#shame oneshot

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Champagne Problems | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oh, hi! Truly, sometimes you just don't know the answer till someone's on their knees and asks you, you know? Also I hope my taglist works this time but who the fuck knows.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: engagement / wedding talk, mentions of alcohol

Nat flipped through your list of invitees, crossing off a few names as she scanned the page. She took it upon herself to help you stuff, address, and mail the invitations for your engagement party, because in her words, you were “dragging your feet”. There were only five or so weeks left until the event, and you just hadn’t found the time to sit down and sort out the invitations. At least, that’s the excuse you told Nat- and yourself. 

“Okay, we’re finally making some progress, we’re about halfway done,” Nat called from the dining table. “Shit. Without me, no one would even show up to this fucking party.” She didn’t mean for you to hear that second part- but her voice echoed through your nearly empty apartment. 

Almost everything you owned was gone; either sold, or stored, or moved into the house you were to share with your fiancé, Cole. All that remained was your clothes, your bed, and a few odds and ends. It would’ve been far easier, far more convenient, to stay in your new house instead of living out of cardboard boxes. And far more aesthetically pleasing. The house was a nice- nicer than you’d ever be able to afford yourself. And it was beautiful. There was a lush garden in the backyard. A swing on the front porch. Even a white picket fence. You described it to everyone as “picturesque.”

But the lease on your apartment wasn’t up quite yet. You still had a few weeks until your move-out date, and you wanted to soak in as much time at the old place as you could. You loved it here. Loved the worn wooden floors and the doors that didn’t hang straight. The dent in the wall where Bucky bonked his metal elbow when you popped out of the hall closet and scared him. The corner in your bedroom where you and Bucky made a blanket fort during last winter’s blizzard. Memories papered the walls and covered the floors of this place- and most of them involved Bucky.

This was home. And while the new house was great- and fully paid for by your fiancé’s wealthy parents- it didn’t feel like you belonged there. It didn’t welcome you in or fill you with warmth. Cole’s mom said it just needed the right décor. Your friends told you it needed time. But deep down, you knew that no amount of beautiful area rugs, no amount of time, could turn your house with Cole into a home. There would always be one thing missing, one glaring and flagrant void. 

Bucky.

“You’re inviting Bucky?” Nat looked up from the list and found you coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Her incredulous expression nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You gave her a strange look, “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be invited?”

“Okay, first of all,” Nat scoffed, “He’s your best friend- present company excluded. And second, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

You threw a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you settled into your chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nat rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t think it’s smart to invite the guy you’re actually in love with to a party celebrating your engagement to another man.” She threw you a shrug, “but hey, that’s just me.”

“Woah-” you almost choked on your popcorn. “I’m not in love with Bucky.”

It was the most absurd thing Nat had ever heard. “I’m not in love with Bucky!” she jeered, imitating your voice. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay, jesus,” you raised your hands, miming a surrender. “I did- at one point- have romantic feelings for him,” you conceded, “but that was a while ago.”

“Oh, at one point?” Nat crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that like you had a small crush on him for a week, when we both know your ‘romantic feelings’ have been a constant ever since you became friends with the guy.”

Her accusations weren’t necessarily wrong. But they were loud. And pointed. And rubbed salt in your many wounds. “It was …” you gave a small shake of your head. “We never got the timing right, you know? It just didn’t work in our favor.” The heartache with which you’d grown familiar reared its ugly head. “But it’s fine,” you told her. “I’m engaged, now. So.”

Ever since you boyfriend, Cole, became your fiancé, you’d done your best to kill and bury your longing for Bucky. But your feelings for him weren’t so easily vanquished. They were strong and boisterous and loud. At least a few times a day, they launched themselves at you out of nowhere. At work. At the grocery store. At dinner with Cole and his parents. Nowhere was safe. Everywhere you went, things reminded you of Bucky. Of your favorite person. Of the person to whom you were not engaged. 

The desperate pining for him tore your still-healing wounds wide open. Every time your gaze landed on your engagement ring, every time a friend mentioned your impending wedding, a sharp pain sliced through your chest. And each time, you were forced to acknowledge the fact that you were not, in fact, getting married to Bucky.

 “Um, anyway…” you cleared your throat, “Of course, I’m inviting Bucky. And the subject isn’t open for debate, by the way. It’s my party and I’ll invite who I want to.” 

You grabbed an invitation and a blank envelope from the stacks in front of Nat and positioned them in front of you. If Nat didn’t want you inviting Bucky, there was a more than significant chance that she’d conveniently “forget” to address an invite for him. And so, you scrawled his name and address onto an envelope and affixed a stamp in the corner. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his invitation. Even if he didn’t want to come. 

The night of the party arrived sooner than you expected. Sooner than you’d hoped. 

The house was abuzz with people running in and out, carrying food and linens and liquor; you knew you’d be requiring the latter in order to survive the night. Florists arrived to cover the house in perfect, beautiful blooms. A team of caterers brought with them enough fine food to feed an army. And a flawless, two-tiered cake with delicate lacy piping sat on the dining room table, complete with yours and Cole’s initials. All of it was perfect. Picturesque, really. It was exactly what you wanted- but Cole wasn’t who you wanted it with.

Every few minutes, you checked your phone in search of a text from Bucky. The deadline to RSVP had come and gone almost two weeks ago, and he never gave you an answer one way or another. He ignored your “hey, are you coming to my party?” texts, and your “just wanted to know if you plan on coming to the party” voicemails. He ignored almost all of your correspondence, actually. 

Lately, he’d only been answering about a third of your texts and a quarter of your calls. It was unlike him. It was unheard of, really. On multiple occasions in the past, he answered your calls while taking heavy fire; you could actually hear the bullets whizzing by on his end of the line. But now, things were quiet. And you forced yourself to accept that fact that he was not coming to your party.

The festivities kicked off around seven-thirty, and you found your house full to the brim with party goers. All of Cole’s friends showed up. His childhood friends, his college buddies, his old soccer team- they all arrived with bells on. And your friends were well represented, too. High school pals, your book club, a close coworker or two. They were all so excited to see you, so happy that you found someone. 

Even Bucky’s teammates made an appearance. They were his friends first, of course, but growing close with him meant growing close to them. And you’d build unbreakable bonds with Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Maria. They were thrilled for you and more than happy to attend your party- even if Bucky wouldn’t be there. 

With your house so full, so jam-packed with friends, you thought you wouldn’t notice the pain of Bucky’s absence. But you did. Of course, you did. And you found yourself feeling painfully alone in a sea of people. 

Without Bucky there, the night seemed to fall flat. The flowers lost their vibrance. The food was bland. And the music sounded disjointed and off-tempo. Things just weren’t the same. 

People swarmed you every few seconds, hollering their congratulations and asking to see the ring again. They asked you about venues and dresses, bridesmaids and center pieces. Everyone meant well- you knew they did. But as the throngs of people refused to relent with their questions about table linens, your chest began to tighten. A hard, concrete cast wrapped itself around your lungs, preventing them from expanding. A suffocating lack of oxygen rendered your dizzy. It was all too much. The people and the music and the impending nuptials. Even the sensation Cole’s hand on your waist was too much, too tight, too smothering. 

With a whispered “be right back”, you moved swiftly through the crowd and escaped out the front door. If you could just get some space, some quiet, some oxygen, you’d be fine.

The door provided you with much needed support as you tilted and teetered on unsteady feet. The panic, the alcohol, the high heels- it all combined to form a dizzying, possibly lethal combination. But at least you were outside. As least you were free. The cool night air prickled at your skin, and finally, your lungs filled to capacity. A few deep inhales cleared the fog from your mind. With closed eyes, you tipped your head back against the door and let yourself enjoy the quiet. Sure, the music from your playlist leaked into the night air, but this was the closest thing to silence you’d experienced all night. And you were not going to complain. 

As your heartbeat slowed, you told yourself it would be okay. That everything was going to be fine. That you’d figure out how to handle the situation. And, if only for a moment, you actually believed your fabrications. A sense of peace wrapped around you like a blanket, and a welcome calm settled into your bones.

But the creak of a porch step yanked your eyes open. 

And there you found Bucky, frozen on the second to last stair, with giftbox in hand. He eyed you as though he were a prey animal, wondering if you’d seen him, waiting for his chance to escape. But it was too late; he’d been caught.

“Buck?”

He forced a smile, “Hey.”

“Hi!” you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with an intensity that would’ve injured a mere mortal. He reeled back a few paces as your momentum knocked into him. “I’m so glad you’re here! didn’t think you were coming!”

His arms draped loosely- weakly- behind your back. It wasn’t much- but it was better than no Bucky at all. And after he failed to respond to your messages, didn’t answer your calls, and made himself scarce over the last few months, you’d take whatever you could get. 

“Right. Yeah. Well, technically, I’m not-” He untangled himself from your arms and pointed at the perfectly wrapped giftbox. “I just wanted to drop off your present.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s-” Dismay dripped from your words, “Wait, you’re not staying?” 

Bucky gave a shake of his head. He avoided your eyeline and chose, instead, to look at anything other than you.  The grass. The porch light. His own shoes. “I can’t, sorry.”

It crushed you. Having him stop by for only a moment was far worse than him not showing up at all. Because now, you had to deal with the loss. The pain of his departure. For him to grant you the warmth of his presence, only to snatch it away moments later was almost cruel. How could he leave when you were finally seeing the world in color? How could he go when the music finally made sense with him by your side?

You didn’t want to beg. Didn’t want to make him feel bad. Didn’t want to seem pathetic. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You can’t stay for even a little while?”

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart. And he had half a mind to forget his plan and allow you to escort him inside. But he stood firm. “I would,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I have to go pick up a friend from the airport.”

The words hit you in a strange place. A pin-prick pain nipped at your chest- you’d caught him in a lie. “Buck, no offense, but all your friends are inside.” You gestured toward the house with a nod of your head. It was true- all of Bucky’s closest friends were dancing the night away in your living room. And he was caught red handed.

 “Right…” His teeth dug into the smooth flesh of his cheek; his eyes roamed the yard. He should’ve known better than to use such a lame excuse- he did know better. He couldn’t casually lie around you; you knew him too well. But the pressure got to him, and forced cracks into his cool, marble surface. He hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, let alone talk to you. The painful awkwardness of the moment ate through him like acid.

“So… you can stay?” Your words came out too desperate, too expectant. But you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to get him to hang around- even if he didn’t seem excited about it. Hell, you’d beg him on your knees if that’s what it took. Anything to get him to stay. 

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess I can.”

Finally, he let his eyes land on you. After choosing to avert his gaze for so long, he wasn’t strong enough to do so any longer. He had to look at you, to take in every detail of your face. But as he drank you in slowly, inch by inch, in the light of the full moon, a strange solemnity sunk its teeth into him. Perfectly imperfect curls framed your face. A flawless diamond sat at the hollow of your throat. You were even wearing his favorite lipstick of yours- the one he said made you look like a vintage Hollywood star. He eyed your delicate, lacy white dress. Your white strappy heels with bows on the ties. Your white nails. And the perfect, glistening diamond adorning the ring finger of your left hand. 

