#th; the croaking Key

[eritvita]

continued from x ;

@archerwhiterp

He shouts and the frogs scatter, the ruckus of rippling water disturbing dragonflies from those swaying cattails and the delicate fish from the mud below. He sputters bewildered laughter, hugging at Archer’s elbows and leant for his balance. “Art thou fine?” asks he laughing, and looks where hast he borne.

“Art thou bit?” A snapping turtle, pretty childe of snarling solitude. Roland’s eyes dost sparkle, and verily, doth borne sly. “If thou art bound to wander this water the same as I, perchance art thou warned of leeches in this serenity, darling Man.”

[2kmps]

gojo satoru returns to you after 20 days. you don't just let him waltz back into your life.

notes; 1.4k, mc punches gojo and draws blood, he's an oddly supportive prick here, roughly proofread, mdni

when gojo satoru disappeared from your life twenty days ago, you didn't want to consider any of the worst case scenarios. they turned in your mind like a spinning record, a needle skipping across the uneven surface. gojo was a man who embodied permanence; not in the sense of everlasting love and devotion, rather he would remain long after everything and everyone else ephemeral wasted away.

even in his absence in your life, he still remained there at the forefront of your thoughts while you listlessly navigated life-- waiting tables, handing out room keys to salacious businessmen, chiseled through hundreds of pages of heavy reading and dissertations for grad school.

life was an exhaustive dichotomy of moving on without him there next to you, yet him still wholly consuming you and lingering just there on the fringes of your every thought.

so, when the locking mechanism in your front door clicked and he walked in the apartment twirling the spare key around his finger, shoulders rolled forward, hand in his pocket--a look and pose so intimately familiar and reminiscent of what you knew: something snapped.

"yo!" he tracked you down immediately, glowing azure piercing into your core. "long time no see! c'mere, I could use a hug."

the floorboards rattled underfoot as you tromped towards his open arms, hearing the key land with a metallic rattle as your first swung into his face, peaks your knuckles making contact with the corner of his nose and high cheekbones.

you punched him as hard as you fucking could, put everything into winding your shoulder; all of the hurt, frustration, anger, agony, and longing he had caused you. the sleepless nights, empty dinner table missing his plate, and cold, kempt sheets that you had started inadvertently smoothing your hand across to keep your body from aching too much.

you punched gojo satoru and he let you.

he took the hit to his face, still smiling even when he crumpled against the wall, sliding to the floor in an unceremonious heap. it wasn't the force that did it, rather he thought it was something you deserved in that moment. a sense of closure to those long-held emotion that had been piling up for almost a month.

"not bad." he said, letting the back of head rest against the wall. there was a subtle saltiness filling the crevices in his lips as blood dribbled from his right nare. "do you feel better now? did you get it all out?"

"you're gone for twenty days and you're just gonna walk through that door like nothing?" your throat felt wet and clamped, words croaked and stilted. "you don't call. text. anything. and you just show up? what the fuck is your problem?"

gojo let his long legs sprawl wide, hands resting between his thighs as he gave you a look. "well, yeah. I live here, too. where else am I supposed to go? don't tell me you threw out all my stuff already?"

"god, you're so... stupid." you crumbled with a sob and a bitter laugh, hands pressed into your face as you dropped to your knees in front of him. "you're so fucking stupid. you're so fucking stupid. you're such a jackass. a prick. an asshole. I hate you so much."

his smile faltered, but only a little. "no, you don't. don't lie to me."

your voice was eclipsed by your cries, the warmth of your tears dampening your cheeks and palms. it was all coming out now; the mourning and suffering and too many emotions that you had forced at bay the entire time-- because satoru told you once that he didn't like it when you cried.

and, it seemed that was true even now because you heard him shuffle across the floor, his large hands seizing your arms to pull you against him and reacquaint your body to his.

he always ran a little hot; every part of him that touched you right now burned. when his fingers landed at the base of your neck, you thought they would sear through flesh and bone. his other hand was splayed across your back, holding you form, pushing presence into your spine as you twitched against him trailing up-and-down the length of it.

"it's really not attractive when you cry. you make all kinds of weird faces, and you always get my clothes wet." he was telling the truth here. "I'm giving you a free pass today, though. get it all out."

you rolled your face against his sturdy chest, wrenching the fabric of his black tee in your fingers until your sobs ebbed and the room mellowed into amicable silence. satoru simply waited like that the entire time, caging you against his body with his arms and legs, chin tilted towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.

you sniffed, cleared your throat. "do you plan to tell me where you've been?"

"nope." he replied, airily.

to expect anything else from him would've been your folly, even with him comforting you as he was right now. not knowing what had taken him from you for so long would haunt you for a long time, but there were other things that mattered more.

you loosened your fingers from his shirt, crimps staying in the fabric as your hands moved to his jaw. he leaned the weight of his head in your palms, coaxing you to lift your watery eyes off his chest to look at him. there was something otherworldly about those depths of blue; somehow fathomless, yet emphatically beautiful.

"are- are you going to stay? are you here to stay?"

satoru's pale lashes fell with his heavy eyelids, moving his weight nearer to your face. "who knows? I'm here with you right now. isn't that enough?"

it was amazing just how many times that man would break your heart with a single reply. how effortlessly it all came from his mouth without inflection or a stutter. as horrible as he was, he never once lied to you about anything; no matter how much it hurt, how it made you cry, how it sent painful torrents crashing through your limbs and heart.

"don't start to cry again," his voice rumbled low, vibrating hard in his throat as the tips of his soft, white hair were flattened against your forehead. "you've used up all your allotted cry time forever. you're also not allowed to wipe snot on my shirt, or get your tears all over my face, or in my hair."

it took a few tries, but he got a smile out of you. "you're literally the worst man in the world."

"nah." he still had his hand against your nape, the weight of it luring your face in closer. "I think you think I'm pretty great. alluring. hot. amazing. spectacular. you missed me. you love me."

satoru tilted his head as he brought you the rest of the way in to kiss you. his lips felt so full against yours, tasted metallic and salty from the blood and wet tears that fit between the cracks. he never let up on the pressure on your neck, using it as his leverage to keep you still as his kisses grew in fervor; lasting and lingering, unrelenting.

your hands moved off of his jaw to float up into his hair, fingers twining strands of white into rings at the base of his scalp, tugging only when you felt his tongue try to slither between your teeth. he let you have your way long enough to pull out of the kiss, lips swollen and moist from saliva.

"I missed you." you finally confessed, leaving a hot trail on his skin wherever your lips touched him next. "I love you, satoru."

in that moment, he thought he felt the breath stolen away from his lungs; like something knocked against his chest hard enough to leave him winded. twenty days without your syrupy, tantalizing words had done more to him than he wanted to recognize, and would ever admit to you.

still, he looked at you fondly, now feeling along the planes of your face with his thumb as he leaned into you once again for one kiss after another. he crushed anything else you had to say between your lips where they died in your throat as agonized moans spurred by his fingertips ghosting beneath your shirt.

"I know."

divider; @/anlian-aishang

repost from my deleted blog: cardeneiv

[f10werfae]

Love with an Age Gap

pairing: Husband!Pedro Pascal x Younger!Pregnant!Reader

summary: Pedro comes home to his heavily pregnant wife upset, and what better way to make her happy than letting her sleep with his cock inside her (DILF!Pedro) (Reader is 28, Pedro is 48) (requested)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated/disclaimer 18+

Pedro Masterlist Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Ah mi princesa, and my sexy wife mi corazon” Pedro cooed setting his keys down by the front door, his face flushed as he saw his heavily pregnant wife toddle towards him in nothing but a vest and a pair of his boxers. His eyes and hands immediately trained onto her stomach which was exposed, his hands feeling her soft stretched skin, and he would be lying if he said he ignored the way her nipples pebbled against the thin fabric.

Instead of hearing her sweet sultry voice welcoming his return home after a day of press, he finally looked up to see her eyes swollen, and bloodshot red. “I uh- I’m really glad you’re home baby” She croaked out, feeling his larger hands cup her face, coaxing a sob out of her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her face into his chest.

“Baby? Babygirl what’s wrong?” Pedro rushed out kissing her forehead, worrying that maybe something had happened to their little gumdrop, something they had carefully been avoiding. Slowly he walked her upstairs, forgoing the chinese takeout he had bought, knowing their nesting season was in full tow. Tons of sleep, cuddles, warmth, sex and food. Entering their cosy bedroom he opened up his side of the bed, letting her snuggle in close to the comforters whilst he slid in on the other side; ears ready to listen.

“I-I know you told me not to read- read online but I had to. There were all these tweets talking about how- Oh God” She took a breath feeling another sob fighting it’s way, Pedro understood immediately, his hands calming down their gumdrop who was busy comforting their mama by kicking her softly. “I know our age gap would be controversial, b-but the comments are horrible, saying I baby-trapped you, the baby isn’t yours, and just calling me every name under the sun. I even saw one that called- called me a little girl who still didn’t know what she wanted in life” She vented, her voice raising with every word as Pedro watched her carefully, his fingers combing through her hair passionately.

Pedro was shy of 48 and he knew he was seen as more mature in that aspect, it wasn’t his fault he fell in love with a gorgeous woman 20 years his junior, with his wife Y/n Pascal being 28 years old. Sure at first they were wary of the age gap, as they met at 26 and 46, but at the end of the day they couldn’t help it. After playing his on-screen wife, after all the erotic love scenes they had to film, fuck it was game over from that day on. With them secretly meeting up in each other’s hotel rooms, loving on each other until the sun came up, and finally ending with Pedro whisking her away to his home where he’s kept her safe and sound. Giving her his last name, his baby and the life she’s dreamt off for years; both of them taking a career break to focus on their family.

“Oh my love, my sweet love, you know me and I know you. I see you and you see me. If you ask me, I don’t care what the social media says, all I know is that my purpose is you and our princesa. Our gumdrop. They don’t know you, nor will they get to, because they don’t deserve to. You’re my wife, who has a heart full of gold, you have a successful career. I know what they say about our ages, but was it a mistake for us to fall in love? No it wasn’t. If it was, it’d be the best fuckin mistake of my life”

Finishing off he pressed his lips against hers, feeling her soft pillows slip between his as this tongue coaxed her mouth open. Her whines filling his mouth as his hands wandered up to her swollen breasts, cupping them ever so gently as his fingers circled her nipples. “Thank you Pedro, i’m so happy you’re the one that managed to knock me up” She giggled against his lips feeling a bit lighter, gasps leaving her when he fulled down her vest, allowing her breasts to pop out. “Baby wait till they find out it was my idea to have our princesa, if anything I trapped you no?” He joked wrapping his lips around one of her swollen buds, lapping his tongue over it, feeling small dribbles of her sweet milk on his tongue.

“Stop it!” She whined as he massaged her other breast, her mind remembering the day they had decided together, that they were going to bring the perfect mix of them both into the world. A baby perfect just for them. “You taste so sweet, almost as sweet as your pussy, you want to sleep with me inside you baby? Mi corazon?”

“You know me so well, daddy” She smiled basking on all the new nicknames she had started to call him, papa, daddy, papi and her favourite. Papa Bear. With him coming right back with, baby mama, mama, mama bear.

Letting his fingers slip under the boxers she was fearing, he felt her puffy lips hug around his fingers, covering them in her nectar as he slipped both of the fingers back and forth against her raw flesh. Her hands gripped onto his wide shoulders as he felt up her cunt, even spitting onto his own hand to wetten her up even more, not that it was a problem now that she was pregnant. In fact her sex drive had increased by ten folds, wanting Pedro to take her anywhere and anyway he could. With a few tapes being made in the process.

Y/n made quick work of loosening the strings of his sweatpants, whining at him to shimmy the rest off while she humped herself restlessly against his coarse fingers, his voice whispering the most erotic yet loving things into her ear. “If only they knew how much I loved you” “Your pussy is gripping me like a glove baby, did you miss daddy that much?” “I need to keep you pregnant my love, want to fill this house with our little gumdrops, watch you walk around swollen and adorable with our love inside you”

Once Pedro had shoved off his pants, showing he was bare underneath, he made quick work of of running his cock through her folds; her pussy lips giving his length a warm wet hug full of love. Both of them groaning and gasping at their sensitive nerved hitting each other, coated in each others juices. Finally slipping inside of her after a few minutes of them rocking back and worth, bodies slipping together as if they were fighting for warmth. Her lips hungrily sucking on his, her tongue pushing spit into his mouth as he broke apart to watch a string of it connect their lips. She was filthy and he loved it.

Leaning back in he kissed her lips with a multitude of pecks, staying longer for some as he found himself sucking on her tongue dirtily, before leaving her shiny with his mouth as he licked down her neck to the valley between her breasts. “Just relax my love, i’m going to take care of you okay? Let me fuck you right to sleep, make love to you so good” He whispered against her chest, squeezing each globe, watching her nipples drip out small droplets of milk. Giving him the chance to lick it up and kiss her buds erotically, each one receiving equal attention. Even squirting a bit into his mouth, letting her taste herself as he spat it into her mouth lewdly. Repeating this process a few times

“Feel you so close, I love it, I love you” She whispered hugging her arms around his neck, making him look back up and hug her back, both their bare chests pressed against each other as he slowly but deeply rocked inside her core. Both of them whispering phrases if adoration and love, knowing that wherever they were, they’d be safe and loved; they knew it would be the same for their gumdrop, that’s their little treasure just for them.

“Mi Corazon, can I come inside you? It’s fine if not-“

“Shut up you old bastard, come inside your wife already” She joked mid moan, feeling him empty his balls inside her as soon as the words left her mouth, her own walls clenching around his shaft with her own release chasing after. His hands immediately going to feel up her stomach, his little princess going crazy per usual, it was as if the poor thing never slept. His breath hitching every time Y/n ground her hips against his, her pussy still clenching around his every few seconds, clearly not over her orgasm.

