#darling core

[yoru-no-seiiki]

[part two]

brainrotting about yan! cool kid. like komi’s brother who’s like hella quiet and never interacts with others but people keep fanboying/fangirling/gushing about him.

yan! cool kid who sits beside or behind you in every class.

yan! cool kid who despite looking like he wants to be anywhere but in his seat, earbuds plugged in, eyes staring off to the sky from the window right next to his seat like the anime harem protag he is except he’s actually just listening to your voice through a mic he planted on you.

yan! cool kid who always brings two umbrellas so that he could give one to you when you need it.

yan! cool kid who fantasizes about being with you 24/7. making songs about how he feels, drawing your visage on his notes, and using you as inspiration to study.

(it works too well and he’s always at the top of your class)

yan! cool kid who forces you to pair up with him in every single project. you just happened to be the closest to him. it’s convenient. deal with it.

yan! cool kid who uses the opportunity to get into your house and surround himself with your scent. if only he didn’t need oxygen otherwise he’d be stitch on your sweaty ass gym uniform/workout clothes unto his face.

yan! reader who smiles knowing that their crush is as depraved as they are to him. giggling as they take a video of the school’s most popular and handsome guy getting off to their scent. hands desperately chasing release — one rough tug and he’s spilling all over your bedsheets. judging from the amount of fluids it definitely wasn’t his first climax since you left to ‘make a bite to eat’

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere Host x reader

Gonna try a new writing style for this one

Yandere host~ Who was on the job charming his clients and giving them a false sense of worth when you walked in

Yandere host~ Who couldn't deny that you were very beautiful, and he couldn't wait to toy with you.

Yandere host~ Who was shocked and offended when you pushed him away and said it was your friend that had a hosting appointment not you.

Yandere host~ Who did indeed charm your friend but glanced at you every time as a desperate attempt to make you jealous or convince you to make an appointment yourself.

Yandere host~ Who was stunned and flabbergasted to find out that you weren't interested in him at all how couldn't you like him he's so pretty.

Yandere host~ Who decided to get close to your friend to get closer to you which did indeed work.

Yandere host~ Who was thrilled to find out that you'd be making host appointments, but that joy turned into jealousy and heartbreak when he found out you made appointments for other hosts and not him.

Yandere host~ Who would ignore his clients and stare at you from across the room with jealous eyes burning holes into the people that would host you.

Yandere host~ Who asks your friend everything about you which makes the whole thing about you not her.

Yandere host~ Who genuinely falls in love with you after hearing more and more about you.

Yandere host~ Who constantly asks you out and gets pouty and sulky every time you reject him only to ask you again the next day.

Yandere host~ Who one by one "gets rid of" all the other hosts so you'll have no choice but to let him host you.

Yandere host ~ Who's the definition of clingy and loves your personal space and is the equivalent to a puppy when you're around.

Yandere host~ Who always slips something into your tea and you always wake up in his embrace or with marks on your neck and chest (or both more often then not).

Yandere host~ Who will do anything and I mean anything or your attention and much more for your affection.

"Why can't you love me? It can't be that hard..."

Remember Jesus loves y'all and he's the truth the way and will forgive and deliver us if we put our faith in him.♥

[hana-no-seiiki]

sorry i havent posted in a while, been busy slaying at school!! anyways!!

yandere! stalker x unbothered! if not equally yandere! celebrity! reader.

like he sends you so many fan letters that are basically threats on how he’ll kidnap you and be the only one in your life. detailing the place he’ll take you from(and one you frequent). sends you pictures in your most vulnerable moments. SENDS YOU A PIECE OF YOUR HAIR (if you have any, if not then let’s just say he got some body fluid instead) saying that the scent has worn off so you can have it back.

AND WHAT DO YOU DO?

You write a song about him using his letters as inspo.

whole ass

reader: one way or another, i’ll have you all to myself~

stalker: oh that sounds so romantic . . . wait-

thank you blondie’s one way or another and @on-leatheredwings for inspiring me to write after 8267374832 years

[yummgoree]

[darlingsodivine]

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔, 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏, 𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆��𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈. 𝑾𝒉𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈? 𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉? 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒊𝒕! 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓!

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇��𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓- 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝑰𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑- 𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑, 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕!

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈- 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏!

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆?

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈'𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔! 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 - 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑- 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎- 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔- 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆! 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓! 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈'𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉- 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈, 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈'𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒆.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈'𝒔 𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆-

𝐈𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐈𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝! 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫! 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐢𝐭- 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞-

Lowkey rushed

[starscabaret]

Cowboy Yandere! Lane HeadCanons

pairing : yandere! lane x fem reader 

summary : HeadCanons !!!

authors note : lane will be so soft … or will he ???

yandere! lane has a cute southern drawl, he hates when you make fun of him for it

yandere! lane picks you up from any and everywhere in his pickup truck, he loves being your personal chauffeur

yandere! lane is constantly bringing you flowers he loves the smile it brings to your pretty face

yandere! lane uses one hand to grab your jaw to kiss him, he has to make sure those pretty lips stay put on his

yandere! lane has a bench seat in his truck so when he drives you around he can have you pressed to his side, he is always gripping your thigh while he drives or sometimes even placing your leg over his. He likes to be touching his darling as much as possible

yandere! lane loves to buy you jewelry, he sees it and he just has to have it for you !

yandere! lane is very very strong from working on farms and other manual labor throughout his whole life, no matter your weight he can pick you up like a baby

yandere! lane is a blue collar boy through and through he pays all of the bills, even if you try to help he leaves no room for argument

yandere! lane loves domesticity, he gushes when you wake up early to prepare him a lunch or coffee. If you’re too sleepy to wake up at dawn like he does for work he will kiss and hug your sleepy body while you sleep in bed, as he lays a final kiss to your temple he whispers “Love you, have a good day sweetheart.”

[marshmallowdarling]

TW: Smut, like just absolute FILTH! MDNI! My second attempt at smut please be kind, this man has been eating my brain. 'Pretty' is used but no gender or gendered parts are used ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nanami Kento is a gentleman through and through and that doesn’t change when he’s drowning in his own possessive thoughts about you but even the nicest of men can snap after being pushed to the brink. 

Kento had delt with your multiple escape attempts with grace even after dealing with a migraine named ‘Gojo Satoru’ and idiotic co-workers at his dreaded desk job. So today should be the same shouldn’t it? He was practically counting down the days of your next escape attempt, knowing it would be coming up and making taking appropriate measures. 

So why was he feeling like this? Why was he feeling buzzing underneath his skin? Why was he restless? Why did he feel like his mind full of cotton and spinning at the same time? Why did it feel like it was impossible to breathe?

He’s always a gentleman, even when he pins you down on the soft bed, your body sinking into the plush surface as he rails you brain dead. 

Usually, he loves seeing your pretty face scrunch up in those cute little expressions but he has your front pressed into the sheets. Practically laying on-top of you as he drapes himself over your back making sure you couldn’t even think about running away from the pleasure he was drowning you in. 

Dirty sticky wet ‘plap, plap, plap’, sounds echoing the room as he fills you up so deliciously with deep, strong, slow strokes. 

You can’t even bring yourself to ask him to go faster because it already feels so good, the pleasure melting your brain leaving only moans and hiccupped cries to spill out of your spit-stained lips. It honestly feels like you’re drowning as he makes you take it again and again and again and again-

Whining out brokenly as you drool all over his thick veiny forearm, Kento keeping you in a headlock as he spews absolute filth into your ear in between his own groans. “There we go sweet thing, takin’ it so prettily for me-” His own breath hitches and his head tilt back just a little, blonde hair falling over his eyes. 

The deep moan he lets out hits you hard, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear as he presses kisses everywhere he can reach, on your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders. The soft plush feeling of his sweet kisses contrasting with his mean deep thrusts. 

His yanks his arm back tightening his grip, not enough to choke you but enough so you could feel the pressure. “No, no, no sweetheart- don’t run from it now.” A chuckle leaves his lips as your head tilts back, his eyes soaking up the absolute mess he’s made of you. Your eyes glazed over and knocked back, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth cutely as your mouth opens in choked out moans. “You’re taking it, I’m going to make you take it.” He growls out, a smirk pulling his lips as his free hand comes to hold your plush hips down, feeling how feverish your skin was. 

“The little brat just needed to get to get fucked huh?” Kento coo’s so sweetly its mocking, but the blunt lewd words coming from the usual stoic man makes everything feel that much more dirty. “Needed me to fuck those stupid thoughts right out of your skull huh love? You could have just asked instead of acting out baby.”

He lets out a low moan as presses sloppy kisses to your already sloppy mouth, drinking up your cries and tasting your salty tears dripping into both of your mouths. 