Everything about you was so beautiful. So bridal. It made his chest tight.

“You look really nice,” he said, almost bashful. “Beautiful.”

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.” 

This stupid white dress. With its stupid lace and its stupid pearls and its stupid bridal flare. You hated it. Resented it. Wanted to take scissors to its seams. But if you were to play the role of Cole’s blushing bride, you had to dress the part, didn’t you? You had to don your fiancée costume and take part in the production. 

But, regardless of your feelings about the outfit, your heart still flared at Bucky’s compliment. One simple word of praise from him had such a startling, intense effect on you. And suddenly, you were in high school again. He filled you with a sense of giddy adoration that you hadn’t experienced since the tenth grade. This was the stuff of love notes stuffed into lockers. Of first kisses under the bleachers. But your feelings for him could never be as fleeting or as shallow as those of your youth. No, this was the stuff of forever. 

“Hello?” Bucky gave you a wave. “You okay?”

An awkward laugh escaped your chest, “Yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Did you say something?”

“I said, what are you doing outside?” He eyed the packed house. Twinkling lights shone through the windows. Crowds of people danced and drank champagne. Music wafted through the air. “Shouldn’t you be in there? At the party? Cause, you know, it’s for you.”

Just the thought of going back to the party made your stomach turn. Part of you wondered if you might be able to hide outside all night; just stay in the yard until the festivities came to a close. Hell, maybe you could even run away. You could get pretty far if you started walking and didn’t look back. By the time the party ended, you could be deep in the heart of Brooklyn- you could be at Bucky’s.

“Yeah, no, I probably-  I should be inside. But, I’m just…” you took in a sharp breath. It hitched in your windpipe and got stuck for a moment. “I got a little overwhelmed, you know? With the noise, and the people and the… everything. So, I came out here to-” To hide. To escape. To flee. “To get some air.”

Bucky could’ve sworn he sensed something lurking beneath your calm surface. It was the slightest change in your voice, the smallest twitch of your brow. He clocked the way your hands never stilled. The way your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek. Something was off. 

He sat in the long silence, waiting for you to open the vault and show him your secrets. But the lock remained secure. You didn’t say anything else, didn’t hint at the source of your discontent. He eyed your manufactured smile, but couldn’t seem to crack it. 

Things never used to be this way. He didn’t keep secrets from you, and you wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from him- there was no reason to. Neither of you had to fear judgement or ridicule from the other. Your most embarrassing stories, Bucky’s darkest thoughts- they were all safe with the other. 

But an unfamiliar disconnect had pulled the two of you apart. And Bucky could no longer read your soul like a book.

“Everything’s okay, though. Right?” He eyed you with suspicion. With concern. 

You nodded- maybe too fervently. “Yeah. For sure,” a fake smile stretched across your face, “Just stressed, I guess.”

“And he treats you right?” It was one of the things Bucky worried about most. Sure, the house was nice. And the ring was huge. But did Cole speak to you with kindness? Did he show you empathy and understanding? Did he make you feel safe?

“Yes.” 

Bucky breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that Cole handled you with care brought a sliver of ease to his worried mind. “So, you’re happy then?” 

It was all Bucky ever wanted for you. A safe life, a happy life. But the answer wasn’t yes or no. This  was the farthest thing from a black and white situation. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to just be happy. You thought that if you willed it, if you said it with conviction- then it would be true. And the happiness you were supposed to feel around your fiancé would magically spring up around you. But it didn’t. Every day, you waited. Every day, you told yourself to just be fucking happy. Cole gave you everything. He was nice and agreeable and provided you with the resources to do anything you’d ever wanted. But the happiness never came. At one point, you decided you’d settle for contentment. But that too evaded you.

“Um, do you wanna sit?” It was the best subject change you could come up with on such short notice. “The porch is free. Come on.”

Before Bucky could respond, he found your fingers linked with his. Chills traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his scalp. Even the most innocent of your touches sent his dopamine levels through the roof. He’d never experienced ecstasy like this ever before- and knew he never would again. Especially not after your wedding.

He knew it was selfish to feel anything less than happy for you. You were engaged, you were getting married- this was what you wanted. You wanted marriage. A lifelong partner. A “till death do us part” kind of relationship. And now, you finally had it. So, who was Bucky to ruin it for you? Who was he to hope that you’d leave Cole at the altar? He forbade himself from ever being that selfish. If he was truly your closest friend, he had to be happy for you- even if it meant that he could never be anything more than your friend. 

With his hand in yours, you led Bucky to the porch. And regardless of the brand-new patio furniture Cole’s parents gifted you, you and Bucky opted to sit on the steps. Crickets chirped every now and again. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, rattling the leaves. Voices and music and the clatter of dishes seeped through the windows. You didn’t notice any of it.

Because, finally, you had what you wanted- if only for a moment.

It was the simplest, most innocent desire you’d ever had. To sit on the front steps with Bucky. To share a home with him. To drink coffee next to him on the porch each morning. To watch the rain from safety of your porch swing with Bucky’s head in your lap. 

If you ignored the white dress and the engagement ring and the pop of champagne bottles, you could almost believe that this was Bucky’s house, too. That the two of you could go inside and retire to bed. That you could wake up in the morning, wrapped in his arms. You could almost believe it. Almost.

The two of you sat in silence, planning your words carefully. Conversation felt like a mine field, and one misstep could send either of you to your death. But the warmth radiating off Bucky’s his body wrapped you in a familiar comfort. The narrow steps didn’t provide much in the way of sitting room, forcing Bucky to sit almost shoulder to shoulder with you- not that he’d ever complain. 

With every gust of wind, he caught a whiff of your perfume- the perfume he loved so much. The scent that often clung to his hair and weaved itself into the fabric of his clothes. It mixed with the smell of early spring- crisp air and new blooms. And he felt himself losing his resolve. He did his best to put distance between the two of you, to protect his heart and yours. But as you leaned your body against his and rested your head on his shoulder. He wondered why the fuck he’d ever leave your side.

You, too, lost all strength. And suddenly, you didn’t care about misspeaking. 

“I miss you, Buck…” Present tense. Because, even with him next to you, you missed him. Missed the way things used to be. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, and trying to prove myself…” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, regardless of his intentional distance from you, work really was killing him. “Everyone at SWORD is paranoid- they’re convinced that there’s a secret faction of Hydra growing within their organization.”

“Hmm, that’s so weird. I wonder why they’d be worried about that.” You gave bucky a nudge, and pulled a laugh- your favorite laugh- from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot you an eye roll. “But you’re probably really busy, too. With all the wedding planning.”

His mention of the wedding shattered your perfect, maladaptive daydreams. All the noise from the party once again filled your consciousness. And the weight of Cole’s engagement ring felt like an anchor, dragging you down to the deepest, loneliest sea. Bucky wished he hadn’t brought it up as you removed your head from his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s been-” you felt yourself closing off a bit, and did your best to fight it. “I haven’t actually planned a single thing. At all. So.”

Bucky gave you a strange look. It wasn’t like you to put things off, to procrastinate. He knew you to be an organized, ahead of the curve type of person. You were always the one who had a plan, always the one who over-prepared. He figured that in the few months since your engagement, you’d have planned at least a few things- if not the entire wedding and honeymoon.

“Do you have a date at least?” He pulled out his phone, “I want to put it in my calendar.”

Bucky would be there to support you no matter what, even if watching you marry another man killed him.

“Um, no, there’s no date yet,” you said. “Cole’s parents belong to a really fancy country club and said we could get married there- it’s beautiful. All I have to do is contact the club’s event coordinator and figure out which days are available. I just-” you dropped your eyes to the ground, “I haven’t yet.”

Bucky didn’t like your downcast gaze or your uncertain voice. There was something eating at you- he’d bet his life on it. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you felt like you were behind on all the decisions that needed to be made. Either way, he wanted to help.

He threw you a shrug. “Well, there’s no rush, is there?” 

He took your left hand in both of his and gave it squeeze, but regretted the gesture when your engagement ring dug into his palm. You were getting married to someone else; he had to stop touching you like this. Had to stop treating you like you were still on the market. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect your relationship. And so, he dug his hands into his pockets. 

“I mean some people don’t start planning right away, right?” He said, “They wanna take their time and enjoy the engagement for a while, and-

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Enjoying my engagement.” You had half a mind to take off the ring and launch it into the street. You’d dreamed about doing so every day, actually. Dreamed of throwing it on the subway tracks. Or dropping it through a grate on the street. 

Alarm ran through Bucky’s system like wildfire. “Is everything okay? Is it-”

Finally, you lifted your eyes and met Bucky’s stare.  

“I don’t want to marry him.”

Bucky felt his brain short circuit. He forgot how to breathe, how to speak. His thoughts tangled themselves together in tight, writhing knots. Words bounced off the walls of his skull without meaning. This wasn’t what he’d expected you to say. 

“Um, why-” he cleared his throat, “why not?”

He cringed at his own question. Maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe you didn’t want to get into the details. But you were upset. And if there was any chance at all that you’d want to vent or use Bucky as a sounding board, he was going to listen. 

But there was nothing for him to listen to. For a long time, you didn’t answer. Because to you, the answer was stupid. To you, it sounded like bullshit. Like you’d wasted Cole’s time and love and money. Like you were some noncommittal, unsure child. You rolled your eyes at yourself- as you had every day since Cole’s proposal.

“I just don’t- I don’t love him,” you finally said. “I’m not in love with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great. He’s a really nice person…” And he was. He was kind. He was understanding. He was thoughtful. But he wasn’t the one- he wasn’t Bucky. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. And he’s given me- he’s given me everything. But, I just don’t love him like I-”

You stopped yourself. The words that danced on the tip of your tongue were too risky, too dangerous. You wrangled them before they had the chance to escape- before they had the chance to push Bucky away- and locked them behind bars. 

But they screamed inside your mind. ‘I don’t love him like I love you’ echoed again and again, reverberating every few seconds. Part of you feared Bucky might hear it.

“Um, I don’t love him like-” you rerouted, “Like I always imagined. You know? I don’t feel the way I thought I would.”

Bucky considered your words for a long time. Unlike you, he didn’t think it was bullshit. Or stupid. Or childish. He set his feelings for you aside, not allowing them to cloud his judgement, and thought about your predicament. 

“Well, you don’t have to, you know,” he finally said. “Marry him, I mean.”

You gave him a subtle nod. Maybe he was right. But a larger problem- a more important problem- loomed. And while you’d spent the past few months hemming and hawing about marrying Cole, there was another issue at hand that ate you alive every single day. 

“Why have you been avoiding me, Buck?” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusatory. You just needed to know.

For the third time that night, Bucky found himself caught red-handed. “What?”

“Ever since I got engaged, you’ve been avoiding me.” 

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. And though Bucky knew it was truth, his first instinct was to refute. To deny. To deflect.

