#is this the time to admit i came up w/ a whole family tree for elara

[cannibalisticskittles]

really glad that the aedyran emperor is apparently decently chill with godlike bc it meshes well with elara's existence and she is, as per her background, Of Royal Blood

(no chance of ever inheriting the throne bc, y'know. godlike. and inherently infertile as a result, on top of, y'know, regular godlike tensions. but being a moon godlike -- one of the most Socially Acceptable kinds -- and having The Emperor be Fine With Godlike means my established backstory for her doesn't clash w/ anything, hohoho)

makes me think that my envoy may have like, looked up to her in a sense; Noble and Elegant and also Very Visibly Godlike, ooh. meanwhile elara is hiding out somewhere, thumbing through the playbill for some shitty production she's seen a few times and picking her teeth with a knife. the very picture of poise.

plus, assuming we don't get any further insight into the emperor's motivations that suggests some kind of twist there, i can also imagine a dynamic like

"granddaughter, look, i am Accepting :)"

"that's. that's great, grandda. mama is rolling in her grave."

[myokk]

I had so much fun writing this up as I drank my coffee this morning, thanks for making the templates @kiwiplaetzchen 🥹🙏

A little bit of backstory for Eloise - I’ll do an actual drawing etc etc in the future but for now if you’re interested!!:

Eloise has a brother, Leonard (Leo) who is a year older than her (I want to draw him soon!!) and her parents are both (unfortunately 😔🙏) still very much alive. If the family had continued to the 1930s, they would DEFINITELY have been part of the Sacred 28, making it the Sacred 29 instead. Her father was an only child so he inherited everything, and her mother is Elladora Babbit née Black, the woman who started the Black family tradition of beheading useless house elves😭 (and yes unfortunately that makes Headmaster Black Eloise’s uncle😫).

Eloise was kept a secret from the rest of magic society her whole life. In my imagination, the pureblood families have so much inbreeding amongst themselves that it’s not uncommon for them to give birth to squibs. Part of pureblood culture is not announcing they’ve given birth to a child until they’ve shown signs of magic - normally around 3/4 years old at most. When Eloise never showed ANY signs of magic, she was just their shameful secret. On her eleventh birthday when it was all but confirmed she was a squib, she was burned off the family tree and spent the next five years at a muggle finishing school. Always looking to take advantage of whatever they could get, however, Eloise’s parents arranged a marriage between her and the firstborn son of a wealthy muggle landowner when she came of age.

Her family had no idea that she was admitted to Hogwarts (they cut off all ties to her and disowned her) and Leo, who had always been fiercely protective of her growing up was simultaneously devastated and ecstatic that he could see his sister again. It’s been really hard to repair the relationship though, as there is a lot of resentment that they cannot get over even though they want to😭. And, for as much as her parents dictated everything about how her life has gone, Eloise can’t help but try to work hard to get their love and approval as it’s all she ever thought she wanted. And now that she’s in a position to become the daughter they’ve always desired, she feels a lot of resentment towards herself. She feels as if she’s betraying the young girl who was abandoned by her family, because she wants their approval so badly (it will take a while for her to get over this😔🙏)

In terms of the personality I did it a bit like the sims where I just max things out bc I think everything in the middle is boring jajajaja. But:

Shy: not shy in the sense she can’t talk to other people and she isn’t necessarily socially awkward. She just doesn’t always know what to say and will remain silent if she thinks she has nothing to add to a conversation instead of yapping away (BUT unfortunately rambles and over explains herself to not be misunderstood when she does talk, THANKS narcissistic mother), and normally she wishes people would ignore her. When the Daily Prophet article came out about her “miraculous” recovery and introduction to magical society she HATED it & she HATES all of the people trying to talk to her and befriend her.

Active: NOT active as in super energetic. She just wakes up really early and always needs to keep herself busy. She gets anxious if she doesn’t have anything to do - but, she includes thinking as doing something, and often retreats into her thoughts and doesn’t realize when people are talking to her.

I think grouchy and nice can exist together so with this one I put it in the middle. She’s both simultaneously😭

Aaaand with cowardly/brave, she thinks she is really cowardly for going back to her parents so easily and wanting their love so badly, and hates herself for it (not realizing it’s an accumulation of a lifetime of emotional trauma). But lots of times when things get very high-stakes she will jump in and do incredibly reckless things without thinking of the consequences, although if she stopped to think before she acted she would definitely NOT do them. So maybe brave in actions, cowardly on the inside (IDK)

If you read all of this I love you!! I want to share more about her but this was getting crazy long jajajajajajaja😇🙏

[anarchiii]

World’s apart-9 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part nine | warnings: mentions of blood!! Angst, kissing | Azriel x Celaena Sardothien

Summary; Pain and suffering one after the other, Azriel decides that maybe he’s not meant for this world, but maybe he is meant for another…

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Celaena’s POV

The shuddering of her breath and the whirling of an unnatural cold wind were the only sounds she heard, the feeling of blood trickling down her forearm was a familiar feeling, no longer did she wince from the sting or the ruby liquid, now, she embraced it, just as she did the freezing stone floor that she traced her fingers across, drawing the shapes she had seen in the Walking Dead, Wyrdmarks. Just thinking the name made a shiver go down her spine.

It was only when a steady hand laid on her shoulder did she stray from her thoughts, turning around, she met eyes with Azriel, she cataloged every mark and blemish on his face, saving it to memory, for this could be the last time she saw the Shadowsinger, perhaps forever.

Celaena didn’t want to admit it but she had grown fond of Azriel, he produced a silence she liked, a silence so different from the one in Endovier, she didn’t think she’d had any nightmares since he had arrived, no one else had done that before, not Sam. Not even her mother or her nursemaid. Until now, she hadn’t even thought of those things, perhaps when the Spymaster left—her life would once again become damned and meaningless. That scared her. She didn’t want that.

She had come to love reading with him, watching him coddle Fleetfoot, seeing him bicker with Chaol, pretending not to notice the small smiles he gave Dorian.

Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away before the male from her thoughts noticed, she cleared her throat, stating, “it should be done soon,” Azriel was opening and closing his mouth multiple times, like he wanted to tell her something but he wasn’t quite sure, she didn’t know if she wanted to know what he was trying to say either.

“Cel. . .” He finally said, she turned to him fully now, “I’ve been thinking. . .” She waited, he did that thing with his mouth again, like what he was trying to say could ruin everything, she nodded once, silently telling him to spit it out, “w-would you��” he tried again, she had never heard him stutter or be so lost of words before. It was an odd sight.

He seemed to get lost in his thoughts so she turned away again, continuing her precise lines of blood, the book had said a single mistake could ruin the whole thing or change the entire portal, Celaena was a perfectionist and she’d be damned if she messed this up—literally and figuratively.

“What if you came with me?” He asked finally, she whipped her head around, staring at him incredulously, “what?” Go with him? That was a horribly irresponsible and dangerous decision, what about her friends?—but did it really matter if she left them? She had no family. Chaol and Dorian should understand and they could just go on with their lives. . . What was really holding her back from accepting his offer? This place was her home, but, was it really? She had so many bad memories and experiences, she could have a fresh start, stay with Azriel, love Azriel.

But could she do it? Really leave everything behind? Everything. . . It was enticing, but, she didn’t know, she wished he had asked her sooner.

Azriel seemed to notice her hesitation and shook his hand, curling his fingers into her golden locks, “the offer will stand for a while, whether it be a year or five, I want to be with you more, Cel, I need to. You’re my salvation.” He said, she was going to say something, because no one had ever said such a thing, no one, but then the portal appeared, the Wyrdmarks flashing a bright green as it took form, the ground seemed to shudder in its wake. She could slightly make out trees and the smell of flowers, had it gone where she had wanted? It was supposedly a place in Prythian, supposedly.

She turned to the Shadowsinger, and in that moment, he knew the truth in her eyes, she wasn’t ready, maybe on day but not now, he swallowed harshly but nodded, he took her face in his lovely hands then, looking deep into her eyes, they knew this was the last time they might ever be together again, she had to make it worth it.

So she kissed him, hard.

-

Azriel’s POV

He had never felt anything like it before, the kiss—it was magical, no one else had ever felt this way, it was perfect, Celaena tried to pull away but he grabbed her and kissed her back, it was a stupid idea, to do this right as he was leaving but he couldn’t stop, she tasted exactly how he had thought she would, it was exquisite, she was exquisite.

A loud, hard knock rattled a door in the distance and the Golden one ended the kiss, turning lustful eyes into worried ones as she look up the staircase to the door, like she could see who was behind it, he knew it wasn’t Chaol or Dorian this time, fuck.

It couldn’t end like this, not when he hadn’t had a chance to properly feel her, taste her.

Her beautiful cerulean eyes met his own, so bright, even though she had seen the darkest things, he was so proud of her for getting through all that, would he get to see anymore of her accomplishments? Or would her achievements go unnoticed?

“Go,” she whispered, “go Azriel,” “no,” he answered, he couldn’t, not now, he heard the door upstairs slam open, hitting a wall, “go!” Celaena cried, “please,” her voice broke then, he shook his head sharply, she pushed him then, closer and closer to the portal, “I’m so sorry. Azriel. I wish we had more time, it was all borrowed time anyway, but I wish we had more of it,” tears fell in rivers down their faces, he couldn’t leave her, “I love you, I wish I got to know you better, love you better,” she continued, his vision turned blurry from salty tears, he heard loud stomping, they were coming, and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

She pushed him again, and this time, he went right through the portal, everything started fading but all he saw was her face, gold-ringed blue eyes in agony, her full lips parted in pain, her lithe body tense and stressed, her fingers reaching for him. Just as his did.

Reaching for a star too far up in the sky, fitting, for star-crossed lovers.

The End.

Note: oh man, guys, I was getting a little teary-eyed writing this 😣 did you get the little EOS Easter egg? (:

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@aelincaddel

@shadowsingercassia

@azrielslittleslut

@yashiw

[crypticjackal13]

Just a random idea, Monkey having a toddler monkey child reader (maybe 2 to 3 years old) that he keeps hidden on Flower Fruit Mountain for protective reasons, imagine everyone's reaction to meeting this little cutie when they only came to FFM to visit.

Aww I love that actually

Monkey King w/ Toddler Monkey Child reader! Headcanons

You're in good hands! Or, well, paws??

He keeps you very safe. There are lots of monkeys he trusts to take care of you if he's unable to

You live with him in his hut primarily, but there are tree nests scattered throughout flower fruit if ever he wants you two to sleep under the stars

He leaves a few duplicates with you if he has to leave for an extended period of time

When he finally lets the gang meet you he makes sure you're secured to him the whole time--he doesn't want anyone else picking you up or anything especially if you're not comfy with it.

MK and Mei absolutely adore you, Mei wants to take a bunch of pictures and put you in cute pic outfits! And MK just wants to hug you tight

Pigsy and Tang are questioning Wukong like "how old are they?" "do you take care of them properly??" "Do you need a set of actual babysitters??"

Sandy is probably the best with kids so he gets attached to you easily! But he won't like grab you off the ground to hug you--he doesn't want to make you upset

Redson is indifferent, he only came along because MK and Mei dragged them into it but he guesses you're pretty cute for the child of his parent's enemy

Macaque thinks you're really adorable and of course his parental instincts kick in but he'd never admit it

Over time the gang becomes like your adoptive family in a way and Wukong trusts them with you if he's not able to take care of you at the moment.

It's all very sweet :)) and you are treated with the utmost love and care(you're also spoiled rotten but really what's the problem with that?)

[doumadono]

Sekido with T? ;w; im weak willed

A/N: gotta admit, this one was a real head-scratcher. The whole obscure AU thing threw me for a loop, and even after hitting up Google, I was drawing blanks. So, I just went with my gut on this ficlet. Hope it hits the spot for ya, even if just a smidge. The inspiration for this ficlet came from the following post

DEMON SLAYER MASTERLIST

In the Taisho era, where demons lurked in the shadows and warriors fought against the encroaching darkness, the night was cloaked in shadows as you slipped away from the confines of your family's house. The decision to become a demon was not one made lightly, and the air was thick with the weight of your choice. The desire for something beyond the constraints of your human existence had pushed you to seek a new, otherworldly life.

The moon hung low in the sky as you ventured into the unknown, guided by the whispers of the night. In the darkness, a figure materialized — Sekido, the embodiment of anger and one of the counterparts to Hantengu. His eyes, gleaming with an intensity that mirrored the moon, met yours. "Why?" he grumbled, his voice a low growl, as if trying to comprehend the tumult of emotions that drove you to this decision.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "I want more. More power, more freedom. I want to be something other than human, I want to be like you."

"This is ridiculous," Sekido, his anger simmering beneath the surface, regarded you with a mix of curiosity and concern. Torn between the loyalty to his lord, Muzan, and a strange connection that seemed to be forming between you, he sighed, the sound carrying the weight of a thousand years. "Follow me," he finally grunted, a reluctant acceptance of your choice.

You and Sekido ventured into the dense forest, the moonlight barely penetrating the labyrinth of ancient trees. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

As you walked, the shadows seemed to dance with a life of their own, their eerie movements mirroring the hidden dangers lurking in the night. Sekido, silent and brooding, matched the atmosphere perfectly. His eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intensity, scanned the surroundings as if constantly on guard.

"Are you sure it's safe here?" you asked, your voice a hushed whisper, aware of the potential threats lingering in the darkness. "Isn't there a safest path?"

Sekido's gaze, sharp and penetrating, met yours. "As safe as it can be, weakling," he grunted, his tone reflecting the simmering anger that defined him. "Don't let your guard down, woman. You want to be a demn after all, so push your fears aside."

The forest seemed to close in around you, the ancient trees whispering secrets of a time long forgotten. The unsettling ambiance heightened the intensity of your emotions. Sekido's presence, while comforting in its own way, also added a layer of complexity to the night.

"So? Why? Because I don't understand your stupid decision," he growled, his voice lingering with anger.

You looked into Sekido's eyes, determination in your gaze. "I want to be a demon because I want to be with you, to stand by your side until death does us apart. I want to share every darkness with you."

As you continued, a distant rustle in the foliage caught your attention. Your instincts kicked in, and you both halted, eyes narrowing as the forest came alive with a hidden threat. Suddenly, a demonic figure emerged from the shadows, its grotesque form snarling with hunger and malice.

Fear gripped your heart as the demon lunged toward you, its claws unsheathed and hungering for blood. Panic surged through your veins, but before the creature could strike, Sekido erupted into action.

His movements were a blur, a manifestation of unbridled rage. His fists collided with the demon's form, each strike fueled by the anger that coursed through his being. The air crackled with energy as Sekido unleashed the full force of his wrath, a storm of violence against the demonic intruder.

"You dare threaten what's mine?!" Sekido's voice, a guttural growl, echoed through the forest. His eyes burned with an intensity that matched the flames of his anger.

The demon, battered and defeated, slinked back into the shadows, a mere whisper of the threat it once posed. Sekido, however, remained poised, his anger not yet appeased. He turned to you, his eyes softening just a fraction, a rare display of vulnerability. "Are you hurt, woman?" he grumbled, the concern in his tone contrasting sharply with the anger that defined him.

You shook your head, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I'm fine. Thanks to you."

Sekido's expression softened further, the storm of his anger subsiding for a moment. He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he checked for any signs of injury. His fingers lingered on your skin, a silent reassurance that spoke more than words ever could. "And you want to be a demon despite you can't protect yourself?" he snorted, the sound oddly reminiscent of a snore. "That's ridiculous. It makes me super angry just hearing it, but it's your choice, weakling."

As you resumed your walk, the atmosphere shifted. Sekido, still brimming with anger, walked beside you, a silent guardian in the shadows. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow on the path ahead.

"Stay close," Sekido grunted, his anger a protective shield against the unknown. And as you ventured deeper into the forest, the echoes of the night's encounter lingered, a haunting reminder of the delicate dance between demons and humans in this world. "I want you to be in one piece when you meet my Lord."

[slowpoke-fics]

Migraine

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean x reader, platonic Sam x Reader

Summary: reader is scared to let the boys in and tell them about the chronic migraines she suffers from, after a hunt the truth comes out and you're shocked with how they respond

Warnings: smut, no a too whole lot, two paragraphs on 3000 words, nothing too triggering I think, medicine, as always, I might have missed something read at your o w n risk

A/N: It might be a little long, tbh I dont know what a long/short fic looks like but it's def one I could've split and didn't. I really enjoyed writing this one, am having a little bit of a block after writing six fics in a day. shout out to my first smut in at least five years.

You had been hunting with Sam and Dean for a couple of months, finally feeling like you had earned your place. You didn't feel comfortable letting them know your weaknesses, which is why you didn't tell them you had migraines. You were able to cover for the most part, hiding it from the family you've come to know quite well. Most of the time. Sometimes you just couldn't, the pain overbearing and you just had to stay in bed all day, "It's just cramps." You lied to the boys, who assumed that you were covering your face and curled up like a child because of your embarrassment and pain. Sooner or later they will find out, and that's just what happened on this witch hunt.

You were the first one back into the motel, just wanting to lie down, Sam and Dean following suit. Dean slammed the door, causing you to jump with a jolt of pain to your head, reminding you of the already particularly bad headache you had. Thank god you'd be home soon. You went into the bathroom, wanting to shower after a long day of hunting the witch down, turning the lights off as you shut the door, you sighed, the pain growing. You turned the shower on, making it just a little warm, undressing and sitting down, putting your knees close to yourself, held together by your crossed arms with your head on your knees just enjoying the relief the water brings you.

You must've lost track of time because the next thing you hear is Dean, pounding on the bathroom door, basically screaming, "Y/n, damn, we want hot water!" You groaned, "Fuck off Dean! I'll be out in a minute," you shouted, much harsher than you wanted. You heard Dean grumble but couldn't understand it. Ignoring him, you finished washing your body, head already hurting bad enough it was too much to have to stand and wash, worried you might puke if you moved around more than you needed.

You came out of the shower, laying on the bed, closing your eyes, waiting to leave when you heard Sam speak up. "Did you get hurt and not tell us?" You rolled your eyes, then rose up and looked at Sam. "What?" You were confused, why would you not tell them if you got hurt? You looked over your body for any marks as Dean spoke, "Why else would you take so damn long?" You glared at him, "Sorry, I guess I won't enjoy my showers anymore." You laid back down, Dean looked at you with a pang of guilt you didn't see. He was just, in his own way, trying to check on you.

When both Sam and Dean had showered, you packed up your stuff, not caring if you left anything behind, you led out the door, crawling into the backseat of the impala. As you started rolling out, you realized it was going to be a long trip when the first wave of nausea hit you. Leaning into the window, enjoying the cold, you closed your eyes, knowing sleep would not come.

About two hours into the trip back to the bunker, after not saying a single word, you finally spoke up. "Dean," he looked at you through the rearview mirror, "pull the car over, Sam you gotta let me out." Dean was a little shocked, "What," he said quickly. "Pull the car over, before I hurl in your baby." At that, the car near immediately stopped, Sam quickly allowing you to get out. Almost as soon as your foot hit the ground, before you were even all the way out of the car, vomit spewed from your mouth. Sam was rubbing your back, not sure why you were sick, as you'd never gotten car sick.

Dean got out of the car, circling it to come to your side, worry written all over his face. Dean replaced Sam, Dean whispering something to him that you couldn't hear over the splashing on the road. You heard the car door shut, and felt Dean pull your hair back. Once you were done, Dean, helping you raise up, asked, "What's going on?" You looked at him, worry still plastered on his face.

"Nothing, I just got car sick," still feeling like you could throw up, you took a deep breath. The pain of your headache intensified by the fit. Dean laughed a little, "You've never gotten car sick in your life," shaking his head and adding, "I mean," down to a whisper, "are you pregnant?" You had to laugh a little, regretting as pain soared through your head, "No, Dean, why would you even ask that?"

"Well, in the same night you take an hour longer showering than you usually do and vomit on the side of the road." He smirked, reminiscing, "I mean after our encounter a couple of months ago-" You had to interrupt him, "We fucked once, I also recall telling you I was on birth control." Dean chuckled, "What can I say? I've got strong swimmers." Smug son of a bitch. "I'm not, can we please just go home? I got car sick, it happens."

Dean got very serious, "Not until you tell me what's going on, I'm worried now." Silently panicking, afraid that if you told them you had chronic migraines they'd think you couldn't go on hunts and you'd be alone again, but really not wanting him to worry, you finally spoke up, "It's just a migraine." Dean's face contorted in confusion, "A migraine? Since when do you get migraines?" You looked away from him, toward the trees lining the side of the road, "They're chronic, I've had them for years." Deans face softened, he reached for his passenger door and opened it for you, allowing you to crawl in.

"You all right?" Sam spoke from the backseat, thankful you didn't have to crawl back there again. You just nodded, bringing your knees to your chest and lying back against the window with your eyes closed. Dean started the car and after a few minutes he couldn't keep his mouth shut, "Why didn't you just tell us?" Sam didn't say anything, also wanting to know why this was such a big deal for you to keep a secret.

You took a sharp breath in, not moving a muscle, not even looking at them, "I was afraid you'd tell me I couldn't hunt with you guys anymore." Dean looks at sam through the rearview, the guilt on Sams face matching his own, "We would never-" Dean gripped the wheel a little tighter, "We would have worked around them, so you can be home when they're this bad. It wouldn't be puking on the side of the road horrible." Dean shook his head, reaching across to you to rub your arm, you looked at him, and he jerked his head in a come here motion. You did as you were told, starting to scoot over, he redirected your movements so your head was in his lap. His fingers running through your hair, his hand finding the back of your neck apply just a tiny bit of pressure right at the base of your skull, rubbing up and down softly, alleviating some of the pain, somehow letting you sleep the remaining trip.

When you woke up Sam was already out of the car, Dean opening your door you sleepily sat at the edge of the seat, head throbbing. Putting your hand on your forehead, elbow on the back of his bench seat, eyes still closed, you felt Dean pull your hands to his neck. "No," you jerked back, eyes filled with tears at how bad the morning light was making you feel, "I can walk." Dean huffed, "Shut up and let me carry you." You resigned and put your arms around his neck, laying your head in the crook of his neck, loving how he smelled.

You noticed as he carried you in, every single light that could be out, was. Sam must've done that for you. Opening the door to his room, you started to protest, "Shhh," he gently laid you on the bed and pulled the covers up for you, "just let me." Dean left the room, you're not sure where, but there was a pang of sadness in your chest, wanting to be near him. He came back and placed a cool rag on the back of your neck and one on your forehead, he touched your lips, slowly dragging his thumb over your lips, speaking softly, "Open up, let this pill dissolve on your tongue okay? It might be a little nasty, but it'll help." You took the pill, as it started to dissolve you scrunched up your face at the nasty taste, causing Dean to chuckle.

Dean headed to he door, it was now or never, "Will-" you started and your voice broke a little, you're not sure out of embarrassment or pain, "will you stay?" Dean smiled at you, coming to the side of the bed, crawling under the covers with you, "As long as you want me." You rolled over to him, laying your head on his chest as he put his arm around you. He started playing with your hair, running his fingers up and down your arm.

You wanted to be able to properly enjoy this, but your head hurt so bad. After about fifteen minutes you couldn't help but cry, silently, wanting the headache to go away. Dean noticed, feeling his damp shirt, he didn't say anything, just kissed your head. "They're not normally this bad," you sniffled, "I can usually push through them." Dean started rubbing your back, knowing how nervous you were to tell them, not really understanding why you'd believe they would say you couldn't hunt with them. "Y/n," he contemplated on what to say.

"You don't have to hide anything from us, you don't have to push through them, if you're in pain it's okay, we all have our faults, you don't ever have to be afraid that we'd tell you to leave. You're our family now, we need you. I need you." Your heart skipped a beat, did he really need you? In what way does he need you? "What do you mean?" Dean had to admit it, had to come clean, now or never.

"I don't mean just hunts," you looked up at him, shocked, tear stained eyes which broke his heart. He gently cupped your face, leaning forward and bringing his lips to yours, you instantly responded, pressing into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, he pulled back, "God you taste better than ever." You laughed, laying your head back down, "Okay, I understand." He couldn't do chick flic, it was hard enough for him to say he needed you, but he needed you to know.

