#I like when I pick up my cats and they spread there toes like they’re trying to free dirt from inside the crevices of their feet

[fried-pickle-sucker]

CAT PHOTO DUMP

#photodump #cats #black cats #my cats #cat photo #cat photo dump #kitty cat #I like when I pick up my cats and they spread there toes like they’re trying to free dirt from inside the crevices of their feet #cute animals #cute cats #cute cat #cats are cute

[kueble]

Mine Furr-Ever

Written for the “Gift” prompt for @witcher-bows-and-arrows.  This is part of my Kitten Jaskier au, though no actual kitten play happens.  It’s mentioned, though!

Teen, No Warnings. 1,700 words.

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Jaskier normally gets home from work before Geralt, so he’s thrown off when he enters their apartment and finds it filled with the scents and sounds of cooking.  He toes off his shoes and sets down his bag before padding into the kitchen.  Geralt is hovering over the stove and doesn’t acknowledge him at first.  When Jaskier clears his throat, his boyfriend jumps and spins around to glare at him.

“Sorry love,” Jaskier says, though he can’t hold back his giggles.  “Thought we agreed not to go all out for Valentine’s Day.”

“We did, but cooking dinner for us isn’t going all out.  We gotta eat, right?” Geralt asks, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink.  He pretends to be all gruff and aloof, but Jaskier adores how secretly sweet he really is.

“You’re so good to me,” Jaskier tells him before stepping closer and pecking him quickly on the mouth.  “Let me get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable.  Be right back.”

“More comfortable had better not mean lingerie.  I’ve spent too much time fretting over this dinner to let it get cold,” Geralt warns him.

“As tempting as that is, I can actually behave when the situation calls for it,” Jaskier says, ignoring the disbelieving look Geralt sends his way.

Thankfully the bedroom is free of any cheesy candles or rose petals.  Jaskier doesn’t hate Valentine’s Day, but he hasn’t had many good ones.  Besides, they'd probably manage to start the bedding on fire if they tried.  Laughing to himself, he grabs a pair of jeans and a navy button-up.  Geralt has foregone his usual sweats, so he figures he better not come out looking like a slob.

There is a pair of cat ears on top of the dresser - his favorite brown ones - but he doesn’t put them on.  No, tonight isn’t about that.  As much as Priscilla likes to tease him, he isn’t always in the mood to play.  He and Geralt have plenty of non-kinky - well mildly less kinky - sex.  Sure, he loves the kitten play, needs it even, but it’s just one part of their very solid relationship.

Geralt is plating up dinner when he wanders back out.  It smells absolutely delicious, and he doesn’t even complain when he’s shooed out of the kitchen.  It gives him enough time to grab his gift for Geralt and hide it behind a couch cushion.  He had it shipped to Priscilla’s place to avoid running the surprise.

There’s a bottle of merlot on the table, so he picks it up and pours each of them a glass.  He notices Geralt set their tiny table so they’re seated next to each other instead of across like normal.  It gives an added intimacy to the whole thing, and Jaskier smiles to himself at how soft Geralt gets for him.

He’s so in love that he can’t believe it sometimes.

“Sit down so I can serve you properly,” Geralt says, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Not going to pull my chair out?” he teases just to see him fidget.

“Only if you want a lapful of steak,” Geralt responds dryly.  Jaskier laughs and sits down, making sure to coo over how food everything looks.   Geralt has a proud look on his face as he joins him at the table.

He has to admit it’s an impressive spread.  The steak looks cooked to perfection, and there is a heap of sauteed mushrooms piled on top of it.  A huge baked potato with sour cream and roasted asparagus rounds out the meal.  His stomach growls in appreciation, and he jokingly cringes while Geralt snorts at him.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself,” Jaskier tells him, his grimace turning into a warm smile.

“You’re worth it,” Geralt murmurs before picking up his wine glass and holding it in the air.  Jaskier does the same and Geralt adds, “Happy Valentine’s Day.  To us.”

“To us!” Jaskier echos before clinking their glasses together and taking a small sip.

“How was work?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier groans while he cuts into his steak.  The inside is the exact shade of pink he’d been hoping for and his mouth waters as he stabs a piece along with a couple of mushrooms.

“As boring as ever,” he mumbles before taking his first bite.  It’s so tender and seasoned perfectly, and he can’t hold back his moan as he chews.  “Fuck me, this is brilliant.”

“Later, but I told you we have to eat it while it’s hot.  Plus I have that strawberry cream cake you love from the bakery across town so we can’t skip dessert.  I made a special trip to get it, so I won’t let you rush this,” Geralt says in a teasing tone.

“I love you so fucking much,” Jaskier tells him, though the mouthful of asparagus might distract from his message.

“Love you too, despite your truly horrific table manners,” Geralt snorts.   Jaskier just shrugs and continues eating.  He’s famished after a long day at work, and this is an amazing feast.

They make small talk as they eat, but it’s comfortable rather than awkward.  It’s a welcome routine to just go over their days and share funny little vignettes or gripe about their coworkers.  Jaskier has never felt this at ease with anyone, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.  They keep getting caught mooning over each other, happily pointing out every lovesick look the other one has.  By the time they’re cleaning up the table, he’s so happy he could burst, and all over the most mundane things.  Everything is just so much more when it’s shared with Geralt.

“Leave the dishes.  I’ll do them later,” Geralt tells him, and Jaskier gives him a pointed look before setting his plate on the counter.  “Fine, I’ll do them tomorrow.  But I’m not doing them now and you don’t have to worry about them, so why don’t you go sit on the couch and I’ll get your gift.”

“Oh, I get a gift?” Jaskier asks coyly.

“As if I’d miss the chance to give you one,” Geralt chuckles while shoving him towards the living room.  Jaskier uses the time to pull his own gift out from where he stashed it earlier.  The gaudy pink bag is perhaps a bit much, but he wasn’t about to try and wrap it.  Everything he touches ends up looking like a small child did it.

“Me first!” Jaskier chirps as soon as Geralt gets back.  He pats the couch next to him and thrusts his gift into Geralt’s chest, nearly causing him to drop the small present he has.  Geralt rolls his eyes and hands over the gift without saying anything.

Jaskier holds it in his hands while he watches Geralt pull the tissue paper out of the bag.  Next up is a large bag of conversation hearts.  Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, and Jaskier just beams back.  He opens the bag and dumps a few into his hand before snorting loudly.

“Cat themed conversation hearts?” he asks before lifting his hand to read them.  “You’re purrfect.  UR the cat’s pajamas.  Mine Furrever.  Where did you get these?”  He pops them into his mouth before cringing.

“Yeah, they taste horrible, don’t they?” Jaskier giggles, “but I found them online and couldn’t resist.  I got you real candy, too.  It’s those peanut butter fudge things you like from the shop near Eskel’s place.”  Geralt excitedly looks at the bag and takes out a large box of his favorite chocolates.

“You know me so well,” he says.  He gets quiet for a long moment, chewing on his lower lip as he looks at the package in Jaskier’s hands.  “I hope I know you just as well.  Open it.”

Jaskier makes a show of shaking the box, but there’s no sound.  It’s wrapped in plain silver paper with a little pink ribbon tied around it.  He slides the ribbon off and works a finger through a seam to rip the paper open.  Once he opens the box, he looks at it, not quite sure what it is.  It’s some kind of blue leather band, but it’s looped in a spiral.

“If you hate it, I can get something else,” Geralt rushes out before taking it out of the box for him.  “I just, uh, I was at the farmer’s market with Lambert and saw this leather maker there.  He had a bunch of these bracelets and you could get them customized.  It should wrap around your wrist a couple of times, because it fit me and I’m bigger than you.”  He looks shy, not meeting Jaskier’s eyes as he hands it back over.  Jaskier takes it and turns the band over to see the words stamped into it.

“Pretty Kitty,” Jaskier whispers.  Geralt’s favorite term of endearment, burned right into the navy leather.  “I love it!” he exclaims, trying to put it on himself and failing miserably.

“No, it goes on the inside,” Geralt says, laughing as he leans over to help.  The band does indeed wrap around his wrist twice before securing with a snap.  It might take some practice, but he should be able to get it on himself next time.   “It’s uh, well…I didn’t want to share it, you know?  It’s on the inside so it’s pressed against your skin, just for the two of us to know.”

“You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met,” Jaskier rushes out before climbing into Geralt’s lap.  The bag of candy falls to the floor, no doubt scattering all over, but who could care when they’re busy being kissed by such a lovely man?

They’re laughing into the kiss, both scrambling to stay on the couch with how forcefully Jaskier sat on him. Geralt scoots back against the cushions and Jaskier chases his mouth, kissing him properly once they settle in.  He tastes like wine, and Jaskier chases the flavor, licking past his lips and deepening the kiss.  Geralt sighs into his mouth, their tongues sliding together as they get lost in it.  Geralt cups his ass and holds him in place when Jaskier tries to rock down against him.  He gets the hint and keeps things slow.  They kiss lazily, time forgotten, and Jaskier’s last coherent thought is how much he likes this stupid holiday now.

---

SFW Tags: @halerune @mayastormborn @dani-dandelino @jaskierswolf @littoraly-art @tothedesert @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @theamazingdevilgivesmehope @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @hayleynzlive @holymotherwolf @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @larawrmonster @gryffinqueen-blog @lovelyscot @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @allthequeenshorses13 @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @clarebear66 @feral-jaskier @j-u-s-tmyself​ @hayleynzlive @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool @flawney @viking1919 @peanitbear @blues-tunes

If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know. Thank you!

#my fic #kitten Jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher valentine #witcher bows and arrows #bows and arrows 2

[bokutoslittlebird]

miya twins and their 19 year old virgin little sister, samu probably caught you trying to fuck yourself and let your dildo be your first since a lot of your friends are teasing you for being a virgin and then atsumu caught you red handed, watching porn. and what would happen if one of them got you preggo? too horny to even think about anything, sorry birdie-san ㅠㅡㅠ

DIVINE. DELICIOUS. you know that audio with the cats? That was me when I read this

Warnings : pregnancy, cunnilingus, f. masturbation, porn video (briefly), a pink dildo, dubcon, incest, manipulation

It’s your nineteenth birthday and while you had a wonderful party with your family, you still feel so young and small. Your brothers are both attending colleges for their own career paths, but you’ve just got out of high school and have no idea what you want to do! You’ve been babied by your brothers, so you don’t have a clear view of the future for yourself that doesn’t include Atsumu and Osamu by your side.

One thing bothered you though: you were still a virgin. Thanks to your brothers, boyfriends were a foreign concept to you. All your friends lost their virginities before their birthdays, but your last friend lost her virginity on her birthday, a present from her boyfriend. You were slow to coming to the party and you told them you’d have lost it by the time your birthday came around, even getting a boyfriend!

A boyfriend quickly discarded by the brooding brothers of yours. A sneer from Atsumu and a glare from Osamu had his tail between his legs. Truly, a shame. You knew your friends would tease you again for the lack of a boy in your life, so you decided to, uh, pretend. A dildo was similar to a penis, right? That’s why they existed.

You didn’t know it’d be so hard! You have to have an orgasm to properly lose your virginity, that’s what your friends said. Pumping the silicone piece into your tiny cunt was harder than expected, only fitting half in before you started to pump it. It sent a tingling down in your tummy, but it was more effort than expected. Noises or frustration mingled with your forced moans, whining as your wrists started to hurt.

Osamu was doing his homework when he heard you make a noise of frustration, huffing and puffing. He didn’t pay too much attention to it, but then you made a similar noise. So, time to investigate. He wouldn’t want you to exert so much energy, you’re his baby sister! He expected to see you trying to get something off a high shelf, your shirt riding up to show your smooth stomach or you to be under your bed, shorts-clad— even better, panty-clad rump in the air. He did not expect to see you on your bed, legs spread and pumping a pink silicone dildo into your cunt. If only that was his—

“‘Tsu- ‘Tsumu,” you moan out, biting on your lower lip. Osamu’s mouth drops into a frown, growling at his twin’s name dropping from your mouth. You turn to look at the door, suddenly opened only to be slammed shut.

A startled gasp makes him stop in front of you, eyes burning with an unknown desire. “‘Samu! What’re you doing?” He just looks at you, eyes glancing at your hand still between your legs. Your eyes go down, shame burning in your face. “I’m trying to be a big girl. I wanna lose my virginity,”

“Why didn’t ya ask me?” He asks, putting his weight on your bed. You panic and close your legs, moving the dildo out of you. “And why ya callin’ out ‘Tsumu’s name? Huh? Am I not good enough?”

“N-No! That’s not it! ‘Samu, you’re scaring me!” You cry out, his large hands spreading your legs. Your puffy pussy is fully on display for him, his eyes noticing the lack of slick. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m gonna help. Wanna be a big girl? I can help,” he says. He doesn’t move, though, waiting for your permission. Even though you’re hesitant — he’s your brother! You’re nodding your head, fingers soon finding themselves in Osamu’s darkened hair. He stopped dying it, so it’s completely natural again. His face is buried in your cunt, lapping at your folds as your moans aren’t forced, head thrown back as Osamu tongue fucks you. When he sticks two fingers into you, he doesn’t expect you to be so wet, a drastic difference from moments ago. He moves to wrap his lips around your clit, walls tightening as you finally release on his fingers and face.

When Osamu comes up, he’s licking his lips while you pant. “Did.. did I lose my virginity?” You ask him, tears clinging to your lashes.

“What d’ya mean?” You explain what your friends told you, all while he strips off his shirt and peppers kisses on your stomach, rising your shirt up as he does. “Nah, I gotta cum inside if you wanna lose it. You gonna let me do that?” The no hesitation in the nodding of your head has him grinning, straightening himself as he rubs his hardened cock through his pants. Today, fantasy becomes reality. “Alright, I’ll go slow,”

Even with his slow sinking into you, you’re gasping and clinging to his biceps for dear life, tears staining your pillow as he splits you open. He’s far bigger than the dildo, but the slick from your orgasm makes it much easier for him to slide in. He kisses your cheek, telling you how good you are. It’s the little praise that has you encouraging him to keep going, and he does. He keeps pushing in until he’s bumping against your cervix, almost completely inside of you. Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him locked against you.

“Don’t worry, lil sis. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he shushes, brushing your tears as he stays still. An occasional hiccup has his heart hurting, but he knows you’ll feel good eventually. Well, even if you don’t, he’ll start. When your legs loosen, dropping back to the plush bed, he starts moving. He’s still slow, spreading your walls for his thick cock as you continue to adjust. It’s not until you’re begging him for more does he pick up the pace, slamming his hips against yours. He has to cover your mouth so you don’t alert the whole house he’s fucking you, your screams of pleasure coming out. They’re muffled, but he can hear how much you’re enjoying it. It urges him to go even faster, grunting as he chases his own high.

Another screams rips from you, walls tightening as you cream on his fat cock, eyes rolling as toes curl. It’s enough to send Osamu over the edge, groaning as he buries himself even deeper inside, pumping you full of his cum, you milking every drop. He kisses you, your panting mouth perfect for him to give you a passionate kiss, staying deep inside you. He breaks the kiss, “I love ya, little sis,”

“Love you, too, nii-san,” you smile, kissing him again.

It’s all you ever wanted, to be a big girl. It also brings you and Osamu closer together, you often bouncing around the idea to help him in his shop once he gets it set up. When you go into his room, the door locking behind you, you miss the way Atsumu glares. He has a feeling you’re not studying with Osamu, but there’s nothing to suggest otherwise.

Well, when Osamu is late from coming back from college, Atsumu is the only one home. It’s a small breath of fresh air, relaxing his tired muscles after a long practice match. When he hears small grunts and moans from your bedroom, he goes to investigate. You shouldn’t be home, let alone have anyone with you. The creaking of the floorboards doesn’t stop the noises from your room, Atsumu’s curiosity spiking. Peeking into your open door, he sees you on your back, legs spread open as your laptop plays an obscene video, the moans and grunts coming from the speakers. Your occasional moan is muffled by the shirt hem in your mouth, but it’s dropped when you moan out Osamu’s name, eyes rolling back as your fingers work on your clit.

Atsumu glares at the mention of Osamu’s name, shutting the door that has you jumping and struggling to explain yourself. “Ya think ‘Samu’s better than me? Is that it?” They’re so similar, it’s striking. The hungry eyes, full of anger and lust, they look so much like Osamu’s, but the light blond hair reminds you it’s Atsumu. “What’re you- Yer watchin’ sibling porn? Thinking of your big brother? ‘S that it?”

“No, it’s not what you think, ‘Tsumu!” Unlike Osamu, Atsumu’s one to take what he wants. He moves the laptop off the bed, spreading your legs as you squirm and struggle. “Lemme go!”

“Brats like you need to be put in place, don’t’cha know? You’re fucking soaked, getting off on your big bro that much?” You’re crying and still trying to kick him off, but it just turns him on even more. You’re still innocent and so naive in his eyes, it’s nothing for him to just take that from you. His cock is already hard, begging to sink into your warm depths. “You gonna let me fuck you? It’ll be like that video you were watching,”

You’re shaking your head, pushing at his chest as he leans down to press kisses to your neck. “C’mon, lil sis. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You trust me, right?” It’s a question that has your movements stopping, glossy eyes looking at Atsumu. He’s smiling, your big brother not showing any hint of malice. You sniffle, his thumbs swiping away the silver droplets on your cheeks.

“As long as you promise not to hurt me, okay ‘Tsumu?” You ask him, big doe eyes of innocence as you look at him. He grins and kisses your lips, licking your bottom lip. A whispered breath of ‘wouldn’t dream of it’ is all you hear before his mushroom head is pushing at your entrance. He’s just as big as Osamu, but it’s still hard to take in. You’re nice and slick, though, Atsumu notes. All from watching some incest porn, it’s almost funny to him how all you had to do was ask, no reason to hide it! Him and Osamu have been dreaming of keeping you all to themselves, there’s no reason for you to hide your desires.

Once he’s bottomed out, he doesn’t let you adjust, immediately pulling out to thrust back in. It’s sharp and rough, knocking the air from your lungs as your head gets thrown back. Atsumu’s quick to attach his lips to your neck, sucking the flesh and digging his teeth into the skin. It’s a way to show he’s claimed you, as if he doesn’t plan on coming inside. That’s his goal — mark you inside and out. With your arms above your head, grasping the pillows, there’s no reason for him to not. Licking his thumb, he presses it to your clit and flicks it, sending shockwaves through you as you scream and cream around his cock, thighs tightening around him. He’s not too far behind you, rutting against you as he paints your insides white, sending you into another orgasm, juices spraying against his abdomen.