Kento’s tongue messily presses against yours as you try and fail to speak, only letting out a muffled “Hngh-” since he really and truly left you brain dead. Panting into his mouth you squeal when he tilts your hips up, jerking your body with his deep thrusts as he goes even deeper. Choking on a gasp as he pulls back to groan, thick brows pinches together as he feels you clench. “Ah- shit sweet thing, gonna drive me crazy for you.” He grits out, his breathing laboured as he feels himselfstart to get fucked-out, pleasure shooting up his spin and making him shiver.  The thought of Kento and Kento alone fills your head, his musky smell, his touch, his kisses, just HIM and his mind shattering thrusts as he fills out every spot even you didn’t know about. Your nails and teeth dig into the thick skin of his forearm, scratching and bitting pretty marks into the skin he would worship later as you feel the stupid amount of muscle and veins beneath his skin. 

Little ‘ah- ah- ah~’ moans falling out of you, you can barely hear yourself as Kento fuck’s you dumb, making your back arch in pleasure as your limbs twitch and jerk. You don’t even feel your orgasm, stuck drowning in the feeling of him, until it’s too late and it feels like he’s ripping you apart in the sweetest of ways. 

A wail leaves you as he talk’s you through it. “There we go- there we go. C’mon baby give it to me- yeah, I’m right here baby doing so sooo good for me.” He whispers in your ear as he pins your twitching body down harder, his forearm tightening the headlock around your neck as his other thick arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady on his cock. Not stopping his measured deep thrusts as you sob in pleasure, babbling out dumbly.  You claw weakly at his arm, barely able to kick your legs out as he puts his weight on you clawing feebly at his arm to try to push him away.  “Nu-uh baby.” He growls lowly ignoring your overstimulated cries, nipping pretty little marks on your neck that gets you moaning out lewdly. “This is your punishment- gotta make sure to drain all that energy out of you.”  

It’s a twisted punishment to him, he could never hurt you, he loved you. But he needed to show his love more hands on apparently, and if he could do that as well as making sure you were too tired to even think about running again than how could he not. 

Nanami Kento is a gentleman, what kind of man would he be if he couldn’t make his wonderful darling cum? 

[obsessivel0v3r]

"My love, tell me you'll consume me entirely."

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts

(AN: So, a fic idea I have serves as an inspo for this one-shot. The reader is a morally gray character and doesn't like being part of the gang. Anyway, enjoy reading!.) Syno: When her sharp tongue turns on Dutch, Arthur wonders if she’s gone too far, or if he’s fallen too deep. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20's and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff. ✰ -11k.

“Well, wasn’t that easy? Been a long time since I enjoyed a robbery like that,” Hosea chuckled, tugging down his bandana.

Arthur glanced at the bag tied to the horse, heavy with valuables, and gave a small nod. “Definitely.”

The two rode at a leisurely pace, the quiet night stretching around them like a blanket, the stars casting a soft glow over the landscape. Arthur’s eyes drifted as they moved, catching on a patch of bushes nearby.

Roses.

Even in the faint starlight, their delicate shapes stood out, and an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Uh, Hosea,” Arthur started, breaking the calm, “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“An errand? At this time of night?” Hosea raised a brow, his tone lightly scolding. “You oughta rest now, son. You’ve earned it.”

“No, no,” Arthur replied quickly, waving it off. “Just need to head into town for a bit. Won’t be long, don’t you worry.”

Hosea paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile and nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

He handed Hosea the score and with a final farewell, the two parted ways, Arthur veering off towards the town, his thoughts already on the next step of his plan.

Arthur arrived at the shop and dismounted, but instead of heading inside, he lingered by his horse, running a hand over the animal’s neck. Was this even a good idea? Why was it all so damn complicated?

There’s no harm in buying something, right? Just a harmless gesture. He could figure out what to do with it later... later.

For days now, it had been the same cycle.

Don’t think about her. Just don’t.

There’s no harm in it, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t look at her, it’s strange. Keep your distance.

A few stolen glances don’t mean anything when she’s far away, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t buy her a gift. What kind of fool even does that? Who is he to her, anyway?

And here he is, standing outside the shop, heart pounding like a damn fool, a love fool.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you? By the way, there’s a 5% discount on the winter stock. Perhaps you’d like to try the waistcoats?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting around the shop. Was he in the right place? He scanned the shelves and displays until his gaze landed on the wall.

Yes, there it was. The item he’d noticed before.

“Can you show me that hat?”

The shopkeeper immediately retrieved it with a practiced hand and held it out with a smile. “Our latest and most popular piece, sir. Only $22.”

Arthur took the hat, turning it over in his hands. The black leather gleamed, unscathed and pristine, a far cry from his well-worn one. His eyes lingered on the rose corsage affixed to the middle, subtle but striking.

He stepped toward the mirror, setting the hat on his head, and studied his reflection. It was a fine hat

“Goes perfectly with your outfit, sir,” the shopkeeper remarked, his voice warm with flattery.

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the shelves. “I saw a scarf, too. The one with the, uh... rose pattern.”

“Oh, the women’s one! Let me fetch it for you.”

The shopkeeper moved swiftly, his hands deftly retrieving the scarf. He prattled on about its fine quality and craftsmanship, but Arthur barely registered the words. They flew past him like horses leaping over a fence.

His thoughts were elsewhere, on you. On how the scarf would look wrapped around your neck, the way it might frame your face. The image was enough to push him to hand over the dollar bills for both items, not even noticing he’d given more than what was asked.

The shopkeeper’s voice called out behind him, but Arthur had already turned, mounting his Irish Draught, Clover, and riding off without a second glance.

He’d be wearing the rose hat, and you’d be wearing the scarf. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange mix of warmth and unease. Was he really going to give it to you now?

The wind tugged at his coat, but it couldn’t scatter the doubts and questions circling his mind. Was this... a confession?

Would you, confounding as you were, with your quicksilver moods and quiet distance, accept anything from him? You, who rarely spared him more than a glance, choosing instead to linger with the girls, Molly especially.

It ate at him sometimes, the way you seemed so unreachable. Always just out of his grasp, moving through the camp like a wisp of smoke, untouchable and wholly your own. And yet, he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wanting.

You didn’t belong here, not like him, at least. You carried yourself with an air of defiance, tethered to the camp not by loyalty but necessity. A reluctant, bitter presence that had no reason to look twice at someone as rooted in this life as he was.

He saw the way you didn’t fit, the way you wanted to leave. And maybe that’s why the thought of you wearing the scarf--his scarf now--stirred something fierce inside him. The idea that, for once, he might give you something that tethered you to him, however briefly. Better than being tied to someone else. God, you have made him so selfish.

He clenched the scarf tighter, his jaw set. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He didn’t know much about you, except years ago when one day he came to the camp and discovered that Hosea and Bessie had found somewhere, taken you in, and raised you as their own as they always wanted a child. Nobody in the camp knew where they found you except perhaps Dutch but it was never told properly and he didn't pry much too, no one really did. Everything had been fine-peaceful, even, until Bessie passed.

After that, you’d wanted out. To leave the camp, carve out a life of your own, away from the shadow of the gang. But Hosea couldn’t let you go. He was your father, after all, the one who had protected you, shielding you from the blood and grime of their world just as Bessie had wished for.

And then there was himself whose hands were drenched in blood.

All of this screamed doom. Yet, he was doomed... doomed by his stupid feelings and that desperate longing to have someone to call his own, to have someone waiting for him. A foolish wish, considering the life he’d led, the blood he’d spilled, and the world he was tied to.

He slowed the stallion, the weight of bubbling anxiety and frustration pressing down on him. God, it was all a mess. Even if he could manage to stop thinking for a while, to quiet the storm in his head... when he'd return to the camp and see you again, just going about your business, sulking in some corner after an argument, or throwing those sharp, witty remarks, especially at Pearson as you cooked, that pull, that ache, would come rushing back.

Curiosity was the root of it all. He just wanted to know. Why? Why were you like this? Was it because of Molly, how she’d twisted your heart with her bitterness, making you turn your back on Dutch and the rest of the gang? Or did you simply not care at all about any of them?

He huffed at the thought of the stew you probably made, not out of love, but out of duty, or maybe a touch of malice. If it tasted so good, made with nothing but spite, he couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would be if you made it with love.

❀˖°

With a final pat to Clover’s neck, Arthur made his way back to camp, greeting the men as he passed. But there was something off, a silence hanging heavier than usual. He made his way toward Dutch, figuring he might have some thoughts on the score with Hosea.

"Dutch?"

The older man turned his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the lake.

"Arthur."

Before Arthur could speak, Dutch continued, his tone slow, almost contemplative. "You know we’re a family, right? That everything we do is for each other, not just for ourselves..."

"Of course, Dutch," Arthur replied, trying to understand where this was coming from.

Dutch chuckled softly, the sound more gravel than humor, before crushing the cigar underfoot with a casual motion. "Some people, immature people, just can't seem to understand that."