Sam came in, replacing your rags, "You want some more medicine?" You nodded, pushing your hand on Dean's chest so he knew he couldn't get up. "Sammy, she'd love that but doesn't want me to get up." Sam laughed, your cheeks flushing, "No problem, Y/n." Dean placed his hand on yours, "I feel like a bath might help, I can run you one." You shrugged, "lotta work." Dean copied your shrug, "Not really, just gotta start the water and put the bubbles in." You instantly responded, talking over him, "Not you, me," you pause and lifted your head to looked at him, eyebrow cocked, "bubbles? I don't have bubbles?" Dean laughed heartily, "Not you, me. My bubbles and my work, I'll do it all, nothing I ain't seen before." He winked at you, smug bastard. You laid your head back down on his chest, shrugging again.

Sam came back, Dean lifting his hand up to take the medicine from Sam as you lifted yourself up and grabbed the cup from him, "It's coffee, it might help." You couldn't turn to face him, didn't want to, "Thank you so much." Sam smiled, but you couldn't see, "Of course, anything." You heard the door close softly as you took your place back on Dean, resting the cup on his chest.

After a few minutes after you had taken the medicine, Dean slid from underneath you, taking the coffee cup, causing you to groan in displeasure. Dean chuckled, and headed toward the bathroom. Once in there he lit a singular candle, started the water, and put the bubbles in. Coming back to you he wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you move your limbs to where they needed to be.

He sat you down on the bathroom sink, while he took his shirt off you removed your own. He reached behind you, unclasping your bra and pulling it off you. Dean wanted to tell you how gorgeous you were, wanted to touch you, but he knew you were more than not up for it. He knows when to be respectful and when to be downright filthy. You slid off the counter, you pushed your pants down, just enough so they could effortlessly fall off of you.

Dean stepped into the tub first, holding his hand out to you. You happily took it, just wanting to lie back down. Dean put your back to him, wrapping an arm around you he slunk to the ground, water splashing lightly. He pulled you back to him, allowing you to lay your head back on him. His fingers found their way to your scalp, applying a small amount of pressure, taking some of your pain. You had no idea that the Dean Winchester could be this, soft.

You just laid there with Dean, letting the water sooth you, letting Dean make this better. You couldn't think, just lay. You don't know how long you laid there, laid in complete silence with Dean taking care of you. "Do you want me to touch you?" Dean spoke, barely loud enough that you could hear him, you hummed, wordlessly asking what he meant. "I did some research while we were in the bed, lots of women have said that masturbating can seriously help." Still speaking softly, making sure that you weren't going to get overstimulated. You thought for a minute, all the times that you had touched yourself in hopes for the pain to lessen-all the times it worked. "Mhmm." Dean just continued rubbing your scalp, "Say it." A twinge of need pooled inside you, "Touch me Dean, I want it."

Dean needed no further encouragement, he needed to know this is what you wanted, needed you to admit it. He wasted no time, slowly working his hands to your nipples, fingers teasing, tickling their way to touch you. He twirled your nipples between his thumb and index finer, gently pulling them up, eliciting a whimper from you. "Don't worry good girl, I'm gonna make you feel better." Deans hands trailed to your waist, pulling you up a couple of inches, giving him better access.

Dean's right hand tiptoed to your clit, gently rubbing your bundle of nerves, rubbing circles until your hips bucked forward, wanting more. Dean's left hand moving to your lower stomach, resting lazily. You opened your eyes and stared into his eyes, a soft moan falling from your lips, "More." Dean smirked, quickly raising his left hand to push your head back, nonverbally communicating for you to rest, just enjoy this, then returning his hand to it's home.

Dean's thick fingers slid inside you with a thrilling stretch, you gasped, forgetting how good he filled you up. "Good girl, I know you can take it," Dean started to pump his fingers slowly, curling them upwards to hit just the right spot. "Mmmm," you hummed, almost singing, "please." Dean sped up, his fingers hitting your g-spot, palm rubbing your clit, you clenched tightly around him, slowing him down but making him damn near growl. You bucked your hips forward, panting, squeezing his wrist with one hand and grabbing the side of the tub with the other. "Gonna make you cum," Dean nipped your earlobe, a whimper. "Gonna show you that you need me," moved to your neck, a moan. "Gonna remind you what it feels like to gush around me," another nibble, another kiss. A desperate desire pooled in your belly, pussy clenching, clit throbbing. "You gonna cum for me? Cum on my fingers like a good girl?" Dean pressed his left hand down, the pressure sending you over the edge, you spasmed around his fingers, legs shaking, juices leaking out of you and into the tub. He let you ride it out, until your legs had calmed and you had stopped pulsating around his fingers. He moved his hands back to your scalp, continuing the previous scalp massage.

You tried to catch your breath, his thick cock resting between your legs, you could almost see it throb. You reached in-between your legs, starting to pump his cock but he moved your hand. "No," he kissed your lips, then your forehead, "once you're feeling better we can discuss it." You moved your hand to rest on his thigh, "can we just lay here a minute?" He hummed in approval, letting you close your eyes and enjoy the moment of bliss.

After awhile, you had almost fallen asleep, Dean started to get up, slowly dragging himself out of the tub careful not to disturb you too much. Once Dean had found the towel in the under lit room he reached his hand to you, helping you stand up. You stepped out of the tub, reaching for the towel but he pulls it just out of your reach. Dean sighs, "You may feel a little better but I still want to take care of you," starting to pat you dry, making sure to get the dripping tips of your beautiful hair, "I want to, please let me." You let him finish drying you off, let him slip his own shirt and boxers on you, wondering when he'd have gotten them. You even let him carry you back to his bed. Once he laid down, you were immediately beside him, filling the perfect spot next to him. "Sleep." He commanded, it was not a suggestion, and you did.

When you woke up, your back was facing Dean, his chest pressed to you, arm wrapped tightly around you like you'd run. You turned a little to look at his sleeping form, surprised when his eyes fluttered open, "Mornin', any better?" You turned towards him, placing your leg between his, your own arm underneath his and wrapped around him, "Manageable." You laid there, for how long you weren't sure. Eventually Dean spoke up, "We should go get some breakfast." You nodded, reluctantly rolling to the side of his bed, swinging your legs over.

You and Dean walked to the kitchen, Sam already cooking, hearing you cross the threshold into the kitchen he spun around. Upon realizing you guys had gotten up he immediately grabbed the coffee pot and filled up the cup sitting next to a few pills on the counter and creamer. You gently chuckled, "What a saint," you slapped Deans arm. "I told you," Dean started as you sat down and he moved to get his own cup of coffee, "we could've helped you manage."

You started fiddling your thumbs, not able to look at the boys, "I know-sigh-I was afraid, I'm sorry, I know it's dumb but-" looking to Dean, "I was afraid I'd be too much, lose the family I've come to love. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." Sam turned to you, pausing from the breakfast. "It's not dumb, Y/n. If you're hurting, if you're struggling, if you're afraid, we face it together, all three of us. Because you're right, we're family, and you belong here. Your problems are ours." Dean beside you now, hand placed on your back, thumb drawing small figure eight's, "We can help you, face anything this hellhole throws at us, stick together and say fuck it together," a kiss placed on your lips, pressing into you with loving force, "you just have to let me."

[clarawatson]

It Only Takes A Taste (3)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: Jack comes for dinner, I guess. W/C: 2345 Warnings: none yet! A/N: this one got a little long, oopsies. AO3 Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

The bed had been so warm and comfortable you hadn't wanted to get out, but the thought of seeing Aaron again made your heart grow three sizes. You'd been texting back and forth for the last couple of days, just small awkward stuff. He likes to text emojis. He's precious. Of course he's precious. 

He comes in as you're serving your first customer of the night—a sobbing thirty-year-old man who can't even order his pie without spluttering in tears. Is it favouritism to get excited by Aaron turning up? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes. 

"Hello," you smile. There's a hundred things you could have called him, but he's too cute and your brain doesn't want to work. 

"Hi," he grins back. "Can I have a coffee, please. Here."

"Yes you can." Aaron splits his bill between the counter and the tip jar. "How was your day,  Aaron?" 

"Boring paperwork. Couldn't concentrate."

Concern furrows your eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No! I kept thinking about seeing you." There's that sunshine smile again. You might even match it yourself. He points to the cake that's still in the display tin. He's in earlier in the night than usual, so there's a lot more range to choose from. "Is that carrot cake?" 

"Sure is. Do you want some?" 

"Please." 

You serve him a slice and let the coffee machine splutter and fight with you. He stabs his cake with his fork and looks like he has an out of body experience the moment the cream cheese icing hits his tongue. That's a face you want to see again under different circumstances.

"Joe?"

"Me! And Joe's recipe. I sort of mixed it together and prayed."

"Then mark me a religious man." Aaron smiles. You can't held but smile back at him.

"It's a bit early for you to be in," you say. It's not an issue, just means you got the earlier shift. Finishing at 1am instead of 7am. Plus, Aaron looks nice in the daytime. Very nice. The afternoon light suits him.

"Didn't have a case," he shrugs. 

You've googled him since getting his business card. “Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner, Section Chief of the BAU”. The fuck did that even mean? BAU was the Behavioural Analysis Unit, which was still mainly a mystery, but you think it’s maybe just an over-glorified way of saying ‘they look inside people’s heads and hope for the best’. He’s got a handful of news reports that you’ve practically memorised. 

Okay, that’s a little obsessive. Don’t admit that to him. 

He wasn’t the ‘untouched by darkness’ that you’d thought of him before, his work face held all the darkness his smile did not. You hoped you never had to see the serious man who stood before the cameras. 

“How’s Rita?” Aaron asks. He’s cut the top off his carrot cake, saving it for later. He looks at it longingly every now and then, then he scoops just a little bit of the cream cheese and lets it rest on his tongue.

“She’s good. Restless. She’s happy for the due date to arrive.” She’d also asked you to be the baby’s godparent. Rather forcefully, actually, it had felt a bit strange. That was the only reason you hadn’t jumped at the opportunity. You’d do anything for Rita, but saying yes in that instant would had felt strange. Almost… wrong, maybe.

Aaron knows you’re thinking about it. He puts his fork down and shifts in his chair, waiting for you to continue. He doesn’t fill the silence between the two of you. You think about telling him, but then Lola’s bustling through the door and grabbing her apron.

“Hot stuff, when can I go for a smoke break?” is the first thing Lola says to you. She pulls chewing gum out of her mouth (yes, pulls. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and pulls it out as far as it will go without snapping) and Aaron moves his cake around his plate a bit. Does he not like it? Don’t be silly, he asked for it. Requested it. Whatever. You put his three cookies into a plastic bag and slide it across the counter to him.

“Lola you only just came in.”

“But I want to know,” she whines like she’s a teenager with an after school job, not a thirty-five-year-old woman who works at the diner full time. “Hey, Rita’s been acting weird, right? Is that a pregnancy thing, or?” Lola rubbed her nose on the back of her wrist and sniffs. An action you’re all too familiar with by now, and of course she was doing illegal substances in the bathroom before she started her shift when there’s a legitimate federal agent in the diner.

 “Oh,” Lola says as she looks at Aaron. She looks at you, raises her eyebrows, and nods like she’s impressed. “I take back telling Rita she was a liar." Even without knowing the context of Rita and Lola's conversation, you know Rita had told Lola how pretty/handsome/gorgeous Aaron is. "I’m going to go clean some tables.”

She grabs the cleaning supplies and heads out into the dining area. The door swings open, banging against one of the booths, and you’re immensely glad Lola doesn’t scream 'watch it’ at them. A curly haired blonde woman (gorgeous, mind you) touches Aaron’s shoulder and he sits up straight, smiling, and your heart plummets a little bit. Just the tiniest amount. 

“Jack insisted we switch over here before I go to parent/teacher interviews.” As if on queue, a well mannered, sandy-haired boy sits next to Aaron and grins too much like Aaron. Aaron’s son. You can put two and two together. Profiler or not.

“How was school?” Aaron asks. Jack shrugs.

“It was school.” He learnt that from his dad, there’s no question. 

“Well, in that case. Jack, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is Jack.” Jack extends a hand to shake in greeting and looks really shy about it. You shake it quickly so he doesn’t feel like a kid who’s been roped into doing adult things. There’s a pile of colouring-in pages Joe’s printed off at the local library beneath a cup of crayons that Jack’s eyeing off. 

You grab a sheet and a crayon, raising an eyebrow in invitation as you turn around to Jack. 

“Yes please,” he says, grin growing across his face. “Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. Wonderful manners.” Jack grins even bigger and you think he, too, might combust just like his dad. Stardust! That’s the movie you were thinking of. When Yvaine sees Tristan she shines, literally, the star inside of her just can’t be contained. That’s Aaron and Jack, and the way they look when they smile. 

Aaron’s sister-in-law looks at you with a cocked head, like a curious cat. Like she’s waiting to pounce. But… curiously pounce. Like she's sussing you out. She extends a hand in greeting.

“Jess. Aaron’s talked about you.”

There’s no response but to look sheepish. This seems to greatly please Jess, who smiles softly and rubs the back of Aaron’s head affectionately. They have a long history together, it’s too familial to be just a relationship born through marriage. 

“I’ll see you later then, Rockstar,” Jess says.

“Bye,” Aaron and Jack say together. Aaron rests his cheek on his hand, watching you as Lola hands you three orders she’s taken while you’ve been talking to Aaron. Jack leans over and whispers to Aaron about his homework (it’s a whisper that belongs on a stage) as you wrestle with the coffee machine. 

It’s been grinding it’s way down to not working for a while now. Ever since you met Aaron, actually. Joe’s said he’s going to fix it, or get a new one, but everyone’s in a state of non-commital until Rita has her baby.You’ve got no idea why, it’s just the way things are. Good luck, maybe? Or luck in general? 

Somehow you get Aaron talking about Shakespeare. It might have been Jack’s doing, to be completely honest, but one moment you’re trying to make the froth… well, froth… and the next you're listening to Aaron talk animatedly about Othello. Jack's young enough to not think his Dad's passion is embarrassing. 

"Have you watched Othello?" Jack asks, a question that Aaron's neglected to ask you. "I'm not old enough to yet." 

"I haven't seen that one yet, but I've seen Much Ado About Nothing."

"Is that the one with the olive gardens?" Jack asks. Aaron frowns, eyes searching for the answer in that big beautiful minds tonight.

"Yes," he says finally. "That was the one with the olive trees."

Jack giggles. "There was kissing in that movie." 

"Lots of it," Aaron agrees. You're not sure you're talking about the same film, but it's cute to see the two of them interact. 

"With the guy who plays Lockhart in the second Harry Potter movie?" You ask. Jack laughs just like his father. It's all light and mirth. He nods in confirmation. 

"His name is Kenneth," Jack says like he's familiar with him. When Aaron smiles, you know Jack's his whole world.

It’s not long before Aaron realised he’d brought Jack in without asking if he wanted anything. The afternoon rush had died down, leaving you in the space between out-of-work and dinner. You make the most chocolate-y hot chocolate you can for Jack when Aaron says he can have one. Well, Jack says the best bit is the froth, so it’s more child-size-hot-chocolate-in-an-adult-mug-full-of-froth. Jack loves it. He slurps at the chocolate, which leaves a giant frothy mustache over his top lip that won’t go away no matter how much he licks at it.

When he’s done you let him come around to the kitchen to wash his face, because no amount of wet napkins is going to fix that mess. Jack can’t reach the sink, so you fashion a step out of old milk and bread crates. Joe gives him cake batter to taste before realising that he actually has no idea who Jack is. Aaron watches from the kitchen door with a smile on his face. You don’t catch it until Jack jumps off the crates and takes your hand, leading you back out. Aaron’s fingers brush your hand as you pass him. Electricity sparks between the two of you that's completely unavoidable. The two of you recoil involuntarily.

Aaron gives you a small smile of apology. You give exactly the same one back. Lola legitimately gasps like she too felt the electricity between the two of you. Surely that was just something that happened in movies? Or in books? That’s not a real thing, right? But Aaron brushes past you again, as if he’s making sure as well, and it’s there again. Only it’s like your whole arm becomes pins and needles, not just a quick lightning spark.

If it’s like that every time you’re with him, your not sure you could even go beyond lusting after him and giving him coffee and meals every now and then. Aaron drops his gaze, then follows Jack to the front of the counter. 

They stay for dinner (because Jack insists, he wants the nachos) but the rush comes early and there’s really not much time to talk to them, so you almost miss them leaving. Almost. You’re serving the angry couple at table three (are they angry at you, or each other? Who knows, you don’t, but they’re taking it out on you) when Jack taps your hip. 

He’s very patient as you finish the order (somehow you figure out what they want between the curse words) and bend down to him. He hands you a folded piece of paper.

“This is for you,” he says. “I did it.” You’re about to unfold it, but he insists that it belongs in your apron pocket until you can look at it with no rush. That’s a kid who knows what it’s like to have a very busy parent. So you tuck it away safely and mess with his hair, which makes him grin from ear to ear.

“See you later!” Jack yells as he runs to Aaron, who’s waving goodbye with a doggy bag full of Jack’s unfinished dinner.and his keys between his fingers. 

“I’ll see you later,” he mouths as the noise in the diner starts to rise. Without thinking you blow him a kiss, which he catches effortlessly and kisses the fist closed around it before slipping out. 

When you get to the kitchen Lola’s already in the midst of teasing you. 

“You like him,” she says with all the confidence in the world. There’s not point denying her, so you just nod. It’s met by a chorus of ‘ooo’s which, to be honest, you really didn’t need. It made the diner feel far too small.

When everything dies down you remember the paper Jack had given you. You wipe the milk and spaghetti sauce off the counter, then make sure it’s dry, and unfold Jack’s page. It’s the generic colouring page Joe’s printed out, but Jack’s tried to make the generic waitress look like you. Well, you if you had purple hair and green skin. It’s a start, you guess, there’s an apology from Aaron on the back. Makes it worth it.

You move a couple of postcards on the corkboard aside and put Jack’s picture there instead. Joe pretends not to notice, but when Lola goes out the back with one of her customers, Joe comes round the front and presses a finger to the page.

“Good kid,” Joe says. He nods a couple of times then turns to you. “You know he and his dad come as a package, right? You fuck up one, you fuck up both.” Joe’s first wife had three kids that weren’t biologically his. He’s still mad at himself for not taking the kids seriously and only turning up for their mom.

“I know,” you say. 

Joe strokes your cheek as he passes and kisses your forehead. It’s all the praise you need. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[thran-duils]

Use All of Me (P.13)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Thirteen) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 3,575 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death

Part Twelve || Part Fourteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

A branch snapped out in the woods and you turned quickly towards the noise. It was dark outside still, the sun just starting to rise. You had been unable to sleep since 3:30am and instead of tossing and turning that could wake Yua up, you had come out onto the upper balcony with a book and a blanket.

The only sound you heard now was your heart pounding in your ears, worried that you were going to see a shadow step out from behind the trees in the shape of Steve’s broad shoulders.

But the woods were quiet, no looming figures. Slowly, you relaxed, the tension leaving your muscles. You could not see anything, so you nestled back down, opening the book again. After a few minutes, the sound was forgotten, and you were immersed in your book.

When you finally came back inside, Yua was up by then. You walked quietly by Natalie’s still sleeping form and made your way down the stairs carefully. Yua was already at the sink making herself some coffee. She eyed you as you walked into the kitchen.

“God, look how big you are,” Yua said groggily, eyeing your stomach.

“Good morning to you too. And yes, I can feel it,” you jested. “26 weeks.”

She laughed, “I mean honestly. Since this all started out… it’s like you swallowed a volleyball. It just hits me sometimes, still catches me off guard.”

“Soon to be a basketball, I’m sure.”

“Or bigger.”

“Probably bigger,” you admitted, grabbing a glass to get yourself some water.

“Well, you’re not that size yet. So, where is my breakfast? Cause you look like you’ve been up for a while. Why isn’t it ready?” Yua joked.

Yawning, you said, “Well, ma’am, I was actually going to go back to bed after I got something to drink. I’ve been up since 3:30. I couldn’t sleep. And now it’s catching all up to me. But if you would like, I could make you eggs.”

She waved you off, “I was just kidding. Go back to sleep. It’s still early enough! Do you want me to put a plate of food in the fridge for you for whenever you do wake up?”

“That would be nice,” you said before taking a large gulp of the water. You placed the half empty water glass back on the counter and said, “I’ll have that later too. Don’t want to drink too much at one time. The babies have declared a competition on who can kick my bladder the hardest.”

<><><>

Back in New York, Clint looked way too proud of himself as he strode into the room, but it caught Steve’s attention because that could mean only one thing. And that thing was going to bode well for him.

He was halfway out of his seat as Clint approached, a wide grin tearing at the sides of his mouth.

“I think I got it,” he said, throwing the few pictures he had printed out upstairs on the desk in front of Steve. Steve sat back down, pulling the photos towards him eagerly. “I saw that one of Natalie’s cousins had some photos up in the woods. I couldn’t get a location on them because I wasn’t friends with him. So, I got Shuri to make up a hack for me to gain access to an account. I chose one of the aunts, disguising it as a money scheme – she fell for it, clicked on the link. I was able to gain access to her account and was able to access more of the photos on his page. He’s got a cabin in New Hampshire.”

Steve was looking at the photos of the family outside their cabin.

“If she isn’t on the trains,” Clint said, excitedly. “Where are we now with the cameras? The west coast? We should have seen her by now if she was on the Amtrak.” He pointed eagerly at the pictures and said, “This might be it. It wouldn’t cost them anything to stay in and it’s probably secluded. It’s not too far but it’s far enough out of state.”

<><><>

Wanda was leaning back on the couch, flipping through a magazine. She had been watching the cameras for most of the early morning, but Tony had arrived around 6:30am, wanting to try different locations so she got up and left, giving him the space he needed.

The phone on the desk rang nearby, drawing her attention instantly, and she sat up, craning her neck to look at it. The phone was the number they had given out on the ads to call if anyone had any information on Y/N’s whereabouts. Tony’s gaze was locked on it too and before he could react, she was there, picking it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m calling about the missing persons ad.”

Wanda’s breath caught for a moment before she breathed, “Yes?”

“For Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Yes,” Wanda said more impatiently.

“Saw a woman like the photo at one of the cabins up here as I was on a walk real early this morning, right as the sun was coming up. She was sitting on the porch, very pregnant. I didn’t get a great look at her, didn’t want to gawk, you know. Plus, I think I was on their property, so I was probably trespassing, but I was following a doe—”

“Where was it at?” Wanda asked, cutting him off in the politest voice she could muster.

<><><>

“Steve!” Wanda called, taking the stairs by two. Steve called from the community room and she walked briskly, practically breaking into a jog. When she entered the room, she saw Clint, Sam, and him were looking at some photos on the table. Tearing her attention away from that, she said in a rush, “We maybe got something. A man named Will called about it, saying he thinks he saw Y/N.”

“In New Hampshire?”

“Y-Yes?” Wanda said completely confused at how he knew that.

Clint looked beside himself and Steve demanded, “Where at? Did you get a location?”

Wanda told him the address and Steve pulled his phone out, typing it into the maps app. He slammed his hand down on the desk in triumph, standing quickly. He thrust the phone into Clint’s hands. Sam was trying to peer over Clint’s shoulders to get a look too.

“That’s the same damn cabin,” Steve exclaimed, hardly able to contain his excitement. Wanda took notice of the pictures now, leaning over the table to look at them herself.

“Are we going now?” Sam asked just as Steve breezed past him. His eyes swept to Clint and said, “I guess so then.”

“Ha, teamwork,” Clint smiled, squeezing Wanda on the shoulder encouragingly as he walked by, rushing to follow Steve.

<><><>

The team was quick in their assemble upon arrival, Bucky and Natasha having to travel to get there which set Steve on edge because he had been ready immediately in his black suit, anxiousness coursing through him. He was pacing in front of the facility, having a hard time containing the hope blooming. His eyes were set on the tree line, wanting to just get into the car and drive to the address, scoop Y/N up and bring her back home.

He was not going to make the same mistakes he had that had let her slip through his fingers. If he could help it, she would never step foot off that property without him again. He would make sure she learned that lesson as soon as he got her home.

