#everything smells amazing in the vials and I look forward to trying them on skin the next few days 💕

[facultyloungecosplay]

Not beating the “may have parasocial relationships with indie perfumers” rumors. (House: Hex Mundi)

#she sent me Oliver for free so I HAD to order some samples at the very least #everything smells amazing in the vials and I look forward to trying them on skin the next few days 💕 #indie perfume #perfumery #hex mundi #I myself am potent and unusual

[thisisthehardestthing]

Purple Pill - Shinso x fem!reader

18+, WAREHOUSE UNDERGOUND RAVE AU, DRUG USE

[edit:i am actually crying. thank you, Zo, @joyousandverywarlike​, for making me this amazing banner. it’s so beautiful and it’s exactly what I imagined his eyes to be like]

I should make a banner for this but I’m lazy and honestly, 420 subscribers snuck up faster than I expected (cough thanks @lady-bakuhoe​ and @animewh0re​)

WARNINGS: Hard drug use, unprotected sex, orgasm denial

Authors note: idk how many of you are in the underground techno scene like I am, but please, be safe. It’s easy to get sucked into this lifestyle. If you know anyone that has lost their way, or you feel like you are yourself, reach out to someone. As always, inspired by Myst Paris . They’ve always made me feel safe during these experiences. Here’s a spotify playlist if you want to listen while reading.

PURPLE PILL

You don’t like the colour purple. In fact, you absolutely despise it. You actively avoid it, yet you’re always surrounded by it.  You like red. You enjoy blue. But not together. You can’t escape it, especially tonight, with him around. So you try to forget, push everything out of your mind and focus on the present, it’s why you’re here, after all. You want to be numb, feel nothing and everything at once, so devoid of thought that your body can’t help but be overstimulated.

There’s no denying it, the way you feel the bass thumping through you, controlling the speed at which your heart beats. It’s fast, throttling your muscles as your feet step, hips sway. Your hands move up your thighs, pinching the hem of your skirt, always a skirt, pulling it up until it slips from your grasp. You trail your hands along your waist, tugging at your skin before you cross them, finding a place on either end of your clavicles, chest expanding and contracting as you writhe for the beat conductor. Your head swings side to side, predatory, searching, snakelike, before your fingers crawl up your neck and past your ears, in the air, flying. It’s so fucking good, and with your chin up, eyes closed, there’s no purple.

There’s a siren in the music, trickling in, winding up a build as you stare at the ceiling. It’s brutalistic, chipping cement, a few skylights missing glass, hinting at the late night and early morning. It’s a waning moon, no longer full but emptying out into something new, transformative. You moan, pure ecstasy drifting with the music to join the cacophony of smouldering bodies surrounding you. It’s sweaty and delicious. You feel an empty cup crush beneath your boot, and you realize you’re still on the ground, not weightless. So you pretend, hands reaching sideways and down, brushing against moist shoulders briefly. They swipe yours in return, acknowledgement of souls trying to soar, before you’re alone, hugging yourself with only the sound as a blanket. The beat drops and you’re back to stomping, feral movements.

You’re so lost that you don’t see it. Lavender flames part the sea of bodies stomping to the beat, as though burning them, changing to mist. A wildfire is heading straight for you. Damn purple.

“Funny seeing you here,” his voice is deeper than the bass of the music, vibrating through your skin and into your bones, boiling your marrow. It peels your eyes open, dragging you back to earth. The lights strobe, flashing into your dilated pupils. You’re electric, buzzed. He’s blocking the view of the DJ, of the crowd, your lifeline. Everything is in focus and moving.

“Your hair is alive, Shinso,” you mumble, staring at the mess of purple on his head. “It’s making me sick.” He chuckles as you grab a fistful, dragging him to slouch. It’s soft, how disgusting, so you’re rough.

“Oh, kitten, what low-grade shit have you already taken?” he asks, eyes lilac, pupils narrow, sober. Unfortunate but expected; he doesn’t use when he deals.

You shrug. It was half a pill hours ago, remnants from last week's reverie found in your earplug holder. It’s four in the morning, but the night has just started. The bass flips, a new beat lifting the melody and you bounce, still fisting his hair. He grimaces, prying your grip from his locks to hold your palm, unburnt even though you’d just touched fire. His fingers massage and knead the flesh as you sway. The lights flash. Red, blue, red, blue, fucking purple, so your eyes shut, pulling his lithe body against yours, fingers dancing under his shirt and up his spine. He chuckles.

He smells like lavender and spice, and you wince, face contorting in pain at how it stabs your lungs, cutting through the fog of your fading high, unwanted purple. Still, you press him closer, needing touch, forehead rolling between the dip of his pectorals, before your lips rest on his shoulders, almost biting, looking past and pining for the DJ. He’s a deity controlling the bodies of everyone in the warehouse, yet you feel cut off, held captive by the man wrapped around you, a prisoner, safeguarded. You feel Shinso sigh, his breath cool against your sweating neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper into his field of flowers, you inhale poison.

“Want something a bit stronger, kitty?” he’s husky, like leaves rustling in autumn, auburn against a periwinkle sky. He knows you’re not where you want to be. He’ll help you get there.

“Mmmm,” you hum in response, the hands on his back pawing and pressing the fabric of his shirt. It’s a soft cotton, or perhaps hemp. It’s nice, white, a canvas to paint on. Your fingers trace over the hills and valleys of his muscles, hips grinding against his, digging your nails into his skin. You don’t see it, but you feel the blood, red, wondering if you can create some blue, digging harder. Then the beat drops and you begin to stomp, feeling a fresh sense of clarity, focus, drive with the music. Shinso hisses.

“Careful with the claws,” he muses, the hands on your hips releasing to unzip the body-bag sandwiched between your bodies. You press your palms flat, feeling his heart beat in his back, syncing with yours but not with the bass.

He moves stealthily, slowly, hand snaking against your bare chest and over your bralet, a tease. His knuckles brush your nipples as he pulls the zip down. You pull your head off his shoulder to stare into those dark eyes, they’re bored and calculating. You’d shiver if it wasn’t for how warm it is, heat trapped under his gaze, sweat glistening on your skin, dripping down his neck.

His sweat. It’s reflecting the lights, cyan and scarlet swirling together so quickly they morph into violet. You press the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, running it up and down, you’re antsy, coming down. His body is ice cold beneath your touch, burning holes into your fingertips. He smiles lazily, his hand withdrawing completely and suddenly, there’s too much space between your bodies.

“You got water?” He asks, serious, no hint of a smirk. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, lifting a hand to your lips, a bottle already open and waiting and you open your mouth for him to pour it in. “Don’t swallow.” He says it almost too late so you push the liquid into your cheeks, right leg bouncing in an effort to stay still, the music calling you. You need to dance. There’s distortion and a steady beat as you stare at a rolling back to your left, mesmerised and longing to feel the silky skin, brown, not mauve.

Your gaze rips to the man in front of you when he crouches, ducking below eye level of the singular, mandatory bouncer, not that they would stop him. He’s got a syringe and small glass vial in his hands, and without looking at you, he pulls out a carefully measured amount, just a few milliliters, if that. He knows your tolerance so well. You remember the last time he gave you GHB, the euphoric mania that blossomed, and you grin with sealed lips. At least it’s not a purple pill. He crooks a finger and you bend forward, a moth to his lilac flames, letting all the water pool forward to avoid burning your mouth.

“Careful, kitten, remember what I told you?” he asks, steady hands waiting for your nod before he expels the acrid drug between your lips and you swallow quickly, making sure it’s the water that carries it, diluting it. In seconds, he’s packed it all away and passes you the water bottle. You chug it, extremely thirsty, suddenly on edge at expecting something to hit you at any moment.

There’s a howl to your right, a whine to your left, and you let out a moan as the music suddenly picks up double time. Your hands fly to the back of your neck, forearms pressed snugly to your ears, falling into the beat until sensations pull you back out. Shinso won’t let you go that easily, and you don’t want to leave him. He’s still kneeling, as though in prayer to your body and motion. It’s empowering to see him beneath you, amongst the dirt. He’s untouchable and yet here he is. His palms drag up the length of your calves as he places kisses along your thighs, fingers inching higher until they’re under your skirt, kneading the flesh of your ass, a thick index trailing along the crease of your underwear. You roll your hips, feeling his finger slide between your folds. Your teeth chatter, remnants of the previous pill, and you shudder against his hands. One of your hands finds refuge in his hair once more.

“Shinso, not now,” you whine, tugging him up. He stands, large palms splaying against your lower back again, arching it as you step together, rhythm flowing through your bodies. This time, he smells like smoke and geranium, a burning flower. His hips are pressed against yours, cock obviously hard, waiting, expectant. His lips come to your ear and he gives you a kiss before tasting the sweat near your hairline. It’s a threat, you’re inside him now, swallowed by purple.

“Hmm, did you just tell me to wait? After I gave you what you needed.” He’s tutting, his tone condescending, sending shockwaves through your ear canal, flipping a switch in your brain. You need to be alert, you’ve made the mistake before, tread carefully. You inhale, breathing in his fire, almost choking on ash.

“Dance with me,” you say, stretching more of your neck for him to reach, his lips soft and soothing. He’s sucking down on the skin, pulling red marks to the surface that will turn to blue then eggplant.

No, you pull away, head jerking out of his reach but he quickly resumes, fingers tangling behind your head to bring your face close to his. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet. He merely surveys your emotions with half-lidded eyes, calculating how long it’ll be before you’re floating away. You can’t stop bouncing, heightening the friction between your bodies. He’s starting to sweat now, you can see it beading in his hairline. You realise he must’ve been behind the DJ booth, where there’s restricted access, privacy. Something taps your lips and you open your mouth, compliant, thankful for something to suck on apart from your tongue.

“Kitten, you don’t tell me what to do,” his whisper makes you shudder. He’s planning something, lilac eyes becoming amethyst, bewitching. His fingers are bitter, sharp, like the green stalk of a flower, and you’re addicted. You curl your tongue up, swirling it around, feeling the bumps of your muscle curl against the miniscule grooves of his fingerprints. He pushes them in deeper, roughly, and if you were tighter, wound up, sober, you might’ve gagged. Instead, you feel the saliva begin to pool around your teeth, coating his knuckles and dribbling down your chin as he fucks your mouth with his hand. There’s no telling how long you’re sucking on them, time nonexistent, but the music slows, crashing periodically, like helicopter blades coming to a halt. 

Then there’s quiet. 

You hear the squelch in your mouth, the popping of spit. The pressure spreads from your throat down, and ice begins to frost in your gut, travelling up. Something is creeping. The contorting bodies begin to holler, whoop, moans of pain mixing with cries of pleasure as the next deity set’s up. You let your head fall back, his fingers slipping down your chin to grasp your throat, spit cold against moist flesh. He’s growling, you realise, the rumbles from his chest trembling in his fingertips. Has he been waiting for you all night?

It feels like an explosion behind your eyes, going off in your mind, sparking everywhere, and suddenly, you’re weightless once more. If it wasn’t for Shinso’s hand wrapped around you, who knows where you’d have floated to? The lights strobe again, faster, more urgent, the bass kicks off in a hurry, there’s a scream underneath the music, chilling your bones. Hardcore. You find yourself massaging his forearms, biceps, shoulders, fingers toying underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re too clothed,” the statement leaves your lips, finding yourself dizzy with energy, talkative. He’s in hyperfocus, the flames of his hair sparking off purple, rising to join the stars above. You can see the glint in his normally dull eyes now, brought about by the onslaught of your new high. He grins, lips pulling like a cheshire cat, twisting his face, and you drag his neck down to meet your lips. There’s another shriek in the beat and you pull back, breathless. “I don’t like it, not this, let’s go get some air?” Words tumble around you as they pour from your mind incoherently, against his smiling lips. His nods, forehead rubbing yours.

“Of course, kitten. Follow me,” and your hand is wrapped with his as he tugs you sideways, the bodies weaving around his straight path to the side of the warehouse. He tugs you to the front when you turn to the back, thinking of catching your breath in the outdoor area reserved for those that might be getting overwhelmed, tripping badly or need a release. That’s not his plan. Another scream and you grip his wrist with a vice, feeling the bass throttle your bones as you walk closer to the music, violent, bruising. He pushes past the metal railing, and you cross the barrier from purgatory into hell, so close to the speakers you can feel yourself become the music, imagine the screams, until you can’t.

The door is shut, cutting off the cries and beat, only the thrum can be heard in the room, a never ending thump rattling your bones. You can’t stop moving, the music calling you to return now that you can no longer hear it. You’re bouncing as you walk, almost skipping when Shinso sits and pulls you on top of him in a straddle. His hands find the plush of your ass, kneading it between those sinful fingers. The room is dark, the shapes blending into each other, the lightbulb colouring the room as a monotone; violet, UV. You prefer red. You moan as his lips find yours once more, with no worry of interruption, and you grind your hips down on his cock beneath the rough fabric of his pants. He unclips his bag from his chest, not breaking the kiss, before unclasping the back of your bra, tugging the flimsy material down your arms and to the floor. You’re hungry for him, starving, and for the first time that night, you want to devour plum.

“Take this off,” fingers tug at his shirt, mumbling against his lips as you stare into his eyes, falling into the deep well, almost past the point of no return, your high slamming the back of your mind, desperate. Let it in, a voice whispers and you shiver when Shinso raises his eyebrows, following your command.

“Hm, I thought you told me to wait, kitten,” he muses, dropping his shirt on top of your discarded bra, his fingers going back to your ass before running over the bend of your hips, digging them into the fold. Your hips are making the smallest circles, rolling against his erection, feeling how he twitches beneath your folds and his zipper.

“Nuh-uh, fuck me.”

His chest is pressed against yours, nipples rubbing together, teasing, the friction almost too much to bear. Fuck, you need more. You pull him in close, fingers tangling in his hair, burning your palm but you don’t care, crashing your mouth against his to feel whole. It’s not enough.

Let me in.

The metal button is undone and you lift slightly to unzip, tugging at the fabric as he accommodates your movements, helping just enough so that his cock springs free. Your heart is in your throat, choking you with want, desire. He pulls the bottom of your thong to the side, grazing against your slick, groaning at how wet you are. You mewl, his nickname for you taking shape. Your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying your vibrating bones, the pounding in your mind almost peaking. Shinso places a steady hand on your hip, under your skirt, the other finger teasing your folds open, keeping your underwear to the side.

“Say please,” his voice is cool, detached, regarding your flushed face and wild eyes with a boredom in his own. It makes you breathless.

“Please, Shinso.”

He brings his face close to yours, lips spread ear to ear like the ones between your legs as you feel the silk of his cock tap your entrance. The blacklight distorts his features, turning them rabid, unholy, dangerous, magenta. You begin to lower, but he keeps pressure in his hands, slowing your descent painfully, torturously. You can feel your chest heave, toe curling in your boots, pussy throbbing at the stretch. You mumble a mmmmpf, from behind closed lips, pushing yourself down.

“Patience, kitten, you’ve been teasing me for a while now,” Shinso smirks, lopsided and disgustingly seductive, twitching his cock as he lets you fall another inch. You’re stir-crazy. Your fingers tap against the ultraviolet skin of his shoulders, toes furl and unfurling, lip caught between nibbling teeth and eyes rolling up, all in an attempt to stay still.

Let me in.

He let’s go and you drop. You land with a thud, feeling stretched out beyond belief, the high no longer slamming against the door but rather kicking it down. Each bang makes you tilt forward, rising your hips up slightly before forcing his tip to hit your cervix once more as you lower. You’re slow, riding him timidly, as you revel in feeling so full, heart leaping out of your throat and floating above your head. Then faster, as you feel the bass of the music vibrate through his skin, the wall behind his head shaking, and your very cells begin to rattle along with it.

“Fuck, yes, Shinso,” you’re moaning, feeling talkative as the GHB creeps into your veins, mumbling words of praise at the man beneath you. He regards you coolly, biding his time, waiting until the high takes over completely.

“Please, fuck me, Shinso, please, god, please move.” You’re begging him now. Why won’t he thrust up? You focus on his eyes, the way they drink in your bounce on his cock. Shinso ‘tsk’s’, and his hands still your movements, keeping you seated, grounded, whining. Your mouth doesn’t stop trembling, lower lip swollen from all the biting. Your ankles shake from the need to walk out, back to the souls ascending to heaven, leaving their bodies behind, leaving you at his mercy.

“Mm, kitten, you’re awfully chatty for someone that just wants to be fucked,” Shinso purrs at you, keeping one hand firmly on your hips, bruising you, marking you, hurting you blissfully. You gyrate, feeling how he swirls within you, poking the sides of your walls, so damn full. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re silenced, gagged and restrained. His fingers invade, and you suck, replacing the gnawing of your cheeks to focus on the intruder between your lips.

“There you go, that should shut you up, pretend it’s my cock,” his fingers are impossibly long, moving slower than before, when they were plunging. It’s a relief, having something to suck on, relieving pressure in your neck and ears and jaw and hair and oh, you moan. The hand on your hip slide to your ass.

Smack! 

Let me in.

It’s him. Amythest and Byzantium, lavender and lilac, fucking purple. He wants to be inside you, controlling you. You’re so empty, chest hollow with cheeks and cunt stuffed, so you suck, gyrate, pulse, all together, all at once. Impatient as ever, you feel the tip of his cock graze your most tender spot. With the hand that is not dominating your mouth, he holds your hips down with a vice. You crave him enough to defy him, ecstasy rolling through your core with his roll of your pelvis. You can’t see him, eyes staring into your mind in euphoria, at a galaxy, but he’s there, standing behind the entrance and exit, waiting.

“Do you want me that badly?" he asks. Shit, he's cornered you. He won't give you what you want unless you answer him, but the moment you do, you will be under his control. He'll only make you wait longer for the release you so desperately need. The alarm bells are ringing, don’t fall for the trap. His questions are dangerous.

You nod your head, shocked at how you can contain your words when you're so vocal, high off your mind, incoherent thoughts refraining from babbling out. Shinso smirks, releasing your hips, letting you fuck yourself on his cock, whining and moaning and writhing, hands gripping his hair, the cushions of the couch behind him, running through your own locks before looking at the ceiling and humming, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes. You gag on his fingers as they slip in deeper. It's too much, feeling so full, so empty, needing more, so much more.

Shinso's hand releases you, tongue lolling out of your now empty mouth, searching for warmth. There’s bruises on your hip bones, the pressure like a ghost over your skin, still apparent. You whine, biting your tongue before sucking it to stay quiet, swallowing your words as you press up against his chest. You're sweating, and thirsty, for water, his sweat, his mouth, fingers, cum, anything. The sheen of your bodies reflect violet in the blacklight, and he’s glowing. You’re a moth to his purple flame.

"If you want me to touch you, all you've got to do is ask." He whispers against your ear, breath teasing your skin, teeth blinding, eyes dark.

Let him in.

“Yes,” your consent is apparent, simple, all consuming, and Shinso grins, stands, flips you like a rag doll. Your body is his to use how he wishes. You’re floating, completely euphoric, manic, body tensing and relaxing. You need more. You’re watching your body get fucked from above, soul vibrating on a higher plane of existence. He feels good, so, so good.

Drool drips down your chin, smearing against the backrest of the couch. The weave of the fabric leaves more marks against your cheek, red indents turning to magenta, sangria, wine, perfect companions to the bruises on your hips. Your body is filled with mist, clouds, swirling around as Shinso thrusts into you from behind. They leave your mouth in gusts as you moan, loudly, taking over the muffled thrum from the bass. His large palm splays against your lower back, pressing down as he angles his hips up, wrecking you.

“That’s right, kitten,” his voice is thunder, rumbling in the room, against your skin, pricking up goosebumps. “I’m the only one that can make you feel this good.”

His fingers are lightning, burning like ice as they reach around for your clit, slick with sweat, adding a delicious friction as he circles the nerves. More fog slips from between your lips as you whine, moan, mewl, plead. The fabric of the sofa cushions bite into your knees, you feel how the static creeps down your calf and into your toes, each ricochet of Shinso’s hips sending an oscillating wave of pins and needles down your leg. Your fingers grip what they can, coming to rest beneath you to try and peel your face from the backrest like velcro. 

You can see yourself convulsing around his cock, walls clenching rhythmically, winding you tighter and tighter. He’s thrusting deeper, harder. You’re going to cum, the release lying in his next thrust, and then it’s gone. Shinso pulls out, fingers flying from your clit to pinch the skin of your ass as his length comes to rest in the middle, his balls bobbing against the folds of your sex. You’re crashing, a wave collapsing in on itself as your orgasm is ruined by his touch, or lack of. Tears stream out of your eyes, shoulders shaking as you sob at his denial.

“Shinso, please, don’t stop, why’d you stop?” His cock slides against the crease of your ass, you can feel the warmth fading, cooling against your skin. You roll your hips to try and trap his length between your folds again, but he turns, slapping your throbbing pussy with four fingers, making you cry out.

“I need to hear you say it,” he commands, making you turn your head, peering over your shoulder at his sadistic smirk, fisting his cock just out of reach of your sopping cunt. You whine at the image; he’s bathed in glorious, royal purple. You’re frozen, unable to move and grab him. Your soul sucks back into your body, trapped under his gaze, nails digging into the sponge beneath. He spanks you, muscle trembling, the shock pushing you forward as you collapse with your face pressed into fabric. You can’t breathe.

“Say what?” you ask, voice muffled as you roll your forehead side to side, your need for touch insatiable, “I’ll say anything if you’ll just fuck me.” Your inner thighs tense up, trying to relieve the aching pressure in your core.

“Hmm, kitten, so desperate, aren’t you?” his cockhead is at the entrance of your slit, teasing up along it, daring you to lean back and swallow it. You moan, and then a sting blooms as his palm comes down on your tender skin. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I’m desperate, please,” you’ve let him in, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to clutch on to your high with twisted fingers, they’d have to pry it from you. Lavender invades every inhale, burning your lungs, acid taking over your senses. He bends over you, across your back, and whispers into your ear, cool breath fanning the heated flesh.

“Would you like to cum?” he asks, the tip of his cock slipping between your folds. You can feel the edge of his head, the curve, as your lips wrap around it greedily, throbbing, sucking him in as he keeps it at bay. You nod your head furiously, dragging it against the sofa, tears darkening the fabric, tasting the sweet salt on your lips.

“Well, too bad, kitten,” he says, your pussy cold as he withdraws, falling down next to you. His large palms wrap around your cheeks, thumbs wiping at the streaks beneath your eyes, like miniscule cuts beneath your skin. Your heart drops to your stomach, lips back between your teeth as you chew, metal flooding your tastebuds. “Come sit on my lap instead.”

So, you clamber onto him, eagerly lining up your entrance once more to sink down and feel full, satisfied. You’ve always hated the colour purple, but you’re addicted.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wanted to put this at the top, but it was getting long, but I appreciate you guys so much.

Thank you @joyousandverywarlike​ for being my light in the darkness and @hisoknen​​ for making sure I’m properly tagged. @whats-her-quirk​ for always hyping me up, i love you soul mate. @league-of-thots​ ;)

This was lowkey inspired by a thirst Zo and I did in the Harem discord after reading Snack Run by @lookslikeleese​ so go check that out!

#purple #purple pill #shinso x reader #shinso #shinsou #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso #bnha #bnha fanfics #mine #my writing #follower celebration #fan ficiton #shinso hitoshi #boku no hero #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #anime #claudia writes

[capnjay21]

The Wind Blows White 2/6

It’s been two years since Killian Jones and Emma Swan managed to escape the clutches of Brooke House, two years of waiting for it all to catch up to them and two years of pretending the cracks in their happy ending don’t show. But when the vision appears to Killian of a young boy unearthing the dagger and the darkness they had long since buried, it’s a race against time to try and stop another innocent from befalling the same fate. If they have the strength to face it.

Sequel to ‘A House is Never Still’.

