#every single brush stroke would just show up as a white block i was so mad lmao

[toaster-fire-art]

bit of a palet cleanser. I've been working on touching up or reworking projects i did for my illustration class last year and this is the result of a couple of them!

The first is the Buddhist temple atop the Shibaozhai Pagoda, I drew the whole pagoda for class but I wanted to do detail work so yk.

Second are two studies I did of Rudolf Koppitz's photgraphs Bewegungsstudie (Movement/Motion Study), 1925 and as much as I searched for the name of the second I could not find it? may or may not be from 1927, don't quote me on it.

[falcqns]

Aurorra

Pairing: Dad!Henry Cavill x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: Henry meets his daughter for the first time.

Warnings: fluff, slight angst. Dad!Henry

A/N: I don't know why I'm a sucker for these types of stories but I am. Hope you enjoy!

It's been two years and two days exactly since you and Henry had broken up.

It had been one year, one month, and two weeks exactly since you had given birth to his daughter, the daughter he had no idea existed.

It hadn't been a particularly nasty break up or anything, but both of you were hurting. You both wanted the relationship to work out, and when it didn't, you were both too heartbroken to even remain friends.

You had moved away from London not long after the breakup, deciding to live in Manchester, which was closer to your family. When you found out you were pregnant, you had tried to call him, but he had blocked your number. You had no way of contacting him other than through instagram, but he had unfollowed you and you knew your message would get lost in the thousands he received a day if you tried that.

You had no way of contacting his family either. You didn't know what to do. You had told your family, and they were insanely happy for you, even though you were going to be a single mother. When your mom had sat down and told you her and your father would do anything to help and support you through whatever decision you made, you knew the answer.

You were going to be a single mother.

When your daughter Aurorra Enola Cavill was born nine months later, you knew you made the right choice. Being a single mother may not have been what you were planning in life, but holding your blue eyed and brown curly haired baby in your arms for the first time, you knew it was what you were meant to do.

Aurorra had become your little bestie. She was such a well behaved baby. She rarely cried, slept through the night not long after she turned a week old, and was always full of smiles that were clearly from her father. There was never any doubt in your mind that she was Henry's, and every time you looked at her and saw her blue eyes, brown hair, and her cuddly chunky body, it only solidified that fact.

Aurorra had just turned 13 months old, and your job transferred you back to London, so you and Aurorra had just made the big move back.

You had opted to move back to the same neighbourhood both because of the safety of it, and because you knew you'd have a good chance of running into Henry. You had thought about it for months on end, and knew he couldn't be kept in the dark any more.

You had just finished unpacking the last box in the bedroom, when Aurorra woke up from her afternoon nap. You changed her and the two of you headed out to ASDA to get some groceries.

You pulled in the driveway and saw car that looked similar to Henry's BMW, but you didn't think anything of it. You parked and got a less than happy Aurorra out of her carseat and strapped her into the cart before heading on your shopping journey.

You had made it through the fruits and vegetables, and was heading to the freezer section to grab frozen fruit for the growing 13 month old, when you saw a familiar back in the same aisle.

It was Henry. There was no doubt about that. He was wearing a white knitted cardigan, with faded blue jeans, and running shoes. From the top of his cardigan you saw a dark blue t shirt poking out. His hair was slightly messy, but still curly. He was reading the nutrition information on the back of a frozen energy bowl, and you quietly opened the fridge, hoping to grab what you needed from this aisle and escape without him noticing you.

You had gone over seeing him again a million times in your head, and in no way did you plan on it being in the grocery store with other people around.

But, 13 month olds have a mind of their own. At that moment, Aurorra saw a popsicle package with the characters from her favourite show, Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir, and proceeded to squeal and call your attention.

"Mama!" She squealed and pointed a chunky hand at the popsicles. "Bug!" You glanced up and Henry and watched as he did a double take back at you. His eye brow furrowed, but you ignored him, instead turning to your baby.

"Yes, that is Ladybug. Would you like them?" You asked, and she nodded eagerly. You smiled and grabbed them out of the freezer once you noticed they were organic. "Say thank you," You prompted, and she brought the same chunky hand up to her chin and then down flat towards you. It wasn't the most perfect sign, but she was still learning.

You saw Henry walk up to you and had to steel yourself for the coming conversation. "Y/N?" He asked, and you turned around to face him.

"Hi, Henry." You said, placing the popsicles in the cart with the rest of your groceries. He smiled at you, and then glanced at Aurorra. She smiled and cooed at him and he smiled back, and stroked her cheek. "Hows everything," you asked, trying to avoid the question you knew was about to come.

"Everything's good. Kal misses you. Still sleeps with the teddy you got him," He said, his eyes locked on your daughter. You smiled.

"Well, tell him I miss him too. Now, if you'll excuse me, we're running a little late. I have to get home and get her fed." You said, but before you could move the cart Henry asked you the question.

"I-is she mine?" He asked, and you nodded, trying to swallow the lump that had been forming in your throat, to no avail.

"Y-Yes." You stuttered, and seconds later, Henry's arms enveloped you. "I-Im sorry," You whimpered, and Henry shushed you.

"Its okay. Let's not talk about it here. How about I meet you at your place once were both done?" He suggested, and you agreed, before giving him your address.

"Okay. I'll see you there." he said, giving you another hug, and pressing a kiss to the top of Aurorra's hand that had curled around his pointer finger. He stroked her cheek once more, before giving you both a smile, and heading off. He grabbed his cart with groceries, and made his way towards the checkout.

By the time you had finished shopping and made it home, Henry was parked in the driveway. You took a deep breath, and got out, giving him a smile. He returned it, and got out of his car before walking over to help you.

He grabbed the groceries, leaving you to grab Aurorra, who squealed at the sight of Henry. Henry chuckled, and blew her a kiss. He followed the two of you inside. You set Aurorra down, who stumbled on her own feet before stabilizing, her empty bottle in the right hand.

"Go put your baba in the kitchen please," You said, and she babbled to herself as she walked off, ignoring you and Henry.

"She's absolutely adorable," Henry said, and you smiled. "Well, she is your daughter," You said. Henry threw his head back and laughed before following you into the kitchen.

You set the bags down on the ground and turned to put away the ones Henry set on the counter. You two made small talk while putting away the groceries, mainly about work. You heard ruffling behind you but didn't think anything of it, as Aurorra usually liked to help put away the soup cans.

"Mama?" You heard a little voice ask and you turned around to face Aurorra. She was holding the box of popsicles out to you in one hand, while her other hand made a clockwise motion on her chest, signing please.

You smiled and took the box from her.

"After dinner, okay?" You said, and she didn't like that very much. She plopped on her butt and began to cry.

Her arms reached up to where the popsicles were and sobbed her little heart out. Henry's heart melted and scooped her up. "It's okay baby girl," He said, bouncing her. She sniffled, but calmed down and laid her head on his shoulder. He smiled in happiness, and pressed a kiss to her curly head.

He turned to you. "I just realized, I don't know her name," he said, and you smacked your head.

"Shit sorry, I completely forgot to mention that. Her names Aurorra Enola Cavill. I made sure she got your last name, and that you're on the birth certificate." You said, running your hands through her curly hair.

"Enola? Like Enola Holmes?" He asked, as Aurorra cuddled closer, her chunky arms wrapping around his neck. You nodded.

"Yeah. I couldn't think of a middle name for her, and I was watching Enola Holmes just before she was born. It was the scene where Sherlock and Mycroft see Enola on the train platform and you say her name. I knew then it was perfect." You said, and Henry smiled.

"It's a beautiful name," he said, wrapping his free arm around you. The three of you stood there for a few minutes, before Aurorra shook her hands at you, and tried to wiggle out of Henry's arms.

"Ah dun, Mama." She said. Henry pressed a kiss to her chunky cheek, and let her onto the floor. She scurried away seconds later, towards her bedroom.

"Is she okay wandering by herself?" He asked, watching her little body fall to her hands and knees, but get up and brush it off before continuing on her mission.

"Yeah she'll be fine. She's just going to play." You said, and Henry nodded before pulling you into his arms fully.

"I really am sorry I didn't tell you about her. I couldn't contact you or anyone in your family, and I didn't have the energy during my pregnancy or after to make the journey to London. I promise I didn't plan on hiding her forever." You said, and Henry squeezed you even tighter.

"It's okay. I know you'd never do something like that on purpose. You've done an amazing job raising her. I just wish I had witnessed it."

"You'll get to see her grow. You might have missed her start life, but I have everything recorded. Her first breath, her first steps, her first words, all of it. I know it's not the sam-" You said, but were cut off by his lips.

His hand travelled up to cup your face, before he pulled away. "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I just- You amaze me, you know that?" He said and you giggled.

"How so?" You questioned.

He rested his forehead on yours before continuing. "You thought to record everything. You made sure she has my last name and that I'm on the birth certificate. You didn't have to do that, but you did. I've missed you so much, and I didn't know just how much until I saw you in ASDA. I never should have left. I never should have blocked you." He said, a tear falling from his blue eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that alone. Thats never what I wanted. But, I promise to be the best dad to her, whether we're together or not."

"I know you will be," You said, and pulled Henry in for another kiss.

The groceries were put away a few minutes later and you told Henry to go and play with Aurorra while you cooked, which he happily did.

He walked down the hallway to her bedroom, and smiled lovingly when he saw his daughter sitting on the ground playing with blocks, a stuffed Akita just like Kal secure under her arm. She was babbling to a Mickey Mouse toy that sat in the corner of the room, and was stacking blocks.

Henry began to walk in the room when she stopped babbling let out a sneeze and a sigh. He grabbed a Kleenex from the change table and sat down next to her.

"Hey sweetheart, can I wipe your nose?" Henry asked, seeing the snot coming from her nose due to the sneeze. She looked up at him and giggled, which Henry took as a yes, and he wiped her nose quickly before disposing of it in the garbage can.

She began babbling again, and pushed the Akita stuffy into his hands. "Goggy," She said, and clapped, which made Henry smile.

"It is a doggy. I have a doggy like your stuffy, wanna see?" He asked, and she nodded and clapped.

Henry pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture of Kal. Aurorra stood up and clambered into his lap, which Henry welcomed. When she saw the picture of Kal, she started bouncing and clapping again.

"Goggy! Goggy wun!" She exclaimed when he showed her a video of him running.

"Thats right, he is running. He's really good at it too, believe me." Henry said and put his phone away. Aurorra stood up and reached out her arm for him, opening and closing her fist. Henry stood up, and let her take his big hand in her tiny one, and lead him out of the room, and towards the back door that led to the backyard, babbling the entire way.

"Hold on, honey, we gotta tell Mama we're going outside, okay?" He said and she nodded before running to the kitchen shouting Mama.

Henry watched as she stood in the doorway and babbled before pointing at the door. She held her hand in front of her face and moved it out, closing it into a fist.

"You're going outside?" You asked, and she nodded. Henry saw you bend down and whisper something into her ear with a smile on your face and Aurorra giggle but didn't think much of it, before his little girl was running towards him and squealing.

He scooped her up and carried her out the door. She pointed at the toy box in the corner of the yard and Henry carried her over. He sat her down and opened it, before letting her pick what she wanted to play with. She grabbed a bucket with shovels and molds before running over to the lady bug sandbox and patting the lid. Henry chuckled and pulled the lid off.

"You wanna play in the sand?" He asked, and she nodded before climbing in.

Henry sat down next to her, and a shovel was thrust into his hand seconds later. She had a bright yellow one in her own hand and was digging a hole. Henry followed suit and helped her dig the hole.

A few minutes later she handed Henry a elephant mold.

"Put, Dada." She said, and Henry's breath caught in his throat, the mold falling from his hand.

"Did you say Dada?" He asked her, tears clouding his vision, and he saw her smile and point at the house.

"Mama, say." she said, picking up the elephant mold again.

"Mama told you I'm your Dada?"

She nodded and shook the mold in his face, practically begging him to take it. Henry smiled and pulled her out of the sand box, into his arms.

"I am your Dada, and I promise you I will love you forever." He said, and kissed her cheeks. She giggled before pointing at the sand box and doing grabby hands. Henry chuckled but put her back where she was. He picked up the mold and began to fill it with sand before she got upset.

"I apologize for interrupting your playtime," He said. "Now, lets make some animals."

Later that night, when Aurorra had been fed and put to bed, Henry pressed another kiss to your lips.

"She called me Dada when we were playing outside." He confessed and your eyes lit up.

"Really? I told her before she went out with you that you were her Dada, I wasn't expecting her to say it so soon!" You exclaimed. Henry chuckled, and pulled you into his lap.

"I'm so happy she did. Thank you for giving me her." He said, pressing his lips to yours before you could respond.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

wordless, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A library is full of words and quiet. Jeon Jungkook liked to go to the public library a lot. It turns out, so do you. And that’s how it begins, from passing glances, to words on a screen, to Jungkook now sitting shirtless in his bedroom, heart racing as he presses the record button.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, filming of nudity and m-masturbation, semi-public dry humping); fluff; non-idol!BTS; the definition of “well that escalated quickly” but also not? lol; shy!Jungkook

hello again, @gowayyeonjun, ;)

–

He stared at the black screen, reflecting his nervous expression.

His hand shot out and flipped it down. His phone case faced upwards, a clear case with a carrot graphic on the bottom against the matte black of his smartphone. A reference to his childhood nickname because of his ever-so-slightly too large front teeth.

He took a deep breath and flipped his phone back up, leaning it against his windowsill.

“Am I really going to do this?” he asked his own reflection, who did nothing but repeat his question back to him.

He raised his hand, dropped it. Raised it again, chewing on his lip. Leaned forward and pressed his finger to his phone screen, unlocking it. Then he pulled up the camera app. Before, he had been staring at his reflection in the black screen, but now his face was in full color, curly dark hair over one eye since it was freshly washed, his tan chest bare, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. Black tattoos on his right arm on full display, brown eyes wide and slightly terrified.

If you told Jeon Jungkook six months ago that he was about to film himself masturbating, he would have told you that you were fucking crazy.

He breathed out tensely, puffing his cheeks.

It was all your fault.

If he hadn’t seen you, he wouldn’t be doing this.

-

Jungkook liked to read and he liked to go to the public library. He knew libraries were becoming obsolete, but Jungkook loved libraries because they were quiet, they were full of books, and nobody tried to talk to him. That was it, really. He was a shy person and he really didn’t know what to do when someone approached him and tried to chat him up. When Jungkook was in front of a crowd doing public speaking, he was fine. But one-on-one interactions freaked him out. He was bad at talking and connecting with people on a personal level.

It didn’t really help that a lot of people thought he was attractive.

Jungkook didn’t think he was ugly, but he didn’t really think he was that crazy special either. He was just a guy and he was just trying to go about his everyday life without having a crowd of giggling girls following him for half a block trying to get his number.

That’s why Jungkook liked libraries. People didn’t talk at libraries. They were supposed to be quiet. He could be calm here. No one was going to try to pick him up at a library.

And then he saw you.

You were browsing the shelves, pulling a book out and reading the back. You had five in your arms already, and here was number six. You tilted your head, opening it up with one hand, reading the introduction. Jungkook could see how deft your fingers were with that single action. You were wearing a short-sleeved white crop top and high-waisted baggy black jeans with colorful patches on them. They looked sewn on, as if you had done it yourself.

He stared at you through the bookshelves.

You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Lips that looked so soft they seemed unreal. Hair that cascaded down your shoulders, a little messy and not quite done. For some reason, you holding that book was such a beautiful action that he couldn’t look away, staring at your one hand spreading open the pages, tongue tucked in your cheek as you considered it. You nodded to yourself and began to walk out the aisle.

His eyes followed you.

From then on, Jungkook noticed you every time you appeared. Always holding over five books, returning them and getting more. Usually in a crop top and high-waisted jeans. Sometimes with a black denim jacket if it was chilly at night. Jungkook was at the library all the time and it seemed like so were you. He didn’t try to talk to you, but he did always stare at you, watching your movements. Jungkook was unaware that this was how a lot of people saw him and probably the reason why so many people tried to talk to him and ask for his number.

He wanted to ask you for your number, but he was too shy.

One time, you were reading and walking. This particular time, Jungkook hadn’t noticed you until it was too late and you bumped into him. He could smell you suddenly, the scent of peaches and honey. It must have been your perfume. You looked up to him and bowed apologetically, wordless.

His ears burned hot and his jaw trembled, almost blurting out an apology.

You turned away, continuing your reading.

Peaches and honey.

Jungkook wanted to say something to you. He really did. For three months, he tried to muster up the courage to say something. But you weren’t supposed to talk in a library. And what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know you. He wasn’t sure if you had anything in common other than books. You read lots of things. Crime thrillers. Sci-fi. Fantasy. Autobiographies. He noticed you never went into the romance section though.

He wondered why that was.

The next time Jungkook interacted with you, he had been reaching for a title at the front. The library put the newest releases here and one of the covers had caught his eye. And all of a sudden, your hand was reaching out too and his fingers touched yours.

You jerked your hand back, bowing apologetically, moving away.

He wanted to run after you and tell you that you could have it, but you strode into the library quickly and then you were gone, crop top and all. Jungkook stared at his hand, remembering that brief moment of your fingertips brushing against his skin, peaches and honey filling his nose as you neared.

The weeks dragged on.

It was getting colder and you wore the denim jacket a lot now. Sometimes you wore a fuzzy cropped sweater. One time, it was pink and tight, molding to your breasts. Your black jeans were tight too, shaped to your perfect ass and thighs. Plump and juicy.

They would look nice in his hands.

He walked past you on purpose that time. A little close, so he could smell the peaches and honey.

That time, Jungkook had gone home with an armful of books, dumped them on his bed, then dumped himself on the bed, shoving his pants down and stroking himself to climax, the scent of peaches and honey haunting him.

Another time, you were sitting on the ground, thighs spread, on your knees. A tall pile of ten books, tapping your cheek with one finger as your other hand shuffled through them, apparently trying to decide which ones to check out. Jungkook’s eyes went wide. He was watching you above the books, a full shelf between you and him. From this angle, he was looking down at you.

Staring down your V-neck white sweater, at the swell of your breasts, a silver necklace trapped between them. He only had a good view because he was looking at you from above. You reached between your tits and plucked the pendant out from your cleavage, a silver feather.

Jungkook had never gotten hard at the fucking library before, but his cock swelled and tented in his sweatpants instantly.

He couldn’t function, watching you on your knees, curve of your breasts on full display. Finally, you seemed to decide and got up, sighing softly as you put some of the books back. You moved out of the aisle, hoisting the ones you had chosen. Jungkook jerked his head away, realizing he was staring at you too much. And it was creepy, so he should stop.

Once he was home, he couldn’t and didn’t need to stop himself. He still remembered the peach and honey perfume. He wanted that peach and honey to cling to his clothes, stay on his sheets, invade his nose. Wanted your skin on his, wanted your body on top of him.

It got quite cold at some point, and you wore cropped hoodies now, the front tucked into tight black jeans. Still checking out books at the local library, a fuzzy pink bag strapped to your back with a cute bunny character on it.

Had that much time passed? Jungkook couldn’t believe it.

He still remembered the peaches and honey. He tried not to stare at you too much, because he knew it was getting too creepy and, now, he was jacking off to memories of your eyes and lips, thinking about that one time your fingertips brushed his skin.

He seemed frozen at the shelf, zoning out, contemplating if he should look up or not. Then the peaches and honey were right beside him. He could smell it, see your black sneakers with the pink laces. They matched your bag.

Your fingertips brushed against his right hand, plucking out the book beside it.

Jungkook started and whipped his head up, long black hair covering one of his shaking brown eyes.

You jumped a little as well, not expecting his reaction. Of course, you didn’t. He tried to calm his nervousness. Just open your mouth, Jungkook, he scolded himself. Apologize for scaring her.

You were holding your phone in one hand. It had a black case with a grinning smiley face with devil horns. You tucked the book in the crook of your arm and swiped at your phone, and then turned the screen to face him.

Sorry.

It was in your notes app.

He stared at the word. Then looked back up at you. You nodded, pointing to the screen.

He lowered his hand and fumbled for his phone, hastily typing into it and turning it around to show you.

No, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.

You smiled at him.

Jungkook thought he was going to die.

You typed quickly and flashed the screen at him.

I’m using my phone because we shouldn’t talk in a library.

Jungkook typed fast too to give you his reply.

That makes a lot of sense. You’re smart.

You beamed at him. Jungkook thought he was ascending to heaven. You typed eagerly, as if you couldn’t wait to tell him what next.

I see you at the library all the time. What’s your name?

Jungkook was pretty sure he was dead and in heaven already, seeing that response. You noticed him. Did you notice him as much as he noticed you? His fingers shook as he typed his answer.

Jeon Jungkook.

His lower lip trembled slightly as he added one more question.

What’s yours?

For some reason, these face-to-face text conversations did not bother him as much as a real chat. After that, you two exchanged small talk like this. Usually just a greeting in text before going on your way. You didn’t ask him for his number, not even to send texts. You always used the notes app, always in person, and it was short and sweet.

One day, he found some bravery somehow.

Jungkook was a very shy person. His fingers were shaking so much that he dropped his phone. You had bent down to pick it up, reading the question he wanted to ask.

I want to hear your voice.

You tilted your head, holding his phone out. He bit his lip and took it, placing it against his chest, somewhat ashamed for asking. Your hand suddenly appeared, your phone in his vision.

Why?

He lifted his head, looking at you. You shrugged, as if to add, does it matter? He typed slowly, inhaling deeply as he turned his phone around.

I’m curious.

Your eyes flickered down, reading it. You were close to him. He could smell the peaches and honey of your perfume. Wearing a cropped purple sweater with tight dark blue jeans and purple sneakers with white laces. The same pink fuzzy bag with the bunny character.

You leaned forward and Jungkook’s eyes widened, suddenly feeling your breath on his ear. Soft, warm exhales. His entire body shivered and tingled. His cock jerked his sweatpants, thankfully black and baggy enough that hopefully you wouldn’t notice. His breathing shallowed, wafting against your neck.

From this angle, he could see your phone in your hand with the little devil emote on the case.

You pulled back, blinking slowly. A small smile formed on your lips.

His cock swelled. That was not an innocent smile.

You lifted your phone.

Next time, I’ll have something for you.

The next time, you held your phone out to his. There was an app called QuickShare that allowed your phones to exchange files. You both pressed the button and Jungkook waited as the file downloaded. You held up your earbuds and pointed to him, as if to ask, do you have headphones?

Jungkook nodded, fishing out his earbuds and tucking them in his ears.

The file finished downloading and Jungkook held up his phone.

You smiled at him and gestured to him to play it.

Jungkook turned his phone back around and played it. It was a video file, but the screen was black as it the file began. Then your voice invaded his ears.

“Hello, Jeon Jungkook.”

His heart beat fast, finally hearing your voice after all this time.

“You asked to hear my voice, so here it is. Do you like it?”

He jerked his head up and looked at you, nodding quickly. You smiled at him.

“I hope you do.” A small, pretty laugh. Jungkook liked that little laugh a lot. “I guess it’s been kind of weird only speaking through text at the library, hasn’t it?” Jungkook made eye contact with you. “But it’s been nice too. I’ve enjoyed it a lot.” Your smile was becoming less and less innocent. Not mean, but a little teasing now. “I think you’re really cute.” He felt his cheeks flush hotly. “Why do you always wear sweatpants, Jungkook?” His brows furrowed. You pointed down to his phone. He lowered his eyes.

The black screen was changing. There was rustling, and the phone was lifted.

A bed.

A bed with dark gray sheets and a black blanket with stars wrapped around you. You smiled down at the camera. Jungkook’s eyes widened. Your lips opened, speaking softly, but clearly.

“You shouldn’t wear sweatpants, Jungkook. It doesn’t hide your erections very well.”

The blanket fell down your shoulders and Jungkook nearly dropped his phone. His cock instantly swelled. He jerked his head up from his phone, to your arched eyebrow and smirk, then back to his phone.

Staring at your naked body, tits out and nipples hard. Thighs pressed together, hands resting on them.

You tilted your head at the camera, giving him a similar expression to the one you had right now. He gawked, unable to look away.

“I wonder if you’re hard now, Jungkook,” the you in the video murmured. He was. Oh, fuck, he was. “Is it me?” Yes. It was you. Fuck. “I tried to see by getting close to you and breathing on your ear last time. You got hard because of it. I think.” He did. Fuck. He did. “I wonder why.”

You spread your legs and Jungkook gasped, staring at the space between your thighs, your glistening pussy barely visible. You leaned forward, breasts hanging down as you neared the camera, a small, smug smile on your lips.

“I wonder,” you whispered to the camera. “How do you feel about this, Jungkook?”

You flicked your phone with a finger, turning the screen to black again. Jungkook thought it was over. But there were still a few seconds left. Then all of a sudden, your moan filled his ears, breathy and erotic.

“Jungkoooooook….”

The video ended.

Holy shit.

Oh my God.

What just happened?

Oh my God.

Peaches and honey. All of a sudden, peaches and honey, close to him. Your body. Your currently clothed body, but he knew what you looked like naked now. I know what you look like naked! Jungkook backed up and you followed, all the way until his back hit the bookshelf. He made a small squeak, but your hand suddenly came up, finger pressed against his lips. His eyes rose, locking with yours.

You shook your head, placing your other hand by your lips and making a gesture to zip them.

You were touching him.

Oh my God.

You were touching him.

Your other hand lowered from your mouth. Lowered. Hovered over his hips. Waited. His eyes stared into yours. You removed your finger from his lips. Seemed to think better of it. Backed up a little. But his hand shot out, grabbing yours and pressing it to his crotch.

You studied him carefully. Jungkook sunk his teeth into his lower lip and chewed slowly. He didn’t know if this was right, but you showed him your naked body! You filmed it. And gave him the video file. You must know. You must know what you’re doing to him.

He lifted his hips a little into your hand, pressing his stiff length into your palm. Your fingers curled around it slowly, one by one. Not speaking. Wordless. He reached up to the strings of your black hoodie and played with them, breathing quietly but heavily, opening his mouth. You lifted your other hand and pressed your fingertip to your lips. He nodded.

Jungkook began to roll his hips into your palm. You didn’t move away. In fact, you held firm, maintaining your solid grip on his hard dick through his gray sweatpants. In the fucking library. He was humping your fucking hand in the library after you gave him a video of your naked body.

His eyes drifted down to your phone sticking out of the center pocket of your hoodie. The matter black case with the smiley face with devil horns. Jungkook looked back up. You seemed amused. Suddenly, your hand seemed to press back, meeting his hips every time he ascended, adding more friction. His shaking fingers pressed play on the video again and your voice filled his ears, speaking to him once again. Saying his name. Having your one-sided conversation. You rubbed him through his sweatpants in the back aisle of the library and he was getting close, close, your voice teasing him, but your current self completely silent, only giving him that slight smile.

Holy shit, Jungkook was going to explode in his underwear like a teenager.

You leaned in as the video moaned in his ears and he almost moaned, the sound dying in his throat as you hovered over him. You tilted your head, curving around his. Your hand stopped around his cock, squeezing him tight.

Thank God.

He was seconds away from completely embarrassing himself.

You reached up and took one of his earbuds out of his ear, your warm breathing tickling his earlobe. Lowered your hand and placed the earbud in his, tucking it safely before removing your hand from his sweatpants. Jungkook shuddered, gasping your name involuntarily. The first word he had ever spoken to you in person. The scent of peach and honey lingered around his nose.

Your murmured one word into his ear.

The first word you had ever spoken to him in person.

“Jungkook.”

His name.

You backed up, smiling gently. Backed up, turning away, leaving him there in the back of the library, clutching his phone, underwear soaked with pre-cum, now in possession of a video of you, naked.

-

Now Jungkook was in his bedroom.

Camera app open.

You didn’t ask for a video. You didn’t ask for anything, actually. You just gave, so he wanted to give you something back. Jungkook wasn’t the kind of guy to only give a little. He gave a lot. He always did. That was how he was. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he was going to do.

This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

Six months ago, if you told Jeon Jungkook that he was about to film himself jacking off to give said video to a young woman he met at the public library who had only said one fucking word to him the whole time they saw each other in person, the one fucking word being his name, Jungkook would have told you that you were insane and needed to see a doctor.

He reached over and pressed record.

Unlike you, Jungkook didn’t start off with a black screen. He started off with his face and bare torso, part of his gray sweatpants showing. Sitting on the edge of his bed, even remembering things like picking out his nicer black sheets and making sure he had picked up after himself. He wore the lighter gray sweatpants so his body would stand out amongst the black. The obvious center of attention. Jungkook nervously ran a hand through his long black hair, curly from the shower earlier. Lifted his dark brown eyes to stare straight into the camera. Pink lips quivering as he spoke your name.

“Hey.”

A small anxious smile that he couldn’t help.

“Ah… If you think this is weird, you can delete this right now and not watch it…” Jungkook swallowed, dropping his hand. He inhaled a long breath, trying to calm his nerves. “But… I…”

He looked straight into the camera, not at his reflection.

“I replay your video all the time.”

His heart was racing in his chest. He could feel it galloping like a damn racehorse.

“I can’t help it.”

The images came back, memorized now, but the reason he had replayed it all those times before was to hear your voice, over and over, saying his name. Moaning his name at the very end.

“What do you do after?” Jungkook breathed your name, softly, letting it fall from his lips. Said it again, forming the syllables with desire. “I’m so curious. Will you tell me sometime?” There was no way Jungkook could say this shit at the fucking library. But this wasn’t the library. This was his bedroom. He didn’t have to give this to you.

But he was going to.

“Will you show me, sometime?” Thump. “I’d love to watch.”

His fingers began to trail down his chest. Jungkook wasn’t actively thinking about it. He was imagining you listening, knowing his voice would fill your ears, his voice now smokey with lust and desire, several octaves lower than his usual tone. He couldn’t help it.

“Will you let me watch?”

His eyes shifted to the screen, watching his fingertips brush the waistband of his gray sweatpants, slipping under. He had prepared, practiced earlier, knowing the composition was correct. Making sure you would be able to see. He pushed them down, past his v-line. Thump. Licked his lips, stared into the camera again.

“Will you let me touch?” Jungkook breathed, black strands shadowing his left eye, lashes lowering as he pulled his hard cock out of his sweatpants.

His heart ricocheted in his chest. He wrapped his hand around it, moaning softly, feeling his hot, taut skin. Stroked slowly, staring into the lens. Jungkook already knew what he looked like. Muscles on his right arm rippling, black tattoos dancing on his tan skin. The lust built up inside him like a storm, ramping up and up, and he was swept up by the winds, tipping his head back a little as he stroked himself, whimpering out your name.

“Do you know how good you smell?” Jungkook panted out. “You smell like peaches and honey. It must be your perfume. It’s so nice. I wish I could smell it more. I wish I could stand next to you and breathe it in.” He was rambling, but it was genuine, so he didn’t try to stop himself. He didn’t want this to seem fake. He didn’t want you to think he was trying to play you. “I want it all over my clothes. I want it on my skin, your peaches and honey.”

Faster, harder, pre-cum leaking out and dripping down, adding to the pleasure every time his fingers closed around the throbbing head. His left hand reached back to support himself as he leaned back, staring at the camera with half-lidded eyes, his toned chest shuddering, sweatpants halfway down his thighs, his right hand furiously jacking himself off.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” Jungkook gasped out, eyelids fluttering. “But I can’t help it. I really want you. It’s not fair how pretty you are.” He exhaled hard, heart beating fast. “And you gave me that video. All I wanted was to hear your voice.”

He threw his head back, nearing the end.

“You let me see your body.” His words were becoming moans, breathless with longing. “You let me see so much. You want me to want you.”

Jungkook lowered his head, catching himself in the phone screen, black hair all over his face, mouth open, his sharp jawline tense with his approaching climax.

“And I do. Fuck, I want you so fucking bad.”

His eyes shifted to the lens.

“And I’m going to cum. Thinking about you.”

Jungkook sucked in a breath and gasped out your name, his cock jerking in his hand, shooting white strings down his fingers, splattering onto his sweatpants, creating a pool of white. He had made sure to wait a couple days to let it build up so he could give you a good show. His orgasm spilled out of him, his torso quivering, enveloped with pleasure riding through him in waves. Slowly, he smeared it up and down his length, heightening the ecstasy. His chest was trembling, slowly coming down. Jungkook took his own cum and rubbed it on the sensitive head, whimpering softly at the spikes of pleasure it caused.

His lips formed your name once again, a low moan.

Held up his right hand, covered in his cum.

Reached over with his left and stopped the recording.

-

Jungkook had to wait a while to give it to you.

Holidays and all that. Then he got busy with work, but eventually he was back at the public library again, looking for you. The sinful video was saved on his phone, in a locked folder, buried in his photo gallery of family photos and pictures with his friends.

He looked for you, couldn’t find you.

