#angst {♤}

[abiiors]

Do you have any plans to write smut ? 👀👀. I'm starving and begging for a crumb

.ೃ࿐ the jeweller's hands

(wrote this on my phone and it’s not proofed, sorry!!!)

cw: cheating, mean matty

“keep it down or i’ll fucking stop,” matty growls in your ear the moment your back hits the wall. 

fifteen minutes. that’s how long you lasted before seeking him out in the crowd—a risky fucking business considering you’re attending this stupid little charity gala with your husband in the first place. 

regardless, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

not that you’re even thinking about him right now… the man you came here with is the absolute last thing on your mind. your thoughts wander—first to matty in a suit, to his sleeves straining over his biceps and the way he wears no tie to this formal event. his shirt collar is open too, tattoos peeking out surrounded by a fine dusting of hair that’s gone slightly grey now, just like the grey in his curls. 

he’s a vision. and now he’s here. inches away. trapping you between him and the wall and grinding his pelvis against yours in a way that makes it very clear what he’s here for. 

matty hand tightens on your hips. 

“here?”

“oh, don’t act coy with me now.”

his voice drops down to a harsh whisper, voice full of venom and lust but he only steps closer and the heat in your belly burns hotter. 

so what if this is wrong… 

“didn’t think about that when you were making fuck me eyes at me out there, did you?”

no. you didn’t. 

but he can chase you a bit more. 

“someone’s going to hear us,” you all but purr in his ear, niping at his earlobe. matty’s hold on you tightens and suddenly there’s not enough air in this fancy, marbled bathroom. 

“then you’re just going to have to shut up and take it like a good little slut, yeah?”

there’s no way you would ever let anyone else speak this way to you. but matty is older, matty knows what he’s doing. matty, with his calloused hands and a fallen angel face knows how to make your blood sing.

he is the only one that gets a pass. 

“strip,” he orders and takes a small step back. 

you can’t help the small choked sound of protest that leaves you but then there he is again, spinning you around and undoing the zip of your dress before you can make another sound. 

“can you step out of your dress on your own?” his mouth lowers to your ears, warm breath cascading down your cheeks, lips brushing against your skin ever so slightly. “it won’t be pretty if i have to do it, love. it might end up on the floor in tatters.”

you swallow harshly and nod just once. 

he’s on you the moment the dress pools around your feet and you stand there, back pressed to the wall in just a thong. you don’t miss the way his eyes hungrily take you in—the curve of your hips and up to your stomach. then to your tits. 

of course, his eyes linger there—on your peaked nippes and then up to your neck. you resist the urge to squirm under his gaze. 

“are you just gonna stand there and watch me?”

matty clicks his tongue. 

“you’ve gotten bold, haven’t you?”

“only because you’ve gone soft,” you taunt. it has the effect you want it to have. 

matty crashes his lips against yours before you’re even properly done speaking. it’s a furious kiss—teeth clashing together on impact, your lipstick smeared all over your mouth. this isn’t a soft kiss. it’s not a lovers’ kiss. 

this is a kiss that stings.

“that what you think?” he speaks when he takes a moment to breathe and your heart leaps in your throat. oh he sounds angry. the kind of anger that he’s about to take out on you… 

“we’ll have to change that won’t we…”

“we—fuck!”

you feel a sharp sting as matty pinches your nipple between his fingers, taking advantage of the piercing, digging the cold metal further into your skin until your legs start shaking. wildfire runs through your blood, burning away any sane thought in its way, leaving you with just desire and lust and complete abandon.

“what was that? couldn’t hear you that well…”

this time you don’t try. 

“please–shit! please, matty!” you whine, trying to clench your thighs together, but he pushes his knee between them, his body holding yours against the wall. 

the bathroom somehow seems smaller now, hotter than it was before. the only thing between you and someone else walking in is a flimsy locked door. 

anyone could knock. anyone could—

“you’re thinking,” he tuts. he’s right though. you are thinking…

good thing he’s right there to fuck you dumb. 

“good little sluts don’t overthink,” his fingers hook harshly into the waistband of your thong and you already know what’s coming next. 

a ripping sound echoes in the room and your thong falls to the floor, ripped to shreds. 

“gonna send you back to your husband with my cum dripping down your thighs, darling, that what you want? hmm?” his words swirl around your brain at a dizzying pace making you nod involuntarily. 

that is what you want… to feel him so deep inside you that you won’t forget it for days. to have your lungs full of his cologne. to have your fingers shoved so deep in your mouth that you’d gag around them. 

your heart pounds in your entire body as you help matty undo his belt with shaky fingers. he’s already so hard under your touch, groaning as you palm him first through his trousers and then through his boxers. 

fuck. for a moment you wonder what he would taste like. if he would let you if you just dropped to your knees right here. but the desperation to feel him inside, hitting the spot over and over again, has you drooling. 