“No, I haven’t. I’m not avoiding you,” he said, putting on an air of offense. “I’ve been busy with work and-”

“Don’t give me that.” Your heartbreak dissolved into cold, hard facts. Facts that Bucky couldn’t refute. “I used to see you almost every day. No matter how busy either of us got, we still saw each other all the time. We made time for each other. But ever since Cole proposed, you don’t answer my texts anymore. You don’t respond to my voicemails. I mean, I’ve only seen you-” The realization was startling. You knew Bucky had been distant, but as you quickly flipped through your memories of the past few months, you confirmed just how detached he’d been. “I’ve seen you twice. Including tonight.”

Bucky’s silence bit through your flesh. 

Part of you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. But the question left your lips before you could stop it. “Buck, are you mad at me?” 

He shook his head. “No, why would I be?”

“Because Cole proposed, and I said yes.”

A look of bewilderment yanked Bucky’s features upward. Emotions flashed across his face at lightning speed. A scoff barked out of his throat.

“No. No, I’m not-” He was caught off guard. Struggling to cover his tracks. “I’m not mad. It’s not like that. I’m just-”

“What’s it like, then?” You stared at him, expectant. 

“Oh, come on…” It was all too much. He couldn’t be in such close proximity to you anymore. Couldn’t have you almost pressed against his side. 

He fled from his seat on the stairs and opted to stand in the grass. He paced for a beat or two, wearing down the fresh blades of greenery. And when he finally came to a stopping point, he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t look you in the eye. He just needed a moment. Needed some space. Needed to breathe air that didn’t wear your perfume. And when he cleared his mind- and his lungs- he turned to you.

“You know…” he let out a huff. “You know that things haven’t always been exactly platonic between us. You know that I’ve had- that I’m-” His metal fingers ran through his hair, “Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to deal with this whole thing. I guess I’m not doing a good job.”

It wasn’t news to you. But it still struck you like lightning. 

Things between you and Bucky always teetered on the edge of romance. Always walked a tightrope between friendship and love. And while you adored a good “will they, won’t they” type of relationship on tv, it didn’t have the same charm in real life. The Nick and Jess, Sam and Diane, Janine and Gregory dynamic brought you only pain. Confusion. Heartache. Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a room full of talented writers scripting your every interaction with Bucky. The two of you didn’t have a well thought out, perfectly planned arc that placed you in a relationship by the end of your third season as friends. No, the two of you were left to your own devices, navigating the difficult terrain without help. 

Part of you always believed that you and Bucky would end up together. Maybe it was the Ben and Leslie of it all. Or maybe it was your hopeless romantic side. But you truly thought things would work out for the two of you. The ring on your finger, however, said otherwise.

A wave of remorse washed over you. You rested your elbows on your knees and dropped your chin into your hands. “We just never got the timing right…”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Our feelings for each other were always out of sync,” you lamented. “They ebbed and flowed over the years- just with opposite timing. When you had feelings for me, I was dating someone. When I had feelings for you, you were in love with another woman. It was just…” you cursed fate and destiny and everything in between. “It was bad fucking timing. 

A sharp edge rose in Bucky’s voice, “You think that’s what happened?”

You nodded, “Um… yeah. Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He was steadfast. Resolute. He wanted to argue with you, wanted to prove you wrong. 

“What do you mean?”

“My feelings never ebbed- whether I was dating someone or not, those feelings never went away,” he said. There was a desperation in his voice. A longing you hadn’t heard before. “And they still haven’t. They’ve never gone away or even faded a little bit. I know you had fleeting feelings for me at one time or another, but mine weren’t temporary.”

It was bullshit- it had to be. Right? His “feelings” for you never seemed so concrete, so permanent. They weren’t even feelings; if anything they were more like passing flirtations. Momentary affections that dissolved every time a beautiful woman walked by.  

You let out a scoff, “Tell that to all of your girlfriends-”

“I only dated other people because I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice rose an octave or so  and he cut his eyes toward the house, watching for a sign that someone had heard him. “Every time you started seeing someone new, it was like I couldn’t breathe. So, I needed something- someone- to be a distraction. And I know that’s a dick move. But-”

You weren’t proud of it, but you were familiar with Bucky’s coping mechanism. With his tactics for surviving every new boyfriend of yours. “I did the same thing.”

“What?” He didn’t believe you- not even for a second. Your engagement ring wouldn’t allow him to. 

“Buck, I’ve had feelings for you since we became friends. It was pretty much immediate after meeting you. And they weren’t ‘fleeting’- or whatever you said.” The word actually offended you. “They’ve never ebbed.” 

You caught a glimpse of your engagement ring in your periphery and instantly dropped your hand into your lap, hiding the ring from your view- and Bucky’s. “I only dated other people because I didn’t think anything could actually happenbetween us.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He instantly mourned the lost time, the years he could’ve spent with your lips on his. Of course, the friendship you shared was never a waste. And he’d never trade the years you spent as confidantes. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how different things could’ve been. How much mutual pain could’ve been avoided.

He took a step away from you, too confused and upset to be in your orbit.  “And you never told me any of this?”

Your brow furrowed; your lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

With fury smoldering in your chest, you rose from your seat on the porch steps. Anger glistened behind your eyes and hurt coated your words. “I told you! I bared my fucking soul to you!”

The puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He let his head tip back a bit and covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep groan that only added to your rage. He didn’t have to ask- he already knew what you were referencing. But the part of him that wanted a fight egged you on. “Oh my god, are you talking about that night at the bar?”

“Of course I am!” you spat. “I told you everything- I confessed everything! I told you I loved you and that I wanted to be with you. I told you I was in love with you. And you just brushed it off!”

Bucky grimaced, “I know...” 

He wandered a bit farther, putting a few more paces between your body and his. He knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up. Every time he thought about what you said at the bar, and the way he reacted, he grew nauseous.

“But I didn’t think it was real.” Another wave of desperation sent his voice booming through the yard, “I didn’t know you actually meant it! And I didn’t think I should hold you to something you said after six margaritas.”

He had a point. He had good reason not to believe a drunken confession. But you gave a fervent shake of your head; it wasn’t his actions that night that hurt you, it was everything that followed.

“But you didn’t even acknowledge it!” The words echoed down your street. You wondered if your neighbors had gathered around their windows, watching yours and Bucky’s drama unfold like a soap opera. “You could’ve asked me about it the next day or-”

The pain in your voice cut Bucky deep. His tone was softer now, his voice a little quieter. He knew he should’ve handled things differently. Knew you deserved better. “Well, you never brought it up either…”

“I tried to!” A rogue tear dripped down your cheek. You wiped it away in a hurry, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it- though you knew he had. “But you told me ‘not to worry about it’ and then you walked away. And that was it.”

Bucky watched as a few more tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. He wanted to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. To offer you a hug. But he couldn’t- he was certain you’d swat him away. Regret sat in his stomach, weighing him down like lead.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told you how I felt, and you pretended like it never even happened,” your voice wavered ever so slightly. “And when I tried to talk to you about it, you waved me off. I was so humiliated- I didn’t want to say anything else.”

The weeks that followed your drunken- but true- confession were some of the most miserable times of your life. Bucky simply carried on like normal, inviting you over for movies and pizza and wine. And you didn’t have it in you to pull away. To put some distance between the two of you. To take the time you needed to lick your wounds. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t want to stray from his side. Didn’t want to retreat. Because being around him was better than being without him, even if the rejection left you broken and bruised.

 “After that,” you shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want anything more than friendship with me.”

“But I-” Bucky shook his head; you were wrong- you were so wrong. He’d always wanted more, always wanted you. “I’ve always loved you…” 

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, your string of girlfriends says otherwise.” You thought back on the litany- on the catalogue- of beautiful women Bucky paraded around. “And I know I dated other people, too. But you had so many. And you were so- you gushed about those women. You flaunted them. You talked about them nonstop.”

Bucky knew it was true. He brought his girlfriends to every event, every team dinner, every casual hang. The one time, the one place he deemed too sacred for the presence of his rotating cast of lovers, however,  was the one-on-one time you shared. He never dreamed of allowing them to tag along when it was just supposed to be the two of you- that was one line he’d never cross. He did spend a significant amount of time talking about them, though. He went on and on about his many, many forays into the dating world. And truth be told, you had trouble keeping track of all the names. 

Because, while you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, Bucky dated enough women to field a soccer team. Or two.

But you weren’t mad at him for it. You didn’t hate him for seeking companionship. You just couldn’t believe that he had real, legitimate feelings for you while simultaneously telling you that he planned to propose to Isabella. Or Nadia. Or Violet. 

“Honestly, you made it seem like you wanted to marry every one of them,” you told him. “The way you talked about them- it was like you were so in love. So, I didn’t think…” The whole situation was too messy. Too confusing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to have real feelings for me. I thought you were a flirt. And a ladies’ man. And I thought you only showed me affection when you were bored between lovers.”

Bucky thought back on all the girlfriends. All the hook ups. All the times he left a one-night stand and ended up at your apartment after. He hated it- but you were right. He may have flirted with you; he may have showed you fleeting affection. And maybe he made a joke or two about growing old with you- but he never made a declarative statement. He never confessed his true and undying love for you. Never made the effort to take your friendship to the next level.

Only you’d been brave enough to do that. And he’d paid you dust.

“And I mean, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk about my feelings for you,” you said. A flood of familiar embarrassment rose around your ankles. You found yourself struggling to wade through it, just as you had after Bucky brushed you off. “So, I just… I found Cole. And I stayed with him- I stayed long enough that he asked me to marry him. And I knew you didn’t want me, so… I said yes.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a reality in which he didn’t want you. “I’m so-” he slid a hand over his mouth. He let his head drop a bit. 

The weight of your words- of the truth- almost forced him to his knees. He’d only ever known longing, wanting, yearning- for you. And he always told himself you didn’t see him that way. But knowing now that you’d felt the same, that your confession was real and true, didn’t assuage the hurt. He couldn’t believe that he brushed you off. That he didn’t take the time and summon the courage to ask you about what you said at the bar. 

But he’d been too scared. Too scared he’d ruin your friendship. Too scared he’d make you uncomfortable. Too scared that your drunk words were just that- drunk words with no meaning.

As your point of view stood next to his, the puzzle pieces aligned. And the two of you finally got a look at the full picture. It was a picture of mutual love, mutual longing, mutual heartache. A picture of two best friends who couldn’t find it in them to have a serious- sober- conversation about their feelings for fear of ruining a good thing.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said. “I didn’t know you were serious at the bar. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I never want to hurt you.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, mopping up a stray tear that threatened to run down his cheek. “And I really didn’t mean to push you into the arms of another man. I just... I didn’t know you meant it.”

A tired sigh deflated your chest, “I meant it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle the situation. He hated that things got so muddled. Hated that you felt so hurt. Hated that he hadn’t just been honest. The two of you were so close, so comfortable together, he never thought things could get this messed up. This disastrous. But he supposed it was par for the course. After the way his life had played out, why would he think that something as important as falling in love would be easy?

“So, it seems like we’re…” Bucky frowned, “terrible at this.”