Tony met him at the edge of the entrance patio, not suited up. He was staying behind to monitor from there and he surprised Steve with a small drone, holding it out to him.

“You should not go in there guns blazing before you get sights on her or something to be absolutely sure. Use this. You don’t need to be barging into some random pregnant person’s cabin. Not a good look, not good press. Especially since you’ve got it out there now that you are looking for her. This drone is quiet, but it’s not silent so don’t fly too close or they’ll hear it and it’ll blow your whole covert cover.”

“You mean hovering above the place in a plane isn’t going to do that?”

“You’re not taking a plane, jackass,” Tony retorted, and Steve smirked in response. “Park down the road. You can go in on foot.” Steve thanked him, taking the drone. Tony ran his eyes up and down Steve and asked, “Was it really necessary to get up in the suit?”

“Can’t exactly show up in slacks. Just in case things get squirrelly,” Steve responded.

“’Squirrelly’,” Tony chortled. “Y/N will hardly be able to run.” Steve’s only response to that with a slight smile of acknowledgement. Tony stepped closer and said, “I got something else too. Of course, they say it doesn’t exist because the general public already has an issue with frothing at the mouth with conspiracy theories of the government tracking them. People honestly suffer from grandiosity in this country.” He noticed the impatient look on Steve’s face and apologized, “Sorry. Soap box. How do you feel about a GPS chip?” Steve’s eyes widened in surprise and Tony back tracked quickly. “Right. We can talk about that when she gets back home, safe and sound. I’ve just wanted to try out the new model and she seems like the perfect candidate, perfect circumstance. We’ll chat when you’re back. Don’t forget.”

Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder before walking back towards the door to the elevator.

<><><>

The trip up north was taking longer than Steve wanted it to, his fingers drumming impatiently on his thigh as he watched the trees go by. The thought that Y/N would somehow get tipped off and bolt before he got there was eating away at him. He was watching his phone anxiously, seeing them get closer and closer to where the cabin should be.

When Clint pulled off on the highway at what should be the end of the road that would lead to the cabin, Steve threw the door open and stepped outside. He was ready to let the drone go, flying it towards the direction of where the cabin was in a matter of a few moments, the only pause in the effort being from the drone having to start up. Steve was watching the viewing screen of the drone with intensity as it hovered over the trees, keeping an eye peeled as he followed the gravel road. The rest of the team was waiting around the SUV. Bucky leaned against the side, tapping his foot, trying to expel some of the pent-up adrenaline that everyone was garnering, knowing this needed to be executed without injury or incident.

The cabin was there at the end and Steve leaned forward in anticipation seeing the car.

“That looks like the car model,” Tony said over his earpiece. He was able to access the drone’s camera was well back at the facility. “Zoom in a bit to the license plate.” Steve did as he asked and Tony breathed, “Bingo.”

“Alright,” Steve said far more calmly than he felt. “That’s good enough for me.” He walked back towards the open back door of the SUV, walking up and placing the screen just inside. “The cabin is about half a mile away. Clint, stay here with the car and be ready to come up when we are ready to go. I don’t want Y/N to have to walk back down the driveway. Nat, Sam… you’re with me at the front. Buck, take the back of the cabin. Don’t shoot anyone unless I tell you to.”

“Taking the fun out of things,” Bucky halfheartedly joked.

<><><>

Stretching out on the bed, your toes curled. A sigh of contentment left your lips as your eyes opened, blinking away your sleep. When your vision focused, you saw the clock said it was almost 11:00am. You had managed to fall back asleep around 7:00am and you felt better now that you had gotten some more sleep. You could barely detect Yua and Natalie speaking in low tones, more than likely trying to avoid waking you up.

The serenity was shattered at the loud bang from on the first floor and you heard Yua scream in alarm. You sat up with difficulty just as the door from the balcony burst open. You jolted to the side, holding your stomach protectively.

Your heart rate slowed only for a moment upon recognizing the man who burst in was Bucky. When his cerulean eyes landed on you, gun pointed in your direction, your heart rate blew past normal, your breath quick.

“Bucky?” you got out in a gasp.

He relaxed ever so slightly, his eyes softening at the sight of you. His gun was no longer pointed at you, hanging at his side now. You did not miss the uptick of his lips, satisfaction flooding his face. But he still stayed on alert, ready to raise his weapon again if needed.

You sat up straight slowly, despite the commotion downstairs, keeping eye contact with him. Getting to your feet you tried to drown out the sounds of shouting downstairs, focusing only on him. His eyes flicked to your stomach, causing your hands to clench tighter around it and he made eye contact with you again.

“You can let me leave,” you said to him, your voice shaking.

Bucky’s laugh was humorless. “Y/N. Sweetheart, c’mon.” He was chastising you for even suggesting it with that tone.

“Buck?”

The sound of his voice rolling up the stairs made you freeze to the spot.

“I’ve got your doll in my scope. She looks good, Steve,” Bucky called back down towards the ground floor.

The sound of his foot on the bottom stair made you flinch. His footfalls were heavy, each step putting another nail in the coffin of your freedom. Your eyes flicked towards the open door and Bucky gave you a disappointed look, taking a step back towards it. He shook his head and you tore your eyes away from him, eyes fixated on the stairs.

He came into view quick, his height surpassing the staircase railing long before Yua or Natalie’s would. The same time elation flew through his features upon seeing you, you felt dread course through your veins. He was geared up, like he was going into a fight. Apparently, he did not underestimate the three of you.

Steve was a foot from you now, his gaze piercing and you were too afraid to take your eyes off him. There were a few moments of silence before he said quietly, “I admit, you have some loyal friends down there. They remind me of Buck.” You said nothing and he asked harshly now, “What did you think this was going to accomplish though, really, Y/N?”

You sucked in your bottom lip, unable to form a sentence in your frightened state about what he was there to do besides take you back.

“Answer me.”

Stammering, you said, “I… I just…” You were embarrassed he was shaking you up so bad. You had been in such a haze, hoping beyond reason that the three of you would eventually be able to settle down and it would blow over. The longer you had stayed away, the more the doubt it could work had been overshadowed by that terrible misleading feeling of hope.

Steve’s expression softened seeing you tripping over your words. He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back. His lips formed into a thin line, stopping his advancement. “Y/N, doll, please. I want what is best for you. All I want is to take care of you. You worried me, doll. You worried me a lot. Do you know what it felt like to not know where you were? If you were safe? If the children were safe? Can you imagine how utterly upset you made me? How betrayed I felt when I realized you were gone? I leave to let you have a party with your friends, to give you space with them.” You almost flinched at the phrasing, like he had taken the words right out of your mouth. If he noticed, he did not show it. He continued on, “I leave a gift behind for you to find, something I built for you and the babies, and how do you repay me? You left. Without a word. Like I didn’t matter. Did you even see the gift?”

“No,” you whispered.

“Of course you didn’t. You didn’t care enough to look. You were only concerned with yourself. Out of everyone in the world, I didn’t think it would be you that would betray me like this. You told me you loved me.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as your eyes glistened with tears. He sounded deeply hurt, wounded. You could see it in his eyes.

“I can forgive you, Y/N. Trusting you is something else entirely. I don’t think that’s an option right now. But… I can forgive you. You just have to come back and be good.”

You averted your gaze, your chest tightening at his order.

Steve closed the space between you, and you did not move away this time. He hooked his fingers underneath your chin, tipping your head up. “It’s me…” Steve told you as his eyes hardened, and he warned gravely, “Or nobody.”

You did not have to imagine all the guns pointed at your friends downstairs. You either left with them both dead and back with Steve. Or left with them both alive and with Steve. Either way, he had you enveloped back to him. The degree of guilt is what you were choosing, that’s what he was giving you.

You were taking too long to answer.

Steve looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Bucky. Bucky started walking towards the staircase where he could look down on the living room.

“Steve, don’t—” you choked out.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

You let out a strangled noise before you got out in between tears, “I won’t ever try to leave you again, I swear. I’ll stay home for you. I’ll take care of the twins. I’ll do what you ask, I’ll listen, like I promised. I’ll be happy.”

“Were you ever?” He asked coldly.

“I w-was,” you said shakily, nodding. Nodding to convince yourself, remind yourself that you had been. “I was, really.”

“And what changed that, hmm?”

“You… you locked me away in the house.”

His lips twitched at the accusation and you feared you had made a misstep, fearing for Yua and Natalie. He did not make a move though except to say, “And why did I do that?”

He wanted you to say what he believed. He wanted you to believe it too. The tears were fat rolling down your cheeks as you whispered, “Because… you wanted to keep me safe.”

“That’s right, doll,” Steve breathed easier, smiling. His fingers caressed your face. “That’s exactly what I was doing. And you pulling this little stunt proved my gut instinct was right, didn’t it? You need protection, especially from yourself. You are impulsive and don’t think about the long-term repercussions of your actions.” His hand came to rest on your abdomen, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, doll. I want you to just come home and let me take care of you. That’s what’s going to happen. Right?”

“Yes,” a voice that sounded like yours said; it was like you were outside your body. “Yes, I want that.”

“That’s what I thought,” Steve said, leaning forward and giving you a long kiss on your forehead.

“My friends?” you choked out.

Steve pulled away from you and smirked at you. “Hmm, maybe you can be concerned with more than yourself. Maybe I was too harsh there for a moment… what about your friends?”

“Please don’t hurt them. Please let them leave and go back home unharmed.”

He exhaled heavily and asked seriously, “And why should I do that?”

“Bucky would help you if you asked.” Bucky turned his head towards the pair of you and you tried to pretend like you did not notice his gaze. “It’s not their fault. I asked for help. It’s my fault. They shouldn’t be punished for my mistake. Please don’t make them pay for my behavior.”

Steve looked contemplative and you waited with bated breath, hoping he would react positively to your display of holding yourself liable. He wanted you to beg and you were giving it to him.

Over his shoulder, he finally ordered, “Let the ladies grab their things and get out of here. They’re safe… as long as Y/N continues to behave.” You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off by pressing a button on his earpiece. “Barton, we’re ready. Come on up.”

He grasped your arm and you tried to yank your arm away from him. He was far too strong and jolted you to him. “Don’t go messing this up now, Y/N. You were doing so well. Don’t make this harder for me than it has to be to get you in the damn car. You got what you wanted with your friends; you just need to uphold your side of the bargain.”

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @roxyfan14-blog @mrsnegan25 @coconutqueen21

[babymilkawa]

our promise

bakugou katsuki

gn!reader :)

angst, fluff if you squint

word count; 1390

the promised neverland au

readers please listen to this as you read

chapter 2 <-

Life was perfect. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Every morning you’d wake everyone up, help set up for breakfast, clean up, then finish your remaining chores. Once those were done, you had the whole day to yourselves. You often played tag with the younger kids in the forest, chasing them around until you were tired. Your resting spot was often in the comfort of the shade formed by the big tree. Away from the scorching sun, you would nestle your head in his lap while he read. Then he’d comb his fingers through your hair and hum his lullaby.

This seemed to be your favorite part of the day. The two of you would often sit in a comfortable silence while the cool breeze ruffled the pages of his book. The lullaby he hummed was always stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

One day you asked him, “Katsu, where did you hear that from?”

He glanced away from his book and smiled down at you. “I just know it.”

The two of you had been attached to the hip since you were born, growing up into best friends over the years. There wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about one another. You always felt that you were extremely lucky to have someone like him by your side. Even though there was always that dreading feeling deep under, you tried to ignore it. The feeling, no, the fact that he would leave you soon and find his own family. 

Katsuki ranked first out of everyone and you ranked second in the exams. Mother had always told you that families wanted the smart ones, so study hard. So even though you and Katsuki were the same age, you knew he’d be the first to leave. 

One day, when you had exhausted yourself from playing tag with the other kids, you walked over to your usual spot only to find Katsuki absent. 

“y/n!”

You turned to see mother calling you. She waved you over and you obeyed, greeting her with a hug. 

“Mother have you seen Katsu?”

She looked down at you and smiled, “He’s not feeling well.”

“oh,” a shadow of a pout appeared on your disappointed face. You were about to thank her and run off again when your mother pulled you with her and walked back into the house. 

“Why are we going back in?” you asked.

“You’ll see,” the signature smile came again. 

She brought you into the dining room and poured you your favorite drink. 

“y/n, a family has chosen you.”

You looked at her in shock. 

“Me? W-why? I thought Katsuki would leave first,” you stood up from your chair. 

“I can see why you’d think that, but they see potential in you,” Mother replied. You didn’t know what to feel. You’d finally be able to see outside, meet new people. But at the same time it meant leave your family here, and Katsuki. 

Mother tilted her head at you. “Do you not want to go?”

You hesitated, “N-no, I do...”

“We’ll tell the others during lunch,” and with that she stood up and left. 

You were still standing, contemplating on what to do. Should you tell Katsuki? Would he be upset? You knew that he was the first person who should receive this news, however. So you set out to search for him.

After a couple minutes, you found him sitting on the ladder in the library. It was dark and quiet here, a small candle illuminated for Katsuki to read. The atmosphere seemed to be the complete opposite to outside where each child was laughing and playing with one another.  

You sat down beside him and swallowed hard. “K-katsu, there’s something-”

“I know,” he interrupted.

Huh? He knew already?

“Wh-” 

He sighed and shut his book. Katsuki turned to face you and you had never seen him look so serious. He grabbed you by the shoulders and told you that he had saw Mother’s calendar. Your name had been written on the 31st. 

“Listen, y/n there’s something I need to tell you. I don’t think you’re going to take it well.”

Nervous, you nodded for him to continue.

Then Katsuki proceeded to tell you a story. A story about how demons roamed the earth and why you were all there in the first place. To be farmed as food. Livestock. That’s all you were. You kept quiet while he was speaking but inside, you were experiencing a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, anger, betrayal. Everything you knew in life had been stripped of you. 

When he was done he looked at you and noticed your figure shaking. The blonde grabbed your hand and pulled you into him. Your sobs echoed the room and your fists clenched on your best friend’s shirt. Then a thought occurred to you.

“How long have you known about this?” you asked, looking up at him. 

“S-since f- Never mind that, do you understand what’s going to happen?”

You nodded, slowly. 

With a heavy sigh, Katsuki said, “There's nothing we can do. We can’t escape this. We have a month y/n, let’s make the best of it.”

You sniffled and he bent down to wipe your nose. You noticed how he said “we.” You were grateful that he didn’t make it sound like you only had a month to live. Even though that was the reality you had to face. But you wouldn’t be alone. Your departure would affect everyone here. Everyone saw you as their older sibling. The thought of everyone’s reactions during lunch later made you sniffle a little more. 

The nights passed and insomnia took over you. You and Katsuki had beds next to each other but ever since that day, you moved them until they were touching. Every night, Katsuki would hold you and hum his lullaby. He was afraid himself, but he knew he couldn’t show that to you. Katsuki had always tried his hardest so he would be the first to leave. He studied and read so he would get the highest scores. He didn’t think he’d be able to see you go before him. Which he admits, was a little selfish. So why had the schedule changed? 

You stirred in his arms, interrupting Katsuki’s thoughts. He continued to cradle your head and hummed his melody. He wanted so bad to protect you. You were so precious to him and he hated that he was defenseless against the horrors of the outside. Katsuki didn’t want to imagine what you would feel when you were facing death in the face. He shut his eyes tight, pulling you impossibly closer. All he knew was that he would never be the same again after you leave. 

Soon, the day had arrived. Before that, Katsuki had contemplated whether or not to distance himself from you to make your departure easier. But he decided against it. You needed him and he had to be there. If not, the blonde knew that he’d be full of regret. 

You packed your suitcase and waited by the front door. All the children rushed over to you and showered you with tears, cries of congratulations, and hugs. They would miss you, they said. Write us letters, they sobbed. You agreed and hugged them all back but inside, a heavy weight had settled in your heart. You hated these empty promises you were giving. Finally, Katsuki was the last to come up to you. You gave him the tightest hug while shedding a few tears yourself. 

Your mind scanned over the memories you made here one last time. How Katsuki would read his book out loud to you sometimes. How he’d join you and the others in tag if he was feeling it. How you’d found secret hiding spots in the forest that no one else knew about. Katsuki was the warmth that you’ve known for your whole life. 

Before you pulled away, Katsuki whispered in your ear. You could hear his voice trembling, too. A few wet spots trickled on your neck and you pulled away to wipe the tears off his eyes. 

He held his pinky out to you and you linked yours with his.

“Promise,” you both said. 

Giving a quick kiss on his forehead, you picked up your bag and said goodbye.

a/n: there will be a part 2 so please look forward to it!

bnha masterlist

[moody-blues-requiem]

Halloween Heat (Naga Fugo x afab reader)

ok I’ll admit, this one is rather self indulgent

warnings for oviposition (egg pregnancy), biting, and a touch of aphrodisiacs. N/s/f/w under the cut. 

Halloween was by far your favorite time of year. The air chilled, trees across the countryside were ablaze with bright red, orange, gold, brown, beautiful leaves, apples were in season (as well as apple cider), jack-o-lanterns decorated every doorstep. Your days of trick-or-treating were long gone, but you’d never stopped dressing up, and handing out treats to precious costumed kids and families was always such a joy. 

And of course, it was around Halloween that your boyfriend, Pannacotta Fugo, fell into his yearly heat. 

It always started with touch. He held your hand more often, hugs lingered just a few seconds longer. Eventually, Fugo was practically a cuddle machine, wrapping his thick snake tail around you to keep you locked in his grasp while he snuggled into the warmth of your body. Maybe it had something to do with the weather growing cold, Fugo was always a bit sluggish in the winter and more energetic in the spring and summer, but regardless. Following the increased touching was smell. He explained to you that his heat made it like he could barely smell anything that didn’t smell like you. You could hear him inhaling your scent during hugs, and on a couple occasions caught him rummaging through your laundry. He was embarrassed every time, but you were a good sport about it, stripping off whatever top you wore and tossing it his way. “Here, catch. It’s still warm, you’ll like it more.” He would flick his tongue happily and practically rub his face into the fabric. You weren’t sure if he was marking your stuff with his scent, or marking himself with yours. 

The obsession with your smell was always the final warning sign. Without fail, the next morning he would be warm to the touch, feverish but not sick, and painfully horny. For the rest of the year Fugo’s sex drive was relatively low, like he saved it up to take it out on you, all in one day. It was brutal and exhausting in a way that you absolutely loved. And this year, it happened to fall exactly on Halloween. 

When you finally made it out of the bedroom, covered in bite marks (you loved his short little fangs, but god did they leave noticeable marks) and his cum, you knew you wouldn’t be answering the door for any trick-or-treaters tonight. But you still had candy apples to prepare, and damn it if you weren’t going to dress up, even if the costume would be shredded away by Fugo’s clawed fingertips. Fugo whined whenever you tried to leave him, wrapping his inhumanly strong tail around your legs, cementing you in place. A couple rounds of rough sex later and when you were so overstimulated you thought you might die without a break, Fugo agreed to let you go. “But come back in an hour!” he said, his tail coiling around himself. You rummaged through the top dresser drawer, where you kept a nice collection of bedroom toys, for Fugo’s favorite fleshlight. Extra wide, perfect for accommodating both of his hemipenes at the same time. 

You worked on the treats as fast as you could, coating fresh apples in homemade caramel and setting up a little fan to dry them faster. A large bowl of assorted candies was left on your porch and a note offering guests as much as they wanted. When the apples dried, you wrapped them in little baggies and set them out with the candy too. 

It was tough keeping focused when you could hear Fugo so desperately moaning your name, just a short distance away. 

In the privacy of your bathroom you slipped into a costume that was more lingerie than anything, with a cloth loosely wrapped around your head and a plastic flute in hand. It was cheesy as all hell, but what other situation would call for a slutty snake charmer costume?

The sun was setting as you knocked on the bedroom door, only getting a moan in response. You entered, smirking devilishly at your boyfriend. His inky black scares shone with iridescence in the sunset’s glow, hair a disheveled mess, panting hard. His cocks were still hard and dripping precum, as they were when you had left him earlier, but he had made an absolute mess of the fleshlight. 

“What are you…. What’s with the head wrap?” Fugo asked between breaths. 

“It’s my costume! I’m a snake charmer, can’t you tell?”

Fugo couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head, chuckling softly. “You’re lucky I’m not a cobra hybrid, like real snake charmers have. My bites would be a lot worse.”

“They make antivenin,” you replied, causing Fugo to sit up in response. “Babe!” He exclaimed. “Don’t let me poison you just because I’m horny!” 

“Speaking of that,” you purred, tracing over the length of his lower cock with the tip of your prop flute, “do you need any help with that? I could charm you, put you into a trance, so you don’t feel so--”

“No,” he said, before shaking his head. “I-I mean, I do want your help, but… the trance won’t be necessary. I need you, I need to feel you, I… I--” 

His mind fogged over with lust and you felt his tail wrapping around you once again, pulling you in for who knows how many rounds. 

He always started with one cock, letting the other brush over your folds and clit while he stretched you out with the first. He wouldn’t admit to having a pattern, but you noticed he always started with his upper dick. Nagas were known for having two penises (“hemipenes” was the scientific term), typically a little larger than the average human penis, ridged, and with a tapered end instead of a rounded head. Fugo held nothing back, desperately rutting his hips against yours, filling the room with the lewd mix of both your whines and the wet slapping of his hips crashing into you. You were on your hands and knees, ass in the air and face buried in the pillows, but your loud moans were barely muffled. Fugo leaned forward, biting your neck, fangs pumping a mild aphrodisiac into your bloodstream-- a fun little feature that only happened when a naga was in heat. You groaned and came around him, vision whiting out from the intensity of it all. 

When it was Fugo’s turn to cum, you were surprised when he pulled out. “Wh… noooo,” you whined, hips rolling. “Get back here!” 

“I… it’s time,” he said, pumping his lower, longer cock in his hand. “Are you ready for my clutch?”

Fugo’s bottom cock-- an ovipositor, really, made to penetrate your cervix and fill you with a clutch of his eggs-- twitched in response to your nod. You rolled over to your back, spreading your legs, giving Fugo a perfect view of your cum-soaked pussy. “Breed me full, Pannacotta.” 

The aphrodisiac venom pumping through your blood heightened your pleasure and dulled your pain, making the sensation of Fugo’s long cock pressing at the head of your cervix feel like heaven. You had loosened up, mentally and physically, leaving little resistance for Fugo as he slid in you, deeper than ever. It was only a couple pumps of his hips before he moaned, “here it comes…”, and the feeling of the first egg passing into you. Your brain exploded into stars, your orgasm nearly ripping away your consciousness as it shuddered through your body. The eggs were squishy but firm, almost like a hard-boiled egg, and they filled your womb with ease. Fugo’s clawed hand rubbed over your belly and, when he could feel the little lumps in your womb, he came hard, coating your stomach with white. 

Your stomach looked oddly lumpy and bloated when he finally pulled out, but you whined at the loss of contact. “I know, I know,” he hushed. The eggs signaled the end of his heat and he flopped down, exhausted, drawing you into his arms and letting his hands rest on your full belly. “One of these years… when we’re both ready…. We’ll make sure these take,” he said softly, dreamily. The post-sex haze had him feeling sappy. “Have a couple of little nagas of our own slithering around.”

“I’d love that,” you replied, sappy and sentimental yourself. “I bet they’ll be smart like their father--”

“And mother,” Fugo added. “You’re every bit my equal.” 

His tail coiled around you, squeezing you a bit tighter, like he was hugging you with his whole body. You stayed that way for a few minutes, exhausted in one another’s arms, before you realized that Fugo had fallen asleep. 

The sheets would definitely have to be thrown out in the morning, you thought. But tonight, everything could wait.

[shyrose57]

Brothers anon, im gonna start combing the two separate submissions again cause its getting too short to have them separate I think?

1: His possession messed with memories Ranbob had before, so memories of school friends or playing with Ran were distant to erased. Though after Dreams possession it was also harder to make and keep memories. But thankfully as Ranbob was recovering from Dream and got futher away making memories came eaiser to him, though he'll never get back the memories he lost. 

