

“I love you y/n.” Your smile was glued to your face.

“I love you too Changbin.” He started leading you towards the car again.

“Let’s get home.” You nodded and headed towards the car. Once you were home Changbin took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes as soon as you hit the door. You joined him in ditching your heels as well. Changbin grabbed your hand and pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands immediately traveling lower and gripping your ass. You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

“Take me to bed.” You jumped and Changbin caught you, his hands gripping your ass. You wrapped your legs around him and held onto his face as you kissed him again. Changbin laughed shaking his head at you but walked towards your bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. When he got to your bed, he gently laid you back and sat up, unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off.

“God you’re gorgeous Bin.” His little dimple popped out and his ears turned red. He was never good at taking compliments. Changbin pulled your dress up your body and then off over your head. He tossed the dress and started to kiss and nibble his way down your neck and chest.

“You smell and taste good enough to eat baby.” He cocked his eyebrow as he continued his way down between your legs. He pulled at the sides of your panties and you lifted your ass helping him remove them. Those too were tossed aside and then Changbin nuzzled against the insides of your thighs. He finally ran his tongue through your folds tasting you, and you both moaned.

“Oh god Bin... that feels so good...” You were already a little breathless as Changbin continued to devour you like you were his favorite meal. You were. You ran your fingers through his hair mussing it up. He loved your touch; he moaned and doubled his efforts.

“Fuck! OH! I’m coming!” You started tugging at his hair gently when you came but Changbin didn’t stop, hell bent on prolonging your pleasure. Finally, he came up for air when your legs were shaking. He climbed back up your body and kissed you, your fingers still threaded through his hair. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, sliding them and his briefs off.

“God I want you baby. I want you so fucking bad...” You nodded pulling him down and kissing him again.

“I want you too Binnie, please...” Changbin lined up with your glistening cunt and pushed his length inside you.

“Yes! Bin yes! More!” He kept pushing into you until your hips were flush. He leaned down caging you between his muscular arms. He kissed you again as he started to roll his hips and move inside you.

“Fuck you feel perfect baby...” He thrusted deeper forcing a moan from you and then did it again. He knew the buttons to press, the way to move, the way to please you. This may be a new body, but he’d made love to you for lifetimes. You were close, he knew you were. He started moving faster, harder.

“Oh god! I’m gonna cum Binnie!” He didn’t slow down, he kept fucking you harder, pushing you closer and closer to your climax. His was near too.

“Cum with me baby cum with me!” His tip brushed your g spot again as his pelvic muscle pushed against your clit and you fell into the chasm that was your orgasm, pulling Changbin in with you.

“Oh god beautiful yes! Take it! Oh fuck!” You clung to Changbin as you both shook through your climaxes.

“BinBinBinnie! Oh oh my god yess fuck! Yes!” When you both came back down Changbin fell over next to you and immediately pulled you close. You laid your head on his chest and listened to his breathing return to slow and steady. You held him tighter, as if you let go you may lose him again.

“I love you Changbin.” He sighed and kissed the top of your head squeezing you.

“I love you y/n.” And he truly did, in this life, the last, and the next because every life Changbin lived, he would find you. No matter what.

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

@acciocriativity @caroline-ds-world @chansynie @ughbehavior @jquellen27 @jisuperboard @fixation-dump @lachinitaaaaa @rinrinndou @bangchans-angel @laylasbunbunny @owo-manii-uwu @armystay89 @b00dyguts @purplenimsicle @caticorn61 @lauraneuuh @channieandhisgoonsquad @minnysproutgriffinteddy @svintsandghosts @the-sweetest-rose @alice630 @3rachasninja @m0ri-apeuda @eastleighsblog @linoification @mlink64 @smally97 @fun-fanfics @chansducky10 @starfire21 @cessixja @siewoon @berryberrytan @binnies-minsung-fanclub @lethallyprotected

#stray kids smut #skz smut #seo changbin smut #changbin smut #skz317cb97 #cal 🖤#skz317cb97 soulmate au series #tw: violence #tw: violent death #tw: war

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violetvelourr · 3 months

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The Wedding…

Another scene we were deprived of 🥺

First of all, thanks for the ask, @dreamerofthewinds 🤭

I never know when an innocent question or mention can influence me, but this was one of those instances 😆

So yeah, I do get asked occasionally about Kakashi’s and Arina’s wedding.

It’s as “easy” as planning your own wedding, only even harder 😆

I don’t know when that should happen: probably after the war when he has completely let go of the past (even though I don’t really put that as an obstacle to their relationship in my stories). But still seems about right. Also the fact that he is to become Hokage also makes sense for this timeline - they should enjoy some time together before that happens. But on the other hand having kids right during his Hokage era is a bit cruel 🥴 but again, I don’t see a better option - going through war with the kids is hardly a better idea… so yeah, sacrifices must be made 🙈 after all, Minato and Kushina managed to have a family despite Minato becoming Hokage 🥲

But let’s get back to the marriage then, now that it’s settled for roughly half a year after the war ends…

I have too many and often controversial thoughts about this:

* they wouldn’t even want a grand wedding because both are not very public people

* but on the other hand, they would want some close people to share the day with

* Oops, the list went out of control

* Arina secretly wishes for a traditional ceremony but at the same time feels she doesn’t deserve it

* She also loves seeing Kakashi in kimono 🤭

* But I would want to see her in a “western” outfit 🤔

* I guess it’s possible that they had two ceremonies: Shinto and civil, which solves the problem with outfits: they get to wear both

* But Kakashi hates formal attire, especially western suits (head canon)

Also I can’t decide how to go around Kakashi’s mask and kiss: one option would be Arina to use the bouquet to cover them during the kiss.

On the other hand, I rather enjoy the naughty idea of Kakashi disrupting the ceremony by carelessly removing the mask for the kiss in the heat of the moment.

Imagine: they kiss, fully absorbed in each other. And at some point they simultaneously realize it’s dead silence in the hall. They break the kiss, glance sideways at the crowd to find everyone going “😳😲🫢🤩”

And Arina would poke Kakashi while everyone is still frozen and reproach him jokingly in whisper for stealing the moment 🤭🤭🤭 (I also think it’s a bit unfair to do that to a bride 😅).

So yeah, after all of these brainstorms, in the end I got a bit carried away and messed up completely with the illustration I made - there is no kiss during the Shinto ceremony, so they shouldn’t be dressed like that if they were kissing… 🤣

Well, the perks of being an artist is that you can draw as many absurd scenarios as you want 🤭

But I hope that one day I will find a satisfying solution for their “canon” wedding 🙈

☙ ❦ ❧

Hatake Kakashi © Kishimoto Masashi

#kakashi face #kakashi without mask #unmask kakashi #kakashi x oc #kakashi #naruto #Kakashi fanart #Kakashi’s wedding #OC: Arina #Kakashi x Arina #many words…

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bestworstcase · 29 days

Note

I have a question about some of your Salem thoughts

If Salem is 110% certain that she can take down the Gods (assuming that's her goal since we don't actually know), why wouldn't she communicate her plan to Oz? Especially if she truly doesn't want anyone to die like you say. Oz would jump at the bit if Salem said "Hey I want to stop fighting" since that would mean their shadow war would stop. I really don't think Oz likes the Gods either, and even if he's afraid of them, if *Salem* is that confident she can stop them (she's far from an idiot), I'm sure he'd at least hear her out (which would tell Salem a LOT).

If she's that confident and truly doesn't want to fight, why wouldn't she tell Oz her new plan? And why would she kickstart her plan by attacking the kingdoms/Academies? Surely she could find a way to steal the Relics without flat out attacking them (like sending in double agents to take the Maiden powers)? Like... she would've known she'd get people killed, including children and innocent people. Even if she did damage control (which I think is just strategic, why bother going after people if she's focusing on the Relics? She's not gonna waste precious time and resources), she surely knew people would get caught in the crossfire.

Don't get me wrong, I like what you bring to the table!! Your posts are thought provoking and unique. But I can't see Salem being somehow secretly good. I don't think the show is setting her up that way, and I think she's a fantastic villain, so from my own perspective, doing that kind of twist would be a disservice to her character. I don't think she's inhuman or a complete and total monster who should go, but she's definitely not a good person especially if she can't communicate that she supposedly doesn't want people dead. She seems to be an "the ends justify the means" kind of person, and the show I think has stated that that isn't a good mindset i.e. Ironwood.

Sorry, I rambled and completely strayed from my point 😅 I don't mean to be mean if I come across that way. I hope my ask is interesting or thought provoking though :P

my position is that salem is right, not that she’s secretly good—that is an important distinction. i think she sees the gods clearly for what they are, thinks the divine ultimatum repulsive and unjust, wants remnant to be free, and believes that humanity is transcendent over their creators; she also, quite plainly, does not have any compunction about doing whatever it takes to achieve her ends and while i do think she is still fully capable of and driven by love, she is so TERRIFIED of being hurt again and so CERTAIN that no one could ever care for her that when she does care for someone else it comes out in very, very twisted and often cruel ways. she’s not good, she’s not nice, she’s just right.

equally the heroes are good but not right, because they have yet to really grapple with the premise of the divine mandate (that humanity as it exists right now does not deserve to exist) or their own role in upholding it (their immediate goal is survival, but when they envision the ending of this war they imagine salem driven back and the relics squirreled away again in hope of at best everlasting stalemate). the point of structuring the narrative this way is that neither side can get to the proverbial good ending alone; they need to work together, salem’s ends with the heroes’ means.

like. she’s evil. lol. that’s not in question and i think it goes without saying that she is doing evil things so i don’t feel the need to make a “but she’s still evil though” disclaimer every time i try to tease out what’s going on in her head. notice how my reaction to salem razing vale was OH GLINDA LAYS SIEGE TO THE EMERALD CITY, WE’RE REALLY IN IT NOW and not, like, shock or dismay that salem would do such a terrible thing. brgdfjs

(i DO think she has mostly been trying to avoid ozma and not reciprocating the shadow crusade against her prior to about fourteen years ago and that she isn’t about wanton destruction or killing for the sake of it; and in that sense i think she’s not as bad as the general fanon reading. but that comes with the territory of thinking she has actual reasons for doing what she does as opposed to being, like, a genocidal lunatic.)

anyway. to your questions. the short answer is she’s just as scared of oz as he is of her.