A/N: Aaaand here is chapter two! Firstly I'd like to give MASSIVE thanks to @hollyethecurious who has been kind enough to make the lovely art for this fic <3 I'm so pleased with it! For those who don’t know, Hollye designed the art that inspired the original fic so that makes this EXTRA cool. 

And secondly I'd like to say thanks so so much to everybody who picked up the first chapter, I'm so thrilled you're ready to hop back on board the spooky train with me. I hope you like this!

AO3 | chapter one

Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of canonical character death and some certified Spooky Business™.

Taglist: @carpedzem​ @optomisticgirl @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @phiralovesloki @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop @peglegsjones @mariakov81 @seasailia @courtorderedcake @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @marrtinski @thisonesatellite @klynn-stormz @teamhook @lfh1226-linda

If anyone would like on, or off, the taglist, just let me know!

-/-

2. that featureless space

-/-

The ground beneath him was moving. No, it was growling. Rumbling for more, then receding, hurtling forward and then retreating, leaving him a helpless passenger. It was a car. The old Mustang, in fact, he recognised the flowery smell of the vinyl seats that Liam had never been able to scrub out. The car window was a little too high for him to see properly out of, it was just a blur of colour whizzing by, and his hands had been folded neatly in his lap. His legs were small, just barely long enough to touch the bottom of the car, the jagged metal that grumbled underneath him.

This was the car that Liam had died in.

Killian wiped his eyes, groggy. He couldn’t remember getting in this car.

“Where are we going?” he asked the driver. His voice sounded high, and squeaky. And young.

The driver was Liam.

“Nowhere,” Liam said, then changed his mind. “Somewhere. Somewhere better.”

With great effort, Killian turned his neck to see if anyone was in the backseat. They were alone, but a large suitcase sat where a person should be.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

Liam kept his eyes on the road. Killian only noticed now because it seemed more deliberate than before.

“Dad isn’t coming.”

For some reason, this was surprising. Killian wanted to ask why, but Liam was shaking his head firmly.

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

To his amazement, he did.

This time when he woke, he was outside. He knew this because he could feel the soft warmth of the sun on his skin, and nearby the sound of water rushing by drowned out the buzz of insects around him. It was bright, he had to shield his eyes and keep them narrowed until they adjusted, and he could finally take in his surroundings. He was sat on dry rock, a few metres away from the edge of a rushing stream, an everchanging palette of vivid sapphire and frothy pearl, and on the opposite bank a sparse array of thick trees stood swaying gently in the breeze.

On either side of the wide, open current, walls of rock rose up for hundreds of metres, and Killian realised he had been here before.

It was the memory of a memory, perhaps a recollection of something he had been told rather than something he had lived, but everything about this place was familiar, and bright, and achingly, desperately sad.

This was the creek that Liam had died in.

Then he saw the boy.

The boy was crouched down so near to the surface of the water that his gaze had easily skimmed over him the first time, huddled tightly on a rock near the centre of the current with his arm thrust into the water.

“No,” Killian said, before he even realised what was happening.

He stood. At his feet was a hastily rolled up jacket, which must belong to the boy.

The boy who was reaching for the dagger.

“Wait,” he called, desperately.

The boy ignored him, or he did not hear.

“Stop!”

Triumphantly, the boy pulled back with his prize.

In the sparkling sunlight, its shiny edge was unmistakable.

There was the dagger.

Come.

“Put it back,” Killian hollered, his chest hurting from the force of his yell. “Listen to me!”

The boy looked up. Stared him straight in the eye.

“I am,” he said, “I’m listening.”

-/-

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Killian was sat with his legs folded underneath him on the floor of Elsa’s bedroom, warmly lit by an array of candles across every surface. Dim light streamed in through an open window, casting orange splotches onto the immaculate powder blue carpet. After their discussion with Tink, she had invited him back the following day for a private session with them both, an attempt at a more guided scry, and Killian had jumped at the invitation. Anything that might provide him with more concrete answers.

Emma had gone again to the office of the skip they were after; apparently his credit card had been used in a convenience store near to it the day before. Killian had wanted to go with her, but the lingering invitation from Elsa and Tink, combined with Emma’s emphatic insistence that she wouldn’t need help had left him at something of a loss.

Although he was sure her determination came from the same place that insisted his coming home and finding their kitchen flooded was nothing to be concerned about. She claimed she had just left the tap on, and had been meaning to clean it up before he got home but had fallen asleep before she had the chance.

She was awake when he got home, though. And when he’d called her earlier it had rung through to voicemail. He was concerned – that was easy enough to admit.

By the third time he had probed her about it, she had declared that she’d really prefer it if he didn’t come with her to the office the following day, and had shut down that line of questioning with perhaps more vigour than it required. Killian didn’t know what else to do.

They were supposed to be a team. If she was having trouble, she was supposed to tell him so they could solve it together. He knew she was holding something back, but if she refused to confide in him then he couldn’t exactly pull or pester the truth out of her, and he wouldn’t want to, anyway. Perhaps she was frustrated that she was still having setbacks like these; after her rescue from Brooke House they had been frequent, the nightmares near constant, and her sense of drifting from moment to moment was something they had discussed at great length together, developing coping mechanisms and strategies to help her get past it.

They had been a team. More than anything, Killian just wanted her to be alright. He had just hoped his days of needing to scale Emma’s walls had ended the day she told him she loved him.

Unless she didn’t. Love him anymore, that is.

Something squeezed tightly in his chest.

“At this point,” he cleared his throat, forcing his focus back to the other occupants of Elsa’s bedroom, “I’m ready to try anything.”

Tink was sat perched on the bed in her bare feet, her blonde hair tied up into a haphazard bun as she carefully emptied a large glass jar of water into a white ceramic bowl. The bowl, Killian presumed, he would be scrying out of. Elsa was stood preparing something at her desk on the other side of the room, and Killian could hear the sound of something bubbling. It reminded him distinctly of the living room back in Regina’s house, with the large desks and varied array of vials and candles resembling an incredibly ancient chemistry set, or a set perfect for the potions and brews she liked to assemble.

It had been a while since he’d spoken to Regina; he should make an effort to give her a call. It wasn’t as if she was likely to do the reverse.

Tink eyed him over her task as he fidgeted on the floor. “It would really help if you told us what this dream was about.”

I am. I’m listening.

“It’s – it’s really better if I don’t.” The less they knew about the dagger, the better. He didn’t want anyone else exposed to its evil.

“Ooh, mysterious. Are you predicting a murder? Was some poor, desperate soul murdered before your very eyes?” she grinned. “Was it me?”

“Tink,” Elsa admonished from across the room, “please.”

Tink let out an exaggerated sigh, and sealed the glass bottle once the bowl was full. Carefully, so as not to spill any, she stood and set the bowl down in front of him. The water was clear, and smelled fresh. He couldn’t imagine seeing anything in it other than his own reflection.

“You were right about rainwater being generally more effective,” Tink began, folding her legs as she sat across from him. “Really, anything from nature is supposed to make scrying a little clearer. You’re lucky Elsa was happy to donate this to the cause.” She gestured to the bowl. “It’s water from a natural spring.”

“I collected it a few years ago in Oregon.”

Killian eyed the bowl warily. “Alright. Do I – just –?”

It felt bizarre to try and do with two people watching, in the middle of the afternoon. As if by casting light on the process it somehow took something out of it; getting his mind to that place where he really believed this would work would be a little more difficult, and in his experience, perception was reality when it came to flirting with the otherworldly. Not to mention his brushes with real magic had only ever occurred in the dead of night, in the middle of fall, and Elsa’s bedroom felt too neat, too warm, to be somewhere something close to miraculous could happen.

“Not without this,” Elsa informed him, finally revealing what she had been working on. In her hand she held a steaming mug of – well, he wasn’t exactly sure what, but its scent was distinctly herbal and earthy. Killian had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be made to drink it. “I’ll warn you, this isn’t going to taste good.”

Killian winced. “What’s in it?”

“Bitter grass.”

“It makes dreaming more vivid, or last longer,” Tink added. “I’ve never tried it myself, but apparently it can make scrying… well, more.”

“‘More’?” Killian carefully took the mug from Elsa, peering at it dubiously.

The hot liquid had settled on a murky acid colour and leaves were still floating aimlessly on its surface. It did not look in the least bit appetising.

Tink huffed, as if his attempt to quantify her deliberate vagueness offended her. “I don’t know, like you’re in the front seat rather than clinging to the rear bumper?”

Killian was beginning to question the wisdom in attempting something their so-called expert had purported never to have tried.

“Scrying is a mess,” she continued sharply. “I avoid it for this very reason. It’s like –” Tink hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It’s like walking into a CVS and trying to buy a hunk of plutonium. You’re sort of along the right lines, you’re in a store, and a store is where you buy things, but you’re so far out of your depth that all you can really do is cross your fingers and ask the universe, and hope someone answers back.”

Killian took a tentative sip of the tea, and immediately grimaced as the acrid mixture began to slip down his throat.

“You’re right, this is revolting.”

Elsa smiled sympathetically. “And it’s illegal in Louisiana, so that’s got to be a win for the rebellious teen in you, right?”

He forced himself to drink a little more. “I always preferred sneaking rum.” He paused, contemplating. “Any chance we could add rum to this?”

“Listen to me,” Tink snapped, and his gaze shot back to her. “Scrying is dangerous. You’re effectively setting your mind loose from your body. Do that for too long…”

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

“And I’ll be stuck in CVS forever?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Killian thought of the sparkling summer day, of the boy, of another innocent life the dagger wanted to claim. It had already taken Liam, and left its mark on Emma forever.

Consider this him jumping in with both feet.

Fall away.

He finished off the rest of his tea and returned the mug to Elsa.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” she asked gently.

Killian nodded firmly, and pulled the bowl a little closer towards him.

Elsa laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t go too far. Let us help you back if you need it.”

He had no idea what that meant, but he thanked her all the same. They had already done so much for him.

Tink blew out the last few candles, the curl of smoke rising from them smelling faintly of rosemary; he had known an unlit candle’s purpose for years now in these sorts of rituals – to let energy out. It struck him only then that the very thing they were expecting to let out was him.

Killian turned his attention to the surface of the water, perfectly still in the bowl.

After he leaned closer, he could see the details of his face more clearly in his reflection. The dark lines under his eyes, the barely visible scar on his right cheek from when Regina had flung a pencil at him a little too hard in eighth grade. His eyes didn’t even look blue anymore, in his reflection they looked less somehow, washed, like a faded grey. As he stared, he became aware that something around him had changed – like a noise that had always existed in his periphery had suddenly dropped out, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to discern what it was. The tea had settled warmly in his chest and he felt light, lighter than air, and tried to focus on that sensation.

Moments ago, he had felt that if he had reached out to either side of him, he would feel Elsa and Tink there. He was not sure he felt that way now.  

His right hand twitched.

It was a foreign, surprising sensation, like someone else had reached through his shoulder all the way to his fingertips and jerked it without his permission. It begged for his attention but he tried not to let his mind wander beyond its purpose, and forced himself to keep looking at the surface of the water.

Or what had once been the surface of the water.

Ripples scattered across its edges, as if a sharp wind were blowing until it folded over itself, oozing, and his chest wanted to fall forward, forward, to topple over until he collapsed and could feel the sharp sting of ice cold water filling up his lungs. His chest felt tight. Hard. Like he had to force every breath through a sheet of glass until it reached him. He thought about Elsa, what Elsa had promised, to help him back if he went too far and he reached for her –

His hand fell through empty air.

The ground beneath him was moving. Growling, rumbling, hurtling forward; was he back in the car? Liam’s Mustang, like he had dreamt last night? Even as he thought it the colours materialised, but the vinyl of the seat felt searing hot beneath him and the cream was so bright, he had to blink his eyes against it. He wanted to turn and look at the driver. He wanted to turn and look at Liam. He would give anything to turn his head and be able to look at Liam one more time and for it to be real.

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

Show me the boy, he thought fiercely, the boy at the creek with the dagger.

His chest tugged him toward the door of the car as he fumbled with his seatbelt, falling against it as the car started to speed up. With effort, he pulled the handle open and the door swung away from him, his grabbing onto the roof of the car the only thing that stopped him hurtling out of it and into the black.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

So, the outside beckoned, fall.

Killian let go.

-/-

“Thank you,” Emma said, her cheeks flushed with glorious delight, “for always knowing exactly what I want before I do.”

Killian blinked. Granny’s Diner smelt like burnt cheese and vanilla cake and Emma’s arms were around his neck. The bus ticket sat on the table beside them.

“I know this part,” he said, feeling dazed. “This is the part where I kiss you.”

The corner of Emma’s lip curled unpleasantly.

“You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

-/-

“I think you should do it.”

“Do what?”

Come back, he breathed.

“Go and live with the Nolan’s.”

“Killian, come on.”

Haunt me.

“I’ll be out after high school. What’s the point?”

Just as he reached for her, Emma dived into the ocean.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

I love you, he shouted. She didn’t reply.

He jumped in after her.

-/-

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

Show me the boy.

-/-

Killian gasped as he broke free from the surface of the water, gulping in oxygen like a man starved. His limbs felt numb, only sluggishly responding to his demands as he struggled to stay afloat. His chest was tight, freezing, and as he spluttered he could feel fresh water pushing its way out from his throat. Was he drowning? This felt like what drowning should feel. like Water was everywhere; his nose, his eyes, and though he tried to wipe it away so he could see, he was doing so with a hand that was also soaked and made little difference against his blurring vision.

He had to get out. He had to find shore. Killian kicked his legs into action, pumping them through the black to try and propel him forward, push him toward something; everything around him felt so permeable, so susceptible to the slightest change in thought, and he tried to focus on the feel of the water around him. Water could be good. Water could take him to the creek.

The creek, he insisted, bringing his arms in to give his strokes more momentum, the dagger.

His feet brushed what felt like the murky bottom of the pool, slick with seaweed and soft, and his toes scrabbled for purchase while his arms tried to aid in treading water – and that was when he saw him. A few metres in front, the boy fumbling for the dagger.

“Hey!” he hollered, but the noise was drowned out by the current flooding around him. Water flooded into his open mouth and he choked. “H—hold on!”

The boy was already scampering away, hopping from rock to rock with his prize hidden underneath his shirt. He was calling to someone Killian could not see on the opposite bank.

“Just a minute, Dad!”

Two firm hands reached underneath Killian’s arms and hauled him out of the water. He flopped down onto the bank, coughing and spluttering.

Gasping, shivering, he tried to focus on his would-be saviour.

It was his father.

It was impossible for Brennan Jones to be that tall, not while Killian was a man grown, but that was how he remembered him – broad shoulders, lined features, and an easy sort of smile when he wanted it.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“What have I said about staying in bed?”

Killian’s heart was galloping against his ribcage; he had done something he knew he could not take back, the oil had spilled and poison was beginning to blacken the depths of the ocean. Something white hot and fearful had ignited in his chest, Liam would know what to do, Liam would – Liam would –

“Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

His father’s arms thrust out in front of him – and although Killian hadn’t been touched, he felt himself flung backwards through the air.

Why can’t you just do as you’re told?

There was nothing but empty space behind him.

He was falling, he was falling, he was falling.

His watch beeped: 2:17am. Right on time.

There was a searing pain in his right hand, but his scream was swallowed by the dark.

-/-

Go back to sleep, Killian.

“Killian!”

He was lying on his back, staring at the intricate pattern of Elsa’s ceiling, and his right hand hurt like a bitch.

“Ah,” he hissed, wincing, instinctively lifting it to try and identify the cause. It was covered with blood. “Ah – the – fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Someone was yelping in response, then something cold and wet was pressed against his hand as he tried to sit up.  “We didn’t know what else to do!”

He felt dizzy. The sight of blood didn’t help, and a wave of nausea surged within him.

“Oh god, he’s gonna – Elsa get the –”

Something plastic and cylindrical was thrust underneath his chin and he promptly vomited into it.

The whole room was spinning. He tried shutting his eyes but it only made it worse, the horizontal slamming into vertical behind his eyelids. Someone was attempting to rub soothing circles on his back and he tried to focus on that, while someone else kept a cold cloth pressed against his bleeding hand. Elsa and Tink. Right. Elsa and Tink. Slowly, so he didn’t aggravate his already deeply upset stomach, he tried to glance at the space around them.

The ceramic bowl of water had been overturned, and a visible wet patch surrounded it. Beside it, a large kitchen knife had been discarded, its sharp edge scarlet with blood that was now dribbling onto the otherwise pristine light blue carpet. His blood, he realised, dazedly drawing the connection between the knife and his bleeding hand.

“Did you – to me –?” he mumbled, wiping his sweaty forehead with his free hand.

“You gave us quite a fright,” Elsa replied. “Nothing we did could bring you out of it and you looked – well. Distressed.” Gingerly, she took the bin away from him and left the room to dispose of it.

“The worst,” he began, then coughed, “worst cup of tea ever.”

“I underestimated you,” Tink growled, as she tied the wet cloths ends around Killian’s palm with a show of force. “You really just jumped right in, huh? This is why I steer clear of this crap. It’s a fucking shitshow. You could have died and then, what, I’m explaining you wanted to stare at visions in a fruit bowl to your pretty girlfriend? No way. No fucking way.”

“Sorry,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“Don’t be sorry, be smart.”

“Here. Water,” Elsa returned with a glass, and Killian reached for it eagerly. His throat felt like something had crawled in there and died. “Feel any better?”

Killian nodded, and he meant it. He had never been so aware of his own limbs before, of the heaviness of his own arms and legs. It was like he’d been living without gravity and these were his first few moments back on Earth and feeling the weight of his cumbersome form.

Was this how Emma felt, he wondered, when she lingered in that featureless space between?

“So? What did you see?”

Why can’t you just do as you’re told?

Killian tried to clear his throat, but something stuck tightly in it.

In a sea of opalescent and obscure images, that had felt very clear. It didn’t marry up to his memory in the same way the others did; he was certain he did not have any memories of Brennan Jones associated with such a moment, but it was just – it was so vivid.

“I don’t, uh,” he rubbed his right eye tiredly. “I don’t know.”

-/-

In their line of work, there was nothing that irritated Emma more than wasted time. Wasted time meant loss of income, and the unreasonably elusive skip August W. Booth was getting on her last nerve. She had gone to his old office the day before, armed with the information regarding the credit card purchase, only to be turned away at the front desk with the claim the entire company staff were away on a corporate retreat. Her instincts had wanted to call bullshit, but a cursory glance of a few of their social media pages confirmed it. It didn’t matter if she was ninety nine percent certain her bail jumper was hiding out inside the office, if the actual employees weren’t there then she couldn’t exactly magic a reason to be admitted out of thin air.

Annoyingly, it meant they had to put it off for another day. This damn bail jumper was one slippery fucker, and the more time Emma had to waste rounding him up, the more irritated she got. Their time was their own in this profession, which most of the time was an advantage, but every second spent on the same guy was a second she couldn’t spend securing their next pay-check.

Killian had insisted on joining her this time, and she couldn’t think of any good reason for him not to. Her slip up with the tap in the kitchen had thankfully drifted into the near-past and there were no other demands on his time. Not to mention given how tricky this August W. Booth was proving to be, better they put their heads together and get it sorted out, pay-check cashed, as soon as possible.

Emma watched enviously as Killian slid the Chevelle smoothly into park at the side of the road – the old car was never that cooperative with her, spitting like a feral cat as she wrestled with the stick shift. The morning was dim and gloomy, the sky overhead a bruised and leaden grey slathering the streets with scattered showers at unpredictable intervals. Currently only one wiper was working, albeit lazily, succeeding in keeping only the driver’s side of the windshield clear while rain loped down in waves in front of Emma.

Through the passenger side door, she squinted out at the office block, the embossed directory helpfully just a few feet away from where they’d parked. Gepetto’s – 6th Floor.

“Alright,” Emma sighed, drumming her fingers on the passenger door. “The receptionist said by now they should all be back from their… I dunno, business boy-scouting, or whatever. You wait out here, I’ll go in and chat to the office manager, ask if she’s seen any funny business. Really hammer home the whole ‘he’s a criminal’ shtick. Throw out a few ‘harboring a fugitive is a prosecutable offence’, etcetera…” Emma turned to get Killian’s input, but he wasn’t looking at her. His hands were still resting on the bottom of the wheel, and he was staring out of the front windshield.

His eyes held the same vacant look she had been catching him with all morning, and every time she spotted it something inside her twisted unpleasantly. It felt like he went somewhere, and she wasn’t used to Killian checking out into places she couldn’t follow him.

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers next to his ear, startling him. “Paging Killian Jones.”

“What?” He straightened abruptly in his seat. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll QB from down here.” He made a show of peering past and her and toward the office block. It didn’t fool her. “See if he makes a run for it once his cage gets rattled.”

Emma watched him curiously, hoping for any sort of clue, but he didn’t meet her eye. He likely was trying to avoid what they both knew was her superpower, to spot a lie a thousand miles away; and immediately, unbidden, a wave of self-consciousness rose within her. He hadn’t really said anything about the flooding incident – but what if he wanted to? He’d been quiet since yesterday, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he had been mulling the whole situation over. It wasn’t paranoia when the logic was sound.

Maybe he was finally getting fed up of cleaning up after her messes.

With effort, she pushed the feeling down.

“You okay today?” Emma asked. “You’ve been spaced out all morning.”

Killian waved a hand, and smiled in a not-all-that-convincing manner. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No blood pacts with the Witches of West Bellevue on your mind?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Killian replied drily, smiling despite himself as he unconsciously picked at the bandage with his opposite hand. “I wish you wouldn’t call them that.” She knew he was intending to sound reproachful, but there was no heat behind it.

“I wish they wouldn’t send you home bleeding,” she smirked. Killian had come back to their flat last night sporting a rather nasty gash on his right palm – he had insisted it was his own fault, some incident with a bread knife, but Emma had enjoyed teasing him to no end about blood sacrifices and voodoo rituals.

“That was my fault,” Killian said absently, clearly not registering her jest. “And it was an accident.”

Emma arched an eyebrow, wondering which it was: his fault, or an accident.

“Hey.” She laid a hand on his arm to get his full attention, and he finally looked her in the eye. She wasn’t particularly enthused about hashing out the events of the other night, but if there was something genuinely bothering him then she wanted to know about it. “Is there something on your mind?”

Killian’s lips parted, as if debating whether to speak. “It’s… nothing important.” He shrugged, offering her a smile. “Really. I’m just a little too in my own head.”

Emma was far from convinced. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

This time when Killian smiled, he tilted his head and his eyes softened, as if he were looking at her for the first time that day. Even after all the years they had known each other, there was a thrill in being seen so gently. He leaned forward and she met him halfway, their lips meeting in a slow kiss.

After they parted, he let out a contented sigh as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re my favourite, you know that, right?”

Emma grinned. “And I promise you’re a close second behind Regina.”

“Wow.”

Emma laughed as she shrugged on her coat. “Alright, time to nail this son of a bitch.” She dropped a final kiss on his cheek before reaching for the door handle. “See you in a bit.”

After stepping out into the downpour, she jogged as quickly as she could to the front door of the office block, lifting her jacket over her head for as much protection from the elements as she could manage, but wasn’t convinced it would do much to abate her looking either washed out or a little drowned by the time she spoke to somebody from Gepetto’s. The receptionist recognised her from the day prior, and after waving in greeting immediately phoned up to the sixth floor to see if anybody was available to speak to her.

There was a bit of negotiating, but before long the office manager for Gepetto’s had come down to meet her and was escorting her back up to the sixth floor. She didn’t want to launch into the reason for her being there before she’d had a chance to look around the office, so to avoid spooking her Emma offered up some general lines of enquiry about the office structure with information she had managed to glean from the company website. Almost flattered by her interest, the office manager was only too keen to rattle off her answers for the duration of the lift ride until the doors finally reopened.

It took only a few steps out of the lift lobby for Emma to stop dead in her tracks – because there, leaning against the desk at the entrance to the office, stood her mark.