With that, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur standing there.

"Is... something the matter?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with curiosity and concern.

"Thing? No, someone is the matter." Dutch’s words were sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur gave him an impatient look, silently urging him to get to the point. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the evening. Not at all. He’d been hoping to retreat to his tent, to let his mind drift into thoughts of you, to finally sit and think about the gift he’d picked out for you, wondering if you'd even notice if you'd even like it. He could already picture himself, the soft scarf fabric between his fingers, tracing the rose pattern as his thoughts wandered, imagining what it would feel like to wrap it around your neck... his gift for you.

Dutch exhaled sharply, clearly agitated. "Hosea has let her get away with too much. You know what she did? When Hosea returned to drop off the share from your little endeavour, she-" He cut himself off with a frustrated growl. "She thought I wasn’t here. She came charging out, and started an argument, telling him he was doing the wrong thing--the wrong thing! Can you believe that?"

Dutch shook his head in disbelief. "She actually had the nerve to say that, Arthur. And that instead of doing this--helping us all--he should be out saving for them both and getting away from this life." He paused, his chest rising with each breath. "I swear, Arthur... turning one of my most trusted men, a friend, against me? Over some damn bills? But Hosea... being Hosea...what does he do? Runs out of camp to bring her back."

"So what did you suggest?!" Hosea’s voice cut through the tension as he entered the tent, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Let my daughter go out in the wild alone? At night? How could you do that, say 'get lost' just like that? Knowing she will take it seriously? She grew up right in front of you!"

Dutch’s face tightened at Hosea’s outburst, his anger simmering. "Oh, so it hurt her ego, huh?! Like I care. For me , nothing’s worse than a selfish, disloyal piece of trash that you just had to take in because-"

"Enough! No!" Hosea snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "Don’t you dare bring that up."

With a heavy sigh, Hosea turned on his heel, walking away from the confrontation, leaving Dutch to seethe in silence.

Dutch watched him go, muttering under his breath, "Take those damn dollars you bestowed on us, Hosea, and gift her a house, for all I care! Fine by my ass!"

Arthur’s mind was a tangled mess, unable to process the whirlwind of events. So much had happened, so many emotions he could hardly keep up. Confusion clouded his mind, frustration clawed at his chest, exhaustion weighed down on his bones, and fury burned in his gut. But none of it made sense. He couldn't even figure out who--or what--his anger was really directed at.

Was it you? Was it your reckless, thoughtless actions that set this all in motion? Or was it Dutch's words and how casually he was ready to kick a girl out, kick you out, just like that?

It was at both.

It was both, but more than anything, it was you. Because you’d started it, hadn’t you? You always had a problem with Dutch’s authority, even when you kept your sweet little mouth shut. It was in your eyes, those eyes. The eyes he could never get enough of, the ones he craved to meet his own. If only for a second. A second where the same longing, the same hunger for something more, reflected back at him.

But instead, there you were. Acting like everything was just... nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. You went out there, reckless, careless, as if you could just walk away from everything. From him. How fucking could you? What if it had gotten worse and someone just decided to harm you in the camp and even Hosea couldn't do anything-

"Arthur?"

"U-Um, yes?"

Dutch’s sharp gaze fixed on him, deliberate and piercing. He let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle, his expression unreadable. "What do you think? Hm?"

"About...what happened? I--it’s... yeah, she shouldn’t have said that," Arthur muttered, the words clumsy and heavy on his tongue.

Dutch hummed, a slow and pointed sound, as though weighing Arthur’s response and finding it just barely acceptable. Arthur didn’t wait for more. He muttered a farewell and slipped out of the tent, the cool air doing little to clear the haze in his mind.

His eyes found Hosea almost immediately. The old man was sitting on his bedroll, his posture stiff and guarded. His eyes screamed of hurt, Dutch's words had affected him deeply. After some seconds his eyes would flicker at your tent. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. Hosea’s protectiveness was undeniable.

Because no matter how much Hosea wanted to protect you, Arthur wanted something deeper, something more selfish.

What the hell am I even thinking? he chastised himself, shaking his head. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not mine.

He wanted to say something to Hosea, to offer comfort or at least commiseration, but his feet wouldn’t move. Instead, he turned away, retreating to his own tent with a heavy sigh. Once inside, he shut the flaps, placed his hat on the table, and dropped onto the cot with a grunt of annoyance.

Reaching for the scarf, Arthur held it above him, the dim light tracing over its soft, silken material. He let it graze his face, the faint scent of the shop lingering on it, but it was his mind that did the real work. He imagined the fabric tangled in your hair, how it would feel wrapped around you as he held you close. He could almost feel the tickle of those strands against his skin, his breath hot against the side of your neck.

The thought of having you here, in his arms, that close, his hands gripping you, pulling you to him, ignited something fierce inside him. It wasn’t just the touch. It was the idea that you could be his, fully, if only you’d let him. He clenched the scarf tighter, frustration and something darker simmering in his chest.

With that vision playing in his mind, he let the scarf fall, draping it across his face and chest, the weight of it somehow both comforting and unbearable.

Lying there in the dark, his lips brushed over the fabric absently, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was maddening, the way you consumed his thoughts without even trying. Even now, with frustration still simmering under his skin, all he wanted was to see you, to watch your expression, even if it meant enduring one of your scowls.

You little menace, I swear one of these days I might just lose my patience.

But you didn’t care, did you? You’d stormed out, reckless and fiery, with no thought of him or anyone, not even yourself. And here he was, lying alone, haunted by the feeling of silk and the ghost of a life he’d never have. With a frustrated grunt, Arthur shifted onto his side, clutching it closer, the tension in his body growing. He couldn't help but think if he had been here earlier, he would have tied you to him, not out of malice, but out of desperate, aching need. The kind of need that he couldn’t push down, no matter how much he tried. The kind that made him crave something from you that you didn’t even know you had to give. Something more. Something that would finally make you stay.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily.

He wanted you to feel it, to bear the same punishment he carried every night. To know what it was like to lie awake, tormented by the thought of someone you couldn’t have, unable to chase the fleeting peace of sleep because they haunted you in ways you couldn’t name. He wanted you to understand how it felt to be unraveled by longing, to have your very being tethered to someone who wouldn’t even look your way.

But then...what was he even saying?

Why did he keep forgetting the truth? That you didn’t deserve his anger, his silent pleas for recognition. That the fault wasn’t yours for not seeing him, no, it was his for daring to want you in the first place. Of course, you wouldn’t ever look at him that way. He was older, too far removed from your world, your interests, your life. And he knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t ever imagine, not in a thousand years, that someone like him could ever be interested in you. Even he could admit it, this was all stupid, unexpected, and nothing more than a fantasy.

And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. The heart never makes sense, does it? It doesn’t listen to reason or its owner, dragging you where it pleases, no matter the cost. Even he, a man who prided himself on control, had been reduced to a mere servant of its whims.

His fingers curled around the scarf as if it could somehow hold the pieces of him together. As if its softness could soothe the fire that burned inside him, one that you had lit and would never know.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, staring at the worn canvas of the tent above. You weren’t leaving this tent. Not now. Not later. Not for anyone. They could all be damned for all you cared, it had all been damned ever since your mother died.

She was your anchor, the one thing tethering you to any sense of stability. And the moment she was gone, the world had cracked open, spilling truths you’d long suspected but never wanted confirmed. You weren’t really theirs. You weren’t their daughter.

Hosea refused to tell you why or how you ended up here, tucked into the folds of their chaos. But the truth was, you didn’t care anymore. You were tired. Tired of the games, the blind loyalty to Dutch’s every whim, the endless cycle of running and stealing and pretending any of it had meaning.

All you wanted was a normal life, a roof over your head that didn’t leak when it rained, a place where fear didn’t cling to the walls like smoke. But that dream stayed out of reach, just like everything else. Hosea wouldn’t let you go. He was scared to lose you, to lose something that was never even his.

Pathetic.

That’s what it was. That’s what they all were. And maybe Molly was right, Dutch’s charm was nothing but poison, bleeding into everything and everyone

"Bastard..."

You wanted a job, something stable to call your own. Or, if that wasn’t in the cards, maybe just to find some rich fool to marry so you could finally live in peace. Far from all this chaos. But no, these people couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to loot every rich soul they came across.

Leave someone for me to marry at least, you scoffed bitterly, lips curling in a faint, humourless smile.

Sigh.

Dream on, (Y/N). Dream on.

Hosea’s familiar voice drifted in from nearby, low and steady as he spoke with Abigail. No doubt she was serving him food since you hadn’t bothered to. The sound grated on you, making you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of your bedroll. It wouldn’t be long, two days, maximum, before Hosea came to lecture you, or worse, dragged you out of this tent himself.

