#just one or two stock phrases telling me not to worry and nothing about asking me about my feelings

[sodaf]

aagh this sucks

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 219

Soooo.... as much as I love @baelpenrose, @writing-with-olive, @quantumizedinsanity, and many others for creating and beta reading this, I want to give a super extra special shout out to @lwgph and @freakfagot for very kindly letting me know that I completely skipped chapter 219 when I posted 220 last week.

And since 220 actually references events that happen in this chapter, I am looping around and posting it this week. Thank you both, so so much, for catching that.

Parvati still had not returned to work two days later, and I had just received a message that morning from Xiomara that she was requesting a leave of absence.  As worried as I was, I probably would have done the same thing, so the leave had been granted, open-ended.  There wasn’t much work to be done, anyway - all of the focus currently was on preparing for landfall, and jobs were locked in.  Hannah and I could handle living space allocations, easily.

All of which did absolutely nothing to calm my worries as I poked at a vegetarian curry in one of the mess halls.

“I am reasonably certain it has given up fighting back,” a deep voice rumbled from behind me. 

I turned halfheartedly to greet Jokul and invite him to take a seat. “Got a lot on my mind and no convenient crisis to distract me,” I admitted.

“Such is normally the human condition. Or so I am told.” He winced as he chewed a mouthful of pasta. “That is not what squash should feel like.”

“Apparently we ran out of food stock on butternut squash really quickly.” I sighed and gave up, pushing my food toward him. “Appetite’s off.  It’s gobi masala, help yourself.”

He shook his head gently. “I do not enjoy cauliflower, but thank you.” After a moment of consideration, he set his fork down. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Wish I could,” I sighed. “But it’s not my story to tell. A friend of mine is going through a lot right now, and wants some space. Given what they just confided to us about their past, I don’t blame them and it isn’t a situation where I can really push, you know?”

“I take it this friend is not of the variety to spar? I have not seen any new faces lately.”

“Definitely not the sparring type,” I confirmed. “That’s kind of what set everything off.”

He nodded in realization. “The situation with our escorts, I take it.”

I groaned and dropped my forehead onto my hands. Peeking between my fingers to see his reaction, I asked in defeat “Do you think we made a rash decision?”

“From what I understand, no.  They believe we are inferior and wish to force us into that mold, correct?”

“Mm hmm.”

“We lack the martial capacity to fight directly, and allowing them to remain would instill sufficient paranoia that they need not take any action to divide us. But that is simply my belief.  I take it that your friend believes differently.”

I nodded, head still propped on one hand as it had been so frequently lately. “They want us to find a more peaceful solution, or at least try something else before we go straight into the splodey parts.”

“Did they have such a solution to suggest?”

“No one has, as far as I can tell. That’s the problem. And with this person, it’s more complicated because of their past.”

“Not a cryptic phrase at all,” he teased gently before trying another bite of the pasta. “It is less objectionable when congealed, which is a terrible realization.”

That at least got a snort from me. “Some foods are like that. But we’ll have fresh food again before too long. They’re trying to conserve root stocks of everything that we are going to be growing on Von, and rather than waste everything else, we are using it up the best we can.”

“This cannot be the best use of these ingredients. I refuse to believe such blatant deceit.”

Another snicker. “That filling probably came from the console, if the texture is that bad. We were just talking the other day about how most console vegetables have the wrong texture. It doesn’t help - like, at all - that everyone likes them to be cooked to different degrees.  From what Miys told me, the console basically takes an average and uses that.”

“A case in which no one wins,” he sighed dramatically. “But it does explain whatever this is.”

“Not everyone likes curry as much as I do,” I pointed out. “Otherwise, that would be the perfect solution.”

“You are correct. I rescind my objection, although I am going to strongly recommend they do not use the five tons of beets I have been harvesting as borscht.”

“Five tons? That’s…. A lot of borscht.”

“It could likely be better used as a reasonable amount of borscht, roasted beets, and a substantial amount of sugar,” he stated firmly.

I wasn’t going to argue. Instead, I flicked open my datapad and made a note to contact Grey and Xiomara about the idea. “Noted. And thank you. I like the resource distribution side of you, by the way.”

“I am certain Farro has made it clear: an unfortunately large part of being a warlord in the After was gathering and managing resources. It is all well and good to have someone attend to it for you, but one should always have a close eye on everything to avoid abuse.” As if to make his point, he shook a ravioli at me. “Beets are easy, everyone likes sugar. Making war is harder.”

His statement brought me back to the reason I was sulking as far from my office as I could get. “I already know what Arthur would do in this situation: he made it very clear to Charly that he only suggests we wait until we are on planet so that the GC doesn’t feel the need to send new escorts. But what would you do, knowing that not everyone agreed with a decision?”

“Anyone in our settlement was allowed to object to any decision we made, provided they were able to suggest an alternative. And then everyone would vote, in most cases. The only exception was generally when a decision needed to made quickly, such as a disaster or an attack.”

I blinked several times, skeptical. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Truthfully, it is not. Wrong decisions can still be made, but emotional ones were less likely when the person objecting had to provide the alternative rather than just objecting.”

“Thank you. For that, and for the beets.” I stood, picking up my half eaten food. “I’ll talk to the Council, see about opening a poll to the Ark.  It will need to have a time limit on it - we land sooner rather than later.”

“Our people need opportunity, not time,” he shrugged. “If I have learned anything, it is that.”

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[tripleaxeldiaz]

elmosolyodni for the wordstuck prompts 💕

elmosolyodni: to slowly break out into a genuine smile when being overcome with emotions, like love or utter happiness.

read on ao3

As much as he wanted it to be, as much as he wanted it for himself, Eddie’s never been great at romance. 

His proposal to Shannon was more like a suggestion, a stuttering statement that tumbled out of him when she showed him the positive test six months after their first date. And he didn’t give it much thought again — didn’t have time to think about it — until a couple months into his tour, when his team was swapping stories about wives and husbands over dinner and someone asked, “So Diaz, how’d you pop the question?”

The fact that he didn’t have a story to tell stung more than he thought it would.

He tried to make it up to her — bought her flowers when he was home, took her out for their anniversary every year, but between parenthood and redeployment and the growing chasm between them when he came back the second time, any notion of romance felt harder and harder to hold onto. And when she left, amid the panic and shame and anger, there was also a sadness, a resignation that the romance he’d quietly craved just wasn’t meant for him. He had bills to pay, a kid to take care of, a life to rebuild. Sweeping gestures from him or for him no longer seemed important.

That all changed when he met Buck, as most things in his life did.

Even before they started dating, Eddie wanted to do things for Buck. He wanted to buy him the shirt in the window display that reminded him of his eyes, wanted to make sure that they always had his weird Icelandic yogurt in the fridge for when he stayed over, wanted to wrap him up when he got that broken look on his face and remind him that he is loved by everyone and especially by Eddie. It was a physical need, one he felt in his gut every time, but he’d shut that part of himself off so firmly that all he could do was hope it didn’t linger too long. Buck needed a friend, and he’d be damned if he did anything stupid enough to ruin what they already had, what they’d already built.

It took a bullet ripping through his abdomen to make him realize what a terrible idea that had been.

But a year later wounds are healed, PT is long done, and he wakes up next to Buck every morning feeling happier than he has in almost a decade. He gets to buy the shirt for him, stock up on yogurt, and press himself into Buck’s space until his eyes get their spark back. He can fantasize about the house they’ll buy or the dogs they’ll adopt once Chris moves out.

He can see a titanium ring in the display case of the jewelry store at the mall and perfectly imagine what it would look like on Buck’s finger.

And he can make it all the way to his truck after buying it before the panic starts to set it.

He doesn’t register driving to Maddie and Chim’s until he’s frantically knocking on the door, hoping he heard Buck right and that Maddie’s off today taking care of a sick Jee-yun. The door flies open, and he sees Maddie’s face go from pissed to surprised to confused as she zeros in on the velvet box held limply in his hand.

“Uh, Eddie, that’s really sweet, but there are a lot of reasons why this would never work.”

His laugh is borderline hysterical as he gently pushes into the apartment. “It’s for Buck, but I— we haven’t really— I don’t even know if—” He doesn’t realize he’s pacing until Maddie takes his elbow and steers him to the couch, hands him a glass of water, and pushes him to sit.

“Breathe. Drink,” she says, and he does as his mind keeps spinning. She sets the empty glass on the coffee table and sits in the armchair across from him. “Okay. You want to propose. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course.” It’s the best thing, at the very top of a list of things he thought were untoppable.

“Have you guys talked about getting married?”

It wasn’t so much a conversation as a shift in language — one day the phrase “if we get married” changed to “when we get married” and neither of them thought twice about it because it felt so right.

“Sort of,” he settles on.

“And you’re sure he’d say yes?”

“Yes.” There’s few things in life he’s ever been so sure of, no matter what his earlier panic was making him think.

“So what’s the problem?”

He slumps back on the couch, hands running through his hair. “I don’t know how to do it.”

Maddie squints at him. “Eddie, it’s a pretty hard thing to mess up. And you’ve already been married, so don’t you have some practice?”

“That was different,” he says. “Shannon was already pregnant, it was more like a to-do list item than anything else. I didn’t even get her a ring until a couple months later.”

“Well you’re already a step ahead there, so that’s good.”

He sighs, pulling the ring box out of his pocket again and opening it. The thin line of silver running through the black glints in the sunlight, and he can still picture Buck wearing it so clearly, he’s just not sure how it gets there. All he knows is this aching need he can feel in his chest to make sure that however he does it, it’s enough — more than enough — that Buck knows exactly how deep his love runs, exactly how desperately Eddie needs him in his life and by his side.

Maddie moves to sit next to him and takes the box, and Eddie falls back into the cushions again. “I just want it to be perfect for him,” he says quietly. “Romantic. All the stuff people dream about when they think about getting engaged. But I have no idea how to do that.”

Maddie studies the ring for a minute before shutting the box, pressing it into his hand until he looks her in the eye. Her gaze is steady, piercing, and very (scarily) reminiscent of her brother’s. “You are asking him to marry you. It’s already perfect.” The reassurance helps, and it’s easy to smile back at her when she squeezes his hand. 

“But,” she says, reaching for a pen and notebook on the coffee table, “a little romance never killed anyone, so let’s make some lists and figure out what you do and don’t want to do.”

Lists sound good. Eddie can work with lists.

“Rule number one,” she says, already scribbling, “no sporting events. Nothing kills the mood faster than seeing your face on a Jumbotron…”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, none of the lists really matter.

Because two weeks later, they’re sitting on the back patio after dinner, night air cool and lit up around them by the lights Chris insisted on hanging for his last backyard sleepover. Buck’s going on about a patient who tried to insist he could do CPR on himself, and Eddie’s hypnotized by his enthusiasm, the expressiveness of his hands and the joyful blush on his cheeks. He says something that makes both of them laugh, bubbling through the quiet of the neighborhood, and Eddie knows, immediately and with every part of him.

He has to ask Buck now. It’s not the candlelit dinner and walk on the beach he’d decided on with Maddie, nor is it even close to as big and bold as anything else they’d come up with. But none of that matters now because his skin is buzzing and his heart is pounding and he doesn’t want the ring burning in his pocket a minute longer — he wants to swear himself to Buck right here, in this moment that is extraordinarily ordinary and perfectly them. This is a story he wants to tell people over and over, to their family and friends and anyone else who will listen.

The universe must still be trying to make up for the hell it put him through last year, because the playlist coming through their portable speaker changes to something softer, romantic, and Eddie takes his chance before he talks himself out of it.

“Dance with me,” he says, standing and offering his hand to Buck. 

“I’m sorry, are my stories boring?” Buck laughs as he takes his hand, folding into Eddie’s space like he’s always meant to be there, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Never,” Eddie says, and he pauses, because the one thing he and Maddie didn’t talk about was what he actually wanted to say to Buck when he asked. And now that he’s here with very little preparation, the huge, all-encompassing feelings he has for Buck refuse to be wrangled into a few measly sentences. None of the words he can think of feel big enough to capture how deeply his love runs, and he can feel his skin start buzzing for a much more unpleasant reason.

Hands squeeze his waist, zoning him back in and focusing him on Buck, on the crease between his eyebrows and the worry around his mouth. “Everything okay?” he asks, because he always knows when Eddie gets lost in himself, sometimes even before Eddie figures it out. 

Buck knows him better than he knows himself. He doesn’t need big, poetic monologues for Buck to understand what’s going on inside his head.

The buzzing changes again, fueling his determination as he slips his hand into his pocket. “I love you. So much it’s almost scary. But I’m more scared of spending the rest of my life without you,” he holds the ring up between them, “so will you marry me?”

Buck freezes, stopping them both from swaying with the music. Eddie watches his eyes flit between the ring and Eddie and back again, holding his breath as he waits for an answer. Finally, Buck’s eyes lock on Eddie and stay there, a soft smile growing and growing until it’s so incandescently bright that Eddie’s afraid he might have to look away or risk losing his vision.

And then, just as quickly, Buck drops his hands from Eddie’s waist and runs back into the house.

Eddie honestly isn’t sure what to make of this, the only thought running through his head being what the fuck just happened here. But then Buck’s running back outside, still smiling and not-so-secretly holding something behind his back, and now it’s Eddie’s turn to glow.

“You’re joking,” he says quietly, cheeks already hurting from a smile that feels permanent and eyes feeling a little wet.

Buck shakes his head, his eyes shining too as he holds up the velvet box. “Bought it like a month ago when Chris and I went to buy him a new backpack, I had to bribe him with a new video game to keep him quiet. I haven’t even gotten a chance to tell Maddie yet.”

Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if the sheer amount of joy coursing through his veins was making him float a couple inches off the ground. “Is that a yes then?” he asks.

Buck’s laugh is loud and sharp, and Eddie can’t think of a more perfect sound. He takes the ring out and tosses the box aside, holding it up next to the one in Eddie’s hand. “Only if you’ll marry me too.”

It’s a flurry, then, of rings on fingers and breathless kisses and whispers of I love you, I love you so much. The whirlwind settles and they start swaying to the music again, holding each other even closer, and Eddie revels in the new weight on his hand that ties them together. He feels light and loved, completely enveloped in this romance that he’s finally able to give fully and receive just as well. 

Buck takes his hand and places a kiss just below his ring, and Eddie knows this is just the beginning. They have a lifetime of love and happiness ahead of them, and Eddie finally feels like he deserves it.

[inkedtae]

fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series... 

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop​ (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠  @moonmintrails​ (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs. 

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without. 

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder. 

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe. 

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side. 

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it. 

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you. 

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?” 

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!” 

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions. 

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you. 

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food. 

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros. 

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony. 

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t. 

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer. 

“I think I do,” she smiles. 

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him. 

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long. 

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings. 

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you. 

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you. 

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you. 

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history. 

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting. 

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you. 

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment. 

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?” 

Kyon smiles and nods. 

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl. 

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well. 

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug. 

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath. 

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity. 

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument. 

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?” 

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.” 

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation. 

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.” 

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her. 

“Have I made myself clear?” 

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you. 

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them. 

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance. 

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre. 

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same. 

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks. 

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there? 

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes. 

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies. 

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply. 

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.” 

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek. 

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset. 

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore. 

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now. 

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray. 

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees. 

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter. 

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain. 

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in. 

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow. 

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head. 

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.” 

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him. 

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh. 

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird. 

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end. 

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his- 

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable. 

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you. 

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap. 

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.” 

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together. 

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week. 

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered. 

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters. 

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud. 

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.” 

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans. 

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.” 

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.” 

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now. 

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says. 

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my…  The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it. 

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.” 

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind. 

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks. 

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs. 

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud. 

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no. 

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.” 

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable. 

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him. 

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks. 

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him. 

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.” 

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him. 

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?” 

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought. 

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes. 

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in. 

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place. 

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.” 

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you. 

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence. 

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.” 

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck. 

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself. 

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.” 

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow. 

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks. 

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit. 

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl. 

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him. 

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans. 

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good. 

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him. 

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground. 

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs. 

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans. 

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build. 

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again. 

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock. 

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion. 

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break. 

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him. 

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs. 

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to. 

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube. 

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for. 

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings. 

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly. 

“Mhm,” you mewl. 

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine. 

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it. 

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you. 

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure. 

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head. 

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again. 

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?” 

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name. 

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating. 

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it. 

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses? 

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered. 

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess. 

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done. 

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him. 

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on. 

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs. 

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive. 

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him. 

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you. 

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask. 

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!” 

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock. 

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it. 

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only. 

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts. 

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you. 

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal. 

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach. 

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him. 

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well. 

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case. 

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin. 

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count. 

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.” 

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like. 

He pauses, body freezing beneath you. 

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout. 

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours. 

“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze. 

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain. 

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his. 

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second. 

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too. 

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him. 

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well. 

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods. 

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head. 

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles. 

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.” 

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.” 

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body. 

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to. 

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply. 

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask? 

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain. 

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden. 

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer. 

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next. 

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering. 

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear. 

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like. 

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now. 

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile. 

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook. 

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.” 

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. 

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice. 

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply. 

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him. 

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him. 

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.” 

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles. 

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way. 

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.” 

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry. 

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply. 

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling. 

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[jonsa101]

Max Goodwin and Randall Pearson: The Well-Meaning, Incredibly Self-Centered Leading Men We’ve Grown to Love.

Hey fam! Like I said, I’ve been writing a ton of meta lately and this is another one that’s just been sitting in my drafts. It’s basically a This Is Us and a New Amsterdam meta which is something I haven’t done before but something I want do more of. In my Game of Thrones days I used to write a lot of meta about shows and characters that had similarities so this is fun for me. I hope y’all enjoy this. ALSO THIS HAS SPOILERS FOR BOTH SHOWS!!!!!!!

Without a doubt the two most popular shows on NBC is This is Us and New Amsterdam. And what’s not to love? They’re both emotionally driven, heartfelt, shows that focus on incredibly deep and complex topics. Though one show focuses on family dynamics and the other focuses on the healthcare system, these shows are very similar in more ways than one. Case in point, Max Goodwin and Randall Pearson. The more I watch these two shows, the more I realize how these two characters are so alike!!! These two men are kind-hearted, well intentioned, individuals who genuinely want to make some sort of positive difference. They are incredibly ambitious and always have “bright ideas” and “goals” they want to accomplish and somehow they’re able to meet those goals without ever having to sacrifice their wants and needs. By every definition these men are the “main characters” or the ultimate “protagonists.” These are the folks that we are supposed to root for. At the same time, though these men have many traits to be admired, when you truly look at it both of them can be incredibly self centered and selfish especially when it pertains to their romantic partners and love interests. No matter how appealing you make these characters out to be these men clearly fall under the Behind Every Great Man trope.

The Behind Every Great Man trope has been used countless of times throughout Cinema and TV History that I’m sure that I don’t even have to explain it to you but for the sake of this meta this is how it’s defined.

“Behind Every Great Man...stands an even greater woman! Or in about a hundred variations is a Stock Phrase referring to how people rarely achieve greatness without support structures that go generally unappreciated, and said support structure is a traditionally female role via being the wife, mother, or sometimes another relation. This trope is specifically about a man who is credited with something important, but owes much of his success to the woman in his life.”

This trope usually has a negative connotation (and rightfully so) because the man who often benefits from this is an asshole and unworthy of this type of support!

For example:

Oliva and Fitz

Cristina Yang and Burke

Cookie and Lucious

Ghost and Tasha

There are countless others but these are a few of the couples that come to mind for me. Randall and Max aren’t comparable to any of these men that are listed above but they are still operating under the same trope. It just looks nicer because Max and Randall are inherently good and inspirational. They are the heroes of the story. I would even argue and say that both men fall under the Chronic Hero Syndrome trope which is defined as

“Chronic Hero Syndrome is an "affliction" of cleaner heroes where for them, every wrong within earshot must be righted, and everyone in need must be helped, preferably by Our Hero themself. While certainly admirable, this may have a few negative side-effects on the hero and those around them. Such heroes could wear themselves out in their attempts to help everyone or become distraught and blame themselves for the one time that they're unable to save the day. Spending so much time and effort saving everyone else can also put a strain on the hero's personal or dating life.”

Just because Max and Randall have these incredibly inspiring aspirations, is it fair that their wives and love interests are always expected to rise to the occasion and support them. Is it ok for their partners to continuously sacrifice their wants and needs because they love these men? 

Let’s dive into it. 

Truth be told, Beth Pearson, Helen Sharpe and Georgia Goodwin had to endure a GREAT DEAL to emotionally support the dreams and aspirations of these men while sacrificing so much of themselves in the process. In media we often see women sacrificing so much of their wants and needs out of love for these male leads and rarely do men do the same thing for their romantic partners and love interests. All three of these women clearly fall under the Act of True Love trope defined as

“The Act of True Love proves beyond doubt that you are ready to put your loved one's interests before your own, that you are truly loyal and devoted to them. Usually this involves a sacrifice on your part, at the very least a considerable effort and/or a great risk. The action must be motivated, not by morals or principle or expectation of future reward, but by sheer personal affection.When your beloved is in dire need of your help, or in great danger, and you do something, at great expense to yourself, for the sake of their safety, their welfare, or their happiness, thus proving beyond any doubt that you put their interest ahead of yours.”

Over the past few seasons we have seen all three of these women truly live up to this trope without any true consequences or accountability from the men they’re making all these sacrifices for. For example, in Beth and Randall’s marriage, how many times did Randall spring an idea on Beth without truly talking to her or considering her wants first? Everyone thinks these two are an ideal couple but she has endured A LOT for Randall.