“spread your legs,” he whispers roughly and his fingers find your clit. 

lazily, he swipes through your folds and collects some of the wetness making you hiss in pleasure. your eyes roll to the back of your head—this is what it should feel like always, no thoughts, just him and his hands and—

without warning you feel the tip of his cock entering you and you bite onto his shouder, desperate to keep the screams in. 

“matty—”

but his mouth is on yours once again, swallowing every moan and scream and hiss of pleasure as he pounds into you mercilessly. 

his hips slam into yours at a bruising pace; urgent and desperate, like he can’t get enough. it’s feverish even, almost as if you might slip away if he lets go even just a little. matty lets out a string of curses between each kiss. 

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know your lips will be swollen and red by the time you’re done. you know you’ll have to find some way to look put together before going out again. but right now you don’t care… not when your entire body is full of ecstacy. not when matty makes you feel so so good.

sooner or later it will end, your mind reminds you. it will end and you’ll have to gather yourself and go out and play good little wife to a man you barely care about. 

it will end and you will go your separate ways only to find each other again in some shady corner or some brightly lit bathroom at some pretentious event…

matty’s breath hitches when you clench around him. 

the feeling in your spine is overwhelming—the tingles, the little electric jolts, the bursts of pleasure that build and build until the knot inside your stomach tightens impossibly fast. 

“matty—gonna cum–please…”

“feel so good, darling,” he replies. a rare praise coming from him but it intensifies the dizziness, the bloodrush. “let me feel you,” he coaxes. this time, his voice comes out much softer, almost…tender. 

“cum for me,” he speaks and pulls your thighs higher over his hip. suddenly he’s reaching so much deeper, hitting the spot harder and the trembling in your body increases tenfold.

your legs spasm, barely holding you upright and a wave of pleasure crashes over you.

the next time you open your eyes, matty’s face is contorted with pleasure, eyes half-lidded, jaw slack, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly and you feel the warmth of his cum dripping out of your cunt and down your thigh. exactly what he’d promised.

if you look down, you’ll find his hands imprinted on your hips—red marks in the shape of his fingers that will no doubt bruise in the next couple of days. something of his for you to hold on to, long after he leaves. a welcome sting.

he does look down when he opens his eyes—looks down at the way your bodies are joined together, how your legs part around him, how your body fits into the crevices of his so perfectly. he almost smiles then but shakes his head slightly.

you expect him to say something, anything that would fill in the silence.

you were good, darling.

you were amazing.

come home with me.

he says none of those things. silently, matty zips us his trousers and fixes his belt. then he brings his thumb to your chin, softly wiping away the lipstick stains, up to your thumb so he can do the same there.

his eyes remain trained to your lips but you suspect it’s more cowardice this time than lust.

“get dressed,” matty speaks and his voice comes out brittle, devoid of feelings. “don’t want your husband to come looking for you.”

and then he steps away, as if none of this ever really happened.

[the-void-via]

★*☆♪When Boothill's insecurities start to get to him, Argenti is the first to notice★*☆♪

Part 1

——————————————————————–

Argenti's eyes slowly cracked open in his dark room, only taking a second for him to realize that something felt...off.

He slowly sat up and stretched a little, turning to the other side of the bed. Instead of being met with the appearance of his darling silver cowboy, he only saw the empty spot on the bed where he should be.

The covered looked like they'd been thrown off with little grace, but Argenti's side of the bed remained untouched.

Looking around again, he found the door to their shared bathroom open a crack, a small sliver of light shining from the inside.

He rubbed his eyes and slowly peeled the covers away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and slipping on his slippers.

He stood up and stumbled to the bathroom, slowly opening the door to find his beloved cowboy inside, standing in front of the mirror.

He sighed softly and walked up behind him, gently wrapping his arms around his waist. He was shocked when his arms met the soft feeling of cloth around Boothill's waist, a stark contrast to the cold metal he was used to feeling.

Taking a second to examine him, Argenti realized he was wearing far more clothes than he normally would, including a pair of red pajama pants and a black, long sleeve shirt.

'Doesn't he only wear his boxers to bed...?'

He thought, blinking slowly as he was still sleepy.

Boothill flinched as soon as Argenti wrapped his arms around his waist, caught off guard by his entrance to the bathroom. He was too busy scrutinizing himself in the mirror to notice.

"Darling..." Argenti mumbled, resting his head against Boothill's shoulder. "What time is it..?"

Boothill stiffened for a moment, checking his internal clock. It was 7:44 in the morning.

'Already...?' He wondered how long he'd been in here.

"Almost 8. Darlin'," He turned his head to look at Argenti, his eyes closed as he rested on his shoulder. He smiled softly. "Why don't 'cha go back to bed? It's real early for a Saturday."

Argenti gently tightened his arms around his waist, "Come back to bed with me, darling...why are you awake, anyhow...?"