He was always so damn strict when it came to pulling your weight.

But right now?

Screw it. Screw him. Screw all of them.

Let them fend for themselves.

❀˖°

"Why do you do all this?"

Not did that. Do this.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost fragile, but there was a weight to it. A question layered with meanings he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. He just hoped you’d hear it, the real question, underneath the words. His gaze stayed fixed on the worn soles of your shoes, watching as you scrubbed at the dishes with an edge of restrained aggression that didn’t go unnoticed.

The sight would be funny to anyone in the camp right now. He was reduced to barely speaking above a whisper when it came to you, his usual steady tone faltering in a way it never did with anyone else. Whilst you were the only one who wasn't afraid of even him. While others tiptoed around him, wary of the weight his presence carried, you treated him with the same indifference, the same biting sharpness that you spared for everyone else.

Dammit, he fucking loved it.

It wasn’t fear he wanted from you, not respect or even obedience. It was something, anything, that showed he wasn’t just another face in the camp to you. It made him feel like that was all he was. Just another man under Dutch rule.

And it was maddening.

"I could ask the same question to everyone here," you replied, voice steady but sharp, like a blade dulled just enough to wound without cutting too deep.

"But you know the answer," he countered, quieter now, his words almost swallowed by the night air.

"And you do too," you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder, "but here you are. Playing the mediator of sorts."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to the ground as if the weight of your words had struck him in the chest. For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with this place, with these people, you had an uncanny way of stirring up trouble within it.

Perhaps you wanted that. You wanted to get kicked out.

He wanted to throw the thought out into the open, let it snap between you like a taut rope. But the bitterness in your tone, the heaviness in your stance, made him hesitate. Throwing oil on the fire wasn’t going to do either of you any good, not today.

"You’re wasting your breath on someone who isn't listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then I’ll just keep talkin’ until you do," he shot back, his voice low but resolute.

"Do whatever, I don't care. This place is full of people barking orders and trying to be big. Pft. How adorable."

At least spare me a glance. Just one.

"If you don't care about yourself, then at least do it for Hosea." His voice was strained, laced with a desperation he couldn't quite hide.

That made you turn, finally, but the look you gave him was anything but kind. Your gaze was sharp, cutting, laced with a mix of disdain and challenge. "Oh, so now you're worried about me being a bad daughter or something?" you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder if you all think the same way when you're out there making other daughters cry, making women widows and destroying families without a second thought."

This was the longest conversation you both had. Ever. And damn it was a wrecked one.

Your lips curled into a humorless smile as you snorted, mocking. "Tsk, I bet that's an exception, right? Family only exists here." You pitched your voice to mimic Dutch's smooth drawl, the mockery biting. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, you turned back to the washing, your hands moving with renewed fervor, the sound of water splashing filling the silence.

Arthur stood there, jaw tight, the weight of your words sinking into him like stones in a river.

He stood rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the truth in your words that had him stunned.

Before Arthur could find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, Hosea stepped into the fray, his tone calm yet firm. “(Y/N)...dear, today or tomorrow, you’ve got to apologize to Dutch and bury this hatchet.”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His heart thumped unevenly as he anticipated your response.

You turned to Hosea sharply, your expression a volatile mix of shock and simmering fury. “You want me to apologize to him?! For what?” Your voice rose, cutting through the camp’s quiet. “Just for talking to you about something I’ve wanted to for so damn long?!”

Arthur’s head snapped back in your direction. He could see the fire in your eyes now, blazing and relentless, and it struck something in him. That fire, he both loved and hated it, craved it and feared it. It was the very thing that made you impossible to ignore, yet it was also what pushed you farther from him. And still, he couldn’t help but think how maddeningly beautiful you looked right now, even if it tore him apart to watch you lock yourself away further from everyone, including him.

Hosea sighed, his calm facade slipping just slightly. “It’s not about what was said, it’s about how it was said. Dutch... he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. We all are.”

Your laugh was hollow, bitter. “Trying? Trying to keep us all in line like dogs? Sure, that sounds like a real noble effort.” You crossed your arms, your gaze icy as it met Hosea’s. “If you want to grovel to Dutch, go ahead. But don’t drag me into it.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against his holster as if searching for something to ground himself. He knew that your words were not only directed at Hosea but him too.

“You’ve got too much pride,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

“And you’ve got too much blind loyalty,” you shot back, unrelenting.

Hosea held your gaze, his own softening but remaining firm. "Look, let me say this again, this isn’t about the words you said, it’s about the way you said them. You can stand by your beliefs without tearing everyone else down in the process, sweetheart."

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. "So what? Dutch can tear everyone down, but when someone calls him out, it’s suddenly a problem?! That’s rich."

"It doesn't matter!" Hosea’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, lowering it to a pleading tone. "And quiet down, don’t create a scene, again. Have mercy on your old man, at least. For now, we’re in the camp, and as long as we are, Dutch shouldn’t be disrespected like that. You can be as angry as you want with me, but please, just apologize to him. He’s always been like an uncle to you... (Y/N)."

You let out a bitter scoff, your lips curling in defiance. "And he's the one who clearly doesn't want me here but--fine...fine Papa," your hands slammed the plate down in the basin. "I’ll do whatever you say. Because, apparently, my words are nothing but bullets of disloyalty now. The same words that were once adorable wishes to you."

Your words hit like a lash, leaving Hosea standing frozen as you stormed off toward your tent. Arthur watched the older man, his chest tightening when he saw the same hurt settle in Hosea’s eyes, the kind of pain that only festers in the heart of someone who loves deeply and feels powerless.

"I wish..." Hosea began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of emotions he rarely let show. "I wish I never told her the truth... that she’s not my child. Maybe it messed her up... It broke me more than it broke her."

Arthur stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt as he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. Hosea turned his head slightly, and Arthur's heart clenched when he saw the glint of tears streaking down the older man’s face. It was the second time Arthur had witnessed Hosea cry, the first being after Bessie's death.

"It... it terrified me," Hosea whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I kept thinkin' last night, what if one day I'm not here, and Dutch just turns on her like that? Sure, the women might object, but that’s it. They’re powerless against him. No one would stand up for her... and she'd be all alone..." He sniffed, wiping his eyes, trying to regain control. "And that’s what broke me, Arthur."

It broke me too...

Arthur stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "Jus' don't think about all that happened. Forget it and don't worry Dutch will forget about it. He won’t hold onto it, not like that. And she... she’ll forget too. You’ll see."

Hosea let out a dry chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his weathered cheek. "She? I don’t think so. Not about this. When it comes to this topic, she won’t let it go." He paused, leaning heavily against the wooden counter, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of years pressed harder in that moment. "I want it too, Arthur. The house, the quiet life… I want to give her that. But it’s not easy. It’s not."

He gestured vaguely toward the camp, the flickering lantern light catching in his tired eyes. "Leaving all this behind, all of you, it’d feel like... like a betrayal. Even if I left on a good note, it wouldn’t sit right. Do you get what I mean?"

Arthur nodded, his posture relaxing now that you weren’t there to sharpen the tension in the air. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we all... kind of want that." His words trailed off, his thoughts unraveling into something more personal. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I do. I want it... with you. Maybe. No...

Only.

Hosea turned his head to study him, an unspoken question hanging in the silence. Arthur caught the look and quickly shrugged it off, letting out a small exhale as if to clear the thought entirely. "Jus’ don’t let Dutch know," he muttered with a faint smirk. Hosea returned the gesture. " 'Course not. Let's go have some coffee, boy." He reached to pat the man's shoulder but Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Hosea’s with a suddenness that made the older man freeze. His eyes, wide and questioning, met Arthur’s with a flicker of concern, but also an understanding that something serious was coming.

"Um--there’s... something that I want to..." Arthur’s voice faltered as he cleared his throat. His gaze darted to the ground, to the side, anywhere but Hosea’s eyes. The same sheepish, uncertain look Hosea had seen a hundred times, but now it felt different.

Hosea arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Well, go on then. What did you do?"

Arthur’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled with nerves and fear. What the hell am I doing? His heart raced as his hand shook slightly. What the hell am I about to do?

His breath caught as he reached into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric of the chest pocket where he’d hidden it. It was a decision that had plagued him for days, one that felt impossible to avoid now.

He pulled out the scarf--silken, covered in his scent, soft to the touch, but now burning in his hand like a symbol of everything he couldn’t say.

 For her.

It’s for her.

"I- I bought this..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them too real, too vulnerable.

Hosea’s face was unreadable at first, but then he saw the scarf, and a brief chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I thought it was clear I’m a man, Arthur."

The joke hit Arthur like a slap, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. God, this was harder than he’d imagined. His throat went dry, his fingers tightening around the scarf as if it could somehow anchor him, give him the courage to keep going. But he was drowning in hesitation.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his entire body trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. The thought of Hosea’s reaction, the uncertainty of what might follow this moment, made him question if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Would Hosea kill him? Would he laugh at him? Or worse, would he pity him?