After a few minutes he lifted up her leg gently to put it over his waist, letting him settle in deeper, bottoming out inside her once again. Her arms wrapped around his torso with her head hidden in his neck, kissing and leaving love bites on it. “My heart calls out to why, that’s why you’re, mi corazon. I’m completely and utterly obsessed with you and there’s no other way about it. Te amo mucho baby” He whispered nuzzling his nose against hers, his heart softening when her breathing evened and he felt their princesa calm down in her mama’s body.

———

PSA: Hope you all enjoy this Pedro Pascal fic!! I certainly enjoyed reading the request and making it come to life🫶 I hope whoever requested it is fulfilled. Also all Spanish is translated online so please correct me for any mistakes

Library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist (comment to be tagged for pedro)

@awhore4moree @madebylilly @therapycat21 @heyitsme-2

Lots of love xx

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Nine Lives for Sergeant O'Niner

A/N: This is a collaboration between @anxiouspineapple99 and @dystopicjumpsuit , written as a gift for @deewithani

Pairing: Sergeant O’Niner x Reader (GN)

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 1.5K

Warnings and tags: angst; fluff; little bit of smut (nipple play; implied oral sex); not canon compliant; everyone lives AU

Summary: Sergeant O’Niner must have nine lives. How else could he have survived the battle of Rishi Moon?

The Coruscanti rain pelted the window of your office, relentless as the ache in your chest as you sat sipping tea and flipping through the latest issue of the Bar’leth Journal of Galactic Archaeology. You normally loved the soothing pitter patter of water on transparisteel, and even now, you would have been relaxed by it if it weren't for the nagging anxiety that plagued your thoughts. 

It had been one week since the news broke that the Separatists had attacked Rishi, and the outpost had been destroyed. One week of pure torture as you waited for word about O’Niner’s fate—all the while, keenly aware that the GAR would never notify you directly, given that your relationship with the sergeant was not only unsanctioned, but perilously close to forbidden. It felt unfair—even cruel—but there was no way you could discover what had happened to him through official channels.

As the days passed, your despair grew, until late one afternoon, your comlink chirped, and when you answered, you saw the beloved face you’d come to believe you might never see again. You tried to say his name, but all that came out of your mouth was a broken, hoarse croak as tears of relief stung your eyes.

“Ner cyare,” he murmured, holding the holo close enough that all you could see was his face.

You instinctively reached out to touch him, pulling back as your fingers encountered nothing but air and light as you whispered, “I thought you were…”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry; I commed as soon as I could.”

“Are you all right?” you asked, your voice finally coming back to you.

“I am,” he replied. “And so are all the men. I still can’t believe we all made it out alive.”

You let out a relieved laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I swear, you must be a loth-cat with nine lives.”

“You didn’t think my name came from my CT number, did you?” he grinned.

“What happened?” you asked. “How did you survive?”

He chuckled. “That’s a good story, and I can’t wait to tell you in person.”

Your heart began to pound. “In person? Are you coming back to Coruscant?”

“As soon as—” He cut off abruptly as he heard the approaching footsteps of a group of troopers. “Gotta go.”

The transmission cut off abruptly as O’Niner ended the comm. You waited for him to call back, staring at the chrono on your desk as minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. The call never came, and you accepted that O’Niner might not be able to find an opportunity to call again. 

The afternoon passed in excruciating slowness until at last, you decided you had suffered long enough and began to pack up to go home. The downpour had relented to a miserable drizzle by the time you made your way to the platform to hail a speeder-cab. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as your head rested on the headrest. The anxiety that had swirled in your gut all week had now transformed into a dull, unyielding ache of longing and missing and wanting and needing. Your mind wandered, and you were so distracted that you missed the quiet ping of your datapad as your home security system alerted you that it had been turned off.

As the speeder-cab pulled up to your building, the rain began to fall in a torrent, and you darted through the downpour toward your door, hastily keying in your code and ducking inside your flat. You shook the water off and pulled off your raincoat, reaching to hang it up when you heard a soft sound from the other end of the flat. You froze, then turned around slowly.

A light was on in your refresher; you could see it shining from under the closed door. You crept down the hallway, and suddenly the refresher door opened. You shrieked with alarm and flailed your raincoat at the intruder, then whirled and fled down the hall, running for your life.

“Cyar’ika, wait!” a familiar voice called.

You skidded to a halt and turned around slowly. O’Niner stood just outside the refresher, wrapped in nothing but a towel as steam poured from the open door.

“O’Niner.” His name left your lips as a desperate whisper. “You’re home!”

A soft smile crossed his lips and slid up to his sparkling amber eyes. You bounded toward him without wasting another second, colliding with his body as you wrapped him in a tight embrace. A hiss of pain rushed through his clenched teeth.

Startled, you pulled back. “I’m so sorry!” 

“Worth the pain, darling.” He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms as he pressed his forehead against yours. His velvety voice sent chills dancing down your spine. “Were you planning on beating me to death with your raincoat?”

“Maybe.” Your eyes flicked to the fresh bacta patch obscuring his abdomen. “You’re hurt. You said you were okay.” 

Suddenly every new bruise and scrape was illuminated in the low light of your apartment. Your brow knit tightly in concern as you leaned back to inspect his injuries.

“I’m alive, little one,” he said softly. “That means I’m fine.”

“That’s why the holo was zoomed in on your face!” Your voice rose slightly, worry lending it an accusatory edge.

“I’m. Fine,” he enunciated firmly as he grasped your shoulders.“Don’t look at me like that. If I’d told you I’d been shot you would have panicked.”

“I do not panic!” you objected.

He chucked you under the chin, a soft smile crossed his lips. “You’re panicking right now.”

“No, I’m not—Fine. Yes. I might be panicking a little,” you pouted. He may have been right, but you didn’t have to be happy about it.

His other hand caressed and massaged your hip as he leaned closer to you. “You know, you still haven’t kissed me yet.”

You drew in a shuddering breath, pushing down your anxiety and irritation as you tried to focus on the present: he was home; he was alive; he was with you. You raised your fingers to his face and traced the lines at the corners of his eyes, then slid your fingertips into his dark hair that was flecked with gray as you drew his face closer to yours and pressed your lips against his forehead. You kissed a trail down the side of his face until you reached the corner of his lips, and then he wrapped you in his arms and pulled your body against him as his mouth captured yours in a heated, passionate kiss.

He was still soaking wet from his shower. The glistening water droplets sliding down his firm, brown chest and abdomen soaked your shirt, and you didn’t care a bit. It didn’t matter anyway, because his deft fingers were already undoing your buttons and pushing the shirt off your shoulders.

You kissed down his neck, and then down his chest, but you hesitated and pulled away, staring at him with troubled, anxious eyes.

“I promise, I’m all right,” he reassured you. “But if you’re so concerned, you could always kiss it better. One kiss for every injury, ner kar'ta?”

His heated smile reassured you more than anything else he could possibly have said, but you weren’t letting him off the hook so easily for trying to hide his injuries from you.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you pointed out.

 “You would deny a dying man his final wish?” he teased, desire plain his eyes.

“You said you were fine.”

“Mmm,” he grunted softly as his gaze swept over your features wistfully while his hands lingered at your waist. “I may have spoken too soon. I’m suddenly feeling so… very… weak…”

“Incorrigible,” you muttered, peppering his chest with kisses, licking up the shimmering water droplets that still clung to his skin, scraping your teeth softly over his nipples in the way that you knew drove him wild.

He rumbled quietly as his fingers tangled in your hair, gently urging you to go lower. You glanced up at him with a mischievous light in your eyes as your tongue swirled over his nipple, refusing to continue your progress until his breath became ragged and he was starting to moan and whimper, just the way you liked. At last, you drew away.

“I think you’ve earned a real bed, don’t you?” you asked.

He nodded, his eyes dark with lust as you took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Your fingers trailed down his body until you reached his towel, and with a quick tug, it fell to the floor. 

“As much as I’d love to tackle you onto that bed, I think it might be better if you just lie down,” you murmured. “I’d hate for the night to end with you in a hospital.”

“Might be worth it,” he smirked.

You traced over his shoulders, then gently pressed on them until he complied and lay down on his back.

“We can play rough some other time,” you whispered as you knelt between his thighs. “Tonight, I’m going to be very, very gentle.”

“Not too gentle, I hope,” he said before sucking in a loud breath as your tongue glided over the tip of his cock. “Holy Maker, cyare.”

“There’s nothing holy about what I’m going to do to you,” you promised. “But I have a feeling that won’t be the only time you pray to the Maker tonight.”

#sergeant o'niner

[yourheartonfire]

I desperately need a continuation of the betrayed hero caught by their spy of a partner pleaseee

Ooh interesting. Thank you for the request!

First part here. CW for aftermath of a catastrophic injury, broken bones, threats of torture, non-con touching and reference to past dub-con by deception.

The enemy was back bright and early the next morning, this time with the cell keys jangling in hand. Their old partner hadn't started great and a night on the bare stone floor had left them worse for wear; breath shallow, forehead beaded with sweat, eyes dull as they looked up at their former partner. The enemy let themselves into the cell with a flourish.

"Good morning; you were wrong!" they said cheerfully, pulling their equipment cart along in a rattle of metal instruments. "Turns out my superiors are going to let me do anything I want to you."

The hero turned away, but not before their old partner saw their eyes sweep across the trays of knives and pliers and needles, saw their jaw clench under the bruised skin. "That's nice," they breathed as the enemy knelt beside them. "Nice of them to, uh. To trust you. A spy. Do you find it hard? Keeping all the pieces of yourself in separate little boxes?"

"Are we making small talk?" The enemy firmly wrapped their finger around the hero's bicep, pulling the arm free of where the hero cradled it against their chest.

The hero shuddered as they enemy slid their hand across that horribly shattered limb. "Well," they gasped out. "You know everything about me. And this is the first time I've met you."

"Oh you," the enemy chuckled. "And thats not true. There is so much information locked up in that cute skull of yours I've been dying to ask you about." The hero's arm was hot to the touch but their shoulder and hand cool. Which was about as good as the enemy could hope for. They lifted the hero's arm and stabbed the needle hidden up their sleeve into the hero's leg.

"Just a little painkiller," the enemy hummed as the hero yelped in shock and pain. It worked fast; almost immediately the hero sagged against the wall, the lines of stress and pain across their face easing. The enemy eased them to floor and set to work splinting the arm.

"Why?" the hero croaked.

"I've always thought you look gorgeous a little roughed up," the enemy said, going through the practiced motions quickly. "But I've never actually liked hurting you. This will be better for both of us, really, if you just answer my questions."

"Oh god." The hero tried to pull away. "You fooled me, okay? I believed you were... I gave you everything. I don't have any other secrets to confess."

"That's sweet but give yourself more credit for tradecraft," the enemy chuckled, drumming their fingers over the bandages. They could feel the two way mirror looming over the two of them, could feel the suspicious eyes watching. "Those ciphers, for example. I spent weeks searching for your code books before I realized - you're carrying it all in your head, aren't you?" They flicked their finger against the hero's forearm. The hero cried out again as the sudden jolt of pain and the enemy went back to that soft tapping. "Now, pay attention, love. Because if you don't talk to me, they'll just send in the next guy."

The hero opened their mouth to respond - and then their eyes went wide, staring into their enemy's. Neither looked down, at the enemy's hand tapping that arrhythmic pattern on hero's arm. Morse code. W I L L S A V E Y O U. B U Y T I M E.

"And I suppose the next guy isn't as nice as you ?" The hero managed a sneer, even as their speech slowed, a new spark in their eyes, a new puzzle before them. "I should just trust you?"

"I don't see that you have many other options," the enemy said.

The hero scoffed. "It's too late. They switch the codes every night - all I've got now is an outdated cypher."

"See, we're learning things already!" The enemy smiled. "Nice to see the sodium pentathol working. Now dont give me that look, I do have a job to do here," they protested at the hero's shocked, betrayed face. The enemy reached back and grabbed a knife. "Don't take it personally. You'd do the same to me if things were reversed."

"Oh no. No. Give yourself some credit for tradecraft," the hero said with a blistering glare and tears in their eyes. "I could never, never do this to you."

Window and observers be damned, for a moment the enemy let the mask slip, looked at hero as themselves. When had that happened, that the version of themselves that was the hero's partner, protector, lover had become so real?

Then the moment passed and enemy shook it off. That wasnt who they had to be right now. Hero was in no condition to save themselves so it was up to enemy to make this look good. So then they got into character and got to work.

[sunsblaze]

continued from here

@bloodiedwisteria

The puppet was used to being left where he lay by those who trained with him; more often than not he would lie there until his caretaker, young Kotetsu was able to find him. The boy did always make a fuss about how others treated the doll, in a strange way they were like family.

Though the doll was definitely lighter than a human it still had a bit of weight to it as it was shifted back into a sitting position the practice swords that had been grasped in its hands were left behind on the ground. Now that he was sitting he was able to get a better look at the person who was helping him. A woman...and she appeared to be injured, her face painted with bruised; acts of cruelty.

He wanted to tell her that this was fine, he couldn't really feel comfortable or feel anything really...not physically. She shouldn't worry so much about an old puppet like him but for the moment he could only sit and watch as she brushed his hair back in place and patched up the dirty, worn kimono he had been wearing.

Why was she so kind to him?

As Fujiko began twisting the key a soft clicking echoed in the clearing as the mechanism wound up, after a minute the key made a slightly louder clicking sound and locked into place. It seemed as if nothing would happen at first but after a few seconds, the doll's fingers twitched before it slowly turned its gaze to look directly at the woman who had helped him, and it...bowed its head to her.

"Th...thank you," its strained voice croaked out.

