#its kind of a statement piece as much as casting light. it would take me forever to find one as nice as this one if i ever fking get it

[demoness-one]

I ordered a vintage light fixture ($300) off of etsy in july, hoping it would arrive for my birthday in august. Its now halfway through november and its still not fucking here. Somehow he messed the address up so it got shipped to america where it sat for 3 weeks, then back to germany, then the seller made me pay for shipping again ($50) and now hes shipped it via containership. (takes 2-3 weeks extra) So with my luck by now its at the bottom of the fucking ocean. This dude is getting like 2 stars max, this is the most stressful fucking transaction of my life lol. First and last time using etsy istg 😭

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Secrets of the Darkest Art: How to Make a Horcrux

So I saw many theories regarding how to make a Horcrux, but none of them really made perfect sense to me, so I decided to give it a crack myself as part of my mission to understand Lord Voldemort/Tom Marvolo Riddle (Which I think I did, big post coming about that at some point, this is but another piece of that puzzle of a man)

So this is my reverse engineering of a ritual to create Horcruxes based on book evidence, my knowledge of real-world alchemy, real-world ancient Greek cults and rituals and linguistic analysis.

How to reverse engineering a dark magical ritual:

The first thing is to define what we know for certain:

The name: "Horcrux"

The creator is an Ancient Greek wizard named Harpo the Foul.

A death is required in the making.

A Horcrux holds a piece of the caster's soul that anchors them to life so they won't die.

I'll actually start with the third point.

How to split a soul?

Both Dumbledore and Slughorn mention murder being required to tear your soul to make a Horcrux, and that never really sat right with me. It magically doesn't make sense and even the canon examples we have for Horcrux murders make this statement iffy.

We have seven examples of murders used to create Horcruxs (thanks to one Tom Riddle being dramatic):

The Diary - Myrtle Warren - killed by a basilisk. Sure, Tom freed the Basilisk, but it hardly seemed targeted at Myrtle specifically and you can argue he didn't actually kill her (more a manslaughter by negligence). He didn't cast the spell, so how come this tore his soul? (I also think Myrtle was an accident and wasn't meant to be killed, but I digress)

The Ring - his father (Tom Riddle Sr) - Avada Kadevra.

The Cup - Hepzibah Smith - she was poisoned by her house elf. Sure, the elf was under the imperious, but it wasn't a first-degree murder, and like with the Basilisk I find it hard to consider this the same as casting a killing curse. Magically those are very different things.

The Locket - Muggle Tramp - Avada Kadevra

The Diadem - Albanian Peasant - Avada Kadevra

Harry Potter - himself - backfired Avada Kadevra

Nagini - Bertha Jorkins - Avada Kadevra

Now, I used the term "magically different" or "magically make sense" what do I mean by that?

Well, besides the fact I'm going to make a full post about how I see magical theory in the Harry Potter Wizarding World, I'll say it takes a lot after occult philosophies from Alchemy that are very old, Slughorn mentions as much in book 6 and there are a few other references to it. I'm just gonna cover the basics required for this theory.

In Alchemy, everything (people, animals, plants, and rocks) is built of three base components:

The Salt - the body - the physical form.

The Sulfur - the soul - the self that holds the divine flame.

The Mercury - the spirit - the life essence that binds the salt and sulfur together.

Now, in Alchemy, the main study is in purifying and combining these different aspects of material. Let's look at a herb, for an example:

If we want to retrieve its salt, we'll dry the herb completely using fire to leave behind a fine light grey ash that represents only the physical form.

If we wanted its mercury we'd distill all liquids from it until we get a purified, clear liquid which in the case of plants would be alcohol (it's why alcohol is referred to as "spirit").

And if we wanted its soul, we would take the remains from the distillation and drying process which would be a kind of oil.

(it can get more complicated with different materials, but this isn't a post about Alchemy)

Now, back to Horcruxs.

So, if we would want to split a soul, Alchemecly, how do we go about it?

Well, we don't. Not really. See a soul can't really be split, as every part of it, every bit of that oil from our random herb represents the entire soul. It's why something like a Horcrux could theoretically work in giving a full life to the diary the way we see in Chamber of Secrets.

Additionally, to work with any material in Alchemy, you are required to purify it first. It means that to get a piece of soul to bind to a diary, you need a pure soul.

Killing someone else won't sever your own soul from the spirit and the body, it's not how this works. Killing someone severs their spirit and therefore splits their body, spirit, and soul. Besides, an Ancient Greek man, like Herpo was, would hardly consider murder as vile as we do today. It wouldn't even cross his mind that any murder (even an indirect one) could harm one's own soul.

No, the only way to "split" a soul is to first sever it from life, disconnecting the bond between soul and body. Essentially, the only way to promise you immortality is to kill yourself.

I know it sounds a little confusing, but, essentially, once the soul is severed from the spirit and body you can split it. Think of the herbal oil, once you have the oil, separate from the rest of the plant parts, you can combine it with new ingredients. You can only work on a specific aspect once you severed it from the other two and as what binds all three together is spirit — life — the only way to do it for a human soul — is death.

But really, how?

Well, here comes the second thing we know about making Horcruxs — that dear Herpo was from Ancient Greece.

In Ancient Greece they had multiple different religious cults, some of which were Chthonic cults. These cults dedicated themselves to death or ditties and heroes associated with death and more importantly — rebirth.

Many of these cults were dedicated to figures like Orpheus, Dionysus, and Persephone, characters in mythology who are known for going through the underworld — through death — and coming back out. These cults were very secretive and not much is known about their practices, but some are.

What is known is that they had rituals where they reenacted a death and then rebirth (usually drinking wine — water of life, was the representation of rebirth).

This created a very clear idea in my head — to split a soul, you'll have to ritualistically, magically kill yourself, severe a piece of your soul, and then revive yourself with a water of life — a potion.

This potion is never mentioned, but I believe it exists due to these Chthonic cult rituals and how they were structured. Not only that, but the Greek underworld did have a river known for being incredibly painful to drink, literally made of fire, but being able to bring the dead back - The Phlegethon River.

Note: Lethe River Water (the river in the Greek Underworld that makes the drinker forget) is a canon ingredient in a Forgetfulness Potion.

So what is the dead body for?

Well, congratulations, you killed yourself to retrieve a sliver of your soul and revived yourself so you won't stay dead. You found an item you can keep secure to tie that sliver of soul, too. Now, how would you bind then? After all, the only thing meant to bind a human soul to a body is a human spirit - a human life... you get where I'm going with this.

This is why Tom didn't have to be the one to do the deed. As long as he had a recently deceased corpse to harvest the life from to use to bind his newly split soul and the item of his choice.

It explains why nothing was missing from the bodies. Myrtle and the Riddles were investigated by the Ministry of Magic. One would assume the Aurors would've noticed if any corpse was missing a hand due to the killer eating it (as other Horcrux theories suggest).

Not only was nothing missing from the body, the soul was intact. Myrtle became a ghost after death, a ghost is quite literally, just the soul, no body, no spirit.

So the only thing that was taken from Tom's victims was their life, quite literally at that.

Is that all? Can we make a Horcrux now?

Not really. See, when analyzing spells in Harry Potter, one thing super important to note is their name.

Avada Kadevra - is a reference to an Aramaic healing spell "Abracadabra" pronounced in Aramaic as: "Avra Kadebra" and meaning "I will create as commanded". Merged with the Latin word "cadaver" meaning "corpse" to create -> "I will create dead bodies as commanded"

Or Wingardium Laviosa - is a cross of the English word "wing", the Latin word "arduus" (meaning "high, tall, lofty, steep, proudly elevated"), or "arduum" (meaning "steep place, the steep" and the Latin word "levo" (meaning to "raise, lift up"). So together the spell means -> "lift high up".

So, it's pretty clear spells, their names, and incantations are very self-explanatory. So a Horcrux should be no different.

I've seen some attempts at translating the name Horcrux. Unfortunately, these attempts treated the name as Latin, modern Greek, or Old English. Herpo, was Ancient Greek, though, so I went and translated a few possible meanings from Ancient Greek (Classical Greek and Homeric Greek are what I looked at):

ὅρκος (orkus, pronounced "hor-kus") - an oath, the object by which one swears, bound by oath (still used in modern Greek).

κρόκες (crukes, pronounced "cru-kes") - saffron-colored (blood red in Greek), crocus flower. The crocus flower symbolizes both death (the saffron that is the spice) and rebirth (the golden crocus which brings renewal and joy) because Demeter wears them when Persephone returns from the underworld in myth.

So what we have is a spell called "binding oath of death and rebirth" which all around sounds fitting.

There might also be a "made in blood" tucked at the end due to the association of κρόκες with the color of blood.

But why does it matter?

Well, now with this name, I expect the binding between the spirit from the victim, the split soul, and the item would be done in a sort of oath - an orkus.

The association with blood gives us another hint. Blood is the part of the human body most representative of life. Therefore, in Alchemy, your blood is your spirit. So it'll make sense that your own blood would be used in the binding process or more correctly in the process of turning another person's spirit into your own. Making the thread to bind the body (item) and the soul piece your own. As it also refers to just a red firey color, it can indicate the Phlagatton potion I hypothesize should be part of the ritual due to how Chthonic rituals usually went, as the Phlagaton river is made of fire.

So we have a general idea of how to make a Horcrux. You need an item of your choice to bind your soul to. You need a life (spirit) harvested from a human that you transformed into being your own using your blood. And you need a piece of your own soul, which you get by killing yourself and then reviving yourself. And you finish it off by binding it all together with an oath.

But how could you make one accidentally?

So, everyone knows Voldemort succeeded in somehow making a Horcrux accidentally, something a lot of theories I saw don't account for. Becouse whatever process you need to go to to make a Horcrux, Voldemort went through all of it the night he died the first time and marked Harry.

All the steps for my method of making a Horcrux were met that night.

The item in qustion is baby Harry, nothing interesting there.

The soul sliver was split the way it always is — through death. Voldemort died, killed by his own killing curse and that is what splits his soul.

The life or spirit that then binds his soul to Harry isn't Lily's spirit or James'; it's his own spirit that acts as a binder between Harry and Voldemort’s split soul. Because the spirit was already his, there was no need to transform it by blood so the additional ritual wasn't necessary.

Step-by-step guide to making Horcruxes:

I'm not going to actually give the full step-by-step least a budging dark lord is looking for this information. I do have notes about exact incantations and even the full recipe and instructions for the Phlagaton potion I'm going to mention. These instructions won't be here since they are more in the realm of speculation and headcanon. This is just the overview of the ritual based on canon information and the occult philosophy I mentioned above. (edit: the full step-by-step headcanon with my potion recipe and everything does appear in the reblogs)

Step 1 - Life and Blood

Get access to a recently deceased human and extract their Mercury (Spirit or Life Essence).

Submerge the retrieved life essence with your own blood on a new moon (life and vitality). (7 drops of blood will probably do)

Step 2 - Water of Fire

To complete the cycle of death and rebirth you’ll need the Phlegeton Water potion to return you to life at the end of the cycle.

As you brew the potion, it must be brewed in a dark room, preferably underground to remind as much of the underworld as possible.

While brewing the potion one must be in the mindset of the Phlegeton, must be willing to go through agony to achieve eternal life and imbue these thoughts in their potion. (In alchemy, when working, it is believed you imbue your work with your thoughts during the Alchemical process. As an Alchemical process affects both the material being worked and the Alchemist themselves)

Likley Ingrediants:

Saffron spice

Golden crocus flower juice

Pomegranate juice

Step 3 - The Ritual Preparation

Set up your space so none of the components may escape the ritual space and so the ritual will not be interfered with.

Make sure the spirit you retrieved is within reach.

Make sure the item you desire will hold the Horcrux will be within reach as well.

Coax the spirit into the item and prepare it to tie your soul to the next step.

Step 4 - Death and Rebirth

To create a thread of your soul to tie to the ritual, you must die figuratively. Go through death to return stronger from the underworld.

Once you feel like death has reached you and your soul is separated you should heal your soul and finish the cycle, bringing you out of death and back to life by drinking the Phlegeton potion.

After the pain subsides you will feel healthier than before, stronger than before, and you’ll have an additional thread of sulfur (soul) in your chest to be pulled out and placed into the Horcrux.

The split-off soul should, on its own, try to search for life and a body to be bound to. If it doesn't, coax it out yourself and bind it to the Horcrux with the spirit you made in step 1.

Step 5 - Oath of Life

The connection between the body (the item), soul, and spirit is still unstable, if most likely strong enough to hold.

Swear the oath of life to finalize the bond between you, the Horcrux, and the soul thread together to ward off death.

I'll end with this note I made regarding Horcruxes when I started working on this theory:

I don't know what all goes into the process of making a Horcrux but I don't believe a person who truly likes themselves and doesn't want to inflict pain on themselves could make a Horcrux. Tearing up your soul is an act of arrogance above nature, sure, thinking you deserve to change the laws of the world and be the exception is part of it, but it's also an act of self-hatred. You need to hate yourself enough to be willing to kill yourself, hurt yourself, and tear yourself up in the most unnatural ways — hence why so few can do so, let alone more than once.

And Tom Riddle does seem to have that exact mix of arrogance, spite, and low self-esteem that would allow it.

[treeffles]

Hey Dipshit

——————————————————

A/N: this is the first time I’ve written anything in years, be kind pls. Implied depression and minor implied suicide idealizations. Long story short, Gavin’s fuckin depressed and Nines is trying to help.

—————————————————————————

“Where. The hell. Have you been.”

It was not a question, so much as a series of statements.

There was a long silence that followed as Gavin took another drag off his cigarette, ignoring the android behind him.

“Detective,” it said; another futile attempt to engage him. It’s LED flashed to red, but only for a moment, completely missed if one wasn’t watching for it. “Detective Reed, I am speaking to you.”

Gavin sighed, irritated that the machine wouldn’t leave him alone. “Yeah so what. You think I take orders from a fuckin machine? Fuck outta here, prick…” The last part was a mumble that ended with him lighting another cigarette.

He’d been hoping no one—nothing— would find him here. It was an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of Detroit, with a great view of nothing but the trees from six stories up. Abandoned pieces of equipment littered the ground below. And yet here he sat, on the edge of an already dilapidated floor, tempting fate. He hoped it would send him to his death. It would have been faster for him to drive, but when he’d left his house at 4 am, and after everything that’d happened, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not drive off a fucking overpass. So he’d walked there instead. Sure it took him a couple hours to get there, but this was his place. A sanctuary he’d found for himself a few years back; he didn’t give two shits how long it took. Gavin just wanted to be alone.

But then that stupid plastic asshole had found him, and now, it wouldn’t leave him alone. Instead, he saw it tilt its head at him, and then it sat down next to him! The fucking nerve! “Fuckin hell Nines, just leave me alone!”

RK900 stared at Gavin, ice blue eyes doing a quick analysis scan. “Gavin,” its voice was soft? No, not the right word. But close enough. “I can tell you are in distress. I heard the skip in your voice. Why would you want to be left alone in this state?”

This fuckin android. “Because Nines, you plastic fuckin asshole, there’s not a damn thing you, or anyone else, can fuckin do to help. So just….” Gavin turned his back to Nines, cigarette left unattended between his fingers, hunched in on himself. “Just leave me alone…”

Nines remained silent, processing what Gavin had said. LED spinning yellow, Nines stood again, as if to leave. Thank fuck, Gavin thought. He didn’t want to deal with androids, or people, or anything. He just wanted the silence. Which was unfortunate for him, because Nines had other ideas. As the android stood, it grabbed Gavin by the arm, hauling him to his feet.

“What the fuck Nines?!” Was all he managed to get out before the android slammed him against the wall. That wasn’t gonna leave him with a concussion or anything.

“Detective, I,” Nines hesitated only a moment before continuing in a harsh tone. “I cannot fully understand what you’re feeling. What I do know, is that I have enjoyed working with you. Quite a bit,” the admittance was so quiet that Gavin almost didn’t hear it, especially not over the ringing in his ears. Damn that android was strong. “It would be a….a shame, if you weren’t here.”

By now it had started to get dark out; Gavin had been there all day. In what little light there was left, he could see Nines’ LED slowly pulsating red, eyes cast down on the ground. Dammit. Why does this asshole give a shit? he thought, wondering how the hell he’d ended up here. He shouldn’t care, Nines is an android for fucks sake! A walking, talking….living….piece of plastic. Gavin sighed, looking down at his feet still dangling about a foot off the crumbling floor. “Put me down Nines,” he whispered, and the android responded in kind. Sighing again, Gavin lit the last cigarette in his pack, he’d smoked two packs already, and looked up at the android, who was still standing way too close to him.

Nines stared back curiously; he could tell Gavin was wanting, needing, to say something. It sure was taking the human a long time to speak. Nines decided it was time to motivate him. Tentatively, the android reached over and tousled Gavin’s hair; it was something he’d seen Lieutenant Anderson do with Connor before. Apparently it was supposed to be soothing.

At first Gavin recoiled from Nines’ hand; the fuck was he doing?? But there was no ill will behind the reaction. Gavin just wasn’t used to being touched in such a gentle manner. Being touched in a not so gentle way was what sent him out here in the first place. The daylight was gone now, its glow replaced by that of the city in the distance. In its dimness, Gavin thought he saw something in Nines’ eyes. It was almost…..human. It wasn’t pity, but something more real, more raw, than pity. It was almost like….sadness.

“Hey, dipshit,” he started, with no malice in his tone. “I ain’t goin anywhere. I just….needed some space, yanno? But uh…thanks….for comin to find me….”

Nines opened its—no, his— mouth to speak, and was immediately cut off when Gavin leaned his head against his chest, and, almost, nuzzled him. The LED on Nines’ head when from red, to yellow, to blue, as he felt Gavin relax against him. This was….a nice feeling. “You’re welcome, Gavin,” Nines responded, staring up at the stars. “But it’s time to go.”

“Yeah…let’s head home.”

[ichorai]

pearls and pastries ; j.jk

pairing ; pirate!jungkook x baker!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; a crew of pirates have been pilfering your village for several weeks now and one particularly keen buccaneer has stopped by your bakery practically every visit; whether it be for the delectable pastries or for the sweet baker he's taken an interest to, jungkook couldn’t say. but there’s a catch - the baker doesn’t know that he’s a pirate.

themes ; fantasy, angst, fluff, pining, slight action, pirate au, baker au, medieval au

words ; 3.6k

warnings / includes ; descriptions of weaponry, stealing (from the rich), jungkook being a sad lovesick sap, pirate!bts, poetic sadness but when do i not do angst lmfao everything i touch turns into written sorrow </3

a/n ; written for the @ficscafe fic exchange event for @sunshinerainbowsbts !! i hope you like it <3 i'm definitely considering writing a part two to this :D

Jungkook wasn’t quite fond of parrots. Well, his mislike wasn’t necessarily directed towards the multi-hued rotund bird itself, but the fact that the wretched thing was squawking out a poor rendition of what Jungkook had announced earlier whilst clambering down the crow’s nest.

“I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery!” the winged devil screeched from atop Jimin’s shoulder, ruffling its bright feathers as if taunting him.

Shooting it the nastiest of scowls, Jungkook reached behind his head to untie the vermilion bandana holding his overgrown locks away from his narrowed eyes. “You better shut that bird up before I toss it to the sharks, Jimin.”

“If I let you do that, I’d also have to throw you overboard. The both of you are equally annoying,” the other pirate snorted in contempt, glancing up at his younger friend striding across the ship before moving his gaze back to the knapsack he was emptying for the pilfer. Out fell several empty bottles of rum, a few gold pieces glinting in the harsh midday sun, two jewel-encrusted daggers, and a worn eyepatch that suspiciously looked to be the same as the one Yoongi always wore over his left eye. “You seem to forget that we’re here to steal from the rich, not buy fancy breads! You’re lucky that Namjoon has half the decency not to kick you off the boat. Jin, however fond he is of you, still calls you a moocher.”

Rouge faintly dusted across Jungkook’s cheekbones as he coughed into his fist, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I steal stuff sometimes,” he muttered under his breath. It was useless to defend himself against someone who saw straight through him.

“Sometimes, my foot!” Jimin scoffed, hiking the bag over his shoulders. “Bringing back a goblet you found rolling down the street doesn’t count, you know that, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky, far too stubborn to admit that Jimin was right. With not another word, the young pirate clambered off of the large vessel and onto the rickety docks, grunting upon landing. It didn’t bother him much that Jimin was irked at his lack of contribution. They were rich enough as it is; what was the rush?

The air was tangy with sea salt and damp wood as he inhaled a deep breath, setting off for your bakery. Walking there took exactly three hundred and seventy two steps. Jungkook had memorized the shortest route to your little shop, mumbling the numbers under his breath with a growing grin blossoming across his lips. He subconsciously rolled the sleeves of his white tunic down, the fabric concealing the pirate tattoos inked all over his arms.

When the youthful sea wolf stepped foot into your store, a familiar chiming of the bell hooked atop the door echoed across the cream-walled room. At the reverberating sound, your head peeked out from the kitchen situated in the back. An illuminating beam danced on your features, eyes lighting up with mirth at the sight of Jungkook.

It made the muscle within his chest slam against his ribcage, desperate to be freed from its confines because it belonged to you, and only you. He wasn’t quite sure when the sudden fixation for the village baker his crew was stealing from started, but he had acclimated to his own change of heart by visiting you as often as he could.

“Fancy seeing you here today. Are you coming in or are you now my human door stopper?” Your heavenly voice floated towards Jungkook, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sheepish, he shuffled inside, engulfed by the warm scents of chocolate cakes, powdered pastries, caramelized fruits, and toasted almonds. His stomach gave an impatient snarl at the sight of tempting desserts. You had also walked to the front of the counter, dusting your flour covered hands on an apron. Some of the white powder had managed to smudge on your cheek, and Jungkook had to resist the urge to reach over and thumb it away.

“Hi,” he said with the brightest of grins. “I’ve missed you.”

At his bold statement, you suppressed a chortle. “I think you missed those chocolate cream puffs you like so much, not me. What’ve you been up to while you were gone?”

Jungkook hesitated at that. For the short amount of time he’d been visiting you, not once had he mustered the courage to tell you of his true origins. A savage pirate like him shouldn’t even be around the likes of you. You had no idea that he was part of the crew that was robbing your village, and the very thought of you finding out had him terrified. You were a taste of all the goodness in the world, and Jungkook was afraid you’d crumble into ash if he dared touch you. The sinner had no rights touching an angel, after all.

“Visiting family,” he hummed, quick to move on. If you noticed his strange demeanor, you didn’t say anything. For that, Jungkook was grateful. “I brought something for you.”

There was something about your smile that seemed to expel any and all feelings of gloom in a room. Jungkook was no exception to this feat, his knees almost buckling against the soft pink counters. He righted himself by leaning his elbows on top and propping his chin up with a palm. Gods, he didn’t know he was in this deep.

“Oh?” you set your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. “To what do I owe such pleasures?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “For those cream cheese tarts you made me last time I visited. Thought I’d repay you.” Whilst saying this, he used his free hand to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a string of authentic pearls, adorned with a glimmering clasp of gold the same hue as the sun.

Your smile melted into a confused pucker, brows knitting together in a muted painting of hesitance, yet you ogled the expensive necklace dangling by one of his spindly fingers nonetheless. Where on earth had he gotten such a valuable treasure? “But you already paid me with money. I really can’t take that, Jungkook.”

Disappointment was easily detected as he slanted his lips to the side. “Alright, then.” He tucked the pearls back into his pocket. It surprised you how easily he had complied.

The worrisome atmosphere was quick to dissolve when the bell jangled once more. A small child meandered in with a toothy beam, holding a small pouch of clattering coins in their palm. They were no taller than Jungkook’s midriff, and he liked it a little more than he should have watching a certain softness adorn your features at the sight of the kid.

“I recommend the cinnamon apple pie. Or maybe the brown sugar crepes if you’re looking for something sweeter,” Jungkook said, gesturing to the treat behind the display glass. The child angled their head to stare at the taller man with wonder. “Anything Y/N makes is to die for, though.”