Hosea’s eyes bore into him, patient, yet expectant. "Well, boy?"

Arthur’s mouth went dry, but he forced the words out. "It’s for... (Y/N)."

For a moment, there was a stillness, and then to his shock, Hosea’s expression softened, eyes widening, almost in a kind of jubilant surprise. The older man’s lips curled into a smile, the warmth of it almost disarming.

Hosea took the scarf from Arthur, his hands gentle as he examined the gift. A sense of something unspoken passed between them, something Arthur couldn’t quite name, but it was there in the way Hosea’s gaze softened. "Really?"

Arthur barely had the strength to nod, his eyes avoiding Hosea’s, his face burning with embarrassment and a kind of fear he couldn’t even process. Was this really happening? He was spilling it to him, of all people, your father.

He nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah..."

Hosea’s hand reached out to pat Arthur’s arm in an almost fatherly gesture, the older man’s voice low and steady. "Well then... I’ll be sure to give it to her." He smiled, a knowing warmth in his eyes that made Arthur’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "Thank you. Y’know... you’re the only one I trust after me."

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in like the heaviest of weights. It felt like he’d won a game, but one he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Arthur’s throat tightened at the thought, his breath catching. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d attached to the simple scarf until now. It was just a piece of fabric, yet the meaning behind it had become so much more than he’d ever expected.

"Just... tell her to, you know... don’t burn it at least," he muttered, his chuckle awkward and thin, as if trying to deflect the intensity of his own feelings. But the words weren’t a joke. They were the truth, and they hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The image burned in his mind, you, angry, perhaps unaware, throwing it into the campfire or tearing it apart with a pair of scissors. The thought was almost unbearable, each possibility worse than the last. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides showed just how deep the fear ran.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If you did something like that, if you so much as damaged it, he... he didn’t know what he’d do. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Would he lash out? Would he burn the whole camp down if it meant getting you back, getting that thing back, untainted by your disregard? The intensity of his protectiveness shocked him, made his pulse quicken.

He forced himself to exhale, slow and controlled, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Tell her," he repeated softly, though his voice cracked with something that felt more desperate than he'd intended.

"I will, I will. Don't you worry."

❀˖°

You nearly sewed your own finger, but kept going, the needle trembling slightly in your hand as you tried to focus. Jack sure knew how to break his damn button every week. But you never minded of course. That adorable little kid is like your brother. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt calm enough to sit still and stitch something--anything--together without your mind wandering.

"I’m proud of you, y'know. You apologized. Thank you." Hosea’s voice broke through the silence, warm but layered with something else, something like relief, as he sipped his coffee. His words sank into the quiet of the tent, the flickering lamplight casting soft shadows over his face.

"Of course you are."

His response was a low chuckle, tinged with affection. He knew you loved him and valued his advice,. His mind played the memories of the times when you always waited worriedly whenever he went on jobs and made sure he was looked after in the camp. He couldn't be proud to have you as his daughter even if both of you clashed at moments like these.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Even if you’d done it for Hosea, for your own reasons, you couldn't shake the irritation that still lingered beneath your skin. But he was happy, and that was enough for him. His approval always mattered to you, more than you’d ever admit.

The silence stretched out between you as you continued to sew, the rhythmic motion almost comforting. But Hosea’s gaze shifted, the way it always did when something was on his mind. He glanced at the closed flap of the tent, his attention drawn to the world outside. Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Here," Hosea said, holding the item out to you, his expression tight, as if he wasn't entirely sure how you would take it. You eyed the scarf suspiciously before taking it, your fingers brushing against the fabric, your thoughts clouded.

"Wow, thanks...it's so pretty," you muttered, still trying to piece together what was happening. Though genuinely happy to receive a beautiful gift.

Hosea shifted on his feet, averting his gaze, as if the words were stuck in his throat. After a long pause, you saw the truth flicker in his eyes.

"It's...from Arthur."

"Wha---huh? Why?" you asked, the suspicion in your tone now more palpable than ever.

Hosea looked away again, the embarrassment and discomfort evident in his posture, but the message was clear. You felt the shift in the air, a kind of pressure that built between you both.

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn't stop the words that spilled from your lips. "Wha- excuse me??! Did you... did you just sell me or something?!"

The words landed, and Hosea's head snapped back, his face darkening, his jaw tight with frustration.

"What even---Are you out of your mind?" he shot back, his voice low, heated now. "Listen to me. I am not going to be here for you forever, and I worry for you, even if you think I don't! And him, he’s the only one I would trust to-"

"What are you on about?!" you cut him off, your voice rising with anger. "Am I some child that needs to be babysat?! I won’t stay here forever, either, Papa! Hell, I won't! And you’re here finding ways to bind me here?!" You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the frustration turning into something you couldn’t hold in any longer. "I understand everything! Don’t think I’m a fool!"

You couldn’t stop yourself. With a burst of pent-up fury, you threw the scarf on the floor, your hands shaking with the force of your frustration. "Handing me to some old lap dog, you’re out of your mind! I can't believe it, have some shame!."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you both, as Hosea stood there, his hand still frozen in the air where he'd offered you the scarf, his eyes full of something raw, hurt, frustration, confusion. Hosea opened his mouth, but no words came. His gaze softened, his lips parted as if he were trying to find something to say. But the words you had just spoken hung heavy in the air, too loud and too real to take back now.

"You think I want this for you?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with frustration. "I just want you safe, damn it. Safe."

"If you want that, then find someone else, someone normal. A proper suitor, maybe? A decent citizen? Like Mama would have wanted!"

"And you think a 'normal citizen,' or the rich kind you dream of marrying, won’t ask about our background? Won’t dig into our truth? You want something built on lies, instead of what’s real? The most honest person you could have is right here, willing to do anything for you. I raised that boy, and I damn well know he will never disappoint me."

You rolled your eyes, fed up with another one of his lectures. "Yeah, because after spending half my life with outlaws, I've definitely lost the chance to be with anyone 'normal,' haven’t I? Then I'd rather die alone! Every man here is raised by you in some way but that doesn't mean that I have to trust them let alone be with THEM! You are being delusional! Whatever--just give it back, for God's sake," you snapped, your voice thick with frustration as you turned away, trying to put distance between yourself and the scarf as if it could somehow erase the conversation.

Hosea didn't move to leave. He just stood there. After a long pause, he shook his head gently, as if reconciling himself with something painful. "No, no I won't. Gifts are not meant to be... given back."

He picked the scarf up, his hands cradling it carefully as if it were something fragile, and for a moment, you could see him lost in thought, his eyes distant, remembering something else.

"I remember... the first time I held you in my arms," he murmured, his voice softer now, the anger and frustration fading into something more vulnerable. "You were my gift, too. You still are."

Your heart stuttered for a moment, the memory of being held like that, cradled in his arms when you were small, a time before all the complexities of your relationship had gotten so tangled. The warmth of his embrace felt distant now, like a fading echo.

Or it's just his way of manipulation.

"Papa, please, why are you even siding with him-"

"Enough, because I know better and I know you better," he interrupted, his voice firm this time, though it cracked slightly with emotion. "Just keep it." His words hung in the air, and he turned to leave the tent but paused just before he stepped outside.

He looked back, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something deep, filled with regret, but also resolve. "If I couldn't, or am unable to give you the life you want," he said softly, each word deliberate, "my heart says he will."

You shook your head, your voice bitter as it escaped you. "Oh please, wait till you see when he kicks me out one day on your beloved Dutch's orders."

Hosea didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his expression a mixture of sorrow and a kind of quiet resignation, before he finally turned and walked out of the tent.

He would never be able to make you understand that Arthur would be the last person to do that.

❀˖°

The days that followed felt heavier, like a fog had settled around you. Arthur's presence, once easily ignored, now seemed to infiltrate every corner of your space. He started lingering around more often, always appearing at the most inconvenient times when you and Hosea were sharing a quiet meal or having (tea/coffee). At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, maybe just a shared moment of camaraderie, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made you.

Arthur wasn’t doing anything overtly wrong, of course. He sat quietly, politely joining the conversation when spoken to, sipping coffee, offering a nod here and there.

It bothered you. You loathed it.

Is this some sort of indirect courting? Were you imagining things, or was this his way of trying to ingratiate himself with you? Was he trying to get Hosea's approval? To intimidate you? Or, perhaps, was it something more direct? Was he trying to... what, win you over? Hosea, for all his kindness and wisdom, didn’t mind Arthur’s company, even encouraged it.

The words Hosea had said echoed in your mind, lingering like smoke. "If I couldn’t, or am unable to give you the life you want, my heart says he will."