Randall has spontaneously quit his job, moved his dying biological dad into their home, bought his biological dad’s old apartment building, fostered and adopted a child and also ran for city councilman outside of his district. In all of these decisions, Randall “consulted” Beth about it but at the same time didn’t really consult her. In a way there has always been this expectation of Beth to just go along for the ride with what Randall wants. Is anyone else exhausted from reading that list?! That’s a lot for partner to endure and lovingly support. But Beth has endured and has been Randall’s rock through it all!!! What worries me is that the one time Beth spoke out about her wants and needs of pursuing dance again, he couldn’t match the same energy she was giving him and eventually it led to world war three between them. Though things are looking up in their relationship  and he’s starting to support her more, has Randall nearly given to Beth as much as she’s given to him? Absolutely not!

Similar to Randall, Max also had a wife who was a dancer. in fact, she was a prima ballerina. Unlike Randall and Beth, Max relationship with Georgia was rocky from the start. When we were first introduced to them Max and Georgia were separated and rightfully so. Georgia was never Max’s first priority. The hospital always came first in their relationship. He couldn’t even dedicate a full night to her for their proposal. In order to “save” their marriage they decide to have a baby and they both committed to taking a step back in their careers in order to do so. The problem was Max didn’t keep his side of their commitment and took a job to become the medical director at the biggest public hospital in the U.S. She gave up her career to start a family and he totally and completely betrayed her trust. So throughout season one we see them trying to rebuild their marriage but even in the midst of trying to rebuild a marriage based on trust and mutual respect Max still keeps things from Georgia. For several episodes he didn’t tell her that he had advance stages of throat cancer. He only told her when Georgia asked him to move back home. That’s fucked up! Then throughout their pregnancy he was never fully there for Georgia because he was either to preoccupied with the hospital or himself. At the end of it all, Georgia died tragically at the beginning of season two and really had nothing to show for it in her relationship with Max other than her daughter Luna.

Now let’s bring Helen Sharpe into the fold. While all of this stuff was going on with Max and his wife in season one, Max was developing a deep friendship, borderline emotional affair with Helen. Their relationship started out with Helen being his oncologist. As the new Medical Director of New Amsterdam, he swore Helen to secrecy about his diagnosis so that he could still run the hospital. Through that secrecy they eventually formed a deep bond but as his cancer got worse his secret was let out of the bag. He realistically needed someone to step up and run the hospital when he was going through chemo and though Helen already had commitments she stepped up and became his deputy medical director. Somewhere along the lines Max and Helen started developing feelings for each other. As Helen becomes aware of those feelings, she made a choice and decides to remove herself as Max’s doctor. He BITCHES about it but eventually accepts the boundary she’s clearly trying to set. Mind you, as this is unfolding, like Max, Helen is also in a new relationship with her boyfriend Panthaki. As Max’s cancer seems to be getting worse with his new doctor, she goes back on her boundary and decides to be his doctor again. This pisses her boyfriend off because he could already peep the vibe between them and he breaks up with her. When we get into season two, Max’s wife died and Helen set him up in a clinical trail (with a doctor she previously fired) that’s helping his cancer.  Unbeknownst to Max, this doctor ends up holding his life saving treatment plan over Helen’s head and in order for his treatment to continue she gives this doctor half of her department!

Helen has sacrificed a lot for Max and now in season three she’s finally prioritizing her current wants and needs first! Like Randall, Max is starting to turn a page and is starting to support Helen and truly listen to the wants and needs that she has. All of this is good but my question is did any of these women have to sacrifice so much for the men in their lives to get a clue?

Why is it that this is a trope we see in media time and time and time again? Even if these men are good, why don’t we still keep these male characters accountable when they put their significant others in these situations that are clearly not fair? I’ve watched countless tv shows and I’ve seen a lot of tv couples but I think I have only come across one couple where the male counterpart has selflessly loved his significant other and has always put her needs above his own. 

That character my friend is none other than PACEY WITTER

I might be mistaken but I think Joey and Pacey are the most popular ship in tv history and honestly, rightfully so! This is only example I can think of where the male in the relationship so willingly puts the wants and needs of his partner first. It is a completely selfless and sacrificial love. He never wants to hold her back and he never asks her to compromise her wants or needs for him. That’s why I think so many women love Pacey because in a sea of TV relationships, Pacey Witter is a fucking unicorn.

So to wrap this up does this mean that I hate Randall Pearson or Max Goodwin? No! I adore them. I love both of their characters so much. I just think that when we see the media continuously play out the sacrificial wife/love interest for the sake of their male counterparts, it should be called out. I’m all about sacrificial and selfless love but it should come from both sides.❤️❤️❤️

Anyway I hope y’all enjoy this! As always my DMs are opening here or on Twitter @oyindaodewale

[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

Two 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags:  neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, coworker!hyunjin, florist!jisung, punk!jisung (yeah boiiii), agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food, passive body shaming 

Word count: 5.5k (y e e t we love self indulgence) 

Tagging: @lauraneuuh​

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO | THREE

busybody noun 

:an officious or inquisitive person. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There are a couple things that your mother is known for--or rather, a couple things that she has been deemed. 

Mother, wife, friend, matriarch, socialite, unofficial event planner, gossip, show off, professional nagger, and, to certain people, bitch. 

And yet, somehow your mother was intertwined with some of the most prominent circles within the city, and she knew everything about everyone’s business. Frankly, she often didn’t have anything better to to with her time. ” If she had any job at all, it would be calling you every weekend to give her opinions on your rather “less than auspicious” life choices. 

To her, another one of your “less than auspicious” life choices had to do with the way that you had dressed yourself; however little sense this made. 

Your mother sipped at her tea with dainty fingers, barely cracking with age due to her expensive hand creams. 

“Quickly. Go get changed. We don’t have much more time and you’re dallying. It should fit you, just as long as you haven’t put on any more weight.” Her hawk-like gaze inspected your hips and thighs. “Hmm. I think you’ll be fine.” 

Seungmin, where he sat on the couch with perfect posture tapped his feet up and down with discomfort. 

I hate you for doing this to me, he glared at you with despair, hiding it behind the wide smile he performed for your mother. 

“What? Do you not trust me to be alone with your friend here?” 

Your best friend nervously chuckled out in that little puppy-like way that he would. “What? Ahh no, I’ll be fine, go on Y/n, I should be leaving soon anyway, I was just stopping by.” 

Your mother’s eyes followed you up your staircase, watching for the very moment that you closed your bedroom door. The second you did, her snide voice hissed out loud whispers, undoubtedly drilling Seungmin about the usual questions: are you married, where do you live, what’s your profession, what does your family do etc. 

The little metal zipper of the pencil skirt pinched your fingertips as you attacked it up your body. Once again, your mother had underestimated your clothing size. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes looking at the tags for the designer matching skirt and blazer ensemble. There was nothing in your mother’s life that didn’t denote the status that she “worked so hard for.” 

In a way, you hated that you had done this to Seungmin as well. Initially you had thought that having some kind of male presence over when your mother arrived would deter her stabbing remarks about your singledom, but in fact, it has just made it worse. For once in your life, you just wanted to hold something over her. Now, you’d likely traumatized the best friend that you had. 

You nearly slipped on the carpeted stairs in your nylon stockings on the way down, but held fast the the banister, looking a bit like some kind of sad, business-casual, plastic-looking prom queen. 

Seungmin’s eyes widened seeing you in the toning skirt. Likely you knew that he must’ve been keeping his jokes to himself the very best that he could--you wouldn’t hear the end of it later. 

“Wonderful. Let’s get going.” Your mother set down her teacup with a clink. “I’ve got some cosmetics in the car that you can use as well. We’ll be stopping off at the flower shop before we get to the venue. I’ve ordered an arrangement for the bride-to-be.” 

“I feel like a China doll.” You muttered under your breath, catching a little laugh from your friend. Your eyes met as if to ask him if he was okay, which he rolled his eyes as his answer. 

You put on the only pair of kitten heels that you owned: they were brown, banged up and the pleather was cracking a little at the edges. Of course, your mother let out an exasperated sigh upon seeing them. 

“I’ll bring shoes next time.” 

Seungmin politely opened the door for the both of you and the spring morning’s sun washed your face in it’s warmth. The morning was perfect: the exact kind of day that you would spend in your garden writing or reading on the single-person porch swing you had just installed. Dew still held to the Kelly green blades of grass and your cherry blossom tree bowed a little in the breeze. 

“Well, it was nice meeting and speaking with you Seungmin--” 

“--We’ve met before thou--” 

“--You seem to be a strapping and organized young man. I do hope that you consider what we discussed.” 

Seungmin appeared to flush a little, “I-I’ll think about it.” 

You tugged at your friend’s shirt, pulling him in to whisper, “What the hell did she talk to you about?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes fluttered around nervously. “She just kept going on about how she wanted me to--”  

“--Oh, Y/n!” 

From your mother’s surprised expression on the other side of the car, to the way that Seungmin stopped dead in his sentence, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. 

Your body turned around in slow-motion, hoping that this must have been some kind of nightmare, and that you hadn’t woken up that morning yet and were cozily still tucked in bed. 

If it would have been socially acceptable, you would have hidden behind that car until he walked away, but it was too late considering he already knew you were there. 

Your mother let out some kind of ungodly squeal before rushing towards Minho and taking his hand in hers to shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I take it that you know my daughter? And who might you be, such a handsome man as yourself???” 

You really did contemplate hiding behind that car. 

It was unfair how you had to run him into at a time when he looked like that. Your mother was nearly eating him with her eyes while Minho looked to you in his confusion. 

Of course when your mother had to see him, he was fresh off of his morning run: white cotton sleeveless shirt, running joggers, a thick headband with sweat dripping down his body in rivets from his forehead to the curves of his toned arms. 

Life was just too fucking unfair.  

“Minho!” Internally, you crawled so far into yourself it was like you were barely there. You squeaked out the words coupled with a poorly-timed voice crack, “I didn’t plan on seeing YOu here!” 

“Minho?!” Seungmin echoed your phrase, grabbing onto your arm with force. 

“Uh, hello, nice to meet you I’m Lee Minho. And yes, I do know Y/n, I actually live a couple doors down--” 

“--A neighbor! How wonderful! I know she doesn’t leave the house that much, but I’m so glad that the two of you have met. Do you live your family..? Or...your wife...?” 

He smiled warmly, polite as always, “No Ma’am, I’m not married, I live with my mother.” 

“Your mother? Well, that’s very honorable.” 

You and your best friend locked eyes upon hearing the answer to the question that both of you had been silently wondering. 

With a little eyebrow raised, he gave you a smirk, before braiding his hand through his locks strung with sweat. “I also live with my cats too.” 

“Cats?” Your mother tried her best to hide the distaste in her mouth. “That’s...honorable as well. Taking care of animals is...hm, well, Y/n get in the car, time is ticking!!” 

Your mother’s shrill voice was clipped by the sound of the car door closing behind her. You and your best friend choked in silent laughter together. 

“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” You patted down your itchy grey blazer. 

Seungmin nodded, “Do you want me to tell you the truth? Not your colors. But, you’ll just have to live with it.” 

“I think that you look nice.” Minho’s compliment melted into your skin like honey. “But I agree, the colors don’t work the best. Sorry.” 

“Oh. Thank you...” Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry! God, I’m-this is Seungmin, my-my friend Seungmin, sorry I didn’t introduce you both, my head is just--” 

“--Nice to meet you. Finally.” Seungmin’s expression turned a bit more stoic, a stark contrast to his softer features. 

“Nice to meet you as well.” 

“Okayyyy, well, I’ll just...get going then. See you both...later.” 

Seungmin slammed the door behind you, leaving you with your huffing mother in the car. 

“All of these handsome men around you and you can’t lock down one? I can’t believe you...” She threw her makeup bag on your lap. “I’ll play matchmaker if you want me to, I don’t mind, but you know that I have a lot going on already--” 

“--Haven’t you already started? Don’t pretend like you didn’t tell Seungmin something. Seungmin is my friend, mom.” 

“I just don’t get you. Aren’t you ever a bit sad that you don’t get invited to things like this since you have no female friends...?” 

“Honestly? I don’t really care--” 

“--You should. Thank God that you have me.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The front windows to the floral shop winked in the morning sun and the gold lettering of the signage glistened with a similar glow. On the display, there were several dozens of different types of flowers all arranged into different glass vases, tied with bows or swaddled in burlap. The arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, peonies, daises, sunflowers and other wildflowers appeared to be freshly cut, and beaded with water droplets. 

“Here. Take my card. If any of them seem to be brown at all, tell them that you won’t pay until they fix it.” 

You took the little plastic card from her red painted nails. “Will do.” 

There was a little bell hung over the shop door, and it tinkled when you entered like fairy chimes. The entire place seemed a little magical: the kind of place that you would find yourself reiterating in your writings. On the marble tiled floors, flecks of dirt seemed to gather in the grout. 

The golden brass counter stretched on for nearly the whole length of the shop, and held a display case which doubled as a cooler holding smaller things like corsages and boutonnières. 

“Can I help you?” 

The man approached you wiping the dirt off of his hands onto his canvas apron which was stained with smudges of green and brown. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoos adorning his arms in beautiful patterns of black with muted colors of yellow, lavender and pink. They were nearly all floral in design and reminded you of the drawings from a botany book. His shaggy dark hair had a bit of a curl to it that tasseled over his eyes. His smile too was devastatingly charming, decorating it was a black hooped lip ring. 

“Here to pick up an order?” 

“Y-yes, for L/n.” 

“I just finished that one up, lucky for you.” He palmed through the little stack of receipts near the register. “I’ll go get it real quick.” 

It was criminal how fast you found your heart beating after hearing how strikingly soothing his voice had sounded. You also found your head spinning over how familiar he seemed, like someone you had met before, but couldn’t place where. 

He had brought the sizeable arrangement over, and upon seeing it, you knew that your mother must’ve asked them to pull out all the works. Not only were flowers like this a bit of an unusual bridal shower gift, but it was just one more way for her to show off. The moment that the two of you would arrive with that, heads would turn, and that was exactly what she wanted. It was so large, you had to crane a little to see the florist behind it. 

“That’ll be 360.” 

Never had you been more thankful to pay for a gift with someone else’s money. 

When you passed him the card, you noted the little scrapes up and down his hands and forearms, looking a bit like cat scratches.

“It’s the roses.” He chuckled. “This job is a lot more dangerous than you would think.” 

“Oh.” A heat in your cheeks rose along with his observation of you. 

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” He tapped at the register, then nodded to the sunlight streamlining in from the windows. There were little rainbows speckling the store from the prisms hung above the displays. 

“I-it really is.” 

Your eyes wandered to his nametag which looked like he had decorated with hand-drawn stars. Jisung. Once again, he caught your eyes, slyly rolling his tongue over that black hoop. 

“It’s the kind of day that makes me wish I wasn’t cooped up in here and doing something else; going somewhere else. You seen the cherry blossoms yet?” 

“I-I have one in my yard.” 

“Oh really? It’s my favorite time of year because of them.” 

His smile was a bit in the shape of a heart, and the way that his eyes smiled along with it was just as charming as the rest of him. 

Blaze. 

He was Blaze. 

Quite literally, never in your life could you have said that you had felt your heart skip a beat, but, you imagined that there’s a first time for everything. 

He scribbled down something down on the receipt, handing you both the card and the slip. 

“Have a good one, ‘kay?” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would have slapped yourself square in the face, right then and there, to snap yourself out of your awe. 

“Yo-you as well.” 

It was a miracle you didn’t drop that expensive-ass floral arrangement getting out of there as fast as you did. 

“What took you so long? People will start wondering where we are.” 

Your mother said a couple more chastising remarks, but they faded away once you looked at the crinkled piece of paper on your hand: 

I hope to see you again, Blossom. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“Y/n!!! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you. I’ve been decaying, simply drying out in this office all by myself.” 

You swatted your melodramatic friend by the backside of his head, subsequently ruffling up his perfectly primped long, blond hair. 

“Shut up. You’re surviving just fine without me.” 

Hyunjin lowered his voice into a rather loud whisper, “Everyone here is just so boring.” 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting ‘Jin. It’s a publishing company, all we do is read here. You kind of did it to yourself too. Hell, you edit the children’s books!! You don’t have a thing to complain about.” 

“Are you sure that you can’t take an office here? We could eat lunch together, make coffee together from that broken-ass coffee machine, and bitch about Mr. Yoon together. By the way, what are you doing here anyway besides not seeing me?” 

“Picking up a couple manuscripts. I finished the ones from before.” 

“You’re inhuman. I don’t know how you get through 300+ pages over a weekend.” 

You shrugged, “It’s just what I like to do, that’s all. And, no, I will not be taking an office here, not when I have my classes too.” 

“Aren’t you the perfect symbol of adulthood.” Hyunjin pulled up for you the creaky plastic office chair from the empty desk next to his.

“Tell that to my mother, I think she’d have a different oponion.” 

“Screw your mother--and you can tell her that I said that too.” Your coworker fiddled with his white collar, pulling it from his neck. You knew how much he hated those and would have much rather preferred the silky low-cut ones which had become his trademark. 

“If only it were that easy.” 

“How’s Princess Bomi doing?” 

“My cat or the story?” 

“I was talking about the story, but sure, tell me about your cat too.” 

Hyunjin was a sarcastic little shit, but that was why you loved him. Seungmin tended to be the same sometimes--you surmised that perhaps you made the same type of people gravitate towards you. 

“It’s been pretty well received actually, and I think I’m just about done with the first book, there’s probably only a few chapters left. I just passed 8,000 reads.” 

“Wow, that’s actually...really impressive. I mean it.” 

When he wasn’t being a sarcastic little shit, Hyunjin was actually a genuine friend. He had been supportive of your writing ever since he forced the information out of you a few months ago after seeing a your chaotic notes mixed in with your manuscript ones. Of course, he had laughed at the prospect of you naming your main character after your cat, but he understood otherwise. 

“You’ve been getting good feedback?” 

“Mmhm! They really like Bomi as a character, that, and it seems like Blaze has some fans too...” 

Upon saying the same, the boy from the flower shop sneakily crept back into your head along with that stupidly Blaze-like smile of his--or at least, the smile that you had always pictured Blaze to have. 

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to Y/n? Where did you go?” 

“Huh? Oh sorry, I think I just got...lost in thought.” 

“I said I think that you should really consider brining it to the company. What if they want to publish it? I think that it’s worth a shot. You said yourself that its successful online. What makes you think that people wouldn’t be interested in the print version?”

“I--Hyunjin, Princess Bomi is kind of a personal thing...” 

“--Why do I even bother!” In his mock disgust, Hyunjin crossed his flabbergast arms against his chest. “I’m only trying to give you a helpful suggestion.” 

Above the two of you, the florescent white lights bore down on you with a harsh luminescence. 

“But--” You shyly picked at the hem of your blouse, “I could use your help with something else.” 

“What?” 

“What do you suggest that I wear...to meet someone’s mom?” 

Hyunjin practically leapt out of his chair and three feet into the air. 

“YOU’RE MEETING SOMEONE’S MOTHER?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!” 

“Get your ass back down in your seat.” You whipped your head around to see your coworkers concerned glances. “Yes, I am.” 

“Thank God that you asked me. This is a serious matter.” 

“I can’t exactly ask Seungmin...so...” 

“Don’t you worry! I know exactly what you can do. So,” His voice turned sing-songy, “~What’s he like~ And how come you didn’t tell me about this sooner??” 

“-Because I knew that you would have this exact same reaction.” 

“I promise I’ll calm down, okay, go:” 

“Well, he’s my neighbor, and I’ve only met him a few weeks ago, and he’s got cats, and he’s really sweet and not to mention hot as well but in like kind of a... cozy, librarian kind of way? Anyway, he wears cardigans--and you know that I’m a sucker for a good cardigan--and I’m convinced that the universe is trying to get me to destroy him but, that’s beside the point--” 

“Slow down slow down! Literally all of the words you said just now don’t make sense together.” 

You wheeled your chair closer to the man across from you, “And then he asked me to meet his cats and his mom or maybe just his cats or his mom, he was kinda unclear about that now that I think about it...” 

“So he’s hot and has cats, hmm, sounds right up your alley.” 

“I-I guess.” 

“Are you sure he’s not, you know, trying to be neighborly?” 

You punched Hyunjin’s arm so hard you jiggled your glasses on your face. “Don’t ruin this for me.” 

“Sorry I brought it up! Ok, ok, I think I know what you should do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you bag this sexy librarian man?” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“I sure as hell hope that you’re not trying to be neighborly.” 

You smoothed down your freshly ironed blouse: a floral pattern with birds, something “light and springy” just as Hyunjin had recommended. The pleats in your trousers were in shape as well. He had suggested too that you tied your hair up, something about it being professional and “dateable.” 

Bomi sauntered up to you while you inspected your outfit in the full-length mirror. Her gorgeous green eyes were squinted after her day-long nap, and she yawned while she brushed up against your leg. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure Bomi?” You bent down to pat her head, which she promptly shied away from. “You think that this looks good? Mother-worthy?” 

Bomi blinked. 

“Thanks for your input Bo.” 

Another yawn. 

Your nightstand held your little jewelry tree, and from it you took a dainty silver necklace that hung just above the neckline of your blouse, as well as the thin tan wristwatch that you wore once in a blue moon. 

The watch face read 5 o’clock exactly.  

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit!.” 

Bomi scrambled out of your way as you flew around the room trying to find a matching pair of socks. You stopped one more in front of the mirror. Your mother’s words always did find a way of seeping back into your skin like poison. Even if you had looked “nice” a nagging voice deep down echoed: “you’ve only ever been less than auspicious. Why don’t you ever change that?” 