[infinitevariety]

I posted 2,589 times in 2022

194 posts created (7%)

2,395 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cheeriosandwine

@earlgrey-aziraphale

@holycatsandrabbits

@zaxal

@anonymousdandelion

I tagged 2,588 of my posts in 2022

#good omens - 2,315 posts

#ineffable husbands - 1,601 posts

#insert heart eyes emoji - 1,022 posts

#oh i love this - 720 posts

#cuuuuuuuute - 570 posts

#lol - 368 posts

#crowley - 317 posts

#aziraphale - 264 posts

#ineffable husbands fic - 257 posts

#this isn't technically fandom related but you're getting it anyway - 223 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#i think this is why i'm not really a fan of matchmaking fics with other characters pushing too hard for them to get together

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Crowley’s car keys were in his pocket. Said keys were always in Crowley’s pocket. Said keys had been in Crowley’s pocket since the 1920s, literally at all times, unless they were being used. Crowley had never once had a need or desire to take the Bentley’s keys out of his pocket and put them in a ceramic bowl made by a university student on the counter of the bookshop.

Aziraphale gave him those irresistible, shiny eyes.

“Sounds perfect, angel,” Crowley croaked, fishing the keys out and dropping them with an unceremonious clatter into the bowl.

tread lightly on my ground by @ineffable-doll

76 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

#4

“Yes, we’re looking to purchase a bed,” Aziraphale said, and then plowed straight onward with: “Can you tell me, are people meant sleep with all of those pillows, or do they take them off every night, and put them all back on in the morning?”

Crowley made a small, pained noise in the back of his throat, because he was fairly certain that was not the etiquette, but the woman just smiled. “Some people like to have a routine,” she said. “Did you have something specific in mind, for a size or a firmness?”

“Oh, something… something large enough for two, I think,” Aziraphale said a bit hesitantly.

“A queen or a king?” she inquired politely.

“Oh, definitely a queen,” Crowley said with a grin, and got a soft smack to his arm for his joke.

Love Makes a House a Home by @kedreeva

105 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

#3

“I want to know,” Crowley said, completely ignoring the question, “what you think gives you the right to come back from the dead and nearly give me a heart attack in a fucking Tesco.”

“I came back from the dead?” Aziraphale demanded, and his voice had gone high-pitched. “And what do you think you’ve done?”

Till death do us part (or not) by @geometricfractal

115 notes - Posted January 7, 2022

#2

“You’ve had a cat for five years and didn’t see any need to mention it?” Aziraphale asked, flabbergasted. He’d told Crowley about Jasper as soon as he’d seen him next. Crowley had come over with expensive wine and even more expensive sweets the night Jasper had passed.

“Years?” Crowley echoed. “Angel, she’s been around since at least the ark business.”

“You’ve had a cat for five millennia and didn’t- you’ve- you-”

The Cat’s Mau by @kedreeva

173 notes - Posted January 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

"How many times did I tell you not to accept a drink offered by a stranger? It’s flirting!"

Aziraphale shook his head virtuously. "I remembered that. He did not offer me a drink, he had two because his date did not show up, the poor chap. He offered it to me so it did not go to waste."

Crowley gaped. Spluttered. "Th--nndkl--that’s like the most basic move in the book!"

"There is a book?" asked a suddenly enthusiastic Aziraphale.

Saturday Night in Soho by @zeckarin-blaise

257 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[perzawa]

PERFECT ROLE | 2.7k

toji fushiguro x fem!reader

you’ve always been his perfect housewife. you’ve been there to keep the bed warm, keep the food hot, and there to cry when he’s been out all night drinking.

warnings/tags! angst, crying, kitchen sex, clothed sex, mentions of drinking

all of your days seem to start the same.

laundry, feeding your child, cleaning her room, etc. when you signed up for motherhood, you weren’t expecting the redundancy that tags along with it. still, even your bad days feel good and you couldn’t imagine trading motherhood for anything else. you smile a little as you tuck your last child into bed, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead before leaving quietly.

you have no regrets because you love your little girl. and sometimes, you love your husband too. the sound of jingling keys seems to snap you out of your thoughts and you huff out a breath, making your way downstairs. the stairs croak a bit, so you’re aware he knows you’re coming.

it isn’t written on your face, but you are rather upset. you’ve known your husband since he was a teenager- which means you’re aware of things he may not even be aware of. like the fact that he honestly prefers eating with other people. you’ve noticed the man goes a little crazy when you refuse to eat at the table with him. not just that, though, but you know the way his mind works.

toji doesn’t know what a promise is. or he’s got no idea what it means to make one.

he’ll make tons of empty promises that he never intended to keep in the first place, and then he’ll get pissy at you for being upset with him. it’s unfortunate, but you’ve always learned to just accept it and work around that flaw. until now, you’ve never allowed his blatant disregard for your feelings to send you into such despair. your emotions are a tool you’ve worked diligently to keep in place. it’s like a stone wall: they aren’t so easily broken or disturbed. not by just anyone, at least.  the only person who could disturb the artificial peace you’ve created to keep yourself sane is toji.

you’re barely near the man, still leisurely walking down your loud, wooden steps- but you can smell him.

cheap liquor. it’s all you’ve been able to smell this week.

“‘m back,” he calls, the shrinking scar on his lip pulling into a sickening grin. it seems so long ago but there was a time when you enjoyed his smile. there was a time when it brightened your day just to see the stupid little smirk he’d have on his face when you did something for him, or even when you’d wore a pretty outfit he liked.

“it’s late, toji,” you start, finally making your way down the steps and right past your husband. he barely feels like that to you anymore. “haven’t even had work this week but you’re out all night. it’s funny.”

you shoot him a quick glare before brightening up the kitchen a bit when you turn the stove light on.

“don’t be like that, i let you go out when you wanna.” he sits in one of the chairs in the dining area, a sly grin still glued to his stupid face. your eyebrows furrow and your head turns to look at him, your hand anxiously playing with the loose strings of your nightgown.

“let me? toji, you can’t let me do anything. i haven’t even been out to do anything but run errands.” another sigh escaped your lip and you feel like you might vomit. you’ve been up since 6, running errands, doing laundry, and making breakfast. not to mention, crying yourself nearly to death worrying about your husband. is he alright? why’s he been out so much recently? does he need to talk?

you’re worried out of your mind. it’s like your head’s been spinning and your thoughts aren’t even your own. so anxious, you’re nearly on the verge of vomiting daily. toji hardly even notices you said anything before he’s back to picking at the food on his plate.

“you promised you wouldn’t keep drinking.” he’s draining your energy day by day and you’re unsure if you can even keep up. your voice is merely a croak, fingers still widely tangling and untangling in the loose threads of your satin gown. you wanna say good night and kiss him on the cheek? even tell him that you aren’t mad, just worried is all.

you don’t.

you’re about to move past him. you’re tired and irritated- you need some sleep and a long bath and much to your dismay, he carefully grabs your arm. you’ve been with the kids all day. the kids you’d agreed to procreate when he promised a foolish illusion of a perfect family. you won’t regret your children- don’t think you could ever live with yourself if you did, honestly.

but you’re starting to think you chose the wrong person to start a family with.

he doesn’t speak. his presence is so subtle, it’s like he’s holding his breath. you feel a chill run through your back when he pulls you into his lap, attempting to have you straddle him. your energy, the rest of it, has been used up for the night. you don’t have the proper motivation to even fight with him. on a normal night, maybe you’d push him away a little hard and then come back to apologize. maybe on a normal night, you’d just bury your face in his welcoming neck without fighting him. maybe even ask if he’s okay. you wanna know. you gotta.

however, tonight isn't a normal night. you haven’t had one in a while.

you have enough energy to turn your head to the side. you can barely stomach looking at his flushed face and wild hair. he’s as red as a tomato, with individual strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. you’ve been missing him so much that the images of how happy he used to look simply from being around you and your children flash through your mind, almost as if your own head’s mocking you. like your mind’s telling you how pathetic it is that you’re losing the family you built. going from a loving housewife to your husband’s burden.

does he hate you? is that why he’s been acting so recklessly? you’re no stranger to fantasizing about your life before a family. you often thought about a different career choice or how much free time you’d have if something, anything, had changed. that didn’t mean you didn’t want toji anymore, though. the thought of him hating you or feeling any type of disgust with you caused your stomach to churn painfully, embarrassingly enough. he was still your lover. always had been.

“you know how much i love you, yeah?” he whispers, the scent of liquor heavy on his thick tongue. his words cause you to flush with a bittersweet sensation. loves you? he’s constantly gone and making you worried. you can’t remember the last time he asked about your day or helped out at home.

you pout childishly, stifling an unwanted laugh. nothing about this is amusing to you, but you genuinely can’t help the laugh beginning to escape your lips. “yeah? then i don’t see why you make me worry so much.” you finally bring yourself to face him, tears awkwardly welling in your eyes. blinking them away, you subconsciously pressed your head against his. you can hear his breath hitch in his throat before his hands gently grip your clothed waist. you’ve been doing well at keeping your frustration with your situation at bay, but something about sitting in your husband’s lap just broke you. when was the last time you were able to feel his warmth? it felt nice. you were starting to remember just how much you missed feeling his body against yours again.

god, you were beginning to feel so needy.

“hey,” you hear him start before he quickly stops talking. you assume he’s attempting to rack his tipsy brain for the right words, but it must be difficult in his haze. still, he’s seeming to sober up in your presence. “don’t cry, please. not over me.”

tears still drip from your eyes, your body ignoring his words. how can you stop now? you’ve been crying all day. all week. he’ll never understand what he’s doing to your mind until it’s too late for the both of you. you’re constantly on edge, feeling like you’ll break. he’ll tell you something sweet, claiming he’ll stop or that he’s sorry- but won’t do anything to make you believe it. you’ve stopped trusting him and you hate that so much. hate how much you’re regretting a relationship with him and how far you’ve both taken it.

neither of you is ready to be together.

even then, you can’t leave. you have a child together. and secretly, even if you won’t admit it, you still love him. even if you’re angry and frustrated, and depressed- you’ll always love him. you’ll always be here, keeping the bed warm and keeping food on the table for when he gets home.

that’s one promise you can’t break.

“please, you’re hurting me a lot.” you’re trying to be honest. until now, you’ve held the way you’ve felt for as long as possible, only confronting him when the situation escalates. you’ve been a good woman. a good wife, for him. “i can’t- not by myself. please, toji. please.” you plead with him, bringing the back of your hand up to quickly wipe away your unwelcome tears.

even in the dim light, you can tell how much his face drops seeing you cry. you’re aware of how his mouth opens, but then quickly shuts. his eyes find yours and his hands squeeze your waist a little. nothing is stopping you from releasing a low groan, so you do. poking your lip out while you watched, or rather felt, for his every move.

he presses a chaste kiss to your neck and suddenly, you can’t remember what you were so upset about. the feeling of his scarred lip bewitches you and forces more groans from your lips. your body seems to move on its own, hips gyrating over his clothed bulge in a steady movement. your lips move to his neck now, your brain filling with fuzz while his hands travel over your needy body. goosebumps begin to form along your skin when he touches you, but he barely notices. it’s been too long since you’ve been touched like this.

“there she is,” toji pushes his strands of hair out of his face before gently grabbing your chin. his eyes are intimidating as ever, but you feel a sudden warmth when he looks at you now. the same gentle fire in his stomach you used to feel. it’s dangerous. it’s dangerous because it feels like hypnotism. every worry or stressor in your life seems to become so blurry they’ve disappeared. your feelings are surprisingly at ease, and shoulders that were once tense now drop lazily. “my pretty lil’ housewife. knew you couldn't stay mad at me…”

his words should snap you out of your daze. they should upset you because now it’s clear he’s either attempting to make a shitty apology or distract you. despite your awareness, you’re unable to bring yourself to stop.

“yeah…” you breathe out hoarsely, attempting to roll your hips against his hardening bulge once again before he stops you, tightly gripping your waist. your head shoots up to stare at him, silently questioning him. his hands quickly leave your waist before silently fumbling with his belt and zipper. you suck your lip into your mouth and nervously pull your nightgown up to your tummy. the world around the both of you seems to fade away, the only thing on your mind now being your husband. toji, toji, toji.

you breathe out a cool breath, shaky fingers snaking down to pull your sticky panties to the side. your husband’s mouth pulls into a grin when he notices his effect on you, blowing some air from his mouth. you watch intently as his thick fingers wrap around the base of his cock. he glances up at you for a split second before he’s rubbing the top of his cock against your wet clit. you shiver, your chest rising and falling dramatically from such a simple touch. you can feel nerves surge throughout your stomach from both pleasure and anxiety, but you ignore it.

it’s painfully quiet, the only sounds being your soft groans and toji’s grunts. he slicks his cock with a mixture of saliva and your arousal before lining it with your entrance. once he pushes in, you can no longer contain yourself. your eyes water again from the stretch, but you’re still moaning. couldn’t stop if you wanted to. your mouth hangs open, tongue lolling to the side while bottoms out in your tight heat.

“been so long baby,” he whimpers, fucking whimpers, in your ear, the familiar feel of his hands now back on your waist. “missed feeling you like this so bad.” you can feel his hips thrust upward, fucking into you in swift movements while you just take it. you feel his cock drag against your sopping walls, the sound of your slick gushing not going unnoticed by either of you. it’s almost awkward the way you just sit there and take what he’s giving you.

his pace slows down now and then, the gentle drag of his throbbing cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. you huff out gentle breaths into his neck while toji has his way with your body for the first time in a while. neither of you feels talkative tonight given the tension, but you wanna cry out to him. your body’s been on fire these nights without feeling his cock filling you up so, so so perfectly.

with a free hand, he makes a gap between the both of you and presses his finger to your aching clit, causing you to cry out loudly. you throw your head back, finally gaining a bit of control. you leisurely rotate your hips, holding onto toji’s broad shoulders as a way to keep your balance. toji never stops moving. he never stops fucking himself inside of you, one hand gripping your ass while the other gently presses down on your clit.

you know he isn’t good at apologies. is this his way of apologizing? you can’t help but wonder.

he could feel your walls gripping him like you were too afraid to let go- and it was driving him insane. you could tell as much, groaning from the way he throbbed inside of you. “gripping me like-” he stops and grunts, pace quickening once again. you can hear the sound of his cock pounding you, along with the sound of your slick continuing to escape your pussy. it’s almost too much, really. “like you want another baby. do you? you wan’ another, hm?”

goodness, no. you don’t need another child in this situation. you wouldn’t be ready and you know he wouldn’t be either. despite that fact, the fantasy of him pumping more children into you was starting to force a reaction from you. your toes clenched tightly while you rode his cock, pulling yourself off a bit before sliding down quickly. the nerves in your stomach were out of control and you broke out in chills. you were almost there. you buried your face in his shoulder while you moaned, riding out your quiet orgasm. his fingers sped on your aching clit, encouraging you to use him for your own pleasure. he was so lovely in bed.

toji whispered how much of a good girl you were for him before he found himself painting your walls in thick ropes of hot cum. he thrusts into you a few more times before halting, hands weakly wrapping around your hips in an attempt to pull you even closer.

he didn’t have to say anything for you to know he was sorry.

