#everyone thought I was stupid and I was all alone

[clxja16]

Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: faking dating au!

Warnings: none atm

Word Count: 1.4K

Author's Note: I have not written a part two for this, so idk when or if a part two will ever come out. other than that enjoy ;) <3 I also feel like this really stupid, please give any feedback

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“Hey, can I speak to you?” Charles questioned from across the room as he made his way towards you through the motorhome, “privately please.” 

“Of course,” you answered, following after Charles, going to his private suite.  After the two of you entered the room, shutting the door on the rest of the world, “what would you like to talk about?”  You smile sweetly as you ask Charles.  

Charles forgets for a moment what he wanted to ask, you smiled and he forgot how to breathe, let alone speak.  “What do you think of her?” Charles asked, still looking at you but, pushing his phone forward.  Showing you a picture of some girl, “her name is Alexandra.” 

“She’s pretty,” you answered, still smiling so sweetly at Charles, “Did she make a move on you?” 

 Charles looks back at the photo on his phone.  “Yeah she did,” Charles spoke hesitantly, cautiously looking back at you.  Looking for any sign of  ire.  

“Are you asking for my permission to go after her?” You question with a small chuckle, Charles was quite cute when he was nervous.   

“I…” Charles sighed, “I just wanted to know what your thoughts were.”  Charles looks at the picture of Alexandra on his phone in front of him.  She was certainly quite beautiful, she was most definitely his type.  Why does he have such an uneasy feeling though? 

“Charles, this is only for the public.  We’re not actually together, if you wanna go date her, then go, do it.  I’m not holding you to this fake relationship.” You said, with a bit of a laugh, trying to mask the tiny bit of heartbreak you were feeling.  Charles was never yours to begin with, there is no reason to pretend he is. 

“Are you sure?” Charles wanted you to stop him.  He wanted you to hold him to this relationship.  He wanted you to disapprove.  He wanted you to tell him no.  But he knew you wouldn’t do that to him.  You’re only going to do what you think makes him happy.  

“Charles, we’re only in this predicament because you don’t have the best track record when picking girls.  So the team picked me for you, that way your fans will actually like your girlfriend.  This is simply because the team wants it. This isn’t real, go ask Alex out.” You say it so casually, Charles loathes the way you push him towards Alexandra.  He wants you to fight, he wants you to be jealous, he wants you to want him.  

“Thank you…” Charles says looking back at the photo displayed on his phone.  He looks at Alexandra, and he thinks maybe it’s time to move on.  “For your permission, thank you,” Charles says grateful, he pulls you into a hug, kissing you on the temple.  

When you finally pull away from his embrace you say, “just don’t make me look like a fool.”  

Charles chuckles at the request, “what do you mean?” 

“Don’t be flaunting Alex all around,” you say, in a very serious tone.  You look at Charles squarely this time, you want him to understand you completely.   “I don’t mean to be cocky or egotistical, but I play a fucking good girlfriend to you for the public.  So don’t be flaunting Alex all around, making me look like the stupid little naive girl that everyone knows is getting cheated on.” 

Charles nods along, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”  He can’t imagine anyone wanting to cheat if they were with you, “I promise I won’t do that to you.” 

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.  Even if the intimate relationship wasn’t real, the respect and the friendship you and Charles have built, is authentic.  

“Why don’t you go out with someone too?” Charles asks, curious as to why in these past six months of faking a relationship you never brought up anyone.  

“Well there is this guy that I have a thing for,” you say honestly. 

“Why don’t we go on a double date, that way fans won’t get suspicious?” 

“No no,” you laugh at the request, “this guy has no feelings for me whatsoever.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“We talked about it before,” you half-lie, you weren’t exactly fully truthful when you ‘talked about it.’ 

“Well, let’s look for someone, for you,” Charles says, completely serious about the notion.  Maybe if you’re with someone too, it would be easier to let you go. 

“No,” you laugh more, you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a ridiculous idea, “no way.” 

Charles laughs at your dismissiveness of the situation, “what about Pierre?” 

“I’m sure Pierre is very serious about Kika,” you say, with a bit of a chuckle at how serious Charles is acting about finding someone to set you up with.  

“Well I’m gonna find you someone, I can assure you,” Charles declares, almost like it was an official notion.  “I have to go down for a briefing, then I'll be back and we can go out to dinner tonight.” 

“Put on a show for the fans tonight?” you question, watching Charles. 

“Of course, my dear,” Charles says overdramatically with a wink, before walking out.  

After Charles leaves, you feel your smile fall.  You want to laugh at yourself for thinking Charles could have wanted you.  The tears start to brim your eyes and you can’t help but thinking you did this to yourself.  You allowed yourself to be in this predicament, so now you must live with it. Just until the season ends, that’s what you tell yourself.  Six more months, give or take.  

-

“Hey,” Carlos said, trying to get his teammates' attention, “why so…” Carlos makes an over exaggerated frowny face at Charles.  

“I don’t know,” Charles said, still replaying his earlier conversation with you.  He tries to find any sign of anything from you.  He dissects every word you utter, he questions every thought spoken, he searches for any inclination that you might’ve lied. 

“Did you speak to y/n about Alex?” 

“I did,” Charles answers, not expounding on his response.  

“She said no?” 

“No,” Charles says with a certain level of surprise, “She said okay.” 

“Great, that’s what you wanted,” Carlos says, “right?  That is what you wanted?”  Carlos has a feeling that this isn’t what Charles wanted, but it’s really not his place to say. 

“It is,” Charles sighs, “but I don’t know something about y/n being so okay with it, it bothers me.” Charles got up and started to pace, while Carlos decided to take a seat, watching his teammate work through this.  “Did you know there’s someone that she's interested in?”