Emma felt herself tense, instinctively readying herself to run, but she had to forcefully remind herself that August W. Booth had no reason to know who she was in the slightest, which would make everything a lot easier. He was here, that was what counted, and now she just had to figure out a way to get a pair of cuffs on him.

The office manager had been speaking, and Emma tried to tune back in and pick up where they left off, and as they reached the desk August looked up at the two of them.

And immediately straightened, his eyes widening the moment they landed on her.

Emma schooled her expression into one of nonchalance – but it made no difference. She could spot a skip about to hit the ground running a mile off, and she reached for her handcuffs as subtly as she could manage.

“Emma?” August gaped.

She was momentarily taken aback – what the –?

If possible, August looked more stunned than she felt. “How did you find me?”

His gaze dropped to her side and landed on the handcuffs.

He was moving before she even had a chance to process what was happening.

“Hey!” she barked, immediately sprinting after him. Somebody was yelling something from behind her, and the office around her became a blur of colour and noise as she shot through it, narrowing her focus on the man running in front of her.

She collided heavily with someone she couldn’t duck out of the way of, and had just enough time to distractedly mumble an apology before taking off again, and in a beat she realised where he was heading – the stairwell toward the fire exit. There wasn’t enough time to get out her phone and warn Killian, she just hoped he’d be ready in case she didn’t catch him before he got out of the building.

August wrenched open the door to the stairwell, pulling at a filing cabinet beside it until it crashed into the ground, sending a whoosh of papers and folders scattering out onto the floor. Beside it some office workers had gasped, and Emma yelled at them to jump out of the way as she approached, skipping past documents that might slip her up and leaping over the cabinet to the door.

Her skip was already a flight of stairs down and Emma wasted no time following him.

“Hang on a second!” she demanded, but there was no indication on whether he had heard her. “I just want to talk to you!”

And arrest you, and claim the reward, but why the fuck would you care?

She chased him all the way to the ground floor, where she heard him letting out a string of expletives against the sound of metal rattling in its frame – he was stranded at the exit, unable to get the door open and scrambling for any way out.

Emma slowed her pace as she descended the final flight, trying to get a good look at him – he looked exactly like the photos they had been provided with, except for the shadow of a few days without shaving scratched around his chin. His leather jacket was battered and his hair unkempt, and he was currently grunting with effort as he thrust his shoulder into the door in an attempt to get it open.

“Look, just give it a rest,” Emma growled, “you had to know this was coming. You missed a pretty important court date.”

August paused his efforts, turning to glance at her nervously. “You can’t arrest me.”

“Three counts of property damage, theft and disturbing the peace say otherwise. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“No, you can’t arrest me. It can’t be you.”

Emma was getting fed up with his bullshit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The look August was giving her was pained. “I’m so sorry.”

Then he slammed his fist through the glass protecting the fire alarm.

The stairwell exploded with sound.

Overhead the alarm bell rattled blisteringly loud, August was swearing profusely at his bloodied hand, and the magnetic lock on the door buzzed open. As the man stumbled out of it, the stairwell was flooded with light and the sound of rain rattling against the alleyway outside – but Emma didn’t notice any of that.

From the moment the alarm sounded, a searing pain had blasted through her temples and she cried out; something was rattling, cracking against the casing of her skull and she gasped her way through it, stumbling down onto the ground. She couldn’t see anything, her vision was blinded by spots of white, and it was all she could do to fight for some semblance of control over her motor functions. Everything hurt. Something was stealing the breath from her lungs, and although she knew it couldn’t be real, she felt her fingertips curling into damp soil underneath her.

I don’t know where I am.

Emma could feel hot tears rolling down her cheek as she tried to think of anything except how much her head was throbbing, the alarm blaring across her senses as if it had come from inside her. It was too much. It was all too much.

Killian?

I don’t know where I am.

I thought –

I thought I heard your voice.

It was the cold that she remembered most about Brooke House. That terrible, awful absence of warmth, that numbness, that sense that her limbs were not truly moving because she could no longer feel them. It was ice, it was loss, it was knowing the world she knew was gone forever even though just seconds earlier it had swirled in a storm of obsidian light, and Killian –

Killian had wanted to save her.

And she had told him not to.

Killian – Killian, don’t – !

The sky was full of birds.

Her parents left her on the side of the road on a crisp autumn morning, while the sky was alive with birdsong.

Emma –

There was too much sound, too much light; she couldn’t see. Something hurt. It was her. Around her the forest breathed slowly, in, and out, and the old wood of the house creaked unheard. It had nothing else to show her. She had read all the books. She had written on all the walls. She pleaded for the chance to walk amongst the wood, to feel the crunch of delicate, copper leaves underfoot and the patter of rain on her skin.

She waited for him to come home.

The sky was full of birds.

“Emma!”

I thought I heard your voice.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Robert should have been home hours ago, and Belle couldn’t sleep for worry.

He had gone to that wretched house, she knew it. Nothing else had been able to impress upon his waking mind for weeks, he was consumed by whatever he had found in there and left Belle to mind their livelihood alone. Stood in the centre of the shop floor, the room lit in an orange glow drifting through the blinds in strips, it somehow felt worse than the odd looks the townsfolk had been giving her when they came in to sell their wares, or find something for someone else.

The pawnshop had always been Robert’s, not hers. It was his name on the door, Gold. It didn’t matter that she’d taken his name when they married – everyone in Storybrooke still thought of her as ‘that funny Belle French’. She had always been something of an outlier in the realm of small-town opinion; but then, that was something she and her husband had always shared.

Brooke House was something he had pointedly kept from her.

He refused to take her there. He refused to discuss his work there. Every day he departed with trinkets and materials and vials of vividly coloured liquids of which she hadn’t a clue of the contents. Something powerful had captured his attention so desperately within its walls, something that made him see right through her.

And tonight – tonight, he had practically prowled about the shop until he had finally departed out into the night.

You’ll see, he had told her. You’ll see.

Well, she was tired of waiting.

She wanted her husband back.

She stalked into the backroom to retrieve her coat and changed out of her heels and into something sturdier, boots more suited to clambering through woodland than minding the pawn shop.

It was just as she was shrugging on her coat that she heard the tinkling of the bell over the front door, and her heart leapt hopefully.

“I was just coming to –”

She cut herself off once she saw it was not her husband who had entered, and shielded her disappointment in an expression of reproach.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she pointed out sharply. “We’re closed.”

The intruder stood their ground.

“It won’t do any good,” they said, quietly. “Your husband isn’t coming back.”

Belle stopped dead in her tracks.

“But I think you already know that.”

-/-

It was a migraine.

Just a migraine.

All the symptoms were there; white spots, sensitivity to light and sound, nausea – a rapid onset migraine. Their skip had gotten away, and when Killian had come looking for her amongst all the chaos August left behind, he had found her slumped at the bottom of the fire escape and had immediately taken her home. As it always did, time produced the most rational of explanations, even if Emma still had no idea how August W Booth had known who she was. The most logical reason was that somehow he had gotten in touch with the agency, or knew someone who had been able to tell him the name of the bail bondsperson who had been assigned to his case.

She had spent the afternoon recovering back in their flat, the blinds drawn and the bedroom door closed while Killian worked silently in the sitting room on their next case, and by the evening she felt back to her old self again. It had still made it difficult to resist Killian sitting her down and pleading with her to come and see the Bellevue coven at the weekend, to meet the Elsa he had told her so much about; if for no other reason than the home remedies that members of that community swore by when it came to migraines or insomnia, frequent ailments that kept catching Emma off guard.

Emma had no interest in ingratiating herself with the Bellevue coven, no matter how often he spoke of its charming members or how much he felt it might help her to connect with others who might have experiences with the otherworldly comparable to their brush with Brooke House. She had made it clear from the start; she didn’t believe a single soul could speak to what she had been through, and she was not interested in finding out.

This will not define me, she had said, the day they had ridden themselves of the dagger for good.

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to look forward. Minor setbacks aside, she still didn’t feel sitting around with a group of born-again self-ascribed ‘witches’ talking about how grand and mysterious the universe was would do anything for her focusing on her real life. It was this life she wanted to contemplate, not the one before, or the hell that awaited them after.

Besides, she knew what hell was. Hell was nothing. Barren, a void the soul was left to wander within.

Still, she could sense how important it was to Killian that she make this effort, and after all the considerate care he had given her over the last week – the appeal, the flood, the rescue after her migraine – he deserved her giving it a shot. Apparently they were having some sort of midsummer celebration anyway, and the evening didn’t have to amount to anything more than a fancy garden party. Emma preferred the idea of facing this part of Killian’s life without having to commit to making it part of hers too.

There were still significant drawbacks, though.

“You didn’t tell me there was a dress code,” she grumbled.

After arriving, they had been directed to walk around the side of Elsa’s house through a pathway of tall, sweeping archways plaited with ivy and lavender, leaving the path with a distinctly herbal and earthy scent. It reminded her of Regina’s garden. The evening was balmy and gentle, the setting sun painting the sky in broad, orange strokes, and the mellow flutter of a flute or clarinet could be heard drifting from the clearing ahead of them. Emma could already taste woodsmoke in the back of her throat.

Killian had kept her hand folded tightly in his, as if he were afraid if he let go she would turn around and go home. She wasn’t sure how to reassure him, since she wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t do it herself.

“There’s not a dress code,” Killian frowned. “At least not one they told me about.”

“You’re wearing it!” she pointed out accusatorily.

In keeping with the warmer temperature, Emma had opted for a simple pair of denim shorts and boots, with a dark green blouse she had thought would look suitably on theme for an event clearly thrilled about nature. Killian, on the other hand, looked far smarter in a crisp white shirt and a tan pair of chinos. White, she was now realising as they emerged into the main event, was clearly the theme.

A large bonfire had been stacked in the centre of the clearing and had been lit from the bottom, so currently the flame was only licking at the edges of the wood lying nearest its centre, but she could imagine as the night wore on it would grow significantly in size. There were around thirty, maybe forty guests scattered around, speaking jovially to one another, some lingering near a few fold-up tables laden with a wide array of food – that, at least, hadn’t been an exaggeration on Killian’s part. Just at a glance she could spot trays of roast beef, stuffed bell peppers, smoked salmon and an entire glass bowl filled with strawberries.

It was like walking into a garden of plenty, alive with wildflowers and the scent of freshly baked bread, while a small wind band played towards one edge of the clearing.

Most of the women were dressed in white or wearing light floral patterns, and every man she could see was sporting an identical white shirt to Killian’s. He fit right in – and to her chagrin she could now see how her attempt to slip into the background was now setting her apart.  

“It’s not a dress code,” Killian waved her off, “it’s nothing like that.”

Emma spread her free hand across the clearing in a pointed sweep.

Killian had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Maybe it’s a little like that. But me – this – it’s a complete accident, I swear.”

He looked so eager to reassure her that she couldn’t help but laugh. There was something so light about his countenance tonight, something that buoyed her along without even trying – the entire drive there he had barely been able to contain whatever energy he had been carrying, drumming his fingers restlessly on the wheel of the Chevelle. She couldn’t tell if it was excitement about finally bringing her along to one of these things, or if he was just enthusiastic about getting out of the city, but either way she couldn’t really remember a time he had been this animated about an evening out. It was hard to find fault in that kind of simple delight. It made her feel like they were teenagers again.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, but she was grinning. “You promised me food.”

“Right, definitely,” he smiled back. “But for fear of appearing too obvious so soon after we’ve arrived, how about we start with a drink?”

“Sure.”

Her every assent seemed to have the instantaneous effect of brightening his mood even further. “Anna’s been going on about her punch for weeks – oh, Anna, I’ll make sure I introduce you –”

He tugged at their joined hands, but after a split-second Emma resisted.

“Why don’t you go and grab some for us and I’m just gonna… take it all in.” She looked around the garden. “Give me a sec to get my bearings.”

Killian didn’t question her, just squeezed her hand before letting go and promised to be back in a few moments.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a lot of sensory information to process. Her life with Killian was so insular, they didn’t spend a lot of time at big events – they both preferred places they could blend into the background. Attending a gathering of this size was probably something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in Storybrooke – something in her gut twinged at the thought. David and Mary Margaret would have loved a celebration like this, something like the Miner’s Day celebration the town used to throw every November. Good food, warm feelings; it was everything she and Killian used to good-naturedly mock when they were teenagers.

Tonight, while her partner’s enthusiasm was sweet, it was still a little jarring; especially when she remembered exactly what this community was, and it wasn’t just small-town eccentricities.

This was a coven, she had to keep reminding herself. Practitioners. Like Regina.

At least they didn’t appear to be making any sacrifices on that bonfire.

“Hey, Killian!” Emma watched as a petite blonde woman called Killian over to the group she was standing with, and he pivoted in their direction on his way to the refreshment table. She was smirking, and her hair was piled up messily on the top of her head. “Help us out, we need a tie-break.”

Emma couldn’t hear what she said after that, but watched as one of the men clapped him on the back, another one shaking his hand enthusiastically. He never really mentioned having friends in the Bellevue coven, but she supposed he must do – he had been going every week for over two months. In the sea of white among the grass, he all but disappeared into the crowd.

Watching him speak to them, she realised it really did remind her of when they were teenagers. Specifically, of when she had been sitting on the floor of Brooke House, her knees curled up to her chest as he traced a pentagram into the floorboards in thick black marker. Behind them their friends had bickered over the spirit board, and as the cold settled in she had watched Killian gently reaching for something beyond all their understanding.

The woman said something quiet and Killian laughed, a hearty and warm sound, but the sick feeling in Emma’s stomach only deepened. He fit here. Somewhere he could keep reaching.

“You must be Emma.”

Emma turned, and saw she was being approached by a taller woman, her bright blonde hair tied into a plait which hung over her right shoulder. Like everyone else, she was dressed all in white, in a long, light gown that trailed down to her feet.

“Uh, yeah,” Emma replied; if Killian had told them she was coming, her vivid green blouse likely gave her away. “Hi.”

“I’m Elsa,” the woman said, holding out a dainty hand for her to shake. Her palm was smooth, her skin so light it was almost white.

“Right,” Emma said, understanding dawning. “So this is your place?” Elsa nodded. “Great to meet you. This all seems… it looks great.”

Elsa smiled demurely. “We’re just lucky the weather held.”

Given Seattle’s propensity for continually being soaking wet, Emma couldn’t help but agree. “Pretty much.”

Killian was still standing with the other group, and while Emma could see him attempting to pivot away from them, apparently whatever animated discussion they were having kept drawing him in.

“You know, Killian has told me a little about you.”

Her hackles immediately rose. “Oh yeah?”

“He thinks of you all the time,” she continued. “I can tell he looks for you in the work we do here.”

Without her really noticing, the flutes had drifted into a different song, something that floated drowsily across the still air. It felt like she should be relaxed, like every variable had been carefully constructed to draw out the hazy, heady sensation of early summer, but Emma just couldn’t feel herself falling into it like she should.

Still, she didn’t want to disturb the tranquil atmosphere by getting too defensive with someone Killian often spoke highly of.

Instead, the corner of her mouth tugged upwards. “And what work is that?”

To her credit, Elsa laughed. They both knew there was little point in being coy.

“I actually think you and I are a lot alike,” the other woman mused, a cheerful twinkle in her eye.

Alright, she’d bite. “How d’you figure?”

Elsa took a long, slow breath, averting her eyes to the rest of the gathering. A man and a woman standing near the fledgling bonfire had begun swaying to the music.

“Putting up walls, it works to keep the bad things out. And keeping everything contained inside, all those… messy, confusing instincts – that stops us from hurting others.”

Nobody can control this door except you, Emma.

“But it also closes us off to them completely.”

Emma felt herself beginning to bristle; she wasn’t sure she would appreciate a lecture about Killian Jones from somebody who had known him all of five minutes. Not to mention she was growing uneasy with the amount that Killian had perhaps chosen to confide in a complete stranger.

“What exactly has he been saying about me?”

“Almost nothing,” Elsa was quick to assure her, but it was the almost that stuck. “Which I think is quite telling in itself.”

Emma said nothing.

“Answer me this – why do you think Killian chooses to come here?”

She let out a huff of frustration. Where the hell was Killian with that drink?

“I don’t know, just gotta scratch that witchy itch?”

Elsa hummed indulgently, but she was undeterred by Emma’s attitude. “I’ve asked him myself, but I wasn’t convinced by his answer. I’m not sure he even knows.” After a beat, she clasped her hands in front of her. “But I think he comes to us because he can’t talk to you. And believe me, we’re a poor substitute.”

“He can talk to me,” Emma replied indignantly.

Elsa met her gaze, hard. “About everything?”

This will not define me.

They were supposed to be the same. Two complementary halves of the same brave, desperate fighter. Kids who had been lost together, who had been found, together. That was the promise they’d made before Brooke House, and the one they had fervently renewed in the wake of it.

There weren’t supposed to be things they could not talk about. Quiet, desperate things they could not say.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

She became distantly aware that she hadn’t said anything for a few prolonged seconds, and she turned away from the sharpness of Elsa’s gaze.

“I’m tired of letting the past control us.”

“The past is who we are,” Elsa said simply. “Don’t you think he deserves to find meaning in whatever he has experienced?”

Emma folded her arms. Meaning. Was that what he was supposed to find here?

“That’s easy,” she muttered. “There’s no meaning in any of it. The only thing I know for certain is that darkness doesn’t discriminate.”

It was born with you, it died with you, and sometimes, in the middle, it liked to remind you that it was there.

Elsa murmured her agreement. “It does not.”

“There we are!” Killian’s voice was loud and cheerful as he sprung up beside them, holding two glasses of a vivid pink liquid. “Sorry for the delay, Tink was just – well, she’s a royal pain in my arse, that’s all you need to know.”

He held out one of the glasses to her and Emma took it gingerly. It tasted like something citrusy. The sudden change in atmosphere left her feeling a little off-balance.

“I see you met Elsa – the place looks fantastic, by the way.”

Elsa bowed her head in pleasure.

“I’m glad you could make it. How’s your hand?”

“Oh,” Killian’s cheerful visage faded for just a moment as his gaze dropped to his bandaged palm, “it’s fine. Barely even feel it.”

Once again, Emma was struck by the idea that there was more to that story than he had told her.

“I better go do the rounds. But Emma – if you ever want to talk, I want you to know this is a safe space. For anyone.”

Something warm burned beneath her collar as she felt Killian turn his eyes on her. Elsa seemed to be expecting some kind of acknowledgement of her offer, so Emma cleared her throat.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mercifully, after that Elsa left them.

“What was that about?” Killian asked curiously.

Emma took a large gulp of the punch. “I think she was trying to read my mind.”

Killian laughed.

“She doesn’t read minds.”

“Or cast a spell on me.”

“Don’t be daft,” he snorted, before slinging his free arm around her waist. “Did you want food?”

Emma sighed heavily. “Oh, God. Please.”

This was going to be awful.

-/-

This is what happened: it was not, in fact, awful.

It was this: the food was great, the company wasn’t bad, and Killian was alive with good humour and enthusiasm, carrying her nimbly from moment to moment.

It was this: finding herself in thoughtful conversations with other guests and forgetting momentarily that Killian was not even with her, on the occasions she found herself without him.

It was this: listening contentedly as Elsa caught the attention of the crowd, recounting fond memories of the solstice from her childhood in Denmark, and reciting the great tale of the battle between the Oak King of daylight and the Holly King of night. During Litha, on the day of the summer solstice, the Holly King would win, from then on claiming every day until Yule and making each darker than the last. It was a fanciful thing, but its whimsy somehow fit exactly right into the festivities of the Bellevue coven; and surprisingly, Emma did not mind.

It was this: the bonfire catching with a glorious roar, sparks shooting up into the midnight blue sky as the night grew darker, and allowing Killian to tug her into its glow and twirl her around to the lolling beat of the music.  

And it was this: allowing herself to forget, for a single second, that there was anything at all in the world to fear.

And then she saw the scaled man.

He was standing at the entrance to the garden, by the ivy archways, his entire figure shrouded in darkness. She couldn’t make out his features, but the nasty curve of his mouth and the basket of spun gold twine at his feet gave him away. Something in Emma’s chest lurched, she wanted to throw up. She reached for Killian but Killian was not at her side, Killian was talking to Elsa, and maybe it was that, or maybe it was the cold, hard longing that had settled in her chest ever since she had called David, or maybe it was the soft buzz of alcohol running through her, but she was caught by a wave of courage she had never before experienced.

The scaled man beckoned, and she followed with purpose.

He raised a hand toward her, she could feel the brittle and knurled edges of his fingernails against her cheek even twenty paces away, and she left the comfort of the fire behind her and began her walk into the black.

She would tell him. She would tell him no, he could not have her.

She wanted to be in the light.

And she would tell him so.

Except as she got closer, she realised it was not him at all, and she could not understand how she had ever thought it was. She balked, trudging through the blur of her recent memories, but no – when she had noticed him, when she had stood by the fire, it hadn’t been the scaled man at all, but a normal person. The state of it being him, and not being him existed simultaneously, and Emma shook her head to try and regain her focus.

Because the man standing at the edge of the garden was August W Booth.

“Did you see him?”

It took Emma a few moments to realise August was speaking to her.

Her lips parted. “Did I see… who?”

August let a breath of dubious laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Emma was still struggling to marry up the two scenarios in her mind – she was at the Litha celebration with the coven from Bellevue, and August W Booth was standing in front of her.

“Look,” he continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d come and find you before you had a chance to find me again. You’re very good at what you do, Emma.”

A thousand questions flashed across her mind, too quickly for her to count. What was he doing here? How did he find her? What did he want?

“How do you know my name?”

That one, though, had been weighing on her mind for longer. August hesitated, glancing furtively over his shoulder, then peering past Emma out toward the bonfire. Whatever he saw did not seem to appease him.

“Not here,” he said quietly. “Don’t you feel it?” Despite the warmth of the evening, Emma shivered.

“No,” she said, although she was certain she did.

“You can find me at this address,” August continued, pulling a business card from his pocket and holding it out to her. Without thinking, she took it. “And, yeah, you can come and arrest me if you like, but I think you know that if you do you won’t get what you want.”

Emma eyed him curiously. “And what’s that?”

The corner of August’s mouth curled upwards, and his dark eyes glittered in the distant firelight; the world had granted him a secret, and he was thrilled to be its keeper.

“The truth,” he said. “The truth we both know.”

He nodded behind her. When Emma turned, she could see Killian standing motionless by the fire, staring straight at them – he looked puzzled, as if he were trying to make out who she was talking to. She was certain that if he knew he would’ve already stormed over there.

“Bring your court jester, if you like,” August continued brightly, before brushing his eyes across the rest of the clearing. The dancing, the music, the fire. “If you can tear him away.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder again to look at Killian, but he wasn’t watching them anymore. He was staring into the centre of the flames with that same blank, vacant look she had seen for days.

When she turned back August had slipped away.

She stared at the business card in her hands.

The truth, he had said. Which truth was that?

The sky had turned black, and the breath of the wind through the trees was stirring something strong, but uneasy, inside of her; the air tingled with woodsmoke and possibility, and Emma was ready.

#jay writes #the wind blows white #cs halloweek #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #I hope you like this one guys!

[heartbreak-of-a-marauder]

Rogue (2)

Title: The Vanishing Girl

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

Words: 2020

Note: Thank you to everyone for the immense amount of love for the first part! It blew me away! The taglist is still open, the previous part is linked below:

Part One 

y/n = your name  ●  y/e/c = your eye colour  ●  y/h/c = your hair colour

<- 2 ->

~*~*~*~*~

Age 15

Fireworks explode overhead, igniting the inky black sky in vibrant patterns of blues, pinks, reds, greens, golds and white. You sit transfixed by their beauty. The detonation created a rumble deep within your chest, some fireworks boom so loud you nearly cover your ears while others fizz as they sparkle. The true majesty of Asgard seems to come alive in the brief moments of light, the water beneath reflects each one perfectly, carrying the colour across its gentle ripples. A tincture of gunpowder travels on the slight breeze, tickling your nose.