You scoffed internally, trying to push it away, but the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. Was that really true? Hosea seemed to believe it, but you weren’t so sure. Arthur? The golden boy of Dutch’s gang? Or was Hosea just trying to soften the blow, making it sound like there was hope when in reality there was none?

You rolled your eyes, staring out into the distance. Why would he go after you? Out of all the people in the camp, why you?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Still, a small part of you wondered... Should you ask him?

But what if you were wrong? What if Hosea was just speaking out of some misplaced hope? You didn’t know. And that uncertainty, it made you uncomfortable. Because you weren’t one to be uncertain. You didn't like it.

He just wants someone young to play with now that he's lonely.

Arthur stared at the journal in his lap, the unfinished sketch of eyes glaring up at him, imperfect and frustrating. He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his pencil hovering over the page, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. The eyes, those eyes, kept staring back at him, their gaze too empty, too raw. The frown on his face deepened as he bit his lip, his mind spiraling in frustration.

But that frown, that damn cute frown, it wouldn't fade. It never did. The curve of your lips when you were irritated or deep in thought, the way your brows furrowed as you focused on something else... It was almost intoxicating how endearing it was. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it, and worse, he couldn’t stop wanting to be the one to make that frown disappear.

If only you'd look at him once with a smile, he thought bitterly, the words tasting both sweet and impossible.

Because deep down, Arthur knew, he'd do anything. He’d break the sky and bring the world to your feet if you ever gave him that smile. 

He longed for that.

But no, that’s just a dream, Arthur thought with a resigned sigh, closing his journal and resting his hands on his knees. You wouldn’t even notice me that way. I'm just some damn fool in Dutch’s gang.

❀˖°

It was another evening, quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the campfire. You were chopping vegetables at the makeshift table, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wood filling the air. Hosea sat a few feet away on an overturned crate, sipping his coffee with a watchful but calm expression.

Arthur appeared at the edge of the clearing, his hat tilted low and his hands shoved into his pockets. You barely glanced at him, focused on your task, but the tension in his gait was impossible to ignore. Hosea caught it too, his brow raising ever so slightly as Arthur cleared his throat.

“Evenin’,” Arthur mumbled, his voice unusually hesitant.

Hosea nodded in acknowledgment, setting his cup down. “Evening, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced at you, then back at Hosea. His jaw worked for a moment, as though wrestling with what

And then you heard the words. Full of hesitation.

“I was wonderin’... if I could take her out. Just, ya know, get her outta this camp for a bit. I figure... she could use some air.” His words hung in the air, but his eyes seemed distant, almost like he was hoping for a miracle.

You stiffened immediately, your brows furrowing in disbelief. You hadn’t been in the mood for any of this, and you weren’t sure how you felt about Arthur’s proposal. "I am absolutely fine staying here, got it?"

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at your hunched frame, your defiance practically radiating off you. His voice softened, though there was a trace of frustration. “You’re not fine. Not always, and not here.”

You turned sharply, glaring at him with a fire that made his breath hitch for a moment. “What do you know about what I need, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and decide things for me? I said I am not going so I am not!”

Arthur took a step back, but not because he was intimidated. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Ain’t about me decidin’ nothin’. You don’t even gotta like me. But you deserve better than to keep hiding in this damn camp, snappin' at everyone tryin' to care for you.”

 "You’ve got some nerve asking me that. I don't need anyone taking me anywhere. Just 'cause you brought me a damn scarf doesn’t mean I owe you a thing."

Arthur seemed to bristle at your sharp reaction, but Hosea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the both of you with a quiet smile. He wasn’t offended, he understood.

Your glare didn’t falter, but Hosea cleared his throat before you could respond. “He’s got a point, you know.” His tone was calm, measured. “A little ride won’t kill you.”

You crossed your arms. “I said no Papa and that means, NO."

Arthur stepped closer again, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I ain't Dutch. I ain’t gonna force ya into anything. But sometimes, you gotta trust someone’s tryin’ to help, even if it don’t make sense at first.. Just...give me a chance...please.”

Before you could reply, the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s boots approached. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dutch drawled, stepping into the space with a deliberate slowness that made everyone tense. He looked from Arthur to you, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Arthur, you’re not causin’ any trouble now, are you?”

Arthur’s shoulders squared. “Just talkin’. Nothin’ more.”

Dutch’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile growing sharper. “Talkin’, huh? Always knew you had a soft spot, Arthur. You got that puppy-dog look about you. But...you sure you’re barkin’ up the right tree here?”

The air went cold, and you froze, your grip tightening on the knife in your hand. Dutch’s words stung, a mixture of insult and insinuation that made your face burn with anger and shame.

“Dutch,” Hosea interjected, standing up from his crate, his tone calm but firm. “C'mon...don't say that."

Dutch laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to it. Just a little friendly advice, Arthur. Watch where you step. You wouldn’t want to trip.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, his laughter echoing behind him. Hosea shot Arthur a brief look before following after Dutch, likely to smooth things over or ensure the situation didn’t escalate further.

Arthur lingered awkwardly near the table. His fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, his eyes darting between you and the ground as though he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. He hesitated, his hand lifting slightly as if to reach out to you, his face a mix of guilt and frustration. “Look, I-”

You sighed, stabbing the knife into the cutting board and crossing your arms. "What? Just go away."

Arthur flinched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he muttered, his voice low and almost apologetic. “Just...ignore what he said.”

"But what he said was right."

"No, it wasn't." He looked up then, the defensiveness clear as day in his eyes. “It ain’t like that,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Dutch--he just likes to run his mouth. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Doesn’t it?” you challenged, your tone sharp. “You didn’t exactly deny it back there.”

Arthur hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make your life harder. I thought maybe... I don’t know. Thought you’d wanna get out for a bit. Thought it might help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You gestured around you, exasperated.

“I just… I thought it’d be nice. Thought maybe you’d... enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Arthur, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here. Why you’re trying so hard.”

His jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “Maybe I am tryin’,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. “Don’t know why you think that’s a crime.”

“I didn’t ask for any of it,” you said, your tone quieter now, less biting. “I didn’t ask for you to care.”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound that barely reached his lips. “Yeah. I know. But it ain’t somethin’ I can help. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re making it more complicated, you know.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be here makin’ things complicated than not be here at all.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, suffocating and undeniable. You didn’t know what to do with it, with him, with any of this. So you did what you always did, you deflected.

“I’ve got work to do,” you said, pushing off the crate and brushing past him towards the wagon. As you walked past him, your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and low enough that he almost missed it.

"Why don’t you take all this energy and use it on something worthwhile? Perhaps finding the right tree." You chuckled tauntingly as you went inside the wagon.

He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t say anything else, not wanting to draw too much attention to the scene. With a heavy sigh, he decided to go for a ride.

❀˖°

When he returned later that night, most of the camp was either finishing up their dinner, indulging in late-night games, or sitting quietly by the fire.

He didn’t sense your presence anywhere, and he figured you were probably in your tent, finally savoring some solitude after a long day of work and being surrounded by the others. But he also knew that Dutch’s words from earlier weren’t easy to shake off, especially for you. Your blood was likely still boiling. Worse, you must be hurt too.

Taking advantage of everyone being preoccupied, his steps naturally gravitated toward your tent, your sanctuary. A place he had only ever dared to dream of being close to. What was it like inside? He often wondered. Would the air inside smell faintly of you? Would he ever be someone who belonged in your space? He imagined a future where he could step into it freely, with no hesitation, no uncertainty. A time when he wouldn’t even need to knock when he could enter with a smile on his face and a gift in his hand, your relationship so natural and warm that it felt like home.

But maybe that was the point. You didn’t need anyone in that space, and a part of him liked that. Liked that you existed here, hidden away, out of reach of the world’s harsh gaze. It wasn’t fair or right, but it soothed something deep and primal in him. If he had his way, the world would never touch you. You’d stay tucked away where only he could find you as if this tent was built for the two of you alone. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see you in his world, in his tent, on his bed, wrapped up in everything that was his.

Hidden away, yes, but hidden with him.

He cleared his throat, his eyes too shy to even glance fully inside, though the tent flap hung half-open.

"Who is it now?"

"Me... I--uh...can I?"

A soft, irritated sound followed, then your voice gave reluctant confirmation. “Leave the flap wide open.”

He obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, the cool night air spilling in. Then he stood there like a fool, frozen for several seconds as his eyes found you sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg bouncing with impatience. Enchanting nonetheless.

“Well? What now?”

The sharpness of your tone jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, he still couldn’t believe you’d allowed him inside. Maybe you were too tired to step out yourself, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful anyway.

Taking a cautious step closer, his gaze drifted and landed on the scarf in the corner, dangling from the back of a chair.

At least you kept it.

You kept it.