3: Oh he would very quickly grow to regret his decision, but it would be funny. And Benjamin would later admit that while it was annoying and stressful, it was also fun and he was very happy to have his two families meet and generally get along. 

8: Everyone is just in shocked silence before Cletus just goes "YEAHHHHHHHHHH!" Oddly happy that Ranboo committed so much arson. Oh definitely, after all the outcasts of society where put there. Of course people would make such negative rumors about Mizu and treat the people as the scum of the earth. Though this also means, people don't know what happened in Mizu, and anyone who knows, view it in a more happy and a "Their finally gone" type of way, then viewing it as the tragedy it was. 

Spoons is a card game technically. A group of people sit in a group and everyone gets 4 cards, and you keep discarding at least 1 card of yours to the person on your left, who then does the same to their person on their left, the last person in the group puts a card into a discard pile. The goal is to get 4 of the same cards, and once someone gets 4 of the same cards, that person goes and grabs a spoon in a pile in front of them (let's say there's 5 players, theres only going to be 4 spoons cause there's always a spoon less than the people playing), once they grab one anyone can grab a spoon. And the person who doesn't get a spoon gets a S added to them, once Spoons is spelled the person gets out of the game, and a spoon gets removed to continue the game. Basically for flowers its played the exact same way but with flowers in the middle expect for spoons.

11: I just imagine Dream sulking in a corner as you yell at him and him going like "well I didn't know…" as he kicks a stone. And he wasnt sure what it was, but quickly jumped on the idea that maybe it was the fact that Ran was still alive somewhere, and that that's causing Ranbob to willingly let himself become weak and defy him. Causing Dream to become angrier at Ran and punish Ranbob harder. 

----

3: During the brothers fight in the storm, and after everyone runs off to find Ranbob, Ran is left alone. And he decides to just wander off into the storm, not protecting himself from the rain so he does get burnt. The whole time he's lost deep in thought and isn't really paying attention. He continues to wander for a whole day unfollowed (because after the Gladiators and Fishermen came back to the cave after finding Ranbob they are in no rush to find Ran and decide to look for him after the storm passes, which takes a full day) and at some point Raq finds him wandering. Which Raq then uses Rans distraction to his advantage and attacks him. At first only really the gladiators where concerned when they found Ran gone. But once they found him blinded and terrified everyone felt awful and a looming sense of guilt. And everyone continued to feel that way, even after they got the antidote and Ran started to see again.

4: They would just leave Ranbob alone and check in on him every now and again. But generally let him deal with it himself. They'd feel guilty leaving him alone, but they also know that they can't really do anything for him as their not prepared or briefed on how to help him in this situation. 

10: Oh definitely, even with Ran blinded they would've been kicked out immediately for fighting, without even a second glance. Dont forget, Ran still cares for his brother. And maybe, losing his sight made him face the side of him that wanted to become family again with Ranbob, maybe it brought enough to light that he just can't ignore it anymore. Mostly only negative potions can be permanent, like posion, blinding, wither, and nausea (I know the last like 3/2 are effects but they've also found a way to make effects into potions.). You already know what a antidote for blindness would be. A antidote for wither would be, a ghast tear (actually a basic ingredient for almost every antidote), blaze powder, and glistening melon to make a overpowered healing potion. Antidote for posion would be ghast tear, swiftness (so it acts fast to get rid of the posion), and the 3rd ingredient depends on what kind of posion it  was (posion that has a side effect of constricting or filling the lungs with water? Pufferfish and Turtle shell for last ingredients. Posion that has weakness? Blaze powder, and glistening melon) And antidote for nausea would be ghast tear, and potion of slowness to allow the person to slowly feel better, so their nausea doesn't hit them all at once before disappearing, which can cause them to throw up or have side effects. 

13: Thats exactly what they did. 

14: Jackie will 100% attempt to fight God and no one can stop him. :) (to be honest im not sure yet, I know I want to do more with Raq and have the idea that maybe he could be the person that finds Dream and gets him out of Mizu, but that's pretty often used in stories and I want to try to think of something more unique. Maybe I'll have it so Raq actually manages to capture the brothers or at least one of them and uses them as blackmail?)

15: When Ranbob was a child and Ran was just a baby Ranbob would often take Ran out of his crib and take him to go watch the fish swim by. When Ran was old enough he'd follow Ranbob everywhere, even a few times he managed to sneak into Ranbobs class room and almost wasn't caught. Ran got extremely clingy one day and managed to gather his haunting all up into his arms and carried them around, even though he was obviously struggling. And Ranbob used to complain about his teachers and idiotic classmates whenever he got home, which is funny when you consider Ran was very impressiable at the time and Ran started mimicking Ranbob, leading to him cursing, much to Ranbobs dismay. 

And im curious, do you have any questions that I havent answered? Or do you have any ideas for anything? I'd love to hear whatever you have to say about anything honestly!

Course! I dont have much lore wise other than they go to Kelalen and when they hear Dream is still around they decide to stay back to help fight him. But the idea I have is that Karl is just kinda hanging with everyone I listed, talking about allies or treaties when his time traveling clock/watch starts to go off, and he panics, but sadly in his haste to stop it he makes it worse and it grabs everyone, where they end up in the future. After hours of confusion and explaining they calm down. When 2 days later they find the Gladiator and Fishermen group, at first Karl is strongly against going to then for help, but everyone basically ignores him and go to ask for help. Hours of explanation and proof giving later the GF (Gladiator and Fishermen, got tired of writing it out) group sadly tells them that they cant really help. Until Ran (who was previously gone searching the surrounding area and making sure it was safe) appears high up on a tree (cause I just can't get the image of Ran on a tree and looking comfortable and confident as hell out of my head), and says that maybe Kelalen can help, if not going to Foolish may be a good alternative. Isaac, and Grievous are extremely against going back (at this time a 2 months have past since they left Kelalen)n saying it could be dangerous but Ran just aboustely shoots them down, along with Watson and Jackie agreeing with Ran, and Karls group agreeing to it. They head off to Kelalen. And Jackie is extremely excited at the potential of going to see Foolish finally. And it'd probably be like a sub au where the brothers au is the main backbone for it but at a certain point it separates from the au and becomes its own.

1: Okay, ouch. Can you imagine if Ran brought one of those memories up, and just had Ranbob look confused, or horrified, depending on how quick he realizes what happened? How would Ran react to that realization, both before and after he forgives Ranbob?

3: If nothing else, everyone got some laughs from it-even Benjamin, once his friends were far, far away from his family and not able to teach them more chaos. 

8: Cletus, why are you so happy? Do you just enjoy knowing chaos existed back then? Are you an arsonist? What’s up with you? 

Also, wow. Not cool, other city people, that’s very mean.

Spoons sounds like it’s interesting, I might try it sometime. Did the group just have those cards on them? What other games did they have?

11: Good, put Dream back in the corner, I’m gonna be yelling more. Because, seriously dude? I know you probably exist solely out of spite, but c’mon. Admittedly, from a certain point of view, it could be considered amusing that your first thought was that Ranbob was making himself weaker out of defiance/spite but like. From a more responsible and mature viewpoint, that’s incredibly stupid, and I-just. Buddy, hate to tell you, but I’m pretty sure that’d just be a you thing. Besides you were in Ranbob’s head, didn’t he think Ran was dead? It doesn’t even make sense. Good lord, I’m half-tempted to get the broom and chase you around like you’re a particularly unruly barn cat. 

------

3: First of all, that sounds really scary for Ran. Second of all, are we getting an overprotective arc?

4: Kind of sad, but understandable, they’re dealing with the situation as best they can.

10: Even if the group was provoked by the townspeople? Potions sound really cool, wish I could make those in real life, tbh.

13: W-what do you mean ‘that’s exactly what they did’? Anon, is your friend, like, a legit gremlin? I’m spooked. 

14: Foolish takes one look at Jackie, wearing a smile that exactly matched Tubbo’s when he was about to cause chaos, and immediately nopes out of that. He knows that face, and he will not be getting tangled into a fight with a goblin child today, no sir. I’m sure Jackie tries regardless though. (Also, that sounds like that goes horribly, do we get an overprotective ender-sibling, for whoever gets captured or used as blackmail, if that’s what you do?)

15: I love all of these so much, oh my gosh. Baby Ran seeing the fishes and following his big brother around. Poor Ranbob’s face when his baby brother cursed one day, Ran trying to carry all of his haunting. I’m in tears, honestly. 

Umm...I can’t think of anything right now, to be honest. If I ever do have a question or idea though, I’ll through it on the Brothers AU tag for you to check out, I guess. 

Oh, this sounds really cool. The part about them just ignoring their local time traveler when they’ve just time traveled particularly amuses me, as does Jackie wanting to see Foolish-I feel like Foolish may be a little more than terrified to see both Tubbo and Jackie back, honestly. Why was Ran willing to help them so much? What did they do to offer proof? How did Ranbob react once they proved who they were? How does all the group get along? Are they Ranboo’s haunting, and if so, if Ranboo gets close with his descendants, does he merge his hauntings with theirs? How does the time group feel about the Brothers fighting, and Ranbob’s possession?

[deantransgressions2]

13x02 the rising son

21 transgressions. enjoy.

#1: dean criticized sam for wanting to protect jack, and then devalued jack’s entire existence to an “it”.

sam: “look… losing mom and cas, that’s a lot to process, dean, especially on no sleep. and the kid...”

dean: “the “kid”? come on, man, you know how this plays out. kook, when we try to bend the rules, pretend that the bad guys aren’t so bad or that things will get fixed, that’s when people that we care about get hurt. and then we end up doing what we should’ve done in the first place, which is end the problem. so this time, let’s start with the obvious. soon as i find a way to take care of… it.”

time tag: 3:17

#2: after sam failed again to make dean see jack as a child, he tried to make dean see jack as an asset. dean refused to listen or consider any of sam’s insights, and admitted that he is giving up on family, which is something he claims he would never ever ever ever ever do. 

sam: “dean, “the problem” might be our only shot at saving mom.”

dean: “mom’s gone. there’s no fixing that.”

time tag: 3:44

#3: jack was happily watching scooby doo and bothering nobody, so of course dean walked over and scolded him, then turned the tv off. apparently watching tv is illegal now yall!! 

time tag: 9:03

#4: told jack to take the couch and threw a bible at him. luckily, sam isn’t a child murderer and made sure jack felt welcome. sam = good dad. but, dean winchester is already worse of a father than john was. you hate to see it. 

time tag: 9:11

#5: dean criticized jack for eating the exact same way he does. mocking a 3 day old child just for the sake of it, just to make himself feel better. he is pathetic. idk why jack and sam put up with him these next 3 seasons. 

dean: “you can slow down, you know. that’s stuff’s not gonna disappear.”

sam: “ever seen you eat, dean?”

time tag: 10:02

#6: yells at jack for copying his movements. he’s 3 days old...3 days old. 3. 

time tag: 11:35

#7: sam has been rooting for jack to not be evil. he is focusing on WHO jack is not what he is. dean, however, is counting on jack being evil so he can murder him. the confirmation bias is real here. any instance of jack showing humanity dean just tunes it out. this conversation should remind you of dean’s view of sam in s4/5

donatello: “yes, well, not so much anymore. but, uh…look at you. the waves of power… so intense.”

dean: “maybe less human than we thought.”

donatello: “fascinating. you know, i’ve met your father. your power’s nothing like his. not dark, not toxic.”

sam: “that so?”

dean: “not yet.”

time tag: whole time but 15:58

#8: he was a dick to the tattoo artist for no reason expect that he loves to take his anger out on others. 

time tag: 16:44

#9: when in doubt blame sam! when in doubt accuse sam! when in doubt manipulate sam! wooohooo!!!

sam: “so you heard donatello. no evil vibes from jack.”

dean: “proves nothing, except that you’re way too attached to this kid. you need to see this for what it is, okay?”

time tag: 16:54

#10: lessons from our sexist macho man icon:

jack: “it hurt.”

dean: “okay, see, sometimes, things hurt, so you just man up and deal with it.”

time tag: 17:21

#11: some more of dean refusing to listen to other’s correct observations of jack, because there is no changing his mind that jack is evil. he doesn’t need proof that jack is evil, because he doesn’t want it. he wants to murder jack regardless of who he is. dean only cares about WHAT jack is. sigh. 2x03 i miss you. 

time tag: 18:43

#12: dean claimed that since cas loved jack, jack is therefore responsible for his murder. even though it was literally lucifer that murdered cas, not jack. so, using dean’s logic: sam and john killed mary, sam killed jess, dean killed john, sam killed dean, sam and dean and bobby killed jo and ellen, dean killed sam, dean and sam killed cas multiple times, sam and dean killed kevin....etc etc. do you see how fucking stupid dean is being rn?

sam: “okay, look, yeah, jack is on lucifer’s family tree. but we don’t know if that dna is stronger than Kelly’s, or his connection with cas.”

dean: “oh, you mean the connection that got cas killed?”

sam: “i’m just saying, jack doesn’t have to be evil. we can teach him not to be.”

time tag: 18:53

#13: dean called jack ‘the devil’ which made jack so upset he ran away. this is a transgression obviously towards jack, but also towards sam. dean said that a 3 day old child (who literally hasn’t done anything wrong) is the devil. he said it in front of his brother who was tortured by the ACTUAL devil (and michael) for centuries. it’s insensitive and fucked up beyond belief for dean to use his brother’s abuser to try and manipulate him to conform to his beliefs on jack.

NOT TO MENTION that dean is the only member of team free will with absolutely no supernatural abilities at all. he does not understand jack. he does not understand lucifer. dean is the LAST person who should have a say in if jack is good or evil. 

time tag: 19:25

#14: this is a abuse apology. many victims of abuse are manipulated to apologize for them and sympathize with them. this is a prime example of that:

sam: “dean doesn’t hate you. it… look, sometimes the wires in dan’s head get crossed and...and he gets frustrated, and then he mixes frustration with anger, and...and fear.”

jack: “why would he be afraid?”

sam: “because dean feels like it’s his job to protect everyone.”

time tag: 20:45

#15: did the writers include this scene to emphasize that dean is john (but worse)....because that’s exactly what it did. 

bartender: “i hated my old man. I ran away myself. see, my mom would never stick up for me. but…you know kids. no matter what, they still want the old man’s approval. well, that’s how it was with me, just…”

dean: “you know, that’s, uh, that’s how it was with me, too.” 

i’m not sure what dean is referring to here because based on what the bartender is saying, sam would relate more to her story than dean but ok! sure! pity party time needs no logic

time tag: 22:17

#16: sam had to seperate jack and dean in order to protect jack. sam felt that jack was safer with a man that had no soul (donatello), over his own brother. and he was right!

time tag: 23:11

#17: dean made fun of sam and jack by calling jack sam’s “new pal” as a way to not only degrade jack, but also ridicule sam. 

time tag: 27:08

#18: dean is angry that sam isn’t blindly following along with his plans for jack’s death. and everything sam tried to say to get dean out of his child murdering mindset goes in one ear and out the other. 

sam: “point is…if you and i are gonna do this, keep jack on the right side of things, then...then we have to be on the same page.”

dean: “okay. well, that’s the problem, though, sam, ‘cause we’re not on the same page. like, at all.”

sam: “all right. you know what? i know what’s going on here.”

dean: “oh. okay. well, please, tell me, what’s going on here?”

sam: “you thinking mom is gone and cas is gone, and that jack can’t be saved. dean, after everything we’ve gone through… we just lost people we love, people who have been in our lives for a long time. everything’s upside-down. i get it. but we’ve been down before. i mean, rock bottom. and we find a way. We fix it because that’s what we do. and jack w-wants to do the right thing. jack’s scared to death of who he is, and he’s scared of you.” 

you know who else was scared of their father figure? dean. and sam. and now jack. dean stans can hate john all they want but the truth is dean is far worse. they both deserve a special place in hell together

time tag: 27:19

#19: the mental gymnastics it takes to come to this conclusion about jack. to ignore any and all proof that jack isn’t evil. it’s shocking how strongly dean holds onto hate and his need to kill. 

sam: “dean, wait a second. the kid came through for us today. jack saved us.” dean: “no. no, whatever that was, that was a reflex. it was a sneeze. maybe next time he sneezes, he kills us. goodnight.”

time tag: 39:32

#20: dean drove jack to self harm. dean then proceeded to angrily tell him off and call him names for doing so. 

dean: “okay. what the hell? give me that. you...don’t be an idiot. look, a, this is not gonna do anything to you, okay? and b, you… what the hell?”

time tag: 40:35

#21: this is psychological abuse. this is child abuse. this scene is as bad as the panic room of s4. disgusting. and some people actually ship this man with this child’s father (castiel). get help. 

dean: “you know, my brother thinks you can be saved.” jack: “you don’t believe that.” dean: “no, i don’t.”

jack: “so… if you’re right?”

dean: “if i’m right… and it comes to killing you… i’ll be the one to do it.”

time tag: 41:07

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Holding On and Letting Go - Chapter Four

The sequel to The Hand That Reaches for God

Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.

The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do– be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.

Chapter Four

“You lost her and it wasn’t because she was hard to hold, or love, or touch but because she was made of your absence, of all the things you ignored and all the beautiful poetry you read but failed to understand.” - R.M. Drake

-106 Days After-

“I can’t believe you married me,” Sam said, his voice low and rough against Ophelia’s neck as he held her closely. She looked beautiful, like a dream.

“You can’t?”

“Of course not. You’re way out of my league.”

She snorted, suppressing a laugh. She squeezed him in her arms, feeling tiny against his large frame. She’d always thought they fit perfectly together, like they were made to be one. She thought about the future they would have. A baby boy that looked just like Sam and two little girls. He would protect them, and they would all love each other endlessly, just like she and Emerson did. Just like Sam and Dean did. They would live next door to Emerson and Dean, because they were in love even if they were too scared to admit it. They would all always be together. It was how it was always supposed to be. “Do you think things will be better someday?”

“Better than this? How can it be?”

She rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be the romantic of the two. He was stealing her role, but she knew it was because he was happy - smitten even. They were in love. “I mean the world , Samuel.”

“Ah.”

She pulled back from him, a blonde wave falling into her eyes. She tried to blow it away, but it just fluttered a bit and fell back into her eyelashes. He brushed it away. “You’re cute,” he told her.

“You are,” she murmured.

Ophelia had waited for her wedding day her entire life. Back at the house she grew up in, she had countless notebooks with wedding dress clippings, articles, pressed flowers, and Mrs. Ophelia Winchester written in a dozen different scripts and colors. She knew that she would grow up to be Sam’s wife someday. She had thought of everything, prepared for it all. She knew exactly what she would wear, how she would smell, what she would say, and how she would feel. She even taught herself how she would walk across that aisle without her mom. She was even able to adjust to a world that was crumbling under her feet, and make a beautiful, intimate ceremony that was so full of love she worried they couldn't contain it.

The end? That was the one thing that she never prepared for. She never imagined that it would be over long before it ever really began.

-3 Years After-

Dean left Emerson alone in the room. “Take all the time you need.”

He was far too good to her. He always had been, and she hated that she couldn’t let him love her. It just didn’t seem fair that she had this amazing man who was here and Pheli? If either of the sisters were to survive this shit show it always would’ve been Ophelia. She was the hope, and without her… what was Emerson without her? She didn’t have the answer, and maybe it was time that she found out.

She pulled off her wet clothes and toweled off, moving the curtain out of the way to look out at the empty parking lot. Everything was powdered with snow, dusted, untouched and undisturbed. It was almost peaceful if she didn’t know any better. Pheli loved the winter and especially the snow. She was all sparkles, snowflakes, and snowball fights.

Emerson pressed her forehead to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. She wrote home in the steam. She always thought that home was a place, but more than ever, she knew now that home is a person. Home was her sister. Home was the way that Sam looked at Ophelia and the soft cotton of Dean’s worn out Led Zeppelin t-shirt, it was the smell of her mom’s cookies. It was something she would never get to have again. Emerson knew that in order to belong she had to have roots, otherwise the wind would carry her away. But, roots can’t be planted in people.

Her eyes stung, threatening to spill over again, but there was nothing left for her to cry. Her chest ached with an emptiness that echoed with every heartbeat. She wondered if that was how it felt to die, if when she lost her sister she lost another part of her soul. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand, above her heart. She’d heard it crack inside of her louder than anything else. At first she thought it was the ground collapsing under her feet, but she was wrong. It was just all of the love leaving her body like an avalanche. All of the shattered pieces are unable to be repaired.

She pulled her fingers away from the window and towel dried her hair before digging her spare set of clothes from her bag. She slipped into her fleece leggings and buttoned up one of Dean’s flannels. She hugged the fabric to her face and took a deep breath of his scent. She didn’t deserve him. Her eyes welled up, and she tried to swallow it. What the fuck was she going to do? She didn’t have the answer. Not even close. She slipped into her boots and snuck out of the motel quietly. She needed to think, and she thought better when she could see the sky. She always had.

So Emerson scaled the building, stepping on the dumpster, and she settled on the roof in the snow. Her face turned up to the sky. Her days of denial were counting down. She wouldn’t be able to avoid it much longer. She would have to say it out loud, and she would have to say it to Dean. She didn’t know where to start. There was a lake past the trees, and if it were summer maybe they would stop for the day and enjoy the water. She stared out toward the water and sucked in her breath. The sky beyond the trees was painted fuchsia, green, deep purple. “Holy shit.” The northern lights flickered ahead of her, dancing and blurring on the horizon.

Fingers towards the sky, she reached as if she expected to be able to touch the lights. They reminded her of the glowing butterflies at the lakehouse. It felt like a sign, like hope. It felt like Ophelia.

“Em?”

Her eyes flickered behind her to find Sam, with his long lanky limbs awkwardly crawling onto the roof. He scooted next to her, draping a blanket from the motel around her shoulders. It didn’t even occur to her that she was cold, but as if he brought the chill with him she shivered. “I want to be alone.”

“Yeah I know. Me too. Thought we could be alone together.” He rested his arms on his knees and didn’t glance her way.

“Seems counterproductive to me.”

He shrugged. His hair was long, sweeping his shoulders, Emerson resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers through it. Pheli would’ve loved it long. He would’ve had a Viking braid by now if she were with them. The thought made her stomach ache.

“Happy birthday,” he commented quietly as he watched the dancing lights. It was unclear if he was talking to Emerson or the lights.

“Not so happy.”

“She wouldn’t like that, you know. That you’re retreating into yourself. It’s why I’m not doing it. She is the light.”

“That's why there’s so much darkness,” she agreed.

“If Pheli can’t be here to shine we need to shine for her, Em.”

Emerson made a face of discontent and turned completely to him. “I don’t know how to do that, Sam. I don’t know how to have hope without her.”

He scooted close to her and wrapped a supportive arm around her. “You know when I married her she became part of my family, but I wasn’t just saying I do to her. I was promising to love you, too. You’re my sister in law, Emerson. That means something to me.”

“There isn’t law anymore, Sam,” she said, her shoulders tense under the weight of his arm.

He snorted with a laugh. “You know what I mean.” He sucked in a shaking breath and let it out slowly. “I miss her. It takes every bit of power I have not to fold into myself and never get back up. I’ve loved her for what feels like my whole life.” He turned to look at her, his hazel eyes were wet and reflecting the purple flecks of the northern lights. “I hate that I’m not with her, and I will never forgive myself for not being able to protect her. I just wish you would blame me more than you blame Dean. It’s not his fault. I know he loves you, and I couldn’t protect Ophelia…” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he shook his head. “So just let me do the one thing I know she would ask me to do. Let me take care of you.”

Emerson pulled her knees up to her chest. “I don’t think I know how to do that, Sam.”

“Try. For her.”

She let out a sob and rested her head on his shoulder. “I miss her so much sometimes it feels like I’m dying, but it just never ends.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to do this to Dean.”

“He loves you.”

“I know he does. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to let myself have everything when she’s…”

“Em, maybe you didn’t know this, but Ophelia talked about your happiness just as much as she talked about her own. She always talked about how one day we would live next to you and Dean.” Sam laughed quietly and squeezed her in his arms. “Let yourself be happy. Well, as happy as you can be.”

Another hot tear rolled down her cheek, and she glanced up at him. “I can try.”

“Okay.” He nodded and placed a platonic, loving kiss on her forehead and hugged her tightly. “And Em?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Her eyebrows came together. “Tell him what?”