“Screw your mother.” Hyunjin had said. 

If it only was that easy. 

Your footsteps clomped down the stairs, and you threw on the same pair of kitten heels. 

“Shit. The gift.” You slapped your forehead, cursing your horrid memory. 

“And don’t forget to bring his mother something. A gift. Something small but thoughtful. Something that she can use. Mothers eat shit up like that.” 

You frantically searched your entire home for something that resembled a gift. After a few moments of searching, you had resolved to go without it--you’d explain that it was in the mail, or misplaced, or anything but the fact that you didn’t have one. You grabbed your humorous amount of keychains on your keys, eyes catching that little box of complimentary chocolates from the bridal shower.  

“Good enough.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

One more time, you checked your reflection in the glass door leading to Minho’s mother’s townhouse. 

“This is fine, you can do this. Don’t screw this up, you’re fine, you’re fine.” 

Minho opened the door, looking as confusingly adorable and downright gorgeous as you had grown to know him as. This time, he had ditched the cardigan for a sky blue sweater that still pooled at his palms. Seeing how casually he had dressed, you instantly felt overdressed, and made a mental reminder to cuss out Hyunjin when you got the chance later. 

“Come in,” He gently ushered you to the spot where you switched on shoes for slippers.

“You-um, look really nice.” Minho pushed up his glasses up his nose bridge, “Really pretty.” 

“Th-thank you, um, you too.” 

He snickered, “No one has called me pretty before.” 

“Shit, Sorry, that was weird, sorry, I’m just kinda...nervous.” 

“No, not at all, I don’t mind. I appreciate the compliment.” 

You stood at the doorway, awkward silence permeating the air. Suddenly, you remembered the chocolates in your hands. 

“Oh, this is for you and your mother, I thought I might as well bring something over...” 

Minho took it from you, and you prayed that he wouldn’t think too much of the packaging that just looked a little too wedding-y. 

“Thank you for this.” He popped the box open excitedly, “What kind are they?” 

It took a couple seconds, but you watched in horror as his expression turned from thrilled to deeply confused. 

“What is it?” You craned your neck over to see.

“Are they...supposed to look like that?” 

Inside of the little plastic compartments, each of the chocolates had melted into blobs pathetically and swirled together making one huge, brown, melted--and then solidified again--chocolate mess. 

“Oh my god.” Your throat felt as tight as a knot in your embarrassment. “They’ve...” 

Minho hurriedly closed the box. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.” He tried the best he could to suppress his laughter. “It’s still about the same.” 

“No it’s not.” You whined out the words. “Don’t let your mother can’t see them, oh shit, oh shit.” 

“What happened to them?” 

Your horrid memory suddenly let you remember the fact that those chocolates had stayed in the car after the bridal shower when you had gone to visit your mother’s home. 

“Nothing good, just-hide them--” 

“Minho? Is that Y/n? Is she here?”

“--Hide it, quick!!!” 

Minho shoved the box behind a large houseplant, still hiding his laughter caught in his throat. 

“Ahhh Y/n! It’s so good to meet you at last! I’ve heard so much about you!” 

You greeted Minho’s mother with a bow, throwing the box of chocolates a disdainful glare. She was a gentle looking woman who appeared to be a little older than your own, or,  perhaps the same age. You wouldn’t be surprised if your mother had paid enough to procure the elixir of life; sounds like something she would have done. 

“I’m so happy to meet you as well. Thank you for inviting me in.” 

“Minho!!” His mother nudged his arm, “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat when you gave another little bow in thanks. “Your home is really lovely too.” 

“Oh, it was all Minho’s idea, I’m just the one that did the cooking. I’m always happy to cook for a neighbor.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ve got a couple more things to prepare, Minho, you go show her the cats, I’m sure that she’d like that--I hear that you have a cat too?” 

You nodded. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?” 

“No no, you both go on, I’ll handle this.” 

By each passing moment, this all started to feel a bit more like a playdate than an official meeting of one’s mother. Here you were, a grown woman, and you had gone over to someone’s house to play with their cats. Maybe you weren’t as much of a grown woman as you thought you were. 

“Over here.” Minho guided you to the living room: it was a modest one with furniture that looked to be very old, with beautiful traditional pictures of landscapes with assorted baby photos hanging on the walls. Everywhere, there was little pieces of evidence of the residence of cats: cat toys, scratching pads, a couple cat carriers and the cat tree nearest the window. At the top tier of the structure, there was a white and orange cat lazing with a foot slung over the side. 

“Doongie?” You carefully approached the furball to pet it’s tiny paw. 

“That one is Soonie, I have two cats that look a bit similar. Doongie is probably somewhere strange. You never know cats. Mine really like hopping on top of the china cabinet; it scares my mother half to death” 

“I can imagine.” 

Soonie remained unbothered, little cat body peacefully sleeping. 

“Over here is Dori, the youngest one.” 

Dori was a bit striped, with a grey body and a white belly. The smaller cat was rolled up into a perfect cinnamon roll on the loveseat. The cat stirred hearing it’s name, and keened into Minho’s touch when he scratched its head. You copied the touch, and Dori granted you the same permission. 

“You cats are so sweet...wanna trade?” 

“I...think that I’m good with the cat’s I’ve got. But that is a tempting offer.” 

Making a rather loud appearance was Doongie, who ambled into the room with a series of loud yowls and meows, looking up to both you and Minho with striking yellow eyes.  

“Doongie!” You crouched down to give the cat scratches under it’s chin, making it purr slightly. “Did you miss me? I hope that you’ve been staying out of trouble.” 

Minho’s gentle brown eyes observed your interactions with his cats, simply letting you play around with them as you wished. Every once and a while, you could catch his eyes following you with a contented little grin on his face.

There was something so domestic and comforting about the whole scene. Inside the townhouse that felt well loved and with the smell of a homecooked meal in the air, there was something so peaceful about it all that was a little foreign to you. 

“Minho! Please come help me with the bowls!” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎ 

Crickets chirped along the pathway and into the spring’s chilly nighttime air. Minho had offered to walk you home, even though you were just two houses down. Because of this, it seemed as if the two of you were walking in slow motion, taking one step after the other as slowly and carefully as you could. Absentmindedly, you both wanted just a little more time. 

After spending the night being on your best behavior, you felt as if you could finally breathe. Granted, you had grandly spilled soup all over Minho’s mother, but this seemed to diffuse quickly once she had laughed raucously at the event. She was a sweet woman, with a kind soul, much like Minho. Her lightly wrinkled face shone like the sun and made you feel loved even without knowing her much. 

In many ways, you wondered what it would be like having a mother as such. It was likely however, maybe you just weren’t supposed to know. 

Minho cast his gaze up to the sprinkling of stars spread out over the vast sky: most of them invisible due to the closeness to the city. 

“You know, I’m starting to really like living out here, in the suburbs I mean. Everything in the city was so fast and chaotic, it’s nice to sit back and let things be still for a while.” 

“You don’t miss it?” 

“Not as much as I did. The city...holds a lot of memories for me; some of them I’d rather forget. Being out here feels like a new start.” 

The two of you stopped near the light coming from your porch. In the soft glow of yellow, coupled with the gentle navy blue tint of the night, Minho looked ethereal--perhaps even a little fairy-like. 

You cursed out your writer brain for thinking of your little made up world at a time like this when you had this boy, real, in front of you. 

“I had a nice time with you tonight.” Minho shoved his hands into his pants pockets with a cute little smirk. “I think my cats are a fan of you as well, so, that puts a good word in for you in my book.” 

“Me too. Thank-thank you for inviting me.” 

“Next time, we should do something different, I heard actually that there’s a meteor shower in a couple weeks.” 

“Wait, next time?” 

“Or, we could do something sooner if you’d like.” 

“You want to do something else? With me?” 

“Yes you, who else would I be talking about?” Minho capped his sentence with a little snicker. 

“S-sorry, I just...don’t understand...why would you... I mean, I don’t do too much besides kinda hide in my house with my cat...there isn’t really a lot of things interesting about--” 

Minho squatted down, sweeping something off of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had put it in your hair that you had realized he had taken one of the cherry blossoms from your tree to tuck it behind your ear. His head titled slightly as he admired the decoration, fingers lingering by the side of your cheek for a moment. 

“I disagree.” He hushed, barely saying the words louder than a whisper. “Even though you you tent to get yourself into...situations--not that I mind anyway, you are special. Hell, and I haven’t even known you that long. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would’ve kissed him right then and there. 

If only it were that easy. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Chapter 25 

There Blaze was, standing, simple, cuts on his face and that little scar on his eyebrow twitching. The campfire illuminated his eyes with the flames, creating that brazen fire that he had gotten his name from. 

Bomi knew him well. In fact, she thought she had known him better than most--a fact which she selfishly kept to herself. Blaze was everything she had known for the past year or so, and the time had interwoven their paths in ways that she had never expected. Before her was a person who knew her too, perhaps better than she knew herself. 

Blaze’s callused hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing over her own battle scars. 

“If you’ll not have me, please know Princess, you are the strongest warrior, bravest leader, and wisest friend that I have had the pleasure of knowing. I’ll stay by your side until I breathe my last breath.” 

With a shaking hand, Bomi took Blaze’s hand resting on her cheek. She memorized the way that his skin felt on hers, making a million silent wishes that she knew would never come true. 

“You and I, we both know that fate would have other plans for us...I’m sorry.” 

Bomi turned from the warmth of the campfire, and the way that his eyes held hers. 

She wished a million wishes, and he was nearly every one one of them. 

[sithsecrets]

vows | din djarin x reader

with the armorer’s blessing, you and din marry in a place more beautiful than any other you’ve ever been to.

---

2.7k words

mentions: sex, fem! rea`der, marriage customs/wedding customs, lots of fluff, happy crying, big wedding presents!

this is part 7 of my valentine’s week series! read the other parts here!

---

“You’re sure you don’t mind keeping him for a couple more days?” you ask Cara, bouncing the baby lightly in your arms.

“’Course not,” she says with a shrug, perpetually unbothered in a way you’ve always envied. “He’s good company and an even better wingman. You should see how women flock to me in the bazaar when I’ve got him on my shoulder.”

You roll your eyes at that, mock-perturbed, but you give Cara the baby when she reaches for him anyway, glad to know he’ll be in good hands while you and Din are… wherever he’s going to take you.

The details are all of this are still hazy to you, and you’ve been thrumming with nervous energy since the Crest touched down on Nevarro. With the Armorer on board, you and Din are free to marry… whenever. The way Din explains it, the two of you could duck into a supply closet right now and come out five minutes later as husband and wife. You’re not going to do that, of course, but you could, and the idea is kind of freaking you out. Seeing the Child has soothed you a little bit, though you’re still worried about imposing on you and Din’s little circle of friends.

“If you get sick of taking care of him, Cara, you can send me and Din a comm. We only need—”

“What you need,” Cara cuts, hiking the baby up on her hip, “is to get married, say that you love each other, and then proceed to have wild sex for the rest of the weekend. The kid is fine with me, really. Don’t worry about me, or him, or anybody else. Just focus on your husband.”

You blush at the tease in Cara’s voice, still unaccustomed to her frank, vaguely crass nature after all this time. Leaning down, you give the baby one last kiss on his green little face, whispering that you love him before you pull away. He seems unphased by any of this, far more focused on entertaining Aunt Cara. Apparently, the two of them are joined at the hip now, a fact that, by all accounts, has made Greef insanely jealous.

“Everything good?”

Din’s voice catches your attention, and not one second later do you feel his hand on your back. He comes to stand beside you, looking between you, Cara, and the baby.

“Everything’s great,” Cara tells him. “Your girl here is just worried that the both of you are putting me out by asking me to watch the kid for a couple of days. As if me and him aren’t going to have the best time, right, dude?”

As if to emphasize her point, the Child gurgles and cries out in excitement. Din reaches out to hold his little hand, gentle and affectionate, but his voice is frank through the vocoder.

“Make sure he’s asleep before you bring a girl over, Cara.”

Cara gives him a shove, mock offended. “Go get married before I change my mind, tin can.” But she’s smiling as she says it, and Din huffs out a laugh.

---

The sun is beginning to set by the time you and Din make it to your destination, every inch of the horizon blazing bright orange. The walk here wasn’t a long one, the little house you’ve come to located just outside the city, and yet you still feel like you’re a million miles away from the rest of the world. There’s a lot of space around you, open ground with any and all neighbors far off in either direction. You never knew there were houses out here, but then again, it’s not like you ever proclaimed to be an expert on Nevarro.

Before you can ask, Din’s already typing in the door’s passcode, letting you walk in before him when it clicks open. You come into a teeny entranceway, the house’s front room laid out before you. Off to your left is the kitchen, and then a hall the rest of the rooms past that. It’s by no means a palace, but you don’t care— it’s a sweet little place, perfect for you and Din’s needs. Neither one of you has a liking for fussy spaces, and this certainly isn’t that.

Off the hall past the kitchen lies two bedrooms, one with an attached bathroom and one without. A second bathroom sits at the back of the hall, and then there’s not much more to see after that. A pantry, a small storage closet in the front room— nothing about this place is extra, everything has a purpose. Even the furniture, or what little there is to be found is plain and practical. No decorations, not even much technology— just a simple little house, bare and basic.

“Who did you rent this place from?” you say to Din, peeking in the kitchen cabinets to see what you can find. A few pots and pans, a set of dishes, silverware… There’s even some food in the refrigerator, enough for you to cook a few meals this weekend.

“It’s not a rental,” Din replies, stock-still in the living room, “it’s ours.”

You stop dead in the kitchen, one hand still on the handle of an empty drawer. Slowly, every so slowly, you turn around, heart hammering in your throat.

“What?” is all you manage to say, voice so small in the— in your kitchen.

“It’s ours, cyare.” Din takes a step closer, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I bought it for a few months ago. Greef helped me get a good price. It took some time, but I finally got all the furniture and the pots and dishes for the kitchen. I didn’t— I don’t know anything about decorating, so I didn’t so that. I figured I couldn’t pick out everything anyway, you know, since it’s not just my home.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to Din speak, and… and you just don’t know what to say. Suddenly, everything around you seems infinitely more precious, infinitely more splendid. The little table and chairs, the couch in the living room, the forks in the silverware drawer— all of it was picked out by Din, all of it’s for you.

“I know we never discussed getting a place like this, but we can’t live on the Crest forever. You and the baby deserve stability, and if we have other children… I want us to have a life, cyar’ika, a real life. But if you don’t like it, I can… we don’t have to come here. The Crest will still be our place, I mean.”

All you can do is laugh through your tears and throw up your hands, amazed. “Din,” you declare, “I just…”

Din won’t come to you, it seems, and so you go to him, wrapping him up in your arms. The warmth of your embrace pales in comparison to what’s in your heart, but it’s all you have for him at the moment.

“What do I say?” you ask, finally stepping back after what feels like an eternity. You swipe at your cheeks and sniffle, trying to get yourself together just the slightest bit. People cry through their vows all the time, but you don’t want to.

“What?”

You look at him. “What do I say, Din?”

He acts surprised, like he forgot why the two of you came here in the first place. “Oh! Right. You, um— Just give me a minute.”

Din turns his back on you, headed for the door. He throws two locks there, moving to the windows next. There’s two sets of shutters on all of them, and Din closes them firmly, even flitting off into the other rooms to presumably repeat the action there. You allow him this little ritual, not saying a word even as your excitement builds and builds. You could float if you wanted to, you think, so giddy and anxious and full of feelings that it’s a wonder they aren’t pouring out of your ears.

After a couple of minutes, Din returns, nerves showing in his voice as he asks you for your help. “I— I want to be me when you see my face. No armor, just… just me in my clothes, nothing else.”

You say yes, of course, and then you’re fiddling with straps and struggling with buckles. This part you’ve done at least fifty times before, well acquainted by now with the process of getting Din out of his armor. It takes more than a few minutes, but then the two of you are done, face-to-face in the kitchen. The light is dim, just two lamps throwing their warm glow onto the walls of your house, but you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

“Din,” you say softly, repeating yourself one last time, “what do I say?”

The string of Mando’a that comes out of his mouth is long and complicated, all the words twisted together on his expert tongue. You laugh before he’s even through saying it, reaching out to grab his hands.

“A little slower, please,” you murmur, “and maybe in parts?”

Din laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and then he’s breaking down the phrases for you. You set your face now, serious as you speak these sacred words into the air of your little home. Finally, it’s Din’s turn, and you think the vows sound so much better coming out of his mouth.

“Mhi solus tome,” he says to you, the words honey on his lips, “mhi solus dar’tome. Mhi me’dinui an. Mhi ba’juri verde.”

We are one when together, we are one when parted. We will share all. We will raise warriors.

The weight of what’s just passed between you settles like a soft, warm blanket on your heart. Din is your husband, it’s finally happened, and now you feel rightly and truly at home. There’s one thing left to do, the action that will complete this ritual, but it’ll only be right if Din does it.

It feels surreal to watch him raise his hands, to stand there as he grasps the sides of his helmet and pulls upward. Slowly, ever so slowly, your husband’s face is revealed to you. First his chin, and then his nose, and then… and then….

Din is beautiful. Beautiful, and terrified. The fear in his eyes is plain, the shaky quality of his breath only serving to show you how scared he is. You should comfort him, you know, you should reach out and hug him, tell him it’s alright, but… But you’re just so mesmerized by him, transfixed on all the features you’ve felt but never seen. The curve of Din’s nose, the slant of his mouth… You knew his hair was shaggy, but this wasn’t the length you were picturing! He looks so different than you thought, and yet you weren’t expecting anything less than the man that stands before you now. Stars, he’s so handsome, so… so… perfect. Din is perfect.

Miracle of miracles, even with as terrified as he is, it’s Din who speaks first.

“I think now would be a good time to tell you that there’s no take-backs on the vows.”

The joke fills your chest with warmth. “Not even if I had my fingers crossed behind my back?”

Din shakes his head, and you laugh, fingers twitching at your sides. You want to badly to touch him, to lean up and kiss him and put your hands in his hair while you do it, but you’d sooner die than frighten him any more than he already is. No, you need to be careful right now, careful like you were the very first time you two laid down together in the dark all those days ago. Din had been scared then too, shaking under your hands as you touched parts of him that no one had felt in years— maybe ever, if you’re being honest. This is going to be no different, that much you can tell.

“Can I touch your face?”

Din nods, tracking every movement of your hands as you bring it up to his cheek. He flinches when your fingers make contact, but you soothe him through it, stroking the hair on his jaw, tracing the curve of his eyebrow. No one’s more shocked than you when Din takes your hand in his own, twisting it until your palm is flat on his cheek. You can’t help but laugh— Din has always liked that.

“You alright?” you ask, relieved when Din nods against your hand.

“As long as you’re not regretting all your decisions, then yes.”

“No regrets here,” you affirm. You look him up and down then, deciding that the time for talking is coming to an end. “Are there sheets on the bed?”

It’s in this moment you realize that Din has his hands on your waist, and the tightening of his grip makes your heart jump. “Mhm,” he hums. “Made it up for us when we dropped the baby off the first time.”

“Take me there, then.”

Din doesn’t have to be told twice, and the two of you go stumbling into the bedroom together, kissing and trying to undress all at the same time. You have to coax him out of his shirt and pants, promising that you already know about every scar and mark he has. Still, Din’s uncharacteristically timid when he lays you out on the bed, and so you make a point of praising his body, pointing out all the things you love about him as he presses kisses to the swell of your chest, the inside of your wrist, anywhere and everywhere he can get his mouth on. And it’s no chore, not by a long-shot, not when parts of him are so toned and tan and cut perfectly.

Thankfully, Din seems to derive some confidence from this, and you find him to be much more sure of himself when he parts your legs and pushes inside you. You’re on your back for a while, blissed out and content to be fucked by Din for the rest of eternity, but then Din’s pulling you into his chest, murmuring that he wants you in his lap as he maneuvers you around. You let him put you where he wants you, moaning softly when the two of you are settled again. This has always been such a good angle for you, and Din’s never been one to make you do all the work yourself, even in this position. Tonight is no exception, it would seem, the press of his cock robbing you of all coherent thought within seconds.

It feels like one long, blissful eternity passes before you have to so much as think about thinking again, every bit of you focused on the sex and the feeling of Din’s arms around your body. He’s the one who pulls you back down to reality, holding you back from his chest so he can look you in the eye.

“I’m crying,” Din tells you, announcing this as though he’s surprised. Sure enough, tears streak his cheeks, his skin wet under your fingers as you go to cradle his face.

“That’s okay,” you say, because it is. “Are you happy?”

“So happy,” Din says at once, and the strain in his voice tells you that he’s getting close. “I love you so much, cyare, fuck, I just… I just…”

“I know,” you soothe, falling back onto his chest, threading your fingers in his hair. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

Not ten minutes later, the two of you are lying beside one another, breathless and coming down. Din still has tears on his cheeks, and you know you probably look like a mess, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You should shower, you know, shower and probably change the bed, but you’re so comfortable here under the covers. Din seems similarly inclined, reaching for you from his side of the bed,

“I take it you like the house then?”

All you can do is nod, snuggling into his chest.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted, Din. I can’t wait for the baby to see it.”

“We can go get him tomorrow, if you want,” Din offers, one hand dragging up and down, up and down your back.

“Sounds good,” you murmur, and then you’re dozing off in your husband’s arms.

[yuckydraws]

A writing prompt, hmm? Why don't you try writing some fluff with horror sans? (he's one of your favorites right?) Maybe going on a picnic?