“Lookie there! You just squirted all over me,” he chuckles, rubbing your shaking thighs. You’re overstimulated, so he doesn’t push another round. There’ll be time for that later.

A week later, you find yourself in a dilemma when your clothes won’t fit. Worried about gaining weight, you confide in your big brothers who give you a test. “Just pee on it. It’ll tell you if you’re overeating,” they said. They’ve never lied to you before! When those two lines pop up on the plastic tool, you show it to them, confused. They tell you you’re pregnant, but then comes the question. Who’s the dad? Really, does it matter? They have a lot of love to give you and they’re twins. Your child is gonna look like both of them no matter what.

#atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader x osamu #BB.Kinky #anon-chan #BB.Requests #tw.incest #BB.Dark #osamu smut #atsumu smut #Miya.Spice #Atsumu.Spice #Osamu.Spice #Mr. ‘Samu #Mr. ‘Tsumu #tw.dubcon #tw.manipulation #Onigiri Man #tw.pregnancy #cw.pregnancy #haikyuu smut

[hanji-is-life]

Okay okay, I fucking love mermaids, always have. This bitch right here watched nothing but Ariel for years as a kiddo so this is right up my alley.

Merman!Bakugo whose skin is like a sharks, rough and hurts if you try to pet him. But why would you try? He's big, scary with a lot of spines and spikes.

Merman!Bakugo who has defensive measures, the fins on the end of his tail and along his hips have barbs that can inject venom, which usually happens during fights or during the mating season when mermen are fighting over mates.

Merman!Bakugo who is just fascinated why you don't have gills, fins or...anything really. You're like a dolphin, all soft and smooth, not slimey at all. He sits you on the rock so he can just see what's different about you, just as you do to him.

Merman!Bakugo who mistakes your toes as worms the first time you take your plastic flippers off. Chomps down on those guppies and gets so confused why you shriek and cry. You have to explain to him that they're attached to you.

Merman!Bakugo who is also completely enraptured by your legs. Loves to wiggle between them while on your rock.

Merman!Bakugo who has pupils like a cats to pick up more light when down in the ocean depths so yes, when he sees you they blow out like a dumbass.

Merman!Bakugo who is very, very possessive of his fleshy, non-fish, person and brings you shells and other pretty knick knacks that have been lost over time.

Merman!Bakugo who doesn't care if he dries and shrivels up in the sun, he is going to sunbathe with you on the beach, whether you like it or not.

Merman!Bakugo who loves your gillless neck and chest, the way they vibrate when you speak and make noise, that's unlike any communication in the ocean...he's just obsessed with it. Though if you point out him being all clingy like a starfish his fins and spines all spread out as he hisses at you.

Merman!Bakugo whose first real word is "Guppie" and that is your nickname. No if, and or buts about it.

I am going to kiss you for this. one big ole smooch.

CAUSE IM CRYING????? CALLING HIM GUPPIE???? Ohhhh my good your brain I’m gonna eat it. get ur mind like they’re Titan powers.

omg I’m gonna keep rereading this until my eyes burn I’m literally so FREAKIN IN LOVE I love I love I loveeeee

#THE TOE WORMS #OH NY FOD #AND THE HISSINF #IM SOBBING #MOM I WANT ONE!!!!!! #guppie #I’m screaming #GUPPIE #oh my god bye #my asks #mermaid bakugou #we love janshu

[guillotoinette]

My Little Clown

Being the Joker's girl isn't easy. If anything, it's a curse. To constantly be up at night thinking about the future, me and The Joker's. Gotham's dark knight has the two of us in his palm, It's only a matter of time until The Joker gets caught. God knows what torture they have awaiting him.

The thought of his suffering made me feel sick. His poor, hurt soul. Whatever did they do to you?

...

Despite the horrible things he'd done, I can't leave him. I can't. I never will. Why do I love you this much? A murderous lunatic, making me feel loved. Like I'm the happiest, luckiest girl in the world. Jack is the only person that makes me feel like this, like I'm somebody, and not just some puppet. The sheer thought of his bruised hand on my cheek, his scarred lips brushing against mine.. It makes me feel like I'm in heaven. I can't seem to come down. It's like he drugged me, pricked me with a love poisoned arrow.

But he doesn't want to admit it.

At least, not yet.

You're a dangerous drug, but oh god you're addicting. So addicting.

I lay in my bed, feeling like I'm in the sky as I think of more scenarios with Joker. The fluffy bed makes me feel more ecstatic.

"When are you coming home?"

I took a glance at the clock hanging on the wall.

12:15

Just as I was about to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, I hear the door creak open, and my head quickly turns to my right.

My eyes met his, a small grin can be seen blending in with that blood red lipstick. Oh how it tastes so intoxicating.

I stood up the bed, running towards his arms that are open wide for me to jump into.

I feel my chest rub against his leather suit, feeling his slow beating heart. His dark eyes stares into my soul, and I couldn't help but look back at them. Those two dull marbles, they don't scare me anymore. Not like it used to. In fact, just looking into them is enough to make me feel at home. They're comforting.

I stood on top of my toes to give him a kiss, but before I can even reach him, I feel his lips on mine. They're soft, and warm. They made me melt completely, losing my balance and catching myself by wrapping my arms around Joker's neck.

"Aww.. Looks like someone missed me."

What he just said made me red. Goosebumps scattered across my skin as his gloved hand caresses my cheek ever so slowly. I couldn't help but smile back at him, my face resting on his palm.

He lets go, leaving a small squint in my eyes. He takes off his coat and throws it on the ground.

"Today was, ah.. Tiring. Boring, even."

Then, his gloves. He walks over to a desk and places them there, and I couldn't help but notice his hands. They were bruised.

I opened my mouth finding words to say to him, but his deep voice interrupts.

"Those mobs were no fun at all.."

His left hand rolls up the sleeves on his right arm while he walks slowly over to the bed. He falls comfortably on the edge, patting both of his thighs as a gesture for me to sit on him.

I obey, sitting myself on his lap. I can feel his hot breath on my bare nape, sending shivers down my spine. He gently wraps his left arm on my waist, pulling me even closer to him while his right hand meets my hair, playing with random black strands. He's so childish.

"So, sweet cheeks.. What have you been up to?Hmm?" He sounded so gentle. It's unusual, yet it's so reassuring.

"Jack.." These words escape my lips. I turn around to face him, forcing him to back up and make space for me to sit on.

I place both my hands on his shoulder, looking directly in his eye. Nobody has ever dared to stare at the Joker, but I can tell. I can tell that he loves it when my brown eyes look into his.

"I.. Wanted to ask you something."

Oh God. What the hell am I saying?

"Jack.. What exactly do you feel.. About m-"

He silences me by pushing his lips on me, this time, it was harder. More passionate. His embrace made me fall on him, now making me on top of him as he lays down on the bed, his stringy hair messy against the white pillow below him. I pull away giving him the chance to answer my question.

"I thought I've made it obvious enough. I love you, (Y/N)."

His once dark eyes now twinkled with the stars out the window. He smiles. A genuine, pacifying smile spreads across his cheek.

"You are my purpose."

Before I even knew it, a tear sheds from my watering eyes. I'm crying. I'm crying over what the world calls a monster, what I called a monster. The rogue they so feared and loathed turns out to be my savior from the salvation this society had to offer me. For all my life. He's all I ever yearned for.

My destiny. My Joker. My Jack.

I felt myself becoming more weak, eventually collapsing on to his chest as I continue to sob.

He softly brushes my back, giving me a light kiss on the forehead.

...

It felt like 15 minutes until I finally caught up to my breath. Jack's gentle strokes really helped me calm myself down.

I stand up the bed, with him doing the same.

"Shh now, dollface.. I'm here.. Everything's ok." He whispers, leaning towards me and kissing my shaking lips. He bit and tug my bottom lip, causing a soft gasp to leave my mouth. The sensation made me lust for him uncontrollably as his tongue draws circles on mine, faint whines escaping my lips.

"You don't have to worry about anything. Tonight, you're all mine. And I'll be sure to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk." He groaned, his voice now a bit lighter than before.

"You're such a kidder." I teased.

"You think I'm joking?" He glares at me, and he couldn't help but smirk.

"Well, they don't call you The Joker for nothin'."

He laughs, and I laugh with him. It's such a feeling to share chuckles with him, especially when it's just the two of us.

"As I was saying.."

In a flash, he pins me down the bed, both of my hands trapped in his. He kisses my neck and I can't help but moan at how sweetly he did it. But it didn't last for long, the sugary kiss was now salted with a bite. I felt him suck the spot where his lips used to be. It's painful, but god, it's oh-so gratifying.

I want more. I want more of him.

He stops and pulls away to have a good look at the mess he made. My neck was burning with purple and red.

"Now that is, uh.." He licks his lips. What a sight for sore eyes.

"A mark. A mark to label you.. Mine."

His hand meets the ribbon of my dress, undoing it until it was nothing but rags on the floor. He reaches to his pocket to grab a knife, the point pressing on my underwear ripping my bra and panties off, now exposing my naked body. He gazes were flaming, and I can feel him examine every part of me.

It's embarrassing, I'll admit, but I know how much The Joker loves to draw little smily faces on my skin with his soft fingertips, so by now I have no reason to feel like this. He's remembered every bit of me, and the both of us know it.

"My little clown."

His hand was now on my breasts, fondling them tenderly. His thumb draws circles on my tits and I let out a moan in his ear, making sure it ringed in his eardrums, memorizing the tune I made for him. My fingers dug on his back as he made his way down my torso, over to my hips, and eventually toying with my folds. His fingers are so warm it was sure to leave me melting over his touch again.

"Ah..? You're already this wet..? We're just starting, you little slut."

He continued to rub against my flaps, and he didn't hesitate to slide a finger inside. I gasped, I certainly wasn't ready for that.

He's extra stern tonight. He knows I like it that way.

His finger slowly pushed in and out, a moan slipping out of my throat. When Jack saw how I looked like absolutely gratified by his touch, he picked up the pace, now going as fas as light. He pushed another finger inside, then another. I'm getting ripped and I hate how much I love it. I grasp onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his wrinkly shirt, moaning in pure bliss.

"God, you're- ah.. Sooo tight. Soo wet tight for me."

"J-Jack! I'm gonna cum!"

"Oh no you're not. Not yet."

And when I was just about to, he stops. He pulls out his fingers, licking my liquids off like a thirsty cat.

He shoves his thumb, rubbing it inside my inner cheeks. And I'm not gonna lie when I say I love the taste of my fluids mixed with his spit. I squint my eyes, sucking and biting on him.

Jack stands up, giving me some time to sit up the bed and catch up on my breath. I look at him, catching sight of his hard erection, tightening and visible through his pants.

He unzips his violet bottoms and carelessly throwing them in the corner. I kneel down in front of him, pulling down his boxers to reveal his long, veiny cock leaking with pre-cum.

"Now, open wiiidee"

I obey, and before I can even start to suck the tip, he shoves all of it inside my mouth all the way to my throat, thrusting it rapidly as I desperately try not to gag. Eventually getting the hang of it, I swirl my tongue around, earning a loud moan from him.

"Fuck. You feel so good. You're doing so good, dollface." He groans. I look at up him to see him leaning his head back while he fucks my mouth, his eyes closed and his lips slightly open to let out quiet moans and groans. He opens his eyes to catch me sightseeing at his view, I look away to focus on my job, but then I glance back to him as my ears were met with his charming laughs.

"You're so cute, (Y/N)."

I blushed and smiled back at him.

My chest, thighs, and the floor was all covered in saliva and juices.

A few thrusts later and he picks up the speed, becoming more hasty and shaky. I can tell he's close.

He groans finally, his deep nasally voice spoke

"I'm gonna cum, (Y/N), and you're gonna take it all in like a good. little. doll."

I nod.

"Fuck!"

Then, he releases it in my throat. I swallow it all, not a drop dripping out of my lips. He puts a knuckle on my chin, pulling my head up to make eye contact with him, now kneeling in front of me.

"Where, uh.. Where'd ya learn how to suck dick like that, hmm?" He whispers, and I let out a giggle.

"Did I do good?"

He kisses me, our tongues colliding and he pulls out with a spit still on his mouth.

"You did amazing, doll. But now.."

He lifts me up the floor and throws me onto the bed once again. He rests his knees in front of me, hoisting my legs up and wrapping them around his neck.

"Now.. You're getting your reward, as deserved."

He rubs his tip on my swollen clit, exchanging heavy breaths with each other. My eyes are on him, not leaving it once. He leans in front to be closer to me, and I quickly pull him in, kissing him on the lips.

"Hey. Better stay in your place, sweets. Otherwise tonight's 'session' is gonna be longer than expected."He mutters.

"But daddy-"

He stops stroking.

"What- uh.. What'd you just call me?"

Now I'm hitting his weak spots. He loves being called that nickname, like I love being called his good little girl. He loves dominating me as much as I love being commanded by him.

"Daddy, plea-"

"Oh you're fucking getting it."

He strokes one last time before pushing his cock inside me. He's so big. I can remember the pain I felt when we first had sex, he stretched me out so much and I bled all over white sheets. But it was all worth it. Once he hit my sweet spots, I was in heaven.

I let out a moan, leaving him to do the same. He slides in and out, making lewd sounds that echoed around the room, blending with our whines and whimpers.

"Oh Jack yes! Fuck me! Please! Fuck me harder, daddy!"

"Awe, is my little doll enjoying herself?"

"Oh yes, yes I am!!"

"Let's see just how long you're going to last me, you pathetic little whore."

He turns me around and I feel a hard smack on my ass, leaving me wailing. He continues to thrust, slapping my cheeks the same time our hips collide when he bangs me mercilessly.

I feel his chest on my back and his breath at the back of my shoulder. He bites down on my shoulder blade, his yellow teeth deepening in my skin and sucking it. I cry and whimper to no avail, as he continues to mark my shoulder bone with purple and red.

He pulls back, blood dripping from his teeth and swallowing it. Jack continues to fuck me from behind while looking at me, close-up.

"You look so beautiful, even when you're getting your brains fucked out." He cackles in glee.

"You enjoy being messed up by my cock that much, don't cha?"

"Very much!"

"Then cum for me. Cum for me, you pitiable fucking nymph! Cum for daddy." He groans, his voice so deep that I can feel the air vibrate. He pulls on my hair while he places his left hand on my loin.

Those words were enough to make me do what he wanted, cumming in pure euphoria and those stupid butterflies fluttering inside my stomach. He turns me to him and I arch my back, giving Jack full access to my hips, grabbing them and pulling me closer to his pelvis, fucking me even faster than before.

I had just came, so my clit was really sensitive, and that, Jack knew very well. He puts his thumb on the spot, rubbing it bluntly.

The rhapsody I felt was slowly fading, but Jack had no plans on stopping.

"Jack- Jack it hurts-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry my angel. It's almost over, alright? Keep your eyes on me."

And I do so. I put my hands on his cheeks to softly caress it, causing his eyes to flutter and sparkle. I smiled at the sight, almost forgetting the discomfort between my legs.

"Mhmm.. Fuck..!" Jack curses.

I felt the hot spurts of cum he planted inside me as his cock twitches uncontrollably. He pulls out, some semen left dripping on the bedsheets and on my stomach.

He lays down beside me and I put a hand on his chest. I scooch closer to him but he already pulls me in for our last kiss tonight.

"You.. You were- ah.. You were okay."

I let out a small chuckle on how bad and ridiculously he tried to deny what he felt.

"I love you, Jack."

I turn around and he spoons me in his big arms. I squirm around and purposefully rub my ass on his crotch.

...

His dick is still hard.

#imagines #the joker #joker #joker smut #heath ledger #heath joker #ledger joker #the dark knight #batman #fanfiction #joker fanfiction #fanfic #heath ledger joker

[hyunverse]

BUNGA (FLOWER) | FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

gender neutral.

summary; you’re megumi’s dream person.

note; i wrote this bcs my birth name is actually a type of flower ugh the self indulgence also i like butterflies. also inspired by a song called bunga by masdo. i recommend listening to the song while reading. bunga means flower in malay!! also pls open the gif for better quality.

YOU REMIND MEGUMI OF A FLOWER. white orchids; they symbolize purity. and that’s exactly what you are to him.

fushiguro megumi remembers this one day when he and tsumiki had went to a flower garden together. he didn’t know why tsumiki suddenly felt like visiting a garden, but he followed anyway. he observed as his sister looked at the flowers around them, a smile never leaving her face and her eyes were practically sparkling. it felt nice to see his sister actually enjoy herself, especially after their parents got up and abandoned them, leaving tsumiki with all the house chores.

“look at all these flowers!”, tsumiki caressed the petals with her fingers, thumb gently gliding over the flowers, “they look so nice, don’t you think so megumi?”

megumi didn’t reply, he opted to stand beside his older sister. tsumiki explained the symbolisms of the flowers she knew of. the raven head looked stoic, as if he wasn’t listening to any of her words but the truth is, he was. he found the symbolism behind the white orchids particularly interesting. it suited the orchids’ physical appearance. white and innocence just made sense.

as the siblings chatted (though it technically was one sided on tsumiki’s part), a cat walked towards the duo. the ball of orange fur purred and nudged it’s head on tsumiki’s legs, immediately getting the teenage girl’s attention. she kneeled down, her previous smile growing wider.

petting the cat, she looked up at her younger brother, “aren’t cats so adorable?”.

“yeah,” megumi uttered. a lie. he wasn’t a big fan of cats, he found them annoying. dogs are better, that’s what he believed in but he didn’t have the heart to say that to his sister. not when she looks the happiest she had been in a while.

“and the weather’s really nice today!”, she added, eyes glancing up at the sky. the sun was glaring right into her eyes, so her pupils shrunk. she didn’t mind however, she had always loved sunny days. the sunlight shone right above their heads, and megumi didn’t like it. he could feel drops of sweat trickling down his back, causing his shirt to cling onto his skin. megumi much prefers when it’s cloudy, shades of grey in the sky, the perfect weather for staying at home and reading books.

even so, he just nodded, “mhm.”

shortly the sun started to set, spreading orange hues throughout the sky. flocks of birds returned to their nests, and so the fushiguro siblings made their way back to their abode. on their way tsumiki stole glances at her brother, letting out a dry chuckle everytime she notices the lack of expression on his face.