Until one day Jungkook spied you at the check-in counter, handing the librarian your books. You had maybe ten or twelve, and the librarian checked them in one by one, having small talk with you. You seemed familiar with them. Of course, you were. You read so much. Not many people visited the library as often as you. Maybe himself.

You were wearing baggy black jeans with colorful sewn on patches, as if you had done it yourself. A cropped white puffer jacket to keep you warm. You nodded and smiled at the librarian before turning around to go into the main part of the library. A loose black crop-top with the slightest sliver of midriff showing, instantly reminding Jungkook of what you looked like without clothes on.

Your eyes found his.

You smiled at him.

Jungkook nearly dropped his phone. He probably looked ridiculous, wearing light gray sweatpants and a white hoodie, hood pulled up with his black hair sticking out of the sides. But he wore the gray sweatpants on purpose. At least, every time he came to the library.

He held up his phone with shaking hands.

You began to walk, but not quite towards him. Your eyes shifted and he followed, a little distance behind, slowly realizing where you were going. The same place you two were when you gave him the first video. The back of the library, where the older encyclopedias were. No one went there. The first time, Jungkook didn’t even think about it when you gestured him there to give him the video.

Now, he understood why.

He turned the corner and you were standing at the end of the aisle, next to the wall. Waved at him kindly. There was no way anyone could suspect you gave him a video of your naked body after saying a single word to him in person. Jungkook began to walk towards you, step by step. He didn’t have to give you the video. He had filmed another one of just his voice having an awkward one-sided conversation with himself.

You pulled out your phone with the little devil emote on the case.

Took out your earbuds, tucked them in your cute ears.

That smile, turning slightly less innocent now as Jungkook neared.

He held up his phone, pointing to the QuickShare app. You nodded, loaded it up. He stopped right in front of you and pressed the ‘send file’ button. Not the video of only his voice. The other one. His heart was beating fast, so fast. It began to download. The percentage ticking up. Thirty. Fifty. Eighty.

He felt a tap on his forearm.

Jungkook jerked his head up, staring into your eyes.

You gave him a concerned look, tilting your head. Wordlessly asking, are you okay?

He chewed on his lip and nodded slowly. Took another step towards you so he could smell it. The peaches and honey, wafting all over you, the sweet perfume. Now you two were close, so close. You smiled and patted his arm once again, reassuringly. You did not seem bothered by the closeness.

The file finished downloading.

Jungkook reached over to your phone and touched the screen. You tipped your hand to let him access the video file from the top menu. Your eyebrows shot up as you saw the beginning frame of the video, him shirtless. Jungkook swallowed hard next to you.

Pressed play.

He didn’t watch. Couldn’t really. He had re-watched it already, over and over, wondering if it was okay. Too little? Too much? Too forward? Too crazy? Jungkook stared at the top of your head, chewing his lip raw with anxiousness. Oh, shit, what if you ran and never spoke to him again? What If you thought he was super creepy? He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have given you that video. What was he thinking?

He felt you lean against his chest, breathing shallowly, your free hand gripping his white hoodie.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, finally looking down. You were watching him masturbate, not looking away, pressing yourself against his chest. His cock swelled at your closeness and the embarrassment of seeing himself come undone in that tiny screen in your hands, clutching your phone tightly.

You pressed your body against his, harder, and his hands automatically came up to hold your elbows, steadying you. He planted his feet so he wouldn’t tip over. Your hips touched his. Oh fuck. The front of your jeans rolled into the crotch of his sweatpants.

Oh, fuck.

Jungkook sucked in a breath as you began to dry hump him in the fucking public library, watching a video of him jacking off that he willingly gave you, your soft gasps against his chest, eyes glued to the screen, peaches and honey invading his nose. He didn’t make a sound, holding you close, his hard cock rubbing against the inside of his underwear, a patch of wetness forming as you provided the friction.

You lifted the phone slightly so it was at his shoulder, next to his head, eyes still on the screen, your breath suddenly on his neck and it took everything in Jungkook not to moan, because your breath was so warm and erotic, a feathery whimper gracing his ears as you watched him orgasm.

The video ended.

Your eyes shifted to his face.

Pupils dilated, soaked with lust.

You kissed him.

Full, on the mouth, those soft, soft lips pressed to his, inhaling him deeply. He had worn his nice cologne today, a mix of musky woods and sea breeze, and maybe you’d notice, maybe you’d want it too, on your clothes and on your skin. It seemed like it, the way you pressed against him so urgently, nestling yourself in his arms.

He drowned in the kiss, a kiss of peaches and honey.

You backed up, but only a centimeter, eyes slowly opening. He gazed into your eyes. He probably had the same expression. Uninhibited desire and longing.

“Do you… want to go somewhere that’s not the fucking library so we can talk?” you whispered against his lips quietly. Your tone was heavy with lust.

He did. Preferably somewhere with a bed.

“Yeah…”

You lowered your phone, the little devil smiling at him before it disappeared in your pocket.

Jungkook grabbed your hand. Held it tight. Took one step, then another, with you.

You smiled at him.

Not so innocent.

--

masterpost

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Gangbang by the lov

Anon I know I have ignored this for a week and I am sorry for that, but let me tell you: I got this request and I was like ‘fuck it, if I’m going to do it I’m going to do it right’ and was all set to do a full fic because how do you even fit something so involved into a few paragraphs? 

Except here’s the thing: it’s fucking hard! Who knew? Not me, because I am a fool and I thought I could just pop out 3.5k words of gangbang in a week or something and be content with it, but lemme tell you, it took that way longer than I expected just choreograph some sequence of events. Like, just the set up and making it clear who’s doing what, let alone making it actually read well took so much time. So, hats off to anyone who’s ever accomplished that task, you’re more man than me.

Anyway, in the end I abandoned the set up and I wouldn’t quite consider this a full fic, but it got pretty long anyway. 

» pairing: male!LoV Members x afab!reader

» cw: gangbanging, obviously. Also double penetration, eating ass, anal sex, masturbation, a sprinkle of voyeurism and a lil’ bit of dirty talk, and maybe degrading language if you squint. 18+, minors DNI. 

» wc:  1.7k

They let Jin start you off—the League doesn't want to wreck you too badly after all, wants to get you nice and ready so they can keep doing this, again and again for as long as you're willing to be their good little slut. You never know when it's coming either, some of them will exchange a look and suddenly Jin is pulling you to him, nestling his broad chest against your back and letting his hands wander, groping at your chest and pinching your nipples, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants to toy with your folds, telling you that you're “such an obedient slut” for him in one breath and “such a useless whore!” the next, his face flushing at the outburst while he grinds his cock against the curve of your ass.

It's Compress who joins next—what kind of gentleman would he be, after all, if he didn't help get you warmed up for them? He and Twice will guide you somewhere comfortable like the couch in the corner, peeling off your clothes along the way, and the next thing you know Jin is tugging you into his lap, making you face him as he sinks you down on his cock, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he whimpers at the feel of your warm, wet pussy enveloping his length. Compress is already kneeling behind you too, hands spreading your cheeks wide so that he can tongue at your ass; it's important after all to get all those holes ready, because god knows they'll be using them.

When Jin gets close to finishing, he'll reach down to stroke your clit, getting you mewling. Those sweet little sounds pouring from your mouth are more than anyone could resist—can't let 'em go to waste, after all. This is when Muscular steps in, stroking that intimidatingly large cock, pressing it's fist-sized tip against your lips until you part them to give kitten licks around his head, all you can manage to start, when it's so thick.

Your hips buck when Compress slips one of those agile fingers into your puckered hole, chuckling softly at how the invasion makes you squirm and then adding another slick digit. The way you writhe has Twice gripping your hips harder too, thumb rubbing more furiously at your sensitive nub, and all those sensations are enough to have you cascading over the edge, crying out and shuddering as you cum. Muscular takes advantage of the way your mouth gapes when you cry out, forcing his way past your lips, stretching your mouth impossibly wide around his length, all while Jin is twitching beneath you, the feel of your cunt clenching around him more than enough to have him painting your walls white as he shouts his appreciation, "Thank you, thank yo—fuck—thank you."

And then Muscular and Compress are lifting you from Twice's lap, arranging you on all fours so that Muscular can fuck your mouth more properly and Compress can start the work of sinking himself into your tight ass. He whispers in your ear the whole time, praises and reassurances to help you take him.

"Deep breath now, that’s it," he'll croon. "Just relax, I assure you I'll take excellent care of you."

There's something about his voice that’s soothing. Hypnotic even, perhaps one more trick the mysterious man has mastered, and it never fails to work, your whole body going limp and accepting those invasions in the best possible way, leaving you tight yet compliant for Compress as he buries himself in your ass. It helps for Muscular too, your throat and your jaw relaxing enough for him to surge past the tight ring of your throat so he can fuck your face properly, growling lustily as you accept him without complaint. They rock you back and forth between them, a seemingly endless and exquisite fullness that has your sex dripping, slick running down your thighs as you clench around nothing, and you swallowing eagerly when Muscular finally releases his load down your throat.

When he withdraws you catch a glimpse of Moonfish, leaning against the wall on the other side of the bar. It's impossible to tell if he's watching with that leather hood covering his face, but you know he's enjoying himself one way or another, the same way he always does—thick threads of spit running down his chin and an obvious bulge at his crotch as he ruts against the air, writhing his way to his own hands-free release.

But that view is blocked when Shigaraki and Dabi settle in to take Muscular's place in front of you, stroking themselves gently and grinning widely. Dabi runs one hot thumb along your spit-slicked lower lip.

"Ain't that cute, you looking all fucked out already?" he murmurs, and then his hand is on the back of your head, guiding you to lick at his cock. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tickle at the line of barbells placed there before sucking lightly at his tip, moaning against it as Compress's thrusts grow rougher, more erratic, sending you gasping every time he sinks himself deep into your rear entrance. Dabi draws a hissing breath and then guides your head towards Shigaraki instead.

"That's a good little fucktoy," Shigaraki whispers, dry lips twisting into a fond smile as he pinches your tongue with two fingers, tugging it out and ordering you to keep it that way as he brushes his tip back and forth over that hot, wet muscle, ruts gently against it, using you to tease himself.

You don't notice when Compress cums, not until he's pulling out and his hands at your waist are replaced by the feel of claws tracing gently over your sweaty back. You can hear Spinner panting, and feel the way he's trembling a little. No matter how many times you've done this he always get so nervous about filling you up with those hemipenes, his cheeks flushing pink and his movements uncertain. But you know he loves that there's someone who can finally take him, take both of them, and you love the feeling of them filling you up just as much. So you cant your hips, rub your wet eager holes against him until he's making a strangled, impatient noise and forcing both cocks into you with a single thrust, and then you're moaning against Shigaraki's stiff member.

He jams it down your throat in response, humping against your face a little more eagerly as you meet Spinner's movements the best you can. The curve of his cock in your cunt hits just right against that sensitive spot inside, the feel of being stretched so wide and full sending you hurtling towards your next climax.

And Shigaraki's eager for it, loves to see you writhe and then squirt, making such a mess. He pulls out of your mouth, Dabi quickly taking his place in that drooling cavern, and then two of Shigaraki's fingers are rubbing fast circles against your clit.

"Should I make them cum, Spinner?" he asks, a teasing edge in his voice. "Want to feel them clenching around you?"

"Y-yeah, boss," you hear Spinner pant. "Fuck, please, yes."

Tomura's fingers speed up, add just a little more pressure and that's all it takes to have you bucking, your cunt contracting, gushing all over Spinner's cocks. You hear him whine, swearing under his breath as his thrusts speed up, and you feel even more deliciously full when he's twitching inside you, flooding both your holes.

You're repositioned again almost immediately, cum dripping out of you as you're tugged upright onto your knees, Shigaraki slotting himself against your back and sinking without warning into your ass while Dabi pins you from the front, driving himself abruptly into your cunt.

They like to be last, you know, like you sloppy and overstimulated when they take you, and fuck, you'd be lying if you said you didn't love it too, Shigaraki stretching your ass wide and the ridges of Dabi's pierced shaft massaging your insides in the most delicious way. It's different than the fullness Spinner gives you; his cocks always move in concert, a rhythmic cycling of fullness and emptiness that is a drastic contrast to Dabi and Shigaraki's variegated, asynchronous thrusts. Shigaraki wastes no time pounding into your ass with constant rough strokes, while Dabi likes to tease, likes to go slow until you're a whining mess, whimpering every time he grinds against your overstimulated clit and still begging him for more, pleading with him to make you cum as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks.

He doesn't of course, not until he and Shigaraki are ready—they want you to cum when they do, want to feel you convulsing and milking every drop of their seed out of them. They only start to match their movements once they’re close, Shigaraki's hands snaking between your and Dabi's bodies to tweak at your nipples, twisting those sensitive buds.

"Is the greedy little toy gonna cum for us?" Dabi murmurs, his breath hot in one ear.

"You've been such a good little cocksleeve, taking everyone," Shigaraki purrs in the other, "so go on and show us how much you like it."

And you do. You cum so hard there's white spots flashing behind your eyes, your toes curling and your moans strangled as they escape your abused throat, throbs of ecstasy radiating through your core until you're left limp, Dabi and Shigaraki's grips the only thing keeping you upright as they ride out their releases, their cum leaking out around their cocks as they fill you to overflowing.

They lay you back gently on the couch when they're finally finished. There's a warm washcloth wiping at your thighs already, a soothing hand brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead, but you don't pay any mind to who's doing what. You simply lay there and let them go about the business of cleaning you up, entirely trusting of their attentions, because you already know there's no reason not to be.

They always take such good care of you.

[starlightsearches]

His Pilot Ch. 6 (NSFW)

Masterlist

Armitage Hux x Pilot! Reader (f)

SFW Version of the chapter can be found here.

Warnings: 18+ only! Minors will be blocked. Guided masturbation, fingering, dry humping, language, angst, religious imagery. Let me know if I missed anything, and please let me know what you think 🥰

The fire paints with dim, golden streaks on the ceiling above your bed—not bright enough to keep you awake, if you could manage to close your eyes.

You should be tired, exhausted. You should have fallen into the deepest sleep of your life before you even managed to crawl between the sheets. But you can’t. And you’re not.

Rest stays elusive, no matter how hard you try. After everything that’s happened, every promise and commitment you made in the blazing heat of the moment, it would be wise to take this time alone to think about what’s been done, and what cannot be undone.

And instead you're thinking about how it would feel to have Armitage's lips against your neck.

You huff at yourself, turning once again, the sheets in a tangle around your legs from your restless movements.

The knock at the door is so quiet, you’re sure you’ve imagined it. You want him to be there, but finding the hallway empty would be unbearable. The sound comes again, slightly louder, and you close your eyes, offer your hopes to the universe, and slip from between the sheets.

It takes effort to keep from running—even on your sore and tired legs—your footsteps marking an even beat against the floor, not loud enough to drown out the rapid strike of your heartbeat as your fingers curl around the cool metal of the door handle.

It could be Day, checking to make sure that you’re alright. Or Alida with fresh clothes for tomorrow or more wood for the fireplace.

The door opens; all your fears go quiet. It’s him.

“I . . .” Armitage hesitates, eyes gone wide when he sees you, shoulders positioned away from the door, like he's ready to run, “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought . . .”

Thank gods. You manage to keep your excitement to yourself, stepping out of the way so that he can enter.

The fire burns low in the hearth, casting more shadows than light at this point, bringing the walls in closer and shrinking the room, small enough that you can’t help but stand close to him.

He’s still in his clothes from before, except for the jacket—the fabric stiff with rain. His hair has lost any of the gel he had put in it that morning, and it falls across his forehead in soft waves—longer than you expected it to be—before he brushes it back with one ungloved hand.

“I— I didn’t mean to bother you,” he says, his throat jumping slightly when he swallows, eyes on the mess of sheets and blankets on your bed. He clasps his hands tighter behind his back when you rest your hand on his arm, the skin of his knuckles turning white.

“You’re not bothering me, I couldn’t sleep either.”

His eyebrows raise, the breath he was holding brushing your skin when he finally releases it. “Really?”

“Yes." You continue to shrink the space between you, looking up at him through your lashes.

He frowns, confused. “Why not?”

“I was thinking about you.” He can't not know what you're waiting for at this point, standing so close you can feel the heat from his skin through his clothes, staring pointedly at his lips.

He holds your hand to his face, and you think you've finally gotten through to him, letting your eyes flutter closed, but he doesn't come any closer, and when you meet his eyes again, they're full of pain.

“I’m— I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for all of this. I’ve ruined—”

You kiss him with an exasperated sigh—kiss him to shut him up, kiss him because you can’t wait any longer. It stuns him, but he kisses you back, his hand at your jaw, lips moving seamlessly against yours.

It’s exactly what you wanted—uncomplicated, pure connection. He won’t listen to you when his own insecurities are so loud, but he can feel this: the urgency of your mouth against his, the sincere desire in your sighs.

There’s no forethought, no planning, just need—every movement motivated only by desire. He stumbles back on the bed, sinking into the plush mattress, pulling you down against him with his arm at your waist until you’re a mess of shifting legs and desperate, roaming hands.

It’s need that presses your hips against his thigh, warm and solid between your legs, need that has you sliding your core against the firm press of his body, sighing into his open mouth.

You reach for his shirt collar, pulling him closer, the buttons slipping easily from their hold under the strength of your hands until you can grip at the skin beneath—his neck, his collarbone, each valley and ridge mapping itself beneath your touch, searching lower, deeper, for more.

You’re left staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and empty hands.

Armitage turns to you, half his face in shadow as he sits on the edge of the bed, running his palms over the silk covers methodically, as if he’s trying to make sure that there's something real beneath him.

“Is everything . . . alright?” you whisper, apprehensive. There’s a sinking pit in your stomach, a terrible strain between your need to touch him and your fear of pushing him away.

He waits a moment before answering with an unconvincing nod.

“Yes, of course. I’m— I apologize.”

He looks so broken, defeated, and you don’t even know what you’ve done to make him this way. With no other options, you shift closer, stroke your fingers over the back of his neck in what you hope is a soothing gesture. His shoulders relax minutely, pressing closer against your hand, and even this little sliver of contact makes your stomach soar.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He scoffs, turning away from you, and it's only then that you realize the anger in his eyes is directed inward.

Your chest collapses, folding in on itself in shame.

“Armitage,” you hook one finger under his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes, “it’s alright. I’m not upset, or angry. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

His jaw tightens, eyes heavy with an unspoken pain. “Please, don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. You don’t have to worry about me, Armitage. I can take care of myself.”

You’re not even sure what made you say it. As soon as the words are out of your mouth, regret creeps through your stomach, your neck growing warm with embarrassment, the heat intensifying when, with only a little hesitation, he places his hand on your thigh.

“Take care . . . of yourself?”

You don’t miss the breathlessness in his voice, or the weight behind his palm as he kneads the aching muscles beneath.

“Yes,” you whisper, shifting against the sheets, no longer able to sit still when he looks at you like that. His grip tightens, a nice, dull ache blooming under the pressure.

“Show me.”

You grip the hem of your pajama pants with both hands, eyes wide, shivering as the silky material gives way to chill air. As soon as they’re past your knees, you press your thighs together tighter—whether to relieve some of the ache at your core, or because of a sudden surge of shyness, you don’t know.

“Show me,” he whispers the words this time—a plea instead of a demand. His hand covers your knee, long fingers brushing goosebumps over your skin as he strokes them shyly, like he’s asking for something he’s sure he doesn’t deserve, and knows he’ll be refused.

You take a deep breath and shut your eyes tight—you can’t bear to look at him when he’s looking at you—and then lay back, letting the plush bed support your weight before your legs fall open.

The silence is oppressive, weighing on your lungs like a stone, and then it’s pierced by a sigh, the back of his hand brushing over the inside of your knee, up your thigh, so close to where you want to feel him, just not close enough.

“Please,” he rasps, “show me how.”

Stars. You won’t survive this. You’re sure of it.

You let your hand travel down your chest, over your stomach, sweat-slicked palm sticking weakly to the fabric of your top. At last you reach between your thighs, your skin against burning skin as you part your lips, stroking one finger between them.

Your hand shakes, stomach tensing; you’re wetter than you expected, the tip of your finger dipping easily into your entrance and coming back slick and shiny. You trace a soft circle over your clit, coating it with your spend.

Your back leaves the bed at the touch, arching a little when you apply more pressure, a second finger sliding in easily beside the first as you rub quick, tight circles against your clit, clenching your teeth together to keep from whimpering.

“Slower.”

His hand is at your wrist, thumb pressed firmly at the junction where your palm meets your arm, limiting your range of motion, reducing the pressure.

Your cunt clenches around nothing, muscles taut as you bite back a moan. You never made much of a spectacle out of touching yourself—it was just another part of your nightly routine, something you did as quickly as you could manage before falling asleep in between shifts. Nobody bothers to draw out the process of brushing their teeth, and coaxing out an orgasm before drifting off has always felt the same.

Until now.

Because now he’s got your legs shaking, the back of your neck slick with sweat and sticking to the covers. You don’t even have to see it; just knowing he’s watching with those analytical eyes—studying the pleasured map of your body without missing a single moment, determined to memorize every gasp and moan—has your chest heaving, lungs on the edge of collapse.

He’s still holding you when you slip your hand down to your entrance again, sliding two fingers into your warm, wet cunt. You thrust, using slow, methodical movements, letting the pads of your fingers brush against your swollen front wall, tightening the waiting coil in your stomach.

When he stops you again, delicate fingers squeezing on either side of your wrist, you expect more instruction—your glossy, pleasure-stained eyes meeting his intense ones.

He doesn’t offer any, eyes drifting down your chest to the place where your hands meet, tongue wetting his dry lips when they part with a shallow breath.

You feel every movement of his fingers, stroking down the back of your hand, tracing along until he brushes the tips of his fingers against your knuckles, positioned right below your own.

You can’t help but cry out at the added pressure against your entrance, his fingers joining yours with a wet sound so lewd you're embarrassed. His fingers curl against your own, pressed up against the swollen spot that cuts off the air in your lungs.

He shifts, so very slowly, watching for every minute response you give him—your clenched jaw, the fluttering of your eyelids. His fingers are longer than your own, and wider; it’s a greater stretch than you’re used to—the combination of your touch and his—but the burn fades quickly, and what’s left is absolutely irresistible.

“Is this right?” he whispers, continuing his diligent movements, eyes on your face searching for some sign of approval, but you lost the ability to speak long ago, left with only the memory of the way it feels to fill your lungs completely and a few tears in your eyes. You grip his wrist with your other hand instead, urging him to move again, your hips rocking desperately against his fingers.

He pins you in place with his free hand, holding down your hips with a much stronger grip than you'd expect, silencing your cries with a whisper.

“It’s alright, darling. It’s alright,” he says, and you’re sure you must be imagining the gentle reverence in his voice, “let me take care of you.”

He peels your hand from his wrist, intertwining his fingers with yours. His palm is warm, wet from the heat and the nerves. It’s the first time you’ve felt his skin like this, his palm against your own. He’s got two fingers inside of you right now, but it's his hand in yours that seems truly intimate.

You shift your other hand from between your thighs, taking him by the back of the neck—unable to stand it any longer—spreading your spend across his searing skin as you pull him against you for a desperate and messy kiss.

His hesitation lasts only a moment before he’s drawn in by the shift of your hips and the determined press of your tongue, and then he’s lost himself, grunting low and deep in your ear. His own hips drag against your thigh, and you can feel the weight of his need for you, the desperate whimpers interspersed with his moans. His thumb finds your clit, stroking back and forth, the movements perfectly timed with the thrusts of his fingers.

You’re unraveling, coming undone with the feeling of his lips at your neck, the sweet, restrained kisses he marks against your skin so at odds with hysterical sounds you’re making, the cries that bubble up from your throat.

And then you’re tumbling on the other side, baptized in the pleasure he's given you, remade new with each wave of light that floods from his touch. Your cunt grips his fingers, loathe to be parted from him.

You come back to yourself when his hand strokes its way to your waist, turning to face him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, letting your own hand trail down the front of his shirt, stopping right at the waistline of his pants.

“Do you need me to . . . oh.” Your cheeks grow hot when you feel it, the sticky damp spot blooming on the front of his trousers. He flushes up to his forehead, skin gone rosy with embarrassment.

You didn’t know you could have that kind of effect on someone.

“I should return to my room.” He shifts, until you stop him, holding him in place with a hand on his chest.

“Don’t, please, stay with me.”

His neck turns red, too; embarrassment only just overpowered by desire. “I’d need a change of clothes.”

You press your lips together, biting away a smile, “I think I can help with that.”

The trip to his room and back is uneventful, thankfully. The hallways are dim and empty, and the house is large enough that you don’t have to worry about waking anyone, or having to explain your trip to Armitage's quarters in the middle of the night.

The refresher is off when you get back, the room swallowed by silence, and you knock on the door to let him know that you’ve returned from your little mission.

“Come in.”

He speaks quietly but you still manage to hear him, bracing yourself before you enter the refresher, greeted by a wall of steam that clings to your skin and collects in your lashes like tears. Armitage stands, bare from the waist up, staring at his hazy reflection in the fogged glass.

His back is to you, pale white skin pulled tight over sharp shoulder blades, dotted with freckles and occasionally marred by the white stripe of a long-healed scar. There’s another mark, an unexpected one on his left shoulder, just below the junction of his neck.

He watches your approach through the glass, no longer covered in mist now that you’ve let the cold air in, the leftover condensation dripping down its surface like rain before pooling at the edge of the counter.

It’s not a very large tattoo, about the length and width of your thumb: a small sprig of flowers, like the ones you saw on your trip to the market. You trace the lines with the tip of your finger—the dark green of the stem and where it fades into the soft, white petals—memorizing the pattern.

“It’s Halia,” he says with a cough, “they’re the flowers that grow on the mountains along the shoreline. She was named after them. It was the first thing I did after leaving the academy, in her memory when—” he pauses, voice thick with emotion, “—when I thought she was dead.”

You nod, stroking your thumb over his shoulder, unwilling to speak just yet, in case it breaks whatever spell has overcome him.

“It scared me, for most of my childhood. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a few moments I’d be terrified, thinking I’d forgotten her name. My father, he told me the truth when I was very young. Maybe he thought I’d be ashamed, but I couldn’t be. She was the only thing that separated me from that man, and I worried that if I forgot her, like he had, I’d end up like him, too.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to you in a single sitting, bared to you not just physically, but emotionally as well. It's the moment you've been waiting for.

“If she knew the truth,” you whisper, kissing the bend right above the tattoo, “she would be proud of you.”

His hand covers yours, pressed tighter against his skin. “I hope you’re right.”

You crawl between the sheets beside him, eyes straining to stay open and vision blurring with exhaustion, but you can't bare the idea of falling asleep just yet.

He glows in the darkness beside you, skin bright and reflective as a moon, his eyes wide and vulnerable you brush the dark, still-damp hair from his eyes, your other hand firmly held in his own.

You rest your head against the pillow, laying on your side. He'll be the last thing you see before you drift off tonight, and the first you'll see when you wake up.

You fall asleep knowing that you made the right choice.

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[starrysebastians]

Tis the damn season

Summary : On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other. I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help? 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count : 11k 

Warnings : general sadness, mentions of death and strained family relationships, but holiday fluff to make up for it.

A/n : this was written for @wonderlandmind4​'s fall winter challenge, thank you for hosting this! (Got carried away with the word count while simultaneously having no inspiration and writing utter shit I'm genuinely sorry about this?????) 

"God I hate this damn season and everything about it."

The sound of pebbles aggressively kicked by your foot is drowned out by the driver's door being slammed shut. It echoes around the empty street, morning fog still lingering in the air even in the early afternoon. A white cloud escapes your lips as you sigh, emptying all of your lungs' air before breathing in once again, and your eyes follow the shape — up, up, until it vanishes into the air and you are left staring at a familiar bay window. The curtain moves before you can even begin to turn your gaze away and a curse escapes your lips.

"Think they saw us?" His tone is dripping with irony.

Bucky is leaning against the car, arms crossed against his broad chest and his face as blank as your mind when you try to think about why you chose to do this. In the small moment of contemplation you were having, you didn't even notice him walk around the car and stand next to you.

"Nah, impossible," you say deadpan as a hand waves behind the glass. You stare at it silently before you talk again."We can still make a run for it." 

You don't move as Bucky pushes himself off the car and opens the trunk, bags all held in his metal hand. The trunk slams shut and he is already crossing the road leading to the front lawn. 

"I was being serious!" You call out, huffing when he turns around and glares at you. 

Throwing up your arms and letting them fall back at your sides with a heavy sigh, you begrudgingly lock the car and walk towards the house — it seems so much smaller to you now. 

"Of course they put Christmas decorations literally everywhere," you mutter under your breath, suddenly feeling a wave of holiday hatred hitting you at full speed.

Bucky eyes you for a second before knocking on the door, a horrified expression distorting your features when the word wait doesn't get to be voiced out loud. His eyes are more grey than usual, matching the sky, and they hold a twinkle of amusement at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes looking up at the sky as if some sort of alien could possibly appear and whisk you far away from here.

It's intriguing, seeing you this way — in your hometown, nervous about spending Thanksgiving with your parents. Nervous isn't the right word though, because he thinks he has never seen you nervous before ; there are actually a lot of emotions he hasn't seen you display yet. Not that he has a reason to, actually, because he only sees you when you are visiting Sam at their new headquarters, or when you are helping out on a mission. So really, he has only seen you laughing at Sam's jokes, or being angry at armed criminals. And what is left between those two extreme moods are mostly you being silent or passive-agressive — although the passive-aggressiveness is reserved for him, he has noticed.

"Y/N!" Your mother's voice makes you want to wince and you purse your lips, a poor attempt at smiling. Bucky had stepped behind you after having knocked on the door and you are at the forefront of every attack. 

Arms feel strange and foreign around you, a warmth you are not used to anymore. You can't really feel your hands as you awkwardly reciprocate the gesture, patting your parents' back as your gaze rests upon the staircase, so many memories rushing to your mind at once.

"Hi," you say simply, taking a step back and crossing your arms. You clear your throat, leaning closer to Bucky, your arm brushing his. This is what a regular person would do, right? "This is James." 

You don't really pay attention to the way your mother's arms engulf Bucky — poor guy. Their voices are just noise to you as you step around them and walk to the living room. We have been dying to meet you. Y/N has been keeping you hidden from us for so long. We are so glad to have you here, James. Slow and careful steps, eyes taking it all in — the green walls, the fireplace, the old rug and the stains you've made, the painting you've always found disturbing. It smells just the same. You run your hands across every surface, fingers lingering on cold wood.

"It's a good thing that you're here early. I'll show you to your room and you can settle in, rest a little." You turn around lazily, lids heavy with the weight of nostalgia and old visions. Your mother's hand is resting on Bucky's forearm, probably because his shoulder was out of reach, and he looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wonder if he is uncomfortable being touched like this by your parents or if it is something else. "You must have had a long ride." 

Bucky opens his mouth and you cut him off before he can even begin to utter a single word, eyes boring into his with a warning. 

"We did. Exhausting. Lots of traffic." You have faked enough yawns in your life to fool even your own parents — then again, how long has it been since they last saw you? And it takes little effort to conclude that you and Bucky will rest in your room for a while before coming down and helping with dinner preparations. 

The stairs creak under your feet and you smile a little at the sound. Your room smells like old wood, rays of light playing with dust particles around you. An old fluffy carpet, pastel tones and white walls, very few decoration. Some pictures — pictures of artists you used to like, empty postcards, not personal ones. These ones have been taken off the wall years and years ago.

The mattress dips under your weight as you slump down on your bed, fingers moving on their own to stroke a soft blanket. Bucky closes the door behind him, eyes lingering on the almost empty walls. The thought of you and him in your old room and sharing your bed finally crosses your mind.

"M’gonna go for a walk," you suddenly say, getting up from the bed in a swift movement. You don’t walk towards the door, but towards the window instead. 

"O...kay," Bucky drawls out. He watches as you open the window, grunting as it requires some forceful pulling. "Is this a secret code for...I’m gonna jump out the window and die so I can avoid my parents?" 

You snicker, closing your eyes and breathing in as the icy air finally hits your face. Tendrils of hair fly around your features and tickle your skin. You turn around, fingers putting your hair back into place, strands tucked behind your ears.

"I wish," you almost don’t add anything, but Bucky looks so utterly lost and confused as you throw a leg outside that you have to. "I used to sneak out of here all the time. It’s safe, there’s a big ledge and then I land on the guest room's balcony." 

"When are you getting back?" He only asks, pushing his body off the wall and going to sit down on the spot you were occupying just a minute before.

"In time. Don’t worry," this time you’re fully out of the room, feet expertly walking on the ledge. "If they knock just say I’m asleep." You stop in your tracks, voice louder. "And don’t go through my stuff. I’ll know and I’ll kill you."

*

Bucky’s still sitting on the bed when you get back, your hair slightly damp and frizzy from the humidity and the small drizzle outside. Cheeks and nose reddened by the cold and eyes brighter now that you have breathed in some fresh air, that isn't the air from New-York, something purer with a familiar smell. 