“but he’s the good one!”—think about this from her perspective for a minute. set aside your opinion of her and oz, presuppose for the moment that i’m correct on her motivations, and consider what everything ozma’s done in the last few thousand years looks like to her.

she knows that the gods were monsters. she witnessed them slaughtering the whole world and she saw how little it mattered to them after. she was alone for millions of years, and then hated and feared for thousands of years because she didn’t look human. all that suffering because the gods are punishing her for praying to them. yes?

then ozma returns to her, somehow. he doesn’t explain how or why—maybe he tells her he just doesn’t know—but that’s alright. what matters is that he’s here. he asks what happened to her, and she tells him the truth: the gods ended the world. cursed her. killed everyone. she was alone for so long. (maybe not the whole truth: there are things she’s afraid to say, because the gods did it all to punish her, and it’s her fault, and she’s so scared that he’d despise her if he knew everything. the only reason for her to fear ozma would reject her is if she blamed herself. you don’t hide things out of shame if you don’t feel ashamed of them.)

they learn each other again. fall in love all over again. things are finally okay. they fix up her house. they’re happy together. one day ozma tells her that he’s worried about how divided people are. she wants so badly to make him happy; she would move mountains for him. salem herself has no interest in ruling over people as a god—if she did, she wouldn’t have been living alone in a rotting shack in the middle of nowhere—all that enthusiasm is for him. to support what he wants.

they build a following, found a prosperous kingdom, start a family. four children! how long do you think they were married—ten years? twenty? and the whole time, the whole time, ozma was keeping these secrets from her. that the god of light, who’d condemned her to eternal suffering for praying to his brother, who’d shown utter indifference to the deaths of millions, had sent him back to redeem humanity FROM HER SINS, from what SALEM did. that the point of all this is cleansing humankind of her defiance and inviting THAT MONSTER to remnant to judge whether this world deserved to be subjugated under the brothers’ tyranny again or else be put to death.

imagine how she must have felt when ozma finally told her the truth, knowing that the first thing she told him was that the gods ended the last one. imagine the sickening realization that their whole marriage is built on a lie, because she would never, ever, ever have agreed to help him unite the world if she had known what he sought to unite them for, and ozma knew she never would. that he deceived her! manipulated her into serving the will of a god she knows to be a monster!

and even then—even to the very end—she loved him enough to try. she was willing to forgive all of that and figure out a way to move past it together, and the only thing she asked was that he walk away from his task of submitting this world to the judgment of THAT MONSTER. and he wouldn’t do it.

there’s a gap we don’t get to see, in between ozma backing away from her and salem catching him leaving with the girls, but we can infer that ozma walked out of that room and salem didn’t. imagine how she felt. ten years, twenty years, however long it was, and he was lying to her through it all, and he left her with hardly a moment’s hesitation when she refused to help him enact THAT MONSTER’S retribution against herself. because that is, ultimately, what this is all about; humanity is found guilty by association with her.

imagine how she felt. used. worthless. duped. like a fool for ever trusting him. did he ever love her at all, or was that a lie, too?

when she caught him in the hallway later that night, they both attack each other in the same instant. ozma remembers her attacking him first, but their volleys meet in perfect symmetry and right before salem throws her first bolt of magic, her eyes flicker down in surprise as she tracks the motion of his staff (which we see in the previous shot)—salem remembers him attacking her first.

because they were both so tense and scared and angry at each other that they snapped in exactly the same moment.

their battle is so intense they blow up the castle, and when the smoke clears, salem is a pile of ash. ash! he incinerated her! imagine how enraged you have to be to burn someone to ash. that level of fury, of absolute hatred of her, is literally burnt into her memory as the last thing he did to her before she managed to kill him, inextricably twisted around the guilt and unbearable grief she feels for her children.

he’s dedicated all but a handful of his lives since then to getting rid of her. finding a way to destroy her. (how far is he willing to go? what would happen if salem tried to move on, find community and solace somewhere far away from him? would he come after her? would he follow his god’s example and go after the people she cared about to punish her? is she willing to risk that he might?)

do you think salem understands why ozma did any of this? she doesn’t. she doesn’t get the luxury we do of jinn narrating his side of the story and showing us the anguish he felt, wanting so desperately to be with salem but eaten alive by terror of dooming the world for his happiness. she doesn’t know.

all she knows is how he treated her: the secrets, the deception, the manipulation, the immediate and absolute rejection when she told him no, the explosively violent anger at the end, then centuries upon centuries systematically erasing her from history and enforcing her exile whilst searching for the relics he needs to summon his god for the final judgment. which she knows will inevitably end in the annihilation of the whole world and yet more torture for her with no hope of reprieve, because if all of this was not enough to satisfy the god of light’s grudge against her for, again, just praying to his brother, nothing ever will.

salem feels about ozma now the way blake felt about adam. why did he lie to her, why did he use her, why does he keep coming back, why won’t he just LEAVE HER ALONE, hasn’t she suffered enough, hasn’t she been punished enough, when will it be enough—and intertwined with that, she is being EATEN ALIVE by the conviction that no one could ever truly care about her or feel for her or want to help her or think that she deserves help or even just see her as a person, because if ozma—ozma, the one who saved her from her father’s tower, who knew her and loved her before all of this happened—if ozma thought her so worthless that he would rather serve a god who ended the last world and promises to condemn this one too than suffer her to exist at all in this world, why the fuck would anyone else be any different?

thousands of years later, she still flies off the handle when anyone lies to her. (except cinder. but cinder is always the exception, to every rule.) there’s a reason she recruits the kind of people she does—desperate, broken, angry people starving for something she can promise to give them if they make themselves useful to her—and it’s because she does not believe that she can get anything better than strictly transactional relationships with people who have literally nothing and nowhere else to turn. and when she actually cares about someone? she fights herself tooth and claw over it because she desperately doesn’t want to open herself up to more heartbreak. look at how erratic and cruel she is with cinder.

it’s not rational. salem is smart and very, very tactically shrewd but she is making all of her plans and all of her choices from the assumption that she is and will always be alone in this, because she is unlovable, because she is worthless, because she is the reason this world is damned. and she’s terrified of ozma because to her everything he does suggests that his conviction and dedication to the god of light has never wavered. she cannot see his doubt. she cannot see his misery. she cannot see how much he misses her and desperately wants to make amends. all she can see is that he’s zealously guarding the relics and spreading his god’s word and training children to fight and die in the name of keeping her exiled.

why doesn’t ozma just go to her and tell her he wants to make amends? because he’s terrified she’ll never forgive him and terrified that he’ll damn the world to annihilation if he follows his heart. they’re the same. they’re exactly the same.

but this is also what makes it so possible—even easy—for salem to undergo a villain-to-hero arc, because the only thing that needs to happen is a spark of real hope. that someone, anyone, could really care about her. like. the things she says in her soliloquies about the transformative power of hope? “even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change,” and “it’s true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary…”—that’s her. one small reason to hope. that is all she needs to change.

she doesn’t want to be razing kingdoms to the ground or cutting a bloody path through children to get those relics. she is willing to do it because she truly, genuinely, from the depths of her soul believes that it’s the only way to free herself from the torture she’s been subjected to for millions of years. she’s driven to this by desperation. she won’t keep doing it if she’s given a reason to feel less desperate.

but she does need to be given a reason, first. she’s hemorrhaging. this is why the winnowing of her inner circle and the split between everyone else in vacuo versus salem + cinder + summer in vale is important; Those Two are the ones she cares about—technically we don’t know for sure regarding summer yet, but the level of trust she has for the lieutenant holding beacon is suggestive—and that being reciprocated is what ignites her hope.

#she IS a fantastic villain #but what makes her so compelling as a villain is all the contradiction and tension in her character #how deeply she loves vs her deep conviction of being unlovable. not wanting to hurt people vs believing it’s the only way to free herself.#everything she does is so intensely personal and so circumscribed by the fear of rejection #these opposing forces drive change because they are pushing and shoving against each other inside her mind and the moment of culmination #occurs when one triumphs over the other. and then she changes in what i expect will be a startlingly dramatic fashion #(that doubles as writing advice btw if you want to write dynamic character arcs put unreconcilable contradictions in your characters)

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studentbyday · 3 months

Text

30 days of intentionality

starting this challenge with the goal of taking it one day at a time. i have a hard time doing that these days. i spend more time ruminating on the past or worrying about the future than staying in the present, even if that's when i'm most content. not sure how i'll format my posts and most likely, i'll only do weekly updates bc daily ones are too overwhelming. i'll just go with the flow, trying to trust that everything will end up as it's meant to be and maybe i'll be more productive as focusing primarily on the present moment becomes a habit.

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1. suo gân (arr. john williams for the ambrosian junior choir): i believe that if everyone lived by the idea of global citizenship and so saw the humanity in every individual from every background, there would be no war. reading the news fills me with fear, sorrow, and anxiety, but i also feel the responsibility to stay informed. did some studying today, more than yesterday, but it was kind of uncomfortable with the state of global politics lurking in the back of my mind. i'm still a little behind on school.

2. souvenir de paganini (chopin): today is not so bad. i'm making progress academically, but i do need to make time for social activities soon or i will get lonely and lose what little motivation i have very quickly.

3. once upon a december (arr. emile pandolfi): sometimes in the face of events and issues much bigger than myself that i have no control over, i feel like my dreams are pointless bc i think there's no way achieving them or trying to achieve them could possibly empower me to make real and important change that can truly benefit many. who knows if the future would even allow me to get that far. there are many things that could change the course of our lives that we don't have control over. but if others in worse situations than me and others much better informed than me can still have hope, then so can i. i didn't do much other than pharmacology and a little bit of philosophy today. i made more progress in pharmacology than expected, but that's only bc i didn't do any psych work. i also earned a few more mastery points on khan academy's integrated math 1 (not a priority, i know, but i wanted an easy win) and started lab tasks. i'm far from done with that, i need to do a little every day... i don't want to let them down! 🥺 (note to self: lying in bed is maybe NOT a good study break activity bc that just makes me not wanna do anything else after that and it's very very very hard to get out of that procrastination rut once i let myself fall into it.) 4. let's stay together (al green): everything should be going well, except i'm easily overwhelmed, and this time, it wasn't in an openly frazzled way, it was in a tired and slightly defeated "what's the point?" way, so i didn't realize it as quickly as i usually do. after some bed rest, cuddles 🧸, listening to steve jobs' commencement speech, and a little yoga, i felt better. "You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future." was something i didn't know i needed to hear today. i modified my to-do list and found that the list of things i "must do" was nearly as long as the list of things i "want to do" 😅

5. kreutzer sonata, movt. 1 (beethoven): pretty sure i've mentioned some of these songs before but...they really fit the mood! sometimes i feel things so strongly that i develop a tightening in my chest that can only be relieved in a scream... since i can't actually scream and i don't actually really like the physical feeling of it, i scream through exercise and music 😅 beethoven is very nice for when i'm feeling very annoyed or angry, especially if it's an anxious kind of angry or if it's anger at injustice/inequality. i can't find a piano solo version that does the fiery spirit of the violin justice. so in the vague future when i actually play this, either i try (and perhaps fail) to replicate that on the piano, or i find a violinist friend who would want to play with me 😅 right now though, imagining how i would physically create that sound on the piano will have to be enough. the prevailing thought/feeling of the day: sometimes i just really wanna believe in the good in people and believe that i can trust (some of) them. i long for that feeling of safety in a broader irl community that i actually belong in. i'm surprised by how often i long for it. but then my negativity is reinforced by news and people's opinions on it.