He chuckled against her hair, his breath tickling her scalp. “You know what. I was with your sister for a long time. You girls are like clockwork and well… I may have noticed a change in the last few months. My brother is so focused on the now that I don’t think he’s seeing the bigger picture.”

Emerson sucked in her breath and tried to swallow a sob. “I… I couldn’t admit it. I refused, because how can I? In a world like this? Without my mom… without Phel…”

“Ignoring it will not make it go away,” he said gently, rubbing her arm.

“I know,” she murmured. “It just… wasn’t supposed to be me.”

Sam tilted her chin up to look at him. “You should tell him. If it were me I’d want to know.”

She nodded, pained. He was right. She knew he was, and she was mad at him for it. The world wasn’t fair, but it was still turning and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. “Okay.”

They stayed there for a while, enjoying the quiet, the cold, and the dancing lights on the horizon. It was a special kind of bliss that they normally didn’t get to enjoy. There was a lot of unknown due to the world they lived in, but that didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do about it, so she should focus on the known. She knew for a fact that the Winchesters would always be there. That was something she could hold on to and something she shouldn’t take for granted.

They climbed down from the roof and Sam went to her room, and she went to Deans. It was dark in the room, and he was laying on his side facing the closed window. When the door opened he didn’t move, but the lack of soft snores in the room told her he was awake. She crept to him, shaking off her boots, flannel, socks, and leggings leaving only her underwear and climbed into bed behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cold skin to his warm back.

He hissed at the chill. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“Not at you. Never at you.”

He snorted in response.

“Well, not anymore at least,” she admitted sheepishly.

“It’s okay to be mad. I can take it.”

She pressed her face to his back and kissed it gently, blinking tears before closing her eyes completely. She squeezed him tightly. “This isn’t your fault. I just… I’m in so much pain. I’m scared all the time. Even more so now.”

Dean shifted under her arms, turning to look at her, but she squeezed him tightly. “No, please don’t. I just… I need to tell you something, and I can’t see your face when I do.”

“What is it?” He asked softly, gently, sweetly.

She let out a pained laugh. “I can’t say I don’t know how it happened, because I do .”

“Emerson, take a breath. What’s going on?”

“I think… Fuck. I think I’m pregnant. It sounds insane. Asinine. This is the fucking end of the world and I…”

He had wiggled out of her grip, and he turned to face her. His nose brushed hers. “If this is a joke, Maklen, it’s not a good one.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

He ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “I’m so fucking gone on you. You know that right?”

“I do,” the words slipped from her lips, barely a breath.

“How long have you known?”

“I missed my second period. I hoped it was stress… I haven’t confirmed it.”

“I’m sorry you’ve shouldered it alone. I hate that you didn’t let me in.” Dean wrapped his arms protectively around her.

“I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.”

“But now?”

“It’s not going to go away because I’m ignoring it.”

“Just like it’s dad,” he said wryly before sucking in his breath. “Holy fuck.” His eyes flickered down to her midsection.

“How do you feel?”

“I… how do you feel?”

“Scared,” she admitted. “I didn’t even think I wanted kids, let alone in this world.”

“But?”

“But I’m also… I don’t know. It feels wrong to say I feel happy.”

He smiled in the darkness and kissed her gently. “It’s not wrong. It’s right.”

Dean moved his hand from her hip to her stomach, his fingers bushing over her skin gently. The motion sent chills down her spine, and her skin prickled with goosebumps. “I know this wasn’t how we wanted to do this, but Em having a child with you… that’s been a dream of mine for a long time.”

“It has?”

He brushed a hair out of her eyes and nodded. “I’d be an idiot not to want a life with you.”

“But what about Lisa? You were going to have a life with her. I saw you and Ben together. That loss was devastating for you.”

“He was a cute baby, and I loved Lis, but it wasn’t my family. Not like you are. But I guess I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“Are you having this baby? Is this something you’re ready to do?”

Emerson sucked in her breath. It had crossed her mind. Of course it had, but as she considered it there with his hand touching her abdomen so protectively that she almost felt a warmth under his palm, she knew that it wasn’t an option. She already loved the damn thing. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, her eyes welling up with tears. “I have no idea how we will make it work, but I can’t lose anyone else. I already see her. When I dream she is with us… it’s like she already exists.”

“She?” He pulled her closer. “You think it’s a girl?”

Emerson shrugged with a pained laugh. “It’s just what I see in my dreams. I have no proof of that.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Then we are doing this. Fuck it. We always did things out of order so why not again? We are capable.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m insane. Look at the world. How can we bring a child into it?”

“This kid will be so loved, and fuck, maybe Sammy is right. Maybe there is a safe haven in California where we can raise her safely. Worth a shot, right?”

“Maybe.”

Dean rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, wrapping the blanket around them both. She felt safe there, cocooned with him for a moment. “I love you Emerson Maklen. I know you’re scared, fuck so am I. I’m terrified of what kind of dad I will be. You saw John and what he was like. Even if the world wasn’t crumbling I’d be afraid, because this is a big thing. This is an important thing. But I promise you I won’t fuck it up. I’ll protect you and the little bean with everything I’ve got. What can I do to help? Name it and I’ll do it.”

Before she could think, process, and talk herself out of it, the words flew out of her lips. “I want my sister.”

“Em…”

“She’s out there somewhere, Dean. I don’t think I can do this without her. I know it’s a long shot, but I need to try. I need to know we haven’t given up. Because if she was dead I would know it. I would feel it. She’s out there, Dean. I know it.”

-106 Days After-

Ophelia's hand fit delicately in Sam’s, his other hand pressing against her lower back. They were deliriously happy. “Spin me!” She demanded brightly, a smile bursting from her lips.

“Yes ma'am.” So he did. He released her back and twirled her in circles before spinning her away from his body.

She was laughing, giggles erupting from pink lips, a lock of hair falling in her face. It felt like the world had slowed down, he could barely hear the shot ringing through the trees with a crisp bang! He dropped her hand as the bullet ripped through the muscle of his shoulder. Sam fell, his vision blurring. He could hear his heartbeat whooshing in his ears as he hit the ground hard.

“Sam!” Pheli called, her voice sounding far away. She ran to him, cradled him in her arms. “Oh my god!”

He opened his mouth to warn her, but he wasn’t fast enough. Everything was still slowed down. His vision was peppered on the edges, threatening to send him into darkness. He couldn’t warn her of the dark shadowy figure behind her.

His head hit the soft forest ground as she released him from her grip. The figure behind her twisted their fingers in her hair and yanked her back hard. She opened her mouth to scream but a hand covered her lips, muffling her.

Sam struggled, trying to sit up. Trying anything to get to her, but he wasn’t fast enough. The figure took a step towards him and kicked dirt in his face, blinding him temporarily. But before the dirt obscured his vision he saw something.

The hood on the figure fell just enough for the light to catch his features. A sinister smile rested on full lips, his eyes hollow and haunted.

Gordon.

—–

A/N: I know it’s been a long time since I have made any progress on this story. I’ve been in a huge writing slump and this week I found some inspiration. I love my little OFC babies, and I needed a dose of apocalypse in the wake of my real life stress. If anyone out there is still reading I hope you enjoy it, and are excited about this chapter. If not, well I enjoyed writing it and in the end I suppose that’s the point.

Coming soon: Chapter five

Catch up on Part One Here

Tag List:

@hanaissupergirl

@deans-baby-momma

@cpag7

@tftumblin

@squirrelnotsam

@formulafun

@thatgirl1456

@wildfirekitten

@ceisbill

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (No TW this chapter, but keep in mind the grander story involves major character injury)

Words: 6.7K~

Summary: The first (and with any luck, only) time it happens, he’s almost 16.

Chapter Summary: Aftermath.

This is officially the longest complete SU fic I’ve finished. I’m so proud ;w;

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

_____

Chapter 4: The Remembrance

His mind is shrouded by darkness for long enough that in the split instant the curtains finally part, for just a momentary shard of infinity, the mere idea of any world beyond the pitch-black he’s become so accustomed to seems like a farce.

Resultantly, his journey to consciousness is about as labored and exhausting as a backpacking trip across the Great North in the dead of winter.

He’s greeted by flashes of white, first— intermittent, dim. They splash across his inky sky in unreliable patterns, little bursts of static gearing up to pull him out of this all-consuming nothingness and back to reality. Next, a heartbeat. Steady and sure, such a relief to experience that his throat can’t help but constrict in a wave of all-encompassing emotion. (Why is he so relieved to feel something this normal?) Lying somewhere intangibly beyond his awareness, he can hear... water? Waves, he immediately corrects himself. The aching familiarity of waves crashing upon the shore, a sound he’s shared his front yard with for almost his whole life. Elsewhere, the faint scent of herbs and simmering broth delicately pulls on his consciousness, burning through tangled threads of disorientation and confusion and beckoning him awake.

Steven’s eyelids flutter open, thin lines of light streaming through the gaps between his eyelashes.

The moment he does however, the stark actuality of his situation slams into him with a vengeance. His head throbs as memories begin to re-establish themselves like individual puzzle pieces locking into place.

 I was— Dad, and Amethyst... the fountain... empty, and then Pearl had to....

His heart’s pace snaps into overdrive in seconds. Thrashing under his blankets, he manages to kick his arms and torso free so he can rush to sit up. Dizziness assails him as he yanks up the bottom of his pajamas and splays his hand across the smooth, warm surface of that diamond at his core, feeling for cracks, for chips, for—

 Huh. Imagine that.

Steven inhales deep as he attempts to balance out the pace of his breath, blood still pounding in his ears as he delicately traces a shaking index finger around the edge of the central pentagonal facet of his gem, entirely unblemished and whole. There’s no sign of damage, no thin stress fractures left behind. No evidence that it was ever cracked at all, really. For an excruciatingly lengthy moment his brow creases inwards in confusion as he wonders if all this agony was nothing but a stress-induced nightmare. But then again...

He groans, pressing his fingers to one of his throbbing temples as the ambient pain hits him.

Oh stars, everything aches. His head, his limbs, his spine, every square inch of his body feels like he’s been pressed through a meat grinder and ruthlessly spat out on the other side. If that’s not proof that what happened on his mission with Amethyst was real, then he doesn’t know what is. Drowsily, he flops back against his pillow and squeezes his eyelids shut, stubbornly yearning for the comfort and familiarity of sleep-induced unconsciousness. Maybe, just maybe... he can sleep these aches away.

Time passes far too unreliably as he’s laying motionless there, struggling against a hyperactive flood of thoughts to return to his earlier state of rest. Has he been awake for a minute? Half an hour? He has no idea. The only concrete thing he can glean is that he definitely has a headache right now. Maybe even a migraine. He’s still not sure what the difference between those is supposed to be. Is it a ‘squares are rectangles, but rectangles aren’t squares’ sort of scenario? Or are they synonyms? Hmm. Maybe he should ask Dad, he’d probably know. In fact, where is Dad? And how’d he end up in bed in his pajamas, anyways?

He’s honestly relieved when he hears the unmistakable sound of Pearl’s light, precise footsteps climbing the stairs to his room, if only that it gives him a solid excuse to face reality and stop deluding himself with the tragic, unobtainable lie that is peaceful slumber. He lets his eyes flutter open again.

“Hi, Pearl,” he mumbles when she reaches the top step.

She’s carrying a small dinner tray with a steaming bowl of something delicious smelling (the broth he recognized earlier?) and a glass of water perched atop. Meeting his half-alert gaze, her expression lights up with a glow of pleasant surprise.

“Oh, good, you’re up!” she says, a great deal of the stress locked in her shoulders melting away as she crosses the room towards his bedside. “I was just about to wake you myself, if you weren’t already.”

Rubbing away the exhaustion crusted at the corners of his eyes with the joint at the base of his thumb, he watches as Pearl carefully places the tray on the nightstand at his right. With a groan, he bows upwards under his covers, the vertebrae in his back popping and sighing all the while as he stretches. Goodness, he’s not sure his spine has ever felt so stiff and tight. Remind him to never accidentally get hurled against a tree in combat again.

“How... how long was I out?” he asks then, the workaholic part of him already fearing her answer.

Pearl glances towards the ceiling, her brow creasing as she makes the calculation in her head.

“Hmm, I think... around seven hours?“

“What??” he cries, shooting upright in bed with the speed of a spring trap. “Seven hours?! That’s like, the whole day! I had plans!”

She frowns pensively, gesturing widely with her hands as she replies. “Steven, you were cracked and needed time to recover. A hit like that is bound to take a serious toll on any body, hard-light or not.”

His features morphing into a scowl, he slouches back against the wall. That’s a fair point, how disruptive cracks can be for full-Gems as well. It’s not just a matter of Pearl babying him. Even though they healed Amethyst’s fracture fairly quickly, years back, it still took her a few days of rest before she rose to the top of her game again. And as much as he’d love to deny it, right now his whole body honestly feels like it’s been hit head on by a truck at sixty miles per hour. It’s a dull but constant brand of pain he can’t claim he’s ever dealt with before all this mess. That month he shot up almost a foot in height back when he was 14 came close, but even that period of ache was more subtle than this.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says with a heavy sigh, threading his fingers together in his lap.

“Anyways,” she says gently, the reminder of her presence cutting through some of the layers of his pain-induced melancholy, “it’s 5:38 now, just in time for dinner! And I took the liberty of cooking a batch of your favorite soup.”

Unable to help himself, his inner child gasps in sheer joy. He sits up again, slamming his palms to his cheeks as he gushes with excitement. “Chicken and vegetable soup with the tiny star noodles??”

Any lingering crankiness about the percentage of the day wasted dissipates into a fine mist as Pearl picks the tray off the nightstand and passes it into his lap, confirming the identity of his homemade dinner. As he begins to eat— carefully, taking small spoonfuls at first to ensure that his stomach can handle it— his guardian sits at the edge of his bed and provides him updates on the rest of the family’s whereabouts. Apparently Garnet’s still halfway across the galaxy, but should be returning home tomorrow the moment she’s through with her mission. She sends her love, Pearl says. She also texted Connie to let her know what happened, and his friend plans to come over as soon as she can in the morning to spend time with him as he recovers. Meanwhile, Greg left a few minutes before he woke up to hit the store. He’s picking up some new food for the both of them, and intends to sleep downstairs on the couch the next few nights to keep tabs on him.

“He’s been really worried about you,” she admits, reaching out for his hand as if she too frets he might suddenly fade into the ether if she takes her eyes off him for one moment. “Before I told him to step out of the house for some mental rejuvenation, he never left your side.”

Steven responds to her tactile affection with a soft squeeze for her benefit, but quickly lets go to continue eating his soup.

“Well,” he says through a fresh spoonful of food, “‘m fine now, so...” Pause to swallow, the bump of his larynx bobbing in his throat. “So there’s no need to worry anymore.”

“Oh, if only it were that easy,” she comments, a melancholy smile framing her face.

With a sigh, she stands to her feet, smoothing out the edge of the covers where she once sat. Watching this small act, he suddenly wonders if her vast history with deeply troubling experiences like what she had to witness this morning are why she’s so emotionally drawn to tasks such as tidying and repairing; after all, these do allow her space to exert a small degree of control over areas of her life she might otherwise harbor concern or anxiety towards. Huh. He presses his lips into a tight line as he willfully contemplates this concept. Considering his earlier disappointment about how much daylight he’s wasted, (so many business and socialization meetings he’s missing in town today!), perhaps he inherited a portion of his own workaholic tendencies from emulating her throughout his childhood. He dares not follow this rabbit any further, however... dares not ask what he’s distracting himself from.

 Another time, Universe.

Brimming with a renewed sense of purpose, Pearl crosses towards the narrow patio outside the open slider door, her features returning to their neutral, observant state.

“In any case,” she continues as she rests her palm flat against the glass, “please do enjoy the rest of your meal! I’m going to fetch Amethyst from the observatory. She’s been, um... how to say... on Diamond pacifying duty these past few hours, and I’m sure she‘s desperate for a break.”

He offers a sharp grimace in response to this sentiment, knowing from almost two years of firsthand experience that patiently keeping watch over those Gem monarchs is no easy task. “Youch, my condolences. Feel free to send her in, I’d love to see her.”

Pearl nods in confirmation, and then slips out the doorway towards the observatory’s ramp.

He enjoys what little is left of his soup as he waits. Thankfully, his system shows no signs of unrest, which allows him to finish the whole bowl. Good thing, too. He unfortunately recalls losing his breakfast earlier this morning amidst the blunt force of that spiked tail to his stomach, which means he’s had little to no food in him all day. Now, he’s no medical expert, (Connie would likely know the answer thanks to her mom, though), but surely that can’t be good for recovery.

Amidst his better wishes, his thoughts turn to all the social meetings and appointments he’d planned for today. He can’t imagine Pearl knew his itinerary well enough to contact each and every person he’d unintentionally blown off, so that means from all of their perspectives they waited and waited and he simply... never showed up. Like Mayor Nanefua. He was supposed to discuss logistics about Little Homeschool’s eventual opening with her at town hall immediately after the corrupted Gem mission. Peridot. He agreed to meet with her at one of the ancient drop ship sites to assist in de-arming it for safety purposes. Lars. Before all this happened, he was genuinely looking forward to hanging out with Lars and the rest of his Gem gang this afternoon. And because he was reckless and got himself cracked on what should’ve been the most straightforward mission of all time, he let them all down. He groans, slumping backwards until his head clunks against the wall. Ughhh. Stupid, stupid Steven. Now, where on earth’s his phone? He should probably start to clear up this mess.

Steven places his empty bowl on the tray on his nightstand, and begins dutifully searching the tabletop. Before his search can bear any fruit, however, Amethyst bursts into the room, toting one of the handheld diamond communication lines they store in the observatory. (Blessedly, this one comes without self-destruct functionality. Times have sure changed since the daring days when Peridot emphatically called Yellow Diamond a clod.)

“Hey, little man!” she chimes when they meet each other’s glance, her relieved smile admittedly rather infectious. “It’s great to see ya’ up and at ‘em again.”

He offers a bashful laugh, twirling his finger around a short curl at the nape of his neck. “Y-yeah, I’m—“

“Yo, what’s this here, though?” she interjects, bee-lining to his nightstand to stick her nose in his dinner tray. Her face falls the moment she sees inside the bowl, which he’s dutifully scraped empty. “Dude, come on, you didn’t leave any for me?”

“What? Nooo,” he says in mock protest, his voice wavering in laughter. “I already ate it.”

Amethysts reaches forward and gives him a solid noogie, ruffling his hair until its ends are all mussed. Even though his head still hurts he can’t help but giggle, playfully batting her arms away. Hah, typical quartz sibling affection. Gotta love it.

“Nah, I’m just goofin’!” she grins. “You’ve lost enough food today on the forest floor, so I wouldn’t be stealin’ any even if I could.”

“Thank you for that reminder,” he comments with an eye roll, lips pursed as he tries not to muse too hard about the uncomfortable burning sensation associated with that abhorrent experience, least he vomit all over again.

Meanwhile, Amethyst’s high spirits finally hit their crest and begin to break like the distant din of white water waves offshore as she nervously tussles with the crystal octahedron clasped in her palm.

“But, ah... ignoring all that, Blue D said she wanted to talk to you?”

She presses the diamond line into his possession with fettered urgency, the posture of her hands vocalizing an unspoken, underlying message of “oh stars, I’m going insane babysitting these ancient Gem monarchs, please take this from me NOW.” Or at least, that’s what he gleans from it. To be fair, his months of near-constant interaction with them may make him a little biased on the subject.

“Probably best not to keep her waiting. We can catch up later,” she says, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before pulling away.

And with that she hurtles down the stairs into the main living area, ditching him within this empty room with the equivalent of an intergalactic phone that dials direct to who he can only describe as his honorary Gem grandparents. Sure, so maybe most Gems don’t have “children” in the same manner humans do, and maybe the Diamonds themselves have no clear understanding of the classification of human familial relationships, (despite their somewhat touching attempts at learning a few details about Earth culture for his sake), but the quasi-parental role they played in his mother’s life is undeniable from his perspective. So is their “out-of-touch” nature, a common stereotype he sees played up for drama with fictional grandparents on TV shows all the time. He’s not sure how he feels yet that this stereotype rings so true with his own.

Regardless, if Blue wants to talk, then there’s no time like the present. As much as he dreads it, this conversation is bound to happen eventually, of course— and after all their concern, the diamonds more than deserve an update on his well-being. Steven swallows hard, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the crystal as he summons the courage to dial, desperately attempting to not let the sour notes of their last interaction tint the underlying sentiment of this one before it can even begin.

Eventually, he sucks in a deep breath and activates the communicator. The octahedron glows a soft blue, and after a few seconds’ time during which the signal is crossing to the far edge of the galaxy, projects a view screen above its upper point.

The image is fuzzy at first, but sharpens fast once Blue connects from her end. She immediately smiles as she looks upon him, elated emotion running so deep within her that for once, it even manages to reach her eyes.

“Steven! I’m so glad to see that you’re okay,” she begins in full earnesty, clasping her hands together in front of her gem.

He doesn’t respond at first, finding himself too distracted by the scenery, and by the radical juxtaposition of Blue’s current demeanor to her behavior last night. Given the glimpse of White’s empty throne behind her shoulder, he’s pretty sure she’s sitting alone in the ballroom, the sight of which can’t help but stir up unwanted memories of the brief argument they had right before he rushed off to visit home, b-because... oh stars, he was right there, standing right in her presence when she reflexively forced her tears on him.

She wanted to throw him a massive planet-wide ball honoring his sixteenth birthday, wanted to organize a whole coalition of Gems to set up the venues, the entertainment, the food, everything— and when he finally managed to squeeze a word in edgewise between all her unfettered excitement to inform her that he wished to spend his birthday celebrating with his family on Earth instead, she was inconsolable. Crying. Raising her voice. Blaming him of running away from her just like Pink did all those years ago. In the heat of the moment he believed he was simply standing up for himself and his preferences, but fast forward to the present and he can’t help but question the etiquette of his own response more and more as the cruel minutes tick onward. Did he do the right thing, or did he only cause her undue emotional harm? Will Blue Diamond accept his stance moving forward, or will she press the topic again? (After all, he knows her desire to tether him to Homeworld for his birthday is merely a symptom of her greater longing for him to live in the palace with them permanently.) And if she does, is he even allowed to express his opinions when he’s outright walking a tightrope every day he’s in the public eye, single-handedly balancing Gemkind’s delicate political situation in both hands as he slowly but surely advances towards the light on the other side? He must be careful. One wrong move, and everything he’s been working towards for the past year could topple, could cause a disastrous vacuum.

No matter the personal cost, isn’t it his duty as savior of the galaxy to ensure that doesn’t happen?

Gems are depending on him.

And as much as he wants to be selfish and dig his heels into the ground to ensure his own comfort for once in his life, he’s not sure that’s even an option anymore.

Steven grips onto the edge of his bedspread with his free hand, clamping his fingers in tight, reveling in the sensation of skin shifting against downy fabric. It’s just enough to tether him back to the present. To ensure he doesn’t lose himself in the riptides of bitter memory. But by the time his scattered awareness clues in on the fact that he’s probably remained silent for an overly awkward period of time, it’s much too late, and in due consequence, he mentally returns to the scene to find that Blue has kept on talking with or without his conscious attention.

Hah. Serves him right, honestly.

“—was just explaining the details of the disastrous mission you embarked on today,” she says, making small gestures in embellishment of her soft-spoken words, “when your Pearl entered to announce you were awake. I’ll let the others know as soon as I can.”

He swallows, his throat hopelessly dry, as dry as the fine granules of sand scattered across the upper shore on an intensely hot summer’s day.

“I, um—“ he manages, voice wavering. (And quite honestly, feeling stupid for it, in her presence. How many months has he spent perfecting his technique for confidently speaking with the diamonds, again?) He adjusts his hold on the octahedral crystal as he vies to regain some sense of inner balance for the rest of this conversation. “So Yellow and White know too, then?”