"I’ve been gone two hours. Please tell me you’ve got up at least once," you mock, bending down to untie your shoelaces and avoid making mud stains all over the carpet. This floor has suffered enough over the years. 

"No. I’ve been sitting there waiting for you like the good dog that I am." His voice dripping with sarcasm, you roll your eyes. "Told them you were asleep and blocked the door in case they wanted to check on you." 

You raise your head slowly, squinting at him. 

"So...you talked to them?"

He stares back with a bored expression. 

"Yes. I’ve talked to them. I'm spending Thanksgiving with them and sleeping in their house, so I figured maybe I could behave like a civilized person and say hi, you know." You blink. "Plus, I'm your boyfriend." You blink again.

"You didn't have to talk to them so soon. We've got all night," you mumble, now going for your socks.

"I've endured far worse than having a full conversation with someone's parents, Y/N," he chuckles and your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

"Right." 

Bucky looks at you, really looks at you. Hands going through your hair and gripping it a little too tight as you try to weave your fingers through knots and tangled strands — wind still raging outside. Dark shadows under your lashes from having rubbed your eyes in exhaustion and forgetting you had mascara on. Jaw ticking every now and then as your eyes bore into an empty spot, and he doesn't know if you are staring at an actual object or at something that only exists in your mind.

"Have they asked anything about us?" You say, sitting down on the floor and next to your travel bag.

"The usual. How we met, how long we’ve been together…that sort of thing."

Your stomach twists and you look up, alarmed.

"Oh god. What did you tell them? I forgot to make something up. We should have discussed this in the car, I just forgot." You run your hands through your tangled hair, again. "Fuck."

"It’s okay," Bucky’s eyes follow your every move as you rummage through your bag to find another top, fingers pulling on a soft black fabric. "I told them we met through Sam. And obviously they knew who he was — who I was, so I assumed they knew about you too." There’s an interrogation in his voice and you simply nod in confirmation. "So we talked about our jobs, mostly."

"Exciting," you comment sardonically. "And how long have we been dating?"

"Told them we started dating before the snap." 

You freeze, hands still resting on your black top, a slightly sheer and shiny material you thought would be more festive.

"So…definitely more than five years," you start, and he nods in response. "And...that means I visited Wakanda, right?"

He thinks for a second. 

"Right. Yeah."

You hum again.

"Not very practical. I’ve never been to Wakanda."

"Now you have a problem with accuracy?"

You glare at him. 

"No. Just saying. We could have met in New-York. Would have been simpler. That's all."

"Right. Two months ago and it was love at first sight so you’re already bringing me home to your parents — whom you haven’t seen in years. Makes sense." You clench your jaw and he raises a brow, sparkling blue eyes taunting you.

Glaring at him one last time, you turn around and face the wall.

"First of all, we didn’t meet two months ago," you start undoing the buttons of the cardigan you are wearing. "I'd definitely remember if I had only been enduring your presence for two months." He scoffs behind you. 

You pull your cardigan over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. Some deodorant and you grab the festive top. Bucky stares at your back for a second, soft skin covered in small beauty spots and old scars, defined muscles in action grabbing his full attention. Your neck, the way your hair brushes up your shoulders, the glimpse at your breasts and the curve of your waist — he focuses his gaze on the window instead. An afternoon sky blanketed by dark grey clouds, a promise of rain and a mirror of what he guesses is an internal turmoil.

"And?"

"And what?" You face him again, fitted dark fabric clinging to your body.

"You said first of all. I’m assuming there’s a second part." Brow quirked and smirk slowly lifting the left corner of his mouth, he watches your face fall. 

"There isn’t," he nods, full mocking smile on his lips now. "I actually like using first of all knowing there’s nothing else I have to add. It’s a figure of speech."

He scoffs, shaking his head. 

"It’s not."

"It is now," you stand up, brushing your hands against your thighs. You are now dressed in all black and it looks like you are going on a mission. You are, somehow. "Are you gonna change for tonight?"

"What, is it that ugly?" Bucky looks down at his outfit. 

Fitted blue sweater and black jeans with dark combat boots. You know he had cut his hair right after...everything, but it has grown out again and you’re surprised to find curls. You don’t notice him looking up, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon the blue of his sweater and the way it hugs his chest. He clears his throat and you meet his gaze — curious.

"No, it’s not," you force a smile. "It’s very nice, actually. Brings out your eyes." You sigh, turning around and grabbing your toilet bag and makeup. 

"I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not right now," Bucky frowns. Isn’t it part of the job description to know whether people are being genuine or not? Aren’t spies supposed to know that kind of thing? He never can tell with you. Everything you say has that kind of monotonous tone and it's either ironic or deadly serious. 

You let out a light chuckle as you enter the bathroom. "I’m not making fun of you, Barnes. Blue looks good on you." 

You stare at your reflection for a second. Pale skin and dark circles, the remnants of a fight barely visible because your hair is hiding the last remaining scar. The door to the bathroom was left open and you catch Bucky’s gaze in the mirror. 

He busies himself with his bag, going through his stuff and deeming perfume to be the only necessary adjustment to his current state. Fingers scratching an unshaven throat, he calls out your name, meeting your eyes again in the mirror. You only hum.

"Should I call you babe for the weekend?"

Your hand halts mid-air, makeup brush just a few centimeters away from your skin.

"What?"

"Well. We’re selling this thing. What about PDA, that sort of thing?"

You laugh again, and this time it sounds really genuine to him. High and full of disbelief. 

"Didn’t think you were familiar with the term PDA," you shake your head to yourself while he rolls his eyes. "But to answer your question — " you turn to look directly at him, complexion brighter and cheeks rosier. "— call me babe and you won't live to see another day. "

"Why have someone pretend to be your boyfriend if you're just gonna act like he's your friend?"

"Barnes. You think you have to exchange saliva with me in front of my parents for them to believe we’re together? Me bringing you here is already huge, trust me." 

He stares at your back. Dropping the subject. 

"Should I shave?" You don't need to look at him to answer confidently.

"No. I love a man with a stubble."  

You finish your makeup in silence as he lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the dinner that awaits him. He is curious about you and your family. Not a lot of people in this field still have their parents, or at least are being honest about what they do for a living. But mostly he is curious about you, someone he has been getting used to working or training with, but not holding casual conversations or doing simple things.

*

A week earlier 

Bucky raises a brow as Sam answers his phone. It’s eight in the morning and they just returned from their morning job, among fog and drizzle, the sun slowly rising over New York City and filtering through Central Park's trees and half-empty branches. It is not as cold as it should be for this time of the year, but he can still feel the early morning air biting at his face, even inside the apartment. Sometimes after a run he has breakfast with Sam, when they haven’t bickered so much on the way over that Bucky decided to run home instead. 

"I cannot deal with this amount of bad energy in the morning. Come over," Sam laughs and Bucky stares at his mug of coffee while his mind goes though every possibility. 

And when Sam opens the door and you step in, he goes back to staring at his mug, only watching your every move from the corner of his eye. You do look agitated for someone who probably woke up less than an hour ago. 

"I can’t." The new Captain America shakes his head and you grab him by the shoulders, hands looking so small. 

"Sam. I wasn’t asking. This is not an option." 

"We’re having a Thanksgiving dinner at the VA, I can’t ditch the guys," he says and you groan, head thrown back. 

You plop down on a bar stool, the one across Bucky, and you only nod at him as a hello. He rolls his eyes — typical. He is hunched over the kitchen counter, plate of pancakes drowned in maple syrup placed in front of him. You stare as he picks up his fork and knife and starts eating, following every mouthful with empty eyes.

He almost opens his mouth to snap at you before you slightly shake your head and turn to the window to your left. The beginning of fall doesn't feel like it is supposed to — yellows and oranges and reds could be a palette of grey and you wouldn't even notice the difference. It's not the same anymore.

"Why do you absolutely have to bring someone anyway?" You sigh as Sam asks.

"They think I have a long-time partner."

"Why would they think you have a long-time partner when I've never even seen you hold a conversation with a guy?" Bucky comments.

"First of all, you've been gone five years. I'd shut up if I were you." You scowl, lips almost curling up in anger when you whirl around to glare at him. "Second of all, you're not exactly a god in that area either." 

"Well I have been gone for five years, I've got an excuse," he shrugs with a smirk and you eye the table where they are sitting at, pastries and pancakes, fruits and hot beverages, full glasses. "Throw that glass of water at my face and I'll kill you." 

You hold his gaze for a second and purse your lips, eyes turning away as you sit down and rest your elbows on the wooden surface, permanent frown etched on your face. 

"They think they've missed five years of my life, I had a moment of…weakness. Didn't have the heart to tell them I was still single." You look out the window again. The wind howls loudly and a chill runs across your spine even though you're perfectly warm inside. "I think I'm gonna say he died." 

You don't pay attention to the small beat of silence that follows your sentence — a silence that is interrupted by Bucky's fork scratching against his plate. You scowl at him. 

"You're gonna say what now?" 

You shrug at Sam.

"Then I don't have to explain why we broke up. And since I will spend years recovering my mom won't think of bothering me with boyfriend talk for a while." Which seems like a rather logical and practical plan to you, underserving of such funny looks.

"You can't just make up someone and then say they died, Y/N."

"I don't see why not. A lot of people have died recently, I can easily get away with it." The way you speak and shrug, it's all innocent and casual, but your words leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Sam and Bucky exchange a look and stare at each other for a second as if a simple blink was enough for them to communicate their exact thoughts. You almost feel jealous.

"Just take someone else. I’m sure some of your friends have nothing to do on Thanksgiving."

Something heavy settles on your chest as you think of the people you would have loved to take home to your parents. Tony would have been impressive — albeit older and, well, married with a child. But your parents would have been starstruck. And Natasha would have seduced them right away. One foot into the threshold and they would have swooned at her feet, hanging onto her every word. Steve would have made the perfect boyfriend — the ideal american sweetheart, thoughtful and selfless, not the kind of person who would let you down. Not the kind of person who would leave everything behind. 

When your silence has stretched for a little too long, you clear your throat, tightening your hold around a steaming cup of tea that you assumed was meant for you. Sam is now sitting next to you and you hadn't even realized he had moved while contemplating how lonely your life was. Bucky is staring at you with an unreadable expression and you shrug, again.

"I don't really have anyone else to bring. But that's okay. I'll stick to my story," you give Sam a woeful smile. "They'll think I'm sad and avoid annoying me for the whole evening so really I couldn't ask for a better story." 

You stretch your arm in order to reach the plate of pancakes, but your fingers barely graze it. Bucky silently pushes it towards you and you simply purse your lips. It looks like a smile, right? Drowning your pancakes in syrup just like he did five minutes ago, you sit up straighter and exhale. Then your tone changes. "Anyway."

Sam crosses his arms and nods at Bucky. Blue eyes fixed upon the dark-skinned man’s face, he already knows. 

"Bucky doesn’t have anything planned for Thanksgiving," he starts and you keep chewing. "You should take him. I’m told he’s great boyfriend material." 

You slowly look up, skeptic look on your face. 

"I feel like you could sabotage me at dinner and I do not want that. The whole thing’s annoying enough as it is." 

He shrugs. Too bad. Sam’s eyes are getting bigger and bigger and Bucky sighs, setting his fork on the counter and leaning back. The leather squeaks under his weight and he clears his throat. The noise makes you raise your head and you look at him curiously. 

"I’ll behave." 

You stay silent for a little while as Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly. Is he better than making up someone and then saying they died? You think about it, and the chance of your mother not leaving you alone and looking at you with pity instead suddenly crosses your mind. Not good. Not your plan.

"Okay," you resign. Your pancakes don’t taste as good as they did before you said yes. Bucky and you have probably exchanged ten full sentences ever since you met, and they weren’t necessarily sweet. It is not that you don’t get along or fight — you work well together, actually. But he’s not your friend either. And sometimes, most of the time, you can’t help but feel something akin to anger build up in your chest when you look at him and see Steve instead. 

*

The table is pretty. Red and green, matching the decorations hung upon the fireplace and all over the house. Candles and elegant wine glasses. Christmas tree already up in the back of the living room, which you can still see from your spot at the table. The flickering lights and glittering garlands are a welcomed distraction to the people actually sitting in front of you, and you can't even remember the last time you had dinner with your parents. So formal.

You notice your mother stealing a glance at you before she fully turns her body towards Bucky. Fuck. You try to shoot her a warning glance but her sweet smile is already into place and there is nothing you can do except watch. You knew appetizers and amuse-bouches and your comments about their incredible taste would not be enough to keep the conversation from turning more personal, but you didn't think it would be so soon.

"You know, this is the first Thanksgiving Y/N is spending with us." Bucky quirks a brow and you scoff in disbelief.

"This isn't true. I have distinct memories of yelling and burnt turkey. Where else would that be?" You deadpan, hand moving towards your glass before stopping mid-air, a single drop of red wine left starring back at you. 

You hold back a groan, eyes flickering between the glass and the bottle. Should you maybe wait before getting a refill and not get any comments from your parents? 

"I meant, this is the first Thanksgiving you're willingly spending with us. You were sixteen last time," your mother's voice holds the same irony, but hers is sad while yours sounds angry. Bucky steals a quick glance at you without ever moving his head, and smiles sweetly at your mother, as if trying to make up for your attitude. "Are you still in touch with your parents, James?"

"Oh god," you groan, hand on your forehead. "Mother." 

You decide that possibly getting a comment about your drinking habits is worth it if drinking means not feeling this crushing weight of shame, embarrassment, and everything else. Bucky looks down at your arm as it emerges right in front of him — you don't spare him a glance, fingers curling up around the bottle and the sound of wine filling up your glass grows higher and higher until you stop. Even this can't drown out the conversation. Your dad's voice echoes from the other room, footsteps drawing closer. 

"Sweetie, I think you're forgetting how old James is."

You don't watch as Bucky probably smiles softly at your dad, then at your mom, and says it's fine. Red wine is pretty when it is swirling in a moving glass — it reminds you of fall, leaves twirling in the wind, the red lipstick you're wearing, but mostly blood.

Your mother is babbling out apologies and reaching out for Bucky's hand across the table and he is being so gentle and patient it makes you want to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him for being so good to them. 

"We only heard from Y/N six months ago, actually." 

"Well, you were gone before, so," you mutter, regretting every single choice that has lead you to this moment. Bucky perks up, eyes going quickly between your closed face and your parents, eyebrows drawing in a compassionate frown. Man, is he good at this. 

"Were you both…taken by the snap?" 

You sigh, turning your head to look out the window while Bucky and your parents talk about their shared experience, finger tracing the rim of your glass over and over again. For some the light around them and their alternate universe was all blue, others say it was a sort of ethereal shade of green. Some have non memory whatsoever of the whole experience and you wonder what it would have been like for you. You think that a minute in a world on literal fire would have been better than five years in the real one. 

Natasha's world is probably made out of purple and red — you hear this is how Vormir looked. Pretty. 

The rain suddenly hitting the bay window snaps you out of your quiet moment of contemplation. It was left slightly open and the sound of the wind blowing through swaying trees lulls your for a second, eyes unfocused. 

Your name echoes around the dining room again and your gaze snaps to that of your mother. 

"What?" You say in a sigh. 

"Nothing!" Her tone is unusually high. "I was just explaining to your boyfriend how we reunited. You visiting us when everyone came back." She looks at Bucky again. "It was a big surprise."

You don’t meet his gaze, instead resting your elbows on the table and nuzzling your face in the palms of your hands. You probably should have kept being a ghost.

"A good one, I bet?" He keeps his tone light.

Your mom goes on about how they have missed you all this time and you resume playing with your glass. And maybe refill it a few times.

"Oh. We saw the ceremony you had for Steve Rogers with Captain...Captain America. It was very moving." Your dad tells Bucky with a compassionate frown and you purse your lips. You almost want to put your hand on Bucky’s shoulder — his hand, his thigh, anything to give him some sort of comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to move your own hand. Everything feels really heavy. 

In your opinion, it’s actually a good thing that Steve died so soon. He had first been a man out of time when he woke up in 2011, and managed to adapt. Even said he wouldn’t go back because the past was the past. Right. But coming back an old man, having lived another full life while your friends remain the same? This wasn’t right, for anyone. With Tony and Natasha gone, you would rather have Steve be gone as well. Can’t really move on if something is still holding you back — now they’re all definitely gone. 

Your chair scratches the wooden floor as you stand up on almost-wobbly legs. 

"M’gonna check on the turkey." Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own and your throat hurts. 

Voices are drown out as you close the kitchen door, back resting against it for a moment. The room is hot even though the window has been left open. You breathe in and out slowly, taking in the smell of pies and spices. You walk towards the window, slowly, taking it all in as you calm down. Nothing is in its usual place. Scattered utensils over every surface, traces of flour and sugar on the table and bottles which haven't been closed. Something makes you jump and it's a pan is overflowing.

There are only a few seconds left on the oven's timer. Pan situation under control, oven gloves on both hands, you think maybe cooking more for yourself would take your mind off things. You almost sigh in contentment as the warmth from the plate spreads through your hands, arms and even radiates through your chest. 

All sorts of pies litter the kitchen table, cinnamon, clove and ginger invading your senses. All of you is consumed by spices and sounds of domestic life and it looks so homey but you can't bring yourself to feel at home. This whole day has been like being in a dream, floating through life, childhood and Thanksgiving memories like an intruder. Seeing yourself move around but not being able to control or truly touch anything.

You see yourself with the turkey between your gloved-hand, red lipstick and pretty outfit hugging your body. You see yourself ten years ago, dressed in a red dress and hair cascading down your back, laughing hysterically as you set a turkey down on a large wooden table, candles lighting up your friends' eyes. Seven years ago, in that deep green jumpsuit — the color of Natasha's eyes, Tony had said all night. Six years ago, in that matching Christmas jumper and soft socks in which you kept slipping on the cabin's floor. Five years ago and the years following the snap when everything was dark and hopeless and you had lost so much but you still had Natasha and Tony and Steve.

Every single bittersweet Thanksgiving memory plays out right before your blurry eyes, like a film. A compilation of every celebration shared between loved ones, your chosen family. And it feels so lonely without your best friends and half of the team you used to be.

Your hands shake as you go to set the plate down on the kitchen table — it's greasy and slippery and your hands are starting to burn so you don't even feel the glove slowly slipping.

Fuck.

It takes a moment to be fully registered.

"Fuck!"

On the other side of the door, Bucky’s cough is enough to cover a string of colorful curses and the cracks and tears in your voice. Your hands are as wet as your cheeks and you drop to your knees, muttering shit shit and shit all over again under your breath.

The plate clatters against the floor as you set it beside the turkey. Too loud. The minute your mother enters this kitchen you are a dead woman. "Shit."

Footsteps draw closer and heavier and you curse again, hands greasy and knees hurting from hitting the tiles. Somehow your fingers won’t grasp the turkey’s correctly and it keeps slipping back to the floor. 

The door creaks open and you whirl around, eyes wide open and a strings of excuses ready. But Bucky stands here, hands in his back closing the door behind him and keeping anyone from seeing what is happening inside the kitchen. Mouth agape and tear tracks probably visible on your face, you finally close your mouth to gulp, turning your back to him and breathing in and out as quietly as possible. 

Which is probably not quiet enough for someone whose ears are more than human. 

You sniffle. Bucky stares at your back, hand still securing the doorknob. He doesn’t really know how to proceed with you, so he takes a few quiet steps forward. He clears his throat.

"I just heard a ten pound turkey hit the ground and also very strong words. Do you need help?"

This is so stupid. 

"Bucky. The turkey’s on the floor. Literally."

"Yeah. I can see that," he eyes you, gauging your expression. Your eyes are dead set on the animal and hands still hovering over it, not quite stable. "It’s okay. They won’t know. I made noise when you dropped it."

"You did?" Your voice is smaller than usual and he bats your hands away from the turkey, grabbing it with his metal hand. 

"Yeah. Coughed so hard your mom almost stood up to keep me from choking." You gape at him. He smiles at your stunned expression and the turkey is back in its plate, looking perfectly normal. Your hands are still greasy and you don't know what to do with them.

"Hey," Bucky's voice is softer than it usually is. Or maybe you never really noticed it was soft in the first place. "Look at me." 

You change positions and rest your back against a cupboard, closing your eyes for a second before re-opening them. Crouching down to your level, he studies your face as you wipe off remaining tears with your sleeve. Flushed cheeks and quivering lips, wet lashes and a crease between your eyebrows. You hold his gaze for what seems like an eternity. There is a kind of intensity, determination in his eyes as he searches into yours. You aren't sure what he is looking for — maybe he is trying to find the right words, but eventually he just sighs and fully sits down in front of you. He is probably annoyed. 

You bite down on your lip as your throat swells again, sudden shame washing over you. Having a meltdown is not something you do. Not when you are on your own, not in front of your friends and certainly not in front of a friend of a friend, even when his presence has become something usual and almost comforting to you as you hide it between rolled eyes and silence. Sometimes it's nice to visit Sam and have a trio again, even if it is not the trio you are used to. When you close your eyes and listen to the voices around you or when your vision is hazy, the mere idea of feeling surrounded is already comforting.

"M'sorry, this is stupid," you mutter, throwing your head back to have it rest against the cupboard. The bang echoes in your ears and Bucky slides a bit closer.

"It's okay," he shrugs. "Take your time." 

He is so gentle in everything that he does. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes searching into yours but never once displaying pity, as if everything was perfectly normal. It isn't to you, but he seems so relaxed and unbothered. The way he speaks softly and expresses nothing but patience and serenity, the way his flesh hand slowly moves closer to your leg and almost hovers above your skin.

You sigh, head banging against the cupboard again, and spread your legs a little bit further. The right one brushes against his limb and he hesitates for a moment. Another look at you and his hand is resting on your calf. The warmth seeps through your black jeans and at this particular moment it comes back to you that you used to love being touched.

"I can't believe I dropped the fucking turkey," you say flatly. Bucky blinks slowly at you, the only proof that he heard you. He doesn't think he should talk and break your train of thoughts right now. "This isn't…what I normally do. On Thanksgiving. I've never spent Thanksgiving here. I mean, after I moved out."

Bucky's fingers move slowly against your leg, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as you start talking. You purse your lips, somehow wanting to keep your mouth shut but feeling oddly relaxed to be sitting on the floor with his thumb brushing over your jeans-clad skin. You look down, eyes following his fingers before focusing on your own, still numbly resting at your side.

"Yeah, that's what your mom was saying earlier," Bucky nods, eying your hands as well. 

On your left, there is this hook with towels hanging from it. His arm is long enough for him to grab one without having to get up. You don't respond, instead staring at the tiles and the space between your legs. You don't seem to notice when he hands you the towel, so he slowly moves his flesh hand towards yours. The loss of warmth makes you look down to your calf, stomach dropping a little when his fingers aren't dancing on your skin anymore. 

"What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?" 

You blink. He grabs your arms, hands sliding from your forearm to your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse point longer than he should. Then his hands are cupping yours, gently turning your palms upwards. There is this small beat of silence and tension where both of you are looking at your almost intertwined hands as if you were not their owners, as if they were moving on their own and you could only watch as this unfolded before your eyes. 

Should he let go? 

"I always spend it with Natasha." Your voice breaks the moment. His gaze snaps up but you're staring into the void again. "We have this tradition." You blink. Once, twice. Slowly, kind of like a cat. "Had. We used to rent a cabin, somewhere remote and snowy, and Tony used to come as well. Well, before he had Morgan. Then we used to come to his house and have this big dinner with him and Pepper, sometimes Clint and his family." 

Your gaze drops to your hand in his, one holding it up and the other wiping the oily substance away. Every movement seems so soft and gentle it makes your brain go fuzzy for a second.

"That sounds really nice." Bucky comments softly, going for the other hand.

"Steve came sometimes," you add, and he quirks a brow in surprise. "When everyone was taken away. Sometimes he held a little something at the VA, but we had him over once or twice." You nod. "It was nice."

Bucky simply nods. Your hands don't shine with turkey grease anymore, and it physically pains him to let go of your hands. For a second he thinks you are about to hold his tighter and keep him from prying off his fingers, but his ears suddenly pick up movement, and the way his posture visibly changes makes you snap out of it. Back straighter, eyes wider, shoulders squared.

"Shit." 

He is quicker than you and stands near the door to tell your mom that the turkey’s ready — you’re on your feet again even if you have to grip the counter’s edge for a second so your legs don't give out under your weight. His body is blocking your mother's view of the kitchen and you can only hear her voice.

"Look at her, making us Thanksgiving dinner with her boyfriend," she tells your dad and you snicker. 

"Look at her making us eat a turkey she dropped on the floor!" You singsong, pressing the heel of your hands to your cheeks as you try to make the red disappear.

"Now this is girlfriend material," Bucky mocks. The door is closed again and he takes a few steps towards you, the turkey being right next to where your hand is set.

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation and he smiles. He is only a foot away from you and you wonder if the warmth you are feeling is real or if it is your imagination, your mind and chest aching for comfort again. Touch is a vicious and dangerous thing when you can still feel it linger on your skin well after it is gone.

Metal hand reaching for the plate and body almost trapping you against the counter while you fix your gaze on anything but him, Bucky freezes for a moment — he meant to grab the plate and turn around, but this does feel intimate. 

"Hey," he breaks the silence and you have to look up. In this instant, you want to take a mental picture and remember exactly how he looks. Light shining into his eyes, illuminated the tip of his perfectly carved nose and cheekbones. Pink lips parted and tongue swiping over them. Could this be nervousness?

You raise your chin, biting the inside of your cheek and fighting to maintain eye-contact. He is so close that you cannot help but being distracted by his smell, the way your chests would touch if you just pushed yourself off the counter, the way you want to feel cornered and caged if it means resting your cheek against his chest and having his arms around you.

Fuck.

"You gonna be okay?" 

You wonder if his senses can pick up your internal turmoil. If he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage, the quickened and shaky breaths. You fold your arms and hug yourself, a poor attempt at gaining back some control over yourself.

"M'fine," you mutter. He doesn't look convinced and still hasn't moved. You lower your head, the remnants of previous haircut mistakes and bangs falling over your eyes. "Really."

"Yeah?" 

You look up again, mustering up a smile.

"Yeah. A little meltdown can work wonders for a girl." 

He chuckles and you have never wanted to kiss anyone this badly in your entire life, but you blame it on the emotional rollercoaster this day has been. You almost flinch as Bucky raises his hand but exhale as his fingers graze your cheeks, moving your hair out of your eyes.

Your mother calls your name and you sigh. Bucky brings out the turkey and you set the side dishes on the table, carefully avoiding the candles and almost squishing a green garland. It's a perfect picture, you and him stepping out of the kitchen in tandem and smiling down at your parents as they congratulate you on the turkey — this is probably a picture you had in mind as a child. Something out of a romantic comedy.

You sit down and Bucky's hands linger on your shoulders, thumbs stroking exposed skin and your neck. You raise your head, leaning back in your chair to meet his gaze. Should you put your hand on his? Should you smile and gaze lovingly at him — isn't that what you are already doing? He bents down, softly kissing your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear.

"Let's sell this thing, shall we?" 

* 

You step out of the bathroom, silky pajamas hugging your figure and wet hair sending shivers down your back. You sigh heavily, feeling the need to seek warmth but not having enough energy. Your arms are at your sides and your bare feet have a hard time moving.

Bucky stares at the carpet as drops of water trickle down your hair and slowly form a dark spot at your feet. His gaze travels back to your face, eyebrow quirked. You look absolutely drained, with your lips slightly parted and the way you blink slowly, as if your eyelids weighted tons.

"If they ask us to stay for lunch tomorrow," you begin, slowly approaching the bed. "Please say we have a mission." 

Bucky gives you a small nod. You sit down on the bed or rather let your body drop unceremoniously and lay down, hands on your stomach and eyes glued to the white ceiling. The mattress moves with Bucky and you hear him rest his back on the bed's head. Creaky wood that won't stop making noise.

"Well," Bucky starts, looking down at your form. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

You slowly peel your gaze off the ceiling, body and face still as your gaze moves to his face, his eyes already on yours.

"I don't have the strength to answer you right now." 

His shoulder shake and so does the bed. You groan.

"Can I ask you a question?" 

"No."

"Why did you decide to contact your parents after all this time?"

"Did you hear me say no?" 

He gives you a half shrug and you sigh, rolling so you are lying on your stomach, elbows propped up on the mattress. Bucky knows this means you are going to talk, and he sits up straighter, intrigued.

"Everyone was gone," you say simply, fingers drumming mindlessly on your cheek. "It was…utter and complete chaos everywhere. You're lucky you didn't get to see it. Just to go out in the streets, enter a coffee shop and see the look on people's faces…" You don't finish your sentence, eyes fixed upon Bucky's torso but mind miles away from your room. His shoulders sag as he takes in your expression. "And I felt lucky I still had Natasha, and Steve. And Tony. I was so lucky compared to others — sometimes I helped Steve out with his therapy meetings and I just…hearing about other people's loss…I wondered about my parents, somehow. I drove all the way up here and the house was so silent and empty, I just knew." You shrug, lowering your gaze to numbly observe the patterns on your sheets. "We've never been close, and I thought I didn't care about them the way I've always felt like they didn't care about me, but when I realized they weren't here anymore…they're still my parents, you know?" Not expecting you to look up at him, Bucky is at a loss for words when you bite your lip and go silent as if you were waiting for an answer.

You swallow thickly.

"So when everyone came back, I had this urge to make sure they did too. And now we're here," you purse your lips. "Not sure this was a good idea." 

Sometimes you think contacting them was a mistake. Yes, you felt an incommensurable sense of loss, standing in this empty house with the wooden floor creaking underneath your feet, dust flying and twirling around you, your reflection staring mockingly at you whenever you passed a mirror. Too late. Visiting your childhood home was the moment it all came rushing back to you ; the moment your mind finally caught up with reality and you simply crumbled. Orphan, half of your friends turned into dust, a whole world of shades of grey and not an ounce of hope. But spending Thanksgiving here doesn't give you the comfort or closure you thought it would. Being here and feeling like a stranger in your own home, bringing a fake boyfriend, having to sit through celebrations when there is nothing left to celebrate on this earth for you.

"They looked happy to see you."

Your chest tightens for a moment. It's somewhere between guilt and longing.

"Yeah, I guess," you give him a half shrug. Your face is resting right next to his thighs and you stare for a moment. Another barely perceptible movement and the headboard squeaks again. You almost let your face fall on his thighs when heavily groaning. He laughs and it gets worse.

"Well at least it's gonna be easy to convince them we really are a couple, right babe?" He says, deadpan. You look up at him through your lashes, sly smile on your face, a force of habit. Striking blue eyes staring back at you, perfectly sculpted face and a smirk on his plump lips. It would be so easy to pretend this is a normal scene from a domestic life. The creases around your mouth disappears as you blink a sort of haze away.

The moment passes and you busy yourself with the laptop you brought, while Bucky stalks to the bathroom. The sound of water running manages to soothe you, weight on your chest slowly dwindling and breaths coming in lighter. It's a white noise lulling you to sleep. You lazily brush your hair and slide into bed, covers pulled to your chin and body stiff as the cold from the sheets seep into your bones for a long moment. 

The shower curtain rattles, bottles clink against the sink and water runs again with the sound of a toothbrush. You turn on your side, chin tucked to your chest and arms under your pillows, scared to stretch out your legs and meet a biting cold again. The bathroom door opens and you relish the very small amount of warm steam reaching you.

The bed dips and you keep your eyes closed.

"You sure you don't want me out of your bed?" You don't know how many times he has asked this question. You only hum, too tired to voice your thoughts out loud. You feel the covers being lifted and shiver — could it be his thigh brushing against yours?

His mere nearness already warms the bed up and you silently thank a higher presence for the super soldier serum.

"God you're like a personal heater," you mutter, faced squished against your pillow, body moving closer to his on its own until warmth has engulfed you and you can finally extend your legs, feet reaching the end of the bed.

"Mh, I get that a lot," you feel his chest rumble next to you and you hum in response, something between contentment and an attempt to hide a blooming sensation in your chest.

You get closer again, face now pressed against his arm, cheek to warm and toned flesh. It doesn't take long for his arm to move, a frown etched on your features before they ease up again as he guides your face to his chest. An arm snaking around your shoulders and holding you closer, a chest rising and falling with deep and even breaths, a back and forth that rocks you.

You can't even remember the last time you felt this at peace. This warm and safe, arms secured around you like a cocoon, the smell of your childhood and his cologne mixing together. And it hits your half-asleep brain that you had craved this all along, all those years of darkness and loss.

"M'sorry," you murmur, your lips moving against his chests and your words barely discernible. "Just really need this right now." 

His fingers linger on your back, hand sliding down to rest on your waist. Squeezing, thumb stroking your skin, fingers tracing random shapes. You shift, your own arm laying on his stomach, almost hugging him like a pillow or a big stuffed animal. Fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like a reflex, legs tangling with his.