“you should smile more you know, megumi”, she ruffled his erratic hair, “you won’t get much friends if you keep on frowning like that”, she teased.

he grumbled, “i don’t care if i don’t have friends.”

megumi thought it was ridiculous. why would it matter, anyway? he’s fine being alone. people are bothersome; they’re too loud and they stress him out. especially the stupid punks in school who thinks they could do whatever they want. megumi simply shrugged and pushed his sister’s words out of his mind. scratch smiling and being likeable.

yet here he is, smiling at you. over no particular reason too.

currently, he’s walking along a beach with you. you; dressed up in a white sundress, a pair of sandals in your right hand. the sand burns under fushiguro’s feet but he couldn’t feel it over the fast thumping of his heart, he couldn’t feel the heat when his whole skin is tingling. he trolls behind you, walking over the footsteps you made. your sundress flows to the rhythm of your walk, flying slightly up when the wind blows your way, exposing the plush skin of your thighs. fushiguro looks away from your figure, his fair complexion tinted with blush.

you’re his best friend, he’s not supposed to look at you like that.

“it’s so nice here, megumi!”, you call out to him as you stand at the edge of the sea. waves crash, they trickle up to your toes. with a smile you hold up your hand for megumi to hold.

bashfully, megumi walks up to you and takes your hand in his. he’s reluctant, for he dislikes his hands. they’re cold and filled with callouses. so when you grip his hand as though you didn’t intend to let go, when your thumb rubs against his, he feels less insecure of his hands. the sensation of your hand in his is hot, it burns; however it feels nice.

megumi fushiguro hates warmth, but if it’s your warmth, he’d enjoy burning in heat.

the sand by the sea doesn’t feel hot on your feet. the waves get bigger and bigger; till they reach up to your ankles. you giggle because it tickled, the sound of your laughs reaching megumi’s ears. he turns to his side to see you crouching down, collecting the water in your hands.

that’s when megumi concluded, your whole existence screams purity.

a week later megumi meets you again. sometime at 11pm, by an oak tree—your usual meeting spot. the oak tree is large, it’s impossible to miss it. you stand under the oak tree, allowing dried leaves to fall onto your head, getting stuck in your hair. you know megumi would get all the leaves out of your hair. he does it everytime. he’ll pick out all the leaves out of your hair while lecturing you, though his words enter one ear then out from another. no matter how many times he says “i can’t do this all the time”, even he himself knows he would.

from afar megumi watches his best friend run around the flower field, chasing butterflies. your hair gets swept away by the wind as your hands stretch up to the sky, desperately trying to get a butterfly to land on your hand. you’re wearing a jumpsuit, the white color of the material truly brought out your skin tone. your complexion is glistening, and it makes megumi’s heart throb.

“they’re scared of you, y/n,” he finally says, putting both your hands down. the butterflies fly away from your sight, and you pout.

“but they’re so pretty,” you sigh, watching as the butterflies choose to fly anywhere but on your fingers. and then one lands on top of megumi’s shoulder.

your eyes widen, holding the sides of megumi’s figure to make him stay still. megumi could see sparks in your eyes when you admire the blue butterfly. soft is the expression you wear on your face. he likes it on you. that cute expression of yours makes megumi fall five times harder for you even when he knows he shouldn’t.

“you’re like a flower ‘gumi. it likes you.”

ridiculous, he thinks. you’re the flower. it’s obvious by the way your body moves under the moonlight, and how insanely beautiful you are.

fushiguro megumi doesn’t say anything in return, as always. he rarely does. if possible, he wants to avoid you from finding out just how in love he is with you.

after that day, you never show up under the oak tree, a few minutes distance from jujutsu high. he’ll wait for hours long only to be disappointed.

--at least not until his birthday comes, about a few months later. his face turns pale once he spotted you. you wait by the jujutsu high gate with a wide smile on his face, as if you didn’t ghost him for three months.

"glad to see you doing okay," the apple of your cheeks seem more prominent when you smile, megumi feels an urge to kiss them.

"i haven't seen you in so long," megumi mumbles, "happy to see you here today."

you grin and hold up your hand for him to take per usual, and didn’t mutter anymore words until the two of you reach a café in the outskirts of tokyo.

“nice café,” the raven comments , glancing at you. you’re wearing a puffy sleeved white blouse now—honestly, do you only own white clothes?

“found it on instagram”, you mutter, “i thought you’d like it. happy birthday, megumi.”

megumi smiles for the first time today. as a jazz song plays, he eats the birthday cake you purchased for him quietly. the cake tastes delicious (to be fair, anything you buy him is perfect) because it’s not too sweet. the fact that you remember his preference makes his smile grow a little wider.

you hum to the song and rest your head on his shoulder. it seems like the two of you are the only ones in the café—a much needed privacy. you’re usually touchy with him, and he prefers affection to be private. typically they make megumi blush, and he doesn’t want people to witness him all flustered.

“did you miss me, megumi?”, he replies to your question by nodding and placing his hand on top of yours.

serenity is this feeling, megumi thinks.

at the corner of the café stands an antique grandfather clock. it’s sounds are so loud, they resonate the whole environment. megumi suddenly becomes hyper aware of the sound, there’s a pounding in his head. the sound becomes louder and louder, to the point where megumi couldn’t feel your skin under his. he shuts his eyes close, an impossibly bright light glares his eyes.

“fushiguroooo!”, an annoying voice yells. itadori’s voice, megumi is certain.

the pounding in his head slows down. his sapphire eyes flutter open, and he realizes the light he saw was sunlight rays peeking through his blinds.

“seriously fushiguro, we’ve been calling you for an hour now. hurry up, we’re going out to eat in five. to celebrate your birthday”, megumi looks up to see nobara standing behind itadori. 

they’re both leaning against his door frame. itadori is dressed in a yellow hoodie, while nobara rocks a coat over a turtleneck. the female sorcerer holds her toy hammer tight in her grip, her eyes boring through megumi’s figure. by her posture, megumi guesses she was about to hit him with the squeaky hammer if only he didn’t wake up sooner.

fucking menaces, they could’ve left him to sleep for a little more. he hasn’t seen you in so long, he wanted to sleep in to spend time with you.

finally rubbing his eyes awake, the boy looks at the vase of orchids sitting on his nightstand. he sighs before standing up.

megumi will find you someday, he promises. if you’re a flower, he’ll gladly be the butterfly.

✉ taglist: @aliteama @dearsukuna @cybergoo @hanniemilk @ariasann @soulasdarkascoffee @okusetomura @eidotheiapriv @maat-the-prescriptive @etoilezone @elipres @scarednekozz @iridescentkitsune @crapimahuman @nectar0sw33t @hq149 @bluedelphinium @bokutos-babyowl @behan @tdntu0 @sunaluvs @guardianangelswings @fairywriter-oracle @inu-makki @erinisbadger

tagging; @candleohappiness , @haru-senji <333

#fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjkmag #megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi fluff #megumi imagines #megumi x gn reader #fushiguro megumi imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Holding Hands

Just dipping my toe into the "faking a relationship for a holiday party" trope. (And blame @shealwaysreads for this cause she was like do it and so I did it.)

This is unbeta’d. Please be gentle with me.

*

Draco waited. The silence that had fallen a couple of minutes ago was still loud. The fire in the hearth kept spitting threateningly instead of just crackling quietly and sweetly like it should. The fairy lights around the tree twinkled gently, slowly, throwing golden patterns over Potter's skin, his dark hair.

They were sat across from each other in front of the hearth, Draco in his armchair upholstered in silver-grey velvet, and Potter in the plushy green armchair he had conjured when he'd arrived. Their drinks were sitting on the spindly-legged table between them.

Potter looked very politely confused, a tiny smile on his face, a thin line between his brows. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his long, strong fingers clasped together neatly, his full attention focused on Draco. He looked...like he was waiting for Draco to finish speaking, to...explain.

Draco licked his lips and tilted his head a bit. "Erm...?"

Potter's smile widened a bit. "Yes?" he said eagerly. Draco blinked and shook his head imperceptibly. Potter's confusion deepened. "I'm...waiting for you to...you know--" he waved his hand vaguely and then grinned, "--laugh," he finally said, a tad lamely.

Draco frowned. "What's funny?"

Potter's mouth fell open on a stupid gape. "I mean... I thought..." He pushed his glasses up his nose and then scratched the back of his neck. "So, what was it you were saying? What are you asking me?"

"Did you not hear me, or are you feigning stupidity?" Draco asked coldly.

Potter frowned, bristling a bit. "I heard you, Draco, and I feel like you're taking the mickey."

"I'm doing no such thing. I explained my predicament and asked you a simple yes or no question. Would you be so kind as to grace me with an answer?"

Potter shook his head irritably. "Stop talking like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like... Like a fucking ponce. That's how you used to speak to me." Draco just looked at him. "Can you just be normal, please?" Potter snapped.

Draco spread his hands out. "I am being normal."

"Uh huh." Potter was still frowning. "So, you're saying--" He broke off and shifted in his seat, straightening up. "So, you're saying..." Trailing off, he just sat there looking like a fucking idiot. "What are you saying?" he finally asked.

Draco picked up his brandy and took a sip before leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, lifting his chin high. "Fine. I will ask you again. Since you're a bloody troglodyte, apparently." He had to gather the will and courage all over again to repeat himself. "Will you accompany me to my parents' Christmas party as my boyf- partner? Meaning, they'll think you're my partner. We’ll just have to pretend."

"You...said something before that earlier."

"Oh. Yes. Well, when my mother asked me if you and I are lovers, after she read that article about us in the Prophet, I simply said yes." He'd managed to say it without displaying any emotion the first time. Now, however, Draco could feel heat rising up his neck and face.

Potter was looking particularly stupid as he stared with his mouth open. "Your parents think we're dating?" Draco nodded. "And they want to...meet me?"

Draco brushed imaginary lint off his trousers. "If you consent."

Potter leaned back, slumping in his chair, knees spreading, his arms hanging over the sides of the chair. He blew out a long breath with a whooshing sound, his lips very pink as they formed an 'o'. Then, rather abruptly, he chuckled, rubbing his face and making his glasses jump onto his forehead.

"Which bit did you find amusing?" asked Draco with feigned politeness.

"The whole thing."

"Oh?"

"Draco," Potter said on a laugh, "can you stop talking like that, please? It's fucking hilarious right now. Especially because that's not how one talks to their 'lover'."

Draco knew he was probably purple in the face by now. It was embarrassing. He ought to have told Potter right after he'd confirmed the rumours to his parents. They'd have laughed about it, and then asking him to go to this fucking party now wouldn't be such a fucking task.

Because they're friends. Close friends even. And Potter was probably going to say yes. He never denied Draco anything. He was always indulging Draco; taking care of Draco. Siding with Draco when that fucking Weasel ragged him. Always promoting Draco's label in his interviews, endorsing his little boutique. Trusting Draco enough let him dress him for important events even though Draco knew Potter had the most basic, unadventurous sense of fashion.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Potter was the softest, most indulgent person and he was probably going to say yes. But that didn't make any of this any easier. Because obviously Potter thought it was funny that the two of them might be lovers. He found this whole thing really amusing.

There was a thin strain of hurt somewhere in Draco's chest but he ignored it.

"So how long before you say yes like we both know you're going to?" Draco drawled.

Potter grinned widely. "What am I going to be wearing?"

*

The Manor was an absolute wonder to behold. Draco was sure even Hogwarts was never this heavily decorated for the holidays. Fairy lights, glittering icicles, ice sculptures, wreaths, ostentatiously decorated Christmas trees, more lights - the whole house, inside and out, was dripping in red, green, gold and white.

Potter stared around in silence, his expression very serious. He was dutifully holding Draco's hand (just like a lover might) and was taking in the sight of the gigantic ballroom they were in, guests milling about sipping golden champagne from crystal flutes, house-elves trotting around between people's knees holding up trays of hors d'oeuvres; the four gigantic, glittering Christmas trees in each corner of the room, the ice sculpture of a delicately carved fairy, her wings spread, in the centre of the room, sparkling fairy dust falling from her hand and disappearing mid-air.

To Draco this was just about normal, if a tad bit overdone (for the enjoyment of the guest of honour he'd brought along with him, he supposed), but he still blushed in embarrassment when he looked around with Potter's eyes; he was probably convinced now that his parents were pretentious or something. Feeling a bit timid, he glanced sideways at Potter.

He was looking very, very handsome tonight. He had on robes of deep, royal violet - dark enough to nearly pass off as black - with intricate gold embroidery that Draco had spent hours working on himself. He'd let Draco clip a matching cape, embroidered and lined along the hem with fur, onto his shoulders with matching brooches that glittered under the light of what had to be at least a thousand candles hovering above them. He'd made a decent attempt at taming his hair - not a successful attempt, but Draco gave him credit for trying anyway. He'd switched his usual clunky glasses out for the vision correcting spells that Draco knew he hated but it meant his eyes were shining so bright and green that it made Draco's stomach clench a bit with something he’d always staunchly ignored.

Then, his parents spotted them. Lucius was in black as usual - the material expensive, but still black - and Narcissa looked decades younger than she was in robes of pale lavender and silver. Draco smiled as she beamed at them, gliding over alongside her husband.

"Darling." She feathered her lips over Draco's cheek. "Fashionably late, I see. And fashionably dressed," she added, turning to Potter and holding out her hand, her smile small but her eyes warm.

Potter bent over her hand and brushed his lips over the back of her hand briefly - just like Draco had instructed him to - before straightening up and smiling politely. "Thank you for inviting me to your wonderful party, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You are very welcome - literally. And please call me Narcissa."

Lucius had watched and listened in silence, his hands clasped behind his back, his serious gaze fixed on Potter. When Narcissa stepped back, he slowly extended a hand to Potter.

Draco held his breath. They hadn't discussed this. He had no idea how Potter was about to behave with his father but he knew he wouldn't blame him for anything he said or did. Potter was a much better man than his father. This was fact.

But Potter simply shook hands with Lucius and nodded. Draco felt his shoulders relax.

They mingled. Draco had to repeatedly 'introduce' Potter to people as though they all didn't already know who he was, who his fucking parents were. It was laughable. But this was a stupid fucking formal Pureblood soirée and Draco still had his manners. What surprised him was how well-mannered Potter was being.

Potter was also being very loyal to his role as Draco's partner.

"He was such a little terror as a child, bless his heart," said some old crone, patting Draco's cheek with one wrinkled hand. Draco wanted to hiss at her like a cat.

"Aren't we all, at that age?" Potter said calmly, smiling.

"Oh, you're very dedicated to him, I see" she simpered. "Such a pleasure to see. You hardly ever find this in you youngsters these days."

"He doesn't give me much reason not to be dedicated to him."

Potter was still holding his hand.

"Draco doesn't tell us anything about how the two of you put your rather unhappy history aside in order to accept your...softer feelings for each other." Narcissa looked like she'd been bursting to ask Potter this all evening; she'd finally gotten a chance now that she was done making the obligatory rounds amongst her guests.

Potter looked at him, and Draco, his face hot, returned his gaze, trying to apologise wordlessly. But Potter just grinned.

"Well, I don't know about him but," Potter smiled down at Narcissa, looking handsome and charming and, well, fuck, "it was just a natural, automatic thing for me, really. The more I got to know the real Draco Malfoy the deeper I fell in love with him."

Draco felt his eyes widen a bit. He wanted to look at Potter to figure him out, to try and discern just how much he was bullshitting. He wanted to read Potter because Potter was supremely easy to read. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. Draco could always tell, just from one glance, the kind of mood Potter was in.

Trying to appear casual, like Potter hadn't said anything that made Draco's breath catch, Draco looked sideways at him. Potter was smiling, his eyes honest and soft and crinkled at the corners. He was nodding along to something Narcissa was saying.

And he was still holding Draco's hand.

"Very well done," Draco muttered, once his mother had wandered away into the crowd.

Potter smiled and squeezed his hand. "You said you'd give me a tour of the gardens," he said. Draco nodded and led him out.

They strolled in a leisurely manner. It was snowing but there were charms in place which meant that the snow never actually touched them, instead disappearing about a foot over their heads. The gardens were decorated too, lights twinkling everywhere, lighting up the paths.

"This must've been a great place to grow up," Potter eventually said.

They turned the corner and in the distance was the turret-shaped gazebo, hung with white-gold lights. Narcissa, when the weather permitted, loved to paint in the gazebo. Draco smiled.

"It was." Then, guiltily, "I mean... I don't mean to brag or any--"

Potter laughed. It was a low, deep, familiar sound that made Draco break out in gooseflesh.

"Draco," he said gently. "You don't have to feel guilty every time you talk to me about your childhood."

Draco lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "'m not guilty," he mumbled.

"No? You're still that insufferable, obnoxious little shit you were in school?"

Draco actually felt his face fall. He turned to Potter, unbothered about sounding vulnerable. "That's what you thought of me?"

Potter laughed. "Can you blame me? Do you remember you back at school?"

Draco slumped a little. "I suppose." They were nearly at the gazebo now. Together, they turned onto the path that led to the steps leading into it. Then, "That's...not what you think of me now, is it?"

"Draco," Potter's voice was gentle, yet teasing, "Everyone thinks you're a prat. You have to know this."

"Yes, but you?" They climbed the two steps and walked into the gazebo.

"I think you're a prat too." They were still holding hands. "But you're my prat."

Draco turned to look at him but Potter, with a sharp yank, was pulling Draco to himself. With a soft 'oof', Draco hit Potter's chest. Now they were holding both hands.

He quickly pulled himself together although Potter could probably feel his heart galloping in his chest. "Am I, now?"

"Isn't that what we've just spent the last hour and a half proving to people?"

"Well," Draco said slowly, "I was under the impression that it was an act."

"Well," Potter said quietly. "I'd rather it...be real."

They were standing pressed together in the centre of the gazebo, fairy lights surrounding them, Potter's green, green eyes reflecting them as he stared intensely at Draco. He looked like he was challenging Draco, like he was daring Draco to laugh in his face and carelessly brush aside what he'd said. Because that's what Draco Malfoy would do when Harry Potter declared something like that, right? He'd stomp on Harry Potter's proffered heart and revel in it.

Draco couldn't even imagine doing something like that. Especially not when Potter was holding his hands and smelt so good and looked at him like he was promising him so, so many things.

"You were very convincing tonight," said Draco.

"It was really easy," said Potter.

"You held my hand throughout."

"I wasn't about to give up the chance I had."

"Thank you for coming with me tonight."

"I wasn't about to give up the chance I had."

"Potter?"

"Shouldn't you be calling me Harry if we're together?"

"Would you like that?"

"I would love that, Draco."

"You've called me Draco for years now."

"I have."

Draco looked down at the lines of gold thread on Harry's chest, gleaming against the violet silk. "I think I'd like to call you Harry," he admitted.

When his gaze lifted back to Harry's, he was smiling at Draco. Then he looked up above them.