The child excitedly babbled something in return, but you didn’t quite pick up what they had said. You were far too focused on Jungkook’s animated features when he kneeled down to point at some more desserts. Sure, he was a handsome man, you’ve known that since day one. You’ve never really looked at him in this light. It was as if he were carved from pure luminosity, whittled by the hand of the most skilled sculptor. Everything about him was practically perfect; the gentle slope of his nose, the angles of his raised eyebrows, the dappled rouge of his lips, the beauty marks mottling his dewy skin, the dangerous cuts of his jaw, the twinkle of gaiety you found in his irises. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, it basked Jungkook within a golden radiance, the shadows casted along his face only highlighting his best features, doing nothing to aid your fluttering pulse. Has he always been this beautiful?

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie!”

The sudden clinking of coins being dumped onto the counter snapped you out of your trance, and you kindly wrapped up what the child ordered and handed them the paper bag. Both you and Jungkook watched as they smiled in thanks and trotted out of the bakery. Curse his handsome physique.

A little flustered by your earlier thoughts, you busied your hands by sorting the coins the kid had coughed up. Jungkook, ever the kind soul, merely stood with you as you worked, engaging you in entertaining conversations to keep you occupied while your store was empty. Where did the sun go once it disappeared down the horizon? Why did everybody else seem to enjoy the bitter taste of coffee except him? Why did his heart beat so quickly when around you? The last question he couldn’t muster the courage to ask, and much to his perturbation, he already knew the answer. You enjoyed Jungkook’s company very much; to the point where you couldn’t quite remember what it was like before he had sauntered into your life.

Before the both of you knew it, the sun was already setting. Jungkook noticed the way you deflated just slightly when red kissed the sky. It was a telltale sign that Jungkook was long overdue to go back to his ship. Yoongi would have his ass if he was late again. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. He felt like a fairy tale princess running away from the ball before his clothes grew into tatters. Well, in his case, he supposed it’d be pirate-wear.

Your smile betrayed only the gentlest hint of disappointment as you thrusted a bag of warm cookies into his arms. “Take this for the road,” you had said.

And so Jungkook did, smiling like an idiot the whole way back. A part of him absentmindedly wondered what your face would look like when you noticed that he had left the pearls on the countertop for you.

The ship rocked as the young pirate scampered across the deck at a startling speed, flinging the doors to the cabins open. Six older pirates stared at his panting form, a few looking on with unsurprised indifference, most glaring at him in disappointment. Jimin merely stuck his tongue out, his childish way of saying I told you so. There was expectancy in the captain’s eyes, but it waned away at an instant upon seeing that Jungkook carried nothing of value. Namjoon pinched the space between his brows in mild frustration.

Stiffly, Jungkook jerked his arm to thrust the bag in his hand forward. “Cookie?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Jungkook slowly brought his appendage back down, guilt roiling in his abdomen. “I take it you guys don’t want the cookies?”

With a huff, Namjoon stalked forward. “Of course we want the cookies, give me that.” He snatched the bag out of Jungkook’s hands and tossed it to Taehyung, who caught it with eagerness vividly splayed across his ruffled features. “I do have to admit, we’re getting tired of you bringing back nothing but sweets every time we go on raids, Jungkook. C’mon, kid, this is a team effort here. Look, just today Yoongi managed to steal a dozen coffers from a nobleman. The least you can do is try.” True to the captain’s word, there was a mountain of chests and boxes full to the brim with gold coins and shimmering jewels piled to the side of the cabin.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jungkook nodded in understanding, though not without a miniscule frown twinging his lips. What was a pirate without his treasure, right?

Taking note of his glum demeanor, Namjoon clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re not mad at you—”

Yoongi snorted at that.

“We just… want to help you help us,” Namjoon finished, ignoring the salty pirate’s quip from behind him.

The youngest man on deck raised his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “Yes cap’n!” Shame prowled within his chest; just thinking about the dishonor he brought to the pirate reputation by loitering in a bakery all day, ogling at sugary treats (and the sweet baker, but Jungkook digresses).

A part of him felt even worse knowing that he’d see you less and less, what with the other pirates breathing down his neck. He could only hope that you’d still look forward to his visits, though few and far in between.

Authentic bottles of expensive wines were shoved into his knapsack by Taehyung, lacing chains of aureate crammed into his hands by Hoseok, bars of cold silver wedged into the pits of his arms by Jimin, and more treasures thrown at the youngest pirate to hold as they lithely ran across the village. Being one of the stronger and more agile ones of the group had its downfalls, after all. He was being treated like a pack mule, hauling all the treasure for them. Not that he was going to complain; Jungkook knew that he deserved the rough-housing.

“Hold onto these for me, will you?” Yoongi gruffly uttered as he slid the thick hilts of gem-encrusted daggers into his belt. Jungkook complied hesitantly, but not without a suppressed groan of annoyance. “They’ll sell for more than a pretty penny, so don’t lose them.” The older pirate seemed to be in a grumpier than usual mood, considering he lost his eyepatch and the mottled scar crossing over his eye was on display for anybody to gawk at. It would’ve been worrying to Jungkook if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Jimin was merely prolonging his juvenile game of ‘keep away’, attempting to dance away from Yoongi’s inevitable wrath.

Perhaps being a pirate wasn’t his true calling, because Jungkook found that his mind kept wandering off to the matters at hand—running away from the guards. Though it was a relatively easy task (the guards were quite thick-headed in this village), he thought about the pretty plants dangling from the balconies of a building they jogged by, or the scents of exotic spices carried by the souq market not far from where they were. Most of all, much to his expectancy, his thoughts were centered around you. Had you gotten many customers for lunch rush? Were you lonely without him? How many times have you smiled today? Jungkook was all too fond of your smile.

Blinded by his unsaid affectionate ramblings, he only barely caught on to Namjoon’s quiet, “We shook the guards off for now. Be careful next time, Seokjin. The sun’s about to set soon; we should head back to the ship before it gets dark.”

Jungkook hissed out a small sigh of relief, bending over to catch his breath. Jogging across the village would have been no problem, but running with treasures twice his weight draped all over him was a different story.

When he righted himself back to standing, the sudden pit of shocked trepidation unfurled within his abdomen. There you were, beautiful as ever, but a terrifying sight to see. Normally you’d be the only person he would want to see, but as of this moment, you were the absolute last person he fancied bumping into.

Why now? He had the most rotten of luck.

Today you weren’t wearing your regular apron, but a pair of fitted grey trousers and a soft beige blouse far too large for you, hanging off of one of your shoulders as you cradled a basket of breads and cheeses and other groceries in your arms. It was a simple outfit, but one that made his heart clench nonetheless. The glinting of iridescent pearls draped over your décolletage had his breath stolen away from him as raw sentiment overtook his form. You were wearing the pearls he left for you and you never looked more beautiful. Jungkook, on the other hand, was clad in clothes that practically screamed pirate; a golden-clasped corset tightened about the small of his waist, a tattered white button-up tucked into his dark trousers, worn sea boots covering his feet. A large gun was also slung over the belt cinched around his hips, along with multiple daggers of the like, and not to mention all the riches and jewelry the other boys had thrown at him.

You couldn’t see him. No, it would absolutely ruin Jungkook.

Perhaps dropping everything he was holding in a panicked effort to dash away as quickly as he could was the worst possible thing he could have done to not warrant any attention.

The concerned and confused questions erupting from the other pirates as they whipped their heads towards their youngest comrade went completely ignored. He scampered away from them, lunging towards a shadowed alley and hiding behind a teetering pile of musty boxes. A stray cat nuzzled against his leg, but Jungkook merely shooed it away with a frustrated glare and not-so-subtle shushing gestures.

What a fool I am, the young buccaneer berated himself, pressing a knuckle against his temple in frustration. He waited for another minute, before slinking out from the shadows, peering around the corner to see if you were still there.

No sign of you. Relief seized his chest, but not without the gentlest flower of disappointment staining whatever solace he felt, a weed amongst the roses. Jungkook’s mind was still reeling from the fact that you were wearing his pearls.

Treading carefully, he strode out of the alley, turning the other direction before halting in his tracks completely. A queer, garbled noise tumbled past his lips.

It was you, a confused smile gracing your features, and all Jungkook could think about was how the sunlight was made for you, how you glowed in front of him, how he wanted to cradle you into his chest and murmur confessions of his pure, unadulterated love into your ear. But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely stood there, as if he was imitating a statue in all of his pirate glory. Terrified, regretful, and ever so angry at himself.

Fate was a cruel game.

The pearls shone prettily on your skin. A reminder of the best mistake he’s ever made.

Your eyes had yet to wander down to fully take in his appearance, for your expression still held fondness for the man that’s visited your bakery so often, still having no idea that he was a filthy pirate, locked into his molten gaze. “I think you dropped something…?” The golden chains dangled loose between your fingers as you held them out to him. Jungkook didn’t take them, frozen on the spot.

It was as if he could pinpoint the exact moment you found out his true origins. Your brows furrowed upon seeing the weaponry strapped onto him, one of his pirate tattoos on display (Jungkook cursed himself for not thinking of rolling his sleeve back down), and the six other men watching in silent despondency behind them. You had always been a sharp one, far too smart for your own good.

Or, perhaps, it's always been obvious. Jungkook was only wishing for the impossible.

“You’re a pirate.”

The statement wedged a stake into his chest, splintering his heart into pieces. When you stepped away from him, confused horror marring your beautiful features, Jungkook knew that it was over.

He lost you.

A flurry of emotions, overwhelming and tumultuous, evidently took over you at his lack of denial. You looked to be just as heartbroken as he was.

“You’re a pirate,” you repeated, dazed. You wanted him to say something, anything. Much to his surprise, you didn’t sound angry. You took several steps back this time. The weight of pearls around your neck suddenly felt choking.

The sudden calling of his name had his head whipping around to look at his captain, watching the brutal exchange with gentle sternness. “We have to go.” The guards’ll be coming soon, no doubt.

Jungkook looked back to you, any and all words lodged in his throat. Despite the fear in your irises, a soft expression of acceptance folded over your visage, for under all his pirate exterior, he was still the same man that you thought so fondly of from your bakery. The look was short-lived however, quick to fade away when Jungkook reached out for you hesitantly. A part of him pondered how a simple baker managed to steal from the stealer. You had robbed him of his heart, and Jungkook didn’t even try to stop you.

Upon seeing you inch away in mortification at your new revelation, Jungkook retracted his arm and pursed his lips. The agony clawing at his stomach was begging to be set free. He wanted nothing more than to get onto his knees and plead for your forgiveness.

I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m sorry I fell in love with you.

His name came out again, this time from Yoongi. That meant it was serious.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook said, tears rimming the bottom of his warm doe eyes. You watched him start to trek backwards. “I promise.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, like he was swallowing down a knot of thorned ivy.

Before you had the chance to say anything back, he was gone, bounding back to his ship with his comrades. Not long after, the distant barks of guards pursuing them rang throughout the village. You took that as your cue to leave. Swallowing down the urge to cry, you forced your eyes away.

You hoped he wouldn’t uphold his promise, for the both of your sakes.

[secondhand-trash]

Sun Shower

Kinktober 2020 — knotting

A/N: I need everyone to know that anything I write that has something to do with foxes is immediately self-indulgent, I cannot begin to describe you the joy I feel whenever I write about it

Pairing: kitsune!Miya Atsumu x f!reader

Description: Foxes, they mate for life.

Warning: feral foxtsumu, biting, oral (receiving), vaginal penetration, knotting, creampie, borderline cumflation but just putting it here to be safe

Word count: 4551 

(more of the modern magic au here)

-

The sound of sizzling filled the small apartment you called home, the weak venting system of the old complex far too incompetent to truly stop the blended smell of oil from spreading everywhere.

You were laying on your couch that you bought from a second hand store when you moved in, one that could barely fit in the two of you if you sit any less properly. Atsumu had claimed that it would be alright, saying with his loopy accent that he could just turn back into a fox when you cuddle to save space. That, on its own was far too tempting of an offer to give up and so you used the money that you had saved from buying the couch that was technically a love seat to get high quality tuna sashimi to celebrate your first night in your new home.

It was a lie, he never did willingly turn into the cuddly fox like he said he would when you tried to get him to scooch over because his much larger frame was squishing against you, only pulling you above him in a position that defied human anatomy before dozing off to his nap again.

“You should know that foxes are deceitful creatures,” he mumbled in his sleep when you smacked his arm for him to loosen up his grip, “should have known better...”

Deceitful creatures indeed, who were infamous in folklores for casting illusions on innocent humans only to run away leaving nothing but echoes of laughter once their tricks were see through. Sometimes you would walk up to him and poke his chubby cheeks out of nowhere, replying with a smirk that you were checking if he would eventually show his true form when he winced.

You wondered if he had pulled any tricks to get you to be with him. You fell for him little by little with harmless bickering and occasional moments of sudden charm that had your heart beating faster. Even though you were groaning inwardly that you couldn’t believe you were swooning for Miya fucking Atsumu of all people when he was just deliberately pissing you off with his grinning face just moments earlier. But before you knew it, you had already gotten used to making space for him and his flicking tail that always accidentally hit you when he turned around.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when he brought you to the neighbourhood Inari temple that day, pulling you close to him by your wrist and confessed to you in a voice that he thought was incredibly swoon-worthy. You rolled your eyes when he tilted his head at you with a smirk that seemed out of place for what he just said, mostly because you could not believe this really was the guy you stayed up at night thinking about. 

You could never forget how almost immediately after you returned his feelings. a droplet of water fell from the sky. You gasped when you felt the rain soaking into your shirt but was far too mesmerised by the way sun filtered through the rain and made it looks like threads of gold and silver appearing in the middle of a sunny day. Atsumu looked up at the sky and laughed, opening his palm to catch the rain while his other hand held you close to him.

“They say sun showers are the signal that the band to welcome the fox bride has set off,” he said, golden eyes glimmering brighter than the sun as he leaned down. His breath was warm against your lips when he spoke again before closing the gap, “the gods must be sending a message.”

Much later into your relationship after his perfect confession, you would learn that he seemed to be very friendly with the god that resided in the exact same temple he brought you to. If the god seemed to be casually good friends with your lover, who was to say that the “message from the gods” was not deliberately planned?

But trick or not, you could not forget the way he smiled when you told him that you also liked him with a grumble. Not one of his usual lop-sided grins or mocking lift of his lips, a real smile, the kind where his mouth could not be wider and he had to force them shut so he wouldn’t be showing his teeth. Nor could you forget the feeling of his tail that appeared out of nowhere curling over your leg when he held you close, the soft fuzz of his fur sending tingles all over your skin as if the feeling of his lips on yours was not enough to have you going haywire. 

You could not say it was a scam when you fell for it willingly, that was what you believed. 

Right now, the cunning fox was standing in front of the stove with one hand on his waist, his tail swaying side to side as he whistled a tune you had never heard of before. Sometimes, when you blinked, you would see the shadow of what seemed to be more tails swooshing around only for it to return to just that one brush when you focused again. 

The number of tails a fox had was a sign of status and power, he had told you one time while he was forcing you to give him scratches with his head on your lap. The dart of red at the outer corner of his eyes furrowed when he scrunched his face up in comfort, whimpering in content as he moved his head around to make you scratch down on the right spot.

More often than so, his antics would make you forget that beyond grinning faces and smooth words, he was indeed a powerful youkai much unlike yourself. Until he would crouch down in front of you after an argument, turning leaves into all sorts of strange objects just to make you laugh even though you were determined to give him the cold shoulder. The soft glow on his skin when he curled up next to you on the bed after just coming down from his high making you admit that he did look whimsical at times.

Some foxes were the gods’ messengers, even though the same fox that might have been worshipped centuries ago was here singing off tune in your kitchen while cooking dinner.

Calling it “off tune” was a bit of a merciful statement, you sighed and stared at the ceiling as his singing got louder and louder. Standing up, you made sure your steps were light enough that even his superb hearing would not catch onto as you slowly made way to the kitchen. His tail was swaying like a gigantic paintbrush, and you held your hands out to focus on your target.

“Heh??????”

The chopsticks he was holding in hand dropped onto the frying pan with a clink as he felt the sudden grip on his tail. You could feel his fur standing up like a pompom under your hand, your lips curling up at his reaction as you continued to rub your face against the soft fleece.

“What, what, what are you doing?” he stuttered, his nostrils flailing when he felt a very untimely wave of heat rising in his core. Shivers run down his spine as you handsily toy with his tail, your nails scratching lightly at his skin beneath the coat as you ran your hands up and down.

“Nothing, just checking on your progress.”

Atsumu gulped at how nonchalant you sounded, your hands not once stopping. If you had peeled your eyes away from the floof that had taken up all your attention, you would see that his ears were twitching uncomfortably on his head. His shoulders tensed as he bit his lips, focusing on anything but how he could feel himself popping a boner if you don’t stop it with your hands anytime sooner.

His breathing halted to a paused when you put your chin on his shoulder, your hands still around his tail as you pressed up against his back. He could feel the softness of your chest through your thin shirt and it was not helping with how hypersensitive he was. 

“The patty is starting to burn.”

“Huh?” he let out an incomprehensive string of curses when you let go of him with a light shove, his hands flailing to save the poor piece of meat that was crisping up under his lack of attention earlier.

He huffed, wincing at how long it would take him to get the burnt bits off the perfectly fine pan while thinking that he was definitely going to let his frustration be known later.

-

Atsumu leaped on you the moment you were about to pull your phone out to do some scrolling before bed.

“Tsumu, what is it?” you asked, letting your phone slide out of your palm as you stared flatly at the man that was pinning you down. He was smiling, like the scheming foxes straight out of a fable as he looked down at you. His pupils were squeezed into two thin lines, slicing his golden eyes into two halves. You could see the pattern like amber as he stared you down, the dart of black pulsating as he exhaled through his nose.

“You knew what you were doing.”

“Know what?” you asked again, this time slightly more amused than the last when the answer you were seeking for slowly appeared in your head. His ears were standing up on his head, the thin strand of fur at the very tip flicking as it twitched. His tail was swaying between his legs that trapped you under him, his position much like a predator that was ready to feast on his prey.

The chase was part of the fun too.

“You were railing me up,” each word fell off his lips with a short pause in between, his tone a special kind of sultry as he exaggerated the slight raise of his voice after the sentence.

Still laying flat with your face right below his, you glanced down at where a slight tent was poking against the material of his sweats.

Horny bastard.

“How did I rail you up?”

He snorted in bafflement, his head tilting like he could not believe what you just said as the wagging of his tail got wilder. “You know that my- hmph!”

You bite your lips to stop the chuckle from slipping past when he let out a choked whine the moment you hooked on leg over his waist and brushed the heel of your feet along his tail. 

“Like this?” you said, widening your eyes to forge innocence when you could physically felt the fur on his tail standing up at the stimulation. His face was contorted, the nonchalant smile on his face replaced by a scrawl. You would not mistake the grumble from the back of his throat when your hand reached up to rub his pointy ears between your fingers, scratching your nails down on the soft fleece at the bottom as your feet not once stopped.

He glared at you, his eyebrows locking together in place when he felt the dull ache in his groins growing. His face was on fire, a flush dusting at the top of his cheek and threatening to spread everywhere else too. 

“Or this?”

You were grinning ear to ear when you press your pelvis up against him with the help of your leg around his waist. What was only a small tent before was now a full on bulge and his tail stiffen under your foot at the pressure. His arms that were at both sides of your head was shuddering, his muscles flexing as you continued to blatantly feel him up.

One press of your heel on the base of his tail where the fur met with his hips was what made him snap. The animalistic growl that rumbled out from the back of his throat shaken you to the core when he latched on you, pinning you down by the shoulder with one hand while the other gripped onto your thigh that was still at the side of his waist. His lips were messy on you, forcing your mouth open with a bite on your bottom lip before his tongue dominated your senses. Muffled moans and breathy groans slipped out between heated kisses, his hand trailing down and groping anything he could get his hands on when you melted under his force and let him take the lead as he pleased.

You let out a breathy sigh when he released your lips and proceed down your neck, leaving trails of saliva as he went with the bites and sucks he left. His canines brushing against the sensitive skin had you whimpering, giving him the perfect opportunity to bite down. You yelped at the pain, your hand shooting up to find leverage in his hair as he licked at the sore spot he just clamped down on. The warmth of his spit left your skin tingling, the mark of his teeth still apparent to your senses with the dull ache that remained. 

His hands clawed impatiently at the thin shirt that clad your body, slipping underneath immediately when you scurried to peel it off of you with a slight arch of your back in the brief removal of his weight on you. You arched against him when he took your nipple in his lips, licking and sucking on the sensitive bud that sent you into an overdrive of pain and pleasure. You moaned when you felt his bared teeth brushing against the perky tip, the air of the room feeling exceptionally chilly with the slight sheen that was left on your skin. His fingers replaced his lips when he moved to the other side, his hand kneading and fondling roughly with your breast while his tongue swirled around the other bud.

His hips were held up as he lost himself in the want to feel more, taste more of you. Out of the corner of your eyes that was threatening to shut tight in reflex, the vigorous flick of his tail was all you can see between your lashes. He looked like a wild animal waiting to pounce on his defenseless catch, the pointy tips of his nails hooking onto the band of your shorts before yanking down with a forceful pull. You arched yourself off the mattress while his lips trailed down from the valley of your breast to the center of your stomach. Nothing could stop you from whining out loud when he shamelessly shoved his nose against the thin cotton of your panties where a damped spot was starting to form, the loud inhale making you squirm underneath him and wanting to push him away in embarrassment.

“Tsumu, don’t-”

Your breath hitched when he cut you off with a snap of his head upwards at glare at you. The low growl that was gritted out from his bearing teeth had your knees weak, the sharp tip of his canines on show as he warned you from stopping him. The look in his eyes was dangerous, like he was about to tear you apart and it was shameful how it made your cunt clench around nothing.

You could still hear the purr from his throat when he dipped his head back down, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up the crotch of your panties. He had your knees hooked on his shoulder, holding you in place as his tongue mapped out the print of your folds and making you threw your head back against the pillow. You bucked your hips forward, urging him to give you more and his ears twitched at your antics.

One finger hooked under the strip of fabric and you hissed when he shoved it to the side, revealing your pussy that was already coated with a thin shine. He did not waste a moment before latching onto your folds, his tongue that had always been anything but well-behaved parting your pussy and delving in. He groaned at the taste of your arousal, his tail tugging neatly to the side as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and pushing them back further. 

He was lapping at you like he had been starved and you were the first meal he had, salvaging every inch of you as far as his tongue could reach and drowning in your scent. His hips were humping against the mattress, trying to relieve some of the ache in his pants that was fueled by the feeling of your skin right under his hands. Your voice came out as broken moans and pants as his tongue plunged in and out of you, the brief moments when he slipped his tongue out of you to catch a breath was when he smeared your juices coating his lips over your clit and sucking on the engorged nub. 

Your panties were shoved to the side but the flimsy cotton was still too much of a constraint to the greedy fox and he let go of your legs with a displeased hiss before pulling it down until it was out of his way completely. He did not bother to fling it to the ground before scooping your knees up again, a high-pitched moan ripping from the back of your throat when he flicked his tongue furiously against your sopping folds, your toes pointing in pleasure with your panties still barely hanging on your ankle with how hasty he was at removing it from you just earlier. You felt your limbs numbing at the coil that tightened every time he growled between his teeth against your cunt, kicking your panties off of you before letting your eyelids fell from the white you were seeing in your vision. His name rolled off your lips in a cry when you cum around his mouth, his tongue rubbing against your walls encouragingly as he basked in the sweet sounds you were making.

The fox perked up from between your legs, his long tongue swiping across his lips to lick up your juices that was tinting across his face and strong jaws. His eyes were glinting when he rose up, ears pointing upwards as he took your quivering lips in his once again while his hands fumbled to pull down the band of his sweats. You whimpered into the kiss when you tasted yourself on him, his tail brushing against the side of your waist as the comb of fur swayed behind him now that he was bare. His cock was pressed against his lower stomach, the vein at the side pulsing and beads of pre-cum rolled down his length from the leaking tip. He held your legs up once again, the time pushing your knees all the way back until they were right against your chest. 

He sucked in on your scent at the crook of your neck in satisfaction, loving how you were always smelt more euphoric after you were lost in bliss. Rubbing the side of his chin on your neck, you whined at the stretch pulling at the side of your thighs as he messily glided his cock across your folds that was dripping with the mixture of arousal and his spit.