"It's okay." His voice is smooth, quiet. "Me too."

*

Eyes bleary and squinting to adjust to the light, you hold on to the banister as you wobble down the stairs. Voices echo around the living room and you frown. It's only eight.

You still as Bucky's laugh reaches your ears and hurry down the remaining steps. The morning light shines through the windows, surprisingly blue and clear skies facing you. Red and green lights dance around the living room's walls, reflections from the Christmas Tree's decoration. Lips parted in awe, you linger for a moment. The atmosphere is different from last night, it feels lighter. It's not just that the downpour has been replaced by a blue sky and what seems to be a perfect fall day — ice cold but the sun still shining. You feel lighter.

"Hey." You whirl around. You didn't notice Bucky approaching you. Coking his head to the side, he looks at you with an unreadable expression. "You planning on spending the day standing here?" 

"Tempting," you give him a half shrug, and he extends his flesh hand towards you, palm up and inviting.

"We made breakfast," he says as you rest you put your hand in his warily. 

"We?" 

The smell of bacon hits you when you enter the dining room, a table full of pancakes and pies greeting you. Steaming cups of coffee, a teapot — Bucky discreetly tugs you closer to him, hot breath on your cheek.

"You prefer tea in the morning, right?" It is whispered as not to draw suspicions towards the fact that he knows nothing about you, but it takes you a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the gesture. You nod numbly, eyes fixed upon your intertwined fingers. When did you say it was okay for PDA? 

The conversation flows more easily in the morning, the sight of a table this impressive and Bucky's touch lifting your spirits. You think life could be this easy all the time. This tranquil and domestic, a good night's sleep with someone and pancakes waiting for you in the morning. You smile as you talk about some of your most confusing missions, as you and Bucky tell stories about Sam. Albeit a bit pained, but it's something.

Leaving your parents after breakfast isn't as satisfying as you thought it would be, and you give warmer hugs than what you gave last night.

You sigh when the driver's door closes, sinking into your seat and resting your forehead against the cool window. The landscape is an orange blur, the sound of the wind blowing around the car loud enough for the radio to be useless. When you are in the city again, the car slows down and you are stuck in traffic. Bucky's hand reaches out to switch the radio on and you turn slightly in your seat, body leaning towards his.

"I was a bitch to you," you state without any warning and he snorts, looking at you with a confused expression. "When we first met." 

"Oh," his raises his brows high, as if in absolute agreement.

"You just reminded me of Steve," you say softly. "And I hated him for leaving. Still do, sometimes." you think, frown etched on your features. "Most of the time. But it wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry." 

He turns his head towards you, a simple nod to you. You fold your hands on your lap, chest lighter now that you have said it out loud. He clears his throat and you look at him again. Sun reflecting on his sparkling eyes, a smile pushing its way onto his lips. Genuine, soft. You find yourself returning the gesture naturally — no pursed or tight lips, no physical pain in your cheeks. 

"And this was nice," you add quietly.

*

"It's not that we haven't talked," you roll your eyes, nursing a drink of champagne and crossing the bal room with Sam at your side. Voice louder than usual, eyelids and lips glittering, your heels click against the floor and you side step dancing couples. 

It's quieter near the Christmas Tree. Well, near the bar.

"So you have talked?" Sam sets his empty glass on the bar counter and asks for a refill with a simple tilt of the head. Perks of being Captain America, surely. You lean against the cold marble, in-between the stools, huffing.

"No, we didn't," you repeat for what is probably the third time.

"Man, this isn't going anywhere," Sam shakes his head, eyes skimming over the crowd. You do the same.

"That's what I told when you insisted on starting this conversation, Wilson." 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," he grumbles before taking another sip of his drink. You give in with a half shrug and a sigh.

"We just haven't had a reason to, Sam, don't read too much into it," you say casually. "No missions, no meeting…" 

"Right. And the fact that you haven't been to our headquarters in a month."

"Well, as I said. No mission, no meeting," you raise your eyebrows. "You think I'm gonna drive all the way up there to say hi and prove you that everything is fine?" 

"I was expecting this kind of commitment to the team, yes," Sam sighs dramatically and you return to your bubbly drink.

The song switches to Mariah Carey and a chorus of cheers erupts from the room, almost making you physically wince. Hands in the air, feet jumping up and down and literally making the room shake, every vibration felt deep in your chest.

"Now this is a song I haven't heard today."

Sam snickers.

"Here we go. Was wondering when you were gonna ruin the mood." 

"Hey!" You head whirls around, mouth open. Brown eyes twinkling with amusement, eyebrows barely raised, the kind of satisfaction you get when you want to say I told you so. "You have to admit that this is getting redundant." You are definitely not to blame here — surely more there are more than three Christmas songs in the world?  

"It's Christmas." 

"Yes, I'm painfully of aware." Someone falls on the dance floor and you judge them silently. You and Sam probably look intimidating as both of you are leaning against the bar, glass in hand and chins raised. "Plus it took me more than an hour to…" You trail off, a sudden glint drawing your attention to the entrance of the room, right across from the bar. "…get here." 

Sam follows your line of sight. Through a flurry of red figures, glittery and twinkling dresses twirling around with every move and laughter mixed with animated chatter and pop songs, a dark figure parts the crowd and makes its way towards the bar. Something akin to slow-motion happens in your brain. Completely unprepared for something you had been thinking about for days. Not days. Weeks.

Your chest rumbles with the rhythm of the song, matching each beat of the drums. It helps you cover up the fact that your heart is violently pounding against your ribcage and that he can probably hear it. Hell, Steve could probably hear it from his grave — this thought makes you blink, a semblance of composure coming back to your face.

"Hey man!" Sam happily greets his friend, patting him on the back. "Happy Christmas Eve." His hand lingers, squeezing Bucky's shoulder. His gaze is warm and the silent eye-contact you two share when your eyes travel above Bucky's shoulder is a way of wishing you the same. Playful face merging into something sincere. Jolly songs contrasting with the sad look in your eyes and the woeful smiles you three have plastered on your face. Civilians like to call this night the first Christmas into a normal life again. Their old life.

"Hi," Bucky greets you, a little breathless, and you wonder if he took the stairs to get here. 

Sam is whisked away by a politician and you remember that he is here as Captain America and therefore is on duty. Champagne has never looked prettier, swirling in your glass as you try to focus on anything else but the man ordering a drink beside you.

"How have you been?" He asks, mimicking your exact posture and taking a first sip of a scotch. You cast him a side glance. There's a scratch above his left eyebrow and you wonder why no one told you about this mission or called for backup. 

"You mean, have I lost my goddamn mind in the kitchen again and thrown a poor animal on the floor?" He chuckles. Your eyes travel down his face and his midnight blue suit for a moment. Too long, and he notices. "Nope. I'm good." 

He nods, then tilts his head to the side. His once-over is even less subtle than yours and you bury your face into your glass, not knowing where to look anymore. Shit. This was easier when you just bumped into him on your way to see Sam or simply shared missions with him — no small talk, no information on each other, nothing. 

Thanksgiving was supposed to be unpleasant. And it was — bleak, gloomy, melancholic. But he wasn't.

"Care to dance?"

Your head snaps up towards him. You laugh, the rest of your drink downed in a second. Bucky stands up straighter — finishing a drink means being freeing oneself from having to hold a glass, right?

"I don't dance, Barnes." 

"You don't?" You shake your head, already lifting a hand to motion for another drink. He steps around the bar stool that was previously keeping you apart, the smell of cologne and aftershave hitting your senses. 

"I don't. Certainly not on Christmas songs." 

He turns his head towards the crowd, chest rising as he breathes in deeply. The room does look pretty. Golden, red and green. Trees and fake wrapped gifts on the floor, fairy lights cascading down the windows and giving a kind of ethereal glow to everything and everyone standing here. It makes looks softer, eyes lighter. A couple captures everyone's attention ; skillfully dancing on every single song and adapting to every tempo. Their smiles are so bright that your lips quirk up a little without you even noticing it. It is radiant and contagious and for a moment they are all you can see.

A small gasp gets stuck in your throat when Bucky steps in front of you, breaking your focus on the dance floor. How did he get so close? 

He offers you his hand, palms up and inviting. You remember how they felt on Thanksgiving.

"Bucky, I…really can't dance," you shake your head, lips parted.

"C'mon. No one cares."

He doesn't wait for you to place your hand in his, but simply grabs it, fingers naturally intertwining as if they had been designed to fit together. You open your mouth to argue, but all that escapes your mouth is a chuckle. An incredulous and surprised chuckle — almost a giggle but it hurts to admit it, eyes flitting over the crowd and the people surrounding you. Are they looking? Are they seeing what you are seeing? 

He tugs on your hand and it is a slow song that echoes around the room, two bodies felling in step and gliding across the glittering floor. You hide your surprise at the way he leads you effortlessly — you had heard stories about his days in the forties and you suppose this is what he mastered to woo the dames. A warm hand in yours and the other firmly placed around your waist, drawing you close to his chest. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingernails tingling his skin.

"Is this Bing Crosby?" You ask lazily, body swaying slowly.

He hums.

"Uh. Better than Mariah Carey," you state quietly, almost in his ear. Hot breath on his skin. He huffs, quiet laughter and crinkles by his eyes. Out of all the things you could say to him right now, this is what you do.

"I'm glad you came," he says softly and you look at him curiously. He gives you a half shrug as you slowly twirl in his arms. "We haven't seen you in a while. Didn't want you to be alone today." 

Your stomach twists when you are pulled into his arms again, your hand hesitantly cupping the back of his neck. You had indeed considered staying in bed and possibly crying in front of a romantic comedy, as cliché as it sounds. Completely immerse yourself in a universe that isn't yours and whose characters you do not have to grieve for. Vicariously feeling the Christmas Spirit of others.

But you wanted to be with your friends, as painful as it is to be reminded that your circle is half empty. Sam has poured his heart into this party — a tribute to Tony, a bit of giving after having taken so much, money raised for people in need and an opportunity to reunite and share something as a group again. You admire his strength and will and it is no surprise to you that he gets to carry the Captain America mantle. Someone whose heart knows no limit and who would do anything for his friends.

You smile wistfully.

"It's a nice party," is the only thing you say, small shrug accompanying a casual tone.

"It is," Bucky nods. Eyes going over every decoration again. It is a nice feeling — swaying in his arms, warmth and cologne engulfing you whole and caging you from the outside world. His skin is so soft against your fingers and you want to nuzzle your face into his neck, completely hide away and feel nothing but him.

You shouldn’t let yourself feel this way for someone you might lose, but you can’t help but relish the feeling of being held again. His hands cannot mend the pieces of your broken heart but they can contain them and keep you from crumbling down. 

Disappointment probably shows on your face and your tired smile when the song ends and he steps away from you — hand still lingering on yours. As if reading your thoughts, Bucky casts a glance behind him and motions towards the exit with his chin. You follow his line of sight, then eye the crowd around you. He is right, no one cares.

Trailing behind him with flitting glances around you, hand grabbing a hold of his suit as if you could squeeze fabric tighter than flesh, you don’t notice when he stops and you bump into his back.  The idea of leaving this party with him is taking up all your thoughts — no clear ideas but a definite feeling, an urge to find the comfort of his arms again.You almost don't look up as a string of cheers and laughter erupts around you. Way too close to you to be a simple coincidence. Bucky's hand tightens around yours. Green stares back at you.

Oh.

No.

Mistletoe. 

Should you shake it off with a good laughter that makes it look like this is extremely funny but he is just a friend? Should you pretend not to see it even though your eyes are boring holes into it? 

Bucky has already made up his mind.

Warm flesh squeezes your hand while cool metal rests on the small of your back, encircling your waist and pulling you close so unexpectedly that you almost stumble into his arms. The warmth emitted from his body is already melting away any smart quips or observations you had ready to get out of this. Completely shattering your resolve not to melt into his arms. You can only feel him. His arms around you, flesh hand moving up your arm, caressing and squeezing your shoulder until it is resting on your neck, fingers delicately holding your chin. You don't resist when he lifts it, eyes meeting his through your thick lashes.

This is the opposite of the quiet and intimate moment you were thinking about when leaving the room. Far from discreet touches but right among flashing lights, booming music and expectant stares. You’ve never had a kiss under the mistletoe and this is way too cheesy and holidays-like.

But he leans forward and his lips are on yours. Softly. Delicately. It lasts a split second. It satisfies the crowd and it seems like a peck that could happen to both lovers and friends but it leaves you aching for more.

You look up in a daze when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes wide. You blink it all away and plaster a tight-lipped smile on your face when you fake-bow to clapping strangers, and it takes all the willpower in the world to hold yourself upright. 

The corridor is almost empty, save late-comers jogging towards where you are coming from or drunken people escaping the warm and almost suffocating air of the party. You have absolutely no idea where you are going, numb legs carrying you all the way to a remote corner. Your back hits the wall — his arm around you softens the impact.

Who instigated the second kiss? You feel like he met you halfway, or maybe you stayed rooted to your spot like a deer caught in headlights, pulse probably heard from a miles away. You can only focus on the softness of his lips on your skin, tender kisses on your neck and on the corner of your mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, fingers making their way through his hair and tugging, cheek to cheek and chest to chest — time has stopped.

You only open your eyes halfway when he pulls away for air, blurred vision and pounding heart. You feel his hot breath on your face when he chuckles breathlessly.

"Still hate this damn season?" 

[siriuslyshewrote]

Gotta Be A Reason - Shelby!Sister

Summary : Finn and Y/N have been drifting apart for a while, but a storm may help them reconcile.

Requested? Yes

1927 - February - Aged 18

The storm raged outside the Shelby house, rain pelting against the windows like tapping fingers, thunder rumbling so loudly it was deafening, lightning occasionally brightening the room through the thin lace curtains. The inside of the house was quiet, nearly all of its residents fast asleep, most of the Shelby siblings and their aunt able to sleep like the dead, even with the cacophony of noise outside.

You weren't, however, your hands, white knuckles showing through skin, clutching the quilt tightly around you in an almost cocoon, a way to block in the sounds of your sobs. Your forehead was damp, though you couldn't tell if it was from the tears, or the sweat that covered you on nights like these.

The nightmares had always plagued you, in different forms, ever since you were a tiny child. When you were younger, Polly had taken you to a variety of people to try and figure it out, but no one ever could, and after a while, you started to refuse to go with her, accepting that this was something you just had to deal with. When your father lived with you, the dreams were of his yells, the tiny cupboard that John often put the three of you - yourself, Finn, and Ada - in, when yelling turned into smashing furniture, then into worse things. During the war, there was gunshots and mud, and John and Tommy and Arthur, all dying in some horrific way. Afterwards, it was blood on the pavement, razor blades in caps, split knuckles, yells, and worst of all, the members of your family getting killed.

Now, it was similar dreams each night. They all ended the same way, John, bleeding, shot, on the pavement outside his own home. The blank glassy stare, the slightly open mouth that never would, and never could, make a joke again. Most nights you woke up screaming, Polly rushing into your room, wrapping her arms around you, hugging you tightly, saying nothing, because she knew no words would comfort you now. She held you until she thought you fell asleep, and then left the room quietly. You never fell back asleep. How could you?

You sniffed quietly, fingers brushing away the cold tears, the cold sweat on your forehead, pushing yourself into a sitting position, arms wrapping around your legs. Your eyes looked over at the other empty bed in the room, once slept in by your older sister, before she had moved to London. The photos of her favourite actors and actresses were still pinned above her bed, cut out from programmes and magazines, some of the teenage love letters still stuffed under the mattress, Henry, the bedraggled teddy she'd inherited off Tommy, slumped against the pillow, one eye missing, due to an unfortunate argument with John.

A few years ago, if you had nightmares, Ada, you, and Finn would crowd into that uncomfortable single bed with the lumpy mattress, and you'd feel safe, nestled between your two older siblings (though, as you constantly told Finn at the time, there was only an hour between the both of your ages). You would look at those photos, hear the crinkle of the letters, clutch Henry to your chest, and sleep.

Even earlier than that, before the war, when your eldest brothers didn't spend their whole nights drinking and doing god knows what else, you'd just wander into the first room that still had the light beaming out from under the door.

Sometimes, you'd find John, and he'd read to you, in a soft voice, and occasionally, if you were really upset, would make up stories, always with 'Princess Y/N' as the heroine. In those stories, you'd fight dragons and sea creatures and monsters that hid under the bed, and suddenly, you weren't all that scared of the dreams anymore.

Arthur would sing the old pub songs that your father had once sang, and the lack of tune was made up for by your brothers soft singing voice, the songs almost morphing into nursery rhymes to you. The songs were never scary when they came from Arthur's mouth.

Tommy was always best found near the fire downstairs, too tired and weary to make it to his room, and you'd curl up next to him, in your hand-me-down striped pyjamas, in a comfortable quiet, his arm, that was wrapped around you, enough to make you feel brave enough to fall asleep.

But now, you were older, no longer lulled to sleep by songs, or stories, or a warm arm, and besides, even if you were, you knew that if you ventured to the hallway, there would no longer be a crack of light under the worn wooden doors. Your brothers had moved out, become too consumed with money, women, drugs. One of them was gone forever.

They no longer cared for fairy tales or songs or warm arms. That was what you told yourself on nights such as these. You weren't sure if it was true or not.

*****

You stood outside the door in the hallway, cracked and dented from years of arguments and slamming doors, in your too big striped pyjamas that had once been John's, bare feet cold against the wooden floor. You wouldn't wake Polly tonight, wanting to let her have at least one night of full sleep. Besides, from the dim light under the crack of the door, your twin brother was in his room at night for the first time in months, ever since he started donning his crown of razor blades.

The hesitation in you wasn't something that you were used to, but you and Finn had grown apart a lot, over the past few months. You barely spoke, and when you did, it always ended in an argument. He was never around anymore, preferring to spend time with Bonnie and Michael and Isaiah, out drinking, or doing things at the office, running errands for Tommy. The most you saw him was at family meetings, though you barely even looked at each other anymore, your eyes firmly on the ground, eyelids heavy, anger boiling every second that went by that no one mentioned John or Esme or the children. They all preferred to forget what had happened, to forget them all. You couldn't. You wouldn't.

"Finn?" You whispered loudly through the crack in the door.

You waited a few moments, in silence, shivering, trying to blinking away tears. For a moment, you thought he was going to ignore you,but then the door swung open, and you looked up to see an exhausted looking Finn, still dressed half in his suit, hair rumpled with sleep. He blinked a few times, as if trying to wake himself up before he noticed your tears.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

For once, he didn’t sound drunk, just exhausted, as he stepped back a little, inviting you into his room. The lamp was dull, illuminating only the desk, which was strewn with papers, full of scrawling, messy writing, almost like a child’s. Finn had never been the most articulate, and you’d been teaching him, but it had trailed off after the events of Christmas last year. His bed was the one pushed against the far wall, though there was now plenty of space to move it, with the absence of the three other beds of your older brothers that had once been there, and his clothes were strewn all over the floor. It filled you with a small sense of familiarity - this room was the way it had always been.

You hugged your arms around you, stepping into the room, taking the moment when your back was turned to wipe away the tears from your eyes.

“Nothing, I ... I just can’t sleep is all. Thought you’d be awake.” You turned back to him, a half smile on your face, though it faltered as you saw the disbelieving look he shot you.

“Come on, Y/N. I know when you’ve been crying.”

He held out his arms, and you shuffled into them, your cold arms wrapped tightly around him, face buried into his chest, teeth biting your lips to contain the sobs.

“I just... I can’t stop dreaming about him. About how it happened. It’s just stuck in my mind, over and over and over. I can’t-“

“Sh, I know, I know. It was just a bad dream, okay? Just a bad dream.” His hands stroked your hair, but his voice was half strangled, as if he was out of his depth. He was, really. You hadn’t talked to each other about John since the day it happened.

“He’s gone, Finn. Our brother, and no one seems to care-“

“We do care.”

You pulled back, red rimmed eyes looking at his half accusingly.

“You never speak about him. Tommy took down all of the photos. Locked up his house - I can’t even get in.”

“It’s easier that way, Y/N/N.”

“Everything’s fallen apart since he died.” You continued, hands gesturing almost wildly. “Arthur’s off his head, Tommy only cares about the business, Ada never comes to visit, and you -“

“Don’t start with this tonight-“ His voice was strained, panicked, never wanting to talk about John. You shouldn’t have pushed him, shouldn’t keep going. But you did.

“I didn’t know that when I lost one brother I’d lose my twin too.” You said quietly. “I thought it was us against the world, Finn.”

“We’re just growing up-“

You sniffed, wiping your nose on your sleeve, lip wobbling.

“Is that really it?” Your voice was uncertain, trembling. “Am I just not as fun as ‘Saiah, or Bonnie, or Michael?”

“You pushed me away first-“

“I didn’t-“

“You never come out of the house anymore, you never speak to me-“

“He was our brother! I’m fucking grieving, Finn.”

“And he’s gone!” He exclaimed, breaking your previously hushed conversation. “He’s gone.” His eyes began to tear up, and he turned away, never willing to let anyone see his emotions, not anymore.

“Finn-“ You spoke quietly, hand reaching out to his shoulder.

“I can’t talk about him, okay? I can’t.” His voice cracked.

“Okay, okay.” You softly said, heart breaking a little. Finn was always the strong one, but it was only now occurring to you that perhaps it was just a facade to shield you from what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I know I should have been there for you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think that ... I just thought you’d forgotten.”

He sniffed, hand reaching to face, turning back around. His face was damp, and his eyes avoided yours a little, sitting down on his bed. He was a giant compared to you, but right now, he just looked like a little kid again, the one who’d always stood up for you, held your hand always. You’d both neglected each other lately.

“We haven’t been acting much like twins, lately, have we?” He spoke again.

You shrugged, sitting down next to him.

“It hurts too much to talk about him. And I know you want to, but-“

“It’s okay, Finn. One day, we’ll talk about him again. But for now ... I think we just need to talk to each other again.” You leant into his side, his arm wrapping around you.

He murmured an agreement, and you both sat in silence for a few moments.

For the first time in a few months, as your eyes flickered shut with tiredness, you were sure you wouldn’t have the nightmares.

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[quarantined-with-bucky]

Good Stuff

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 3,700

Summary: You had a rocky relationship with Bucky. This fight ended badly.

Warnings: Extreme angst (a couple illusions to smut)

A/N: You guys showed a lot of love to my last angsty-song fic, so I wrote another to rip your heart out! This song is called “Good Stuff” by Griff. It’s amazing and I put my own twist on it at the end. Sorry in advance, this one killed me too.

...

The beginning was pure bliss.

Laying in bed with him, cooking with him, laughing with him. You wish that you could go back and wrap that all in a box with a pretty bow on top to save for a rainy day – you wish you could feel that feeling again.

You’d never felt so free. Those moments where the only thing you had to do was look into his blue eyes, sparkling with life, crinkles forming around the corner of his eyes as he laughed hard. It was a genuine laugh; you’d been with him long enough to know that from a polite chuckle. You’d only seen him laugh like that around you – only you. Not when it was his friends, not when it was a group of all of you; it was reserved for those moments with you, laying in bed with the sunlight bouncing off his golden skin.

Oh, I try to rewind Every scene in my mind And for you, I’ve got tunnel vision And I’ve blocked out every collision

Even the little stuff felt like the world could stop right there and you’d be satisfied. Like you could just live the rest of your life in his arms and forget about everything else in the world. Oh, you wished.

One night you two baked a cake. “Come on, “(Y/N),” he laughed, grabbing the spatula out of your hand, stirring the contents of the bowl rapidly. “There’s no way this is enough frosting.”

You swatted his arm, laughing softly. “How much frosting do you really need, it’s one small cake.” He rolled his eyes and lifted the spatula out of the bowl, licking it clean. “Save some for the cake!”

He dropped the utensil in the sink, grabbing you with both hands and hoisting you up on the counter. “It’s sweet. I like it.” He pressed a kiss to your lips; he tasted like chocolate buttercream. “Sweet like you.”

You rolled your eyes this time, laughing at his sappy remark. You stick a finger in the bowl, tasting it off your finger. “It is pretty good, not to pat myself on the back,” you hummed.

Bucky swiped his finger in the frosting a laid a fat blob on the tip of your nose. You gasped, swatting his hands away. “Aww,” he cooed, grinning widely. “You look so cute like that.”

You tilted your head to the side, returning his grin, coating your fingers in frosting that you ran down his cheek. You took him by surprise, Bucky’s mouth falling open with laughter as he suddenly grabbed your face and licked the tip of your nose.

One afternoon you two went on a walk. The first official day of spring and it wasn’t raining. You warmly welcomed it, the first day in a week that it hadn’t stormed. You pulled Bucky out of bed that Sunday morning, slipping on your shoes, and dragging him out the door. He didn’t protest at all on the way, seeing you so excited to enjoy the spring weather was better than sleeping-in. He’d choose you any day over sleeping.

You two walked hand-in-hand down the path in Central Park, sipping on the coffee you got from Starbucks on the way. You walked around in silence, maybe pointing out the blooming flowers on the side of the path or the budding trees.

He had spent most of the morning looking at you, a smile pulling at his lips as you stopped to stare at everything on the way. He told you he thought it was the first time you’d seen a flower with how excited you were. You’d blushed when he told you that, smiling, but muttering a soft “sorry.” And he grabbed your cheeks in both hands and smooshed his lips against yours.

“Don’t ever be sorry.”

One morning you woke up to him kissing a line down your chest. Your hand found the top of his head, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the chestnut strands. “Good morning, baby,” you giggled, his lips now pressing the underside of your breast, continuing downwards.

He hummed into your skin, letting his tongue drag against the soft skin of your stomach, pressing a final kiss to your hip bones. “’Morning,” he murmured, taking a hand between your thighs, spreading them open with ease – as if you’d ever stop him.

He nuzzled his face between your legs, his stubble scratching at your inner thighs. You moaned at that feeling and let out a long breath as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your core.  

And that’s the good stuff. The stuff you’d die for. You tried to think about that stuff often: the memories for which neither of you had a care in the world. It was just the two of you in love. You spent your nights reliving those memories, only the good memories. And it made you laugh, thinking about them, because you then remember all the fights you’d have, too. At that point, they were stupid – revolving around minuscule things, to which the entire subject would be forgotten within an hour. And if you were able to relive even just one happy memory with him, you’d never fight with him again.

We were fighting fires every night when you met me And it’s not fair at all So after everything Why’d you leave me with the good stuff, babe And forget about the mess we made?

It was easy to say that now, hindsight obviously having the benefit of the doubt. You were so deeply in love. He loved you, too – you knew it, you could feel it. But with love, comes hate. With love, comes jealousy.

It happened when he flirted with the waitress. He insisted that he wasn’t flirting; and maybe he wasn’t technically flirting, but the lighthearted comments and witty banter felt different. You didn’t know particularly why it made your blood boil at the time, but it just did. You’d glared at him for the rest of dinner, arms crossed over your chest, leaning back against your chair. He glared right back, obviously aware you were pissed, but rolling his eyes when you told him why.

“I wasn’t flirting with her,” he almost laughed. He couldn’t believe that was the reason you were mad.

Not having a valid argument, you stayed silent, biting the inside of your cheek, mumbling a “whatever.” Maybe it was that fact that he was joking with her so easily. Not only did it take him years to get out of his shell, it took him so damn long to open up to you. The awkward phase lasted almost two months. The two of you barely flirted in the beginning of your relationship. It took work to get him to return to the charismatic, charming boy he was before the war. It was work that you put in. And now he’s going to throw it back in your face by showing it off to some girl.

It happened when someone looked at you too long. It was at the bar; you’d gone along on a double date with Sam and the girl he was seeing. The four of you had lovely banter, and everyone thought the night had gone well until the man at the bar stood three feet away from you. You’d barely paid him any attention, instead joking around with Sam and his girlfriend.

Bucky wasn’t paying attention to the group anymore, instead glaring at the man beside you, staring you up and down. You turned to Bucky to see him staring at the man. And as soon as you turned your head towards the stranger, he met your eyes and flashed a smile at him. You pressed your lips into a tight line, sending him the good ol’ fashioned white person smile (look it up). You felt Bucky’s arm snake around your waist, dropping his hand to rest directly on your ass.

It was nights like those that ended up in arguments on the drive home. The logic didn’t make much sense, it was more of just a yelling match: who could scream the loudest. It was you and him picking pointless arguments about nothing, hollering things at each other that you’d regret in the morning.

Those fights ended up with the slam of the front door, Bucky following you up to your shared bedroom, jutting a hand in the door frame before you could lock him out. He strutted towards you murderously, such that you were backed up against the wall. His hand snaked up to your jaw, firmly tilting it such that you had no choice but to look up at him. “You don’t hate me,” he practically growled after you spat those words to him. You didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, you dropped your eyes from his straight ahead of you, meeting eye level at his chest. You huffed air through your nose, slightly tilting your jaw, testing his grip. There was no way you could move any muscle in your body. “I’ll show you,” he grunted, pinning your hips to the wall with his.

He lurched your jaw up forward, your neck viciously stretching, not having any more height in you. He met your mouth with a hot, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth. Your hands flew up to his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt and pulling his chest somehow closer to yours. His hands raked down your back, grabbing your ass harshly, before hoisting you up off the ground. Before you could even wrap your legs around his waist, he threw you down onto the bed, which felt like it was three stories below you.

You both were quick to undress yourselves as he crawled on top of you, holding your neck firmly as he met your lips for another messy kiss.

Every morning after a round of heated hate-sex, all the emotions from the night before had faded away. The two of you woke up with sorrow filled eyes, purple and red marks littering necks, chest, and thighs. He would reach his hand up to stroke your tangled hair, thumb brushing over your cheekbone as you frowned. “I love you,” you clarified, wishing you could take back your words from last night. As much as you regretted telling him you hated him mid-argument, nothing stopped you. Every single time, nothing stopped you.

“I know, baby, forget about it.”

When we lost one another That’s when I rediscovered My memories in the clouds But no feet on the ground Cause I know I should forget you Why can’t I just regret you? Oh,  wish that my mouth didn’t smile when I think of you

“(Y/N),” your sister coos warmly, sitting on the edge of your half empty bed. “You need to get up.”

You didn’t have anything to say. There was nothing to say. In fact, you’d said too much. If you never told her that Bucky was gone, you wouldn’t have to be sitting here, listening to her drone on about this for the millionth weekend in a row. “I’m not going,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your head was currently stuffed in.

She sighed, standing and slapping her legs against her thighs, startling you. “You need to get out of bed and meet this guy. I already told him I’d bring you for lunch.”

You scoffed. “Well maybe you can just tell him I died or something,” you sigh, rolling on your back and letting your arms and legs starfish onto the bed.

“Don’t say that.” Not like you cared, you hoped that you actually had jinxed yourself. Maybe death would be better than lying in your once shared bed alone. It’s been a year since the last time you saw Bucky – over a year: one year, one month, and sixteen days. You still don’t know what happened. One year, one month, and sixteen days later, and you were still wondering.

That’s probably the worst part. Just because you never got any closure. All in all, you didn’t think you wanted closure. If you’d gotten closure, you’d be over him. You wouldn’t be reliving all the good stuff like you still do every day. Hell, even the bad stuff became good stuff. As much as the jealously sex hurt (hurt emotionally, in a bad way; hurt physically, in a good way), you still couldn’t help but miss it and bite your lip every time you thought about it.

“He’s never coming back to you,” she whispered, probably not intending for it to pierce your heart with the pain of a thousand knives the way that it did. But she was your sister, that’s what she was here for. “You need to move on.”

You still didn’t move. There was no moving on to do. Nobody could make you feel such a rush of emotions as he did. You hated it, the rollercoaster: love to hate to love. You wished that it was all love. But that’s not the way life works.

Maybe it would’ve been easier if you’d never met at all. He made it clear that he would be hard to love. How could he say that, and then love you with such vigor? Its like he said it just to hurt you. But he’d never hurt you – until now. Until he vanished from your life forever; it was an Avengers thing. You could almost roll your eyes thinking about it.

Your mother came over later that week to hit you with the tough love. “What are you going to do, (Y/N), seriously?” You simply ignored her question and continued mixing the sauce you were making for dinner later. “You’re just going to be alone forever?”

You dropped the spoon and turned around to face her, holding your arms out in defeat. “What do you want me to do, mom? Go out and marry some fucking loser just so I’m not alone?” She stared at you with a scowl. “Every day wish that I loved him?”

“You’re so dramatic,” she scoffed. “You don’t know whose out there if you don’t try.”

“Mom, I don’t want to try! Do you understand that?” You were screaming, hopelessly yelling, pleading for her to grasp this concept. As soon as you realized you were yelling, you shut up. God, is this how you sounded when you yelled at Bucky? At least he yelled at you back – your mom just sat there judging you. “Listen,” you huffed, your voice now fifty decibels lower. “I just can’t.”