"Mistletoe," Harry said simply.

Draco's ears were ringing as though he'd been struck.

"Oh," he said, his voice quavering.

Harry just smiled again, and slowly let his head drop forward so that their foreheads touched. Then he brought his mouth up to Draco's brow and kissed it.

"Oh," repeated Draco.

They were just gazing at one another now.

Damn it, thought Draco as he broke first and kissed Harry full on the mouth.

They were still holding hands.

*

#drarry #faking a relationship #for a fucking christmas party #classic trope #that i tried to do justice to #idk *side eyes* #my writing #i feel like this has no shape #or plot #so yes this is basically just like anything else i've ever written #happy holidays!

[fishstyx]

russian roulette.

featuring. nagito komaeda x fem!reader

wc. 2.0k

genre. smut, dark/taboo

tw. 18+ nsfw, noncon, penetration, gunplay, degradation/humiliation

synopsis. nagito follows you into the final dead room and shows you the proper way to play russian roulette. drv2 spoilers/context (chapter 4) ahead.

“And just what do you think you’re doing here?” Nagito says from behind you, his sudden utterance booming off the solid concrete surroundings. An uncharacteristic disgust drips from his every word, drawn out so painfully slowly that you’re convinced he thinks you a mere toddler.

“Playing the Life-Threatening Game,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible, but he’s caught you unawares. You startle even as you speak, the shudder of your body undoubtedly making its way into your voice. You’re sure that the door had locked behind you, so just how did he manage to slip in while the game was still in progress? Not to mention that the person in front of you doesn’t truly seem like Nagito Komaeda. Sure, he’s always had his quirks, but right now it feels like you’re talking to… somebody else.

“With only one bullet?” is Nagito’s only response as he creeps toward you, frown deepening when you back away, gun clutched to your chest. 

“And what about it?” You do your best to plaster on a brave face, but your arm hits the wall behind you and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how small, how suffocating the Final Dead Room is with another person in it. He lets out a heavy sigh as he corners you, box of bullets in hand. The clatter of metal rings in your ears when he presses you into the blood-stained walls, leaning into your ear to whisper:

“That’s not nearly enough.” He fishes the revolver from your shaky hand with ease, the clinking of extra bullets following soon after. “Even someone like you understands, don’t you?” He loads round after round into the gun, pressing bullets into each chamber until they’re flush against the cylinder surface, and it’s all you can do just to watch. “That the payout of this game rests upon the difficulty you set it to.” 

On top of you still, he picks the sixth bullet up and waves it in your face, almost mockingly. “It’s safe to assume that the killer, a coward among cowards, played it safe and loaded a single bullet same as you did. And as for me—well, I’ve already cleared the highest level.” Sliding the final bullet in with a click, he pushes the cylinder back into the gun frame with marked familiarity. “At least, I thought it was the highest level.” 

“H...huh? Highest level?” you wonder as loud as you dare, earning a scoff from Nagito. 

“And here I was thinking you could follow along with a simple explanation. How short-sighted of me. Well, you can save your questions for later.” Smirking at the sight of your mouth agape, he spins the cylinder before you can interrupt again. “As I was saying, I only thought I was playing at the highest level. But thinking back on it now...” His face draws close to yours, hot breath tickling your skin as he rests the muzzle flat against your quivering lips. “Wouldn’t it be something if you survived this?”

Holy shit.

You struggle under Nagito’s weight, legs going weak under the looming threat of death. How did you let this happen? One wrong move and you’d be nothing but an addition to the bloodstains behind you. “T-This isn’t funny, Nagito.” Your lips tremble around the revolver, heavy and icy to the touch, when it doesn’t budge an inch. 

“What I’m trying to say,” he continues, unfazed, “is that your efforts will be pointless if you don’t go all out here. We’ll learn nothing new if I let you play the way you want to.” You hear the words, and yet you can’t make sense of them. Not when the classmate before you holds your very life in his hand.

“Nagito, please—” you say more forcefully, heart pounding all the while.

“Please what?”

“P-Please put the gun down.” But one look at his face and you know he’s not having it.

“Oh, so you’re not going to pull the trigger? Even if I do it with you?” Sheer disappointment crosses Nagito’s features as he deliberates, armed hand never so much as faltering. He studies your face in silence, the break from his ranting more eerie than comforting. The temperature of the room drops several degrees when he finally speaks again. 

“Oh, I know.” He lowers the gun only to drag it down your neck and along your chest, drawing wide circles around your buds. “Hopeless halfwits like you need a little incentive, don’t you think?”

“That’s not what I—” 

You’re cut off by your own sharp inhale as the gun presses into your abdomen, tracing the outline of your thighs and traveling even lower still. It runs up and down that sensitive spot between your legs, poking and prodding near your deepest nooks and crannies, testing for a reaction. And he eventually gets one, a soft groan tumbling past your lips when he grinds the muzzle against your clit—and although clothed, it sends waves of electricity straight to your core. 

“You were saying?” Nagito laughs when you fail to respond, mortified by your own body’s betrayal. It’s as if you’re frozen in time. Your heart practically leaps out your chest and your eyes, wide as saucers, flicker from the gun to Nagito, Nagito to the gun, and back again. It feels like an entire lifetime passes you by when he continues to brush against the sensitive nub, chasing after another reaction, but you’re paralyzed now. You watch in slow motion as he grows impatient, fingers dipping below your waistband, pulling your panties down just far enough for the tip of the barrel to kiss your bare cunt. 

Move. Move. Move, you tell yourself. Your head throbs and your fingers twitch. He can’t kill you, not in the middle of an investigation. Not when another student was just murdered. Not unless... 

You search Nagito’s cat-like eyes for some glimmer of humanity, a silent plea, a probe into the void itself—one that leaves you with more questions than answers.

Not unless he’s the killer himself.

With the wicked smile he’s sporting, much too twisted and much too wide, you don’t doubt it for a second. But he gives you no time for critical thought, instead plunging the gun deep inside your pulsating pussy, not a moment spared to prep you.

Your back arches instinctively; you weren’t ready for this, not in a million years would you ever be ready for a pistol to slide inside you, such a cold and stiff thing spreading your walls without so much as a warning. It’s so far up that the trigger guard presses into your clit, bundle of nerves puffy and swollen from all the stimulation. A searing sensation emanates from between your thighs and you can’t help but let out a little yelp.

“N-Nagito! Wait...” you try again, a pathetic mewl more than anything else, but it doesn’t seem to register. His expression is unreadable as he inches the gun out little by little, sliding your pants down to get a better view. And then he pauses when the muzzle surfaces from your entrance.

That’s when you see it. The gun’s barrel, glistening with arousal, glistering in liquid coating, and he just holds it there as if to say, would you look at that—you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

“You know, it’s hard to understand you when you mumble.” You choke up when he suddenly jams the gun back in, stroking—no, pounding your gummy insides with fevered delight, your slimy slick squelching below you, pit of your stomach unraveling as the metal warms itself up with the heat of your core. 

A shameless whimper escapes you when he keeps up the pace, dynamic movement burying the pain in pleasure, your mind swirling with delirity. This shouldn’t feel good. And when you stop to think about it, it really doesn’t. Your walls are raw, sensitive, and throbbing, but some primal part of you is overflowing with desire, getting off on the thrill. 

Because every time the rigid ridges of the barrel burrow into you, the knot in your stomach tightens, threatening to cut loose. The gun bottoms out inside you over and over again, relentless in its constant push and pull. It forces your body into submission, coaxing it into something limp, ragdoll, and unrecognizable because the stimulation is just that overwhelming. Your knees begin to give out; it’s too much, the way your tight heat flutters around the pistol, his pistol, juices soaking your clothes and dripping out onto the floor. 

“Nng-Nagito, please stop, I-I can’t—” You struggle to find the right words, stuttering incomprehensibly.

“Hmm, can’t go on? Would you rather be doing... something else?” He cocks the hammer to remind you of your place and you shake your head vigorously, trying desperately not to think about the possibility of death, as well as the ache that grows ever stronger in your core.

“How utterly disgusting. So you admit you actually want this,” he practically spits, your pathetic pussy pulsing in response. 

That’s not true. 

“With a body like this, are you sure your talent isn’t the Ultimate Slut?” 

It really isn’t, you think. But something about his tone of voice makes you clench even tighter around the gun’s barrel, senses punctuated by his ceaseless pumping into that one spongy spot that has you curling your toes. Saltwater threatens to spill over your eyes when he points it out: “I can’t believe it, you’re basically sucking it in. Dirty fucking whore, making my job harder for me.” 

Your cheeks heat up in shame, thighs shifting wider when he nudges them apart, holding them right where he wants you. You squeak when he plunges the gun impossibly deeper, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you realize you’re about to come undone.

The world shudders when you cum on and over the pistol, the overflow drenching Nagito’s hand. A lewd moan like no other resonates throughout the room—and then you realize that it’s yours, that it’s you who’s moaning, you who’s seeing stars while creaming all over a loaded gun. The tears are painting your cheeks now, exquisite sting doing little to comfort you. His hand stills and you collapse to the floor, exhausted from reaching your high, gun still nestled deep inside you.

Sighing in defeat, Nagito crouches beside you, eyeing you like one would a wriggling maggot. You can’t even begin to imagine what you look like, arms and legs splayed out in haphazard angles, eyes glazed over, your mouth wide open as you pant like a bitch in heat. He taps the side of the gun with a sole fingernail.

“Go on, then. Take it out.”

It takes the last of your energy to swing your arm over, hand clenching the grip of the gun in slothful momentum. It’s hard to think straight. It’s hard to think about anything at all besides your sluggish relief. 

Finally. It’s finally over. The lingering effects of your orgasm die out as you’re left with nothing but the violating weapon stuck up your abused hole. It’s all you can do just to tug on it.

But as soon as you start to pull on it, Nagito grabs ahold, his grip much stronger than your own. Everything in its place, exactly how he wanted it. His smile is torturous, haunting.

“Got you.” He guides, or rather forces, your index finger to its rightful place on the trigger, and you do little to struggle.

“No, no more—” Your voice comes out a meek rasp, labored breath falling upon deaf ears.

“Bang,” he says unceremoniously, pressing your finger into the trigger.

“Say, Nagito, tell me something.” Monokuma turned his gaze from the pitiful sight of your passed out form, left to soak in your own juices on the cold hard ground. “You didn’t happen to rig the game, now, did you?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Monokuma,” Nagito said as he snatched the prize from the duocolor teddy bear, a hefty file embossed in gold letters that read, clear as day: Makoto Naegi. A knowing smile crept to his lips as he pawed through its contents. 

“The gun jammed, fair and square.”

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

#nagito x reader #dr x reader #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa smut #nagito smut #tw. dark. #tw. noncon. #tw. penetration. #tw. gunplay. #tw. degradation. #🍣.food #fishstyx.dr

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

#yandere #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakugou #katsukibakugou #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki #katsuki bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #katsuki bakugo fic #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n

[whump-town]

Counting Down The Days

The real kicker here is that I don't even like Christmas and I don't know at all why I thought of this...

Fluff, not really sad

No Pairings

Spencer has never liked Christmas.

As a child, December rolled in and cast over the city an impossible task. His thin wrist grabbed as he tucked pudding into his sweater and his ears tugged at when he bolted for the door, knowing getting caught one more time would mean child protective services would come back. And each time he picked his mother up off the floor, every time he tucked himself in the coat closet to try and hide from her wailing and shouting, he knew they would see through the veil. His mother wouldn’t survive having him taken away. No one else can get her to take her medication. No one else could read her books in their original forms. German and Arabic and Spanish. And what was the point in reading Don Quixote except to do so in the original Spanish?

But not getting caught shoplifting in December, when all of the staff of every store was watching for just that, is impossible. December met icy cold fingers dragging through his stomach and lying to his mother that he had eaten something while he made her ramen. He can go one more day but she can’t take her meds on an empty stomach.

As an adult, these things have changed drastically. Christmas is great. He really can’t complain. He loves dressing up for Dave’s fancy dinner and turning into a bragging point. The feeling of Dave’s heavy arm around his shoulders, showing him off to his friends. Finally being able to understand what it must feel like to have a parent bragging about you to other adults, even if at a certain point they’re just trying to show up to their friends. That doesn’t change the flush in his cheeks or how nice he feels smiling and stuttering around an explanation of his PhDs. Stomach twisted up and cheeks hurting when Dave finally leans in and relieves the guests with a “see? Kids so damn smart I don’t even understand what he got a degree in!”

He misses Morgan and Hotch.

They’ll come around for Christmas, he knows.

Hank is getting so big and he’s carrying on the tradition of all of Spencer’s other nephews and calling him “weed” but there’s nothing like that big baby smile when he comes in through the door. Tottling steps and an armful of baby. It just makes him want his own kids but for now, he’s content with his nephews. Jack calls him a lot. He got the ability to do math from somewhere but certainly not from his parents -- Haley was an English major and Hotch uses a calculator for basic math. So Reid is generally the only person that he knows who can talk math. Christmas will bring Henry and Jack home from college. There’s speak of a boyfriend but Emily knows only minimally about this from what she’s heard from Hotch and what Jack has told Hotch is also minimal at best. Henry is… JJ gets a lot of radio silence from him but Hotch is quick to assure her that is just typical. Jack did the same thing but now he’s a senior in college and Hotch is lucky if he goes three consecutive hours without some sort of text or call.

“Who is my doctor at home?”

“Do you think Uncle Derek can change my oil? Wait, can I go that long without checking it?”

“What year was Aunt Jessica born? Don’t tell her I asked you that.”

“How old are you again? 53? 60?”

Spencer is just excited to have everyone under one roof.

Hotch and Emily grew up under the kind of parties that Dave throws for Christmas. Tokens to be shown off by their parents and ignored under every other circumstance. Both having been shipped off at least once during their childhoods when they no longer fit a certain look. Emily was no longer young enough to attract her mother’s friends, breast a little too formed, and acne that could not be tamed. Hotch with shadows of bruises that would not heal. Dead eyes that no longer raised from the floor.

Dave’s parties bring out the worst in them. Emily is a very bad influence on Hotch and together they have considerable tolerance for alcohol, they can do some damage. But they’re not loud. Spencer loves to watch the two of them, the way they ease into the night. Hotch warm now, his edges softened to pleased little smiles and thoughtful hums. Emily is chatty, leans into touch, and stretches out like a cat bathing in the sun. The night ends with their soft arguing. Spencer could butt in at any time to the subjects that they talk about but he finds himself far more content to sit and watch. Emily’s toes tucked under Hotch’s thigh and his head turned on the sofa, lazily listening to her speak.

They always approach every subject as if it’s the simplest thing. Let it be Marx, spending the hours in front of Dave’s parlor fire speaking in hushed tones about surplus-value and what makes a commodity. About the ins and outs of Cormac Mccarthy, Hotch loves The Sunset Limited and Emily does not. Whitney Houston and how poor Hotch’s Spanish is and if that’s his fault or hers.

Garcia loves the parties even if it does create a little cognitive dissonance for her. Her parents would hate this but she feels pretty in her gown and no one lets her forget it. She keeps track of the kisses placed on her cheeks. Derek smelling of something woodsy as he leans in with a wink, “you’re very beautiful this even, mama.” And Savannah smells warm and inviting and she gives the very best hugs. “Green,” she whispers, “is very much your color.” How Hotch hums along to songs and always gives in to her request for one dance, his smile growing wild as she steps on his toes.

And Spencer loves that she always asks him to match her. So he’ll proudly come in with his matching bowtie or pocket square. Lending her his elbow as they step in, stepping just out of the way that the right people come to greet him and no one else. Morgan is warm and tight, always squeezing just a little too hard. JJ fussing with his hair.

But it’s only September.

He’ll have to pass through Halloween. Jack and Henry are too old these days to run through the bullpen dressed as whatever fictive hero they have grown obsessed with this fall. Coming up to his desk knowing he’s hidden the largest bowl of candy, that he’ll sneak into their pockets whole-sized candy bars to eat as they trick or treat. At best he might get some pre-game pictures from them both, neither having grown out of their love for Halloween. Jack is still very into dressing up but Henry will still throw something together.

There will be Thanksgiving, a holiday choppily shared between them all. Just showing up at Dave’s randomly or Morgan’s depending on who wins that argument this year. He’ll be lucky to see them all under the same roof. If it’s at Dave’s then he’s guaranteed warm and cozy Hotch and Emily. Both bothering Dave in the kitchen, their lost childhoods always burning the brightest around one another, and exasperating Dave. Maybe Garcia will win her favorite game and Dave will teach her to cook whatever he’s decided they’ll have this year. If it’s at Derek’s then at least he’ll get to see Hank. JJ and Savannah will be there, they’re pretty good friends. Garcia will certainly be cooking something and Derek will be manning the grill.

But it’s months out until December.

And all Spencer wants is unabashed affection.

Dave’s arm around his shoulder and his high sung praises.

Emily snagging him up to dance to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and kissing his cheek for the trouble.

To see Matt and Luke interact with the team. Dave’s attention turning to point out his other boys, “knuckleheads but they mean well”. How Tara will take up the empty space left on the couch and butt into Hotch and Emily’s argument, turning warm and comforting like the other two. And Spencer can’t wait to see how similar the three of them are-- you just have to see through the layers.

Until it’s nearly two in the morning.

Jack and Henry are missing, Luke thinks he might have seen them on the back porch.

Emily is sleeping, head in Tara’s lap and feet in Hotch’s. The other two blinking slowly into the fire, glasses of wine warm in their hands and dangerously close to falling.

Matt is sitting on the floor, children spread out around him.

There’s the buzz of conversation still coming from the kitchen. Garcia, JJ, Savannah, and Kristy giggling over wine and gossip they’re certainly not supposed to know.

Spencer looks up at the calendar sitting above his desk and crosses off the day.

He always hated December. He never got to appreciate Christmas. They represented everything he didn’t have, all the things he thought he could never have. But as mid-September leaves a crisp edge to the air, he finds himself counting down the days tell what used to be a measure of his insignificance.

Now it’s the only day that seems to matter. The only day he feels like he matters. Surrounded by the warmth of familiarity. By love.

He misses his family.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #savannah morgan #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #david rossi

[chatonne-rousse]

Great Minds (and Kind Hearts) Think Alike

Written as a gift for my sweet friend @sketchy-panda to celebrate a bunch of happy things in her life, as well as just because she's awesome. Inspired by this adorable piece of her art.

During a rooftop discussion about superhero merch while relaxing after patrol, Ladybug and Chat Noir each decide to share their favorite items with their partner. What results is an impromptu gift exchange that just might open the door to a whole lot more.

