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CW: Murder, blood, knife kink, dirty talk, body mutilation, evisceration, spitting, choking, praise kink, degradation kink, face slapping, bondage.
DAHLIA
Her least favorite thing about California is the traffic.
Apparently, it's James's too because he slams on the steering wheel with one hand and then leans on the horn.
"You MOTHERFUCKERS!" He roars. "Why the fuck is your blinker on if you're not gonna turn into the fuckin'—"
"James," Dahlia urges, putting her hand on his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Calm, please."
He draws in a breath and exhales softly, turning to her with a smile.
"I'm sorry, peach." Another breath, calming himself. "I'm sorry."
They've been stuck on the freeway headed for the docks for 45 minutes. To say that he's stressed out is an understatement, she just doesn't know why.
"It's okay. Why are you so stressed?"
He stares out the window and Dahlia watches the muscle in his jaw tick. He's hiding something. She knows him well enough to now to know when he's swallowing the truth, and she doesn't let him get away with it. He brought her into this world, this partnership, and this marriage as his equal. If he's keeping something from her, she wants to know about it.
"James?" She asks, breaking his concentration as traffic begins to move forward.
He steps on the gas and shakes his head.
"I don't know. Something feels off. Rhodey didn't even tell me he was being transferred, Sam didn't know about it. I don't trust this Zemo asshole."
That's not what she was talking about, but his body seems to relax. It must be the truth. He drums on the steering wheel with tattooed fingers and licks his lips. Dahlia bites her own, watching him for a moment. He's beautiful, even when he's worrying about something. He gets that crease between his brows and his bright eyes become icy and intense.
She thinks back on the first day that she met him when he walked into the flower shop. He had soft, shorter curly hair and the exact same intensity. She could see it in his eyes, the way they pierced her like blades. She doesn't know if that's the day she fell in love with him, but she was pretty sure that she was going to see him again— very deep down, at least.
So much has changed in two years. Sometimes, when she looks at herself in the mirror, she can hardly believe the change. Her eyes have darkened with either age, or experience. She carries herself differently, too. No longer is she the hurricane of chaos that she was when she was trying to run the shop by herself. She's smoothed out those rough edges. She carries herself with more grace, more brutality, but inside, she still feels as inexperienced as ever.