He very much is one of my faves<3 thanks for the prompt bro!!

Okay so this is mostly fluff but I threw the tiniest bit of angst in there, but it’s very mild (tbh I’m not sure I could even call it angst). Just to give it some plot;)

Also sorry for the awkward spacing I pasted this from Google docs and tumblr is being difficult >:(

(HT!Sans/reader)

•••••••

“Hey, how willing would you be to put on this blindfold and come with me?” You ask your skeleton boyfriend as you lounge on the couch, blindfold in hand.

“.... huh?” Sans blinks at you in confusion. He was on his way to sit on the couch when you spring the question on him. It stops him in his tracks, leaving him to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

“I said, how willing are you to put on this blindfold and come with me?” You repeat yourself, holding up the blindfold excitedly. Yeah that might not be the best way to phrase it, but hey, you’ve made it this far - might as well commit. He stares at the offending object, squinting a bit with his one eyelight.

“... no.”

“C'mon, please?”

“no.”

“Please?”

“no.”

“Why not?” You pout and he gets a twinge of maroon on his cheekbones.

“... why do i need… to wear a blindfold?” He asks while averting his gaze from your pout. You take it in stride and instead shift your position on the couch to meet his gaze again, smiling up at him.

“Because it’s a surprise!”

“don’t like surprises…” Despite his words, it’s obvious you’re wearing him down.

“It’s a good surprise!”

Sans doesn’t look entirely convinced. You stand up and grab one of his large hands in both of your small ones (at least small compared to his), and give him a reassuring squeeze.

“I promise.” You both don’t use this word lightly.

Sans stares down at you.

You stare back.

“... ok.” He caves.

“Yay! Now lean down big guy, I need to be able to tie this.” He complies, staring at you until his sockets are eventually covered. You’re careful of the gaping hole in his skull and make sure not to tie it too tight - to avoid potentially irritating his dead socket. When you finish you take advantage of his close face and kiss him on the cheek, causing him to purr and lean into the kiss.

“Pfft- you dork! C’mon, you’re gonna love it!” You say as you pull away and grab his hand to start leading him out of the front door. He was wearing his slippers, so thankfully you didn’t have to awkwardly attempt to put shoes on him. You hold back a snort at the mental image of yourself sliding shoes onto his gargantuan feet like a princess. Though you are quickly sobered when you almost trip on a porch step, leaving you to focus on helping Sans down the porch steps and leading him to your shared vehicle.

You help him get situated in the seat. In hindsight, perhaps the blindfold could’ve waited until your huge skeleton boyfriend was already in the car? Ah well, guess you both could be scatterbrained sometimes.

You smile, amused, as you remember how you both had to buy this huge van just so Sans could sit comfortably.

It’s a struggle but he’s eventually in his seat, buckled and relaxed, while you start the van and back out of the driveway. As your drive begins you turn the radio on low - hoping to ease any nerves he may still have by giving him something to focus on, while not being loud enough to give him a headache. You glance at him, feeling a bit nervous.

You guys have been dating for about four years now, and you couldn’t be happier! After three years of dating (and Papyrus going off to medical school) you both bought a small little house in the outskirts of Ebott city, and the past year had been domestic bliss for the two of you. Of course, you’ve had your ups and downs, but overall Sans has been the sweetest boyfriend you’ve ever had. He may not be much of a conversationalist, but he makes up for that with his actions. That one game you had mentioned you wanted to play once? It was on your shared nightstand a few days later. That snack he knows you like? The house is always stocked with them. Having a bad day? He will not hesitate to draw you a nice bath, pamper you, and/or initiate cuddles and kisses.

No matter what, he always finds a way to express his love for you, and lately you’ve been feeling undeserving of this almost? No that’s not the right word. You just felt like you could be doing more. Because you, on the other hand, are amazing with your words. You enjoy watching his face turn that beautiful deep maroon and hearing his purrs stutter the more he’s flustered by your words. You love to see him relax in your arms as you give him words of affirmation and assurance on bad days. You remind him of your love for him everyday and you give him all the sweet nothings he could ever want, but acts of service has always been a struggle for you. Of course, Sans never seems bothered and he’s never given you the impression that he wants more from you, but you want to try because he absolutely deserves it.

You also may have found his little pocketbook full of notes he takes throughout the day full of notes about you, your jokes, your stories, and little things you had mentioned. Due to his unfortunate head injury, he wasn’t always the best at remembering certain little things. You knew he was working on getting better, but you never pressured him to tell you how - it seemed like he didn’t want to share. You honestly felt bad you had found the book and snooped, but seeing just how much he writes about you in the notes more than anything else was just too sweet. It almost made you cry. Almost.

Ah who are you kidding? You definitely teared up.

So, you planned a little surprise date, full of his favorite things combined. The outdoors, food, and you - a picnic by the lake a little bit away from your home. After the hell monsters went through underground, most of them have a deep appreciation for the sky and full bellies (or what would be akin to a belly for them). Sans is no different, so you were hoping he’d take a liking to it.

“... how long... will the surprise take?” The question surprised you a bit, not only because it pulled you out of your musings, but because he’s usually very patient. That is, until you take in his stiff posture and realize the issue. Dinnertime is soon and he doesn’t quite know when you both will be eating.

“Don’t worry hon, we’ll have food soon,” You feel okay letting that bit of the surprise known. Despite being on the surface for almost seven years, Sans tends to get very nervous when you guys don’t stick to a schedule with meals. No need to keep him anxious. Especially considering you were pulling into the clearing of the lakeside. “In fact, we’re here!”

You put the van in park and tell Sans to wait for a second. Hopping out, you walk to the back of the van and open the back doors to grab the picnic basket you had packed. Once you make your way closer to the lakeside you quickly lay out the picnic blanket as well as place a folded blanket nearby in case it got a bit chilly. You then set up the food for a cute presentation, leaving the last part of the surprise you had for Sans in the basket. Jogging back to the van, you open Sans’ door to see he had already unbuckled himself. Guess he’s a bit more excited for the surprise than he let on earlier.

“Come on big guy, you’ve waited long enough” You grab his hand, help him out of the van and start leading him to the blacket set up.

“Can you lean down again?” You ask when you get to it. He does so and you gently take off his blindfold, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on his skull injury or the rough bone near his dead socket. Once it’s off you gesture dramatically to the blanket. “Ta da!”

Sans stands straight up again and blinks a bit, overlooking the blanket at first, expecting something more near his sightline. Following where you're gesturing however, his eyelight eventually lands on the picnic blanket below. He still looks a bit confused. You were prepared for this type of reaction, many human activities such as picnics can be completely foreign to monsters - same for some monster activities being completely foreign to humans. You guys have had your fair share of these moments where you both have had to do a bit of explaining.

“what…?” He looks at you for an answer.

“It’s called a picnic. You pack food, take it to a scenic area, lay down a blanket, sit down, and eat. It’s sort of considered a cheesy romantic date idea, but I like them and I thought you would too... in fact I should’ve thought to take you on one of these sooner in our relationship! I actually had this idea last month, but it was too cold… also, most of the time picnics are a lunchtime date, but I like them during the sunset. It’s been awhile since our last date, huh?” You look up at him after your question to see him looking at the blanket with his face slightly red.

“... yeah i guess it has.” He has a small smile on his face and he stares down at the food.

You remember him getting very flustered when you would give him or buy him food at the beginning of your relationship. Since it was a scarcity down below, being willing to share food had a deeper intimate meaning for monsters. It meant that you loved them enough to offer a lifeline - food - that they so desperately clung to in its rarity. He still gets a little flustered now, but he’s been exposed to food sharing and he’s even come to enjoy it as a normal gesture. Though he seems a bit flustered now? Maybe because of the romantic undertone? Hmmmm, or maybe it’s because-

Your stomach decided to make itself known, growling loudly. You laugh, but Sans gives you an anxious look of concern, leading you to say:

“Well come on! Let’s eat!”

You don’t have to tell him twice, you’re both quickly seated and indulging on the yummy food you had made earlier today.

Sans makes sure you eat a good few bites before he digs in. There was a lot of it because, unsurprisingly, your mate has quite the appetite. But he still likes to wait for you to eat first no matter how much food there is. You didn’t even notice when he did that at the beginning of your relationship and when you finally did question him, he just said it was polite to wait for your mate to eat first. He didn’t elaborate more than that. When you researched into the topic you found that when there was a significant appetite difference and on the off chance there was access to food, it was polite for those with the bigger appetites to wait for the ones with smaller appetites to eat a bit first. Then it went into monster rankings, common folk monsters, boss monsters, different magic levels, etc. to which you got confused and pretty much gave up on the issue with a simple “fine, keep your secrets then” to your computer screen. You figured if Sans thought it was important for you to know he would have told you.

You both quickly fall into your normal dinner routine of you talking Sans’ nonexistent ears off about anything and everything and him listening closely, chuckling at your jokes and stories. You ended up telling him a story from highschool about your babysitting experiences.

“- and I mean she was freaking out. I was too. We were both responsible for this kid we were babysitting and we lost him. It was also super stressful because we had taken the kid all over town doing fun stuff like going to the zoo, the park, getting lunch - this kid could be anywhere! So we both decided after searching all over the house that we would drive and retrace our steps, starting at the last place we were.” You were telling your story with animated hand gestures, and Sans follows the movements with his eyelight. The sun was setting at this point, all the food was eaten, and you both were just enjoying each other's company.

“So, we get in the car - still freaking out mind you - and I asked my friend ‘should we just call his mom?’ and before my friend could answer I heard a little voice say, ‘why would you call my mom?’ I whipped my head around to see the kid just chilling in his carseat. Turns out we just forgot to unbuckle him and he had fallen asleep during the car ride! We were flipping the house upside down trying to find him and we hadn’t even taken him inside!” Sans broke out laughing at your dumb story, leaving you to grin.

“Oh sure it’s funny in hindsight, but I about peed my pants when we thought we lost him! I was so scared, what was I gonna tell his mom? ‘Hey Lisa, um it’s going great! Uh just thought you should know, we can’t find your kid and we may have lost him?’” Sans couldn’t stop laughing. You egged him on.

“Oh yeah, and wanna know the worst part? The little shit was old enough and clever enough to figure out what happened and we had to bribe him with ice cream to keep him quiet.” Sans let out boisterous laughter and fell back so that he was laying on the ground. You couldn’t help but join in at that point. You didn’t particularly think the story was all that funny but when Sans laughs like this, it’s infectious.

After you both calm down a bit, you look at Sans to see him gazing at you lovingly. You love this content expression he makes, when his eyelight gets all fuzzy and dilated, it makes you feel so special and loved. It’s his expression reserved only for you (and maybe that stew you made last week, he seemed to be pretty taken with that as well).

“... thank you, for tonight.”

“Dawww you big softie! Of course! It was the least I could do for you, you always make sure I’m happy and content. I wanted to give you something like that.” He blushes, but he also furrows his brows a bit.

“you don’t need to feel… like you owe me more, i do it because… i love you.” Of course, you knew this, but hearing him say it? It had you tearing up a bit. He reaches for you and you lean into his embrace, leaving you both cuddling on the ground. You sniff a bit, trying to stop the crying before it really starts.

“I know, I’ve been trying to drill that into my head, but you deserved tonight and I’m glad I went through with this. It was fun! I might plan more dates in the future. In fact I think I’m pretty good at it!” You jokingly say with all the unearned confidence in the world. Sans chuckles and pulls you closer and despite your efforts, a few happy tears do fall, leaving him to make a concerned noise.

“you okay?” He asks, and you wave away his concern.

“I’m fine, I just love you too.”

“heh… now who’s the softie?” He gently teases, pointedly ignoring the fact that he’s blushing again.

“Pfft- I guess you’re right. Literally too, I’m the one with the flesh and skin!” He erupts into laughter again.

“Easy crowd tonight.” You joke, causing him to laugh harder and you chuckle with him.

Once he calms down, you both lay in comfortable silence, before you remember your last surprise. You shoot up into a sitting position, making Sans - who was resting his eyes comfortably - let out a surprised growl. You laugh at his reaction, reassuring him that everything is fine.

“I just have one more surprise that I thought would be fun.” You dig into the picnic basket, pulling out the surprise and grabbing that extra blanket. You lay back down with Sans and pull the blanket over you guys.

“I think it should be dark enough for this,” You hand him the surprise - a handheld telescope. “It’s not as nice as the big one you have at home, but it’s a lot easier and lighter to carry around, plue we don’t have to stand.”

Sans smiles at you.

“... do you want to learn some more… constellations?”

“Absolutely I do!”

He begins to show you the visible constellations, and you proceed to make him laugh with the made up stories for them that you swear are the true origin stories. Just relaxing and goofing off, it’s moments like these where you remember just how lucky you were to be with your gentle giant, Sans.

[magnusmysteries]

Part 4: The Sixteenth Fear

The Magnus Archives was a horror podcast. It is now completed. Many of the show’s mysteries were never explained on the show. I intend to explain them. Spoilers for the show, but also spoilers if you wanna solve these mysteries yourself.

In part 3 I said every fear has an opposite. But the Flesh didn’t exist before the industrial revolution. So there would have been 13 fears then, an uneven number, and not every fear could balance against an opposite. So how could that be?

The answer is, there were only 12 fears before the Flesh. The Corruption and the Desolation used to be the same fear. 

Diego Molina of the Lightless Flame cult worships Asag. A Sumerian god of disease that could make fish boil. So Asag seems to be of both the Corruption and the Desolation.

In Infectious Doubts Arthur Nolan complains about it: “Not like I can vent to the others about what a prat Diego is. Got a lot of funny ideas. Still calls the Lightless Flame Asag, like he was when he was first researching it. I just really wanna tell him to get over it; I mean Asag was traditionally a force of destruction, sure, but as a church we very much settled on burning in terms of the – face we worship, and some fish-boiling Sumerian demon doesn’t really match up, does it? Plus there’s a lot of disease imagery with Asag that I’ll reckon is way too close to Filth for my taste, but no, he read it in some ancient tome, so that’s that –“

Ancient is the key word. The tome predates the industrial revolution and the Flesh. Asag probably isn’t a thing anymore and Diego is indeed a prat for worshipping it.

In The Architecture of Fear Smirke writes “I know you say the Flesh was perhaps always there, shriveled and nascent until its recent growth, but to grant the existence of such a lesser power would throw everything into confusion. Would you have me separate the Corruption into insects, dirt, and disease? To divide the fungal bloom from the maggot?”

It is not random that Smirke uses the Corruption as an example here. The Corruption is the opposite of the Flesh, so the Corruption is the fear that Smirke believed had no opposite for hundreds or thousands of years.

In part 3 I said vampires where Corruption/Desolation/Hunt. This is a little far-fetched, but I wonder if the vampire’s we’ve seen have been old ones that predate the Flesh. And that’s why they are part Corruption, since Corruption and Hunt used to be next to each other. Maybe there are more modern vampires without the long sucking tongue. Maybe instead of sucking blood, when they bite you begin to burn or boil. Since the Hunt is now next to the Desolation instead of the Corruption-Desolation combo.

In Vampire Killer Trevor says “I have killed five people that I know for sure as vampires, and there are two more that may or may not have been.” There is a missing middle part of Trevor’s statement. Maybe there he talks about killing two vampires that are modern and therefore different so he’s not sure if they’re actually vampires.

Speaking of fears splitting up, why is the Darkness the opposite fear of the Slaughter? In Last Words we hear of the first fear “A fear of blood and pounding feet, a fear of that sudden burst of pain and then nothing.” 

And of the second fear “The fear of their own end, of the things that lived in the darkness, became a fear of the darkness itself.”

I think the first was a general fear of violence. It includes what became the Hunt “Blood and pounding Feet...” and the Slaughter “...Sudden burst of pain and then nothing”, and the End “The fear of their own end…” And the second fear was the Darkness. They were the opposite by default, simply for being the two first fears.

When the Buried became a fear, the Hunt split up from the Violence to oppose it. When the Vast became a fear, the End split up from the Violence to oppose it. All that was left of the Violence was Slaughter, still opposing the Dark. When humans began warfare, fear of war fit nicely with the Slaughter.

The Eye might have been part of the Dark at first. Still from Last Words: “...because they knew the dark held flashing talons and shining eyes…” 

When the Lonely became a fear, the Eye split up from the Dark to oppose it.

So what about the Extinction? Does it have an opposite? Yes! There is a sixteenth fear. And what can be the opposite of the fear of the end of the world? The fear that the world isn’t real. That we’re all just living in a computer simulation. If you think the world isn’t even real, you’re not gonna be so worried about it ending. I’ll call it the Simulation.

Here is how the fears are arranged on the wheel, with the two latest fears added:

Description of image: A circle with 16 spots similar to a clock. On each spot is a number and the name of a power: 1. Corruption. 2 Extinction. 3. Desolation. 4. Hunt. 5. Slaughter. 6. End. 7. Lonely. 8. Stranger. 9. Flesh. 10. Simulation 11. Spiral. 12. Buried. 13. Dark. 14. Vast. 15. Eye. 16. Web.

The Extinction is next to the Corruption. Disease and garbage are both gross. Possessive is an Extinction episode, even if not acknowledged as such by any of the characters. It’s about garbage. And Maggie is creating people out of garbage. She is making the inheritors mentioned in Time of Revelation. There are also creatures made of garbage in Concrete Jungle. And Maggie was full of moving insect legs, showing Corruption influence.

Quote from Adelard Dekker from Rotten Core: “I’ve spoken before about how keenly I’ve watched news of possible pandemics, which is where I suspect the Extinction may pull away from the Corruption during its emergence.” Adelard knows the Extinction is next to Corruption.

The Extinction is next to Desolation. That fits, nuclear weapons cause fire. Quote from Times of Revelation, describing corpses: “They were stiff, and desiccated, mummified by some process Bernadette could not begin to guess at, but that rendered their flesh like tightly packed ash” Ash as if they were burned.

The Simulation is next to the Flesh. The Flesh makes you think humans aren’t people, they are just meat. The Simulation makes you think humans aren’t people, they are just NPCs.

The Simulation is the next to the Spiral. Both make you question what is real. The Spiral makes you doubt your mind, the Simulation makes you doubt your world.

There are four episodes about the Simulation: Binary, Zombie, Cul-de-sac and Reflection.

In Binary Sergey Ushanka uploads his mind into a computer. He becomes a simulation and it hurts. There is influence by the Spiral, the statement giver isn’t sure if she’s going crazy. And there is influence by the Flesh. Ushanka uploads himself into a computer and then he eats the computer. So that’s cannibalism.

In Zombie the statement giver thinks other people aren’t real, they’re philosophical zombies, In other words they like simulations or NPCs. The man that follows her repeats the phrase “Just fine, thank you for asking” and says nothing else. Just like some NPCs in video games will say the same phrase over and over. The man is identical the three times they meet, except for his t-shirt changes color. Sometimes in video games some NPCs will be identical, except for some colors are changed. (Because it’s less work to recollar a character than to draw one from scratch.)

John thinks Cul-De-Sac is about the Lonely. And yes, the statement giver was lonely. But the people affected by the Lonely choose to be lonely, and the statement giver didn’t. His boyfriend broke up with him because of cheating and then he lost his friends because they sided with his boyfriend. 

I think the theme of the statement is unreality, not loneliness. In the Magnus Archives, when someone gets marked by a power it is because they made some wrong choice. The choice the statement giver makes is to return to the place he found dead and soulless. He drives back to his ex-boyfriend to deliver the moose, rather than send it by mail. He specifically wants to meet his ex. Not an act of loneliness, quite the opposite. Also he is returning a moose that is angular and creepy, in other words it is unreal.

When the statement escapes from the nightmare it’s because he got a phone call from his ex. And he says “I love you.” and that fits neatly with the Lonely. But it also fits with escape from the unreal. He escapes because he communicates with a real person.

The road signs says “Road” and “Street”. Generic and unreal. All the houses look the same. Like in a computer game. The statement giver wonders if they are the same house. Like in a computer game where one might reuse the code for a house many times.

The house he enters has stock photos. Unreal.

The people on TV have something wrong with their eyes, similar to the eyes of the zombies in Zombie. And it's a fake cooking show, and a fake infomercial.

The dead woman upstairs was someone who had social media profiles, and that nobody notices had died. Meaning she lived her life online. That sounds like she was lonely. But living online also makes her a good victim for the Simulation. Everyone she talked to was on a computer, she couldn’t know for sure if they were real.

The woman had killed herself with a mirror. I think what happened was she had looked into the mirror and seen that her eyes were wrong, like the eyes of the people on TV. And she had thought she was just a simulation, like everything around her. And therefore she killed herself. Or perhaps she wasn’t reflected in the mirror at all? Like in…

Reflection. Adelard speculated that this statement was about the Extinction, but I don’t think so. The protagonist was in a world that seemed unreal. A fun fair is artificial so that fits the theme. The people were playing games, which fits the theme via computer games maybe.

Adelard says “I can’t quite get past the detail that there was no reflection at all in the mirror he used to return.” It is almost at the end of Adelard’s letter, it’s clearly meant to be significant. The no reflection might be symbolic for the statement giver starting to think he isn’t real, which might be what happened to him after he gave the statement.

Reflection has influence by the Spiral, with the maze of mirrors. There is influence by the Flesh, with the cannibalism.