Your soft moan overlapped with the feral grunt he let out when he pushed his tip inside of you with ease from the wetness, the stretch making your fingers dug into his back as he filled you up inch by inch. 

Atsumu’s warm huffs of breath was moist against your neck, his nostrils flaring at how warm and tight you were around him. The first thrust set him loose as he focused on breaking you into pieces, each surge of his hips hilted deep inside you with how you were bent in half underneath him. Your brain was in a mush as his tip rubbed against your velvety walls, the vein at the underside of his cock creating extra friction and making your skin burn.

He was not shy with letting you know how much he was enjoying himself, grunting and growling in your ear as he jackhammered into with frigid snaps of his hips. His tail was stiff at his back, the fur on it spiking up as his stomach spasmed. His nails were almost painful on your thighs as he gripped onto you tightly, his broad frame completely towering over yours as he drilled inside of you in a force that felt like he was not going to stop until he shattered your bones. 

“Tsu- tsumu!” 

He groaned at the way you mewled out his name, your eyes struggling to stay open as a wall of mist glossed over your pupils that were blown out in wanton lust. Your hands clawed at his back for leverage before they found hold on his hair, a loud grunt falling off his trembling lips when your fingers scratched down on his ears. 

His thrusts were short and fast, not bothering to bottom out of you completely before slamming back in. The position he had you in allowed him to plow as deep as he wanted, making your toes curl each time his tip slammed against the spongey spot in your lower stomach.

Your breath hitched when you felt the swell at the base of his cock starting to form, stretching your cunt out even more than he already did. He panted in your ear, nibbling at your collar and trailing his tongue along the marks that he had left as his primal desire started to kick in. You whimpered at the feeling of him filling and growing in you, your hands fisting his golden hair egging him on to keep slamming his hips down on you.

“So big...” you whimpered as his knot grew larger and larger, feeling like you were being pulled apart by the seams when he pushed the rounded base inside of you until it locked him in place. The burn from the stretch had you seeing stars and you felt the band in your core snapped when his thrusts turned into rigid humps from your cunt clenching down around the thick base of his girth. His chest was heaving as his breath got heavy, your legs pressed up against his shoulders as his brows twisted together. 

Your head was thrown back but if you could look down and see your stomach, you could imagine the outline of his knot being visible even in your belly, pressing up against you and filling you up like nothing else. 

The first time you experienced that, you jokingly told him that you could never try anything else after having a taste of getting your brains fucked out with his knot to which he replied with a humph that you should not even think for a second that he would give you the choice of having anything else. 

That was a useless statement to make, because you were certain that no one could make you feel as good as he could.

Your pussy was fluttering around him from your high and the tension made him moan. His shoulders were tensed, shuddering as his cock pulsated inside of you. His jaw felt painful from how hard he was clenching it tight, his hands no doubt leaving bruises on your thighs with how hard he was gripping down on you.

A choked whine leaked out from his lips when he finally felt the pent up frustration in him coming out like a river. You whimpered at the warmth that rushed over you as he shot ropes and rope of cum in you, his body stiffening on top of you as he bit his lips from the pleasure that had his mind in blank with no thought other than how you were all wrapped up around him. The was a faint glow on his skin as his muscles clenched, the dart of red at the corner of his eyes like they were actual spurts of flames as he lost control of his power at a moment of vulnerability. 

The specks of gold reminded you a lot of the sun shining through the droplets of rain on the day he told you that he was in love with you.

He held you there for a while, the fat load of his release making you felt like you were about to combust from how much he was cumming. The knot at the base of his cock slowly eased down, allowing him to give a few sloppy thrusts before pulling out of you. The last few spurts of his cum splattered across your lower stomach as he heaved, the sticky substance that filled you up gushing out with each flutter of your sensitive cunt. You felt used and worn out, the feeling of his fullness still lingering even though it was just his release mixed with your juices that stuffed you now.

“You,” you said with a pant as Atsumu flopped down on you in content, “are an animal.”

“Low blow...” he mumbled, his cheeks squished out as he laid on top of your chest. It was an amazement how fast he went from feral beast to this harmless looking baby that had his face buried between the soft mounds of your breasts. His tail was now swirling happily behind him, brushing against your legs in a steady rhythm. The softness did help to coax you down, and he grumbled in satisfaction when you put your hand on the back of his head and rubbed his ears gently.

“You better clean up the mess you make later.”

“You’re ruining the atmosphere," he complained with a pout, smiling a little at the snort you made. He pressed a light peck onto the center of your chest, nuzzling his face against you before looking up at you with his jaw leaning on you.

Fine, you would have to admit that Atsumu always looked cute when he was in his post-sex clingy form with his tail curling around your leg and ears flicking at the top of his head.

“You know,” his words sounded off with how he could barely move his lips. His eyes were squinted into two thin curls on his face that was tilted to the side, pressing his ear against you to hear the steady rhythm of the pounding of your heart, “foxes mate for life...”

You wanted to tell him that you do know, because he told you that every time he was feeling mushy. When he just woke up, when you two were in the bath together, when he was in your arms like he was now, he liked to remind you every now and then that he was ready to do all that with you for the rest of his life as long as it might be, like how he seemed genuinely overjoyed when the drops of rain fell from the sky as you told him that you loved him too.

So you stayed silent, and basked in the simple bliss of knowing that the universe had sent a message and it was that you made the right decision choosing each other.

[wasabito]

hate to love you | dabi x reader

18+, minors dni please! 

wordcount: 2.4k

tags: smut, rough(ish) sex, fingering, slight choking, Dabi’s lowkey manipulative

synopsis: did your traitorous heart make the stupid decision to fall in love with him again, or had you always been his to keep?

“You seriously can’t keep coming here whenever you feel like it, Dabi,” you whisper while scrubbing at your weary eyelids, “If someone sees you, you’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble.”

A true statement and yet it takes no further prodding or convincing at all for you to crack open your window at three in the morning, and allow your ex to clamber through the fire escape. There are sirens blaring in the distance; the high-pitched wailing of fire trucks are a familiar sound, especially in this part of the city. You’ve told yourself that intrusions like these are exactly what you deserve for not cutting him off like the cancerous leech that he is.

Willpower alone can’t keep you from wrinkling your nose, considering how his clothes smell of ash under a faint layer of nicotine. It tells a far better story of his recent crime than anything he could ever say out of his mouth. These days you don’t bother asking. There isn't much of a point in doing so when all you are sure to receive is another sugar-coated lie.

“Don’t be like that, doll face,” he smirks. “I’ve gotta lot more tact than you’re giving me credit for. ”

Terrible, you think. And shameless too. Yes, Dabi is undoubtedly these things, but for all of his depravity and lack of care, you still can’t find it in yourself to turn him away.

He cracks a little smile at you, like he’s read your very thoughts. “What? You don’t trust me anymore?”

You don’t respond, and simply climb back into bed, pointedly ignoring the dark stain of blood on his coat. He may have your heart, but your trust is something you vow to never let him have again. With classes resuming for the semester, you are far too preoccupied with internships and scholarship applications to entertain an ex-boyfriend slash wanted criminal, especially one recently associated with The League of Villains.

It had been different back when he was just some nameless petty criminal, but these days his face was plastered all over the news. That wasn’t the kind of person you ever foresaw yourself getting involved with and yet here you are.

You hear the rustling of clothes and figure he’s probably going to steal one of your oversized hoodies again, all the while leaving his bunched up coat in the laundry bin for you to take care of later. It would give him all the more reason to return to your apartment under false pretenses.

Over the past few months you’ve learned to anticipate his tricks, it’s the only way you can keep yourself from living the rest of your days behind bars. Aiding and abetting is what this is… if you were to ever be caught, you’d have to say he forced you. That you had no choice. That you feared for your life.

“You seriously mad at me or what?” He drawls. The thud of his heavy boots echo through the room, but a quick glance over your shoulder tells you that he’s merely taken them off. Dabi pins you with a stare, brows quirked like he’s genuinely confused, if not mildly annoyed, but that doesn’t shake you. You only freeze when you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his knee.

The warmth of his breath ghosts your cheek as he says, “Scoot over.”

Is he serious right now? Why should you let him back into your bed after all he’s put you through?

“No.” you turn away, “Just take whatever it is you need and leave.”

There is silence for a few seconds but you know he hasn’t moved yet, not even an inch.

“C’mon, angel,” he pokes your side playfully, gazing unwaveringly at you from under his hooded eyelids. “I’ll be out of your hair before you even wake up.”

Chewing your lip, you heave out a sigh, and shift forward to make enough room for him to join you. No matter what you’ve said in the past, he’s always been the one in control. You feel like such an idiot, merely posturing while Dabi holds the reins.

He slides in behind you, pressing his body against yours; his arms looping around your waist in a way that is so familiar a pleasant hum nearly falls from your lips. You realize belatedly that he’s shirtless and the fabric of your tank top is far too thin to block the feel of hard sinew and muscle pressed so nicely against your back. Your shaky resolve crumbles to ruin in the presence of his blue flames.

Dabi continues to chat you up, regardless of your lack of response. You’re surprised. He isn’t usually so talkative, but apparently outmaneuvering the cops and getting away scot-free has a way of raising one's spirits.

Your body is slotted against his like a puzzle piece, like you are made for one another. Mid conversation his warm hands palm the fleshy skin of your stomach, giving you a soft caress. So caught up in the feel of it, you almost miss his next words.

“—missed you.”

Your thoughts stutter. For the briefest of moments, you think the words have come from you, but they surely haven’t.

Dabi presses a light kiss to your neck, as if to show that he means it—that in the month spent apart, he had missed you more than anything. And you can't help but shiver; you blame the staples on his chin that are cold in contrast to the heat from his mouth.

His kisses become firmer, and more intentional as he lures you into a feeling of contentment. Your body remembers him oh so well—and it wants what it clearly shouldn’t have.

“We aren’t together anymore, Dabi,” you rasp, “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

And why not, a tiny voice chimes in the back of your head.

There are several, logically sound, and pragmatic reasons as to why you shouldn’t let Dabi fuck you into next week. It’s a shame, really, you’re far too tired, far too bewitched by this man to really sum up the effort to name them. Not even for your own sake.

“Just a quickie,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One of Dabi’s hands dip between your thighs and he knows he’s won when you part them without thought.

He squeezes the fat of your thigh like he’s done so many times in the past, fingers digging deliciously into your skin. “Mine.”

His fingers encourage you to loosen up a little, as he grinds his clothed dick against your ass.

The trail of kisses start from your shoulder and lead up to your jaw. All the while, Dabi keeps his other arm around your waist to hold you close. He sinks blunt teeth into the crook of your neck, licking languidly at the crescent shape left behind. He continues to nip and suck on the skin there until your heady moans leave you breathless and whiny. But none of it is enough to get your attention off the way he prods you with his index and middle finger through your shorts.

“You sound so sexy, baby.” he chuckles, “You gonna make more of those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

You don’t have an answer, simply put, you can’t think of anything else right now, other than the hand slipping past your panties, rubbing slow circles against the hood of your clit.

“Da-Dabi, please... more,”

At the sound of your wanton voice, Dabi sinks two fingers into you, thrusting his long digits, and coaxing you until you’ve soaked them with your juices. In response, you grind down against his hand, thighs clenching. He hits you with a series of slow pumps each time his wrists twist. You reach forward and grip his hand, wanting nothing more but for him to curl his fingers and hit the sweet spot.

“I know, babe, I know.” He murmurs, kissing your neck, but instead of continuing, Dabi pulls out you. He shifts until he’s quite literally looming over your form.

Though the room is mostly dark, the street lamp outside your window casts a slant beam of orange light into the bedroom. It’s more than enough for you to see Dabi’s grin, and the way his lips pull back to reveal a row of perfect teeth.

He’s handsome, even with the scars, and damaged skin. You could even argue that Dabi is increasingly more handsome because of them.

“You’re lookin’ at me pretty funny,” he says while straddling your hips. “Got something to say?”

You’ve been more silent than usual during this entire exchange, barely saying more than a few whispered pleas for more, but the heat in your belly grows. Heart pounding and tongue dry, you somehow manage to maintain eye contact.

Dabi was your first. The first person to make you feel wanted and alive. The first to bring you to the precipice of mind-boggling pleasure until you were quite literally seeing stars. It’s true that he was an asshole, and it’s true that this new route he’s taken scares you more than anything. But when you look at him, your heart insists that this is still the same man you had fallen for.

“Handsome.” You mumble, averting your eyes. “I was just thinking… about how handsome you are.”

At that admission, you take his fingers, the same he’d just fingered you with, into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, sucking lightly. Dabi shudders. His blue eyes seem to glow with want and... something else that you can’t describe, but it’s tender and unguarded.

Dabi pulls his fingers from your mouth, replacing them his own. His lips shift against yours, tongue prodding until you open up. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against your chest, dragging him into your orbit. You aren’t certain when he had become the very moon on its axis, keeping the tides and seasons of your earth in perfect rhythm, but you do know that the emptiness you feel without him isn’t normal.

Fumbling hands follow the shirking of jeans. At some point your thin little top is pulled off and tossed into a corner. And soon enough, he’s pressing himself into you. The tip of his cock is just barely past your folds before you’re taking him in.

“Fuck!” Dabi braces a hand on your pillow. The other rests on your throat with a slight pressure, enough to make your walls clench around him.

It’s been a while for your ex; you can tell by the way he keeps his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway, because you’d thought he would have moved on to someone else by now.

Dabi’s brows are pinched, and he’s being rougher than usual, still you get the sense that he’s savoring this. Like it’s his last meal. Like he may not ever get a chance like this again. It’s ridiculous for you to lament the final nail in the coffin of your relationship with Dabi, especially considering all the shit he’s caught up in now.

But, unfortunately, your heart operates on a separate plane from the rest of you.

It wants what it wants.

His hips snap forward, knocking into yours in a rapid pace that has tension knotting in your gut. You wrap your legs around his hips, high off the feeling of him so deep in you. The drag of his cock in your pussy has your toes curling. The pleasure is so much you can barely think. His groans and your choked back whimpers fill the room. You even attempt to bite into the back of your hand, just to keep them at bay, but Dabi isn’t having any of that.

“Don’t you dare hold back. I wanna hear you tell me how good I make you feel.”

The look in his eyes is so fervent and heated and feral, it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core. Your thighs are coated in your own slick enough for him to slip in and out with ease. He smirks, licking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, eager to get you off. Your hips jerk in response to the way he’s rubbing and fucking you all at once.

“Dabi,” you cry out. “Yes!”

Sweat licks at your brow causing the little fine hairs around your hairline to stick to your skin.

Dabi presses his face right into your neck, and with each throaty groan that escapes his lips, you feel your gut twist with yearning. You reach up and grip his hair, causing him to groan even louder as he fucks you into oblivion.

“You feel so fucking good, angel, goddamn you’re gripping me so damn tight, fuck—” his babbling continues and you know he’s getting close. Dabi knows it too, so he slows down enough for him to reach around his back and grasp your ankles from around his waist. “You want me to fuck you harder? Hm?”

“Please—I want you so bad.”  You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more. Hearing you say those words makes Dabi chuckle.

He parts your thighs as far they can go, pinning them to the mattress. You hadn't thought it possible, but in this new position he sheathes himself even deeper than before, so much so, that your pussy milks him for all he has, walls spasming uncontrollably around his cock. The cry that falls from your mouth is smothered by a pair of lips.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and soon Dabi’s hips are stuttering against your own. He pulls out quickly, cumming all over your stomach, with a growl and a stroke of his hand.

For a moment the room is silent, save for your harsh breathing. Dabi collapses at your side, all fucked out and sweaty. His eyes never leave yours, even as he battles with fatigue.

As for you, the ache between your legs is a pleasant one you don’t bother complaining about as you clean yourself in the bathroom.

Upon return, you find that Dabi is sitting up in bed with a contemplative look on his face. You don’t ask what he’s thinking, instead you pull him into your arms and allow his head to rest against your chest.

If this is your last official night together, you’d rather spend it in his arms than alone.

🖤

[gryffindors-weasley]

Missing Pieces

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Years pass since the battle and you’ve loved and lost. But your secret isn’t forever when you encounter the one thing you’ve had to hide from.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, mentions of heartbreak, fluff, requited love and kissing

A/N: This is for @iliveiloveiwrite 3.5k song challenge! This fic is based off the song Empty Space by James Arthur, and I’ve gotten a bit carried away with the length on this one. I haven’t written angst in a while, so I hope you enjoy it! Congratulations again, Millie!

You sensed a presence near you, one that lingered behind you ever since you left the shop. One that was only further confirmed when you risked a weary glance over your shoulder, eying a darkened figure slip out of sight just as quickly as you had spotted it. It’d been foolish to be out and about at such an hour by yourself. But you became accustomed to this very feeling over the last four years, it was the only choice you had.

Each time you passed under a street lamp it became a race to get under the next pool of light, as if the glowing sphere that was cast on the cement would make you invincible. You could only hope for that to be so. Because not many people cared for a walk on a chilly evening like this, much less in the drizzling December rain. It was a small town that was rather off the grid after all, you shouldn’t even really be out if you were being honest. But you couldn’t risk being seen apparating nor did you feel like it.

The footfalls behind you were distinct, setting themselves apart against the dull tap of the raindrops on the cracked pavement and you couldn’t deny your racing heart. But you pushed on with a vigor, wanting nothing more than to reach your front door and lock out the world behind you for the night. That’s how you ended every day and every single one to come.

Another hurried glance gave way to the same shadow, a growing frustration forming in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you were just seeing things. Maybe it was just a trick of the eye. The wizarding war had left you rather paranoid after all, and that was never something that’d completely go away. You tried your very hardest to convince yourself you were just tired. However, the soft metallic clinking of what had to be keys was certainly not in your imagination, you knew that for a fact.

You were quick to grip the wand tucked within the side of your boot, fed up as you turned on your heel. “Who are you?”

Your voice was firm as you held your wand tightly in front of you, knuckles white as your eyes squinted to better see in the darker alleyway. It probably wasn’t the best place to confront a stranger, but you had never been one to back down.

A tense silence settled around you, heart hammering away in your chest as your gaze bounced around the seemingly vacant street. It felt like seconds had turned to hours. You were moments away from casting a Lumos spell when the figure stepped out from the alley and revealed themselves. The breath you held now remained caught in your throat, mouth growing dry as your eyes widened a fraction. The gray eyes and platinum hair were unmistakable, the very person you longed to see but knew you couldn’t. He was now standing just a mere two feet away from you.

You were paralyzed in your own thoughts momentarily. Taking in the way his hair nearly tangled with his lashes, or the misty rain droplets that beaded across his pale skin. The forest green scarf that wrapped loosely around his neck, the one you got him for Christmas a number of years ago, now tattered and frayed. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, solemn and hopeful that it really was you. That, it was definitely that.

“Draco?” You whisper, still in disbelief. All the color drained from your cheeks and you nearly dropped your wand, a shockwave of something coursing through your body. You didn’t know if you wanted to run and never look back, or stay.

He swallowed thickly, nearly flinching at the sound of his name falling from your lips after having been deprived of it for so long. His nostrils flared, jaw clenching under the pressure of his own tears as he fought the urge to cage you in his arms and never let go. He couldn’t do that. He shouldn’t do that.

“I thought you were dead.”

The words were strained and low, spoken through gritted teeth as the pain of the last four years doused each one as they fell from quivering lips. It felt as though your heart dropped to your stomach, sitting there heavy as a boulder as tears sting in your eyes.

“How long have you been following me?” You snap defensively, tone ice cold as you try to avoid his statement, finding yourself failing miserably.

“That’s not important.”

It very much was important, though he wasn’t ready to inform you of those details. He’d first found you seven months ago. He was on a home call to the small town you currently resided in, the hospital deeming Draco to be the best fit to heal this patient in particular. Though he was regularly sought out because no other healer within the wizarding world was quite like him, no one held the astounding skills he possessed, and the consideration of that title was something he was rather proud of.

Regardless of the details or their importance, he found himself wandering through the town after he’d finished his job, feeling somewhat compelled to do so. It wasn’t a very interesting place, nothing to set it apart from the next town over or any that happened to be in the near vicinity. However, day in and day out everything had seemed mundane to him, everything blending together in a repetitive and bleak manner. His very world had seemed to have lost its spark. One thing and one thing only had put that miserable town on a pedestal to all the others. You.

He blinked a few times, feeling like his sleepless nights had conjured up the illusion that the very love of his life had been just on the other side of the street, tucked away in a cafe and seated in the picture window. He was more than tempted to cross the cracked street to get a clearer confirmation but the blaring sound of a taxi cab’s horn brought him back to reality. The car promptly swerved around him as he stepped back on the sidewalk, followed by the drivers string of curses out of the window. But he didn’t care, it was undeniably you.

First he was confused, then he was profoundly angry. So much so his skin flushed and burned and passers by had given him odd looks, making a point to avoid him on the narrow walkway. Had you really hated him so much to go so far as to create that kind of deception? One that impacted him so deeply it felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs for months on end thinking you were gone. He was beginning to think you never really loved him at all, that all the whispered promises of a better life together were tall tales spoken in vain.

He’d apparated to his home immediately, unable to bear another glance at you as nausea swirled in his stomach, abandoning the rest of his shift entirely. Resentment filled his empty heart and clouded his mind for days and weeks after that day. The empty space you left behind felt all the more daunting, your memories together no longer a bittersweet recollection as they replayed in his mind. Now they had been permanently tarnished, worsening the utter despair your absence had left him in. Dozens of letters were written in haste and either crumpled or ripped up, thrown across his room with the addition of a nearby object to shatter against the wall.

He hated you. But most of all he hated that he couldn’t move on from you, and yet still, he didn’t want to.

It took him three months to come down from his anger and try and reason with himself. There was no question you had been hit with a hex that day. He watched you writhe in agony at his very own fathers malicious and spiteful doing, those same hands holding him back from joining your side. It couldn’t have been anything but real, your screams permanently engrained in his memory as you left him in the ruins of the courtyard to face his fate alone.

The unanswered questions still fueled his frustration, however, but he found himself returning to that very town. It started as once every two weeks, and when almost four more months had passed he found himself going nearly every day. He wasn’t one to chase after the things that hurt him, but you seemed to be an exception, you always seemed to be an exception. He had been desperate to see you despite the jab he felt in his chest every single time he did.

Now it’s brought him here.

He remained stoic as he stood in front of you, the proximity making it seem as though he towered over your smaller frame. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, not in the slightest, but it made you take a step back nonetheless. He fought against the unbearable pressure seemingly crushing his chest, weaving its way around his heart and wrapping around his throat as he concealed the tears pressing just behind his eyes. The sight had you at a loss for words.

“Draco I—”

“How could you let me think you were gone for the last four years, Y/n?” His voice was raised by this point, his hands clenching at his sides before he released them, leaving small crescent-shaped indentations of his nails behind on his palms.

This was absolutely not the conversation you were looking to have at eleven at night, certainly not one to be had in the middle of the sidewalk. But Draco had seemed insistent that this was happening right then and there whether you had liked it or not. You were beginning to feel like you never wanted to have this talk, the panic bubbling in your stomach as you scrambled to give him an answer.

“It was for your own good,” You say quietly, throat beginning to ache as you suppressed your tears, your own frustration building. It was a feat that was easier said than done. A stray passerby had looked in your general direction to discern the source of the commotion.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you dismiss, turning to leave.

His hand shot out and grabbed your own, the feeling nearly electric against your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat momentarily. “No, it’s not nothing. I have a right to know.”

His hand lingered in yours for a moment or two longer than it should have before it dropped back to his side, his gaze fixed on you as he waited for your explanation. Of the hundreds of ways you thought to broach this conversation in the many days and months apart, they all seemed to erase themselves from your memory now that the moment had arised. “Go on, tell me.”

You stood there hesitantly, afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he’d turn around and leave you behind much like you’d regrettably done to him all those years ago. Though at that point if he chose to do that, you knew it was something you deserved. You owed him the reason, you knew that. But it took great effort to choke out the words, scared to know what would come of the interchange.

“Your mother,” you timidly managed to get out, quiet voice trembling as you spoke your words carefully. “She saved me after I was hexed by your father. I wasn’t in the best shape but she saved me from dying that day.”

You studied his face, watching the crease between his dark brows deepen, bottom lip beginning to noticeably tremble.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” His tone was angry and insistent, jaw clenching as he tried to process what you had just said.