“Yeah,” a dark laugh escaped your chest. “I guess we’re both stupid.”

Bucky nodded. If there’d been one- just one- honest conversation between the two of you, none of this would’ve happened. There’d be no Cole. No hurt feelings. No argument in the yard. All this time, you could’ve been sleeping next to Bucky each night. You could’ve shared a home with him. Kissed him good morning each time the sun rose. And the engagement ring- albeit a smaller one- resting on your finger would’ve been from Bucky. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? There was too much pain, too much hurt. And you were very much so engaged. Hell, you and Bucky were standing in the front yard of the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband. But Bucky had to ask, didn’t he? He had to dig deeper, to find the truth. 

And after he’d failed to acknowledge your truth last time, he wasn’t going to do it again. 

Knots twisted around in his stomach. His lungs failed to expand all the way. But he needed to know. “Do you still-

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t leave even a sliver of room for doubt. “I still love you.”

Bucky said nothing. He simply drank in the words. Replayed them in his mind. Relished in the sound of your voice- sober and steady- saying that you loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But his silence pushed you to the precipice.

“So, um,” your hands shook. “What about you? Are you-”

Bucky almost laughed. “Oh, come on. Of course, I do- of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?” He shot you a wink.

There it was- his truth laid out before you. And to think, you’d dreaded this night for weeks. Dreaded celebrating your engagement to Cole. Dreaded answering questions about your impending wedding. And now, the love you’d hoped for, the love you’d always wanted, laid perfectly spelled out for you in the grass. Somehow, the party celebrating your engagement to another man provided the perfect venue for Bucky to bare his soul.

And while the two of you relished in the others’ words of love, uncertainty still filled the air. Bucky stood firm on his side of the lawn, and you yours. This wasn’t a perfectly scripted episode of sitcom, there weren’t people telling you what to say. What to do next. Your shared predicament was messy and awkward. And though you didn’t have a director telling you how to act, you knew your neighbors were entertained.

“So, what do we…” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do we do now? You’re supposed to marry someone else. Your house is full of people celebrating your engagement. And-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. 

You pursued him across the lawn, stalking toward him until your lips crushed his. Instantly, his hands found your waist and pulled you tighter. Your hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and buried themselves in his hair. The chill in the air fell away. The noise of the party evaporated. Nothing existed outside of this moment, this kiss. Bucky snaked his arms around your back, encircling you completely. He wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not again.

But an errant sound from inside the house made a grab for his attention. And suddenly, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a train. 

He pulled away ever so slightly, only allowing a few millimeters between his lips and yours. His gaze landed on the packed house, “Someone might see us-”

“I don’t care.” You gave his hair a gentle tug and closed the gap between you. Now that you’d finally tasted his lips, you didn’t want to spend a moment without them. Ever.

And while Bucky wanted only this- only you- for the rest of his life, his anxiety needled at him as it always did. He did his best to swat his worries away and devote his focus to you and only you, but he couldn’t fight it. He had to tell you, had to clarify.

Again, he pulled away. 

“But you know I can’t- I can’t give you the things he can give you. You know that right?” He searched your face for any hint of realization. Any flicker of regret. “I mean, the big diamond ring, and the fancy wedding, and the house. I don’t want you to be disappointed, I don’t want you to-”

And again, you cut him off. Your mouth melted against his, hell bent on consuming him right then and there.

“Buck, I don’t want any of that,” you finally said when you came up for air. “I want you. That’s it.”

And there it was- Bucky’s confirmation that you wanted him for him. That you didn’t care about his small, shabby apartment. Or his lack of funds. That you loved him for who he was, not what he could gift you. 

“And honestly, all the fancy stuff isn’t really my vibe,” you shrugged. “I mean, I’m not really the type to play tennis at the country club. And I don’t use ‘summer’ as a verb.”

Bucky’s laughed boomed through the yard. It cut through the noise and chatter of the party and made you feel more at home than you ever did in this godforsaken house.

“So, do you want to make a run for it?” Bucky asked between long, deep kisses. “If we go now, I don’t think they’ll catch us.”

It was enticing. The thought of absconding with Bucky set you alight from the inside out. All you could think about was spending the night in his bed, wearing his clothes as pajamas, and then ditching them entirely for a night of passionate debauchery.

But there would be plenty of time for the two of you to make your escape- after you carried out the plan forming on the outskirts of your mind.

“I say, we run- but not quite yet,” you told him. “I think you give me a few minutes inside so I can snag a couple bottles of champagne and some of that fancy whiskey Cole’s dad brought by. And then we jump in the getaway car and run like hell. How does that sound?”

How could Bucky possibly say no to that? He watched with bated breath as you snuck back into the house and hoped to god that no one noticed your return.

And his prayers were answered. Everyone was so drunk, so distracted by the music and the lights, that they didn’t even glance in your direction. 

A quick trip to your room allowed you the opportunity to rid yourself of Cole’s ring. Sure, it was beautiful. And sure, Cole was a nice guy. But you didn’t want it, didn’t want to be shackled to him for the rest of your life. You slid the ring from your finger and instantly felt the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. It was the most instantaneous relief you’d ever felt- aside from kissing Bucky for the first time. You tucked the ring safely into the drawer of your nightstand and told yourself you’d return it to Cole tomorrow. 

Tonight, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You snaked down the hall to the kitchen, undetected by the raucous partygoers. And without drawing any attention to yourself, you snaked two bottles of champagne out of their ice bath and tucked a nice vintage whiskey under your arm. If you and Bucky were going to celebrate, you were going to do it in style.

With the alcohol safely cradled in your arms, you made a mad dash for the front door. But just as you turned the handle, the sensation of someone watching you gave you pause. Slowly, you turned around, fearing that you’d find Cole’s confused, heartbroken gaze staring back at you. Instead, it was Nat who’d caught you in the act. 

She gave you a wicked smile and mouthed “I told you so” from across the room. And with a sweeping gesture, she urged you to “go, go, go!” She didn’t have to tell you twice. Quick as a flash, you escaped out the door and sprinted down the porch steps. 

Bucky paced up and down the front walk, waiting for your return. Part of him feared that you might not return from your trip inside. Maybe you’d change your mind about the whole thing. Maybe you’d decide to stay with Cole. But the way you tore down the front steps and launched yourself into his arms quieted his anxieties. 

He took your face in his hands and captured your lips with his. “You got the goods?”

Your laugh vibrated against Bucky’s lips, “I don’t know about you, but I think stolen champagne tastes better.”

"That's my girl."

Bucky snaked an arm around your back and ushered you across the yard, out the front gate, and across the street to his car. He stole the booze from your grasp and placed the bottles gently in the back seat. And once he ensured that the alcohol you worked so hard to pilfer would make it home safe, he turned his attention to you. 

His hands slid over your hips and traced up your spine, sending goosebumps over your skin. His mouth met yours in a kiss full of love and desperation. Longing and need. This was what you’d always wanted. What you’d begged the universe for. What you’d cried and agonized over. And now it was yours- Bucky was yours.

He pulled away only a fraction of an inch, “You ready to go, baby?”

“Get me outta here, Buck.”

------------------------------------

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliameryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[murdocksdaughter]

bath tub - j.v

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader (18+)

summary: jace thought a bath would relieve from his day, in fact what he needed was his wife

warning: nsfw, smut, MINORS DNI porn with no plot, bathtub sex, piv sex, oral (fem receiving), no use of y/n vocal jace, again there is no plot

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting and did very little edit, I was rabid enjoy tho. also thank you @princessvelaryon for encouraging me to post this.

xoxo hope

Jacaerys sank into his tub, water scalding to the touch but he welcomed it. He rolled his head back and let out a small moan. As his muscles relaxed he sat there a while letting the stress of the day soak off. The aroma of oils and soaps surrounded him. 

Jacaerys just soaked in the tub for what felt like hours. Waving off servants who have come to wash him off. But he needs this time alone. To just be with no worship for the mere fact he is breathing. He sunk further into his tub, letting his hair absorb the water. 

The door creaked open and Jacaerys raised his hand to wave off whoever entered his room. “No need, I'm still soaking.” 

“Then might I join you, My Prince?” 

Jacaerys knew that voice belonged to his wife. “My love, what are you doing?” he hung his head back to look up at you. Dressed in floor length cream colored chemise. You smiled down at widley. 

“Come check on you. Caught word that you had a difficult day, how is your bath fairing…?” You sank to her knees and rested her arms on the  edge of the tub. “Just fine…” He hummed, turning his head to follow your movements. 

“Good,” You replied, your fingers ghosted along the water in the tub. 

“Such the life of a ruler, well future one…” Jacaerys sighed. You nodded, your gaze softened further as  she took note of his pained expression. 

“No need to work yourself up,” you reached to raked your fingers through his soaked curls. Jacaerys hummed, closing his eyes and smiled. “I will let you bathe and I shall return later.” 

He shook his head and sat up, grabbing her hand. “No, I want you to stay. Talking to you is doing more for me than this bath.” 

You smile, “If you insist, Lord Husband.”

“Enough of that, you know I hate it.” Jacaerys huffed. A giggle left your lip as you kissed the side of your husband’s head. “Whatever you say, Lord Husband.” 

He playful glared at you and gained a wider smile for you. It softened the Prince’s heart. You made the world disappear, his mind went blank for the exception of his wife. “You’re the most lovely woman, the loveliest.” He reaches up to kiss your lips. “Your beauty can only equate to that of a goddess.”

“You flatter me too much.” 

“No, I mean it. The old valyrian gods created you in their vision.” He whispered before kissing you again deeply. You whimpered softly at the pressure. “Join me.” he whined against her lips. 

You felt like she fell under a spell with his kiss. You  nodded, climbing into the water and straddled your husband’s lap. Your cream chemise quickly billowed in the water. Jacaerys pushed his hands up her sides pushing the dress up with it. “This is in the way,” He quipped. 

You giggled while taking it off. Jacaerys sat it up quickly kissing the valley between your breasts. He squeezed her sides kissing up to her collarbones. 

“Jace….” you whispered out. He hummed in response. Although they have been married for some time Jacaerys was not rid of enjoyment seeing your bare body. He much enjoyed basking in her beauty lit under candlelight. 

Jacaerys leaned up to kiss you again. His hands now on her thigh, he guided you higher up his lap. You could feel his hard cock underneath her and the small hiss that escaped Jacaerys’ lips when she brushed against it. 

“I can no longer wait.” he whined. You nodded and positioned yourself to sink down onto his cock. The two both moaned loudly, foreheads pressed together. Your fingers gripped Jacaerys’ biceps. 

Fully seated on his cock you let a soft whine adjusting yourself.

“Gods be merciful…” Jacaerys babled as head dropped to your shoulder. You giggled as you teased rolling your hips forward. Jacaerys rambled further, his grip on your thighs tightening. You continued the motion raising up your hips a bit.

You tangled his fingers into his curls, pulling your body flush against his. Their movements grew to be more frantic, Jacaerys matching the rhythm of his wife. One arm moved to hold your waist and the other held the edge of the tub. The displaced water pooled on the floor around them. 