“‘m sorry i haven’t changed.” his voice was croaky, you’d noticed.

“‘ts okay. won’t leave you. can’t.” your lips were pursed while you lay your head on his shoulder, thinking about your words. there was nothing sadder to you than your own desperation. no matter how this played out, you couldn’t see yourself leaving him. no matter how much you were regretting your marriage, you’d never leave.

you were realizing that maybe you weren’t good for each other after all. the toxicity of your relationship was nothing to laugh at.

but even then, you’d continue playing the role of his perfect housewife.

[bucksfucks]

𝙁𝘽𝙍𝙊 ; 𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀 [𝟳/𝟭𝟭]

summary┃bucky’s past comes back with a vengeance and you’re determined to get the answers you’ve been searching for. 

pairing┃roommate!bucky x f!reader

word count┃2,682 words

warnings┃bucky’s past is revealed, character mentions; [sam wilson, natasha romanoff, tony stark], pet name [kid (platonic), sweets & baby], threats made against bucky + reader, trust-issues, mention of hit-men, brief mention of death, phone sex, praise kink, masturbation, mention of toys, slight angst, soft ending — 18+ ONLY • MINORS DNI

notes┃there is A LOT of plot here but also some filthy goodness and a sprinkle of angst <<3

SERIES MASTERLIST

     Ex-wife.

    Bucky’s words echoed in your ears as he didn’t dare to look at you.

    His ex-wife was threatening you.

    And he didn’t think to mention her? Ever?

    “Can I please explain?” Bucky croaked finally, voice sounding broken as you shrugged your shoulders — in a state of shock.

    That was all he needed before he recounted his previous relationship with the woman who was now sending you threatening emails.

    Married young, too young and too fast and it ended up blowing up in their faces.

    Well, clearly she hadn’t gotten over it.

    “I thought I lost her,” he explains. “I thought that moving halfway across the country would be enough.”

    You finally looked up to meet his eyes, glossy, sad and terrified as you sniffled.

    “There’s a reason only Tasha calls me James.”

    It broke your heart hearing that, the way his head hung low and he nearly winced at the sound of his own goddamn name.

    But you didn’t know who to trust anymore.

    Bucky always glossed over how he, Sam, and Nat knew each other — telling you that they were old friends that go back.

    How far back?

    You needed to know, but clearly you weren’t about to get answers from him.

    “Buck,” he stopped you, taking a step closer as his eyes begged and pleaded you not to finish your sentence. 

    “I can’t,” he shook his head, “I need some time.” 

    You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words that would shatter both of your world’s. But you had no idea what the hell you had gotten yourself into and you needed answers. 

    And you knew exactly who to go to for them. 

    “I understand,” Bucky sighed. “I’ll stay at Sam’s for some time, okay?” 

    You could only nod your head, watching him walk past you and into his door. 

    Then he shut it, something he never did because his door was always open for you. No matter what you needed and no matter what time of day it was. 

    It felt...wrong. 

    But you couldn’t dwell on it, grabbing your keys, phone, and whatever other important things you could think of being you nearly bolted out of the front     door. 

    You plugged your headphones into your phone, hitting shuffle and descending down into the subway. 

    The entire ride made you anxious, slowly approaching your stop and you were way out of place in this crowd. 

    People rushed by you in expensive suits and what you could only guess were the infamous red-soled shoes that were worth close to your monthly rent, if not more. 

    You cringed, thinking of the man you were about to see in his stupidly tall office building that you had to crane your neck at an uncomfortable angle just     to get a look at. 

    The elevator could not have taken longer, tapping your foot impatiently as you rode up to what felt like the heavens before the doors opened to revel smooth wooden doors that reach from the ceiling to the floor. 

    You were so close, before you were stopped. 

    “Ma’am, I’m sorry, you can’t be here right now.” A man’s voice stopped you, dressed in a security guard uniform and oh, this was so him. 

    “I know him,” you said, intent on seeing the man probably sitting behind those large doors. 

    “I’m sorry, I can’t let you do th—”

    “It’s okay, Marv. I know her,” his voice came not from behind the doors, but from the long hallway to your left. 

    The security guard, Marv, nodded his head as he looked at you once more before retreating back to where he was leaning against one of the walls. 

    “This is a surprise,” you rolled your eyes, “Tony, please. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

    He walked over to you, embracing you in a hug, “oh c’mon, I’ve missed you, Kid.” 

    You shook your head, “I haven’t been a kid in years,” you tried to remind him, but it was Tony, he wasn’t going to listen as he just laughed it off and welcomed you into his office. 

    It was much different from last time, all new furniture and appliances, but nothing lasted more than a year with Tony. 

    Tony was an old friend, sort of.

    He was an old friend of your father’s, something like an uncle, but also like your older brother. 

    So just one giant pain in your ass.

    “So,” Tony sighed. “What trouble did you get into this time, Kid?”

    You told Tony everything. 

    From being roommates with Bucky to the way he asked you to be his fake girlfriend to Sam’s wedding and all the way to the situation you were in now. Confronted by his ex-wife without any idea of what she was going to do. 

    Tony had that look on his face. The one where he was going to tell you that you were crazy. 

    “I don’t know how you manage to get yourself into these situations,” he chuckled, hand clamping over your shoulder as he walked around his desk and typed something into his computer. 

    “Last name is,” he looked at you. “Barnes.” 

    He nodded his head, typing away at his computer again before he stopped. 

    There was a brief moment of silence, Tony hiding behind the computer screen before he stood up and walked back around the desk, “I’m gonna need some time.”

    You understood, shaking your head. You were asking Tony to hack into any known database and collect as much data on Bucky as you could. It was wrong, but you just needed to know who you were dealing with. 

    “Thank you, Tony. I-I really appreciate it.” You weren’t good when it came to...well, the heartfelt side of things but luckily neither was Tony. 

    “Don’t get sappy on me now, Kid. You know it makes me sick,” he joked playfully, smile on his lips as you stood up to give him a half hug. 

    “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” He promised before you walked out of the too-tall building with far more questions than you came with. 

    It was a waiting game that you didn’t want to play, but you didn’t have a choice. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

    It seemed like your relationship with Bucky was doomed from the start. 

    Friends to lovers rarely, if ever, works out in anyone’s favour. 

    The fake dating trope you could handle, pushing your feelings aside to help Bucky win a bet didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. You had a great time, great fucking sex, and a trip out of it. 

    Then Steve wouldn’t leave the picture. Going as far as coming to the wedding as Natasha’s boyfriend to spite you not realizing that you and Bucky had gotten married. 

    Married. 

    You and Bucky were married. Bonded in a whole other way and now, his ex-wife was out for you and him. 

    Maybe this was a sign from the universe, a big red fucking flag telling you that it wasn’t worth it and yet...you couldn’t let go. 

    The apartment felt empty without Bucky, his bedroom left the way it was in the morning with your favourite sweater of his laid out on the covers and a little post-it note on top of it. 

    You never could really decipher Bucky’s handwriting. It was absolute chicken scratch as you picked it up and managed to make out in case you get cold scribbled onto it. 

    It was an easy decision to pull it over your head and drown yourself in the scent of Bucky’s cologne as you fiddled with the small gold band you now wore around your neck as a necklace. 

    You didn’t want anyone other than Bucky. There was no in the world who understood you better. Who knew how to make you laugh when you were having a bad day. 

    Everything led you right back to Bucky. 

    So when your phone rang from the other side of the couch, you were secretly hoping it was Bucky. 

    Instead, Tony’s name flashed and your heart sank into your stomach as you quickly hit answer and held the phone up to your ear. 

    “You’re not gonna like this, Kid.” Tony’s voice flowed through the speakers as you took a shaky breath in and braced yourself for what Tony was about to tell you. 

    “He did a damn good job at erasing his history, but you can’t erase all of it,” Tony chuckled as you rolled your eyes, “quit stalling.”

    He sighed, “the Howling Commandos was an organization tasked with,” he paused, “tasked with collecting intel and making sure that information never got released to the public.” 

    This time, it was your turn to fall silent. 

    “Like, spies?” You asked and Tony hummed, “sort of.” 

    “They had spies, agents, hit-men.” 

    No. You shook your head, no. 

    “James Buchanan Barnes was their highest ranking hit-man. Him, along with Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanova worked as a team. A spy, agent, hit-man trio.” 

    You had to shake yourself out of spiralling, what you needed was everything Tony could possible tell you. 

    “Anything on his ex-wife?” You then asked and heard shuffling on the other line, “not much. Mary Barnes, but I doubt that’s her real name, was part of a training initiative the Howling Commandos were testing.” 

    You bit your lip, at least you had a name, even if it wasn’t her real name. 

    “By that point it looks like James—” 

    “Bucky. His name is Bucky.” 

    Tony cleared his throat after a moment’s silence, “Bucky looks like he had disappeared. Blipped off of the face of the Earth. There’s nothing in his file after 2014.” 

    That makes sense. Bucky was perhaps the most old-fashioned man you knew, only upgrading from his flip-phone just a few years ago. He barely knew how to unlock it, though. 

    “Sam and Natasha went on to live normal lives, Kid. I’m sure that’s all Bucky wants.” Tony tries to assure you and you laugh, “you sound like my dad.” 

    He laughed on the other line, “oh gross.” 

    “Thanks for everything, Tony.” You said, “you know what number to call in case you’re in trouble.” 

    With that, you both hung up, tossing your phone away from you to digest everything you’d just been told. You knew you had to talk to Bucky, but you didn’t know when. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

    “So you’re tellin’ me,” Sam was confused. “That this is the same Mary that tried to get you killed?” 

    Bucky rolled his eyes, taking another swing of his beer as he rounded Sam’s kitchen island. 

    “That’s the one, you know, the undercover agent working for Strucker.” Bucky scowled at the name. 

    He was angry, beyond angry at the fact that his past was creeping up on him despite how far he had gone to erase it. 

    “But why now? Why come after you now?” Sam poses the question that even Bucky doesn’t have an answer to. So he just shrugs his shoulders and finishes off his beer. 

    “Unfinished business.” 

    They stand in silence for a little while longer, listening to the old ticking clock hanging on the wall before Sam takes a step towards Bucky. 

    “Whatever you need, you know that Tasha and I are here for you, right?” He whispers and Bucky feels the warmth blooming in his chest as he gives him a half-smile. 

    “Yeah,” he nods his head, “thanks, man.” 

    Sam knows that Bucky was never really good at the sappy shit, so he doesn’t force it. Instead, he offers him another beer, bottle necks clinking as Bucky’s thoughts race. 

    He was worried. 

    Not about himself, but about you. 

    And you were worried about Bucky, curling up in his bed as you sighed and tossed and turned. There was no way you’d be able to fall asleep alone tonight. And hugging his pillow just wasn’t enough. 

    So you grabbed your phone, hitting his name and waiting for the ringing to sound before he picked up — tired and groggy.

    “We need to talk.” You didn’t give him a chance to greet you. He sighed on the other line, but hummed in agreement, “tomorrow?”

    You hummed in response to his question, the sound of his voice soothing as you played with the sheets of his bed.

    “I miss you, Sweets.” Bucky whispered, your breathing hitching at how low and raspy his voice really was.

    “I miss you too, Bucky.” You admitted, shifting as you got comfortable on the pile of pillows against your head.

    There was a moment of silence before Bucky spoke again.

    “You know what ‘m really missin’ right now?” His words sent a shiver down your spine as you shakily inhaled, “what?”

    Bucky sighed, reminiscent of how he sighs when he runs his hands all over your body. 

    “I miss that sweet cunt of yours.” Bucky purrs, you know he’s smirking, possibly even dragging his tongue across his bottom lip as he closes his eyes to imagine you under him. 

    You’re at a loss for words, feeling your panties grow damp, core aching and you’re going to have to touch yourself soon. But that’s all part of Bucky’s plan, you think. 

    “Here I am, all alone, with my hand wrapped ‘round my cock,” he whispers, but you can hear him stroking himself. 

    “And all I can think ‘bout is that way your tight little pussy grips me and milks my fuckin’ dick, baby.” Bucky was always so good with his words, knowing exactly what to say to make you melt. 

    And it was working, because you were a squirming mess in his bed. 

    “Well,” you could tell he was smirking by his tone, “what’re ya waitin’ for, Sweets. Go on, touch yourself. I wanna hear you work your clit.” 

    Your hand flew under your panties, being given the permission only made it sweeter as your fingers came in contact with your soaking folds. The sensitive bundle of nerves needed desperate attention as you slowly circled it. 

    “Good girl, that’s my girl.” Bucky praised, continuing to work himself. 

    “God,” he hissed, “can’t wait to have you all to myself again. Bury myself deep, maybe even have you sit on my cock as you beg me to do somethin’.” 

    You worked yourself a little faster, applying some more pressure as you let out a whine at his words. 

    “Add two fingers, Sweets. I know how much you love bein’ stretched,” Bucky chuckled deeply, “been thinkin’ of gettin’ you a mould of my fuckin’ dick for when ‘m not home.” 

    Oh my God. Oh my God that shouldn’t be so fucking hot so why does it make your walls flutter and breathing uneven as you have to stop yourself from actually fucking cumming. 

    He chuckles again, “yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

    You can’t verbally respond, too focused on the tight coil in your abdomen that’s ready to snap. 