Oh, I wish that my mouth didn’t smile when I think of you But you left me with the good stuff, babe And I know that it’s a crying shame It’s a million times harder when I don’t hate you When I don’t hate you

“Would you just shut the fuck up!” You yelled at him, shutting the front door behind you. “I wasn’t even looking at the guy.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, before getting heated again. “You were basically eye-fucking him across the room.”

And that’s how it started that fateful night one year, one month, and sixteen days ago. You and Bucky went out for date night, a new restaurant/club uptown. It was swanky, you thought you’d enjoy a fun dinner; maybe drink a little bit, let loose. You’d always loved it when Bucky would put his hands on you in the club; his metal hand would travel up and down your side, while his flesh hand traced along your hip bones and grab your ass. Bucky never had fun like that. He grew up in a time that dancing meant face to face, bodies six inches apart. He wouldn’t dare to drop his hand to a girls backside, let alone grab her ass in the middle of the dancefloor.

Maybe it was the new Bucky – the twenty-first century Bucky, that was a bit of an exhibitionist and voyeur. The two of you didn’t go out a lot, but you knew that this was something he enjoyed every once and a while, and you were more than happy to let him run his hands all over you. He loved that scene, but as soon as anyone else so much as glanced at you, he lost it.

You let out an exaggeratedly loud groan. “Shut up! I barely even looked at him!” You were met with an eyeroll from him. “Even if he was looking at me all night, I can’t help it! What did you want me to do about it? Be like you and beat the shit out of him in the middle of the club?”

That’s what got the two of you kicked out of the club. He dropped his hands off of you, clenching his fists at his sides, and sauntered over to the man. Before the man could say anything – or hold his hands up in defense, even – Bucky nearly broke his jaw. One swift fist to the face and the man was on the floor. You ran over, yanking Bucky’s arm before he could go in for another punch. When the bouncer stepped over, you had no choice but to quietly apologize and leave, dragging a fuming Bucky behind you.

“You say that as if you didn’t enjoy the show.” You swallowed hard and bit your lip. You couldn’t technically lie to him – he knew you’d thought it was hot. Obviously, you could admit you did find it a bit arousing. And you knew Bucky could smell it on you.

“You didn’t have to break his fucking face; you’re the one who wanted to go to the club in the first place.”

“Sure, (Y/N). I don’t even know why you’re defending him, anyway. He was staring at you with his fucking disgusting eyes. If I knew you liked being watched so much, I would’ve suggested we go to the strip club so you could hop on stage.” His deep voice echoed throughout the living room.

“Shut the fuck up, James. I hate you.” With that, you crossed your arms over your chest and stomped your way to the bedroom. You slammed the door, and not a second later, you heard the front door slam the floor below you. That sounds about right. This had been a recent development. Sometimes when you fought, you’d have angry, jealous sex afterwards – it was passionate, painful, and a burning reminder that the two of you belonged together. Other times, when you two said particularly vile things to each other, he left. He stepped out to clear his head. He’d come back in the early hours of the morning (after spending a sleepless few hours in his bed at the Avengers Complex) and spend the rest of the morning having make-up sex, filled with breathy I’m sorry’s and I love you’s; bodies molded together, sharing space, time, and air.

You sat awake in bed, more pissed off than anything else. It wasn’t the worst he’s ever said, to be honest. You knew he was buzzed and pissed off. You’d said worse than that to him, too. But it was routine: fighting, yelling; making up and making love. It was simply what you did.

Not thinking too much more about it, you laid in bed, completely exhausted after the evening you’d just had. This is exactly what happened every time. You shut your eyes for the night.

Bucky didn’t come home the next morning. You woke up to the sun shining in your eyes and the other side of the bed empty. He didn’t come home that afternoon, nor that night. Not the following day, or the day after.

I hate you.

The last thing you said to him.

But I don’t hate you.

And in another life, yeah Do me a favor and try To leave me broken and bitter So moving on’s a little quicker

You shivered from the cool breeze; it was getting late. The sky was darkening, the sun shining on your skin now gone, replaced with cold goosebumps. You picked at the grass blades in front of you, as you sat cross-legged on the frigid, hard ground in silence. It was the first official day of spring, and man, it was unseasonably brisk. You would have to get going soon, they closed at dusk.

You made a pile of pulled up grass in front of you. It had now been officially two years since you last saw Bucky. Since you’d thrown around those nasty words like they were nothing; as if they’d held no weight in the world – that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

You regretted that night everyday for the last seven hundred and thirty days. You felt bad – so bad. It weighed on your heart every second of the day. So much so that you’d grown to hate yourself recently. That’s the only person you should’ve ever hated anyway (or at least said it out loud). You never actually hated him, and you know that he knew that. There was no way he couldn’t know you were just saying it. Saying it with no meaning behind the words.

But you couldn’t change it. You kept thinking about the pain it must have caused him after he left. Maybe you should’ve reached out. It was always you waiting for him to come home. But then again, it was he who decided to leave in the first place.

Since that night, you stayed quiet. You didn’t want to meet anyone new, didn’t want to give your heart to anyone else. Talking to others felt like a chore. It just didn’t have any worth anymore. There was no point in finding someone else because he wouldn’t – couldn’t – be Bucky. After all, there was no one who could rile you up like he did.

You picked up the pile of loose grass and threw it up in the air, watching as the breeze took it away. Just like Bucky – taken away. Right from the tips of your fingers.

You sighed, standing up and wiping the dirt off the back of your jeans. “Hey, Buck,” you whispered, patting the top of his gravestone. “If you can’t love me for forever in our next life, don’t bother. I can’t go through this twice.”

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 15: Going for a Walk

((Y/N is talked into going on a walk that does not end well. A second attempt, however, allows them to meet some new faces--and discover one they didn’t expect to see again.

Warnings: It wasn’t my original intention, but Y/N being stuck in wolf form could come across as body dysphoria, especially in some sections here. This section also has the former DA dealing with anxiety and negative thoughts.

Here are links to the previous part and to the whole series, if you need them.))

Jameson and Jackie walked into the house to find Chase seated in one of the living room chairs, slumped forward only slightly so that he was on eye level with the wolf sitting a few feet away from him. He didn’t look away as they walked in, and aside from a twitch of your ears, your silver-clouded eyes did not break their stare with Chase.

“What happened to taking a walk?” Jackie asked, setting down the folded puppet theater stage behind the couch for now.

“Still working out the details,” Chase answered. “I could get one of those retractable leashes that go out, like, 15 or 20 feet.”

You narrowed your eyes, considering the image, before shaking your head. Last thing you wanted was to accidentally get tangled up with a mailbox or something.

“What if you wore the leash, but just let it drag behind you until someone else comes along?”

You tilted your head, but Jackie shot that idea down quickly, saying, “Nope. If Y/N goes out, I want at least one of you sticking close to them. Last thing I want to do is spend my night visiting every dog pound in the city looking for a disguised werewolf.”

Chase finally broke his staring contest with you to hold up the enchanted dog collar for Jackie to see the tag hanging on it. “Marvin made a tag with his number on it, just in case.”

Jameson stepped closer to get a look and frowned. “It doesn’t have their name on it.”

Good, you thought to yourself. You might have been tempted to tear it apart yourself then.

“Yeah, he didn’t think that was a good idea,” Chase said with a shrug as he flipped the tag over himself. “Not sure why he put a cat engraving on there, though. Must’ve gotten bored or something.”

Your personal thoughts on that were soon forgotten when you caught a whiff of Jameson, or at least one particular scent hanging around him. It was faint, mixed in with all of the other scents picked up walking around the city and performing his show, but for a brief second you caught an almost familiar, hazy mix of stale tobacco and coffee tinged with the musty scent of leather and gunpowder. A sharp, wistful feeling hit you but then the already faint scent was gone, lost among the sharper, fresher smells.

You paced around the room, your sudden restlessness unnoticed by the others who were still talking about whether the cat engraving was another spell or just Marvin trying to stay on brand, until you came to a stop in front of Chase and sighed before nudging his hand.

You’d take the collar, even the leash, if it meant some fresh air and a change of scenery. Anything to take your mind off of the memories trying to reemerge.

Chase and Jameson weren’t about to question it, and soon they walked out of the house with you looking once again like a too large Irish wolfhound. It was strange, looking down and seeing a different body than what you felt or remembered, but then you had plenty of practice getting used to having the wrong body at least once a month even before this. As long as you didn’t look at your paws too much, it was easy to forget, and the visual reminder that you didn’t look like a wolf was nice every time the three of you passed one of the neighbors out in their yards or on the sidewalk.

It was easy to forget about the leash too, until you felt the stretch of nylon held loose in Chase’s hand brush against a shoulder blade or slide across your back, like when you moved to put the two of them in between you and another pedestrian going the other way.

Easy to forget, but as soon as you remembered it was all you could focus on: the leash, the weight of the collar around your neck, the other people, the sudden but unshakeable sense that they could see you, that they knew, that at some unexpected second the spell would break and the screaming would start.

You didn’t even realize you had started shaking until Chase and Jameson stopped at the corner, until Jameson dropped to a crouch in front of you to make sure you could see his hands sign your name.

You took a deep breath, or tried to, and then another, until you were lying on the sidewalk, paws over your eyes and ears in a futile attempt to block out the suddenly too bright sunlight washing out the monochrome world around you, the voices of strangers and the constant noise of cars driving by and leaf blowers roaring and it was all too much.

You don’t know how long it took, of Chase and Jameson sitting there with you, Chase reassuring the passing neighbors that you were fine while Jameson stroked your back and signed his own reassurances that you couldn’t focus long enough to see, before you were finally ready to stand up and walk with them back to the house, head and tail down in shame. You just knew that the sun was setting, and the three of you had barely made it to the end of the block.

They tried to tell you that it was okay, Chase saying he shouldn’t have pushed you to go out until you were ready, Jameson saying something about little steps while Jackie and Marvin tried not to sound too happy about the idea of walks being shelved for now. When the doctor emerged from his room for the night, you chose to go into your own room while the others tried to be tactful about how to explain what happened.

Nothing they said could help the embarrassment and then anger you felt at yourself, for not being able to handle something that should have been so simple. Right? It was just a walk, what was wrong with you?

You paced around the room, pausing at the neatly folded pile of clothes left at the foot of the bed you hadn’t slept in since the full moon. Something one of the others, Jameson by the smell of it, had left there without a word, in case you need them.

In case you changed back.

What was wrong with you?

You left your room, skirting around the others on your way to the backdoor. Your teeth found the short length of rope hanging from the sliding door, but when you turned to close it from the other side a hand on the frame kept it from sliding. You looked up to see Marvin’s cat mask, the shape a white, fuzzy but still distinctive blur in front of a tangle of dark hair, the eyeholes two black pinpricks through which you couldn’t make out his eyes.

“…We’ll be in here in case you need us, okay?” Marvin said, and you looked away before nodding. Right now, you just needed some time to yourself, and the others seemed to respect that.

Even as the shadows in the yard lengthened and night came on, you just heard the door slide open once, Jackie’s voice letting you know there was food ready when you wanted it, until Jameson came out to let you know he was going to sleep but his door would be open if you wanted in. He knelt next to you in the grass, just as unbothered by trying to keep his dress pants clean as he had been before on the sidewalk, and brushed the top of your head once with his hand before going back inside.

You were okay out here. You could still hear the sounds of the neighborhood coming over the fence, the steady hum of cars passing by and distant voices. Was it really that different than going for a walk out there?

Than being paraded along on a leash, playing the role of a dog because that’s all you seemed to do these days.

What was wrong with you?

You paced around the yard, each go around making it feel smaller and more cramped than before, until you knew every single divot in the grass, every leaf and branch and clump of stubborn weeds, until you felt ready to scream.

When you finally pulled open the sliding door and slunk inside, it was to a mostly dark house. Someone had left a light on for you, and there was a plate full of cold food waiting on the kitchen floor that made your stomach twist at the smell of it. You padded your way down the hall and found Marvin, Chase, and Jameson’s rooms all dark and silent, their doors cracked open in case you were ready to join any one of them in sleep. Jackie, it seemed, had gone out for the night, and the doctor was long gone.

But you weren’t ready to sleep. You weren’t sure what you wanted to do, what you were looking for as you walked around the house until you stopped at Jameson’s boxes of props, left behind the couch and apparently forgotten after the walk. You sniffed, taking in the scent of different fabrics and Jameson’s familiar smell, before you caught it again. Just a flash of that odd but too familiar blend of scents that left an ache in your chest that you didn’t want to think about.

You backed away and bumped into a side table, where you heard the clink of metal against wood. The tag of the collar scraping against the table where Chase had left it earlier.

You didn’t remember making the decision, just knowing it was a bad idea even as you tried to slide the collar off the table and knocked it to the floor, even as you pushed it around with your nose until you finally found the edge, until you finally slipped the loose fit up and over your muzzle, eyes, and ears, until it came to rest around your neck.

You shook your head, the tag jingling, but when you looked down it was to see the body of a wolfhound again. You could take the collar off right now, and leave it at that.

But you didn’t. Your paws couldn’t work the front door, not without causing enough noise sure to wake one of the others, but you could go back out through the back door and slide it shut behind you. At the side of the house, you looked up at the gate separating you from the front yard, the top of it nearly blending in with the night sky.

You could probably jump that.

Another walk around the yard, another chance to build up some courage or talk yourself out of it, but as you approached the gate again your steps changed, moving from pacing to running to a full sprint, until you launched yourself up, up—

And felt your chest hit the top of the gate as you completely misjudged the height of it, the wind leaving your lungs as you stopped and made a less than graceful roll over the fence and onto the ground on the other side. The blow hadn’t even scraped the skin, but you had to lay there for a second and let your pride recover. At least no one seemed to have heard or seen that, and when any noise failed to come from inside the house you eventually got back up and shook yourself again, the jingle of the collar letting you know it was still there.

Outside once again, but it was an entirely different experience now as you walked through the yard and stopped at the edge of the road. It was so quiet now, the nearby houses still and dark, the sound of cars a distant hum with pockets of silence in between. Where before the sunlight had washed out your vision, turning everything into nearly unidentifiable shades of white, the streetlights now cast just enough light to give an edge to the shadows, to make it easier to ignore the gaps in your vision and make the lack of color seem more at home.

Without the noise and the voices and the fear of being watched, you could take your time, rely on your nose and hearing just as much if not more than your eyes without being distracted.

Almost like practice.

You took a deep breath and caught the doctor’s scent, still lingering in the air from when he left earlier. There, something to follow, a goal to work toward. The doctor’s clinic wasn’t that far from here, and a walk there and back seemed more than doable. After all, he did it every day with no trouble at all. Just a short walk, on your own, to prove you could do this. You could do this, and you could turn around at any moment without anyone to judge.

It was a slow walk, your senses on high alert for any noise or sign of anyone else as you followed the doctor’s trail, but aside from surprising a raccoon digging in the trash and a bout of internal cursing directed at whoever had dropped a still warm cigarette on the ground that briefly lit up your sinuses like the Fourth of July, it was also a quiet walk.

You were almost surprised, when you reached the end of the trail and found the light coming through the windows of the still open clinic. You paused near the door, snout scrunched up as you caught a whiff of the same smell that had been on the doctor’s shoes earlier—had someone spilled something here? It was a faint, almost medical smell, but for some reason it reminded you more of Marvin’s room and his work than the doctor.

You didn’t have long to consider it, as a pair of headlights rounded the corner, filling the street and in your eyes washing everything white, and sent you darting into the nearest alley. You waited, heart pounding, and when you heard the car pull to a stop across the street you told yourself you were only backing away because it must be one of the doctor’s patients, that you couldn’t risk them spotting you and telling Henrik about the giant dog they saw outside. Reason enough to get out of there, turning and running down the alley until you were on the next street over, where you were realizing too late that there wasn’t a clear way to double back around.

In his car, Abe sank back into his seat with a groan and rubbed his eyes. For a second there, he thought he’d seen something move out of the corner of his eye, a dark shape near the doctor’s office. Too many hours driving around, trying to narrow down the right house, too much looking over his shoulder in case he was being followed again. He needed a new plan, a different angle on this problem.

While the hunter tried to figure out what he was missing, you continued walking, emboldened by making it this far on your own and curious about how much the city had changed while you were gone. Maybe it was the darkness, your messed up vision and memories playing tricks on you, but some of these roads seemed so familiar, the curve and bend of the streets like some you had walked up and down so many times before except the buildings on either side were all wrong. Every now and then you found one that looked slightly familiar, but just like the street signs hanging overhead, no matter how hard you stopped and stared, you couldn’t quite make out the letters on their darkened signs. The rest were a mystery, leaving you with a vague sense of things being slightly off as you wandered from one street to the next in search of any kind of solidly familiar landmark.

The lights of a large hotel drew you near, one you thought you recognized except that it seemed taller now, the front of it missing the statues you thought you knew. Then again, you thought as you squinted upwards at the white walls, maybe they were there and you just couldn’t see them.

Someone was coming, multiple someones.

You could hear footsteps on your left and on your right, and after a moment of panic you backed into the street, trying to convince your already racing heart not to panic.

Both sets of footsteps were slow, one measured and accompanied by the clack of wood hitting the pavement, the other more erratic, occasionally speeding up only to stumble and slow again.

The stumbling footsteps were the first to reach the halo of light around the hotel’s entrance, but the heavy scent of alcohol surrounding the man beat him there. Clearly someone who had spent a little too long at the bar, he swayed on his feet, muttering under his breath about strays when he caught sight of you but otherwise keeping his distance.

Keeping his distance from you, at least. At the foot of the stairs to the hotel’s entrance, the drunk man’s path crossed with the man coming from the other direction, who was leaning hard on a wooden staff nearly as tall as he was. Rather than wait for the slower man to pass out of the way, the drunk man shouldered into him, hard enough to knock the other man off of his feet.

Said man hissed when he hit the ground, the sound so full of pain that without thinking you moved to check and make sure that he was okay. Granted, you realized a little too late, having a huge dog looming over someone probably wouldn’t be helpful, especially when you saw that the man on the ground’s eyes were wrapped with stained bandages.

But, maybe hearing you or feeling your presence, he reached up and gently touched the side of your head before patting your neck.

“The Host—”

“Watch where you’re going, you useless bum!” Despite knocking him down, apparently the drunk man thought he had every right to be angry. “And keep your mutt on a leash before I call the pound on it!”

You heard the spit hit the ground near your front paw more than saw it, and that’s when you felt the blind man’s hand on the back of your neck tense, as though ready to hold you back. Or, perhaps, to keep you from running when he took a deep breath and began to sing.

It was a soft melody, one you didn’t know but somehow familiar to you, like you’d heard and forgotten it long ago. It was beautiful, nostalgic, enchanting—and so very, very wrong.

The drunk man stopped on the hotel steps, his entire posture changing so entirely that it was like someone else turning and walking back toward you, and toward the man who you now realized smelled of blood and saltwater and who sang with so many voices layered and mixed in to each other, like a choir pouring out of one mouth whose song both made you want it to never stop and want to get away from here as far and as fast as possible.

The drunk man’s face was in shadow with the light of the hotel behind him, so you could see nothing of his expression as he returned and helped the blind man up to his feet. The blind man took the driftwood staff when the drunk man silently offered it to him but didn’t stop singing, and didn’t let go of the grip his other hand had on your neck, on your collar.

For a second, you felt your entire body tense. You hadn’t sensed something like this since the time you stared down another werewolf, a murderer who wanted nothing more than to tear you open—it was the presence of another predator, one carefully weighing his options.

Before his song shifted, becoming almost airy as the drunk man took out his wallet and with shaking hands pressed several bills into the other man’s chest before turning and walking back up the stairs. The song gradually faded as the door closed behind him, before the blind man sighed and relaxed his grip on your collar.

“Petty, but the Host feels a little better now,” the blind man said out loud. You could still hear it, the other voices lurking underneath his “main” one, although they were quieter now. His hand pressed down slightly harder on your back, as though feeling your heart pounding, your unsteady breaths, and he chuckled. “He would have hardly been an appetizing meal for the Host. Who, for the record, also has no interest in werewolf meat. Too chewy.”

You pulled away from him, hackles up as you backed away, a low rumble in your chest that you hoped would be threatening enough to warn him away.

The Host, if that’s what he was calling himself, just tilted his head and raised his hand. You saw the light reflect off of something in his hand, and the realization sank in that you could no longer feel the weight of your collar on your neck.

“There is the smell of magic on this,” he said, shaking the collar just enough to get a noise from the hanging tag. “But not enough to hide the smell of wolf. The Host…apologizes, if his comment seemed out of line. He really does have no interest in harm tonight.”

You hesitated, doubting whether you could really believe that but not willing to leave that collar behind. Every second you were standing on the open street as a wolf felt like a second tempting fate, for someone to drive along or look out of one of those hotel windows and see you.

So as much as you didn’t want to get any closer to whatever this man was, when he held out the collar you could only struggle for so long before giving in. He helped guide it up and over your ears, and despite not being able to feel the spell take hold again you still gave a sigh of relief.

“A risky form to take in this city, but…understandable,” the Host said. He gave a soft sigh of his own before shifting his weight with an easy to miss wince of pain. “Being human is difficult, isn’t it?”

You nodded without thinking, before realizing he couldn’t see you do so. But for a moment, you thought you could hear the pain in your chest at those words echoed in his strange voice.

“It seems as though the Host suddenly has money for a good dinner tonight. Perhaps he could tempt you to join him?”

You tilted your head, with a curious whine. The sudden offer presented so many questions that you didn’t even know where to start, even if you could actually put a voice to any of them.

“There is a restaurant near here that doesn’t worry too much about the shape of its customers, and the Host would…appreciate the company. And if he may be honest, he hopes that perhaps a friendly gesture might encourage you to share your story with him one day, should that become a possibility. There is nothing the Host enjoys more than a good story, and he suspects yours will be an…interesting one.”

Yes, you supposed running into a werewolf masquerading as a dog probably would probably raise a few questions. And if you were honest, your own curiosity about this stranger was slowly getting the better of you, even considering the lingering sense of danger every time he so much as spoke.

Plus, as your growling stomach was too eager to remind you, you kind of hadn’t eaten in a while. Still, no reason for the Host to laugh at that, and your ears fell back to your head in a pout even as you followed him down the street. The Host walked slowly, his breath catching as though every step hurt, but he soon fell into a steady rhythm. Walking beside him, you startled when his hand rested on your back, only to realize that he was checking to make sure you were still there.

“The restaurant is not far from here,” he said as you walked together, your pace falling into step with his. “It’s close enough to the harbor to get all kinds arriving at any time of day or night. The Host has gone there often, just to listen to the stories passing through.”

Stories again. He said the word with the same relish as someone might talk about a fine wine or a rare treasure, and you wondered how much control anyone had over what they told the Host, once he asked with that strange voice that had so easily enchanted the other man.

It didn’t take long to reach the restaurant in question, where light and several voices spilled out of the glass doors, sending a new tremor up your spine that made you wonder what you were doing here. You stopped short, ready to turn and run, and the Host stopped with you.

“The Host does not believe anyone would questions a blind man with a dog, if that is a concern. And should it come to it, he can easily make people stop asking questions.”

You gave a low growl and he shrugged.

“But he doubts it would come to that here. So long as the meal is paid for, any customer is welcome here.”

Reassuring, but more reassuring was that those doors looked easy enough to push open from the inside, even with a set of paws, which meant you could always make a run for it if you had to. Plus, the smells coming from inside of the building were doing a lot to make you forget about anything else.

The host standing at the door did do a double take when the two of you walked in, but didn’t say a word when the other Host asked for a booth, just as the waiter didn’t even blink an eye when the Host ordered for both of you. In the space of seconds, you found yourself sitting at a table across from the Host, trying hard to keep your claws from puncturing the vinyl seat underneath you.

You tried to keep calm, tried to focus on the bowl of water sitting in front of you in place of a glass, tried to tune out the clatter of eating utensils on plates, the scrape of chair legs against carpet, the voices, so many people, why were this many people in a restaurant at this hour of the night—

“Easy, easy,” the Host murmured, the other voices growing a little stronger, washing out the other noises and filling the booth with his soothing tone. “Breathe in…breathe out…Focus on one thing at a time, start with right here and my voice…”

He kept talking, drawing your attention to the water, encouraging you to drink, then to count the lit candles, focusing only on the small lights that dotted the room and nothing else. As you did so, you realized that while it was brighter in here compared to outside, the only light in the room came from the lit candles and a fireplace in one wall. The Host encouraged you to ignore the long table full of people talking and to listen to the crack and snap of logs burning, to watch the flames flicker and leap.

“The Host often finds himself overwhelmed in the city, surrounded by so many voices, so many stories. Removing himself from the noise is not always an option, but narrowing his focus, choosing one thing to occupy his mind and fill his attention until he is ready to face the next, that has helped him more than once.”

The Host paused and sighed heavily before adding, “Although he understands completely if the extra company proves unbearable.”

You tilted your head, trying to figure out what he was talking about, when you heard the thump of footsteps so heavy that they sent tremors through the floor. As you looked for the source of the sound, a huge man that you could have easily mistaken for a bear at first sight entered the restaurant and greeted the crowded table near the fireplace with a shout.

Almost immediately, his eyes seemed drawn toward your table and the Host, who was slowly sinking down in his seat. A huge smile lit up the small square of face that wasn’t hidden by his hair or massive beard and the newcomer strode over, a pair of thick, wooden legs supporting his huge frame and punctuating every step.

“Look who it is! Me favorite crewmate, with the voice of a dirty angel!”

He slapped the Host’s back, nearly knocking him face first into the table, and asked, “What brings you around here at this hour? Don’t tell me yeh’ve heard the ship’s sailing first thing in the morning! Not anglin’ to join me crew again, are yeh?”

“The Host is just here to enjoy a good meal with a new acquaintance.”

The captain looked at you and nodded, as though completely unsurprised. “Mighty fine-looking dog. Mind if yeh scoot over and let the old captain join you two?”

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter, as you soon found yourself wedged in the tiny bit of remaining seat in between the captain and the wall. You winced as he shouted to the waiter for his regular order, the sound so loud that you could feel it. Everything about the captain was huge, from his size to his voice to his smell, but if the Host’s advice was to find one thing to focus on, the captain made that easy. With him next to you, there was no hope of anything else in the restaurant distracting you, that was for sure.

“What’s your dog’s name?” the captain asked, already patting the top of your head.

“The Host does not know, but they are not a dog, and they do not belong to him.”

“Hm, well this collar here says…” The captain leaned in to get a look at your tag and frowned at the engraving Marvin had made. “That this here is a cat? Well, what do I know, if that’s what yeh feel in yer bones that yeh are, who am I to question it?”

He ruffled your fur again, leaving you confused and slightly dizzy as he turned his attention back to the Host.

“So, what would it take to get yeh back out on the sea again?” The captain nudged you with his elbow and (loudly) confided, “Not the most useful in traditional piratin’, but this guy here has a talent when it comes to picking new members of the crew. Can tell yeh everything about a guy after two minutes, and he can sing anything, especially that one song that always makes me blubber like a little babe.”

“The Host is not singing ‘Baby Shark’ again, no matter how many times Captain Magnum tries to bring up that infernal song.”

Captain Magnum sniffled. “Aye, probably for the best. Even thinkin’ about it brings a tear to me eye—”

“Why?” the Host asked, and you suspected it wasn’t the first time.

The captain went on to both tease the Host about his time on the ship and not so subtly suggest reasons for him to come back, and sitting here between the pirate captain and the man with the strange voice, it slowly dawned on you: siren.

You had heard bits and pieces, stories and legends of creatures who lived in the sea or on rocky shores, with voices that could tempt a person to do anything, even dash their ship to pieces on cliffsides or leap into stormy seas never to be seen again. The stories were never confirmed, but when a ship went missing or a crew came back to the docks too shell-shocked to ever go back out on the water again, well, it was easy to have something to blame besides a negligent captain or novice crew. Even hunters were split on whether such a thing even existed, but the longer you sat with the memory of how the Host’s song affected that man, the more sure you became.

And here was Captain Magnum, trying to get one back on his ship. Did he know what the Host was?

If he did, would he even care?

You were starting to guess on that last one by the time the waiter returned with your food, which he placed on the table before nodding to each of you in turn and walking away. Leaving the Host to pick up a fork and the Captain to skewer his barely cooked steak with a knife.

Leaving you to look from them to the plate in front of you, mouth already watering at the smell even if the monochrome bits all looked the same, only to feel the same dread that began to build with every meal back at the house. Except here you couldn’t just wait until the others were gone or distracted, not when they were literally sitting right next to you.

Before the mirror, you never once ate in wolf form. To be fair, you had avoided being in this shape as much as possible, but it never occurred to you to even consider the idea. Now, you were all too aware of every bite, of being on all fours hunched over a plate or a bowl, of being seen as just another animal. It’s when you heard his voice the most, the mocking tone, the jokes you could only too easily imagine him making if he could see you now.

An elbow nudged your ribs and the captain winked at you as he said, “Yeh better eat it before I do, that’s all I’ll say.”

“Captain Magnum is not bluffing. The Host says this with far too much experience.”

The captain grinned and took another bite of his steak, which he was holding up on the end of his knife like it was an overlarge shish kabob, his teeth easily tearing through the meat without any need of another utensil. The Host meanwhile was making his way through a fishy-smelling meal you couldn’t quite see from the other side of the table, but the size of the dish was large enough to fit quite a few whole fish on there.

You looked back down at your plate and cautiously took a bite. Neither one was watching you, too focused on their own plates, and before long you found yourself licking the bowl clean until the last grain of gravy-soaked rice was gone.

The Host let what looked like an entire intact fish skeleton drop to his plate with a happy sigh, and the captain licked each of his fingers before wiping them off with the extra-large sized napkin the waiter correctly assumed that he would need.

“Not bad,” the captain rumbled, and the Host nodded as the waiter returned to take their plates away.

“Perhaps thanks for the chef are in order?” the Host suggested, and the waiter seemed visibly surprised for the first time tonight.

“Really? I mean, he would love it, but, uh, our chef isn’t the…friendliest guy around,” the waiter said, getting a laugh out of the captain.

“He can join the club then! Send him out and I’ll give him a thump on the back meself.”

The waiter shrugged and headed for the kitchen, dirty dishes in hand. Meanwhile, the captain turned his gaze on the Host with what looked like a knowing gaze as he said, “Not like you to suggest somethin’ like that, Host. Almost friendly-like, if I didn’t know better.”

“The Host appreciates a good meal.”

“Hm. And taking care of someone else’s do—er, cat, too.” The captain ruffled your fur again, causing the tag on your collar to jingle. “Yeh’re not up to somethin’ now, are yeh?”

“The Host is very much not getting involved in anything at the moment,” the Host said, and you couldn’t tell if the sound of his other voices getting louder was supposed to mean he was being emphatic or absolutely lying. “And again, they’re not—”

His correction about you would have to wait, as he was interrupted by a shout from the kitchen followed by the doors bursting open.

“Who’s got somethin’ to say about my cooking?” the chef snarled as he walked out, waving away the waiter trying desperately to explain with the ladle still held tight in his hand.

All of the other sounds in the restaurant became a white noise, your ears ringing as you recognized that voice and the silhouette growing steadily more focused as he zeroed in your table. You would have known that angry tone anywhere, and as the chef’s face came close enough for you to make out, you realized neither had changed a bit since the party.

You stared openly, thoughts numb as the Chef slowly realized that the Host and the captain were actually complimenting his food. You listened as, totally flattered, he described how he opened this place with his bare hands, sweat, and tears. And maybe the financial backing of an old coworker who inherited quite a bit when their old boss kicked the bucket, you eventually connecting the dots and figuring out that he was talking about Benjamin the former butler.

And Mark.

He didn’t know, he really didn’t know that Mark had lived, that he had left the house. Just like it had never hit you until now that the others could still be out there. The Chef, Benjamin, George, they had all left while they had the chance, before…

You had to rest your head on the table as the restaurant began to spin, as the Chef’s appearance kicked up more memories than you could shove back down in time. You were almost relieved that he might be about to go when another person walked up to the table, wanting to talk to the Host and the captain.

“Meri! Ready to join the crew, then?” the captain asked the young woman, whose smile almost rivaled his own.

But it was her scent that caught your attention. She smelled a lot like the sea, in a similar but somehow distinct way from the Host, and yet there was another smell clinging to her skin and her clothes, a scent that you had recognized before but couldn’t bring yourself to think about, to even imagine it could be—

“You bet I am,” she said, before clasping her hand over the Host’s, a movement that seemed to take him by surprise. “Thank you, thank you for telling me about that hunter. You were so right about him, Abe—”

Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by your front paws hitting the table as you rose up and bounded forward because, while you couldn’t kiss her or the Host for bringing you here, you could do the next best thing and try to lick both their faces. Flipping over the table in the process wasn’t the plan, but by that point you couldn’t care less.

Because he was alive.

He had survived the shot, he’d gotten back up again.