[shirophantomvox]

A Night on the Town- Hisoka x Illumi (Hisoillu)

What’s up y’all? Per an anon request, here is a Hisoillu story. Hisoka and Illumi go to dinner at a fancy restaurant to talk about a business contract when a single phrase or word causes them to change the subject. This story will see how they stand on their relationship. Are they only meant to be “friends” or more than? “A night on the town” is a British phrase that simply means someone going to a club or hanging out all night long. Boujee is an abbreviation of the French "bourgeois." A critical term used to describe people, things, and places that are definitively high-class. I am going to try my best to keep this in character. They feel comfortable to joke around each other only. I use places like Earth, Mars, and the US because I assume Yorknew is another name for New York. Yes, I mentioned some Voltron elements too. I love crossovers! Enjoy! Feel free to inbox me. FYI, there’s nothing wrong with eating chicken fingers as an adult. I hate steak and haven’t eaten it in over 15 years. Onto the story!

Rain fell from the sky hard as ever. The sound of the raindrops hitting multiple surfaces sounded like quarters hitting metal. Thunder clapped what seemed like every 60 seconds followed by an alarming amount of lightning. The white and red LED lights lit up the sidewalk in front, casting heavenly shadows on just about everyone that made their way in. “La Lune” is a 5 star restaurant located in the heart of Yorknew City. Tons of celebrities have had dinner there! Madonna, Rihanna, Beyonce, and so many more had taken funny photos with the chef and his wife, creating a memorable moment for everyone involved. Many take the atmosphere of this restaurant as something romantic. The lights were dimmed and the tables were lit by candle light. It seemed like everyone was being serenaded by their lover, except for these two of course. Their occasion was something far from being romantic. Both gentlemen agreed to talk about a mission that would require both of their efforts because if one did not agree, the other would parish. This mission drove them mad. Hisoka lost a few days of sleep just thinking about it!

You see, one of the country’s best space explorers has been running rampant through the streets. These students attended the Galaxy Garrison, a space college and were launched into space. While trying to bring back samples from Kerberos, they were attacked by aliens (known as the Galra), kept in another dimension, and once they returned they began to inflict pain on Earthlings just like how the Galra did to them. These students must have been experimented on because they possessed power that no Nen user could defeat.

Both gentlemen walked to the hostess desk and waited for their attention. Hisoka’s hair was covering part of his eyes. Many people found him attractive; so attractive that people would nudge him on the arm and mimic a “call me” motion with their fingers. What was it about him that people would just swoon over? Illumi stood behind Hisoka with his hands in his pants pocket, impatiently waiting to be seated. You can’t discuss aliens and brats on an empty stomach.

“How may I help you?’” The hostess smiled big as she cupped her hands waiting for his response. Her teeth were pearly white, almost appearing to be fake. But one thing was off about this woman. She stared mighty hard at his face and continued to smile. She seemed robotic. A smile appeared on his face as well; he swore she was undressing him with her eyes.

“Reservation for Gittarackur~♠?” Hisoka nearly said Illumi’s name instead.

“Right this way.”

She led them through a series of staircases and made her way to the rooftop. This building wasn’t too tall, but it was high enough. The roof was decorated with red table umbrellas, glass tables, candles, and hanging LED lights.

This is a little too romantic, Illumi. What gives?

She handed them the menu and walked away. Illumi looked to his right and left to ensure no one was close enough to hear what he was going to say. But before he could say anything, Hisoka opened his mouth and began to make unnecessary comments that got under Illumi’s skin.

“You tend to pick the restaurants with a noticeable romantic atmosphere. Care to tell~♥.?”

Illumi pressed his lips together.

“I do not pay attention to the atmosphere. I pay attention to good ratings and decent prices.”

“Oh! So, you’re a cheap date~♠!”

“This isn’t a date, Hisoka. We are talking about a mission that if it gets out of control, the whole human race will cease to exist as we know it.”

A waitress came over, introduced herself, and offered them a bottle of wine.

Did you plan this, Illumi?

Of course they accepted! Rosé was Hisoka’s go-to. The wine mellowed him out, made him more relaxed and bearable. He placed his thin fingers and sharp nails around the wide-mouth glass and sipped his drink. He smiled as Illumi disclosed more details of the mission.

“What are you saying, Illumi? I’m afraid I do not understand~♠.”

“Listen carefully. These groups of young adults have been experimented on by the Galra. Since their return, they've been stealing, beating, and even killing innocent people. Their excuse for this is by saying that “those people were bad people” based on rumors they’ve heard. They’re a menace to society, not to mention extremely dangerous. For the first time in 22 years, I’m a little worried.”

The waitress came back to take their order. Hisoka had never tried a streak before, so that is what he ordered. Illumi, the picky eater on the other hand, ordered an adult size of chicken fingers and fries. Hisoka gave him the shittiest look of the century. He placed his large hand over his face as he humiliatingly closed his eyes. Illumi squinted trying to ignore Hisoka’s stupid reactions.

“What’s the matter?”

“You embarrass me, Illumi~♠.”

“How?! What did I do?”

“We’re at a nice, romantic restaurant and all you order is chicken fingers, fries, and ranch?! Ma’am could you give us a moment~♠?”

“Absolutely.” Poor girl. Why did she have to witness that?

“What’s your problem, Hisoka?”

“You could have at least ordered the steak, salad, or both! Look around you! You’re going to be the laughing stock of this town! Try strawberry vinaigrette~♠!”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Boujee! Chicken fingers are delicious and anyone can order them! Why would I order salad when I have lettuce at home?”

“Because it’s good for you~♠!”

“Salad doesn’t fill me up and neither does strawberry vinaigrette!”

They began to talk about the mission again. Illumi hid his fear behind his resting bitch face, but he didn’t know if he truly wanted to go through with this mission or not.

“I’m feeling cautious.”

“What for? I’m sure you can handle it~♣.”

“I can’t. I don't even think my grandfather can beat them.”

“Why so?” Hisoka drank from his glass again. Illumi did not disclose much info because he knew how Hisoka becomes when he’s tipsy. He begins to laugh and talk too much.

“They have an ability that can wipe out a Nen user within seconds.”

“Oh~♥?”

“Yes. They can disappear in the blink of an eye, they have this purple electricity shooting from their hands, and these specific men I see with gray masks that remind me of a plague doctor. They have no faces and they’re purple. Once that electricity hits you, it’s game over. They have the ability to determine if it's fatal or not.”

“Ouch. What’s the plan~♣?”

“Someone that I used to know will infiltrate the base that they’re hiding in. It will be difficult because they guard it but that is when my needles will come in handy.”

“But you didn’t have to cut me off…~♣” Hisoka sang.

“What? What was that, that you did just then?” Illumi was serious. This was no time to be joking around.

“What? I just finished what you started~♣.”

“What did I start?”

“You said ‘someone that I used to know’ and I responded ‘but you didn’t have to cut me off’. Don’t tell me you’re not aware of that song~♣.”

Hisoka smiled something softer than usual and laughed at Illumi’s clueless look. This was something he adored about him; the carelessness made him laugh so hard that he forgot about his troubles...if he had any.

“I understand why you brought me here to talk about stopping the Galra, but let’s enjoy this moment. Just you and I~♥.”

“Why? They are dangerous. They could be planning on destroying us as we speak.”

“You worry too much. Besides, everyone knows of your talent and even if they seem more powerful, I’m sure they’re keeping their distance from you.”

“I thought you’d be overjoyed at this opportunity. You can finally put those chrome cards to play.”

“Who said I wasn’t? I am but I’ve learned to hide my arousal rather well~♥.”

“You didn’t hide it well just a few seconds ago.”

“Touché’. But I was not talking about fighting then, I was talking about you~♥.”

“Hmm.” Illumi didn’t know what to say but one thing is for sure. Many, many feelings and thoughts clouded his mind and body but he didn’t know how to respond to them. He has known Hisoka for some time now and he knew of his ways; if he would just tell him how he felt, he might be surprised by his reaction. Hisoka has flirted and with him several times but for some reason he felt like if he responded he may not get a desired response.

Hisoka began to chuckle, more of a tipsy chuckle. He couldn’t hold back his laughter as he noticed how Illumi’s attitude began to change. Illumi immediately placed his wine glass on the table and squinted in confusion.

“What’s so funny, now?” He sounded a bit irritated but deep inside he was happy he asked.

“You’re blushing~♥.”

“What?”

Damn.

Was it that noticeable?

Sure was.

“I’m good! I never thought that I could make the oldest son of the Zoldyck family blush from my passes. That’s an achievement for me. So tell me Illu, do you dream about me too~♥?”

“Be quiet, would you?”

The magician couldn’t help but to release a hearty laugh so loud that people began to glance in their direction. Illumi frowned and crouched low towards the table.

“Stop it. People are staring.”

“What? I love it when people stare. That means I look good~♥.”

Hisoka continued to laugh. To add to Illumi’s social demise, he stood up from his chair, took a photo on his phone and captioned it: “Best date ever♦”.

“Don’t send that!”

“Oops. Sorry not sorry,” Hisoka gloated covering his mouth. “Guess you’ll have to catch me~♥.”

He continued to laugh but his laughter slowly began to come to a halt and wired down. Now he laid his head on the table, slightly drooling. Illumi decided that he had enough excitement for the night, so he threw three pins in his right leg, which was conveniently under the table. Hisoka had hinted earlier that he would be fine if Illumi ever made that decision. Following behind him for his entire life would be to die for. Illumi smiled as he looked at the man before him, finally silent.

“This might actually work,” he whispered to himself.

The moonlight casted a shadow on him as he admired the star on the sleeping magician’s face.

[haikyooot]

Season + Weather | 20 | Kita Shinsuke

|20| End of Heat 処暑 Shosho

08/23-09/06

After the winter chill comes the bearing of spring. Then comes the summer of cicadas, and finally the fields of neverending gold.

Kita Shinsuke x f!reader Genre: Slice-of-life Word Count: 860

Autumn 秋 Aki | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 (final) | Masterlist

Humans have invented all sorts of tools to battle it out against nature, and developed various systems to combat uncertainty. However, each time, whether by disease or by fire, nature has cards up its sleeve.

“Shit! Don’t you fucking dare go outside,” you screamed, making a blind attempt to grab Kita’s arm in the dark.

Shadowy wisps flickered through the windows from the violently shaking trees and howling wind. The house was pitch black already, but still, ghastly shapes manifested across the walls. The whole house seemed to quiver. Loud clamours from falling objects outside were sudden and unannounced. The wind, no longer wind, now a vengeful spirit whipped through every crevice. It tore through telephone lines and snapped trees, and the heavens dumped all their spite down in heavy rain. Typhoons in the countryside were different from the city-truly a testament to how destructive nature could retaliate.

“But the-”

“To hell with that, Shinsuke. It’s fucking dangerous outside, so help me, damn it, stay put!” you shrieked back, tightening your grip on his forearm. You didn’t care that your nails were digging into his flesh, you weren’t about to let go. The roars seemed to burst into the house and gnawed away at your grasp of the situation. “We knew this was a possibility remember?” 

You and Kita knew the typhoons were coming. Both of you already stocked the pantry, checked the batteries, and mentally prepared. But nothing, no weather reports, no prior experiences could have prepared either of you for the calamity this year. The meteorological reports said that this year was "an anomaly", but wasn't that last year? And two years before? At what point did the phrase"another anomaly" become normal? And more importantly, why did it have to be right here, right now?

“Shinsuke?” Granny called from her room. “Don’t go outside, you hear? Are you two okay?” 

In ancient times, people thought that such catastrophes ought to be heaven's anger at sin. Whether or not this was true, who bore the burdens of anger? Who’s crops and means of living were the first to go?

“G-granny,” you called back. “I got him, don’t worry. Just stay there for a bit, I’ll get the lights.”

You harshly tugged the dazed Kita with you and traveled alongside the walls of the house. Your heart was beating wildly and all you wanted was for the noise to stop and a blanket to muffle yourself under. But you had to stay strong, for yourself and two others under this roof. 

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, tripping over something hard in the dark. Kita steadied you. 

You tapped his hand and reassured you were okay, “Almost there.” After what seemed like an endless excavation in the dark, you finally reached the cabinet keeping the emergency box. This one had candles, flashlights, batteries, and a radio.

Where did the paper boat float? No voice to be uttered—all gone, Swallowed by hungry ghosts.

Occasionally, the radio would pop in with a message or two telling its listeners to remain calm and stay away from windows, refrain from going outside...the buzzes from the signal were the only white noise to soothe a calm. You and Kita sat around the floor table, with half-formed thoughts trying to form some semblance of reason.

"Do you think..." Kita asked quietly, unable to finish the question.

It wasn't something you could answer. "I don't know, but we're safe and together here."

Kita lived most of his life with the certainty of perfection. As long as the proper parameters were put into place, the results were only to be expected. Kita was made up of the things he did every day, consistently, constantly. Over the years, he's been proven time and time again that despite the best preparations, the worst outcomes might still follow. And even if he had prepared for the worst, colloquially speaking, the realities were no less disappointing or frightening.

The loss against Karasuno in his last year of high school. The unexpected conditions of his grandmother. The uprooting of his new career in the city. And now the possibility of a whole year's labor dismantled in wind and rain.

There were many uncertainties, dissatisfaction, and anxieties clouding his thoughts in a frenzy. This was something the insurance prepared for, a possibility that anyone venturing out to the fields would acknowledge in the back of their mind. Financially, perhaps. But it doesn't mitigate the difficult acceptance that despite everything done right, things were still beyond control.

"We'll just have to wait and see," Kita concluded, closing his eyes.

The crops had pulled through extreme heat. He only hoped that the grains clung tightly and the roots remained grounded. He hoped that the careful attention he spent tending to the crops making sure they were in the best possible conditions, would be just enough.

In a wind that snapped trees with many more years of seniority, these rice stalks of less than a year old had to fight. There wasn't anything either of you could do, but wait and then wait some more. All the while, the taunting chants plagued the space around both of you.

Endnotes: • Recent examples of very bad typhoons include 2018 Typhoon Haiyan and 2019 Typhoon Hagabis and Faxai. Typhoon season hits right before the fall harvest, so there really isn’t much recourse for replanting. Crop yield losses can be up to 30%. 

Autumn 秋 Aki | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 (final) | Masterlist

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nine | Dating Tense! (Part 2 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Though your sense of amiability and acumen have warped themselves since last weekend, you feel some of that patience and kindness return when Toriel greets you into her new home, the scent of food and her smile soothing whatever anger you had prior to ringing her doorbell.

Sans gestures for you to go ahead first despite him being the most familiar with her and the most affected by the rain, but you persist in your manners and tell him to go change out of his clothes first and foremost. Though they're now dry from how long it's been since he got rained on, it's still evident and necessary for him to change out of them with how tired and disheveled he looks, wrinkled up clothes, slouched posture, and a tired gaze combining to make him look sleep-deprived. “I have a change of clothes in my car,” you say, offering him an abashed smile. “It’s a work uniform and probably a little too big for you, but…” You trail off and feel your face turn warm; remembering all his failed attempts at flirting with you doesn’t help with your situation. “You can still use them, if you want to.”

“It’s cool.” He keeps a neutral expression despite noticing how reluctant you'd acted with him just now, levels different from how you were with him back in your car. “I’m here pretty often, so I’ve gotta change of clothes or two stocked up. And I also gotta go pick up Papyrus first, so I’ll just freshen up after I’m done with that." 

"You should still shower and change first." You frown at the thought of him driving out in the rain again, without rest or care over himself. "It doesn't matter if you dried off or not! You'll get sick if you don't take care of yourself first." You give him your car keys, your umbrella, and take off the suit of your uniform, giving him all three items as you add, “Ditch the jacket and wear this once you’re done freshening up.”

“Thanks,” he says after a while, voice quiet and gaze barely capable of looking straight at you without faltering. “But the keys ain’t really necessary. I can use my-”

“I insist.” You push the keys further into his hand, making him hold yours for just a second before you pull away. “Now go.”

• • •

The first thing Toriel gives you after Sans drives off in your car is a big hug and a firm hold on your shoulders, eyes facing yours with concern. "How… How are you feeling?" she asks, smile changing for a faint frown as she lets go and gestures for you to pass through. Your persistence on not doing that until you were sure Sans followed your suggestions had led to some small talk between you and her while you waited, but only talking about everyday matters and without being nowhere near as personal as she’s being with you right now, whatever concerns she’d been having since your hospitalization showing up now. "Lunch is ready, if you would like to eat now!"

How considerate she's being makes you regret the thought of bringing up the topic you discussed with Sans regarding her once wanting to adopt Frisk. You don't want to point fingers nor hurry into it yet, but there's something about her telling you she'd just finished picking Frisk early due to the stormy weather and that they’re currently sleeping at a bedroom made especially for them that makes jealousy spike within you. The thought of her being a better parent than you makes your stomach queasy and weakens your once tolerant mindset along with the strength of the promise you made of hearing the monsters' perspective before making any rash or abrupt decisions.

"There's no rush," you reply, smiling at her. "I can wait. I'm feeling okay, and I think it would be better if we all ate together instead.” 

You enter her home, welcomed by a near replica of her old one at the Ruins -- a great contrast from her former, minimalist apartment. Her new place is just as big as the one at the Underground, and with a similar colour scheme of mostly beiges and yellows, too. The only difference is the layout and furniture of the living room, decorated with two large couches and a small television, but even then the compact kitchen and the hallway leading off to more rooms seem similar to her old home. 

You sit down with her and toy with the sleeve of your shirt as you try to bring yourself to say something before engaging in any other, friendlier conversation with her -- beyond your small talk about how she and Frisk were doing while you were busy with work. "Would it be…" You hesitate; fear over being tactless makes you bite back your tongue. "Would it be alright with you to talk about something, well… kind of personal?” you ask, meeting her eyes. “The tour last weekend left me with some doubts, so I'd like to clear them out, if possible."

She looks at you with furrowed brows and a small smile, as if you’ve asked her something obvious. “Of course it’s fine, (L/N),” she replies, shifting closer to you as she lays a hand over yours, hers fluffy and much warmer in comparison to a human’s. “What is it? Is it about what-”

Your talk is postponed before it can even begin properly, whatever she was about to ask you held back as you both move your attention to the new and old faces that enter the living room.

Papyrus is here, along with Sans, who -- clearly telling the truth about how weak his magic was when unprovoked -- now looks as exhausted as you often felt after a long shift at work. Even so, he doesn’t let that stop him from walking to your side and giving you your keys and suit jacket back. “Thanks for lendin’ me your car, pal,” he says, almost wobbling when he takes a step back. “Have you talked that stuff out with Tori yet?”

“Not yet,” you say, smile fading and forehead scrunching up when you get a better look at how different he seems compared to barely a while ago. “But should you really be worrying about that right now? You look exhausted!” You frown when you notice he looks twice -- if not, thrice -- as worse as he did when leaving to go find Papyrus. The time on your phone states it hasn’t even been thirty minutes since he drove off, so you wonder if he’d used any additional magic to make his trip shorter along the way.

“I’ll be fine. Just needa sleep a lil’ and I’ll be good as-”

Cards reversed, it’s now your turn to catch him when he stumbles again.

Before he can even say something in objection to your actions, you carry him off to the couch across from the one you and Toriel were sitting on and lay him there. “Rest for a bit.” You press the back of your hand against his cheekbone and check his temperature, felt considerably low compared to how warm he was on the few occasions when you hugged each other. “A shower and a change of clothes won’t do you any good if you don’t rest.”

"Didn't think I'd be gettin' my own, personal doctor today," he comments, returning to his brazen self despite how tired his voice sounds.

"Now's not the time for that, bonehead." You glare at him and press him back down when he tries to sit up. "Sleep, or I'll knock you unconscious myself."

Thankfully, he doesn't push further and does as told, falling asleep in the blink of an eye.

• • •

Try as you might, it becomes impossible for the good mood left behind since arriving at Toriel's place to stay intact.

Having nothing left to do but wash dishes and later wait for the rain to clear up made you gather the needed courage to ask her over that particular subject, yet you’re pretty sure you came off as rash at one point in beginning with the conversation. “Why did you want to adopt Frisk without knowing if they had fallen intentionally or not? And why didn’t you ask them if they had a family waiting for them before they went on a journey and broke the Barrier?” were reasonable and simple enough questions, though there was much left to be said about your tone and you adding, “Do you know how… how awful it felt when I was told you wanted to take them as your child, at one point?”

Three hours.

Only three hours into arriving at her new home, and yet your relationship with her was already becoming about as tense as Sans’s after your nearly ten hour long tour.

"I did not intend to take Frisk away from you, and I would have never asked them that, had I known they were missing you just as much as you were," the goat lady says, a smile showing through, though made pained by the furrow in her brow and teary eyes. "But I would still like to keep seeing them, if you allow me to." She breathes in. "And now that you require a babysitter, I can and would gladly continue to look after them while you work. They are very dear to me, and I cannot bear to never see them again." She breathes sharply again, holding back her gloom through those means. "I understand you may not trust us, but please do get to know us before you make your judgment, and perhaps then you will… understand we only want what's best for you and your child."

Calm down.

That’s a phrase you continue to repeat to yourself before opening your mouth again.

Nonetheless, you fail in doing that and come back at her with, "And couldn't you think like that back when your kind decided to attack them -- wanting what's best instead of letting them go alone, just like that?" You cross your arms tight and dismiss any thoughts about your missed meeting once more, too caught up with the current situation to give mind to your job. "I was told many of your kind attacked Frisk for little to no reason. And then I decided to ask about what that sentry job implied, and I find out Sans was actually meant to kill any human who crossed him?" You try not to let your voice grow loud, yet thoughts over losing Frisk and the desperation you went through searching for them all around the map make you livid. You're tearing up yourself, yet you prove unable to compose yourself like Toriel does, letting these stain your cheeks. "You expect me to trust a guy like him, when all that kept him from killing my child was Karma and a… a supposed promise he made to someone else? Do you expect me to trust him when- when he could've done the same to me, or anyone else of my kind? How can you expect me to stay calm, when your kind acted badly in their own way?"