6. violin sonata no. 1 in g minor, bwv 1001 (j.s. bach): stuff was done. i felt calm/chill throughout the day, but even tho i feel good whenever that happens, it usually means i don't get an extraordinary amount of things done that day (lol since when do i ever). i'm not sure if it's enough, as there is still lots to do and i'm pretty sure that it's just wishful thinking that i'll achieve all my goals for this week by its end. i need to cut down my goals list to the realistic rather than idealistic version as always (school, lab, and basic self-maintenance tasks) 😅 gaawwwdd i hope i can do this...good night.

7. waltz in a minor, b. 150 (chopin): today and yesterday i have been able to keep my phone time under an hour. the days are blissful (if not at least calmer) and focused. 📚

8. only mine (laufey): cuddles in bed while listening to laufey is so soothing 🧸 takes me back to my childhood listening to lullabies in the dark 🥺 motivation to study is hard to find today. i just want to relax 🥺 i'll just do one tiny thing and see where i wanna go from there...

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paperstarwriters · 6 months

Note

Hello hope your day is amazing

I was wondering if you could write a Muriel x florist reader where when Muriel is making his once in awhile trip into vesuvia he goes past the readers shop and she gives him tulips because he looks sad and he takes them but after he's gone they forget him obv but the next time he comes into town it happens again and again until he finally gives the reader myrrh and then they remember all those times and get really embarrassed

My first request!!! Wow!!! Now technically I haven’t had any explicit availability on requests because of classes but, well I may just open them up now! (Of course though not all requests will end up this long 😅)

Also, I just wanna mention, that when I first got this request my day had been a little bit of a mess but this certainly brightened it thanks so much!! 💕💕💕💕

By the way, Anon, I am SO sorry I took so long to write this. It ended up getting really long and then I ended up deleting everything and rewriting everything because I thought it could’ve been better lol—Not an excuse, but I kinda wanna be transparent about these things because it helps me acknowledge that no, I did not magically make a perfect fanfic on my first go, and other authors do not make perfect fanfics in one go.

Also I understand that this has since been requested to someone else now too because I was taking so long, and I really don’t mind, though I feel kinda bad to have been so slow. Unfortunately life just tends to interfere and all that.

Anyways,

A Flower a Day Keeps The Lonely At Bay

Pairing: Muriel x Flowershop!Reader

Warnings: Lack of communication (ie. Muriel being shy), awful & rich customers, who pay the cops to chase you down, Reader also Swears. Summary: A flower a day keeps the lonely at bay, but two to three more, and I’m here at your door, ever waiting, ever waiting, never sure never sure.

Muriel finds himself making visits outside of his hut a little more frequently than usual, accumulating a small bouquet of flowers made larger by a few flowers at a time with every trip he makes to the market.

The only issue is, he hasn’t exactly paid for these.

Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word Count: 14, 181

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Muriel watched as red washed down from the coliseum stands.

He should be grateful. The sight should uplift him—should release that tension tied deep in his chest. It should fill his chest with something other than dread.

After all, for once, it wasn’t blood.

Red roses drip down from above, their petals peeling away from the bright blooming flowers, cut in the peak of their beauty fluttering in the wind, catching in the sunlight, and falling onto the hot arena sands, still yellow, still free from blood, now stained with a new shade of red. The audience cheers instead of screams, clapping instead of booing. They throw flowers instead of stones.

All for his opponent.

A foreign fighter from a kingdom not too far away, his opponent bathed with open arms in the rain of flowers and roses, smiling and waving at the people above who cheered and wailed their name in rapt awe and delight.

If he were sitting in the stands, watching the battle from afar, he’s certain he would see how clunky and awkward he had been fighting. Lucio had told him that unlike his usual “criminal” opponents he was not to kill the foreign fighter lest he piss off the other kingdom, and wile he wasn’t sure exactly when Lucio had grown so conscious of other people’s feelings, Muriel had been grateful for the chance not to kill his opponent.

It was naïve of him to assume it was something he could simply stop doing.

With every swing of his massive axe, made to cleave heads from their shoulders, Muriel found himself faltering. With every attack, he wondered if this was the swing that would kill his opponent, if this was the swing that would start a war between kingdoms. His opponent, who had no such qualms, was able to slowly whittle away at his defenses until they knocked him to the sand and pressed a dagger to his throat.

When Muriel was shuffled out of the coliseum to be slotted away into the cold cell they called his room, he watched as the other fighter received a glory he never saw for himself. Armfuls of gifts, boxes of food or sweets, letters sealed with hearts and given with bright grins on their faces, and armfuls upon armfuls of flowers. Sitting in his cell, Muriel watched as his opponent passed by with many servants in tow, all needing to be led by Lucio, as they couldn’t see past the heaps of flowers that crowded their arms.

A flower slipped past someone’s grasp, drifting it’s way into his room. It was rose-like in it’s colour. A deep crimson hue, although the shape of it was a far cry from a rose. He could hope that it was something precious and expensive, from some bouquet of foreign flowers, but Muriel couldn’t help but doubt. Perhaps it was something cheaper, something carelessly held and carelessly dropped into the cell of this careless fighter. Its a thing to be admired regardless, something pretty and colourful to enter his drab cell. He plucks it off of the floor, to cradle it’s delicate petals appreciate the soft, sweet smell of it.

Something sweet something soft, and colourful and kind.

It’s not something that would last very long with him.

Lucio returns past him a few moments later, having led the servants to whatever lavish room he had prepared for the foreigner and their followers. The red flower dropped against the hallway floors catches his eye, and with two golden talons he plucks it from the floor, smiling as he appreciates it’s delicate, feeble beauty. He continues down the hall, not even sparing Muriel a glance, as his footsteps crack against the stone floors.

He’ll throw it away the moment he gets outside perhaps, or maybe even sooner than that. Or maybe, just maybe he’ll get some small little cup and let the flower live just a little longer. It’s doubtful though, considering how easy it would be for someone like him to get more flowers. People gift him things all the time, and whatever he doesn’t receive as a gift, it would be simple for him to purchase himself.

Muriel never received gifts in his life as a gladiator.

After all he’s done, he didn’t deserve them.

He did not deserve flowers.

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Muriel pulled his basket closer towards himself, shifting the strap that attached it to his back to rest more comfortably on his shoulder. Although he initially refused the offer, he’s grateful for Asra’s insistence, and even more grateful for the gift. It’s practical. With it, he can carry so much more materials than he ever had before. Flour, rice, fruits, he can place it all in his basket and leave his hands free to purchase smaller things, like bread or berries or herbs, or whatever else he might need. Most importantly, being able to carry so much at once, Muriel can limit his trips into the market as a once in a month or two journey.

Sure, the basket made him look bigger, only drawing more attention to his broad looming frame, and sure, perhaps it was a bit heavy to carry so much groceries all in one go, but if it meant he’d only have to endure the bustle and crowds of the market less, it was certainly a sacrifice he was willing and ready to make. Even the longer journey the basket imposed on him—since it would not fit into the smaller alleyways—was made more tolerable knowing that he would not have to return for a while.

It’s his saving grace amidst the crush of people yelling and hawking their wares, the inconsiderately placed shops of medicine right beside shops of food where delicious scents make the dizzying medicine smell stronger. The push and shove of impatient customers—all of it is made just a little more tolerable knowing it’d be over soon.

Soon. He assures himself. Just a little further, then I’m out of the market. Just past these next few shops, just a little more…

A blur of bright colours catch his eye. Though it was hardly enough to stop him from walking, he slowed at the sight, unable to help but stare at the little shop squished between and behind a few other stalls. For some other shops perhaps the size would be moderate enough, if only a little squishy to sit inside, but for that shop in particular, it seemed downright tiny, dwarfed by the flowers that seemed to burst from any and every opening it could get, starved for space and sunlight, and with the vivid colours and unruly growth—starved for attention.

He didn’t mean to stop in place, but he couldn’t help but stare at all the pretty flowers before him. Butterflies twitched from where they sat atop flowers, and bees bumbled lazily from flower to flower, all delighted at the sheer variety they had before them to enjoy. Like the many insects around him, Muriel found himself drawn into the little alcove the shop provided, drowned in the flowers and their soft and tender scents.

Setting his basket aside, Muriel let himself breathe. The crush and bustle of the crowds were still there, but a panel from another shop blocked him from their view. An alcove large enough for him to hide him—he never thought he’d find a place like that.

“Hello?”

The voice was by no means loud. It was a far, far cry from anything accusatory or cruel, and yet still, Muriel can’t help the urge to leap up in place and run, the thin branch of flowers reaching over his head, serving as the only thing to stop him from doing so. Careless movement could damage the pretty little things, and even if it would sting, damaging the beauty of something seemingly so abandoned, he’d hate to have to deal with the ire of the shopkeep should he damage their precious merchandise.

—Should he damage your precious merchandise.

Wearing mud-smeared clothing and a pair of gloves, it was clear you were the caregiver of these flowers and therefore, the owner of the shop.

Maybe he should have noticed it sooner—seen the vibrant colours and assumed nothing that bright and big could grow naturally, or maybe he should have looked closer to those openings and noted how clean the curtains of the window—the very one you now leaned out from—were.

“I’m sorry.” he mutters, scrambling to get his things while still taking care not to damage the flowers of your shop.

“No, no. It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling a little as you watch him pick up his basket once more. “You don’t have to go, I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“I’m out of money,” he blurts out in reply.

While technically a lie, there is some semblance of truth in it too. He’s already spent his limit of what he set out to buy today, and he really didn’t want to buy any more, just in case he needed the money for something else more important.

“That’s fine you don’t have to buy anything. It’s a nice place to relax here.”

Muriel nodded, but knowing he’s long since outstayed his welcome, he turns instead, fully ready to leave and let you forget. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to come by this side of the market place again any time soon.

“Hey! Wait!”

Oh no.

What did you want now? Did he break something? He might’ve hit or damaged some of those flowers with the basket, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to accept Asra’s gift. It made it so much harder to not bump into things. Automatically, he reaches for his pockets prepared to out himself for his earlier lie rather than have to deal with the accusations and demands for damaging merchandise.

Instead, he finds the flowers still intact, and a new one, bright yellow, and mere inches from his face.

“Here,” you say with a smile as you lean out—nearly tipping yourself out—form your shop’s little window. “Take it. Just a little something to brighten your day.”

It’s a simple little flower, with yellow petals like the sunshine that dappled through your flowers and their leaves.

He hesitates, unsure of whether or not to receive your little gift, what your ulterior motives might be, or what he needed to do for this gift, but you had been insistent, slipping the flower into his half open hand before he has a chance to back out. Satisfied with your gift, you smile with a brightness that matches the flower you’ve given him, warm like spring sunshine.

Despite the abruptness of the gift, he manages a small smile, nodding a little in thanks before he promptly turns to leave and finally be out of the market.