Abe, your Abe, was still alive and still out there somewhere.

And you, well, now you just had to find him.

((End of Part 15. Hope you’re enjoying the story so far! Thanks for being okay with a longer one this time, I would have felt bad leaving it at them jumping the fence. Plus I just really, really wanted to get to that final reveal already.

Link to Part 16: Caught on Camera.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

[gisachi]

i'm a sucker for shouji romance so I'm choosing the cheesiest ones, how about 25 or 28 for Shinran? You can do both if you feel like it

Aaand I’ll do both.✌🏼Thank you for the request, Anon! Hope this gives you some shoujo romance feels~

25. Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain. 28. One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss. (2,024 words)

.

.

.

Most people associate rain with melancholy or despair or some negative emotion, but Ran doesn’t.

Rain makes her happy. Every pitter-patter is a replay of the splashing puddles and excited footfalls as they played barefoot in the Kudou mansion yard. She got a cold because of that, but that didn’t stop them, being the reckless children that they were, for immediately after she recovered he invited her to play outside again and they did, and it was fun.

Every umbrella is a reminder of the navy blue one he offered back in junior high, because she forgot hers and it was pouring hard and she needed to meet with her mother soon. She wouldn’t have taken it had she known he didn’t have an extra, but he’s more stubborn than she was, so she decided she’d just make up for it by promising a win in her first amateur karate match, the one he was always rooting her for. She didn’t win, and it was sad, but then the same umbrella shielded her from the heavy downpour as she slumped by the gym steps, sobs obscured by thunders, and he held it for her despite getting soaked himself.

“I got this earlier,” he revealed a packet of chocolate from his bag. He didn’t really like sweets, but his secret admirers always kept them coming.

“They insisted so I took it.” He ripped the wrapper with his teeth and free hand, then gave it to her, “You like this flavor right?”

“But that’s for you.”

“Yes, and I decide what I want to do with it. I’m giving it to you.”

“But...I still owe you...”

“You don’t owe me anything, Ran. Now wipe your nose, your snot is showing.”

“Mou, Shinichi!”

For years, in the rain, his presence always lingers, as if he’s obliged himself to be with her in those moments, making sure she always has an umbrella. Every droplet is a witness to their friendship that blossomed and flourished into how they are now, and how they shall be. That’s why she cannot hate rain. Because rain means having him around.

Somewhere along the random, sometimes heartfelt conversations they share in their established waiting shed a block away from school, or under the tree by the Beika bridge or the one near their favorite ramen place, all stored in her heart, unforgotten;

Somewhere along the moments where she inadvertently begins memorizing his breathing patterns whenever they run for their lives making futile attempts to remain dry despite raging showers, and they laugh it away, and she loves his laugh, so raw, and real, and she’s happier when she knows she’s the cause of it;

Somewhere along experiencing those littlest things with him, apart from the big things, the comfort, the care, the company;

She realizes she has fallen.

Deep.

What happens when your childhood friend is no longer just your childhood friend?

She doesn’t know.

“Okita-san confessed to me this morning,” she mentions in passing while they dry themselves under the nearest waiting shed they can find, the sudden burst of rain not preparing them, yet again, for another mad dash from the school gate to there.

“Oh.” There is silence, save for the pattering of rain and screeching tires of passing cars. “What did you say?”

“I...don’t know.”

“Heh. What a funny reply to a confession.”

“No, silly!” she says, sucker punching his bicep. “You know I didn’t literally say that.”

He breathes a laugh.

“But, isn’t it nice? That he likes you?”

She smiles, a little forced, and he probably notices, so she gazes far into the sky, watches the rain fall instead.

“I know I might have said that he’s kind, and cute, and the whole school knows it, even him, but I guess... he’s not really the one I’m looking for.”

“Mmm,” he wrings his sleeve, water oozing out, and there’s silence again.

“Who exactly are you looking for?”

She looks at him subtly so he won’t notice.

“Honestly, I wonder.”

Someone who will play with me in the rain and wipe my tears away.

A car runs over a puddle, splattering mud all over Shinichi’s uniform. Ran laughs while Shinichi scoffs.

“Hah! You look pathetic, Shinichi!”

“Very funny,” he pouts, flicking the patches of dirt ruining his sacred white shirt.

“You even have on your... on your face!”

Rejoices when I’m happy, mourns with me when I’m sad.

Still laughing nonstop, she spontaneously wipes with a soaked handkerchief some of the mud that got to the corner of his eyes, cheek, corner of lips.

Someone I’m comfortable being with, in any given circumstance.

Her laughter tapers off into an awkward cough and silence, realizing what she’s doing, touching his face. But her hand doesn’t stop its innocent exploration, as her thumb extends beyond the handkerchief to the plump of his lips, directly feeling his softness, his moistness, and god what is she really doing?

Shinichi doesn’t speak, and instead stares at her, astonished expression in his eyes, but shifts into a calmer, more tender one.

He grips her hand on his face gently, like he has waited for this for a long time.

“Ran?”

She takes a step closer; so does he.

She stares at his lips; so does he.

But then some people arrive at the waiting shed, and Ran backs away, and Shinichi shoves his hands in his pockets.

The rain still falls, but the wind changes its course.

What happens when your childhood friend is no longer just your childhood friend,

and he probably thinks the same?

.

.

Most people associate rain with relief or happiness or some positive emotion, but Shinichi doesn’t.

When it rains, Shinichi thinks of her tears from that day. They were in second grade when he saw her in the playground, sitting alone on the swing under a heavy drizzle without an umbrella. Anyone would think she’s crazy, but not him, as he approached her and found out her mom left their house. The closest female influence in her life leaving home hurt more than whatever sickness she’d get from the rain, and he understood that so he let her cry.

The rain reminds him of her crestfallen face after losing her first karate match. That’s one thing they had in common - they hate losing - and he understood how that must’ve affected her so he let her cry, but made sure he’d make her smile afterwards. The chocolate bar helped.

When it rains, he thinks she’s somewhere out there, sad. He hates it, especially when he has already witnessed the beauty in her smile the first time they played in his yard under the pouring rain. He likes her smile a lot, and he’ll do all he can just to see her smile, every single day.

“Okita-kun confessed to me this morning,” she said a week ago, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind. In their random conversations, she did mention she liked him, twice. And it’s great, he believes, for it’d be a reason for her to cry a little less if he liked her back, too.

Great, really, she should say yes.

“...he’s not really the one I’m looking for.”

Yet that answer made him sigh and praise all angels above.

“Honestly, I wonder.”

Yet that reply made him hope that she stop wondering, and just look at who’s near her. Beside her.

“You even have on your...on your face!”

Yet her radiant laugh did nothing but strengthen his yearning so much, made him want to be the only one who can make her laugh like this, because she’s beautiful, and he liked her smile. A lot.

Her fingertips graced his cheek, brushed his face, stroked his lips, and that made his heart want to explode into million tiny pieces.

“Shinichi?”

He liked the way she said his name, even though she wasn’t smiling and her tone was serious.

He liked how she stepped closer first,

and he liked how she didn’t mind him following suit.

But then some people arrived at the waiting shed, and Ran backed away, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

The rain still fell, but the wind changed its course.

And he wondered.

Somewhere along the waiting shed conversations, the crying and shoulder leaning sessions, the occasional, spontaneous dances and carefree laughters after willing her tears away under the rain...

Perhaps it’s more than just her smile that he liked, too.

What happens when your childhood friend is no longer just a childhood friend?

He didn’t know.

He wanted to know.

//

Shinichi hasn’t been listening to forecasts lately; he’s just deducing what the weather will be, and today, for the ninth time, he gets it wrong.

But they’re so used to this scenario, and they don’t hate it one bit, he knows because lately instead of tears he sees smiles from her most of the time as they run on puddles intentionally and sprint short distances without anymore covering their heads with their bags because who cares?, and man does that make him much happier, to see her this happy, with him.

Beautiful. She’s always beautiful when she smiles. Her pearly white teeth the bright clouds in a gray sky, the effective stop gap to all negative emotions he associates with the weather.

Somehow, that makes him want to touch her face like how she did a week ago, so he does.

“...and I laughed so hard because sensei heard Sonoko say that! I mean-...Shinichi?” She flushes, pauses her story.

“What? Keep talking,” he says, caressing her face as if it’s completely normal for him to do so.

“I can’t really talk much, with um, your...on my lips,” she mumbles, soft and shy, her cheeks turning red, the only red he can see amongst the paleness of the sky and pavement and really, it’s like she’s radiating her color everywhere.

He smiles gingerly. “I’m getting even for last week.”

“Last week, huh,” she says, disguising her nervousness with a chuckle.

“...Shinichi?”

"Yeah?”

“Is it..uh...weird…?”

“What is?”

“I don’t know…I’m...”

“It’s not,” he chuckles, too. “...Is it?”

If anything, this is the closest he’s gotten to comfort.

“N-no...I think, um...you’re right.” She blushes more. “It’s actually kinda...nice.”

He’s just repeating what she did last week.

But what she didn’t do…

What do you do when she’s no longer just a childhood friend?

You tell her.

“Ne. Ran.”

“Hm?”

“If I confess to you right now, will you say ‘I don’t know’?”

“Shin-Shinichi!” she flushes harder. He laughs.

“Ran?”

“Yes?”

“I’m really gonna do it.”

“...”

When she’s no longer just a childhood friend, you have to admit it to her soon.

“Ran, I...”

Somehow, this makes the most sense.

It’s not just her smile that he likes, but the fact that she’s the one wearing it. It’s not the rain that drowns him, but her eyes when they’re filled with tears, so when she isn’t crying he’s never really hated rain. He likes it now. So it has come to this.

“I’m in love with you.”

She gasps.

Don’t just tell her. Show her.

“Shinichi, I…”

He tilts her chin up; she lets him.

His face inches closer; hers does, too.

Seal your truth with a kiss.

Their lips touch.

Cold, damp, tastes like rain.

Brief, sweet, warms his heart.

Even the briefest second is eternity, but he wants thousands of eternities, so when they separate, he goes back again, tastes the rain on her lips - in her lips - again, and again, and she must have wanted thousands of eternities too because she has her hands on his chest now, clutching his shirt, no plans of letting go; nevermind the fact that they’re soaking wet and he needs to get home and be warm, because he is home and she’s his warmth.

And if she says it back,

They slowly let go, unmoving, stabilizing their breaths. They stare at each other, eyes glimmering not from tears but from light, a different light, because in that moment they’re childhood friends no longer.  

“I...I think I am, too.”

kiss her again.

He does.

.

.

.

[lovemalecforever]

Chapter 20

The Sins I've done.

The warm lights of the sun fell on Magnus' exposed body making him stir in his sleep. He fluttered his eyes open and found himself wrapped in the cage of his husband's arms. A light smile played on his lips. He looked at him who was looking heavenly, the rays of sun-soaking his body was making him glow. His pale skin was shining brightly in a shade of gold.

"Stop staring, love," Alec said in his morning husky voice, then slowly opened his eyes. The shade of red creeping over his warlock's face was beautiful. He smiled and kissed those red cheeks.

"Morning, love."

"Good Morning! How long were you awake?"

"Not long, but I was enjoying the feeling of holding my husband in my arms."

Magnus pouted. "Not fair!"

Alec chuckled and kissed his warlock softly tasting his morning breath, the one he loves so much.

"I'm going to make breakfast for us, you go get freshen up till then," Alec said and kissed him again.

"Okay!" The warlock whispered softly. The feeling he was having was really weird for him. Everything was looking so heavenly and right. So calming. It was scary, it felt like the calm before the storm. He eventually got up and left for the bathroom.

Alec got up too and left for the kitchen. He prepared a breakfast of pancakes, two fried eggs, crispy bacon, butter toast, a bowl of diced fruits, a glass of orange juice for Magnus, and a cup of coffee for himself. Just as he was placing everything on the tray, his husband walked into the kitchen.

As usual, Magnus was looking beautiful. His clothes were not as bright as his usual clothes, but they suited him really well. He was wearing a simple dark blue button-down shirt with black pants, the jewelry was minimal and he was barefoot for now.

He walked towards the coffee table where Alec had placed their breakfast and they sat on their respective chairs eating in comfortable silence until Alec broke it.

"Hey, love. I have to leave early today, I have some important work scheduled and I can't miss it. I'll try to be back early though. Are you okay with it?"

Magnus nodded. He knew his shadowhunter had duties. He can't complain about it or force him to stay. So he didn't say much.

After finishing the rest of the breakfast in silence, Alec quickly got dressed up and was ready to leave. While he was getting dressed up he noticed that Magnus was standing in front of the mirror looking at himself with a blank expression on his face. He quickly got dressed up then walked towards his husband and hugged him from behind.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked and kissed him on top of his head.

Magnus looked at his husband from the mirror, his eyes were hazy but he didn't know why. He relaxed a little when the grip of his shadowhunter's arms tightened around his waist.

"Nothing, just feeling a little low. I.. I want you to stay but I know you have to go to work." He looked down at the floor.

"Hey!" Alec started and turned his husband towards him, then put his fingers below his chin and tilted his head upwards, and kissed him on the bridge of his nose. Magnus slowly lifted his eyes and looked at him. "I'm sorry, Mags. I want to stay too, but I have some important work today. I promise I'll be back as soon as possible. And if you're feeling low, just rest okay? I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?"

Magnus hugged his husband tightly and rested his head on his chest. He felt his husband's lips on top of his head. "Okay, Alexander. Just, please come home soon."

"I'll come home soon only if you let me go, love."

Magnus broke the hug and looked at his shadowhunter, his eyes were glossy again. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't like it. Alec wrapped his hands around Magnus' neck and kissed him passionately.

"Bye, Mags, I'll see you in the evening."

Magnus said goodbye and watched his shadowhunter leaving the loft. He sighed. Everything seemed weird today.

____________________________________

Magnus spent the whole day dealing with frustrating clients, watching boring TV shows, and summoning some Italian food for lunch. It was already 5:30 and he was waiting for his husband to arrive. He was lying down on the couch going through stupid mundane shows when the doorbell rang. His face lit up, he waved his hands and opened the door. As soon as he saw the person his happiness turned into anger.

"What are you doing here? How are you here in the first place and how were you able to break my wards?"

"Oh my love, so many questions. Relax. You blocked my number so I thought visiting you would be best. Aren't you surprised to see me?"

"No, I'm not Camille Belcourt. I'm asking again, how are you here?"

"I have my way, Magnus. I'm a vampire if you're forgetting."

"No, I'm not." He said coldly. "How did you break my wards?"

"Oh, Magnus." She smirked, "It's not hard to compel your clients, you know."

Magnus looked at her wide-eyed. "You.... encanto'd my regular client. That's why my wards... what do you want Camille?"

"I already told you, Magnus!" As she started walking towards him, Magnus quickly stood up and tried to back away from her but she used her vampiric powers and pinned him down on the couch and her pointed fingers on his face. "I want you."

"Get your hands off me, Camille."

"Why so bitter Magnus? Didn't you enjoy our time? Why am I even asking, did you kiss me yourself the first time Magnus. Willingly." She smirked.

Tears formed in Magnus' eyes remembering it. "That was a mistake. I hate you with every fiber of my being, Camille Belcourt!" He spat.

"No, you don't, my love." Using her vampiric strength, she pinned him down on the couch and got on top of him. Magnus tried to resist but it went in vain. She stroked his face with her pointed nails and looked him directly in the eyes. Her pupils became larger and wider. "You love me and only me. You want me. I'm your only true love, Magnus."

Magnus tried to resist the encanto but he failed. He didn't know what was wrong with him today. His lips moved automatically. "I love you."

"That's better, my love. Kiss me now, Magnus."

Even though Magnus didn't want to do any of it, his body didn't seem to be in control of him. He felt weak and useless. His lips automatically moved, brushing with her blood-red ones.

Camille smirked in between the kiss. When they broke the kiss, she looked directly into his eyes again with her larger dull black eyes. "Tell me, Magnus, you're doing it willingly?"

"No!"

"Wrong!" She focused on his tear-filled brown eyes again. "You're doing it willingly, my love. This is not encanto, you're doing everything of your free will. You love me and only me. You want to explore every part of my body. Make love to me Magnus. Just the way we used to do."

Magnus nodded against his will. He was in total control of that vampire. Camille smiled viciously. She licked her fangs and looked at the sweet warlock beneath her. She unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and started kissing him on the neck. When she found the perfect vein, she buried her fangs into it drawing out his blood, and started drinking it. Magnus let out a gasp. He was feeling weak, powerless, and disgusted. He didn't want to do any of it but he felt helpless.

"Make love to me, Magnus." She said again and kissed him hungrily on his lips. She grabbed his shirt and using her vampiric strength and powers she changed their position so that Magnus was on top of her. Magnus leaned down and kissed her again, trailing down towards her jaw and neck. She let out a low moan. "That's right, my love. Just like that. I ask you again, Magnus, are you doing it willingly?"

"Yes, yes I'm doing it willingly." He said and continued with the kisses. Even though he knew it was wrong, he wanted to say no, but he had lost total control of himself. He felt disgusted.

"Look at me, my love." She smirked when he followed. "Remove your wedding and promise rings and throw them away."

Magnus's heart skipped a beat. He hesitated. He didn't want to do that. He tried to back away but she gripped him tightly. She looked him in the eyes and focused on them, her own going completely dull black leaving no whites in it. "I'm saying it again, my love, remove your wedding and promise rings and throw them away. And you're doing it willingly."

Magnus looked like he had seen a ghost. Her eyes going completely black when using encanto was really rare for a vampire. It indicated how dark and dangerous vampires are. She had never shown it before which only meant that turning back into a vampire had made her more vicious than before. He obliged to her immediately.

He took out his rings from the finger, the rings which meant so much to him, the thin platinum ring engraved with black lining, that was the promise ring; the Lightwood ring which Alec wanted to propose from and he turned out to be the one proposing; and finally his wedding ring, it was a beautiful diamond ring but the Lightwood ring mattered to him more.

He looked at them, he didn't want to throw them away but his body and mind weren't in his control at all. He fisted them in his hand and threw them on the floor, he didn't see where they landed. Guilt was building too strongly inside him.

Camille smiled devilishly. Her eyes were still the same and they were really scary. "That's better. I don't want them on you. Now, my love, remove our clothes and make love to me, hardly and roughly."

Magnus obliged. He removed his shirt and Camille's single strapped crimson crop top, which had black embroidery all over it, revealing her blood-red tube bra. "Remove them all, my love." She said smirking, her eyes never leaving Magnus'.

Magnus obliged again. He removed her bra as well then started kissing her all over, leaving light bruises on her neck and chest. Camille had a constant smirk on her face. He then reached for her midnight black jeans and undid them, then he went for his own pants.

He was halfway through undoing his pants when he heard a loud thud and jumped away from her. He looked at the source of it and what he saw was scarier than Camille's full dull black eyes.

His shadowhunter was standing on the entryway leading to the living room, looking at them with shock. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, and he seemed like he couldn't move. His beautiful hazel eyes were not bright as usual and they were showing heartbreak and regret. Something was scattered on the floor which seemed like a bouquet of flowers and some boxes. It was all too blurry.

Magnus's heart started racing badly. His eyes were too foggy to see anything clearly. This isn't what he wanted, he was himself frozen in his place looking at the heartbroken shadowhunter with pleading eyes.

Camille had a constant sly grin on her face as if she had accomplished what she wanted. Her eyes were back to normal again. She took her clothes and quickly dressed. She looked between both the boys who didn't seem to move from their places. She decided to make her last move. She put her pale hands on Magnus' cheeks and turned his face towards her.

"My love, looks like we're interrupted, we'll continue it later, okay?" Magnus nodded unwillingly. She smirked and got way too close to him then looked him in the eye again and whispered "kiss me, Magnus." Magnus obliged immediately.

He kissed her, despite the fact that he didn't want to, he kept kissing her until she broke it. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the shadowhunter was looking down at the floor, tears were flowing down uncontrollably on his cheeks, his breathing was heavy and it seemed like he was looking at something.

It clicked to him at that moment that he was looking at the rings he had thrown earlier unwillingly. Guilt crept inside him, he never wanted to hurt his shadowhunter, but he did it anyway.

Camille broke the kiss and looked at the nephilim, a wicked grin playing on her lips. She stood up looking at the two men one last time and left.

Magnus was frozen in his place and so was Alec. There was dead silence in the room, an uncomfortable creepy silence. Until Alec finally decided to break it.

"Why Magnus?" He whispered, his voice showing no emotion.

Magnus gulped, hard. "A.. I.." he didn't know why, but he wasn't able to form words, he wanted to scream that he didn't do anything, it was all Camille, she encanto'd him to do things to her against his will, that he was innocent, but words betrayed him. He wasn't able to say what he wanted to. "I... I don't know." That was all he was able to say, a teardrop escaped from his eye and fell on his cheek.

Alec bent down and picked up the rings gently, stroking his fingers softly over them. "You don't know!" He whispered, then looked at his husband. "You don't know why you were about to fuck her!?" He yelled.

Magnus flinched back at the tone his shadowhunter had used, he had never used that tone on him. "A.. Alexander.. please...."

"Please what, Magnus?" He sniffed, he was crying uncontrollably. "Did she do this? Did she encanto'd you? Was it her? Tell me, Magnus? Because, from the way I saw it, it didn't look like that. So, tell me if it was her!"

He wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell him that he'll never do something like that to him, that he was innocent, that Camille manipulated him in a wicked way. He wanted to tell the truth but his mind and body were reacting to the stupid encanto Camille did on him. And he hated that. He wanted to break the encanto but he wasn't able to.

"No, she didn't encanto'd me, I did it willingly. I don't know why, but I did it willingly." He repeated what Camille compelled him to say, and cursed himself when he saw his husband's reaction. He had taken a step backward, constantly looking at the floor, and had a blank expression on his face. His tears didn't seem to stop. His breathing was uneven and heavy.

"Why?" He asked with his trembling voice. "I... I know we've been distant for some time, Magnus. We haven't done it in a long time, but it was because of your health, I didn't want to do something when you were not well. I.. I didn't know you were trying to find pleasure from others behind my back." He sniffed and closed his eyes.

Magnus's breath was caught in his lungs. He wasn't able to breathe. He wanted to scream that his words were not true. That he wasn't able to control his actions. But with what his shadowhunter was saying, he felt like he was talking to his own insecurities. Tears were running down from his own eyes. He wasn't able to speak anymore.

"I loved you, Magnus. Unconditionally. But you.." he sniffed again. "I loved you when you were at your weakest, at your lowest, I loved you when you acted like a child even when you're a 500 years old warlock, I loved you even when others called you monster, I loved you when you had nothing. Then, why Magnus!? Why did you do this to me? Why did you cheat on me?"

Magnus was frozen in his place, listening to the word 'cheating' out loud was making the guilt inside him stronger, his eyes were focused on the floor, not daring to meet his husband's. Tears were flowing down his face. He gulped. He wanted to make his shadowhunter understand that he was under encanto, but he didn't know how. He felt too weak and helpless.

"It's better to die than live like this. I won't be able to live in this pain you've given me, Magnus."

His eyes shot up at that and he finally looked at his husband. His eyes and nose were red from the crying, his fists were clenched so tightly that they were bleeding. He was holding his rings in one fist and his breathing was heavy. His expressions were unreadable.

Magnus felt extremely guilty. He wasn't ready to lose his shadowhunter all over again. "A.. Alexander, p.. please... I'm... I'm sorry-"

"Shut up!" He yelled again, causing Magnus to flinch back. "Just shut up. I'm done with it. I never thought you would do this to me. I loved you, but you, Magnus. All I want to do is die right now. We're done, Magnus. I can't be here anymore. I'm leaving, and don't try to find me, Magnus Bane!" With that being said, he stepped back a few times then stormed out of the apartment, leaving Magnus completely heartbroken and shattered.

"ALEXANDER! NO, NO, NO! STOP! PLEASE!" He fell in his place and started crying uncontrollably. "Stop! Please, stop! Don't leave me, please! Forgive me! Please don't leave me! Please don't!" He kept begging to no one in particular, then after some time he fell unconscious and everything went black.

[selenaurrr]

Breathe

REQUESTED: Yes PAIRING: Matt Casey x Reader WARNING(S): Sexually Assault, Swearing & Violence

—

The soft glow of the sunlight peaked through the cracks of the curtains, meanwhile in the background my alarm kept ringing and ringing, I slowly stretched, my body was so comfortably warm under the comforter that covered me, I reached over and grabbed a hold of my cell phone to turn off the alarm. “Where’s Mommy?”

“Hi,” I whispered slowly adjusting from waking up, “She didn’t sleep with you?”

“No,” She softly spoke.

I furrowed my eyebrows together, it isn’t like Sarah to come home, “Okay. Sarah?” I rose my voice to see whether she would answer me or not, “I already checked. She’s not here.”

“Well, we’re just gonna have to figure this out, won’t we?” I replied smiling, trying to assure my niece that everything was fine. “Go get dressed, hon. I’ll take you to school.”

I took a quick shower and got dressed, walking out of my sister’s bedroom calling her, “Sarah, it’s 7:00 in the morning. Where are you? I need to get to work. Can you call me?” 

Not a single phone call received from her, this isn’t like her at all, something is way off here. I shrugged it off, made Isabelle breakfast, helped her brush her teeth; and then drove her to school where I said have a good day. Then drove to the district 21.

I held my black duffel bag over my shoulder as I walked side by side with Adam, “It’s just not like her. Sarah would never just not come home.” I said checking my cell phone once again, “Maybe she got lucky.” He jokingly smirked, “My conservative sister?” I questioned.

“She’s been married to that  pretentious idiot for ten years. She deserves a little luck.” Adam replied walking over to his deck, “Okay. Okay, fine. Then why isn’t she answering her calls? It keeps going straight to voicemail.” I said feeling unease with overthinking.

“[Y/N], when people go out all night, their phones die. Happens to me all the time. Happened to me one time. Just once.” He said placing his coat over his chair as he sat down looking up at me.

Phone buzzing.

I sighed with relief as I saw the caller ID, Sarah.

“There you go.” Adam told me, nodding his head before taking a sip of his coffee mug. “Where the hell are you?” I asked pissed off and annoyed.

“Help me. I’m in trouble.” Her voice croaked, trembling.

“Sarah? What’s the matter? Sarah?”

“[Y/N]...”

“Sarah?” I rose my voice with worry, the call ended. “What happened?” Adam asked, worried as well.

“She said she was in trouble. I don’t...” I trailed off, redialing her cell number; “Hey, it’s Sarah. Please leave a message.”

“Sarah, where are you? Call me.” I spoke, “What’s the matter, [Y/N]?” 

“It... It keeps going to voicemail.” I said, shaking.

“Who?” Voight asked, “My sister. She went out with her girlfriends last night and never came home. She just called. She said she was in trouble. The call cut out, and now she’s not answering, and she sounds really scared.” I said.

“Well, let’s ping her phone. Take somebody. Go look for her.” Voight ordered, “I’ll go.” 

“Thanks,” I whispered, “Come on.”

I grabbed a hold of my winter coat, placed on my beanie and gloves, Adam drove calmly down a couple of blocks before reaching to our destination, coming to a halt. I climbed out, pulling out a yellow folder, “Okay, the call logs show she made three calls from Lake Street, two to 911 that were disconnected, hitting off two different towers... there, there.” I spoke, looking up and pointing here and there, walking side by side with Adam. “Like she was in a moving car.” He replied, “Yeah. Or a train. Her call to me this morning... It had the weakest signal.” I pointed at the subway.

“The weakest signal would be from inside of the station.”

Adam and I picked up our pace and started to jog inside the subway station.

Indistinct P.A. Announcement.

I ran down the staircase, slightly jogging and that’s when I spotted her, “Sarah?”

“Sarah! Oh, my god.” I yelled out, bending down to her level on the bench; She freaked out, eyes wide open. “Hey, No... Hey, it’s me. It’s me. It’s just me. It’s just me. Are you hurt?” 

“What happened? Sarah, what happened? I said trying to hold back the tears that I had not let go yet, “Sarah?”

She breathes heavily, “I was raped.”

I glanced down and saw she was indeed raped, blood stains completely covered her jeans. Immediately I felt horrified. She broke out and cried, “Okay. She’s losing a lot of blood. Call an ambulance.” I stood up and calmly told Adam, who nodded his head and turned around, “Okay, I’m here. I’m here. I��m here. It’s okay.” I reached out and gave her a tight hug, she quickly wrapped her arms around my waist and sobbed.

“I’m here, okay?”

I deeply breathe in and out,”The X-ray showed free air in her abdomen, which means her bowel was perforated. It’s why she’s in so much pain.”

“From a rape?” I asked, “We haven’t gotten the results from the SART exam, but everything I’ve seen is consistent with a vicious assault.”

“[Y/N]!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I’m here.” I snapped out of my trace of thoughts and came rushing towards Sarah’s side, “I’m scared.”

“I know. Trust me. You’re in really good hands. They’re gonna fix you up, okay?” I spoke trying to assure her, “Where’s Isabelle?” 

“She’s at school, and she’s fine.”

“Does she know?” She asked, I shook my head, “No. No.”

Elevator Dings.

“Sarah, can you remember anything that happened? Even the smallest detail would help.” I asked, “I can’t remember.” She whispered, unable to answer me.

"I’m sorry. They’re waiting in the OR.” Dr. Manning said.

“I love you.” I spoke up as I watched the elevator doors closed shut, leaving me standing by myself.

I walked over the precinct floor towards the intercom buzzer, once I buzzed myself through the gate and I disappear for a momentarily, walking up the staircase where I was greeted by my colleagues, “How’s Sarah?” Voight asked, all eyes on me.

“She’s still sedated. The doctor said she was sodomized. That’s why the blood-” I paused, the room filled silences. 

“Uh, tox report came back. Her blood alcohol was .12, which is not enough to make her black out, but she had enough ketamine in her system to knock out a horse.” Jay said opening up the yellow folder, I walked over quickly grabbing it out his hands and into my own.

I glanced at him then back to the folder.

“All right, get the names of the woman at the birthday party. Find the bars they hit. Let’s go.” Voight ordered walking to his office, “Serge?” I called out, “Yeah?” He whispered spinning around on his heels, “Thank you for taking this on.” 

“An attack on your family is an attack on our family.” 

I slightly nodded my head in agreement.

Alvin and I road in silences in the vehicle as we approached one of Sarah’s friends office buildings, “So, you’re the kick-ass sister. Sarah was bragging about you last night.” 

“Yeah?” I replied back, “It’s one of the few things I remember. My head feels like a World War II documentary today.”

Alvin sighed, which she looked at the both of us, “What’s this about?” 

“Well, Sarah was sexually assaulted sometime late last night or early this morning.” Alvin said in a calmly tone. “Oh, my god. What happened?”

I shake my head, “She doesn’t remember. Jasmine, can you walk us through the evening, please?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Uh, there were six of us. We had dinner at the Pump Room. It was my birthday. Lots of wine, lots of laughs.” She shake her head.

“Did any men come around?” Alvin asked.

“You know, there was this one kind of creepy guy at the bar. Sarah swore he was giving her the eye.” I cut her off, “Can you describe him?”

“White guy, wore a hat, but he never came over.” She said, “And then what?”

“I went home. But they all went to Jinx’s. I’m too old for Jinx’s.” She shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows together, “I’m so sorry, [Y/N]. Sarah was having such a good time.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I clicked my pen, “Al?”

I sat beside my sister as I tried very hard to maintain my composure,"I remember it was last call. These guys bought us drinks.”

“Can you describe them?” I asked holding a pen and my notepad in one hand, “White. Twenties, I guess. They looked like every other guy in the bar. One had dark hair. The other was kind of blonde.”

“Okay.” I whispered writing everything down, “He invited us to a party. There was something about balloons.”

“Balloons?” I questioned, glancing up at her.

“Yeah. There were all these balloons. The whole thing is like a nightmare I can’t remember.” She spoke as her tears glistening in her eyes, I stroked her hair softly, “Uh, do you remember the train station?”

She slightly nodded her head, “Okay, how’d you get there, babe?”

“It was, uh- it must have been later. We were- we were in the car. I was waking up. I was sick. There were sparks in the sky. They were coming from the train.”

I continued to write on my notepad, “Denise was screaming. That’s what woke me up. She was screaming, and she was pulling me from the car.”

“Okay, so you and Denise- you got out of the car.” I stumbled over my words, “No. I couldn’t move. I think she ran away. You- you have to talk to Denise.” She said, looking discreetly into my eyes.

“Sarah, Denise is missing.” I paused, “She never came home, and, um, we can’t find her.” 

“How could I have been so stupid?” She sobbed.

“Look at me. You are not stupid. You were drugged and you were assaulted.” I stroked her hair ever so softly, tears rolling down her cheeks. I tried my best to keep a brave face on for her. A faint knock, snapped me out of my trace of thoughts coming back to reality to see Matt standing there in the doorway. I kissed Sarah’s forehead and told her I’ll be back.