Read it on Ao3 here.

"My parents put us on the Christmas tree last year, Kitty! I had to see myself in the living room every day."

He bumps her shoulder with his. "And me, apparently."

"Yes, but your ornament was cute!" She flails her arms comically and he tries not to focus too much on the fact that she called his likeness cute. "Mine didn't even look like me."

"Would you have liked it better if it had?"

"That's not what I..." Ladybug scowls, but there's no real heat in her expression or her voice. "It was just weird."

"No, the baby onesie that I saw on an actual baby that said 'Meow, My Lady' was weird," Chat mutters. "I didn't even know any civilians had ever heard me say that."

Ladybug's surprised laughter rings out across the rooftop they're perched on tonight, loud enough to be heard from any nearby open window until she muffles the sound with her hand over her mouth. "And whose fault is that, you tomcat?" she asks through her remaining giggles.

He tries to pout, but her laughter is contagious and his smile breaks through. He chooses to ignore the jab at his vain attempts at flirting. Wooing is difficult business.

"The baby was cute, though. I had to take a picture with him."

"You had to?"

He shrugs. "That's a very small request, Bugaboo. I've encountered way worse. A few pictures? I don't mind."

She stares at him for a long moment, something unreadable in her gaze, before looking back over the horizon. "Have you ever bought any Chat Noir merch? You strike me as the kind of guy to have a bookshelf full of action figures."

He is the kind of guy to have a bookshelf full of action figures, and he definitely does, but he thinks of the drawer in his closet that's full of red and black, reminders of his beloved partner. There are far fewer items in black and green.

"I...have a few things. The action figures of us are really cool, actually. Didn't you always want to be immortalized in plastic as a kid?"

"Can't say I did, Minou." She bumps his shoulder this time. "I'll bet you had your supersuit all planned in your head already, didn't you?"

Not quite, but only because he never imagined himself as a cat-themed superhero. He has no intention of ever divulging the fact that his first real transformation sequence was anything but random. That secret is between him and Plagg, and he's not telling. Plagg probably will, but that's a problem for future Adrien.

She laughs again. "I'll take your silence as a 'yes'."

"I'll have you know, My Lady, that I have a carefully curated display of collectibles that are very valuable. And no, this—" he gestures from his cat ears to his steel toes, "was all spontaneous. Can't help it if I've got cat class and I've got cat style."

Ladybug shoots him a deadpan look that dissolves into giggles once more when he wiggles his eyebrows.

Success. He loves to hear his partner laugh, loves to make to his partner laugh. These are moments he wouldn't trade for the world.

"Well," she finally says after her laugher subsides, "the Chat Noir doll I saw in the market did not have cat style, so I made my own."

"Really?" His voice is soft with wonder.

"Yep! And a Ladybug doll, too." She casts him a sidelong grin. "They're a duo, you know. I couldn't have Chat without his Lady, could I?"

He wills himself not to cry. It takes three blinks and one shaky breath before he can respond. "You made them? Yourself?"

"Sure. It's not hard. All it takes is felt and thread and buttons for eyes. They're simple, but—" she shrugs, "I think they're pretty cute."

"Wow," he breathes. "You really are amazing, Bugaboo. They sound incredible."

His Lady seems to amaze him anew with each revelation she allows. He could count on one hand the things he knows about her, really knows, and those facts are tucked away and treasured. She's a whiz at video games. She babysits. She has a loving family. She listens to Jagged Stone. She loves animals.

"Thank you, Minou," she says softly, as the barest hint of a blush spreads to her cheeks beneath her mask.

His heart beats a little faster. His tongue feels heavier. He falls just a tiny bit more in love with her.

Ladybug fills the silence again. "Better than mass-produced action figures, for sure. More cuddle-able!"

That startles a laugh from him. "Is that a word?"

"It is now." She shrugs, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I'm telling you, Bug, those action figures are cool. I can't believe you don't have a set."

"Guess I need to go shopping."

"Yup," he responds with a decisive nod.

When they make eye contact, it sets off another giggle fit, Ladybug's shoulders shaking with mirth and Chat having to wipe the tears from his eyes. It's not even that funny, but it doesn't have to be.

Paris is quiet tonight, and his heart is light as he relaxes against the rooftop and laughs with his best friend.

*****

Four days later, when they meet up for patrol again, Chat Noir is surprised when his partner joins him carrying a gift-wrapped box. Especially since he himself is hiding a gift bag behind his back.

He sweeps into a bow as she approaches, straightening with an exaggerated wink. "Something for me-ow?"

Her expression morphs into one of longsuffering annoyance. "Well, it was, but I'm reconsidering."

"You wouldn't!" He gasps, one hand clutching his chest over his heart.

Her lips twitch into the beginning of a smile and soon the stillness of the nighttime rooftop is broken by their shared laughter again.

"For you, Chaton," she finally says with a grin, holding out the box.

He produces the gift bag from behind his back and presents it to her, the tissue paper fluttering in the night air. Her eyes widen with delight, and his heart sings.

The handoff is a quiet affair, a hushed silence of surprise settling over the moment as they sit cross-legged, facing each other.

Even the box is beautiful, he notes, wrapped in shiny black paper and adorned by a giant bow of vivid green with black paw prints. He knows, of course, what's in the bag she's holding in her hands. Could this box contain...? He doesn't dare to dream.

He looks up and nods at the bag. "Go ahead, Bug."

The tissue paper rustles as she removes it, trapping it under her foot to keep it from drifting away on the breeze. She takes one look inside, sees the label on the top of the box within, and bursts into laughter. "You didn't!"

Chat grins. "I did."

She pulls out the box to take a closer look. There are several options when it comes to Ladybug and Chat Noir collectible figurines, but this one is his particular favorite. They're sold separately, but he's always been partial to the 1st Anniversary Special Partners Edition, boxed together as a pair and made to wield his baton in his left hand and her yo-yo in her right, leaving them free to hold hands in the middle. Which the figurines' hands are molded to do, and how they're currently posed in the box. They can also stand alone, but there's just something special about the fact that joined hands are an option.

"Okay, Kitty, you were right. They really are cool." She points at the Ladybug figure. "This looks so much better than that Christmas ornament!" Squinting at the box to examine his figurine, she suddenly snorts a laugh. "Your hair looks like a bunch of bananas!"

"Hey!" He pouts, but he knows she's right. When he bought his own set last year, Plagg had made the same observation and laughed so hard he nearly choked on his cheese. He then proceeded to call him Bananoir for days, until Adrien threatened him with a month of Velveeta. The ribbing didn't really bother him that much - honestly, he had to concede the resemblance - because it was an action figure...of himself. No matter how many were produced, that fact would never not be incredible, and no amount of banana hair or cat god snark could diminish his excitement.

"Oh, Chaton, I'm just teasing. I love them." She beams at him, cradling the box with both hands. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, LB. I just...I thought it would be fun."

"Great minds think alike, it seems. Your turn!"

He glances down at the box in his lap and back at his partner. Her smile is bright, but her eyes betray a nervous anticipation.

"Bug, you know I'm going to love whatever this is, right?"

"I hope so. I made them myself."

His heart in his throat, he carefully slips the ribbon from the box and slices the paper with his claws. He can barely breathe as he lifts the lid.

His hunch (his dream) is confirmed when he finally sees the contents of the box. Nestled in a bed of tissue paper, side by side, are two handmade plush dolls, opposite in configuration to the action figures but with their soft little hands touching in the center just the same. Tears spring to his eyes unbidden, and he wipes them away quickly, partially out of embarrassment but mostly because he wants to see every detail with clarity.

The seams are pristine, the limbs symmetrical; the dolls are simple, but crafted with a skilled, sure hand. He picks up the Ladybug doll first, lifting it reverently from the box. Red felt with carefully-painted black spots form the doll's body, and her little black button eyes gaze up at him from a matching spotted mask. A sweet smile is the only other adornment on her face, but the doll is perfect without anything else. This is his beloved partner, created by his beloved partner herself. That alone is perfection to him.

He returns the Ladybug doll to the box and shifts his attention to his own likeness, resolutely ignoring the lump in his throat.

Equal in craftsmanship, the felt Chat Noir in his hands smiles the same sweet smile and looks at him with shiny button eyes from a black domino mask. Perched on his blond felt hair are two black cat ears, and a real bell is sewn at his neck. He gives the doll a gentle shake and the golden bell rings with a jaunty jingle. It's adorable.

Chat Noir is helpless to the grin that lights his face, looking up from the doll to his partner just in time to see that same joy reflected back in her own dawning smile. Warmth suffuses his chest, elation and love and an overwhelming gratefulness bursting firework-bright and making his breath catch.

He has never received such a heartfelt gift in his life. This eclipses the fine blue cashmere scarf his father gave him on his fourteenth birthday, folded in his closet and placed where he can see it every day. It's a treasure to him, and it always will be. But this, handmade just for him with obvious care by the person he loves most in the world? Nothing could come close.

"I don't know what to say, LB," he begins once he can finally speak, "They're...they're amazing. Adorable. Perfect." He takes a deep breath. "I'm fumbling this, but...thank you isn't enough."

Ladybug reaches out to place her hand on his knee. Even through two supersuits, the contact sends a shiver up his spine. Her expression is one of warm relief, clearly pleased with his reaction. "Thank you is more than enough, Kitty. It was nothing."

"Nothing?" he splutters. "These are far from nothing!"

"Oh, Minou," she laughs. "I meant that it was my pleasure. It wasn't difficult, but even if it was, you're worth it."

Do. Not. Cry. He thinks. He's been fighting tears since she handed him the box. Once he gets home, he's absolutely going to give in and sob while clutching them to his chest. He's man enough to admit that...to himself.

He takes several deep breaths and swallows against the lump in his throat as he arranges the dolls back in their tissue paper nest, making sure their hands are touching before replacing the lid on the box.

"Thank you, Ladybug," he says softly. "I love them. Us."

She pats the box still held on her lap. "And I love this version of us, too. Thank you for making sure I have the coolest action figures in Paris." After placing the box and the tissue paper back inside the gift bag, Ladybug stands and offers her hand to Chat to help him up. "Now, let's go stow these treasures and patrol. Last one to Sacre-Cœur has to buy the other an ice cream cone."

Still clutching the gift box under one arm, he watches her throw out her yo-yo to snag a distant chimney before she zips off with a giggle. He grins, shakes his head, and reaches behind him for his baton.

"That's my bug," he murmurs to himself, before setting off for home to secure the gift safely.

In a few minutes he'll rejoin his partner in a merry chase across the rooftops. He hopes the night remains quiet.

Chat Noir can't wait to buy ice cream for his Lady.

#love you sketchy! #ladynoir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ml fanfiction #my writing

[lovely-ateez]

I’ll Be Home Soon~

ꕥPosted: 5/16/21

ꕥGenre: Fluff

ꕥPairing: Fem!Reader x Idol!Mingi

ꕥWord Count: 1.8k

ꕥWarnings: An overwhelming heaping of fluff

ꕥTag List: @nevieatiny @bobateastay

ꕥA/N: I know this is short but I wanted to write at least a little something for Mingi’s return. I’m just so proud of him and can’t wait to see him again ><

I sat on the couch as stiff as a board. At any minute my boyfriend would return home after being away for months. We kept in contact while he was gone, of course, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person. Even after all this time, I still wasn’t accustomed to the cold bed or the lack of sticky notes he would leave me throughout the day, all saying some variation of I love you or good morning or you look beautiful today. It was always something simple, but they became so meaningful to me. Waking up without his warm smile never got easier, and every moment he was gone I thought of him. Our house wasn’t a home with only me.

I heard the faint jingling of keys and I scrambled to the door, about falling over in the process. The door opened to reveal my tall, lanky boyfriend. He was dressed casually, wearing a large white sweatshirt over black baggy pants. His brown hair was down, slightly covering his eyes. He wasn’t dressed up or wearing anything special, but in that moment he looked more handsome to me than he ever had before. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since I laid my eyes upon him and my heart was already beating as rapidly as the first time I met him.

He smiled at me and opened his arms wide to embrace me in a tight hug. I jumped in his arms without thinking and felt tears beginning to run down my face.

“I can’t believe you’re home. I missed you so much.” I nuzzled into his warm chest.

His voice was deep and warm, enveloping me ten times over. “I’m home, baby. I’m home.”

We held each other tight, basking in the feeling of the other after being separated. It felt new, in some ways, but completely and totally familiar at the same time.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” His voice was soft, as if he thought I might blame him.

I pulled back from his embrace, making eye contact. “Song Mingi don’t you dare apologize! Health always comes first and I’m so proud of you for recognizing that you needed a break.”

He gave a shy smile that I happily returned. Noticing the luggage that he was carrying, I picked up a few bags and ushered him in, setting the bags down once we were inside. He looked around our living room, smiling at its setup. On the main table I had placed his favorite snacks, a few presents, and an overwhelming number of envelopes.

Mingi quirked a brow and chuckled, obviously thankful but a bit confused, “What are the envelopes for and why are there so many?” 

I looked to the ground,feeling shy. “Every week that you were gone I wrote you a letter. I know we facetimed and everything but I thought it might be more personal through a letter. I tried to send them to you but your manager told me to keep them instead-”

Mingi set his luggage on the floor and once more hugged me, this time lifting me in the air and placing kisses all over my face. “You didn’t have to do this, babe.”

“Oh I know, but I wanted to. It’s the least you deserve.”

His eyes watered at my words and I gently cupped his face. “You deserve the world, my love.”

He set me back down and gave me a playful shove, “Stop that I’m gonna cry.”

I pouted, “I’m sorry I don’t mean to make you cry. I just love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

I stood on my toes to press a kiss to his lips, which he returned. I felt him smile against my lips and the gesture made butterflies stir within me.

"So what do you wanna do, babe? We can stay here and watch a movie and relax if you want or-”

He laughed, “Honestly? I kinda want to go to the zoo. I don’t really know why, but I haven’t been in awhile and it just sounds fun.”

“Right now?”

“Hell yeah.”

I smiled at his childlike answer, expecting nothing less from my puppy-like boyfriend, “Alright, let’s go then! Oh-”

I felt a ball of fluff run past my ankles and up to Mingi. Both of us looked down to see our cat, Mao. Mingi smiled and picked her up, pleased to find her purring while he pet her.

“I missed you, too. Silly cat.”

“She’s been sleeping on your side of the bed since you left, so you’re probably gonna have to kick her out tonight.”

His eyes widened, “You replaced me?”

“No! I could never! She just decided to keep me company.”

A tight smile formed on Mingi’s face, “Sure, sure.”

I scoffed, “Are we going to the zoo or not?”

“Of course!” He set Mao down before moving his luggage into our bedroom. I picked up my purse and car keys as I saw him return to the living room and gave him another smile. We quickly said our goodbyes to Mao and locked the door, excited to spend more time with each other.

-

“So what’s your favorite zoo animal, Mingi?” I asked as we walked through the zoo with our fingers intertwined.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought, “I kinda like sun bears. Have you seen the memes about those things? How they look-”

“Like a person in a bear costume?” I finished his sentence and he giggled, nodding at me.

“I think they have those here, actually. We might have to find a map but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

After asking around and wandering for half an hour, we finally found the sun bear enclosure...only to be met with empty land.

“Damn, are they really not here?” Mingi asked, looking dejected, “I thought they’d have at least one.”

Before I could reply a little girl ran up to the exhibit in front of us, her brown pigtails swaying with her quick movements. She pressed her small fingers to the glass, squinting to see any signs of the sun bears. Her bottom lip stuck out when all she saw was an empty exhibit and my heart lurched for the poor girl. Mingi and I watched as an attractive couple ran from the same direction as the little girl, their movements frantic until they saw her tiny figure.

“Migyung you can’t just run off like that, sweetheart.” The mother lightly scolded, sounding more concerned than angry.

The little girl turned around at the sound of her mom’s voice and frowned. “I’m sorry, mama. I just wanted to see the funny bears!”

The father crouched down to reach her height, “I know, just tell us next time, okay?”

Migyung nodded at her father’s words.

“And would you look at that?” The man smiled and pointed behind her, “Look who’s coming over to see you.”

The girl turned around and spotted a sun bear walking towards her. She let out a gasp, once more pressing her fingers to the glass. Her eyes filled with stars as she looked at the bear.

She laughed with excitement and bounced on her toes, “Daddy, mommy, look at him! He’s so fat!”

“We see him, sweetheart.” The father replied with a smile, even though the girl couldn’t see it. He looked over to his wife and placed an arm around her, kissing her cheek as they looked at their daughter fondly.

Mingi squeezed my hand, his attention no longer on the sun bear. He turned to me with love-filled eyes and whispered, “That’s gonna be us one day, you know?”

I bit my lip and felt warmth spread through my body. We’d talked about our future before, how we wanted kids and planned on getting married, but watching the scene before us and seeing the sincerity in his eyes, it made my heart feel like exploding.

“I’d really like that.”

We stood there for a bit longer before leaving to look at the other animals. The red pandas, in particular, caught Mingi’s attention, and I found myself quite fond of the baby rhinos, but we both agreed that the sun bear was our favorite.

-

Neither of us were entirely sure how we both ended up covered in flour on the floor of our kitchen, only that once the sun had began to set we left the zoo and came home with empty stomachs, then deciding to make breakfast food for dinner. Now we were both in fits of giggles as we struggled to sit upright, Mao’s strange looks at us somehow making the event even funnier.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I laughed.

“I think this was a great idea,” Mingi said with a smile before grabbing a handful of flour and throwing it at me.

“Hey! You’re gonna pay for that!”

He stood and grabbed the bag of flour, raising a brow in challenge, “Oh yeah? Come and get me, babe.”

Against my better judgement I stood and ran towards him, throwing my body onto his and tackling him to the floor. As our bodies collided, the bag of flour flew out of his hands and I crawled over to the bag only to feel Mingi’s arms wrap around my legs and drag me back towards him.

“Noo! I’m so close!” I giggled, the bag barely a foot away.

“Not anymore, you aren’t.” He pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me tight, preventing me from escape, “What are you gonna do now, huh?”

I tilted my head with a smile, “I’ll probably flirt with my captor until he falls for me and then I’ll run away with the flour.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, what if he’s already in love with you but won’t let you go?” Mingi shifted our bodies to where I was laying with my back on the floor, his own body hovering over mine but still very much keeping me in place, “What if he’s gonna keep you here with him? What do you think about that?”

My breath hitched as he looked down at me, his face slowly inching closer to mine. He had it too easy, really, with how quickly he could fluster me.