    “I know you’re close, can hear it in how fuckin’ desperate you sound,” he pants, “so why don’t you make a mess all over my clean sheets.” 

    You gasp, how did he know, but you don’t get to dwell on it for much longer than a moment because your orgasm rips through you and leaves you panting Bucky’s name. 

    Both of your breaths are uneven and ragged through the phone’s speakers, bed springs creaking on Bucky’s side as he hums. 

    “If only you could see the miss I made for you, Sweets,” you shuddered at his words, closing your eyes to relish in the moment. 

    “Now get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” His tone has changed, entirely sweet and caring as you grab the phone to bring him closer to you. 

    “Okay,” you reply, another lick of silence before you hear Bucky going to end the call but you stop him. 

    “I love you, Bucky.” You quickly blubber out and it feels good to finally say those words because there’s no more denying how you really feel about him. 

    “I love you too, Sweets.” 

    It’s a bittersweet ending to the phone call, thoughts and emotions running wild as you’re forced to remind yourself that Bucky has a lot of explaining to do. 

[vidalinav]

Literally inspired by @spoilersteph. This one’s for you. 

~

Azriel’s a good drinking friend because he doesn’t ask questions about why she’s there. He only drinks and pours and drinks some more, gulping their conversation down like fine wine.

Nesta’s not even too sure what they say to each other. Are there secrets they keep? Does he spy? It seems inevitable that he’ll replay her drunken words to someone. Judgment or concern, Nesta ponders, has there ever been a difference? 

There’s a difference in him that day though. He laughs and his smile is a breath of fresh air. He teases and his words twist in her gut. Her face is red by the end, and he flicks at her cheek and she’s not sure what exactly he says. 

Only that soon enough, Nesta and Azriel are stumbling through streets. 

All nights must come to an end, she finds, and this one might have ended at her apartment door--should have ended at her apartment door. But somehow his lips are on hers. Guilt tastes as sweet as bubblegum dreams and is warm like hot milk and it’s comforting to know there’s someone as horrid as her. 

They like to torture themselves to sleep, so Nesta kisses him again. 

Her hand fumbles with the doorknob as he bites at her neck. His lips never leave her skin. He chases her moans. Nesta tastes whiskey on his tongue as if she can pour the liquor down her throat. She thirsts and thirsts and thirsts and he lets her drink. He places a gentle hand at her throat coaxing her to take more.

They’re too drunk or too rotten. Nesta can never decide, but she’ll be less lonely for one night. In the morning, they will tuck this moment away like the moon in awe of the sun’s casting glow. To disappear and to only return when the world is too dark to regret any truths. 

Azriel’s perfect because he trades secrets for sin. Tainted, twisted little secrets that they’ll pretend not to remember in the morning. 

It’s the first time, she’s ever lain with a man... male as he is. 

Nesta still remembers that horrified face. 

Right now, Azriel looks too calm. 

“What are you doing here?” Her voice croaks as she shivers. Her hands hold her jacket close to her chest, and she wishes to sound queenly--arrogant--but she only seems... tired. It’s both a secret and a sin to look so distraught. 

“You left your books,” Azriel offers as he holds out his hands. Indeed, Elain’s gifts sit on top of his palms, and Nesta has the sudden urge to rip them from his grasp. She’ll throw them in the Sidra just because she can. Because she wants to. Because no one will see, except for him. No one will know, except him, and still... no one will care. 

“I don’t want them,” Nesta says instead. 

Azriel studies her, that same unflinching gaze she always sees when he looks at others. Nesta stares back blankly, raises an agonizing brow. The one Cassian can’t stand without yelling some gods-awful words, to keep him from searching too deeply.  

There’s no bolt or key to keep Azriel out.

Nesta aims to walk past him before he can spill her secrets, but his wing jut out in her view.

“Holidays suck,” he says. 

Nesta huffs a laugh at the words, she can’t help the sound even if it struggles to get past her lips. Azriel shrugs with a nonchalant smirk, but it’s that look that has her holding the jacket tighter in her palms. 

There are so many nights when Nesta wonders if he regrets it. If he regrets her. 

Then, she ponders if Azriel sleeps with her on purpose. That he goes to the bar that night where she always is because he has a plan in his mind. No one in their right mind would touch the General’s sweetheart. This is his brother. This is his friend. His family. What would compel him to one drunk-filled night? To loosen his lips and his tie and his pants. What could make him that insane? 

In the hours after, when she’s laying in her bed with the sheets tucked to her breasts, Nesta starts thinking she’s merely a ploy. Time to get back at his brother. One virgin for another and now they’re even. 

But Nesta remembers that horrified face. 

Nesta can’t forget that horrified face. 

Either way, she’d much rather be a vendetta than a mistake. It’s an easier truth to swallow. 

If she’s a mistake than there truly is no one who can stand her. 

@arinbelle

[wiypt-writes]

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

A Frank Adler One Shot.

Summary: It’s Frank’s wedding night… but you’re not quite ready to let him go just yet.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+) allusions to cheating…

Pairings:  Frank Adler x Reader

A/N: Just a little smutty one shot featuring everyone’s favourite Dirty Boat Daddy. Written for @onlyjamesbarnes 1.5k Follower Challenge. Prompt in bold. Congrats babe!!

Lyrics from Fall Out Boy- Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Frank Adler Master list // Main Masterlist

❤️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔

I'm gonna make you bend and break,

Say a prayer, but let the good times roll

In case God doesn't show…

Frank had always been powerless to resist you. He was a moth to your flame, but like always, you play with fire and you get burnt.

But now, you were the one burning, burning hotter than the sun.

With a groan, you ground your hips down as you leaned back, rolling and rocking down onto him. That face, sharp chiselled jawline covered by a slightly nearer than usual scruff looked back at you, his perfect profile silhouetted against the moonlight which drifted through the curtains of the hotel room.

How could something that wrong feel so fucking right?

And I want these words to make things right, But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life.

"Who does he think he is?"

If that's the worst you've got, better put your fingers back to the keys

He shouldn’t have let you in, but you knew he would as soon as he fired you the message with his room number. Your signature knock had sounded across the plush suite he was spending his last night as a ‘single’ man in, and like a sacrificial lamb welcoming its slaughter, he’d opened the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to see you.” You blinked up at him. He was still in his slacks and dress shirt, from the rehearsal you’d sat through, tie discarded, collar open. He cut a stark contrast to the boat greased and oil stained, salty air cured man you were used to.

He held the door open for you, stepping back and allowing you in. Without a word you walked over to the grand windows the space provided, offering a look at the shoreline outside and below. The view was breathtaking at night, the moonlight shining off the waves as they lapped at the shore, mere metres away from where tomorrow he would take his vows.

Through the reflection of the window behind you, you could see him just as his hands gripped at your waist. You turned on the ball of your foot, manicured fingers running up his chest from his strong pecs to his collarbones and over his shoulders to around his neck, your lips quickly on his. Your tongue slipped inside, tasting a hint of scotch, a half drunk glass of which sat on the small coffee table to the right. Frank moaned against your mouth while your fingers slipped through the neatly trimmed hair of his neck.

You pushed against him slightly with your body, the back of his legs hitting the chair besides the coffee table and he took a seat, breaking your kiss.

“This shouldn’t-“

“Shhh.” You shook your head. “Just give me tonight, please.”

He stared at you with lust blown eyes, different to the playful glint he normally possessed when he used to look at you, as you thought for a second about your next move, bottom lip already swollen from his kiss between your teeth.

You knew he was a goner.

"Y/N," he managed to croak out as you straddled his lap, seating yourself over his now hard cock, the rough fabric of his dark dress pants constraining him, giving you just enough teasing friction agasint your sensitive inner thighs. His large hands slid up your thighs and under your light coloured, flowy dress as you moved your lips over his again, giving him access to your ass, finger tips grazing the barely there material of your panties.

You ground down against him, your hips rolling in a circular motion as he growled into your mouth, squeezing your cheeks with his hands. You kicked off your sandals, making a thud as they hit the plush carpet. A sound that matched that of your heart. A heart that squeezed in your chest, as if someone had wound and elastic band around its middle knowing that tomorrow you’d watch him takes his vows.

And everything would change.

Frank broke away from your lips, to lick and nip at your jaw and down your neck, tongue rolling against your sternum. His face drilled between your breasts, inhaling your scent.

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt and plucked them open skillfully, French manicured nails raking across his chest, causing him to shudder and groan. You reached for the buckle of his belt, undoing it with little trouble, lifting your hips slightly, showing a strength in your thighs as you lifted away from him, to undo his flies. You adjusted yourself, pushing up on your knees just a little to allow the room you needed to dip your hand just under his boxers waistline, gently gripping at his dick.

“No, not here.” He growled, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear. “I want you in the bed.”

The bed. Where he would spend his first night as a married man.

It was so wrong.

Yet you happily obliged.

It was a well practiced tango the pair of you had danced over the years, and now here you were, him keening underneath you with a desperation you’d come to know well.

You could feel his cock pulsing against your walls and it gave you the chills. You held the power and control as he struggled to keep his.

With a quick movement, Frank sat up, pulling you flush against his chest, the angle hitting you just at that pleasurable spot he always managed to hit within you. His head dropped, lips and teeth gently teasing your nipple, large hands splayed agains your spine as he lavished you with affection.

You started grinding down harder, looking for that clitoral stimulation you wanted and as you found it, he moaned deeply into your ear.

“I’m close, but I don’t wanna… not yet.” His words were a plea, a plea that he wasn’t ready to end, and you knew he didn’t simply mean tonight.

But it had to. There was no way around it.

One night and one more time, thanks for the memories, even though they weren't so great

"He tastes like you only sweeter"

"Just...let...go," you purred against him.

"Oh fahk," he ground out as his feet planted firmly into the mattress and his hips thrust upward. It didn't take much, a few strong and hard drives and you were crying out his name, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you came around around him.

"Jesus, fahkk, I'm gonna fahking.... Oh fahk," he swore vehemently, his old Boston drawl thick as he drove hard into you for a final time, exploding his load deep into you, spraying your walls with ribbons of white cream.

The pair of you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. Frank kept you held to his chest as you both drew ragged, heaving breaths. After a moment, Frank pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, no words needed.

And you blinked back a solitary tear.

*****

I'm looking forward to the future, but my eyesight is going bad.

And this crystal ball, it’s always cloudy except for when you look into the past

One night stand

Frank had fallen asleep with you in his arms, not quite ready to let you go. But you were long gone by the time he woke the next morning, the only evidence you’d been in his room was a scribbled note on the pad on the night stand.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of your life.”

He’d folded the note up and slipped it into his breast pocket, not quite sure why. Maybe it would keep you close to him in those moments he needed to feel you, who knows.

Who knows why any of this had started in the first place.

He watched Mary walk down the aisle first, her bouquet in her hand had been dropped as she had leapt into his arms for a hug, laughing as she told him how excited she was. He’d kissed her cheek and placed her down and she stood by his side, watching as his bride and her father started towards him.

It was then Frank’s eyes had found yours as you watched him, and he swallowed, his chest contracting.

He could still feel your eyes on him and he couldn’t get the image of you bouncing on top of his cock out of his head. He blinked as someone said his name, and he looked at the officiant, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, little nervous.” He apologised, flashing a cheeky grin before he took a deep breath.

A couple of I-Dos later, he was told to kiss his wife. So he did.

And all he could taste was you.

Man and wife walked hand in hand down the aisle to applause, and at the end they stopped and the new Mrs Adler peered up at Frank, a soft smile on her face.

“You happy?”

“Of course.” He smiled back.

“Good, because choosing me to spend your life with, well, I actually think it’s the second best choice you’ve ever made in your life.”

Frank blinked as he heard the click of the photographer's camera. “Oh? The second? What was the first?”

“Letting me into your room last night.” You grinned, your hand sliding up his tux, the diamond studded band catching the sun, glinting in the bright light.

Frank grinned at you, before he arched his eyebrow. “Time will tell if it really was bad luck to see my wife the night before.”

“Didn’t feel like bad luck to me,” you smirked, you hand gently tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as he dropped his head to kiss you, the cheers and applause once more chiming in your ears.

One night and one more time, thanks for the memories

[confused-as-all-hell]

i am thrilled to announce the second installment in my idle series, focusing solely on jesper and wylan. i would simply like to remind everyone, however, that these are meant to be poetic and full of prose, rather than serious and solid fics, that's all.

tag list was removed for bewildering reasons, but anyways

Wylan Van Eck hadn't always loved him.

Once upon a time, he had only been a quiet boy from the largest city in the world, lips smudged with paint, copper lashes low over eyes bluer than the fucking summer sky.

Once upon a time, he had spent his days sequestered in his favourite studio, head tilted just so slightly, dappling the canvas in shades of green and gold, a spare brush between his teeth.

Once upon a time, his evenings were spent alone at the piano, slim fingers hovering over the keys as if he could wring his childhood from the notes, copper curls damp with bathwater.

Once upon a time, artwork meant slender brushes and sticky gouache and glass jars of paint; now he could only define it as eyes like dusty sunlight, soft lips that tasted of forgiveness, a grin to light the world aflame.

And Wylan was fucking aflame.

He was burning.

When he was sketching sleepily at his desk, the sun a dying cinder at his back, sharp angles and vivid coats and pearl-handled revolvers sprawled from the tip of his charcoal pen.

When he was laying alone in the bath, water lapping over the hard planes of his body, the room aglow in soft shades of bronze and green, all he could do was dream.

When he was sitting in a lecture hall, information and dates and names pounding through his ears, all he could see was the elegant figure before him, scrawling down his notes, one leg kicked up against a girl's chair.

Wylan couldn't help but track the careful movements of his hand, the graceful loops and lines of his writing, one finger braced against the metal spiral of his notebook.

His name was Jesper, he knew. Jesper Fahey.

A soft name, the sound a rolling wave on his tongue, rising and falling. It tasted like whiskey, smooth and sweet, every note rich and unfettered.

He wanted to find out how it would feel in his mouth, during the final hours of the night, how it would sound.