Echos of pleasure filled the room. You started to fall limp on Jacaerys' hold. His cock hitting the most pleasure point inside her. The repeated motion dragged further into your husband’s spell. It was your turn to let out babbles of satisfaction into his ear. Singing his praises between moans and whines. 

He kissed and sucked along your chest, covering  your skin with small red bruises and bite marks. He thrusted up into her groaning softly at the way she contracted around him. The light pressure around his cock felt heavenly. 

“You feel amazing. By the Gods Jace...” You whined. Both of them felt so wrapped up in each, their gazes meeting. 

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” Jacaerys stuttered out. 

You moaned out as your hips moved faster against him. The pressure in her stomach built. “I’m so…Jace…” your half finished sentence was a sure tell sign that you were close to your peak. It spurred Jacaerys on as he thrusted into you with more intensity. He lived to see his wife lose in pleasure. You looked beautiful atop of him, your head rolling back as you used his body for yourself. 

“You’re gorgeous. Come for me my love.” He leaned up and grabbed your check to bring your face to his. “I need it. I need you to fall apart for me. Your pleasure is my pleasure.” He whispered into your ear, pairing it with a few harsh thrusts. 

You moaned at his words clenching around his cock. The piercing pressure in your lower stomach intensified. As your rhythm became sporadic, desperation filled your movements. Chasing you high with sounds of water crashing and you cried . 

Jacaerys could feel his orgasm building rapidly watching his wife. With both their releases on the horizon the room sounded like a pleasure house. Both babbling lose in their own needs. 

Your legs started to shake as you started to tip over the edge. Your body tensed, contracting tightly around your husband as you rode out your peak. Moaning loudly like a girl losing your maidenhead. Your voice was shrill, reflecting more of a cry than a moan. This sight pushed Jacaerys into his orgsam. He rested his head on your chest grunting and nail’s digging into your skin. 

Both fell limp into each other’s holds. Jacaerys peppered kisses along your shoulder. 

“I will never tire of that. Will you let me taste you?” He whispered on your skin. 

“Jace…we just….” Your protest fell from your lips as he massaged your breast in his calloused hands. “Are you an insatiable beast?” You finally whine as Jacaerys kisses further down your body. 

 “I am a dragon, remember? I am restless.”  He jokes.

“A dragon that will be the death of me but gods…” Your voice got stuck in your throat, tripping up on your own words. 

“I want to taste myself on you, please, that's all I ask.” Jacaerys whined ignoring your halfhearted quip. 

You knew you were protesting for no reason. You loved the feeling of your husband between your thighs. It was his perfected skill and it sent you reeling each time. 

You had to stop herself from clenching around her husband at the thought. “Oh gods, yes, yes, please…” you whined.

Jacaerys smiled, pulling you up and carrying you to the table next to the tub. He cleared the soaps and oils to sit you on it. He knelt down holding your thighs apart. 

With a kiss pressed against your clit you shrieked. Jacaerys smiled before pressing his tongue flat against you. Slowly licking up his seed that leaked out. He dragged his tongue up to your clit. Suck on it drawing out a cry. 

You bucked your hips but Jacaerys held your hips in place. As he slipped his tongue into her. He was desperate for another orsgam to come from her. He felt so desperate to please his wife. All stress and worry from the day fully cease to exist between his wife's thighs. If he could die between them he would take that fate happily. 

You had one hand gripping the table and one tangled in his hair. Trying your best to guide and control Jacaerys’ frantic movements. But he was uncontrollably lapping at you from inside. Rubbing his nose against your clit. He practically suffocated himself as he delved into the pursuit of your satisfaction. 

It did not take long until you bent over as your second orgasm washed over you. You felt tears in your eyes as you shook. Only repeating Jacaerys’ name through pants and sobs. Jacaerys pulled away slowly looking up at you. Eyes wide, pleased with the reaction he drew from you. 

You looked at him, his lower face painted with both of their orgasms. “Jace…” You whispered. “You’ll need another bath.”

“Only if you join me?” 

You shook your head, “No, if I stay you’ll make a mess of things again. And I am in need of a bath now…” Jacaerys pouted but rose to his feet, acknowledging he was right.

“We can continue later if you are still so insatiable my love.” You smiled slyly. Jacaerys pursed his lips eyeing his wife. 

“I’ll drop by your chambers later…” He whispered into his ear as he handed you a robe. 

[specialarrogance]

caught in a misunderstanding

ao3

the thing about having a not-friend whose circle of friends extends towards even the most obscure program there is in university is that — one would often discover new things without one's consent.

cressida cowper, for all her power and control over her life, can never seem to escape the force that is eloise bridgerton.

(she doubts she even wants to, but that's a topic for another day.)

eloise is everywhere; like a looming presence behind her that will inevitably put a calling hand on her shoulder to pull her into one of her profound conversations about whatever interesting thing she's learned from her many university acquaintances yet again.

cressida doesn't enjoy it nor does she detest eloise's many fun facts, but to admit the latter out loud is simply the equivalent of admitting defeat — and gods know, cressida is the last person to ever admit defeat to any fight, whether acknowledged by many or simply curated by herself alone.

once upon a time, cressida did try to avoid her at all costs. after all, they aren't exactly what one would call friends, and, over time, she has developed a talent in keeping her face as unreadable as possible whenever she's in the presence of eloise, lest people think she actually enjoys the bridgerton's company.

but as is proven time and time again, eloise always has a way of breaking her control over the thinnest strand of muscle in her body.

—

"guess what?"

cressida's eye twitches when eloise's question interrupts the flow of her typing. her fingers pause over her keyboard and with much effort, she pulls her gaze from the screen of her laptop, lips pulling into a tight smile as she regards her not-friend with an inquiring look.

"what, eloise?"

"i have made a new acquaintance," eloise grins, propping herself beside cressida on the wooden bench. "a marine biologist."

"perfect," cressida sniffs. "no wonder you smell like fish."

eloise makes an indignant noise. "i'll have you know, she—"

cressida's eye twitches again.

"— has to be the fairest lady i've met today, both in scent and appearance."

cressida fights the urge to roll her eyes to the point of hurting. she's a cowper, for god's sake. why is she wasting time listening to eloise speak of the fairest lady she's met today?

what am i, then? cressida thinks to herself. chopped liver?

"does your introduction to your new acquaintance have a direction," cressida pauses to let out the most unladylike sigh, if only so she can truly express how uninterested she is about this marine biologist who doesn't smell like fish for some reason. "or am i allowed to go back to my work, eloise?"

"everything i say always has a direction, cressida," eloise says, clicking her tongue as she turns to her messenger bag and shoves her hand deep into it, searching.

cressida turns back to her laptop, finishing the sentence she'd left behind in favor of giving her full attention to eloise. she misses most of what comes after the last thing she heard from eloise while typing. funnily enough, when clarity comes to her, she hears—

"— gave me an omega."

cressida drops her thumb down on the spacebar a little too hard, silently watching the cursor run across her screen before dropping to the next line.

it takes a while and a hand waving in front of her for cressida to get her wits back, and she turns to eloise with narrowed eyes.

"gave you a what?"

now, cressida may prefer the classier side of fiction and fanfiction, but she's not as snobby as to not be aware or familiar with certain... tropes on the internet.

she must have misheard it. surely, she must have.

but eloise is smiling, clearly pleased with herself for having said something that cressida is not familiar with for the first time in a while. "an omega. she gave it to me last night and, cressida, when i tell you i have not slept that peacefully in a very long while." eloise sighs wistfully as she straightens up and places a hand on the small of her back, kneading at it through her shirt. "did so well at distracting me from my pains, really."

that does it.

cressida scoffs. "excuse me?"

eloise blinks. "what—"

schoolwork completely forgotten, cressida slams her laptop shut and turns to eloise with a face crumpled in scandal. "i cannot believe you'd have the audacity to be so shameless with your— your perversion! here! outside, at the park, where everybody can possibly hear you speak so freely about such things."

cressida has gone red in the face, even her neck, and she's warm all over from the embarrassment of seeing images of eloise in compromising positions, of imagining that bloody marine biologist all over eloise while posing as a— an omega, of all things!

gods, the humiliation of it all.

cressida begins to gather her things, shoving notebooks and pens into her bag, completely missing the calling of her name until—

"cressida cowper, will you listen for just one second?!"

the tone in eloise's voice meant business, and that is enough to stop cressida from her frenzied attempt at an escape. she stills and finally looks at eloise, ready to let her emotions get the best of her again until she notices a tube in eloise's hand.

yellow, shiny, and bearing the name OMEGA across its front.

"... what."

"did you even hear what i said?" eloise scoffs. "i said she just came back from their trip to asia and she brought me this as a souvenir, told me this works wonders on muscle pain."

cressida blinks again. "what..."

"what did you think i was talking about?" eloise asks incredulously, waving the tube around in her frustration. "this is the problem with you, cressida cowper. you never listen. you always jump to conclusions and fuck, does it infuriate me and endear me at the same time."

oh, but cressida cowper is listening now. the confusion that trickled into her anger earlier has morphed into pure curiosity when eloise's last few words finally registered in her head. blinking languidly, she places her bag back on the bench, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she leans forward to get a closer look at her not-friend.

"repeat the last thing you said."

eloise scoffs, but her cheeks begin to glow a pretty pink she's always loved on her own skin. "of course, you'd cling onto anything that sounds like a compliment to you — vague or not."

"fine," cressida recedes, crossing her arms over her chest while raising a perfect eyebrow. "then i won't—"

"oh, you won't escape my questioning, cressida cowper," eloise wags a finger in front of cressida's face. "what was that reaction, hm? perversion? really? over a pain relief cream?"

cressida has the grace to flush, embarrassment flooding her once more at the reminder of her ridiculous reaction.

"nothing you must bother yourself with," cressida replies haughtily and, after a brief moment of arguing with herself whether she should ask eloise again about what she said, ultimately decides to grab her things and escape, taking full advantage of her longer limbs to escape eloise's calls and beckoning.

she'll have plenty of time to confront eloise of her apparent endearment for cressida.

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

Let me tell you now, you're the lucky one

(Enemies to Enemies Who Fuck)

(HaruKaku in Bonten timeline)

(some past-MuSan and past-KakuIza with a subtle RanOmi bc why not, it's my fic and I don't have self-restrain when it comes to multishipping)

(link to ao3 in case some one preferes to read it there)

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat!

All of them. Bonten is their own warning. Substance abuse. Really unhealthy coping mechanisms. Depression. Mental health problems. Suicide. Major character death. (it's Bonten, they all want to kill themselves and some of them succeed, okay?) Mentions of unsafe sex, but there is no smut or graphic depiction of it.

I tried to not be too graphic with any of this topics, the focus is mostly on what the characters are thinking/feeling. But it's hard anyway, tbh the last scene was actually difficult and painful for me to write. So please, don't take the CW lightly and prioritize your mental health!

Angst and Hurt/No Comfort.