"I just..." Boothill looked back at himself in the mirror, and furrowed his eyebrows. "I've...got somethin' to do today, Rosie..."

He carefully turned around, and immediately felt Argenti's head slump down onto his chest, his arms still tightly wrapped around his waist.

"Please...?" He begged. "It's so early...please come back to bed with me, darling..."

Boothill chuckled softly, moving to carefully pick him up. He felt his legs wrap around his waist as his arms moved to drape around his neck on instinct, and he smiled softly, holding a hand on his back.

"Yer just tired, darl...c'mon, now."

He carried him back to their bed, setting him back down into bed and covering him up with a gentleness that only he would ever allow Argenti to see.

Argenti laid down on his side, gently grabbing Boothill's hand, staring up at him.

"Mm...just be careful, darling...if it's so important to you...come back safe..."

Boothill smiled again and crouched down to his level, gently caressing Argenti's cheek.

"I'll come back, no need to worry yer pretty 'lil head about that, alright?"

Argenti smiled and nodded, leaning in to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He leaned back just in time to see Boothill's flushed face, before slowly closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

As soon as he sees his eyes close, Boothill's smile drops to a frown, slowly standing up and walking back into the bathroom.

He fucking hated the way he looked. The metal that replaced his skin softly clanged every time he moved, constantly reminding him of the grim reality that surrounded his life.

The only "human" thing about him was his head, and even then, it had been permanently changed. His eyes now gray, with a crosshair as his pupils. And hell, he could eat bullets like they were fucking gummy snacks!

He hated it.

He couldn't stand to look at himself, so he covered up. Put on a real shirt under his jacket. Put on some random pajama pants from Argenti's drawer. He'd find a random pair of gloves from him to wear soon enough.

He hated every single part of him that wasn't human. That wasn't him.

He hated himself.

He shook his head and walked out of the bathroom, shutting the lights off as he went. He looked around the room again, his eyes falling on Argenti in bed, peacefully asleep.

Unaware as to the turmoil going on in Boothill's head.

He shook his head, he needed to go air out his thoughts. He needed a walk.

He quickly got dressed, in a much less revealing outfit than normal, and grabbed his gun.

He walked up to the door, looking back once more to Argenti peacefully asleep. He frowned.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. Real sorry..." He whispered.

And with that, he left.

——————————————————————–

[iceman-kazansky]

Hey :) I stumbled over your side a few days ago and absolutly love your writing so I wanted to ask for a request. (This is the first time I'm doing something like this so I'm sorry if I do something wrong?) How about an angsty Lipton x reader in which the reader gets wounded badly in the battle field and he gets like super terefied and trys to talk her into staying awake. With maybe a fluff ending. You don't have to do it of course I just thought I'd ask since Lip's kinda underrated :)

From the Start

Pairings: Carwood Lipton x f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, cold, bombs, bombing, reader nearly dies, swearing I imagine, reader is knocked unconcious

A/n: I am so sorry this took so long 😭 I was so conflicted while writing this and it turned out to take much longer than I intended. I had a blast writing this, even if it took a little longer than I'd have liked. I hope you like enjoy 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Shivering within the confines of your foxhole, you listened half-heartedly to the world around you, the bitter wind was biting and silent. The forest seemed lonely, devoid of all human life and a true beauty of nature.

Except, it was anything but something of a 'beauty.' It was a place where you'd lost men — good Men, most fresh straight from America, just finished their basic; friends; too many, so, so many— in the devastating artillery the Germans bombarded you with.

Sitting in a foxhole farther from the front lines in desolate silence you listened. 

Listened, for nothing in particular; Listened for any sounds of wildlife in the frozen canopy above; Listened for the crunching of snow beneath a soldier's boots as he walked. You were taking the moment to relish the peace that settled over Bastogne.

But, unfortunately, the world had other plans. A shriek from further up in the large grouping of foxholes, followed by a thunderous boom that sent snow and dirt into the sky, signals the next wave of artillery.

The sky erupts in flashes of white –almost like lightning– followed by a deafening explosion –thunder.– 

The bombing is more intense this time, trees are exploding, the bark shooting outwards like bullets from the muzzle of a browning, sinking into unsuspecting victims with deadly precision. It's ironic in a sense, how, just a few minutes ago you'd been listening to the sounds of nature yet now you listened for incoming German mortars; Listened for the pleads and cries of help made by wounded soldiers.

Somewhere, in the vast sea of wounded, a faint scream of "Medic!" could be heard and you're already leaping out from the safest place you knew and over debris to answer their call. 

That's when the second wave hits.

You are unable to do anything when a mortar slams into the ground a few feet away, sending the ground beneath your feet shooting off into different directions, taking you with it. You felt the harsh impact when you inevitably collided with the ground, resonating in your bones, your helmet knocked free from your head while you lay on the ground motionless. The cold earth and snow pressed against your uniform as you lay. Your senses felt fuzzy; Your ears rang, blocking out all noises around you; arms and legs felt limp.

