#so I’ve been ignoring the list a bit to chill put

[goldenflurry]

I’m very much experimenting with how to draw these guys

[kaciidubs]

Catnip and Kidnappings

Hi, 🧿 nonnie! This one's been a long time coming, and though it doesn't have much smut, I hope you still enjoy it! ❣ Summary: You just needed to go to the pet store for two things - so why were you suddenly in a car with a man you didn't know? ❣  ❣ Word Count: 2.5k+ ❣ Warnings: Mafia! AU, fluff, meet cute, implied danger, slight humor, cat talk, reader is a bit sassy but so is Minho ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Two things. You just needed two things from the pet store, then you would be back home with your lovely tabby cat and show you’d been putting off for the better half of two weeks because it just ‘wasn’t the right time’.

So how, you ask, did you manage to find yourself hurriedly escorted away from the storefront of the pet store by a man you’d just met?

Well, you could target the beginning of the end the moment you stepped foot into the pet store, making your way to the cat aisle on instinct with your goal clear in your mind; catnip and premium cat food.

Premium cat food - you wished you could trick your furry child into eating a cheaper form of food, but his picky eater tendencies had set him in his ways ever since your mother decided to spoil him and introduce him to the world of Sheba pate and cuts of various meat and fish flavors; the same woman who claimed she didn’t like cats, yet bought him almost all of his toys.

Huffing out a quiet laugh at her change of heart, you bent to grab a box of the food packs, silently thanking the corporate gods that it was still on sale, before heading deeper into the aisle to grab the second item on your mental list.

You scanned the rack with the box still in your arms, adjusting it slightly every now and then until your eyes landed on the empty spot that usually had the brand of catnip you needed.

“Wonderful…”

“If you’re looking for catnip like that brand, you could go with the one with the red label - they look different because of the companies, but they’re really the same ingredient wise.”

“Oh, really? Thank-” The next word immediately died on your tongue as you turned your head, ready to thank a store worker but, instead, you were met with possibly the handsomest man you’d ever laid your eyes on.

Sharp eyes and a nose that looked like it belonged on a marble sculpture, paired with lips set in a faint frown and the prettiest jawline you’ve ever seen - he was gorgeous.

He seemed to either not notice your brain freeze or blissfully ignore it as he stepped closer to pick up the container before placing it on top of the cat food box in your arms.

“I have three cats and they all like both brands, there isn’t really a difference besides the fact that you don’t have to use as much of this one as the other one, which makes it better considering the price.”

Once his eyes finally met yours, you felt your brain kick back into gear, “O-Oh, okay, thank you so much!”

He hummed out a small sound of acknowledgement, giving you a curt nod and reaching forward to grab a container of his own; his eyes scanning across the small printed words for a moment before he looked to you once more. “Do you need help? Carrying that, I mean.”

“This? No, no, I’ve got it handled.” You adjusted the box once more, the catnip container sliding to the right until you balanced it out quickly, “All good, thanks again, though.”

Before you could embarrass yourself more than you already had, you thanked him once more and shuffled past him and out of the small aisle in record time, mentally cursing whatever line of fate led you down this path.

Placing your items on the conveyor belt, the cashier greeted you as they scanned your items and you typed in your rewards card onto the card reader’s keypad.

“Are you getting this, too?”

“What?” Looking up, you stared at the catnip in their hand with confusion creasing your brow.

“Um-”

“Yes, we are.”

The familiar voice made a chill run down your spine, your head whipping to see the same man from before, the faintest of curves to his otherwise neutral expression alleviating his otherwise stoic demeanor.

Shrugging lightly, the cashier proceeded to scan the second container before announcing the total.

Pressing his black card to the one-tap reader, he seamlessly slid it back into his wallet before stuffing it back into his pocket, “Think of it as a little gift for your cat, they deserve to be treated.”

For being stunned for the second time that day, your recovery was just as fast, “I’ll make sure to let him know a kind stranger cares about his picky habits.”

He huffed out a quiet chuckle, but that was more than enough to inflate your ego and make your heart flutter, quickly taking back your previous curse to thank fate instead.

After grabbing your bag of items, you made your way out of the store with your new companion following suit.

“So… Was that really just a gift for my cat? You don’t have any ulterior motives, do you?” You mused, turning to look at him fully as you stood outside of the storefront.

Shaking his head, he raised his hands in defense, “It’s just a gift - like I said, I have three cats so I know how it can get, better than most. Besides, the picky eater phase is really rough on the pockets at the worst of times.”

“Well, Miso appreciates your generosity.”

“Miso… cute.” He hummed softly, though his true excitement was evident in the small glimmer in his eyes.

“Do I have the honor of knowing your name?” Clocking the possible unintended implication of the question, you quickly backtracked, “Um- Just so Miso knows who he can thank while eating his pate salmon, of course.”

His lips parted to speak but closed twice as fast, his once relaxed smile turning into a firm line as he looked at you - almost enough to look through you, or rather, past you.

As you went to turn your head to gauge for yourself, you were stopped by the warmth of his hand around your wrist, winning your attention for himself like jingling keys in front of a baby.

“Let me bring you home, and I’ll tell you on the way.”

You felt your heart flutter, though you couldn’t ignore the unease creeping up your spine, “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to-”

“I just want to make sure you make it home safely.” His mouth pressed into a tight lipped smile and his grip tightened ever so slightly, “Trust me.”

Maybe it was the fact that he sounded so sincere, aligning with the image of the kind man you’d seen in the pet shop, or perhaps it was the way his firm gaze flickered with a hint of urgency, but you found yourself nodding softly.

“Okay.”

With that, you were tugged down the sidewalk and around the corner, hurried footsteps falling alongside his long strides in hopes of keeping up.

“Is- Is there something wrong? What’s happening?”

“Everything’s fine.”

You bristled at his nonchalant, clipped tone, falling back on your pace by half a step. “I have a feeling you weren’t lying to me before, so, please, don’t start lying to me now.”

Feeling your resistance, he took a short breath and spoke, “Nothing’s wrong yet, and nothing is happening - I’d rather keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”

“But what did you see?”

“Someone who has no business trying to approach me in public unless they’re looking to start something they have no chance of finishing. I have no desire in getting innocent people caught up in those types of affairs.”

“Those types?” Your eyes widened as you neared a black car - slim, sleek, and a model that you had no chance of owning for yourself on your current pay grade. “Are you-”

“I’m no one.” He shut you down with ease before reaching forward to open the passenger’s side door, “Get in.”

Putting a temporary pin in your conversation, you quickly slid into the car, the faint scent of jasmine mixing with the musk of sandalwood and leather seats filling your nose; watching through the windshield as the black haired man rounded the car before sliding into the driver's seat.

“I don’t think a nobody just casually owns a car like this,” clicking your seatbelt into place and setting your bag on the floor, you shot him a wary glance, “if you’re going to kidnap me, Miso’s going to be royally pissed.”

The car’s engine roared to life, masking his light chuckle but doing next to nothing in hiding the slight uptick of his lips. “I’m not a kidnapper, though I’ll make an exception if Miso’s as cute as you make him out to be.”

With that, he shifted the gear and drove out of the parking lot, using the one-way street to get away from the pet store and the unknown assailant. Buildings and cars passed by in a blur after you told him your address, your hands nonchalantly turning your phone while the silence was placated with the sound of the engine and the radio - though, you had no hope of hearing what the song was from how low the volume was.

Taking a deep breath, you turned toward him, eyes tracing over his unfairly handsome side profile. “So… Is this the part where you tell me who you are?”

“I told you, I’m no one,” he hummed simply, eyes trained on the road ahead.

“And I told you I don’t like liars - you still owe me your name, you remember that, right? Now, since you’re saving me from some unknown evil, you owe me a full introduction.”

He glanced over at you, amused astonishment filling his face, “For someone who’s in the hands of a complete stranger, you make a lot of demands.”

“Think of it as your atonement for giving me two new life experiences in one when I was minding my own business buying catnip.”

You could just barely catch him rolling his eyes, muttering under his breath and hearing the words ‘worse’ and ‘friends’.

“Minho.”

“Minho?”

Minho rocked his head to the side, huffing, “My name is Lee Minho, I have three cats - Soonie, Doongie, and Dori - and I’m a businessman. I like going to that pet store because they donate some of their profit to shelters, and I know about the catnip brands because I have three cats - changing brands is a nightmare whether it’s one cat or several.”

A small smile found its way to your lips at the new information, your mind running wild at the image of this enigma of a man playing with three cats of his own. “Okay… But, when you say businessman, what type of business do you do?”

“The type that prefers to go unmentioned to civilians for their safety.”

“What- Like working for some secret branch of the government? Are you a cult leader? A member of the mafia?” An incredulous giggle bubbled past your lips, though when his demeanor grew colder, your stomach dropped. “You’re… You’re not, right?”

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, granting him the grace to look at you, brown eyes locking to yours with a firm stare. “You never told me your name. If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my job - it’s your repentance for asking me more questions past my introduction. If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t, but I won’t tell you my job.”

Your name for his profession, your safety in exchange for his safety - it was only fair, truly.

Taking a deep breath, your name fell from your lips with a small air of confidence, “You already know about my cat, and my job pays just enough to support his picky eating habits. I like that pet store because they hosted an adoption event that brought Miso into my life, and I’ve been supporting them ever since.”

He made a sound of confirmation before turning his attention back to the road, pressing the gas as the light turned green and continued the journey to your apartment.

His choice of silence was almost enough to have your conscience second guessing your decision, until you noted the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel; twitching, anxious, compared to the streamlined, firm grip he’d showcased at the beginning of the drive.

Eventually your apartment building came into view, the car slowing to a stop once he reached the front door.

“Well…” Lingering for a moment longer, you looked at him in hopes of seeing him turn to you one final time to honor his end of the agreement, but when he remained staring at the road ahead, you let it go. “I guess this is goodbye - thank you for what you’ve done for me, Lee Minho, I appreciate it.”

As you went to unbuckle your seatbelt, his hand wrapped around your wrist, his touch sending a chill down your spine and stealing your attention just like he did outside of the pet shop.

“I’m part of the mafia,” Minho spoke plainly, his tone emotionless, statement oriented, “the person I saw earlier was someone we’ve done business with before, some low life’s henchman most likely sent to get even, that’s why I wanted to get away like I did. I didn’t want our chance encounter to end with you getting hurt - you did nothing wrong, and I wanted to make sure you would be safe.”

The mafia… You weren’t sure if him being a cult leader would’ve been better or worse than this, but staring into his eyes, you could feel it wasn’t a joke, nor an elaborate cover up.

“What I said before, about not mentioning what I do for the safety of others… I swear to you that you’ll be safe after this - I’ll make it my personal job of making sure nothing happens to you because of this, okay? No lingering ties or deals to be made, you’ll be under our watch until we take care of that stunt they tried to pull.”

His promise eased the first stretch of fear growing within you, though the rest would have to be handled once you had the proper time to process your less than normal morning.

Nodding, you slipped your wrist from his grasp and grabbed your bag, turning to get out of the car until you froze.

“If you’re worried, you don’t have to-”

You leaned across the center console and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, a sign of gratitude, “Thank you, Minho.”

Reaching into your bag, you placed his container of catnip in his hand then quickly left the car - making your way up the flight of stairs to the lobby’s doors,only to turn around to see him patiently waiting for your entrance before slipping your way past the glass doors.

On the elevator ride up to your apartment, you couldn’t help it as your thoughts ran through the events like a film reel, though you weren’t sure if it was to get over the shock of reality, or to commit the image of that man to your memory.

Lee Minho, cat owner and catnip expert.

Lee Minho, morally gray mafia member.

Lee Minho, a man you hoped you would see in the pet store again.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: Tagged lovelies will now be done within the comments of the post due to Tumblr's tagging system being broken, thank you for understanding.

@luminouskalopsia, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @sometimesleeknows, @hyunjinloverrrr, @rhonnie23, @channieswife, @beautyinhypnosis

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[seoulmatez]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒟𝐼𝒩𝒩𝐸𝑅 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸

info ⭑ haitani ran x f!reader. 1.7k wc. nsfw (minors do not interact) ﾉ established relationship ﾉ teasing ﾉ fingering ﾉ oral (f!receiving) ﾉ mentions of creampie  

if you were in your old apartment, one of your neighbors would have been banging on your door with a noise complaint by now. it’s one of the many perks of living with bonten’s haitani ran; his penthouse allows you to live without the concern of angry neighbors berating you for attempting to find joy in your daily tasks. you would make a list of all the other benefits if you weren’t too busy sliding around the kitchen in your socks and using the spatula as a makeshift microphone.

the bluetooth speaker sitting on the edge of the counter farthest from the food you’re cooking blares a song from the random playlist you had put on some time ago when you began to prepare dinner. as much as you love your new home, you have to admit; the silence that blankets the apartment while ran is away can be suffocating. you’d much rather have him home with you but your musical performances can tide you over until he finishes things up at work.

a lyric you can never resist singing approaches, gluing your feet to the spot in front of the stove as you ready to belt it out. you’re in the middle of hitting a note when a pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you back so that you’re flush with his chest. you don’t have to turn your head to tell it’s ran. “you, my dear, have the voice of an angel.”

“someone’s out for brownie points,” you joke through a giggle. even though you haven’t faced any complaints regarding your loud music, maybe you should consider lowering the volume just a bit. you didn’t hear the automated ring of the lock signaling ran’s arrival. hell, you couldn’t even hear him coming towards you.

“me? never.” he shakes his head but a knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. his chin comes to rest on your shoulder and you can see the two tones of his short, styled hair. it was neatly gelled this morning but now, a few strands stray from the coiffed majority. he must have been running his hands through it all day. 

a deep, thoughtful hum vibrates the junction between your neck and shoulder, effectively gaining your attention. “what’s with all the clothes under this apron?”

you snort. what he’s getting at is clear but you feel the need to kid with him first. “that’s kind of the point of an apron—to protect the clothes you’re wearing beneath it.”

“i suppose,” he sighs, the breath of air wafting past your ear and sending a chill down your spine. “although, i do think you’d look a lot better without these.” he tugs on the hem of your cropped top and waistband of your thin lounge shorts. they slap against your skin with a resounding snap, pulling a surprised squeak up from your throat.

you’d be lying if you said ran’s ministrations and sugared words didn’t turn you on, but he could wait until after dinner was ready if his plan was to get you all hot and bothered. “you’re so shameless.”

“don’t worry, though,” he continues, ignoring your statement. you feel the neat bow tied behind your back significantly loosen. the strings of your apron brush against the bare skin of your legs as heavy hands find a home on your hips to spin you around. ran smiles and the corners of his violet eyes crinkle. “we can fix that easily.”

he pulls the apron over your head, discarding it on the island behind him. in one fluid movement, his hands grip your thighs to lift you onto the counter. the surface is cool beneath your skin and you fail to hold back a gasp at the contact. your parted lips give him the perfect opportunity to lean forward and capture them in a kiss. it’s a hungry clash of teeth and mingling of tongues that sends heat directly down to your core. even when ran pulls away, a string of saliva keeps the two of you connected. “mm, i’ve been thinking about kissing those pretty lips all day.”

you grin at the thought of being on his mind when you’re apart from each other. a sense of pride swells in your heart knowing that you mean so much to him. you’re not able to appreciate it for long before his mouth is on yours again. wandering hands make their way up to grope at your breasts. nimble fingers sneak their way under the hem of your top, pinching and tugging at your hardened peaks. the rough sensation draws a whimper up from your throat. ran’s chuckle rumbles against your lips.

“alright, alright, i’ll stop teasing.” his voice is breathy as he pulls away from you. heavy hands fall from your tits but he makes no move to pull your shirt back into place—he’d rather leave them out on display. instead, his hands bunch up the smooth fabric of your shorts. ran’s thumb taps at your thigh. “lift your hips up for me, yeah?”

you follow his command, steadying yourself on the counter before raising your pelvis. he smiles at your quick obedience, dragging both your satin shorts and panties down the length of your legs and casting them away to a pile on the floor. he, too, lowers to the floor, propping himself up on his knees.

from this position, he’s got the perfect view of your pussy. he licks his lips and whispers, “gorgeous.” his lips curl up in a smirk, eyes still trained on your cunt. “and so wet. you must have been thinking about me, too, huh?”

you nod, exhaling a heavy breath as deft fingers run up and down the slit of your puffy folds. his movements are deliberate, slow and calculated. it’s only when he’s ready that you feel one finger prodding at your entrance, ever so slowly sinking deeper and deeper into you until you can feel the cold metal of his ring against your heat. he doesn’t give you time to adjust to the chill before he’s dragging his finger out of your gummy walls just as leisurely as it entered. the lazy pumping continues and you’re sure he’s enjoying himself; if the smile tugging at his lips is any evidence. you, however, are frustrated. you try your best not to squirm as you speak. “more.”

“hm? more what?” he finally looks up to meet your eyes. there’s a teasing sparkle in his lilac irises, one that urges you to elaborate. and you know you should, otherwise, you’ll never get what you want.

“another finger,” you whine. “‘n faster, please.”

he huffs out a laugh through his nose. “as you wish.”

ran’s a man of his word, plunging another lithe finger into the warmth of your cunt. you suck in a shaky gasp at the uncharacteristically fast intrusion—although it satisfies you, fills you up like you had hoped it would. and, just as he promised, ran picks up the pace. the relaxed speed becomes one that’s more erratic, desperate even. with the curl of his fingers, he reaches the spot he was just short of hitting earlier, the one he knows works you up.