MANGA SPOILERS!!!!

Notes: HaruKaku came as an hilarious idea. Because they are hilarious, let's be real. Soulmates archnemesis, doomed to hate each other in every timeline. But then Bonten happened and of course, I ended up writing some angsty shit instead of focusing in all the other moments when they are hilarious. Kudos for me, yey! 🥲

This is canon complicit (again, is Bonten, beware!)

It alternates from Kakucho's POV to Sanzu's POV. I did that thing again of using "Haruchiyo" when he's in his most vulnerable state because for some reason I like playing with his name like this.

(English is not my first language, be nice please 🙈)

(the art is from @just-sp-in-inginthevoid who is in part responsible for the archnemesis brain riot, but mostly the hilarious part, tbh)

Is not that Kakucho enjoys Sanzu's company. Or that the pinkette gradually started to grow on him. Quite the opposite, to be honest. He hates him a little bit more every day, every shared mission, every time they had to spent hours together.

But with Sanzu, he feels. He feels intensely, he feels with passion. Even if it's twisted, at least he's not empty anymore. The void that threatens to devour him seems to disappear when he's around the other man. Sometimes, Kakucho wants to murder him, but he knows he can't. Others, he wonders what would happen to him if he also loses the only person that it's still able to provoke an intense emotion on him.

Hate is better than apathy, isn't it?

They hate each other passionately. Sanzu finds his reactions too funny for stopping it, always willing to go a little further, to push Kakucho to the edge. It's too easy to pick on him, making him forget about his allegedly righteous patience.

It's disgusting, how Kakucho thinks of himself like he was better than the rest of them. So Sanzu enjoys to proves him wrong, to show him that they are the same (even if he can't stand that fact either, seeing that burning rage in those heterochromatic eyes makes it worth it).

Now that he thinks about it, it was probably a matter of time, considering that his king denied them the right to kill each other, they needed to find a way of releasing all that build up anger. That's probably why isn't that surprising when it finally happens.

It looked like a regular night. Sanzu was high as a kite, trying to forget every one of his lives. Kakucho just seemed to be there, he can't recall exactly why, some type of report, but he didn't pay any attention to it at the moment, too intoxicated for actually caring for something that could wait until tomorrow.

“Why are you still here? You like me that much or what?”

The pinkette man says, slurring his words.

“Are you that high? You know I hate you.”

Is the harsh answer that he earns. It's brutal, but real. Kakucho's honesty has something that grounds him to the present. It's sickening. It's exactly what he wants right now.

“I hate you too, don't worry.” He laughs, finding his own words amusing. “Think about it, me and you. Just us, hating each other all night long.”

“You're crazy.”

“And you didn't say no.”

(If he was more honest with himself, he would admit that he was trying to find another way of punishing his broken mind and his body. But he's not.)

And oh, it actually feels good. Kakucho fucks him with the same brutality that talks to him. He couldn't bear any type of gentle touch (specially not from someone that it's so linked to Mucho, but he isn't thinking in that, he promised himself to forget his old captain a long time ago).

There isn't any type of care between them, only spite. Both men are too broken for having the ability to love someone again. Indeed, this was precisely what he needed. This is perfect.

The next day, Kakucho feels nauseated. How couldn't he? Sanzu was high as fuck, too intoxicated to give proper consent to do anything. So even if he was also a little drunk, even if it wasn't his idea, Kakucho feels guilty for what happened.

Until Sanzu just laughs at his poorly attempt of apologizing, mocking his morals once more. He was about to punch him in the face, but the lingering guilt doesn't allow him to do it. Not that one more bruise would make a difference, actually.

Both are covered in so many marks that more than sex, it looks like they tried to kill each other. Yeah, maybe he should stop feeling sorry for Sanzu, considering this. Maybe that was the best way to get rid of that not-so-pent-up hate.

And it works. At least for a while, it works. Until it happens again. And again.

Is not that they are lovers (Kakucho wants to puke with that idea). They just fuck from time to time. That's all. They hate each other, they wish they could kill the other. But they can't. So, sometimes, they fuck.

Their relationship is not pretty. At all. Or better. If Kakucho had to use only one word for describing it, he would say “real”. They don't lie to each other, what would be the point? Both are too able of seeing between the lies, they are too similar in so many ways. But that raw honesty only makes it worse.

Kakucho knows it's a mistake, that he shouldn't care about Sanzu's fate (he brought it on himself and he doesn't seem to have any complains). But Mikey is worse every day, the king is falling and his loyal dog is falling with him. Kakucho needs to do something, because the uneasiness he feels every time he sees them is now living rent-free in his mind.

That's why, one day, Kakucho tries. He's trying to find his clothes, dressing quickly, wanting to get out of this room that only makes him feel sick. Then, he looks at Sanzu, his pink hair scattered on the pillows, a lazy and satisfied smile than only appears after sex (and never lasts). There is some twisted vulnerability in how content the other man is while lighting up a joint, as if seeing these new swelling (all this pain) on his skin was something he wanted.

(Kakucho can't shake the feeling that Sanzu is using him as another way of hurting himself and that infuriates him so fucking much... Maybe that's the real reason why he decides against his best judgment and opens his big mouth.)

“Is not worth it.”

“Uh?”

Sanzu looks at the other, not sure if he actually heard something. He just wants to smoke and relax, to feel the post-orgasmic satisfaction while it lasts, to enjoy the pain in his body (one more of his little punishments).

“I said is not worth it. Dying with Mikey.”

If it had been anyone else, Sanzu would shoot him in the face just for saying this. Thinking like that, talking like that about his king is treason. It should be. But it's difficult to pretend Kakucho's isn't right about this when, unfortunately, it's the only one Sanzu trusts with Mikey's well-being (It's the one he calls every time Mikey is being suicidal again).

“You wish you could be me, you wish you had died with Izana.”

Sanzu spits his words, burning with all the rage he feels every time he has to acknowledge the reality of how is Mikey.

“That's not what this is about-”

Kakucho is unable to finish his sentence, turning pale in anger when Sanzu cuts him. 'Good'.

“You're a selfish bastard, aren't you? You want me to be like you, stuck here with no purpose, jerking yourself with the memory of a ghost. Pretend it's because of your high morals, that you're worried about me or some other bullshit. But you're just another selfish bastard. And you envy me.”

If it had been anyone else, Sanzu would shoot him in the face. But he can't (he wants to, oh, he wants it so much, but he can't disobey Mikey's orders). So, instead of bullets, he uses his words.

“At least Izana cared about me.”

Is the last thing he hears before Kakucho slams the door. Sanzu laughs maniacally, throwing the first shit he can find to the place the other man was a few seconds a go. He's momentary satisfaction long forgotten, replaced only by hate (and pain, but one that he refuses to see).

The worst part is that in a sickening way, he trusts Kakucho. They don't lie to each other, that makes it so much worse, because both of them know that what the other said is true. He hates him, he hates him with every fiber of his body. He doesn't want this words to be true, he can't accept that. He needs to keep living in this denial, to pretend Mikey is fine (to pretend he doesn't keep mixing this Mikey with that in his nightmares, to pretend they don't look so alike).

It's been three days. Three whole days since Mikey's death was splattered on the news (no one seems to care about Takemichi's death, even with all that footage of how the hero tried to save the most dangerous man in Japan). Kakucho cares, but he knows damn well that he wouldn't be welcomed within the hero's friends, so he would have to say goodbye in his own way (again).

During this days, Kakucho learned some things, like the fact that apparently everyone had some kind of contingency plan in case this happened (no, for when this happened, all of them could see that Mikey was more on the edge every day). But nobody spoke to him about it, keeping him in the darkness, the only idiot that didn't prepare himself for the end. Well, not the only, he knows that, of course he knows that.

(Sanzu would have killed them in the blink of an eye. Anyone who dared to imply that Bonten needed to be prepared to function without a king.)

Kakucho understands the need for secrets, of course he does. The idea of Mikey falling would be considered treason a few days ago, it was taboo to think like that. At the same time, none of them wanted to acknowledge it, like saying it out loud would make it more real. He can't even be mad when the Haitanis (obviously) thought about him on their own schemes, making sure Kakucho was also safe. Or as safe as any of them could be now that Bonten was crumbleling.

It's been three days. Bonten is crumbleling. Mikey is dead. And Sanzu disappeared the same day. Everyone knows he's dead, but they don't say it. Not in front of Takeomi, who's still desperately looking, going out in the rain for hours. Trying to find something, some clue that leads him to his little brother. Clinging to the hope that he's still alive somewhere. That he's going to find him, high as fuck, but alive (Kakucho thinks being able to find Sanzu's body at all would already be a miracle).

Only Ran is able to convince Takeomi to rest a little bit, promising that he and Rindou will help with the search as long as the older man gets a few hours of sleep. Takeomi just nods, mumbling “Today is his birthday, Ran. Is his fucking birthday and he's out there alone.” while Ran drags him softly, a concerned look plastered in those violet eyes.

Kakucho hates it, hates having to see all this sorrow around him (again). He doesn't lament the loss of Mikey and Sanzu, he's incapable of doing it. Grief took his heart for hostage a long time ago, there is nothing more for him to mourn.

More than anything, Kakucho hates himself, because he's jealous of Sanzu. He knows he shouldn't, but he hates that the pinkette man was right about him. He envies Sanzu, who had the privilege of dying with Mikey, of dying with his king.

Kakucho hates the Mad Dog even more right now. But he's aware that once this hate fades away, he would feel empty again. So he clings onto this feeling, he needs this rage as a motor to keep moving.

It doesn't matter if this energy is fulled with rage, he needs it. He can't fail his friends, what's left of his family. Kakucho has to keep living even if he can't remember how being alive felt anymore. Even if he's more dead inside every day.

So, over and over... Kakucho would keep living.

The rain keeps pouring down without truce, Haruchiyo shrinks inside the leather jacket that was always too big for him. Now the only thing that makes him feel protected from that annoying rain (from the world). To be honest, he isn't completely aware how he managed to recover it from his penthouse, but it seemed important in that moment.

The jacket and the old picture that he's still clutching in his pocket, the only two things he cared enough to take. He doesn't even need to look at it to see the four happy smiles stained with watermelon juice. Two pink haired kids that could be confused by twins, one with a shy smile, the other with a cheerful one, happy to be included with his brother friends. Next, a fierce smile showing two small fangs, already a force of nature at his young age. In the middle, a blond kid with the most radiant smile Haruchiyo ever saw, capable of making everything shine just with his presence. Full of life, of dreams. Full of potential. Brighter than the sun, a true leader.

But that was a long time ago and, once again, Sanzu is the only one who remembers. The man staggering in the rain is now the only survivor from that photo. Only him, alone in this fuck up world where nothing and no one matters anymore. Not without Mikey. Even Bonten can burn from what he cares.

He keeps walking (it feels more like floating for him, floating in a cloud of pain and numbness at the same time). Until he finally reaches his destination, an abandoned bowling alley. Sanzu enters in some kind of trance, not sure if he's dissociating or too intoxicated. He doesn't care.