You don't want to move, but the scream for a medic you'd heard earlier echoes in your mind relentlessly, urging you on. Yet, when you try to get up, something doesn't feel right. Lifting your head slightly in confusion, pain shoots through your body. Your head pounds, it feels as if you can sense your brain smashing against your skull with every movement, prompting you to groan loudly and lay your head back down on the soft snow.

In your haze, you hear his voice, "Stay in your foxholes!" He’s screaming as he runs past disheveled men who are eager to get out of their only place of protection. But the minute he locks eyes on your slightly broken form, splayed on the forest floor, he can feel his heart stop.

In an instant he's at your side, dropped to his knees and eyes frantically searching your body.

He lifts his head up once more, head whipping to the side as he searches for help, yelling "Medic!" As loud as he can.

You can feel the adrenaline wearing off now, and feel the warm liquid that seeps from deep gashes on your stomach and legs. And in one horrific thought you realize, you've been wounded.

In seconds Eugene Roe, one of Easy companies medics, is at your side, pressing bandages into your wounds. They seem to be no use as they soak up blood quickly while more just keeps on seeping from the wounds and onto the once beautiful white snow.

Your head hurts so bad and it seems as if everything around you is so bright, urging you to close your eyes. You don't realize it, but death awaits on the other side of that deep void of acceptance, threatening to drag you into its depths.

"Hey-" You hear a fuzzy voice from above you, and register the feeling of warm fingers cupping your cheek, tapping you lightly in alarm, "c'mon," He whispers, "stay with me here."

If you were in the right consciousness you'd be appalled at the conflict you feel and the resignation you prepare to place forward. Staying in the real world… it feels painful, but there is another place, behind closed eyelids that beckons to you, offering comfort.

You can no longer resist the growing tiredness you feel, letting your consciousness slip away, but before you lose your senses you can hear the cracked, emotional voice of Carwood, "Don't die, please, I need you."

And everything goes black. You slip into a blissful, painless void of unconsciousness.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

This morning, feels different. Your wound feels significantly better. Of course, there is still the sickly stench that wafts through the room, invading your nostrils when you wake every morning.

It reeks of death, and there is a biting chill to the morning air that makes your nose burn as your senses roar alive.

It's almost quiet when you stir, the only sound being the pained groans emitted by the many wounded soldiers forced to lie in the church basement. Something you've grown accustomed to over the 11 days you've been here.

With shaky hands, wobbly legs and an immense effort, you push yourself on your two feet. 

You can feel your wound stretch when you take a tentative step forwards. It certainly is not perfect, but you can feel the difference over the 11 days. It no longer shoots a pain so strong it forces you back down. That's certainly a relief. 

By now you are itching to get back to the frontline. Partially because, in the back of your mind, Carwoods earlier words echo. 'I need you.' 

What did he mean by that? 

The thought of asking him. Knowing what he meant, has made you impatient.

Taking a deep breath you make your way to the stairs, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, giving an unfamiliar nurse a tight-lipped smile as you passed, praying she wouldn’t catch you on your grand escape and send you back.

A sigh of relief passed through your nose as you reached the stairs.

I’m not free yet.

You winced as you took the first few steps up the stairs, but were quick to stifle the small shutter of pain that reverberated through you as much as you could.

You were nearly there. By now you could see the door, your way out and back to the frontline.

Your steps quickened, eager to escape, to leave. Excited at the prospect of getting back to your found family and the man you loved.

Yet you found yourself pausing at the door, hand hovering just above the door handle. He’d want you to stay and get better.

But your family. They were at risk of being killed every waking hour of the day. Everyone you’d seen get injured managed to find a way back.

Shoving your internal conflict down for good, you twisted the knob and finally, you were on the home stretch.

Waving down a passing truck, you climbed in, instructing him to bring you to the front lines, to which he thankfully obliged.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

The truck came to a rumbling halt, and you clambered out, thanking the driver while you walked to the makeshift Battalion HQ they’d sent up - located a little farther away than the foxholes and front line, to avoid the artillery from striking. - 

Feet crunching beneath the snow, the air quiet, with no signs of life except the few tents set up ahead, it was a breath of fresh air from the hospital you’d been locked in for the past week and a half.

“Sir?” You asked, waiting for a moment before the raspy reply of, ‘Enter’ was exchanged.

Pushing the flap aside, you entered. “Good to have you back, doc.” Richard Winters, your former captain smiled at you.

“Good to be back,” you smiled back. For truly, you were happy to be home. Although, you had a certain someone you wanted to see, “Do you know where I’d find Carwood?” A light blush tints your face, but you hope Dick takes it as the cold.