He wanted to hear his own name on Jesper's lips, a breathless gasp, a quiet moan, a pleading whisper.

He wanted to hear Jesper say his name, so simply.

He wanted to hear his name.

The very first time Wylan painted him felt like taking a drug. He was sprawled in his bed, staring dazedly at a dark spider clinging to the leftmost wall, and he was losing his fucking mind.

He couldn't get the image of Jesper's hands out of his head. In the chamber of his mind, he had locked away the sight as if to keep it safe and sheltered; those fucking beautiful hands, broad and warm, lines etched into the calloused palm, nails squared off, three rings circling each finger.

He wanted to draw them in charcoal and graphite and ink.

He wanted to paint them in gouache and acrylics and watercolour.

He wanted to line them in silver and bronze and emerald.

He wanted to lift those hands to his mouth and kiss them.

And so at three in the morning, still in his pajamas and hair utterly bedraggled, eyes swollen with exhaustion and limbs sore, he was setting himself up before a blank canvas.

"Just one painting," he whispered, touching a slim finger to a brush.

He promised himself a quick sketch, just the soft shape of his hands, or the lilt to his smile, or maybe even the blazing hue of his eyes.

One painting.

He made quick work of locating his favourite paints, a set of vibrant gouache his mother had gifted him, bottled neatly into little glass jars.

And, so fucking tenderly, he selected every single colour that he had likened to Jesper.

Rich gold and heady crimson, molten copper and softest ivory, prussian blue and clinging silver, dreamy amethyst and clear chrysocolla.

They stained Wylan's hands as he dappled the bare canvas in every prismatic hue, smudging over his wrists and fingertips and the limber handle of his brush.

When the sun rose, fierce and proud against a backdrop of blue blue blue, he only wiped a droplet of copper from his lip and kept going.

There was something utterly consuming about being locked away in that room, the strong scent of paint and turpentine, the haze of shades and light and quiet piano music, the blur of being trapped in lands one never wanted to leave.

He spent hours kneeling there on the floor, head bowed over the canvas as if the painting was his altar, reveling in every last detail. And there were Jesper's hands, soft and gentle, and the sight nearly drove him mad.

He wanted to feel those hands tangled through his hair.

He wanted to feel them on his bare skin.

He wanted.

"Just one painting," he echoed, and set down his brush.

But when he glimpsed Jesper laughing in the fields, snow dripping down his cheek like tears, he wanted to capture that indomitable joy in acrylics, brilliant in their beauty.

But when he caught Jesper downing a mug of his friend's coffee, he never wanted to forget the way he winked, the way his hand wrapped carelessly around the cardboard cup.

But when he saw Jesper dancing against a curvy girl in red velvet, he couldn't tear his eyes from the sharp set of his jaw, the lowered lashes, the vulnerable angle of his bare wrists.

He wanted to trace them in charcoal, wanted to preserve the sight in paper, never to be lost or forgotten.

Jesper grinned lazily at the girl, one corner of his fucking beautiful mouth lifting, and then he was pressed up against a different boy, head thrown back in laughter.

He whirled past his partners, leaving them with only a whisper or a slow, deliberate kiss. They grabbed for his attention, for the gift of his smile, reaching out with greedy hands.

Then Jesper was scanning the club, honey eyes roaming over the floors and walls and bars. They locked on Wylan, and something in his gaze lit.

A blazing match.

A building on fire.

A city burning, burning, burning.

And Wylan never knew how he found the courage, but suddenly he was striding up between the writhing bodies, and the ocean was roaring in his ears, and he was saying lightly, "Would you favour me with a dance?"

It was not graceful and elegant and slow.

It was stumbling and gasping and and breathless laughter.

It was drowning within the cacophony of pulsing music.

It was drowning within the steady depth of Jesper's eyes.

The flashing strobe lights were pulsing blue and green and red and pink, and the sounds of laughter and shuffling steps filled the club, and there was music echoing up the walls and skittering up the vertebrae of his spine.

It felt like being trapped in a prism where time did not exist.

Wylan's eyes fluttered shut, and he thought, I will burn as those cities burned.

And when Jesper lowered his head and whispered, "What would you say to a kiss, Wylan Van Eck?" he was fucking gone.

Jesper had never looked more handsome, his lashes low, the curve of his jaw sharp, every glint of gold in his eyes sparkling.

Wylan wanted to draw him bare and asleep in his own tangled bedsheets, the elegant lines of his body extended, every single angle and plane etched deep.

He wanted to draw the way he looked in that very moment, beautiful and brash and bold.

And that was a terrible idea for so many reasons.

It was a terrible idea because Jesper was raucous and brazen as the sun, and Wylan was soft and elegant as the moon, and neither of them could read the stars, but surely it was fated somewhere that dark and light did not find peace within one another.

It was a terrible idea because they were two fucking stupid collage kids who could never, ever find a life together.

It was a terrible idea because it was Achilles and Patroclus all over again, the boy who thought he could save his heart, the fucking idiot who believed love was indomitable.

Love would not absolve Wylan of the quiet terror that had sunken into his bones. Love would not ease the addictions that had crept upon Jesper like hungry vines.

He would not be the boy waiting, dishonored and broken, in the war tent.

He would not be the boy who watched as the world's cruelty took all that was dear to him.

He wouldn't.

But there was Jesper, with his lilting smile and the fierce look in his eyes, the scent of brandy clinging to him like smoke, and all Wylan could do was croak, "Yes."

And when Wylan staggered home at four in the morning, his hair a tangled copper halo, he couldn't help but think even Achilles and Patroclus might have hoped once.

They might have made out like teenagers and laughed in between kisses.

They might have been doomed, fated to die within the stars, but perhaps Wylan and Jesper would defy the odds. Perhaps Wylan could bear the magnanimity of his father's terrors, and perhaps Jesper could set down the playing cards and walk away from a bad hand.

They didn't have to be the heroes made history, legends turned legacies.

They could just be Wylan Van Eck and Jesper Fahey.

And in his paintings, they were.

In his paintings, they were very simply two boys kissing in the dark, all roaming hands and breathless gasps, shirts unbuttoned and sleeves rucked to their elbows, lips that tasted of redemption.

But as the days whirled past, and spring blossomed, Wylan came to realize life was so much more than soft, secret paintings. Life might even have been better.

Because life was Jesper asleep in his bed, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, limbs sprawled out across the silk sheets, sunlight gilding his bare body.

Life was standing at the stove with Jesper beside him, bickering over who got the first waffle, nearly doubled up in their laughter, exchanging sleepy kisses that tasted of sugar.

Life was laying in the fields with Jesper, leaning against him ever so slightly, their shoulders pressed together, the quiet brush of the wind lulling them to sleep, sweet as any melody.

Life was Wylan playing the piano in the midst of the night, cold moonlight easing through the blinds and slanting across the elegant notes, and Jesper's head was pillowed on his lap, and he was whispering, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Wylan hadn't known love could be so simple.

He hadn't known.

And sometimes Jesper would read to him, the low cadence of his voice a melody sweet as sunlight, and Wylan would listen with his eyes fluttering shut, and he would think, If this is burning, I will spend the rest of my life with my hands in the fire.

There was the fierce freedom of open roads and summer air and vibrant artwork and daring kisses.

There was the quiet freedom of elegant piano music and large windows and scalding coffee and history books.

There was the unfettered freedom of them, of leaping across the broad rim of a water fountain, Wylan turning his face to the sun, warmth and light and the soft glitter of water, and Jesper's eyes were the colour of hope in the haze of dusk, and he whispered, "You look like a fucking prince, Wy."

Ice cream on his hands and seawater dampening his curls and blinding sunshine everywhere, and Jesper thought he looked like a prince.

What do I see, when I look at him?

Starlight slanting through their windows, grazing the idle curve of Jesper's lips.

Chocolate ice cream dripping down the cone, catching on Jesper's tongue.

Glittering rings of silver and amethyst and veined gold, looped around Jesper's fingers.

What do I find beautiful about him?

Was it his laughter or his smile or the way he buttoned up his shirt in the morning?

Was it the soft cadence of his voice as he read aloud, or the way he stroked Wylan's curling hair idly?

Was it the clever lilt of his smile or the quick wink of his lashes or the mocking shrug of his shoulders?

Was it the very simple fact that when the morning sunlight swept through the windows and slanted over the bed, Jesper looked as though he'd been crowned by the gods, a vision in bronze and gilt and amber? With his hair rumpled and his lashes low and the hard planes of his bare body clear as he knelt, Wylan had never seen anything so fucking wonderous.

What do I want to remember?

Their mornings, a sleepy haze of pancake batter and orange juice and tangled bedsheets, of rambling stories and dazed kisses?

Their afternoons, a blissful tangle of shared smiles and iced coffee and inside jokes, of hurried texts and chocolate bars?

Their nights, a frenzied blur of pulsing music and strobe lights and bedraggled hair, of breathless moans and fizzing champagne?

All of it. I want to remember all of it.

So what do you see, when you look at him?

Wylan saw love.

He saw salvation.

He saw soft lips and blazing eyes and broad hands.

He saw cities burning, burning, burning.

He saw Jesper Fahey.

[lihikainanea]

This is a long angsty thought I had so I apologize: Bill and Tiger on vacation with friends and this is the first one with a few new editions to the group. Tiger gets along with all of them, but one night the girl reveals she wants to get with Bill. While Tiger gets a flare of jealousy, the calming waves and shining moon makes her feel a little more vulnerable than normal. She plays it cool, but she can’t help noticing how this girl is nice, she’s a solid friend from what Tiger can tell. She bottles up her emotions from the conversation, going straight to bed without texting or visiting Bill’s room. He’s slightly worried, of course, but just figured she got wasted. She had given him a key to her room so he walked in late to get some lovin, but she’s asleep. He sees the tears on her face, still wet and he knows somethings wrong. She wakes up from his stare and she loses it. He tries being stern with her, but he knew it was really bad when that didn’t work. She sadly tells him and he doesn’t say it’s dumb or that she’s overthinking. He just kisses her, plain stupid, grabbing her face and pulling her onto him. “Every time I look at you, kid. Every single time I look for you specifically and that won’t change.” He says, the warmth in her chest makes her head spin, and she smiles which he returns. “Plus, she spent the night with another guy hear yesterday, she was probably just a little vacation lovesick, just like another girl I know” He says, pinching her bottom. (Okay I’m done, but when she feels up to it he definitely fucks her so good she’s speechless and has to keep repeating that she’s his.)

Ohhhh sweet nani, the thoughts you have given me.

Thank you.

Thank you.

I love it when tiger just kind of gets all up in her head about this thing she has going with Bill, because goddamn if that ain't relatable eh? My friends and I talk about this a lot, about the differences in the way men and women approach dating or hell, even hitting on someone. And we have come to one main conclusion: men will almost always approach and hit on someone WAY the fuck out of their league, and women seldom will.

I don't know about ya'll, but when I see an insanely attractive guy I just like...shut down. I stare at my feet. I mumble. I blush. I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole--and the last thing on my mind is "yo, I'mma hit on this tall drink of water." Like, I would literally rather pull my own teeth out than hit on a guy that is so ridiculously attractive and so COMPLETELY OUT OF MY LEAGUE.

But dudes? Dudes will see a solid 10 walking down the street and think "Thank god I'm a fucking 14 because that bish is mine." It's actually incredible. Like, it's a scientific phenomenon.

For all the confidence that us women lack, the wrong men seem to have absorbed it all by fucking osmosis.

Fascinating.

ANYWAY. I'll bet tiger feels like that a lot. Bill is just...he's so much, you know? On the surface level there's his insane good looks, his height, the fact that he's a rich motherfucker, and he's famous. All of that weighs on tiger's mind, yes, but then she's even worse off because she knows what's underneath too. A kind, gentle mammoth of a man, the most empathic person she has ever met, someone who is incredibly sensitive and who takes such good care of her, worries over her, tries every day to make her happy. And tiger just...tiger will never understand how she got so lucky.

But then alright, it's time for another friend vacation and this time there are a few new additions. People try not to make a big deal out of it but somehow there always is just a slight check in with Bill--nobody does it outright because god Bill would be mortified and so would everyone else, but there is definitely a few mentions of new people joining the vacation and it gives Bill a chance to back out if he's not comfortable with the idea.

And maybe tiger really does genuinely hit it off with one of the girls. She's a real firecracker, and the exact type of person that tiger respects. She's funny, she's pretty as all hell, she's not afraid to make a bit of a fool of herself to make everyone laugh. This girl eats like a trucker and swears like a sailor, and tiger thinks she's good people. So much so that one night maybe the boys go off and do their own thing, macho bonding or some shit, and tiger and this girl grab some drinks and have some good girl bonding time.

But then it happens. A few drinks in, it happens. And this girl absolutely isn't trying any in vino veritas bullshit, this is really just the first opportunity she's had to drill a little deeper.

"So what's his deal?" she asks. Tiger blinks, sips her drink.

"Who's deal?" she replies. But tiger knows exactly who.

"Bill," she says, "Is he single?"

"Oh, uh," tiger knocks back another big sip of her drink, "...Yeah. Yeah he's single."

Because what is she supposed to say? No, he's taken? Then that would lead to questions about why he's on this vacation alone.

The girl gets a devious smirk, steeples her fingers together--and tiger just wants to hit something, because goddamn this girl is cute. Adorable, even. And when she gives a little whoop and a dorky fistpump, tiger feels her stomach drop to the floor--not because she's after Bill, no no, even worse--because she's actually just so perfect for him.

"Diiiiiiibs," the girl says, "Man I've been eyeing that tall drink of water all trip."

"Ha, yeah," tiger stammers awkwardly and downs the rest of her drink, "He's a handsome one."

"Are you cool with it?" the girl asks, and actually places a concerned hand on tiger's knee, "I don't want to...come between anything. If there is anything." Dis bitch is cute as a button and kind. Fuck.

Tiger gives a casual shrug.

"Why wouldn't I be cool with it?" she says, "I....don't have any claim to him."

"Would it be weird for you?"