“I think you’re far too handsome for your own good.” I said barely louder than a whisper.

He let out a chuckle before kissing me, our lips moving in time with the other’s. My hands found his hair and I pulled him closer to me, my hunger long forgotten.

As I felt Mingi’s body against mine, I finally felt whole. It was hell, going without seeing him for so many months, but because of moments like these, I knew I’d gladly wait a hundred more if it meant I could just have one day with him.

#ateez #atzinc #kpop #imagines #ateez au #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #fluff #kpop fluff #welcome back mingi #mingi imagines #song mingi #mingi fluff #mingi ateez

[clumsyclifford]

you read my mind (better to leave it unsaid)

(x)

here you go @cringeycal​ i hate you <3

read it here on ao3

-

Calum’s not tired enough for this time difference.

Sixteen hours is too many. One day is not enough time to adjust to a whole new circadian rhythm. Their 7pm concert is 11am to Calum, and by the time it’s over it’s smack-bang in the middle of the day in Calum’s brain, and the fact that it’s dark outside is really, really fucking him up.

“This is really, really fucking me up,” he mutters, pulling the curtains of his and Michael’s hotel room shut with a swish. 

“What is?” Michael’s voice echoes from the bathroom, where he’s brushing his teeth. It’s a strange choice, since Michael also brushed his teeth before the show and they haven’t eaten anything since then, but whatever. 

“The fact that it’s dark outside and I feel like it’s the middle of the afternoon,” Calum says. He pulls his cap off his head and throws it aside, ruffling up the matted hair underneath. It’s nice and air-conditioned in the room, and the sweat sticking Calum’s shirt to his chest from the show is starting to dry. It strikes Calum that he doesn’t need to be wearing his gross sweaty t-shirt anymore, so he pulls that off, too, and throws it in the general direction of the hat.

Michael makes a kind of humming noise. Calum can hear the sounds of a toothbrush, and takes no offence at Michael’s non-answer. He kicks off his jeans and flops back onto the bed, revelling in the cool air on his sticky skin for a minute before sliding off to put on some clothes.

Michael traipses out of the bathroom. He’s still in full show attire, and he’s wearing the camouflage baseball cap from before, a pastel galaxy of lavender hair sticking out underneath it. Calum likes this colour on Michael. A lot of the time Michael makes his bizarre hair colour look good, but this time, the hair colour looks good on its own, which is a refreshing change of pace. 

“You look tired,” Michael says.

Calum frowns. “I’m not. And no I don’t.”

“Fine, you look cosy.”

“That’s not the same thing at all.” The sweatpants and hoodie Calum have donned are cosy, but in his mind it’s still that lazy break between lunch and dinner where the only way to kill time is to play video games. He blinks owlishly at Michael. “You look…colourful.”

Michael snorts a laugh. The only colourful part of him is his hair; his attire is all-black, as usual, but Calum is pretty focused on the hair. Maybe the jet lag is getting to him more than he knows, because all Calum can think is that Michael looks yummy, deliciously kissable, and he wants to tangle his fingers in the lilac mess that is his hair and make it worse. 

“You look…like you’re plotting something evil,” Michael returns, strolling towards Calum. He grins. “Stop staring at me! What are you planning?”

“I may be delirious,” Calum solemnly informs him. “What time is it?”

“Midnight,” Michael says without checking. He steps even closer. “Stop staring, you weirdo.”

“Make me.”

“No offence, but you look like you might snap and go serial killer,” Michael says. “I’m not kissing you, crazy eyes.”

Calum blinks. His gaze refocuses, flitting around Michael’s face too quickly, like trying to calibrate himself. “What if I kissed you?”

Michael shifts his weight, barely a foot away, and smirks. “That’d be okay.”

“I would never snap and serial killer kill you,” Calum says, frowning as Michael’s words finally pierce the thick haze of jet lag clouding his mind. “If I killed you it would be deeply personal and I’d leave a note and everything.”

Michael bursts into laughter. “This is why I say you’re insane!”

“I’m not insane! I’m adorable.”

“Adorably insane.” Michael calms down and catches his breath. “Well? Are you gonna kiss me or—”

“Stop calling me insane and we’ll just see,” Calum says, except then he kisses Michael anyway because he’s tired of not kissing Michael and this argument is not worth the time they’re wasting not kissing.

Michael’s hands immediately find their way to Calum’s waist, pulling him closer so they’re flush against each other. In the stillness of the room, Calum’s own heartbeat is loud in his ears. He wonders if Michael can hear it, or feel it, or if he’d find it strange if he could. They’re just friends who kiss. There’s nothing strange about that.

Anyway, Calum’s a man on a mission, and his palms slide up Michael’s arms and shoulders, framing his face for a second, then continue around the back of his head to the unexpectedly soft strands of hair at the back. 

Victory.

Well, almost victory. His fingertips bump against the brim of the cap on Michael’s head, and Calum grabs the hat and tugs it off him. The gesture makes Michael choke on a laugh and pull away.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s in the way,” Calum insists, taking advantage of the pause to push Michael’s hair off his forehead. A blissful smile breaks across Michael’s face, but he shakes his head anyway like he has to at least pretend to mock every single thing Calum does.

“It’s part of my look,” he says. Calum drops the cap carelessly to the floor and wraps his arms around Michael’s neck.

“Don’t care,” he says airily. “My enjoyment of our kiss is more important than your aesthetic.”

Michael breathes a laugh. “Rude.”

“Rude of you to wear a hat and hide all this sexy hair.”

“Oh, I see. It’s all about the hair.”

“Yeah, duh.” Calum leans their foreheads together. “Pick a bad colour and this is over.”

“Better not pick a bad colour, then.”

Calum smiles. “Don’t think a bad colour exists for you,” he admits. And I don’t think anything could convince me to end this, no matter what I say.

Michael is quiet, watching him, and after a moment of silence he leans in to kiss Calum again, like it’s the only adequate reply he can come up with.

Calum threads his fingers through Michael’s lilac hair and imagines the colour staining his skin, leaving an amethyst residue on his fingertips. He drags his hands down to Michael’s face, imagines leaving a lavender trail, marking the trajectory of his touch. Smudging violet across Michael’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Michael doesn’t taste like lavender or lilac — he tastes like mint toothpaste — but the colours are so vivid behind Calum’s closed eyes that he can swear he can taste them on Michael’s tongue.

When Michael pulls away, Calum licks his lips and opens his eyes. He’s disappointed to find Michael looking like Michael, no extraneous hair dye anywhere, all pale and pink lips but no purple in sight beyond the disaster that is his hair.

“Um,” Calum says, catching up to his own train of thought. “I think I’m tired.”

“Wow,” Michael says. “Hard for me not to take that personally, Cal.”

Calum grins. He’s not sure if he’s tired so much as just ready to call it a night. Otherwise he risks ruining this perfect ending to their day. Any day that ends with kissing Michael can’t be that bad.

“Hey, I could keep going,” he says.

Michael shakes his head, then hesitates, then kisses Calum once more. It goes straight to Calum’s toes, to the tips of his fingers. Somehow, the last kiss is always the best one.

“Well I, for one, am fuckin’ beat,” Michael says when they’re separate again.

Calum resists every single urge to just keep kissing him. If it were up to him they’d never stop. The only reason he ever lets up is the promise that at least they’ll get to do it again the next day. Even now, with the post-show exhaustion catching up to him and Michael basically swaying where he stands — even now, he wants to steal one more, one for safekeeping, one to lock up in a memory box Just In Case.

That would be insane, though.

“We need to sleep,” Michael says. “Or at least I need to sleep.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep,” Calum says. “But dibs little spoon.”

Michael sighs. “Fine.”

Calum kisses his cheek, then leaps backwards and lands on the bed spread-eagle. He doesn’t even have a chance to readjust before Michael’s climbing on top of him like a baby goat or a particularly needy cat. “Oof,” Calum says. “Get off me, stupid.”

“Technically, I think this counts as you being the little spoon,” Michael observes, which is absolutely not true and complete bullshit. 

Calum jerks his shoulder until he dislodges Michael from on top of him. “You’re still in your show clothes, you disgusting pig. Put on some pyjamas at least, Jesus Christ. I’m not cuddling with your sweaty arse.”

“Alright, fuck, chillax,” Michael huffs, clumsily stumbling off the bed and over to his suitcase. While he changes, Calum pushes the covers back and snuggles up underneath. It’s wonderfully warm with the blanket and the hoodie and everything. Calum sighs contentedly. “Don’t forget to turn off the lights,” he adds.

Michael finishes changing into sweats and a t-shirt and kills the lights. On his way back to the bed Calum hears him almost trip. “What the fuck is this?” Another pause. “Oh, it’s my hat.”

“Whoops,” says Calum. Michael finally returns to bed and crawls under the blanket where Calum’s made himself comfortable. “You looked pretty good in it. I just really— I wanted to touch your hair.”

Michael kind of laughs quietly. “And? How was it?”

“Delicious,” Calum hums. He grabs Michael’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “Very tasty. Would touch again.”

“You can’t— that doesn’t even—”

“Shh. Shhhhh. Just let it happen.”

Michael sighs. His arm wraps snugly around Calum’s waist, and Calum takes back his thoughts about jet lag. It doesn’t seem like such an issue anymore. “I love you, weirdo. Goodnight.”

“Love you too,” Calum says. He yawns, which leads to Michael yawning; they both giggle, but then silence descends, and Calum falls asleep surprisingly quickly after that, with Michael breathing in his ear.

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #how many different ways can i talk about the color of michael's hair challenge #hey who was i saying that my next fic would be a fic i had no idea about #amanda? look amanda i was right #who knew #written while tired

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress - 2

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part two of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

previous chapter

His memories had always been foggy. Even after slipping from HYDRA’s control, his memories were still foggy. He could remember almost everything through a sepia-like filter yet his memory as even more distorted the moment he looked at her. He had this gut wrenching feeling he had known her yet his foggy red tinted memories gave him no answer as to who this woman was and whenever he tried digging deeper into his subconscious. he would just get tired. Almost as if his own mind did not allow him to know her but he knew he must’ve seen her face or her figure somewhere and if he hadn’t then he must’ve known her in another life because whenever he looked at her, he felt comfortable. It was an odd sensation to explain, a deja-vu like feeling, a feeling which made him want to run up to her and held her into his arms but she was a stranger. Everything was strange here even Wanda who despite him having shared a few words with, looked so distant.

      - When did Wanda have time to have two ten year olds? -  Sam threw himself to one of the beds in the room the two of them had been assigned to. Sharon had gotten a different room yet Sam and Bucky were bunking together like 13 year old campers. - Also can she resuscitate people now? I mean, he’s an android but nevertheless. Oh my god, how did an android and a human had kids?

     - Do you trust them? Sharon isn’t too convinced.

     - Well, Wanda fought by our side so did Vision and Fury and Hill are with them. Unless they all turned evil, I think we can somewhat trust them. 

     - I don’t know, Sam. I ... I don’t trust the girl.

     - They’re almost all girls, cyborg brain. Be specific. Did specificity did not exist in the 40s?

     - The one who dropped her gun first.

     - Maybe, she’s Pierce’s kid or so says Sharon. Maybe you used to babysit her. 

     - No, I ...

     - Sergeant Barnes ... - Monica knocked on the door before allowing herself into the bedroom. - There were some letters in the file written by you. We believe it is not our right to intrude onto your privacy so we wanted to give them to you. 

     - God, every time I discover something about you, it makes you sound even older than you are. - Sam leaned against the bed frame as Bucky warringly took the letters from the Monica who left the room once her job was done.

The paper had grown old with time, yellowing around the borders of the Red Room envelopes they used to give the girls who behaved well enough so they could send their parents some news. He remembered stealing a few to try and write any memories which came through so he wouldn’t forget them when the officers erased him. Somehow they always found the letters yet there it was in his hands, a big stack of letters which seemingly hadn’t been destroyed. It was his handwriting that much he knew, however he did not know who Daisy was, he did not know who had the name to which the letters were addressed to. 

     - Who did you write letters to? Steve?

     - Daisy. - he didn’t mean to reply but those words just seemed to flow naturally from him and he was entranced by the name in his handwriting alone. 

The snow felt step onto the ground, it was cold, cold enough everyone was wearing jackets inside despite the heater being on and he seemed to have been transported back into his memories. Everyone was cold and covered but not her and no matter how hard he tried to make up her face, it was fogged up in his memory but he could see her, he could see her in her strap black ballet top and worn out pink ballerina shoes which she had particularly asked Madam B not to be replaced. He could see her, but he couldn’t make her out, he didn’t know who she was. 

    - Daisy, you’re going to get sick. - Bucky could hear himself speak but he wasn’t speaking, he wasn’t there, he was just reliving a memory. 

   - Don’t call me Daisy. I hate it when you call me Daisy.

   - Hey, cyborg brain? Are you ok? - Sam’s voice was echoey until he touched his shoulder and then he was harshly brought back to reality. - Don’t bug out on me, I don’t know how to reset you. 

    - Yeah, just thinking.

The night was long, too long and he spent every minute of it reading every single letter he had written this woman until they were all spread out across the floor of the room; but we loved with a love that was more than love me and my Daisy, I’m sorry Daisy, I miss you Daisy. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. He had read that name more than a hundred times and he still couldn’t remember who she was yet he knew he loved her or that he had loved her. The more he tried to remember it, the more his head hurt, the more the blurry memories turned red. He didn’t known who this woman who had meant so much to him was. He shoved those letters under the bed and left the room while Sam was sleeping. He need to clear his head, clearly this woman hadn’t meant that much to him if he couldn’t remember her, but he knew it was a lie. He knew she mattered.

The sounds of his shoes against the floor made him forget about her, her the ghost of a woman he loved. He continued to walk, watching the walls surrounding him until a glass wall broke the continuous light blue of the walls. He peeked through it and there it was, the woman he felt he knew in a black suit on pointe. He was hypnotised by the constant plié to on pointe as if it was nothing. Bucky went around, opening the door to watch her more closely.

   - How do you do it? - he asked, taking her by surprise. Turning around, she had fear in her eyes as she took a step back, something Bucky was used to. It no longer hurt as it used to. - The feet thing. I ... my sister used to watch ballet and they always did that. 

   - Oh, uhm ... it’s all about supporting your body weight onto your toes and wearing the right pair of shoes.

   - I’m Bucky, by the way ... Uhm, thank you for not killing us. 

   - I’m Y/N. - she extended her hand to shake his. - Is the room alright? Do you need anything?

   - Do you know who Daisy is? Sharon said your father is Pierce so I thou ...

   - I don’t. - she interrupted him. - I don’t really know a lot about my father’s private life. I’m sorry.

   - You’re too early for ... - Yelena entered the room in tactical gear, stopping once she saw someone other than Y/N. Her eyes searched for Y/N’s who were begging for help. - Fight training. Closed off fight training.

   - Right, I ... I was just looking for the kitchen. - he said but was still gazing her eyes

   - I’ll take you. - the blonde Russian gave him a tight smile, pointing towards the door and exiting with him.

The air that seemed to have been previously held on her chest came out almost in a wave and she felt herself slide against the mirrored wall until she was sat on the floor, head looking at the tall ceiling as if she were in catatonic state, and maybe she was, she didn’t know. How could she know if whenever he spoke to her all she could hear was that piano, that damned low piano and the mirage of him, the mirage of the life she wanted with him in Westview. She looked at her shoes, worn out, the pink satin which one was shiny new had black worn out spots over where there used to be an embroidered daisy. She was glad it was gone, she was glad it wouldn’t return. Nevertheless, she could still feel her ... Agatha, poking at whatever protected her mind. She could almost hear her calling out to her with promises of all she wanted. They had always gone after her ... the weak link, the one whose will was easy to break. It was no mistake the red room had given her the nickname Daisy out of all flowers they could’ve picked. She was easily broken, manipulated to be a strong fighter but easily broken by those who knew. She wondered if the Red Room was still out looking for her, looking for Yelena ... she wondered what control they still held over her, what control her father had over her. Both knew she was alive, both had tortured her with tapes of ... him. They knew she was alive, it was only a cat and mouse game until they took her away. Their experiment. Their unsuccessful successful experiment. 

    - God, he’s awfully chattier than I remember. - Yelena walked into the room, eyes lowering to where she was. - Who told you to take a break? Get up and fight me. 

    - He knows.

    - Chill, Y/N. He didn’t even know what a waffle maker was until now. He’s not gonna break through whatever you made Wanda do to him which, by the way, I’m against. - the blonde sat next to her. - You let Monica hand him the letters, of course he’s gonna wonder who Daisy is. Terrible name.

   - I’m sorry, Yelena, not everyone had the pleasure of having the code name Hyacinth. -  Y/N teased.

   - It was a great code name. The best code name.

   - No, it wasn’t.

   - Want the morning off? I could spar with Monica or Alexei. - Yelena gave her a kind look and an offer she couldn’t refuse. Last thing she wanted to do was to spar with anyone in her mindset. Yelena understood it, her too having dealt with her own trauma inflicted by the Red Room. In times like these, both girls had learned to leave each other alone to cope with whatever demons they had.

Y/N dragged her knees up to her chest like a kid, hair falling in front of her eyes as she fished for the dog tags under her shirt. She ripped them from her neck, letting the old metal tags slide through her fingers. She clenched the memorabilia of past emotions against her chest. 

  - Yelena said you were gloom. - Wanda walked into the room still in her pyjamas. - Besides your shield is down and your thoughts are loud. You ought to learn to control it someday.

  - Well, you seem to love getting in people’s minds.

  - Not yours. Whenever I get the particular pleasure of doing it  ... - she sat next to her, still in her dressing gown. - You’re either feeling guilty or in such pain. I think it’s time you speak about it.

  - She’s still in my mind ... Agatha. She lingers. 

   - What does she know? She couldn’t even give you an actually accurate mirage of Bucky. Two arms? Please. 

   - She’s gonna be after us non-stop, Wanda. She will pair forces with Ross to get what she wants and then all of this will be as worthless as it was. With Zemo if she needs too ... 

   - She can’t get to you, okay? - Wanda gave her a kind smile, the type of smile she gave the twins whenever one of them was sad but this time it didn’t help. She could hear her voice calling out for her, she could see the purple tint in her nightmares and while Monica and Wanda had learned to deal with it, mostly ignoring it, she could fell the witch’s influence in her stronger than ever. 