He smiles knowingly at you, “Yeah, he’s at the frontline. Sorry I don’t know exactly where.”

Nodding, you turn and exit the tent, speed walking to the forest you know Easy is holed in.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Carwood nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears your very familiar voice, and his head whips to the side in alarm, “What are you doing back?” he asks in bewilderment, his eyes round as saucers, “You are supposed to be on bedrest, Y/n. You nearly died.”

You feel a little bit of shame as he frowns pointedly at you, his eyes hardened with disappointment. It makes you feel like a child, caught in the scolding gaze of their mother after being caught red handed. “I know,” you whisper. The thought never did leave you. Of course you knew you almost died.

Carwood sighs, and an awkward silence settles between you two when you slide into the foxhole beside him.

You try to look anywhere but him. The trees, the snow, a crater a few feet away in the trees, and lastly back to your feet, that seem extremely interesting to your ashamed gaze in the tension.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he breaks the silence. You turn your head towards him, acknowledging him and meeting his dark eyes.

For moments, you stare into his eyes, a thought forming on your mind that his eyes look like warm honey. Eyes that hold the warmth of an everlasting hearth.

Staring at him, you can feel the words forming on your tongue, the question you’ve been longing to ask, “What did you mean when you said I need you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares, and you can feel your nerves creeping up on you, “Please, Carwood, tell me it meant what I think it did.”

“I means that I can’t live without you.”

You feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, and your breath hitches at his confession, butterflies exploding in your stomach.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and you swear you are going to faint as everything you’ve ever dreamed of since meeting Carwood unfolds before you. Like a fairytale.

You can only nod, words lost in your throat as your eyes flutter closed.

He kisses you passionately, lips moving delicately against your own. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, further deeping the flood gate of passion he unleashes. Years of pent up love and adoration, spilled in one kiss. A kiss so withdrawn and repressed in fear of one breaking that oh-so-cherished friendship they’d built over the years of war, something unbeknownst to the other, they’d been longing to share. Ever since they’d met, the two had been swooning over the other, both too lost and oblivious to the blatantly obvious affection they held for eachother. Blind-sided by love.

Pulling away for a reluctant breath of air, your eyes meet his, and he smiles lovingly.

“I love you.” You whisper, breathless.

“I love you too.” He returns.

For a moment you just take time to think how much you’ve longed to do this. To kiss him. Every look you shared. The many times you were close. And thinking back, honestly? You think you did it at the perfect timing.

[angstytgcfthoughts-2]

You know that snippet in the extra where XL loses his memory that he refuses to drink out of the teacup because it has a stain?

To me, that doesn't come off as spoiled prince being a spoiled prince. XL seems genuinely frustrated with himself for being unable to drink the tea.

I winder if it roots deeper? Was prince XL wary of dirt? It seems unlikely because of the Hong'er situation but. Aside from that?

Was he mysophobic? I wonder how hard it must have been to settle into the life of a peasant of he was.

-♤

OMG I NOTICED THAT TOO! I thought I was the only one!

Did freshly fallen XL have trouble with work on the street? Did he unintentionally pull back from dirty things? How many times did he make up excuses to FX&MQ and his parents because he was embarassed/didn't want to worry them?

[crybaby-writings]

thinking about ingo and emmet again :((

[abiiors]

hiii, could i request prompts 44 n 54?? thank youuu<3

“If you walk out that door, then we’re done.” & “The stars will go out before I could ever forget you.”

Kinda woke up feeling a bit sad today so now you will have to suffer through the angst, I'm afraid. Also, she's quite short.

The Rooftop

The rooftop is cold tonight. 

The fur coat you have on is barely enough to warm you up but half of that is through no fault of the weather. 

‘This is it, you know,’  Matty calls out from his spot making you halt in your steps, ‘if you walk out that door then we’re done,’ he smiles, stating the obvious. 

Why has the night turned out this way? You search through the jumbling thoughts in your head, try to focus on one specific event through the ringing in your ears. 

You turn around to look at him one last time, perhaps the last time. His shirt is untucked, the collar open wide and askew. The tie he was wearing at the beginning of the night is now stuffed awkwardly in his pocket, bits of it hanging out. His eyes are flat, emotionless; filled with the blankness of acceptance. 

‘We have been done for a long time now,’ you point out, ‘This is just a formality.’ It’s not meant with animosity or as an accusation. It just is. A fact. 

You rake your brain for a reason, for one distinct point in time when things went sour. But you come up emptyhanded. Except there are the nights; nights full of passion spent intertwined in his arms, nights full of loneliness spent sobbing into his pillows. The highs that were so high that you couldn’t think straight for weeks. The lows that would pummel you straight into the depths of despair. 

‘A formality?’ he laughs and throws his head back for one brief second. The skin of his neck is  exposed, pale and still glistening from all the tears shed earlier. And there were many. You’ve never seen a man go through all five stages of grief so fast. So fast that they blend in together, chaotic and out of order. 