Your knees begin to ache, complaining that you’ve been knelt on the scarcely padded window seat for too long. The stone of the windowsill is rough beneath your palms as you wiggle from side to side attempting to find a more comfortable position, your eyes never leave the fantastic display. The fireworks would happen twice a year without fail, and for as long as you could remember, you had sat and watched them. You had no idea why they happened but that never stopped you from looking forward to them.

A myriad of green fireworks cut through the night, dimming the stars, making them seem like they were only a backdrop made to enhance the brilliance of colours. They curved in streaks and lines of green, gold and white growing wider with each blast. A final crescendo echoes deafeningly across Asgard as the display reaches its climax, and just as soon as they had illuminated the sky, they fade to blackness leaving a blanket of smoke to descend on the city below.

You rest back on your heels feeling the way your heart hammered in your chest. Asgard comes back into focus through the smoke, lanterns create a soft glow in the night. From your window seat, you can see the main courtyard glowed brighter than the rest, the ringing in your ears takes a few minutes to dissipate, when it does you’re able to hear the music and laughter that drift from there. They were having a celebration of sorts, glancing to the sky again you wonder if that’s why there were fireworks.

The satin of your dress is creased and your legs are stiff and you manoeuvre off the window seat. Closing your eyes you try and focus on the sound of the gathering. You had never been invited to an occasion like that, they sounded like they were having fun.

Your steps are quiet at you shuffle back towards the workbench, the wood of the stool creaks beneath you as you settle back into your seat. An air of melancholy settles around you as you resume your work. Your mothers’ pestle and mortar sit abandoned across from you, no doubt she had gone to gather more ingredients for the remedy she had been working on. You finger the sprigs of dried lavender that lay forgotten beside you, you had no desire to continue to work on your vial of soothing. Despite having moved away from the window, the sounds of revelry still reached you, calling to you, making you less willing to work.

The music seemed to whisper your name, distracting you further. Reopening your recipe book, you flick through the aged pages, perhaps having the instructions in front of you would make you concentrate on something different. It didn’t matter that you had made hundreds of vials of soothing before, nor did it matter that you knew the recipe by heart, it gave your brain something else to do than dream up fantasies of what the party would be like.

Despite having the book in front of you, images of finely crafted dress swishing as their wearers danced continued to preoccupy your mind, so much so you hadn’t noticed your mother return.

You’re brought from your musings by the sound of your mothers’ pestle clattering against the table. Would she let you go if you asked? You chewed your lips as you thought, it didn’t take you long to arrive at the solid conclusion of ‘no’. Why should this occasion have a different outcome to any of the other times you had asked. You thumb absently through the pages, already hearing the responses your mother would give you.

She had given you an almighty row after you had met the prince a few years ago. You scowl at the memory. The punishment had never matched the act. How were you supposed to know one of the princes of Asgard would be wandering the corridors at that very moment? No supper that night and bed at sunset for two weeks definitely made a mountain out of a molehill.

Your frown lessens as you focus on the page you had landed on. ‘Draught of Sleep’. Your eyes dart nervously between your mother and the page as an idea pops into your head. Scanning the ingredients list you realise you had most of them out already. The only thing missing was poppy seed extract, but you knew exactly which cupboard and shelf it was kept on. It was risky and incredibly reckless to even be considering this, but what mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?

Right?

“I’m going to make some tea, would you like some mother?” Already you can feel how sweaty your palms are.

“I’d love some, thank you, dear,” Looking up from her work, she casts you a warm smile. You try to return it in kind but the feeling of guilt welling up inside you dampened it.

Standing you palm the necessary ingredients off the table, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice. When you reached the tea set, you hastily shove the ingredients you had been carrying into the drawstring tea bag. You sidestep to the cabinet beside you, flicking away the buds of lavender that had stuck to your palm. Your eyes quickly scan the jars that sat unprotected on its shelves, you take a cautionary look over your shoulder at your mother before reaching for the one you needed.

Returning to the tea set, you carefully add 5 drops of the poppy seed extract, counting each straw-coloured droplet as it hit the bottom of your mothers cup. Tendrils of stream curl upwards as you pour generous amounts of hot water into each one, making sure to thoroughly soak the herbs and flowers you had added to your mother’s cup.

‘Here goes nothing’.

It had taken ingesting the entire brew before your mother finally succumbed to sleep. She slept hunched over, her head touching the table. Guilt and excitement began to bubble in your chest as you softly drape a blanket over her shoulders. The drought had worked wonderfully, and you finally got your chance to go to the party. But you did not enjoy deceiving your mother like this.

You give yourself a customary once over check before heading out of your chambers. Unsure of the exact way to go, you follow the sounds of revelry and smells of rich food and perfume.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Everyone around you was having such an amazing time. The conversations and music were so loud around you it made your skin tingle. Laughter rang out from somewhere; you could barely hear it over the roar of chatter. You felt giddy and hot. You had expected polite conversation, wine and those silly little appetisers carried around on trays, but what you had found was beyond what you could think up.

Since arriving you had learned this was, in fact, a party celebrating the 18th birthday of Prince Loki. It was a fitting celebration for his entrance into manhood.

You danced lazily through the corridors of the palace. Your blood was still alive with music and more than one goblet of wine. Already, you were wishing you could stay for longer. You would have a difficult time removing the grin from your face. Twirling on your toes once more, your eyes following the hem of your skirts as they whirl around you.

“Y/n?” Someone asks, making you teeter mid-turn; off-balance.

Wildly you reach out grabbing nothing but air, you were going to fall and create a scene. They knew your name. The thought assaults you as you land in a heap on the floor. The cold of the tiles seeps through your skin and into your veins. There were very few on Asgard who knew you, those who did also knew your mother.

‘She’ll skin me alive’, you think, oblivious to the hand being extended down to you.

“Y/n, are you alright?” The voice asks again, chuckling.

Clenching your jaw, you prepare your meanest gaze to direct at them but stop when you see who stood before you.

Loki.

Everything about him was almost the same. His dark hair had grown, tucked away behind his ears. The timeless beauty of his pale complexion made his eyes appear more vibrant, they twinkled with something more, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You grin to yourself, noticing he still wore his characteristic green though his chest and shoulders were broader now. He definitely wasn’t a little boy anymore.

“I- Yes, I'm… How are you?” You ramble awkwardly, only making him grin more.

“Well, I must admit I’m a little surprised,” His larger hand envelops yours as he tugs you to stand. “You disappear for three years, only for me to find you dancing around the corridors,”

You feel your face begin to flame.

“Where have you been?” He mutters softly, asking himself more than you.

“It’s late, I must be getting home,” Reluctantly you slip your hand from his, taking a few retreating steps.

“Wait!” He frowns at your avoidance, catching up to you in one large stride.

“Yes, your highness?”    

“Where are you going?”

“Home?” You ask in confusion, pointing behind you.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s my birthday, stay a while!” He gestures with open arms.

“I really must be getting back,” You grimace. “I hope your birthday wish comes true, your highness,” You wave before setting off again, you had stayed longer than intended and were anxious to get back before your mother awoke.

“Obviously it can’t,” Loki calls down the corridor to you, you fight the urge to turn around and ask why. “Because you’re leaving,”

You whirl around to face him, your mouth opening and closing as you floundered. Why were you his wish? He was a prince who could have anything, surely, he was more imaginative than that.

“Because I’m leaving?” You repeat dumbly.

“You’re a mystery y/n. The vanishing girl, no one knows you and yet here you are,” he cocks his head to the side observing you.

“I’ll disappear forever if you do not let me leave,” You offer, hoping to throw Loki off. You suppress a shudder realising that threat might become a reality if you were ever caught. Goodness knows what your mother would have in store for you.

“Then make me a promise… promise me you’ll let me solve this mystery, one day, y/n,”

“Okay, deal,” you thrust forward your fisted hand with your pinky extended. Loki stares at it for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“To easily broken,” he states, shaking his head.

You sigh harshly through your nose. Your hands cover your face, you didn’t have time for this. Clasping them against your chest a small cynical voice tells you that yes, now is a good time to start praying. You feel the cool surface of your Celtic knot pendant brush against your thumbs, looking down, an idea pops into your head.

Gripping the necklace in your hand you pull, releasing the catch. Gathering it in your palm you offer it towards the prince.

“Here, something physical, a tangible promise,”

“One day?” Loki asks, taking the necklace from you.

“One day,” you repeat before slipping away.

As you round the corner you holler a quick ‘happy birthday’. Neither of you knew when that would be, but you doubted it would be soon, for as thrilling as tonight’s little excursion had been, you didn’t feel bold enough to attempt it again.

Yet.    

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @hellethil @icunee @bloatedandlonly @khadineberry @abrunettefangirlnerd @whothehellsbucky @dark-night-sky-99 @nonsensicalobsessions @batsdothings

#loki #loki fandom #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki odinson #x reader #reader insert #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki imagine #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #thor #thor the dark world #thor ragnorak #the avengers #loki feels #young loki #asgard #loki (marvel)

[writemoment]

Lovely Monster

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: There isn’t a single monster he couldn’t love. Not even me.

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Werewolf!Reader

Warnings/Rated: Mentions of abuse, comforting acceptance and fluff

Word Count: 2,155

( Reader ) P.O.V.

The darkness outside was nowhere compared to what was held inside my chest. These overwhelming feelings- a nightmare, forever my reality. My father screams out, smashing books into the walls as he lets out his anger. “You’re a freak, just like your mother! At least she had the decency to die!”

My body folds into itself, hiding from the abusive behavior of my father. The moon begins to take it’s effect on me and I can feel my bones cracking, breaking into my horrid form as it goes. Choked sobs and whimpers can be heard as hair sprouts from the pores of my skin, showcasing the freak I truly am.

Realizing I have little time left, I push my way out the nearest exit and away from the house. The pain is immense but I can’t allow myself to be chained and tortured tonight. 

Running through the dark, thick forest, I rush until I no longer can. Falling to my knees I howl at the hurt and coil around myself. Then it’s complete. The bones have realigned themselves and my vision is blurred with what I can’t control. My inner wolf taking over. 

Trees pass my traveling body in a blur, leaving no recognition for me to follow back. Soon, I’m at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the distant green of plantation and I howl at the moon. What a cliche- something I cannot control.

Contrary to the rush of adrenaline, the cool breeze that brushes over my fur brings a kind of calm over my nerves and slowly, my wolf steadies into a less frantic pace. Every time I’m forced to shift, it’s because of the moon or because of my dad. Rarely do I shift on my own. I’m too scared of what I become to willingly submit to that power.

My mother was the same way. She was too scared of her other nature, so she rarely shifted. My dad, being the human he was, hated us for the things we couldn’t control. When she passed, he didn’t even shed a tear. Anger filled tears ran through my whiskers as I remember his words, ‘good riddance’.

Strolling through the thick of the woods, I imagine a world that didn’t cringe at the things they don’t understand. Everything turns taboo at that point and no longer given a proper chance. For once, I want to be accepted for what I am. Perhaps that’s too much to ask for, but it’s something I harbor in the depths of my heart- both wolf and human. 

Bright streaks of light cut through the dark and it catches my eye with its spectacular array of color. Sticking to the shadows and staying covered, I creep to the peculiar scene that’s unfolding underneath the canopy of stars. 

Two bodies are running, dodging the spray of light as they round each other. They’re holding out some sort of weapon in front of them, being the source of the colors that had caught my attention.

My heart beats fast in my chest and my paws dig into the dirt, ready to sprint at any indication of harm to come my way. The taller one speaks a foreign word with clarity and I watch as the other falls backward, grunting at the impact.

“Hand over the egg and you’re free to go.” The tall one says, seeming calm and collected in this odd situation.

Grunting, the man offers up, what appears to be, a silver egg with a toss of his hand. Catching it carefully, the taller seems distracted as he coddles the egg while looking it over. That’s when the one on the ground raises his hand, ready to strike the clueless man.

Stepping forward, a deep growl bursts from my chest and they both snap their attention to me. My teeth pull up and I snarl, sending the lower one to chant something before disappearing from his previous spot in the blink of an eye.

Hmph

Whatever was going on, I knew that I couldn’t let anyone get hurt. Even in this form, this freak of nature knew that there was something worth protecting. It was a feeling, an instinct. 

However, unlike the other man that had left at the sight of me, this other one remains. His soft eyes study me, his posture unflinching as he slowly lowers himself to a less threatening position.

I feel my haunches rise as I cautiously circle him. “Steady there.” His voice is smooth, accent beautifully rich. “I’m not going to hurt you…” There’s something quite odd about him. Not in a bad way, more like a breath of fresh air.

Everything around me seemed to slow down and the black began to swallow me whole. The last thing I remember is smelling earth and the muffled voice of the man saying something into my unconsciousness.

****

My body feels the shift before my mind does. The cool air forces goosebumps to rise on almost every inch of my skin. I awake to warm-toned light and unfamiliar surroundings. There’s a scratchy warmth heavy over my torso and I see someone had made an attempt of throwing a blanket over my body. 

I scan the area for any sign of life but see none. However, I can sense it. I feel that I am not alone. Wrapping the blanket over myself, I groan as I crawl into a sitting position.

That’s when he appears. “Are you okay, miss?” He asks, eyes worried and lips parted in distress. In this lighting, I can fully see his features. Pale skin marked in constellations of freckles, light brown hair tousled in a messy mop atop his head. His eyes; I can’t quite pinpoint what color they are, just that they’re magnificent.

“Yeah… It always aches after I shift back.” I tell him, hissing quietly through my teeth as I reposition my body to face him. His shoulders slump a bit and he comes closer to where I was lain. Out of habit, I recoil into my body to take up as little space as possible.

“I’m not going to hurt you…” He says, quickly pouring me a cuppa tea before extending it to me. “My name is Newt. It seems that you exerted your energy back there. Blacked out from it, I’m sure.”

Uncurling from myself, I slip the mug from his hand. Our fingers momentarily swipe past one another’s and I, for the first time, don’t shy away from the contact. “Thank you.” A moment of quiet passes as I sip the warm beverage. “My name is Y/n. I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

“What position is that, exactly?” He asks, confused.

“I- I don’t purposely shift into, well, that. I was just trying to find escape. Usually when the full moon comes, I’m…. nevermind that. I just usually don’t lose control like that.” My admission causes me to fidget in my seat. This all around is unusual for me. I’ve never told anyone about this issue.

However, Newt doesn’t seem to mind. “No use in beating yourself up over something you have no say in. Though I’m sure we could whip up a potion to keep your shift from happening during the full moon. That is, if you’d like.”

His voice is so melodic and comforting. It’s the exact opposite of my father’s. I nod, wide eyed. “You can do that?” My entire life has been spent in fear and Newt’s offer is the first hope I’ve had a taste of. To be honest, I’m desperate for more.

The desperation, the shock, must drip heavily from my lips because Newt’s eyes melt into pure kindness as he studies me thoughtfully. He smiles, stretching his lips so thin they almost disappear. Extending his arm he offers his hand to me.

Patiently, he waits for me to accept his invitation. I pause, quite noticeably so, for a moment before slipping my palm into his. They’re warm, rough but oh-so gentle. He leads me to the door and opens a whole new world before me. Magnificent and wonderous creatures are scattered about the expanse. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel so different.

****

It has been three days since Newt has offered to take me in. He didn’t ask but I know he could sense my dread at the thought of returning to my life before. We fell into a mutual understanding that I just needed time. It was nice to not have anything expected of me.

Newt is shy. That’s an understatement but he is also extremely kind. He gave me space but also let me test my ability to trust. Every moment in the presence of the wizard gave me confidence to seek him out.

He taught me how to care for his creatures by his side. He showed me magic and a world I hadn’t previously known existed. Every time he opened up a bit to me, I felt myself doing the same. I recognized the Occamy eggs as the very same one he had retrieved the night I met him in the forest. It made me realize how much Newt cared about and sacrificed for these fantastic beasts.

Days went by and he began to trust me enough to leave me in his suitcase, which is where I had awoken that first night. Newt traveled a lot and was a very busy person, actually. Even then, he would always return and those were the hours that I found myself eagerly waiting for. Because I, also, very much began to trust him.

One day, Newt found me kneeling outside and cradling my hand to my chest. “Are you okay, Y/n?” His voice was thick with worry as he rushed over to my side.

“Don’t get to close, Newt-” I plead. He stops a few steps away from me, “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if I shift…” Tears pool in my eyes as I try to calm myself down. Pain triggered me sometimes and the last thing I’d want to do is hurt him.

Despite my warning, Newt kneels beside me and peels my arm away from my body. “What happened?” He asks as he begins to examine the cut that’s angry and red on my wrist.

“I cut it on the edge of the feeding pail… I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you, Newt. Please.” He stands up with me and swiftly leads me inside the small flat. With such familiarity and ease, he begins to snip different herbs and pouring mixtures from vials.

I watch him with amazement and a bit of confusion. Before I know it, the pain has subsided and he’s wrapping my arm up with gauze. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Newt freezes in his actions before throwing a glance at me over his shoulder. “Because you’re not someone to be feared. At least, not for the reasons you’re referring to.”

His way of thinking, the way he perceives the world, is so unlike anything I’ve ever known. The wizard begins to put away medicines and I watch him quietly for a moment. “My dad wasn’t fond of my kind…Actually, that’s putting it nicely. He hated werewolves.”

My fingers fidget in my lap and I keep my gaze firmly fixed on them as I speak. Afraid that if I see Newt’s eyes, I’ll be too self-conscious to tell him. “He didn’t know Mom was one until it was too late. She was already pregnant with me. When she died, I lost the one person who saw me as I truly was. My father… he was violent, cruel and- and scared.

“Meeting you was the best thing that has happened in my life. Because for the first time, I wasn’t seen as a threat or as strange. You didn’t expect anything of me. You saw me as Y/n. Not as a werewolf.”

My forehead creased with emotion and salty teardrops fell onto my clasped hands. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth to stop the slight wobble. Chancing a glance at Newt, I find him standing in front of me. 

Newt. His eyes glistening, not in pity, but with compassion towards me. Kneeling down so that his face was parallel with mine, he swiped away the stray tear that lingered off my chin. “There are no strange creatures, only blinkered people.”

With those words, I felt understood and, in a way, loved. Every day that I spent getting to know Newt Scamander, the more I began wanting to learn more. He loved his creatures and never truly believed monsters were born, they were made. 

There was time for us to grow together, to grow fond of one another. As we went on, I knew that I’d become more confident with Newt by my side. There wasn’t a ‘monster’ he couldn’t love. Not even when it came to someone like me.

Masterlist Here

A/N: Thank you for reading! xx - Ellie-Mae

#newt scamander #newt x reader #werewolf #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawft #crimes of grindelwald #newt scamander fic #newt scamander x reader #wizarding world of harry potter #wizarding world #wwohp #newt #werewolf fanfic #werewolf fic #newt fic #fanfiction #fanfic #eddie redmayne #Newton Scamander #tw abuse #fluff oneshot #fluff fic #fantastic beasts #newt fanfiction #fandom #newt imagine #newt scamander fanfic #care of magical creatures #magical creatures #hogwarts

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 23

Let Me Feel as Hurt as You Do

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Anxiety attack. Someone gets mad. A very slight implication of mentioned abortion, but not by word, by context. (This chapter focuses some on Steve and Ana)

Words: 14,639k words. Ha. Ha. I’m sorry.

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. From Jan-March 12th, I was completely booked soild at work. And then, this virus happened and I got laid off and oh look! A new chapter! I hope everyone is healthy and staying safe and staying inside. Here is a 14k+ chapter for you. (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) 

Previously: Ana had a full on energy bursting breakdown. Steve ran after her, causing him to feel his own energy drain, and leaving small cuts and bruises on his arm, left by Ana. Time is told by weeks of pregnancy. 

A pounding pressure circles Ana’s entire head, as if her brain is trying to squeeze itself out through her skull. Her nose is clogged, her mouth slightly open to breathe, to taste the air that no longer smells like Bucky; the last thing she had been trying to hold onto. At least this way she can’t smell the scent of him fading away from the fabric of his shirt she’s wearing. Instead, the air faintly tastes like charred earth.

Her eyelids are heavy, swollen from the tears that have yet to stop. Ana sits silently, gaze transfixed through the floor to ceiling windowpanes where the glass had shattered, decorating the ground like crystals.

Wet tracks have stained patterns on her cheeks, tear after tear. Her mind is thankfully blank for the time being. Just focused on watching the glass reflect off the lights in the compound and the glow of the moon. Her vision begins morphing the reflections together like dark watercolors. An odd flutter in her stomach rolls through her, gently pulling her from the depths of her mind; the colors had begun to form a dusty orange landscape.

“Hey, think you feel up to drinking this for me?”

Blinking back to awareness, Ana watches as Carol wiggles a little jar in front of her. That same elixir she had made her drink on occasion; it truly helps her feel better physically. Carol hands her the vial, their fingers touching. The moment of contact stirs the energy within Ana, causing her body to tense up abruptly. It lasts for a moment, before the tension eases into something calmer than she’s ever felt. It’s different, welcoming, and Ana finds her hand covering the other woman’s to chase that odd serenity.

“What?” Ana breathes, confused.

Carol offers her a friendly smile. She leans a tad closer. “You and I, don’t think we’re that different, power wise.”

“I don’t understand?” She blinks a few times.

Ana is utterly exhausted after her outburst, yet she could still feel the light turmoil of her energy prickling just under her skin. Now, her energy is finally beginning to settle, feels similar like the rings Shuri gave her.

“I��m stabilizing your energy levels,” Carol explains smoothly.

“You-you can do that?”

“Didn’t know until right now, figured I’d try it.”

“You’re so powerful,” Ana whispers, inhaling slowly as her body finally relaxes. “Much higher than my level of- this.” She vaguely gestures to her own body with her free hand. She allows herself a few more moments of Carol’s touch before taking the bottle from her.

“Then it’s something we can chat about later, once you’re feeling better,” She promises. Then she smirks. “And when you don’t look like you got swallowed whole then spit back out by a Flerken.”

“What’s a- never mind,” Ana sighs tiredly, opening the jar.

“Slow sips, alright? Rest for a few days. I have more if needed.”

She nods in silent gratitude. Carol pats her shoulder twice, though Ana doesn’t feel the same comforting flow she did just a minute ago. She also doesn’t miss Carol’s head jerk to Natasha as she walks away. Natasha follows her, and if Ana wasn’t as drained as she is, she may had been more curious.

When she finishes the elixir, Rhodes and Steve help her stand and make her way to her room. She briefly notices small spots of blood on Steve’s sleeve. She frowns, but Rhodey asking if he can make a call to Pepper, and would it be okay with her, distracts her. Ana nods, struck aware that she hasn’t spoken to her cousin in two months.

Another realization overcomes her as the men assist her down the hallway. Ana had been unintentionally horrible the past three months to everyone around her. She didn’t just shut off her emotions, she shut out her friends.

*

Just twenty minutes after she’s in bed, a light tapping sounds at the door as Ana slightly readjusts her sitting position. Apparently being reacquainted with her emotions also comes with new pains and aches; her lower back for one. Ana finally gets her pillows in the right position, nearly forgetting someone is at the door.

It cracks open, Natasha peaking her head in. “Is it alright for me to enter?”

She sounds so formal. Ana can’t blame her. “Uh, y-yeah,” She clears her raw throat. “Yes.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth cracks with a sad smirk before her face goes back to unreadable. She gently shuts the door behind her, moving toward the bed, Ana shifting her legs over to give her a space to sit. Which she does.

Ana bites her lip hard, nervous about Natasha’s pending anger. Worried Nat will give her a verbal lashing, even though she knows she deserves it. Her skin prickles with the apprehensive energy in the room. She inhales shakily, counts to five in her head before exhaling, rubbing her hands over the bottom curve of her growing stomach.

When Natasha finally speaks, her voice is unreadable. “Ana.”