That was enough for him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knee in front of you, his height aligning perfectly with yours now. The act wasn’t one of submission but of devotion, a silent acknowledgment that your hatred, cold and unyielding, loomed larger than the fire of his love. And yet, he stayed there, resolute.

If he had to kneel to earn even a fragment of your gaze, he would. If being this close meant bearing the weight of your disdain, so be it. Because in this moment, it wasn’t his pride that mattered, it was you.

Your first instinct was shock. His sudden closeness threw you off, but as the silence stretched and his hesitation became almost unbearable, you decided to speak, cutting through the tension.

“I think you’re only acting like this because Dutch reckons it’s the best way to keep me in line. So that you can scare me or something. Y’know, keep me stuck in this camp so Pa’s happy, Dutch is happy, and my life here is just that much more miserable.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed immediately, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute. “It ain’t like that. It ain’t even close to that.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he searched for the right words. “Do I look like someone who’d think that way? Or...who’d go along with somethin’ like that? Do you really think Hosea would do that to you? Think about you like that?” His voice softened at the edges, but there was an undeniable conviction in it.

“You ain’t some animal we gotta control, alright?” He shook his head, as if shaking off the very thought of it. “You’re...more than that. Always have been."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know...there’s a whole lotta differences between us. But...I can’t help myself, y’know? I’ve tried. Lord knows I’ve tried.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath.

Damn, I forgot half of what I wanted to say.

You tilted your head, watching him struggle, your patience wearing thin.

He took a deep breath and pressed on, his voice quieter but no less earnest. “I don’t deserve this, I know that. Hell, you don’t deserve this, either. But one thing I can promise you, right here, right now...I’ll make this better. I’ll try every damn day to make your life here bearable, to give you somethin’ better. Until...”

He stopped himself, biting back the words he wasn’t sure you were ready to hear. “Until I can give you somethin’ far better than all this.”

He paused, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again. “And no one, not a damn soul, will have the guts to disrespect you here. Not while I’m around.”

You raised a brow, skepticism clear in your voice. “Not even Dutch?”

Arthur swallowed hard, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah....not even him.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hands, his touch rough but grounding. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of trust, of understanding, of...hope.

"But why though? All of a sudden? And me?"

"I...wish I knew. But I am helpless right now. Helpless against these questions and these...feelings."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading, but your words cut through him like a knife.

“If this is all true, then...why didn’t your lover, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mary, who even loved you, stick around?”

Arthur flinched as if you’d struck him. His heart trembled at the weight of your words, your tone unclear, was it innocent? Genuine? Or just plain cruel?

"That...that was different."

Your gaze didn’t waver, and your tongue stayed edged. “Okay but if she didn’t trust you enough to stay, then why should I? We’re not even-”

He moved before you could finish, his jaw tightening as he stood. With a single step, he reached for the scarf draped over the chair. Silent and deliberate, he placed it on the bed beside you, his every motion measured.

You watched him, confused and uncertain, as he pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket. He smoothed them flat and placed them in the middle of the scarf. His hands moved deftly, folding the fabric around the money with a care that felt almost reverent.

Finally, he turned to you, kneeling once more. His rough, calloused hands gently wrapped around yours, closing your fingers firmly over the bundle. His touch was warm, grounding, yet carried the weight of something far greater.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This...this is the only proof I can give you. I’ll keep fillin’ it, day by day, until we’ve got enough to leave. And you’ll keep it safe. You’ll keep it with you. It's yours. Only yours."

And I am too.

"I know...that the money is not gonna come from honest ways which you hate of course, but...there's no other way it can be done...but it will be done, alright?"

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The proximity made your heart thrum unevenly, though you’d never admit it.

You stared at the scarf in your hands, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, to meet his eyes. A dozen questions churned in your mind, your heart caught between disbelief and something else you couldn’t name.

Why was he doing this? Why for you? Damn, you never pegged him for such a fool.

It was as if he could sense the weight of your weariness. His voice softened, low and earnest.

“I just want you to greet me every time I come back…and every time I go. With that smile of yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the vulnerability of his words was too much. “That’s all I ask of you...that’s all this idiot asks of you.”

And to have you in my arms every night.

The thought came unbidden, a longing too deep and too dangerous to voice aloud. No, he couldn’t say that, not yet. It was too much to ask.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, your lips parting slightly as if to respond. “Um...I don't--” You cleared your throat, but the words still wouldn’t come.

When you finally looked up, he saw it, emotions swirling in your eyes, unguarded for once. Fear, confusion, a flicker of nervousness. But there was something else, something softer, buried beneath it all. His heart, racing only moments ago, steadied as if your gaze alone could calm him.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, closing the space between you. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, one that lingered longer than it should have.

You flinched a little but didn't pull away, and that, to him, was enough. A sign of acceptance, no matter how small.

The scent of your hair, the warmth of your presence, it was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt hope unfurling in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours once more. He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to break the fragile moment, and instead rose to his feet. His shadow stretched across the tent as he turned toward the flap, his steps deliberate and slow.

And just before he stepped out into the night, he glanced over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

Tonight, he might finally be able to sleep.

Arthur lay down on his cot, an idiotic smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the hat resting on the table. It wasn’t just a hat, it was your approval, your silent acknowledgment, your acceptance. For the first time in a long while, he felt...hopeful.

And now, he thought, he’d finally be able to wear it.

❀˖°

The outlaw's gaze drifted to the sketches, one was complete, your softer expression, that innocent curiosity you had when your guard wasn’t up. The other remained unfinished, a portrait of your infamous frown. Not that he hated it, hell, that frown had a charm of its own, sharp and stubborn. But something about leaving it incomplete felt right. He decided it would remain that way. He didn’t want to immortalise that side of you, not in his art or heart.

Arthur reached for the softer sketch, running a thumb over the lines as if touching the paper could bring you closer to him. He studied it, his heart aching with an almost unbearable tenderness.

No, you deserved better. You deserved to keep smiling. And if it took him a lifetime to make that happen, so be it.

Hosea watched from a distance, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Arthur hugged your stiff form, bidding you farewell. He observed the way Arthur's demeanour had softened, the usual rough edges of the man becoming more relaxed in your presence. The smile and the way he tipped his hat to you before mounting the horse were enough to confirm the change that had occurred in him.

Arthur's gaze briefly flicked over to where Hosea stood, his eyes meeting the older man’s. With a small, almost sheepish nod of acknowledgment, Arthur gave a quick tip of his head. It was subtle, but Hosea had known him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, the lightness in his eyes.

The mentor's smile deepened, though there was a softness to it that spoke of more than just amusement. It was the kind of smile a father would give when he saw something unexpected in a child, something tender, something hopeful.

It was good to see Arthur's content again. What truly surprised him, though, was that it was his daughter who had made it possible after all this time. The last person he imagined to ever do that and that made him chuckle quietly.

A match made in heaven indeed...

(AN: •⩊• u better interact for high honour++)

[t3ddyd0ll]

short n sweet Yandere!Kidnapper hcs <3

you've been acting too afraid lately, and he needed to help you calm down

so, he's got you medicated all day and all night. just for now.

every four or so hours he's shoving pudding or applesauce or juice in your mouth, all laced with whatever medication he decides you need at that time

and whatever he's giving you, it's working

you feel like sludge. it's hard to move, hard to breathe sometimes. hard to think. but you're just so calm, so peaceful

and since you're not fighting back or pleading not to be touched...

for an hour he's got your head in his lap, petting and playing with your hair, staring down at your precious face

the next he's helping you bathe, and massaging your hands after he lays you down in bed

he's got you falling in and out of sleep while he runs his thumb across your cheek, whispering to you how sweet you are, how pretty you are, how safe you are, how wonderful you are

he's got you waking up to soft kisses and sweet medicine stirred into the syrup of your pancakes

he's got you <3

[irisinluv]

“I’ll be ok, really!”

“You have strep, and are home alone.”

“Yes, and I’m doing an excellent job taking care of myself! I took myself to urgent care, got my meds, some jello and pudding, and I’ve got a page in my notes app for recording when I take my meds.”

“I’m on my way.”

“What!? You live three states away- I’m fine, really!”

“Just because you CAN take care of yourself doesn’t mean you SHOULD take care of yourself. I know you’re plenty capable, but you’re also sick, baby. I’ll be there in about 8 hours.”

“This is ridiculous. You don’t have to drive all the way up here- anyways, I don’t want you to also get strep!”

“I’ll wear a mask and my immune system is stronger than yours. Call me when you take your next dose of meds and make that notes page collaborative and then share it with me”

“Babe seriously…. You have work.”

“I can work remotely. I’ll sit at the desk in your room- that way I can watch you. Don’t think you’re getting out of this. I’m already in the car. Now, go take a nap, take your meds, take another nap, and then I’ll be there.”