“f-fuck!” you choke out. your exclamation brings a grin to ran’s face. you never fail to give him the exact reaction he’s looking for. but—and he’s not afraid to admit this—he’s greedy. he wants, no, needs more. he’s sure you’re willing to give and he’s more than happy to take.

still knuckles-deep in your cunt, ran dips his head down to leave a soft kiss on the bud of nerves settled at your apex. you twitch beneath his lips and the man takes it as a sign to continue. his tongue pokes out, wet and pointed, to circle the sensitive pearl. your thighs tense tighter and tighter with each swirl and the knot in your tummy grows taut, threatening to snap at any moment.

ran easily takes notice of your impending orgasm. one final push is all it will take to send you over the edge and he knows exactly what will do the trick. you’ve done so well for him, of course he’ll reward you for being good. he bites back a laugh before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit to suck at it—once, twice, thrice, until your back is arching and your eyes are rolling into your skull.

a wave of pure bliss washes over you but your cries of pleasure are overpowered by the jolting blare of the fire alarm. you don’t have a single second to wind down from your orgasm before ran pulls away from you, drags his fingers out of you, to deal with the situation on the stove. you’re left a shaking, sweaty mess perched atop the granite counters.

with his clean hand, ran easily turns off the burner and removes the pan of ruined food from the heat. the fingers covered in your essence make their way up to his mouth while he examines what was meant to be tonight’s meal. you watch as he casually cleans the indication of your arousal off of his hand. “well,” he pulls his fingers out with an exaggerated pop, “that’s beyond help.”

his show sends yet another wave of excitement straight to your core. the bulge pressing against the front of his tailored pants is no help either, creating an outline that’s practically screaming ’look at me!’. all you can think about is ran between your legs, his cock buried in you, and the warmth of his release painting your walls. you tilt your head back and let out a breathy sigh. “shit.”

“no need to fret,” ran assures you with a knowing smile. “i’m sure that restaurant you like can fit me in for a last-minute reservation.”

the veiled innuendo is cause for a pout. you and him both know that dinner is the last thing on your mind.

heyoooo, it's sua :3 thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: we’re oranges and apples now

paring: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you and grayson broke up years and years ago after a long and happy relationship but one day you meet again in the future and the memories come flooding back…

parts: we’re apples and oranges now (your pov)

warnings:

a/n: this is we’re apples and oranges now but reversed in Grayson’s POV, you’ll notice this mirrors the other fic quite a bit, this is intentional!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77

Grayson’s POV

I was wandering around the shops cluelessly. Cluelessly is never a word I thought I’d describe myself with. Grayson Hawthorne was not a clueless man but nowadays I seemed to becoming less and less like Grayson Hawthorne than ever. I check the list of items I’d been asked to purchase and gather most of the things I need. I find myself in the fruit aisle, picking up various berries when I spot some oranges. Not my particular favourite but I decide to get some anyway. As I’m picking some I’m suddenly aware of someone beside me. I glance from the corner of my eye. She’s recognisable in an odd sort of way. I couldn’t quite see her face but something about her presence, the way she’s breathing, her careful movements, it’s all so familiar. It’s like I’d seen her so many times but couldn’t place my finger on who she is. I ignore the puzzle my brain is trying to make this and focus on the oranges in my hands. She’s buying apples, placing one by one in a brown paper bag. I’m just about to put the final orange in the bag when suddenly I feel her bump into me. I see hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry!”

Her voice hits me like a train and I realise who she is. Why she was so recognisable. The left side of my chest fills with warmth that spreads across my whole body and suddenly my heart is pounding. I’m frozen for a second, not knowing what to say until I blurt out her name.

“Y/N!”

I stand up properly to make sure it’s really her. She’s stood there still, not moving, not blinking, I don’t even know if she’s breathing. She seems to be ina state of paralysis for a few moments. She looks up finally and murmurs my name.

“Gray?”

I chill runs down my spine, it’s been so long since I’ve heard my names from those lips. Her lips. The ones I used to kiss and now look at us. Too flustered for each other’s good in the fruit aisle of a grocery stores. Her hair spills around her face, framing her beautiful features. It’s like I’m looking at her for the first and last time all over again. The odd feelings of desire and pain mixing up into some messy soup in the pit of my stomach. As our eyes meet, a lifetime of love flashes before me. Memories that had been buried deep into the darkest parts of my mind begin to resurface and play like a mini movie. Over and over and over, like the film tape was stuck in the camera and no more of the story could make it through. She looks just like I remembered yet not quite. The months I’d spent moping over her, dreaming of her features, once drawing her just from memory. And now she was here infront of me. I wonder what she might be thinking. If she were thinking about the past we’d been through or the present were in now. Or maybe it’s neither, maybe I’m not even on her mind.

“Wow it’s really you,” I say. I want to smile, but I can’t will myself too, it feels in my gut like some sort of betrayal… but I don’t know who to. My wife? My children? Myself? Her?

It’s so odd seeing her again. Part of her was always somehow engraved into the side of my heart. Even when it was all over, the scarred name was still there and right now I can feel it throbbing. I don’t know whether the pain is good or bad but it just feels so natural for it to occur. I’d thought I was over this, over her, over the feeling but now I can see her again I don’t feel so powerful over my own swarm of thoughts as I did when she wasn’t staring at me with those angel eyes. She’s everything I’d remembered. Perfection doesn’t even begin to outline what she looks like. She looks a little older, a little more mature but I dare say it’s made her even prettier. She has the same gorgeous eyes, bright smile, soft hair. All those nights I’d spent gazing at her while she slept, tracing the very features that I stare at now. Then I’d taken them for granted, assumed that I’d be able to do that forever but now I just take them in slowly, processing this might be the last time I see them.

A question plays on the tip of my tongue, but it had already died long before in my throat, so I don’t ask it. Even though my heart is screaming for me to just be brave for once, my brain declines once again. My eye flicker down to get a glimpse of her left hand. I am guilty, but I have to know if she’s found someone new. Someone who’s given her what she deserves, the things that I couldn’t. But her left hand is gripping the basket so tightly that her fingers and any rings are hidden behind the handle and the white of her knuckles. So I’m left staring at the items in her basket. Baby bottles and blankets. My heart plummets down to my stomach. Was she expecting? Or had she already had her child? It’s funny, I’d always thought if she’d ever had a baby it would be mine. Suddenly this revelation makes me angry. She is having it has had a baby with someone. She’s a mother and not to my children. It stings so much more than it should. Like antiseptic on a fresh wound. But what hurts more than that is that I don’t know these things about her anymore. I don’t know her life, all the exciting moments and even the painful ones. And I’m never going to. It’s never going to be what it was and it’s all my fault. I let it all slip away and now I’m full of regret,

And then the blow of guilt hits me out of no where again. As if a shell has exploded right in front of me and I’ve been blown to smithereens. I should’ve be feeling regret. I have my own a life now with a woman a love, who is now called my wife. I have kids and a car and a steady income. And she has her life. I’m selfish, I’m so bitterly selfish for wanting what I can’t have when I already have so much… and yet it still doesn’t stop me.

Her hand shifts hold on the basket and then I see it. An engagement ring and a wedding band. Classy and classic. I expect nothing less, of course. That’s her taste. It always has been and I’m glad she’s find someone who respects that, who acknowledges it. But it’s grating at me… if we had still been together would she have gotten the same set or would it be different. I wish I didn’t care this much. I shouldn’t care this much. It’s a piece of damn mental and yet it’s suddenly the only thing on my mind. I’m ridden with a horrible vicious jealousy, spreading like an ugly rash all over my skin. I’m jealous of whatever man put these rings on her finger, whatever man got the luxury of calling her his wife. I’m disgusted in myself for feeling this way because she looks happy. Happier than ever. And I want that for her more than anything. She deserves to be the happiest girl in the world. But I wish I could’ve made her this happy. But I failed. And this is my punishment. I have my own life now and so does she, so I keep having to remind myself. Why is the concept so hard for me to grasp?

I wonder about her husband. It’s hard to picture her with someone else. I think about all the things I hope he is to her. Was he the kindest soul on the planet? Would he do anything and everything for her? Did he treat her like she deserved more than the world? I hoped, I prayed he was. And even though I’m trying to forbid it to, my mind still wanders on… Was he anything like I was? Or did I scar her so badly that he was my opposite? What made her choose him? Fall for him harder than she’d fallen for me? What made his love worth fighting for?

I look back to her face and inwardly sigh. I doubt she was doing this. Mulling over me and my life like I am hers. Overthinking every detail, wondering who she’s married to and why. She’s too kind, too mature. I only wish I could have the decency to do the same, but it’s pricing difficult. Though, I catch her eyeing my wedding ring. And suddenly a pang hits my stomach and I want to tell her so many things that I can’t. I wish I could tell her I didn’t dare engrave the initials in the metal, like we’d one discussed. I didn’t for one second think of doing that with anyone but her. I wanted to tell her that I drove all the way out to a jewellers in another town just so I wouldn’t go to the same one we once did. I wanted to tell her that I kept the promise rings we’d made together and I still have them in a box under the roof of my house. But I stay silent because I am a coward.

“Yeah, gosh, hi, how have you been?” she asks. The first thing I notice is how radiant she looks, the brightness in her eyes and joy in her voice. ‘She’s happy’ I think again and that makes me smile a little.

“Good, I’m good,” I reply, “how are you?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “good as well.”

“It’s been a while,” i say, forcing a laugh to hide the resurfacing pain. It was easier like that.

“Yeah it has,” she grins back, her eyes pinned to mine. She looks so delicate in this moment and so unbelievably beautiful, “it’s about time we’d bump into each other.”

“Yeah,” I reply, gazing at her trying to suppress my smile. But it seems to not obey and suddenly I’m grinning like I haven’t in a very long time, not since we were together I don’t think.

A menagerie of memories replay in my head, but it feels like I’m a bystander in every scene, watching another version of myself with her. A wave of deja vu envelopes me suddenly sending tingles down my spine. I don’t like what she does to me, I don’t like feeling so far from myself and yet I miss her so much. And just as if she’s reading my thoughts she says three fateful words that I’ll never forget,

“I’ve missed you,” she says rather suddenly.

Those words hit me like a bus, in the best way possible. In fact I wish to be hit with that bus over and over and over just to feel the impact.

“I’ve missed you too,” I say, hoping she can hear the meaning in my voice, see the emotion in my eyes.

The tide of bittersweetness roll in and out slowly, unsurely, indecisively. And even though the water is only up to my ankles I’m suddenly drowning. Drowning in the most minuscule amount of water because my mind is making it out to be so much more than it is. A unswallowable lump forms in my throat in this prolonged silence. My eyes refuse to leave her face, the very face I left all those years ago. She wears the same expression as that night. One of the worst nights of my life. Her eyes are wide, a borderline of hurt and happiness. I still have nightmares to this day, it’s one moment of us together that I never wish to relive. The silence makes me ache all over, craving her voice once more. I want to forget about the history and bury it right next to the pain and trauma that have been buried for years now. But making this quiet somewhat bearable is the silent conversation we share. We know each other well enough to do so. A shared moment the saddest of happiness and the happiest of sadness all at once.

A call comes through on my phone and I look down to the buzzing device to see it’s my wife. Guilt surges through me once again.

“Well I’d best get going,” I tell her quickly.

I need to get away. Even though all I want to so is stand her for the rest of time just to hear her voice and see her face. She’s my drug, she always has been and always will be. But I gave up a long time ago and I can’t go back to what I was, to who I was. So I need to run and rehabilitate, so I don’t get addicted again. A coward of a man is all I am, but I least I laid my eyes on her beauty once more before I never did again.

“Yeah me too,” she nod firmly, confidently.

She holds herself with so much more pride now, she knows how much she’s worth and I can see it. I’m glad.

“Goodbye Y/N,” I murmur, savouring the feeling of her name on my lips, “I wish you all the best.”

And I did. Truly I did. I wanted her to have everything she ever could dream of and then more.

“Bye Gray,” she says with a small smile that I never realised how much I’d missed seeing, “I wish you the same.”

We turn and walk our separate ways, apples in her basket, oranges in mine. I take the call from my wife and then wander aimlessly down different aisles not knowing what I was doing or where I was going anymore. Until it had been an hour and I finally made it back home. As soon as I can I get into the shower and break down. A sob silently as the water droplets run down my body, until the lungs ache and my head screams at me to stop. And even then it’s hard to. I can’t shake the regret, I can’t shake the pain, I can’t shake her voice and her face from my brain. I quietly wonder if she cried too… no. She’s far too strong. I pull myself together for the sake of the life I lead now and force myself not to think of her.

The oranges rot in the fruit bowl. I don’t think I would’ve eaten them when they were fresh anyway, I’ve never liked their immediate sourness and then the thick sugary aftertaste left to coat my throat. The next time I go to the shop I buy apples instead of oranges hoping she’d be there too, but she never was. I find myself wondering if the next time she went to the shop she bought oranges rather than apples in hope to see me. But I suppose it will remain one of the worlds’ greatest mysteries and I will never find the answer, no matter how hard I try…

a/n: I gave Gray’s pov a shot?? Don’t know how successful it was, but I hope you enjoyed anyways. Thanks for reading 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

[ladytauria]

👀👀 I am curious about the rr vampire au!

!!! i read a BUNCH of genfic and stumbled across a lovely vampire au <3 which stuck in my head… and before i knew it i was daydreaming about a potential reverse robins version, lmao

vampire jason is caught by vampire hunters, and rescued by hood!tim. while feeding on him, jason instigates a psychic/empathy bond—something he’s been lacking since his parents died. tim can’t break it without causing him harm <3

i wrote around 3k for it in… an afternoon? two? and i’ve only touched it for edits/rewrites since lol

i may remove the empathy bond aspect? but also i love empathy bonds… hm. maybe i’ll make it telepathic instead, i haven’t done one of those… 🤔

warning for blood drinking below the cut

“Kid.” Hood gets his attention again. “The sun’s gonna be up soon. There’s no way we can get you anywhere safe before it rises. You need to get some blood in you.” Jason’s mouth twists. He knows. Hood doesn’t need to remind him. But... “I don’t want to take too much,” he admits quietly. It’s been so long… the risk of him losing control is too big. “I won’t let you,” Hood promises. “I promise, kid. Everything is going to be okay.” Jason searches his face. He looks for any hint, any trace of a lie. He doesn’t find one. Hood... He just saved Jason’s life. He’s still trying to save Jason’s life, and— Jason doesn’t want to die. Especially not as slowly and painfully as sun exposure would be. He swallows. Nods. Hood... he looks relieved. He holds his arm out again, and this time, Jason scoots closer, and takes it. One hand wraps around Hood’s wrist. The other, just above his elbow. This close, he can hear Hood’s heartbeat. It’s slow. Steady. Jason’s mouth waters. Venom flows onto his tongue, and he drags it over Hood’s skin. He waits a full, agonizing minute to make sure the area is well and truly numbed and then, finally— He sinks his teeth in. Blood gushes into his mouth—warm and hot and thick and just. Perfect. Jason sighs. His eyes fall shut as the tension just... melts off of his body. For the first time in years, his fangs slide back into his gums as he transitions to sucking at the wound, restraining himself just enough not to bruise. Hood’s presence beside him is solid. Warm. Jason can hardly help the way he lists towards him. Hood’s other arm wraps around him, pulling him against his chest. Jason can—feel him. Protective. Caring. He feels like the promise of safety. Jason can’t help but bury himself in it. Something clicks into place. He sighs again. He feels Hood’s arm tighten around him. Hears his breath hitch. He doesn’t pull Jason off, though, so—Jason ignores it. He’s forgotten what it’s lie to drink directly from the source. Blood bags pale in comparison, now. He’s not sure how he ever survived on them. It’s been so long... Jason grows full quickly, the blood settling into his stomach and warming him from the inside out. He lets go, eventually; licking the wound lazily until it closes, and catching the remainder of the blood as he does. Then, finally, he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyelids are heavy. He’s so warm. Hood pulls his sleeve back down. He doesn’t put his jacket on, though. Instead, he wraps it around Jason’s shoulders. It’s pleasantly heavy. The leather-gunpowder-gun oil scent isn’t as pleasant, but. Who cares. It cuts off the autumn chill, bringing the same warmth outside that Jason feels inside. He yawns, sinking into it. “Hey, kid. Stay awke a little bit longer, okay?” Jason hums noncommittally. Hood laughs. He jostles Jason slightly, making his nose wrinkle. He glares at him through slitted eyes. “You got anywhere to go?” Jason ducks his head into the jacket’s collar. He considers. It’s been three days. “Prob’ly not.” “Probably?” “Mm. Had a squat. Prob’ly got stolen.” Jason’s eyes fall shut again. It’s too much work to keep them open now. Hood sighs. Jason feels a tangle of things. Worry. Fondness. Sadness. It’s not his, though. There’s another presence in his chest, now. He pets it, a little clumsily. It’s a nice presence. Jason would like to keep it.

[ wip ask game ]

[kitkat27]

Two Lines

Ilsa discovers life changing information but dealing with Lane again will have to come first …

Posted on ao3 - kit_kat_27

Thank you sooooo much to @justabigassnerd for putting up with me for the last couple of months while I’ve been writing. Couldn’t have done it without your support!

It will becoming a series hopefully (comment if you want on the taglist)

Please let me know what you guys think. I’ve not done a lot of romance and haven’t written for about 2 yrs so I’m a bit rusty. This is my first fic in this fandom, it’s one of the longest I’ve written and one of my first fight scenes. Ignore grammar and spelling mistakes. This will be posted on ao3 too !

Two lines. Two definite pink lines. Two lines blink back at her confirming her suspicions. Two lines that will now change her life from this exact moment.

Two lines that couldn't be erased. Lines that confirm her body was right. All the signs that she had been dodging confirmed her fears.

Fingers grazed against her abdomen, as if her fingers were scared if they lingered too long it would confirm her fears.

This had been at the bottom of her list, hell after being with the syndicate for two years it had been erased from it. And for finding out, a derelict safe house in rural Denmark was not the scenario she had thought of many years ago.