Even now, even this rhetorical question. What is it if not a form of bargaining?

Stay longer and answer pointless questions for me. Stay longer and talk to me, yell at me. Just stay. 

‘Why delay the inevitable?’ you shrug. 

‘Will you really go without giving me one last kiss?’ he jokes. It’s his usual mechanism at play, humour to cover up the sound of his heart breaking in two. Cruel laughter and sarcasm to mask the heartbreak. 

‘And then when that kiss turns into more?’ you ask, ‘and when I fall into your bed for just one more night? Because it always is just one more night, isn’t it? We are always doomed to repeat the cycle, aren’t we?’

The wind picks up, making ghoulish sounds to fill in the empty spaces of your conversation.

‘And so we just forget about us?’ 

You laugh drily. This is perhaps the first petulant statement he’s made tonight, you’ll give him that. But there it is. ‘That’s the plan, yeah,’ you shrug with as much casualness as you can muster. 

‘The stars will go out before I could ever forget you,’ he whispers in his drunk voice. Matty Healy has always been poetic, always had a way with words. But you’ve never doubted his words before. Never before.

You smile sadly at him, finally unable to control the welling tears and look up at the sky. You have spent the entire night on this rooftop and now dawn breaks over the horizon. Winks out the stars one after the other after the other as the sky turns pink. 

‘Goodbye, Matty,’ you close one hand over the door handle, clutching it tightly for support. 

But you linger. Unable to simply just go. 

‘Will you at least text me when you get home safely?’ he asks in a hoarse voice and fidgets with his lighter, about to light another cigarette. His shoes scuff against the floor creating faint lines in the dust. 

Home, You think to yourself, some cold, expensive hotel room. White and grey, full of flat, steely surfaces and perfectly made beds. Just one toothbrush in the bathroom, just one towel. 

‘I’ll text you when I get back home,’ you nod. It’s not illegal for exes to care about each other’s basic safety, is it? 

‘And will you?’ Matty lights the cigarette in his hands, ‘go home?’

So this is what it has come to. Thinly veiled questions that mean something else entirely and none of you can bring yourselves to say what’s truly in your heart. 

‘I will,’ you smile, finally open the door and step out, ‘I’ll find my way home eventually. Someday.’

-----

(Not writing part 2 for this)

[the-void-via]

★*☆♪ Argenti finds himself alone in his room, and immediately gets the feeling that something was wrong, setting off to find his silver cowboy ★*☆♪

Part 2

Part 1 here

——————————————————————–

Argenti's eyes slowly opened, laying in bed for a moment before sitting up, stretching his arms above his head. Looking around the room, everything seemed to be exactly the same as when he'd woken up a couple hours earlier.

However, this time, Boothill was gone.

He peeled off the covers and got up, shuffling into the bathroom to do his morning routine, namely his skin care and hair care.

After 15 minutes—a record for him—he walked back into his room, sitting down on his side of the bed and grabbing his phone. Unlocking it, he found no new messages from Boothill.

A strange pit settled into his stomach, his eyebrows furrowing. Something didn’t feel right.

He quickly pressed the button to call him, holding his phone up to his ear and waiting for him.

To his complete shock, he heard Boothill's phone ring from the dresser on the other side of the bed, where he normally sleeps.

Argenti swallowed thickly and crawled over to his phone, ending the call on his end.

Quickly unlocking Boothill's phone, the only new message he found from Caelus. He immediately tapped onto his contact and read through their messages.

Caelus: You sure you wanna do this mission solo?

Caelus: I can still join you if you want

Voice message converted to text

Boothill: nah, I can do it by m'self.

Caelus: Alright, if you say so. Caelus: Have you told Argenti about it yet?

Voice message converted to text

Boothill: he doesn't need t'know. At least not everything right now. It's not that important.

Caelus: as long as you're sure.

Caelus: if you need backup, don't hesitate to call

Voice message converted to text

Boothill: thank ya, kindly, but I'll be alright.

A knot welled up in Argenti's stomach, and he quickly stopped reading, rushing to put his clothes on.

Something was terribly wrong.

He needed to find Boothill now.

After rushing around for about ten minutes, he was finally able to leave his room, with both his and Boothill's phones in his pocket.

Walking out to the main car on the Express, he looked around, and spotted Caelus nearby. He sat with Dan Heng and March, chatting as if nothing was wrong.

Dan Heng noticed him first, raising an eyebrow at the concerned expression on his face as he walked up.

"Caelus," Dan Heng began. "I think you have a visitor."

Caelus looked up at Argenti, and upon seeing the worry on his face, knew what happened. His eyebrows furrowed, letting out a small sigh.