“She told me it’d be better this way. It’d only cause trouble if they knew what she had done for me because I very clearly wasn’t going to make it, it wouldn’t have made sense if suddenly I bounced back from it. Said we were better off apart because at least we’d both make it out of there alive and in one piece, you could have the life you always wanted for yourself.”

He scoffed in disbelief, looking away from you briefly as if to gather his thoughts that rapidly bombarded him. “You really believe that?” He asks quietly.

You shrug, a tear spilling over your reddened cheek. “Look at all the heartache it’s caused, Draco. What was I supposed to do? Should I have just shown up on your doorstep and said ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I know I’ve abandoned you for a few years and made you think I was dead and left you to be heartbroken, but I’m not really.’ Is that what you wanted?”

“It would have been a start.” A humorless laugh left his lips as he shook his head.

You scoff as you narrow your eyes up at him, drawing in a shaky breath. “Don’t be ridiculous, Draco.”

“Ridiculous? You basically ripped my heart right out of my chest and stomped all over it, and I’m being ridiculous?”

He bit his tongue after that, taking a deep breath to stave off the anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to say something to further create anymore regrets.

“I didn’t ask for this!” You nearly shout, his expression softening. “I didn’t want this to be our fate, I fought it as best I could because I didn’t feel right living a life without you in it. It wasn’t ever my choice to make, Draco, and I think you know that.” You manage to say, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. “You deserve better than that.”

He looked at his feet, taking a moment to gather himself as he wiped his cheek with a trembling hand. He shook his head then, lifting his eyes to meet yours again with furrowed brows. He took that moment to take you in, to really look at you, something he’s wanted to do far more often than he ever cared to admit. Your eyes still sparkled the way they always do, and it wasn’t just from the tears that glossed over them. Or the way your cheeks and the very tip of your nose reddened in the chilled winter weather, accentuating every freckle that dotted along your skin. He couldn’t bring himself to look away, nor did he want to.

He took a step closer to replace the one you had taken to widen the gap between you, taking a deep breath as he tried to properly articulate his next words.

“If you think for a second that there was any moment in any day that I haven’t thought of you, you’re wrong. You’re etched in my bones, Y/n, there’s no moving on from you. Don’t you understand the only life I’ve ever wanted is with you?”

He was pleading by this point, voice louder than before as he tried to get you to understand his words were sincere.

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve, the cold weather seeping through your jacket no longer there with the fire ablaze in your chest. “You can’t possibly mean that anymore, and there’s no way I’ll let you forgive me either,” you laugh bitterly, softly, and you shake your head again. “Not after that. That would be ridiculous and I won’t allow it.” You inhaled a quivering breath, meeting his eyes. “You’re supposed to hate me.”

He wouldn’t call it forgiveness, but the very person who left his heart in tatters was the same one who kept it beating. Seemingly the only one.

His breath caught in his throat momentarily as he listened to your words, voice wavering as he whispers, “I could never hate you.”

Those five words were enough to make your heart pound so hard it couldn’t possibly remain in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to run to his arms and pretend nothing ever happened, like you hadn’t kept yourself hidden from him for years while he suffered. But you couldn’t forget it. It wasn’t something you could brush under the rug because the guilt wasn’t quite something you could get over.

“I love you, Draco, very much. But I can’t. I can’t just let this go, and you shouldn’t want me to,” you start, tears falling freely and mixing with the rain. “For that reason, I can’t stay, I have to go.”

You could hardly get the words to fall from your mouth, and through your heartbeat pounding vigorously in your ears you weren’t entirely sure if they did.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you knew he’d try and get you to stay and you didn’t know if you were strong enough to hear it. So you turned your back to the love of your life, rushing off as your face scrunched with unshed tears before disappearing around the next corner. He choked back a sob of his own as he followed after you, turning the corner and finding himself to be the only one left.

4 Months Later

Four months. It had been four months since the night that remained burned in your memory, replaying the interchange word for word every time you closed your eyes. For having gone years without seeing him you thought this would be a simple task to do it again. To rid yourself of the pain that came with loving Draco Malfoy. But really this seemed to be the hardest part of it all, the last four years had paled in comparison to this.

The hole in your chest, the one you’d created twice over was widening with each passing day. You saw him in every thing you did, perhaps you really did see him. Flashes of memories would flood your mind and taunt you. Memories of running through the gardens of the Manor like kids every time you looked at the flowers surrounding your home. Memories of nights in the astronomy tower when the moonlight trickled in your window, curtains promptly being closed. Or the pang in your chest when your fingers brushed over the fabric of his sweater that hung in the very back of your closet. The intense, all-consuming heartache was something you’d never wish on your worst enemy. To long so deeply for someone just might be the worst kind of pain.

Four more months of living in the same looping regret, guilt tightly lacing itself around your heart and constricting you more with every day that goes by. You wondered where you might currently be if you hadn’t been so stubborn, if you hadn’t sabotaged the very thing that made you feel the most alive. Or if you had defied Narcissa’s wishes and ran away with him like you always wanted.

The thought of what should have and could have been tore you up the more you paid them mind. It could have been the two of you in that house, decorated with shared books and memorabilia. You could be waking up together for the rest of your life, rather than occupying the mattress alone. But any scenario that crossed your mind always seemed like it was far out of the realm of possibility, and you were at fault for it. So, you continued on with your everyday life.

You walked up the mossy cobblestone walkway to your home with a huff, groceries tucked in the crook of your arm. You were too tired to apparate, having lacked the energy to do so long before that moment. It was proving to be a challenging task just to find the right key one-handedly, having dropped them completely when you looked up. The metal clang sounded as they hit the ground, the paper bag you held crinkling under your tightened grip, but you soon settled a bit as you sighed. You weren’t sure if you could do this again.

The same blonde that had haunted your every day stood just under your covered porch, sifting through the envelopes that carried his name across the front of each and every one.

“I see my letters have reached you,” He says upon seeing you, quiet as he takes the time to look over each one, not even having to glance inside them to know what was thoughtfully written.

You were quiet, embarrassed that he was now aware of your ignorance to them as they accumulated into a pile just outside your door. It hadn’t made matters any better. “I’ve read some.”

It was true, you had plucked a few from the growing pile and read through them, even reread multiple times. But it quickly became unbearably painful to read his words, the metaphorical blade in your heart twisting with every line your eyes skimmed across. So you let them gather—one turning to two, two turning to five, five turning to ten. They sat, weathered by the outside elements with hopes to be opened and read as intended.

You wanted to write back. You wanted desperately to fill pages detailing how much you had missed him dearly, how fully you loved him. You wanted to pour your very heart onto every piece of letterhead you could find in your house and send it to him, he deserved to know that much, he deserved much more than what you gave. Yet you still wanted to be selfish and have him all to yourself.

He laughed softly, holding no humor as he set them down carefully in a much neater pile on the old rocking chair behind him before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Why didn’t you write back?” His tone was curious rather than angry, though disappointment was still very much there.

You pushed back your truthful reasoning in favor of a simple answer. “I didn’t feel it was appropriate for me to get your hopes up.”

His brows furrowed as a bittersweet smile formed on his lips, one that hadn’t fully reached his tired eyes.

“Love, I’m afraid that’s already happened the moment I saw you again.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest at the nickname, one you certainly didn’t deserve to be referred to as. It took everything in you not to crumble, not to burst into tears.

“Why are you here, Draco?” You ask, desperately wanting to change the subject to keep yourself from lingering on the way he looked at you, gingerly and full of longing.

He shifted on his feet, a brief silence settling between the two of you as he looked at his surroundings. The gray stone walls of the medium-sized cottage, the bursts of color dotting the perimeter from the blooming flowers planted in unkempt flowerbeds, the worn paint on the porch from repeated foot traffic; it was clear to see the path you walked in on a daily basis.

“Has my mother picked this place out for you?” He asks softly, seemingly avoiding your question as he lightly ran his fingertips over the dark green railing. He feels he’s certain he already knows that answer. “It’s quite beautiful.”

You sigh, cheeks burning a rosy pink when he caught your gaze again. “Draco, what are you doing here?” You repeat.

Once again he’s quiet, mulling things over as he carefully thinks about his next words. While waiting, you find yourself trying not to focus on the way the spring breeze blows his hair out of his face, or the way the tip of his nose reddened in the brisk weather. None of those details should have been important but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, not really.

“I suppose I wanted to see you.”

The hesitation in his quiet admission was indicative that there was more to it than he’d let on. And once again it felt as though your heart had been somersaulting in your chest, but you fought the warmth that blossomed in waves within your body at the short statement.

“I don’t believe that’s a very good idea for either of us.” Your words were soft and you hadn’t really believed them, not as much as you should have, but it felt like something you were supposed to say.

You could tell his anger had been rising, could tell by the way he turned his back to you and clutched the wooden railing, gathering himself. You could see the deep breaths he’d been taking, slow and steady as his knuckles turned an ivory white. Your stubbornness had always been a quality he had loved about you, but now that very trait was the thing that’s been ripping him apart.

“And just why is that, Y/n?” His frustration was beginning to become more and more apparent as he turned to face you again, cheeks flushed a pale scarlet. He threw his hands in the air to accompany his words, letting them fall back to his sides. He took another deep breath to control his emotions. “Why?”

“What do you want me to say, Draco?” You we’re defeated by this point, the emotional turmoil having stripped you of the light you once held. This very love had completed you while being your downfall all the same. You felt like you wanted to run in this very moment, as far as possible, but your feet remained planted in place just outside your front door.

He looked at you with such intensity, utterly spellbound by you, that you had to look away from him for a moment, his gaze never faltering no matter how many tears had blurred his vision. His nostrils flare as his eyes continue to gloss over.

“I want you to tell me you love me,” He starts, voice wavering though he kept going despite it. “I want you to tell me you won’t leave. Not again. I have tried and tried to rid myself of you and everything that came with loving you, to fill the gaps you left in my life but there’s far too many. I’m afraid nobody will ever hold a candle to you. So please, I want you to tell me you’ll stop running and stay with me.”

You blinked away your tears as you swallowed thickly, voice coming out in a soft whisper. “Draco, please,” you plead, “I—”

He held up his hand, silently asking to continue as he stepped closer to you cautiously, scared that if he moved too quickly you’d slip away again.

“I didn’t have a choice my entire life, and going another minute without you isn’t a choice either, not really,” he chuckles through tears, his lip trembling and he brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’m so tired of holding grudges. And you can try and keep yourself from me all you want, but I need you with me. I don’t know who I am without you.”

You stood there, clinging to every single word that fell from his lips as you looked up at him. Every passing second was detrimental to the wall you tried to build around yourself, diminishing piece by piece. Your heart pounded in your chest, so much so you thought it might burst then and there. You turned away from him to catch your breath, missing the way his face scrunched in a quiet sob he’d tried to keep you from bearing witness to. But you hadn’t missed the sniffles sounding just paces behind you, and it was something you knew you never wanted to hear again.

You weighed out all your options, rapidly finding yourself unable to find a reason to walk away from this, a logical reason, other than yourself and your inability to let this go. You were tired of fighting, and you were tired of living without the one person you felt you were meant to love. It was useless to do such a thing anymore because no matter how hard you could try to find love in someone else, it always circles back to him.

Against all self doubt and the crushing guilt that told you to let him go and close that chapter, you spun on your heel to find him staring as his breath caught in his throat. You crossed the porch with certainty, leaning up on your toes, fists gripping his coat tightly as you kissed him fiercely. He was knocked back a step or two but his arms were around you in an instant, pressing you as close as he could.

Something akin to electricity ignited across every inch of your skin, and you ignored the nagging thoughts that maybe you shouldn’t be doing this right now. That maybe it was too soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about technicalities and ‘maybe’s’. You parted and he felt it was all too brief as he chased after your lips, but you hadn’t strayed far as you released his jacket, smoothing the crinkled material. You looked up at him, his breath fanning across your face. These quiet, fleeting moments felt like they stretched into hours as you allowed yourself to bask in the moment you never thought you’d experience again.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he laughed softly in relief as a tear slips down his cheek, then another, your lips finding his again in a much softer kiss.

He still held you tightly, fingers splayed across your cheek as if to have confirmation that this was real, that it was really happening. Still to make sure you wouldn’t take off, that you were real.

It was. And he was never losing you again.

—

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

           “They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

           “Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

           The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

           “I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

           She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

           Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

           “I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

           He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

           “Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

           Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

           You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

           “Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

           “Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

           He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

           You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

           “It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

           That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

           “I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

           “Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

           “I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

           Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

           A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

           “But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

           His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

           The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

           He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

           It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

           A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

           And you woke up.

           The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

           But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

           When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

           And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

           Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

           “How long have you been talking to Dean?”

           He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

           You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

           “For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

           “Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

           Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

           “He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

           He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

           You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

           “It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

           You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

           “I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

           He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

           “The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

           “Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

           “I’m surprised you remembered.”

           Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

           “Can I help?”

           After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

           You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

           Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass​ @vxnderlindes​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @akshi8278​ @itsjensenanddean​ @flannellover67​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @tj-drinks-tea​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @winchestergirl2​ @winchest09​ @samwisethegr8​ @nobxdy​ @nurse-sarahrn​ @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love​ @deanwanddamons​ @stressedoutkitten​ @winchestershiresauce​ @tatted-trina6​ @percico-heronstairs​ @downanddirtydean​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @lyarr24​ @waywardwifey​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @wonder-cole​ @sergeantsea​ @peachyafshawn​ @tjfinnigan​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @calaofnoldor​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @theveridianmoon​ @underc0vercryptid​ @daringvixon​ fairlyspnfanfic treat-winchesterswithkindness samfreakingwinchester

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[mrwinterr]

Die Happy

Pairing: Ghost!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader; tiny hint of Sam Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: You summon a really friendly ghost.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual vibes all around, masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral [female receiving]) and language. Dabbling into the occult (use of a Ouija board).

Disclaimer: I’m a spooky bitch, I like how Ouija boards look like, but I would NEVER mess with them.

Title Inspiration: “Die Happy” by Dreamers  

A/N: I was on Reddit and I stumbled across an erotic audio that inspired this, so I definitely owe it to them. I’ve just been dying to write a ghost AU. I decided to hold back on the smut on this for now and maybe save it for later. This can be turned into a series, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Idk. You tell me! Enjoy!

It’s here.

It’s finally here. The package that would help you find the answers you were so desperately looking for was finally here.

Package in hands, there’s a skip to your steps as you happily make your way back into the living room of your somewhat new home. You had moved in almost six months ago, but it still felt so surreal. You, a homeowner. All those years of saving up and house hunting - you finally did one of the most adult things you could do in your life.

The small house had been in the neighborhood for decades and owned by plenty before you, in fact, too plenty, but for a home in Brooklyn, New York it was surprisingly affordable. You’re still patting yourself on the back for how you managed to score this place at such a bargain price.

It was the ideal place, really; surrounded by friendly neighbors and with a great home association. It was at a reasonable distance from your workplace and the city. Furthermore, cosmetically, it was your dream home. You never took a second to ask why someone would quickly put this home back on the market...until recently.

The realtor had assured you that everything in the house was functioning properly before you signed away. There was little to no refurbishing on your end, which was part of the dealbreaker, but now you can’t help to wonder if the realtor was duping you. A young, pretty woman and a first-time homeowner? That was easy bait for them, right? There had to be a catch or information that they were withholding and well, you weren’t about to wait any longer to find out.

Lately, strange things had been happening and while at first you brushed them off as mere coincidences, they were becoming almost too outstanding to ignore.

First, it was the air conditioning unit acting all wonky. You kept the house at a reasonable and comfortable temperature, but you found yourself often sporting hoodies even during the warmer seasons. The technicians couldn’t find a single problem with it and besides whenever you scheduled a visit for inspection, it was magically working just fine. Never mind the breeze that blew past you here and there…

Next, much like the AC unit, the electricity started to have a mind of its own. Before you could flip the light switch or press the button on your remote, it was always one step ahead of you. It was almost like you were living in a smart house, but instead of acting on voice command, it read your mind.

Not to mention, things disappeared and reappeared every now and then. Small things like the morning paper would vanish from the coffee table and if you couldn’t locate where you last left your keys, you never searched too far.

Then the eeriest one of them all was the unexplained smell. There was a distinct yet alluring scent that would waft by when you felt that breeze pass over. You had deduced that it wasn’t any like of your fragrance collection nor was it from the only friend that visited you. It was a pleasant odor and almost calming to you.  

You didn’t want to believe it, but these weren’t just common occurrences - these were tall tale signs of a haunting. The spirit wasn’t vengeful, that much you gathered since it didn’t make attempts to harm you in any way. Sure you could just either ignore these oddities or relist the home, the latter which wasn’t in your favor because it wasn’t that simple. Instead, curiosity won the best of you and you opted to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

“Whoa!” You hear your close friend Sam Wilson exclaim and watch as he scoots to the other end of the couch as far away as he could when you pull the Ouija board out from the box. “Shit, girl. I knew you liked Halloween, but I didn’t think you were that spooky!” He said, his eyes bugging out in disbelief that you’d ordered such a thing.

You roll your eyes at him and place the board on the coffee table. He immediately gets up from his spot and sets what he deems is a safe distance from it as if the object was cursed. You’re not deterred by the Ouija board at all. It had quite the opposite effect because you were all too fascinated with the supernatural.

“You really shouldn’t mess with that kind of stuff,” Sam warns as you handle the remaining piece, the planchette.

“I don’t know why you’re so scared,” you respond, blowing him off and kicking away the now empty box.

“And you’re not?!” He says incredulously, “trying to speak to the dead is not right!” Well, it certainly wasn’t normal, but so weren’t the things that were happening in your home lately.

“I need to find answers, Sam!” You bite back, the volume of your voice matching his. You didn’t miss the hint his exclamations gave off and it bothered you. “What do you expect me to do? Continue living like this? I’m not in control of my own home.”

Oh, he knew. He was your closest friend and you trusted him enough to share your theories about your home and the experiences in it.

“You really think this place is haunted.” It comes off as more of a statement because he can see you’ve clearly made up your mind on how you’re going to prove the theory.

“Why do you think I can’t have Sarge or any pets over?” You absolutely adored Sam’s dog Sarge, but he made it apparent that he didn’t like something about or in your house.

Before Sam could try and spit out an explanation you’ve already heard, you stopped him, “I’m not going crazy! And I certainly am not going to spend another fee on having a technician tell me there’s nothing wrong with the units again.”

“Look. Why don’t you just come spend the night at my place and we can think of another way to approach this?” He offered and you knew that offer all too well. It had always been on the table. When you decided to move to Brooklyn and were looking for your own place, Sam had offered you a room, but you were hellbent on making it on your own. You were proud and independent...and weren’t sure about taking the next step with him.

Sam was everything your past lovers weren’t and you while you both weren’t official, a couple of dates happened here and there, something was holding you back. You cherished his friendship so much and a part of you feared finding out what it could be that you weren’t willing to jeopardize what you two already had if anything more came out of it and then failed miserably. He made it clear how he felt about you, but you brushed it off casually each time. Sam knew you simply weren’t ready.

“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” You reply, breaking away from seeing the look of concern on his face and back to the planchette your hands were fidgeting with. You knew he was a skeptic on these kinds of things and only worried for your safety.

The nights he had spent here nothing strange ever happened. It’s like these occurrences were only happening about you. Sam wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts or not, and he deeply cared for you, but he wasn’t about to stick around and find out. He knew that you could be stubborn, but there was only so much he could do to change your mind from where he stood and he just hoped he hadn’t lost you yet.

The small crack of thunder in the sky indicated a storm was coming and you took that as a sign to convince Sam to leave for the day. You didn’t want to fight with him about this. The few times you did talk about a possible haunting were just humorous conversations to Sam, but you were always being serious. It was evident that you two were not on the same page.

“You should probably start heading home before the rain comes,” you advise, standing up to walk over to the front door, hoping it’d sway him, but he knew what you were doing. Sam wasn’t mad. He was always very patient with you.

He only nods in false agreement before following your lead. “I’m coming back first thing in the morning to check if you’re still alive though,” he jokes, before pulling you in for a hug and giving you a kiss to the side of your head. His words elicit a light chuckle from you, but is mostly muffled against his biceps, then you’re playfully shoving him out the door.

As soon as his car disappears from the end of the street, you jolt and head snaps quickly at a sudden crash from the kitchen. You make your way in that direction to find the mug gifted to you on your last birthday from Sam shattered in pieces all over the kitchen floor.

The last roar of thunder must’ve been a strong one or the elevation of the shelf had been slightly off or maybe the house didn’t like Sam…

You shook your head at that last silly thought from your mind and sighed preparing to clean up the mess. Once that was done, the gloomy weather quickly casted a blanket over the sky and with a remix of fast raindrops against the windows and pavement and the lag in thunder, you didn’t waste time on the mission.

What better time than now? It set the mood. Were you scared? You weren’t sure. You were already convinced you were living with a spirit. You didn’t ponder long enough to think about the aftermath. Was this all just a bunch of hocus pocus or pseudoscience? Would you get possessed by a demon or would he be like Casper?

The use of a Ouija board, especially by someone inexperienced as yourself, was highly not recommended and very much frowned upon during your upbringing. If only your parents could see you now...

The spirit in your home couldn’t be that bad though, right? If they wanted to possess you, they would’ve done so by now; unless they were just waiting for an invitation. Well, there was only one way to find out.

You dimmed the lights and lit a few candles around you. Was this insulting? You did some fair share of research, but most of what you knew about Ouija boards were credited to horror movies.

You take a deep breath and begin to summon your supposed roommate.

Bucky felt bad as he watched you clean up the mess he made in your kitchen. He knew you liked that mug, but he didn’t and he certainly didn’t like how Sam made you feel. Sam made you feel all sorts of things and Bucky knew that, which explained why Sam never experienced anything unusual in the house because Bucky didn’t like seeing you with him.  

He was aware of how silly it was. A ghost jealous of two living humans. He had his turn, but it was tragically cut short. He was so young. He left everything behind to fight a World War. There was a high chance he wouldn’t come back and he was sadly part of that statistic.

But why did his afterlife have to consist of seeing the most angelic living human being just waiting to fall in love with the perfect living man? He didn’t get a chance to live out that part of his life, so was he bitter? Yes. And especially outraged at any distress that was brought upon the current tenant of his old home.

Bucky wasn’t sure why he was able to roam around his old stomping ground over the last couple of decades. He tried his best to communicate with the previous owners but he always ended up scaring them off. When you moved in, if he wasn’t already dead, and you could’ve seen him, he just knew he would’ve been as pale as a well...ghost. He made sure to not send you running for the hills.

He tried to help you with everyday things, trying his best to be subtle. He didn’t even spy on you during private moments like in the shower or on those lonely, needy nights. He proved himself to be a ghostly gentleman.

He even tried to not eavesdrop on your conversations and almost always disappeared when guests were present, but he heard you raise your voice earlier at Sam. He wasn’t sure what you two were arguing about and sure it was petty on his part, but before he could summon enough energy to knock over the mug, Sam was already gone.

Bucky followed you back into the living room and watched as you lit the candles scattered around. He lightly smiled believing you were attempting to relax. If only seeing you in peace was enough to put him to rest - permanently - but when he sees you take a seat back on your couch his expression fell and he swore his heart would stop again if it could.

“Oh no,” he says as he watches you stare at the Ouija board on the table before you. Bucky starts pacing in front of you, his hands over his head. Anyone that set foot and stayed long enough knew this place was haunted, and he knew you weren’t stupid and besides he wasn’t as subtle as he’d like to have been lately.

“Is anyone here?” He hears you ask the first question. He looks over your direction and sees your eyes are closed with both hands on the planchette.

“Oh my God,” he barely whispers and realizes, “she’s really trying to talk to me.” He couldn’t believe you’d be so brave to risk such a thing and importantly willingly reaching out to him.

“Yes! I am! I’m here!” She can’t hear you, idiot. “Fuck, of course she can’t hear me.” Bucky argues with himself on what to do before he remembers how Ouija boards work.

He almost can’t believe it when he does it, but he’s able to delicately move your hands and slide the planchette over to the word ‘YES’.

Your eyes pop open and you gasp when you see that you got an answer. You're frozen and look up in front of you half expecting the spirit to show itself to you, but you don’t see anything.