She had snagged the test the other week and let it burn a hole in her bag until she was going to pop under the pressure.

She'd finally given in to the pressure at the safehouse with the safety of knowing the boys wouldn't be back for another couple of hours.

But now she wasn’t sure what to do, sitting in the bathroom staring at the two pink lines. For once in her life she didn't have the next step already planned. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there as the sounds of the boys inthe driveway indicated their return.

Not wanting Ethan to find out yet, she needed to wrap her brain around it first, she shoved the test down into the depths of her bag where she hoped it would stay hidden until she was ready to tell.

‐—--------------‐—-----------------

Solomon Lane was a name that kept appearing, though all four wished it didn't. Every time they thought they were done he would reappear.

And so they were, here again, staring at the computer each wishing that if the computer was closed and reopened it would be gone, and they could go back to chilling in their safe house.

But alas, they did. Brandt, who now made secretary, had sent them an email after word had gotten out that Lane had escaped Alana's grip and had not been handed over to MI6.

Nobody knew if either Alanna or the Mi6 had played a part in his escape. You can only trust a broker so much, Alanna would always think of herself no matter what she had promised.

But the wind was that he had escaped to Europe where some of his still, somehow, loyal followers remained. The organization was heading to a remote village in Kashmir threatening to release a nuclear bomb that would starve a third of the world's population.

Brandt was warning them to take these hints about Lane with a pinch of salt as it wasn't said who had given them this information and to approach the entire case with caution.

She was going to have to put telling Ethan, he would end the mission before it even started if she told him now the news on the back burner for now. If Lane found out they were carrying new information he wouldn't stop till he found.

————————————-

They split up once they reached the camp, Lane would stand out like a sore thumb in the remote village.

Ethan and Luther took to the nearby medical camp, leaving Benji and Ilsa to tackle the village. Ethan and Ilsa didn’t want to split, they worked better together but Lane would be wanting them to be together.

Once they reached the village, they split again to cover more ground while keeping each other in sight. Well, it was more Ilsa keeping an eye on Benji as she was concerned about Benji running into Lane alone again.

She knew he’d passed field tests and could hold his own, but he didn’t have the same skills or experience. She and Ethan had an unspoken agreement that they’d always put themselves in the firing line before Luther and Benji.

Making her way around the village, she did her best to stay under the radar. Lane had predicated all their movements but she had wanted to at least try to be in front. Out of the main village, on the outskirts, a lone house stood. Void of any women or children hanging outside, drawing her to it.

‘Benji, I may have a lead, stay close by and on comms. We'll draw attention if we both go ‘

Her fellow brit already began to panic at her evading the laid out plan, ‘‘Ilsa, you know what etha-’

‘Stay close by, I need to do this’ and with that, she blocked out the following Benji ramble.

Nothing on the outside balcony gave any clues to Lane. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, she could hear Benji arguing in her ear and threatening to switch on Ethan’s earpiece knowing he would stop this.

But she wanted to, no she needed to take on Lane herself.

She needed to find some form of closure from the years she worked in the syndicate, and the pain and torture he put her friends through.

Some closure for the nights she woke up screaming. All the years by herself, all the years alone, he needed to repay.

She made her way into the house. with each step she took her mind was on overdrive, her eyes darting back and forth making sure her six was covered.

Training would tell her that walking through an open door is a trap. Sweeping the first room, there was nothing in the house that wasn't covered in dust or had seen better days.

A blur of movement occurred in her peripheral vision of a figure moving to another room. Mentally apologizing to Ethan and the boys she followed.

The room was the same as the last a movement attracting her to a darkened section of the room causing her to turn aro-

A blinding pain across the back of her skull turned her vision white.

With the back of her head throbbing leaving her frozen, another blow to her lower back dropped her to the ground, the world turning black.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Ilsa, Ilsa. I know you can hear me. I'm a second away from calling Ethan’. This wasn't a good idea.

‘Ilsa you better respond’

Why couldn't Luther have gone with Ilsa, she listened to him the most. Luther was the only one who sometimes could reign her in these situations.

Ilsa’s tracker showed her around the edge of the village, where Lane would want her. He would know she would split from the group and that she would tackle him alone. Pulling out his phone he sent a message to Luther, warning of his worries without alerting Ethan.

He readied his gun as he spotted the lonely house in front of him. Why could the bad guys never be sitting in a coffee shop ready to hand themselves over after grabbing a latte?

Silence. The house was empty. 2 spies would be quiet but shouldn’t be completely silent.

Sweeping all the rooms in the house, the worry grew with every increasing minute he spent with no sign of Ilsa or Lane.

‘ Ilsa, Ilsa are you i-’, blood.

Blood. Ilsa’s gun.

Blood, a lot of blood for a spy who was the best of the best.

‘ Benji, where are you?’, shit Ethan.

‘ The house at the end of the village, Ilsa spotted Lane here and went after him. She’s-’, doing this over comms would be easier than face to face, ‘she’s not here Ethan. Lane has her, she's injured’

Ethan never panicked but he’d never had someone like Ilsa in his life before.

The one warning he had given to the team was to not take Lane on alone, especially Ilsa. She had failed tests towards the end of her undercover stint. She wouldn't be lucky the next time she ran into Lane alone.

Lane and Ilsa were stubborn and hot-headed, with an intense hatred for each other, what would happen when the two were reunited Ethan didn't want to know.

In the safe house in Denmark she had acted a little off, an unknown fear had flickered across her face when their time off in Denmark was being cut short.

Benji was waiting for them on the porch of the house, panic written over his face. He didn't waste time looking in the house, no point subjecting his heart to what she had gone through.

Circling the house there was almost nothing to go on until he came across faint footsteps leading away from the home to some soft tire tracks in the distance.

There were only 2 sets of prints, both too big for Ilsa. Lane had a plan in mind for another location. She would be no match for him unconscious and drugged. Luther and Benji hung back letting him decide on what to do next.

The tracks led deep into the mountains. Wasting no time in telling the other two what or where he was going, he began sprinting back to where they had left the car at the medical camp,

‘I’ll get you two as I come past’

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

A pounding pain pulsed at the back of her head. The first effort in opening her eyes sent a shockwave of pain around her skull. The second she managed to open them she noticed a figure sitting in front of her.

‘Nice of you to finally join me’. The figure chuckled, ‘It took a large amount of drugs to keep you knocked out. I trained you well.’

Lane.

A haggard version of the man she spent 2 years doing every bidding.

‘We’re owed a reunion and a rematch don't we, my dear Ilsa’. He took her face in his hands his callused hands tightening around her jaw, smirking she was putty in his hands.

‘You're not speaking my dear? I thought you'd have plenty to say to me’.

Heading towards the open door he turned at the doorway, ‘I'm gonna give you time to think until that pretty boyfriend of yours figures out where we are. Then I’ll be a man and kill you myself.’

Taking notice of her current predicament, she noted her ankles and wrists were bound tight, sores already forming.

As she was deciding on whether to dislocate her thumb, her wrist snagged on a sharp edge on the back of the chair. All the spy movies loved this cliché and for once she was glad it was happening.

She had to work fast, not knowing when Lane would come back into the hut. Her wrists released themselves from their binding, she immediately worked on releasing her legs fingernails beginning to bleed at the frantic speed at which she was working.

Click.

A loaded gun. The cold metal was placed against her forehead ‘My sweet Ilsa, I always am shown why Atlee chose you. You never disappoint’

Glancing upwards, she met Lane's eyes his gaze cold but joyful. He loved getting a rise out of those who crossed him.

‘I'm glad’

Neither of them moved both poised, when all of a sudden it was like a bullet had been fired and the fight began.

Drawing a knife from her boot, she lunged for Lane whilst grabbing his gun with the other hand. Knocking him backwards from the force of her attack, the gun falling from his grasp.

Swiping her blade aiming for his throat but taking any damage that would occur. The surprise of her attack quickly wore off, Lane began to block her attempts with his own.

A fist collided with her cheek and knocked her back a step. Another landing on her ribs sent an alarming crunch throughout the room.

She folded in on herself, exaggerating her pain from the broken ribs, waiting until he was close enough till she could grab a hold of his arm and use his momentum to flip him over her back.

Before Lane had a chance to react she threw herself on top of him wrapping her hands around his throat and applying all the pressure she could.

He scrambled underneath, fear in his eyes at the strength of her attack, attempting to rip her hands off him. She was squeezing with all her might but her power was in using her thighs to choke. Lane knew her inside and out she didn't want to be too predictable.

She was about to change tactics when a hand in her hair dragged her backwards with such force throwing her against the wall of the hut.

Not taking any time to find out who had joined, she kicked out at her attacker's legs. Swiping their feet, toppling them onto a winded Lane giving her the chance to run for it out the open door.

She had no plan but to run as far away as she could, Ethan was bound to be looking for her now. How far she would get she didn’t know, the pounding in her head was beginning to grow and the broken ribs were stealing her ability to breathe.

The sound of a twig snapping alerted her to someone coming up behind her, the drugs were making it harder and harder for her to react. Her body was now just running on pure fear to keep herself alive long enough for Ethan to find her.

Her new companion spun her around, her arms subconsciously wrapped themselves around her stomach, revealing their identity.

‘Trevligt att se dig igen. Du kommer inte bli lika lätt den här gången’.

Viktor. The bone doctor.

He had a talent for evading death. She wanted to either run or fight back but her limbs had suddenly become heavy. All she could do was watch Viktor as he got a firm grip on her arm and he plunged her own knife deep into her shoulder.

‘Karma är en jävel, eller hur? det gör väl ont ?’

All she could do was keep her body upright as he smirked at the blood pooling on her shoulder and grabbed the handle twisting the blade deeper. Blinding pain took over her body as she felt the blade twist deeper, she was not sure how much longer she could hold on.

‘ILSA !!!’, when did Ethan get here? She could barely see his figure moving towards her as her vision began to swim and her body felt like a lead weight as she fell to the ground protecting her stomach.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Pulling up over the top of the mountain, chaos and horror awaited him. Ilsa writhed in the grip of Viktor, his vicelike grip being the only thing that was keeping her upright. She wasnt fighting back, her arms hung loosely at her sides, there was no recognition of her knowing he was there her eyes glassy and unfocused.

The powerful, badass spy he normally knew was not the one he was currently running towards. A breath hair away from reaching Ilsa, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she dropped to the ground her body curling in on itself. Viktor let go as if she was a discarded ragdoll he no longer wanted to torture.

Resisting running to her side immediately, he focused on Viktor. He wasnt going to let him off lightly this time. He was going to make sure he was dead this time, and let one shot from his gun hit the centre of Viktor's heart dropping the swede instantly.

He didn't want to fight the man, it wasnt worth the risk of getting injured fighting a man double his height. Somehow Lane had slipped away again. Hopefully, for good, Ilsa was on the brink of death and he’d mentally manipulated Ethan, all everything he set out to achieve

The helicopter blades could be heard coming over the mountain top, Benji had mentioned as they drove that Julia was working at the medical camp, he must have sent a call for help as they reached the scene.

He wasn't gonna let go of Ilsa until they pried her out of his hands. Her body felt like glass in his hands, the blood flowing out of the knife wound wasn’t slowing her face getting paler as the seconds went on.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Looking at Ilsa’s results, something was wrong. Ilsa was above peak physical condition, nothing should show up abnormal. All standard tests, which included a pregnancy test for any female regardless, had been run and she should pass all.

Shit.

Her hCG levels were elevated.

Ilsa was pregnant. Ilsa was expecting Ethan's baby.

She was 3 months pregnant. This would explain why Ilsa's body fought them when she was brought in, her body was protecting the baby.

Grabbing the abdominal ultrasound she wondered if Ethan knew. Ilsa had broken down her walls around him but was this a wall that either had discussed? Ethan hadn’t mentioned anything when they rescued Ilsa and neither of the boys had shown signs of knowing.

Running the ultrasound over Ilsa’s stomach the relieving sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the small tent. Well, she hoped it was relieving, hell did Ilsa know herself?

She suspected she did from the Brit cradling her stomach as she drifted in and out of consciousness during the flight. The heartbeat was steady, the baby was safe and healthy which was lucky considering what Ilsa had been through in the last 24 hours.

The radio attached to her hip crackled to life announcing the helicopter making its way back with the rest of the team. They had to leave them behind to make room for them to work on Ilsa. Luther had to hold onto a struggling Ethan, who had fought with all his might to come with them.

She had about 5 minutes before they would get back to the tent, giving her enough time to pack any baby-related items away. She figured Ilsa needed to be the one to tell Ethan herself.

As she was busying herself with tidying, the heart rate of the British agent signalled she was beginning to ruse. Eyes flickered open to meet hers, pain whimpers followed as she came to.

With a hand on her none injured shoulder, she spoke softly ‘Ilsa, hey it's ok. It's Julia, you're in the med camp. You're injured from the kidnapping and fight, Ethan and the team are safe and are on their way.’

Once the meaning of her words sunk in, Ilsa began to calm. ‘ I, I…’

‘Don't push yourself, save your voice for Ethan’, striking blue eyes travelled along the spy’s own body taking note of the injuries and finally landing on her stomach.

Knowing the question she was thinking, she answered for her,

‘The baby is fine. You're about 12 weeks, I’ve not put it in your notes and told the team to not tell the others-’ Ilsa then met her eyes ‘- I figured you'd want to tell them’.

Hearing the helicopter land in the distance, she put the last piece of equipment away before turning back to Ilsa.

‘Whatever you decide to do, I'm here. Whatever is running through your head, ignore it, Ethan will be happy whatever you decide. He loves you and will support you through every step.’

Ilsa spoke for the first time since waking ‘Than- thank you, Julia. I want Ethan’

Returning the smile, she placed a gentle kiss on her friend's hairline ‘He’s arriving at the camp now, he’ll be here any minute’ before making her way out of the tent.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The helicopter hadn’t even turned its blades off before he was barreling out of it tearing along the path to the med tent.

Finding the main tent he bumped into Eric who was making his way out, grasping his arm as he passed ‘ It was touch and go, we did lose her once but she's ok. She’s asking for you.

She seemed at peace lying on the small hospital bed, monitors surrounding her, a rhythmic beeping sound. The sound reaffirms Eric's words, but he needed to see for himself.

A black eye and a bandage going from her eyebrow to the hairline adorned the left side of her face. A blanket was drawn up to mid chest leaving her shoulders bare showing the thick bandaging adorning where the knife had been mere hours ago.

Her eyes were closed but he knew she wasn't sleeping, she wouldn't until they were back in a safehouse. Reaching her side, he resisted reaching out; he didn't know what had happened between her and Lane.

As if she could read his mind, ‘It's ok, Ethan. I need you please’.

Avoiding the painful side of her face, he cupped her cheek in his hand and placed a gentle kiss on her lips which she faintly reciprocated.

His lips rested on hers as he placed his forehead tenderly against hers. Neither spoke for a while both basking in each other's touch.

The warmth of her skin under his, reminded him she was here. She was back with him. The warmth reminded him how close he had been to losing her up on the mountains.

Blue eyes met his, saying all the words she needed to say to put his mind at rest. That she was back with him and not to beat himself up.

Though the comfort in her eyes turned to concern, ‘Ethan, I. There’s something. I have something I need to tell you ’. There was an intense look on her face as if her thoughts were fighting with each other

He wasn’t sure what was happening. Since getting together both of them had worked together on communication with each other, good or bad.

Ilsa gazed off into the distance seemingly afraid to meet his eye contact. ‘ I was going to tell you back in Denmark but I didn’t want you knowing and risking Lane knowing too. I just need to know that whatever happens, you’ll stay here. Please don’t run as I’m just as scared as you.’

He kept quiet, instead reaching out to hold her hands stilling them from the anxiously fidgeting.

‘I. Ive been noticing symptoms for the last few weeks that i was putting down to the back to back missions, hoping that avoidingg them would make them go away. Ethan. Ive been late for the last few weeks. Ive been tired, hungry and nauseated all the time’, she finally looked back at him letting the words sink in.

He couldnt believe what she was telling him. His mind was numb, he had never thought about this step in his life. Neither of them had so it was inevitable the way they messed around.

The fear of his reaction was scaring her,‘Ethan please say something’.

He seemed lost in his head before that classic Ethan smile adorned his face ‘You’re… pregnant ? We’re having a baby ?’. He seemed to start vibrating with excitement as she guided his hand to rest on her stomach.

"We're having a baby Ethan. We’re becoming parents’

His other hand came to rest under her chin tilting her face towards him, keeping his other resting on her nonexistent bump ‘ I love you. I love you. Whatever you decide to do next I will support you every step of the way. I never thought I’d become a father, but I am so excited to take this path with you’

The emotions were too much to answer him so she pulled him to bring his lips to hers communcting her feelings to him. She was scared of what was to come in the coming months as she stepped into the world of motherhood but she knew that Ethan would be by her side every step of the way.

Swedish translation- nice to see you again. You won't be getting off as easy this time

“Karma is a bitch, isn't it. That hurts, doesn't it?

@radical-sky @izzypuppybutt @justabigassnerd

[araedi]

I promised an update on my life/activity and stuff, so here it is! I’ll stuff it all under the cut but the tldr is I’m still here just on a super slow. I’m always down for chats and interactions as long as you’re cool with that!

I’m quite private about myself online so gonna keep this brief (lol watch me do anything but), but I feel like I keep circling back to apologising every few months for not being here enough then punishing myself over it when I’m not magically active again. It’s ultimately a hobby but I still feel bad that people writing with me could be feeling let down/ignored, so I wanted to drop this rather than keep on cycling the same apology until it feels hollow.