He sits down exactly in the same place his king sat down. How many days had passed since that moment? One? Two? Ages. It certainly feels like ages for him. Haruchiyo hugs himself, trying to make space for his legs inside the big comforting jacket. Completely curled up. And he cries, he cries like he hasn't allowed himself to do so in the last ten years.

He's starting to sober up, he can feel it. Because the flashbacks are coming back. Shinichiro jumping from that bridge. Mikey jumping from this exact building. Mikey falling from the stairs, that awful “clonk”. Mikey jumping again from this building.

Haruchiyo screams, holding his head with both hands, begging the images to stop, unable to continue reliving those memories. He needs everything to stop, to be quiet, his shattered mind can't take it anymore.

He takes out a small box from his pocket, looking at the content. Everything he needs is here, he knows how to do it, how to make sure he's not going to wake up from this trip. His stupid hands are shaking while he gets the syringe ready.

For some reason, he suddenly remembers Kakucho's words a few months ago. He hates it, he hates thinking in that fucker when he's about to die. But the other man was right, wasn't he? Mikey never cared about Sanzu, he spent years of his life trying to keep his king alive and it was all for nothing. Everything blew up in one night.

A manic laugh escapes between his whimpers. Of course is that, he's fucking jealous. Sanzu is fucking jealous because at least Kakucho got to held Izana's hand when he died, he got to comfort his king in his last moments. Sanzu didn't had that, Hanagaki was the one holding Mikey's hand. Always that cockroach, never him.

What did he expect anyway? Haruchiyo is just a failure. He never deserved to be the one making his king last moments less painful. Of course, he should had known. He failed everyone. He failed Shinichiro, unable to protect Mikey, to be the friend he promised he would be. He failed Mikey, watching him falling into the darkness, becoming the same empty shell he already saw in a past that never happened, and doing nothing about it.

Sanzu doesn't have anything left. He also killed his own chance of happiness a long time ago (he also failed his captain, didn't he?). The only thing left for him is to disappear, to follow his king. He's going with him, because he's being following Mikey for so long, that he doesn't see any other choice. He's going with him, because he doesn't deserve to keep living when he couldn't save Mikey.

But it's fine, the drug is already kicking in, his body feels more relaxed. Even his mind seems to be quiet, almost in peace. He looks at the old photo one last time, before drifting out of consciousness, looking for safety in the inner part of the leather, pretending it smells like cheesecake.

It's fine, because at the end of the day... Haruchiyo was just a failure.

[catinasink]

NEED to rant to someone about my writing but a; i hate showing people my writing because im so fucking scared of what they will think of it and b; im terrible at talking out loud about things i like and c; i dont want to annoy anyone 😔😔

[gothsuguru]

thank you to the person who requested geto being obsessed w gojo’s gf because the idea of it is DELICIOUS - here’s a lil teaser!

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Bundle of Joy

In which Reader takes Copia to see the babies in the ministry. Sfw, fluff. I tried to write this so he could be seen as Cardinal or as Papa. Either way I hope you find it adorable 🥰

@copiousloverofcopia

Also low-key inspired by this post 💅✨

• • •

"Come on, come on!" you chirp, dragging your beloved Copia behind you.

"Oh... I don't know, mia cara," he starts, clearly not wanting to hurt your feelings, "I don't even really know how I feel about having kids."

"Copia," you stop dragging him and move close to him, your hands find his cheeks and his finding your waist, "It's not like we're having a baby tomorrow, and I know how stressed you've been lately. Trust me it'll brighten your day, they're just little bundles of joy."

"Ah, well, okie dokie. I am putting my trust in you."

"You should always trust me," you wink at him, "besides, as Papa, I'm sure you'll have to give some thought to having kids one day. Maybe this'll warm you up to the idea."

You happily continue dragging him along to the maternity ward of the ministry. It was always hustling and bustling over there as Siblings of Sin and Ghouls ran around getting towels, water, ice, painkillers, whatever the new mamas needed to bring their newborns into this world. Just the thought of it made Copia look like he wanted to pass out.

But just a quick walk through the chaos brought you to a very peaceful room, this was primarily where you worked in the ministry: taking care of the newborns who were sick or just needed more time being monitored before being sent home with their parents. In fact, a couple of Siblings sat next to one of the tiny beds cooing their newborn now.

As one of the little ones piped up very loudly to express their disapproval, Copia leaned into muttering, "That does not sound like a 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘫𝘰𝘺, as you put it, cara."

Giggling at his remark, you stride over to the cradle of the upset baby, scooping them up soothe them. Another baby nearby starts to grumble and whine, hearing their neighbor be so loud. "Here, why don't you take that one?" you call out to your lover.

"I, uh, I don't know..." he walks over to the cradle, watching the little one make a grouchy face and whine some more.

You keep bouncing the newborn in your arms, trying to keep them quiet so they don't upset the other babies. But still they continue to cry.

Finally, as Copia stares down at the newborn in the cradle, they lay out a shriek. Copia winces at the sounds. Now you can't have every baby in the room getting upset, so you rush over to Copia, handing him the bundle in your arms, before reaching out to get the second crying baby. The man next to you is flustered but does everything he can to make sure he has a good grip on the small little person in his arms. He's not sure what to do, so he just kind of stares blankly at the baby and sways in place a little.

As you walk and bounce the one in your arms, you quietly hear a giggle come from the blanket in Copia's arms. "Erhhh... What's it doing?"

You come up next to your lover to see the little one giving him a gummy smile and laughing away. "They're laughing at the big silly man holding them. Here-" you shove the other noisy bundle in his arms, "try this one."

He stands there, two babies in his arms, certainly confused and a little overwhelmed. Sure enough, cries turn to laughter once again.

"See? Bundles of joy," you point out, "You must have the magic touch." Truthfully, it was probably his face paint, but you weren't gonna be the one to tell him.

He carefully sits both babes in the cradle next to him, leaning over to look at their little hands and mouths and noses. "Tesoro..." he whispers, not wanting to upset anyone again, "they're so small!" Fascination fills his eyes as he watches their tiny fingers wrap around his one large gloved one. He gasps, "Look!!!" The fascination quickly turned to a small frown as the baby stuck his expensive Italian leather glove in their mouth. "Do they all do that?"

You let out a snort, "Yes, they all do that."

Copia wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, kissing you on the forehead, "Bene." Perhaps he'll give some thought to this whole baby thing after all.

[yerrenica]

OMG I really loved your yi zaha content . Can you please make a fluff oneshot of him

[Y/N] has a problem, you see. It is a very big, very difficult problem, and it involves one raven-haired martial artist and the fact that their heart beats a tad bit too quickly when news of the man reaches their ears. Or when the man talks to them. Or when the man—

Whenever Jaha Lee was in a 10-meter radius, really. 

See, this was an extremely large problem, because Jaha, like the bastard he is, was becoming too much of a distraction for them. 

How was he being a distraction, you ask?

Well, [Y/N] would be happy to rant tell you. Firstly, whenever there was a commotion outside, [Y/N] would instantly get distracted and just have to check whether or not it was Jaha creating trouble again, which was a far cry from before, back when they just went about their days not caring about a thing in the world.

And another thing: the colour red was associated with Jaha far too much. A flash of red could appear in the corner of [Y/N]'s eyes, and they just couldn't help but glance at it to see if it was the man, and ignore the sag of their shoulders when they confirmed it wasn't. It wasn't fair, really. Jaha shouldn't be going around spilling blood everywhere. His violent tendencies didn't do good things for [Y/N]'s heart. 

...

[Y/N] lied. Jaha shouldn't stop. Jaha's fighting abilities were too attractive.

And there exactly lies the problem. Jaha's sword skills were beautiful, Jaha himself was beautiful, and [Y/N] had no choice but to confront a problem they weren't ready for; to answer a question that they had absolutely none of the answers to. 

[Y/N] blinked, going through their train of thought once more before they pursed their lips, feeling a sort of second-hand offence for what they had just thought. Jaha wasn't just beautiful. Honestly, [Y/N] could look through a thesaurus and they still wouldn't be able to find a word good enough to describe Jaha and how perfect he was. 

[Y/N] sat in his chambers and stared blankly.

Before they knew it, they held a thesaurus in their hands. 

Then they slammed the book against their head without hesitation.

Oh my god, they were so screwed.

After a few moments of [Y/N] laying flat on the floor with the book over their face, the doors to their chambers burst open, and in comes Hongshin with her signature smile. "Dinner's rea— what are you doing?" She stared blankly at [Y/N].

"I might just challenge Jaha to a death match."

Hongshin sighed. This wasn't the first time she stumbled upon [Y/N] dramatizing the hell out of their feelings for Jaha. "Absolutely do not do that, you idiot." She moved to grab her friend by the arm and drag them across the floor to the dining area. Along the way, they kept talking about how being killed by Jaha Lee would be a "thank you" worthy act. Hongshin, of course, decided to tune it out.

Once there, [Y/N] stood up with a deep exhale and sat down. They looked around, noticing that their Master was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Jaha?"

Seongtae chimed in. "Said he wanted to eat his dinner outside or something."

And just like that, [Y/N] was back on their feet, setting off to look for Jaha. The first place they thought to look at was the roof—you could always find Jaha cultivating there, and it was a nice and chilly place during the evening. Once they did not find him, they thought of the plum blossom tree residing near the training grounds. Jaha frequented it a lot, so surely he would be there.

And he was; looking far more beautiful than he should have... given his messy hair and bad posture. He was sitting under the tree, with a bowl of rice in hand, eating away with a nonchalant look on his face. The chilly evening wind gave him an almost enchanting appearance as it tousled the man's hair. The pale stars were sliding into their places. The whispering of the plum blossoms was almost hushed. All about them it was still and shadowy and sweet. It was at times like this that [Y/N] felt their difficulties about having feelings for Jaha melting away and getting weaker to the warmth that they brought. To be able to look at someone, and see them as one's own world was a pleasant feeling. It made one forget about the real world for a brief second.

"You're staring."

"You mind?" [Y/N] asked as they went to sit next to Jaha, legs crisscrossed.

With a mouth full of rice, Jaha mumbled. "No. You look cute."

"What?"

Swallowing his food, he turned to look at [Y/N]. "I said you look like a sack of shit when you do. So yes, I do mind."

There was silence.

"I should start spitting in your food, great brother. More cholesterol would do you good." [Y/N] scoffed, eyebrows furrowing as they looked away from Jaha, focusing their gaze forward.

Jaha's hand, which was moving the chopsticks to his mouth, stopped for a moment. He pursed his lips. That was not what he meant to say. He did not mean it at all. It simply came out on instinct. The moment he heard [Y/N]'s words of confusion, it was as if his mind registered it as disgust and acted out in self-defence. And now there was an awkward silence between them.

He glanced at [Y/N], observing their sullen expression. Why on earth was this bothering him so much? When did he start caring about little things like this? These questions irked the crap out of him, but maybe that's just what happens when you live long enough. Everything's so damned irksome, and irrational.