At least that’s what you think. Unbeknownst to you, you’re staring right at Bucky or rather through him. His expression mirrors yours - complete and utter shock. He was never able to easily move or touch anything solid in years. The incident with the mug earlier, that kind of stuff usually required a lot of concentration and energy on his part. He’s also scared that he’s frightened you with that move, but at the same time excited that he’s successfully communicating with you.

You’re unsure if you should continue. You were half expecting this to be a bust, but it moved. It actually moved! While you were excited that this worked, the tiny voice in the back of your head had you considering that maybe you shouldn’t go any further, but who ever really listened to them? You blink a few times and refocus your attention on the task.

“What are you?” You ask.

“What am I?” Bucky repeats the question, “I’m dead.” Wait. He starts to spell the letters ‘D-E-A-D’ with your hands on the planchette. He compares the sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, amused at that response, of course he was dead, as to what angels must’ve felt like when they earned their wings. If anyone believed in that sort of stuff...either way he felt very blessed.

“You liked that one, didn’t you?” Bucky said more to himself with a big smile on his face. He loved this! It was like he was having a conversation with you. It was something he only ever dreamed of for the last six or so months.

A particular flash of lightning followed by a thunderous sound startles you and you breakaway from the Ouija board. You weren’t going to lie. You were still absolutely spooked out and decided that maybe that was enough contact with the dead for the day.

When your heartbeat finally returned to its normal pace, you got up and turned on the lights, made sure you blew all the candles out and turned in for the night. Before you left, Bucky watched you look around the room and bid goodnight to seemingly nothing, but he knew it was meant for someone - it was meant for him.

The days that followed, you were growing curiouser and curiouser that in your spare time, you started digging into how much can come out of the Ouija board, but first you needed to figure out who you were dealing with.

With as much access as you were granted, you found out about a man, who was around the same age as you, that had died during World War II and the hauntings that would start to occur after the first tenant took residence upon this home.

The house belonged to a man named James Buchanan Barnes, but signed it under the name Bucky. How cute. You thought to yourself over the nickname, then you saw an accompanying photo of who you assumed was living with you. It was in black and white and the quality wasn’t that up to par, but from what you could make out you could determine enough. Cute name for a cute guy.

You read the experiences of others that lived here before you and they all seemed harmless. They were just spooked and you didn’t blame them. They had every right to be scared, but you didn’t scare that easily.

You’re so engrossed with your findings, you barely paid any attention to Sam, even when he’d come in to check on you. He had the spare key in case of emergencies, and you ignoring most of his unreturned phone calls and missed texts, uncharacteristically you, to him was deemed as an emergency.

Sam was only less than thrilled to see your enthusiasm on all this. Normal people didn’t go around poking at the dead. He pointed out you were lucky you didn’t get possessed, not paying any mind or adhering to you claiming he was probably a friendly ghost.

“This isn’t an episode of Casper!” Sam says fed up again. His face falters as he watches your shoulders visibly slump. He hated killing the vibe, especially when you were excited, but you were excited about something all too unreal and that shouldn’t be messed with at all in the first place.

“What if I can help him?” You try reasoning with him, “What if I can help him pass on? Then I can live in peace...and so would he.”

“You’re already lucky that you’re unharmed,” Sam reminds you, “I’m just worried about you.”

“I know you are, but I’ll be fine,” you assure him, hoping you could keep that promise. After all, you couldn’t even confirm you were really communicating with Bucky.

You were relieved that the conversation with Sam didn’t take a turn for the worse like it easily could have. You understood where he was coming from and you were lucky to have someone like him care so much about your wellbeing. The realization never fails to punch you in the gut for not allowing yourself to give in.

So why were you more scared to commit than of willingly reaching out to a ghost?

Take two.

You sat perched up and ready to communicate once more. Bucky, on the other hand, is more than ready and the cool familiar breeze that passes you by lets you know that he’s here.

“Who are you?” There weren’t exactly formalities with contacting the dead and your heartbeat starts to pick up as you’re slowly spelling out ‘B-U-C-K-Y’.

“Bucky,” you whisper. Boy, did Bucky like the sound of his name coming from your lips.

“How did you...die?” you had to swallow in between the last word in that question, hoping it wouldn’t trigger a negative response. Even in the afterlife, death couldn’t be an easy topic.

The letters ‘W-A-R’ and the number ‘2’ gives you your answer. It was him! Internally, you’re overjoyed that you’ve figured out your ghostly John Doe, but you try to remain at ease.

“Did you knock down my mug?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at that, but swiftly moves your hands over to ‘YES’.

“Okay. I mean that wasn’t very nice,” you couldn’t just bite your tongue as the sass flowed right out of you.

‘S-O-R-R-Y’.

The apology takes you by surprise, and suddenly you weren’t mad about the mug anymore.

“It’s alright. It was just a mug,” you try to assure him. You’d just have to explain to Sam another time that the ghost broke it. No biggie. Yeah, right. What with the tiny arguments, he’d most likely believe you destroyed it out of anger and frustration at him.

Your arms were getting tired from the position they were in. Several minutes had passed since you last said anything to Bucky and you weren’t sure of what to ask next.

Where does this end? Do you ask him to leave? This is his home. No, it’s not anymore. It’s your home now. But he doesn’t belong here anymore. How do you help him pass on? Did you have that ability? Do you hire a medium? Enlist the help of a priest? Call a ghostbuster? Your mind grew tired all too quickly, you slumped back in your seat, breaking away from the Ouija board.

Bucky watched as you rubbed the muscles of your sore arms. He felt helpless. He wishes he could ease or take away your pain. Instead, all he could do was watch and make sure you were okay until you were ready to start talking again.

With your hands back on the items, you ask, “are you still here?” Bucky responds with ‘YES’. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself, before proceeding with the next question.

“Can you show yourself to me?” There the ultimate question and Bucky can’t help but ask why? Why were you interested in seeing him? He was a lost cause.

“No?” you ask more to yourself, still staring at the word through the eye of the planchette, and frown at his response.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to show himself to you, but he didn’t know how. For decades he was nothing but a gust of air. No matter how hard he tried to show himself to previous owners, he was never successful.

You pull your hands back away and place them in your lap, unsure of where to go from here. Well, you couldn’t force a ghost to do something they didn’t want to do, but you hoped that maybe perhaps seeing him would make it less taxing while communicating.

There’s a sudden iciness that covers the side of your cheek, sending a chill down your spine, causing you to flinch and your hand rising quickly to warm the spot.

Bucky almost disappears at the sudden reaction. He can’t believe it. You felt that. You could feel him. It was different than pushing your hands in different directions because this time, neither of you needed the help of the Ouija board.

You’re not sure where he is as your eyes scan the room, you wanted to feel that again. Sure, the cold was a bit alarming, and as sharp as his icy touch was, so was the surge that flowed through you. It was unexplainable, but soothing.

It sucked for Bucky because he couldn’t keep your eyes trained on just him.

“Are you sure you can’t show yourself?” You ask again, this time convinced you didn’t need the Ouija board anymore.

However, Bucky needed the board to reply. You sigh in defeat as you watch the planchette slide across to the word ‘YES’. You couldn’t allow yourself to get mad. You just couldn’t understand how it was possible for him to do all these other things, but not be able to show himself. Whatever it was, you’d just have to accept that you’d never understand ghost logic.

The sound of the planchette scraping against the board, offers you the word, ‘F-E-E-L’.

Feel? You definitely felt a presence, but now it was confirmed. It was him. He was trying to communicate through touch.

“Yes, I felt you,” you let Bucky know quite eagerly. The planchette remains unmoved after that and instead of what would appear to be awkward silence, the seconds that were passing by could be more appropriately compared to that of a ticking time bomb.

“Touch me,” you request.

Bucky’s stunned. If he were alive and well right now, he’d no doubt be on his knees for you with a command like that. He floats over to you and is only more than eager to touch you again, but he’s not sure of where. Feeling a soft anticipation of a ghostly tingle, he hesitantly places both hands on the underside of your jaw, in a cradle-like fashion, hoping it'll stop your wandering eyes.  

You stand still, frozen in place, now seeing the breath of air that escapes your mouth in a cloud of smoke. He’s definitely here and in front of you.

“More,” you say barely above a whisper.

Fuck. Bucky inwardly swears at himself as you unintentionally egg him on. Testing his limits, what more could he already lose? He was already dead.

He goes all in. He leans in and presses his cold, dead lips to yours in the most gentle and light kiss ever. When he pulls away, he sees that your eyes have closed and he can’t help immediately start to wonder if you actually felt that or not. He sure as hell felt it. He can’t be certain as he tries to gauge at the expression on your face. Shit, why did he do that?

“Do it again,” and this time with a more affirmative tone, Bucky doesn’t question anything anymore and obeys. His lips dig deeper against yours, you let out a small moan and purse your lips to respond. You don’t think about how silly it must look to be making out with practically nothing, not knowing what to do with your hands because there was nothing to hold onto, but despite that it all felt too real. He was real.  

Bucky’s mind is reeling at the sound of pleasure that spews from your mouth, he can’t comprehend how this is even possible. He’d been dying to know what kissing you felt like - what you felt like at all.

When your lips start to get numb and turn blue, you reluctantly pull away. You open your eyes to a dark room and wish you could at least hear him, the sounds of ecstasy played a pivotal role in intimacy.  

Your body temperature returns to normal, blood rushing, mind a haze. You stand up and head towards your bedroom without another word. Would he take the cue to follow you? You can’t be sure. You can’t see or hear him, but your actions say otherwise and make you both feel as if he wasn’t dead at all. It was now a game of cat and mouse.

Bucky or not, you were unabashedly turned on. In moments like these, it was hard to be in control of your own body and the only thing you could do was give in to the desires. In this instance, your body couldn’t make up its mind because as if you weren’t just freezing your ass off while kissing Bucky, you were suddenly hot all over.

Flustered, you pulled down your shorts, tossed them carelessly across the room, perhaps a little too harshly. If he wasn’t going to help you out, then you would do the job yourself. A mad smile on your face, surprised you weren’t the least bit embarrassed if he was going to watch you or not. It only added to the thrill and the excitement.

Trying to regulate your breathing, you lie down on the center of your bed and run your hands over your face down to where you needed them the most. Your fingers experimentally graze along the wet spot of your panties, groaning in acknowledgment of the sudden arousal. There’s no sense in conjuring up a justifiable explanation as to how something so seemingly innocent as the kiss you shared with Bucky got you so crazed. Not wasting any time, you lift your hips up and bend your legs to slip the flimsy garment off.

No longer a thin barrier between, your entire body shivers slightly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips, when your fingers make first contact with your clit and you begin to rub slow slow circles over it. Your stomach sinks in with each relieving exhale, your breathing growing heavy. Your fingers run off course and dip into your folds, past the floodgates, your fingers resurface coated in your own wetness and you use it to an advantage in invigorating your clit.

Eyes closed, you start to think about Bucky. You want to feel guilty or believe this was all wrong. Instead of getting off to someone like Sam or someone real for that matter, you lied there baring yourself to a ghost. You try to picture that baby face of his, and all that you could based on the lone image you found of him on the Internet.

The curve of his full lips that you were fortunate enough to feel on yours moments ago. You already knew they were soft, but what about his other features? Did his eyes sparkle or were they like black holes? What color were they? They had to be of a set that could hypnotize someone. Maybe it was okay that you couldn’t see him because if you had you just knew that you’d be at his mercy.

And that was just on the surface of it all. How was he like in other areas? How would his tongue feel against yours, on your skin, in you...The simulation causes your thighs to clamp up, knees involuntarily knocking into each other; your other hand clutching onto the bed sheets. He made it that easy, but you needed one more good push to dive in the deep end.

A thin layer of sweat coats your skin from the increase in body heat, then an abrupt familiar cold sensation runs through you, his alluring scent filling your nostrils, your legs forcefully separate; all tells you that Bucky was here. You pick up your head, always a small hint of disappointment flashes through your features at the fact you still and won’t be likely to ever see him.

It shoots a wild pang through Bucky’s chest because he doesn’t miss it; never knowing he could read someone so openly. He missed out on a good chunk of his life. He missed out on someone like you. Life was so cruel.

Your thoughts aren’t as far away from his as you start to wonder, why was it all so easy - seamlessly flawless - with him? Running with only first-party information and two silent conversations, you were already willing to go headfirst for halos for Bucky. Was it pathetic? You didn’t care anymore, whatever would ultimately bring you to him, you just knew in the end you’d die happy.

Your head falls back in defeat and you try to keep your emotions at bay, until you feel the hem of your shirt being lifted, exposing your midriff. Your lips cave in and you wince at each uncalculated cold peck Bucky’s lips leave on you. Whereas you felt a minor sting at how cold his touches were, for the first time, Bucky felt like he was on fire at how hot to the touch you were in this moment. This moment with him.

His lips create a path down to your core, and the contrast in temperature feels good. Not knowing what to do with your hands again, your arms lie sprawled on the bed on either side of your body, then you mentally curse at another sad truth that you had no one to hold on to.

A cool breeze brushes past your folds and your heartbeat spikes up again. Bucky never imagined he’d ever be able to make someone feel this way. It was pointless for him, but he dreamt about it countless times. And then he wickedly thinks how he was dumb to not spy on you during those nightly sessions. He was missing out. You were absolutely divine in his eyes.

“Bucky,” his name slips past your lips when his make contact with your swollen clit. It started off so innocently, but when he pulled his lips back and ran his tongue over the wet spot you left on them, giving him a taste of what you had to offer, he wanted more.

The cold, with each bit of contact from Bucky, was no longer a thing as your body quickly acclimated to it. Bucky uses his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and allows himself to get a better taste. Your head lulls back, sinking in deeper into your pillows.

There’s only so much you could do to communicate with Bucky, you want to feel his hands all over, but instead you pick up on the slack as you grab and squeeze handfuls of your breasts, massaging them and adding onto the sensation. Your groping proves to be successful when you draw out more noises.

Bucky’s eyes never tear away from watching your reaction, the way your body moves from pleasure - pleasure he’s bestowing on you. His mouth doesn't require guidance as his tongue pulls all the right moves, weaving its way through and between your folds. He drags out a long moan from you when he dips his tongue in and then captures your folds between his lips, tugging as he sucked on them.

“I-I need,” you try to voice out your desires, but you’re reveling in so much, especially in being able to feel Bucky’s fingers digging into the sides of your hips; you bite down on one of your fingers, trying not to let out a crazed scream.

Bucky doesn’t want you to hold back though, so he introduces his fingers into the mix as they take turns in you. You wished you could hear him and all the sounds of his onslaught. To hear those pretty boy moans, the filthy pops and slurping noises. Was he a dirty talker? God. Imagine the things he would say.

He gets the message loud and clear. You want to come, and so he quickens his actions until your body goes into overdrive. When you reach your peak, your eyes snap open, pupils blown, and your back arches up in perfect bridge-like fashion. It almost looks like you’re being possessed before you come back down releasing choppy gasps of breaths.

Exhausted, you struggle to stay conscious wanting to communicate with Bucky one last time, but it felt like the orgasm almost sucked the life out of you. The puffs of cool air against your pussy are an indication that Bucky is still present and he wasn’t going to go anywhere just yet. He hasn’t moved from his position and is short of breath, in awe of seeing you coming undone for him and more so the fact that this happened. This wasn’t just another one of his dreams.

For as long as he’d been an apparition, he’d hoped to be able to finally pass on and if this was his actual last day on Earth, then he’d gladly accept it because one night with you was enough. 

Bucky would die happy.

A/N: Yeah, the ending wasn’t strong, but I wanted to leave it open for interpretation. Let me know what you think! A simple like and reblog is enough to help a sis out! Thank you for reading! 

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Is it just me or has this week been going kind of slow? It feels like Thursday, but no! It is WEDNESDAY! >:D That means it’s time to shaaaaaare! X3

So, I’m finally getting back into writing, but I’m doing bits and pieces at a time. I think I may have put too much pressure on myself, so everything I wrote and then read looked..bleh. 

However! Due to an ask that @the-dreadful-canine sent me, I found some inspiration! >:D

Thank you @noire-pandora for the tag! I send you all the hearts in the world! <3

Halamshiral brings out the best in the both the wolf and the dragon~ >:3

"She was friendly.", Fane said, face blank, arms crossed as he let his eyes follow after the elven servant that had just left where he and Solas were against the walls of the Winter Palace; the two of them keeping to the shadows and niches the soft darkness held.

He had sought out the Elvhen man, thankfully without much interference, to mention another spike in the air around them. There was magic somewhere in the palace, but he couldn't pinpoint its exact placement. Solas had agreed with his assessment after the first time, and the few times Fane had passed through this particular hall, the one lining the small courtyard, he had noticed his sky's brow furrowed slightly and his eyes glued ahead as if he were listening for something.

So far, neither of them had had any luck determining a focal point, but it had to be a rift; his mark proved that. It wasn't flaring violently, but the pulse was deeper than usual and his arm burned as the magic scorched through his veins. It was why, even after notifying the other about the fluctuation in the Veil, he had lingered.

Now, Fane wished he hadn't as his eyes continued to watch the retreating servant girl, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining with something he knew all too well: infatuation. That would be fine on it's own, he wasn't one to judge or condone another's feelings as his very nature encouraged them to blossom, but the person that gaze was directed towards…

That was another story entirely. Why did he feel so...bitter? This prison of marble, gold, jewels, and stone was infuriating and confusing.

Solas chuckled, his eyes, too, following after the young woman, but they were still, clear, uninterested, but yet, Fane felt odd. "Indeed she was. Many of the servants have been. I believe they find my presence intriguing, and perhaps, comforting.”

"Makes sense. You have a certain air here. More relaxed, even if every shadow holds a knife. Confident, really. Makes you approachable.", Fane muttered out his observation absently, glancing down to be met with questioning orbs of blue-grey; the color was mixed due to the shadows dancing within and around them. They looked midnight in hue and they were trained on him now; no one else. “The responses to me have been the exact opposite. Not surprising, but annoying. I tried to question a pair of them outside this hallway, and they shooed me off.”

Solas gave him a small, but reassuring smile. “So I saw. Merely a precaution, I think, vhenan.”, he said, casting midnight orbs around once more, essences of lavender glinting from starlight. They landed upon a small group; three servants, each elven and they appeared to be wholly uninterested in ferrying about between the nobles. “Servants have long walked within the halls of power, unnoticed, but ever-watchful of those who see them only as inconsequential. Wariness is their greatest weapon against those who flaunt without reservation. The elves along these walls and in these dark corridors know what you represent, and so they keep you at arm’s length. ”

Fane hummed, pursing his lips a bit. "So, they’re fearful of me. Again, not an uncommon reaction.”, he said. albeit a bit bitterly. Typical. He should have known that was the case. Dressing a wolf in sheep’s clothing didn’t not make it a wolf, after all.

Except, he was a dragon. A dragon playing politics, playing with power. Fane was surprised he hadn't combusted as soon as his boots had touched the inner gate's threshold. The night was young, though. Sadly. Unfortunately. Miserably. How his sky, who was now leaning against the pedestal of a bust, appearing calm, collected, and enthused as eternal irises gazed up at him had done this almost day in and day out was baffling and honestly? Terrifying.

Solas shook his head. “No. Not of you as you are, my dragon.”, he denied simply, glittering jewels of deepest blue shifting like the sky just visible through the windows they stood beside. “They’re fearful of the power you possess. Elves have long been the victims of misused power. They wonder if you are the same as the Grand Duke, the Empress, the Duchess, or any here that have dealt a heavy hand without provocation.” A sigh and a warmer smile, midnight shifting to the paleness of moonlight. “However, I have seen gazes begin to linger among the groups each time you pass. They hold hope; a dream of opportunity. You are proving you are not the same, ma’isenatha. Unlike many, who believe themselves entitled. Continue to do as you’re doing, and a society will open up to you. Be patient, be mindful, and be true in a place rife with lies.”

Fane raised an eyebrow, keeping their gazes locked. “So, continue being a near ass to every atrociously dressed fop and priss that gets it in their head to waltz up to me?", he questioned before growling in the next moment. "The last prick I had the misfortune of walking within sight of nearly got a claw up the ass when they touched my arm.”

The mage smirked,  but it seemed...dark, eyes sharpening like metal at his last statement. “I would not call how you’ve been carrying yourself being a ‘near ass’, vhenan. It is far more nuanced than that.”

“Oh? How would you label my attitude then?”, Fane asked, keeping his eyebrow raised before a light of mischief and nostalgia flashed within blue, turning his curious expression into a blank slate. “What’s that look for?”

Something about the air was shifting due to this conversation. It wasn’t magic or anything, but it was...heightening, taking on a heady blend, power and emotion, present and past mixing with odd harmonies. Solas had mentioned something like that when they first arrived...

Solas hummed, eyes taking on a softer edge, primal darkness dispersing in both the curve of his mouth and the depths of his eyes. “It is nothing.”, he dismissed, the glint of nostalgia apparent upon every sharp line and curve of his sky’s face. Razor sharp eyes of blue steel shifted away casually once more, a single finger beginning to tap against where hands overlapped. “Suffice it to say, I am...pleased with this side of you as I am with every facet of personality you gift me with. The evening has been full of surprises, and hopefully, it will end on a high note."

Fane scoffed, leaning back a bit to rest against a windowsill; the marble was cool against the back of his legs and it helped soothe both his mind and the scars upon his legs. The material of his pants were better than most, but not what he was used to. “You’re just tempting the world to answer with that call, my sky.”, he said with a sidelong glance in Solas’ direction.

Solas responded with a sidelong glance of his own. “And what if I am?”, he retorted. There was something...cheeky about the elf’s tone and it wasn’t something Fane heard often, if at all. Yes, things were shifting, but not detrimentally so.

Fane kept his face blank, but he felt..light; a feeling of warmth in his chest apparent. “Then I would have to intervene on its behalf.”, he quipped, dropping his voice a few octaves and narrowing his eyes. These words falling from their mouths, mixing with shadow, candlelight, hushed whispers, and quiet refrains were interesting. They came with ease, they fell with grace…

...they sang with pride. That would usually terrify Fane, one of seven sins that could, but right now, with the sky gazing up at him from the side, body lax and garbed in black much like his own was, and expression titillating, ethereal, he was anything but frightened.

He was enthralled.

Solas hummed, eyes tempting with silent wishes. “My voice would harken a dragon to respond, would it?”, the mage pushed, or rather, pulled him in with that hushed question; the silk that Fane associated with his sky’s voice wrapping around his hearing like a gossamer sheet.

Fane shrugged a bit, bringing his arms up to cross them as he did so with his legs a bit; boots scuffing against pristine marble. He leaned back further against the ledge of the window now, but part of him wanted to inch away, ascend to the sky gazing up at him from hooded lids. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember,”, he began before pausing, a tight feeling of warmth ensnaring his chest as Solas’ eyes flashed with quiet indigo and so he pressed back with velvet. “...Fen’harel?”

*screeches* Why do I love these two being suave fools?! The brain worms are strong in this Chili’s tonight! 

Tagging (with no pressure, but all the court intrigue! >:3): 

@oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @varric-tethras-editor @dreadfutures @dungeons-and-dragon-age @blueheaded @drag-on-age @shift-shaping @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share and revel in the court! *cackles* 

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xi (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The reader reaches the second stage of grief – anger.

Warnings: angry!reader, reader’s mood swings rival Steve’s LMAO, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2.5k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

The summer sun was unrelenting. Beads of sweat appeared around your hairline as the sun scorched the parts of your skin that was exposed to its heated stare. The parts that were hidden were being scratched by the lace of the loose black gown you wore. The dress was ill-fitting, but no one expected you to dress to the nines after everything you’ve endured.

The kingdom may not have known the entirety of the story. Tales of the runaway queen were still whispered along with the stories of the cruel king. However, the rumors of the unhappy marriage were being put to rest for despite the hot day, your husband stood behind you with his arms wrapped around your body. He was the closest thing to comfort during this troubling morning. You laid the back of your head against his chest as silent tears rolled down your cheeks. The carriage in which your friend’s body was enclosed in was being sent to York to be put to rest alongside her parents. You cried silently for your loss as you said your final goodbye.

The rest of the day, you asked to be alone with your thoughts, opting to stay within your shared bedchamber. He wanted to stay with you, but you told him that he had a country to manage. Your husband didn’t like the idea of you being isolated – especially with Natasha riding off to York with Pietro. You would be completely alone.