Life’s a Lot right now: I’m currently juggling two part time jobs, pretty much full household responsibilities for three people, night-school with essays, and an emotionally intensive placement as part of my training which also involves paperwork. Home life is also less than ideal (won’t go into details). On top of this, I have chronic health problems alongside chronic pain so most days I’m just crabby and exhausted; my mental health could be better but rn it just feels like I’m treading water to get to a place where I’ll have fewer commitments.

Ultimately rp and writing/creative stuff in general is part of how I unwind so I’ll always be around because this outlet is so rewarding, but as it stands I’m just so mentally and pysically drained that when I do have the time I’d rather just switch my brain off and play a bit of a game and have a sliver of social life than try to force out writing which is gonna be sub-par. I’ve been feeling kinda down about my writing for a bit and just feel like I’m giving the same post over and over, which also isn’t helpful!

As for my activity and where y’all fit: I’m still around and intend to be; still responding to DM’s on Discord or IM’s on here (unreliable though they are -_-) just being ridiculously slow with replies and popping reblogs or replies out just as and when. I’m not the type to up and quit, hell I’ve been on this blog for years so I’m going nowhere, just on the go-slow with the odd spurt of like 3-5 replies.

Of course I 100% understand if this weird unpredictable activity doesn’t fit for you: we all have different needs and expectations with this hobby and if me only showing up now and again isn’t gonna work that’s totally ok and you don’t have to follow or write with me: it’s been a blast knowing you!

If you’re chill to stick around and deal with my slowness, please know I WILL get to replies, even if it’s at glacial pace. I’ll post a shot of my tracker/a list up in the future so I can be 100% on what I owe and know you can always check in with me/hold me accountable for stuff. Please know you can ALWAYS drop stuff in my ask boxes, whether it’s memes or questions for muses or just crack. It always puts a smile on my face <3 if I received it I’ll reply to it, so barring just a few memes I have nothing else waiting!

This all being said I would LOVE to build up more long term/in-depth character relationships and sustained interactions over multiple threads. I love getting to know my rp partners beyond the muses – it’s just that right now it’ll take six times as long to get anywhere. My door’s open for any chats r.e. any muses here or on the multi.

If you need my disco handle just ask/reply here or whatever and I can send it; if you need to get in touch for any reason and can’t seem to get through to me, just send a ping to the bestie Benevolentgodloki c:

If you read all this and are ok with sticking around know that you have my undying love lmao; I know it isn’t easy trying to build anything with someone who only posts once in a blue moon so your patience is appreciated and I’ll always appreciate having people to come back to on here <33

[direwombat]

haven’t seen anyone wip-wednesdaying today and i figure it’s because everyone’s burnt out, but it’s the solstice and i wanna share some stuff (specifically, pratt having a dark day indeed, and paola having an evening that is maybe a bit brighter than she expected) :)

tagging  @socially-awkward-skeleton, @natesofrellis, @sstewyhosseini, @confidentandgood, @adelaidedrubman, @strangefable, @noetikat, @aceghosts, @thomrainer, @strafethesesinners, @schoute, @purplehairsecretlair, @harmonyowl, @deputyash, and anyone else wanting to share their work today (but also, as always, no pressure).

the rough starts of fragile creatures chapter 6 (which i technically shared once before, but i’ve fleshed it out since then):

“So,” Jacob sniffs. “Put any thought into how you want to die?”

Pratt, to his credit, doesn’t acknowledge him. He just sits in the mud, blue-lipped and dead-eyed, shivering with his broken and braced leg outstretched in front of him. The tarpaulin he’d been so graciously given to keep him from freezing to death overnight crinkles loudly as he pulls it tighter around him. The temperatures are dropping now that it’s well into October; an hour after sunrise, and everyone’s breath is still visible in the chilled air. 

Jacob sits on a metal folding chair in front of Pratt’s cage. He’s been making slow work of the apple in his hands, sliding the blade of his knife under the skin and tossing strips of thin peel through the metal bars. The boy had all but puked his guts out after getting his leg broken. Chunks of it sit in a slushy, semi-frozen puddle on the opposite side of the cage. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since he last ate. Jacob had always been careful to ensure Pratt was never fully satiated, striking that balance of keeping him just nourished enough to function, but too weak to do anything else. He always made sure to keep the threat of starvation very real and very near. 

Food is never guaranteed, and here in the cage, Pratt has lost the privilege to eat. 

Jacob dangles another flap of apple skin through the bars, but Pratt steadfastly ignores him. “No? You don’t give me any input and I’ll have to decide for you. And I gotta say, Peaches, you’re not gonna like whatever I come up with.” He digs his knife into the fruit’s pulpy flesh, carves out a wedge, and tosses it into his mouth.

He watches for a reaction -- a hitch of the breath, more trembling, the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple -- but Pratt gives him nothing. Just the slightest clench of his jaw and a quick glance from the corner of his eye. Jacob’s not sure whether to be disappointed or impressed. He was sure Pratt’d be a sobbing mess by now, like he had been those first few nights when Jacob had let him believe he was nothing more than food for the wolves. The only difference between then and now is that by sundown, he might very well be, and he knows better than to think that Jacob might be bluffing.

and here’s the first few paragraphs of wine drunk, the cute and fluffy paola/charlie phone call fic:

Paola doesn’t quite know how long she’s been staring at Charlie Cutter’s name and number in her contacts list, but she knows it’s longer than she cares to admit. Long enough for the time to change to a whole ‘nother date. Her thumb hovers over the call button, but she can’t summon the courage to press down. Teeth sink harshly into her plush lower lip, scraping off what remains of that day’s lipstick. 

What the hell is wrong with her? She feels so foolish, acting like a teenager with her flushing cheeks and butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach at the thought of an Englishman. Her grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew. 

Yet, here she is, four glasses deep into a bottle of wine, on a goddamned Tuesday -- now Wednesday -- and pining like a puppy. She might as well lay herself on the ground by her front door in case he comes crashing through it while running from the polizia. The chances of that happening entirely unprompted are probably as likely as him actually answering if she called. Just because she never got around to deleting his number doesn’t mean he still has hers. He’s a criminal, for Christ’s sake. The phone this number belonged to was probably trashed weeks ago, after that job with him, Nadine, and Chloe wrapped up. 

Besides, it’s not like she has anything in particular she wishes to discuss. That job was over. There’s nothing left of that for them to talk about.

“Porca puttana,” she swears, and she downs the last of that fourth glass. This is absurd. She’s being absurd. She just needs to put the phone down, put the wine away, and go to bed. The lecture she has to give isn’t until the afternoon, but she’s going to need the morning to recover from tonight’s poor decision. 

She shifts where she sits on her couch to place her glass upon the coaster on her coffee table. The phone slips ever so slightly in her grip and her thumb glides against something cold and smooth. It isn’t until warbling dial tone fills her ears that her brain catches up with her body. 

No.

No, no, no!

With graceless, flailing limbs, she scrambles to hang up, but before she has the chance, Charlie’s voice, yawning and made even rougher with sleep, comes through. “Miss Orsini?” he asks, confused and almost worried that she’s called him, “Is everything alright?”

[findyourrp]

Hey there! Im just gonna jump into it and lay it all out so I don’t get a message from someone who didn’t bother to read the ad (that happens a lot and I’m sure I’m not the only one with that struggle lmao)

Also, apologies in advance, it’s kind of all over the place and a bit repetitive, so please bear with me here.

I’m 22F and seeking other female or non-binary partners who enjoy writing male mains. I prefer playing a female main in MxF settings. I also only play in (preferably modern) fantasy settings with fantasy OCs, no furries, I don’t play as furries, my OCs are all humanoid, the worst being some form of animal ears or tails, or pointed ears, horns, different hair and eye color, etc- but the rest of their forms are human looking. I have to specify this because I’ve had people message me and ask me to make my OCs human and non-magical which I won’t do. Respect my characters, and I’ll respect yours! I just wanna have fun with magical shenanigans. I love a magical story with twists, turns, angst and romance, so if you’re vibing, I would love to hear from you! I would love to gush over our characters too! I want someone to love my characters too like I will love theirs! I want mutual excitement so we can both fawn and fangirl over our OCs and stuff!

I notice lately all the ads are fandom based- I hardly see anyone write originals, which is totally cool! No hate on fandom content at all, I just hope to find someone else who enjoys original pairs, characters and settings and what not. I hope to find someone chill I can vibe with.

To expand on my “preferably modern” comment in the above statement, I have a bit of a multi-dimensional thing going on- all dimensions, timelines, alternate realities exist within a larger scale dimensional plane. Technically, anything is possible, which is great for world crossovers so nobody has to change their own worlds or characters or anything like that. However, I am not good at anything requiring historical accuracy and I find most medieval setting quite dull. I like the aspect of modern earth and having fantasy beings and magic thrown into it. However, I also love having original worlds completely different from earth with their own rules, cultures, and magic and what not. So I’m looking for something flexible I suppose, but I would definitely enjoy something like fantasy characters living on modern earth away from their respective worlds- but eventually we take a journey into our characters unique worlds and settings! I hope that makes sense, I kinda suck at explaining things.

I have a big plot idea I’ve been dying to do, I really want this plot, but and however, if you do not enjoy the concept, I’m more than willing to work with you and make something new!

I have a list of ‘rules’ down below- really it just restates what I wrote, but people have a tendency to either not read the ad, or skim through it and miss half the info anyway, so I’m just putting this down here to kind of drive the point home I suppose. If you’ve read the ad, I would love for you to send me a cat fact or something about cats in general, or just a lovely statement on how much you love cats! If you do, I will be so grateful. If you have not read the ad, or ignore what I wrote and try to bulldoze over me so I’ll write something I don’t want too, I’ll probably not respond to you lol. Not trying to be mean, I’m just tired of my ads being ignored.

Rules:

- I am 22F and i request you be at least 20 and up, 19 is pushing it, but I will not go below that, I feel weird writing with anyone 3 or more years younger than me.

- Please be a female or non-binary writer, I do not roleplay with men for a variety of reasons, but the biggest one being that I’m just more comfortable with women and non-binary folk.

- I am looking for someone who plays male mains, I am seeking FxM plots, I play mostly female mains as that’s more fun for me. Please do not come to me asking for MxF or FxF or ask me to play a male main. I can play any gender of side character, but I just genuinely don’t enjoy playing a male main. Which is why I seek someone who does enjoy playing male mains, because I want this to be fun for everyone!

- Fantasy settings, romance, fantasy characters are a must and should be accepted. However, you can play as whatever you want! Human, elf, vampire, orc, angel, I don’t care! I usually play as a demon from my own realm and world I wrote for them, but you could be a demon too, it don’t matter! Really, I just want to play my characters without having to change them.

- Do NOT make this NSFW oriented, I want a plot focused story. If you are seeking smut or NSFW only, I’m not for you.

- Please be okay with dark themes, I have very few limits and would prefer someone with minimal limits/triggers other than the usual stuff obviously, but I personally love dark, angsty and downright cruel themes to throw our characters into lol

- Please please PLEASE be literate. No one liners, no one paragraph responses. I write a minimum of 2-3 paragraphs depending on what’s going on in the story whether it’s slow or not, but often I will write up to 5 or maybe over 10 or more paragraphs- and look, I’m not a stickler that much- I don’t expect anyone to write a novel or anything, that gets exhausting. I just want something I can work with, something with detail, emotion, expressive actions and dynamics and good dialogue. If you could write at least 3 or more paragraphs, I would appreciate that so much, but I also understand that things get slow and there just isn’t that much to write about. Which is usually when I go to ooc to try and plot something out to spice it up haha.

- Please plot with me, like be active in the planning, I hate when I’m left alone to plan everything and when I’m the only one actively trying to figure out ideas and stuff, if you don’t help me plan, I tend to lose interest altogether. Plus, the planning is the fun part! I love coming up with ideas and things for our characters!! I would love to make friends too and just have a good time.

If you made it this far and are still interested, congrats!! You can send me a message and I’ll get back as soon as I can! Please message me though, if you only like this chances are I won’t see it considering it will get lost in the sea of posts lol, so messaging me is definitely the best way to get to me!

Also, idk if this will show up- the text is entirely gone, I had to type this in my notes because when I try to insert it here on the tumblr text box thing, the words just aren’t there. So, hopefully this works?

Contact asker !

[findrppartners]

Hey there! Im just gonna jump into it and lay it all out so I don’t get a message from someone who didn’t bother to read the ad (that happens a lot and I’m sure I’m not the only one with that struggle lmao)

Also, apologies in advance, it’s kind of all over the place and a bit repetitive, so please bear with me here.

I’m 22F and seeking other female or non-binary partners who enjoy writing male mains. I prefer playing a female main in MxF settings. I also only play in (preferably modern) fantasy settings with fantasy OCs, no furries, I don’t play as furries, my OCs are all humanoid, the worst being some form of animal ears or tails, or pointed ears, horns, different hair and eye color, etc- but the rest of their forms are human looking. I have to specify this because I’ve had people message me and ask me to make my OCs human and non-magical which I won’t do. Respect my characters, and I’ll respect yours! I just wanna have fun with magical shenanigans. I love a magical story with twists, turns, angst and romance, so if you’re vibing, I would love to hear from you! I would love to gush over our characters too! I want someone to love my characters too like I will love theirs! I want mutual excitement so we can both fawn and fangirl over our OCs and stuff!

I notice lately all the ads are fandom based- I hardly see anyone write originals, which is totally cool! No hate on fandom content at all, I just hope to find someone else who enjoys original pairs, characters and settings and what not. I hope to find someone chill I can vibe with.

To expand on my “preferably modern” comment in the above statement, I have a bit of a multi-dimensional thing going on- all dimensions, timelines, alternate realities exist within a larger scale dimensional plane. Technically, anything is possible, which is great for world crossovers so nobody has to change their own worlds or characters or anything like that. However, I am not good at anything requiring historical accuracy and I find most medieval setting quite dull. I like the aspect of modern earth and having fantasy beings and magic thrown into it. However, I also love having original worlds completely different from earth with their own rules, cultures, and magic and what not. So I’m looking for something flexible I suppose, but I would definitely enjoy something like fantasy characters living on modern earth away from their respective worlds- but eventually we take a journey into our characters unique worlds and settings! I hope that makes sense, I kinda suck at explaining things.

I have a big plot idea I’ve been dying to do, I really want this plot, but and however, if you do not enjoy the concept, I’m more than willing to work with you and make something new!

I have a list of ‘rules’ down below- really it just restates what I wrote, but people have a tendency to either not read the ad, or skim through it and miss half the info anyway, so I’m just putting this down here to kind of drive the point home I suppose. If you’ve read the ad, I would love for you to send me a cat fact or something about cats in general, or just a lovely statement on how much you love cats! If you do, I will be so grateful. If you have not read the ad, or ignore what I wrote and try to bulldoze over me so I’ll write something I don’t want too, I’ll probably not respond to you lol. Not trying to be mean, I’m just tired of my ads being ignored.

Rules:

- I am 22F and i request you be at least 20 and up, 19 is pushing it, but I will not go below that, I feel weird writing with anyone 3 or more years younger than me.

- Please be a female or non-binary writer, I do not roleplay with men for a variety of reasons, but the biggest one being that I’m just more comfortable with women and non-binary folk.

- I am looking for someone who plays male mains, I am seeking FxM plots, I play mostly female mains as that’s more fun for me. Please do not come to me asking for MxF or FxF or ask me to play a male main. I can play any gender of side character, but I just genuinely don’t enjoy playing a male main. Which is why I seek someone who does enjoy playing male mains, because I want this to be fun for everyone!

- Fantasy settings, romance, fantasy characters are a must and should be accepted. However, you can play as whatever you want! Human, elf, vampire, orc, angel, I don’t care! I usually play as a demon from my own realm and world I wrote for them, but you could be a demon too, it don’t matter! Really, I just want to play my characters without having to change them.

- Do NOT make this NSFW oriented, I want a plot focused story. If you are seeking smut or NSFW only, I’m not for you.

- Please be okay with dark themes, I have very few limits and would prefer someone with minimal limits/triggers other than the usual stuff obviously, but I personally love dark, angsty and downright cruel themes to throw our characters into lol

- Please please PLEASE be literate. No one liners, no one paragraph responses. I write a minimum of 2-3 paragraphs depending on what’s going on in the story whether it’s slow or not, but often I will write up to 5 or maybe over 10 or more paragraphs- and look, I’m not a stickler that much- I don’t expect anyone to write a novel or anything, that gets exhausting. I just want something I can work with, something with detail, emotion, expressive actions and dynamics and good dialogue. If you could write at least 3 or more paragraphs, I would appreciate that so much, but I also understand that things get slow and there just isn’t that much to write about. Which is usually when I go to ooc to try and plot something out to spice it up haha.

- Please plot with me, like be active in the planning, I hate when I’m left alone to plan everything and when I’m the only one actively trying to figure out ideas and stuff, if you don’t help me plan, I tend to lose interest altogether. Plus, the planning is the fun part! I love coming up with ideas and things for our characters!! I would love to make friends too and just have a good time.

If you made it this far and are still interested, congrats!! You can send me a message and I’ll get back as soon as I can! Please message me though, if you only like this chances are I won’t see it considering it will get lost in the sea of posts lol, so messaging me is definitely the best way to get to me!

--

[theviewfromthebooth]

The Mighty Mojo tracks of 2023: The Bubble List

Being ahead of schedule is a rare treat in any aspect of my life, and for that reason I am embracing my decision to release the Bubble List so soon into December, and so far ahead of the Top 50 that will still be released on New Year’s Eve. Some traditions die hard.

In past years I’ve taken my obsession with capturing the year in its entirety to unnecessary lengths. The speed of other actual publications to crown the year’s best everything was always looked on with disdain, as I scoured my regular channels for new music like a desperate man scanning his phone for dealers at 4am. The thought of missing a banger by going too early disturbed me, in large part to ‘The El Camino incident’, in which my favourite album of 2011 dropped in the first week of December. When RTJ3 appeared on Christmas Eve 5 years later with no warning, it seemed to confirm that I was right and everyone else was wrong. Well, this year, the darndest thing happened. 