Blue leans upon one of the armrests of her throne, releasing a weary sigh. It’s only then that he begins to take note of the residual anxiety blanketed across her form— the almost bruise-like shadows under her eyes appearing deeper than usual, her normally flawless hair now frizzy and unkempt— and if he’s honest, he struggles to understand how he truly feels, knowing that the news of his injury could affect her in such a soul-striking manner. (He often wonders if it’s fair of him, interacting with them in such a detached business-like fashion when, despite their intermittent shortcomings and confusions, they’ve offered him nothing but love and adoration in return since the beginning of era 3.)

“Oh, they were the first to know. Yellow answered the initial call, and White, she was hosting a court session with some of the fusion Gems just next door. I—“ She presses the pad of her thumb to the center facet of her gemstone, pausing in her words a moment to take a sharp inhale. “I only learnt about what nearly happened to you a fragment of a rotation ago, upon my return to the palace.”  

His brows furrow, suddenly realizing the fact that, beyond Blue, the throne room she sits in sounds desolate. Void of all Gems. “Where is everyone, anyways?”

“Distracting themselves, mostly. Last I heard, they’re busy trying to locate any of Pink’s essences that might still remain within our stores, just in case something like this should happen again. Of course I dread the very thought, but...”

Her voice wavers with just the hint of a sob, as she momentarily breaks from her explanation to regain her composure.

(Steven is ashamed to admit that he fails to mask the instinctual tightening of his shoulders as he sees fresh tears brim upon the digitized representation of her visage, even though logically he knows there’s no chance her influence could cross all these light years to weigh down on him here. Not on Earth. Not this far away.)

“...I couldn’t bear to lose another,” she manages, and— after dabbing those teardrops away with her curled fingers— glances back up to meet his gaze with those boundless, melancholy eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, chest growing tighter at the untimely reminder of his mom’s passing, an inseparable facet of his life history he still hasn’t managed to process yet. Perhaps subconscious in nature, his free hand creeps its way under his shirt to rest protectively over his gem. “No one deserves to go through that pain again.”

“Y’know, that’s why I really do wish you’d consider our offer to permanently live with us on Homeworld, in the safety of the palace,” she mentions then, clasping her hands together as if this were a dawning, glorious new idea Steven’s never heard before. “After all, I’m sure none of this would’ve happened under the protection of the guard.”

“Uh, I don’t thi—“

“Can you imagine it, all four diamonds finally reunited under the same stars?” Blue continues, a wide smile passing gracefully across her lips as she waxes on about this indulgent dream of hers. “We could grow you an orchard, so you have as much food as you need, and your pebbles could make you whatever clothes or luxuries you desire. And of course, there’s still the matter of your annual birth celebration to attend to...”

Steven can’t help it. He can’t manage to stop himself, no matter how pathetic he knows his reaction is.

In the light of this topic’s re-emergence, he zones out again. He slips directly into the welcoming embrace of inattention and subconscious thought. His head’s pounding, the pulsing discomfort birthing a brand new species of ache right behind his eyes. It’s miserable, but no more miserable than the idea of the future Blue Diamond has been continuously pushing for the last few months. No more miserable than the idea of being trapped on a planet with individuals who — no matter how hard they try and change their habits for his sake in the present— have all deeply hurt him at various stages of his life. And sure, he knows this is a twisted, selfish sentiment for him to harbor, because of how Pink abandoned them in the past, because of how all three of them have worked so tirelessly these past months to reorganize their entire way of life: to actually see him as his own person instead of a shadow of his mom, to healthily process their own emotions instead of tearing others down, to openly invite fusions and off-colors into the light of society. They’ve genuinely changed for the better. He should be overjoyed about that, shouldn’t he? He should be happy for them.

And yet joy is the last thing he feels when faced with the genuine possibility that he might not be strong enough in his own convictions to stand up to Blue’s desires, that he might one day find himself trapped long-term on a planet that— albeit picturesque in its own unique way— he doesn’t call home, his feet rooted to the dead soil by thorny vines born of his own timidness.

Somehow, in the face of all his fears, he swears he’s transforming into a coward.

He didn’t used to be. The Steven Universe of Era 2 wouldn’t dare stand down from making his opinions heard, would fight for what he believes in until star-shine glistens overhead and all denizens of the galaxy could experience true freedom.

So what the hell is his hang up now? He knows exactly how he wants to respond, so why can’t he simply summon the courage to do it? Why can’t this be as intuitive as summoning his shield, or a bubble?

Why does he have to feel so... so twisted up inside about this?

Steven clenches his teeth then, a sudden spike of residual pain arcing up his spine. Yikes, okay. That doesn’t feel great. Maybe he’s been sitting up for too long, and needs to lay down and rest again.

Or else, maybe after he’s finally done discussing matters with Blue he could...

Wait a minute.

The fingers of his free hand begin to knead the blanket in his lap with a new wave of gusto as he comes to an abrupt revelation about his present condition that could change literally everything.

Stars, that’s perfect. That’s not even a lie! Why on Earth didn’t he think of this before?

He was severely injured this morning. The gemstone at his core outright could’ve shattered, without treatment. Surely any fellow Gem would understand if he says he needs some extra time to fully recover? Perhaps even... the rest of the week? Including his birthday? And on top of that, this extra time would allow him all the privacy he needs to figure out how to confidently and politely decline Blue’s recurring request to live on Homeworld. He’d literally be hitting two targets with one shield!

He nibbles at the inside of his bottom lip as he considers how best to phrase this.

“Hey, Blue?” he calls, immediately garnering her full gaze. “Um—“

Although briefly squirming like an insecure child under those intense azure irises, he stamps down that devilishly tempting urge to go silent and recede into the shadows of this conversation again, wholly compliant to whatever she says. No, he has to speak his mind. No positive change in this relationship will ever occur unless he resolves to stand up for himself, no matter how many reminders it takes. His muscles grow tense as his mouth bobs open once again.

“About the whole birthday celebration thing, I, uh...”

His tongue grows excruciatingly dry in his anxiety, and he’s suddenly struck with the reminder that he never drank the water Pearl left on his dinner tray. Pity, that. He swallows, throat tight and scratchy, and continues.

“I think it’s very kind of you to offer hosting a ball for me on Homeworld, but as of right now, I... I’m very, very sore, and need to stay at my home for a few days to recover from my injury, okay? I promise I’ll visit in person as soon as I’m physically able to,” he rapidly blurts, recognizing a glint of hurt coat Blue’s otherwise attentive expression, “just... after my birthday.”

The diamond lets her weary eyes flutter shut as she takes a moment to soak in everything he just said. Honestly, he can’t think to guess what’s running through her mind right now, and he’s not sure he wants to. Eventually however, she offers an extended sigh, its watercolor edges brushed with an air of melancholy.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replies, offering him a watery smile. “We wouldn’t want to upset your fragile organic system so soon after such an ordeal, now would we? Very well, then. I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Thank you,” he says, his shoulders finally loosening up from their overwrought state.

“We can do something to celebrate when you’re back on Homeworld, just the four of us. In fact, I’ve been talking with White, and we have the perfect idea for a gift!”

Steven gives a small nervous laugh, fiddling with the back of his shirt collar. “Hahah, yeah? Well, I guess I’ll look forward to it. Anyways, uh... thanks for checking in. Bye.”

His heart still pounding despite the overwhelming sense of resolution, his thumb presses the bottom point of the octahedron inwards, ending the call. He gently sets aside the communicator on his nightstand, next to his empty soup bowl. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he flops backwards on his bed with his arms stretched wide and gives a sharp, celebratory cackle of relief. He... he finally did it! He spoke his mind. He stood up to Blue’s headstrong desires, successfully reasserted his intentions. Set clear boundaries, just like Amethyst said he should. And as his reward, maybe now he can celebrate his birthday at home without guilt hanging like a weighty anvil over his head. Just maybe. He smiles, allowing his sore body to sink right into the plush cocoon of his mattress.

For the first time today, things are finally on the up-and-up.

And so that pattern continues through the rest of the evening. It’s not long after his call with Blue that his dad returns from the store, not even bothering to put the frozen and refrigerated foods in their proper temperature controlled places before bounding upstairs to check on him upon the call of his name. No amount of detailed description could ever hope to intimately capture the full spectrum of sheer elation and love Dad unloads on him in the precious minutes that follow, but by the end of it his father’s sobbing in his arms, exhausted tears staining the collar of his pajama shirt as they clutch to each other with iron clad grips. At this point, the only way Steven can hope to respond is to act as nothing more but a solid rock, if only to reassure him that he’s alive, he’s well, he’s here.

The two of them spend a good chunk of the remaining evening together, watching reruns of Under the Knife at the foot of his bed while nibbling on some cheddar popcorn. It’s rejuvenating, honestly. Stars, is it rejuvenating. Somehow it seems like an eternity since they’ve been able to just... live life together, even in the simplest of ways. They’ll share a dinner here and there when he visits home, sure— a video call from another planet every week or so, yes— but there’s something so fundamentally irreplaceable about physically leaning against your loved ones and spending a tangible amount of time with them that he’s sorely missed over his busy months as Era 3’s ambassador. It’s special. Something to cherish. And something he dearly hopes to engage in with his family and friends a lot more as his immediate duties with the Diamonds wind to a close.

At some point in the middle of their fourth episode, Steven finally finds his phone. It was in his jacket pocket, of course— the new pink wool one he left slung over his desk chair before leaving on the corrupted Gem recovery mission this morning. With that retrieved, he makes sure to text a quick update to all the friends he missed seeing today. Even though logic tells him getting cracked wasn’t entirely his fault, it’s hard to dodge the temptation of guilt. Thankfully though, with the rest of the week now scrubbed entirely free of Homeworld stuff, perhaps he can reschedule a few of these gatherings.  

The rest of his night is uneventful.

The Gems pop in and out to check on him, otherwise attending to their own obligations. Over the comforting backdrop of the television, Dad gushes about the concert he’s organized in town next week for Sadie Killer and the Suspects. Says he’s hopeful it’ll be a sellout. In return, he provides lush descriptions of some of the distant former colonies (now free planets) he’s gotten to visit as part of his political service. There’s some pretty stunning ones, he has to admit. The sightseeing he gets to engage in is a small but shining perk of his current responsibilities.

At ten, the TV is turned off. They hug and part ways, his dad quietly shuffling to the bathroom downstairs to brush his teeth and throw on a sleep shirt.

His headache is almost gone by now, having reduced to nothing more but a faint aura.

He’s standing outside on the porch enjoying some fresh, salty air before bed when Amethyst quietly slides into place alongside him, seeking his affection. She wraps her arms tight around his torso, burying her face against his shoulder. He reciprocates in kind. She doesn’t cry like Dad did, however. She doesn’t even speak. Rather, her purposeful silence ripples through his soul more than any concrete word or phrase ever could. Innately, he knows what she’s asking.

“I’m okay now,” he murmurs softly, blinking away his own budding tears while his expression is still hidden from her. “You healed me, I’m okay.”

“You’re a big liar, y’know that?” she says, voice muffled.

He rolls his eyes, pulling away from her embrace. “Fine, fine. I’m still a little sore. ‘Ya happy?”

Amethyst frowns, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she shifts her stance to lounge against the railing. “I’d be happier if none of that ever happened in the first place.”

Her frank statement hangs amidst the wind like a tattered flag upon an abandoned battlefield. Steven swallows, the resulting lump settling uneven in his throat.

(For a second he almost feels sick again, a surge of lingering discomfort churning at his core.)

“Yeah...” he sighs, staring off into the dim ocean horizon and forcing himself to acknowledge her unfortunate experience with this type of injury. “Yeah. I’m sorry if that brought back any bad memories for you.”

She scoffs. “Ch’yeah, so... I’m not gonna say it didn’t suck, but. It’s over now, y’know? I’ll deal. You don’t have to apologize for it, or anything.”

Long pause. His quartz sibling threads her fingers together as she leans against the chipping wood, silently tussling with herself under the ebbing solidarity of the ocean tides. A significant stretch of time passes between them before she finally takes it upon herself to speak again.

“‘S’not like it was your fault, anyways.”

His chest tightens upon recognition of that familiar self-blame inherent in her tone. If he were a stronger, better person, he might take it upon himself to chip away at the walls of that insecurity with love and reassurance, to be the kind, encouraging Steven he used to be. But he’s tired, and he’s lived long enough to acknowledge by now that perfectly formed words can’t fix everything. Not immediately, at least. People are complicated. He’s complicated. And sometimes the best one can manage is to simply act as a supportive companion to another.

Starlight glittering overhead, and the cool coastal breeze tussling at their hair, he joins Amethyst at the balcony and rests his cheek on her shoulder just like he used to do when he was little. Together, enveloped in a tension-filled silence, they watch the waves together. Watch the gulls pick at old food scraps further up shore, closer to the edge of the cliffs.

“Hey, what kind of gem was it, by the way?” he asks eventually. “You never said.”

“Ughhh,” she groans, dropping her head against the wood with a soft clunk. “A dang sapphire. Literally no wonder why she was so slippery!”

Steven can’t help the bubble of oddly placed glee that rises within him upon her answer. He cracks a dopey grin, shaking his head at himself. A snicker passes his lips.

A sapphire. Of course it was a sapphire. Gosh, isn’t that sweet, sweet vindication.

Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”

Perhaps finally cracking under months of accumulated stress, he breaks into peels of low laughter.

“What is it? Dude, ya’ gotta tell meeee!” she cries, playfully rustling at his arm as he doubles over against the railing, clutching his sides as he wrests to catch his breath and respond.

“No, it’s- it’s not even funny,” he says, pushing past the final surge and gaining some sense of composure again. “I just... my guess was spot-on. I’ve never seen a corrupted sapphire, before that.” His demeanor falls sober in a snap, wholly humbled by the abrupt reminder of the vital task waiting in his future, a task that— alongside the Diamonds’ bottled essences— only he can hope to see through. “I hope she’ll be okay, once she’s healed. I’m not even gonna mention what happened, honestly.”

Amethyst visibly pales at his allusion to the incident this morning. To ‘what happened.’ Hah. As if cushioning the truth in vague, non-specific language could at all erase the stark reality of what he went through. Sometimes he really is daft.

“Steven, I—“ she swallows hard, nibbling at her knuckles for a moment as she contemplates the greater details of whatever seems to be assailing her mind. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, okay? But... I have to at least ask. Do you, like... remember anything?”

He frowns, avoiding her direct gaze as he moves to lean against the balcony, overlooking the blustery shoreline.

“What, you mean about... everything after the fight? And at the, ah... at the fountain, yeah?”

Amethyst offers a hesitant nod, her eyes glossed with marked worry. Peering at the pinprick constellations above as he reflects on this question, Steven experimentally nudges scattered fragments of memory closer together, the seconds and minutes of that experience progressively locking into place until—

The world bends and splinters within his sight, his dad and Amethyst’s tear-stricken faces phasing into each other as they sink ever further into the thickets of their fearful despair. He’s prone in their hold, hard light pulsing rampant through his veins, unregulated, unrestrained, stretching out from his broken gemstone like clawing, yearning fingers... his muscles taut at one moment and pliable at the next, wholly unable to exert control over his body as his every limb jitters and jerks, unable to staunch his hoarse sobs as he soaks in the cold, terrifying static of it all, and now his words are jumbled and backwards, and deep within he knows this with an intense clarity but he can’t help it, he can’t fix it, he can barely even think, he ca—

Steven inhales evenly, purposefully not allowing his expression to flash even a minuscule micro-expression of residual fear. After all, it’s Era 3. Everyone’s supposed to find happiness and fulfillment now, which can’t happen when people are stuck dwelling on their shadowed past. Thus, Amethyst doesn’t need to be burdened with the knowledge of what he does or doesn’t know. That’s his problem to shoulder, his boulder to carry.

And he refuses to force anyone else to carry the weight of his past for him. He refuses to become like Blue, still stuck in a tempestuous pattern of pushing her emotions on everyone around her and making them feel like crap.

Perhaps it’s foolish, but he sorely wants to believe he’s better than her.

“Nope,” he says, feigning an unparalleled air of confidence as he shakes his head to confirm the negative. “Can’t remember a thing.”

[noir0neko]

salt and salvation- jjk

“The sea is emotion incarnate.” 

genre: mermaid!au w/ fluff, angst, v light smut | 11.8k words 

req: hi! i’d love a mermaid!au with jungkook x reader! the reader hates the beach but one afternoon runs into an injured jungkook there and falls in love? i love mermaid aus but honestly this could apply to any supernatural/mystical au you want! thank you in advance if you do do this request! thank you!

I hate the ocean. 

Everything about it. 

I hate the salt that seems to weigh down the air. I hate the granules of sand that get stuck in between my toes. I hate the froth of the water and how it collapses against the land like it's trying to swallow the earth whole. Like it swallowed my mother. I hate the wind and how it always seems to make my clothes rustle as I try to slip quietly without being seen or heard. 

Like it’s doing now. 

I try to pull my cloak tighter around me to quiet the sound. Why did my mother have to leave me her beach house when she died? She knew I would have loved the quaint cabin in the woods. The one with the big roof made of dark timber logs and windows painted by her hand. But she had left that to no one, and therefore, it reverted back to the Duke, with his stupid long face and slithering stare. I had tried to locate the cabin multiple times since my mother’s death, but no matter how many times I waded along the pier and into the thick woods behind it, I could never find it. Almost like it vanished like she did. 

The sea probably swallowed that, too. I think, bitterly, not looking out at its vast expanse next to me as I walk on towards the sea cottage. 

The property had been inherited by my mother through generations of noble women. When she fell in love with my father, though, a peasant farmer from across the border, she was denounced of her titles and forced out of the Duke’s estate. Not before she seized the deed to two very secluded properties: the beach house and the cabin. They were far enough from town to be acceptable to her still doting mother, but not far enough that gossip didn’t spread and damage the family name. 

The problem with the beach though, much to my chagrin, is that everyone else wants the land my mother's property sat on, despite the name that owned it. Merchants want it to build a port and extend the current pier further down the island's coast to encourage trade. Nobles want it to build an estate with a view of the water to impress their wives, mistresses, and rivals. Even the Red Revivals want it, to build a new pleasure house that would allow for ultimate discretion and easy access in and out of the establishment. I don’t want it at all. But it is the last thing of my mother’s that I have. 

And I will happily tell the Duke’s son, Marquess Savoa, where he can stick it if he asks me for my price again. He has been courting me for the better part of two years about the property, ever since it came into my possession. He had started out pretending like he didn’t want it, following me into the woods at night when I tried to find my mother’s cabin and talking to me as if we were old friends. Part of me knew I was still here at the mercy of his father, especially living alone as a young woman. But another part of me wanted to scare him away so he, and everyone else, would leave me alone. 

When my mother died, it was almost as if all of her “indiscretions” against her household were forgiven. I received letters from aunts and uncles I never met, welcoming me back to the Duke’s estate and into the family fold. They said that family was so important during these trying times, and they would see to my education and manners, even though it was well past the time. I burned all of the letters or flung them over the small cliff by the cottage and into the sea, pretending the wind was my mother’s laugh as she read them below the waves. Where were they for the past near two decades of my life? Where were they when my mother died and before they found out I was alone? 

I had been taught to read, to write, to do arithmetic and to dance. My mother taught me and my father in tandem, both of us giggling behind her back when she’d chastise us for not paying attention. I don’t know where my father is now. He left after my mother died on what he told me was a visit to see his family, and never returned. Part of hopes the sea swallowed him too. That would be easier than thinking he left me of his own free will. Until I truly was, I thought I knew what loneliness was when up alone as a child. But I didn’t. Part of me feels like I still don’t. 

I almost turn back around when I see a shape standing near the door of the house, tailcoats blowing in the wind and a hat resting in his hand. I roll my eyes and steel my breath, watching him knock on the door and call my name again, as if trying to rouse me from the sleep I’m not in. 

“I hope you don’t make a habit of coming around at this hour.” I grumble, staying at the bottom of the porch stairs. He turns around and looks down at me, a smile playing on his lips. Another unfortunate thing about this property: because everyone wants it, everyone knows where it is. And that I am its only resident. 

“There you are!” Marquess Savoa exclaims, bowing slightly for pretense. 

His shock blonde hair glints off the moonlight, tan face and dark lips turned up. His green eyes are swimming with expectation, excitement, and nerves? I look him over, taking in the black of his coat and trim length of his trousers, neatly tucked in to long boots with shiny silver buckles and a white undershirt billowing slightly in the wind. He looks more kept than usual, despite the jittery twitching of his hands. 

I thin my eyes at him. “What can I do for you, Marquess?” 

He waves his hat at me. “We are too well acquainted for titles.” 

“I didn’t know we were well acquainted at all,” I say, flatly, hoping he’ll get my hint and leave. He is here to give the same speech he always is: we are friends, I want to impress my father, what can I offer you? Please let me see inside? 

He doesn’t get my hint. 

“Such fire!” He exclaims, holding his hat over his heart in mock hurt. “I surrender.” 

The marquess always does have a flare for the dramatic. Some days, when he would walk with me in the woods and teach me about the different types of trees and flowers, I would allow myself to admit that I didn’t mind it. I would allow myself to let him pick my favorite flowers and put them in my hair and say sweet things to me. But right now, with another failed search under my belt and the stench of the ocean clinging to my clothes, I want to push him off my porch and board my door. 

He climbs down the stairs with his long legs, pocket watch chiming against the inner silver of his coat rhythmically with every step. As he approaches, I can see the pink of his cheeks, the pearly white of his teeth, the perfect line of his eyebrows. He is a fine man to look at, especially with the moon reflecting off every shiny buckle and belt, and I hate that the thought crosses my mind. Unfortunately, for all of my experiences, I still remain a romantic at heart. 

“I have another letter for you,” he says, reaching into his coat and pulling out a neatly folded creme envelope with my family’s deep purple seal. I sigh inwardly, forcing a smile to my lips as I take it from him. 

“Thank you,” I say, not letting our fingers graze during the exchange, “I’ll reply soon.” 

He gives me a knowing smile, as if he can see right through me, then regards the sticks in my cloak and slightly frizzy hair with disdain. “You went without me? Did you find it?” 

I shake my head, swallowing back the tears of frustration that rise in my throat. I have been looking for nearly two years. When will I be able to let go? When will I admit to myself that I won't ever find it. That the Duke probably tore it from the ground and used its beautiful amber wood to build a stable house. 

“I asked my father about it,” Savoa pipes up, and I can’t help but feel a slimmer of hope rise in me before he continues. “He said he never remembered claiming a wooded estate. And that, if he did, it was probably removed or the deed returned to the family.” 

Another thing about the marquess, his iron honesty. 

I always told him that it didn’t serve him well in court. 

He always replied he was only honest around me. 

I didn’t know if I believed him. 

He seems to sense my defeat and annoyance, because he hurries on. “I will continue looking for it though. We can go everyday, if you like. My education is over, Father rarely allows me to sit in on business matters, favoring little brother, and I know how to ride,” he rushes, out of breath. “I could bring you a horse! I could teach you. Every Lady should know how to ride.” 

I can see the regret on his face as soon as the words come out of his mouth and I slam back into reality. No matter how handsome or how thoughtful he may be, the marquess and I are from two very separate worlds, and even he subconsciously understands that. He steps closer to me and I can smell the fine lotions and soaps of the estate on his skin. He wants to fix me. To take my “wild” and “uncivil” upbringing and groom me into a pleasant, silent, noble woman. 

“I’m not a Lady,” I reply, meeting his eyes indignantly. 

“I didn’t mean that,” he backtracks, hanging his head like a sad puppy. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t think a Marquess is supposed to apologize,” I say, trying to make my tone flippant as I look beyond him at the house. It looks eerie in the night, with the moon shining through its windows and blue wood shimmering, almost iridescent. I stare up at the slats, unsure of how I never noticed it before, the wood seeming to sparkle blue and purple and jade, like the glitter of sugar candy or the scales of a-

“Marry me,” Savoa’s voice comes crashing into me almost as hard as the waves on the cliff side. I refocus my gaze on him, still standing in front of me, a small box lined with velvet and trimmed in gold between his palms. My stomach bottoms out, unsure of how I can navigate this situation on my own. 

Mother? Father? House? Please help. 

“Do what?” I sputter, ungracefully. 