He followed me closely behind, as we found a quiet place to chat among-st ourselves, I told him that Sarah was sexually assaulted. And it felt like her lungs were filling up with water, so she just sat back and let herself drown. “Are you alright?” Matt asked, a concerned look on his face. I just nodded, trying to force a smile onto my face, before bursting into tears. “It’s okay,” He whispered, pulling me into his arms, I wrapped my arms strongly around him. He pressed his lips to my forehead while he ran his fingertips through my hair to comfort me, reassuring that everything will be okay, even if it isn’t right now.

I asked him to stay with my sister and let me know if anything changes, he nodded his head. I left the hospital and drove to the 21st distract, opening the door wide open walking over onto the precinct floor where I met eye contact with Sergeant Platt who gave me the warmest smile, I smiled back. Walking over towards the intercom buzzer, and buzzing myself through the gate, I found myself at my desk once more.

“Sarah and Denise were at the Thirsty Raven at roughly 1:30 a.m. They were approached by two white males: 20s, 30s, one dark hair, one blonde, Which doesn’t narrow it down much.” I spoke lowering my voice down, annoyed with our evidences.

“Atwater and I found Denise’s phone about a mile away from the Thirsty Raven. It was wiped clean. No prints. Patrol’s canvassing the area looking for witnesses, but they got nothing yet.” Adam added in, playing with his pencil.

“Yeah, they tossed the phone so she couldn’t call for help.” Kevin said, throwing his hands in the air.

“[Y/L/N], your sister said that she saw sparks from a train, right?” Jay asked, I spin around on my heels to face him, “Yeah.”

“I worked a beat on Lake Street, and the L train there throws sparks. It’s the same line that runs to the station where we found your sister.” Jay said, Voight spoke up catching everyone’s attentions, “All right, run all in-service calls around Lake Street. We got anything on those cars?”

“Yeah. The DMV lists 18 black Audi Q7 owners in Wicker Park, one was accused of aggravated rape last year. Guy by the name of Rex Goldwin.” Erin chipped in, I walked away from the whiteboard and stood beside her. 

“Goldwin. No, I’ve read about that douchebag. He’s like a local pickup guru. He teaches guys how to get laid.” Adam said, “Well, he was arrested by Area North. The victim said that Goldwin approached her in a bar, slipped ketamine in her drink, and then took her phone.” Erin said, glancing away from the computer; “Same MO.” Alvin spoke quietly.

“Yeah. State’s Attorney couldn’t make the case, so Goldwin beat the rap.”

“All right, dig up everything on this Goldwin.” Voight ordered, “I want to pay this guy a visit.”

“Hey. Any luck?” Erin said, coming out of the lounge room with a cup of coffee in one hand. “I showed Sarah the photo array. She couldn’t pick out Goldwin. But she doesn’t remember any faces.” I said.

“I got something here.” Jay spoke up, catching both of our attention’s now, “So, I ran all the in-service calls around the Lake Street L station. Patrol responded to a distraught woman wandering the 4300 block of Maple at 3:22 in the morning, okay? They showed up. She was already gone. Um, it’s mostly abandoned warehouses in the area. Hardly any surveillance cameras, but they were able to pull POD footage.”

Jay pointed at his computer before clicking onto the footage, “Is that Denise?”

“That’s her.” I deeply sighed, “There’s no cameras after that.” 

Matt texted me through the day to keep me updated on my sister’s condition in the hospital, I thanked him multiple times for being there when I couldn’t most of the time, he said it wasn’t a problem and that he’ll do it in a heartbeat. 

“All right, the ME came back with the preliminary exam on Denise Miranda. Unlike Sarah, no signs of sexual assault. No defense wounds. But, like Sarah, alcohol found in her blood, and high levels of ketamine.” Jay said, pinning a photo of Denise onto the whiteboard.

“How’d she die?” I asked, already knowing the outcome. “Hypothermia. She got knocked out by the ketamine, and then she froze to death.”

Erin glanced at me whether to see if I was okay or not, “Hiding from the predators.”

“I’m telling you this has Goldwin written all over it. I’ve been reading blogs written by other woman who have been victimized, and they all have the same story. They get taken to apartments, drugged, their phones disappear, and after they’re assaulted, they get dumped at subway stations.” Erin said, rising her voice up with anger. 

“I hear you, but the crime lab went through Goldwin’s car. It’s clean, and his alibi checks out for last night.” Adam shook his head, “Right. I’m not saying he’s personally responsible for this assault, but he’s trained an army at these seminars of his.” Erin said, walking over towards the whiteboard.

“Whoever assaulted Sarah was following Goldwin’s blueprint.” Erin pointed at his mugshot photo.

“Put a microscope on Goldwin’s organization. Get a list of all the men who have attended his seminar.” Voight ordered the team.

Sergeant Platt slowly made her way the staircase leading up to the intelligent’s unit, “[Y/L/N], Isabelle’s father is downstairs.”

Without hesitation I closely followed Sergeant Platt down the staircase, she opened the gate, “Where’s Isabelle?” I asked, “I kept her in the back.”

“Thanks, Trudy.” I replied back.

“Hello, [Y/N]. I came as soon as I heard. It’s just awful what happened-” I grabbed the collar of his coat and through him against the wall, “What the hell?” He grunted in pain.

“You hired a private eye to spy on my sister?” I said with venom, “Hey! Hey.” 

I pinned one of my forearms against his throat, “You think she’s having affairs like you?”

He stumbled on his words, “She’s the one who started this. I wanted to mediate, but she hired a lawyer. “

“Because you are a scumbag.” I shot back, as my blood boils with anger.

“You think your sister’s a saint? Just look at what happened last night.” He said, I released my forearm from his throat, giving him a chance to breathe.

“Last night?” I asked, “Yeah. She’s getting wasted in pickup bars. What kind of a mother puts herself in that position, huh?” He bluntly said.

“Get out.” 

“Fine. Where’s Isabelle? I’m taking her with me.” He said fixing his coat looking for his daughter.

“Isabelle stays with me until her mom gets out of the hospital.” I replied back, “But she’s not your daughter.”

“She is my blood, and I’ve got 85 cops in this building who have her back.” I shot back, reaching over at him and fixing his tie; while wiping that smirk off of his face. I turned around on my heels, “This isn’t over.” He called out, “Yeah? It is for you.”

“Keith Tasker and Andrew Latimer. We got their names off the Effective Pickup registry. Latimer is a barista, and Tasker works for a tech startup and leases an Audi Q7.” Erin said crossing her arms over her chest, “Yeah, just like his hero, Rex Goldwin.” Alvin added.

“The Effective Pickup organization only has four official employees. These guys are not among them. But they acknowledge that so-called ‘graduates’ take on side jobs mentoring other men.” Jay said.

“Hey, thanks for coming, Ana. You all know Ana Valdez.” Voight shook hands with her then turned around, “I brought the State’s Attorney’s office up to speed. We want to make sure we can make this case.”

I wasn’t understanding this, “Wait a second. We own these guys. Why don’t we just grab them?” 

“You could certainly question them, but short of a confession, it’s a very high bar to prove rape when alcohol’s involved.” Ana said, “They were drugged.”

“Or they willingly took a party drug.”

I chuckled, “Willing?” 

“My sister wasn’t wiling. She didn’t-” Adam cut me off, “Hey, [Y/N], she’s on your side.” 

Anger filled my veins.

“Look, this whole case turns my stomach. I’m just making the argument their lawyer would make. We have two victims. One of them’s dead and the other one can’t ID her attackers, and there’s no physical evidence tying them to Sarah’s rape.” Ana said, “Okay. This is not a first time for these two. I mean, they have an MO.” Erin backed me up.

“Great. If we can prove an MO, it’s easier to hang assault charges on them.” Ana said, “You know, one thing about these guys is they don’t know that Denise is dead. I mean, she ran from the car. As far as they know, she went home.” Alvin shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s true. I mean, these guys can be out right now or tonight on the hunt like nothing ever happened, Serge.” Kevin chipped in.

“Erin, go down and talk to Platt. Find a female officer to partner up with. The rest of you meet in the roll up. We’re going undercover.” Voight ordered everyone, I watched as Erin disappear down the stairs. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” Ana spoke glancing over her shoulder at me.

I wasn’t going to drop this whether or not, “Serge?”

“Yeah?” He said grabbing a hold of his coat, “I want to go undercover with Lindsay.”

“I don’t think it’s the right fit, [Y/N].” He shook his head, “It’s the perfect fit. I know the case, I work well with Lindsay, and I’m the right gender.”

He placed his hands onto my shoulder, “You’re too close to this.”

“Like you were too close to Justin?” I struck a nerve, “Careful.”

“Just because it’s our family does not mean we can’t do our job.” I said, he sighed, knowing damn well I wasn’t going to drop this; “So, go get changed.”

Dance Music.

Erin and I stood beside each other at the Thirsty Raven bar holding onto our drinks, as someone approached us, “I want to buy you a drink.”

“Oh, we’re good. We’re waiting for someone.”Erin calmly said, turning him down. “Oh, okay. Cool. Well, I will keep you company.” 

“She said we’re good.” I shot him down harder, “Whatever.” He grumbled before winking at Erin.

“Is this what single life is like?” She questioned, “On Division Street at 1:00 a.m. it is.” She nodded her head and took a sip from her drink, “Great.”

“You girls look lonely. And thirsty.”

“Is it that obvious?” Erin asked, “What have you been up to tonight?” He asked, holding onto his drink.

“Oh, we had our girlfriend’s bachelorette party.” I faked, “Cheers to being single.” Erin chipped in, cheering our drinks together.

“Last call.” The barterer yelled out, “Uh, if you two are still at the bar, I’m guessing that you don’t want the night to end. Am I right?” He asked, “I don’t know. What do you have in mind?” I dumb-play, “We know a party in Wicker Park. That’s close. You girls down?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had a lot to drink already, so-” Erin brushed it off, “You’re fine. Come on. We can keep this party going all night long.”

“Do you wanna?” I flirty asked her, “Kind of.”

“Let’s go.” I smiled, “Okay.”

Erin and I followed the guys leading up towards the apartment, “Is this your place?” She asked looking around the place, “Share it with some friends.” He said taking off his coat, “Uh, let me take your coat.”

“Wait, where’s the party?” I drunkenly chuckled, “Uh, we’re the party. We got drinks. We got music. We got whatever you may need. Go ahead. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”

“Okay.” Erin drunkenly shrugged off, “All right.” I chuckled.

I set down my purse on the counter tops, that way the camera was pointing at us in the living room, “All right. I’ll make the drinks.”

Hip-Hop music playing.

“What are those?” Erin asked, ‘“Kamikazes.”

“Well, aren’t you guys gonna have one?” She questioned them, “We just did. They’re awesome.”

“Why don’t you try one for us?” He turned to look at me, “Mm...” Erin laughs, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I think I’d rather smoke pot. Do you guys have any pot?”

“Oh, come on. Drink it for me.” He asked once more, “I’m not getting a good feeling about this.” His friend said unease, “What’s going on, guys? Do you girls want to party, or don’t you?” He got up from the couch.

“Yeah, totally. I just-” She trailed off, before glancing at me picking up the shot glass, and gulping down the drink.

He smirked, “That’s my girl.”

I drunkenly giggled, “That was, uh, really strong.”

“Well...”

“You okay?” Erin asked me, “Yeah.”

I felt a wave of nauseous, “Do you have, like, a bathroom or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, just down the hall.”

I reached and grabbed a hold of my purse, “Okay, we’ve had so much to drink.”

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I was in the clear, then processed to walk down the hallway and opening the closest door, revealing the bedroom with the balloons.

“I was wondering where you went.” He said, shutting and locking the door behind him. “Let’s have some fun.”

I shook my head, “I don’t want this.”

“Oh, sure you do.” He said moving closer and closer towards me, “Stop.”

“What? Why are you so uptight?” He grabbed a hold of me, “Didn’t you hear me say no?”

“I heard you. I just don’t believe you.” He through me against the wall hard, “Aah!” I screamed in agony, “Bluebell!”

I grunted trying to push him off of me, but he wouldn’t budge, leaving me to my last resort; the lipstick knife. Without hesitation, I quickly stabbed him in the shoulder blade, “Aah!”

 “[Y/N]!” Adam yelled out my name, I shouted and grunted.

I finally unleashed my inner vengeance on the man who sexually assaulted my sister, one after another blow to the face, I kept it coming; I wanted him to suffer. He helpless laid on the bedroom floor, as I continued one punch to another directly at his bloody face, blood smearing all over my bare chest, Adam and Alvin stood in the bedroom as they didn’t know what else to do or whether they wanted to get involved into the cross firing. “[Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N]! We’ve got it. We got it. We got it.” Alvin said pulling me away from the scumbag, as I kept kicking him.

He spits out blood, breathes heavily.

“[Y/N], hey, are you all right?” Erin came rushing to my aid, I mumbled underneath my breathed, “I need to get to Med.”

“She’s got to have her stomach pumped.” Erin called out, leaving with me.

A nurse wheeled me into Sarah’s room, “Why are you in a hospital gown?” Matt and Sarah questioned at the same time. Oh, boy.

“It’s a really long story. Um... We got the guys who attacked you, so they’re never gonna hurt anybody ever again.” I said, sitting down onto her bed. She started to breakdown again, tears rushing down her cheeks. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey.”

“[Y/N], what am I supposed to do now?” She asked, “You’re gonna get better, and you’re gonna put it behind you.”

“How? How?” She replied back, “And how am I supposed to take care of my daughter when I don’t even feel safe leaving the house?”

“Sarah, I’m gonna help you through this. I will.” I said patting my heart, “Yeah.”

“Mom?”

Sarah let out a cry, “Hi. Hi, sweetie.”

Matt held onto my forearm as he carefully walked me out of Sarah’s hospital room, where she and Isabelle can have alone time between them. “I’m sorry,” I said looking down as my eyes glistening with tears, “Hey, come on, it wasn’t your fault.” Matt spoke softly, all of a sudden tears begin to roll down my cheeks, “Baby, please don’t cry.”

Matt held me tightly as I leaned my head into the corner of his neck and shoulder. “I love you.” I whispered, “I love you too.” He said kissing my head gently.

[snow-whiteandred-rose]

Imagine: You decide being together with him

A/N: Hey Guys! Here is our first Jin Imagine. In my mind Jin is the cheesiest of all members. So I hope you like it! Best wishes, Vanessa :) Pairing: Jin x reader Genre: fluff word count: 1,3k 

You looked at your watch and you weren’t happy what it showed you: 15 minutes too late. At first you had oversleept and than the subway didn’t come. Great... a typical Monday. With Fast steps you walked across the street. Just another two blocks, then you would be at work and you could rest your feets which hurt because of your heels. If you had knew that the underground would be canceled than you never had worne these shoes. You sighed when you walk in the cool  receiving area. It was really hot outside. The summer became hotter every year. When you entered the elevator and presses the button with the number 15, you looked at the mirror, fixed your hair and stroked above your light summer dress you liked a lot. With luck you could say that everything sat there where it belonged to sit. When the doors opened you went quickly to your office. “Y/N!” You heard your boss yell. ‘shit, now I’m done.’ You thought before you entered his office. “It’s 25 Minutes...that’s the second time in one week. Actually I thought you did a great a job but now I’m not sure if you are taking this seriously.” “I’m so sorry. I love this job really much and I’m so happy to work for your company. It won't happen again, I promise.” “It shouldn’t happen a again. And now get to work. Sora send you some texts which you have to read. We need your opinion.” “I’m about to start.” You said and went to the door. In the moment you wanted to leave the office he call your name again and you turned around. “By the way... flowers were sent for you.” You already felt that you blushed.

“Oh, eh thank you.” With red head you went quickly to your office. As soon as you walked through the door your eyes felt on the big bouquet of red roses which stood unmissable on your desk. You went through your room to open the letter which was sent with them. “Princess, I’m waiting for your decision. I will send you flowers as long as will take to convince you to be in a relationship with me. Love you, SJ” You sighed and took place on your desk chair with the letter in your hands. With your fingers you stroke above the written. Jin and you were on a date yesterday. At first you were at your favorite restaurant and after that you just spent the evening cuddling on your couch. Before he prepared for leaving he held your face in his hands and told you that he has fallen for you and asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend. But you hesitated. You really wanted to be in a relationship with him. He was the love of your life. Was it that crazy that you felt this way especially when you two were dating since a half year? But life weren’t always about what you wanted. Sometimes you also had to think about what is the best for you and him. He was an Idol and the time when you could see him was rare. The quality time you could really use for your own was even less. Once the tour started it would be several months you couldn’t see each other. You had to ask yourself, do you really want this? But on the other side you always enjoyed the time with him, he made you smile with his stupid jokes, when he kissed you you felt alive and even when you couldn’t see him often, he always texted you and you always had the feeling that he cared about you. The decision was hard and that was the reason why you wanted this time for your own. To make your decision. Why love must be so difficult? You moved your hands over your face. ‘Y/N, take a deep breath, just listen to your  heart.‘ You said to yourself. But now it’s time to work and your were really thankful for the distraction. Because the tons of work, time was flying. Exhausted but happy not to think about your heart, you fall asleep that evening. When you said you wanted time for yourself to think about your feelings for Jin you mad the bill without him. Every single day he sent you a new bouquet of flowers. Everyday it was a different one. Your office already looked like a flower shop. Also every colleague made a joke that they wanted to know where you got your dates because they also wanted this romantic things. But the flowers weren’t the only thing he did for you. He also sent you a picture every evening with you and him and wrote what he loved about you. “What do you say? How long he will send you flowers?” Y/F asked you. “Seriously... how I rate him, he will never stop it until he gets the answer he wanted.” “And do you give him the answer?” You sighed: “I don’t know... I don’t wanna be hurt.” “Oh, come on,” your best friend yell through the phone,”sometimes you have to take a risk to get the things that you want. He makes you happy. So what’s so difficult. I don’t understand it. Yes, he is a Idol. Yes, he has a full schedule. So what? Nothing is perfect and most important are the feelings you have for each other..” You closed your eyes and thought to hear to your inner voice. Maybe your friend was right. “You know what... you are right. I can’t always go the easiest way. I have to take the risk for him and me. I’m sorry, I have to hang up to let him know that.” “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear. Catch your man. Have fun you sweat lovebirds but stay decent, please.“Your Friend laughed before you hang up. Fastly you put your stuff together, took your handbag and went to the elevator. Cause of the parquet floor the only sound to be heard was the clattering of your heels. So you could see your colleagues looking out of there offices. “Everything Fine?“ you heard someone say. “I couldn’t feel better.“ In the same moment when you wanted to press the button to open the elevator doors they open with a loud ‘Bling’ and you looked in Jins eyes.  Your eyes whiten. He wore a simple white shirt, which underline his broad shoulders. His long legs stuck in jeans which were torn at his knees and his dark hair was brushed away from his face which emphasized his handsomeness. You looked a little bit above him and saw a big heart balloon.   “What are you doing here?” “Jagiya, I can’t stand without you,” he made a step towards you, “ I said I gave you the time you needed but I’m here to convince you. I know being with me won’t be easy and sometimes I can’t give you the whole attention which you needed, but I promise, You will always have my heart and I’m trying my best to be the boyfriend you deserve.  So please... Please be my girlfriend.” You smiled and walk towards him until you stand in front of him. “That’s funny. Just in this moment I wanted to got to the dorm the speak with you.... I’m sorry that I haven’t written the last few days but I needed the time to think about you and me....” you said. “Don't keep me in suspense, I’m not in the mood for this,” He whined. “I know that it won’t be easy and there will be dates when I miss you very much... but all the good times we will spent together will displace that. So, Yes. Yes, I wanna be with you,” you answered. As soon as you had finish your sentence he pulled you up and whirled you around in circles before he settled you down to take your face in his hands. “I knew that you would choose me because my handsomeness. That was the crucial point.“ “Don't ruin it right away.” You rolled your eyes but leaned forward to kiss him. All you could feel was happiness.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Seventeen

Dean isn’t even sure he believes in God. 

That sure as shit doesn’t stop him from showing up at the church every day. He sits in the silence of the times between services, surrounded by warm wood and golden light. The quiet in here doesn’t feel as drowning as it does back in his apartment. Sometimes, Dean felt like this was the only place he could really take a deep breath and be. 

It was something about the way the place was built. The idea that people sat in these exact same spots hundreds of years ago, looking for guidance or comfort. No matter how bad things got, this church was still here. Still standing. 

No matter how low Dean got, no matter how many days he spent in bed or didn’t brush his teeth or forgot to eat, the church would always be here.

“Hello, Dean.” 

And maybe there’s another reason he keeps sticking around here. Not that he’s ever going to admit that out loud. Dean tosses a little smile over to the man who sits down next to him on the pew, even though the whole damn place is empty. 

The first time it happened, it set Dean’s teeth on edge. Like the guy was trying to make him uncomfortable (he was succeeding) or to run him off (no way was he succeeding). But he figured out real fast that it was just Cas being Cas. The man had no concept of personal space. Your bubble didn’t exist in Cas’ world. Dean was starting to like it. 

When you got used to people keeping their distance from you, even the odd duck at the church who sat close to you felt like intimacy. “Hey Cas.” Dean keeps his voice pitched low, riding the edges of a whisper. They weren’t bothering anyone, but there was just something about this place. Something solemn and old that Dean didn’t want to disrupt with his loud ass voice. “How are you doing, man?”

Cas smiles at him, a slow and steady thing that makes Dean’s heart do stupid flips in his chest. It was weird, it wasn’t like Cas didn’t smile all that often. He smiled all the time. But there was something about it that felt special every time that Dean saw it. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Sometimes, talking to Cas was like talking to a brick wall. And sometimes, it was like talking to a bulldog with a bone. Polite conversation wasn’t something he did. If he wanted to know something, he asked. And didn’t back down until you answered. Some days, Dean loved it. Some days, Dean hated it. The jury was still out about where he was standing in the road today.

“I’m doing good.” Mostly. Dean sighs, and sees the doubt in those pretty blue eyes. Cas was good at being gently judgemental, and without any words. “I’m hanging in there.” That’s the truth. Today was one of those days where getting out of bed wasn’t so easy. Dean had spent a good half hour just staring at the white paint strokes on the ceiling of his apartment, trying to will his body to do anything but feel like sludge. 

He got there. Eventually. Which meant dragging his sad carcass out of bed and changing the Metallica t-shirt and sweats he’d been wearing for the last three days. A shower had been too much of an effort, so Dean slapped on deodorant and washed his face in the sink. You had to take what you could get, some days. 

Cas smiles at him, and Dean will tell himself ninety nine times out of a hundred that the smile was the reason he admitted this stuff at all. The other time out of a hundred, he might actually admit to himself that it felt good to be able to tell somebody how he was feeling. “Now.” Dean jabs him in the shoulder with his index finger and gets a huff of laughter for his trouble. “How are you, Cas?”

Cas reaches down to tug on the sleeve of the sweater he was wearing over his button down shirt. With anyone else, Dean would have called it a nervous gesture. But Cas seemed like the kind of guy who was rarely nervous. “I’m well, thank you.” And he definitely wasn’t the type to lie. Not even little white lies to protect someone’s feelings. A fact Dean learned firsthand a few weeks ago when Cas sat down next to him on this very same pew and told him he looked awful. 

From Cas, it wasn’t a jab at Dean’s cleanliness or the fact that he’d been a little far past a haircut. It had been a moment of worry from someone who cared about him. Dean was pretty sure that if Cas wasn’t so damn pretty that all these heavy handed conversations would land a little harder. 

Lucky for him, Cas was very pretty. Like, unnaturally pretty. It was distracting, honestly. 

“Glad to hear it.” Cas was better at silences than Dean was. One settles over them as they sit, Dean lacing his hands together over the top the pew in front of him. Cas keeps his hands in his lap, shoulders nice and loose. Maybe he didn’t get lost in his head the same way Dean did. He couldn’t help but wonder what that was like. Not getting lost in the exhaustion and the worry that circled in his brain what felt like twenty four seven. 

Must be nice, that was for sure. 

“There is a summer festival they have here.” Cas knew that Dean had only been here a couple of months now. And with the way the down swings hit him, he hadn’t explored more than a few blocks from his place. The church was only around the corner from Dean’s place, and sometimes it took all the energy he had just to drag his ass over here and sit down. 

“Yeah?” Maybe it’d be close enough that Dean could see the decorations and stuff outside of his window. That’d be a nice thing to wake up to. Bright colors flapping in the wind and the sound of music and people laughing. 

“Yes.” Cas nods. “There are booths where people sell food. I don’t think there are any pies, but I know there are donuts and other sweet things.” Dean huffs a quiet laugh of his own. He’d made a comment once about liking pie, and Cas had taken it to heart. 

“That sounds awesome.” Dean’s gotten pretty good at making all the right noises at the right times. He’s had lots of practice when Sam calls. Sam tells him about his law practice and his pretty deaf wife and their struggles with conception and Dean makes all the right noises so that Sam doesn’t think about asking about Dean’s life. 

“I’d like you to go with me.” Those words snap Dean right out of his train of thought and he turns to look at Cas, wide eyed. This was a change of pace. The way things were, they sat here together, they talked in hushed whispers and they went their own ways. Dean didn’t give Cas his number, and Cas didn’t give Dean his. Their relationship existed solely within the confines of this church, even if you could call it a relationship. Dean was hesitant to even use the word friendship. And now he didn’t know what the hell was being asked of him. And which one would be worse. 

Would it be worse to kill this budding friendship on the off chance of a spark? Or would it be worse for Dean to go places with Cas and sit and stew in the feeling taking hold in his chest and never say a word about it?

“Cas-” It comes out like a warning, and for the first time, Dean sees nervousness in those deep blue eyes. But Cas, he was strong. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to back down. Dean always envied that about him. 

“No, Dean.” This is soft, just like the hand that reaches out to cup over Dean’s where they’ve fallen useless into his lap. “I know these kinds of declarations make you uncomfortable, but I’m not going to change the subject.”

“Geez.” Dean laughs nervously, his heart pounding a loud tattoo against his ears. “Call a guy out, why don’t you? Isn’t that cutting a little close to the quick?”

Cas doesn’t rise to the bait, and Dean thinks maybe he’s grateful that he didn’t. Cas takes a deep, audible breath, steeling himself before he speaks again. “I enjoy our talks. You’re my friend, and I want what’s best for you. But I have to say something.”

Oh shit, here it is. Dean can feel his hackles raising. He can smell a well meaning, but misguided intervention from a mile away. Hell, the last time this happened he was living back in the states with Benny. Dean took that talk so badly that he moved across the ocean just to get away from it. 

Dean starts to pull his hands away, but Cas’ grip tightens, keeping Dean’s hands pinned against his knee. “I care about you, Dean. And I want to keep our friendship. But I can’t keep going on without telling you how I feel.”

Wow. Well, okay. That was not what Dean was expecting. He swallows, a little white around the eyes like a spooked horse, but still pinned to the spot by Cas’ gravel voice. “This isn’t where I saw this going, if we’re being honest.” Yeah, there’s that half manic nervous laugh again. Cas knew him. Cas knew all his bullshit and his depression. How could he still want that?

“Dean.” He’s never known anybody else who could help curb the tide of rising anxiety in his chest with a single word like Cas could. “I care about you. And I’d like you to come with me to the summer festival.” There’s an awkward beat there, Cas working up his nerve. “Romantically.”

“Like a date?” Romantically made it sound like so much more than a date. Like there was weight behind it. (Dean liked the sound of ‘romantically’ a lot better than he liked the sound of dating.)

“A date.” Cas nods, solemn and sweet as ever, and not for the first or the damn last time, Dean wonders what it would be like to kiss him. Just to feel the pressure of lips. Maybe he’d get to feel the way a smile felt on Cas’ lips, up close and personal. 

He could have that, maybe. If he manned up and went to the summer festival with him. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot, actually.” Dean can’t let himself think about the next low swing or what he’d do if the festival happened on a day he had a hard time getting out of bed. 

“I’ll come to you. Early. That way, if you’re having one of your bad days, we have plenty of time to help you feel well enough to go.” Cas answers, like he’s reading Dean’s thoughts in neon above his head. 

It was enough to make his throat tight. Dean had never had anybody before who saw him, and wanted to stick around. He was a handful on his good days. For Cas to know how low he got and still want to go out with him? That was huge. And planning for a low swing? That was more than icing on the cake. That was a whole other damn cake. 

Dean feels warm, right beneath his sternum. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt since before they buried his dad, all those years ago. 

It was hope. 

“Guess that means I should give you my address and my cell number.”

Cas’ grip on his hands finally loosens, but he doesn’t pull away. He brushes his thumb over the ridges of Dean’s knuckles and smiles. 

“I guess you should.”

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Blight | I

BTS

Jeon Jungkook/Reader [F]

Genre: Dragon/Shapeshifter AU, Magic AU, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 5.9k

“Y/n, I have a spell to perfect for an exam in 3 hours and I haven’t practiced at all. Do you have any spare candles shoved someone in your hoarder hole of a den?!” You cradled your face, running your hands up and down your cheeks in an attempt to shut up the panicked running of your roommate, Yoongi. “Don’t ignore me!  Y/n!!”  You slammed your hands down onto your knees as you pushed yourself up from the floor.

Storming over to your door, you threw it open, to see the exact man who had been hollering ever since he got back from his Sunrise seminar; which was hours ago by the by.  

Pitch black hair, coal-dark eyes and a whole closet to match. Nothing but black all the way into the trenches of his closest. It’s like the man was allergic to color. Warlock or not, a splash of blue, or green or even pink wouldn’t hurt every now and again.  Even with a pretty face, his dull black color scheme got too boring too quickly for the eyes for your tastes.

He stood in front of you, hand out as if he was waiting for you to gift him with something.  You just looked at his open palm and slapped his hand in a - not so enthusiastic - low-five. His thick brow that was hidden beneath his fringe twitched.

“Candle,” he practically demanded.  

“Why do you need one?”

“Because all mine have completely transitioned into puddles of wax!”

“Shame. Might wanna run down to the store to buy some birthday candles and hope to the Spellmaster they work.”  You crossed your arms as you faced his eyes that seemed to burn around the iris.  “What spell are you performing for your exam exactly?”

“An animal summoning spell.” You blow out your lips in unattractive vibrations as you slapped your thigh in hysterics.

“You’ll be able to summon a toad at best with a birthday candle!  Maybe if you buy one of the number shaped ones, you can summon multiple!”  You teased as Yoongi was quick to find an opening into your den. His body turned to shadows and quick as a flash he slipped under your legs and rematerialized next to an alcove in the back.  Chock-full of crystals, tarot cards, boards, markers, paints, and thick burgundy candles.  Exactly what Yoongi was looking for. He plucked one from the shelf.

“Wow, you got burgundy before they sold out?  Quite a stash here, I think I’ll take one.”  He practically sang.  You whirled around and rushed towards him, yanking the candle form his hand.

“Get out of my den!”  You screeched as he plopped his ass rightly on your floor in some sort of pointless protest you suppose.  Face fuming, you stalked to your desk, grabbed a clean, unmarked talisman and dipped a paintbrush into black paint.  Scribbling in a hurried frenzy, you then turned back to Yoongi - who hadn’t moved a single inch - and slapped it on his back. “Out!”  You stormed and before he knew it, something was dragging the back of his hoody.  

Pulling him along the floor while he tried hopelessly to dig his heels into the rug to stop himself.  To no avail as soon he was thrown back out of your den, you threw something at him before slamming the door shut and locking it behind you.

“Fine, be a witch!”  He yelled as he rubbed his head.  Whatever hit him packed a punch with how much force you put behind it.  Probably enhancing it mid-flight like you tended to do. He pulled the talisman from his back and read the word “REMOVE” in bold, scratchy brush strokes.

“I will!  Now go practice!”  You yelled back as he felt something roll against his hand that lay, supporting his weight on the ground.  It was a candle.  It wasn’t a high-quality burgundy candle, but a simple white-wax candle that was more than fit enough for a Rank-C spell.  

Having two Spellcaster's live together was simultaneously a burden and a blessing.  Yoongi and you were prime examples.

After successfully kicking Yoongi out of your den - rightly so - and hearing his steps pad away from your door you checked to make sure, in his intrusion, no messes were made.

Your den was dark and dimly lit; a prime example of a cliche witches lair without a cauldron, but you’ve nothing against a few good cliches. A circular rug sat bunched in folds from Yoongi’s feet and his attempt to save himself from eviction sat in the center of the hardwood room.  Fabric a midnight black with golden stitching to show the design of a magic circle sewn into it; completely fake of course.  A real magic circle rug was expensive, not to mention hazardous.

Directly in front of the doorway pushed against the back wall was a large bay window and your desk that sat right beneath it.  The window itself had violet, basically, permanently closed curtains as they blocked out all times of the day. Your desktop had a tray of empty, clean talismans, candles, cups of long cold tea for concentration and notebooks here and there for your studies.  Spellbooks and papers were shoved inside drawers.  A staff leaned against the left end of your desk while a spare, back-up wand sat snuggly in its velvet cushioned box in a different drawer - much more well kept.  