But you faked a smile to your husband, trying to convince him you were fine. Steven knew otherwise. He felt as if he were attuned to your emotions by now. He could differentiate a fake smile from a genuine one. He knew this was only the calm to the storm. But he didn’t want to hover nor make you feel trapped. So, he reluctantly left you be.

He did, however, send food up with a servant. The woman stood at your door, a tray with hot soup and a loaf of bread in her hands. She gave you a kind smile and said, “the king would wish that you eat, your grace.”

You returned her smile and shook your head. “I’m not hungry.”

Her kind smile turned nervous as she chuckled. “I’m afraid he insists, your grace.”

“Tell my husband he can shove that hot soup right up his arse,” you chided as you closed the door, refusing to let her in despite her protests. You didn’t see the woman’s wide eyes as the color drained from her face. She was not excited to relay that message to her king – though she did still do it.

Minutes later, your husband barged into the room with the same tray in hand. You were in the balcony, paying him no mind. “You should be kinder to the servants,” he called out to you. “Who knows what rumors you’ll inspire?”

“Killer queen, perhaps? You’ve already taken the moniker of cruel, unfortunately.” You joked. He chuckled as he placed the tray on the foot of your shared bed and walked over to your spot on the balcony. You turned to him and gaped at him in shock.

“I am willing to trade,” Steve smiled as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You’ve shaved.” You whispered. Your hands cupped his cheeks, grazing over the ghost of his beard.

“I thought perhaps I could use a change… Welcome a new era,” he told you. He gave you a peck on the lips.

“I liked the beard.” You whispered. “I thought you looked rather dashing.”

“Then, I will grow it out again,” Steven promised. “Come, let’s get some food in you.” You shook your head and told him you were not hungry. However, the untimely grumbling of your stomach told him otherwise. He smirked, knowing he had won. You groaned as he pulled you inside. “Did teasing the servant bring you any joy? You should’ve seen her face when she told me what you said.”

“So, I take it you did not shove a bowl of hot soup into your – “

“No.” Steve laughed, breaking a piece of the loaf and pushing it towards your lips. With a roll of your eyes, you allowed your husband to feed you. He’d alternate between the bread and the cooling soup.

“I can feed myself.” You muttered after the fourth spoonful.

“Then, don’t act like a child.” Steven scolded. Although you tried to take the spoon away from him, he reeled his arm from your reach and tutted at you.

He continued to spoon feed you, sometimes dipping bits of bread into the soup. You had never seen a massive man like your husband – muscular and intimidating, from first glance – act so soft… His movements were careful, not trying to overload you with food nor make a mess.

A somber feeling rushed through you as you pictured what he would’ve been like doting on his child. You pictured a sweet little angel with golden locks and his blue eyes, or perhaps they’ll have your features? Maybe a mixture of both of you? You imagined the baby that once grew inside of you was a baby girl. A princess, like her mother. You would’ve been a dream.

A dream that you lost forever.

Steven frowned as he saw your eyes glaze over with fresh, new tears. You blinked them away quickly, but they were relentless like the summer heat. He cast aside the spoon and pulled you into his chest, knowing the storm had finally come as you let out a sob.

He rubbed your back and told you it would be okay – although, he wasn’t sure if it’ll ever be okay.

In all his years on the throne, he had lost many friends. Some were so angry with him for letting Margaret control him for a decade that they refused to come back to court. Some had died alongside him on the many battlefields he’s fought in. He remembered the time when James, his oldest friend and closest confidant, had been on his deathbed. Thankfully, he recovered. Every loss – and near loss – affected him. Hell, the thought that you were lost at sea forever made him go on a rampage.

He knew he couldn’t possibly know what you were going through. He’s seen his friends and allies be struck down during battle, but to have witness your friend’s assault and to have her bleed out in front of you? To have the same nearly done to you and to experience losing your unborn child alone all in the span of a few hours?

His heart broke for you. He was angry for you. But he knew you didn’t need him unleashing his wrath – especially with the two traitors who deserved his ire were still at large. He knew you needed support. You needed your husband.

And he was more than happy to be there for you.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You eventually fell asleep in his arms. The servant had come in to collect the tray. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw her king and queen wrapped up in each other. She had never seen him more content – happy.

As the sun slowly began to set, Steven had slowly drifted off to sleep as well. Until Lord Barnes and Wilson barged in through the doors. The two sleeping monarchs jolted awake.

“Apologizes, your majesties,” James said, bowing.

“You’re back.” Steven responded as you sat up.

“Where did he go?” You wondered aloud.

“I’ve finally captured him.” James said. The vague statement made you uneasy. More secrets being withheld from you.

“Who?” You asked. Steven had finally told you the truth, and you no longer wanted to be kept in the dark about anything.

“Brock?” Your husband asked. The dark haired man nodded. You felt your blood run hot as you stumbled out of your husband’s arms and out of the bed. Your bare feet met the cold floor, sending a shiver through you as you remembered when you and Wanda ran barefoot in the corridors at night. “(Y/N) – “Steve called you, but you shook your head.

“I want to see him.” You argued. “I need to see him.”

“I don’t think that’s ideal, your grace,” Sam suggested. “Perhaps, this is a matter that the king should handle.”

“No.” You snapped, narrowing your eyes at the three men, who were all keen to protect you from this man. “I will see him.”

James opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, but Steven raised his hand to silence his friend. He knew you needed this – any sense of closure was better than none.

The two lords led you and the king through the halls. James had explained that in order to not make a scene, he opted to stash Rumlow in the cellar. Brock Rumlow was a lord, a nobleman – and as much as Steve hated it, he did have royal blood running through his veins, too. Although striking him down for all the world to see would’ve sent a clear message – that all traitors would not be forgiven and that their actions will incite consequences, regardless of status – it would’ve been best to handle the situation discreetly. It would’ve speculation versus the words of a nobleman, after all.

Before entering the cellar, Steven looked over at you. The despair and sorrow were gone. There was still a hint of the tears made evident by the puffy eyes and flushed cheeks, but the look of determination took over your features – brows scrunched together, lips pursed. He knew there were a million things going on in your mind at this very moment. Still protective, the king subtly pushed you behind him as he entered the cellar. Behind you were the two lords.

The cellar’s walls were covered with barrels. There were two guards standing on either side of a man wrapped in chains. He was kneeling on the floor from what you could tell.

“Ah, Stevie,” Brock mocked, chuckling a little. “Barnes ever-so gently requested that I immediately return to the castle. I had to refuse. My estate had a small little fire. But, again, he was so kind in his request, I had to come back… Did you miss me, cousin?”  

“You ran from your crimes. Do not deny it, cousin,” Steven spat.

“Your estate was perfectly intact.” James added. “Your servants said that you were in a rush to leave. Packing away your belongings as if there was a fire.”

“You along with Pierce conspired to have my wife killed.” Steven snapped.

“I don’t think I know what crimes you speak of…” Brock said.

“You know,” you finally said. The room became stoic and silent as you moved from behind your husband. The lord stared at you in shock. “Like seeing a ghost, isn’t it, Brock?”

“You – you – “He stuttered. “Your grace.” He greeted, less confidently, bowing his head. You stared at him as your blood boiled. You remembered his caring touches. His small smiles and whispers, promising you safety. It was all a lie like the respect he threw your way.

Rumlow had various bruises lined on his face along with a puffed lip. He looked as if he were beaten. The thought of someone being tortured and harmed used to unsettle you, but now as you stared at one of the men who took advantage of your vulnerability – one of the men who put you on the boat, knowing the outcome would’ve ended with your dead body in the sea – all you could think of was good. He deserves it.

“Did you know?” You asked. Of course, you knew the answer. You wanted him to admit it. Admit it you – admit it your husband, to the guards, and the two loyal lords. You wanted to hear him say that he knowingly betrayed you and the crown.

“I – I – I don’t know what you mean,” Brock muttered. He adverted his eyes from your angry glare. The wife of his cousin – the wife he would’ve had, had Steven died from his several illnesses as a child – had an unnerving look on her face. He remembered your kind and thankful smiles when he spoke to you. It was long gone.

“You know.” You pushed. You felt tears prick in your eyes and you made no effort in concealing them. You were grieving. Not only for the loss of your friend but for the loss of your child as well. You were enraged. Everyone in the room could tell – could sense it. Even the two guards were afraid of you. You stalked over to Brock. “Look me in the eyes, Brock,” you scolded as you grabbed a fistful of his hair and craned his neck so that he met your angry eyes. “Look me in the eyes and tell me.”

Brock knew from the moment he agreed with Alexander Pierce to start conspiring against the king that one day, he would meet his cousin’s anger. Earlier in his years on the council, he was afraid of his cousin.

The skinny little prince had grown up to be tall, broad, and muscular. The ballads painted him as an Adonis who was strong as a bull, and his cousin made good on those depictions. He had fought alongside him in many battles. He had seen Steven tear into his foes. He’d witnessed the king’s ruthlessness on the battlefield firsthand.

Brock groomed himself to be accustomed Steven’s violence. As the years wore on, he became desensitized to it. He prepared himself for the day that Steven did strike him down or lock him away in the dungeon like the other traitors. He was prepared for the axe, sword, and torture.

He was not prepared for the woman who seethed in front of him.

He didn’t even think you had the capability to be as malicious as your husband – and quite honestly, neither did you. But circumstances changed. Lives have been lost. And you were enraged in a way you hadn’t felt before.

“You won’t?” You chuckled humorlessly when the man on his knees refused to speak. Every man around you was silent. You relented your grip in his hair as you stood up straight. “Very well.” You gestured to the guard on your right. “Cut his throat.”

“Wait,” Brock begged. “Wait, your grace – (Y/N) – “

The guard pulled out a dagger and held it to his throat when you laughed again. “Wait, stop.” The armored man held the blade centimeters away from the lord’s neck. You smiled at him wickedly. “Is that fear I sense in you, Rumlow?” Your brows knitted together. “Is that fear, my love?” You asked, turning around to your husband who enjoyed seeing his cousin squirm.

“I believe so,” Steven nodded, an equally wicked smile on his own face.

You bent down so that you were at the chained man’s level. You nodded to the guard, who pulled the blade away from his throat. You grabbed Rumlow’s hair again and gave him another sinister smile.

“You and Lord Pierce preyed upon my vulnerability and fears. You tried to turn me against my husband and in doing so, my friend died. My child died,” You spat.

The lord’s eyes widening in realization. He was not only dealing with the aggressions of a betrayed friend, of a queen who survived an attack but of an unhinged, grieving mother who lost her child.

“You may not admit your plans… Not yet. But you will. You may know my husband’s wrath inside and out, but you have not seen mine.”

[ningningsplushie]

The Cute Barista

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Word count: 2263

Genre: Pastel cafe?? Jimin being a comforting person :3

Summary: Your favourite barista has moved away and in her place is the ever charming Park Jimin. Can he comfort you just the same?

Warnings: Cringey pick up line (rip but it fit well with the story), stressed and upset reader

After a long day, a trip to the cafe was exactly what she needed. Classes were kicking her ass, what with essays, assignments, and presentations piling up on the daily, not to mention her trying to keep up with work and her own personal life. A calming sit-down, with a nice book, along with her favourite barista, Hwa Young, would surely cheer her up. 

Opening the door to the cafe, the smell of brownies and buttercream frosting immediately wafts up her nose. The overall atmosphere of the place, with its pastel pinks walls and baby blue trimming, its bubbly aura due to the dainty display of desserts, large windows, and sweet jazz music instantly calms Y/N after a hectic day. 

Walking up to the cash register, she realizes that Hwa Young isn’t at her usual station, neither is she wiping down the tables or serving customers. 

She spots a blond boy standing in place of her favourite barista and decides to ask for her whereabouts. “Excuse me, I was wondering where Hwa Young was?”

The boy looks up from the till and gives her a warming grin, cheeks almost covering his eyes. My, he’s really handsome. Handsome, however, was an understatement. His face had an innocent, boyish charm to it, with large, honest eyes, plump lips with a subtle cupid’s bow, and a soft jaw. 

“I suppose you’re in the dark about her.” Hearing this, Y/N grows worried and the boy sees this. “Oh don’t worry,” he scrambles, panicking for frightening her, “she just moved to Japan for university. She left just last week.” 

She left? Crestfallen, Y/N looks to the ground. Damn, I was really looking forward to seeing her. “Really? It’s just...she has a really comforting aura and it was something I needed right now. I suppose I won’t be getting that ever again, if not ever again.” 

Y/N realizes her mistake of oversharing and clasps a hand over her mouth with wide eyes. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. The last thing you need right now is for a stranger telling you her problem.” 

The new barista chuckles, “It’s alright, my sister was a big help to a lot of people so I understand.”

“Yeah, she- wait. Sister? She was your sister?” Y/N squeaks out.

“Is, not was. She’s still here with us, just far away. But yeah, after she left I decided to take her place here to help our mom run the cafe.” 

“That’s sweet of you…” finding no reason to stay any longer she decides to leave, picking up her wallet from the counter. “Anyways, I’ve got to go, but uhhh, thank you for telling me about your sister. Have a nice day-” she reads the boy’s name tag. “Jimin. I’ll be going now.”

Just as she’s about to turn, Y/N feels a grip on her wrist, disabling her from leaving. Jimin looks at his hold on Y/N and quickly lets go. 

“Listen, I know you’re not exactly in the best of moods right now and I know I’m not my sister but please, stay and give yourself a rest.”

She considers his comment for a moment before turning back to him and offering a tight-lipped smile. 

“Alright. I’ll have a medium honey latte, please,” she says, offering Jimin money for her order. 

Taking the money from her, he gives a mock salute, chest puffing out. “Coming right up, Miss.” 

Y/N can’t help but giggle at his gesture, hands going up to cover her smile.

“Yeahhhh! That’s what we like to hear. My goodness, if I knew your smile was this bright, I never would have bothered to change the light bulbs in the chandeliers.” Jimin puts his arms out as if protecting himself from a bright flash and at this, Y/N laughs some more. Giving the barista some more material, he pretends to swoon, resting the back of his on his forehead. “Wow, wow, wow. I might as well just shut off our radio too. Your laugh sounds much nicer.”

Y/N blushes, earning a “cute,” from Jimin but then composes herself. “Call me Y/N, please.”

Nodding, he begins tinkering with the espresso machine. “Y/N, I might not be as comforting as my sister but I’m certainly more charming and cuter than her, aren’t I?” throwing a wink to the girl. 

Y/N rolls her eyes and replies, “You guys share half of the same DNA.”

“That’s true but my DNA gave me the upper hand in looks.” Y/N couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips, how they formed when he smiles, or the position they were in whenever he pouted whilst concentrating. 

“Alright, one medium honey latte for Y/N,” he whoops, placing the porcelain cup before her. 

“Thank you so much.” Taking a sip from her drink, she closes her eyes in pure bliss, the warmth of the latte spreading throughout her body. 

“How is it? Is it too sweet? I think I might have put too much sweetener in it so-”

“It’s perfect,” Y/N sighs, opening her eyes once more. 

He gives a proud smile and pats his head. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll leave you alone now, let you decompress for a while.”

“Thank you for everything… for being so patient and kind. I appreciate it,” Y/N says, gazing out the window. 

“A little kindness never anybody. I just hope I made your day somewhat better.”

“You definitely did.”

 And with that, Jimin leaves the girl alone, moving on to his own barista duties of washing the dishes, clearing tables, and taking the orders of a few people who wanted a kick of caffeine. It was close to the evening which meant that the cafe was nearly empty, something Y/N found most agreeable as it allowed her to enjoy the soft music playing through the speakers while enjoying her recent read. For about thirty minutes or so, Y/N was enjoying her novel whilst sipping occasionally on her latte, and at that moment, she was finally at peace. Here, she was able to temporarily forget about school, work, and her general stresses in life. All that mattered was her tranquility, the porcelain cup sitting ahead of her, and the cast of characters splayed out in her book. Y/N realizes that her brow had loosened, curing her blistering headache ever since she stepped foot into the shop, especially since she talked to Jimin. 

Leaving all her worries aside, Y/N gazes out the window and ponders. Everything is so beautiful right now, what with the snow gently falling and families walking hand in hand, she thought. It’s a shame I can’t fully enjoy life with all my stress plaguing my thoughts. I should just enjoy it while it lasts. 

It didn’t last long, that is, only because Jimin came over with a fresh piece of what appeared to be strawberry shortcake. He places the plate in front of Y/N and leaves with a simple, “Bon appetit.”

“Hey wait! I didn’t order this.” she rushes to her feet to return the cake. 

Jimin comes back, pushing Y/N by her shoulders so she’d sit back down. “I know you didn’t. But you can’t drink something on an empty stomach,” he urges, nudging the cake towards her and turning back around once again. 

With her mouth shaped into an O’, she reaches for her wallet to pay for the dessert but before she can do so, Jimin, with his back towards Y/N, protests, “don’t even think of paying for the cake. It’s on the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly eat this without paying. Besides, won’t you get in trouble?” 

“You can, and you will,” he affirms, now facing Y/N, slinging the rag over his shoulder, adding with, “plus, what’s the worst my mom can do? Not feed me Jjajangmyeon for two weeks? I can survive.”

Warily, Y/N begins to stab the fork into the cake before venturing with a meek, “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” he declares, giving her a warm smile that makes her want to eat the cake all the more, wanting to see his smile once more. “Also, I uhhhh,” Jimin stammers, “I wanted to give it to you cuz uhhh...it m-matches your sweater vest,” he declares, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment from his statement. 

Confused, Y/N looks down at herself. As per usual, she was in a rush to attend her first lecture of the day and just threw on the first thing her eyes met, which was a pink, strawberry printed sweater vest over a white button-up. Wait. He just gave me a slice of cake because it matched my vest. How much cuter can this guy get? With a blush creeping up her face, she shoved a piece of the cake in her mouth, and in an instant, her tense shoulders dropped, like a weight lifted off of them. The sweetness and acidity of the strawberries coated her tongue but was soon covered by the velvety taste of the buttercream frosting. 

“Wow Jimin, this is...absolutely delicious.” 

He hums, “I’m glad you think so. I’ll be sure to tell my mom.” 

“Yeah, you def- wait. Your mom?” Y/N interjects, mouth full of cake.

Jimin takes a napkin from the dispenser and wipes the frosting from the corner of her mouth and asks, “Did you really think I was the one who made the cake? You overestimate me, my dear friend,” he leans in closer to Y/N, lips frighteningly close to her ear and whispers, “I appreciate the sentiment though.” He pulls back and winks at her, hair falling over his eyes. “I just thought it befitting to feed you something as sweet as yourself.” 

Shocked at his boldness, Y/N goes back to eating her cake, not quite sure how to respond to him, especially since she was turning redder and redder by the second and it feels like her tongue had been swallowed. 

“Cute,” Jimin chuckles, going back to washing the dishes. 

By the time Y/N finished eating, the sun had set and it was closing time, leaving only Jimin and Y/N to be the only two in the shop. She looked at the time and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Oh god, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got to wake up early tomorrow.” 

Y/N scrambles to gather her items in her bag, her book, her phone, her wallet and is about to zoom out the door before she hears Jimin calling her name. 

“Y/N hold up! You forgot something.” Bewildered, lets go of her hold on the door handle, and looks to the boy. 

“Come here,” he beckons for Y/N to come closer. 

Walking closer to the counter, Y/N has her hand reached out for him to place whatever it is she left behind. Jimin, placing something unbelievably small in her palm, smiles bright, cheeks overcoming his eyes. She looks down and sees a single Hershey’s chocolate kiss. Y/N looks back to Jimin for an explanation and what he says next throws her off completely.

“Hershey factories make millions of kisses a day, but I’m asking for only one...perhaps after our first date?” 

Y/N is silent for a few beats as she registers his cheesy pickup line. Jimin, panicking, quickly regrets his words and goes to take back the kiss but is stopped when Y/N doubles over, shoulders shaking. 

Concerned, the barista walks around the counter and puts his arms around Y/N, scared that he triggered what he thought were waterworks. “Y/N...I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you!” But then he hears laughter, belly-aching laughter, one that Jimin wants to hear all the time. 

For a good minute, Y/N is hunched over, cackling while Jimin lets out small giggles but then ceases her laughter, wiping her tears away, and looks towards Jimin. “Wow, thank you for making me laugh like that. I haven’t done that for so long.”

Jimin frowns, “I’m happy I made you laugh but are you laughing at me or with me?”

“With you, I’d never laugh at you, especially since you made me feel so much better today,” Y/N replies. 

“Oh thank God,” he lets out a deep sigh of relief. “So about that date...would you like to go out with me? I know it’s weird since we just met today but I heard a lot about you from Hwa Young and-and I always wanted to see what you were like. Our paths crossed and I didn’t want to give this moment up.”

Y/N considered how much of an impact he had on her in just one day and thought what it would be like being with him every day. She knew she’d feel tremendously better. As of now, she’s felt more comfortable than she had for a long while. Being around him reminded her of all the beautiful things she’s failed to notice and allowed her to feel like herself once more. If being around him felt like this, she never wanted it to end. His presence comforted Y/N and made her feel right at home. She definitely wasn’t going to turn him down. 

“I’d love nothing more than to go out with you. But you better not break that promise of a kiss.”

Brushing a small strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, he replies with, “Oh, I promise.”

[ceoofuwu]

𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 ;; 𝘮𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘶 𝘹 𝘧.𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟐.𝟏𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: so, this is the first Atsumu scenario! I'd literally give up my life for this man, I CAN'T HOLD BACK. Tho it turned out quite dark... I guess I made amends for it with the happy note in the end, then?

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: living with the Miya twins definitely means throwing party every once in a while and painting the town red... but what if, just once, things spiral out of control?

𝐓.𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ content ahead; mentions of sexual intercourse, unwanted/non-planned pregnancy, cursing. Suggestive themes.

Another wave of nausea washed over your body, making your guts twist with the unpleasant feeling of food hastily gushing out of your body.

You arrested your head further buried in the toilet, hands clutched tightly around the sides, mind flooding with hazy memories of last night’s events, as a stamp of warmth came in contact with your back.

  Sloppy, heated kisses along the sensitive area of your neck were sending shivers through your entire body, which was being ravished by pleasure.

«Come on, baby…» he whispered against your ear, your lobe caught between his teeth, «I’ll be gentle».

  Atsumu rubbed soothing circles on the broad surface of your back, crouched beside your weakened figure, the warmness of his palm eager to drive your fatigue away.

You had been sharing a home with him and his brother for quite some time now, the latter merely staying to keep you company and lend a hand with the loan. Showered with independence as you were, throwing parties every now and then was only natural. However, it wasn’t always completely kept under control.

«Drank too much, didn’t you?» he asked softly, worryingly, while his hand came to gently wipe your mouth with a small-sized towel he had fetched.

«I doubt I drank as much as you did, Tsumu…» you sighed, «… but I still don’t think that’s the proble—« your statement was cut off by your body pushing up another round of fluids.

   Your back arched at the intolerable amount of rapture that was shaking your entire being, «M-more…! Atsumu…!»

«More?» he smirked, looking at you with devilish eyes then throwing your legs over his broad shoulders and thrusting even more forcefully this time, his bare cock hitting spots in depths it had never been before.

   He remained silent the whole time, standing by your side, lightly pulling your hair back and continuing to soothe you with his rubbing patterns, his heart aching at the sight of your body completely cleaning itself out, leaving you fully worn out in its wake.

You lifted yourself slowly, making sure there was no other round coming then snatched the towel out of Atsumu’s hands hastily and wiped the stains of puke clean.

«You were saying…?» he asked, his eyes carefully following your movements to the sink, where you rinsed your mouth out.

«I don’t think it’s only drinking that got me like this…»

«What do you mean?»

«You weren’t particularly cautious last night…»

   You were a complete and utter mess by now; body coated in sweat, quaking with overwhelming ecstasy, burning with the need for more friction, for the touch of your lover, who was mercilessly pounding in and out of you, gaining momentum with every push.

You could feel him twitching inside of you, meaning he was close to his peak, so you were already preparing for the pull out but, with a loud, lengthy groan against your clavicle, you only felt a new-found kind of warmth spreading inside of you instead.