The simple yellow flower, with little else it could go, remained in his hand held to his chest as he weaved in between other market-goers. Listening for the sounds of shouting and screaming that never made it’s way to his ears. It’s not like you would remember. It’s not like you would even know.

Technically speaking, he didn’t have to keep it. Honestly, it’s probably nothing more than a ploy to get him to return and actually buy something from your shop, and it’s not like you’d remember him to ask what he’s done with the flower. Not like he could do anything with it anyways. Unlike Asra’s gift, it’s impractical, and Muriel finds himself wondering what you even expected him to do with it.

His fingers trail along the velveteen petals as he walks, appreciating the faint but pleasant smell that sits at the flower’s center. Whatever beauty he finds in it now is fleeting. It won’t last very long, especially since he has no vase to put it in.

It’s just a flower. He has no obligation to keep it.

It’s not like you would remember anyways.

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Shrugging the basket off his shoulders, Muriel makes quick work of putting away the items he’s bought. The bread flour gets tucked into the bottom shelf of the alcove of food he keeps in the house, and the fruits go in a bowl a little higher than that. Finally the bread is placed and covered in it’s own little box. Inanna runs around him welcoming home as he trundles around setting everything into it’s place, tail wagging like a dog. Even as she jumps up on her hind legs to greet him, she's just as careful as he is not to bump into his table, lest the cup at it’s center fall over and spill the yellow tulip it cradles onto the floor.

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Muriel returned to the market a bitter few days later. The basket had made him eager on his last trip, urging him to get everything done and over with so he wouldn't have to be there long, but he had forgotten that the chicken feed needed some extra restocking with the rain season lurking just around the corner. Muriel wasn't technically responsible for Bok-Bok and her friends. They could easily care for themselves as they, and all other chickens scattered in the forest, have been doing long before he had arrived. As a neighbor who occasionally borrowed eggs, however, Muriel had an obligation to lend a helping hand, and he knew full well how difficult the rainy season made it to find berries and seeds. There were of course plenty of worms, but robins and crows were quick to snatch those things up and some days there was just too much water for even the worms to enjoy. In those moments Bok-Bok and company would really need his help, and he was not about to let them down.

He hauls two bags of chicken feed in his basket, the bite of the straps onto his shoulders almost as bad as the bite of the cost into his limited pouch of coins. Technically he’d only really need one bag, but seeing as chicken feed was edible, Muriel was hoping to use at least some of it for his own meal within the coming days. There’d still be plenty for Bok-Bok and the others, but this would make things easier on him for a while as well.

The feed shifts side to side with every step he takes, the shift in weight feels almost hypnotizing, as he walks. It’s an imperfect distraction from the typical sounds and smells and feeling of the marketplace, but it’s a distraction nonetheless. People continue to press against him, and he feels the grains shift to his left. People continue to chatter and talk, the sound of it layered thickly over the sound of crashes and movement and moving creaky objects, and he feels the grains of the bag shift to his right. That awful smell of medicine entwined with fresh bread and he feels—

“Hey!! You!!”

Muriel freezes in place. When his head snaps to the sound of the scream, the rest of his body is already preparing to run away. And yet, when he sees that familiar face—your familiar face—he finds himself unable to move

For the second time within the few weeks he’s been here, he meets your eyes, and your own grow wide.

As if you recognized him.

Just as quickly it appears, it vanishes and you continue to yell.

“Watch your step!” you yell and point to a little spool of ribbon, sitting just where he would have stepped.

Muriel allows himself to relax, following your gaze downwards, taking a step backwards rather than forwards to find a spool of golden ribbon, lined with green that sat just beneath his feet. He’s about to apologize for almost crushing it when you promptly continue.

“I’m sorry, but yeah could you get that? I don’t want someone to step on it and trip like you almost did”

He nods as he bends over, freezing momentarily to shuck off the basket on his back when he feels the grains of feed slip forward. Taking the little spool in hand, he ducks back into the little alcove where your shop resides and hands it back to you, promptly rewarded with a smile flashed his way.

His face warms at the attention, but he doesn’t find it all too bad.

“Thank you. Oh, and here! As thanks.” You pull from behind you another flower—another tulip. It’s orange this time, tinted yellow around the edges. It’s the colour of a sunset, or his warm fireplace at night—the colour of even warmer smiles.

Although he hesitates, he takes this flower as well, bringing it to his nose to drown out the smell of medicine and food swirling together unpleasantly just a few stalls down.

It works better than the rice of his basket had managed at least.

Muriel manages a nod and soft grunt as thanks, trying to avoid the bright smile on your face as he slings his basket back onto his shoulders and trundles off once more. Another flower held carefully between his fingers.

He knows he doesn’t have to take it or keep it.

He knows he still will anyways.

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Asra visits a day or two later, and grins when Muriel is unable to give them their own cup for tea, especially since it was the one cup they had purchased themself. Still, they grin, and even snicker, as if unaware of the turmoil that brews at his inability to be a good friend and give them what’s theirs. Instead, they only fuel the fire of his anxiety and coyly remark that he should get another cup for whoever had given him his tiny bouquet of flowers.

It’s only then that Muriel realizes he could have, and should have argued back.

He still tries, though he knows it’s too late for that.

“How do you know I didn’t pick them myself?”

“Because you don’t tend to pick flowers for yourself,” Asra replies easily, grinning happy and easy, with that familiar glow of mischief in their eyes. “You should make a vase for them. It’d look nice, I think.”

Muriel can feel his face grow hot as he hesitates to refute Asra’s offer, which only makes their grin grow wider and wider in reply. Eventually he sighs, and though he doesn’t make any direct confirmation or denial, Asra laughs, knowing full well what that sigh entailed.

Despite it all, Muriel found himself smiling too.

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Muriel wanders through the marketplace a mere two days since his last visit. He’s without his basket, as he has been for the last handful of times he’s been there, but the journey is still overbearing. Visiting so often within such a short amount of time was quickly giving him a painful headache, and the temptation to just buy some spiced bread or some other delicious smelling food, to drown out the worst of the busy, busy, world around him, was only trumped by the fact that he did not bring any money with him.

Lately, on his last few trips to the marketplace, he neglected to bring any coins, knowing it’d be better for him to focus on saving up for when he really needed the money. Technically he didn’t need the money that much, being fully capable of living off of the forest, but difficult times such as the upcoming rainy season was made much easier when he could just buy the things he needed. For now, however, he’s simply content to wander through the marketplace and shop for inspiration; his only payment being his time, and the need to be there in the first place.

Carving a vase is easy. It should be easy, compared to the other things he’s carved. it’s a pretty simple wooden thing practically a deeper, wider cup with a little flare at the top like a plate. That was something he could carve, but he recalled seeing other vases around the marketplace, and despite himself, curiosity got the better of him and he stopped by to look at the vases other people had made. He’s been returning pretty often much to his dismay, as he kept on realizing or remembering the design of a vase he had only glimpsed at when he returned to the hut. Not to mention how his initial design might not even work anymore.

With every visit he’s made to the marketplace, he passed by or took shelter by your little flower shop on the way back home, and every time without fail, you called out to him. Even on days where he forgot to try and stop by, where he, fully engrossed in some other thing, or the dizzying feeling of the crowd around him, you still called out to him, with some excuse or other for you to offer him a flower. Some days he got a single tulip. Other times he’s received up to three different blooms. He gets a different flower each time, and each time he has to add the flower to his rapidly filling makeshift vase. It’s no longer a cup, but a rather sorry chunk of wood with a hole down the middle and water at the bottom. So busy with his visits to the market, he hadn’t had the time to really work on it.

If he was being truthful, he had been trying to avoid the task. What could he carve that could adequately hold such pretty flowers that you’ve given him? It’s the first bouquet he’s ever received, he wants to make something fitting for your gifts.

With how consistently you give him flowers, Muriel can’t help but forget that you don’t even remember him. He can’t help but forget you don’t really even know him. Not in the way that he knows you. Even if he knows you in sporadic fragments, he still knows you more than you know him.

Perhaps it’s made him cocky. Overconfident in his understanding of you.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t expect to see you like this.

You are the sun, radiant and bright for your flowers, providing them warmth, providing them light before you give them away to others to illuminate their day or the day of whoever is lucky enough to receive that gift.

Somehow, he never anticipated the fact that maybe the sun couldn’t always be shining.

“I AM NOT PAYING THIS MUCH FOR THIS STUPID SHIT!!!”

Eyes shift away from Muriel towards the loud argument of some overzealous self-entitled noble who failed to recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Selfishly, Muriel finds relief at the distraction bathing in how for once, in the crowd he was not the spectacle to be stared at instead it was—

Oh.

You stand under the barrage of cruelty raised against you and smile. It falters, it twists, but you do your best to maintain your smile, to appease your audience, someone who clearly did not deserve your grace.

“With the amount of money you had outlined—”

“YOU ARE LITERALLY JUST PICKING FLOWERS—CHILDREN COULD DO THAT!! WHY SHOULD I PAY SO MUCH FOR SOME DAISES YOU PICKED?!”

The stranger’s hand slammed on the small windowsill that you usually leaned on rattling the worn material below it. Bees and butterflies fled from their refuge in your flowers and even some weaker flowers toppled over under the stress. Even if he could not see it for himself, Muriel could tell you were trembling, every flower that so much as brushed against you vibrated in place, your fear bleeding into them, as you tried your best to smile despite it all.

If not for the flowers, he’d believe it too.

“WERE YOU NOT LISTENING WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT THESE WERE FOR AN IMPORTANT EVENT?!? YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT I’M EVEN BUYING FROM YOUR PATHETIC LITTLE SHOP!!! IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME SOME BETTER FLOWERS I WILL—”

It’s hard to tell what compels him more, the barely restrained discomfort that you radiate, or the bitter anger that only rises with every wretched word that comes out from the noble’s poor excuse for a mouth. If he were a better person, perhaps he’d go to you first, but just like with any fight, it was foolish of him to assume violence was something he could simply stop doing.

It always came back to him one way or another.

He strode, unthinkingly with every intention to just get rid of the unpleasant nobleman. Whether he was going to punch them, shove them aside and away from you, or simply pick them up and throw them into the nearest canal, Muriel would never know, because thankfully the noble was more cowardly than they had seemed.

All it took was for him to stand behind them, his shadow swallowing them whole as he glared them down before they were scrambling backwards and sputtering threats about money and guards. A hard threat to follow through on considering the stranger won’t even remember him the next day.

He’s tempted to follow the noble as they run. Tempted to chase them down and force them to never do it again. To show them how strong they really were in the face of a cruel world. Greedy wretches like them wouldn’t survive a day in the coliseum.

But would he really be able to stomach dragging them there?

Red flickers in the corner of his eyes, and Muriel instinctively turns, bracing for the sight of blood. Instead he finds flowers, and you flinching with wide terrified eyes, and a smile barely there on your twisted lips.