Ana nearly flinches hearing her name. She makes the briefest of eye contact with the former spy. A single tear escapes Ana’s left eye, despite her efforts to keep them at bay. Natasha slowly reaches out to- what? Would she actually slap a pregnant woman? Flick her off? Make another rude hand gesture? Ana breaks their stare, ashamed- and isn’t that quite amazing to feel that now. Shame for how she’d been for the past three months.

Instead of a sharp stinging slap, or a bruising pinch, the gentle hand laid on her shoulder genuinely shocks her. Ana shoots her gaze up again, another tear overflowing. There’s a softness in Natasha’s eyes that she hasn’t see in so very long, her green eyes glassy. Her fingers apply pressure to Ana’s shoulder a moment before her shoulder is pulled forward a little. The motion makes her chin tremble, biting her lip still, nearly hard enough to draw blood.

Natasha exhales sadly, a little huff of air before she fully pushes Ana closer. Suddenly, she has Ana’s face pressed to her neck, and her other arm is hugging her tightly around her back. A hug. Nat is giving her a hug, one she doesn’t deserve in the least. A comforting, supporting hug. Something Ana hasn’t felt in months.

Tears flow freely down her face once again. Natasha holds her as best as she can, her fingers digging into her skin.

“I…I,” Ana stutters between hiccuping gasps. “Nat-“

“I know, I know,” Natasha replies softly. “Shhhh, I know, Ana. Apology accepted. Just let it out now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Ana wraps her arms around her as much as she can manage, fingers pressing into the solid form of comfort. She nearly cries herself to sleep that way. Barely conscious enough to realize Natasha moves her back and covers her with a blanket before she succumbs to sleep.

For once, Ana has a dreamless slumber.

*

Steve rubs his thumb over the already scabbed over crescent marks on his forearm, noticing the faint bruising around them too.

“Glass get ya’?”

Rocket’s voice grabs his attention, going back to sweeping his pile of shattered glass into the dustpan.

“No, just-“ But Steve stops because he doesn’t have an excuse. Not to mention he’s sure everyone witnessed everything.

“She always been strong enough to draw blood from a super soldier?” Rocket continues casually, finishing his pile before jumping up on the arm of the couch. Eye level with Steve’s arm now.

A brief memory flashes through Steve’s mind of Ana accidentally clipping Bucky in a sparring match outside their hut. It led to a busted lip, Ana apologizing profusely while straddling Bucky and him looking up at her with proud adoring eyes as if she hung the moon.

He mentally shakes the memory away. She always had a hidden strength about her, but never enough to physically bruise them with just a grip of her fingers.

“No, this would be new.”

“Has no one noticed her growing strength these past weeks?” Nebula muses lowly, studying a small device in her hands. She fiddles with it, then points it at the first pile large of broken glass. “The minuscule signs of her powers becoming unsteady?”

She presses a button, a short burst of purple light shoots from the device. Suddenly the pile is gone, nothing but a wisp of smoke before it fades. Steve in utter shock, is impressed with the tool, and vaguely thinks if they had that a while back it would have saved them a lot of clean up time in previous home attacks.

“Uh-“ Steve begins.

“Oh, let me do the rest!” Rocket demands, hopping off the couch and grabbing the device as Nebula holds it out.

“The light charred marks on tables,” She continues, her dark eyes locking on Steve’s. “The-

“Dent marks? Yeah,” He says, leaning against the back of the couch. Rocket cackles as three more piles disappear. Steve continues. “Didn’t catch the first signs though.”

“Ana is…fascinatingly powerful. More than any of you realize.”

Crossing his arms tightly, Steve frowns in perplexed curiosity. What has this woman from another planet seen in Ana that no one else had noticed. That he himself hadn’t paid attention to. “Care to elaborate?”

“The sheer amount of energy she released,” Nebula pauses, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Was extremely similar to that of-“

“Captain Rogers, you have an incoming call from Mrs. Stark.”

FRIDAY’s interruption could have come at different time than this. Steve drops his arms as he pushes himself off the couch.

“We’ll talk about that later,” He tells Nebula, heading toward the conference room.

She nods, then snatches the device from Rocket just as he was about to test it on a lounge chair. Steve ponders her words over in his head, some pieces coming together from the past month. He did noticed the perfectly scorched hand print on the bedside table in Ana’s room tonight. However, speaking to Pepper takes precedence at the moment.

*

Five days pass before Ana remembers the details of her breakdown. Five days before she connects the spots of blood on Steve’s arm was her doing; granted, she had slept soundlessly for most of those days. Her body seeming to finally catch up on a decent amount of sleep and beginning to heal from her emotional stunted issues. As in, she’s been overly emotionally now, like her hormones are speeding up to make up the past three months.

It was recommended by Pepper, after Ana had a long overdue conversation with her, that she should watch cute animal videos, or light comedic movies to lift her spirits a little. It worked for one day before she came across a fluffy kitten video and started crying at how cute the little kitty was.

Now, Ana gingerly gets up to use the bathroom, her bladder clearly smaller and being constantly pressed on. Instead of getting back in bed however, she leaves her room in search for Steve herself. That, and she suddenly has a craving for mango pizza again.

“What the hell are you doing walking around?” Rocket greets her as she rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” She replies with a pout, slowly moving to the freezer. “Have you seen Steve?”

“There’s plenty of people here to bring you food, take advantage of that, Barnes.”

Ana halts for a moment hearing her last name, the little “space raccoon” as Rhodes likes to call him, only knows her as Ana Barnes. She inhales slowly, then pulls open the door.

“And would you have brought me food on a tray?” She shoots over her shoulder, voice teasing. She nearly forgot how it feels to tease someone.

“What do I look like, a servant? I meant use the others.” He replies flippantly.

For the first time in a long time, Ana cracks a smile. A small chuckle even escaping past her lips. She turns to glance at him, and swears she sees a little smirk from him too.

“Ana? What the in hell are you walking around for?”

Ahh, there he is. She closes the door, but keeps her hand on the handle for support. “Looking for you, and hungry.”

Steve fixes her with his disapproving looking before he suddenly looks surprised. “You’re hungry?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “Go lay back down and I’ll make you something.”

“No, this is specific-“

“Could’ve just asked FRIDAY to call someone.”

“I disabled FRIDAY from my room, remember?” She reminds him awkwardly as Steve begins to usher her back. “Two months ago.”

“Right. What’s this specific food you want?”

“Mango piz- wait.” Ana stops, wincing at her abrupt movement. She looks over her shoulder again after she takes a steady breath. “Rocket, is that my glock? And my knife set?”

Rocket had gone back to doing his task before she had entered, popping his head up to acknowledge her.

“Oh, yeah,” He answers lightly. “Stole them from that shooting range here. You ain’t using them right, full belly and all? No? Good. Couldn’t find your metaled arm husband’s gun, figured I’d clean these instead. In case you decide to have another cool outburst- I mean, breakdown, they’ll be of use.”

Ana just stares as Steve covers his laugh with a cough.

“That okay?”

There’s no snark coming from him, just a teasing glint in his dark eyes. She can’t pinpoint why, but Rocket cleaning her long forgotten weapons and clearly knowing they were hers, touches Ana more than she thought it would. She recalls him handing her Bucky’s gun after the incident; which is now carefully put away in the closet.

“The smaller knife on the right is spring loaded,” She informs him with a small smile. “Used to be inside the boots I wore. It’s a good knife. Take care of them all.”

Rocket grabs the knife, finds the switch and springs it open. He salutes with it as Ana follows Steve back to her room.

An hour later has Steve serving freshly made pizza with chopped up mango pieces on top. Ana already feels bad the second he came in. He takes one look at her grimacing face and groans, setting the pie down on the bedside tray.

“You’re no longer craving this, are you?” He guesses, dropping the paper plates as well.

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“Hungry for anything else?”

“Did I hurt you, that night?” Ana abruptly questions. It’s the whole reason she wanted to find him in the first place. Not for food.

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowns, hands on his hips.

“Nat’s always been right. You’re a terrible liar, Rogers.”

He sighs, sitting down on her bed next to her legs. “Ana, you weren’t aware of draining my energy.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” She replies, then grabs his left arm.

Ana pushes the flannel sleeve up to his elbow, pulling him closer to see better. Five very faint crescent shapes on his arm are barely visibly in the light but they’re there. Four in a row and the fifth just a few centimeters to the left. Ana traces the shapes with her finger, his skin smooth from any scabbing.

“I saw blood on your sleeve that night,” She informs him, raising his arm to her eyes for a better look. She turns his arm side to side, no resistance from him. “Thought maybe it was the glass. It wasn’t.”

There. Ana keeps his arm at a slight angle, and the smallest discoloration of yellow stands out against his usual peachy skin tone. “I held onto your arm.”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms calmly. “Dug your nails in. Had a pretty strong grip there.”

A thought runs through her mind, causing Ana to drop his arm. She very suddenly does not want Steve to put any of his own thoughts together. Calling herself out on the cuts was a bad idea, and anxiety shoots through her chest. She doesn’t want anyone to know or to possibly connect her oddly growing strength. Ana herself has been aware it for weeks.

“Sorry I hurt you,” She rushes out. “Sorry,” Ana repeats kinder. “For everything.”

Steve looks like he wants to continue the subject, then thinks better of it. “Don’t worry about apologies right now, okay? Just take it easy for the next week, try not to stress yourself out, Ana. Once you’re feeling better and off bed rest, we can revisit it.”

“Okay, yeah. Sounds good,” She agrees, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. Though she can’t help feeling like her and Steve are treading on thin ice.

She shifts around, adjusting the pillows. Steve helps her, mainly making sure she doesn’t accidentally fall off the side. Ana feels exhausted again, her lower back aching as she finally finds a position comfortable enough.

“Apparently turning your emotions back on makes you realize you’re actually pregnant.” Ana huffs, half on her side.

“’Bout damn time,” Steve snips instantly. Ana quirks an eyebrow. “I mean! I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. I just meant, sometimes it felt like you didn’t…care.”

“Steve,” Ana begins solemnly after a short pause. She looks him straight in the eye, stressing her next words. “Natasha said the same thing to me. If I did not want or care for this baby. I would not be pregnant anymore.”

It’s silent between them as her words sink in. She can see in his eyes when he comprehends her meaning. Steve drops his head for a moment, before he meets her gaze again. He takes her hands in his, squeezing.

“And we would have supported you with whatever decision you made,” Steve tells her just as serious. “We still do. Support you. That’s all any of us wanted to do. We’re…we’re your family now. We’re here for you and little Barnes in there.”

Ana scoffs to cover the tightness in her throat. “You’ve always been my family, Steve. Well, at least for the past seven years.” That earns her a chuckle. “Thank you.”

“You look tired, get some rest.” He releases her hands and begins to stand.

“Actually, I kinda want the pizza now.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t hide how happy her eating seems to make him.

*

Ana cautiously makes her way to the bathroom, pressing her hands to her lower back as she walks. She turns on the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet and presses the cold water to her clammy face. Sighing in relief, she repeats the notion until her face feels clean of sweat. Body aches and mild hot flashes bringing the clammy skin, her ankles beginning to swell just a little. It’s almost as if her body is reminding her of the growing human inside her uterus with a vengeance. Payback for now finally feeling everything from her lack of feeling nothing for weeks.

However, she does take comfort in the facts that the baby is healthy and her most of her vitals are back to normal. Ana reaches for a washcloth on the counter, patting her face dry. She catches her gaze in the mirror once she’s finished, and stares.

Dull dark eyes peer back at her, the golden dots just matte specks. Grayish-purple circles are prominent against unusually pale skin tone. Highlights the fine lines of her lower eyelids, lines of exhaustion, stress, loss. Her face has thinned, looks sullen from lack of smiles, of laughter. The white of her eyes bloodshot, either from tears after so long of not shedding them or just lack of sleep.

Ana’s reflection startles her. This is the first time she has truly taken in her appearance in months. Too afraid to see the failure in her eyes of not saving Bucky in time. Of not stopping Thanos. Of the loss of life in her own eyes. She takes a step back, seeing herself entirely.

Smoothing her damp hands over her stomach, she grabs the hem of her- Bucky’s- shirt, lifting the material just under her breast. Which, have also grown bigger in the past three months. It’s not as if she hasn’t noticed her body growing, or seen her belly before, considering she has a top view of it every day, but this. This feels different.

Her skin has obviously accommodated the growing baby, proof of stretch marks on either side of her belly button that now pokes out. The old bullet wounds on her abdomen have stretched out as well, and the last few letters of her rib tattoo just barely affected. Ana traces her fingers over the new marks, then sees the slight movement of her belly in the mirror. A slow smile spreads across her lips, because this is different, and her mind drifts into another memory.

Ana shivers, legs tangled with strong muscular ones on the bed. Clothes long since scattered along the floor, a shirt on the lamp, bra on the mirror.

“Can’t wait to see your belly grow,” Bucky murmurs thickly. Nose grazing around her navel for the umpteenth time.

“Bucky,” Ana whines, breath ragged and pleading.

“Gonna look radiant, love.” He continues to praise, lips burning a trail of flames to her hip. “So fucking beautiful. My girl, my amazing wife.”

He stops his kissing, turning his head to lay his ear and cheek over the lower part of her stomach. His breath hitches as he listens, as her fingers sink into his long thick hair scratching his scalp.

“It’s the most beautiful sound in the world,” Bucky exhales, voice strained with emotion. “That little heartbeat. God, I can’t wait to feel this little jellybean move in there.”

Ana, despite wanting her husband to have his focus between her legs, laughs. “That’s what you can’t wait for?”

Bucky kisses her bellybutton, then her scars. “And many more, but, yes. My ma told me-“ He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s shocked he reminds the memory. “Whenever my sisters moved around, they were waving at me. Like they couldn’t wait to meet me.”

“Bucky, sweetheart,” Ana’s voice is a gentle sigh, fond and full of adoration. “This baby definitely can’t wait to meet you either.”

He hums. “I used to sing to them, when my Ma was pregnant. Said they could hear me. So, I talked to them every day. Like I’m going to talk and sing to our little one every day.”

Overwhelmed with how much she just fucking loves Bucky, Ana tugs him up to her, cupping his cheeks and giving him a deeply passionate kiss. His fingers tracing her stomach, over and over, until he finally lowers them.

A dull jab to the left side of her stomach pulls her back to her reflection. She chuckles wetly, tears escape as she blinks. Because this. This is her finally coming to terms.

“I can’t wait to meet you, little bean,” She whispers. She moves her hand to the same spot, feeling their baby moving around.

This. This is Ana finally connecting.

 25 weeks:

Another dream. The same dream. Over and over and over. Each time, ashes slip between her fingers the moment she touches Bucky. Each time he gives her that sad smile. Each time he speaks her name so tenderly. Each time, no matter what she does to try to save him, dust ingrains the lines of her palms, settles heavily in her lungs.

Each time she wakes with tears, panting and struggling to breathe. The only difference now is the ache in her chest, the stabbing pain through her heart, a haunting in her mind, and the shredded frays of her soul. The only thing that comforts her now, is the sound of Bucky’s voice recorded on the kimoyo beads.

Like clockwork every night, Ana hears Steve’s soft footsteps, a defeated sigh. On the eighth night, this changes. Steve finally knocks, cracking the open door she no longer keeps locked. Ana waits with her head in her hands for him to come in and sit on the edge of her bed.

She takes a few calming breaths before speaking. “What made you finally come in?” She inquires, face still hidden in her palms.

“How did you know I was there?” Steve asks bemused. He doesn’t wait for her answer. Instead he says, “Figured it was about time. Your nightmares. It’s what led to your...breakdown.”

Ana remains silent. He’s not wrong.

“I have nightmares too. So does Nat, Rhodey, all of us. Not sure about Nebula though, she’s more stoic than you were.”

She chuckles slightly at that, but still doesn’t look at him. She can feel his nervous energy radiating off him though, and it’s overwhelming to feel her ability again. There’s still an odd sort of tension between Ana and Steve. Makes her skin tingle and nerves jumpy, she almost wishes Carol were here instead.

“You don’t have to talk about them. You don’t have to talk to me about anything.” Steve continues, his voice morphs into a desperate hint of a plea. “Just, please don’t shut me out again, Ana.”

Frowning at her hands, she remains still, allowing him to talk.

“I mean,” He says quietly. “You shut everyone out, but it was worse with Natasha and I. Especially me. You never looked at me. You still can hardly look at me. I think I know why, and…I am so fucking sorry.”

Finally, Ana picks her head up, shocked and confused. But Steve’s eyes are staring off to the side, his hands twisting his fingers around. She follows his line of sight, to the picture of her and Bucky on their wedding day. When she looks at him again, his jaw clenches as he swallows.

Abruptly he stands up, but Ana reaches for his arm, grabbing his wrist. She sees him wince and realizes her grip is too tight. She quickly releases him as he stares wide eyed at her. She opens her mouth to ask why he apologized. Maybe ask why he’s suddenly leaving after he’d been pacing back and forth listening to her nightmares for weeks.

But a strange sensation shoots through her lower stomach and she gasps, hands immediately going to the spot. “Oh, fuck,” Ana whimpers with a wince. “Baby didn’t like that move.”

“Are you okay!? Do I need to call Dr. Hammond?” Steve asks frantically.

“No, no, I’m fine,” She reassures him, the pain fading. “Just moved too fast is all.”

Steve hums like he doesn’t quite believe her as he shakes his wrist out. “You look abnormally pale, lost your tanner complexion.”

Ana shrugs, not mentioning the lack of sun and definitely emotional stress is part of it. Instead, she attempts to reach for the nightstand drawer. Steve beats her too it, pulling out one of the vials of the elixir. He pops open the top, handing it to her. She nods her thanks.

“FRIDAY,” Steve addresses the AI that was reinstalled days ago. “What’s the read on Ana’s vitals?”

“Body temperature is normal, heart rate slightly elevated at 150 bpm. Fetal heart rate is normal range at 153 bpm. Mrs. Barnes blood pressure remains low at 90/60, however there are no other signs of distress at this time.”

“Thank you,” He says, seeming to relax just slightly.

“Mrs. Barnes, you haven’t taken your medication tonight, and your water intake has been minimal today. I can print out some prenatal yoga exercises and breathing techniques for you. I’ve noticed your sleeping pattern hasn’t improved enough to be considered healthy. Your appetite has improved quite a bit though.”

“This is why I disabled you in the first place,” Ana grumbles as Steve’s gaze narrows at her.

“I was truly impressed you bypassed my firewall, I was also hurt by your action-“ FRIDAY responds. Ana makes an indigent noise and swears FRIDAY sounds snippy. “-As I do care for your wellbeing. As does Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, that’s enough, thank you!” She snaps. The AI goes silent. Ana ignores the thick lump forming in her throat at the mention of Tony.

“Drink your water and take your medication.” Steve’s tone leaves no room for agreement as he gives her both her cup of water and the bottle of meds.

She does as she’s told, swallowing the pill and taking slow sips of water. She can feel her body relax and the baby roll around until it decides the position it’s is good enough.

“I don’t mean to continue to shut you out,” Ana confesses suddenly, eyes meeting Steve’s who was about to leave. “I’m still just trying to process feeling again. It’s overwhelming and I’m trying to stay as calm and relaxed as possible. The whole reason I did it in the first place, Steve, to was protect my child from any negative affects through me. You may not believe me, but everything I did, everything I’m trying to do is to protect my baby and keep it healthy.”

Sighing heavily, she puts her cup and bottle down, leaning back against her pillows. “Haven’t done a great job though.” She adds as an afterthought.

“I believe you,” Steve says, staying by the door. A shadow flickers in his blue eyes, and the energy around him changes darkly before it’s gone. “I just…sometimes it just feels like-“

Ana frowns because he just stops talking, shaking his head. Something is bothering him, and she swears it’s more than just shutting him out. He’s anxious about it. “Feels like what?”

“Nothing,” He gives her a nearly convincing smile. “It’s late, you should try going back to sleep.” Steve exists after that, closing the door but stopping the last few inches. “Ana, I’m here. If you need me. For anything.”

“I know,” She whispers as he shuts the door.

Ana covers her face again with her hands, inhaling slowly. She can still smell the faint ashes from her dreams, can still feel a phantom touch and realizes with a start, that she is not the only one to lose Bucky.

**

Finally, Ana is off bed rest, Dr. Hammond visiting once more for a check up and seemingly much happier with her health. She mentions the pains could possibly be Braxton Hicks contractions, a sign of her body beginning to prepare for birth. There’s only three months left and it’s this information of her body preparing to welcome a tiny human into the world, that Ana is appalled at herself. For a few reasons.

The first is Ana herself is not prepared whatsoever for a baby to arrive in three months. The second is knowing she hasn’t spoken to Pepper hardly at all, and rushes up to Rhodey. She all but interrogates him, asking if Pepper is angry. Demanding to know if Pepper is alright. Inquiring if the family is okay, and quickly questioning about Tony.

“Glad to see your rambling is back,” Rhodes quips, a smirk teasing his mouth.

He has been sitting in one of the conference rooms, apparently talking to whichever US Government leaders were left. Ana had come to find out that Thaddeus Ross was one of the many to disappear in “The Snap” as Rocket now refers bitterly to it. Ana however, doesn’t know how she quite feels about that bit of information. A bitter satisfaction does curl in her chest though.

“You sound a little like yourself again,” He continues, shutting off the holograms.

A deep ache throbs in Ana’s heart, and she doesn’t have the nerve to tell him that she cries almost every night now. That she spends more time watching and listening to a recording of her husband than talking to anyone else. Ana’s heartbreak remains the same as it was three months ago.

“I’ll be your go between just a little longer,” Rhodey says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you both need to speak to each other on your own. He still doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” Ana startles, feeling oddly hurt that Tony doesn’t know she’s pregnant. “Um…do you know why?”

He shrugs, standing up and adjusting the orthotic around his waist. “Pep thinks it should come from you personally.”

The third reason is the fact that while she shut her emotions off, Ana also deliberately shut off any help. She knows Natasha was hurt by it, knows she was pissed to hell, but her and Ana had a long two hours talk about everything. More apologizes from Ana included.

Ana decides it’s time to let people back in, because, as she swallows some bit of pride, she cannot do this alone. She finally calls Pepper, crying on the phone to her cousin because, fuck does she miss her husband, and this is the first time she’s truly allowing herself to feel every ounce of her pain and heartbreak and emotions. After a good hour of that, she goes back to her first reason; being appalled and angry at herself.

“I don’t have anything, Pepper!” Ana whines into the phone. “I’m not prepared. I don’t have a crib, I don’t have clothes, diapers! Wipes!? I don’t even have a damn blanket or pacifier! Oh my god, what if the baby gets sick and I don’t have that little nose sucker thing or a thermometer!? No little socks! This baby’s poor feet are going to freeze because it’s horrible, emotionless fuck of a mother couldn’t-“

“Whoa, hey! That’s enough, Ana!” Pepper scolds. “Take a breath, bug. You can’t work yourself up again like that. It’s going be okay.”

Pepper’s promise holds up. Within a day of their conversation, Pepper stops by with bags and boxes of baby supplies. Some are hand-me-downs, most everything else is new. Boxes of diapers, wipes, bibs, neutral blankets and little onesie’s. Pacifiers, nail clippers, a soft brush, a bathtub, socks, and beanies.

“Who’s Morgan?” Steve questions as he helps carrying in the last box. That he sets down in the living full of people, Morgan’s Baby Stuff written on the top.

Ana freezes with the veggie fruit smoothie Natasha made her, pressed to her lips. Her eyes shoot over to Pepper. Her cousin looks guilty for all of three seconds, before she sighs and shrugs.

“My two-year-old daughter,” She informs, likes it’s the most casual thing to drop that two-year secret. “Tony- both of us, decided to keep it a secret after your falling out.”

The shock of Tony Stark having a daughter ripples through the room.

“You all went your separate ways, most of you off the grid in hiding.” Pepper explains, hands on her hips. “If anyone is angry, then get over it. It was our decision to keep our privacy and family safe from public knowledge.”