«You feel so damn good baby…» he croaked, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breaths tickling the sensitive area, while he was gradually climbing down from his high.

What with all those surges of bliss washing over you and the influence of alcohol you were under, you didn’t care as much as to realize the severity of what had just happened.

  «You don’t mean…» his voice trailed off, amber eyes widening with surprising realization.

The grave shadow cast upon his face was gone with a mere shrug of his shoulders.

«I do. There’s a high chance, Atsumu».

«I guess we’ll have a little brat crawling around the house in a few months then» he chuckled.

This was one of the few times in your life when you actually couldn’t believe in your ears. He couldn’t be talking seriously. He was deadpanning. Could he be that childish?

«Are you even in your right mind?! Do you happen to have even the slightest idea how serious this is?! What responsibilities it requires?!» you shouted, taking aggressive steps towards him, «How are we supposed to raise a child when you can barely fend for ourselves?» your index daringly poked his chest, look glowing with fury, «What makes you think I’d even want a child growing inside of me, huh?» you spurted out, words dripping with the bitter truth.

«We’re not even 100% sure you’re pregnant» he replied calmly, not allowing the burden of guilt weigh down on him.

«So you’re just going to hang onto a possibility? Is this your way of self-defense?» your tone stayed high on decibels, continuously shooting the blonde with arrows of qualm, but triggering his anger simultaneously.

His thick eyebrows came to a frown, a dark hue of irritation cloaking his face, blood boiling with rage. Deep down, he was well aware of the fact that he had been careless and therefore brought by this outcome, but at the same time he wanted to explode. All this unwavering accusation made him see red; and he didn’t particularly excel at his keeping his temper in check.

He didn’t care about neither your reaction nor the impact his words would have on your already heated argument because he honestly needed anything to fire back, when he spat out:

«It’s not my fault you can’t control what’s going in and out of your cunt».

SLAP!

Your palm clashed with the tender skin of his cheek, the sound of skin finding skin echoing in the empty room. At that point, you genuinely believed that there was no other way to back fire him; he had completely crushed your defenses with that mere line of his. Your heart was shattered to thousand pieces, like a fragile piece of glass thrown madly at the floor.

However, you still had some remaining strength for a finishing blow.

«I should have seen this coming. You always run away from your responsibilities, like the immature toddler you are. You don’t give a fuck about other people’s feelings, do you? All you care about is to feed and satisfy your own, insatiable ego!» you yelled, coming to realize that there are actual tears streaming down your face, but not minding at all the reason for their appearance, «…because that’s just what you are, Atsumu. An immature, egotistical pig».

His almond-shaped eyes widened in shock his body aching with the sensation of something having pierced through his chest. He wanted to yell, curse, break—no, destroy something. His madness was getting the better of him but even so, he somehow stopped dead on his tracks upon hearing that cruel utterance. His stare travelled on your form, inspecting your exhausted state, pity feeling him to the brim. Was this really what you thought of him? Was he truly the one that had you messed up like this?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden opening of the bathroom’s door. His twin brother walked in, wearing an expression of confusion and worry as his grey orbs fell on you.

«I can hear you screaming from the living room… is everything… o… kay? Why are you—« his gaze immediately pinned his brother, «--why is she crying?» he demanded.

Atsumu lowered his head in shame, glancing down at his feet, desperately struggling to avoid his brother’s uncomfortably scrutinizing look. One the one hand he had no clue how he was supposed to explain the situation, but on the other, he couldn’t exactly step back from it.

«Ιt’s… none of your business…» he murmured.

«I don’t think he heard you, Atsumu.           Speak up a little. Tell him how your stupid, little ass fucked everything up again».

«What is she talking about, Tsumu?» Osamu’s facial expression was died in puzzlement, «Talk!»

«…you might become an uncle» he muttered reluctantly between gritted teeth.

«What?!» his look hopped between the two of you impatiently, not landing on anyone in particular.

Of course he was taken aback. How could he not be? Atsumu can be reckless from time to time yet, that seemed too surrealistic even for a person that knew him so well.

You were quite lost in your own concerns, which prevented you from noticing that Osamu had hastily and offensively grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, shaking him furiously.

«I always knew you were a stupid and annoying brother but I was hoping you’d be at least tolerable as a boyfriend!» he shouted in the other twin’s face, knuckles whitening at the tightness of his grip.

You’d usually laugh your heart out whenever the twins were fighting but this time the ambiance was too intense to allow even the slightest curl in your lips.

«We don’t even know if she’s accurately pregnant, you asshole! She hasn’t had a fucking test yet!» Atsumu roared back in exasperation.

Osamu’s features were completely painted with a mixture of bewilderment and realization, «She hasn’t?» his peek drifted to you and you shook your head in the negative.

«Well then…» he let go of his brother with a push, «…I’ll be back» he spoke, turning to leave the room.

«Where the hell are you going?»

«Where you should have gone from the beginning».

Thanks to Osamu, a light smile made its way to your lips. However, it was swiftly taken away by Atsumu’s murderous, disgusted glare. You answered to it with an identical one, not wanting to show him how much your heart was practically broken by that moment.

When he finally walked out of the bathroom, you made sure to lock the door he had harshly slammed behind him, before your body automatically slid against it, eventually collapsing on the floor

«Ugh, why does it take so freaking long?» you whined silently above the pregnancy test.

Before you knew it, your already pallid face was stained with tears once more, your hands rushing to cover your mouth and muffle your perpetual sobs as you succumbed entirely to the pain that was nested in your chest, waves of dejection, wrath and numbness hitting you relentlessly and unstoppably, letting you solely rot into the melancholy of anticipation….

Thankfully, Osamu had came back mere minutes ago with five tests in his hands, all of them produced by the same company. You explained that there was no need for so many, but seemed like Samu had quite freaked out so he couldn’t help himself. You had hastily snatched the tests and run off to the bathroom again, not paying to attention to what Atsumu was doing.

You would deal with him later, either way.

«Don’t be positive, don’t be positive…»

For about ten minutes straight, you were running conspiracies in your mind, attempting to calculate every possible outcome. If Atsumu was indeed the father of your child, then that… made also Osamu a dad? They’re literally the split image of each other so be it biological or adoptive father would practically make no difference. Which meant that if Osamu had kids—

«Are you… alright in here?» the door opened ajar and a familiar head slightly, almost timidly, protruded.

«Oh, now big, scary Atsumu isn’t mad?» you jibed.

Atsumu slid in, gently closing the door behind him and heading towards you.

«Look, I…» his eyes moved to the floor, afraid to encounter yours, «…I didn’t mean what I said… really, I uh…» you failed to suppress a light giggle at his miserable attempt to swallow his pride, «…I’m sorry, okay? Stop mocking me! And I’ll take care of our child…! If we have one, I mean…» you glanced at the test one more time to see if anything had changed and your eyes widened in surprise.

«Atsumu».

«…and I’ll do anything, I’ll cook even without setting the kitchen on fire I—«

«Atsumu!»

“Just don’t be mad at me okay? I’ll even change the baby—«

«ATSUMU!» you yelled, also making awkward hand signals that made no sense to earn his attention.

«What?»

«You won’t have to change any baby! Nor take care of it!»

He lifted his eyebrow in confusion, «We are getting a babysitter?»

«There’s no baby you idiot! I’m not pregnant! I’m not---« a silent sob cut off your sentence.

«Hey, wait, why are you crying?» Atsumu’s hand rested on your flushed cheek, his thumb swiping away a tear that came unbidden on your beautiful face.

«I don’t… know…» you spoke weakly and then immediately dived in his arms, clutching him to the point of asphyxia and probably clawing his back, while burying your wet face on his chest, where you were bawling your eyes out.

«It’s over now baby…» he whispered, planting a soft kiss on the crown of your head and rubbing soothing patterns on your back, «…take it all out».

Deep down, there was still a lingering ray of hope praying that you had actually that unbidden seed inside of you… it wouldn’t be catastrophic…

Hope you enjoyed! Leave a heart, comment, reblog! 💕

[caxsthetic]

In Circle

Type: Short Clip (Blurt Drabble)

Cast: Suna Rintarou

Storyline: Not everything will fall into places. At least, not by its own.

Genre: Romance, Slice of Life

Bzzt bzzt~ Bzzt bzzt~

You let out a groan the second your phone vibrates. Hands mindlessly searching for the said item as you don’t even budge from your bed. Your alarm is not even ringing, so who will it be that calls you when the sun still hiding from the horizon?

You squint your eyes when the light from the screen attacks your vision, making you hiss like a vampire. Right now you really want to curse anyone who wakes you up. But when your eyes finally adjust with your phone, you can’t stop a smile to grace on your lips.

Rintarou

His name works wonder in your life, as if by just hearing or seeing the name that you have known since high school — is enough to boost your entire day. Without wasting another second, you slide your phone and pick up the call.

"Don't you know that this is a fucking 4 am?" You coat the excitement with an exasperated groan, rolling into the cold sheet of your bed as your eyes stare at the ceiling. "What do you want?"

Ever since high school, you always give him the snark side of you. Every word that rolling down from your lips is something that supposed to make him go away, or maybe just some distances. But even after years had passed, even when the two of you are now having a steady job and can take care of yourself — he never leaves, not even taking a step backwards.

"It's cold you know?" His voice is a little raspy, a sign that makes you wonder if he just wakes up like you. "To have no one by your side." But the statement makes you raise one of your eyebrows, wanting to snort because you are sure your best friend will never say something as melancholic as this. At least not when he is sober.

"Rintarou, you are drunk aren't you?" Now you are worried though as you sit upon your bed, back leaning towards the headboard. "Where are you right now? Can you send me the address?"

You wait for him to say anything, to maybe give some hint for his whereabouts. But nothing comes out from his lips for seconds, and right now you can’t help but wear your jacket to cover the thin pyjama that you wear, ready to search him. "Rin, please tell me you are at least with—"

"But it's warm now." He chuckles all of a sudden, making you stop whatever you are doing right now as you focus on his voice. You try to hear anything from the other line that can give you a hint of where he is right now. Though, there’s nothing but his fading breath. "It felt so warm, I love it here."

You swallow a huge lump. Is he perhaps inside a hotel or something? Maybe he’s with someone — a gorgeous model which he always caught being together with for the past few days. Is that why there's nothing but silence? But then again why? Why did he call you when he already in the accompany of someone?

"She is pretty." You snort, very unladylike as you try to coat the pain that starts to seep into your heart. "Such a beautiful creature." Like yourself, Rin? You really want to blurt that out, but as if it can change something. "She made me feel like home."

This is like a routine to you, to hear him ramble about all of his lovers or hookup as he wants to find the one. You are the kind best friend who will always be there through thick and thin, you are the best friend which he can trust. The very same best friend, that support him on every step of the way.

Even if someday he stood on the aisle to kiss someone, you still would be there — always.

"Yeah?" You lean your body on the wall, trying to steady your breath. "So I guess you are safe right now, right? You are with her, she will always keep you safe after all, isn't she?" You promise yourself that no matter how the stories unfold between you and the professional middle blocker, you will stay anyway.

But why your soul screams at you, begging for you to hang up the call and say goodbye?

"Maybe, I hope so. But I don't know yet." You grit your teeth, listening to his low, sleepy voice. "She never says anything, but I am pretty confident she loves me too." How lucky. You let your hand falls to the side for a moment, preventing him from hearing you — sobbing, as your heart is being tested at this very moment. How lucky to be loved by you.

You know at a certain point he will belong to someone else, someone that can replace your existent as he will find comfort from them instead of you. He’s never yours in the first place, but for years he never settle down completely, he never utters the word love.

So now when he finally found them, the reality reminds you that there is no chance for you to make him yours. From the start, there’s always a line between you and him, and no matter how many flirty words being thrown, no matter how many cuddles and affection that you two shared, at the end you and him is just a best friend.

"So where are you right now?" You ask one more time, at least you want to know that he will be safe and sound, in the arms of someone that probably he will share his life with.

"I am home." His voice becoming more distance. "With her, I am home. I have always been." Peaceful, the love that he harbours for the mysterious woman is something that can make him; Suna Rintarou — the silent yet a sarcastic man — head over heels and so much in love.

You bite your lips softly, lids fluttering close as you try to erase the tears which pleading to escape from the corner of your eyes. You should be happy, to know that he will no longer become your parasite, no longer clinging into you as if his life depended on it.

Yet every second pass, you wish that you are back in high school days and stuck at the moment. The time when he would come to you every day, asking silently for your attention. And you, you would always comply, running your fingers on his strands that smell so sweet like strawberry.

But time changes and you have to wake up.

"I hope she can make you happy, Rin." It’s a sincere declaration, coming from you. "I hope she can give you the warm, never once lessening as time goes by." Because no matter how much you want to rip your heart apart, you only wanted the best for him.

Somehow you can see him on the other side of the line, having a lovely smile that shaped on his face, just like how it always been. Just like how he always looks — beautiful. He chuckles softly around ten seconds after, a little bit delayed processing your words, maybe due to the alcohol that he consumed.

“I am sure she will.”

You breathe out, sounds a little bit wavered as you compose yourself. It is the last thing that you heard from him, the assurance that he will be alright from now on. That now, he will have someone that can be his home, giving him the warm that once was your job.

And just like that, you are left alone as you still standing in the dark of the room. Leaving you with just an empty feeling. Perhaps your heart fills with regret, with the wonder of what if. What if you dare enough to confess, or what if he’s bold enough to say something between the two of you.

Looking down, you just realize that you wear the familiar maroon track jacket. With black line adorned the side of the arms, the size that’s unfit with yours — it’s easy to recognize that this jacket belongs to him.

It is the only remnant of the warm that you can have. Nothing else but just a piece of clothes. You don’t want to cry, you are an adult and well matured. There is no reason for you to give in to the petty crush that you have for him. But even then you can't lie to yourself. Since you know your feelings are not just puppy feelings.

You love him, you love him that even at one point, you declined every date because you know how pouty he could be. And for him, you never once complained when he came to your house unexpected, scented with feminine expensive perfume that always made you feel so sick.

How come anyone else could touch him so intimately? How come a stranger could plant a kiss on his plump lips, tracing their fingers on the places that you never reached? While you who was always there for him — only got a taste of the softness of his dark brown strands.

Knock. Knock.

You really want to scream right now when you heard the soft knock. You had enough for today, so you ignore it. You don’t want to meet with anyone, you are not ready to show yourself to the world as you still have tears running down your cheeks.

Knock. Knock.

But whoever it is in front of your door is one persistent person. They knock, just twice, yet it continues for every few seconds.

You groan and furiously wipes the tears from your face with the jacket. So rough that it stings a little. You have enough, you don’t care anymore at this point if they end up pitying your state. You just want to be left alone, and if that means you have to face them for a second, then it will be the price that you are willing to pay.

Your feet stomp to the hardwood floor, hearts thummering as you breath out. It’s enough for your heart to be treated like this at one fine morning, it’s enough emotion for you to handle, you don't need more. Your hand unlocks the keys with such force, taking one last deep breath before you open up the door and show them your usual friendly smile.

Yet like as fast as the smile emerges on your face, it falters within seconds when your eyes catch the familiar green orbs. You swear you can feel your heart stops when you see him, maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks. The intense love that you feel for him makes you become delusional.

It feels so real though, as his face illuminates by the light that shines from your living room. The strands of his hair sway softly as the wind moves past him. A little puff of air slip from his lips due to the cold temperature.

His cheek is even producing a pinkish hue, notifying you that he is indeed, under the influence of alcohol.

But you don’t want to believe it. You can’t believe your own eyes as he takes some steps closer. Just like always, he never asks for permission. Just like always, he immediately goes inside your house, closing the door and face you. Instead of dropping his bags and search for some waters or snack though, he just has his eyes on you.

There is this smile that only appears when he wins something, the smile that only emerges on his face when he feels contented. He doesn’t say anything as he just let his gaze that fills with adoration fall on your face. It’s always like this, round and round without end, without a confession or any explanation about why he gives you such looks.

“I am home.”

Just three words, three words that he whispers under his breath. It can be platonic, it can be just his drunken state telling you that he is indeed home since he’s inside your house where he crashed a lot to for the past years.

Though somehow, those three words are enough to replace the sorrow on your face from before as your lips now turn into a smile. He chuckles, snorting a little. And you chuckle too, rolling your eyes as you shake your head in amusement.

Your eyes finally lock on each other, he gingerly raise his hand and cup one of your cheek. As if he’s asking you if it’s alright, if it’s alright to touch you first — since for the past years it’s always you who lay your hand on him.

And the second you give him a nod, a sign that you are alright with his sudden appearance, he have you fall into his embrace.

“With you, I am home.” He mutter softly under his breath, pulling you even closer. He’s now the one who initiate the affection. He want to show you that he already found the one, and he will no longer searching for the last destination. “I have always been.”

Because even though it needs years for the two of you to round around in circle, maybe this time, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Since now, everything start to fall into places.

Requested by @sredamancy I hope you like it👉👈

[siderealscribblings]

If anything, Zelda seemed to be growing quieter and more withdrawn by the day.

At first, she had gleefully donned the mantle of diplomat, charming the Goron and Zora with years of practiced diplomacy. Her rambling, disjointed speeches on Hyrule’s reconstruction grew less animated and more insistent as time passed. As though she were convincing herself as much as Link that her scheme to reunite the fractured land post-Calamity would succeed.

There was a kind of quiet desperation to the way Zelda spoke that made Link a little uneasy. When pressed she would laugh, brush him off, and busy herself with her journal or a book she borrowed from Purah. Trying to reach her when she had so clearly withdrawn was like chopping the Deku Tree down with a butter knife. At least that would yield some progress; the more he pushed at Zelda, the more withdrawn, deflective, and forcibly cheerful she seemed to get.

In some ways, Zelda was like a great oak tree; immovable and unbreakable until it very suddenly was not.

ao3

“Tarrey Town?” Zelda asked, brow knitting in confusion. “I don’t seem to recall a town like that anywhere in my records.”

<It’s new,> Link signed with a small smirk. <Helped put it up myself.>

“You?” Zelda’s brows nearly cleared her browline. Link’s journey outside the Calamity’s influence came to her in fits and bursts; usually flashes of combat or lonely nights spent staring out over Hyrule’s expanse. The fact that he had a life in the few months he had spent taking down the Calamity’s forces was known to her...she just didn’t think he had time to erect an entire town.

<When I came back...I had to get stronger,> Link said, tapping the Master Sword with his fingertips. <She didn’t want me at first...I had to prove myself to her again. Trained with Hudson; hauling lumber and stuff.>

“Efficient,” Zelda said, privately cursing the fact that she had missed snippets of Link working out. “I didn’t think people were constructing new settlements after the Calamity.”

Link shrugged. < At some point, I think they had to move on.>

“Mm,” Zelda said non-committedly, polishing off the last of her riceball and dusting her hands on her pants. “Well, I suppose that’s…that’s comforting then.”

Link frowned, raising his hands as Zelda fished the Sheikah Slate out. “Alright, which shrine gets us closest?”

__

It would have been faster to fly, but Zelda still hadn’t gotten used to diving off cliffs with only a flimsy piece of fabric to protect her from smashing against the ground. So the walk to Tarry Town gave her plenty of time to see what the people of Hyrule had done without her.

Around the edge of the island where the center of town had sprung up, the bare-bones structure of houses and farms were under construction, people coming and going with supplies or weaponry to fend off any oncoming attacks. A ring of stones on the valley floor created what looked to be the foundation for a wall that would one day rise to circle their growing town. As they grew closer, Zelda’s hands eventually found their way to his arm, gripping on to him for support or comfort as they made their way down the path towards the city.

A city .

Zelda had pictured a few ramshackle buildings; the beginnings of civilization, not civilization itself. She had thought she could be of help getting the town up on its feet only to see it standing high above her, casting a cold shadow on her as they passed under the rock formation.

“Did the local governor permit this?” Zelda asked before she realized the absurdity of her statement. Lady Seres and her family had all likely perished in the Calamity; the place where their stately manor once stood swept clean by the passage of time. The concept of property, policy, and propriety seemed somehow absurd in a world where everything had gone to hell; as though titles meant anything after Ganon struck.

<Do they need to fill out paperwork?> Link asked with a teasing smile; a question that sent chills running down her back to pool in the pit of her stomach. Zelda stopped in her tracks, arm tugging free of Link’s grip as they approached a small crowd of workers milling around a pile of lumber. Her eyes were wide, breath coming in short bursts as she took a step backwards.

“I’m...I’m sorry, I think-” Zelda swallowed, shaking her head as she noticed the clear concern on Link’s face. “Sorry, just needed to catch my breath.”

Link’s frown only deepened, taking a step closer to her as a familiar looking Gerudo woman approached them, hand resting on a clearly pregnant stomach.

“”Hoy!” Rhondson called, waving them over with a smile. “We hoped you were coming!”

Rhondson’s eyes drifted from Link to the strange Hylian vai that somehow looked like she was torn between introducing herself and running like a startled doe.

“Your friend?” Rhondson asked, raising an eyebrow as Link shook his head.

“Um...n-not exactly…” Link said, voice strained and quiet from disuse as he glanced at Zelda.

“Zelda,” Zelda said bluntly, smile plastering across most of her face and stepping past Link who didn’t fail to notice the lack of Princess on the front of her name. “I’ve, uh...heard about your settlement from Link and I wanted to see it for myself.”

Link’s stony silence did nothing to mask the suspicion and confusion in his eyes as she saddled up alongside him, gripping on to his arm as Rhondson sent Link a teasing smile.

“Well, a lot has happened since you were last here, Mr. Hero,” Rhondson said, leading them through a ramshackle construction site as Zelda took everything in quietly, eyes flickering over the faces of Hylian, Goron, and even a few Gerudo workers. “We had to relax the naming convention a little; Hudson finally relented after we reminded him there wasn’t enough people named like us in the world. I think part of him was hoping you’d put roots down here one day as well.”

Link glanced at Zelda, clearing his throat as she took the lead. Link despised using his voice unless absolutely necessary; his silent method of communication spoken only by Zora and only then underwater.

“Do you have plans to expand much further?” Zelda asked, following Rhondson across the bridge into the center of town proper. “It’s only that...well, with Castle Town free of the Calamity, I would think building there would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Even if the Demon King is gone,” Rhondson said, spitting as most Gerudo did when mentioning the Calamity. “The land he held for over a hundred years is bound to be stuffed with curses by now. I wouldn’t birth my girl there if you drowned me in Rupees. Not to mention those creepy statue things are still over there.”

“Freed from the Calamity’s influence,” Zelda said, coughing as Rhondson turned to look at her. “I’m sure...so I’ve heard.”

“Not taking that chance,” Rhondson said with a shake of her head. “No point in trying to resurrect an old town full of ghosts and bad memories; best to leave the past buried with the old royals that lived there.”

LInk glanced at Zelda out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to say something. But where he was willfully silent, Zelda seemed to have been deserted by any argument she wanted to make, mouth hanging open and eyes glazed over as Rhondson steered them around town. The more they saw, the more unsettled Zelda seemed to become, breath coming in slow, deliberate breaths that seemed to be forestalling something awful.

He turned his back for a split second, and she was gone, a flash of light on the hill overlooking the town catching his eye.

__

He found her bunched under a tree overlooking the valley, knees pulled up to her chest and back pressed against the rough bark as red-rimmed eyes stared mournfully out in front of her. Wordlessly, he approached her from the corner of her eye, making her aware of his presence before he sat down on the other side of the tree.

“I’m sorry…” Zelda muttered after a moment, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “That was foolish of me…”

“Mm,” Link hummed as though he were reluctant to agree with her.

“I just felt like I was...coming apart,” Zelda sniffed. “And I didn’t want to do it in front of strangers.”

“Mm,” Link hummed again, shifting around the tree until he sat by her side, hips touching as she reached out to him for reassurance. Their custom of sharing a bed had lowered some of the physical boundaries between them; it spoke of something they each knew but weren’t ready to address just yet. Not when so much was uncertain outside of their little nest in Hateno Village.

“They’re doing beautifully, aren’t they?” Zelda said with a watery chuckle. “All of them...they’re all doing so well. And it’s good...it’s better than I could have imagined but…”

Link reached out, giving her leg a reassuring squeeze as she tried to piece together her thoughts.