Finally, he brought the chopsticks to his mouth. "Do that and I'll kill you." His eyes furrowed as he chewed, realizing what he just said. Why on God's green earth was he threatening them now? Did he have any control over his mouth? He felt like screaming.

Quickly, trying to regain control of his words, he blurted out. "And besides, aren't you way too close to me?"

"That's because I'm this close to shoving my fist down your throat." [Y/N] muttered, glaring at Jaha, their appearance resembling that of an angry cat. Now this was strange as well. Jaha didn't feel disrespected, not in the slightest. Rather, he felt amused, thrilled even to have [Y/N] talk to him like this.

Nobody could tell whether they were flirting or fighting right now.

"Oh, I'd love to see you try." Jaha urged them on, leaning in closer as he smirked, his bowl of rice now seated beside him. [Y/N] observed him momentarily, before a smirk graced their features. With swift motions they placed their hands behind them on the concrete, and moved their upper body slightly up, their leg going for Jaha's throat. Their movements were quick and precise, and only because Jaha was Jaha did he evade them, leaning back just enough to let [Y/N]'s leg miss him entirely. Pressing their body weight on their hands seated behind them on the concrete, they did a backflip, now standing up before Jaha with a wide smile.

"Dodging? That's all?"

Jaha smiled slightly, and in an instant he found himself behind [Y/N], reaching out his hand towards them, but to his surprise, they ducked before leaping further away from Jaha.

"Now look who's dodging."

"It's more shameful for you since you're supposed to be the leader of this sect, great brother." [Y/N] held their hands behind their back, snickering at the sight of the slight contortion of Jaha's eyebrows. "But regardless... aren't you missing something?" They moved one hand from behind their back, revealing Jaha's red hair tie draped over their fingers. Jaha's eyes widened slightly, his hand instinctively moving behind his head to touch his hair, only to realize that his hair was swaying freely behind him. He focused his gaze back on [Y/N], who was standing before him with a triumphant smile.

His heart skipped a beat.

"How did you..."

[Y/N] chuckled. "It'd take hours to explain."

Jaha would listen to them for hours.

He quickly moved his feet, reaching for the hair tie in [Y/N]'s hands, only to see their hand move away from his reach, and their entire body along with it. Their robes being rocked by the subtle waft made each of their moves seem elegant, which spurred Jaha even more. This wasn't a serious battle. It was not a showcase of strength; it was more of a dance being guided by the swaying winds. Each of their movements through the roofs of the place, the branches, and the bases guided their bodies closer to each other in a chase of longing. This was never about the ribbon, but combat was the language they spoke the best, so how else would they ever showcase their desire for one another?

Their gazes locked as they moved with precision. Jaha always wondered what crossed their mind whenever they looked at him in such a candid way.

"Great brother, is the food you ate slowing you down?"

A flicker of amusement danced in Jaha's eyes. "I'm merely humouring your fickle attempts at evading me." His body was close to theirs as they moved on top of a roof, his chest meeting [Y/N]'s as Jaha moved his feet quicker, purposely placing a foot behind theirs so they'd fall over on their back, but Jaha was quick to catch them, his hand placed intimately over their back as he gazed into their eyes.

It was the beating of their hearts that made it seem as though time stopped. Jaha's free hand rested on theirs, sliding the ribbon past their fingers. "Caught you."

A single question ran through Jaha's mind. Why them? Why after all these years, after two lifetimes, after hundreds of people met, did he fall for them? Why not for all the others? What made them so different from everyone else before them?

But it was simple.

Why would he choose anyone else when [Y/N] exists?

Seeing the slight shift in [Y/N]'s gaze, he wasn't certain whether it was disdain or reciprocation of his unspoken feelings, so he decided to pull away, steadying them back on their feet as he shifted his gaze to the side.

"Good effor—"

Before he could finish speaking, [Y/N]'s hands were cupping his face, and his gaze was turned back on theirs.

"What a coward." They said through flushed cheeks and slightly furrowed brows. Their lips met his in a tender kiss. Without much thought Jaha's hands found themselves behind [Y/N]'s back, pulling them closer. He touched them, and it felt as if the stars were dancing upon their skin. It was a collision of desire, a meeting of souls, as their mouths moved in a synchronized rhythm. Their kiss was both tender and fervent, a passionate dance of exploration. They lost themselves in the intoxicating taste and texture of each other as if discovering a long-lost treasure.

Their bodies pressed closer, their hearts pounding in sync with the fervour of their embrace. [Y/N]'s fingers entwined in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that burned through their veins. Jaha let out a low groan at the tug of his hair. He pulled away slightly, breaking the string of saliva which connected their lips for a mere moment. He smiled.

"You're eager."

"And you're without your ribbon once again." With a playful grin, they moved away from Jaha, showcasing his ribbon tangled between their fingers once more. "Catch me again and I may consider rewarding you again."

Jaha wasted no time in going after them once more, his soft laughter filling the moonlit sky. He didn't mind catching them again, and again, for as many times as he had to, if it meant that they'd stay in his arms for just a moment longer.

[comfortlesshurt]

currently accepting that everyone is right to encouraging rereading your own fics

[miodiodavinci]

have you ever... Zola magical girls/people?

(grabs your shoulders)

did you mean one of my many oneshots / AUs from 2015-2019

[guesst]

i have like . one scene left and maybe an extra one i moght add and then edits and then fake grandson au is Fini FINITO finished ! yipee

[gotham-its-too-early-for-this]

I am cruel, I am gentle, I can make you laugh

TW- S.A, Racism, Transphobia, Implied religious trauma, Body shaming, Vomiting, Implied Bulimia

Why was she haunted just for living?

Jonna hated this.

They had found pictures

Of her at her weakest.

It was before the incident. When she got kidnapped the first time.

Those men. They poked their needles everywhere into her body.

Everywhere.

She couldn’t look at her phone without seeing the images.

Everyone knew.

Everyone saw her BODY, one that even though she acted confident with, she still hated.

She hated it even more now.

The racial slurs picked up again. The ones that called her an illegal, someone of lower class.

And so did that T word, the one that reminded her she would never be truly female.

As did those comment on her weight, that ones that told her to eat less and run more. Like she hasn’t been running her entire life.

And you know what they started calling her?

A whore.

A bop.

A floozy.

Things she wasn’t.

She wasn’t religious, never again, but she wanted to save herself for the love of her life.

And she didn’t get that chance.

She was ruined. Her purity robbed. A peice of herself she could never take back, and she couldn’t even choose who she gave it too.

At least she still has her first kiss.

Jonna sat on the bathroom floor, having just threw up her dinner. It was delicious, but she couldn’t keep it down. Maybe she just didn’t want too.

Everything hurt.

The cold tile of the bathroom burned against the patches of lost flesh.

Everything was going so good. Then it had to come crashing down.

Why was she haunted just for living?

(Ooc: What does the author do when they’re bored in the middle of the night? Write soul crushing angst!)

[astromechs]

it's happening, a star wars first; i'm writing comlink sex

[cassiopeiasara]

Not me getting 3k into this one shot and trying to soldier through bc I want the rest of the story but my body like bitch we need sleep. Anyway, 3.1k

[awhoreintheory]

Snowball's Chance in Hell

Lance had grown complacent with his situation. It had been around for so long it's no wonder, honestly. 

Middle school with bright orange braces? Yep, present. Highschool, without the braces, but instead constant growing pains? Also a resounding yes. 

If you hadn't guessed what he was talking about by now, it was his all-consuming crush on the one, the only, Keith Kogane. (which was 100% Keith’s fault. If he didn’t want people to fall soul-crushingly in love with him, why was he just so damn lovable?) 

Point was, it had finally become an issue. Lance has almost blurted out a confession at least three times today, and at least seventeen times this week alone. And Lance? He is ok with being the butt of a joke, if anything, he's accustomed to it. But being the butt of the joke, “Oh, ha ha, Lance fell in love with his best friend and rival!" didn't sound very appealing, and neither did the chance that it might make Keith uncomfortable. 

Sure, Keith was, without a doubt, gay. That man was no straighter than Allura’s parallel parking. But Keith? In love— no, even fucking liking Lance of all people? Not a snowball's chance in hell.

Lance sighed. Gosh. It was so hard loving someone so much. Seriously! The amount of calories Lance probably burns thinking (fantasizing, one might even say) was truly ridiculous. How no one had picked up on his dreamy sighs and swooning eyes and called him on his bullshit was surprising. Or, maybe, the fact Lance actively flirted with anything that could give consent— his heart belonging to another or not— because, be honest, who would think you have a crush on one of the many people you flirt with on a daily basis? 

But here Lance is. Stuck on the back of Keith's motorcycle, (that he built himself, how freaking cool is that?) getting ready to leave their college campus. Was Lance possibly, maybe, tipsy? It’s a possibility, that’s for sure! A possibility that was not his fault! Some douchebag slipped something into the orange juice in the cafeteria, and Lance loved his orange juice. Best thing on this earth. And— yeah you get it, Lance drank a lot of it and was less than sober. 

"Keeeiiiithhhh…" Lance whined nuzzling into the back of Keith’s neck, wiggling and shifting where he sat. It was just so hot and uncomfortable. 

“‘M waaaarmmmm… An’ you’re hoooot …” Keith snorted, revving up his engine and turning around to fight Lance’s helmet on. 

“Thanks Lance, didn’t know you thought that way about me— put the damn helmet on, you twat!” Keith’s sly (but not incorrect) statement set something off in Lance’s tipsy mind from where he wrestled the motorcycle helmet away. 

“I don’ wanna wear it!” Lance whined, pushing the helmet away. 

“Lance, you have to wear it! I have to wear one too!” Keith pushed back, and honestly it was sad how he was losing a wrestling match against someone who was tipsy and slighter than him. 

Lance suddenly leaned in really close, so close in fact their noses’ brushed. “I wanna wear you.” 

There was a long and heated pause, Keith physically unable to breath, feeling as though the air was punched out of him. Lance’s eyes darted down, and Keith felt his own eyes to the same. Lance’s lips looked soft, if not a little red from where he was chewing on them. Keith’s own lips felt as dry as his mouth did right now. Lance leaned forward, eyes glued to Keith’s lips, getting closer… and closer… and just a bit closer, and their lips—

Lance let out a surprised shout as the helmet was shoved on, pouting as Keith turned back around swiftly. 

“Keep the helmet on.” Were Keith’s last words before he took off, forcing Lance to latch on so he didn’t go flying. Not that Lance was complaining, but Keith’s heart certainly was. 

The damn thing was just about ready to beat out of his chest. Because— that was flirting, right? Lance was flirting with Keith? Well, Lance is always flirting, but never like that. It’s usually akin to playful banter, but this time— it was different. Keith knows Lance, ok, they’ve been friends since middle school, and that was not normal for him. 

[jewishcissiekj]

every month I read the new Darth Vader issue expecting ....something. and every month I wonder why doesn't Greg Pak ever stop and go home never to return to write Vader or the handmaidens ever again