Your desk chair was an old, ridged looking think.  Held together with magic far stronger and far more efficient than any wood glue or clamps could ever hope to be. Decorated with a dark seat cushion that had recently been replaced for comfort and a little brushing up in the paint, it wasn’t a horrible addition to the room.  You’d even go so far to say that it fits right in.

To the left of the room was the small, indented alcove Yoongi snooped through.  As it’s known, all your trinkets and useful objects sat there. From candles to a magic crystal ball and even a fake, stupid, plastic, black number 8 ball Yoongi got you as a gag gift. You frequented that alcove quite often.

Finally, to the right of the room was a large, metal hanging rack for your performance and formal robes and clothing.  There weren’t that many selections, as the occasions for which one needs to dress up for are scarce.  However, having them on hand was mandatory for a Spellcaster, Yoongi had a few himself for the rare chances of wearing them.  Honestly, you had a few of your own robes and pieces for personal use for when you needed to get a feel for the way they flowed, or how some were designed to enhance a certain power.  You’d use them in practice when you could.  

Your den wasn’t fancy or extensive by far, but it got you through your courses and you would add onto it should the need arise.  

Seeing your den in no certain, unfixable mess, you flicked your wrist as the rug straightened back out to it’s unwrinkled, circular form on the floor as you easily glided across it, stepping over to your alcove.  The candles that flickered - the source of light sitting in a three-pronged tier on your desk - settled to a stagnant simmer. They too seemed to be previously flamed by Yoongi’s intrusion so to speak.

Replacing the burgundy candle, you moved to sit at your desk.  Pulling out a roughly used and aged spellbook, you began flipping through and reading page by page, taking in as much knowledge you didn’t know and rereading to keep it locked in your brain.  The best way to stabilize power was to practice and study, at least in your case.  You were impatient to stabilize your magic and get some real work with a future familiar.

You had someone you were desperately trying to prove wrong, so you needed to get power as soon as you could. And with The Day of Contract so close, you were running out of time.  Else he would never accept you.

XXX

“Alright, break!”  The instructor for the Shifters professor yelled while the Rank C second class worked outside in the backcourts.  Practicing shifting, half shifting and channeling.  Jeon Jungkook was in this class.  His huffed as he let out a sigh of relief.  For him, changing to and from his human form and shifted form wasn’t hard, but half shifting was a bit of a task yet.  Allowing the scales that crept up his neck fade back into his skin. His claws shrank back into dull fingernails while his fangs disappeared back into man-like canines with a slight point.  His golden sclera, slit-pupil eyes rounded out once more as they dulled back to a gleaming umber.

Picking up his discarded water bottle and towel, he slung the fabric around his neck and took a heft swing of water, even when one should sip not gulp.  His shorts feathered around his thighs and hung tightly on his waist while his white t-shirt stuck to the sweaty patches of his chest and back.  One could easily see the impressive build the second year has.  

“Jungkook!”  He pulled the bottle from his lips, swallowing the last bit of water to quench his throat as he turned to see a classmate and friend of him trotting his way over.  In a matching pair of shorts and the same white tee with his towel swinging in the air and a gleaming smile on his face.  “I think the professor wants to have aerial Shifters take to some exercises next.”  

“Naturally,” Jungkook rolled his eyes.  Park Jimin, the small man who stood next to him.  A fellow second year, C Rank and a direct classmate with Jungkook.  He was a Hell Hound Shifter, a rare species to say the least. Strictly combative and a force to be reckoned with.  Small though he made seem, Jungkook knew first had that he could easily hurl him, and probably a second or third man altogether, at least 50 yards with minimum effort.  Because of his rare breed of Shifter and beast persona, he was quite the favorite and class star.  Yet, he never took advantage of that, always acting like he should and if honestly a model student in terms of C Ranks.

“Come on, don’t be a baby,” Jimin nudged his friend.  “He just wants to make sure that you all can maintain form. He’s doing it with all types, he’s not just specifically picking on aerials.  The Day of Contact is right around the corner.  If we’re to be bound-”

“-Then we have to be ready to serve, I know.”  He grumbled back.  “But, there no guarantee that all of us will even get chosen.  It’s a guessing game, and it’s unfair.  Maybe some of us don’t want a Master.”  This was no new news to Jimin.  Jungkook had always been anti-contract.  He thought it unfair and unlawful to make a Shifter serve one person for the rest of their life unless the Master chooses to release them before they keel over.

Jimin could understand where he was coming from, but he couldn’t relate.  Jimin has always yearned to be useful to someone.  With how rare his breed is, it’s extremely difficult for him to be paired with a Master capable enough to maintain their own magic, but his as well.  Though he was marveled for his rarity, he was also outcasted because he was the only one of his kind in this school.  His deepest wish is to be bound to someone he could stick to and stand by as a partner, as their Familiar.  Should it come down to it, he’d choose his Master himself.

“It’s not so bad.  If you get bound, it’s not like the whole school will know who it is.  The ceremony is completely private to Spellcasters.  Whomever the contract includes will be known only to the Familiar, the Master and the Spellmaster.”  Jungkook didn’t know how the ceremony worked, obviously since he isn’t a Spellcaster, but he didn’t rightly care.  It still annoyed him.

Jungkook let out a huff through his teeth, a puff of small yellow flames seeping through the gaps.  Jimin laughed, as he always does when Jungkook gets annoyed enough to let the coolest of his flames loose.  His fire comes in shades of heat.  Yellow flames were his coldest flames, though still hot enough to flame.  He can only advance to the raging red of his flames, though he knows the hottest flame is stark white.  A flame so hot it can melt from miles and lethal to even another dragon.  That’s what Jungkook strived for.  A Master would only prove to stand in his way.

“The only problem you have with the ceremony,” Jungkook started, “is the use of aliases.”  Jimin cringed.  When enrolled, it’s common knowledge that each student is to pick an alias for professional use so when they eventually graduate or get work, people ‘remember it’.  

“God,” Jimin shakes his head, “I hate using them!  They’re so dumb, why remember a person and their actions by a fake name?  It makes no sense!”  Jungkook laughed.  

“Oh, so you don’t like to be called Yeth?”  Jimin screaming, slapping his friend arms, making him wince with the amount of force put into it. “Ow!”

“Don’t call me that!  It’s so weird.  So should I start calling you Helios everywhere you go?”

“I’ll kindly ask you not to.  It doesn’t really fit me,” Jungkook shrugged as he rubbed at his arm.  Jiming puffed his lips in thought as he teetered his head back and forth.  

“It’s not so unfitting.  I mean, didn’t you say you called yourself that because your first memory was the sun?” Jungkook made the most unattractive face of disapproval.  He wasn’t ashamed of his alias, or the reason why he chose it, don’t mistake him.  Just hearing it aloud was a bit embarrassing.

“Please stop,” Jungkook pleaded as Jimin squeaked in a laugh. Soon, the little window of rest he had been granted was stolen as the Professor called everyone back to watch the aerials take to the sky.  Jungkook sighed as Jimin slapped him on the back for good luck.  Soon, Jungkook stood in a line side by side the other flying aerial Shifters.  Some bats, some birds, there was even a Griffon among them somewhere.  

“Aerials’, ready!”  The line of student braced themselves.  “Take to the sky!”  The group pushed forward, running as fast as they could as they transitioned into half-shifted states and then with mighty jumps into the air, they changed and never came back down. Animals, creatures, and beasts took the sky.  Jungkook, a mighty, scaled dusty-grey fire dragon.  A marvel to watch.

Once the exercises were finished and all the sky beasts came back to land and once more took to their birth bodies of human, Jungkook was flocked.  He was quite a star himself.  A handsome face with talent pouring from his pores and words of excellence dripping from his lips.  He had a reputation of mastering any skill he put his mind to and executing it flawlessly with only a few attempts.  He was ‘golden’ so to speak.  Thought, unlike Jimin who shied away from the center of attention, the ever popular Jeon thrived off it.  

See, he wasn’t just a magnificent Shifter by nature and by study, he was also the academy's resident star-athlete. A force to be wrecked with on the mat as a barbarian wrestler.  Wrestling in this world is different than the human’s fake broadcasts or mat tackling show.  In this world, if you’re not prepared to send the opponent to the hospital for immediate treatment, then you will lose.  Opponents from branches of the main campus (the one in which he resides in with the Spellmaster), feared any time they were to travel to him and shake at the lineup to see if they were the unfortunate soul pinned against him.

Jungkook was competitive, and thus he was ruthless on the mat, or in the ring.  During practice, he’d ease up to not completely throw out his team members, but he couldn’t let them off too easy. No progress would be made if he held back too much.  He only got to go full out when competitions would arise.  And wrestling season was just around the corner.

He laughed and smiled in the spotlight as he was then let out of his personal mob when the professor called a different group up for some training.

Meanwhile, you had finally pulled yourself out of your den for the day, at least until you decided you needed to practice some more, and walked out into the hall of your little home with Yoongi.  He had just slipped on his shoes as he heard you come out and caught you before you could retreat to your actual room.  

“Come with me to my level,” he said as you ticked your brow up.  

“Why?”

“Because if I’m late I need you to pull your acting skills you have shoved up your ass and vouch for me I totally wasn’t sleeping like 10 minutes ago.” You rolled your eyes.  It’s quite possible he didn’t practice his spells for very long.  His exam was over summoning if you remembered correctly, and it honestly shocked you once you thought about it that he ever thought about practicing for that.  He was a wizard when it came to summoning - pun intended.  Whether it be another spiritual being or a simple spider from over in Australia, he was an ace.  His marks were always highest in that regard.  So, you saw it much more believable if he was sleeping rather than practicing.

“I don’t know, what do I get out of it?” He opened his mouth as he rolled his eyes in the most dramatic way known to man.

“What better payment is there other than the pride knowing you saved your best friend-”

“a debatable title,” you interrupted.

“-BEST FRIEND, from yet another detention where all Ms. Balx does is drone on and on about how I need to make a good example for my underclassmen to follow?” You rush ran your tongue over your teeth and crossed your arms, giving him the most uplifting let down gaze ever.  “I’ll restock your stupid cabinet with Honey Butter Chips.”  Your eyes sparkled, almost literally as you ran to your room.

“Let me get my hoodie and we’ll get you to your exam in no time at all with a Rank A lie to prove your fake-innocence!”  He rolled his eyes, though this eye roll was a fond one with a smile and little laugh to accompany it.  The off-campus dorms were pretty far off, so you had best hurry, or his grade is at stake.  Not that he cared too much. 

Soon, you were walking with Yoongi, who was dressed in black skinnies, a button-down black collared shirt with a loose white tie - the only white piece he owned - and a spellbook tucked under his arm. He was clearly class, or rather, exam ready.  All while you waltzed next to him, spouting off the most creative, yet somehow, believable lie you’ve come up with yet.  With slides on your feet, shorts nearly hidden by your hoodie, which actually belonged to your cousin in a different school branch and hair thrown up like you didn’t spend all morning in your den.

The two stopped halfway through the outside corridor to the Spellcaster building as they waltzed through the Shifter’s building.  You looked out and watched Professor Navia’s class working under his iron-clad fist.  If Navia was anything, he was a strict teacher, but his strictness always bore good fruit.  

You found it humorous a lot of his students wouldn’t say his name, thinking they’d be cursed with bad luck for a week if they did.  Navia wasn’t a bad man, just a hardcore Shifter that happens to change into a Minotaur.  Many think he should have been put into the Mythical Beast’s building, but as a man who can change to and from his Shifted form, he was placed here accordingly.

Along the students in that class, Yoongi always stopped to see if he could catch a glance at a good friend of his.  Seeing him chilling in the grass as he took drink after drink from his nearly empty bottle, he waved him down.

“Yeth!” Yoongi yelled as you swatted his arm, making him more offended than physically harmed.  Jimin saw his friend and got up with a bright smile, contrast to his dark beast form, and trotted over as if he had all the energy in the world.

“Yoongi!  You have an exam to go to. An exam!!”  He just pursed his lips and waved off your woes.  You threw your hands up as you turned to your side, your dramatic display of the time pinch he was in was quite unnecessary to him.

Jimin came to a stop in front of you two.  “Getting chewed out again, are you?”  He teased his friend. You whirled around to Jimin, an accusing finger pointing to the warlock.  You and Jimin were friendly with each other, but still not as close as the two men.

“He,” you shouted, “is making me lie for him because he’s going to be late for an exam and I’m getting nothing out of it!”  

“You’re getting chips!”

“That may not be compensation enough anymore, August!”  Jimin threw himself back as he let out his high pitched laugh at the display of foolish antics you both normally put on and the use of Yoongi’s alias from you.  Behind closed doors or out in public, the relationship of bickering you two held never wavered.  He covered his lips with the back of his free hand that didn’t hold his bottle.  You had even got so caught up in your scolding you started choking on air and went into a coughing fit.

Jimin was quick to give you his water bottle and you took it, ready to take a swing to clear your throat when it was snatched by Yoongi.  You whined at him, as you pawed to get it back.  He only held it away from you more.  

“Yoongi!” You harshly groaned.  He quickly put three fingers on your throat before whispering some incantation and the burn was gone with a warm glow from his fingertip.  You pouted.  “You won't let me take a drink of water, but you’ll heal my throat for me.  How flattering.”

“You can’t drink from men’s water bottles.  That’s indirect kissing and that’s a no-no.”  He waved his finger back to you like a child as you watched him fill Jimin’s bottle with more water before handing it back to him.

“Who or what I’m kissing directly or not is really none of your business.” He looked almost offended at your statement.

“Excuse me?  I’m hurt, wounded, utterly rendered speechless that my darling best friend would deny me when all I want is to protect her.” He nearly entered a dramatic soliloquy before you stopped him by kicking behind his knee and shoving him forward, nearly taking him down. “Hey-”

“Jimin!  What are you doing?!” Jimin looked behind him as Jungkook called him and ran over to him.  Seeing he was talking to someone, he was curious.  When he came to a halt at his side and saw you, he frowned. “Oh good god,” he chided.  You glared over your shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, hunting mice you snake?”

“I am not a snake!  Why don’t you go back to mumbling your mumbo jumbo in your stupid lair.”  

“It’s a den!”  Jungkook and you haven’t been known to see eye to eye. As you two started shouting and bickering back and forth, Jimin watched silently with Yoongi.

“Their fighting almost makes ours look like we’re newlyweds,” Yoongi stated and then shivered at the thought.  Best friend, yes you were. Wife, god he’d sooner rip out his own nails and eat them. Jimin laughed as he looked at the sun, the time ticking on.  

“Yoongi, your exam?”  Yoongi jumped as he finally remembered why you were dragged out with him in the first place.  

“Shit!”  He interrupted your argument with Jungkook as he grabbed your arm.  “We have to go!  I’m late!”  

“Who’s fault is that?!”  You screeched as he shook his head and took off, you being dragged in tow behind him. Jungkook watched you two disappear into and through his building with an annoyed click of his tongue. He crossed his arms as Jimin came to his side.

“I don’t understand why you and Y/n don’t get along.  It’s not like she’s mean,” he said.

“I hate Spellcasters. Salem is no exception,” he seethed your alias. Too proud to use your real name as he turned his back on Jimin to go back to the courts and continue with his practice. “Especially ones who seek out a Familiar.”  

XXX

Just as you had promised Yoongi, you both burst through the doors to his exam room out of breath and very notably late.  You quickly took to your position as his cover as you then promptly broke into tears - although fake. You fell to your knees as you squeezed your eyes shut and covered your mouth - mainly to conceal your smile - as Yoongi knelt beside you and rubbed your back.  If he hadn’t forced you to be his cover, he would think you really were in the middle of some heavy breakdown.  

Hiccuping out the story in which you weaved on the trip here, you claimed you just needed Yoongi to be by your side to support you in your time of need.  However, needing to get to his exam, you accidentally held him back and wanted to come and take his punishment as your own, however you broke into tears before you could strongly take his place.  The professor, a new sap who didn’t know you or Yoongi nor your relationship, fell for each and every lie you told. Letting Yoongi off with a warning as Yoongi then showed you out, and whispered in your ear.  

The professor assumed he was telling you words of comfort and ease for your departure.  When, in actuality, he was simply thanking you and promising you bag after bag of those delicious Honey Chips that would soon overflow from your kitchen cabinet.

With your job over and done, you made your way to the washroom on the B Floor, to wash up the mess you were forced to make on your face.  Washing your skin with water and taking breaths to even out your broken voice.  You stood in the mirror doing vocal exercises for at least 3 minutes to make sure your voice was completely normal again.

The tear-stained eyes were a bit more complex.  A simple face wash and breathing weren’t going to make the evidence of tears disappear.  Thankfully, you happen to be skilled in both lying and covering those lies when need be.  Bringing your index finger to your lips, you gently pushed the pad against them and blew softly.  Soft, blue light shone on your fingertip as you tapped around your eyes.  Once finished, the blue melded with your skin to make the red from earlier completely vanish, or at least it hid the red until you got home to the safety of your dorm.  

Temporary magic cover, yes. But effective.  

You had just stepped out of the stairwell from the B Floor onto your own floor, C.  You made your way down the halls, some classes in session, some not.  Often, the D Ranks would hold special classes so that they don’t fall under to become an E Rank, so class and lectures for them were almost around the clock.  

“Salem!”  You stopped and turned once you heard someone call to you.  They were fellow C Ranked girls who you seemed to vaguely remember their faces, but their names escaped you.  If you remembered correctly, they were a few classes down the hall from yours.  On the border of C and D.  You were a studious sort, most notably known for your high marks on exams.  It wasn’t rare when young students came to seek some sort of guidance.

Salem.  To humans, it’s a town in which those who practiced witchcraft were executed for going against the God in which they solely believe is all.  A single Holy Spirit that once walked the earth and then sent his son to keep his legacy going.  A selfish God in which you refused to believe in.

To your kind, however, Salem was much more than an execution period.  It was a massacre.  Many witches and warlocks were lost to the trials. Even innocent humans were murdered, all because of one accusation a warm body made with no way to prove their innocence. The lynches covered countries, not just that of the West.  Many of your ancestors were lost back then too.  Thus you took the name Salem, to honor them and their deaths.  For they were proud to be Spellcasters, and they died for their kin to know that. Never be ashamed in the powers you have, that was their message.

You smiled at the small group of three that approached you.  Spellbooks and papers fumbling around in their arms as they run through the halls.  “Good morning,” you greeted as you looked at the clock.  10:04, still morning.  

You had figured they were here to ask a question or two about some sort of topic, be it magic or not, but instead, they just wished you luck on the upcoming test every witch and warlock take before The Day of Contract.  The only way to judge a person’s magic storage is through tests, of course, you can’t just thrust a Spellcaster in a Master-Familiar bond and expect it to work out. You smiled as you thanked them for their grateful wishes and then they were off, as quickly as they came.

Your mind wandered back to Yoongi at the thought of Familiars.  Yoongi was approved last year during the entrance tests that he was more than qualified for a Familiar, but every time the contract ceremony was to be held, he always skipped out.  He told himself and you that he would choose his own Familiar.  He had the power to choose whomever he pleased, and he wouldn’t let the ‘Gods’ choose something he has control over.  You saw where he was coming from and with such freedom to take that route, you envied him.

You had no such luck, you had to have a Familiar.  You had to, one for him to see.  Maybe, even to notice or acknowledge you.  

You were absentmindedly walking, like some sort of zombie, making your way back towards the school gates to head back to the off-campus dorm you and Yoongi shared.  A good nap was in your future, and you didn’t need any future seeing crystal ball to know that.  Unluckily for you, your nap was further postponed when you were so out of it you ran into an open locker door.  

Slamming your face into the metal of the locker, and slamming it shut, you cradled your cheek as you winced. Instead of a quick ‘oh my gosh, are you okay?’ from the locker owner, you got nothing but a heavy sigh.  

“Can’t you even watch where you’re going with your two perfectly working eyes, you insufficient walking prude?”  With an eye roll, you dropped your hand to show your reddening face- in both annoyance and the stinging sensation from the locker- to lock eyes with the speaker.

“Why don’t you go play in traffic.  Really, really heavy traffic,” you seethed back at the dragon boy.  He whistled in a false impressive tone.

“You know very well if a car hits me, it’ll hurt the car more than me. It’d be like stepping on a tin can, and the car is the can in which case.”

“Then stand in front of a damn 18-wheeler punching it down the freeway.  See that one crush to your massive ego, Egg-Layer.”

“I do not lay eggs!  How many times do I need to tell you, that’s a myth!”

“Oh yes, I forgot.  Say, as an outsider, what do you think of the human race?”  

“We’re both outsiders, you pompous witch.”

“Pompous?!  Oh, so I’m the pompous one?”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else around to claim the title.”

“Oh right, I forgot you’re a Rank A douche nut.”

“Douche...nut?”

“Don’t catechize me.”  The back and forth arguing never quit between you two.  In all honesty, you wouldn’t get so riled up if he wasn’t such a jerk all the time.  All he did was seek confrontation with you when all you wanted to do was simply do your own thing and go on with your life.  You never sought out the overwhelming, massive, egotistical dickwad that was Jeon Jungkook, and you could frank go on with your life if he hadn’t opened his mouth that first time all those months ago.

Yet, he continued to push.  And push and push until he pushed you against a metaphorical wall in which you had no choice but to push back.  Everyone around you, adults especially, looked at you two as if it were ‘young love’ blossoming in the most cliche and sickest way possible.  That was not the case.  You were positive, the only thing you and this scaley brained pyro had in common was the fact that you couldn’t stand each other.

You opened your mouth to tell him off, but you just shut it again.  Already in a pissy mood and a headache that is only escalating, you needed to get back to the comfort of your dorm room and fill your mind with the future of snacks soon to be yours.  You briskly walked past Jungkook, slightly checking his shoulder with yours as you strut down the fall.  

Jungkook watched your back as you walked until you turned into the stairwell to go down to the ground floor, Floor E before he turned back to reopen his locker your face so graciously closed.  

“What a brat,” he muttered to himself as he decided the best way to get out of the mood he was in, was the take a little fly to his secret area. Throwing all his school stuff in his locker and removing his shirt, leaving him bareback, he ran outside and did promptly that.  Half shifting would do the trick.  

Small sets of dual horns pushed through the crown of his head as the scales his human skin concealed pushed up his neck and crept up his cheeks.  His eyes shifted to a golden color of all, erasing all white of the sclera while his pupil narrowed into a single horizontal slit down the center. Fingernails elongated into sharpened claws and ears pointed, the wings on his back pushed through his back.

Just as he normally did, he was off campus and gone with the wind as the air spirits pushing him forward towards the place in which only he knew.  Away from school.  Away from Contracts.  Away from his ‘responsibility’.  Most importantly, away from you.

-TBC-

*If you would like to be notified when ths series updates, let me known and I will start a tag list!*

[keeroo92]

What about something for my boi Dante? I really like how you write him too! Prompt: "You just wanted them because they light up.” Hmmm... 🤔😂

I’m all to happy to oblige! Hope you enjoy this spicy taste of Dante...

Word count: 2,211

______________

Window shopping with Dante was one of your favorite ways to spend date night. Red Grave had such a wide variety of shops, you never knew what you would find. Even if you didn’t end up buying anything, Dante’s commentary often left you holding your gut in pain as you tried to stop laughing.

Tonight was no exception.

“Eugh, that looks like something my grandma would wear!” your white-haired boyfriend commented, pointing at a knitted shawl in the window of a boutique. He wasn’t wrong; the white yarn would’ve been at home draped over a rocking chair. You chuckled and mimed using a walker, pretending to straighten a pair of glasses as you tried to get a closer look at the item.

“Oh, sonny, it’s lovely!”

Dante cracked up and gave you an exaggerated round of applause. You bowed theatrically and moved on to the next pane of glass, featuring several mannequins dressed in risqué lingerie. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as Dante wolf-whistled suggestively.

“Babe, we gotta go in! That black number would look incredible on you!”

The piece he was referring to displayed the pale plastic of the mannequin’s stomach like a piece of artwork. The dark lace clung to the chest and the first tendrils of heat pooled in your belly as you imagined Dante ripping it off you. You grabbed his hand and tugged him inside the dimly-lit shop.

“ID’s, please,” a voice requested by the door. You dug through your purse and smiled as you handed the clerk your driver’s license, Dante’s waiting in his hand.

“Perfect! Can I help you two find anything?” the young woman said with a smile, holding out the plastic card.

“That black one in the window, you got that in a medium?”

She turned away and vanished into the racks, leaving you and Dante to browse as she fetched the item in question. You wandered around aimlessly, pointing out the bridal section’s penis shaped lollipops to Dante with a chuckle. He held out a pair of boxers made of a shiny, stretchy material that looked far too small for a full grown man to wear, and you giggled in return.

“Here we are! Let me show you to the fitting room!” the clerk said, reappearing like a mirage in the desert holding a length of black fabric.

“Have fun, babe! Take a few pictures for me,” Dante quipped with a saucy wink as you walked away. You shook your head as the clerk laughed.

She led you to a hidden alcove, tugging aside a thick red curtain and leaving you to it. It took a few minutes, but you managed to get the beautiful piece of lace on. When you caught your reflection in the mirror, you gasped. The black lace hugged your curves sensually, hinting at the sensitive flesh beneath. The texture of the fabric sent goosebumps up and down your skin as you posed to take a picture for Dante, a teasing smirk twisting your lips.

You had to hand it to him, the man had excellent taste in lingerie.

You found Dante a few minutes later by a rack of silicone rings, reading the label of one with a child-like grin.  He turned his gleeful eyes to you excitedly, holding it out for your inspection. You raised an eyebrow and smirked playfully.

“You only want it because it lights up!”

“So? Look, it has seven speeds! It’ll be great,” he assured you. You rolled your eyes but nodded, curious despite yourself. You headed to the register and paid, taking the lingerie for good measure. The clerk gave you a knowing smile as you took the bag and left.

Outside, the air had turned chilly and you crossed your arms to insulate yourself. Dante hummed and stood behind you, his arms going over yours and squeezing gently. His stubble tickled your cheek as he leaned down to press a teasing kiss on your neck.

“How bout we head back for some fun?” he whispered. His tone was dangerously seductive and you could feel the his growing hardness pressing into the small of your back as his hands ran down to rest on your hips. You giggled and stepped out of his reach, heading back the way you came with a saucy smile.

He smirked and gave chase, growling like a lion on a hunt when you twirled away from his grasp. It gave you such a thrill to taunt him, pretending to be scared of his gentle hands and rough passion. He cornered you against a brick wall a block from home, pinning you to it and pressing his body to yours as his mouth descended to devour you. A low whine escaped your lips as his tongue darted out to sample you.

But you wanted to keep the game going, and playfully shoved him away to dart past, biting your lip as his hungry eyes followed you.

“You’re asking for it, babe,” he said, stepping closer.

“Then you’d better deliver,” you replied, and took off running. You knew he could catch you easily, but he let you reach the door to Devil May Cry before he made his move. You barely had time to squeak as he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, kicking the unlocked door open and using his free hand to smack your ass.

You squirmed until he had to set you down, but you only made it three feet before his firm grasp stopped you in your tracks. He gripped your hips achingly tight, sending a bolt of lightning up your spine as he dragged you to his desk.

“I always deliver!” he growled, reaching down to rub a single finger over your aching bundle of nerves. You arched your hips and moaned, begging him for more friction, but he only smirked and moved his hand away. You reacted instantly, ripping his red leather jacket off and throwing it to the ground. Gods, his shoulders were too much!

Dante bared his teeth and hastily tugged his shirt off, his lips crashing against yours before the fabric even hit the floor. You wrapped your arms around his gorgeous back and lifted yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs and tugging him closer to press against your core. Your chin was raw from his scratchy white stubble, your lips swollen as he plunged his tongue past them to explore your mouth, but all you wanted was more.

He pulled back, panting as he brushed strands of white out of his hooded eyes.

“Now… where’s that bag?” he asked. You pointed to where it lied, forgotten by the door where you’d dropped it. As he went to retrieve it, you peeled your sweater off. The fabric took your shirt with it, and you tossed the bundle aside just as Dante returned, already tearing at the complicated packaging of his new toy.

“I’ll keep myself busy…” you murmured, tugging your pants down and kicking them away, taking your panties with them. Dante’s jaw dropped as you leaned back onto his desk and your hands drifted lower, teasing at your slick folds. You let out an exaggerated moan, letting your eyes flutter closed as you threw your head back and rubbed circles over your clit. You extended a single digit and dipped it inside yourself, curling it to hit that perfect spot. You could hear his panting breaths as he watched your little show.

“Dante…” you whimpered, using your free hand to pinch your stiff peaks.

And then his hands were on your flushed skin, his teeth biting just right on your needy thighs. He pulled your hand away and dove in, his tongue lapping at the fluids leaking from within. Every lick and nibble sent surges of pleasure through you, his expert mouth rending you into a quivering pile of lust.

“Dante, please!”

He hummed, taking your swollen bud into his mouth and sucking gently. His hot tongue crossed over the sensitive nerves and you came with a cry, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him against your folds. He kept going, drawing out the blissful moment for what felt like an age as he tasted your heady flavor. Your lips stretched into a wide grin as the last wave rushed through you, every nerve in your body still tingling as he stood tall over your sweat-slick body.

He held out his hands as if he was taking a picture, framing it carefully with one eye squinted shut.

“You look perfect like this, babe. So damn hot…” he said, lowering his hands as you chuckled, raising yourself to your elbows to meet his eyes. At some point he’d finished stripping and put on the cock ring, and seeing his length pointed right at you made you lick your lips. A small drop decorated his head, his readiness almost as obvious as your own.

His cock bobbed as he flexed, smirking at your glazed expression. One of his hands dropped to wrap around it and stroke, sending another small bead rolling out from the tip as he groaned. You couldn’t take it and dropped to your knees before him, staring deep into his eyes as you licked the delicious morsel and took him into you hot mouth.

“Fuck, babe…”

You hummed and hollowed your cheeks, bobbing a few times and reveling in the way he filled your mouth and tickled the back of your throat. You ran your palms up his legs, coming to rest on his hips and encouraging him to move, but he pulled away with a muttered curse.

Dante took your wrists and turned you, pushing you down over the dark wood of his desk. You grunted at the impact, but it morphed into a gasp as he sheathed himself in you with a single thrust. He held you down with one hand as he started pulling back. The rough surface beneath you felt ice cold to your heated skin and you gripped it firmly as he rolled his hips forward again, slowly stretching you to fit his girth.

“Ready for me to turn it on?” he asked.

“Please…”

He hummed and withdrew, and a beat later you heard the telltale buzz as he flicked the toy on. The vibrations reverberated down his length and into your core, and your eyes rolled back into your head as you saw stars and moaned. Dante pressed into you again, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. You could feel the buzzing in every nerve now, the toy positioned so it pressed right against your clit.

“Damn, your pussy looks amazing in blue!”

“Bet it makes your cock look good too, especially with me wrapped around it…” you responded with a taunting smile. He wove his fingers in your hair and made a fist, sending jolts of heat through your scalp to match those between your legs.

“Nothing ever made my cock look better, babe,” he replied, resuming his movement. You could picture his head scraping at your walls as he thrusted, his panting breath joining the low buzz and the wet sounds of your pleasure, but there was one sound missing.

“Harder, Dante! C’mon, I can take it!”

He chuckled and obeyed, the slap of flesh echoing in the air with every roll of his hips. You rocked your body to meet his, using the desk for leverage until it was rising and falling with a crash along with your bodies. You clenched your internal muscles, milking him and making him feel positively huge as he fought his way past the tight ring. The vibrations pulsed at your flesh as his head hit your cervix and sent you over the edge again, howling his name.

His hands clenched on your hips, brutally tugging them to meet his movements as fireworks flashed behind your closed eyes. With another few thrusts he exploded with the sexiest moan imaginable, pounding into you and sending his seed deep into your body. His hips stuttered against yours as he rode out his release, quiet gasps escaping his parted lips with each contact.

Spent for now, he leaned over to kiss your shoulder and switched off the cock ring, leaving your drenched folds tingling at the sudden absence. You sighed happily as he slipped out, content to feel the dripping fluids on your legs.

“Here, lemme get you something…”

A smile graced your still swollen lips as Dante’s footsteps retreated. You didn’t move, basking in the afterglow. Within moments, he returned with a soft cloth to wipe away the worst of the mess and you rose to wobble to where your panties lied on the floor. Dante’s sapphire eyes followed you, making sure you didn’t fall.

“So, for the record, that was fucking incredible for you too, right?” he asked quizzically. You couldn’t help but laugh before you answered.

“I’d say that was a twelve, on a scale of one to ten. And we didn’t even use the lingerie!”

Dante smirked as he pulled his pants on. “Well, the night’s still young…”