“Hello,” you say, flatly, only loosely coloured with a false cheer, just barely covering your trembling voice.

“…Hi.” He manages to mutter back. “Are you…okay?”

You relax a little, no longer afraid, but a look of hurt still lingers in your expression, and Muriel doesn’t know if or how he should try to help. Still, you manage to nod, and smile, however sad it may be.

“I’m fine,” you sigh in a way that always preludes a “but”. “It’s just that, he still didn’t pay for the bouquet.”

You gesture to the bundle of flowers a beautiful splash of red all clustered beautifully together. There are a litany of different shades of red and even a few other colours amidst the bunch, each complimenting the other, looking much less like the chaotic spatter that he still had at home. He could see roses amidst the bunch, de-thorned and coloured in hues he’s never seen before. Taller more spindly flowers sit amidst the bunch as well, though he’s unable to tell them by their names unsure if they are true in colour or made to look similar to the rest through whatever magic you were using.

Despite it’s beauty, you glare at it, as if you hoped it could shrivel up and die.

“I used so many flowers for that thing, what am I supposed to do with it now?” another grumble escapes you, sounding almost like a bitter growl. He flinches when you grab a flower and it’s pot, something set out as a display, and snatch it into the confines of your shop. He almost expects to hear the pot shatter, but your hands snap back out to grab another without so much of a whisper of the first pot being set down.

“Don’t you give some of your flowers out for free?” Muriel blurts out, regretting the question as soon as he asked it. Did it sound suspicious? Insulting?

“Those are special situations,” you snap back. “Besides, I do NOT give full bouquets out for free. That shit is expensive you know?! I put a lot of time and effort into them!”

Muriel nods, but he doesn’t think you see, as you carefully yank another bundle of flowers back into your shop, angry footsteps making the remaining blooms tremble from the force of it.

“I put all my hard time and effort growing these flowers! Contrary to popular belief I am NOT just running around in a meadow, picking out little flowers to take back home and sell for cheap! I grow these things myself! I colour them! I mix them together! I’m not some nobleman with access to flower farms and flower farmers!!”

Muriel busies himself by picking up the flowers you have further out for display, and bringing them back towards your shop. He doesn’t know where the door is, burred under flowers and greenery somewhere, but he tucks the display into the nook where he had hid many times before, keeping the flowers from prying eyes and greedy hands.

It’s the only thing keeping him in place really. As you continue to stomp back and forth in your shop, ranting about rich customers trying to cheat their way out of paying for your flowers. Even if he knows it’s not directed his way, Muriel can’t help but feel a growing sense of guilt.

He did that too. He’s doing that right now.

You don’t remember it, and to you it probably seems like you’ve been giving various different strangers tulips, but he has a bouquet of them now—one even bigger than that noble failed to pay for.

He carefully tucks the last of the flower displays away, carefully arranging the flowers so that none stick out and reveal their location to onlookers, and prepares to run away, internally promising to never return and never steal flowers from you again.

What he intends as a final glance your way, hoping to leave while your back is turned, roots him in place instead.

You stand, hands over your eyes, furiously scrubbing as you try to both hide and stop your tears. Torn between running to help you and running away, Muriel stands and stares, as useless to help as the flowers that still surround you.

“I just… fuck,” you hiss, or at least you try to around the hiccups of your sobbing. “It’s just so hard. They demand money from me and then refuse to pay me for my hard fuckng work! What do they even get out of hoarding that much money?”

Why can’t he decide? The choice to help you is as obvious as it was when you were being threatened by the nobleman earlier. And yet, when faced with a problem that he can’t solve with violence he’s stuck.

It really is all he’s good for isn’t it?

You duck behind your window to hide your tears, but he can hear your back hit the wall and the hiss of fabric against stone as you slide down to your knees and succumb to sniffles and sobs.

With little else to say or do, Muriel turns and runs away.

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A moment of terror pulls you from your sorrow as you remember the flower stands you left outside the shop. You’ve already lost a lot of time and effort on the bouquet for the noble who never paid, you can’t afford to loose your display flowers as well.

About to bolt out from the shop to look for them, you glance to the shops beside you wondering if your neighbors decided to be cruel, or if you could see the escaping thief. Instead, you find your flower stands tucked away in a little alcove between your shop and one of the neighboring booths beside it. The flowers are carefully tucked beneath each other, to keep from springing up over the other shop’s crates, and remain hidden from any potential thieves.

It’s not anything grand enough to make you reconsider opening the shop back up for the day, nor does it quell the roll of anxiety in your chest, but it’s enough to make you smile again. Even if only a little.

It takes you a moment to recall that a stranger had been here only moments ago after the departure of the nobleman, but beyond their presence you can’t recall anything about them. You know they helped a little, but the how or why evades you.

Instead you return to work tucking your flowers away inside, before you finally close shop and head back to your garden.

You can’t recall what the stranger’s face looks like, but the fleeting memory of them still lingers in your mind. They remind you, strangely, of tulips.

Perhaps you could give them one next time you saw them. Hopefully you’d recognize them in the crowd.

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Muriel’s fingers sift through the flowers that sit in his little wooden makeshift vase. In a better world he’d be able to give back all the flowers he had taken from you—stolen from you—and you would be able to sell your flowers to people who could pay for and better deserved the beautiful blooms. Instead, Muriel finds many of the flowers already starting to wilt in the vase, petals growing crumpled and stems growing weak. The first flower you had given him was a husk of it’s former beauty.

He shouldn’t have gotten it in the first place. That fleeting beauty would have been better spent on someone better than him. Someone who could appreciate it better with a crystal vase—or even a simple painted clay vase to carry the flowers and show off how pretty they were.

Or just…someone with more money than him. Someone who could actually pay you for your flowers.

Someone…. Someone who would deserve them.

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Once more, Muriel makes his journey into the market, the dizzying smells and feelings and noises made all the more worse by the burden of his objective. Two pouches sat in his pockets both burning through fabric and skin to scorch him to his bones. Every passing jostle against his body had him scrambling to check if both bags were still there, panic flooding him when he forgot that he had moved one of the bags from one pocket to another.

Over and over again scenarios flashed through his mind. He tried to keep himself reasonable, tried to expect the worst so he wouldn’t be disappointed, but hope—ever stubborn, and ever cruel—slipped in regardless of his wishes. He hoped that you’d still like him afterwards, that you wouldn’t ask him to pay for all the flowers he had taken from you, that you’d be happy to be able to remember him, but the truth of the matter was, that he was just another customer. All he had been receiving was a placating smile in hopes that he’d buy from you.

If only he could hate you for that. It’d be so much easier if he could let himself feel like he had been cheated, or wronged, but you were just trying to make money for yourself, just like everyone else. Could he condemn you for that?

The sickening smell of some strong smelling meal with pungent medicine fills his chest once more, and the once familiar need to vomit at the smell grows stronger knowing your shop is only a little further away. His hands gravitate towards the two pouches in his pockets and he squeezes them, hoping that for once the universe would be kind to him and he wouldn’t make some awful mistake like mix them up and give you the wrong bag too soon.

With every step closer he gets to your shop, Muriel recites in his mind what he wants to tell you, his apology for what he’s done and his willingness to not bother you again.

Someone else is already shopping at your booth. Muriel watches from nearby, trying to remember what he needs to tell you while he waits his turn.

“If you don’t mind, I need a few flowers, not too many…”

He just needed to tell you that he was willing to leave you be.

“How many flowers will that be? Oh, and what kind?”

No, no, he needed to apologize first for taking all of your flowers.

“Any kind will do. I just need them for a… friend of mine. They’re ill, and I... I made a promise to them.”

He’d need to explain what had happened as well. Explain how he kept receiving flowers from you, and explain how he’d need to pay for it.

“Oh, I hope they’ll be okay soon, how about this?”

“Oh that looks gorgeous!”

He’d need to tell you about that magic, that kept others from remembering him, and he’d need to….

“…oh, I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t pay that much.”

“…how much can you pay?”

Muriel watches the old man place a few coins onto the table. It really isn’t much, but telling by the clothes he wears and the stains that litter them, it’s clear that he’s been trying to save up for this. Your own eyes, grow dim at the sight of the meager amount he brings. Would it even pay for a few flowers? Would it even pay for a single flower?

Your eyes flutter closed and your hands grip the flowers as if you were going to yell at the old man, but you’re trembling as well, fighting against something before you look back up and smile.

No. No, no. You can’t be thinking—gossip travels fast in the marketplace, even faster when it’s something of concern or interest to a noble. If that person gets word that you’re giving out free flowers after that stunt you pulled yesterday…

“Alright. Take it.”

…What will happen to you?

“No—wait.” Muriel steps in, his own coin pouch in his trembling hands. “that…how much does that cost?”

It’s a smaller bouquet than what you’ve given him over his many many visits, but he still winces as you take the money. He’s now the one without enough funds to pay you back for your flowers. He’s now the one marring your reputation—making it seem like your prices are something fickle, that someone could just get a bouquet of tulips for free if they looked sad or sorry enough.

Was that why he had gotten all those flowers? You did say some were to brighten his day. Did he truly look so miserable?

The old man smiles up at him, and thanks him profusely as he leaves with his flowers. Muriel manages a smile, but a nagging feeling at the back of his head tells him it looks more like a grimace. When he turns back to look at you, you meet his half-smile half grimace with one of your own.

“Thank you so, so much for that—but you didn’t have to.”

“But yesterday—I saw—heard—” Muriel coughs, fighting the rising warmth in his face. “I heard about that… customer…yesterday. I just.... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile, eyes falling closed as you recall something before you look up to him. “Yesterday, a kind stranger stepped in to protect me. It was…really sweet.”

Muriel forces himself to turn away from your fond expression. For all the preparation that he put in anticipating what he should do when you hate him, he never prepared for what he should do if you liked him.

While your attention is diverted, Muriel begins his attempt to scurry away from the situation before it grows too awkward, but not for the first time, you call out to him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Before you go!” Once more he stops and turns. He knows his face is flushed, he know he looks ridiculous, but he turns out of habit to the sound of your voice, like a sunflower to the sun. “—here. Just as thanks.”

Muriel stares at the flower you give him his mind flying back to a small cell beneath a roaring crowd. A rose coloured tulip, the likes of which he’s never seen before, sits in his palm as another gift from you. He’s never seen a tulip this red before. Brighter than the colour of blood.

He tries to hand it back, but your hands sit atop of his and push back, insistent on giving your gift.

You smile when you tell him, “Please, it’s a gift.” But he feels nothing but dread.

Another flower stolen, another bloom he can no longer afford to pay for.

He does not deserve flowers.

He certainly did not deserve yours.

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Muriel doesn’t return to the market. He doesn’t—won’t—need to for a while. The basket Asra had given him really lived up to it’s practical uses. He savors the fresh cool air of the forest, untainted by headache-inducing smoke billowing from medicine shops or blacksmiths or bakeries of sleepy bakers. The hiss and hush of the trees, sounds soothing to his ears rather than the cacophony of chatter, of yelling and demanding from sellers and buyers.