She remained laid against the wall of the training room even after Wanda was gone. She looked at the ceiling, fingers toying around with the humidity in the air making it fall onto the ground like rain. Fitting, she thought. Yet again, whatever she could do always seemed to mirror whatever she thought or felt like. It was past midday when she made her way from the gym to her bedroom to get dressed. She knew better than to leave the hex unaccompanied but what surrounded it was wilderness and she always felt at peace in wilderness, the soft sounds of birds chirping and the water falls always made her forget the screams from the red room, the purple aura from Agatha ... it just didn’t make her forget Bucky. She had always wanted to see him again, to apologise ... to ... she didn’t know what to do, she just knew she got tongue tied whenever she saw him, the guilt eating her alive.

    - Well, hello dear. - Y/N turned around, eyes shining white behind her iris as Agatha stood there in her purple peplum dress. - There’s no need for a fight, dear. I just want to talk.

    - Well, I don’t ... - she took a fighting stance but the woman merely shrugged.

    - I just came to give you a shoulder to cry. Word on the street is that your Bucky is around. Isn’t that wonderful, dear?

    - Based on your illusion of him, I’d think you wouldn’t even recognise him. 

    - You know, you’ll always be my favourite out of the three girls. You and I are very similar, my dear. Besides, I can help you, I know how your powers work and it’s not for cheap tricks. I can help you with him, I know what it is like to have someone take the person who you love the most be taken for you but I can help you, dear. You and me, we can get what we want, what it’s rightfully yours.

     - He’s not mine. - she meant her words to come strong, swiftly like the thunderstorm winds yet they faltered, as if they were only now registering in her mind. 

     - You know, dearest ... the good thing about the soul stone is that it made you who you are. The bad thing is, you’re not gonna be able to control what it gave you if your soul is in disarray. The more your mind battles, the more your ability will take hold of you.

     - What do you mean?

     - Why do you think Wanda got more powerful when things were falling apart in Westview?

     - Y/N! - Monica’s voice made Agatha disappear in a cloud of purple mist. Y/N turned her head to the side to see Monica make her way through the trees, decked out in her fighting outfit. - What are you doing here? You missed the early morning brief and you’re in ... whatever you’re wearing.

     - I just needed some time off. - she smiled. - Why are you in battle gear?

     - Darcy’s sure one of the books must be in the Red Room ... the one where you were trained. - Monica sighed, less than happy to have to bring Y/N back to that place but if there was someone who could navigate it, it was her. - Yelena was not trained by ... him, so she does not know. Y/N, I don’t think ... I think you and him should talk. 

    - There’s nothing to talk about. - she forced a smile, following Monica back into the hex. - We are different people, besides ... I don’t think he would forgive me at all.

    - Can you at least tell me what happened? What happened with him, what happened in Westview? Wanda says you’re in pain and I don’t want you to be in pain. You helped me when I was in pain, I wanna help you too. We’ve known each other for what? Five years discounting the Thanos thing? Six?

    - I will talk about it someday. Just not today.

    - Are you in the headspace to go with us? We can always try and see what Sergeant Barnes remembers if you’re not up to it.  

    - I am a professional agent. - she smiled. - I’m always prepared.

The sooner we get this book situation sorted, the sooner she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. At least that’s what she thought and as such she had no problem returning to the place which she had escaped from years and years ago. Nevertheless, she was first and foremost an agent, someone who fought for others and for once she had to do just that. Be professional. 

She got dressed in her traditional black tactic gear and jacket before heading down to the room where they kept most of their ammunition. It had been Jimmy’s idea to arm everyone involved in a mission just in case despite Y/N, Wanda and Monica being capable to hold their own without it. Even so, having a knife or a gun on them had made wonders before. Normally the people they go against aren’t exactly fair and she had learned that the hard way. As she opened the door to the ammunition room, she came face to face with him lacing up his boots. It was the most common action yet it felt so foreign to see him do it, to see him be in control of lacing up his own shoe laces. Part of her was happy for him, happy he was happy, happy he was his own person but the other part of her screamed for her to let it go of her insecurities, he was not the same man she had known and she was definitely not the same woman. She was guilty for more than half his pain and that, that remained the same. 

Y/N ignored him, sliding past him to grab her own utility belt which was really nothing special except for the fact she had gotten everyone important in her life to carve their initials in them. Her point was if she was dying on the field, she had least had something which reminded her of the love which regardless of every bad thing she had done, still remained. She wrapped her belt around her waist and thigh, yet nevertheless it was still too loose. Damned belt.

   - You’re putting it wrong. -  Buck mumbled.

   - Pardon?

   - The belt. - he got up and walked up to her. - The second strap ... it’s too low on your thigh, should be higher.

   - Oh ... -  she moved her gaze away from him.

   - Here. May I? - he asked her, hoping to meet her gaze but she merely nodded still looking the other way. Bucky unclasped the strap from her thigh, bringing it up further up, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of her trousers. She slowly moved her gaze to look at him and he fixed her belt before he moved up, eyes staring into hers. They seemed to look at each other for a lifetime, before he cleared his throat. - It should be better now.

    - Uhm ... thank you, Sergeant Barnes.

    - Cyborg brain, how long does it take to lace up some boots? - Sam’s voice reverberated through the room making the two take each a step back going back to the distance between them. 

    - I have to go. - Y/N grabbed her jacket, exiting the room as fast as she could.

The plane ride was equally unbearable with her sat in front of him, catching his eyes every once in a while. God, she used to love his eyes. She still remembered being tangled in grey worn out sheets, laying across his chest just looking at him, looking at those eyes which always looked the same even when he forgot her. Those blue eyes, they were always the same despite the two of them being different people from who they were in the Red Room. Speaking of the devil, it no longer looked like one. It was falling down, the once crown jewel of HYDRA had worn out with time. The red walls were fading to brown, the spotless rooms were now filled with dust and ghosts of memories. It was gone, so how come it still haunted her?

   - Wanda and Sharon will take east, me and Sam west, Alexei and Yelena south and Y/N you can take north with Sergeant Barnes. - Monica suggested. Y/N shot her a way too familiar look, almost as if she were about to argue with her yet she understood the basis of her decision. After all, not everyone had ... a something controlling power. 

She took charge into the very familiar north wing of the building. They kept most off the girls who were yet to pass to the red room there and it had been her home for years. Bucky however, was remembering things which he couldn’t fully understand. He knew this place yet he didn’t remember walking these halls, he remembered the pain. He could still feel the pain, the much too familiar pain of having all he knew be gone.

    - You’ll take the right and I the left? Sergeant Barnes? - she put her hand on his hand, almost magically taking him away from ghosts of his pain. - Do you want to stop?

    - Yeah, I’ll take the left. - he rebuffed her, turning left.

The room seemed to take him in, memories of his own strained voice as he yelled out for some mercy returned to his consciousness, memories of things he had said, things he hadn’t said. He swiftly turned around, turning his gun to the door before turning back again to see a woman standing in front of him.

    - Woah lower the gun down, dear. - she had an eerily smile on her lips. Buck took a step back slowly but she moved her hand, a purple glow followed by the sound of the door closing. - I’m only here to help.

   - Y/N ... - he tapped his intercom but no sound came from it.

   - Yes, that’s exactly who we are talking about. You see I know who Daisy is, she knows who Daisy is. - she took a file from under her shirt. - Everyone knows who Daisy is but you. Now, I think it’s really unfair you don’t know so I decided to even out the game.

She threw the file onto the ground before disappearing. God, at least back in the 40s people only removed their faces. Bucky looked around, wearingly of his surroundings much more than he was before.  This room. was playing with his mind yet the file laying on the ground proved the woman wasn’t a mere mirage of his mind. He kneeled down too grab the file, opening it to reveal a passport photo of Y/N accompanied by an information sheet. He read through the first lines quickly until one particular fact stopped him. Known aliases: Daisy.

taglist: @lookiamtrying​

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan au #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky imagine #bucky au #wandavision #falcon and the winter soldier

[wisteriashouse]

aflame (i).

pairing: firefighter!rengoku kyoujurou x cook!reader

genre: fluff, modern! au

word count: 1713

remarks: i just couldn’t get this idea out of my mind... sorry :“D

i. takeaway

You’re stressed.

When you glance up at the cat eared clock on the wall, you’re dismayed to find the minute hand inching slowly towards twelve. Nervously, you turn around to inspect the timer on your oven, fingers drumming on the countertop. Fifteen more minutes till they’re done. 

You stare at the two sweet potatoes in the oven beseechingly, as if begging them to bake faster. It was all your fault. You know you shouldn’t have let Kanroji distract you with all that gushing about her new pastry when she’d come over for her lunch break earlier, but as a food enthusiast yourself, you’d been unable to resist the words ‘burnt sugar’ and ‘crème brûlée’ and had ended up completely sidetracked. As a result, you’d put the potatoes into the oven far too late, and now they wouldn’t be ready in time.

Five more minutes, and he’s going to be here.

The familiar sound of the bell hanging from the door of your eatery rings, and your heart drops in your chest.

“Two bowls of udon!” Sabito calls loudly in manner of greeting as he steps into the small space of your eatery, while Makomo behind him waves at you with her usual dreamy smile on her face, patting down the skirt of her flowery dress. You stare at the two of them as they take a seat opposite your counter, and they glance at you before you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, it’s just the two of you.”

Sabito’s mouth falls open at your welcome, instantly aggrieved at your clear lack of enthusiasm. “What do you mean, just the two of us? I thought we’ve been on a first name basis for months now, just the two-” Makomo shuts up her childhood friend by placing a hand over his mouth, before smiling sweetly up at you. “Has he not come by yet?”

You flush lightly and shake your head as you ignore Sabito’s indignant sputtering, moving to grab two clean bowls from behind the counter. After having known him for long enough, you’ve grown more than used to his overdramatic behavior. “No, not yet. He’s supposed to come in five minutes, but the roasted sweet potatoes aren’t done yet, and I-”

The bell rings again.

“Chef-san!” A familiar voice calls brightly and you let out a little squeak, the bowl falling from your hands and clattering onto the countertop. From the most isolated seat at your counter, you see one of your regulars, Obanai, roll his eyes at you before he returns to studying his toxicology notes. 

Your cheeks burn, and you frantically will the blush away from your cheeks as you turn around to greet the man. “A-ahh... you’re early today, Rengoku-san.” 

Rengoku Kyoujurou looks breathtakingly handsome as usual, the afternoon light streaming in through the windows only highlighting his strong features and confident golden eyes. “Is that so?” Your heart trembles a little in your chest as he sweeps a few stray strands of bright yellow hair out of his eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall. “You’re right! My apologies, I must have been too excited to have your cooking!”

You lick your lips, a helpless expression slipping onto your face as you glance at the oven out of the corner of your eye. “Well... I have the bento boxes ready for you to take, but I wanted to try making something new today.” You manage to make out, fingers buried in the fabric of your apron. Kyoujurou continues to smile at you, encouraging you to go on. Don’t stutter in front of him! “They’re baked sweet potatoes, and I know you like them, so I was wondering if you could try them out for me. They’ll take a few more minutes to bake, so if you’re busy, you don’t need to wait...”

At the counter, Obanai buries his face in his notes as if he’s trying to suffocate himself. You don’t blame him.

“Baked sweet potatoes? That sounds amazing! Of course I can wait.” You glance up from the tie of your apron to see Kyoujurou beaming radiantly at you. “I’m sure the rest back at the fire station wouldn’t mind, either!”

You try your best to contain the delighted smile on your face, gesturing to the counter. “You can wait here. It won’t take too long, I promise.”

Kyoujurou slides into a seat obediently as you move to drop udon noodles into hot water, stirring it with a ladle to stop your eyes from wandering to the devastatingly handsome man sitting to your left. Behind Kyoujurou’s back, Sabito shakes his head at you in despair while Makomo hides a quiet giggle behind her hand. You want to crawl into a hole in embarrassment.

Ding!

Luckily, the alarm of the oven distracts you from burying your head in the sand and you turn around, pulling on your mitts. Sliding the tray from the oven, you glance over at the fruits of your hard work and countless sleepless nights of trial and error. The inside of the baked sweet potatoes is a lovely orange, melted butter and cheese running down the crack stuffed with shredded barbecued chicken. Pleased with your work, you turn around to present them to Kyoujurou — and get distracted by the sight of him instead.

He’s tying his hair up, brushing the shorter strands of his bangs behind his ears, hair tie held between his teeth. The flame patterned bomber jacket he usually wears is lying next to him on the counter, leaving him in a form fitting firehouse tee that clings to his firm chest and tight abdomen, the sleeves only emphasizing the lines his strong biceps. You don’t know if you want to thank the gods or cry at the sight.

Next to you, Obanai rolls up his thick folder and begins to smack himself over the head with it, as if trying to physically purge the image from his mind.

“Chef-san?” Kyoujurou’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you blink only to realise that he’s staring at you with those beautiful golden eyes of his, brow slightly furrowed in concern. “Is everything alright?”

You’re dangerously close to a cardiac arrest, but you nod frantically, rushing to transfer the sweet potatoes to a plate instead. Placing a fork at the side, you set the plate in front of Kyoujurou shyly, smiling at him. “I hope it’s alright.”

“Your cooking is always delicious!” Kyoujurou declares with a grin, reaching for the plate. “Thank you very much for this meal!”

Turning back to your stoves to calm your racing heart, you scoop the udon noodles out of the pot and set them into bowls, pouring hot broth over them. Out of the corner of your eye, you take a quick peek at Kyoujurou; he’s blowing gently on a piece to cool it down before he digs in. 

Extra sliced pork for Sabito, no spring onions for Makomo. Done with their orders, you pick up the tray and step out from behind the counter, setting it down on their table. Behind you, you hear a delighted exclamation of ‘delicious!’, the sound earning a few turned heads from your other patrons and a scandalized glare from Obanai. You have to try and contain your smile.

He likes it.

Sabito stares at you for a moment as he picks up his chopsticks, miming the words ‘Chef-san’ silently with an awful simper. You aim a kick at his leg under the table.

“Ow.”

“I finished it all!” You turn away from Sabito rubbing his shin to see Kyoujurou smiling at you as he shrugs his jacket back on. “It tasted delicious, as usual! There is nothing I could possibly complain about! You’re truly the best cook in town! I’m sad that I should have to leave so soon, but the others back at the firehouse must surely be hungry.” 

His praise brings a slight blush to your cheeks, and you beam at him. “Thank you for your time, Rengoku-san. Wait a moment, I’ll get your lunches right away.” 

Slipping behind the counter, you pull out the stack of bento boxes kept at the side carefully for him, counting them once again to make sure all of them are there. Kyoujurou hefts the cloth bag over his shoulder with an ease that would make anyone envious, before he turns to give you a jovial wave. “It’s been lovely seeing you. Thank you for the food!”

There are a few crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, Rengoku-san, wait–” You reach for a napkin on the counter and hold it out to him before you hesitate for a moment. You desperately want to help him wipe it from his cheek, but that would be crossing too many boundaries, wouldn’t it?

“Chef-san?”

You shake your head to clear your mind, before you put on a bright smile and hand the napkin over to him. “You have crumbs on the side of your mouth.” When he takes it from you, your fingers brush for a moment, warmth spreading from the tips of your fingers down to your toes.

Kyoujurou laughs, a pleasant, mellow sound, before wiping his mouth clean. “That was a little embarrassing.” He says, eyes twinkling merrily, and you have to resist the urge to tell him just how adorable he had looked in your eyes. “Well then, I’ll be leaving now!”

You raise a hand in farewell. The bell on the door jingles, and he’s gone. The shop suddenly feels a little less warm without him in it.

“Ask him out on a date already.” Sabito grouses, and you turn around to watch him pop a piece of pork into his mouth before he jabs his spoon at you. “God, I’m on the verge of choking from all of this badly hidden affection in the air. I might hurl from the two of you making heart eyes at each other.”

You puff out your cheeks indignantly, but your heart thumps in your chest at the thought of a date. “Don’t eat here, then.” You tell Sabito, totally unrepentant.

Makomo giggles at the distraught expression on Sabito’s face. 

#rengoku #rengoku fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #kyoujurou #kyojuro #rengoku kyojuro x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic

[passivenovember]

If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

Billy's job at Willowbrook Elementary is the only reason he puts up with this weather at all.

His hatred for winter, a season which hardly existed when he taught in the Valley, morphs and becomes something violent on the first Monday after Christmas break.

He wakes up feeling like his toes have gone missing, frozen black and blue with the cold, and after his phone tells him it's below zero outside, with wind-chill, his heart stops beating.

Hawkins is -10 degrees, to be precise.

And it leaves him feeling like that's gotta be illegal, or. He could for sure call all the scientists on Earth and have a law passed that clarifies: those born and raised in a Southern climate get a free pass on days when Hell is actively freezing over.

But it's not snowing today. And all the ice on the street has been scraped into terrible, disgusting drifts that block his driveway, and Hopper would immediately call bullshit. All, gonna have to suck it up if you wanna live here, buttercup.

So Billy decides to be an adult, or whatever. He spends another five minutes on his phone definitely not stalking his ex Instagram before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

And, like.

Even his underwear drawer is stiff from the cold so Billy decides to bundle the fuck up--a trick he learned from Max last fall, during the coldest year Indiana had ever seen. He manages to stack five layers in total; one pretty pink thermal set just brushing his his skin and a button down shirt to stave off the goosebumps. A sweater and jeans for professionalism. One Grateful Dead hoodie, because it makes him feel like he's not a total sell out, and a thick winter coat, sent special from the snow capped mountains of California this Christmas.

It still smells like his mom's pikake lei perfume.

Billy tries not to think about that, of home, on a day when he'd give his left nut for a ray of sunshine.

Instead, he spends ten minutes filling his thermos with coffee. Boiling the rice milk more than once so it'll stay warm on the ride across town. He sticks his pinky under the lip after his third go, and fuck that shit is so hot it will burn his mouth tomorrow, before checking the weather app again for closures.

Hoping against hope that something has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, nothing has.

The superintendent believes that everyone in Hawkins is somehow used to temperatures that makes their eyelids freeze shut in the thirty second walk to the car in the morning. Billy jams a knit cap on his head and seriously considers calling in.

A last ditch effort to quell the rising fury in his veins, that like.

He's gonna have to scrape his windows, and freeze his dick off, and deal with the neighbor.

The one who looks like he doesn't mind the cold so much because he carries the sun with him, fucking asshole.

People shouldn't be wandering the streets when their eyelids could freeze shut, right?

Billy checks his phone one more time, frowning at a text from Joyce to pick up some coffee on your way in, and tosses his bag over his shoulder before he can change his mind.

--

It's so much worse than expected.

Billy's lungs seize up on his second intake of fresh air because no one should be huffing sulfur or gaseous ice or whatever the fuck this shit is first thing in the morning. On a Monday. The first one after Christmas break, and.