I realised that NO ONE ELSE CARES. I have yet to have someone call me up for a song appearing on my list in the wrong year, in the 13 years I’ve been putting this thing together. I need to chill the fuck out. And so I have.

The other handy element to releasing the Bubble list now, is that it comes hot on the heels of Spotify Wrapped, and the annual debate around streaming royalties. I say annual because that’s when everyone gets involved, but there’s been a steady undercurrent throughout the year of artists rebelling against the system to speak out. I have always been supportive of their stance - it’s disgusting to see the disparity in profits between the people who own the platform (and due to many undiscussed deals, this includes most of the major labels) and those who literally power it with their artistic endeavours.

And yet, I’ve always remained within this crooked system, simply because I believed it to be the only place to find the depth of music I was looking for. Last I heard, Tidal was still quite specific, and a lot of the others were only marginally better. And then there was the library of playlists that I’ve built up over the years, an encyclopaedia that I lean on heavily on a day-to-day basis. There’s a playlist for nearly every scenario my mind could possibly imagine, and that has a worth beyond currency.

I can’t ignore the fact that Spotify’s algorithms have also been responsible for exposing me to many of the people on this list. The sheer amount of Aussies that feature is testament to that, and again that’s only possible due to the buy-in of the music community. There are ways that Spotify is helping young artists. But it’s just not enough.

It’s still a bit of an eye-roller to announce your departure from something, but in this instance I’m going to indulge myself. I’m looking at other options, and I suggest you all do too. If you want more detailed info on the reasons why and the best action to take, follow United Musicians and Allied Workers on socials https://linktr.ee/umaw 

*Steps down from soapbox* So, the music then. I really went deep into it this year, racking up over 120 songs in the long list by September. The best part of that is that it meant that I had a long time to live with these songs, sort them in my heart and allow the cream to rise naturally to the top.  Aside from the Aussie invasion there’s no real trends - except more of a push to the extremes of comfort in sound. There’s some mad bits in here, and some initially jarring sounds that eventually connect, and when they do it’s all the more thrilling having taken you to the edge. With so much to choose from it was easy to stay within the hardest boundary of the bubble list - outside the odd superstar feature, these are underground/new artists that aren’t widely known or available. In the wake of the streaming debate it feels more important than ever to shine this little light in their direction.

The full Twitter (Some traditions die hard) thread with links to socials and places to buy music/merch will come next week, and you’ll have the benefit of the whole of December to absorb it all before the next hit. 

See you in a few weeks.

[princeofyorkshire]

hola effie🌻 cry baby, black nail polish y flower crown

hola candeeeee <3

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things?

i actually don’t… i never really know what i want so i never made one lolll. i think my priority rn is graduating uni and that’s it, maybe after that i’ll want to do something else but that’s all i can think of right now

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself?

i sing to myself all the time i’m surprised the answer is not I Am Singing Right Now! but to be fair i just woke up an hour ago and still haven’t gotten up nor brushed my teeth soooo imma say it was probably last night!

i’m adding a read more thing now cause the next answer was unnecessarily long lol

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel.

ooo god ok i’ve been to a few by the same artists so i’ll put them all together!! my first concert was one direction in 2014. i don’t really have a lot of memories from it, i just remember that it started raining when i got into the stadium so i looked up to the sky with open arms and the silliest smile on my face, i was so happy and excited to see them!!! i had only been a fan of them for a year and a half so i didn’t have to wait long but it felt like i had been in the fandom forever

that same year i saw r5 which was. very random lol. my friend wanted to go but didn’t have anyone to go with, the tickets weren’t too expensive so i went with her. i saw them twice again after that show. they were always fun! the music was kinda disneyish but i liked it anyway, ross was always an absolute sweetheart so i had a great time everytime!

i saw the vamps twice and those were the most random concerts actually. the first time i saw them was in 2016 and i bought a ticket the day of the show. i didn’t even like them, but my friend’s cousin got sick and gave her her ticket, so my friend told me they were very cheap so i should buy one and go with her so i did. and i really enjoyed it! the second time i saw them tho… i don’t know what changed, but i remember feeling a bit bored? and kinda ignored lol. we had the same seats as the year prior but it was the opposite side. so like, the dude who was closest to us didn’t really. look at us. and i mean we weren’t close at all, it was a good view anyway but he just. didn’t even wave so that was kinda eh. i saw tini tho so that was something!!!

saw fifth harmony twice lmfaooo the first time was. probs the worst show i’ve been to? there was like… no interacting w the crowd at all it all felt v robotic. maybe i’m not used to shows w ppl dancing but idk. camila was the most fun at the show. also i was annoyed cause they changed the venue and i ended up w shit seats lol so maybe that influenced it. also it only lasted an hour and it was v far from my house so that sucked too lol. the second time i had pit and got very close so i liked it more but i think that’s literally the only reason, i don’t think i would have enjoyed it if i had nosebleed seats or something like that rip

i saw niall in 2018! it was a very chill concert and i really liked it!!!! i don’t remember a lot i’ll be honest i just know that i liked it. pit wasn’t that bad cause his music was very chill so i didn’t fight for my life that time!

ok finally 2022. imma start w harry. i saw him in 2018 as well but i’m putting those two together: i had an AMAZING time both times, i really love harry as a performer! my least favorite thing about his shows tho are … the fans … they are just rude and mean for no reason. last week was only bad while we were queuing outside but in 2018 they were SO aggressive while waiting for him to come out AND during the show and that annoyed me but i can’t say anything negative about harry. i had a blast both times and i still can’t believe how lucky i got this year being so close to him lol

trueno <3 my fucking beloved <3 that man has ENERGYYYY. i was so impressed by him and the other dudes performing w him. i loved the atmosphere at the show. i love how political he has become. hating on cops, loving the argies. it was everything i needed and more!

coldplay was also great. you know, i never really paid attention to them and i only went to see them cause my dad likes them and we surprised him w tickets but god, what a show. chris martin? an insane charming motherfucker. i was so happy during that show. love those silly little bracelets. love chris’ love for argentina. loved singing de musica ligera w 70k argies. it was so good. bless him and the band <3

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST!!!! LOUIS!!!! i still can’t believe i got to see my boy twice. i was so nervous the whole time, i wanted everything to go right (aka didn’t want to pass out lol) so thinking about it all the time made me very very anxious and i def think i could have had a better time. i still had a fucking blast tho, i couldn’t believe LOUIS was in front of me like i was actually in shock during the first show. to this day i watch my videos and go . i can’t believe i took this. lol. i can’t wait to see him again sometime next year/2024 <3

aesthetic themed ask list

[theprismaticvoid]

Here you go.

CW: Peril. Very brief mention of pregnancy.

You wake up with a ringing in your ears and a horrible ache in your head. “What…” you mumble out, looking around.

This isn’t your room. This isn’t where you live.

“What the hell…?!”

The room is cold, with bare concrete floors and walls. It looks like some kind of dilapidated warehouse; the stench of rotting wood fills the area. You get to your feet.

You’ve never seen anywhere like this before. How did you get here?

The only things in this room are a metal door (locked, unfortunately), and a table. Sitting on it was a big stack of paper, tons of colored pencils, a bottle of water, and a speaker.

“Hello?!” you call out. “Is anyone there?!”

A blast of static echoes through the room as the speaker turns on; you cover your ears until a voice starts to come through.

“Hello there, Anonymous.” the speaker said. The voice was deep and gravelly, but in a way that was clear that it wasn’t their normal speaking tone.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand.

“Nasuverse Kinkmeme.” they said. “One of your favorite blogs. You visit it over twenty times a day, just sitting there refreshing to see the latest fills. Each time you click that refresh button, you hope that one of your prompts is the one that gets filled.”

“I don’t see-”

“In fact, you’ve submitted many, many prompts of your own.” they interrupted. “Sixteen, by my count. Gudao and Morgan kissing, mostly.”

You blush. It was seventeen, actually, but saying that would only make it worse.

“So many prompts… but nowhere near as many fills. In fact, the grand total is a big ol’ zero. Naughty, naughty; one prompt equals one fill. It’s been the blog’s title for months now.”

You squirm a bit, starting to realize what’s going on here. “Listen, I… I’ve been planning to do some fills, I just haven’t had much time to work on it!”

The voice laughed. “Well then, I’ve put you in a situation with no distractions whatsoever. Just an empty room where you can focus purely on the task at hand.” they explained. “On the table in front of you is a list of prompts. Fill at least one, and then the door will unlock.”

“This is ridiculous!” you shout. “You’re seriously going to kidnap someone over just a dumb Tumblr meme?!”

“No, no, not kidnapping – not JUST kidnapping.”

“What the hell are you-”

“Look above you, Anonymous.”

You do as the voice commands – and your jaw drops when you see what’s above you: A giant cartoon steel weight, like something that would drop on Wile E. Coyote’s head, dangling by a rope.

“You might want to hurry. I bought that rope from a secondhand supplier; it might not last for very long.”

You scream in terror, but the voice ignores you.

“Any medium of fill is accepted.” the voice said, then the background static cut out, leaving you in silence.

A clock on the wall activated, showing a thirty minute countdown. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that was all the time you had before the disgruntled mod decided to kill you.

In a panic, you grab the pile of prompt cards and start looking through them. You have to find something simple, thirty minutes isn’t very much time so it has to be something quick and uncomplicated.

“Roland recruiting the other beefy guys into his naked men club”? The prompt doesn’t say what they’d even be doing, and you don’t have any ideas. Plus, to make it work, you’d have to include like six people and that sounds like a pain.

“Arjuna getting impregnated”? No, no, you’d need a novels’ worth of character development before he’d admit to being interested in the idea.

“Your favorite characters at a drag show”? That seems like a fun one, but you have no idea what drag outfits actually look like, and you don’t have any internet access right now.

You sweat, seeing the time ticking down. You can’t be indecisive, you have to pick something and now!

“Mash and Mordred kissing, also both of them are transmasc”?

You can do that, you can definitely do that...

Grabbing the colored pencils, you start scribbling as quickly as you can. You start with the heads, trying your best to remember what Mordred’s hairstyle looked like. Long hair, short hair? The stress is messing with your brain; you decide to go with short, slightly spiky hair.

Your hand cramps up all of a sudden; you curse yourself for having forgotten to stretch first. You have to push through it, you don’t have time to stop.

With the heads done, you struggle to figure out how to convey them being transmasc. If it were a fic, you could just refer to the two with he/him pronouns, but you aren’t doing a fic. Maybe a trans flag pin on Mash’s lapel? No, that was too subtle…

Finally, you settle on drawing both of them shirtless, top surgery scars visible. While Mash strikes you as the kind of person who wouldn’t be comfortable shirtless most of the time, you have to break character a bit, you don’t have time to come up with anything better.

You glance up at the clock. Five minutes left.

Once you finish lining Mordred’s ab detailing, you hurry on to the legs. Shit, what did their pants look like? What colors were they? Did Mordred have short shorts or full pants? Did Mash usually wear slacks or jeans?!

It doesn’t matter. They both get dark grey generic pants; you’re almost out of time.

Sweat rolls down your forehead. Time’s almost up.

You just have to put the final touches on it…

“DONE!” you shout, jumping to your feet, holding up the final drawing. With only 30 seconds to spare, you’ve finished your task. Your stomach is all tied up in knots.

The resulting art doesn't look great. It's all scratchy, the anatomy is kind of fucked, but you hope it'll be good enough for them to accept it as a fill.

“Well done.” the voice says. You hear a loud clank as the door unlocks, then slides open. “You’re free to go.”

As soon as you step out of the room, the rope snaps, the weight smashing the table you’d just been sitting at a moment before. Your blood runs cold as you realize that if you had been even a moment slower, you would’ve been reduced to paste.

“Now, please take your things and leave. I have a few other prompters to deal with today.” the voice said through another speaker outside. “And don’t forget to submit your art to the Tumblr blog when you get home. Thank you for participating in the Nasuverse Kinkmeme!”

Prompt: The kinkmeme mod putting the viewer into a SAW trap because they've submitted sixteen prompts and not filled even a SINGLE one.

I would do that.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Do Us Part

Warnings: nonconsent and rape; oral, fingering, marital discord, cheating, spousal arguments and mental/emotional abuse, age gap (Peter is 24/25 and reader is 35/36)

This is dark!Peter Parker x 30s/’older’ reader and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find it hard to accept that not all good things last as you face the changes in your marriage, yourself, and your marriage.

Note: I wanted to write Peter again but also I’ve seen this nonsense about how 30+ writers are too old for fanfic which is dumb af. And I wanted to turn the age gap trope a little so that it wasn’t the reader being the younger one in the relationship. I label it older reader but I don’t think being in your 30s is old tbh (my bf is 36 so pfft). It was all just a conglomeration of circumstances that inspired a deceivingly sweet dark Peter and I hope you like it. Also it’s 7.4k so a bit of a longer read.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You walked slowly along the transparent shelves set into the pristine white walls of the cosmetics section. The department store was a haze of distant voices and the chirp of scanners as customers milled the aisles and waited their turn to check out. You whiled away your time looking at things you’d never buy as you waited for your husband to return from the men’s department.

You thought of the sparse make-up bag under your sink and the liners and shades you hadn’t used in years. They were likely expired and better tossed in the bin. You hovered along the crystal bottle of designer scents and stopped to test a particular blush-tinted fragrance.

You set the bottle back and peered over at the dark cubbies that housed the men’s scent. Even from there, you could catch a whiff of the heady scents as a younger man with reddish brown hair examined an angular vial of Dior Men. You suddenly felt out of place; a mid-thirties woman in her out-of-season clothes fantasizing about overpriced perfume.

Your husband's voice further cemented your reality as you fingered the golden cap of the Coach eau du parfum. Wesley rolled his eyes and flipped up the little plastic panel that hid the bold prices and huffed.

“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna pay for that shit,” he sneered, “what have you been doing? I was waiting for you.”

He waved a plastic bag as his lip curled and you pressed your mouth shut tightly and swallowed. The day began with another argument as he discovered the seared hole in his shirt and instead of blaming the crappy old dryer, he blamed you. Most of your clothes had been chewed up by the thing but you never complained.

“No, I was just… looking,” you teetered in your flats and glanced around. The young man at the corner display quickly turned to hide his nosy observation, “did you find some new shirts?”

“No thanks to you,” he sniffed.

“Oh,” you played with the hem of your tee and tucked your hands into your pockets nervously. You’d left him to look alone as you only seemed to irritate him and rarely took your advice on matters of clothing, “well, I thought I’d give you some space--”

“Stop acting so pathetic. Start taking responsibility for yourself. For god’s sake, you're almost thirty-six and you don’t know how to hang a shirt to dry?” He spun on his heel and snapped over his shoulder, “let’s go.”

You flinched but followed behind him as he strode away and you stumbled out behind him through the automatic doors. He tossed the bag into the back seat and slammed the door before flopping angrily into the driver’s side. You mirrored him daintily and squeezed your legs together as you tried to make yourself as small as you could.

“I told you about the dryer,” you said.

“And?” he started the engine and slapped his hand around the wheel, “call a fucking electrician or some shit.”

“Alright,” you shrugged as he stopped at the exit of the parking lot and checked his phone quickly.

“Benny wants to do a round of golf,” he peeled out and you grasped the door as your heart raced. You hated how reckless he was when he was angry. You hated how easily he got angry these days.

“Okay,” you picked at the fraying stitching of your purse.

“Don’t start moping,” he sneered, “I fucking work all week and I can’t go out and have a few rounds?”

“I never-- I didn’t say anything,” you murmured.

“You don’t need to,” he turned the wheel sharply as he cut off another car, “you sit at home all day and do what?”

“I work too,” you said.

“Uh huh, sure, if that’s what you call it.”

You ran your fingertip over the bleach stain on the knee of your jeans and said nothing. When he was in a mood, he would latch on anything until he outright exploded. You tried to think of when he changed, when he had stopped being the chill guy you met back in college. It felt like a slow trickle, small things you ignored until it was a mountain you could not see past.

You felt like crying but you’d stopped that a while ago. You existed in a purgatory of acceptance and helplessness. You wanted him to love you again, wanted to believe you could fix things. So you would keep trying. You would do better.

💍 

You picked out a large flank of steak and winced at the price. You had a special dinner in mind. It was Friday and the work week was done. You wanted a weekend without a fight and Wesley was always one for a nice big cut of beef. You hadn’t made him one in a while, your dinners were the usual repetitive drumsticks and rice or your homemade mac and cheese.

You continued onto the fish section and grabbed some salmon for yourself. You’d gained some weight and decided to cut out dairy and red meat if you could help it. The pile of produce in your cart reminded you of the extra jiggle around your stomach and thighs. You also grabbed one of those women’s magazines that advertised a regimen to help slim your figure. You only hoped you could stick to it this time.

With your weekly haul in tow, you wheeled up to the check-out and waited behind a young man who looked oddly familiar to you. Maybe that was the passing years. You always felt a vague glimmer of deja vu, more often a sense of forlorn nostalgia of what you would never have again.

As you stared thoughtlessly, he looked over and smiled. He bent in front of your cart and picked up a thin packet of seasoning. 

“You dropped this,” he said as he held it out and you thanked him before quickly snatching it and looking away. 

He paid for his large bags of chips and over salted pre-packaged meals and packed up at the end as you loaded up your own goods, the cashier sending them down the parallel belt. You swiped your card and tried to calculate the chunk of money from your last check. You thanked the clerk and sidled past the young man as he finished up.

You rounded the counter as he lifted his three bags. You looked up without thinking, the sleeve of his shirt tight around his bicep. You caught yourself staring and looked back down as you packed in the cans. 