He feels alive and safe in the forest.

At least, more than he had felt when he was in the city—when he was just a child.

A lifetime of struggling for money and food and running from guards called by over zealous nobles was not something that he expected would every leave him. In the same way the blood may never wash from his hands, the dirt and disgust he carried for being one of many strays in the South End would never leave him either. It’s something he could live with though. Something he could endure within the safety of the forest.

…He just never thought he’d be the one causing someone to struggle the way he did.

It’s not the same. He knows that it’s not the same. You have a shop that you are able to maintain—a viable way to make money. With all your flowers, you probably had a garden, you probably had the ability to grow fruits and vegetables that you could eat and rely on when times got tough. And most of all, you are an adult. You can fend for yourself, act for yourself. You don’t need help the way a child does. You can survive.

…but sometimes just surviving just made things worse.

He just made things worse.

What if you were struggling for food? What if you wouldn’t be able to maintain that shop for much longer? What if all those flowers you gave him were what lead that noble to think it was okay to get flowers from you for cheap?

Even if he couldn’t be remembered perhaps people remembered seeing you give flowers away for free to someone over and over again. A free flower every now and then would hardly be anything bad but Muriel had enough to consider it a bouquet.

He had to pay you back.

It might take some time, but hopefully his carvings were appraised better than they were when he was a child. Hopefully more people liked them. Hopefully he could make enough money to pay you back soon.

Wooden animals sit between Muriel’s legs as he carved away at another figurine from a block of wood. It was a little sloppy, as was the other figures, but seeing as he needed to make back the funds at least somewhat quickly, he needed a lot of figures in a short amount of time.

The knife slipped against the wood, and cut into his hand. Deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to garner worrry. Not for his hand at least. Blood stained the wood he carved, tainting the wooden flower with a bloody patch of red, soaking into the wood.

Muriel sighed, as the blood seeped deeper and deeper into the pale wood. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to carve the stain away to salvage the flower, he set it aside, and wiped the blood from his hand, and started again against a new block of wood.

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For all Muriel had planned and worried the location and use of a stall was not one of the things he had considered. The market was filled with vendors all squished against each other in an attempt to sell wares. Any of his old places for selling things as a child were either filled by new children, hawking trinkets and other odds and ends, or far too small for him to fit in and comfortably sell from now.

He tried to wander through the busier parts of the market, even amidst the crash and chatter of people around him, but earlier vendors had beat him to the stalls, and no one was willing to spare any space.

Eventually, though he tried to avoid it, he came down to your side of the market, where there were just a little less shops than before. Even here however there was no space that he could take that wasn’t a crushing squish against two other shops.

The familiarly grating smell of medicine and baked goods wafted past him and instinctually he glanced your way, even if he hoped not to see you and gain another flower he needed to pay back.

Only, you weren’t there at all.

Where there was once a little window surrounded on all sides by flowers that seemed to burst out from the room within, there was instead, a green door. Upon closer inspection a thin line divided the door in half so the top could be opened or the bottom could be opened, and he realized that this had been the window you once leaned out from to sell your flowers.

And now, flowerless it had been closed.

What happened to you? Did the noble come around and confiscate all your flowers for some crime you didn’t commit? Had he been too late to help you? Too late to fix his mistakes?

He didn’t know how long he had spent staring at the blank walls, taking in all the imperfections he had never seen and never wanted to see before, but it was long enough, that someone inevitably noticed him.

“Hello?”

Muriel nearly leapt up from his place and ran, if not for the person he turned to see.

Still smudged with dirt, with flower petals and leaves caught in your clothes, you stood before him, smiling but confused.

“I’m sorry, did you want something from the shop?”

The bag of coins burns in his pockets, both too heavy and too light for him to hold. He scrambles for an explanation, something feasible to explain away the situation, and allow him to go on his way once more, but his mouth dries with every attempt, and the urge to confess his crimes and get it over with builds high in his chest.

In the end, he abandons his words and shakes his head instead.

With an even more confused look on your face, you shake your head almost dismissively, but a smile still lingers on your lips. It reaches your eyes too, drawing lines across your face from the force of it all. He tries to convince himself that it’s genuine, but the doubt is hard to remove once planted.

After all, you always smile to your customers, even if they don’t deserve it.

“What are you doing here then?”

“I… Just…I’m passing by,” he manages, watching as your smile shifts for a moment. It softens, but it never leaves your face.

“Oh. Where are you off to?”

He glanced away, tempted to just give some non commital answer and just leave before you could ask something else, but he catches sight of your empty shop once more and finds his feet rooted in place.

“I…. I was looking for a space to set up a temporary shop.”

“Oh! What are you selling?”

Since it’d be easier than trying to explain, Muriel reaches into his basket, pushing aside the blanket covers to protect against the sun and the wooden support beams he was planning to use to hold the blanket up, to reveal the wooden carvings that sat beneath it all. He grabs the first one he feels pulling it free and offering it for your inspection.

“Oh! That’s so pretty!” He looks at it in your hands now, one of the flowers he had carved from wood. It’s no tulip, but he’s glad you seem to like it at the very least.

“You can keep it if you want.”

“Really?” you ask, your voice wrung with awe sounding almost almost breathless to his ears.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to tell if you were actually pleased or just smiling, Muriel glances your way, finding that soft smile once more on your lips, as your fingers carefully trace around the center of the flower. He turns away from the sight of it.

“Sure.”

“Oh, hey, in exchange, how about…” Muriel braces himself for the flower you’d always give him. No matter how pretty or soft it’s petals looked he would not accept. He couldn’t, knowing that he’d have to add another flower considering how much he’d need to pay for it.

Instead, you gesture to the shop, and smile.

“Here! You said you wanted to look for a stall to sell your things at, you can use my shop.”

And though Muriel knows full well what your shop looks like, for the first time today he turns and actually looks.

Between two stalls sits the little window, where you once leaned out and smiled at him as he passed. Except, with it’s top “shutter” closed, he could now see it was a door, sitting listlessly against the off-white walls. Around it, where flowers once bloomed, cracks in the stone are so abundantly clear. Exposed for all to see without flowers covering the cracks. Sitting lifeless, colourless, and empty, he little shop seemed even smaller, crowded out by other people’s boxes. A hollow husk of what it had been before.

Or, perhaps it was hollow because you weren’t there anymore.

For all the questions he wanted to ask, all the distress and apologies he wanted to offer, all Muriel can stomach to ask, is a pathetic, strangled, “why?”

Why weren’t you using your shop anymore? Why did you remove all your flowers as if you were just moving out? Why were you letting him use that shop?

Why, even when you couldn’t remember him, did you still trust him?

Why were you kind to him?

Why—

Muriel turns to the sound before you do, the heavy footsteps of armored soldiers marching with that distinct rattle of their shiny armor that only ever meant they were here on purpose, rather than just on patrol.

You catch sight of them a moment later, the same time that they catch sight of you.

And all Muriel can do is stare.

It’s funny really, how, in the past it had almost been second nature for him to run and hide at the sound of clanking armor, grabbing any other children he’d see who had yet to notice lest they get taken by the soldiers seeking to “clean up” the marketplace. But maybe it was all that time he had to spend trying not to flinch and run from the soldiers in the coliseum lest the taunt and tease him while he was helpless to do anything else, or maybe it was the safety net that his gift provided, knowing they could never come for him.

It doesn’t matter anyways. He’s rooted to the ground, helpless to do anything to help you.

A familiar face grins behind their armored friends, looking as pleased as they looked punchable, as if tattling to the soldiers about whatever offense you didn’t commit was something they could be proud of doing. As if they weren’t just some massive coward hiding behind armor and gold.

As if they were really in the right.

He’d scowl if he could manage, but he feels far away from his body, bracing for cold impact of armored hands against mere flesh. Ready to drag him away somewhere cold and dark and alone. Ready to drag him back to the arena.

Instead, the hand that finds him is warm.

Warm fingers thread themselves between his, and suddenly he’s being pulled through the marketplace, just barely able to grab his bag before he’s running between stalls and down alleyways, as the soldiers clamor and shout clumsily crashing through booths and debris in their pursuit.

The both of you are fast, but the soldiers, trained as they are, are faster, and grow closer and closer as you stumble on each other’s feet trying to stick together. You seem to have a destination in mind, but running home with these soldiers on your tail is never, ever a good idea. You seem to know this, but you don’t seem to know how to loose them.

Muriel on the other hand does.

All it takes is a few strides and a squeeze of your hand before Muriel is leading you through the streets, diving down alleyways, and between shops and their carts, before he shoves you into a small dip between two buildings, crowded with boxes and goods from the stalls that sat on either side, and his basket set in front of him for good measure. The two shopkeepers glared his way, frustrated at his strange intrusion, but they fail to notice that he had someone with him, as they often do if that other person is hidden quickly enough. Though their eyes on him makes his skin prickle, they slide off as easily as water on oil, and soon they return to their own business, forgetting that Muriel had ever even existed as their attention drifts away, and they return to attending to their wares.

The crash of soldiers is audible in the distance, and behind him, hands pressed to his back, Muriel can feel you grow tense. Your hands ball up into fists on his cloak, and you press your face into his back as if it may be able to better help you hide from them. It lets him feel you breathe, trying to keep it slow, and deep, trying to relax yourself, but the tremors remain. It makes him want to hold you, take your hand in his to reassure you, tell you that everything will be okay, but when he still trembles at the growing sound of iron on stone and wood, all he can do is stand still and quiet, hoping to all hope that the shopkeepers beside him would not note his presence and, that what little magic he has won’t fail him,

Above all, if everything else fails, he hopes you remain safe.

Their armor glistens in the sunlight, blindingly bright, a distraction and protection he’s fallen victim to many times before. One turns his way, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, Muriel loses his breath. Behind him you tense as well, as if his tension passed onto you. As if you could somehow see through him, and met the guard’s eyes.

He wonders if you had poked your head out from behind him, wonders if the guard had somehow seen you—a scrap of your clothes perhaps, or some sliver of your skin. He hopes to all hope that you had not done so, but he tries to puff up his chest despite it all, use the width of his shoulders to truly make sure you were covered.

And no matter how much he wants to do otherwise, Muriel keeps his eyes open, and stares down not only the guard before him, but also the group behind him, watching and waiting for that moment of recognition, the moment when the guards eyes stopped slipping away, the moment when he’d have to shove the soldier away to let you escape.

To make sure no one was dragged to the coliseum again.

Someone yells behind the guard, loud and abrasive, and Muriel has to keep himself from flinching at the sound. For another moment the guard lingers, eyes still scanning the area, where Muriel stood, as if he wasn’t there at all, for a mere second perhaps, before they turn away eyes still slipping off of Muriel like water against oil. The soldiers continue on hollering and barking as they chase shadows down the street. It’s only when they fade out from earshot that Muriel finally relaxes, and behind him, he can feel you do the same.