You're full-on crying now, pent-up worries of the days you spent on a relentless, fruitless search over Frisk almost making you wobble to the ground; your wit and sheer want to be strong are what prevent you from showing it. You cover your face with your hands while guilt and doubts enter your mind. Your knees are frail, though some of that stress is let out through a heavy huff, and your hands let go when you compose yourself more. "I thought Frisk hated me, a- and that's why they ran off." You feel a hand place itself right on top of your head, careful yet attempting to soothe you further. "I thought I'd done something wrong, or that I… That I failed as a parent. But then…” You shudder the next time you breathe out. “Then Brenda calls me and says something important happened. And- And next thing I know, Frisk shows up in the news!"

While the current hand is fluffy, the next one causes you to jolt back up into guard. Its bony feel on your shoulder makes you shake it off and face the one responsible with cold, narrowed eyes. 

When you see it's Papyrus, you hold back and face him with gentler eyes, a frown replacing your anger. "I'm thankful for what you all did to look after Frisk while I wasn't around, but I still can't… I really still can't overlook what Asgore wanted to do to my kind, or what he ordered Sans and... and other monsters to do." You breathe in, chest heaving and shuddering again when letting that same breath out. “H- Hate me if you will, but I... I need time to understand the reasons behind all of this."

Too weak to stand any longer, Papyrus takes note of that himself and helps you off to the couch, where Sans still rests at. His usage of what little magic he had left in him shows through how slumped his sitting posture is and how his eye sockets are half-lidded as he tries not to fall asleep. He straightens and scoots away, leaving you with more than plenty of space for you to sit down beside him.

"(L/N)," the taller one says, keeping a hand on your shoulder and bringing you to stare at him. "We do not hate you. What we want is for you to hear us out and understand we mean no harm any longer." He pulls back, gaze knitted as sympathy shows on his smile. "I was once meant to capture any human who crossed on over to Snowdin, and as you said, Sans was meant to… to end them." He stops, smile fading. "So your worry and panic are understandable. I do not expect you to forgive and forget, but I do ask you to please listen to what we have to say and try to understand the rather… complicated relationship humans and monsters used to have."

It’s been more than an hour since your meeting ended, yet the rain's still pouring strong and the news station left to play on the television is already reporting over nearby routes being flooded by what now has to be a tropical storm. Frisk is still sleeping in the goat lady's bedroom, helping make the situation a bit easier for you to manage with. Though -- at the thought of being stuck with the monsters for what you assume is going to be a long, long while -- you sigh, trying to regain both strength and calm alike. 

"Been rainin' a lot since we left the Underground," Sans comments, a tired slur to his words. He's changed the topic completely, helping you with the process. "Think this's really connected to us? A lotta people've been blamin' monsters for it."

"I think it's silly they'd blame you for it," you reply, finding more ease in the topic. "There was a heavy drought not long before Frisk fell to the Underground, so I think it was to expect we'd have even heavier rains soon." Surprisingly, he offers you a napkin, avoiding the touch of hands by pulling away as quickly as his magic-worn state allows him to. "Thank you." You pat at your tears and wipe your face clean, stopping when you hear muffled laughter coming from him.

"...What?" you ask, facing the skeleton with a raised brow.

That only makes him break down more, though he contains himself to reply with, "Nothin'."

You hear Papyrus huff and see him stand next to you. He offers a mirror out to you, something you reject when you tell him you have one with you. "Sans, now's not the time for this!" he exclaims, hands on his hips. "You'll never gain (L/N)’s trust if you continue to disrupt every single opportunity you have for it!"

While listening to their argument, you see Toriel's sadness vanish right on par with yours. You look at yourself in the mirror, holding back a laugh of your own when you see two large circles surrounding your eyes, with a colour blatantly opposite to the (s/t) shade(s) of your skin. It makes you look similar to a panda, though you try not to appear humoured by it. 

"Frisk fell for that at the Underground," Sans comments, snickering when his brother finally stops scolding him. "And now you." His grin widens, posture straightening more and tiredness being replaced with merriment. "I've said it once and I'll say it again: like parent, like child." 

Whatever form of retaliation you're about to direct at Sans is stopped when you see the door of the living room slam open, in entering two women, and both soaked from head to toe. Alphys is the first one you recognize at a quick glance while the taller one takes you longer to distinguish with how little you knew about her still. Neither of the two seem bothered over being drenched, Undyne being the one who grins and sighs in relief, later commenting about how refreshing the rain feels. Alphys takes in the feeling for some time, though she removes her lab coat and shoes, wringing herself out before stepping into the living room. When the other woman's done, her eye falls on you, immediately growing as her smile does the same, sharp teeth baring themselves in excitement.

"Is that the one you told me about, Alph?" she asks, voice booming throughout the house. "You're right. They're just like Frisk described them to us, and just as cute as those pictures on the news!"

You hear Sans hiss out an 'ooh', and hear him speak right after with a muttered, "Bad move, Undyne."

He's not wrong.

Having experienced more than enough of Sans's flirting for the past few days, hearing yet another monster comment over you in a flattering manner is unwelcomed. Consequently, you stand up and face the two with your trademark pose: frowning, brow narrowed, and with your arms firmly crossed. "Nice to meet you, miss Undyne." You spare a look at Alphys, who jolts at the intensity of your stare. "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), Frisk's primary care parent. Though I'm sure you know that already." You offer a hand out to her, reminding yourself to be polite. "I believe I have questions as to why you thought it acceptable to chase my child at the Underground, even when they were deemed to have caused no harm to your kind."

She takes your hand, and a more serious look takes her over when she nods. "I'm afraid that was a job assigned to me for being part of the Royal Guard, (miss/mister) (L/N)."

You shake her hand, nodding back. "And I'm afraid you'll have to explain that to me then, miss Undyne.” You take a pause. “Apologies for being so quick about this, but I… I want nothing but the best for Frisk, and so I still have to get to know their monster friends better to understand what this is all about." 

When the handshake's over, you both take a step back, facing each other with stern gazes. "In the end, I believe it's my right as a parent to decide whether or not it's safe for Frisk to keep being friends with you." You pause, reflect, and make sure to add your next comment, wanting to be clear with everyone around you, "And not because of your race, but because of your actions."

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[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In

Y'all, the quarantine hit hard. This fic is 100% self serving but I'm posting it in case it makes anyone else feel better? To add some spicy self loathing to my day? who knows. 

No legit pairings, a tiny bit of hinting angstiness, for the sake of form, Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: defs big warning for anxiety and depression. I don't think there's anything else? Lmk if there is and I'll edit this.

__________

“Snowed in?” you repeated, having just packed everything up and saddled both Roach and your horse Beau. 

Geralt nodded grimly, “We’ll just have to hope Jaskier hears of the weather before he tries to make it here. The mail carrier is refusing to ride the pass.”

You heaved your saddlebags down with a slightly over dramatic grunt before turning to face him, “Is it a passing storm or do they think it’s headed for us?”

He shrugged and began untacking Roach, “You’ll have to ask the innkeeper. I just heard from someone who was turned back.” 

You both finished putting the horses back in their stalls, throwing a little extra hay over the side in case you didn’t want to face the cold after dinner. The innkeeper looked frantic, attempting to deal with about five angry customers, so you headed for the connected tavern instead. In your experience, bartenders knew more scuttlebutt anyway. 

Surprisingly you two were the only ones in the bar. The pretty blonde poured the two of you a beer and slapped a loaf of bread down between you before you could utter a word of request. Something rather unusual since traveling with Geralt. 

“How long do you think this will last?” you asked, handing the woman a couple of gold coins. 

She shrugged, “Last year it was mild. Just a week I think? But the year before that the town was stuck for almost a month.”

“Hm- huh? What day is it?” you mumbled as Geralt shook you awake. 

“Twenty-three. Get up.” He ordered. The process had become routine. The two of you were stuck in a rather small room together due to overcrowding and you weren’t handling the idle time very well. 

Geralt seemed completely content to meditate by the fire and meticulously repair his armor for the rest of eternity. While you had quickly become catatonic. 

You sat up only because you knew he would lift you out of the bed completely if you didn’t do it yourself, “Ah yes, what a beautiful day to feed the horses and drink our weight in ale.” 

The sarcasm dripping from your voice only earned a stern look from your roommate. The inn had run out of the drinkable stuff last week and they were rationing little the piss water they had left.

You scratched at your hair, your hand recoiling at the feel of grease. There was nothing to do, the floor space between the bed and the fire was barely big enough for Geralt to sit cross-legged, let alone for you to do any sort of exercise to keep your mood up. Not that you would if you could anyway. Any motivation to keep some sort of normalcy had left your body around day ten. The innkeeper had let some guests spar in the lobby around day six but everyone scattered when you had attempted to join. Something about ‘the witcher’s girl’ and how ‘she might gut you out of habit’. People could be stupid, you weren’t a witcher any more than they were and even so, Geralt was calmer and more restrained than all of them combined.  

So, embracing the numbness, you stayed in bed well into the afternoon and long after Geralt had left his side of the bed.

“Did I miss breakfast again?” you asked, not making a move to get any farther from your warm blankets.

Geralt nodded, pointing to the small table near the door where some bread,  cheese, and dried meat sat waiting. 

You picked at it for his benefit, though you hadn’t really been hungry for a few days now. The storm raging outside was just about as strong as the one raging through your hollow insides. This inaction, the unknowing, the vulnerability was killing you. 

“Y/N, you need to eat more than the crumbs.” Geralt urged, moving to sit in the chair opposite to you. 

“I tried.” You sighed, “Can’t I just lay back down?”

He shook his head, “No. You’re letting this consume you. You’re tougher than this.”

You scowled at him, wanting to throw the bread in his face, “Fuck you. Nothing bothers you.”

“Your behavior is bothering me.” he countered, staring at you with a mix of worry and annoyance.

“Well isn’t that touching.” You sighed in mock flattery. Abandoning any idea of food, you got up to sit by the fire,  poking at it aggressively with an iron rod and making a point to face away from him. 

“What in the spheres is your problem?” He growled.

“Being stuck here with nothing to do?” you offered, your tone reminiscent of the young spoiled princess the two of you had saved from a wraith a few months back. 

“That’s not it. I know when you’re lying Y/N”

Your limbs felt like they might float away into the air if you didn’t curl up into a ball, “I don’t want to talk about it Geralt. I’m sorry for snapping. I just need a couple of minutes.”

“You’ve needed ‘a couple of minutes’ for the past two weeks. Time to talk.” he argued. 

You snorted, “That’s rich coming from you. You didn’t tell me you’d been stabbed until right before you passed out in Temeria.”

“I’ve tried learning from my mistakes.” his tone was one of convincing the both of you, “What's bothering you? Really.”

“I don’t fucking know Geralt.” you hissed, getting very tired of his prying.

You heard him sit back and cross his arms, “Not good enough.”

You felt the words leave your throat before you could think of their meaning, spewing out with vitriol and fire, “I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of you telling me what to do. I’m tired of watching snow pile up out the damn window. I’m tired of the stupid couple that fucks all night next door. I’m tired of this worry that feels like it will rip me apart at any fucking moment from just not fucking knowing. I’m tired of worrying about Jaskier. I’m tired of worrying about the horses getting stocked up when there’s nothing I can do to help them. I’m tired of the glares from the other guests. I’m tired of feeling powerless. I’m tired of having no decent outlet for this anxious energy I’m stuck with. I’m tired of not knowing when this feeling will go away. And I’m absolutely fucking exhausted by the thought that it’s only been twenty-fucking-three days yet I feel I’ve been trapped here for a god-damned-eternity.” 

The last sentence broke your resolve to stay angry. Upon pushing the last words from your lungs, you heaved a deep breath and let the sobs tear your chest apart, giving in to the hopelessness that had been building for weeks now. 

You heard a shuffling that registered in the back of your mind as Geralt sitting behind you, but even so, you flinched when a hand rested on your shoulders. He scooped one hand under your knees and pulled you onto his lap, pulling a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around the two of you. He let you sob until the sobs turned to whimpers.

“I didn’t realize, I’m sorry Y/N” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your hair, sending a flood of warmth to your cheeks.

“You don’t need to be.” you croaked, leaning into his affection.

“I didn’t need to pry either.” He argued.

You just hummed in reply, too much of your energy spent on purging your system of those hideous sobs. You did make a noise of protest when he lifted you from his lap and set you beside him on the floor. 

“Stay by the fire, I’ll be back.” He instructed, the tenderness of his voice surprising you. 

Minutes later, as you were beginning to pull yourself back together, he returned with a terry cloth robe and what smelled like fresh jasmine soap. Without a word, he hoisted you into his arms and carried you across the room to the bathroom. He set you on your feet and handed you the robe and soap before turning his attention to the lever pump hanging over the ceramic tub. 

“A bath?” You tried to bring your usual playful tone back to life and failed miserably.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

You shook your head, “I’m just…” slightly disoriented? you finished the sentence in your head, not sure how to phrase it.

“Not used to anyone accommodating your emotions.” he finished, a knowing look in his eyes reminding you just how much he knew of isolation and pain. 

As you nodded you had to mentally remind yourself you have to let people help you, that it’s okay to let people help you.

You didn’t bother waiting for him to leave before you peeled off your riding breeches. Melitele only knows how long you’d gone without changing them. You had more trouble unlacing the cinched waist blouse you’d been wearing the last four days. The restless tossing and turning you’d done instead of sleeping had it knotted four times over. When you’d finally rid yourself of every last thread the tub was full. 

Geralt traced a sign in the water, sending ripples over the surface and steam up in the air, “Shouldn’t be too hot, but test it first.” He mumbled, making an effort not to stare at you too long. 

It was rather hot but you had exposed yourself enough for one day. You took the hand he offered for balance and sank into the nearly scalding water without hesitation.

He knelt next to you, “If you wish to be alone-”

“No.” You interrupted, not having the courage to look up at him, “Please don’t go.” The words barely escaped your mouth, but Geralt heard them perfectly fine.

He wet a washcloth and lathered it with soap before handing it off to you. With the rest of the bar, he began washing your hair. At first, his hands were hesitant, as if he was afraid to hurt you. He paused when you gave up scrubbing the sweat and dirt from behind your knees, but only for a moment. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. His nails scratched at the base of your skull, coaxing a sigh from your lips. As he massaged the soap through the tangled mess he took his time with the tension in your temples, then the pressure points behind your ears, even working out the knots in your neck. You did your best not to moan, but a couple of gasps and pleased grunts may have slipped out.  He rested a hand between your shoulders and guided you back, dipping your hair into the water to rid it of the froth he’d created. 

You peeked up at him through your lashes. If he noticed he didn’t show it. His face was relaxed, almost serene, as he raked his fingers through your hair, gently tugging on the bigger tangles. You hadn’t ever taken the time to look at his eyes before, he seemed uncomfortable over them when you’d met so you left him alone about it. Looking at them now, you regretted it. They were a beautiful mix of honey, sunflowers, and glittering gold. And they were so kind. The idea that people spat at him when they recognized his eyes made your heart ache. 

With a slight nudge from him, you sat back up, all the tension in your body having melted in the hot water or under his touch. You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your arms across them and your chin on your arms. The events of the day had you feeling like a child who’d gone too long without a nap being soothed back to sleep. If you were being honest with yourself you missed the feeling of safety that came with someone taking care of you. 

Geralt brushed your favorite oils through your hair, doing his best not to pull through knots too roughly, but it was in the same bun for about four days. 

You let your tired mind wander as you watched snow fall out the small port window above the tub. The comb had failed to detect any knots in your hair for some time but it seemed Geralt was just as lost in thought as you.

Eventually the water grew cold and you had to accept this couldn’t go on forever. 

“I think I might need to get out soon.” you mumbled, inspecting your pruney fingers. Everything in you was telling you to stay. Stay in this safe place with your gentle guardian. But you knew if you didn’t get out soon you’d never warm up, fire or not. Not to mention you knew you were taking Geralt’s actions more to heart than they were meant. He simply felt guilty for pushing you too far. 

That didn’t mean you wanted him gone though. You were more than happy to live the lie for a little while longer.

"I'll go check the horses." He offered, placing a towel and the robe within your reach. 

"Thank you, Geralt. For not… I don't know? Laughing at me?" You refused to look at him, being vulnerable enough as you already were. 

"Y/N…" he said your name like it meant something but you couldn't figure out what, "You never have to thank me. I owe you so much more than a hot bath and kind words." 

You turned your head to argue but when you saw his expression the words died on your tongue. All you could offer in response was a small smile.

It seemed to be enough for him and he nodded before disappearing through the door, leaving you to ponder what he'd meant. 

_________

Part 2 here!

[cafecitowriter]

I wish you would write a fic where they assign Peggy to protect Steve on the USO circuit as one of the USO dancers. If she likes it or not is up to you :)

Hi okay first of all thank you so much for this! 

Second, sorry this took a hot second, but this absolutely got away from me. I hope you like it!!!

...

No matter how Peggy spun it, this new assignment was nothing more than glorified babysitting.

She knew full well that her skills would be better suited to continue working under Colonel Phillips, going undercover and gathering crucial intel for the Allied cause. That’s exactly what she had been doing - successfully, she might add - for months now. She could do more damage to Hydra and the Nazis if she was out in the field.

Colonel Phillips knew it too. At least, that’s what Peggy assumed, seeing as he put up more of a fight than she’d expected when he learned that she was being transferred from the front lines to join the USO circuit to take care of Steve Rogers.

Now known as Captain America.

Or at least, that’s what he was being called in the USO tour.

Peggy had studied his file as part of her research, and she’d heard she grumblings from the other men in camp about Project Rebirth and its “failure”, as they chose to phrase it.

Truthfully - and silently - Peggy thought his transformation was nothing short of a miracle. He went from being 5’4”, 90 pounds with a novel of ailments to being what could only be described as a super soldier.

Why he was being relegated to show business, with her as his undercover bodyguard, Peggy couldn’t understand. He could be so much more, if they’d let him.

That at least, she could sympathize with.

“This is your cover,” Phillips told her gruffly, handing her a thin file. “I hope you’ve been practicing your American accent.”

“Betty Carver?” she scoffed incredulously as she read the name on the page.

At least she wouldn’t have to dye her hair.

...

Peggy took a bus with the rest of the USO girls to their hotel in Brooklyn. They were to have a few days of rehearsals, and then they would run for two weeks here before moving on to their next stop.

One woman in particular, Beth, had taken an instant liking to Betty. When Beth asked Betty if this was her first tour, she had sheepishly admitted it was her first gig ever. Beth spent the rest of the bus ride talking her ear off, giving her advice, telling her stories of performances gone right and wrong, and most importantly, assuring her that she had an entire support system of women if she ever needed help.

They were sisters now, Beth had told her.

Though Peggy was miles from where she wanted to be, she could begin to see the some slight silver lining to the whole ordeal.

Luckily enough, Betty and Beth are paired up to share a room - and Peggy was almost certain that Beth had something to do with that, which made her respect for the women grow tenfold.

“You coming, Bet?” Beth asked, looking more than ready to head down to dinner.

“I’ll be down in just a minute,” she smiled. “I like to unpack first.”

Peggy waited for Beth to exit before taking a deep breath. She then set to work, checking the room for any hearing devices, seeing what vantage points she had to work with, and double checking the gun in her thigh holster that she’d made herself, just for the occasion.

She then unpacked her entire suitcase, since that’s what she told Beth she was currently up to.

A knock at the door startled her. Peggy straightened up and slowly approached the door. She left her hand close to where her gun was hidden underneath her skirt, knowing that she might need to draw it at a moment’s notice.

“Hi. I’m Steve Rogers.”

Now, Peggy had read everything there was to know about Steve Rogers.

What her reading hadn't prepared her for, was how boyishly handsome he was, the intensity of his blue eyes, or his disarming smile.

"Hi," she said simply, her brain managing to forget all other words in existence.

Get a grip, Carter.

“Betty Carver,” she added quickly.

“Nice to meet you ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at him. “I can’t tell if you’re overly polite, or if I look that much older than I actually am.”

“Just how I was raised,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“Betty’s just fine, Captain,” she told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

The tips of his ears went pink at the title.

“Betty, then,” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck, though Peggy couldn’t help but notice that his smile never faltered.

“I thought we were meeting you at dinner,” she asked curiously.

“I was there,” he told her. “One of them - Beth - told me you were still up here, but it’s been a while and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, softer than she’d intended.

“And as I can see, you’re doing just fine,” he said, looking suddenly awkward, as though he thought he was intruding on her space. “So I’ll uh, I’ll see you down there, Betty.”

“We can walk down together,” she offered before he could turn to leave.

It would be easier to protect him if she made friends with him, and there was no time like the present to begin forming that relationship.

“I’d like that,” he smiled, offering her his arm.

Peggy suppressed a smile, but accepted his arm.

“Seems like you were raised right, Captain.”

…

As assignments went, Peggy had to (begrudgingly) admit it wasn’t flat out terrible.

The choreography was simple enough that with her limited dance experience, Peggy could get through it, and there were enough women around that she could sing mostly under her breath.

Betty had made a very close friend in Beth, as as a few of the other women as well - Guadalupe and Gwen in particular.

Then there was Steve.

He and Betty had gotten along well since he’d walked her to dinner the first night.

Peggy really liked him, too.

He was nothing like what she’d imagined. Though she’d tried not to make any judgements before meeting him, she had had enough experience with soldiers letting their newly appointed rank go to their head.

Steve however, kept surprising her. He was incredibly gentle for someone so large and strong, kind despite the fact that he was handsome enough that he could get on without having to be.