"He's down in Belobog right now; he said he didn't want anybody to go with," Caelus admitted. "But we haven't heard back from him in hours. If you wouldn't mind-"

"I'll go find him right away," Argenti immediately responded. "Thank you, Caelus."

With that, he swiftly turned on his heel and left. He needed to find him, and now.

A million thoughts raced through his head as he landed on Belobog, immediately setting off to find his silver cowboy.

Why would he go off on his own?

What could've possibly been going through his head, going off without his phone?

Is he alright?

Is he hurt?

Is he-

Gunshots.

He heard gunshots nearby.

Hope filled his chest, summoning his spear and running forward, he had to be nearby, he had to-

The first thing he saw were the bodies of voidrangers, scattered around the area, all starting to disappear. Boothill had made good work of them.

He frantically looked around, and spotted one final voidrangers, looking far stronger than it's comrades. It attacked, a flash of silver-

"Boothill!" Argenti cried out, the voidranger stabbing into his silver cowboy's shoulder.

He saw red.

He charged forward as it ripped itself from Boothill's shoulder, stabbing his spear straight into its heart, knocking it off balance.

He and the voidranger flung back a few feet, the voidranger landing on it's back, Argenti's spear lodged deep in it's heart.

He leaned in close to it's face, his expression frightingly calm.

"You." He hissed, his boot slamming onto the shoulder of the arm used to stab Boothill, pressing down hard enough to shatter the bone. He ignored it's pitiful scream of pain, opting to press harder.

"How dare you," He twisted his spear, galaxy-like blood pouring out if it's chest. He once again ignored it's cries and screams of pain, his grip on his spear tightening. "Attack my beloved like that."

He twisted his spear again, "Let this be a lesson to you pathetic creatures. Never will you attack him, again."

He withdrew his spear sharply, giving it one last look before turning around, simply letting it bleed to death.

He wouldn't make it's death easy. That would be too kind.

He put his spear away, quickly running over to where Boothill had laid, his beloved cowboy's eyes wide as he witnessed the whole ordeal.

"Boothill, darling," Argenti gasped, kneeling down to him, looking over his wound. "By Idrilla, are you alright? Were you hit anywhere else? Were-"

He stopped upon seeing Boothill's bewildered expression, looking between him, and the dying voidranger, choking on its own blood.

"Darling?" He whispered, gently cupping his face to have him look at him. "Look at me, please. Are you alright?"

Boothill blinked, trying to focus back on the red-head in front of him, the warmth of his gloved hand on his cheek dragging him away from the voidranger.

"I..." He mumbled, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, I'm...I'm alright. 'G-'Genti, what are ya even doin' 'ere...?"

Argenti chuckled softly, "What else would I be here for, darling? You," He leaned in, gently placing a kiss on his forehead, rubbing his cheekbones with his thumb. "I needed to find you. You were gone, and I..."

"'Genti," Boothill interrupted, giving him an apologetic, yet urgent, look. "We should keep talkin' 'bout this later, probly need to get me back to the Express," He tried to move his injured arm, only to wince, and put it down. "Need ta' get this fixed."

Argenti quickly nodded, "Ah, yes, apologies, darling. Here," He swiftly picked Boothill up, seemingly without any effort at all. "I'll carry you back. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

Boothill nodded, his face flushed slightly as Argenti picked him up. They walked back to the drop point for the Express in silence, a pit setting into Boothill's stomach.

'What’s he even gonna say 'ta me 'bout all this...?'

[iceman-kazansky]

In Your Arms, I Sleep Without a Doubt

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: @jill-smith-123

Request: So for the one shot it can filled with A LOT of angst yn could be captain Miller's daughter and maybe she's worried she'll loose Ryan again because of the war and stuff But maybe he gives her kisses and tells her it'll be okay hehe

Pairings: Private James Ryan x f! Miller! Wife!reader

Warnings: Movie-typical violence mentioned (Guns, Explosions, Bombs, etc), blood, loss of a parent, Reader and James are Married, hurt/comfort

A/n: I hope you like this, it was fun to work on and honestly, one of my favorite fics :D

(Not to mention, you were also INCREDIBLY nice to deal with and were very kind, even with me accidentally blocking you after mistaking you for a blank blog ((sorry again btw)) )

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Bullets. Everywhere. They leave puffs of dirt when they smack into the brick walled buildings.

Explosions. Much too loud for your ears. Each deafening 'Boom!' leaves behind a fiery ball of destruction in the form of a bowl-shaped crater.

Their eyes. The desperate, fleeting looks of agony. Of pain. Their fearful gazes as death waits for them to finish their last breath patiently. Holding his deadly sword of death above their head like a mistletoe.

Blood. Your comrades. The enemies. Your fathers. Crimson residue of death splattering on your face when they are gunned down. It reeks. The stench invades your nostrils, choking you out of your horrific and intricate labyrinth of nightmares.