“Oh, um, congratulations?” Steve offers awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ana snorts against her cup, nearly splashing her face with liquid veggies. Pepper mutters her gratitude, and that’s that. They continue to carry the gifts further into the room.

“I already knew,” Natasha confesses quietly to Ana, tilting her glass up to make sure she drinks. Of course she did. The infamous spy she is.

Ana glares at her as she takes over dramatic gulps as Nat, who’s hair is slowly turning red at the roots, rolls her eyes.

 It takes a few hours for Pepper to coax Ana to leave the compound and go to a store. Ana makes it halfway down the driveway to the car and stops. Her hearing has grown sensitive, and she knows why, however, she doesn’t hear much of anything.

The birds that used to sing in the trees and woods are silent. There’s zero scurrying feet over the dry leaves on the ground, and the feel of the air around her is…heavy. Broken and hurt. And here she is, about to shop for her child, for her and Bucky’s child.

Without him. Broken and hurt.

“I can’t do this,” She mutters, turning back to go inside.

Pepper doesn’t force her or convince her again. Instead, they pick and order a crib, highchair and anything else she needs.

As Ana rests, watching in a daze as Pepper folds little towels, she places one pile next to Ana. Shifting her eyes, she sees a onesie that says “Little Bean” with three coffee beans decorating the front. Pepper lays matching socks on top, oblivious to Ana’s reaction. She reaches for the tiny socks, the cloth soft in her hand.

“Annie Doll, come look!” Bucky shouts excitedly from the front door. “Ana!”

They had just gotten back from the hut, and she wants to shower the smells of hay and warm weather off. Ana sighs fondly, doubling back from the bathroom. She stops in the living room when she sees a gleeful Bucky holding up a package of six socks. Six, tiny baby socks.

“What in the world?” Ana laughs in bemusement. “Where did you get those? Oh, they’re so cute!”

“Shuri! Well, no-“ Bucky corrects himself as he comes closer. “She helped me navigate one of those baby store websites and I saw these so I ordered them!”

“Bucky, you know I’m only six weeks in right, babe? We have so much time to buy all the socks!” Though as she says it, her heart swells with warmth and love over Bucky’s excitement.

“Yeah…but look!” He nearly shoves the small things in her face. “Baby goats! They had goats on them and I just- what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ana can’t control her face, or her suddenly wet eyes. She just grabs her husband by the nape of his neck and kisses him firmly. She drags him to the couch, because she won’t make it back to their bedroom.

Remembering that day, Ana gets up too fast, pausing as a wave of dizziness hits her. She waits until it passes, then begins to frantically pull open drawers, searches through her closet, through boxes. She finds nothing as she throws clothes and drops objects to the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper questions cautiously.

“I-I can’t find them.” Ana says with a shaky voice. “I need to find them. I have to find them.”

“Ana-“

“He bought them,” She mumbles, ignoring the tears falling down her cheeks as she rechecks the top drawer. “He bought them. He was so excited, and I can’t find them. I-I need them for Bucky. He bought them for the baby.”

A hand on her shoulder makes her turn and burry her face into Pepper’s chest. “I can’t find them!”

The socks Bucky bought aren’t in her room, which means. The six little pair of goat socks are somewhere in their home in Wakanda. It’s such a small thing, but it breaks Ana all over again. Feeling like her body is being ripped in two once more.

Reminds her that the black hole in her chest will never be whole again.

 27 Weeks:

Nothing gets easier. Ana almost shuts her emotions off again, a few times, until she ends up have a conversation with Nebula one night. It starts off with a game she said her, and Stark played while they were drifting off in space. She takes out a thick triangle, Ana immediately recognizing the little paper football.

Ana smiles sadly at the triangle, remembered when Tony played the same game with her as she recovered in the hospital after her brother had attacked her. The game moves on from light comments, to Ana teaching her simple card games. From there, is transpires deeper. Nebula brings up her suspicions of Ana’s nightmares and growing powers. Unknown as to why she does, Ana opens up to her.

“I thought it was because I was stress free in Wakanda. I was the happiest I’ve ever been.” She recalls somberly. “I was with the person I loved more than anything in my life I had Bucky.” Ana wipes the tears that escape her eyes. She takes a moment to gather herself as Nebula waits patiently.

“I had, have these rings that help regulate my energy. I haven’t been wearing them lately though, maybe that’s why? Or the growth of my hormones with the baby? Or-“

Her right hand slips slightly, her fingers grazing over the stone embedded in the last knuckle of the glove. She yelps, either from pain or the new surge of power coursing through her.

Ana blinks, the memory flashing through her mind. Reminding her.

I touched an Infinity Stone, doesn’t seem to be something Ana should confess just yet. However, Nebula was born on a different planet, and the daughter of that horrible titan. She may possibly know more about the stones than anyone else.

The first time Ana had been in close proximity to Nebula, she felt energy and emotions just as chaotic, and dark as Bucky’s had been; if not a little more. It had to be Nebula’s own moment of vulnerability, suffering so deeply from pain and lose and rage. Since then, she had been stoic enough for Ana to sit close to her, just to feel energy that wasn’t openly heavy. Maybe it’s why Ana decides to tell her.

“Nebula,” Ana begins quietly, urgently, hoping no one is overhearing. “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it a secret? I’m trusting you here.”

Nebula isn’t one to express her thoughts or emotions, or anything for that matter on her face, but this clearly shocks her. Her dark eyes are wide as she sits back. Nodding once she leans back in, closer to listen to Ana.

“I, I think I touched one of the Infinity Stones,” She mutters, nervously rubbing her hands over her stomach. “I’m sure of it.”

A beat passes. “No Terran can touch a stone without damage. Or death,” Nebula states ominously. “It is not possible.” Though as she says it, her words drift off in thought.

“Don’t you know all about the stones? Does Rocket?” Ana can’t help but inquire.

She shakes her head, eyes looking oddly disappointed. “I only know one of their main functions. Some were simple, straightforward, like the Power Stone. Others were more complicated. My father was never one to spill the secrets of each stone he found.”

“Maybe that’s the one I touched? The Power Stone?” Ana foolishly asks with hope.

“Do you recall the color?”

“No,” She huffs, defeated. Abruptly she doubts herself. “I’m not even sure if it really happened anymore.”

Ana doesn’t elaborate, feeling rather silly for even mentioning it. Maybe she dreamt it. Maybe she was hit so hard it knocked her brain around a little. Maybe she was so emotionally distraught that she just fabricated it. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

“You have dreams?” Nebula questions, bringing Ana back.

“I have nightmares,” She corrects. “Always the same, like a strange world.”

“Your physical strength has grown since touching the stone.”

“Yeah,” Ana drawls out, wincing. “That’s…that’s not part of it, I think. Wait. You’ve noticed that? My-my strength?”

“I have. You could be a lethal warrior if you wanted.”

Internal panic tightens her chest. She hoped no one was going to notice; leaving bruises on Steve was one thing, possibly passable and could be forgotten. Even her newly sensitive hearing. But the cracks in objects that aren’t easily crackable? The broken hinge of the door to the roof when Ana pulled to hard? Those aren’t as easy to explain or hide.

“Is that another secret, Barnes? How powerful you have become?”

“Please,” She sags, abruptly feeling tired. “It’s not something I want to talk about yet.”

They don’t speak for a few minutes. Then Nebula makes a tiny smacking noise against the table. “I win.”

Ana looks down at the game of war they paused to talk. Nebula’s duel card is an Ace. Ana flips her over. It’s a Queen.

“I enjoyed that,” Nebula states coolly, gathering the cards messily. “I am going to beat Rhodes now.”

Ana is left laughing softly in the living room. Her panic slowly dying down.

28 weeks:

Entering her seventh month of carrying a human being inside her has really taken affect on Ana. Her hair has gotten much longer, thicker than it was. It’s probably the only thing Ana likes. The heartburn, light sciatic pain, and lower back pain and peeing every five minutes she could all do without. Thankfully, Ana’s vitals and the baby’s have been good enough for Dr. Hammond, who once again stresses the support group for expecting widowed mothers.

Finally relenting, Ana agrees, but with a blush on her face asks Natasha to go with her. The drive isn’t too far, and it’s the first time she has left the compound since Wakanda. There’s a significantly less amount of cars on the road, barely any traffic for a Friday at 5:30pm. The lack of birds and planes flying through the sky. The absence of bikers and runners.

Clenching her hands into fits, Ana rolls her shoulders back, taking a deep breath. Her skin prickles with new energy, new emotions, especially when Natasha stops at a red light. Ana meets the eyes of the person sitting next to them; a middle aged man with vacant eyes. The light turns green and as he drives away, there’s a sticker family on the back of his car; a wife and five kids.

The radio turns to static, then shuts off. Biting her lips, Ana tries not to think of every single person who lost their families, friends, children, the love of their lives. The confusion, the horror, the guilt people must have felt, still feel. Ana’s breathing begins to rapidly pick up, and that same clenching pressure makes itself known in her lower stomach.

“Nat,” She grits out, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm herself.

“Are you going into labor in my car?” Natasha deadpans, a hint of humor behind the flat of her voice.

“No,” Ana huffs a strained chuckle. “But I can’t do this. I thought I could. But my energy…”

“Figured with the radio, just don’t shut car down either. I’m turning around right now, don’t worry. Just count your breathing. Slow inhales and exhales. Touch around you if you need too. You’re alright Ana”

How ironic, Ana thinks vaguely as she follows those instructions, for someone titled an Empathetic Healer to have her own anxiety attacks. To have someone who used to come to her, be the one coaching Ana.

Fuck, she misses Bucky with every aching molecule.

Bucky was so good, so attuned to her, that he was always able to calm her down instantly. All he had to do was gently brush his metal fingers against her hand, or cheek. All he had to do was give her a tight squeeze with his right hand, or press his forehead to hers and silently breath with her until Ana had followed his calming pattern. Or press her hand to his chest like she had done since the beginning. Coo gentle, loving words to her. Even now, she hears that phantom call of her voice.

“Have you picked a name yet?” Nat’s gentle voice provides a slight distraction.

She takes her time to answer. “Not-not really. We considered a few, but it was still too early.”

She hums. “I assume Bucky was excited?”

Remembering how Bucky ran out of the room and spun her after the positive result, Ana smiles to herself. The undeniable glee that lit up his entire beautiful face, his eyes the bluest she had ever seen then, shinning with tears. The kisses her placed on every inch of her body that night, taking his time to set every one of her nerves on fire. Brought her to the highest of highs, just to bring her crashing down into him, safe, happy and loved.

Ana isn’t aware she’s silently crying until the tears drip off her jaw and land on her stomach. Soaks into the fibers of another one of Bucky’s shirt, because when she wears them, it’s like carrying him with her wherever she goes. Ana wipes her tears with trembling fingers.

“Yes,” She answers belatedly. Despite the shuddering breath she takes, she feels like she can breathe better. “Ecstatic.”

“Did you know that little shit Rocket, stole my egg rolls and ate all four of them!” Natasha abruptly informs her. “Nearly threw hands with a raccoon.”

The sudden change from her vicious threatening voice to her pitiful grumble and the story itself, has Ana breaking out in laughter. It’s a liberating feeling, getting to laugh as brusquely as she did. Lessens the tightness in her chest a little more. She laughs for two minutes straight, Nat joining along with her.

“Thank you, Nat.” Ana whispers after they’ve calmed down.

“I swear if another apology follows that, I will punch a pregnant woman in the arm.” Though as she threatens this, Ana can see the coy smirk on her mouth.

Instead, Natasha reaches over, squeezing her hand. She tries not to feel all of Natasha’s anguish, but the little she does get, reminds her that she’s not alone in this aftermath. Ana returns the gesture with a harder grip.

“Now, fix the damn radio, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

*

The next two nights pulls Ana straight to sleep after she gets comfortable on her left side. She’s so tired the past 48 hours, that her mind finally shuts off, and she has dreamless nights. It doesn’t stop her waking up feeling guilty, like she missed the dreams on purpose; it brings the same agonizing ache as always.

It also never stops from calling out to her while she’s conscious. As if her soul is angry that she missed that dream world for two days. Something happens following lunch three days later, while everyone is gathered around the kitchen island.

Annie.

The soft whisper is like a trance caressing her body, a lovers call inside her mind, beckoning her back. Back to sleep, because she knows, without a doubt, she will end up in that world. The strange orange world, where the sky looks like the burning afterglow of raging fires. The odd world with wetless water, an unknown little girl, an ominous door.

There, in that place of illusion, does she hear his voice loud and clear. Calls her by her name, lifts his hand to gently fit his palm along the curve of her cheek. He’s there, always with that sad little smile. His eyes so incredibly blue, so tender, yearning as if he misses her.

In that world, is Bucky.

In that world, Ana can steal just a few moments feeling Bucky. Against her skin, in the air. His breath in her lungs, his beating heart in the empty cavity of her chest. For just five short seconds, begging for time to stretch, pleading for time to freeze, Ana has Bucky in her soul.

Annie.

Her sharp inhale brings her out of her own daze, dropping her face in her hands. She shakes her head, resisting the urge to just take a nap, allow herself to fall into that water once more. Sometimes, she wishes she could just sleep and not wake, to stay forever with Bucky in that world. Then maybe, maybe she could save him.

“Bucky,” Ana barely murmurs under her breath. Tears stinging behind her eyelids. “Bucky. I miss you. I miss you.”

She leans forward, until she rests her head on a solid surface, face now hidden in the crook of her arm. She right hand grips the edge, fingers clenching as she hears his voice in her head again. Her soul cries out for its missing half.

“Ana? Everything okay?”

She makes a noise, can’t tell if it’s a confirmation or not. Her chest feels like it’s tightening. The baby jabs a sharp kick, or a punch, aimed right at her ribs. It’s enough to jolt her back to reality, and she slowly pushes herself up straight. She meets the concerned gazes of six other people.

The lights of the compound are flickering again, the air heavy with dampening energy. Nebula is the closest to her, and carefully reaches over to uncurl Ana’s fingers from the death grip on the counter. Bits of granite and dust sprinkle to the floor, Nebula leans over the cracked spot. Ana gives her a curious look, then quickly meets the gaze of everyone else. She makes eye contact with both Steve and Natasha, keen green and blue eyes not fooled by the cover up.

“Are you feeling alright?” Carol questions, stepping closer. “Your energy levels seem to be spiking.”

“Y-yeah! Yes! I’m fine!” Ana quickly reassures. She inhales and exhales deeply, and the lights steady. “Uh…the baby. Yeah, the baby was just moving around a lot is all. I’m fine, feel fine. Honest.”

Natasha sighs, suddenly looking tired and leaning her hands on the counter. She shakes her head, then her and Steve share a look. A silent conversation. Steve nods once.

“Ana, I think it’s time to talk about something you’ve been trying to hide,” Natasha speaks calmly.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Ana denies. She’s usually better at lying than this. “I told you, pregnancy has thrown my energy off a little, that’s all.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ana!” Steve snaps coldly, eyes flashing.

Ana blinks in shock. Steve angry is…a little frightening. He doesn’t stand to be lied to. “Steve-“

“You have been getting stronger?” It’s a question but it sounds more like observation.

“I’ve gained my strength back now that I’ve been eating more-“

“Not what I am talking about.”

“You have to know, Ana,” Natasha urges, brows pinched together.

She stares at them for a second, then she gets up as quickly and carefully as she can. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Ana walks out of the kitchen, heading towards her room as fast as she can waddle. Her heart is pounding faster, her own panic about the developing situation coming to the surface. Of course, Ana has noticed herself getting stronger the further she gets into pregnancy. It’s not like the thought has never crossed her mind. She had just been too busy shutting her emotions off and trying to figure out that dream world and trying not to suffocate on ashes and heartbreak.

Of course, she’s noticed the dented fingers marks on wooden and metal surfaces, of the spidering cracks in the toilet bowl, the ripping of several maternity sweatpants as she tugged them up over her stomach. Of the broken pieces of plastic cups and one of the bottles of the elixir. Of course, she knew the bruises she left on a damn super soldier were from her.

Speaking of.

Steve follows her down the hallway, catching up rather quickly. “Ana! Ana, please. Look, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you have to know. Maybe just get it checked out by Dr. Hammond, or another doctor, run some tests. I’m just worried how this could affect you and the baby.”

Ana halts when she’s in front of her door, rounding on Steve. “No! This doesn’t concern you, Steve!”

“I’m just looking out for your wellbeing!”

She grabs the handle of her door with frustration. “I don’t know why you suddenly seem to have an obligation to me, but-“

Ana stops talking the moment she forcefully pushes the door handle. She didn’t account for how much strength she used as she shoved. She stumbles forward, her arm going straight through the hole, holding the doorknob. It’s splintered with jagged edges from the broken wood. She stares wide-eyed at the shape of the hole, strangely looking like the broken piece would fit back in perfectly like a puzzle.

This is new. Ana slowly moves her gaze to Steve; who gawks at her. Shit.

Awkwardly, she gently tries replacing the section of wood she pushed off. It sticks, not fitting quite right, but she’ll just pretend it did happen, like everything else she had broken.

“Holy fuck,” Steve whispers, stunned.

Deciding to remain silent, considering there’s no way around it, Ana just watches Steve. She can see him mentally gathering the pieces in his head. She only makes it to the count of four as he figures it out.

“I fucking knew it. It is enhancing you.”

“Steve. Please don’t,” Ana pleads, her anxiety making her nerves burn.

“The serum transferred to you. Which means it transferred to-“

“No, no it didn’t!” She desperately disputes. “This is just a weird fluke thing. You know, Nebula accidentally pulled off an entire door last week.”

Steve shakes his head, eyes flashing with concern as he looks her over. “We need to take you to a doctor. Dr. Cho maybe, run tests to confirm it.”

White hot panic surges up her spine. Ana frantically shakes her head. This is exactly why she didn’t want anyone to know, why she didn’t give it much thought. Why she hid it. Drawing blood, conducting tests, being studied; all for the slight chance of her baby possibly having the super soldier serum in its genetic code.

“Absolutely not!” Ana states fervidly, fear rising up in her.

He frowns, expression serious. “Ana, this could be-“

“I know what it could be, Steve!” She yells. “I know exactly what this means!”

Ana places her hands protectively over her stomach. “It’s the serum! It was in Bu- in Bucky’s genetic code. In his DNA. Which means it’s more than likely is in the baby’s genetics! My baby is going to be enhanced, there’s no way it’s not. Bucky is a...was-“

She breaks off, voice shaky, her body trembling. She swallows thickly, knowing she must finally face the truth. She feels movement under her hands, as if the baby is confirming what she’s known since the beginning. All her senses becoming sharper; hearing more sensitive, eyesight slightly better.

“Bucky was enhanced,” Ana continues, voice as panicked as before.  “I’m-I’m enhanced. I don’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. I can’t! If doctors or scientists found out, if anyone finds out that this is the child of the Winter Soldier and an Energy Alchemist!? Who the hell knows what exactly they would want to do with our baby!”

“Ana,” Steve looks torn, “We can keep it a secret. Find a trustworthy-“

“Fuck trustworthy, Steve!” She shouts, slicing her hand through the air. “No one is trustworthy! They’re still out there! Hydra, AIM, other organizations and groups just like them!”

“Hey, hey-“ He attempts to interrupt, to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY’s voice speaks up over them in warning.”

“I know!” He says to the AI.

Ana barely hears their exchange. Her breath begins to shorten, chest tightening. “Thanos didn’t fucking correct the universe like his fucked up brain thought! It didn’t snap away the evil people of the world. It made it easier for them! Hydra- Eric Woods kidnapped us just three year ago! If they knew. They’re still out there. If they find out-“

“That is not going to happen!” Steve promises vehemently, stepping closer.

“They- they can’t! Can’t find out. This is all I have left,” Ana begins to hyperventilate, cradling her stomach. “This is all I have left. This is all I have left.”

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry. Deep breathes, Ana,” Steve coaxes gently. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen.”

Ana is barely aware of her skin beginning to glow brighter. The walls started to tremble, the floor shakes. She feels a chaotic and static energy in the air. There’s a sharp tightening in her chest again and she needs…she needs her husband.

But Bucky isn’t here. Ana is not dreaming; she doesn’t see him. She doesn’t hear the faint haunting murmurs of her name. He’s not gently touching her cheek, gazing at her with those loving blue eyes. She doesn’t feel Bucky and that’s one of the worst things that has been carved out of her soul.

“Okay, okay, no doctors, Ana. I swear it,” Steve says carefully. “Just try breathe, Ana.”

Slowly, he reaches out to her. As if to comfort her, support her, remind her that she is not alone in this. When Steve’s fingers are inches from her skin, she can feel her powers reacting viciously. Ana takes a step back.

“I-I can’t!” She pants heavily. “It feels like. I wake up. Ashes. Dust. It’s- I wake up from ashes and it’s everywhere! Its-It’s in my lungs. My throat. It feels like I’m suffocating! I wake up and I’m suffocating.”

If she was aware enough, Ana could read his expression as broken, maybe a little helpless. Instead, Steve finally touches her. He doesn’t even get his fingers wrapped around her wrist, before he is abruptly, and harshly ricocheted backward.

His body is thrown halfway down the hall, slamming against the end of the wall. He hits it so hard, plaster and cement crack and rain pieces down on his limp form. Ana smacks her hand over her mouth. Light bulbs shatter, the air sizzles hotly, and she covers her head with her arm as bits of glass fall from the lights.

Despite the sight and groaning from Steve, Ana can’t seem to get a handle on her power, her energy, her emotions. It’s what lead to her outburst of power weeks prior. She isn’t wearing the rings Shuri gave her, has no other way of regulating herself. Quickly, she presses her hands to her chest, trying to regain her breathing, to focus, to control her emotions, her powers. Maybe she should turn off her emotions again. It’s better, safer for everyone, and herself.

Something grips her left shoulder, vice and grounding. Abruptly, Ana’s powers halt, then begins to settle. She gasps at the sudden feeling, but she doesn’t push it away, instead she grabs the hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“I’m right here,” A soothing reminder. Carol’s voice. “You’re okay, you’re alright. I’m here.”

It’s the same feeling Ana had experience before with Carol’s own powers. As if they call out to her, like it wants to comfort her. Remind her that she really isn’t alone; not with this.

Her eyes sting as Ana tightly shuts them. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she nods. Her knees feel weak, her skin hot as she comes down, everything falling silent and settling around her. A sharp jab to the side of her stomach makes her wince; the baby protesting the rise and fall of the energy.

Ana snaps her eyes open, releasing Carol as she takes a shaky step forward. She feels the hands behind her hovering by her arms, a precaution in case she stumbles. Steve is taking his time getting up. A wave of guilt mixed with nausea curls through her.

“S-Steve?” Ana calls out with a trembling voice.

He attempts to push himself up, but his hand slips, and he presses his forehead to the debris covered floor. Ana moves closer. She doesn’t quite understand what happened. Her energy shouldn’t have knocked him back like that without the protective shield. In fact, twice it’s accepted Steve. Once in Wakanda, right after half of everyone vanished, and when he recklessly held her just weeks ago.

When she reaches him, now with Carol’s supporting hands on her arm, she carefully kneels placing a shaky hand on his back. Steve’s panting slightly, groaning low in his throat as he finally gets himself up on all fours. He tilts sideways, sitting back and slumping against the wall.

“Are you- did I hurt you?”

When Steve looks up to meet Ana’s gaze, her heart clenches. The emotion storming in his blue eyes roots her to the spot. His eyes are red, wet, tracks of tears staining his cheeks. The utter guilt, shame, and pain shinning in them renders Ana speechless.

“I’m sorry,” Steve croaks. Ana shakes her head, perplexed. “I’m so sorry, Ana.”

“No, I-“

“This isn’t on you,” He cuts her off, wincing as he straightens himself. “I failed you.”

Lifting his hand, he lays it gingerly on her shoulder. “I promise-I swear on my life. I will keep you and your baby safe. I…I couldn’t keep Bucky...I couldn’t bring him back to you. I broke that promise to you. I won’t break this one.”