“Marry me,” he repeats, more firm and sure. I think back to the times I had gone into the main square on errand, listening to the gossip that the young peasant and Lady’s alike whispered, pretending they thought I couldn’t hear. They always talked about how handsome Marquess Savoa was, how he would never deface his name by consorting with those below his station, how he would marry a Princess or another Duke’s daughter and the world would be as it was meant to. 

He opens the box in his palm and my eyes widen as I look at it. The ring is pure silver, glowing with small, almost clear purple and green gems weaving in a beautifully intricate pattern atop the ring with diamonds glittering around the back. Purple, for my house. Green, for his. And the pattern, like lavender. My favorite flower. How conveniently that worked out for him. 

And how bad it worked out for me. 

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. How to say anything. 

I can’t say no. I can’t say yes. 

The wind lashes at my cloak, the midnight fabric coming unlaced to reveal my simple, pale pink dress underneath it. The marquess reaches forward and catches a strand of my dark hair in his fingers, still holding the ring in the other. I watch him in silence, begging him to take it back. Willing the universe, the gods, to let me wake up from this nightmare already. 

They don’t. 

“Marry me,” he repeats for the third time, eyes pleading. “We can keep the cottage for ourselves, we can join our families, we can search for the cabin in the woods and when we find it, we can stay there and I will pick lavender for your hair, and our children’s-”

“Savoa,” I cut him off abruptly, correcting myself and rushing on. “Marquess. I-I’m flattered by your offer. And I have come to know you as a dear acquaintance, but… I can’t.” 

“You can’t?” He asked, the puppy look filling his face once more. 

“These letters,” I explain, holding them up, “did you ready any of them?” 

He shakes his head side to side, light hair brushing his forehead. Maybe in a different life I would have married him. Maybe we would have grown up together and been promised to each other before we could walk. Maybe I would run my fingers through his light hair and let my lips run over his perfectly bronze skin. But not in this life. And not on this island. 

“My family,” I start, treading slowly, carefully, “they’ve been looking for a match that would be most advantageous to the family since my mother passed. I got word a few weeks ago they found a young man from across the Delta. He’s to be here any day to ask for my hand.” 

“Across the Delta…?” He trails, “another foreigner? Haven’t they defamed your family name enough?” 

His words sting, but I brush them off, shrugging. “I suppose not. They would rather embrace the reputation and turn those notions into something positive.” 

He studies me, wetting his lips and blinking. “But I haven’t heard a word of this.” 

“I hope not,” I reply, tucking the letter back into my pocket before he can ask to read it. “My uncles would like to keep it a secret until it is sealed, in case things don’t work out. None of us want another situation like my mother’s on our hands.” 

The words taste wrong in my mouth, like ashes, and the waves seem to crash even harder against the cliff. I swear that Marquess Savoa’s stare is full of suspicion, but before I can examine him, it falls into hurt. He was never good at hiding his feelings, another quality that didn’t serve him well at court. 

Luckily, that was one realm that I succeeded greatly in. 

“Well,” he starts, closing the box with a snap and trying to mask his disappointment behind false cheer, “I hope to meet him soon. He’ll arrive at the estate within the week?” 

“Yes.” I lie, wishing I hadn’t.

“Until then,” he almost whispers, turning around and climbing the rocks alongside the cottage to the main road, no doubt to where his carriage waited. I take in a deep breath, trudging up the steps of the house with thousands more pounds of weight on my shoulders. I sag with my back to the door once I enter, the fire I stoked before I left still burning lightly. Throwing off my cloak, I pull the letter from my pocket and immediately feed it to the flames. 

I don’t know what it says, but definitely nothing about a mysterious foreign suitor. 

Adding more peet to the fire, I sit at my desk and draw a piece of creamy paper from the cache, positioning my quill over its blank surface. I don’t know what to say. Or how to even begin. How does one talk to a family that they’ve never met? 

I write out my best attempt at redemption, seal it with thick purple wax and place it in the small box outside, marking it as full for pick up. In the morning, the page boy would come, he would deliver the letter, and I would wait for a miracle. 

---

Two days later, the miracle didn’t come, but the letter did. 

I had refused to go back into the forest for the past few days, tired of feeling disappointed and hopeless. I just sat in my cottage, desperately trying to think of a way out of the lie I had spun. I could say the engagement fell through, that my family would never admit to it to save face. I could say my family had only tricked me into believing there was a marriage to get me back to court. I could say a million things. But the worst one was that I could marry Savoa and that all of those excuses would push me into that. 

His matrimony would give me anything a proper girl could ever want: money, status, and noble children. It would put to rest all of the sneers and jibes by the town girls and court women. I could be reunited with my family and build bonds that would allow me companionship. It could pull me away from the wretched sea and further inland, with the trees and fields of blooming lavender. 

I think of the marquess, ring in hand, expectant eyes, and a pool of dread fills my stomach. He is a great man, just not for me. I would never be an equal to him, never anything more than a girl that he saved. His charity case to try and catch his father’s attention. No matter what he says, he would always consider his marriage as a debt to me that I would need to pay by servitude and obedience. He wants me as a noble lady, not as a woman. 

I groan, shaking the thoughts from my head and breaking the wax seal open with my fingers. I recognize the elegant script of my aunt immediately, the tall and flowing letters seeming more alive than usual. Her excitement at my engagement is palpable. The letter explains her pleasure at me finding a match, especially one I claimed as royal from across the Delta. I told her the connection was made through my father, who had worked on his estate farms for some time, with my mother making an initial introduction on a trip across the small sea. I said we had been communicating through letters since then, and he recently asked for my hand, saying he was coming across the Delta to meet my family and wed me. When writing, I felt ridiculous, fraudulent, like whoever had received this letter would see right through my facade. 

Luckily, this aunt did not. 

I told her my suitor would arrive on the shores in three days, one from now and that it would be my honor to present him. She ate it up, declaring she would arrange for a gathering to celebrate both my return, and my marriage. She couldn’t wait to meet us. 

Leaning back against the chair, I blow a low sigh through my teeth. Instead of burning the letter, I clench it in my fist. I have no reason to be upset with her excitement. I am the one who got myself into this mess by deceiving the marquess and writing my aunt in the first place. Throwing on a thick wool cloak and boots, I trudge out my door and into the mid afternoon light. The sun is setting over the sea, reflecting off the froth and blinding my eyes. 

I won’t look away. I think, begrudgingly. You can’t have me too. 

The waves crash against the shore in response, in challenge. Tucking the letter into my inner cloak pocket, I breathe through my mouth to avoid the salt as I trek down the cliff and towards the tree line. I know I should be staying inside. That I should be devising a plan. But my legs itch, my mind is racing, and all I can think is how desperately I need to be out. Out of the cottage, out of earshot of the ocean, out of this reality and into another one. 

I don't notice the body until I am tripping over it, stumbling in the sand. I bite back a scream, looking down to find a boy beneath me, drenched in water and bleeding. He’s on his stomach, face turned away from me, and completely nude. I shove down my embarrassment and kneel down to flip him over, shocked and relieved to find he is still breathing. Shallow, but any breath is a sign of life. And life is good. 

I push the wet hair from over his eyes and forehead, noticing how soft the black tendrils are to my touch. His face is more pale than I have ever seen on a human being, especially on this island. He is bleeding from his arm, a shallow cut, but still heavily flowing. His torso is lined with light muscle, planes and ridges quietly defined and covered in flawless skin leading down to his- 

“Hello?” I place my hands on his chest, pumping up and down in a steady rhythm. 

I can feel his pulse, slow and weak in his throat. I am terrified that I will watch this boy die before me. That I will watch the sea take another victim and have no power to stop it. Inhaling deeply, I place one hand on his jaw and the other over his nose, bending down to place my mouth over his when he suddenly gasps violently, shooting up and nearly knocking me in the head. He looks around wildly, big brown eyes settling on me. His thick, pink lips are wide with astonishment, and when he moves his good arm to push his hair back along his scalp again, I can’t help but notice how handsome he is. 

A miracle, indeed. 

“Who are you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, still very aware of his nakedness. 

“Jungkook,” he replies, voice scratchy, but deep. 

“Jung..kook?” I test the name in my mouth, the syllables rough and foreign. 

He nods, looking around as if to gather his bearings.

“Do you know where you are?” I ask him. 

He nods again. “Dashni Island.” 

I give him a reassuring smile. “Where are you from?” 

He turns back to me, voice stronger. “From the Delta.” 

“The Delta?” I inquire, “do you mean across the Delta? On the mainland?” 

“No,” he replies, sure. “The Delta.” 

A pirate then. Or an orphan forced to work on a pirate ship. Maybe both. I have heard stories in the main town of ships being unloaded with human cargo, as well as raw goods. The people are usually orphans or servants from the mainland, who are either indentured to estate houses on the nearby islands or who serve for captains aboard merchant ships. 

“Where are your clothes?” I ask, deciding to return to the past topic later. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, but doesn’t try to cover himself. “I must have lost them.” 

I nod slowly, taking the cloak from around my shoulders and handing it to him. He smiles at me, almost as blinding as the sea foam, when he takes it. I stand up and brush the sand from my dress, turning away as he rises and wraps the cloak around himself. 

“Your arm…” I say, with my back turned. “What happened to it?” 

“Must have scraped it when escaping the boat,” he says. Definitely an orphan or servant, then. “It’s not deep,” he continues. “It should heal quickly. You can turn around now.” 

I do so, the wind seeming to slow. The boy, Jungkook, is now standing, his frame tall and lean. His face is angular, yet soft, cut like an angel. His eyebrows are thick and airbrushed on his face like a painter created him. His hair falls over his forehead in wet clumps, the black strands pasted to his skin. Sticking my hand into the space between us, I introduce myself, attempting to calm my rapidly beating heart as his impossibly soft hand shakes mine. 

“Do you have anywhere to go?” I ask. 

He shakes his head side to side, looking from the ocean to the tree line. 

“I have a cottage just up the cliff,” I say, jerking my hand in that direction. “You’re welcome to stay there until you heal and can find work.” 

His face noticeably brightens, the lost boy in him perking up. I smile at him and let him follow me back up the rocks and into my home. The stew I put on the fire earlier is still warm and I offer Jungkook a bowl of it while I move into the spare bedroom. I have kept the door closed for months, not wanting to release my emotions by opening it to find what’s inside. Inhaling, I turn the knob and push it open, the scent of must and dust hitting me like a ton of bricks. 

All of my mother’s and father’s things are piled in the small space, paintings, porcelain, books on agriculture and art. My mother’s jewelry boxes are full and overflowing, the gems and pearls glinting in the light. I cross over to the armoire and open it, wistfully running my hand over my parents clothes. While my father had taken the majority of his items when he left, there were still a few pairs of trousers and tunics left. Pulling out the smallest looking ones I can find, I firmly close the door behind me and go back out into the main area. 

Jungkook is sitting at my small dining table, cloak hanging off one shoulder to reveal the bare expanse of his torso. Despite his looks, he eats slowly and dignified, as if he was raised royally instead of as a merchant orphan. I watch him before he notices me, studying the regal lines of his face and upright posture. An idea flits through my mind. 

“Jungkook,” I begin, folding the clothes on the table before him. “What kind of work do you do?” 

“My trade… is complicated.” He says, looking intently into his soup. 

I sit across from him, waiting for him to elaborate and continuing when he doesn’t. “How long have you been in the Delta?” 

“All my life,” he replies. 

“You don’t eat like you were raised on a ship.” I challenge. 

“Maybe I wasn’t,” he counters. 

I study him more and this time, he studies me back. I watch his eyes roam over my face and torso, over the length of my hair and from my shoulders to my hands, which are now placed on the table. A slight smile bewitches his lips, and I clear my throat when I feel myself start to blush. He obviously likes what he sees. 

“Were you in the company of merchant nobility often?” I ask. 

“Yes,” he says, slurping his soup softly. 

I hum, forcing myself to continue before I lose my confidence. And my only chance. “What would you say if I told you I had an opportunity for you that can make you money?” 

He looks up at me through his thick lashes, lips wet with broth. “What do you mean?” 

“I need someone who is - or at least acts, like a royal to go to a ball with me in two nights.” 

His eyebrows raise and an almost comical grin consumes his mouth. “A ball?” 

I soothe out my dress, trying to sound dignified. “It’s a long story.” 

His lips twitch into a smile, the action making my heart jump a bit in my chest. I shake my head minutely, dispelling the sinful thoughts. I may not worship the Gods as I once did, but I know trouble when it crosses my mind. Jungkook takes his lower lip between his teeth, as if taunting me. 

Refusing to back down first, I raise my eyes to meet his. His smile broadens, cheeks puffing out to give him a slight baby face. I wonder how old he is, how he learned to eat this way, to talk this way. How he came to be on the beach, naked and alone and hurt. The blood that I can see on his exposed shoulder has dried, crusted and red. Relenting from my staring contest, I get up and soak a rag in freshwater. 

“We should clean that,” I say, changing the subject by referring to his wound. 

He nods silently, turning sideways to straddle the bench as I sit next to him. He pulls down the shoulder of my cloak further, revealing more of his arm and torso. If I look down, I would be able to see straight down the lines of his body. Expelling those thoughts again, I swallow and focus on his cut, wiping at the dried blood with the rag. 

“What happened to your parents?” Jungkook asks. 

I try to hide my surprise and discomfort at his question. “They’re gone.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, watching my face as I work. He had been bleeding so much when I found him I thought the wound was deep enough to expose bone. But now, as I reveal it, it barely has scratched the surface of his pale flesh. I draw my eyebrows together, puzzled. 

“Mine are too.” He says, voice solemn. 

I can still smell the ocean on him, salt stuck in his hair and on his skin. He exudes sorrow and something deeper I can’t place. He starts to hum slowly, a wistful tune that makes me feel haunted and enchanted at the same time. It is slightly whimsical, with varying notes and sounds that rise effortlessly from his throat. Shivers go up my spine, and I take my time wiping his arm down, wanting to get lost in his melody forever. 

“I’ll help you,” he stops to murmur quietly, the tenderness in his tone causing me to look up at him. Our faces are a mere inches apart and if he leans in any closer our noses would be brushing. The breath catches in my throat. 

“You will?” I say, hushed. 

He nods, the corner of his deep pink lips turning up in a smile. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest and heat rising to my cheeks. He is looking at me so deeply, as if I am the only person on this planet. I swallow, unsure of what to do with the weight of him. The depth of him. 

“Thank you,” I say, dropping my hands and studying the bloody rag. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“I know you will.” 

His response makes my knees go weak and I am suddenly very grateful to be sitting. The tone of his voice is impossibly deep, making the roar of the ocean go silent in my ears. I can’t tell if I am reading into his response or if his tone is trying to say more than those four words are. Biting my lower lip, I get up and clean the rag, desperate to get some room to breath and clear my head. 

If I am going to pull this off and save myself misery later, I need to leave my heart behind. 

---

The next morning, the mail boy gives a curt knock on my door. Before I can get there, Jungkook is opening it, an undershirt billowing in the morning wind and a goofy smile on his face. The boy’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, handing over a large purple box with deep cobalt ribbon holding it together. I peek around Jungkook’s shoulder to take the box, thanking the mail boy swiftly and closing the door. 

“You know, you’re going to spur horrible gossip about me,” I quip. 

“Oh?” 

“It’s not proper for a young, unmarried woman to have men in her home, especially not without male supervision.” I explain. 

“I’m a male,” he counters, giving me a knowing quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Not the kind of male fit to supervise.” 

He hums, the low melody instantly turning me to mush. I don’t know what it is about his voice that makes me forget everything I’ve heard before. The extreme range. The beautiful tragedy in the tunes he chooses. The way his notes flow and rise on one another like he was born a song.  Like music is a part of him, like hands or feet. Placing the box on the table, I carefully untie the ribbon and open the lid. 

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to help myself. 

I place the letter embossed with my family seal aside carefully, and run my hands over the beautiful dress that sits inside. The color is the richest shade of purple I have ever seen, bordering on amethyst, with silk and taffeta flowing to the floor. Small lavender jewels glitter on the bodice, interlacing with diamonds to create an intricate pattern that must have taken hours to weave and a fortune to create. 

It makes me think of the ring Marquess Savoa tried to propose with.  

Swallowing thickly, I fully remove the dress from its packaging and two boxes beneath it, also carefully tied with purple bows. Picking one up, my mouth nearly falls to the floor when I open it. A gorgeous diamond necklace sits inside, gems gleaming and glittering against the morning light. Setting aside the hefty box with as much care as possible, I unwrap the next one. It looks like a tie, soft purple silk tightly wound in a coil. Pulling it out, I turn to Jungkook, who is watching with mild interest from behind me. 

“It’s for you.” I say, extending the sash to him. 

He comes closer, head turned to the side and takes the material from my fingers. It’s perfectly sewed and extremely delicate, the silk softer than anything I have ever owned. He flips it around and I can see that on the inside of the sash, there is a golden emblem stitched, it’s of my house sigil. An overwhelming sense of shame washes over me. I have ignored these people’s pleas for my company for years, burned or drowned their kindness, citing their faults. I reached out only when I was desperate for help, when I needed them to back a different marriage than the one to Savoa. I had only neglected them, and they’ve shown me kindness, generosity, and faith. 

I pick up the card, thick paper embossed with a seal, and break it open. The letter is from my aunt, wishing us safe travels to the estate in the carriage she will be providing and saying she is excited to watch us dance the first waltz to announce our engagement. I inhale deeply, trying to imagine the steps my mother had taught us in my head. 

“Bad news?” Jungkook asks. He had put the sash on, the immaculate and expensive material looking out of place on his chemise. 

“Do you know the waltz?” I give him my best hopeful smile. 

To my amazement, he nods, pretending to wrap his hands around an invisible body as his feet trace the steps. He is always surprising me with what he knows. With how familiar he seems but also so foreign. An answer to all of my prayers bottled up into one ridiculously handsome package. 

“My mother taught me when I was young,” I begin, watching his steps. “But, I’m not sure I remember it all.” 

Jungkook moves forward, reaching out for me to practice with. I step back involuntarily, inhaling sharply. His hands linger in the air for a second and he quirks his eyebrows up in invitation. Suddenly, I feel extremely naked in my shift, with my robe coming open. Jungkook licks his lips, repositioning himself in the waltz position and starts to hum to the tune of his steps, as if nothing happened at all. 

The low tenor coming from his throat sounds nearly identical to the violins the dance is set to. His Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows, only taking quick and even breaths in between his melody. Half embarrassed and half mesmerized, I can’t stop watching him, how he moves and how he sounds. Without thinking, I place the card on the table and step forward into his outstretched arms. 

He doesn’t break his hum, putting his arms tightly around my waist and waiting patiently until I settle into my position. The weight of his hands on my hips is deliciously heavy and hot, goosebumps pricking on my skin. He lowers his tone, as if he is encapsulating us with a bubble made of his song. I can see the slight black of stubble on his jaw, the melted chocolate in his eyes. He smells of salt and sand, two scents that typically repulse me. But now, surrounded by it and by him, it feels like I am being called home. 

“Were you classically trained?” I ask him, dazed and trying to ignore the rapid pounding of my heart. He slows down his steps, seeming satisfied with my progression, before looking at me. 

“You could say that,” he gives me a devilish smile, before breaking away to neatly fold the sash in a pile with the clothes he had worn yesterday. I can never seem to read him, to figure him out. An orphan raised in the Delta? Who can dance and is classically trained? It doesn’t add up. Against my better judgement, I push my suspicions aside, blaming the fact that I’ve been alone so long for my hesitation. I know nothing of character. Of human contact. Besides the marquess. And I don’t know what I classify him as, but he and Jungkook are in a whole other realm of man. 

Jungkook looks back and catches me staring, flashing a grin in my direction. Blushing profusely, I turn around and hurriedly put the dress and jewelry back in the box, nearly running to my chamber. I can’t seem to remove my heart even if I try. This is either going to be my best choice or the worst mistake I ever make. 

I’ll know by the end of the night. 

---

The carriage arrives right before dusk, the sky bleeding from black to purple to orange on the horizon. Jungkook and I had spent the afternoon tailoring one of my father’s old suits to fit him, which mostly consisted of me trying not to look at him so I could try and ignore the heat on my skin and pace of my heart and him making sly comments and jokes about the situation I had gotten us in by lying. 

We step out of the door, me feeling ridiculous in my gown and Jungkook looking artfully royal in the suit. It was a crisp gray, dark purple of the sash perfectly complementing both the color of the outfit and his hair. By some miracle, my father’s only pair of clean dress shoes fit on Jungkook’s feet and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride that I am really pulling this off. Two days ago I thought my life was ending, that I would be forced to turn my hand and marry Savoa. Now, I am being escorted to a party being thrown in honor of my engagement to an extremely attractive foreigner. I prayed for a miracle and it came. He came. 

Jungkook smiles at the driver, asking him how his night is and if he is being treated well. It doesn’t dawn on me until we are seated in the carriage and it’s bumping down the road that he was talking to the driver in a different language. I stare at him, trying to burn a hole in his apparently incredibly diverse brain. I know he can feel me looking at him, but he decides to ignore me and stare out of the coach’s window, inhaling the ocean air. 

 The carriage is small, lined with purple velvet on the inside with studded seats and a small glass window on top of both carriage doors. I can hear the horse hooves clomping outside, taking the path towards the estate quickly and efficiently. The horses make me think of Savoa, his comments about teaching me to ride. I’m not his charity case. His little cottage girl that he can fix up and parade to his father. But then, what am I doing? My family is doing the same thing with me. I am doing the same thing to myself. 

Agitated, I put my attention back on Jungkook. “How do you seem to know everything about everything?” I ask, trying and failing to hide the bitter awe in my voice. “Where do you come from?” 

“I told you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind him, “I came from the sea.” 

“Only death comes from the sea,” I bite back, more irritated. 

He looks at me for a moment, as if considering my words. My face flushes lightly at my drama, fiddling with a piece of my hair. I feel ridiculous, like I’m a glossed up show pony about to be taken on the course. The dress is open and breathable, but the heavy cloak I laid over it is making me sweat in the carriage. 

Jungkook swats the hand from my hair, his fingers impossibly cold but causing heat to surge through my wrist and arm. “Stop that,” he says, voice melodic and teasing. “If you act like you’re out of place, then people will think you are.” 

“Such wise words,” I muse, peering at him. “Where did you learn to be so diplomatic?” 

“Not here, clearly.” He gives me a teasing, pointed look. The carriage stops and the driver opens the door, giving Jungkook a reprieve from my ire. After Jungkook exits, I step from the coach and let him take my hand into the crook of his elbow. 

“If I’m to be your stand-in fiancé,” he responds to my inquiring look. “Then I should at least play the part.” I hate how he can be so humorous, how he can make me smile with a single word from his languid lips. 

“An actor too,” I raise my eyebrows at him. “What exactly do you do in the Delta, Jungkook?” I stress the syllables of his name. Each time I say his name, it churns into a sweeter butter in my mouth, so different from when I first fumbled over it at the beach. 

“My trade is… complicated,” he repeats his words from the other day, vaguely. “But I can assure you, on a fake fiancé’s oath, I’m rich and powerful.” 

Before I can press him any further, we reach the green groves that line the estate gardens, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. Bushes are trimmed into the shape of roses, horses, and deer, leaves floating to the ground in the crisp autumn air. Jungkook holds my arm a little tighter, as if sensing my trepidation. My fear. 

“Just stand up straight and pretend you belong here. If you believe it, they’ll believe it too. That’s what I do.”  Jungkook whispers in my ear. I barely have time to look at him and register his sage wisdom before the ten foot tall gold estate doors are opening. 

Multiple people I hardly recognize rush forward from the estate doors, their purple cloaks billowing in the wind. I see the dark waves of my mother’s hair on one woman, the round shape of her face in a man, the gait of her stride in a set of twins. With a start, I realize, these people are my family. They hurry towards me as diplomatically as they can, embracing me in deep hugs and giving me kisses on the cheek. We exchange introductions hurriedly and, the aunt that I have been exchanging letters with, who has a round face and solid build, pushes me towards the estate with a rush. 

“The festivities have already started.” She says excitedly, taking my arm into her elbow and leaving Jungkook with my three uncles. “Oh! We are just so happy you’re here, dear!” 