"Go for it," she mumbles.

And tiger wants to tell this girl to back off, that Bill is claimed, and that Bill is being claimed every goddamn night of this vacation to the point where his back jammed on him again and tiger had to ice it down this morning. But she can't say any of that--and in true tiger fashion, she just gets a little sad about it. Anger and ferocious defensiveness for Bill would be her first reaction if this girl was a real fucking idiot, but god she's just....she's so nice.

"Okay, okay okay okay," the girl smoothes her hair down, starts to look real serious, "Help a bitch out. What should I do?"

And poor tiger, tiger has to sit there the whole night while this girl actually schemes to get her claws into Bill. And tiger is almost forced to help.

She retreats back to her own room that night, nauseated, sad, and with raw emotions bubbling to the surface. And bless your heart sweet nani, bless your heart for knowing mine so well--because the shining moon absolutely gets to her, the call of the crashing waves. Tiger sits out on her balcony for a bit but she just cries. Just lets it all overwhelm her, lets herself feel every emotion she tried to reel in that night as she helped give a girl tips on how to get Bill. And when she's too exhausted, when it's all just too much--she goes to bed. She misses the text messages from Bill--doesn't even look at her phone, actually. Just curls up in Sad Girl form, all balled in on herself, and falls asleep.

And Bill thinks it's pretty strange that she's not responding, and it's even more strange that she didn't let herself into his room which they had agreed would be their place of rendezvous that night. So instead, he does a quick check of the hallways and then Pink Panther's his lanky ass against the wall before deftly swiping his key card in her door and opening it.

And that's exactly how he finds her, cheeks still wet, her own thumb in her mouth, all curled in on herself. Concerned, he traces a gentle finger down her cheek and she stirs.

"Tiger," he crouches down to be eye level with her, "What's wrong?"

She blinks sleepily, bristles a little, and swipes at her cheeks.

"Nothing," she croaks. Her throat is dry from crying, and she winces.

He doesn't say anything. Just brushes his thumbs across her cheeks, keeping her face in his hands.

"Tiger," he says sternly, "We have rules."

"Yellow," she says immediately, "I don't...I don't want--"

"Okay," he soothes, running his hands up her arms, "We won't. But tiger, can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Bill, it's nothing. Let's just go to sleep."

But like, she's cracking. There are fresh tears rolling down her cheeks now, and Bill knows she needs to let something out.

"It's me kid," he says softly, "You can tell me anything."

And like, tiger cracks. It opens the floodgates. She tells him everything--the entire conversation, every little detail of it. When she works herself up too much at some points, when he starts to hear a wheeze in her breath, he puts a steadying hand on her knee to help ground her. But she lets it all out--every detail, everything this girl said about him, everything tiger told her. She's full on crying again by the end, but Bill just listens. He listens, and he waits.

And you know what I love here, nani? God it's so important. Bill doesn't tell her she's nuts. Doesn't tell her she's foolish for ever thinking he wanted anyone but her. Because that's not what will get through to her. Instead, just like he always does--he loves her and reassures her in the way that she needs, in the way that she can recognize in that moment.

He waits as she pauses, waits to see if she'll continue, but she doesn't.

"Are you done?" he asks quietly. She nods.

"Can I say something now?" he ducks to catch her gaze, and she nods again. He pulls her into his lap.

"Tiger, it's you," he says simply, "It's you kid. Only, and always."

She sniffles, and he kisses her nose.

"Everybody else can try as much as they want. They can give it their best shot. It won't matter," he continues, "It's you, kid."

Ugh, my fucking heart. It gives her the reassurance that she needs. And listen, over the next few days, Bill finds little ways to reinforce that. Maybe this girl does take a shot at him--and he politely, gently shoots her down. Maybe when tiger is feeling ready for it, man he gives it to her so good that she has to stay in bed the next day, because she's walking funny. It's his secret glances, his small winks, his hand on her knee under the table, rising just a liiiiiiiittle high under the safety of the dark night club.

It's everything she needs, in the way that she needs it.

this ask was a gift nani, thank you.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Heart Song (3)

In which Tech realizes soul mates are not always a promise life fulfills, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t learn more about what exactly soul mates are.

here’s their clone numbers, based on the first episode!

Hunter: CT-99-401

Wrecker: CT-99-402

Tech: CT-99-403

Crosshair: CT-99-404 (404, as in clone not found, haha) 

Worry ate at Tech. It ate his brain, interrupting his joy and wonder, and his hunger for knowledge became a hunger for not being lonely.

____

He stared at his glasses, laying in his open hands. He sighed and pushed them on, softly, glancing around the room. His eyes felt dry, and it hurt when they closed. All night, he had tossed and turned, and was unable to focus on anything else other than her. 

Tech gave up on sleep and stood, shuffling on the cold floor. Soulmates, his soulmate... He had one, she was his secret, and he knew almost nothing about what it meant to be a soulmate. Tech tugged on his shoes and tip-toed past Wrecker, who snorted and rolled over in his sleep, and he opened the door, slipping out into the pale, sterile Kaminoian corridor.

His small steps echoed in the hallway, and Tech let out a soft breath and scratched his curly hair, fingers pausing at his ears to adjust the glasses. He nodded politely at the occasional clone patrol that walked by, and glanced around the stark white halls. He slid into the computer training room, the door shutting behind him.

In the dark, the only light Tech had was the blinking of the computers and the holopads charging along the edge of the room. The green and blue glow cast barely enough light for Tech to find his way to a holopad, picking it up, and exhaling. He ran his finger down along the holopad and searched:

Soul mate

Hie pointer finger hesitated over the “entry” key. Kaminoians were adamant about diverting clones from their soul mates. After all, the instructors and the Kaminoians reminded the cadets frequently to come to them if they heard a voice they didn’t know. Tech’s finger trembled. If he searched on here, he couldn’t guarantee that they didn’t have some kind of... trap. Tracking. Alarm.

Tech deleted the word, setting down the holopad and rubbing his face. He turned and hurried out, letting the door shut behind him, and he wandered back down the cadet hall, sighing softly to himself. Tech slipped back into his room, turning, and jumped when he came face to face with the oldest brother.

“You’re up.” His brow piqued.

Tech’s hand had planted into his chest, and his breath played catch up with his lungs. “Don’t do that, 401.”

“Mhm, I heard you leave earlier.” 401 leaned back on the wall, raising his brows. “You haven’t slept all night, and you’ve been worried- I can smell it on you.”

“Creepy.” Tech’s heart had finally recovered, and he released his chest, exhaling.”What’s it matter to you?”

401 looked at the door, and lowered his voice. “You have a soulmate, don’t you?”

Tech felt his eyes widen behind his lenses. “I- what? No.”

“I can hear her.” 401 frowned. “Well, not all the time. There are moments when she’s singing to you- It keeps me up-”

“Please don’t say anything.” Tech hissed. “If you do, I’ll- I-”

“Whoa, hey.” 401 reached forward, hand hesitating before swiping at the tear running down Tech’s face. “I’m not gonna say anything.” 401 glanced around, lowering his voice. “Stop crying. Please?’

Tech sniffled and nodded, words stuck and heavy in his throat. “Okay,” He mumbled, before lunging at 401 for a hug. “Thanks, vode,” His voice was trembling, thick and croaking, breaking through his sniffles.

“Yeah,” 401 mumbled. “She’s... she sounds nice.”

“Can you hear everything she says?” Tech swallowed hard, sinking down on 401′s bed. The eldest brother climbed on th ebed next to him, drumming his long fingers on his knee. 

“Not everything,” He admitted. “Just notes when she sings. I guess you’re so close to me that I can hear certain stuff. I can hear a lot- weird frequencies and stuff.”

“I haven’t heard from her in the last week.” Admitting this felt odd, off, scary. Tech swallowed again. “I’m scared something might be wrong.” He tucked his legs to his chest again, resting his chin on his knees. Tech smiled quietly, despite the anxiety gnawing at him once more. “I love her.”

“You’re, like, eight.”

“Yeah, but I love her.” Tech protested, shifting on the mattress. It was pretty barren and the room was cool. “I wish I could learn more about soul mates.” He felt Hunter’s confusion radiate, and he spoke up again. “I have a theory the Kaminoians have a block on that and have some kind of.. security or tracker based around searching it. I can’t search it on any of the holonet here.”

Hunter hummed, laying back on the bed, feet dangling above the ground. They kicked, moving to generate new thoughts. “Don’t you have a cybersecurity course starting soon?”

Tech perked up. “Yeah. Finally, something I’m good at.”

“You’re good at everything.” 401 snorted. “Why can’t you just... hack the system and get past whatever walls they have?”

Tech blinked, head picking up, shock striking him. “Hack?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you insane?”

“I mean, that’s kind of what the four of us were made for, Tech.” Hunter crawled back onto the cot fully, foot lightly kicking at Tech. “How about you sleep on it?”

Tech’s jaw tightened, but he scrambled off the bed. “Hacking- why would you even suggest that,” He mumbled, scoffed, and argued with himself. He reached his bunk and climbed under his blankets, snapping off his goggles.

But, as Hunter’s breath steadied and slowed into a rhythm of sleep, and drowsiness began coating Tech, he realized that the idea was crazy but, if he could figure it out, it just may work.

___

Tech rolled over in the morning, humming along to the song in his head. He yawned, stretching, blinking as the sweet voice lulled him from his sleep. He gasped and sat up, blanket flying off of him. “Song bird,” He whispered, heart throbbing.

“I need to find a better name for you than smarty pants.”

Tech exhaled, grabbing for his chest. “You can call me whatever you want.” He slumped back, ears ringing. “I didn’t hear you, I got scared,” He said, voice cracking. “I thought I wouldn’t hear you again.”

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Tech corrected, sitting upright again, swinging his legs off the bed. “I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you.”

“We’re still children, you know we won’t always be like this.” Her voice was soft, wistful, too broken for her youth. “We’ll grow up and get mad and fight.”

“Never,” Tech vowed, ducking into the refresher and running a comb through his curly mop of hair. “I promise.”

She sniffled, filling Tech with despair. “Pinkie promise?”

“On all my honor as a man.”

Her laughter recovered him, soothed him, eased his anxiety. “And what a man you shall be.”

___

Tech wanted to rip out his hair. But, he inhaled and exhaled, calling upon his patience. Normally, Tech adored listening to lectures regarding the integrity of different support systems of different ships. However, all he could ponder on was his soulmate. He wanted to run out, and sing and call for her. Maybe they could sing together, in person, and he could even teach her new songs-

“Cadet CT-99-403!”

Tech almost fell out of his chair, eyes landing on the irritated supervisor in front of him. “What was I just talking about?”

“The neurobiofunctional impact of extremist rebel attacks on rural groups.” Tech said quickly.

The supervisor grunted, half-disappointed he couldn’t get onto Tech for not listening, and he stalked away, past the glowering regs who were casting nasty looks Tech’s way. Tech shifted, watching the supervisor, looking over his features- the nose, the proud brow, the square jaw. tech ran a knuckle over his own jaw. How similar would he look to the supervisor, or even other regs, when he got older? 401 already looked a lot like the other kids, but his hair was longer, and he grumbled every time he got the regulated haircut, vowing once he graduated he would “let his mane flow”. 404 was probably the most individual when it came to appearances- albino, pale, silvery-white hair, leading him to look like the youngest grandpa that Tech had ever encountered. Actually, the only grandpa Tech had ever encountered. 

As he stood, Tech ignored a reg sneering “Four-eyes” as he strutted past the smaller boy, deciding that his soul mate, his song bird, liked smart men, smart men in glasses, and Tech decided he was perfectly satisfied with keeping glasses as he aged.

He just had to come up with a way to keep them under the kriffing helmet.

___

Tag list!

@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @lafy-taffy @photowizard17 @nick-djarin @fanfic-cave @shytastemakerthing @phoenixhalliwell​ @anyrchist @nahoney22 @subbing-for-clones @haloangel391​ @darkangel4121 @peacefulwizardfox​

[gotfuckingseven]

drunk in love - kth

summary ⇢ in which taehyung drunkenly calls his forever-love.

pairing ⇢ taehyung x reader

genre ⇢ angst!!

warnings ⇢ intoxication and just really sad 

note ⇢ hope you’ll enjoy this lil fic i wrote. tell me what you think!!

The city was still alive at this hour. The bars that were placed neatly beside each other on the crowded street, were booming with people, having the time of their lives with not a care in the world. Old friends sharing a beer or perhaps three. Lovers giggling in the company of each other, and probably drunk girls befriending each other in the bathroom stalls that usually reeked of vomit and cheap perfume.

Taehyung let a sigh escape him, and watched a misty cloud form in the cool January air. He had his hands tight in the pockets of his big coat, that did a great job at shielding him from the low degrees of the night.

He felt his steps quicken in pace, as he rounded the corner. The flat he shared with his girlfriend of 5 years appeared. There was no light on. He didn’t think much of it, she’s probably fallen asleep, he thought. He fished his phone out of his pocket. 01:37 am it read. It was late, and Taehyung had completely lost track of time.

He opened his phone and saw that you still hadn’t replied to any of the various texts he had sent that night. Yeah, you were sleeping, he convinced himself.

He felt his mood go giddy as he entered the staircase that would lead him to you. He almost couldn’t wait to see your sweet face, and smell his favourite perfume, that you were hopefully wearing.

He felt his fingertips vibrate as he pushed the key into the keyhole, and opened the door quietly. He didn’t want to wake you.

He shut the door after him, and neatly placed his shoes in the hallway. The apartment was pitch black, and he almost stumbled into the pile of clothes on the floor, right by the kitchen door.

He stuck his head into the living room. No light illuminated the room, besides the moonlight that shone through the windows of the 5th floor, that he and you resided in. He walked into the room, and was immediately met by the mess on the coffee table. Old boxes of chinese food were scattered on the otherwise nice coffee table. You had gotten it for the two of you a few years back.

Silly her, he thought, always forgetting to clean up after herself, he chuckled for himself, and sat down in the worn sofa. His black hair fell against his forehead. He shrugged off his coat, and placed it beside him on the arm of the couch.