You awoke with a jolt, cold sweat dotting your forehead. Your breathing is erratic. An irregular pattern as you recall the nightmare you were just shaken from.

When you look up towards the window you see the moon, shining high up in the sky, it's pale face staring you down, you feel the need for a breath of cold, fresh night air.

Rising from where you sit upright on the bed, you silently make your way out of your shared bedroom and out the front door - to the porch -

You stand, leaned against the railing of the house you share with your husband – James – who is currently peacefully asleep, staring at the night above. The stars twinkle beautifully, like mini diamonds of infinite light, blinking down upon your delicate form.

For minutes, you stay like that, watching the stars, listening to the blissful song sung by the creatures of the night. It's peaceful.

The door creaks open behind you, but you don't bother to look over your shoulder. You already know who it is.

"Are you okay?" He asks as he leans on the porch railing beside you, his stunning green gaze trailing your face.

With a quivering lip you look over to him, and his eyes go impossibly soft, "Oh, Honey."

He wraps you in his large arms, hugging you close to his chest in an effort to comfort you. He provides a place of warmth and security while the pent up fear and grief releases itself out in the form of hot tears.

For some silent moments, you just rock in the comfort of his arms, small and quiet sobs rack your body and hot tears drip off your chin and into his shirt.

"Why are you crying, darling?' He asks, his voice soft and a comforting warmth.

"I-" hiccuping, you pause for a moment, "I'm afraid, James."

He doesn't say anything, just stares at you, waiting for you to continue, "afraid of losing you. Losing you just like how I lost him."

He sighs, and hugs you again, kissing your forehead, "Oh, baby," He whispers, peppering your face with kisses, "You won't lose me."

"But what if you get drafted?"

"I won't." He says, as if that would be ensured, when deep down, you know the army might pull him back any day, tell him 'you need to come fight again,' and put him back into danger.

And with the war brewing in Korea, your fear did nothing but deepen, worries eating away at you as the war raged on. "You don't know that." You whisper.

Your husband presses a few kisses to your face, one to the tip of your nose, one to your cheek, below your eyes, another to your forehead, and finally a firm one to your lips, "I promise my love, I'm not going to war."

He grabs your hand delicately, his large palms enclosing your own, warm fingers pressed lightly against your own, "C'mon love, let's go back to bed."

Sniffling, you follow him back inside and back to your bedroom, where you both lay side by side.

He leans over and closes you in his arms, spooning you, whispering, "I love you" in your ear.

"I love you too."

Locked safely in his arms, back pressed into his chest while you cuddle, you fall asleep in peace. Surely, the thought of the impending war wouldn't leave you, the fear of losing your husband to war once more, so recently after your father's tragic passing, and nearly your whole squad's brutal death, where you'd first met James.

But here, lying in his perfect arms, on this perfect night, the thoughts of war and nightmares would keep at bay for a while. Allowing you to sleep peacefully in your husband's protection.

[angstytgcfthoughts-2]

Even if beefleaf reconciled and got together it wouldn't last long bc Shi Qingxuan is a mortal. He Xuan would lose his friend. Again. Irreversibly.

♤ anon

Ouch!

[ao3feed-ladynoir]

Not Before My Coffee

Not Before My Coffee by Day Writes

Nathalie's days start with a cup of coffee. Starting her day without it risks the destruction of all we hold dear. Gabriel learns this the hard way and when she is dragged away Adrien's own antics shake up the mansion.

Words: 946, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Miraculous Ladybug

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Ladybug (mentioned), Emilie Agreste (mentioned)

Relationships: Gabriel Agreste/Nathalie Sancoeur, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Nathalie Sancoeur

Additional Tags: Nathalie has a caffeine addiction, tbh she needs it, Nathalie Sancoeur Does Not Get Paid Enough, Mad Scientist Gabriel Agreste, Fluff and Angst, Unrequited Love, No beta we die like Emelie Agreste

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47676922

[ao3-saiki-updates]

Dirty

Dirty by fluffier432

The love Kaidou had for Kuboyasu scared him.

It wasn't the same love he had for Saiki, or Nendou, or Hairo, or any of them. It wasn't the same love he had for his mother, or Sora, or Toki. It was a different kind of love altogether, and it terrified the living daylights out of him.

Words: 1513, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 斉木楠雄のΨ難 | Saiki Kusuo no Sai-nan | The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Saiki Kusuo, Toritsuka Reita

Relationships: Kaidou Shun/Kuboyasu Aren

Additional Tags: this does not make the most sense, But I had fun writing it, Cute Kaidou Shun, Internalized Homophobia, kaidou's mom is an ass, idk why y'all like her so much she's lowkey abusive in canon, i wrote this w no outline and u can tell it kinda got away from me, barely edited, i hinted at kaidou not being cis bc like cmon you cannot look at him, then look at me, and tell me straight to my face, this boy is cis, I use italics WAY too much, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31610087