“I thought…” Zelda let out a deep breath, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I thought...I didn’t think my kingdom would dry up and die without my family to lead it but…”

She drew up her knees to her chest, blinking back tears as she watched the world move on without her in the valley below. “I thought I would at least be needed...or wanted. I thought I would have a place in the world I had helped protect but…”

Link watched her deflate as she finally confronted the thing she had been running from for weeks. “Maybe Hyrule doesn’t need Princess Zelda anymore...maybe it never did. Maybe it’s best to let the old kingdom just...lie”

Zelda took a deep breath, looking at him with such a lost and scared look that he felt his heart ache on her behalf. “I just wish I knew what was to become of me…”

The wind rippled past them, sending flower petals tumbling through the grass as Zelda seemed too lost and tired to properly cry anymore. Link stumbled for the right words to say for a moment, starting and stopping several times before crouching down in front of her.

<What if one day you realized you weren’t meant to be a princess?> Link signed, watching Zelda’s red-rimmed eyes trace the motion of his hands. <Would you choose a different path?>

Zelda let out a weary chuckle, looking away in embarrassment. “You shouldn’t use my own words against me like that…”

<Even if you’re right?> Link countered. Zelda was silent for a long moment, listening to the revelers carry on down the hill with a wistful look in her eye.

“It feels like...giving up,” Zelda said slowly. “Like I’m just...walking away from everything my family has ever done; letting my parents down, I expect...even though they’re gone and there’s no one left to be disappointed in my choices I still feel...obligated to try and set things back to the way they used to be. As though I’m some sort of failure if I don’t…”

Link started signing something. “I know,” Zelda chuckled. “I know I’ve done something nobody else in the world can do; I know I’ve helped save the world from the Calamity and ensured that Hyrule lives to see another year, but-”

<It’s hard to become someone else,> Link signed, watching Zelda nod distantly. <Even if that’s someone you want to be.>

“And if I don’t know what I want to be?” Zelda asked, watching Link stand up and brush his trousers off.

<Then we can figure that out,> Link signed, offering her his hand as the last word left his fingertips. Zelda looked at his rough, calloused fingertips for a moment, head tilting to one side as she reached out and took it, hauling herself to her feet with a sigh.

“Impa won’t be happy,” Zelda said, eyes widening as Link signed something exceptionally rude. “ Link!”

Grabbing her hand, he tugged her back up the hill towards the glowing Sheikah shrine above them. “Wait, what about Tarry Town?”

Link shrugged, holding the Sheikah slate up to the eye on the front as the doors opened, the elevator rising seamlessly from the earth beneath her feet. He watched her eyes widen in curiosity, taking a step forward before glancing at him with an uncertain smile.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Zelda asked. Link tapped the sword hilt on his back with a smile that could almost be mistaken for smug. “Of course…”

<You don’t want to?> Link asked, taking a step backwards. <I get it; it’s nerdy stuff. Probably not interested.>

Zelda’s brow creased into a scowl that didn’t reach the stubborn smile on her lips, marching into the cool, dark elevator and insistently looking back at her would-be guardian. “Well?”

Link stepped into the elevator, nudging her with his shoulder as the door closed and the elevator took them deeper into the earth. Surrounded by ancient technology she could spend the next hundred years studying, with Link’s shoulder brushing up against hers, Zelda felt a little less unsure of her place in this new Hyrule she had helped save.

[gisachi]

12 Games: Shinichi and Ran Game #6 - Poker Face Rating: T Summary: Ran was trying to prove a point.

(Read here or in FFN / AO3! Link provided.)

.

.

.

Ran was trying to prove a point.

She didn’t know what wracked her typically levelheaded self all of a sudden, but for the first time she was dead motivated to prove Sonoko wrong. On most days, Ran wouldn’t contradict her for anything, but right now she wanted to - really, really wanted to - because her friend wasn’t making any sense.

What did she mean she ‘wanted Shinichi to kiss her’? ‘So badly’?

“Excuse me. I am not desperate for a kiss, Sonoko,” huffed Ran, half lidded eyes directed at her friend who had then snatched the apple from her hand while she was busy processing the latter’s earlier statement.

“I didn’t say you are,” Sonoko replied wryly, “You’re not desperate. I know. But you want it. That kiss. There’s a difference.” She paused, taking a bite of the apple. “Ya woodr’t flail yourshelf in fron’o’ him for that shmack o’ the lipsh, but ya hope he wood.”

Shifting from her sitting position, Ran grimaced, hoping she didn’t understand what she just said, but she did. ‘You wouldn’t flail yourself in front of him for that smack on the lips, but you hope he would.’

Still, it didn’t make sense.

“And why would I want a kiss from him?”

Swallowing the food in her mouth, the light ginger-haired lady limply pointed her index finger at her with the hand that was holding the apple. “Because he’s your boyfriend and knowing him, he probably hasn’t made a move to kiss you yet. That’s why.”

Damn it! ...She’s right.

“...So?” She crossed her arms and pointed her chin up, doing a bad job at appearing snarky.

“Hah! So I’m right.”

“Sonoko!” She jabbed her lightly on the shoulder, though not denying what she’d said. “Don’t you know that not all people in a relationship desire physical intimacy?”

“Sure. But not you, Ran.” Back leaving the metal rails from where they sat on the school rooftop, Sonoko faced her with a piercing stare, the kind that made Ran swallow the piece of meat from her bento down with a big gulp. “Look me in the eye and tell me there’s no reason why you always look at Shinichi’s lips whenever he recites in class or whenever he takes a sip from your orange juice.”

A healthy shade of red was quick to spread on her cheeks. “H-Hey! I’m-...! That’s—”

Sonoko raised a smug eyebrow at her, confident that Ran wouldn’t have a believable counterargument to that. What other reason would she have if not because she’d been thinking about Shinichi’s lips? It’s annoying that she noticed. Even more annoying that she couldn’t deny it. Most annoying that shemight probably be right.

“—something I can do.” But she wouldn’t accept that so easily, would she?

“There’s no reason why I look at his lips whenever he speaks in class or drinks from my juice. Or a water bottle. Or when he eats. Or anything that involves his lips,” Ran recited, as if reading a script.

Sonoko stifled her snort, looking at her with visible skepticism. Ran met her stare with defiant eyes because no, she wouldn’t let her pesky friend get the upper hand this time. She would prove her wrong!

“You want to make a deal out of this?” taunted Sonoko.

Ran matched her arched eyebrow. “Hit me up.”

“Last the whole day without looking at Shinichi and thinking of wanting to kiss him,” Sonoko challenged. “I trust your honesty, Ran. If you fail, you treat me lunch tomorrow up ‘til next week. If you don’t, then the other way around. How’s that sound?”

Ran flared her nostrils, incredibly pumped from the very easy challenge the lady had imposed. “Better prepare your bills because I want my lunch at Ginza, Sonoko.”

They shook hands. “Same, missus, but I want mine home cooked on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday like your beloved husband. Deal?”

“Deal!”

“You’re going to thank me for this, O-ku-sa-ma ,” Sonoko fluttered her lashes menacingly just in time the rooftop door swung open, revealing a Shinichi holding three packets of melon bread on his left hand and a half finished one on the other.

“Yo! I got us some bread,” Shinichi enthused, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I took a while, I... had to take a call from Hattori on the way here.”

The first thing Ran noticed when he sat next to her were the glistening remnants of sugar on his lips from the bread he was eating.

“Can I have a drink Ran?” Before she could answer, Shinichi had already taken a swig from her tumbler, and Ran gawked owlishly at the movement of his throat as he gulped, and the press of the metal container on his thirsty mouth that was...thirsty...for...water.

Her mind blanked, thoughts almost bordering to the forbidden. Mentally slapping her sane self, Ran shifted her eyes from Shinichi’s lips to Sonoko’s face, narrowing them threateningly when she caught her haughty little snigger. Oh, the woman. The daggers Ran threw her could send her flying off the roof.

Calming her nerves, Ran inhaled a deep breath and blew out, slowly. ‘Half a day. Half a day is nothing. I can do this.’

.

.

It significantly helped that for the rest of class, Shinichi looked at her direction less frequently than usual. Normally when he finished a great answer, Ran would give him a thumbs up from the seat diagonally behind him and he’d reciprocate with an accomplished grin but this time, he didn’t even spare her a look, head diving immediately to his notes when he sat down. Which was good honestly, because she didn’t want to share eye contact with him, not while the deal was in effect, but at the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder.

When the day ended, Ran was correct in thinking that Sonoko would rather not join them on their walk home, because. Flashing Ran a mischievous grin, Sonoko excused herself from the two, saying she’d go drop by the dojo for Makoto as promised. Ran wasn’t sure how true that statement was, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop her either because she remembered— she wanted to prove Sonoko wrong. She could do it. She could stick around Shinichi without obsessing on the strange, horrible, mostlikelytruebutnotreally thought of wanting to kiss him. Refusing to let her go would only cast doubts on her credibility. That she solemnly believed.

“Is there some secret running between you and Sonoko that I am not aware of?” Shinichi closed his shoe locker and fitted his sneakers with an alternate nudge of both tips to the floor.

“Hn?” Ran tried to sound nonchalant, to sound as if the deal hadn’t been wearing her off. When he didn’t say anything, she gave him a cute half smile - with eyes that crinkled close because she wanted little eye contact with Shinichi - and then linked her arm around his. “Nah. She’s just being her usual self, that’s all.”

Shinichi merely scrunched his eyebrows, not anymore pressing for further details. She didn’t pay much attention to his forearm that stiffened when she grabbed hold of it.

“‘Kay. Let’s go.” They passed by the gate and began their walk home.

There was a particular route in their walk that Ran always enjoyed passing. It was along the straight, sun-drenched pavement that overlooked Sumida River. Freelance artists by the riverbank would leisurely capture the scenic view from their sketchpads complete with the boats and bridges, and from a fair distance on the grassier portion children would often play tag or soccer. Further unseen were the echoes of sometimes obnoxious, sometimes friendly barks of dogs being walked by their owners. For Ran, the whole scenery felt so alive and natural, so peaceful, like a breath of fresh air from the typical urban Tokyo landscape.

They crossed paths with a middle-aged jogger, his energetic Shiba Inu trailing behind. Tail wagging excitedly, the dog pounced on Shinichi in the friendliest manner. Shinichi knelt, hugged the fluffy ball of sunshine in his arms, and it barked and licked his cheeks with so much joy. Both its owner and Ran couldn’t help but laugh at the cute sight of their immediate bond.

For a brief second, Ran had forgotten about her fetters for the day, relaxing as she admired an ever innocent, childlike Shinichi. When the man and his dog finally jogged away, a soccer ball flew to their direction and Shinichi, as figured, let the ball bounce around and on his knees before kicking it back to the waiting and amused children at the foot of the path by the riverbank. “Nii-chan, thank you!” They shouted in unison and he could only but salute with a satisfied grin on his face.

Stripped out of murders and mysteries, Shinichi remained a kid at heart.

Ran wanted to pinch his cheeks for being so adorable.

She softened her eyes and released a silent, mincing giggle. ‘See that, Sonoko? I can look at him without urging myself to kiss him! Pinch his cheeks maybe, but not kiss him!’

Ran was proud of herself. So far, so good. Lady Luck was on her side.

They continued their walk until they reached the streets with many food trucks and stalls that opened late afternoon onwards.

Nakamise Shopping Street was where Shinichi often bought food for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. Stopping in front of a dango stall, they were cordially greeted by the concessionaire and were presented with different flavors to choose from. Shinichi requested a stick of Anko dango.

“You’re going to have dango for dinner?” Ran asked, surprised.

“Bread for lunch got me hungry. I only need a little fill before my next meal.” Shinichi handed his payment and received the stick in exchange.

“ Mou, I told you to buy a decent meal for lunch, didn’t I? Just because it’s Thursday today, doesn’t mean you have to wait for tomorrow just so I can make you your bento. That’s simply lazy thinking, Shini...ch...”

Words mired down her throat as her eyes fixated on the way he languidly nibbled on one sticky ball of dumpling. Warm steam emerged from where he bit, teeth stretching the gooey texture of mochi before he cut it with a light tug of head. She watched the movement of his mandibles grinding the dumpling in his mouth, blowing occasionally to exhaust heat.

“Shtill hot,” he commented, munching, then he swallowed, preparing himself for another mouthful, “but very savory.”

Very savory. Yes.

In her mind palace, Ran desperately clung to the seam of Lady Luck’s gown, the Queen dragging the former along the floor whilst making her way out the front door.

“Oh, how rude of me.” Pausing midway his next bite, he tipped the half consumed stick in front of her mouth, coaxing her to try. “Want a taste?”

Ran momentarily forgot how to speak, eyes still glued to his upper lip that had been partly coated with red bean paste. Worse was he had to swipe it with his tongue after offering her a taste . As if the damned guy knew about the deal and was doing that for the win.

“N-no I uh, want...um—” she scanned around in panic, desperate to lock herself with Lady Luck away from the intruding thought that had threatened to hold her mind hostage to her ultimate defeat, “—takoyaki! I’ll buy takoyaki instead!”

She marched to the direction of the adjacent stall, arms swinging unnaturally to the wonderment of the detective who had remained cool the entire time before she stormed away. He must be thinking how weird she was, Ran thought. But she couldn’t blame him. There’s no way he’d know. If she were to blame anyone, it had to be Sonoko for drilling that ridiculous idea in her head.

“One order of takoyaki please!” she squeaked. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Shinichi pull an expression - indiscernible from where she stood - before he made do with the remaining mochi dumplings. Her brain was in shambles, unable to make out what’s happening around and in her, and her extending a hand to receive the tray of fresh takoyaki had been purely mechanical.

Only when she popped one whole ball in her mouth did her mind resume operating the way it must.

“ Ack! ” Eyes glossing with tears, she coughed and spew air like a hysterical dragon, frantically fanning her mouth with a free hand. “H-Hot!!”

Seeing her chagrin, Shinichi rushed to her side and promptly brought out the tumbler from her bag. “What the hell Ran, here, drink.” Though voice urgent, Shinichi remained as calm as rock like he wasn’t forcibly downing the tumbler on Ran’s tongue to neutralize the heat.

The woman gagged.

Not because of the cool water zipping down her throat, but more of the careful fingers craning her neck, lacing her hair as the man guided the container to her parted lips.

“There, there," he crooned lightly, "I suppose that’s hotter than the dango.”

Shinichi was so close to her face, soothing her like a five year old child in view of the moderately few curious passers by, and Ran had never wanted to combust in absolute embarrassment as much as she did that instant.

She broke away from Shinichi, eyes blown wide, pulse drumming loud. A little water spilt on her school vest and to the ground. The burn in her mouth was forgotten ever so quickly, outdone by the tingling feeling in her stomach that crept up her neck onto her cheeks and ears. Ten degrees more and she’d be about ready to burst into flames.

“Ice cream. I need ice cream.” She blathered, unthinking.

Shinichi’s eyebrows furrowed. “But you haven’t finished half of your takoyaki ye—”

“Ice cream. Please?” God she really did sound like a kid. She swore she saw in his face the mix of surprise and incredulity and exasperation in relation to her strange behavior he probably chose not to address to his better judgment.

“Okay,” Shinichi shrugged, trying to sound patient. He resealed the tumbler and put it in her bag, then returned to the bag he had dropped earlier when he tendered to Ran’s burning mouth. “...If you feel like it, maybe you can tell me what’s going on?”

.

.

Facing away from the busy streets, the two leaned on the back of the food truck from where they bought soft-serve vanilla sundaes. The typically levelheaded Ran had been reduced to a quiet mush of blush and blunder, melting her ice cream with her quiet gaze and quiet exhale, while Shinichi, still as calm and composed as ever, alternated his attention between his sundae and his girlfriend, patiently waiting for the woman to make sense out of the whole situation.

Ran huffed a breath, a deep and slow one, before taking a bite of the serving. If there’s something more embarrassing than her earlier takoyaki mishap, it was this.

Goodness, was she really going to tell the subject of the deal about her deal with Sonoko?

Her mind recalled her rooftop conversation with the lady. What compelled her to agree to this stupid deal? She knew she was trying to prove something, yes, but was the thought so despicable that only the fact of losing could convince her to accept it? Why couldn’t she accept it? What was so wrong with looking at her boyfriend and then imagining said boyfriend kissing her? Did that make her less dignified? A pervert? If she looked at him right now would she do exactly that? She’d been tempering herself for the past hour, trying, and trying… What if she tested herself by stealing a glance—

Wait, she shouldn’t go there. A dangerous test. The dango and takoyaki situation had proven that. Had she lost yet? She hadn’t right? The almost two weeks Ginza lunch deal sounded truly tempting. How could she let that pass? Of course she’d win this deal. She hadn’t lost yet. She only had to look at his nose or the middle of his brows if she must talk to him, to copy the poker face he’d been wielding since after lunch and simply go with the flow. She wouldn’t tell him what’s up, tell him instead she was having cramps. He’d understand. She’d win.

“That’s not the proper way to eat ice cream, barou.”

Rocked from her own thoughts, the first thing Ran’s brain processed was the teeth mark on her ice cream. It took another five seconds to register Shinichi’s comment.

She looked at him questioningly, unsure of what was wrong when she’d been eating her ice cream like that since little. “Then how?”

“You lick, duh.”

Ran eyed him mockingly.

“But you’re licking, and look at your chin and nose, you got some of your ice cream there! It’s messy!” she said as she pointed at the white blotches dotting the mentioned parts.

“That’s why they serve ice cream with tissue, Ran.” He proceeded to wipe the dirtied areas with the tissue he unwrapped from the cone.

“Whatever. At least when you bite you only get a little around your lips—” Ran demonstrated by taking another bite of the tip of her ice cream in a manner that made Shinichi wince, “—see?”

“Stup— Stop that, that’s really bad,” Shinichi grimaced like she’d inflicted him physical pain. “And you’ll get a toothache. It’s soft-serve ice cream for a reason. You’re supposed to lick it, not eat it like a pocky stick.”

“Oh, c’mon Shinichi, as if you haven’t seen me eat ice cream like this yet.”

“No, really, I’m quite surprised I haven’t. If I did I would’ve already corrected your wrong ways long ago.”

Puffing her cheeks, she exhaled deeply and shifted with a stomp to face him. “Okay then, if you think that’s the right way of eating ice cream, then let me change my ‘wrong ways’ and do what it is you deem proper, Mr. Always Right.”

Locking eyes with him as she pouted, Ran brought the ice cream to her mouth, flattened her tongue on the edge of the cone and, as slowly as she could, swooped right up the tip, vanilla coating her cavity and a little of her bottom lip and chin with gluey white.

Shinichi went horribly quiet.

“ Euh—see? It’s so messy! It’s everywhere on my face! I don’t like it,” she complained.

The teenage detective didn’t budge.

Out of curiosity, Ran spared him a glance as she wiped the sticky vanilla sundae off of her chin. Though he wasn’t saying anything, his dilated eyes spoke volumes. Shinichi couldn’t tear them away from her lips. He was in deep, observing and nothing more, yet observing way too hard . Too hard it made her so conscious she felt her cheeks heat up and her pulse thrum tormentingly.

“...Shinichi?”

“Ran.” He took one uncertain step forward. “...Damn. Goddamn it.”

Her mouth ran dry.

Was he going to kiss her?

He was still staring, eyebrows wired in a manner that made it difficult for her to decipher the thoughts running in his head. But she’s certain he wasn’t expressionless anymore like he was prior.

Oh no, did she feel her legs take a step forward too?

She didn’t know what incited him, but from the way his attention locked on her lips and the way his eyes hooded at the sight, she took it that he’s ready to take and mark her to his preference.

Oh no, she kinda wanted that, didn’t she?

She swallowed the saliva that had accumulated at the back of her tongue, letting the thought of kissing him run loose in her brain entirely.

Oh no. Sonoko was right now, wasn’t she?

After ten long seconds of them just staring at each other with vanilla stuck on her lips and breath stuck in his lungs, Shinichi, in the end, turned his back to Ran.

Tips of ears red, he mumbled. “...Curse you, Hattori.”

Ran tilted her head, uncertain if she heard him correctly. “What?”

Shinichi ruffled his hair as if annoyed, but Ran felt that the annoyance wasn’t directed at her but more at himself. “Have your way. Bite your friggin’ ice cream.”

She blinked. “...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Ran felt her chest deflate, releasing the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding for the past minute.

Not only did she expect something, but she also did not get it, and she even lost her chance at Ginza lunches.

“Hey, that’s rude, face me and speak more kindly,” she demanded, curt, mood already dampened by her lose-lose situation.

“Finish your ice cream first before I face you.”

Ran rolled her eyes. “What, disturbed that I’d rather bite the sundae than lick it?”

“...Yes,” he said, humorlessly. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“But licking—”

“But do whatever you want.” He cut her short. “Bite or lick, I’m not... uh, just finish it quick. Please.”

She did, very quick unlike the takoyaki, and they went home with her noting how the tips of his ears remained red and how he hadn’t glanced again at her face, confirming her lost chances of truly getting a kiss.

.

.

“And what did I tell you?”

“I get it… no need to rub it in my face.”

Sonoko chortled, taking a mouthful of yasai itame from the customized bento Ran ever so diligently prepared. The dejected woman sat across her friend on the floor, legs and arms crossed, blankly staring at the rough cement of the rooftop.

“What are you going to do about it now?”

“I don’t know.”

Ran felt her friend’s eyes scan her from head to toe, having no idea if it was a look of judgment or pity she was giving or all of the above. She’s way too embarrassed to even bother knowing.

“You don’t have to wait for him, Ran. You can just, you know, go for it yourself,” said the woman.

“I—“ she blushed. “But that’s…”

“What? It’s not the 19th century anymore. If you want something, go for it! All’s fair in love and war, o-ku-sa-ma ,” Sonoko lectured. “Though really, your boyfriend is an idiot, I can’t believe he didn’t go for it! What a wuss.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to—”

“Oh, please. There’s drought on those lips and they’re dying to be baptized by yours.” Sonoko winked at her knowingly. Ran’s eyes blew wide, blush intensifying like the afternoon sun.

“Sonoko! You don’t have to say it like—”

“Want to make a different bet this time? Who will kiss the other first, you or Shinichi?”

“N-no, no more deals please!” Ran implored, utterly defeated. “Instead of deals, I’ll...I’ll try and...see... what I can do.”

“Atta girl. That’s the spirit.”

.

.

“And what did I tell ya, Kudo?”

“Shut up. I know.”

Heiji chuckled on the other line. “No ya don’t. If ya did then this bet wouldn’t have happened. Congratulations to me for winning that Koshien ticket premium seat and congratulations to ya for proving ya cannot stand a day without wanting nee-chan’s—“

“Hey, I said I know okay,” Shinichi’s voice raised a notch louder. Afraid that he might have caught the girls’ attention, he peeked on the other side of the rooftop door where he reclined and saw that they were still talking.

Closing the door gently behind him, he sat himself on the first tread of stairs. “For the record, I was doing so well until the ice cream thing happened.”

Heiji laughed some more.

“And? How did nee-chan react?”

“She...stepped forward too.”

A faint whistle echoed from the receiver. “ That seals it. Now ya really have ta kiss her.”

He ruffled his hair, visibly nervous. “But what if she doesn’t—“

“It’s not the 19th century anymore, Kudo. Betcha your girl’s like Kazuha. They know what they want. And they aren’t afraid to show it. Nee-chan stepped forward. Like that ahou when she… Yea that’s your cue.”

The East Detective groaned inwardly.

“What? Don’t tell me we havta make a deal out of this too?”

“No need. I can do this.” He puffed his chest. “I’ll see what I can do. Give me...uh, until tomorrow.”

“Ya better, Kudo. I’m telling ya, nee-chan’s waiting.”

(Fortunately for Heiji, he didn’t have to wait until tomorrow.)

.

.

A/N: In another universe, it’s veteran bro Heiji assisting his fellow bro Shinichi with his love problem. In whatever universe, Ran always pays attention to Shinichi’s lips because the Scarlet School Trip Arc says so and the Scarlet School Trip Arc is law.

(Tumblr Side Note: This whole fic was born from @detectivegeekshin ’s comment on Kiss Prompt#23 - what if it’s the other way around, with Shinichi doing the food ‘teasing’? Thank you for the wonderful idea, now we have a thirsting Ran (っ˘ڡ˘ς) )