He also liked to take walks at night, as she’d accidentally learned when she’d encountered him one evening while doing a perimeter check of their latest hotel. He had too much energy, and couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

Something that he’d gained from the serum, he’d told her.

She’d lied and said she always had trouble sleeping in different places, and would take a walk to ease her mind.

He frowned at the idea of her being out alone at night, and offered to take walks with her.

While Peggy was more than capable of protecting herself, Betty was relieved and took him up on his offer eagerly.

Besides, if he was up and out in the middle of the night anyway, it would do well for Peggy to be with him should trouble crop up.

Most nights, they would now both sneak away from their rooms and take a walk together. They would designate a meeting place, and afterward, Steve would always walk her right back to her door.

As the weeks wore on, so did their walks get longer, and the more Peggy learned about Steve Rogers.

He talked of his mother, how she had worked so hard to care for him, how much he loved and missed her.

She learned of his best friend, who stood by his side no matter how many alley fights he got into. Who was finally shipped off, leaving Steve alone.

Steve eventually confided to her that he had only ever wanted to serve his country, that he wanted to be a soldier and help the little guy. That with each passing city they performed in, he felt more lost and useless.

“You were meant for more than this,” Peggy found herself telling him one night, as they were both seated on a park bench.

“How do you know?” he asked, starting out at the moon.

“You’re a good man Steve, and with your abilities…” Peggy trailed off, not wanting to give away just how much she knew about Project Rebirth.

“You really think I can make a difference?” he asked, voice quiet and shy and so vulnerable that Peggy had a strong urge to wrap him in her arms.

She settled for resting her hand on top of his.

“I know you can. Call it faith,” she told him sincerely.

They held hands all the way back to her hotel room.

…

What Peggy found particularly endearing about Steve - but would never dare say it out loud - was how, no matter how many times they’d all change in front of him (as there was normally only one dressing room wherever they went), he was still ever the gentleman.

Steve would always help with patching up their costumes, zipping them up, and sometimes even applying make up, but he never stared or lingered.

On this particular night, a few weeks after they held hands during their walk (a detail that hadn’t happened on their nightly strolls again), Peggy was running late and was the last one in the dressing room. She was in the middle of pulling up her left stocking and clipping it in place - leg perched on the dressing table in front of her when someone walked in.

"Oh I - sorry, sorry,” Steve apologized profusely.

Peggy looked up just in time to see his wide-eyed expression and his cheeks turn pink. From the look on his face, one would assume he’d walked in on her half-naked, rather than fully dressed with only one stocking left to be fixed into places.

"Lose something, Captain?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow up in amusement.

"No," he said quickly, averting his gaze to look at the ceiling. "I mean, yes. I can't find the um, my head - my cowl, I mean."

Peggy took pity on him and lowered her leg.

“I’ll help you find it. Curtain’s in five minutes, after all.”

“Thanks, Betty,” he said, letting out a small breath of relief.

She smirked and took a few steps closer to him.

"You mustn't worry, though, Captain. I don't have any devious plans to ruin your pristine reputation," she teased.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” he murmured, clearly without thinking.

Peggy's eyes widened slightly. Other than the night they’d held hands (which Peggy had to keep reminding herself was only a comfort between friends) this is the first time he’d actually done anything close to what could be considered flirting.

She tried to ignore how much she liked it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.

Steve’s eyes flicked down for her lips, and he began to lean in.

Or was it her that was leaning in?

Either way, their lips were now less than an inch away from each other and-

“Two minutes to curtain!”

They startled apart, and Steve cleared his throat.

“We should get-”

“Yes,” she agreed dashing out of the dressing room and toward the wings.

She fumbled to get her last clip in place with how much her hands were shaking.

Peggy leaned against the closest wall and tried to control her breathing and hammering heart.

What the hell was that?

...

Something was wrong.

To be fair, Peggy didn’t have any reason to believe that there was any threat near. She’d taken all her normal precautions before the show, and hadn’t made any threats close to them.

But there were goosebumps on her arms, and Peggy knew better than to ignore her instincts.

“Don’t lift the motorcycle,” she whispered into Steve’s ear as she danced by him.

Though her voice was quiet, she knew his enhanced hearing could pick it up.

While she didn’t know what the threat was, his final pose left him far too vulnerable for her liking, and if he went down, so would Sybil, Beth, and Gwen.

Steve gave her a confused look.

His head then snapped to look at the audience. Peggy followed his gaze and noticed the man who had just stood up in the middle of the song.

He began to raise his hand, and Peggy launched into action.

She broke formation and tackled Steve out of the way. She felt two bullets lodge in the back of her right shoulder and she let out a small cry of pain.

Chaos broke out among the crowd and onstage as everyone screamed and began to disperse.

Peggy used her left hand to pull her carefully concealed gun out of its holster and aimed it toward the group of men now charging toward Steve.

“What the hell is going on, Betty?” he asked as he saw the blood coming out of her shoulder.

“Hydra,” she told him, hissing in pain as he scooped her up and began carrying her toward safety.

“How do you know about Hydra?”

“My name is Peggy Carter,” she explained, returning to her natural dialect. “I’m with the Strategic Scientific Reserve. I was sent to protect you.”

“What?” he asked tightly, his eyes rife with hurt and betrayal.

The pain in her shoulder was now rivalled by the ache she felt in her heart.

“Steve, I-”

The sound of a gunshot behind them brought Peggy back to reality.

“Look,” she told Steve. “I know this is confusing and you’re unhappy with me right now, but we need to get out of here.”

“I can’t just leave everyone else,” he said defiantly his eyes flicking around the half-empty auditorium as everyone scrambled to get out of harm’s way.

“They’re after you. The best chance we can give them is by leading you away from here,” she reasoned, growing increasingly frustrated with him.

“Fine,” he agreed. “But you owe me an explanation.”

“If we live, I’ll tell you anything you like,” she agreed.

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

Little Surprises

Your husband Calum takes your daughter Lucy to pick out a puppy to foster, but things don’t go as planned.

This is pretty fluffy and there’s no smut (who am I???)

CW: strong language, mentions of depression, anxiety, alcohol, and pregnancy

"Hurry Daddy, hurry up before they close," Lucy, your four-year-old daughter, impatient as always, yelled from the back seat of Calum's Rover. 

"Just a second sweetpea, we have plenty of time," he replied over his shoulder as he walked with you back to the front door. You'd finally given in to Lucy's pleas to foster a dog during the lock down. Your daughter was intelligent, sociable, and bored out of her mind these past couple weeks. Her favorite, Uncle Michael, was helping to keep her occupied by playing animal crossing with her every day, but you limited her game time to one hour in the afternoon. So to help keep her occupied he showed her videos of the puppy they were fostering while stuck in the house. Once the idea was in her head there was no getting it out, and it didn't help that Calum thought it would teach her responsibility. With the two of them against you it was a miracle you held out a whole week.

 You hadn't been feeling well these past couple weeks and the idea of a puppy underfoot and needing taken care of was not something that appealed to you. Your husband managed to convince you by taking wonderful care of both his girls while you were all home together. He'd made up a schedule for Lucy that kept her out of your way so you could work until lunchtime when you traded off so he could promo his latest album. You'd started doing stretching and yoga together as a family before dinner for about a week now, and you could tell it was starting to pay off. Calum being home with nothing to do meant he'd been all over you every night and morning, and occasionally during nap time. You were loving it, but your back and hips were killing you. Still it was better than the first lockdown in 2020 when you hadn't been able to see each other for three months. He'd whisked you away to a beach cottage for a romantic weekend, and nine months later your daughter was born. 

 When the weather was nice they played in the backyard. Lucy adored her father, and anything did, she had to do.  She wanted to play soccer so Calum practiced with her running drills in the backyard and polishing up his own skills in the process. It was hard to concentrate on your laptop, and you caught yourself watching them instead of working. Part of you still marveled that this was your life, your family, and your husband. 

Had it really been just six years since the first night you'd met in a bar after a concert you'd both attended? You'd been so drunk you'd gasped and told him he looked just like "Calum Hood, the sexist fucking bass player in the world." Cal found that hilarious, but your boyfriend at the time very much did not. This led to a screaming match outside the club where he called you every name in the book and left you crying on the curb before taking a very expensive two-hour taxi ride home. In his anger he forgot you'd reserved a hotel room to avoid the drive after the show. You remembered the hotel but couldn't remember how to get there which made you cry harder.

Right then Calum came out for a smoke and found you a weepy, sloppy mess. After he'd calmed you down, he insisted on walking you back to your hotel. You thought it was right around the corner, but you got turned around and Calum ended up walking with you for almost thirty minutes before you found it. He insisted on having a female employee walk with y'all to your room before giving you a goodnight hug.

The next morning you'd been awoken by a pounding headache. You quickly downed three glasses of water and sat in the shower until the hot water ran out trying to piece together the previous night. You were convinced the handsome man was a figment of your imagination until you saw Calum Hood followed you on Instagram and Twitter. Opening your phone you found a new number saved as "The Real Calum Hood." 

You'd convinced yourself, after much yelling and multiple threats from your best friends, to take a once in a lifetime chance and go on a date with a bonafide rock star. You were convinced it would never work, but once Calum had his heart set, you never stood a chance.  You loved that man with a ferocity you hadn't known possible, and trusted him with your life, but if you ended up being the only one to clean up after this dog you were gonna kill him. 

*******

As Calum pulled out of the driveway he felt a twinge of guilt, he had every intention of getting you to change your mind about "fostering" a dog. He missed having a dog, Lucy was old enough, and it would teach her responsibility. He and Lucy had spent the past week getting ready for the puppy. They'd stocked up on supplies, watched videos about dog training

Growing up being shuffled between households, and always taking care of your siblings, you were never allowed to keep a pet. And while you craved the stability you found with Calum, Lucy and his family, you also panicked at the idea of being tied down. Two years ago, when you'd first married and bought this house, it took you several months to trust yourself to really decorate and make it your own. 

He smiled back at Lucy singing, "How Far I'll Go" at the top of her voice. You'd been hesitant to let her watch Disney movies, not wanting her to admire the pretty princess stereotype. Moana won you over, and your lock screen was still a picture of her and Calum as Moana and Maui for her very first trick or treat last fall. He loved you for giving him the greatest gift anyone could give. Even though Lucy was the spitting image of her aunt Mali the cleverness and quick wit that kept him on his toes was all you. 

This was a special trip so Lucy made sure to dress accordingly. She was going to wear her prettiest dress, but Calum had reminded her about how the dogs' paws could be dirty and scratch through the delicate fabric. After considering that she picked out her black and yellow Pokemon overalls paired with her child-size Doc Marten's, black like her dad's but with little multi-colored hearts. You'd pulled her dark curls into pigtails fastened with Pikachu hair bows. 

She was bouncing in her car seat as they pulled into the shelter.

"Puppy, puppy, puppy," she chanted as she unbuckled herself and he lifted her out of the car.

"Lucy Koa Hood if you take one more step away from this car," Calum warned his daughter, stopping her dead in her tracks before she bolted for the door. She looked up at him with those huge brown eyes, so much like his own, and grabbed his hand. She skipped towards the entrance pulling him along behind her.  

He'd already sent  the application and made an appointment so an employee was waiting to talk them back right away.

The sound and smell of dogs pricked at Calum's senses as they walked back towards the kennels. Lucy squeezed his hand tightly and he could feel a slight tremble. 

"Are you ok Lulu?" He was worried it was overwhelming for her and bent down to pick her up. 

She took a deep breath, puffed out her chest and looked him in the eye, and nodded. 

"I can walk Daddy. I'm a big girl," she told him, still clutching his hand. 

"Ok sweetpea, but if it gets too much let me know ok?" He reassured her, rubbing his thumb along the back of her tiny hand. 

Calum clicked a picture of Lucy's face as they brought in the puppy.  She had the biggest smile and her dark eyes were shining. She was so excited and was squirming and bouncing in her seat next to him. Cal stopped them from handing her the puppy until she could hold still. 

The puppy started wiggling as soon as they put him in Lucy's lap and began climbing up her chest, and licking her face. At first she giggled but she quickly got uncomfortable. She wanted to sit and pet him quietly. The little guy was energetic, rambunctious, in her face, and Calum could tell she didn't like it one bit. He scooped the pup out of her lap cradling it in his hands, gently holding him back so Lucy could reach in and pet him. The puppy let her pat his head a couple times before starting to gnaw on her fingers. 

Lucy snatched her hand back, crying out with surprise. Calum tried to explain to her that puppies were baby dogs and like babies they chewed on things and wiggled a lot, but Lucy outright refused to touch it again.

"No thank you, Daddy, I don't think that's the right one," she told him, crossing her arms across her chest. 

He handed the puppy back to the employee and asked to see the next one. Lucy's excitement had dimmed but it was still there when the employee brought back a pretty gold and white pup. He took her first, but this one was even more rowdy than the last one. Lucy clapped her hands and giggled watching the little gal attack Calum with much ferocity if very little coordination, but she refused to even try to pet it. 

"No thank you, I'll pass," Lucy politely declined and Calum was starting to wonder if they were going to leave with a dog after all.

"Ok we'll try one more," the employee told them smiling at Lucy who nodded and smiled back. 

"We don't have to get one today Lulu, it's ok to keep looking for a while," he reminded her.

"We just have to be patient, everything will work out," she tried to reassure him, speaking gently and patting his arm.

"Wonder where you got that from?" Calum snickered at your all too familiar phrase. 

The employee brought the final puppy in, and Calum felt hopeful when he saw the little fella was sleepy and not hyped up. Lucy was beaming and let them set the puppy in her lap. 

"Easy, easy" she whispered to herself and she stroked the brown and white fur. "See it's not so bad." She grinned at Calum looking both thrilled and relieved, but then her face twisted into a horrified look of shock. He was confused until the next second when she picked the puppy, still peeing, out of her lap holding it over the floor. 

The shelter worker grabbed the puppy, as Lucy burst into tears. Calum slid next to his daughter, putting his arm around her and curling her into his side. He kissed the top of her head over and over, rubbing her back, and murmuring "it's ok baby, it's ok," until she caught her breath again. 

They returned with a towel and helped get her dried off as best they could. Calum decided to call it a day and Lucy started sniffling all over again. He knelt down so he could talk to his daughter face to face.

"Don't cry sweetpea," he brushed the tears off her cheeks. "It just wasn't meant to be today, but they have our application on file. We'll make another appointment and come back. At least now we know a puppy might not be the best idea and we'll see what other options we have ok. Now if I know your mom she's got an outfit stashed for you in the car. We'll get you changed and go get ice cream ok?" 

She stood up still hiccuping and wiping her face. Calum went to pick her up but she shook her head and backed away. 

"No Daddy, I'm not scared, I'm just upset," she protested, still sniffling but fighting it back. " I wanna see the dogs when we leave." 

"Can we leave through the kennels?" Calum asked.

"Of course," the employee smiled down at Lucy. "I've got some stickers for you up front too. Just follow me." 

They led the back through a hallway and a set of double doors. The dogs went nuts when they saw them and Lucy stood back for a second. The shelter worker started to ask if she was ok but Calum held his hand up, motioning for them to wait. He watched his daughter squeeze her eyes shut and ball up her fists while taking deep breaths. Her lips were moving and he eased closer to hear what she was saying. 

"You're a big girl. You are smart. You are brave. You can do this." Lucy was repeating the words he'd heard your say to their daughter whenever her courage faltered. He felt a lump in his throat watching his little girl finding the inner strength you'd given her starting the day she took her first breath. 

She stuck her chin out and grabbed his hand, keeping close by his side as they walked. She gave a little wave as they passed the kennels.

"Bye doggies, bye doggies," she called out softly, her normal exuberance and energy tempered by the day's unfortunate events. Calum kept her hand in his as he chatted with the shelter employee. They told him they were a big fan of the band and played guitar from time to time. Cal started to offer to take a pic when he felt Lucy tugging at his hand. 

"C'mon sweetpea, we gotta get you changed. We'll come back another day," he told her. 

"Daddy wait a minute, I wanna see something," she pulled harder trying to get away.

"Next time Lulu, next time, I think you've had enough today," he pulled her along and she stumbled a bit making him stop. 

"My shoes need tied," she told him and he let go of her hand, ready to bend down to fix it.

Lucy turned on her heel and took off back towards the kennels. Doc Marten's don't make the best running shoes, but Calum was wearing his too. Not only that, she caught him off guard so she had already tumbled to a stop by the time he caught up. He saw her fall and was worried she hurt herself. He stopped when he saw her on her knees scooting towards one of the cages.

"Hi there, don't be scared" her voice was soft and soothing. Calum scanned the cage, finally spotting a small dog huddled in the corner. Golden colored fur shot through with silver and black with a pair of light blue eyes peering at their little group. 

"I'm Lucy, what's your name? Come say hi, I'm not scary like these big dogs," Lucy pat the top of her thighs trying to coax the dog over. 

"His name is Astro," Calum read the sign for her.

"And he's four years old, like me," Lucy told him pointing at the number above her head.

"No sweetpea, that's the cage number," Calum explained but the shelter employee broke in

"Actually Astro is four like you, but he's very shy and doesn't like most people," they informed her. 

"What's his story? What breed is that?" Calling was curious. Astro had at least turned to face them, ears forward listening to them. 

"Astro, Astro," Lucy called him. "Come here pretty boy." She tried whistling but she couldn't do it so she ended up spitting on herself.

"So Astro is 4, and there's definitely some corgi because he's got short little legs. Other than that our best guess is Australian Shepherd? His owner passed away maybe five, six months ago. Her daughter owns cats and the dog isn't very social so he ended up here. He's quiet so he rarely gets noticed," they quietly filled Calum in.

"Good with kids?" He asked.

"No clue, he keeps to himself and doesn't really deal with people." They shrugged, not knowing what to say. 

They stopped at the sound of a whimper. Astro was belly crawling incredibly slowly towards Lucy who hadn't stopped talking. 

"Come on Astro, come on. You can sleep in my room and we can be best friends. I have a best friend Sam but she's at school. Be my friend Astro pleeeaaasseee. I'm four just like you. We're not babies like puppies or my uncle Ashton has a baby, her name is Lauren. She's little so we can't play with her yet, but her sister Annie is four like us, and Kat is three. I forgot," her little hands fluttered with excitement. "Oh Astro, listen listen, Uncle Michael will let us come over. We can go in the pool, and he has dogs that will be your friend too. And I have the best mommy and daddy. Mommy is so pretty. She dances with me and says I am brave. I am smart. You need to be brave too Astro."

By now the dog was closer, almost in reach. Astro's eyes were fixed on Lucy, listening intently. Calum squatted down next to his daughter. "Lulu are you sure?" 

Lucy nodded rapidly, her pigtails bouncing as she answered. "Completely sure Daddy. He's lonely, I need to be his friend." 

Calum laughed, but it died when he looked down and saw the sadness and hope in the dog's eyes. "Poor little guy," Calum thought. "He doesn't know what's happening, just that he's been abandoned." 

 "Can we take him? Instead of a puppy?" He asked. 

"Please, please, please?" Lucy scrambled to her feet, bouncing on her toes, and her dark eyes pleading with them. 

"Of course, I just gotta get some paperwork. Come with me to the front and I'll get that taken care of," they started to lead Calum away but Lucy held back.

"I gotta go up front for the paper works, but you're coming home with us Astro," Lucy told him.

She turned and started to follow them, and Astro let out a long mournful whine. She turned around and went back.

"It's ok, I'll be right here. I won't leave you," Lucy blew him a kiss and ran back to her dad. 

They got up to the front and Calum told the employee they had to step outside for a moment.

"Daddy no, we can't leave," Lucy started to cry again. "We gotta get Astro."

"We will Lulu, but if I don't get you changed your mother will have my neck. I don't need mama mad at me," Calum told her. 

Lucy accepted that and didn't protest farther. You always packed a "car bag" whenever Lucy went anywhere in case of emergencies. Sure enough, tucked under the wet wipes, hair ties, and first aid kit was a change of clothes including socks and underwear. Fortunately it hadn't soaked through, so Calum took her shoes off and quickly changed her in the back of the Rover to leggings and a tunic.  

"He's gonna think we left him," she was pulling at him as they walked back in. 

They'd just walked through the door and they could hear Astro's whimpering as they were bringing him out. Calum whipped out his camera just in time to record Lucy's reaction when the dog came out, but it was Astro's expression of joy that touched him most. Lucy knelt down and Astro shuffled up to her, still a little skittish. She was patient, patting her thighs and calling softly to him until he finally came in close and rested his snout on her shoulder giving her a small lick on her ear. Lucy giggled and wrapped her arms around him. Calum took a picture and sent it to you as a heads up with the caption.

Lucy and Astro ❤️ I'll explain when I get home. I love you

Astro? I thought we were fostering a puppy. How can I say no now? We'll have this conversation later after Lucy goes to bed. I love you

*******

You rubbed your temples and sighed, hating yourself for being so irritated. You weren't feeling well and had a lot on your mind. You needed to have a conversation with your husband, but that would have to wait. 

You were in the kitchen checking on dinner when you heard the car pulling into the driveway. You made it to the door and were greeted by your daughter's excited chatter. Calum came around with Lucy, in different clothes then she's left in, dancing backward trying to control herself. You caught sight of Astro, a beautiful dog but seemed timid. He was watching Lucy's every move. Calum smiled at you and mouthed "are you ok?" You nodded and smiled back, not wanting him to worry.  

Astro wouldn't come near you, and ducked away when you reached out for him. He trailed behind Lucy as she introduced him to the house. 

"Hey you," Calum murmured in your ear, coming up behind you. You leaned back into his embrace, feeling your mind and body relax in a way only Calum could bring out. "I have to do some laundry. Why don't you go rest up and let me watch over the kid." 