It reminded you of Wesley; he’d also started being more mindful, he hit the gym after work and you noticed the little pudge that started just after he turned thirty was slimming out. It was that exact reason that made you notice the extra pounds on your own frame, not that you didn’t realise before.

The man left and you unfolded the little buggy you slid under the cart. You loaded your bags into it and dragged the cart behind you as you made an awkward exit with both wheeled trolleys. The compact fabric buggy was easy enough to fit on the bus if you stood.

You pushed the cart into the row of empty ones and continued across the parking lot. You rolled up to the bus shelter and checked the bus times on your phone. You dug out your strip of tickets and ripped one away. You leaned on the thin handle of your trolley and looked over your shoulder as you heard someone approach.

The man who checked out ahead of you put his bags on the metal bench inside the shelter as he sipped on a bright drink from the place just beside the grocery shop. He sent you a smile over his straw and you spun back to crane your head and search for the bus.

When the metal beast barreled up and cranked to a stop at the curb, the man waited behind you and as your wheels caught on the edge of the ramp, he reached around you and helped push it over the lip. You thanked him shyly and continued up. Usually you tried to keep the shop light on weekdays but you hadn’t really been paying attention.

You pushed your cart against the small barrier just behind the accessible seating and stood beside it, conscious not to take up too much space. The man stood just behind you two bags on one shoulder and the other dangling from the opposite elbow as he sucked on his straw. You grabbed the upright bar as the bus took off and watched the electronic banner for your stop.

A sharp stop had you veering back and you were caught by the young man as he chucked, “oop, you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” you muttered and gave a sheepish smile over your shoulder.

“There’s a seat,” he gestured just behind you, “I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Um, no it’s… fine,” you gripped the bar tighter as the bus shuttled forward, “my stop is soon.”

You looked ahead of you and three stops passed before yours. You exited through the front with your buggy and headed down the sidewalk as the bus pulled away. You were exhausted just from your little sojourn and it wasn’t even two o’clock. God, you felt old.

💍

You had a salad chopped and tossed and the steak and fish laid out and seasoned. As you listened to your old Spotify list, the music dipped and the notification blipped over the screen. You washed your hands and grabbed the phone. You frowned as you read the lone message from Wesley, the only one you got from him all day.

‘Just finished at the gym, getting drinks with Andrew,’ you read and re-read the message as your heart fell.

You typed out a whole angry response and backspaced it all. You replaced it with ‘ok, have fun’ and blacked the screen. You shoved the meat back in the fridge and stretched saran wrap over the bowl of salad. You placed it on a lower shelf and closed the door, quickly swiping a can of the craft beer Wesley kept around.

You shut the light off in the kitchen and ignored the pang in your stomach as you cracked the can. You climbed the stairs as you sipped the hoppy foam. You put it on the night table and changed into the old butterfly pajamas you wore most nights and turned on the tv mounted against the wall. 

You turned on Netflix but hardly paid attention to the carelessly chosen movie. You sat against the headboard and down the bitter beer until the can was hollow and your eyelids were heavy. You slumped down so that your shoulders were at your ears and dozed off in the stiff position as the room moved with the colours of the television. 

The anger and alcohol shaded your shallow sleep and you hardly heard Wesley when he came in, only waking when your bladder was ready to burst and his snores rumbled in your head. You went to the bathroom and returned, wide awake, and stared at the shape of him in the dark.

You remembered when he used to kiss you when he came home, even when you were asleep, he’d wake you with the little pecks. You remembered when he was happy to come home. You remembered when you were happy. 

You swallowed the acrid aftertaste of beer and left him to snore. You went downstairs and curled up on the couch but didn’t sleep. You just stared at the shadows of the furniture until the sun rose.

💍

The next day, Wesley didn’t wake until after noon and when he did, he didn’t say a word to you. He took his coffee and sat at the patio table in the back as you stewed and cleaned the kitchen. You had nothing to say to him even if you felt stupid for being mad.

“Gotta head down to the dealership,” he said as he interrupted your scouring of the stove.

“The dealership?” you said after a moment, deciding whether or not to break your vow of silence.

“I told you on Wednesday, I’m picking up the car--”

“We talked about this. We should wait a little longer--”

“It’s my money and I got a great price,” he sighed, “just because you have to pinch your pennies--”

“We’re married,” you squeezed the foam sponge, “it’s our money. Don’t act like I don’t pay for anything around here.”

“Oh thanks, honey, so wonderful you paid for a five dollar steak,” he scoffed, “I’ll be impressed when you can make a mortgage payment on your own.”

“How dare you!” you turned your back to him and kept scrubbing, “fine, but not a penny of my money is going to that thing.”

“That’s fine, I’m selling the old one, that should cover most of it--”

“What?” you slammed your hand between the burner, “you said we would hold onto it so I had something to--”

“Then you can buy it from me,” he said venomously.

“I’m your wife,” you spun to scowl at him again, “I-- what is wrong with you?”

He tilted his head and squinted as he poked his tongue out along his lip. “Nothing wrong with me,” he shrugged, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t--” you warned as you pointed a finger at him through the bright yellow gloves, “don’t do that… I’ve been trying and you just keep pushing me away.”

“Me pushing you away?” he rolled his eyes, “you were passed out last night when I got home. Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep before nine I could actually fuck you… or at least get it up if you worked on losing some of that cellulite on your ass.”

Your lip quivered and you sucked in a breath. You shook your head and turned around again. You ignored him as your hand shook and you continued your work, scratching at the dried-on food around the burner. His empty mug clinked onto the counter and you listened to his exit.

Fuck him and his new car. You were done trying with him.

💍

Wesley’s new car was shrouded in the shade of the garage as the old black Hyundai sat out on the driveway with a red and white “For Sale” sign on the windshield. Right after he got back from his extravagant purchase, he made the listing online and several perusers stopped by Saturday night but Sunday morning saw the car still there.

You sat by the border of stones around the garden as he drank beer in the garage and approached any interested buyers who appeared; although so far he’d only had two before noon.

You tucked your clippers into your apron pocket and dusted off your gloves as you stood. You were a little dizzy from sitting out in the sun and a glass of water was the perfect excuse to drown out the annoying sound of your husband’s voice.

You ignored Wesley as you trod through the garage and kicked your sneakers off on the mat right before the three steps up to the house. You went to the kitchen and put your gloves on the counter as you filled a glass from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. You’d given up everything but water and the slices of lemon were the only flavour you had.

You took the glass and your gloves and headed back. Wesley waited just at the bottom of the stairs as he glared up at you with arms crossed. You sighed and descended but he didn’t let you pass.

“What is your problem?”

“Are you really asking me that?” you hissed.

“You giving me the silent treatment isn’t gonna fix this,” he snarled.

“You know what you said so… I shouldn’t have to tell you to apologize,” you retorted and he stayed put.

“Is this about the car?”

“The car is just another thing,” you cross an arm around your stomach, “you think I couldn’t use it to get around, to get the groceries maybe? Or, I don’t know, maybe since you have such a problem with my home office, I could go out and get a ‘big girl’ job as you put it so many times--”

“Your mother has a car she never drives. You can just take her with you, two birds, one stone. I need to sell this to pay for the new one--”

“The one I begged you not to buy,” you huffed, “you could’ve waited a few more years until we were a little more comfortable--”

“Oh, wait? Until we have a kid and all my money goes to it,” he snapped, “yeah, I’m sure we’d have the money then--”

“You’d have to fuck to do that,” you stepped down the last step and pushed past him.

As you came into the sunlight and shielded your eyes, a figure stood by the garden, knelt just by your tulips as he felt the soft petals. You narrowed your eyes. You recognized him for sure. It was the stranger from the bus.

“Um, hi?” you croaked as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Hey, it’s… you again,” he chuckled softly as he stood, “I saw an ad for a car and… well, I’m getting tired of the bus.”

“Oh, uh, my husband,” you pointed over your shoulder, “you’ll have to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “Peter,” he held out his hand and you stared at it. You introduced yourself and shook his firm grip.

“Like I said, it’s my husband selling the car,” you brushed by him and got to your knees by the flowerbed. “Unless you’re looking to buy some wilting pansies.”

“Hmm, I like the tulips better,” he said as he slowly inched away, “thanks.”

You sat back on your heels and he strode over to the open garage. You heard Wesley greet him and didn’t bother paying attention to the same pitch you’d heard all morning. You pulled on your gloves and wiggled your nose as it tingled. You really just wanted to keel over and bawl.

“Sold,” Wesley announced and you heard a clap, “all yours!”

“I’ll just transfer the deposit,” Peter said and a minute passed before he emerged again, the keys hanging from his finger, “Thanks, Wes.”

You hid your distaste. It used to be that Wesley hated being called ‘Wes’ but lately, he introduced himself to everyone as just ‘Wes’. He really had changed. You must have too.

“Hey,” you looked up and blinked as the sun made your eyes water as it shone around Peter.

“You bought it?” you asked as you yanked free a weed.

“Yep, but uh,” he glanced over his shoulder as the old car stereo Wesley used blared out a classic rock tune, “I… wasn’t eavesdropping but I heard some of it and… if you ever need a ride to the grocery store, I usually try for Wednesdays,” he tucked his hand in his pocket, “I don’t live too far and since we go to the same one--”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” you looked back to the soil, embarrassed.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he kept the keys dangling from one finger and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and slid out a card with some effort, “I’m supposed to have these handy but I never really use them.”

He offered the business card and you read his name above the title, ‘senior photographer’. You gave a half-hearted smile and put it in your apron pocket.

“Thanks,” you said, “I can manage.”

“You don’t have to though,” he said kindly, “but I’ll, uh, leave you to your gardening. Sorry if I bugged you.”

“You didn’t,” you assured without looking up, flattered that anyone cared enough to even offer help.

“Hey, Pete,” Wesley stopped Peter as he neared the car, “you can have one before you go.”

“Oh, no, I’m gonna be driving,” Peter argued.

“Pfft, it’s a celebration and one won’t put you over the limit,” Wesley insisted and handed him a dark bottle of craft brew, “come on.”

“I really should go--”

“It’s a Sunday, where do you need to be?” Wesley patted his shoulder and looked over at you, “hey, honey, you wanna see if we have any snacks for our guest?”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter said curtly, “really. Just the beer is fine.”

They disappeared back into the garage and you cringed. You hated that. Wesley only every acted like a husband when others were around.

💍

You waited a whole week before returning to the grocery store. You were short on everything and it was a reason to get out of the house. Your husband had made both your home and your workplace hostile.

It irked you that Wesley resented you working from home when a couple years ago he was so happy about it. Then, he’d been so enthusiastic about starting a family but when it didn’t happen right away, he grew disillusioned and bitter. Now, he seemed to have no interest in being a husband let alone a father.

As you packed up your spinach and bottles of Perrier, your cart rolled just a little as someone nudged it from the other end. You raised your head and hid your surprise and discomfort as Peter smiled back at you.

“I thought you said Wednesdays,” you murmured as you dropped a bag in your cart.

“I forgot eggs,” he held up the carton, “I guess I have good timing.”

“You do?” you asked as you pulled your cart forward and maneuvered around to push it out of the way of fellow shoppers. You bent to grab your trolley from beneath and he caught it as you unfolded it.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“I told you--”

“I’m here so why not? Save the ticket for next time,” he urged.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter? Why do I matter to you?” you asked.

“I don’t know, I… like helping people,” he shrugged, “what if I told you you were helping me? I have this horrible need to be the hero.”

“That will go away,” you muttered under your breath and he lifted a brow, “sorry, I… thank you.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” he collapsed the trolley and carried it easily under his arm as he cradled his eggs in the other, “I got the A/C fixed on the car too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed and walked with him out of the store. 

You crossed the parking lot and helped you load up the bags in the trunk. That car should have been yours; you’d made enough payments on it yourself but Wesley was such a stubborn ass.

You sat in the front seat as he slid into the other and started the car. He drove cautiously through the lot and you read the store signs as he came to the exit.

“How long have you and… the old man been together?”

“Um,” you glanced over at him and chewed your lip, “since college so… almost fifteen years now.”

“Fifteen?” he turned out onto the street, “really? I thought he was older than you.”

“Christ,” you scoffed, “don’t flatter me.”

“Really, I woulda said twenty-eight at most,” he said coolly, “wow, I feel so young now.”

“And I feel so old,” you grumbled as you crossed your legs, hoping he didn’t notice the wrinkle in the pink capris.

“Whatever, you’re not even forty,” he said, “and time has treated you well so I can only think in a few years… oh jeez, sorry, that came off weirder than I intended. Not that I meant for it to be weird at all--”

You giggled at his rambling as he rolled to a stop at the sign and peeked over at you in the rearview. You caught his eye and quickly looked away, “what?”

“Just… you have a nice smile,” he said as he turned down a side street, “and a nice laugh.”

“Thank you,” your voice was brittle at the genuine compliment, “you’re funny.”

“Am I? I wasn’t trying to be,” he took the same short cut you took when you walked home from the convenience store which was closer than the plaza.

“And nice,” you said as he came onto your street, “you really didn’t have to drive me. You could’ve dropped me at the corner--”

“No way, I was raised better than that, and if you think I’m letting you carry that all in by yourself--”

“Raised to help little old ladies?” you mused.

“Raised to treat ladies properly,” he corrected, “especially pretty ones.”

“I’m married,” your heart pattered as you dared to flirt back, almost in disbelief that he was humouring you, “and your lies don’t work on me, young man.”

“Not that young,” he insisted as he pulled into the driveway.

You got out and went around to the trunk. He handed you the bag with the bread and other light products, and loaded up with the other bags.

“You get the doors, let me do the heavy work,” he said and nodded you towards the house.

You went ahead of him and unlocked the door. You let him inside and pointed him into the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter and stretched his arms and hands as you set yours on the other side. The muscles of his arms moved under his skin and you could trace the lines of his torso through his grey tee.

“So,” he took out the bottle of Perrier, “this going in the fridge?”

“What-- you’ve done enough.”

“Fridge?” he ignored you and pulled out the other.

You gave a long blink and threw up your hands in surrender, “yes, please,” you came around and reached in to grab the whole grain buns, “bottom shelf.”

You finished unpacking your groceries and took the empty bags from Peter and shoved them under the counter. You stood and looked at him nervously as he watched you, his fingers tapping on the granite.

“Do you want a snack? Something to drink? Water?”

“I’ll have a water,” he said and moved to leaned his elbow on the countertop, his side snug to the edge.

“Sparkling or--”

“Regular’s fine,” he answered

“Ice? Lemon?” you pulled out a tall glass.

“Just ice is fine… then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said.

Ice clinked into the glass and you covered it with the distilled water from the fridge. You slid it onto the counter and stepped back.

“Oh, I… actually, it’s a good thing I ran into you,” he said and took a sip, “my aunt, she likes to garden too but she got some bulbs she’s not gonna use, I thought maybe… maybe you would like some to fill in the holes?”

“What kind?” you asked.

“Some daffodils and some crocuses, I think,” he said, “I could bring them over next week after work?”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” you scrunched your lips, “you could probably just give them to a neighbour.”

“It’s not out of the way,” he said, “you want them?”

You stared at him and thought. He was nice. Too nice.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I… I’m sure you have a girlfriend you could be spending time with--”

“I don’t. Not anymore,” he interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn’t--”

“Like I said, I always wanna be the good guy,” he finished his water and the last of the cubes settled at the bottom, “thanks.”

“No, thank you,” you said as he set his glass in the sink and backed away, “really, you made my day so much easier.”

“I hope your weekend is better,” he said, “but…”

He didn’t finished and you folded your hands together as he hesitated by the hallway.

“But what?” you prodded.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “nothing. I should go.”

“Okay,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “see ya.”

“Monday,” he confirmed as he turned to the doorframe, “I’ll bring the bulbs. Just after seven.”

“Right,” you slanted your lips and watched him go.

The door marked his departure and you turned to exhale and lean against the counter. You could still smell his rich cologne. Then you felt guilty. It was stupid to think he was doing anything more than being nice, that the flirting was anything but a joke, but still, you missed feeling that way and it should’ve been Wesley making you feel that.

💍

You squeezed the phone as you clenched your jaw so tight it hurt. Your eyes were wet and finally the tears were ready to start falling. The smell of steak filled the kitchen, another meal you wouldn’t eat. At the last minute, Wesley texted to tell you he was hitting the gym. Again. He was already late after a long meeting but promised he’d be home to eat.

So you waited for him to answer your furious phone call but got his voicemail instead. Your eyes narrowed at the bottle of wine and your chest knotted as the tone sounded.

“Wesley, this is it. I can’t do this anymore! I’m your wife. Do you even want to be with me? I can’t go on like this and now you won’t even answer my calls,” you snarled. You knew he had his phone on him as he no doubt had his Spotify work-out list on shuffle, “when you come home, you can sleep on the couch.”

You hung up and grabbed a stemmed glass from the cupboard. You filled it to the brim with Pinot Grigio but before you could taste it, the doorbell made you jump. You set down the glass and walked up the hallway. Just on the other side of the frosted glass was a silhouette. You opened the door and touched your forehead as you faced Peter.

“I totally forgot you were coming,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. But thank you, you really didn’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” he asked as the paper bag in his hand crinkled.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I… thank you for the flowers,” you looked at the brown paper bag and he handed it over, another bag on his wrist; white with ribbon handles, “what’s that? You headed out for a date?”

“Um, no,” he said, “actually, I was just…” he pushed his fingers through his hairs, the reddish brown locks slightly curled with sweat, “I wanted to talk to you.” He looked past you and his warm eyes returned to yours, “Wesley isn’t home yet?”

“No, he won’t be for a while,” you backed up, “so you might as well come in. I have a steak no one’s gonna eat.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be,” Peter said glumly, “and steak sounds good.”

He closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen. You put the bulbs at the back of the counter and grabbed the bottle, “wine?”

“No thank you,” he said.

You plunked down the bottle and took a gulp of your wine before you turned to plate the steak and your chicken breast alongside the fried asparagus and roasted potatoes. You set the filet before him as he sat on the stool and climbed up across from him at the long island.

“Thank you,” he watched you slide a steak knife and fork towards him and his gaze lingered on your lips as you took another thirsty mouthful, “this is for you, actually.”

He pushed the white bag over to you and you smelled the subtle floral scent rising from it. You put your glass down and pushed open the top of the bag and peeked inside. You shook your head and rescinded your hand as if you were slapped. It was the same perfume from that day weeks ago.

“You… how?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

You thought back on the day you wanted to forget. He was the other shopper in the perfume section, the one who sent you that sympathetic look as Wesley reproached you. You winced and grabbed your utensils. You cut into the chicken and shoved it in your mouth. You swallowed loudly.

“Take it back,” you sniffed, “I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

“You do. He doesn’t deserve you,” he carefully sliced into the medium rare steak.

“Is that what this is? Some perverted joke? A challenge?” you dropped your fork and knife, “you think you can seduce the sad housewife and then laugh at it? Sow your wild oats?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he calmly put down the silverware, “I… what I didn’t say when I showed up is I just came from the gym.”

You frowned in confusion and wrinkled your nose. You took another drink of wine as you tried to understand.

“I saw Wesley,” he said as he leaned on his elbow and pulled out his phone with his other hand, “I didn’t wanna say anything but… you’re here beating yourself up over him and-- just look.”

He slid his phone across the counter and you looked at the screen. Your entire body felt heavy and your veins filled with ice. You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wipe the sight from your eyes; the image of your husband groping a woman in yoga pants, an act she wasn’t deterring.

“I knew it,” you sobbed as the tears burst forth and leaked down your palms, “I knew it. And why wouldn’t he? I’m old, ugly--” you sniffed and pulled your hands away to wipe them on your pants. Peter held out a paper towel and you took it as you avoided his eyes, “thank you but I think you should go. I’m humiliated enough.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said as he climbed down from the stool and rounded the island, “he’s an asshole. He’s blind.”

“Please, Peter, just leave me alone,” you slid off the stool and he caught your shoulders. You looked up at him as you dabbed away the streaks of sadness with the paper towel, “Peter--”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly, “he’s out there having his fun, so why don’t you have some of your own?”

“Peter, that’s-- that’s wrong. I’m too old for you. And… I’m fat and--”

“You’re perfect,” he reached up to frame your chin with his hand, “you’re gorgeous,” his other hand trailed down your arm and to your hip, “that’s the first thing I noticed about you…” he pulled you closer and tapped your ass lightly.

“No, I can’t-- I just want to be alone,” you pushed on his arms and felt the thick biceps as he flexed and kept you close.

“Well, baby, what I want,” he turned you so that you were pinned between him and the island, “is for you to put on that perfume… I want you wearing nothing but that.”

“Peter,” you pushed on his chest that time and the hard muscle wall didn’t budge, “Peter, go--”

“Baby,” he bent and scooped you up suddenly. 

His hands spread over your ass as he lifted you and crushed his lips against yours. You murmured in surprise and he placed you on the granite countertop. He parted from your lips as you sat up and he shoved your legs apart, inserting himself between your knees. He played with the bottom of the dress you’d worn in hopes of rekindling your dying marriage.

“We can go slow,” he tickled along your thighs and pulled back suddenly, “just a little at a time.” 

He leaned in as he reached around you and grabbed the small white bag. He pulled out the perfume and snaked his hand around your neck. He pulled you to bend over him and he kissed your neck just before he sprayed a puff of perfume across your throat. He stood back and took a deep breath. He put the bottle on the counter and his hands went back to your skirt.

“Peter,” you caught his hands as they crept under the fabric, “please.”

You tried to slide forward and he stopped you as he grasped your hips and held you in place. He bit his lip as his eyes glimmered up at you. He drew a hand away and took the glass of wine and held it before your mouth.

“Drink, relax,” he cooed, “forget about him.”

You stared at him and he brought your hand up with his and wrapped it around the full body of the glass. He nudged it to your lips and watched you until you drank from the crystal rim. He smirked and lifted your skirt as he bent to bury his head beneath the folds.

You gulped and choked on the wine as your skirt fluttered down over his shoulders. You felt his finger on the lace trim of your panties and winced. He squeezed your thighs with his other hand and nuzzled the crotch of your underwear. You tried to close your legs but he kept them apart easily.

He curled his fingers under the elastic of your panties and tugged. He pulled until you lifted your ass just enough for him to get them free and he guided them down your legs before quickly parting them again.

You set down the glass and almost overturned it, the last mouthful splashing up the side. You pressed your hands to the granite and peered down at the shape of his head beneath your skirt. You gasped as his cool tongue grazed your warm folds and delved deeper.

“Peter…” you wisped and closed your eyes as you tried to hide from your own shame.

He purred as his tongue flicked over your clit and you twitched. He caressed the crease of your thigh with his fingers as he lapped at your, his other hand pressed against your stomach until you fell back across the counter. You arched your back instinctively and his hand cupped your tit through your dress.

He blindly pulled until your chest slipped out and pushed the cup of your bra as he teased your clit with his tongue. He felt along your cunt with his fingers and shoved his index inside of you. You moaned as he pushed another inside and curled them as he suckled on your bud.

Your core burned to life. Your entire being was set alight after months without affection. You quivered in delight and fear. Your nerves stormed both out of guilt and hunger. It felt so good but you knew it was wrong. The scent of the perfume filled your nose as your skin grew hot.

He moved his hand in time with his mouth as he doted on you. His touch intensified as your legs bent around the side of the island and your fingernails dragged along the granite, your voice rising without thought. He pinched your nipple and you cried out as you came in a wave of sheer pleasure and grabbed his wrist as you tried to steady yourself.

He eased off slowly as you trembled in the afterglow, his lingering touch tickled along your legs as he pushed your dress up. He pulled you to sit up and lifted the fabric over your head and ripped your sleeves free from your arms. He tossed as side the garment and swiftly covered your mouth with his so you tasted your own arousal on his tongue.

He unhooked your bra blindly and slid it off your arms. You were intensely aware of your nakedness and as you brought your arms up to cover yourself, he forced them down and ran his hands over your bare torso. 

“Beautiful,” he said as he laid a trail of gentle pecks along your throat and chest, pausing to take a nipple in his mouth as he rolled the other between his fingers and sent a shiver through you.

He kneaded your sides and hips, his fingers danced along your thighs and he followed the path with his mouth, kissing and nipping your flesh. He lifted his head again as he took your hands and twined his fingers through yours. He tugged you gently until you slid off the counter and landed on your feet shakily.

“Baby, you’re so amazing,” he placed your hands on his chest and pushed them down his muscled torso and brought them back up beneath his tee shirt, “go on.”

He let you go and you continued to roll up his tee. He dipped his head and raised his arms to help you and you clung to the tee as it fell limp in your grasp. Dazed, he snatched the shirt from your hands and flung it. He once more pressed your hands to his chest and guided you in feeling the lines of his toned flesh.

He pushed your hands against the top of his jeans and leaned into you. He kissed your temple and whispered along your hairline, “turn around, baby.” He squeezed your ass and purred, “mmmm, please, I wanna see that ass.”

You blinked, dazed, and spun slowly. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter as your legs trembled and you heard the subtle zip. He kicked his foot between yours and pushed your legs apart as he led you back so that you were slightly bent against the island. He ran his nails down your back and gripped your hip with one hand as his other drew away from your skin.

You flinched as you felt his smooth tip against your ass and he rubbed it between your cheeks. You inhaled and held in your breath as his hold on your tightened and he angled his dick under your ass and grazed your cunt. He poked your entrance and pressed his chest to your back as his hand covered yours on the granite.

He slid into you and your voice fizzled in the air as he forced the air from your lungs. You pushed your head back and it met his shoulder as his other hand crawled down your front. He spread your folds with his fingers and swirled another around your clit as he tilted his hips and thrust into you slowly.

“Ah, Peter,” you slapped the counter and he shushed you as his hand left yours cold and his fingers stretched over your throat.

His motion picked up as the noise of him crashing into you echoed around the kitchen. Your eyes rolled back as he rammed into you even harder. You were on tiptoes as he was driven by the weak moans that leaked from your lips and your wet pleasure squelched around him. He pressed two fingers to your bud and rubbed until you squeaked and your thighs quaked around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, “I bet you never cum like that for him.”

You whined and he sped up again. He pinned you against the counter so that the lip pressed into your stomach. He took his hand from your cunt and pushed your head down as he kept his other hand around your neck. He didn’t waver once as he fucked you.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he commanded, “I want you to cum again for me. I know you want to too.”

His thick breath warmed the air and grazed your back as he held you down and his hold on your neck tightened until silver stars rose in your vision. Your feet dangled against the tile and you reached down to play with your clit as it buzzed. It was only seconds before you were murmuring in ecstasy once more.

“Fuck, baby, can you feel that? The way your clinging to me,” he puffed as he slammed into you over and over, “he can hardly fill you, can he? Hmmm? Little man.”

You wheezed as he choked you and his other hand kept your head pinned. You heard a distant creak but could barely do more than keep your fingers moving as your heartbeat deafened you. You came again and croaked as your cunt squeezed him hungrily.

“What the fuck?” the voice broke your lusty trance and suddenly you were pulled away from the counter.

Your head lulled as Peter held it up and turned you around, his pelvis slapping against your ass as you faced your husband. Your mouth hung open as your blurred vision barely registered the scene and the deep grunts only got louder behind you.

“Look who’s here,” Peter rasped as he snaked his arm around you.

“The fuck are you doing?” Wesley sneered as your eyes closed and your ass rang with each thrust.

“What you can’t,” Peter snickered, “doesn’t she look so happy?” He grasped your chin and pushed his fingers into your mouth as he held your head up, “well, you into watching or you gonna let us finish, old man?”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 10 - Bad Influence [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s an extra chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Some nights are more hectic than others.

Series Masterlist

Oh hell no.

Tonight was supposed to be a normal night. Boring even. You were supposed to stay at home, watch a cliché horror movie, eat noodles and worry about whether your fake boyfriend, who didn’t know he was your fake boyfriend, was safe and sound on yet another secret mission of his.

Okay, maybe not that normal of a night.

But what was not supposed to happen was your ex-boyfriend showing up out of nowhere at your door.

“I know we left things off a little awkward but that’s no reason to point a gun at me. I was just doing my job.”

“Walk away,” you said, “Go back to the circle of hell they unleashed you from.”

“I heard you’re fake dating Barnes?” he asked, “He looks like your type.”

“I’m going to give you three seconds, then I will start shooting.”

He hissed in a breath,

“Except you can’t,” he stated, “You have to keep your cover. Milkshake waitress having a gun? People would start asking questions.”

“You’re right,” you said through your teeth, “A knife would be much more silent.”

“What’s taking you so—“ Keith called out but he stopped talking as soon as he saw you two. His eyes narrowed almost immediately and he took a step but you threw yourself in front of him, knowing he was about to punch him.

“Keith, I got it.”

“What the fuck are you doing here dickhead?”

“Nice to see you too Keith,” Julian said, “Am I interrupting something? I always kind of wondered what was going on between you two.”

“Ew!”

“If I didn’t want to punch you before, I certainly want to do it now,” Keith stated and you shook your head.

“I got it,” you said, “Really, it’s fine. Go back to the living room.”

He gritted his teeth, “I’ll fuck you up the moment I get you alone, Julian.”

“I can pretend to be scared if you want,” Julian deadpanned as Keith walked back to the living room and you tucked your gun into the waist of your shorts again, crossing your arms.

“So what crossroad is missing its demon right now?” you asked and he tilted his head.

“Y/N.”

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to say hi,” he said, “Is that so bad?”

“Yeah. Considering the shit you pulled, it is bad.”

“You would’ve done the same thing.”

“No I really wouldn’t,” you said “What, am I supposed to believe you’re here to say hello?”

“Yep,” he said, “It’s customary to meet or re-meet your team leader on a mission.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him before you let out a bitter chuckle.

“Oh fuck no.”

“Hey take it up to the General, I didn’t ask to be put on a mission where you play the honeypot,” he said, “Speaking of, is Barnes head over heels yet? I know how charming you can be when you want to, call it a first hand experience.”

“You’re not a part of my team.”

“I sort of am.”

“It’s my team,” you insisted, “I didn’t give okay to you being on my—“

“I’m afraid that’s above both of our paygrades,” he pointed out, “Nothing you can do about it. Trust me, I won’t enjoy this either.”

“Oh you won’t?”

“You think I will enjoy watching you have a relationship with the goddamn Winter Soldier?” he asked, “As fake as it may be, it will look real.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“So I take it he doesn’t stay over yet?”

You ran your tongue over your teeth, shaking your head, “You know what?” you said, “I think I’ve had enough of this bullshit for the night. It’s always a displeasure to see you Julian, fuck off now.”

You slammed the door on his face and ran a hand over your face, making your way to the living room.

“General put him on the team?” Keith asked, “Is he serious?”

“Looks like it,” you checked your wristwatch, “I need to talk to him. Do you think I can-”

“Don’t call the General right now,” he interrupted you before you could finish your sentence, “You’re angry, and I get that, so am I but wait until tomorrow.”

“Keith, he can’t be in my team!” you insisted, “He can’t be trusted, you know he can’t!”

“Hey,” he grabbed you by the shoulders, “I know. I know what he’s done, I know he can’t be trusted. But the rest of your team got your back, okay? Especially me and Chloe. What happened at that last mission won’t happen again.”

You threw your hands up, “Ugh, fuck this shit!”

“We got this—” he started but then your phone started vibrating on the couch, making you both turn your heads. You leaned over to check the screen, then snatched the phone off the couch when you saw Bucky’s name flashing.

“I should take this,” you murmured and made your way to the bathroom to close the door behind you. You jumped into the empty bathtub and answered the phone.

“Hi Bucky.”

“Hi darling.”

Even the sound of that was enough to make a small smile warm your face and you closed your eyes, leaning your head back to the bathtub.

“You could’ve just texted, you didn’t have to call.”

“Nah I wanted to hear your voice.”

Your smile widened as you bit down on your lip.

“I wanted to hear your voice too,” you murmured, for once dropping the act, “God, you have no idea what kind of a terrible night I’m having.”

“What’s wrong?”

You scrunched up your face, scolding yourself in your head. “Just a…just a bad night.”

“Girls at soup kitchen are giving you a hard time?” he asked and you let out a chuckle.

“No,” you said, “I just heard some less than ideal news.”

“Do you need me there?”

You raised your brows, “Aren’t you on a secretive and highly dangerous mission?”

“Yeah,” he said, “Doesn’t matter, I’ll come if you need me. Do you?”

The clear difference between your ex-boyfriend and your current, albeit fake boyfriend was impossible to miss and you felt your throat getting tighter before you coughed.

Fuck no, you didn’t cry.

The last time you genuinely cried was when you were 16, and quite frankly you had no idea if you were even capable of doing it anymore.

“It’s fine,” you managed to say, “It can wait. Date night when you come back though.”

“Of course.”

“And actually I’ve been thinking about that,” you said, “It’s my turn, right? To pick the place?”

“Mm hm, we last went to Brooklyn.”

“So I was thinking what if we did one modern and one old times?” you asked, “I can pick the modern dates and you can pick the old times dates.”

“Huh,” he said, “That’s a good idea. Wait, you’re not going to drag me to one of those nightclubs, are you?”

You giggled, “Would it be that terrible?”

“Please don’t do that to me.”

“You don’t like dancing?”

“Not that kind of dancing.”

“You know, I keep waiting for you to actually utter the words ‘back in my day’, but it’s not happening.”

He chuckled, “Back in my day, we wouldn’t call that dancing.”

You hummed, slipping a little in the bathtub, “Good point,” you said, “So okay then, it’s settled. I got the modern and you got the old dates covered. What does that entail anyway? Home cooked meal dates?”

“Nope,” he said, “We’re dating, not married.”

You pulled your brows together, “How is that relevant?”

“Me being at your place or you being at mine would be very frowned upon,” he tut tutted, “Us together, without anyone else. Inside and privacy and all. Scandal, there’d be lots of gossip about your virtue.”

A clear laughter escaped from your lips and you covered your mouth with your hand, trying to pull yourself together.

“Right, my virtue,” you played along, “So I take it you have never been alone with a girl back in your day then? Since virtue was a huge deal?”

There was a pause on the other line, “I mean it wasn’t— it wasn’t that huge of a deal for everyone…” he trailed off, and you clicked your tongue.

“But overall, no Netflix and chill?”

“What’s Netflix and chill?”

You bit inside your cheek, trying to ignore the warmth at the pit of your stomach, “I know you hate to hear it, but you’re so cute.”

“No I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” you taunted him, “I won’t tell anyone.”

You heard Sam calling his name and there was a shuffle before he cleared his throat.

“I gotta go,” he said, “Promise to be safe?”

“Right back at you.”

“Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night.” you said and hung up, pressing the phone to your lips before you shook your head at yourself. You got off the empty tub and opened the bathroom door to step out, then found Keith busy with the noddle boxes in the kitchen.

“It’s still hot, and I took the liberty of texting Chloe,” he said, “She’s on her way.”

You tried to offer him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grabbed the chopsticks, “But we might want to finish Scream before Chloe gets here, because knowing her, she will make us watch a rom-com.”

                                                ***

You should’ve known trying to change the General’s decision was a lost cause. He listened to your multiple reasons why it was a bad idea to have Julian in your team, but you could’ve been talking to a wall and it still wouldn’t have made a difference.