They pull me towards the estate, my stomach twisting in knots. I can hear the sound of violins and organs playing, a beautiful and upbeat melody that reminds me of my mother’s bubbly laugh. If she could see me now, what would she think? The doors to the estate are pure and solid gold, buff guards opening them before us and allowing us inside. There is chatter, music, and the smell of food wafting through the entry hall and I can’t help but gape at the estate’s interior. 

Lining the walls are hundreds of intricately hand sewn tapestries and more gold everywhere I look. It’s bordering on gaudy and excessive, even the stone and brick of the walls seeming to glitter with flakes of gold. I immediately feel out of place again, thinking about Jungkook’s words to me as we entered the gates. Throwing a look behind me, I see him easily making conversation with my uncles, probably divulging more of his mysterious past to them than he has to me. As if sensing my gaze, he flicks his eyes to me and gives me a smile, all sweet with a hint of that Jungkook deviousness I have become so fond of. 

We turn down the main hallway and walk to the left, the sounds of celebration getting louder. Is this the life that Marquess Savoa leads everyday? Is this where he goes to after he ambushes my forest adventures? To a waiting party full of women and wine and dancing? Why would he ever want me over that? From the few men I have made acquaintance with, that seems to be their greatest dream. 

“We are about there,” my aunt stops and turns to me, pinching my cheeks and looking me over. My uncles bring Jungkook up to my side and arrange us in a position very similar to that of matrimony; with his hand atop mine and our elbows just barely touching. I feel like royalty being introduced to society for the first time, all dressed up and paraded. Part of me loves it, after being alone for so long. Part of me feels like a fraud. 

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says when my family falls behind us to allow us to enter first, his voice quiet and sincere. “Don’t be nervous.” 

His words send more butterflies into my stomach, swallowing deeply as we continue to approach the ballroom. There is heavy light flooding into the hallway from the open doors and I feel the warmth of Jungkook’s hand like a fire of its own. We round the corner and into the space, the amount of people and smells and sensations completely overwhelming me. I blink, going deft from the rushing in my ears. The people closest to the entry turn, looking us over and studying our faces, our postures, our clothes. I stand up a little straighter, walk with a little more confidence, and smile a bit when I hear the hushed whispers of women and men appraising us. 

The whole room is gold and silver, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with strands of diamonds and pearls. The food is plated on gold, the silverware shiny and clean. The floors are a beautiful patchwork of tiles and large banners of the Savoa house line the walls. Everything is so bright, even all of the women’s dresses catch the firelight and sparkle luminously, like a thousand suns. More and more people turn, parting for Jungkook and I as we make our way to the center of the room. This is when we dance, this is when I am truly put to the test. 

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat, inhaling deeply. Jungkook had reminded me well, he said he would lead the way, but there would be no hiding it if I screwed up, if I turned wrong or stepped on his feet or fell on my face in front of all of these strangers. Dancing with your mother as a child is very different from dancing with a man in a crowded ballroom. 

Surveying the space, I don’t see the Duke anywhere, unsure if this display is for him or for the pleasure of my aunts. I don’t see the Marquess either, a surge of irritation coursing through me. I didn’t persuade Jungkook into doing this and dressing up and coming all the way here so the marquess could just decide not to attend. I was under the distinct impression I would never hear the end of his platitudes and be forced to accept his proposal if I didn't silence him with this charade. I huff under my breath, the sound turning into a sharp gasp as Jungkook circles his arm around my waist and pulls me in closer. 

His grip is strong and sure, yet light like a butterfly, making me completely forget about my annoyance with the marquess. I don’t understand how Jungkook can be so many different things at once. Strong, yet sensitive. Devious, yet kind. Beautiful, yet tragic. I don’t comprehend how I have known him for so little time and yet I feel as if we have been in love all of my life. In love. 

I look at him, his dark eyes glittering and a small smile gracing his thick lips. He smells so much like the ocean and I am baffled by how little it bothers me. How the sea has seemed to become something less evil with him, something more peaceful and more human. He licks his lips, my eyes following the blessed movement. He has completely and utterly enraptured me in just a few days' time, my feet easily following the rhythm of the music and of him as we move. We quickly fall into sync, as if we are one body and one soul coming together as he softly hums the melody of the waltz. 

He moves in closer when he brings me up from the final dip, his breath on my face before he seals my fate with a light kiss on the cheek. I close my eyes, the feeling of him on me melting my core and igniting my soul. The music slowly fades as people clap and I part my lips, ready to be kissed for real. Everything in me is screaming that I need him, that I have to have him. That he is the best thing the ocean has ever given me and I long to taste the sea on his tongue. 

His breath brings shivers up my spine, voice hot and low. 

“We can’t kiss. Yet.” 

I open my eyes, completely dazed as he brings us into a fully erect position and bows.   

I curtsy back, stunned and with only half of the brain cells I had before. The feeling of his lips on my cheek has left a mark on my mind, like a brand. His words burn and solidify in me like wax, the anticipation of what could be so palpable and tangible between my fingers. A servant offers me a flute full of sparkling liquid and I take it while the party resettles and Jungkook is pulled away by an uncle to talk more, a million things on my mind. As soon as I finish the flute, a servant hands me another one, my dress feeling too tight and my skin feeling too warm. Before anyone can stop me, or rush to meet my acquaintance, I hurry through the crowd and out the ballroom doors. 

Everything looks so much more rosy and sweet than it did before out in the hallway. The ornate walls lined with tapestries and gold that seemed like too much when I first came, are now so impressive and respectable. The floors, a slab gray stone, are so colorful and filled with fun patterns for me to jump over. I meander down the hall, the opposite way from where we came in and try to calm the inhuman racing of heart and fever of my brain. I think about Jungkook, the solidity of his hold, the surety of his step, the softness of his lips, and the steadiness of his voice. I don’t know how I wander so far from the main event, but next thing I know I am standing on a terrace at the end of the hall, overlooking the gardens and basking in my thoughts. 

Everything is so perfect here. Every detail tended to and no expense spared. I bet each blade of grass is trimmed to the exact same inch, to ensure precision. No wonder all of the girls in the village looked at me the way they did. This estate was a far cry from living in town and the prospect of living here, or even spending a few hours here, is probably all they pray to the gods for. The night air is cool and refreshing, my tight lungs opening slowly with every breath. 

“You’re missing your party.” A voice comes from behind me. 

I turn around, startled, and instantly start to sober. The marquess is behind me, his head tilted to the side in question. The black suit and combed hair does his frame such sweet justice. I can see the lines of his torso and arms through the waistcoat, the tan of his skin contrasted with the crisp white of his shirt and white of his hair. He wears a golden brooch with his family sigil on his lapel, directly above his heart. 

Marry me. I hear him say. 

Swallowing thickly, I face my back to him and place my hands on the terrace railing. 

“It was too warm in there. And besides, you’ve been missing it too.” 

I feel him come closer to stand beside me, tall and confident, looking out over the gardens. He stays quiet, a rare occurrence for him, and I can count the times I wished to sew his mouth shut, but now, in the night, at this party, at his home, the silence feels too thick. I find myself wanting him to say something, anything that will break it. That can puncture the wound between us like a clean hot knife. 

“He seems very foreign.” 

That's not what I was hoping he would say, the tension continuing to rise. “Yes, he is.” 

“And that’s what you want?” He asks. 

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that I am practically engaged to another man, but I answer him honestly. 

“I don’t know.” 

I just met Jungkook. I don’t know who he is or where he comes from. Besides the Delta. I don’t know his family or his mannerisms or his preferences. But I know Savoa’s. And something about that, the familiarity amongst all of this unmarked territory, is so comforting. For a moment, just a moment, I fall into it. The comfort of not having to be someone else.  

“The ring… the lavender.” I begin, looking at his side profile. Strong slope of his nose and cut lines of his jaw. His face was built stronger, more fierce than Jungkook’s. If I hadn’t known Savoa better, I would think he was as stoic as a rock. “It was beautiful and so incredibly thoughtful.” 

 He turns to me, a slight smile etched on his even lips. “I designed it myself.”

“You have exquisite taste.” 

His eyes roam my face, the strands of my hair, the diamonds at my neck, the purple length of my dress. “Not exquisite enough.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks, inhaling sharply and shifting away from him. “You’ll find someone who can appreciate all you have, and more.” I try to sound reassuring, but it sounds so patronizing from my tongue, like I am lecturing him after I broke his heart. 

“I don’t want someone else,” he states, plain and factual. 

“We come from two very different worlds,” I reason, “regardless of where my family comes from. I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t learn the ways of court life. I wasn’t groomed to be a lady. And you were raised to be with one.” 

“And Jungkook wasn’t?”

“Jungkook…” I sigh with frustration, running my hands over my face. “That’s different.” 

“How?” The marquess asks, closing the distance I had put between us. 

I open my mouth to reply, but then shut it. I don’t know. I don’t know how it's different. Because I think Jungkook was raised as an orphan? Because he had worked for his life? Because he had suffered? Like I had? But the marquess didn’t know any of that. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know. He just understands me,” I end up saying, lamely. 

“I understand you. I understand you more than you know.” Marquess Savoa counters, placing his hands on my upper arms so he can turn me to him. I can see something burning in the green of his eyes, like wildfire, barely kept at bay beneath the surface. I’ve never been this close to him before, and I can see a small scar on the side of his cheek, a white line that so obviously sticks out from the rest of his skin. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Had I really been looking? 

“How would you feel if I kissed you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” I repeat. 

He does it, leaning in to place a featherlight kiss on my lips. It’s barely a graze, just the slightest touch, like the whisper of the wind. He smells smoky, like firewood. The opposite of Jungkook, who smells of salt and wet clean air. Savoa is still holding onto my arms, his grip slackening and sliding down to my wrists as he keeps his lips on mine. 

My stomach turns, but I can’t tell if it’s from the marquess or not. 

I would be able to tell with Jungkook. The thought bubbles to the surface without me allowing it to, causing me to stumble away until my back is against the terrace railing. I can feel the cool night air on my back, smell the flowers and green grass from the gardens below. Savoa just stands, looking at me with slight confusion on his face, as if the kiss didn’t feel how he thought it would either. 

I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one. 

Licking my lips, I push down the rising blush on my cheeks and hurry towards the hall, noises of the ongoing party ringing in my ears like a war drum. 

“I… I should get back.” I stutter, awkwardly stammering away. 

I scurry back down the hallway, focusing on the click of my shoes instead of the rushing of my brain. I focus on the smell of roasted pig and toasted pastry. I focus on the intricate tapestries and golden torches lit with burning fire. I focus on everything and nothing at the same time, willing my mind to quiet and everything around me to get louder. 

Well, not everything. 

I slam into a warm body, hands immediately going out to steady me as I trip backward. It’s Jungkook. His hair artfully disheveled and sash off kitler on his gray suit from the impact of my body. I can feel the warmth of his hands on my arms, so different from the way Savoa’s felt. I can feel his lips on my cheek, kindling a flame in me that Savoa never could. 

“Gods,” I say, out of breath. “I knew I smelled the ocean.” 

“Aren’t you island people supposed to like… worship the sea?” Jungkook’s lips tilt in an infuriatingly handsome smirk. “You always say it like a curse.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “My mother drowned in it two years ago. And my father disappeared across it and never came back.” I say, honestly. His gaze intensifies, taking my hand in his. I can see the sorrow in his eyes, but no pity. Nothing but support and understanding. I fall harder for it. In the dim glow of the candle-lit sconces and the shadow of the moonlight, he looks devastatingly handsome. His skin seems to sparkle in shades of blue and purple, reminding me of the cottage under the moon. He looks ethereal, like he has transcended this world and stepped into a different one.  

“Would you like to go home?” He asks, softly. 

Home. The cottage. A place that never felt like home before this. 

I nod, letting him take me under his arm and lead me back down the hall to say our farewells and show our appreciation. The ball room is buzzing with laughter and music. I can see the Duke, an obnoxious smile taking up the bottom half of his face as he flirts with young court women. He is gulping wine from a golden chalice, wife nowhere to be found. Just like his father, the marquess’s younger and more favored brother stands at the other end of the room, talking animatedly in a war uniform with another set of young women. The apple fell about as far from the tree as it could get with Marquess Savoa. 

“We were starting to worry!” One of my aunts says in a shrill tone, pulling me from Jungkook with a wink. “It’s all set up.” 

“What is?” I can barely say before I am being pulled by my aunt to the front of the ballroom. I can’t see Jungkook, looking around for him wildly as my aunt holds me firmly by her side. I pretend to be interested as she introduces me to some of her court friends, who discuss my beauty in relation to my mother and nothing more. Suddenly, the band stops abruptly and the crowd turns to the orchestra. 

All of the musician’s are waiting, poised and ready for the music to begin once more. To be directed into a melody. Standing in front of them, his lean frame tall and dignified, is Jungkook. He looks completely at home on stage, in front of hundreds of watching eyes. He finds me quickly in the crowd, throwing me his signature devilish grin before he begins to speak. 

“I never thought I would have the opportunity to be here,” he says. “To meet the woman of my dreams and fall in love.” He pauses for effect, the entire crowd hanging on his every word. Some girls, that I recognize from the village, turn to look at me, half in jealousy and half in amazement. Clearly one of us had underestimated the other. 

“I want to dedicate this song to you, my soon to be wife,” Jungkook continues, the words burning lava through my core. My aunt holds onto my hand so tightly I lose blood flow to it while she dabs at her tearing eyes with a handkerchief. The music begins slow and steady as Jungkook gives the signal, a sharp raise of his artful hands. 

He begins to sing. And the room goes completely silent and still. He sounds like one of the gods, his voice so incredibly soft yet powerful. I don’t know how he pulls such a deep sound from his throat, gliding over the notes in a dance even more entrancing than our waltz. I can feel myself falling harder with every sound from his lips and I no longer care. I let myself get lost in listening to him. I let the sound and sight of every other guest go away until it is just us. Me and him. He always has this uncanny ability to make me feel as if I am the only person he sees. I have never felt less alone in my life. I could have him and only him and be the happiest girl on the Earth. 

I can barely hear the loud eruption of claps as he finishes, barely feel the release of my aunt’s hand from my arm. I hardly register the quick goodbyes I make and the walk from the ballroom to the carriage. All I can hear is Jungkook’s voice, playing like a loop in my brain. He sounded celestial, paradisiacal. I could hear nothing else but his voice my entire life and be satisfied.

I keep my head on Jungkook’s shoulder the entire ride back from the estate, feeling as if I am floating above the ground as we disembark and walk towards the cottage. When we reach the landing, Jungkook sits on the step, but only to take his shoes off. He looks dazzling in the night, looking up at me through those thick lashes. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, the sound of my own voice guttural compared to his. 

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, a hint of mischief in his tone. 

I smile at him, bending down to slip the heels from my feet. A few days ago, the idea of a midnight walk along the beach would have repulsed me. But now, with Jungkook at my side after such a magical night, I couldn’t think of anything more I wanted to do. To keep me from cutting my feet, Jungkook takes me amply into his arms and carries me down the cliff side, like we are a newlywed couple. I feel giddy, short on breath and full of life. 

“Your voice… it was…” I can’t find the words, at a complete and total loss. 

“I’m told I’m a beautiful singer.” He says defensively with a smile, pretending to hear pity and disgust in my tone. I giggle, giggle, like a little girl, inhaling his scent as it effortlessly mixes with the sea. 

Once we reach the sand, Jungkook sets me down, brushing his hands over my cheek and sending shivers down my spine. He holds my hand and walks me along the shore, my feet bare and the sand deliciously cool on my feet. The wind whistles through my ears, the waves lap at my ankles, and Jungkook’s presence is radiating heat through my body. I am on with the gods, high on champagne and the sound of Jungkook’s voice in the ballroom. He truly is inhuman. I have never met anyone like him in my life. 

He stops and turns to look out at the ocean and I look at him. His hair, so beautifully black and soft, waving in the breeze. His skin, flawless and glowing in the moonlight. His frame, the lean build of his body beneath the suit and my family sash on his broad shoulders. His long legs in the trousers, cuffs wet with sea water. His feet and ankles shift as the water slides over them, sparkling and glittering blue and purple and jade. I get hit with a damning sense of deja vu, but I don’t have time to think about it before he’s there. 

Jungkook kisses me. My stomach completely flips and turns and I know it’s from him, his passion, and his hunger and his heat. His lips hot and brimming with desire; hands two burning masses on my side, nose and hair and cheeks barely grazing my face, yet setting me ablaze. 

And gods, I can practically feel my lungs emptying air into him. I can feel my heart speed up incredibly fast, then slow to a languid pace, as if I am giving him my loyalty, my love, my life. His hands clasp around my waist, the pressure deliciously sweet on my spine. My knees buckle at his touch, but, as if expecting it, Jungkook’s arms catch my fall, my fingers hooking under the waitband of his trousers for purchase. His lips are everywhere, running through my veins and stopping the blood in them like lead. 

I want to open my eyes, to see him, but I can’t. 

Screw my heart, he can have it. 

All I feel is him. I don’t even need to breathe when he’s kissing me like this. He can have my air, he can have my blood, my balance, my life. He can have whatever he wants. He can have the ocean and the forest and the desert and the sky. His tongue snakes along mine, the air getting caught in my throat. 

My eyes pop open. I can’t breathe. 

I unhook my fingers from his trousers, trying to stumble back to find he won’t let me. He’s still kissing me, his hair on my forehead and leaving cuts in its wake when he moves. I can feel his torso singeing my skin through my purple dress, the fabric billowing smoke between us. I attempt to say his name, but all that comes out is a cough. 

Jungkook pulls back from me minutely and I take the space to my advantage and push him roughly, falling to the sand without him holding me up. His lips are an unnatural blue color, his skin whiter than the foam of the sea, and his exposed arms, neck, and face seeming to glitter in the morning light; purple, blue, jade. Like the scales of a mermaid. 

I convulse in the sand, unable to fill my lungs with air. Jungkook watches me with mild fascination, his eyes the color of dark amethyst and his neck pulsing with power. His words come rushing back to me as I look at him, every single time he tried to warn me and I didn’t listen. Every time I only saw what I wanted to see.  

I came from the sea. 

My trade is… complicated. 

We can’t kiss. Yet. 

I’m told I’m a beautiful singer. 

Water begins pouring from my throat, mixed with blood and mucus. My eyes fill with tears, Jungkook’s figure blurring as he kneels down beside me. His eyes look… remorseful. Sad, even. Like he feels sorry for doing this to me. For entrapping me with his beauty, with his siren song. Maybe if I hadn’t been so desperate, I would have seen it. If I had said yes, if I hadn’t lied. If I hadn’t told this lie. 

Jungkook brushes a piece of hair from my face, his hand wet and sticky, like he’s just come from the water. I writhe, my body finally shutting down and my brain giving in. I would die just as my mother had, drowning in an ocean. I would die with the waves and with them carrying my body out to sea. I would die with the wind and the sand and the froth. With Jungkook. 

“You were right,” Jungkook says before I go, his voice broken and beautiful and melodic, like a siren's call, “only death comes from the sea.” 

---------------

a/n: I’ve never written anything mermaid before and I had so much fun doing it omg thank you for the request @celestialgguk​! Sorry, not sorry, for the length, I really wanted to flesh it out and I didn’t intend it, but the story turned more angsty than I thought in the end and took me fOREvER to finish. Sometimes the story just goes where it’s meant to. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! <3 Much love! Requests are still open for anything, not just BTS stuff. Also, the beautiful quote at the beginning is by Christopher Paolini.  

~Admin Eggplant

[everybodyscupoftea]

maybe another halloween w sigma chi jj? like going to a haunted house or something ?

 absolutely! i kinda missed sigma chi jj :)

this is pretty unedited but i hope you enjoy

-

“jj,” you started as soon as you sat down next to him for lunch, “what are your plans for the weekend?”

he shrugged, swallowing the bite of his sandwich, “nothing much, haven’t really committed to anything. why?”

“there’s this corn maze near my hometown and i never got to go there as a date but i’ve always wanted to so,” you trailed off.

“i’m down.”

“yes,” you cheered, “i’m going to call my mom. we can stay there this weekend.”

-

jj pulled into your parents’ driveway saturday afternoon, and you were pretty much bouncing in the passenger seat. he looked over at you, “babe, you’re gonna explode before we even get to do anything.”

“not gonna explode, but i’d really like for you to hurry along so we can get to the fields.”

jj laughed and patted your knee a few times, “yeah, i’m sure you would.”

after speaking to your parents briefly, you pushed him back outside and started the gps up, putting in the address for the corn fields. jj was looking around interestedly as the roads narrowed down into one lane and started winding. 

resting your forehead against the window, you spoke finally, “i always had sports when this was open, never got to come. it’s been going on for so long, my parents came as kids. when they told me about it, that they came on a date here, i’ve always wanted to do the same.”

he hummed thoughtfully, “i’m honored to pop your corn maze cherry.”

tilting your head to face him, your nose wrinkled, “why’d you have to put it like that?”

“to get a reaction.”

conversation devolved into bickering after that until jj finally pulled into the dirt parking lot. the sun was starting to get low in the sky and you could see the wind in the trees out the car window. there were lots of families getting into their cars, carrying sleepy children, and a lot of younger couples getting out of their cars.

you really hoped that you hadn’t hyped it up too much so that it would be a let down. biting your lip in slight worry, you looked over at jj to see him tugging at his hoodie strings, trying to get them even in front of him, tongue slightly sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

he grinned sheepishly, “what? i know you’re going to want pictures and it drives me crazy when they/’re uneven in pictures.”

reaching across the console, you grabbed his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. with a noise of surprise, he melted into it a little, and when the two of you pulled apart, you smiled, “love you, j.”

“love you too.”

jj swung your clasped hands between the two of you as you walked toward the entrance. you were from a sort of small town, and you were fully prepared to run into someone you’d gone to high school with, but with every passing second it was becoming less of a worry.

“so,” jj started, “are we going to do the haunted carriage ride first or walk the corn maze?”

“carriage ride first, the line is always longest.”

“i thought you said you’d never been.”

“i googled,” you admitted, cheeks heating at his laughter. 

“carriage ride it is.”

the line was long but not too long. jj stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, and you leaned back into him, soaking in his warmth as the cold fall air blew around the two of you.

climbing into the cart, he grabbed your hand, “bad time to admit i’m a little freaked out?”

you smirked, “jj maybank’s afraid of some jump scares?”

“don’t tell the boys.”

the cart started moving and you mimed locking your lips and throwing away the key. jj laughed and squeezed your shoulder as the cart left the brightly lit trail for a narrow, dim, wooded path.

while the ride wasn’t too scary, a few jump scares, what you weren’t prepared for was that the last bit of it was walking back to the main attraction area. the driver kicked your group out and pointed to the left vaguely threateningly.

jj grabbed your hand and the other five people with you also started to shuffle in the direction he’d pointed. everyone was a little freaked, all trying to hide it, and jj squeezed your hand tighter and tighter every passing second.

the closer the group got toward the noise of the rest of the crowd, the more on edge everyone seemed to feel. you weren’t sure if something was coming or a hike in the dark was really all you were going to get until someone cursed.

“fuck, i just walked right into a fucking haybale.”

jj snorted, “well watch where you’re going.”

“it’s covered in like a tabelcloth or something. it’s a maze.”

the guy was right and it was even darker in the maze than outside. the aisle was wide, but you stayed as close to jj as possible. all of a sudden there was a piercing scream and something banged into the bale wall next to you.

the group froze and all that could be heard was pounding footsteps. jj whispered, “someone’s coming.”

“fucking run!” a boy behind you and jj yelled and the whole group took off in a sprint, trying to not run into a dead end to get caught by whatever was chasing you. 

you weren’t sure if you should laugh but you were overcome with the urge to laugh at everything going on, and as the group finally broke free of the maze, the laughter started.

jj stared at you like you’d grown another head as you hunched over, hands resting on your knees, to laugh as hard as you could. he rubbed your back comfortingly until you gathered yourself, standing up and wiping tears off your cheeks.

“should’ve seen your face,” you told him, “you looked scared shitless.”

“i was a little freaked out. and so were you by the looks of it. still up for the main maze?”

“can we get a caramel apple first?”

“anything for my girl.”