"Sweetheart I'm fine, I've got a veggie lasagna in the oven. I've just been tired, but we can talk about that later. What happened at the shelter? I notice she changed clothes," you turned around, gazing up at your husband. You never got tired of looking at his face, still amazed you were lucky enough to love him. 

"One of the puppies peed on her. It was a disaster, and I really thought we were coming home empty-handed." 

"So how did we end up with Astro?" You reached up and booped his nose.

Calum grinned and wrinkled his nose in response," you always do that." 

"Your nose is always cute." 

"We were leaving through the kennels, and she was pretty freaked out. She had to psych herself up saying, I am smart, I am brave. I swear you're such a great mom. I'm so glad I knocked you up," he told you, landing a kiss on your lips. "As we were leaving she stopped, and even tricked me by telling me her shoes were untied. She took off and found this small creature that needed her to be his friend. The shelter employee said Astro ignored pretty much everyone until Lucy came along. She was so patient, I was really surprised, but she waited for him to come to her. She kept telling him she wanted to be his friend. It was the cutest thing."

"What no video?" 

"Of course, but Lucy has been a bit too quiet. Let's go see what she's up to," he kissed you again, reluctant to let go. "Are you sure you're ok?" 

"Yes, Cal," you replied as you stepped back and took his hand. 

You found Lucy in her playroom introducing Astro to her toys, bringing each one out and letting him sniff it before putting it back. 

Later at dinner Lucy chattered away in her booster seat while Astro laid by her chair. He finally let you pet him in return for some wet dog food. He seemed to be adjusting pretty well for the first night until it was time for bed. He whimpered and whined when Calum put him in his crate. Lucy, overtired and cranky, began sobbing inconsolably. You were tempted to not give in, but Calum compromised by letting Lucy "camp out." They pulled out Lucy's sleeping bag so she could sleep in her playroom with the crate. 

"We'll figure it out tomorrow, my love," Calum assured you. He got them settled in and Astro quieted down once Lucy laid down. You stood in the doorway watching him tuck your daughter in and sing her to sleep. In no time she was out like a light, and Cal turned his attention to you. 

"It's been a long day," he kissed you and pulled you back towards the living room. "Let me make you a drink and give you a backrub," He gave you a wink and a wicked smile as his hand slid down to your ass. 

"Would you make me a cup of tea, and then we can talk back rub. Although it always ends up going further than that." You laugh at the smirk he gives you in response. 

"You're the one who starts it," he reminded her.

"Not fair," you protest. "You're such a tease." 

"Me, I'm completely innocent," Calum protested.

"You are not, but you're very handsome so I'll let it slide." You sat on the couch and the anxiety came creeping back. 

Calum brought your tea, a bag of cookies, and settled in next to you. He pulled you in close to his side, wrapping his arm around you, and throwing your legs over his so you were sitting at an angle that he could see your face.

"Now will you please tell me what's going on? You've been stressing for days, and you won't tell me what's going on. Please don't shut me out. If you're having a rough time, just tell me. We can work through anything, but I don't want it to get bad like last time." You'd always struggled with depression, and you'd had a terrible time after Lucy was born. His thumb stroked the back of your hand as he spoke, and you saw the worry in his eyes and felt terribly guilty. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry," you began, but Calum cut you off.

"Don't apologize, my love, just talk to me," Calum took your hand and raised it to his mouth for a kiss.

"Ok, I know this isn't the best timing. You're going on tour and Lucy starts kindergarten in the fall. Do you remember Luke's pool party?"

"The madness of all the kids together. Luke almost setting the grill on fire. You in that blue swimsuit." Calum's voice dropped to a growl as his hand slid up your thigh. 

"Don't you start, that's how I got in this predicament," you warned him.

"I don't start anything, but I finish it.  Don't think I won't take you right here in the living-" Calum stopped, his eyes going wide as he looked at you.

He looked at the mug of tea steaming on the coffee table then back at your face. His hand moved from your legs to your waist, resting on your belly.

"You're pregnant?" 

You nodded. "Like I said I'm sorry the timing isn't ideal but-." Your words were smothered in a kiss as Calum pulled you onto his lap. 

"Are you sure? Did you take a test?" 

"While you guys were gone. I've suspected it for about a week now, but I needed a test." 

"Can I see it?" 

"It's in my purse." 

Calum grabbed your bag and was back by your side instantly. He watched as you pulled out a plastic baggie work the test in it. He saw the two blue lines right away, and he started to cry. You panicked, thinking for a second he was upset with you, but when he looked up at you, you'd never seen him look happier. 

"Come here you," he pulled you onto him so you were straddling him on the couch, sitting face to face. "Forget about the timing, we've never done anything at the right time." He cupped your face in his hands, brushing his fingers along your jawline and cheeks. "None of that matters because it's you and I, and together we can get through anything. I love you so much. You're the best mom. I can't believe we're gonna have another little one," he gave you a kiss, and then another.  "I can never thank you enough for everything you've given me and how happy you make me every day." He wiped his eyes but the tears wouldn't stop. 

"Why are you crying? Are you going soft on me Hood?" You asked, but you were laughing and crying along with him.

He pushed himself off the couch, lifting you up with him in one fluid motion. 

"Feel those muscles baby? Definitely not soft," Calum growled in your ear as he carried you down the hall. 

"What are you doing?" You asked as he stopped so y'all could peek in on Lucy and Astro.

"I'm about to show my beautiful wife how much I love her. Especially now that I don't have to worry about getting you pregnant."

@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @sexgodashton @maluminspace @wildmichaelflower @ghostofmashton @sublimehood @tea4sykes @h0tsos @goth5sos @5-secondsofcolor @toofadedtofight @calteahood @noshamenion @irwinkitten @mermaidcashton @cherrycolamike​

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: talk about body image/dysmorphia, past ED’s, veganism (idk if that’s a warning???)

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This is...very self-indulgent. But oh well. A continuation of the Agent 14 series, in which Steve finds another diet he wants to try and he needs some help getting started. As always, let me know what you think! 

Sam finds him one afternoon, staring into the glow of the open fridge, in full superhero stance with his feet planted wide. Nothing abnormal about super soldiers looking for a snack; those boys can really put it away. But this one looks like he’s conducting an interview with the refrigerator contents - in his hand is a small notepad, a worn down pencil stub poised over it, and Sam can see little scribbles and tally marks covering the page.

“Uh…Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve doesn’t turn around, but Sam can see his deep-set frown in profile, harsh refrigerator light illuminating his lowered brows.

“What’re you doing, man?” Sam takes a couple steps closer and peers around those massive shoulders into the offending appliance. “That your grocery list?”

Steve finally looks up, blinking. Absently, he taps the end of his pencil against his chin.

“No, not a grocery list,” he frowns. “I’m just…taking stock, I guess.”

“We do inventory of the fridge now?” Sam sidesteps him, reaching for the orange juice. He still drinks straight from the carton and Barnes can just kiss his sweet ass.

Steve ignores him, sparing only an eye roll in response.

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, in a way only Steve Rogers can sigh about groceries. “Just got an idea, that’s all.”

Sam sips his orange juice as he watches him leave the room, more worried by that phrase than anything else Steve could’ve said.

**********

“I’m sorry - you want us to what?”

Steve crosses his arms and gives Clint his most authoritative frown.

“I’d like us to try a plant-based diet,” he repeats, looking at the faces scattered around the common room. This little “family meeting” didn’t warrant using the conference rooms on the upper floors; he had let everyone get cozy after dinner, helped dig through the couch cushions for the remote, and then made his little announcement.

“That means vegan, right?” Natasha says from her armchair, eyes on her phone in her lap. She’d started googling as soon as he proposed this little challenge.

“Woah, woah - hold up,” Sam raises a hand, sitting forward on the couch. “I know you’re not asking me to quit eating meat, Rogers.”

“And dairy,” Steve confirms.

“Eggs, too,” Wanda adds helpfully.

“No meat?” 41’s fingers curl into her baggy bacon-print PJ pants. Her lower lip wobbles. “No-no ice cream?” She looks to Clint, who immediately folds his hand over hers.

“There are plenty of plant-based alternatives-” Steve starts, his tone soothing.

“Is this because of that documentary you watched?” Bucky grumbles. He’s leaning on the back of the couch, eyes narrowed at his long-time friend. “What was the name…the one about the athletes who don’t eat meat…”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steve glares back at him. “There’s plenty of evidence to suggest it gives them an edge in athletic performance, so why not-”

“Oh my god, Steve, we’re literally a team of superheroes,” Sam groans. “Earth’s mightiest heroes, and all that jazz. We’re already mighty! We don’t need this! I don’t need this!”

“That so?” Steve raises an eyebrow. One hand digging into his pocket, he produces the little notebook he was scribbling in a couple days before. “I’ve been making some notes-”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Clint mutters.

“In our fridge, the percentage of animal products is a little over 60% - that’s crazy high, guys.” Steve licks his lips, glancing at the skeptical faces around the room as he flips a page in his notebook. “Not only that, but as a whole, our consumption of takeout and highly processed foods has really gone up lately; the team ate a total of 23 meals from fast food restaurants in the last 2 weeks.”

“You’re monitoring our food, Rogers?” Natasha is looking at him now, though he almost wishes she weren’t. Her undivided attention is not for the faint of heart. Steve musters himself and pushes ahead.

“Look - let’s just try it, give it our best shot and then, in a month-”

“A month?” 41 cries, clutching Clint’s hand. “A whole month? But…but what about Bite?”

Oh. He’d forgotten. Sam and 41’s cherished food festival, held every July - a whole park full of food trucks, unlimited samples, live music. One of their photos from last year’s Bite was proudly displayed on the door of the fridge: 41 and Sam each chowing down on a massive bacon cheeseburger - a cheeseburger with Krispy Kreme donuts as the buns.

“Well…” he hesitates

“No. Uh-uh. No way.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and sinks back into the couch cushions. “There is no way you’re making us miss the best event of the year for another one of your health kicks.”

“Sam-”

“Besides! You and Tin Man can eat as much pizza as you want and still outrun a car,” Sam huffs.   “No reason to make the rest of us suffer through another one of your diets. Not to mention that I’m not interested in just eating salad and broccoli…that’s depressing.”

Shoulders falling, Steve sighs and drops his notebook in his lap.

“Okay, well. Sam has spoken,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”

“Mm, I’m with Sam on this one,” Bucky shrugs, unbothered by Steve’s answering look of betrayal. “Sorry, pal, I guess I just don’t see the point…and besides, we had to go hungry for half our childhood. I’m not gonna live on rations now.”

Steve folds his hands in his lap, staring down at his knuckles with what looks for all the world like a pout. Maybe he should’ve made the team watch the documentary first…that would’ve gotten them excited. Hell, even he was inspired - after all, if a non-enhanced guy could train to carry over a thousand pounds, surely there was some kind of benefit to this lifestyle.

“Alright, how about this,” he pulls his last card, his last idea. “If I can make a meal that will convince you vegan food is actually good, would you agree to try it for a little while?”

Sam and 41 turn towards each other; he raises an eyebrow, she responds with a shrug.

“We can accept these terms,” Sam agrees. “But you’re really gonna have to wow us.”

“Yeah,” 41 nods, settling in next to Clint. “Bring out the big guns.”

From his place behind the couch, Bucky’s shoulders quake with silent laughter.

“You really played yourself on this one, pal,” he chuckles, shaking his head. Reaching across the cushions, he gives 41 a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, squirt. Your ice cream isn’t going anywhere - I’ve known Steve for a long, long time…” He smirks at a now exasperated Steve.

“…and Steve Rogers can’t cook for shit.”

**********

Steve Rogers, in fact, cannot cook for shit. But he’ll be damned if that will stop him from trying.

He’s swiping through recipes and grocery lists on his Stark pad, wondering if baking his own bread would be as easy as it seemed, when the text comes through.

Hey soldier. I heard you were going on a diet. That true?

Steve snorts and chews his lip, thumbs hovering as he thinks over his reply.

Yeah, it’s about time I got in better shape.

Feeling a bit silly, he watches the little dots in the text bubble as she types back a reply, and tries not to feel too pleased with himself at the cluster of laughing emojis she sent.

Well, listen. I’ve been vegan for a while, actually, so if you need any help I’m here!

An eager leap in his heart, and his thumbs fly over the keyboard once more.

Oh, really? In that case…I’m not sure if I can really handle cooking by myself. I have a terrible track record in the kitchen.

Another laughing emoji. They didn’t teach you that in the army?

Shockingly no.

Someone (Wanda? Peter?) may have told him something about double texting, but he can’t help himself as he quickly follows up his text with another.

Anyways, I’m desperate. And the team is desperate for me to not burn down the tower, haha. Can you help a guy out?

Waiting for a reply, his knee bounces under his desk and he clicks the pen in his hand over and over, hardly hearing the annoying little noise as his thumb reflexively twitches on the button. When her response buzzes on his screen, he almost flinches.

Tell you what. Today is my day off, and I needed groceries anyway. Trader Joe’s in an hour?

**********                                                                                                   

“What on earth are those?” Steve stares incredulously at the basket. “And why are they…not orange?”

“They’re called Hawaiian sweet potatoes and they just grow that way,” 14 laughs as she reaches for a display of squash next to the potatoes.

“That’s not a sweet potato - I know what a sweet potato looks like,” Steve says, obstinate brows crowding together. Shaking her head, 14 just turns away from the squash towards the avocados on the opposite side of the produce aisle.

“Oh boy, you’re gonna learn a lot being vegan…” she sighs. She squeezes a couple of avocados, testing ripeness and feeling the size before she chooses two and adds them to one of her produce bags. With a satisfied nod, she settles her hands on her hips. “Okay, next on the list: tahini.”

Looking at the cart, Steve can’t tell what his dinner is going to be.

“Tahini? What are we gonna do with that?” He wonders what it is, too, but doesn’t ask.

“Eat it, Rogers.” Smirking over her shoulder, she grabs the front of the cart and pulls him along towards the condiments aisle. “What on earth would you do without me?”

“Die a carnivore, I guess,” he shrugs.

“Hm. Tragic.”

 **********                                                                                                  

“It’s practically foolproof - all you have to do is cook this, roast the sweet potatoes, and then we’re gonna throw it all in together.”

“Never underestimate my ability to totally ruin a meal.” Steve says, stirring the quinoa. An adorable scrunch wrinkles his nose as he turns to where she’s dicing the avocados. “Ask Bucky. Even army rations taste better than my cooking.”

“You must be very confident in yourself to admit that,” she smiles back. Cheeks warm, he turns back to the pan with a shrug.

Silence stretches between them for a few moments, the quiet of shared work - from the other room, they can hear the TV playing, occasional laughs from Sam and 41 as they catch up on episodes of Brooklyn 99. Outside the windows, the summer sun sinks steadily lower, golden hour glow illuminating the skyline and filtering into the kitchen. She’s barefooted, chipped blue polish on her toes, and her feet pad lightly across the tile floor as she moves her bowl of avocado chunks over to the island. The little sound makes his heart hungry.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How long have you been, uh, plant-based?”

“Hmm. I guess about 6 months or so?” She taps her fingers absently against the marble countertop as she thinks. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Wow. Why did you start?”

“Someone dared me,” she winks at him. “No, but really. A friend challenged me to do it with her for a month…and then I realized I felt great and didn’t miss the animal products so much.” She shrugs. “I had more energy, I felt stronger, my skin looked amazing - trust me, after a week, you’ll practically be glowing.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a melodramatic flair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, a playful smile dimpling her cheeks.

He laughs with her, shaking his head. “Oh, thank god. My skin is a nightmare.” His sarcasm sparks her laugh again, and it inflates his chest even more. He feels light, easy, weightless as the dust motes floating through a sunbeam between them.

Her giggles die down when her phone timer buzzes, signaling her to check the roasting potatoes in the oven. Sidestepping him, she leans down carefully in front of the open door, waves of heat assaulting them both as she pokes and prods the vegetables with a spatula. “Perfect,” she closes the oven door with a satisfied nod. “Just a few more minutes. And it looks like that’s almost done, too.” She gestures to his pan and hands him a lid to cover it. “You can go ahead and turn the burner off - the water has cooked out, so we’ll just need to let it sit.”

With the rest of their ingredients prepped and waiting in a neat row on the island, they slide onto a pair of barstools as 14 sets another short timer on her phone. Steve takes a sip from his beer, leaning an elbow on the counter as he turns to face her.

“Have you always liked to cook?” he asks. In his mind, there are a million questions - they roll over each other, constantly trying to push their way out of his mouth, his overwhelming curiosity wishing he could crack open her shell through sheer force of will. Instead, he drums his fingers against the counter, picks at the label on his beer bottle, scratches his beard, and waits for her to speak.

“Oh, no, not at all,” she laughs at the question. She’s not facing him, but she smiles, fingers lightly tracing the stem of her wine glass. “Actually I used to hate it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Surprised?”

Steve is surprised - her kitchen confidence certainly impressed him. Not once has she consulted a recipe, or googled how long to roast potatoes in the oven, how to make lemon tahini sauce. Things that would’ve left him completely stumped and likely going hungry.

“A little. You really seem to know your way around a kitchen, that’s all.”

“Well…” she takes a deep breath, and he can see the shape of it forming in her mind: whatever it is she’s about to tell him, whatever she’s preparing to say - it matters. With a fortifying gulp of wine, she knots her fingers together and forges ahead. “I used to have a lot of…um, body image issues, you know? Super critical of myself, low self esteem…it got pretty bad for a while.” She doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to know and how could she even begin to tell it? Too many cups of coffee and too few meals, the feeling of a toothbrush in the back of her throat. It hurts her now, the memory of that girl who thought that making herself less would somehow make her enough. She reaches for the wine again. Steve stays quiet, his eyes watchful and soft. It hurts him, too.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” Glancing at him, she licks her bottom lip, before turning her eyes back down to her hands. “Anyway - cooking helped me learn how to actually take care of myself.” A half-hearted little shrug, a self-conscious smile. “That’s really all there is to it.”

He nods, holding her gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between her own. Her shoulders curl where she sits a little hunched at the stool, bare feet tucked up on a bar that ran between the legs of the stool, one knee bouncing rapidly. A minute ticks by, then two, the kitchen gone quiet and warm, hazy with the smell of a good meal.

“You know, a long time ago, before I was…this-” He gestures to himself, his big shoulders and tree trunk thighs, the massive everything of him. “- before the serum, well, I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures. Or a documentary,” he smirks, a little rueful. “I was less than half the size I am now - short, skinny, no matter how much I ate my ribs stuck out. Buck used to try to help me train, doing pushups or learning how to box, but I was still so weak. A strong breeze could’ve knocked me over, probably - plus, I had asthma, and I was always getting sick with one thing or another…honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t die before the army got me.”

It coaxes a mirroring smile from her, one elbow propped on the island. She shuffles on top of the stool, turning to face him fully.

“I thought…I don’t know, I thought I’d feel…different. Better, once I was stronger.” He shakes his head, chuckling at himself. “But it was more like…I was just in the wrong body. I kept bumping into things, hitting my head on doorframes; I took up more space than I thought I should.” Letting go of his beer, he spreads his hands in front of him, turning them over alternately and staring at the broad palms, the strong fingers, crisscrossed with veins and scars. “Drove myself crazy trying to sketch. I kept breaking my charcoal, snapping pencils…it was like trying to draw with another person’s hands.”

“Did you get used to it?” she asks. The hand not occupied with her wine glass reaches out to gently take hold of his wrist. A delicate thumb drags across his pulse, and she looks down at the lines of his palms, still uncalloused and pink. Her hand cradles his large one as she brings her eyes up to his own.

“More or less,” he shrugs. “Sometimes I still pass a mirror and do a double take.” More often than he would admit, in fact. He thinks of all the mornings he comes home from a brutal run - double marathons, barely sweating - and sees himself getting into his shower, a god he doesn’t recognize staring back at him.

She nods. She understands.

“Taking care of yourself helps. I think - it never quite goes away, but…” her smile is sweet. Hopeful. “The little things. They help.”

Turning his wrist, he grasps her hand with his own. Her skin is soft and warm; smaller fingers slide between his thick ones. Once, a long time ago, their hands would have been the same size.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, her phone buzzes, vibrating against the counter and startling them both. As she withdraws her hand, she grins up at him.

“You hungry, Rogers?”

“Starving.”

**********

They take their bowls into the living room, joining Sam and 41 on the couch. Steve does his best with the chopsticks at first, but he still hasn’t gotten used to it. In the name of efficiency, he switches to a fork so that he can shovel the food into his mouth faster.

“Woah - what is that?” Sam leans over to get a better look. He sniffs the air. “Damn, it smells amazing.”

“It’s called a Buddha bowl,” 14 says, politely covering her mouth to conceal the sweet potatoes she’s still chewing. With her fork, she strategically arranges the next bite, collecting a little bit of everything: quinoa, potatoes, tahini sauce, avocado, greens. “Because it’s pure bliss,” she adds, before neatly shoving the next forkful into her mouth.

Steve hums in agreement, his own cheeks stuffed full. His bowl is half empty already. Peaking around 14’s shoulder, Agent 41 licks her lips and makes eye contact with Sam.

“I mean…maybe, we could try making some?” she shrugs her shoulders. “With a little Yum Yum sauce, too, I bet that would be good…” Sam is already nodding in agreement, pulling out his phone to look up a recipe.

“Don’t worry,” 14 smiles, patting her friend’s thigh. “I made plenty for everyone.”

As the other two scramble up from the couch and into the kitchen, she catches Steve’s eye and winks.