Ana feels her face screw up with emotion. “Okay,” She exhales thickly, tears spilling from her eyes. “Okay.”

She drops her forehead to his shoulder, her own shaking as she cries. Through her tears, she listens closely, trying to decipher Steve’s breathing. His heart is slowly settling back to his version of a normal rate, and his breaths even out, no sign of broken ribs.

“Feeling alright?” Steve checks in a few minutes of them sitting there crying.

Sniffling, she wipes her nose on her sleeve and leans back. “Are you?”

“Just bruises, I think. Feeling exhausted, but I’m okay. Didn’t beat me up too bad. I’m actually a little proud.”

It makes Ana chuckle wetly, wiping more tears away.

“You guys okay?” Carol questions behind her. Ana hears the concern hidden in the coolness of her tone. “Didn’t rattle your brain too much, did she Rogers?”

“Nah, I can do this-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Ana cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “He’s got this annoyingly admiring habit of never staying down.”

A smile lights up Carol’s face as she extends a hand out for her. Ana takes it, allowing her new friend to lift her with her majority of her strength. When she looks behind Carol, Natasha is standing right there. There’s no anger or disappointment in her eyes, she just offers her a tiny smile then goes to help Steve up, brushing off rubble from his shirt.

“I,” Ana hesitates, soothing her hands over her belly as the baby wiggles around. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t had tried hiding this from either of you.” She addresses Natasha as well.

She carefully wraps her arms around Ana. “We shouldn’t have pushed. You know we love you. We’ve been nothing but worried about you. And this little one.” Natasha lends down to gently rub Ana’s belly. “Huh? Just being a strong little super soldier in there, aren’t you?”

The baby responds by kicking again. Ana sighs, the sensation it a little weird to her. She can’t help but crack a smile, despite hurting Steve.

“I’m not lying when I say I’m scared.” Ana tells them. She looks at Steve. “But, if you think it’s best I go see-“

“No,” He interrupts her. “How could I ever think I had the right to tell you what to do, to make a decision for you and your baby. It’s your choice, Ana. If you don’t want too, don’t. I’m sorry I pressured you. You have all the right not to trust anyone.”

“I trust you, you know, that right? I trust all of you here. I just don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve breathes heavily, and carefully wraps his arm around her.

Ana leans into him, exhausted and suddenly livid at herself for pushing him away for months. Angry that she pushed away people whom she considers family and ignoring their own pain in the process.

“I’m sorry if I’m still a little off,” Ana apologizes shyly. “Having to deal with my emotions again, feeling so much around me. It’s overwhelming.”

“Hey, don’t worry about any of it. We understood, and we still do.” Natasha says. “By the way, a very annoyed AI alerted me of your spiking vitals. I always found it a little creepy how emotional Tony makes his artificial intelligence. Just take it easy the rest of the night, yeah?”

Ana nods as Carol beckons for them to get out of the hallway. She helps them both along, guiding Ana carefully over shattered glass.

**

Hours later, after the hallway has been cleaned up, both Ana’s and the baby’s vitals checked thoroughly by FRIDAY and a call from Dr. Hammond, Steve finally knocks on Ana’s door. He figures it time to honestly talk to her, lay out his own fears. To truly apologize to her.

“Are you concussed?” Ana asks flatly. She’s propped up against her pillows, with two beneath her knees.

Steve smiles despite himself, making yet another connection between her and when Bucky was a teenager yanking him out of back alley fights. Closing the newly fixed door behind him, he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He notices in her hands, one of the many journals belonging to Bucky, opened as her fingers trace the written words, like she’s tattooing them on her skin.

“Hard head, remember?” He quips, getting comfortable in his position.

Ana snorts and kicks at his propped up knee. Inhaling to calm his nerves, Steve decides it just best to get right to it, staring straight at those big brown eyes.

Ones that have always seen right through people. Ones that have hardened and burned cold the past several months. He swallows thickly. Her gaze pins him to his spot. The only person to ever make him feel like he’s being picked apart down to his soul has been Natasha, but Ana is a very close second. But then she blinks, the cold lessening as confusion settles in.

“You’re nervous. I can feel it.”

“Everything is my fault,” Steve confesses in a rush, keeping eye contact even though he wants to sink into the earth.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s been uh, a few things I’ve been too afraid to tell you. To talk to you about.” He rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans. “You said you didn’t know why I have an obligation to care take of you. Well, I made a promise to you in Wakanda, remember. I also made one to Bucky.”

 Ana’s frown deepens but she remains silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

Wakanda, fifteen minutes before the battle of Thanos:

Steve had to tear his eyes away from Bucky and Ana’s goodbye, not from discomfort, but if he continued to watch he would have told Bucky to stay with her. He should have told Bucky to just stay with her, for them to protect each other, to help protect Shuri as she works on Vision.

He should tell Bucky now, to just go back where he belongs, right next to his wife. Steve watches Bucky with a keen eye as they ride towards the field; the wind blowing his long hair back from his face. Steve’s known Bucky his entire life. He knows every little sign of distress, anger, no matter how hard Bucky always tried to hide it from him. Only one other person knows Bucky just as much as Steve does- probably knows him even better by this point.

Bucky didn’t want to leave Ana; anyone could see that. Now, as Steve watches Bucky’s new vibranium hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pants, he knows it’s taking everything in his friend to stay on the hovercraft. Bucky’s hips keep shifting his weight side to side. His chest is rising is slow calculating movements, his jaw is clenching, he slowly closes his eyes. Steve swallows thickly. They should have never asked Bucky to join one more fight. He makes up his mind.

“Buck-“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts what he was about to say. He opens his eyes, stares straight ahead. “If anything happens to me-“

“Don’t fucking talk like that.” Steve reprimands firmly, dread curling in his stomach.

Bucky meets his gaze, serious and, fearful. “We can’t kid ourselves here, pal. If- if anything happens to me-“ He swallows with his brows pinched together. “Can you…can you take care of her?”

“Bucky-“

“I need you to take care of Ana for me. Please. I need to know they will- she. I need to know she’ll be taken care of. Please Steve.”

The begging desperation in Bucky’s eyes nearly breaks his heart. For once, Steve bites back his disagreement and nods. “Of course, I’ll take care of her, Buck.”

A sudden heavy boot presses down atop of Steve’s foot. “Thank you.”

His whisper of gratitude is nearly lost in the sounds of them landing at their destination. They file off the aircraft, but Steve can’t stomach it anymore. He quickly turns to Bucky, who double checks the knives at his thigh holster, and grabs his gun from the crate.

“Go back, Buck. I mean it. Just go back to Ana.” Steve orders. He can hear how frantic he sounds. “You should be together.”

A bitter smile flashes across Bucky’s mouth. “With you til’ the end of line, Stevie.” He lifts his gaze from his gun, that same old mischief back in his eyes. “Plus, Ana’s safest where she is right now. It’s your dumb ass I gotta protect. Like always.”

From his right, Steve hears Natasha snort in humor. He shoots her a glare then shoves Bucky ahead of him, and just like that, they’re leading the march onto the battlefield. It feels way too reminiscent of their time in the Howling Commandos, marching into battle.

*

Silence follows as Steve finishes telling Ana that bit of information. Watches as she slowly smooths her hands over of her stomach, having put the journal aside. Her left hand pauses for a second, gently tapping her fingers over the spot, presses down, and continues on. Her wedding rings reflect like glitter off the lights as she moves. Steve frowns, curious. She’s been doing that a lot lately and he wonders how often the baby kicks, if it feels the same restlessness as its mother.

“Well, it was a pretty dumbass move when you went after Thanos with your bare fucking hands.” Ana says.

Steve makes a protesting noise. “Didn’t you do that same thing?”

“We’re talking about you here, not me. Plus, I had the shield activated.”

The little humor he hears in her voice makes Steve smiles just a little. At least some of her old self seems to be shining through the broken cracks.

“Of course, Bucky would ask you take care of me,” She whispers solemnly.

“Haven’t kept that promise to him though,” Steve mumbles. “He said “they” at the time, and I didn’t put it together until you told me. But I’ve been doing a shit job, to be honest.”

“To be honest,” Ana repeats his words with firmer tone. “That’s completely on me. I haven’t made this easy for anyone. I am so incredibly sorry again.”

Steve reaches out to grab her hand, giving her fingers a firm squeeze. “No one blames you for what you did. We understand, but your, what is it now? A hundredth apology is accepted.”

Ana offers him a small smile. It falls a second later. “Why do you think it’s all your fault?”

“Because I broke my promise to bring Bucky back to you. I broke my promise to both of you.” Steve lowers his gaze, taking his hand from hers. “If I just. Fuck. If I just defeated him, if I just had killed Thanos with every chance I got, then none of this would have happened. I would have brought Bucky back safe and sound and you wouldn’t be going through this alone. Vision would still be alive. Wanda wouldn’t have had to endure all that pain. Fuck, she was still so young. And Sam-“

Steve hears his voice crack and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to hold back his tears. He didn’t come here to have a sob fest on her bed. A soft warm touch rests over his other hand, a gentle trickle beginning to ease his emotions.

“Steve,” Ana speaks so softly.

He slowly pulls his hand from her touch. Finally looking up, he shakes his head. “I don’t need you to do that. You don’t need to change use your ability for me. Don’t exert yourself.”

“But you feel so sad,” She tells him. Steve nods in a mute confession. “You haven’t spoken to anyone about this have you?”

He shakes his head again.

“Then talk to me if you won’t allow me to help you.”

He huffs his exhales, giving her a look. “Have you talked to anyone about how you feel?” Steve challenges, not unkindly.

“No, but what do you think this? Just get it all out. Talk to me.”

This was not what he came here for. He just wanted to wallow in his own self-deprecating pity. To confess to Ana that he had failed her, he failed the universe. The crushing weight of that brings him down in a pit of darkness each night, drowns him in his own horrible nightmares. Watches helplessly as all his friends fall to the ground in piles of ash.

Steve came to Ana, with some oddly placed masochism and a small bit of hope that she would lash out at him again because he deserves it. He deserves her avoiding his eyes. Deserves to nearly have his own life drained from his body, to have her powers injure him as he’s thrown against solid concrete. To have any ounce of her hate, anger, placed all on him.

But the way Ana sits patiently, kindly and not shouting cruses or damnation to him. The way she just tried calming him, helping him, is exactly who is she. Despite the months of shutting off her own emotions. A small piece of herself is still there, if broken and haunted, but there.

It causes Steve to finally break.

“I’m angry!” He spits out, clutching at the sheets. “I am so fucking angry at myself! I could have made Bucky stay with you. I could have saved him.” Steve releases a bitter laugh. “I guess that’s my track record though isn’t it? I could never save Bucky. Not from that damn train, not from fucking Hydra, not from Zemo’s revenge, not from being stolen away from you.

“You know, I thought when I was first got the serum, that I would finally be able to protect the people I love most, to protect my family. What a load of bullshit! I still lost him. I had to watch him die, again. You had to watch Bucky die and I still couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t protect you from losing him. I couldn’t protect my family, my friends, the goddamn world! I couldn’t save anyone from Thanos.”

Tears are freely falling down Steve’s cheeks, tracing into his lips and soaking into his jeans. He licks the saltiness from his lips, taking in a trembling breath. He sniffs hard, shaking his head again.

“I failed. I failed everyone. I failed Tony-“

“Steve-“ Ana attempts to dispute his statement, but he doesn’t allow her.

He continues without giving her an ounce of room to speak. “I did. I betrayed him. He’s right, maybe if we fought together, we could have defeated Thanos. That’s on me. I failed. And I failed Bucky again, time and time again and because of it. I failed you too.”

“That night, when you broke down, I felt every single emotion you had. All your anguish, your loneliness, your pain, your heartbreak. You felt empty. It was crippling, suffocating. That’s not something you should have to deal with or feel by yourself, Ana. None of this is your fault. You didn’t fail. Just put it all on me instead. I deserve that.”

 “Hey, stop!”

Steve abruptly scoots forward and quickly grabs her right hand, pressing his solidly against his chest. He ignores her startled, somewhat fearful look. He feels an electric spark shock his chest as her skin glows for a fleeting moment. It fades when she clearly doesn’t feel threatened anymore. If Ana had blasted him back again, he would have welcomed it.

“You shut off your emotions, Ana. There’s a part of me that wonders if it made it easier to shut me out too. Do you hate me because I failed you? Because I failed the entire universe? I’m fucking Captain America, who let the world turn to dust. I want you to hate me, Ana. I want you to lash out at me.”

Ana yanks her hand back, then promptly slaps him across the face.

Steve blinks twice, stunned. His cheek stings and he tastes copper on his tongue for biting the inside of his cheek. His head clears a little, and he thinks yeah, he probably deserved that. When he gathers himself to meet her gaze, there’s fury in her eyes. Something he hasn’t seen in Ana for so long.

“I nearly killed you, Steve!” She hisses at him, shaking out her hand once. “I wasn’t trying to share my pain with anyone else. You just happened to be there, and I almost stole your life energy. You’re the only self-sacrificing idiot that runs headfirst to hold onto to a Life Drainer. How the fuck is that making good on your promise to Bucky to take care of me, if you aren’t even alive!?”

Guilt floods through his veins as Steve realizes she’s right, and he got way into his head just then. Didn’t articulate properly what he was trying to say. He drops his head in shame as she continues to talk.

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” She apologies, but her voice still has a hint of aggravation. “But goddamnit, Rogers. You punishing yourself for thinking you’re the only one who failed? For breaking promises? You aren’t the only one who thinks they failed people, Steven. As for your promise.”

Steve lifts his head, tentatively meeting her gaze. Her eyes are watery, tears brimming along her lower eyelids. She’s stroking her arms over her stomach again, one after the other, blowing out a shaky breath as her tears fall over. Steve feels even worse, having made her distressed yet again.

“I didn’t make it easy for anyone, especially you. I wasn’t thinking of the repercussions of what shutting of my emotions would do. I couldn’t handle it, Steve. I couldn’t handle it at all and I felt like if I didn’t do something about it, then-“ Ana breaks off, shrugging. She hastily wipes her tears away. “I am so, so deeply and incredibly sorry. I should have never-“

Steve carefully takes hold of her wrist. “Hey, no honey, none of that anymore. You needed to protect yourself and your baby first. I understand why you did. I just didn’t know how to help you, and I still don’t. I didn’t mean to stress you out more. I shouldn’t have said what I did, ask you to do something you would never do in the first place.”

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupts their conversation abruptly. The AI doesn’t sound happy with him. “I suggest you leave Mrs. Barnes alone for the rest of the night. Her vitals hint at distress that I’m afraid you have caused. Twice now.”

Shit. He definitely did not come here with those intentions, and Steve can’t seem to stop fucking up tonight.

“No, FRIDAY, it’s fine!” Ana quickly reassures her. “I’ll do my breathing exercises. I feel fine.”

There’s a pause. “As you wish, Mrs. Barnes. You have four vials left of the elixir if you decided to drink one now, it wouldn’t hurt to do so as you didn’t take one three hours prior. However, Captain, if you continue to upset her or her baby, I will activate the electric security protocol.”

Steve glares at Ana as she snorts her laughter behind her fist as she takes out a bottle. “I understand.” He tells the AI. “I assume Pepper added that last part?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Another Pause. “It was not Pepper.”

FRIDAY goes silent as Ana downs the elixir with wide shocked eyes. Steve shoves his hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh. He stays quiet as he watches Ana calm herself down with the breathing exercises. He waits about five minutes until she finally opens her eyes and flashes him a small smile. He can hear the steady, relaxed beats of each heart rate and relaxes himself.

“This is definitely hypocritical for me to say,” Ana begins, wincing as she touches her stomach. “But you can’t keep that all locked inside. Exhibit A.” She gestures to herself.

“I know,” He huffs out heavily. “Nat and I talked sometimes, drank mostly, but we didn’t talk it about enough. I just, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help you or anyone else for that matter.”

“But you are you helping yourself?”

“You’re right, you are being a little hypocritical, Barnes.”

In a rare sight of true Ana fashion, she flicks him off, then shrugs. “I’m trying to now. For the sake of this little bean.”

Sorrow weighs heavily in his bones. “You know if I could bring him back. If I had an ounce of an idea to do so-“

“I know, I know. I do.” She sighs tiredly, leaning further back, her eyes suddenly exhausted. “It’s going to take a long time to process this. For everyone. And yeah. I miss him so fucking much, Steve, it hurts to even breathe. But, I don’t think you failed me. I don’t think anyone thinks you failed them.”

Steve wants to believe her so much, but he’s always going to feel his guilt for failing her and Bucky specifically. “I still think I did.” He mutters bitterly.

“Yeah well,” Ana sniffs, wiping her sleeve over her eyes and nose. “As Rocket as said, there’s a lot of that going around, huh? I think we’re all just wallowing in our own personal feelings of self-failure.”

Steve suddenly thinks of Thor, and how he took off in the middle of the night, now word or warning. His heart aches. “I guess so. Little guy seems to have taken a liking to you though. Not as many sarcastic comments.”

Smiling as if she’s proud, she says, “It’s only because I let him clean Bucky’s gun.”

He doubts that. Secretly he thinks Ana may remind Rocket of someone he lost. “Listen. It’s getting late and I stressed you out enough with my emotional turmoil. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“I literally threw you into a wall earlier, then bitch slapped you, so, we’re even.” She tells him as Steve helps her shimming around, adjusting pillows and pulling the covers down.

“Deal.” He agrees with a small chuckle. He rubs the top of her head, slightly musing up her hair. She glares at him. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You and the baby? I’m sorry about-“

“So many apologizes. Yes, I swear. We feel good. Just tired, is all.” Ana insists.

Steve nods, makes sure she’s as comfortable as can be before he makes his way to leave. Ana calling his name one more time turns him around. She looks inches away from sleep, her stomach supported by one of the thicker pillows, and she has what he knows to be Bucky’s pillow clutched to her chest.

“Thank you.” Ana murmurs.

“For what?” He questions, confused.

“For still looking after me. For being there.”

She doesn’t explain further as her eyes flutter shut. Steve however, as he gives her a smile she can’t see, knows exactly what Ana is thanking him for. His talk may not have gone the way he planned, and he still feels like there much more to converse, but Steve thinks they made some progress. He leans back against the door for a few moments, head tilted back as he stares up at the ceiling and the broken light bulbs.

“I’ll keep my promise to you, Buck.” Steve says quietly to the ceiling.

Once more, he recalls Bucky’s little slip up. “Please. I need to know they will-she.”

Bucky was asking Steve to take care of Ana, and their child.

“I swear, pal. They will both be taken care of.”

****************************************************************

A/N: This was a monster to write. Thank you for sticking with me. This story is definitely going to pick up pace in the next chapter and on. Please stay healthy and safe and inside. Don’t forget to wash your hands, especially after coughing or sneezing and stop hoarding the toilet paper!

Drabbles: Twenty-Two     Drabbles: Twenty-Four

Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​​ @buckyland​​ @stressedasalways​​ @watchoutforfrostbite​​ @justreadingfics​​ @keldachick​​ @eurynome827​​ @elatedmarvel​​ @shesalatesh​​ @paintedgreywriting​​ @boney-and-skinny​​ @buckaroo-blue​ @afewmarvelousthoughts​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @shesalatesh​

#bucky barnes x ana rios #bucky barnes x ana #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #steve rogers x platonic!original female character #steve rogers x platonic!ana #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #fanfiction #delicate stages #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life

[cela-astral-projection]

She floats like a swan Grace on the water Lips like sugar Just when you think you've caught her She glides across the water She calls for you tonight To share this moonlight

Oh, right. Like I wasn’t gonna take off running with that lemon tree business. 18+. Minors do not interact. 

Celeste loved cooking. It was soothing to her. Muriel joked that they would never be in any real danger, in the hut by virtue of her prolific knife collection. Artisan blades, made especially for her hand. She would go into a nearly hypnotic state, laying them out on the table, running their edges along the whetstone.

For the past week, the blades had been given a workout. Bowls and bowls of lemons laid out before her. The air in the hut perfumed from the nearly aerosolized oils emitting from the peels under her touch. It smelled clean, fresh. Careful strokes, removing only the thinnest outer layer. Carefully dissecting each section of the fruit, extracting them from the thin outer membranes.

Muriel was confident he would be sick of the fruit by the time she was through. And every day she had surprised him with a new and inventive dish.

Lemon curd. Lemoncello. Preserved lemons. Lemon confit. Oleo Saccharum. Lemon Poppyseed Chiffon Cake. Candied lemon peels. Every meal: fish, and chicken and vegetables, all making use of the abundance.

While Muriel was still known to snag a whole lemon and bite into it, flesh, pith, and all (Something that always made Celeste cringe, as if she could taste the bitter pith in her own mouth) he had developed some clear favorites.

The buttery, shortbread crust warming in the oven. The sound of the whisk brushing the inside of the bowl as she beat eggs, sugar, flour, lemon peel, lemon juice. The way the mixture seemed to blossom as soon as it hit the warm crust, assaulting his senses, that only seemed to grow with each minute it baked.

Muriel wasn't picky. He would gladly take the still hot, oozing confection as soon as it was removed from the flame. But, Celeste, ever the perfectionist, would request that it cool overnight. Some nights, after she had fallen asleep, he would wake and sneak a bite. Or two. Or three. The moderately scolding look he got in the morning entirely worth it.

However, he did much prefer this. Breakfast in bed. Though, he hardly felt that lemon squares qualified as a wholesome, hearty breakfast. And far too indulgent. For many, many reasons.

Celeste, straddling his lap. Her hair free, falling over her bare breasts. Tiny, bite-sized squares between her fingers. Bringing them to his lips. She would rake the thick, sticky mixture along his lower lip, her own lips parting, beckoning him to follow suit.

When he would accept the morsel, the cloying, sweet powdered sugar melting away and yielding to creamy, decadent, and tart lemon, the crust crumbling and coating his mouth with butter, the faintest hint of salt.

She would lean forward, sweeping her tongue across his lip, licking away the sticky evidence that remained. He would lean forward to kiss her, and she would withdraw, teasing, replacing her tongue with another bite of the treat.

Muriel's hands moved up her thighs, long fingers settling around her hips, pulling her closer, more firmly against his lap. Her belly against his. Breasts against his chest.

Celeste smirked. "Oh, aren't you hungry, love?" she implored, her tone tantalizing.

There was only so much of this he could endure. The way she brushed her fingers over his chest, picking up the stray sugar on her fingertips, bringing them to her lips and sucking them. The way she settled against him. The heat from between her thighs. The way his cock twitched, coming to life beneath her.

There was no more hunger. Not anymore. Celeste kept him fulfilled in every way. Satiated.

The only thing he craved now was her. He always wanted her.

From the first day he met her, she always smelled of citrus and vanilla. He loved watching her in the early morning light, in front of the mirror, pinning her hair up. The tiny pots and vials of color. The carefully selected brushes that she swept across her eyes and cheeks. The perfumes misted on her skin, dispersing on the air. Like magic, that smell awakening him, pushing the last vestiges from sleep from his eyes.

Though he never said it aloud, it was one of his favorite sights. A private show, just for him.  And when Celeste would go in the morning, she would kiss him, leaving a film of clear, sugary sweet wax on his lips. Lemon and coconut oil. Something to tide him over until she returned. Everything about her was perfect for him. Her taste. Her essence. Selected to intice and inspire him. He never had to ask. She was made for him. And that was the beginning and end of it.

Celeste leaned in and kissed him more fully, no more teasing. Her hands on either side of his face, eyes fluttering shut. Her thumbs brushing down over the scruff of his beard. The line of bare flesh of the deep, old scar inhibited its growth. Her lips were soft but insistent.

Muriel tilted his head, deepening the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Celeste could taste the lemon and sugar clinging him. Gratifying. Her hands slid to his neck, crossing behind his shoulders.