"God damn, holy shit, holy shit,"  Billy bounces the whole way to the Camaro, breath coming in short, comical bursts of steam that make his nose run. He swipes dramatically at his face, struggling to get his keys into the lock while balancing his thermos on one arm and his messenger bag on the other.

Billy's in the middle of forcing the door open, its hinges are frozen solid with ice goddammit, when Steve fucking Harrington appears like a cloud on the wind.

"Howdy neighbor," Steve says. Like they're cowboys in a shitty film from the 1970s. The wind kicks a lock of brown hair into Harrington's face and he shivers. "Wow, it's really blowing out here, huh?"

Midwesterner's love doing that.

Pointing out the obvious.

Billy grumbles a response, flinging his car door open and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Steve's saying something.

Talking like always, about his cat or maybe the beer they keep saying they'll have together, and generally Billy puts up with it but not today. He isn't going to freeze to death for a pair of legs.

The Camaro roars to life, clearly pissed at having to work on such a disgusting day, and. Alright. Letting your car "warm up," is something so Midwestern Billy can't even talk about it.

It takes him all of two minutes to scrape his windows, electing to carve holes in each wall of ice rather than clear the whole thing. The metal handle of the scraper Max got him feels like the ninth circle of hell against the peachy skin of his fingers.

He should've bought some mittens.

Joyce is always saying he needs mittens, he should've asked for some--

Billy tosses the scraper into his back seat and climbs in, slamming the door shut behind him and cranking the heat up to high. Steve's watching from next to the fence in a fucking pea coat, and a scarf with care bears on it and.

Nothing else.

Fucking asshole.

Steve waves at him, like; hey I'm talking to you. Frantically, like the mouse Mr. Bane caught last week is important.

But Billy's too busy trying to back out of the driveway with five layers of shit restricting his movement. He cranks the music up and cautiously pulls onto the street. Nice and smooth like he's seen Steve do effortlessly, even with three inches of ice on the ground. Fucking asshole.

Billy makes it halfway before he hits something.

The wind kicks hair into his face as he assesses the damage.

"You should've scraped your driveway last night." Steve says helpfully.

He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, stark in contrast to the weird home made scarf he's got folded around his neck. Billy tries not to think about Steve's lips as he makes his way to the back of the Camaro to see that, yup.

Of course.

His baby is stuck in the snow. Billy kicks the tire. Like that'll fix anything.

"That's not gonna fix anything." Steve says, leaning against the fence.

"Jesus, fuck. I know, Steve." Billy scrubs a hand across his face, gesturing to the Care Bear scarf. "Why the hell are you wearing that thing, you look like a fruit."

"I am a fruit."

"Well you look like the whole goddamn bowl, pretty boy." Billy digs around for a cigarette. "My kindergarteners don't even fuck with the Care Bears enough to own scarves." Billy squints, assessing Steve from head to toe, delighting in the awkward squirm of his limbs. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Couldn't look any fruiter if you tried."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, like. Don't yell at me, this isn't my fault.

And okay.

He's cute.

Billy gets struck by that every time he sees the guy, all over again, like. His profile is perfect. Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Thick lips.

Steve holds out a cigarette.

Billy takes it.

"One of my residents made it for me. He's learning how to flat pattern." Harrington says shyly. "Well, he made it for his grand daughter, but. It turned out worse than he expected so I offered to take it."

Billy squints. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Just means I was trying to be nice--"

"No, the." Billy grins in spite of himself. "The flat patterning, what's that?"

Steve shrugs again. "I'm not sure, I think it's like. A sewing term. Or something." A pretty blush the color of Steve's scarf spreads across the bridge of his nose. It looks like strawberry ice cream and Billy.

Has to look away.

"My mom sews," Billy says gruffy. "I've never heard her say that."

"Well, maybe she drapes?"

Billy squints again. "What?"

"Draping. That's another thing people do--"

Billy stamps the cigarette out and kicks his tire again. Steve jolts, like. Billy tried to kick him or something, which just makes the situation worse.

"God, they should've cancelled classes." Billy states. Well, screams, to no one in particular. "Who wants to go to work in the snow, who fucking. Likes this white bullshit?"

Steve leans against the fence and looks thoughtful. "I love the snow."

"You're not helping."

"You asked."

"No, I didn't." Billy shoots back. He digs his cellphone out and shakes his head. "Why are you still here, Harrington? Don't you have old people to take care of?"

Steve chuckles again. Light, like Christmas bells. "Don't you have screaming brats to teach?"

"My car's kinda stuck in the snow, you fucking dick." Billy's so focused on trying to order a lyft that he doesn't waste time on pleasantries. He expects that to be the end of it, when the wind picks up and he swears again, but. Steve just moves closer.

"Let me drive you." Steve says.

And.

The moment sort of hangs there.

In the two years that Billy's lived next to the guy, they've never hung out. Never house sat for each other, never spoken outside the occasional could you make sure your idiot friends don't block my driveway, and empty promises to grab a beer sometime.

So the offer catches him off guard.

Billy glances up from his phone, confused, to find Steve looking everywhere but at him. Harrington's shifting his weight, like. He's fucking nervous, or something.

Or maybe hoping Billy will say no because he's just being polite.

Billy glares.

Of course he's just being neighborly. Charitable. That's what Midwestern assholes do.

Billy waves his phone in the air, like, "I'm ordering a lyft." And it comes out sharper. More aggressive than he means it too, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"Just ride with me, it's on the way."

Billy points at the screen. "Jason will be here in ten minutes."

"What's Jason got that I don't have?" Harington quips, and.

Billy just wants shit to go back to normal. He shakes his head again, "Nah, 's okay, pretty boy. Thanks anyway." Before turning back to his phone like he's got important shit to worry about.

Steve stands.

Stares.

Waits, for longer than is necessary, before clearing his throat. "Okay, well. Happy first day back." He says.

And if Billy didn’t know any better he'd say Steve sounds almost.

Disappointed.

--

When Billy gets off of work that night the snow is gone from his driveway.

--

Billy still has bad days.

They always start before dawn. With the claws of his nightmare leaving scratches down the lining of his throat. It's like Billy's carrying an anchor around his neck, or his veins are filled with playdough the color of the sun on those afternoons. He feels lazy and sluggish and like if someone looks at him for too long he'll break. Snap and crackle, like an open flame against fresh skin.

Billy still has bad days but they don't come unless he's been slipping for a while. Like forgetting to take his medication, or not writing his letter every night before bed.

The one to Neil, that his therapist says will help him work through the last of the road blocks that stand in the way of, "ultimate healing."

Billy used to think it was horseshit.

But Neil. Everything that happened, everything that still happens--when Billy goes home for Christmas, or when Susan calls and he can hear the slur of hate on the other end of the line--is standing in the way of something.

There are so many letters.

So much he wants to say.

Written on anything Billy can find, like. Napkins and the backs of take out menus--old drawings that the kids send home with him after Art class on Fridays.

The pages are kept in a binder.

His therapist says it's important to decorate the binder with, like. Stuff that makes him feel good. Words and phrases, stickers, pictures of the people he loves and drawings of all his favorite things. The folder is supposed to act as a visual reminder of the blanket of love that surrounds him, or something.

Melvalds only had brown folders when he went to pick his up, so.

The folder is brown. Disgusting.

And so far the only decorations he's been able to stomach are one of those fancy stickers from Redbubble that depicts his favorite episode of Daria, and a picture of him and Maxine with underwear on their heads.

Billy thinks it could be sad to some people.

That a poor, little abused boy only has two things in life that protect him from the shadow which falls with the setting sun, but it's the truth. Life is hard and fucked up. Billy has trouble letting people close, letting people in, so he sticks with the basics. The tried and true.

Maxine and his gravity bong.

Billy Hargrove is a simple man.

--

So it's two weeks after Steve shovels his driveway and Billy tells his therapist, like. "This fucking guy just. Did something nice for me."

And she clearly wonders what's wrong with him. "Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Billy tries not to get defensive about shit these days, because. It's only a hop-skip-and a jump from defensiveness to downright aggression and Megan, his well meaning shrink, doesn't deserve that even on her most annoying days.

His leg bounces under the table, thwacking against its mahogany edge loud enough that Megan can hear it over the fucking phone, so she says, "Billy. Stop."

Because they have a deal about nervous ticks.

Billy is supposed to say his safe word when he starts to feel anxious, but.

He fucking hates that shit. Hates being babied. Hates feeling like he's a goddamn basket case that needs to be rooted in reality when his trauma rears its ugly head. Billy smiles, the whole thing falling flat against his face. "I'm stopping."

Megan sighs. "Why haven't you thanked Steve for his act of kindness?"

"Because, like." Billy's shaking his leg again. Softer this time; it's a secret. "How do I know he isn't trying to, fucking. Get information out of me. Or out me to the community, or. Make fun of the way I'm a grown man who can't shovel his own driveway after a snowstorm--"

"I think you're internalizing your fears, Billy."

"Yeah, no shit." He snaps. Billy feels bad for half a second but then she's giggling, like she always does, which makes him feel less like the big bad wolf and more like one of the three little pigs. The guy with the straw, maybe?

Billy sighs, scrubbing at his face. "What does that even mean?"

Megan makes a noise on the other end of the line, like. In the six months that Billy's been in therapy he should've learned this by now.

Dude's got a short attention span, sue him.

And, sure enough. "Twice a week we meet over the phone and you don't know that internalizing your fears means you're trying to write the ending to a story you haven't even read yet?"

"Like, uh," Billy says intelligently. "What's that shit you're always saying? About seeing a book on the shelf and--"

"Guessing the ending. Yup, that's right." Megan sounds pleased. Billy ignores the bloom of happiness in his chest, because like. He doesn't really deserve it. She doesn't give him time to dwell, though. "Steve did something nice for you. Maybe he has suspicious intent--"

Billy sucks in a breath, like.

Dramatic. Loud enough that Megan snorts and says, "Hold on, you're jumping to conclusions again."

Billy really fucking.

Hates how perceptive she can be.

Megan keeps talking and Billy listens, because he pays her after all. "If you're really worried that his intentions are cloudy, do something nice for him in return."

"Something nice," Billy repeats. Like he's never heard of such a concept. "Something nice, like. Buy him flowers?"

Megan snorts. "Do you want to buy him flowers?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you--" His therapist sighs. Billy embraces the feeling it gives him, yanking her chain a little bit. "Listen. I don't know this Steve person, and I've never heard you talk about him beyond this beer you're supposed to have together, like. Never. But has he ever given you a reason to think he's out to hurt you?"

Billy thinks back over two years and a million one-dimensional interactions.

Steve never loses his temper.

Not when Billy calls to have the cars that block his driveway towed, not when Billy bitches about the daisy bushes shedding into his yard in the fall, and Steve always picks up Mr. Bane's cat shit from Billy's front porch when the Gremlin actually goes outside.

Always with a smile and a sweet little, I think Mr. B likes you.

And, like.

It was pretty nice of Steve to offer Billy a ride that morning.

And shovel his driveway after work, just because he knew Billy probably wouldn't do it.

The whole thing, it. Fills Billy with something he can't quite express, a warmth he only ever feels when Max calls a dozen times to remind him to eat dinner when he sends a few intense messages.

Megan takes his silence, as always, like a breakthrough.

"So," She says, clearly satisfied. "Same time next week?"

--

Billy spends three days waiting for Steve to make it easy for him.

Because Harrington's a home owner, and there's always something, right? A problem he needs help with, like. A leaky pipe that needs fixed, a cup of sugar for a recipe that he didn't account for, ghosts in the attic. Typical HOA bullshit.

Billy stares out his window at the lovely split level next door and decides he'll take anything, do anything, to get this fucking anchor of guilt off his back for the whole driveway situation. The opportunity never presents itself.

The ducks never fall in a row.

Steve just leaves the house every morning, same time as Billy, same as always, with a gentle Howdy neighbor. And a smile tugging at his pretty pink lips, hair perfect and windswept because he's a fucking asshole and it only takes two days.

Forty-eight hours before Billy's hatching a plan to pay Harrington back and inventing problems to solve, like some sort of demonic Bob the Builder.

He calls Max on Thursday and comes up with a list. Something tangible, like breaking Steve's garage window with a ski ball. Or trapping Mr. Bane in a sweater and pretending like he's gone missing so Steve will have to round up a search party, but.

Billy knows Megan would call that instigating, antagonizing, and causing trouble, which Billy's trying not to do anymore.

So he brings up flowers again, because.

Fuck it--maybe he's wanted to see Steve behind a bouquet of Lilies of the Valley for months now.

And Max goes all soft.

And quiet, too, before whispering, "I'm really proud of you, you know? For getting better."

Then suddenly Billy can't breathe because there's a lump in his throat.

Because he is trying to get better. To live honestly, to lead with love--whatever hippie-dippie bullshit Megan is always spoon feeding him, so.

With Max's blessing, Billy's about to, like. Knock on Steve's door with a plate of pot brownies and a shitty thanks for being a decent human card when Mr. Bane leaves a dead bird on Billy's porch, the third one in a month, and Billy hatches an idea.

--

Steve's front door is yellow.

Like. Sunshine yellow. Valley girl yellow.

Which Billy used to think was charming but now thinks is kind of annoying, when coupled with Steve's perpetually sunny disposition. And okay. Maybe it sort of pokes and prods at that piece of him that's always missing home.

Maybe it makes him a little bit sad, like. He'll never really feel at peace anywhere else.

But before Billy can dwell on it, or raise his fist to knock on the door, Steve's opening it and preparing to step through. He's using his foot to stop Mr. Bane from running out into the yard so he doesn't see Billy right away, which.

Also means he's going somewhere.

Which inherently means Billy's caught him at a bad time. Billy holds the paper bag closer to his chest and feels the words bubbling up before he can practice his breathing, or. Stop them. Because this is his third biggest fear after arguments and spiders.

"I've caught you at a bad time, I'm sorry, I'll just come back la--"

Steve breaks out into a grin so big. So bright, that it rivals anything Billy's ever seen before.

"Howdy, neighbor!" Steve says.

And Billy shifts nervously from one foot to the other, like. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a--"

"Because I can come back later." Billy nods, already turning on his heel to escape, and like. Fly into the sun. "Or not at all. I can just mail it to you, that's. Yeah, I'll just stick it in the post or something."

Steve grabs his elbow.

Billy looks at the hand on his elbow, and down at Steve’s feet. There aren’t any shoes or anything, so.

Billy's overreacting.

Fuck. He swallows, raising his eyes with caution to see Steve smiling again. Even wider than before, if that's possible.

Harrington licks his lips. "Whatcha got there?" He says, nodding to the bag, and Steve.

He's wearing glasses today.

Billy feels like someone hit him on the back of the head with a ski ball. Steve looks so soft, in white stripped overalls and a green sweater, that Billy doesn't know whether to fluff him like a pillow or fucking.

Punch him in the face.

Billy holds out the paper bag. "It's for you."

Steve looks at him strangely but he's still smiling, which.

Is good.

Billy thinks it's good but then he knows its good when Steve giggles. "I gathered that. What is it?"

"It's a, uh. You know." Billy tries. "You know one of those things? Where it's, like, a thing but you aren't supposed to know what it is?"

Steve blinks at him, cheeks turning pink like they always do. "A surprise?"

"That's the one." Billy snaps his fingers, like. Ah-ha. Except it isn't a surprise, it's just. "It's a way to say thanks. For the whole," Billy concludes, gesturing vaguely to their front lawns, to. "The driveway."

Steve blushes even harder. "You didn't have to get me a present--"

"It's not a present."

"That was just me trying to be nice." Steve leans against the door jam, eyes searching. "It doesn't call for a--"

"It's not a present." Billy says again. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Billy, like. Shoves the paper bag to his chest. "Look, open it now or don't. Fucking, throw it away for all I care, it's fine."

Billy turns on his heel because fuck this.

Fuck trying to pay back nice with nice and fuck Steve for starting this whole debacle to begin with. Billy makes it down one step and then Steve is laughing so hard he can't stand up straight.

Which just makes Billy feel worse, because.

"You're laughing." Billy gapes. "I bring you a present to say thanks for not being an asshole, and you're laughing."

Steve doesn't answer, he just.

Keeps on laughing, and okay.

This is Billy's third greatest fear. After abandonment and fighting. Fists covered in blood--his or someone else's, it doesn't matter. He frowns, turning to leave again when Steve straightens and coughs once into the palm of his hand.

"Thought it wasn't a present," Steve quips, and he's looking at Billy with, like. Sparkly eyes. He shrugs. "I'm not sure what it means."

Billy doesn't get it. "It doesn't have to mean anything--"

"No, like." Steve peers into the bag again, clearly holding back tears. "Why did you get me a bag of dead mice?"

"You can get them at the pet store." Billy says, because. You can, alright? He fiddles with the sleeves of his winter coat. "They're for Mr. Bane."

Steve just stares at him, eyes twinkling like two polished diamonds in his head.

And he's not saying anything, or. Laughing anymore, he's just. Watching Billy fall to pieces on his walkway as he tries to defend himself.

Billy focuses on the clouds that inch across the sky. "Mr. Bane, he's. He's always catching shit, like. Dead shit and leaving it on my porch. I just thought if he wants to eat dead things I can just. Buy him a pack or whatever. Like a normal person."

Steve grins. "You know they do that because they think you can't feed yourself."

Billy wrinkles his nose. "Well I fucking appreciate it, but I don't want to eat dead mice and birds and shit."

Steve chuckles once before staring again.

Like he's memorizing Billy's face, or like. They're having a competition that Billy doesn't know about.

Billy gestures to the bag again. "Would you just accept it, Steve? Please?"

Harrington looks down at the mice in his hands and nods slowly, like the decision is really requiring some thought.

Billy feels stupid.

This was so fucking stupid--

"Sure, Billy." Harrington says. Soft, and. Sweet. "No one's ever given me such a thoughtful gift before, so. Thank you."

And Billy feels like the tin man getting oil on his joints after a year of rusting in the forest, when Steve accepts his weird ass gesture. He nods, mouth lapsing into a thin, unamused line. "Okay, then. See ya 'round," Billy says.

And then he's turning, and.

Leaving.

Before Steve can say anything else.

The clouds inch like caterpillars across the bright winter sky and Steve's walkway seems so much longer on the journey home.

#harringrove #i'm sorry aaaaah #I wanted to post the first chapter here too #because I'm fucking proud of this one alright #and I feel like I need a little fluff #and maybe you need a lil fluff too #cmon man #let me fluff you like a pillow bro