It’s an awkward little shuffle around when he steps away to let you escape your confines. Your hand doesn’t quite leave his back so readily, trailing down before falling away, leaving phantom trails of pressure and warmth still lingering on his skin, even if you never actually touched him directly. He tries to distract himself amidst it, focus on getting his basket back on his back. Focus on the possibility of another patrol of soldiers passing by. He doesn’t notice that you had been waving for his attention until you fingers slip beneath the belts across his chest and you yank.

“Thank you,” you whisper-hiss, freeing his belt to capture his hand instead. “C’mon, follow me. I know a safe place we could lay low for awhile.

Your hand is warm in his. Sweaty from running, but warm, with callouses marking the inside of your knuckles. Your rough hands against his own, and yet cradling his carefully with your touch. In his earlier haste he didn’t get the chance to notice that.

You tug, he follows.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

For all that he’s known you, for all the times he’s visited, all he’s ever seen from you were smiles that bent your eyes with it’s fondness, soft as the flowers that surrounded you and vibrant as the sun that fed them.

But that hardly counted as knowing a person.

For all you had forgotten of him, he never really got to know you.

The city grows more glittery and sharp as you tug him towards the decrepit opulence of the flooded district, right along the edge of the temple district where old temples sat in ruin, flooded with water that bent their floorboards and made space frigid during the night. Yet those flaws hardly stopped children from scurrying into the upper levels through windows, standing in the frigid dust laden rooms, and pretending they had a better life.

He remembers doing the same himself, with vivid fondness, trying and failing to climb up the side of the building after soldiers broke all the available climbing structures, that could support his weight. Asra managed on the tiny ledges, and weak remains, but Muriel and many other children struggled to do the same.

Thick walls of ivy, and even a small tree grows there now, the ground having been cleared of tiles to make space for dirt and mud to allow for the growth.

He turns his attention back to you, as you continue to pull him past buildings, littered with new blooms that climbed the walls.

For all that you had forgotten of him, Muriel barely knew you.

–––––––––✿・✿・✿–––––––––

You stop before a fence that looms even above him, coated in greenery, with sharp, rusted metal spikes that jut out from the top of the bushes.

He can see thorns entwined with the green shrubbery, thin and clustered together to make it hard to avoid getting scratched or hurt by any attempt to climb up it, which perhaps, is why it was an area that seemed so abandoned. Unlike the well-maintained gardens of many nobles, what could a trespasser hope to find behind a fence so clearly bursting with nothing but plain shrubs and wayward thorns?

You, clearly, believed otherwise.

Muriel can’t help but wince when you jam your hand into the mess of thorns and bushes, rummaging around the plants in search for something within. He’s tempted to pull your arm out and try to get you to wear something to protect yourself, but you beat him to it, pulling back for a moment to reveal an untouched arm before you reach back in with more intent and care than you did before.

Something creaks, and the wall of ivy and bushes, reveals itself to be thinner than the foliage initially let on.

He doesn’t even need to slip through the greenery as you do to already glimpse the world within, but he does anyways, treating himself to the true magnificence of your domain. Hidden by plants and trees and bushes and thorns sits a world of flowers blooming en masse until they cover nearly every inch of the ground around it, some even spilling out from their designated places to uproot the stone tiles that made up the slim walkways between the spill of flowers.

Most strikingly, Muriel can see the tulips that line the far end of the garden, a splash of sporadic colours all clumped together in a mad swirl, spilling out from their allotted section to infiltrate pathways and the beds of their neighbors.

And amidst them, finally looking at ease, you stand, turning back to him with a smile.

“I’m sorry about that, but… we’ll be safer here for now.”

You close the door, with a gentle thud, and brush the roses around it back into place, slipping a rust-browned lock back into place, and locking the world outside far, far away.

Perhaps he should be worried that you had essentially locked the both of you inside here together, but despite being overcrowded with flowers, the garden seems so expansive he can hardly see it as being locked inside anything.

“Feel free to look around” you tell him. “Just… don’t pick anything, please.”

You flash him a smile, and as quickly as you had astounded him with the beauty of your garden, you turn away snapping your attention back to your flowers, and give him space to marvel in awe at your beautiful garden—to marvel in awe at your beautiful practice. Setting his basket aside, he watches as you crouch down, and procure a pair of shears from beneath a bush, and begin to snip away at the overgrown and wilted plants. The sun shines a halo around you as you hunch over plots of dirt, shuffling your way into the plants, and trying to pry flowers away from each other, to generate distance so one doesn’t starve the other.

It’s hard work, quick to smear you with dirt and mud, but he can see the tension fade from your back as you toil away, a means of relaxing yourself from the tension.

Though questions swirl around his stomach and chest, Muriel decides to give you your space. It’s the least he can do after all.

He wanders, carefully, between the patches of flowers, many intermingled with each other into beautiful messy arrays, some even curling around each other, to enough of an extent, that Muriel supposed you couldn’t separate them anymore. Of course, slow growing as flowers often were, Muriel wondered if you failed to notice how close they had gotten, or you simply allowed them to grow so close to each other.

He approaches your tulip patch. You have so many. Found in nearly every colour, with different patterns on the petals, and different shapes of petals themselves, all crowded into one large plot—and when that plot could not fit any more flowers, you intermingled the tulips amidst other plants, amidst other flowers that seemed to get along well with the shoots of colour.

Although he has never seen the foreign shaped and patterned flowers before, Muriel can’t help but note the abundance of red, orange, pink, and yellow tulips in your garden. A favourite, perhaps? Or perhaps they were in high demand, or perhaps they were just—

“They used to be my parents' favourite.” He turns to look at you, dirt smeared with leaves sticking to the fabric of your clothes. You turn to him and smile. “They liked to give them to each other, as a way to show how much they cared about each other.”

Something in Muriel’s chest flutters. Something else constricts. He really shouldn’t be hearing this—you don’t remember him, you don’t remember what you’ve done.

“I tend to give them out to my favourite customers as well.” Muriel scrambles for his bag. He shouldn’t be hearing this should he? No matter how much he wants to… he shouldn’t. It’s not fair to you. You don’t remember him, you might not even be harboring those kinds of feelings.

After all didn’t you say the flowers were supposed to just... cheer him up?

“Hey, do you want—” Muriel just barely manages to shove the bag into your hands, pressing further to get the bag closer to your face.

The sooner you remember the sooner you can kick him from your garden and be on your merry way, even though his stomach grows tight at the very idea of it. Your garden is beautiful. If he could stay here, or even just visit every so often he would be glad.

As it is, just seeing you smile was enough for him.

Just seeing you smile had been enough for him, but he’s taken too much from you, and he refused to take any more.

It takes you a moment, flustered as you try to protest the strange gift he’s given you, but the memories come soon enough, and rather than push, he finds you grabbing—not only the bag, but his hand as well—and pulling it closer to your face, to take a deep breath, and savor the memories.

It only lasts so long.

You stare at him now, eyes wide and mortified before your hands snap to your face trying and failing to hide you as you still cling to the bag of myrrh he had given you. Muriel closes his eyes and looks away, not wanting to see your enraged or sorrow filled face when you claimed you had been cheated or swindled of your precious, precious flowers.

Instead he hears you giggle.

It’s a nervous sort of giggle, the kind made when someone’s not actually happy, echoing in the hollow cup of your hand as you sink to the floor.

“Oh my gods. Oh gods.” The words slip between your fingers as you adjust and readjust your hands to hide your face. “Oh my gods I am so sorry.”

“What?”

“I gave you, so many flowers…”

The comment sounds like regret—that you regretted wasting so many flowers on him, but your voice doesn’t sound sad, you just sound… embarrassed.

“I am so sorry…”

“W-what?? What for?”

“Isn’t it embarrassing? I keep giving you flowers!” Your volume picks up, and though he doesn’t intend it, his own voice gets a little higher and a little louder in reply.

“Is that bad??” He really can’t focus on his volume when he’s trying to sort out all the questions you are not answering.

“ITS EMBARRASSING!”

“HOW?!”

You groan, half stifled and half agonized before you bury your face back into your knees, leaving Muriel’s mouth to snap shut with a soft clack, gritting his teeth as he silently vows to never open his mouth again—or at least refrain from doing so for a long while. He was too loud. Too close to yelling. He doesn’t blame you for being afraid.

He’s about to apologize, whisper something placating to fix his wrongdoings, but once again, you speak before he can even get a word in.

Or well, you don’t speak. You laugh.

It’s almost a mad cackle. Almost. If you didn’t peer up for a moment, looking so genuinely happy and pleased, he would have thought you had gone insane.

You’re breathless when your laughter bubbles down into hicuups and giggles, leaning your head on your arms as you peer up at him. Of course, he’s too tall for you to look without craning your neck, and that’s so much worse when you’re sitting down. He sits beside you in an attempt to keep your neck from aching, but that only seems to make you giggle more.

“So, how much to I have to explain?” You ask your question teasingly, but Muriel can’t help but notice the strain of sincerity or the way you shake ever so slightly as if scared. You’re still grinning, but he can’t help but take you seriously.

“It…. You spend so much time on your flowers…. Don’t you need the money?”

His question sobers you considerably, that smile falling away from your face. Again, he’s the one who has to tear that from you, who makes you frown instead of smile.

“I can afford to lose a few tulips.”

“It’s not a few.”

You huff, turning away from him, and again, he worries that he’s made you upset. “It’s fine. I have a lot of those ones anyways. Besides, it’s not like I give them out to everyone.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“What about that old man? You wanted to give those flowers to him for free…”

You roll your eyes, and shake your head a picture of exhaustion, if not for your smile. “Yeah, well, he’s a pretty common customer, and he’s a fellow merchant. I stop by his stall sometimes and I know he doesn’t always have much, but he still wants to give flowers to his friend and all that.” You turn away from him then, tucking your face back into your knees. “Besides, I wasn’t giving him tulips.”

His brows dip again, “Tulips…?”

You sigh, loud and drawn out, tucking your face deeper into your lap. “I… remember how I mentioned my parents?”

“I… I didn’t think I was supposed to hear it…”

“If not you then who?” you gawk, waving an arm to the garden that wraps itself around you. In the beat of silence that follows, the wind rustles through the flowers, and the sound of trickling water meets the melody of a birdsong. It’s so peaceful. It’s so… lonely. Another gust of wind, and though the walls sit thoroughly coated by shrubbery and plants outside, it’s far clearer to see the iron bars from within, a mere gust of wind doing enough to show the cage these flowers have been locked inside of. To show the cage that you...

“You’re the only other person here.”

“I didn’t… I thought you’d change your mind in letting me in here if you realized….”

Once more you tuck your face into your lap, and Muriel has to wonder what makes you so miserable every time he mentions it. “Why would I change my mind after remembering how many flowers I’ve given you?”