She could feel his stiffening cock rising to greet her. Celeste shifted a bit to accommodate him, feeling the head prodding at her labia, then slipping between. She rocked, slickening the thick tip with her fluids. She slid a hand from behind his neck, down his chest, seeking the shaft, positioning him at her entrance.

Muriel's breath caught, and he tensed a bit, pulling away from her mouth. He leaned back, shifting down, and guided her onto his length, watching her engulf him as she slowly sank onto his cock. The way her head fell back, back arched. Listening to the hushed, breathy noises she made as he filled her.

When she could take no more, she grabbed his wrist and tensed, holding him tight within her. She rolled her hips a bit, giving quivering gasps. After a long moment, she pushed herself up, then slid back down. Shallow movements at first. Still slow. Gaining speed as her body yielded to receive him in full.

Muriel's hands wandered her body, down her thighs, back up to her belly, to her breasts. Tender, reverent touches, admiring her form. The way that she moved. Undulating, waves of pleasure rippling through her. He watched her long fingers seeking out her clit. The visual of her rubbing echoed by the clench and shuddering of her walls around him. The feeling of warmth and wet that gushed from her core, eliminating any resistance or friction.

Muriel moaned, his eyes rolling back as she bobbed and swayed, taking him deeper with each dip of her hips.  Celeste smiled to herself at the noises of pleasure, and she bit her lip, slowing a bit, changing the rhythm, which elicited a new cry. She looked down on him, his muscles tensed, lip trembling. He was so damned gorgeous. His hair splayed out on the pillow. The furrow of his brow. The moments of clarity, where his brilliant green eyes met hers, and then the lips would flutter shut as pleasure retook him.

His body began to arch and thrust up into her. He had her by the hips again, moving her the way he needed her to go. She could hear each strike as their bodies met, the wet sounds coming from her cunt as he moved within her. He hit her deepest and most sensitive spots, and with each assault on her core, the world faded away until there was only him. She whined his name, each letter a prayer. Her body begging for relief. For him to give her orgasm. She felt her muscles tense and release. Warmth pooling in her belly, spilling down her thighs.

Muriel was close, so very close. The way she cried hs name always brought him closer. The way it sounded in his ears. Such love and adoration. It was in these moments that he could not doubt how much she loved him. The way that her body called out to him, her mind forcing everything else away but him. She always cried out for him. Muriel.

He shuddered as he came, and he felt his come as it coated him, flowing out of her body and back onto himself. She clenched around him as if she was trying to hold it all inside, her walls clamping down. He could feel the way Celeste shuddered as she came, her teeth chattering as her body shook, wracked with orgasm. Spurts of his come being pulled from him, jets of hot, thick and creamy fluid spilling into her, down her thighs. A white, sticky glaze on her tawny skin.

She nearly collapsed. Thankfully, Muriel was able to find the wherewithal to catch her and carefully disengage himself from her warmth, settling her down onto his chest. They lay together, panting, slick with sweat, their hands still searching each other's bodies. Her lips, soft and reverent, kissing every inch she could reach in her exhaustion.

In the afterglow, when they were sufficiently recovered, they took turns running a cool, damp cloth over their bodies. They would go to the waterfall and bathe together properly, later, when their legs could carry them. But, for now, they weren't ready to get up. Celeste was gathered to his side. Fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that lead down to his cock. It did twitch a bit, still sensitive, but he was not quite prepared for another round. His head lolled back, enjoying the featherlight touches.

"Gods, you're fucking amazing," Celeste muttered. It was nearly a lament. 

Muriel blushed, but he smiled.

He reached over to the plate and brought a bite of the lemon square to her lips. She accepted the morsel gratefully and made a noise of satisfaction as she savored it. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, fingers hooked under her chin. He drew her into a kiss. 

Tart and sweet. 

#fanfiction #fanfic #muriel #apprentice x muriel #apprentice oc #reader x muriel #oc #mc #apprentice celeste #celeste #actual lemon #lemon #the arcana game #arcana #the arcana #the arcana muriel #arcana muriel #let's all just do this and get it out of our system #fuck cantelope #my baby wants lemon he gets lemon

[booai]

Rush

“No, do it like this.” he pushed the other mer’s fingers away from the buckles of the saddle moderately gently. Fen’s patience wasn’t thin, he was just anxious to get a move on. They had been coddled up in that inn for the better part of the week and being stuck at close quarters had certainly had its effect on them. Or on him.

The sun was only just creeping up from behind the meek hills of Riften countryside. The dawn’s chill made their breath fog in clouds. It had not been a snowy night, but the hay beneath their feet crackled from frost with each step.

Elam stood next to his guar, looking a bit defeated after being fussed away from the saddle. Fen gave him a glance as he finished with the belt. The mer swayed on his boots, crackling the hay, his hair still messy from bed and eyes full of sleep, not looking at Fen showing him the fastening technique.

“There. Not too tight.” The taller mer murmured and patted the gentle guar’s flank as he circled around it to his own mount. The animal snorted in response to seeing him. Fen smiled and walked to the other side to dig up a treat from the waist satchel. Both guars, recognizing the sound and smell of a treat turned their maws eagerly to his hand and followed it

“Alright, alright, settle down will you.” he made sure both got enough to be satisfied, then looked up to see Elam quite annoyed, holding some vials from the saddle pack, whatever he was doing interrupted by the snack-hungry guar moving to Fen. He walked back up to the mounts, pouting his lips in a thin line.

Fen finished fasting his guar’s reins and the baggage as silence lingered around them, just as oppressively as the chill digging into their bones.

“You got everything?” Fen started, trying not to sound too impatient and moved a step ahead both brindles in his hand. The guar instinctively moved with him, anticipating to ride out. His and their minds were already on the road, in getting out of here, changing the scenery.

“No... wait,” Elam muttered suddenly, fumbling with the packs “I think I left some of my samples in the trunk.” In a whim he was heading back toward the inn.

“Oh, come on...” Fen whined out, not as neutrally as he had planned and the tone of his voice made Elam stop in his tracks.

A breeze blew through the yard, lifting some frost in a whirl, the particles sparkling in the rising sun.

“What is your deal today? W-what's the rush?” Elam turned around, the hem of his cloak flapping in the wind. He yanked it against his body in frustration.

Fen shrugged and held up the brindles. He gave a Elam a look of indifference, which seemed to piss the other mer off even more. Elam scowled in response. “You are pestering me for no reason, and I won’t have it.”  he stomped to the doorway. “Not this early in the morning.”

As he disappeared inside the inn, Fen tucked his furry topcoat on tighter and hopped on his mount. It was early indeed. But not too early for him. He had always enjoyed living through mornings. In the brothel where he grew up it was the only time there was quiet, the only time he had for himself. He used to sneak into the madam’s office to steal fresh sheets of parchment paper to later doodle on, or climb on the upstairs porch to scare away the sleepy pigeons. Make sure all the girls, and his mother were safely back in their beds.

The guar snorted expectantly. Fen leaned forward on the saddle and petted its warm skin. He was ready to go but it was pointless to rush Elam, he knew as much.

Last night, after the other had already cosily fell asleep under the sheets, a thought had come to him. A kindling panic in his heart, of too much constancy. Not about Elam, who so sweetly had nestled against his chest. Never about him. Just of the circumstances, and his own standing.

Maybe.

Usually, he could escape the feeling of uncertainty by just telling himself he was indeed doing something worthwhile. He didn’t have that feeling on the road, that’s why he needed to go. To just go and not think.

The door to the inn swung open once more, and Elam exited, not carrying anything new. He was pouting slightly. Fen didn’t comment anything. He reached out his arm when Elam got up to his guar to get up.

Hesitating for a second, he grabbed his hand in support. On the mount he urged it to move on without a word.

Fen followed him shortly after, a little surprised by the hasty take-off.

 -

 A quarter hour into the journey, Fen’s mount got fuzzy. Maybe the cold made it act out, not wanting to keep up the steady canter. He decided to reach for the satchel again, to encourage the guar with a treat. It always worked.

His hand halfway into the bag he yelped, cursing all the living gods. Something had cut his hand inside the bag. Sharp enough to draw blood, that was now streaming down his sleeve.

Elam, who was riding in the front, still giving a cold shoulder to him, came to a stop at his cuss.

“What happened?”

He urged his guar to turn around. Fen held his hand up and peeked into the satchel – broken glass. Some empty vials must have broken. Fen bit his teeth. The cut wasn’t serious, but wide.

Elam reached his side. “That needs cleaning.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” he waved it off.

“No, it’s obviously not fine. Come off here, you obstinate nix-ox.” Elam jumped off and guided his guar to the side of the road. Fen obliged, gruntingly.

He followed him to the side, where by some surfaced roots of an oak tree, Elam was getting some medical supplies out of the bags. Fen sat down on one of the big roots, and loosened the sleeve of his jacket to hinge it up.

Elam kneeled beside him, holding a scrap bandage and a vial of disinfectant. “Why are you hurrying so? I thought we agreed there’s no point going to Hammerfell this early in the winter.”

He grabbed Fen’s hand in slight irritation and examined the cut. He still looked interrupted from sleep.

“Well, there was no point in staying in that inn.”

“Why? I liked it. The keeper didn’t mind the little mess I always leave behind.”

Elam carefully wiped off the blood on the skin and loosened the cork of the little bottle, to clean the wound. The wind hoisted up the frost again and swept it across their faces. Elam’s fingers were cold on his skin. Fen wondered if the other had remembered to put on an underlayer in the hurry.

The thought from before tugged at his heart. They were on the road, finally again. He wouldn’t have to say it.

“It’s like you’re trying to settle down... or something.”

He said it not looking at Elam, knowing if he would look at him know he would only see hurt and confusion. He knew it from the way Elam retreated his fingers and just stopped. Fen gulped down something stuck in his throat. The horizon was bright and distant. His heart burned terribly.

Elam shifted, let his hands fall into his lap. The moment was still.

“Would it be that bad?”

His answer was achingly quiet. Filled with so much hidden doubt and sadness. Fen anticipated it. But not its implication.

“No… I mean.” He trailed off and frowned. When he turned back to Elam, he was facing down. The whole situation made Fen grimace. He needed to get his point across and this feeling out of him.

He stood up, holding the bandage Elam had almost finished twisting around his arm. The cut wasn’t bleeding out anymore, maybe because it was so cold. Snow began falling off branches the oak, that his movement had stirred.

He sighed and faced the sun.

“Were we to set down for good, I would have to make up a whole new life for myself.”

A pause. Flakes of frost fell around them.

“But I’m no good at anything. I never was…That’s why I was just a petty thief, a dumb bodyguard. I have no trade or skill.”

The shrug of his shoulders was weak. He wanted to let out a pitiful snort. This reminded him of something that Byla had asked a long time ago.

‘What are you doing for yourself in this life?’

How frustrating that it was getting under his skin this whole time. That she had been suggesting right all along.

“I’ve failed settling down before because ultimately, I felt useless, inept.” He choked out.

It was something he had escaped thinking for a long time. Maybe once, he had had great ideas, of joining a House guard, maybe Ordinators, do something respectful his mother could be proud of. Topple his birth circumstances, climb up a latter out of the gutters.

Becoming an erudite mage and honing his skills with Byla. Had he worked harder, made her proud, paid her back for all she did for him. Not disappointed her by abandoning it all.

Committing to the business with Maeri. Learning the trade, no matter how shady it was. He couldn’t pretend to have a high moral standing. Not chickening out at the last minute and screwing everything up.

He had given it all up. Because it didn’t feel right. But what felt right for him?

“On the road… I can just be on the road. It’s simple.”

Elam strode up, visibly more heated than before. “What nonsense. How can you say you are not skilled, when you amaze me every day with your skill? You have taught me so much-”

“It’s nothing I can build on.” He turned around to face Elam.

“You… your path will take you so far. Distinguished family, a respected position in the House goddamn Telvanni…all of your brilliant ideas. In what world could I be any use to you? Are we going to open a brothel? Because that’s all I can know jack about.”

Elam, who had reacted to his retelling with a series of frowns, splayed his arms wide open astounded.

“I can’t believe I have to explain this to you – I don’t base your value on how useful you are to me, okay? Have we not established that?”

Fen shook his head and huffed, desperately, ridiculously, defeated.

“I get it. I know. But it will be the same. No matter what I do.”

Why was it so much easier to not have anything stable? It had been easy to avoid this before. Their journey, their pace, it had fit him. He hadn’t need to worry about tomorrow. Meeting Elam had truly been the best part of his life and yet-

“So you’ve tried me, failed me, and now you’ll give up on me?”

Fen shot his eyes to him, with sudden trepidation. But Elam went on frantically.

“Except no, you haven’t even tried. You’re speculating and spiraling. You’re unsure. Who isn’t at some point of their life? Do I not doubt myself all the time? I would even more without you. But you just have to try and try again. So sure, try to open up a brothel, for all I care. Let’s try together.”

He stopped for breath, a moment to compose himself.

“I’m in no rush. I hate to rush.” Elam seemed almost pleading.

Fen knew all he was saying made sense. He knew it deep within. Still, confronting it felt overbearing.

“It all… this all scares the shit out of me.” Fen let out and covered his face with his hand.

Elam stepped closer, his harsh expression melting away. He reached out, took Fen’s hands in his. His fingers were still cold. He ran his thumb along the untangled bandage, and the small wound. His red eyes were on him. So glossy and bright. He felt his own eyes wet at the edges.

Their fingers intertwined.

“Look. Together somewhere, we could do so much. I want a home, I want a place to set my roots. A big library. A study with a glassed greenhouse. A stable for our guars to rest in. But I…” Elam trailed off and held his in his fingers lightly. He looked down, and Fen knew he was blushing.

“I wish to have it with you.”

After a moment, Elam lifted his gaze shyly. Fen felt a tight squeeze in his heart. A painful longing, just seeing the way Elam was looking at him, so stunning, so vulnerable. So understanding and patient. His love.

Maybe he would never figure out his passion. Maybe his life didn’t really need to have a spectacular way or destination.

Looking at Elam, he slowly began to realize, maybe he had it already.

He could barely muster a whisper.

“You would have me? Even if I’m nothing?

The frost had ceased falling. The sun was warming up. Elam frowned, his face twisting in disbelief and a smile. He slid his arms around Fen’s neck under the coat and gently pulled him close.

“You’re plenty.” His voice lowered into a whisper as well, but a firm one. “Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

Fen hummed, the fur lining of Elam’s hood tickling his cheek, his breath warm against his neck. He brought his hands around the shorter mer, snug against his back where they belonged, holding him tight. He could exhale the foulness in his thoughts right there and then. Banish any doubts about wanting this future.

He lifted his head to look at him once more, and Elam let him loose. The tips of their noses touched satin light.

“Then…not today? But someday? Somewhere?”

Speculation, reassurance, safety and home.

Elam nodded and smiled sweetly. 

“I like the sound of that.”

  ----

Elam is @siiliprinssi ‘s babey, Fenny is mine

#hghggghghgh #sorry #felam #c: fenarel #c: elam sarano #tes #eso #dunmer

[zombiiesque]

Nocturne Alchemy Valentine Mini-Reviews

Originally published 3/8/2019

Hey, y'all. I know it's cutting it close to when this collection goes down, so I want to make sure these reviews go up today. They've extended the deadline until Monday, so if something sounds appealing to you, there's still a little time!

I recently did a little swap for Candied Egyptian Musk, and my swap mate kindly sent along a few decants from the current update for me to try out as well. And as an extra, I've got my bottle of Vanilla Wedding Cake that I haven't yet reviewed. I got my swap on Monday, and they definitely needed a little rest, so I wanted to give them enough time to recover to be able to properly review them.

So let's jump right to the full bottle, from the Candied line. I was really interested in these, they honestly all sounded very appealing, but I was most interested in the two musks, Candied Crimson, and Candied Egyptian Musk. And I was having a difficult time narrowing it down, so this little swap took the indecision away for me! Big thanks to Hannah! When I first got them, I am just like everyone else, I cannot resist for the life of me opening them straight away and sniffing. Okay, let me be totally honest, even swiping a bit on for quick testing. I could smell in the bottle that Candied Egyptian Musk was gorgeous, really appealing, but when I went to test it, it was pretty travel shocked. Here's a perfect example of why we shouldn't toss these into the nope pile the day you get them, because on my skin, it turned pretty powdery, and I couldn't get a handle on it - smelled nothing like the bottle. Luckily, I've learned not to give up on these out of hand, because even on day two it was powdery. I set it aside, and tried to be patient. Wednesday night though I put on my sweater that I wear when it's chilly, and caught a whiff of something pretty glorious on the cuff of my sleeve. I realized it was Candied Egyptian Musk, and I was SO glad to get an idea of what it would properly smell like with rest! Eeee! (SO. MANY. EXCLAMATION. POINTS. Sorry, y'all. I'll try to restrain myself.) Ahahaha, moving on. Here's the Candied base notes: Victorian-style Sugar-Candied perfumes infused with Lime Zest, aged Orange slices, Raspberry Essence, Pear Essence, Sugar Accord, Lemon Zest, Vanilla Extract, Pink Sugar, Bourbon Vanille Absolute, Crystalline Absolute and Vanilla Bean. Using Absolute versions from the Studio Limited Originals. Candied Egyptian Musk: Candied Accord with Egyptian Musk Absolute. So in the bottle, I get a big waft of citrus - yum! I love their citrus notes. Very realistic. A little sugary note floats along with it, and at the base, their Egyptian Musk. Wet on my skin, the fruits are accented by a touch of vanilla and sugar, I'm definitely getting sugar rimmed fruit, with a little creaminess. The Egyptian Musk comes out to play a few minutes in. I love the Studio Limited scent, it's a soft, beautiful, clean, tranquil musk that floats fairly close to the skin, but obvious enough that I get a lot of compliments from people when I'm wearing it. Here, it's really beautifully paired with the candied fruit. I am loving where this is heading! Once this is fully settled into my skin, this isn't a strong scent. It lasts a long time for me, I definitely get a full day's wear from it, but it stays about as close to the skin as the SL does - which is soft, for sure, but it leaves a sort of trailing scent, not as personal of a skin scent as for instance Bastet Amber. The fruits are pretty melded with the sugar and vanillas, I don't get a clear reading on what the fruits are now, but they're a lovely, obviously juicy mix of fruit, sweetened with sugar and "cream". I wasn't sure how these would all play together with the accenting notes, but the Candied accord is a lovely accent to Egyptian Musk, neither overwhelms the other. Instead, they give you a really beautiful, different tone to a familiar scent. I can see this being something I reach for quite a bit in the warmer half of the year.

Candied Crimson: Victorian-style Sugar-Candied perfumes infused with Lime Zest, aged Orange slices, Raspberry Essence, Pear Essence, Sugar Accord, Lemon Zest, Vanilla Extract, Pink Sugar, Bourbon Vanille Absolute, Crystalline Absolute and Vanilla Bean. Using Absolute versions from the Studio Limited Originals. Candied Accord with Crimson Egyptian Musk Absolute. I probably love Crimson as much as I love Egyptian Musk. It's somewhat stronger than its sister, but not as forward as Kashmir, their other red musk. Crimson is a red musk, and the oil is tinted a pale, almost watery red. I finally picked up a bottle last January after realizing I absolutely loved it in blends, and I would probably really enjoy having the single accord on hand - and I do. Musks are something NA does very well, and this one is no exception. If you're looking for something a little less sexy and forward, say, than Kashmir, possibly more appropriate for day wear, I would recommend it. Again, this is lovely paired with the Candied accord! I get a burst of citrus when I open the vial, and Crimson following quickly behind. As with Candied Egyptian Musk, Candied Crimson opens on the skin with the fruits - I should mention that you get a real meld of fruits on the skin, not just the citrus. It's almost like a fruit bowl, if that makes sense, with a little sugar and cream. The Crimson pairs really well right away with this. If you've ever tried Green Tea Crismson, it's a little like that, if you added Sugarcube - but obviously more fruity/creamy, with no tea. Crimson adds a bright, smooth, clean, almost softly purring musk with the candied fruit. With long drydown, the two aspects complement each other, neither one overpowering the other. This lasted a good full day on me as well.

These two are both so good, I kind of wish I'd been able to try all of them!

Teak & Sandalwood: Indonesian Teak Absolute, Santalum Absolute, Australian Sandalwood, Spices of Pink Pepper and Nutmeg, Ember Vanilla Cream, Butter accord, Caramel Accord, French Vanilla Bean Absolute, Vanilla Milk accord, Vanilla Orchid, Crystalline Absolute and Vanilla Sugar. Okay, this was the other sample that came along with my swap. I absolutely love the Bastet's Ice Cream accord, but these are a little different from previous incarnations - they're wood, spices, and cream. I was really curious what these would be like. I tried this on my skin, and found it to read pretty masculine. I love pepper, as well as teak and sandalwood, and I can usually pull off scents that run in the middle. I know it's just my skin, but on me, though, I tried it and it read pretty strongly towards the other way, so I decided to try this on my fiance, Jody. And oh, wow - it's absolutely mesmerizing. At first, it's a little sweet on him, which made him nervous. I'm not sure if y'all have read some of my early entries, but Jody is pretty firmly in the "I hate vanilla" camp, which is really, really rare. He does love the more resinous ones, like Ember Vanilla or OP Pakhet, though, so I made him wait a bit before darting to wash his wrists. Hah! It settled very quickly on him, and it's dead on intoxicating. The teak and sandalwood blend so beautifully with the peppers and ice cream accord, the strong wood balances with the sweetness to just envelope the senses. It's really sexy. I mean, I drool now every time he's put it on - we had errands to run both yesterday and today and I could smell him all day long. It kept my attention. The pepper adds a great little kick in the background, too.

Vanilla Wedding Cake: Vanilla White Cake accord, Sweet Almond Elixir, Sugar Cream, Bastet’s Ice Cream Absolute and Crystalline Absolute. I usually don't go for more foodie scents, but Bastet has really started to draw me in, just as she's done with florals. This is no exception! And it pairs well with so, so many scents. I got this last year, so mine's had plenty of time to age. This one is pretty straight forward for me, but oh, is it good. The white cake is just...yummy. Smells just like a rich, moist white cake, not too dense, not too dry. I don't get a lot of the almond on my skin, and there's a lovely, white, slightly buttery frosting. Creamy. The almond is an accent, and it's perfect here. It's actually kind of uncanny how well this is created as a perfume, it's absolutely perfectly balanced, and I can describe it as I would actually eating a slice of wedding cake. I get a long wear time from this - it will go on for a good ten hours. It's not as powerful as my well-beloved resins, but I would give this a medium throw. I wanted to see how a little more almond would smell, so I paired this with Speckle Bunny, and I am here to tell you it was a pretty amazing layering combination. I've also done it with Egyptian Peach Blossom, Coconut Milk, Pteranodon (because I have to try layering that with everything, goodness) and even Camarasaurus, which I have to say is so, so gorgeous. Honestly, I don't think, if you wanted to try it with other scents, there's much it wouldn't go with - I did it with a coffee scent, and with White Tea Vanilla - it's just extremely versatile.

I just remembered I have a partial of Bastet's Ice Cream: Tibetan Crystalline. Santalum Absolute, Crystalline Absolute, Nag Champa Accord (Halmardi Resin, Incense, Sandalwood, Patchouli, Plumeria essence), Vanilla Crystalline Cream, Butter accord, Caramel Accord, French Vanilla Bean Absolute, Vanilla Milk accord, Vanilla Orchid, Japanese Vanille Incense accord, Crystalline Absolute and Vanilla Sugar *different NG accord for this blend than the Studio Limited Original. I don't have enough room on my skin right now to give this a proper testing and evaluation for a full review, but very quickly, this is definitely different than the SL Tibetan Crystalline. It's gorgeous, and really eye-rolling good. The creaminess of the ice cream accord is just so smooth with the nag champa! I haven't done a side by side yet, but I might even love this more than the SL. Intoxicating. I will try to come back to this tomorrow morning, if I have time, to do a more solid side by side and full description.