He didn’t feel tired. Sure his eyes were droopy, and the bags under his eyes would easily tell someone otherwise, but he didn’t feel an inch of sleep ready to engulf his body. His head was still buzzing from the alcohol in his veins, and he was sure he was reeking of cheap beer.

He had spent the night with some of his friends, who wanted to see him. They hadn’t seen each other in quite a while.

They told him that they were worried about him, that he spent too much in that raggedy apartment. He would just brush them off, and tell them that you and him were still in the so-called honeymoon phase. They would always just change the subject afterwards.

His mind wandered back to you. You were probably cuddled up in the bedroom, wearing one of his shirts. He would always love the sight of you in his bed. The mere thought put a loving smile on his tired face.

He breathed a shaky breath and started looking for the remote. He was in the mood to watch a sappy romantic film, that reminded him of you and his relationship.

As he was looking for the remote, he was interrupted by the vibrating of his phone.

He quickly straightened out in sofa, and pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat.

“Hullo?” He grunted, not even bothering to check the caller ID before he answered.

“Tae?” Your sweet voice rang in the other end, and he swore he felt his knees turn to jelly.

“H-hi baby” He croaked, and you could basically hear his smile in his voice.

“Are you drunk?” You sighed.

Taehyung felt a nag in his throat at your tone, and leaned forward to rest his head in his free hand.

“Yeah, a little bit *hiccup* I think yeah” He chuckled. He could feel his heart rate increasing, and bit his bottom lip.

You sighed once again, and he could hear a door closing in your end.

“Tae, you have to stop calling me” You finally said after a short period of silence.

Taehyung furrowed his brows, and cleared his throat.

“What do you mean?” He asked sincerely, and kept his gaze on the floor beneath him.

He knew what you meant, but maybe his drunken state of mind just didn’t want to really understand what you said.

“It’s been a year” You told him, as well as yourself.

Taehyung felt his hands go clammy, and he cleared his throat once again.

“I saw th-that picture you posted yesterday” he smiled once again, and straightened his back, “You look so pretty, my love” he admitted.

He couldn’t hear anything on the line, and had to check if you had hung up.

“Taehyung, please, you can’t call me anymore” You told him. You sounded so defeated, and to be honest, you felt like it too.

“I even saved the picture! And-and the new necklace you’re wearing these days, its so pretty on y-“

He cut himself off, when he heard a loud slamming of the door on your end. He could hear you shifting in your seat, and then silence.

“Is this Taehyung?” He heard an unfamiliar voice ask.

“Who is this?” Taehyung felt a pit grow in his stomach, and a feeling that he knew exactly who the other man were.

“This is her boyfriend, stop calling her you fucking freak” He proclaimed before the line cut off.

Taehyung felt his throat close up, as he slowly removed the phone from his ear.

He felt his hand tighten around the phone, and forcefully slammed it on the coffee table in front of him. He could hear a cracking sound, but he didn’t care.

He was so upset, he could almost feel his blood burn in his veins.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he got up, tearing at his hair by his roots.

He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t fucking believe it. He felt so many emotions at once, he couldn’t even point one out and explain it, even if he was paid for it.

He stomped out of the living room, his vision unclear by the tears welling in his eyes. Him being intoxicated didn’t do him justice in finding his bedroom, and he felt his world spin when he landed on the bed. Sure enough, it was empty, not even a bedsheet was in sight.

He felt so fucking horrible, his whole body screamed at him. He could hear his heart beating in his ears.

He flung at his pillow that left feathers in its wake, delicately falling on his mattress. He fell head first into the pillow, while his whole body laid limp on the bed.

He screamed so aggressively, he was sure he would get complaints from his neighbours, if he hadn’t used the pillow to muffle his pained screams.

The tears that fell from his eyes soaked the pillow, and he almost couldn’t breathe. And he didn’t want to, either. It hurt so bad to know that you were moved on, that you didn’t need him like he needed you. He couldn’t stop hearing your new man’s disgusting voice, spitting at him like he was an animal. He wanted to bury himself, quite literally, and wake up again in another life where you weren’t with another man, and where Taehyung didn’t depend on a bottomless bottle, to be alive in a world where you weren’t his anymore.

[ashisstrange]

MASTERLIST

ʷᵒʳᵈˢ: ².²ᵏ

ᵖᵃⁱʳⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜʰⁱˡᵈᵉ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗᵃᵍˢ: ʰᵘʳᵗ/ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ, ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃⁿᵍˢᵗ, ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁱⁿˢᵉʳᵗ, ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵃˡʳᵉᵃᵈʸ

✥﹤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Its late in the night, far too late for your liking. The moon is glistening in the sky with it's stars, providing a small sheen of light in your dark room, passing through the curtains. It's not unusual for Tartaglia to get home late considering his occupation, but you never got used to the worry pooling in ur gut each hour that passes without him by your side.

What if he's gotten incredibly hurt and you're not there to help? What if one day he doesn't return home? Nontheless you always prepare extra dinner and make the bed, even on nights he doesn't return. You never had the idea of coming home to loving arms and warm dinner as a kid, so it felt as if it's your duty to make sure Tartaglia never suffers that feeling.

The feeling of a stab in the chest as you enter the dark house, eerily silent. You'd always pad your way to the kitchen silently and snag a sandwich before going to bed in your room. Your living situation had never been inherently bad, but the people you lived with, the people any other person would've called their parents, seemed to make everything unbearable.

That is why when you turned 18 you moved out to Liyue harbor, and your close friend Zhongli was there every step of the way. You had run into him once during a trip at the age of 16, and you had kept contact through letters ever since.

The man, at the time, told you he was 23, but he never really seemed to age. You brushed it off, probably overthinking it. That is the same person that introduced you to Childe, it was quite a sudden occurence, but you'll be forever grateful.

You needed a place to stay and your friend told you that his friend wouldnt mind a roommate, and that he was rarely found home anyways. You took up the offer, not knowing that your roommate would be one of the fatui harbingers.

You were off to a rocky start, the man refusing to talk to you the very few times he was at the appartment. Later though, he seemed to warm up to you, ever so slowly.

You don't remember how your relationship ever came to be, it's not like you've ever explicitly put a label to it. There was just a moment where you felt as if everything changed. What you had wasn't just merely a romantic relationship, it was more than that. To provide each other comfort and love like no one else had ever done before. Unconditional love that didnt seem to falter, even during the moments where you parted ways.

You smile to yourself, remeniscing the days you barely talked, and the days you spent helping him when he was wounded. There was one particular night he just crashed into your bed in the middle of the night, even though he usually only used the couch.

He had clung to you as if you were his only lifeline, sleeping soundlessly as you laid in shock. The shock died down after a few seconds though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Not long after you fell asleep too, and since that night Tartaglia had never slept on the couch ever again.

You check th clock. 4:37 Am, way too late to be up, but it's not like you'd sleep regardless. You'd probably get an ear full from Zhongli during your scheduled lunch the next day, but that, folks, is something for future you to deal with.

Suddenly you heard the turning of keys in a lock, and a door opening and slamming shut. That can only be one person. Then you heard a crash coming from the living room, making you shoot up. You slipped on your slippers as you quickly shuffled your way across the room and out into the living room.

You flicked on the light and were met by Tartaglia, slumped against the back of the couch. His bow was discarded to the side and he was breathing heavily. Sluggishly, his eyes opened to meet yours, his gaze seemed distant, almost empty.

You snapped out of your trance, rushing to pull his arm over your shoulder. You managed to drag him across the living room, over to the bathroom, settling him down on the closed lid of the toilet. You held up your hands, as if to say 'wait here'. You didn't dare break the silence that hung over you, scared that you'd set him off or something.

He didn't seem to protest, so you left to go get the med kit from the kitchen, and a clean rag to clean off the blood splattered across his skin. Was it his? That was a question that, regardless if you could guess the answer, would be left unanswered. As always.

He met your eyes when you returned, seeking for some contact. He knew how much you hated blood. The stickyness, the sickening smell and the thought of what must have happened that involved getting covered in blood. You always helped him regardless, and he thanked you dearly for that. After a long day he simply could not do it himself.

It makes him feel helpless, but you're always right by his side to make him feel better. You wet the rag, cleaning off his calloused hands. His face too had some traces of blood, but those were easily wiped away as well.

After some emergency stitches and a bandage around his bicep you motioned for him to stand up, letting him know that the treatment was done. He was still quite weak, but not as much as before.

"Thanks," he croaked, the first words you shared in 2 days. His voice sounded devoid of any confidence. He seemed very fragile, but you didn't comment it.

"No worries," You send him a reassuring smile, helping him get up and over to the bedroom. You see him visibly relax once he's in bed, snuggling into the sheets. He immediately rolls over towards you when he feels the matress dip, wrapping his arms around your waist.

His face is buried in between your shoulder blades, and it's nearly impossible for you to turn over and look at him. He only does that when he's in a bad mood, and you stop putting in effort to try and face him.

"Bad day?" He hums, the vibrations thrumming against your back. He seems tense, but you're careful not to trigger him too much. The last thing you want is to stress him out even more, knowing he has a lot on his plate already.

After a while, when you've started nodding away assuming he fell asleep you suddenly feel movement behind you. You open your eyes as you hear a small sniffle. It's almost as if you could hear your hart shatter from beneath your ribs. He probably thought you were asleep too.

His arms had relaxed, allowing you to turn around easily. His ocean blue eyes met yours, big with surprise, even though they seemed almost grey-ish in the faint moonlight. All you could do is smile at him as you opened his arms, for him to rely on you.

And that's exactly what he did. qHe fell into your chest, sniffling and crying freely as you drew patterns on his back, your other hand running through his hair. You could almost feel his clogged nose by the way he was having trouble breathing. After a bit his sobbing eased down to mere sniffles as you handed him a handkerchief to blow out his nose.

He used to have a lot of trouble with that, relying on people. Upon meeting him he imediately sparked you as the type of person that didnt bother anyone with his personal feelings, bottling them up for only him to experience. You could see how it physically and mentally ate away at him

That's why one day you faced him, and opened your arms. He had quirked up a brow, confused at what you were insinuating. "Rely on me." You said, and he chuckled, assuming it was a joke.

When you didn't move he realised you weren't kidding. Eventually you wrapped your arms around him, the man tense in your grip. "You don't seem to want to bug anyone else with your problems, so you can rely on me instead,"

You had no idea ho much those words had meant to him, they stuck by him like gum under a shoe. It felt good, he admitted, to have someone to rely on.

"I'm so sorry," He croaks, and he sounds nearly as small as he did in the bathroom half an hour ago, his eyes red with tears. Seeing him like that made your chest clench in pain, knowing the pain the world has caused him.

"There's nothing for you to apologise for," he seems to be taken aback by your comment, maybe even... offended?

"N-no way, i'm clearly a burden to you and a waste of yo-" you shut him up by pressing a kiss to his lips, making his eyes widen.

"You have nothing to apologize for because i am here for you, willingly. I promised to help you with whatever you're going through didn't i," He nods in defeat, leaning back into you. The way he cuddles up to you almost seems domestic, forgetting the fact that he kills people for a living.

"You need to take a break sweetie, otherwise you'll just keep eating yourself up," You stroke a lock of hair out of his face that nearly seemed glued by the stickyness of his tears. He furrows his brows, creating deep creases in between them.

"You know i can't, there's way too much for me to do," He looks up at you, as if he's offended you brought it up in the first place. You press your thumb in between his brows, easing up the crease and stopping him from furrowing.

"We both know it isn't a crime to take a week off, considering you've never used your days off," He tries to butt in, but you shush him before he can start. "And before you start about 'your duties', there's enough harbingers at the fatui, it's not like they can't send Scaramouche to deal with your business for a bit,"

He frowns again, but you resume in stroking his hair. "Besides, if they don't allow you to take off, which i highly doubt, they'll have me to deal with," You smirk. His eyes crinkle up as he musters a small smile. You're not the most intimidating person on the planet, but it's the sentiment that matters.

"What would i even do in that week though," he huffs, fiddling with the back of your shirt as he seems deep in thought.

"Well i had just the idea," you chuckle as he looks at you in disbelief. His eyes are still a bleary red, but you can tell he's a lot less tense than earlier. "And that is..." He continues, his tone ever so curious.

"Say, how long has it been since you've been back home," he visibly tenses up, not meeting your eyes. You know its a sensetive topic, but it'd really do him good to go back home to see his family.

"I dont know, nearly two years," his voice is merely above a whisper, bless the fact that the room is so silent you'd be able to hear a pin drop. You adjust your position so that he's laying against you more comfortably, going back to stroking through his hair.

"Well i thought we could book it to shnezhynaiya for a week or two, spend some time with your family," He lays still against you, as if he'd break if he moved. "After all, they've only heard about me through letters," you chuckle.

You hold him a little tighter, leaning into the warmth. "Wouldn't you like that?" You say in his ear, just above a whisper. That seems to break him, the realisation dawning on him that he'd get to see his family again.  Tears run down his face once again, only this time they're not caused by distress. He nods as he buries his face back into your shoulder.

You stroke his back as you continue talking about your trip, soothing him. Later, when he's stopped crying, he talks along. He tells you about his parents, about how his mother used to be there for him through everything. About how he used to go ice fishing with his father in the winters, and proudly mention he caught a very big fish once.

He also tells you about his siblings, about how he cares for every single one of them very dearly. He also tells you about the spots he wants to visit with you he used to hang out at.

He tells you all about it, and for the first time in a while you see him smile. Really, genuinely smile. The kind of smile where his eyes crinkle up and he bares his teeth. It's an incredibly endearing sight, and u make a mental note to never forget it.

Suddenly he yawns. "You must be exhausted," you chuckle as you both adjust your positions, ready to fall asleep. He only hums as he keeps his eyes shut, pulling up his blanket. His breathing evens out as he falls asleep.

You smile as you look at his resting face, snuggling closer to him as you think; god, how did i get this lucky