“I’m aware of your past with Julian,” he said with a sigh after you were done listing your reasons, “Trust me, this wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

“It’s not about my past with him, sir.” You forced yourself to say, “He can’t be trusted. He’s not a team player, he doesn’t think about anyone but himself-”

“It wasn’t just my decision to make him a part of the team, it was all your superiors’,” he said, “We believe that you’re professional enough to pull this off.”

You gritted your teeth, “Sir, it’s not—“

“He’s in your team and a part of the mission now,” he cut you off, “You’re dismissed, Shrike.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms and nodded, then left his office to march up to Chloe and Keith who were huddled over Chloe’s desk.

“What did he say?”

“That he’s not going anywhere.”

Keith clenched his jaw while Chloe heaved a sad sigh.

“I can try to talk to him if you want, but…”

“It won’t make any difference,” you said, “I know.”

Keith crossed his arms, leaning back to the desk, “I mean we could always poison Julian.”

“Keith.”

“Or he could get caught in the crossfire. Spies die like flies, you know that.”

“Don’t say that!” Chloe exclaimed, “You guys are spies too and I already feel way too worried about you.”

“No worries, the only type of death Y/N will get from Barnes is la petite mort.”

You smacked him on the arm, “Fuck you, we’re not sleeping together yet.”

“But you sort of want to,” Keith said, “I heard your giggling last night while talking to him.”

You shifted your weight and threw your shoulders back, “Yeah, so? It’s my cover.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to fuck his brains out.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer!”

“I’m kind of excited about that too,” Chloe said and both you and Keith turned to her.

“Please tell me you don’t want to sleep with Barnes—“

“No!” Chloe said, “No I just… when Y/N wants to, we’ll go and get some vintage inspired lingerie so I’m excited for that.”

“We’re not going to do that Chloe.”

“Yeah, let the guy see the good things 21st century has to offer Chloe,” Keith winked at you and you rolled your eyes.

“You know what, I didn’t give you shit when you were the one undercover in Brazil and had to—“

“Y/N,” Julian’s voice reached your ears and a shiver ran down your spine, making you clench your teeth, “You have a minute?”

Chloe stole a look at Keith who glared at Julian while you raised your brows.

“Not for you Julian, no.”

“I just joined the team, you have to update me.”

“Actually she doesn’t because I already gave Sarah your file and I know that she gave it to you two hours ago,” Chloe stated and Keith nodded.

“Yeah and you’re standing a little too close, so why don’t you step back a little?”

Julian shot you a look, “Seriously? And you’re okay with this?”

“He’s right, you’re standing a little too close,” you stated, making him sigh.

“Y/N, we’re on the same team,” he reminded you, “We need to get along.”

“Actually, you’re on my team,” you corrected him, “I’m the leader in here. So technically, I don’t have to get along with you. You have to get along with me, seeing that you work under me.”

A small arrogant smirk curled his lips. “Wouldn’t be the first time I worked under you,” he said, “Brings back the memories.”

Your eyes narrowed and you tilted your head.

“It really does,” you mused, “The memory of the most boring ten seconds of my life, you tranquilized mattress.”

Keith snorted out his coffee while Chloe gasped, staring at you. You smiled at Julian sweetly, then grabbed your phone.

“Well, I’d better go,” you said, “Some of us have a mission to lead after all. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Have fun,” Keith said without taking his eyes off Julian, “I know we will.”

You winked at them and walked out of the bullpen, grinning to yourself.

                                     ***

The following two days were an actual disaster. Bucky wasn’t in the city so you had nothing to do and nothing to report about. Not only that, you had also made it your own mission to avoid Julian but so far that mission had been a success.

You were beginning to suspect Keith and Chloe had something to do with it.

There was also something at the pit of your stomach. Something that made you both sad and uncomfortable at the same time, like an itch you needed to scratch and no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go away.

Chloe had this genius theory of you missing Bucky, but she was absolutely wrong.

You were just done with counting the money and locking the register when you heard the wind bell by the door chime, but you were way too busy with trying to place the mason jars on the shelf to even look around.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” you said but there was no answer. You froze for only a second before the spy in you kicked in and you grabbed the mason jar tighter before reaching out to grab the nearest knife. The footsteps didn’t signal that it was more than one person and you would throw the jar and judging by the angle of his shadow he would probably lean left to dodge it and that would be when—

“Hi beautiful.”

You whirled around, still holding the jar tight before you dropped it on the counter with the knife, staring at Bucky standing by the door.

“Oh thank God….” you rushed to jump into his arms and he caught you, lifting you off the floor as you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. Somehow just his presence was enough to make up for these last terrible days and you closed your eyes for a moment while his hand cradled the back of your head, pressing a kiss on your temple.

“Hi,” you giggled as you pecked him on the lips, “I didn’t know you were back!”

“Oh we just arrived,” Bucky said as he put you down, “Sam went home and I came here. He says hi by the way.”

“Hi back,” you said and the duffel bag on the floor caught your eye, “Wait, you literally just arrived?”

“Mm hm.”

You hummed, pinching his chin between your fingers as you turned his face, making him smile.

“No bruises,” you commented “That’s a good sign. You scared me though, I thought you were a robber!”

“Yeah, speaking of,” he said, “Where’s your friend?”

“Tara? She had a date, and the part timer had an emergency, so I’m closing today.”

“By yourself?” he asked, “That’s not exactly being safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” you taunted him, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Glad to be back,” his smile widened, “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh you don’t have to, you know I live close by. You should go home and get some rest, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Y/N,” he said patiently, “It’s night time—“

“Meh, evening more likely.”

“It’s dark outside,” he said, “I’m walking you home, come on.”

You thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh.

“Okay,” you said and looked around to see whether you had missed anything, then grabbed your jacket and switched off the lights. He adjusted his duffel bag over his shoulder as you locked the shop then you both started walking.

“So I take it the mission was a success?” you asked, entwining your fingers with his vibranium ones. He still wasn’t used to it and he hesitated for only a second before he held your hand.

“Something like that.”

“How are you going to celebrate?”

He frowned, “Celebrate?”

“Yeah!” you said, “A nice thing happened, why wouldn’t you celebrate it?”

“We don’t really… celebrate missions.”

“Why not?”

He thought for a moment, “I don’t know,” he admitted, “Can I- can we celebrate it then? Together?”

“Oh we absolutely can,” you nodded, “How does tomorrow sound? It’s my time to pick the date, and I’m picking a bar with lots of celebration drinks.”

“There won’t be any dancing in this bar, right?”

“Not yet,” you wiggled your brows, “But I’m warning you, I have plans. We will push you out of that comfort zone of yours.”

“My shrink would like you.”

You tilted your head, “Is that a good thing?”

“Yep,” he said, “How about you? Do you feel better?”

You heaved a sigh and made a face, “Trying.”

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, “Anything at all, I’m serious.”

A small smile warmed your face and you looked up at him.

“It’s fine,” you said “Thank you for asking though. It means a lot.”

He squeezed your hand like he was trying to assure you and you turned around to see him better as you stopped in front of the building.

“I’d ask if you wanted to a cup of coffee upstairs but…” you sighed dramatically, “My virtue and all.”

“Right,” he played along, “Of course not. We can’t have your neighbors get the wrong idea.”

“No chaperone or anything…”

“I’m astonished you’d even think of such a thing miss,” he said, trying to keep a straight face and you bit down on your lips.

“Well, thank you for being the perfect gentleman, mister,” you taunted him, then stood on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his, his arm around your waist tightening. He looked down at you as you pulled back, that soft light crossing his eyes again.

“Good night Bucky.”

“Good night,” he stole a kiss from you again and you giggled, then made your way into the building. You took the elevator and as soon as you reached your floor and stepped out, you found Keith fumbling with his keys by his door. He looked over his shoulder and you tilted your head, staring at his blood stained clothes.

“Why are you covered in blood?”

“Why are you grinning like a high schooler with a crush?” he asked back and you tried to control your expression. “Something tells me the answer to both of those questions is the same.”

“Mission?”

“Mission.”

You hummed and went to unlock your door as well while Keith leaned sideways to his doorframe.

“At least one of us is having fun on missions,” he pointed out and you curled your lips, shooting him a look.

“Aw you poor baby,” you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not and you know why?” you pointed at him, “You didn’t bring me coffee the other day.”

He gasped dramatically and you let out a laugh, then closed your door behind you.

“That Barnes guy is a bad influence on you young lady!” he called out before closing his door as well and you chuckled to yourself, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I think you might be right.”

Chapter 11

[wizkiddx]

this deleted itself but the req was for an ill reader who likes to try and carry on even if they feeling shit and tom noticing I think?!?

Summary:  you take start to feel a bit shit  at toms family barbecue and get caught out and taken care of

///////////

It should've be lovely, an evening in the rare but much appreciated British summer sun in Dom and Nikki’s garden. Everyone was there; all the Holland boys; both sets of Tom’s grandparents; Haz and his long time girlfriend Lucie. It was a reunion of sorts, although no one had been away working, you’d somehow all timed your individual holidays simultaneously. You and Tom to Australia; Sam and Harry to south-east Asia; Paddy, Dom and Nikki to Sweden. Having all returned in the space of a week, everyone was catching up, involving great British barbecues (which are always a little disappointing) and a fair amount of booze.

You were sat on the garden furniture with Tessa (Tom’s grandma), Nikki and Lucie. Very much a ‘girl power’ meeting if ever there was - which in a family full of boys was often needed just to keep the peace. Everything about the evening was lovely… except perhaps your body. God knows why, because you rarely got ill - having not had a day off work in two years. As much as you’d been trying to push away the slow creeping feeling for a couple of hours - it was now getting impossible to ignore. The slightly unsettled feeling in your stomach had you fidgeting in the wooden chair constantly, trying to ease it by shifting positions... to no avail.

“Y/n… Y/n?” Looking up to see three pairs of beady eyes trained on you, you faked a smile, looking over to Nikki who had been calling your name. “Tess was asking how long the flight back was?” “Oh sorry, was miles away!” You tried to cover, shifting once again, this time pressing a hand to your lower abdomen in the hope that’d distract you as you turned slightly to make eye contact with Tessa. “And I think 11 hours ish.” The girls all pulled a grimacing face in sympathy, to which you chuckled at. “No no honestly cos Tom spoiled me completely so we were in the fancy seats, I honestly was spark out of it the whole time!”

It was enough of a response for the girls to all nod, carrying on the conversation as you, now not the main focus, rubbed your pulsing temple with your other hand - in the hope to relieve some of the building pressure. Clearly, though, you weren’t a subtle as you thought - since Lucie got your attention by bumping your shoulder and leaning in closely. “Come to the loo with me?” It sounded like a question, though it very much wasn’t - the stern look in her eye enough to scare you into agreeing. With a word to Nikki and Tess, you both stood up and made your way to the inside, not stopping until you were locked into the thankfully spacious downstairs loo - the brunette eyeing you intently. “You look like shit.” “Thanks Luc, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” You sighed, sitting on top of the closed lidded loo heavily. “What’s up?” Her tone was harsh and to the point, but secretly there was a look of worry in her eyes. She was one of your best mates but sometimes could also scare you shitless. “I think I’m just tired, it’s my stomach and my head, I’ll be fine.”

Lucie didn't really seem to believe you, but respected your stubbornness and after providing you with two paracetamol capsules from her bag, she let you off - both going back into the garden, where, by now Sam was plating up the slightly charred burgers.

Naturally, you’d sat next to Tom, who had pulled your chairs right next to each other - so that his leg was pressed up against yours, his arm pulled around your shoulder. That was just Tom, away from the prying eyes of the public and media, he really was an affectionate person. He just liked to feel you there. God knows how long you all sat in those same positions, but it was long enough for the sun to set. In fact, you most definitely weren’t the person to ask, because at some point, unbeknownst to you, you’d zoned out. Nobody had noticed, under the cover of the low sunset light, until Tom felt your head briefly fall against his shoulder before it shot up once again - your eyes blinking heavily.

He frowned at the sight, seeing you huddle your arms across your body, which was bizarre due to the unbelievable hot weather in London. Yes, it might have shifted into nighttime, but it was still at least 24 degrees. So as his Dad had the entire table captivated recounting some long and complex tale of his touring days, Tom took the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder - grabbing your attention.

“You alright love?” In response you just hummed, eyes shifting up to him after a little delay - similar to how your reflexes became stunted with alcohol, though Tom suddenly realised you’d barely had more than half the glass of beer he’d poured you when you’d both arrived. “ I’said are you okay?” “Yeh… yeh I’m fine.” You forced a small tight lipped smile, whilst Tom took his arm that was round his shoulder to rest on the crown of your head before slowly stroking down your hair. “Sure? You seem a little out of it?” He pushed, still in a whisper so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “Maybe just tired.” Flat out lying, you shifted back into the backrest of the chair a little more making his hand accidentally land on your forehead rather than your hairline. He didn't move it though, instead sitting and swivelling in his chair, pressing the other side of his hand to the skin as well. “You’re burning up Y/n/n” he spoke a little louder - eyes full of concern as he looked you up and down. “No I’m a bit cold if anythin-“

That was when Nikki, from across the other side of the table got involved. She’d obviously been silently observing the two of you, now feeling the need to send you both home. “Oh, we forgot dessert! Tom, Y/n would you mind helping me bring it out?” Thank god for Nikki, for finding a cover story and stopping everyone's eyes on you. Because for someone dating, three years deep, an A-lister - you hated any sort of attention, even from those closest to you. Especially sympathy, you had absolutely no time at all for that.

Leading you into the kitchen with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, Tom waited till the door was shut before turning to you.- claiming you were boiling and looked not so great. “I’m just a bit cold if I can borrow one of sam’s jumpers then-“ “Love, please go home.” Nikki interrupted as she wormed past Tom to put her own hand on your forehead too. “You’ve got the chills and you’ve not been normal all day. Am I right or am I right?” She was the worst to argue against. That was completely due to the fact she was always right. With a defeated nod from you, she clicked her tongue, pushing you to sit down on one of the barstools. “Tom go get a jumper from Sam’s room and order a taxi, I would drive but we’ve all been drinking.” “I can just go back by myself T, you don’t get to see your grandparents a lot and -“ “I love you but please please shut up.” Having rounded the back of your chair he pressed his lips to your temples as confirmation before scurrying off to the back of the house.

“You know he doesn’t mind at all? My son never was at my beckon call like he is with you.” There was a little smile teasing the corner of her lips as Nikki placed a glass of water in front of you, as though instructing you to take small sips. “I just feel bad, he’s always telling me how he regrets not spending more time with all of you and… well I’ve had him to myself for the fortnight in South Africa.” “Your just as much a part of the family as me or his grandparents are okay? Now when you get home..”

Nikki switched the tone to then list off all manners of ways that you needed to look after yourself once back, which she then repeated as soon as Tom returned with a black hoodie that you gratefully pulled over your head.

//////////////

By the time you got home, you were feeling so incredibly shit you weren’t even considering keeping up your brave face. Tom had wordlessly led you up the path to your shared home, unlocking the door and telling you to go straight to bed.

Perhaps he was so concerned because in the whole three years together he’d never ever seen you ill. Yes, the odd headache or whatever, as well as the occasional morning after the night before when you’d opted for a ‘tactical chunder’ to try and protect your modesty. But other than that, you were always the one being sympathetic to him. When he was tired, both emotionally and mentally from work; when he hurt his knee and was on forced bed rest for a couple of days ( which turns out to be the hardest time for you too, dealing with the whiny and fidgety boy man).

He came up a couple of minutes later, by which point you’d already pulled joggers on and wrapped yourself as tightly in the duvet as physically possible. If felt so bloody cold your teeth were actually chattering as you curled up into the smallest ball possible. In his hands was a small tray, carrying a steaming mug; a collection of all the different pill packets you kept in the medicine cabinet (as Tom himself had no idea which one was right so decided to use them all); a hot water bottle and what looked like a damp towel, all scrunched up.

No matter how shitty you felt you had a smile at how sweet and doting Tom was being... and as much as you hated the sympathy - if it was always given by a ripped and beautiful brunette with the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen… well just maybe you could get used to it. After snatching the hotwater bottle up immediately, then letting Tom fuss over you in every which way he wanted you gave in, losing the ability to entertain his puppy energy.

“Can we just go to sleep please?” You whined, which Tom nodded to - quickly getting changed and ready before joining you in bed.

As soon as he felt the way the bed was practically vibrating with the chills you were suffering from, he pulled you up into his chest. Now you had both your own personal heater and a hot water bottle to try and warm you up. “You wake me up if you need anything kay?”

Pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, which was nestled between his shoulder and neck. “Promise me ‘kay?” Him needing the reinforcement caused you to arch back up, looking deep into his brown eyes with the warm glow of his bedside table lamp. “You’re too good to me Tommy.” He tutted at that, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Oh no” He whispered exclaimed, making you immediately ask him what in response. “I think this fever is making you go all delusional love.” You quirked your head, causing him to continue with a cheeky grin. “Well for one, nothing would be too good for you darling and two…. When the hell have you ever called me ‘Tommy’” With him chuckling at his own joke, you rolled your eyes at his cheekiness, firmly planting your head back on his shoulder as if to shut him up. “Alright, I’ll let you off just this once cos your all feverish… get some sleep love.” “Thankyou Tommy.” “Shh love.”

And that’s how you fell asleep, finally finding a bit of warmth in Tom’s arms.

Safe to say he very much didn’t sleep so well. Yes, you felt cold - but Tom was bloody boiling. Still he didn't move because if you were comfortable, his discomfort didn’t matter. It was also a physical impossibility for him to relax until he felt (yes, technically not the most scientific way) your fever coming down. Every five minutes or so he’d gently press the back of his hand to your forehead. This boy was so whipped for you... but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~feedback is really really appreciated~~~~

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