“You’re impossible!!! ………..…. Can you at least bring me a sweatshirt if you’re coming to visit?”

“Already packed 2 and an extra bottle of my cologne in case the smell wears off.”

“ Ok…. Fine….. I love you.”

“Love you too baby. Get some rest. I’ll see you soon”

[hana-no-seiiki]

i read about this before in a quotev book and it was such an interesting concept but the author didn’t continue it. i’ll link their profile here in the future but for now have this.

YANDERE! FAN who has listened to all of your works as a YANDERE ASMRTIST (note: you being a yandere yourself can be a detail left up to interpretation)

They have detailed notes on each one. Basically that pepe silvia meme but for all your works.

They didn’t even mean to, but it eventually led to them finding out about your works before asmr and whatnot. And eventually, they found your account for irl activities.

YANDERE! FAN who slowly spirals into madness once they realize that they not only can’t sleep without hearing your voice but they can’t even go on for a couple of seconds without surrounding themselves with anything related to you. Your face, fanfics of you, etc etc.

YANDERE! FAN who starts uploading ASMR as well, heavily inspired by your works. Their passionate delivery astounds many listeners, granting them their own set of loyal followers.

YANDERE ASMRTIST READER who discovers yan’s existence cause the latter overtook you in popularity overnight.

ASMRTIST READER who befriends YAN! FAN in order to either ride off of their clout with collabs and/or to get some dirt off of your ‘rival’ and destroy their career

ASMRTIST READER who in the heat of their bloodlust and anger gives their most powerful performance yet during their collab, skyrocketing their career

It’s a shame you were declared missing just a week afterwards.

[yummgoree]

WHEN HE WON'T LET ME EAT HIM ALIVE

[darlingsodivine]

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈- 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒖𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 15 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔- 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒗𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕?

Please, why aren’t you answering me? D-did I do something wrong? I-I’m so sorry if I bothered you before, I didn’t mean to! I'm sorry!Please, I'll do anything to make it up to you, I swear...! Please, please please!

.......

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒅 𝒅𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖- 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕... 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆!

I- I can help you! I can buy groceries, I can run errands- I can even help you pay rent! I can't cook very well, but I'm good at cleaning! ...Please?

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒈𝒐 𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒑𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎, 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈!

I-if you keep ignoring me, I... I’ll hurt myself. I’ll cut... I’ll take this knife and-and... I’ll carve your name into my skin... I swear it!

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒎, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕... 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒊𝒕, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅, 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓, 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒍𝒚.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅-

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒖𝒑. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒆𝒚𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒕, 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒅, 𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆.

𝑷𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄!𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕!𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕,𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎!

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐.

Is this good? 😭

[fuzzi-fuzz]

The feminine urge to seduce him into kidnapping you

[marshmallowdarling]

Hi! I love reading your story's, can I request a yandere Hannibal x fem reader please?😊💕

It’s not surprising that Hannibal plays the long game but Hannibal also makes the game. 

It was easy for him to set up the game, almost laughably easy. He was a renowned therapist who helps police on cases, strong, smart, made a name for himself- a good name. Your parents didn’t even have a chance to have doubts when he came to ask for your hand in marriage. If anything your parents were elated, over the moon that you, the black sheep of the family, had the eye of a man like Hannibal. They practically threw poor little you to into his hands. 

One thing Hannibal likes is politeness, manners, and no matter when or how Hannibal had meet you he was struck with the need to understand you, figure you out and not in his usual killing urge type of way. After a few months or even years of following you around he finally realises what it is, love. 

Does he really think its love? Not really, its something deeper, more sinister than love. He would rip apart anyone that would try to hurt you, he wants to keep you safe with such feral intensity it’s not sane. But he himself can’t even breathe at the thought of hurting you himself either so he chalks it up with a simple word. Love. 

He should have seen it coming, really he should’ve since he had been watching and ‘protecting’ you for so long, but he’s still struck shocked when you fight back your holy matrimony with such pettiness and sass. You couldn’t stop your parents from practically forcing you to agree to marry him, getting dressed up in a dress you didn’t really care about, everything too grand and nothing like what the little girl in you envisioned. So, in retaliation you tried everything to get him to re-think his decision, anything to get him to divorce you, even if it meant being a sassy brat. Turning your nose up at his delicious food just to piss him off, doing little things you knew he hated just to push his buttons.

It’s cute, he thinks, really cute that you think being a brat would stop his heart from yearning for you so much his physically body aches being away from you. But you aren’t a brat, are you? Your just pretending because your sick of your parents stupid pressuring expectations, hating how they dictated every little thing in your life and now your ‘life’ partner. 

Every time you push and shove and take bits and pieces of his sanity it just fuels his obsession for you, every time he feels himself get frustrated or irritated it just makes him more head over heels over you. Staring at you with hearts practically in his eyes as you make his blood boil, he takes everything in stride. With a polite smile on his lips and insanity in his heart eyes. 

But he does feel bad, really he does, he feels bad that you have terrible no good rotten parents who are ready throw you to the wolves once they get their greed filled, or bad enough for a man who feels no remorse or guilt. Maybe its pity, he thinks, like how one looks at a wounded animal. But he could never see you at a level as an animal, no matter how adorably cute you are. Maybe a goddess then, a fallen goddess, he worships you as if you’re a goddess anyways, taking your sass and anger as some sort of twisted love from a holier being. 

He can’t help the feeling of amusement that bubbles up when he see’s you try to be a brat, but the manners engraved into your very soul peek out, like your body and mind are fighting on your decision to pretend to be mean when your really such a sweet nice darling. 

The little ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ that come out when you demand something from him or the sweet little ‘no thank you’ that you give him when you pretend to glare at him with faux hatred in your eyes, because you didn’t really hate him. How could you? He was unbelievably sweet and attentive, picking up on the little things you didn’t even know about yourself until he picks up on it. He was the best husband anyone could ask for, in and out, even if he could be a little serious, cold and calculative at times. Hannibal shields you from everyone, including your parents, shutting them down so quickly and efficiently when they start their bullshit of bringing you down it seems natural. 

And one day your fake anger towards him slips, your tipsy on alcohol and his love, its all consuming but it feels oddly soothing, like cool balm on an open wound. You stumble and almost trip, but his arms are already there to catch you, ready to do anything to keep you safe and without thinking you lean up and press a soft, albeit clumsy, kiss on his lips. 

Something in Hannibal snaps. The kiss, as quick and fleeting as it was felt like heaven. Like he was reborn, like for once in his life he could finally breathe.

You gave this dirty, blood-stained sinner a slice of heaven and now he’s your most devoted worshiper at your alter. For better, or for worse. 

~~

Hannibal has you pressed in a mean mating press, one of your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. The thin handmade anklet he got you for your wedding present, dainty and small, designed from start to finish by him with a little ‘H’ dangling on it chimes in his ear and makes his head spin. 

“I- god- I love you so much.” He groans out, sweat clinging to his brow as his messy blonde hair sticks to his skin. “Goddess." He murmurs into your skin, pressing his lips against your ankle, kissing all the way up to the side of your knee as he saours the way your skin feels on his lips. Pulling back he licks your sweat that smeared on his lips and he smirks. 

 His pupils are wide and blown as he gazes down at you with so much love and tenderness it hurts. Sweat clung to his muscular frame as he threw his head back, groaning so low you feel it in your tummy.

Your in worse shape than him, yourpractically writhing under him, not able to escape the torturous pleasure as he puts all his weight down onto you. As sweaty if not more than him, twisting and bucking and shaking, hair messed and sprawled out on the bed beneath you, eye brows knitted. Your breath being selfishly stolen by him as he takes and takes, gasps the only thing able to leaven you as well as broken keens and whimpers. You had long stopped trying to muffle your embarrassingly lewd noises, he had practically growled at you to let them out, not letting you hide anything from him. 

Sparks zing up your spine as he hits deep and a wail leaves you, your hand coming to push at his lower stomach, nails scratching over his muscles. Hannibal moans and his eyes roll at the feeling, quickly snatching your hand he slams it softly next to your head. His fingers entwining with his as he locks them together. 

Long deep slow strokes makes your brain melt out of your ears, brain gone all fuzzy as you get addicted to him and his touch. 

“Take it sweetheart, I know you can.” His breath hitches as he forces your thighs open wider to accommodate him, he looms over your more and the change of position makes you cry out. “Let me worship you my goddess, your mine, all mine.”  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Woo wee thats finally done! I hope my first proper attempt at smut was ok I think there was another ask for Hannibal but it was H/C's, I'LL GET TO YOU MY LOVELY I PROMISE 😭 Im trying to get back into writing but its hard, im sorry but I will get to you all. Some might be before others just because some things kick start my writing process 🥺 But please keep sending requests I love the ideas and support even if it takes me a bit to get to them. Hope you enjoy lovelies.

~Mwah ♡