“I thought… I thought you’d think I’d stolen them.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “I gave them to you. As a gift.”

“Would you give me them if you knew it was me returning?”

You straighten yourself, turning to him with wide eyes as if he’s said something absurd or unthinkable. He’s about to retract his statement, make an apology for whatever he’s done to offend, but you look away before he does, and though muffled, in the quiet peace of your garden, you’re loud enough for him to hear you.

“Yes.” A pause. You fiddle with a worn patch over the knees of your pants, coated in dirt, and evidence of being repaired repeatedly, it’s a well loved set of gardening clothes. Well worn. Well cared for. “If I knew it was you, I’d give you even more flowers too.”

You huff the words out as if frustrated, and Muriel can’t help but look away.

“Why?” he blurts out the question, immediately regretting it when he hears you tuck your face back into your legs. You had said it was embarrassing. He still fails to understand… how.

“You heard the story about my parents.” This time it’s not a question. With your face now tucked behind your knees and safely guarded by an arm, you wave a free hand in the air, as if expecting him to connect whatever dots remains.

As if it was as easy as that.

“You said that they did so to show how much they cared about each other.” You bury your face deeper into your lap. “But you don’t… You don’t know me.”

At this point you’ve thrown your arm over top of your head now too. Trying to fold yourself up into a little human ball. Was this what was embarrassing? That you had been showing affection to someone you’ve never met before? To someone you didn’t know? But you haven’t known each other this entire time. What made it different now?

The glows over your garden, dappling you in it’s golden warmth. There are structures in place, some tall trees intermixed with the bushes outside, but sunbeams still sneak their way to reach you, as if eager to light you up, to amend the gloom that he’s cast over you. One beam streaks across your arms, and as you peek up at him, your eye glows in the golden light, and like magic, you slowly unfold yourself, to sit normally by his side.

“I… You’re right. I’m sorry.”

That was… “You’re apologizing again.” He means to ask it as a question but it doesn’t come out like it should. Hearing it fill the silence, he wonders if that would have been worse.

“I…” again, your hands come up to cover your face, dragging over your eyes, until they’re cupped around your mouth. You’re hiding again. Embarrassed you had said, but he still can’t figure out—“Look, I’m sorry for flirting with you okay?”

Muriel chokes. You don’t seem to notice.

“You don’t have to take it as flirting at all okay? It’s just… You just looked really pretty and I just wanted to give you flowers because I thought you were nice and you helped me out so many times with all those things, you were really brave and tough and yet so kind, and, augh no, look I’m not… I know I don’t know you okay, I’m not expecting you to fall in love with me over some…silly flowers, it’s fine. I… I’m really sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry if this is just…weird. I… look my garden is pretty much all I have! People like flowers but I understand if those were maybe just not your thing, and I know maybe roses would’ve been more fitting, but those are just so hard to take care of sometimes and they’re such an overused gift, I mean I kinda thought someone like you would end up tired of receiving those gifts all the time but that’s because I was assuming that you were interested in relationships like that and—”

You keep talking. And talking, and talking and talking. Circling back to the same statements over and over and over again in new contexts as you somehow say so much and very little at the exact same time. It’s nice though. He likes listening to you speak, even if this seems to make you more stressed out than ever, but most importantly, it gives him a moment to try to collect his own thoughts, to try to get his breathing in check. And when both attempts fail, to try and find a way to fold himself up into something tiny and unseeable.

He waits for a while, hoping that you’d trail off somewhere eventually, that he would eventually be able to interject and direct the conversation away, or just…. Ask if you were… serious…. but every glance his way seems to make you more stressed, and you burst out in another round of apologies and reassurances, and on top of it all another round of compliments, many of which keenly focused on…prettiness.

Particularly him… and… being… pretty.

He doesn’t mean to grab your wrist. Poke you maybe, but he doesn’t mean to grab.

It’s just… hard to tell when he’s trying to hide his warming face behind a hand.

There’s a long stretch of silence.

And of course, you try to amend whatever mistake you think that you’ve made. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—” he has to interrupt you this time.

“No… no… It’s…”

You’re really smart. Very, incredibly clever. Burying his face in his lap sounds more and more appealing by the minute, but as much as he wants to he can’t exactly make himself look as small as you managed beside him. Besides, he just… really wants to know.

“I… you think…. I’m….” He can’t. He just can’t. His mouth opens to try, but his throat falls dry each time. It’s a struggle to get the idea of it into his mind without growing furnace-hot at the thought alone. He is a rival to the sun, by mere heat alone.

Somehow, miraculously, you understand… or at least somewhat. “You’re kind, you’re brave… you’re pretty….” You have to look away as well, lips falling victim to the press of your teeth. “You’re pretty as flowers, really.”

Muriel could explode.

You take his embarrassment as distress, faltering and wincing as you try to amend what had never been damaged. If he could, he’d press a hand to your face to shut you up. But that would mean having to remove a hand from hiding his own face away.

“Sorry! Is that….? Is that insulting? I didn’t mean for it to be insulting like that or anything It’s just you know as a gardener and all constantly working with flowers and everything and—”

“No!” he wants to berate himself for yelling. To feel ashamed for raising his voice but the sound of it is so strangled and sounds more like a helpless yelp than anything, only really serving to make him feel more embarrassed.

It’s Embarrassing…

Have you been feeling this way the whole time?

“It’s just that…” many words want to spring their way out of his mouth all at once, and considering his tongue has yet to master the skill of saying two separate words at the same time, Muriel is just left to struggle. “I’ve never…. No one’s ever… It’s not bad it’s just….” He can’t speak. He’s as effective as if he were mute, eyes practically spinning in his skull, as he tries to look anywhere but you.

Still he manages a glance your way, and it gives him pause to find you staring intently at the ground, a little smile stuck upon your lips.

“Oh.”

You try to hide it behind your hand. And Muriel’s terrified to find his first instinct is to grab your wrist and keep you from hiding away, like some sort of greedy hypocrite. To deprive you of the chance to hide when all he would ever do—all he was ever going to do, would be the exact same thing. It’s greed isn’t it? First for your flowers, and your mild kindness towards him and now—! Now!!

What was he going to do now?!

“Do you want a flower?”

You blurt the words out, slamming your hand over your lips to hide away promptly after. You’re standing now, unable to tuck yourself back into your knees, but your hands are still a serviceable shield. It’s nothing to block the words that begin to pour from your lips, but maybe you aren’t trying to stop that. Maybe it’s just your expression. He wonders at what you look like so flustered….

How greedy.

“I mean It’s just—I don’t know if you want something other than a tulip—I’ve given you so many tulips—I haven’t even asked you about your favourite flower! You know! So I just thought! Just— Any flower you want!! Just one!!”

You scurry off somewhere, possibly off to tend to your flowers for something, trying to busy your hands, or just to get away from him. He understands both sentiments very well as his hands tangle themselves together twisting and pulling as he wearily gets up and looks around your pocket of paradise once more.

He doesn’t really want to take any of your flowers. At least… not pluck them straight off of the ground.

The tulip beds overflow with flowers, and like a moth about to be burnt by the flame he wanders towards it, unable to bite back his urges when he plucks a flower from it’s place.

It’s not something he wants it’s just…

It’s stupid….. But……

You return with an armful of various flowers, small simple little things, that fill your arms and get tangled in your clothes, some even worming your way to sit around your shoulders like little faeries peering over at him.

And you offer all that hasn’t attached itself to you, to him.

You don’t even speak, you just shove it all into his arms, like some last ditch effort for… something. As if this was a last ditch effort at all.

The flowers just barely all fit into the crook of his arm, and he’s grateful for once, for being so large. That he can hold so much in one arm alone, as it leaves his other arm free to offer your tulip back to you.

It’s a sign of affection you said. He hopes you understand, because he really can’t stomach speaking right now.

Surely, surely you do… right?

Your eyes go wide as if it was not your own flower he had been offering to you, gingerly taking the little bloom by it’s stem into your own hands.

And when you glance up at him, looking so happy, so giddy and yet trying and failing to hold it all back, he finds that same warm sunshine you’ve offered him when you leaned out your window the first time you met.

It’s so bright, it almost burns. At least, it certainly makes his face burn. He can’t stare at you for long, turning away sharply as he fights the urge to take more than he’s due, to sweep the dirt from your face, pluck the flower from your hand and tuck it behind your ear…. Or…. Something…..

He has to go. He has to leave. His face can’t take much more of this overwhelming warmth.

“I have to—” he begins his retreat muttering as he goes, but you grab him, your hand clinging to the slim portion of his wrist, fingers slipping beneath the cuff, to sensitive skin beneath, as if scared that he might try to tear your hand from his skin.

“Wait you….” Your smile faltered, growing into something sad as you stared at him. “Will…. Will I remember you?”

And for all he wanted to escape, he turns back to you to slip your fingers free from the uncomfortable hold they have on his wrist, to instead take your hand in his own and give what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Yes. You…. Yes. You’ll remember me. So long as you have that pouch I gave you…”

He can see it in your eyes, in the furrow of your brow and how you lean closer to him. You want to know why. What had happened to him, how it happened. You want to ask about the spell that he asked for himself.

But you don’t.

That soft smile glows his way instead, and you squeeze your own hand against his once more.

“Okay,” you say hand already falling slack. “I’ll see you in the market then.” You’re just barely holding on to his fingers now, still squeezing, still trying to let go. “You’ll visit, right?”

He wants to say yes, but you’ll remember him now, and he’d hate to leave you waiting for him.

“The market isn’t really….”

“Ah right." You laugh, though a little awkwardly. "How about here then? Do… do you think you can come back here sometime?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to speak for him. Your fingers are nearly gone from his hand, but you curl them up against his anyways, giving one final squeeze before your hand falls away.

He turns, and with the loud creak of the metal gate marking his departure, he sends one final glance to you, finding you grinning from ear to ear, waving at him as he goes. “Come back soon! I really want to get to know you!”

Tongue tied, and the need to escape burning furiously through his body, Muriel smiles and nods, before he slips through the gate and through the foliage that hides it, already planning the fastest way to get back home, and the fastest way to return to your garden the next day.

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When Muriel gets home his hands are a trembling mess. He misses many times, trying to slip the many flowers he’s received back into the little cup along with the others. Perhaps it’s a bad decision to take up a knife when his hands are trembling this much, but just as much as he shakes with the overwhelming wave of anxiety from talking with you, he trembles just as much with an itch to create.

It’s hard work, and long work, and it’s very far from done when the sun finally sinks down into the sky, but the shape is at least there, and tomorrow he’ll work on scooping out the insides of it to make a vase.

His thumb sweeps over the patterns clumsily carved into the wood but he smiles as he follows the grooves of his work.

A little heart sitting amidst a garden of clumsily carved flowers.

It’s fitting, in a way.

It seems to be where he’s left his own after all.

……

…It…also seems to be where he’s left his basket.

Ah, well, looks like he’ll have to go there tomorrow then, right?

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