“Y/n?” Carlos questions just to be sure, “don’t tell me that’s bothering you.” 

“No, it’s not,” Charles says, half trying to convince Carlos, the other half trying to convince himself.  “It’s just, y/n said that he’s not interested in her.  I mean how can someone not be interested in y/n, she's crazy smart.  She’s so kind. Did you know at this past Monaco grand prix, she helped collect gifts from the fans to give to me?  She knows how to cook, and not to mention she’s bloody beautiful.” Charles says with a full grin, as he thinks about you.  He can picture you clearly, he has memorized every little detail of your face, down to the way you scrunch your nose when you don’t want to laugh at his horrible jokes.  

Carlos laughs at his blind teammate, “clearly, you’re not really interested in Alex.” 

Charles sighs again, “I thought if I had brought up Alex to y/n, she would give me some type of sign that she was into me, like i’m into her,” he confesses to Carlos.  “I thought maybe, I could get a reaction or something,” Charles shakes his head at himself, he can hear how stupid he sounds without Carlos pointing it out for him.  

Carlos has never wanted to slap someone, as much as he wants to slap Charles.  Carlos runs his hands across his face, “that is the most singularly stupidest idea I have ever heard, and I have heard our race strategies before.  Why didn’t you just outright ask y/n if she liked you?” 

“I didn’t want to be so obvious about it,” Charles shrugs, “Plus it's better this way, she already said she’s interested in someone else.  Not to mention I have tried for the past six months to turn this into a real relationship, this is just me finally moving on.  I deserve to move on don’t I?” 

“Of course you deserve to move on Charles,” Carlos sighs, “but do you even want to move on, or do you think you have to?” 

Charles doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how to respond even if he wanted to.

[ippipo]

self aware caleb? yummy

part 1

you were in deep concentration when you heard a grunt coming from your phone while studying with caleb. he was staring at you from the phone, which you assumed was a glitch in the game.

"caleb, honey, if you make sounds like that just as i finally concentrate i swear to god i'll throw you across the room," you threaten him playfully, totally unaware that he understood every word that you said.

you return to focusing on your textbook, trying to regain the ability to pay complete attention to it. his eyebrows pinch together. who was this girl, and why was he seeing her? he was unaware if you were danger or not, you did just threaten him.

he waited until he heard a ding, watching you sigh. "finally, i finished studying. let's get me some food," you speak to him, confusing him even more. "who are you?" he asks, his tone was cautious.

"what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?" you panic. you stare in all directions, blissfully ignorant to the device in your hand. you finally looked at your phone and caleb is closer to the screen now. "nah, i must be dreaming," you snicker and go to the kitchen.

he was annoyed now. "no, you are not," he confirms your suspicion. "caleb? what the fuck?"

"yeah, that's my name. who are you and why am I able to see you?" he asks you with more aggression this time. you read stories about these things but never really imagined them to happen. and you did what you thought you would do while reading them instead of freaking out. explain to him your world, of course. but you were so close to pissing your pants, partly from excitement. but this was a dream come true, were you really gonna waste it on some stupid sense of fear?

"this is gonna take a while, buddy. you might wanna sit down for this," you say with a sigh, motioning him to sit down.

you told him about your world, and how magic and superpowers don't exist and how he was in a game. it took you about an hour. he was attentive, listening to every word you were saying, not taking his eyes off of you.

"so....to summarise it up, i'm an otome game character and that girl from my childhood is not real either. just not aware?" he asks, you nod. "the creators are so cruel, man. why would they make a cool guy like me go through that?" he remarks, a grin etched onto his face despite the sadness behind that statement.

"i don't feel anything towards her now, though," he states while scratching his nape, feeling lost. "i guess you aren't my love interest anymore, aw." he remained quiet at that statement, wondering what happens now. sure, he was attracted to the person he was talking with right now. but wouldn't it end tragically if he were to fall for you?

pushing those thoughts aside, he was curious about the real world, "how are the people there?" he asks you. "they're......cruel. but the people around me now are pretty alright, i don't go out much because i prefer staying at home," you reply.

"cruel? how so?" he questions, unconvinced with your answer. he was expecting the world to be better, without deception and unfortunate circumstances. "for starters, women here are still struggling, being treated disgustingly, racism is more prevalent than ever, the nazis are somewhat back, some orange white capitalist dude is ruining an already ruined country, and everyone's suffering," you finally take a breath.

you watch caleb's conflicted expression, regretting info-dumping on him so much. "so it's the same like here," he trails off. "it's still as shitty as here," he completes.

"don't think so, your world seems slightly better. i think i would be scared of walking alone at night because of wanderers instead of men," you state. he felt bad for you, and a familiar protective feeling resurfaces, the one he was conditioned to feel for the girl in the game now felt for you.

it was weird how he no longer recognized whoever that was. "i feel like i know you more than the character in here," he confesses. "well, she's basically me. although the personality is different, her name and stuff is basically mine."

caleb sighs in relief. it brought him some comfort knowing you were controlling it, not him involuntarily falling for someone he didn't know consciously.

"this sucks, i would rather be there with you," he reveals. he probably didn't know that made your heart flutter just a teeny tiny bit. just a little bit. "don't say stuff like that," you warn him. "hm? why?"

"i've read stories like this and they always end painfully. you'll start wanting to be with me because of my amazing gorgeous personality and eventually we'll do the boom boom pow online. suddenly you'll wanna do it with me, then you'll visit me and you'll have to choose between that world or this world. then you'll realize this world sucks and you'll have to give up our love. you'll go along with the mc and i'll end up missing that ding-a-ling," a shit-eating grin made its way onto your face. you felt proud of yourself.

he suddenly starts laughing at the way you worded the whole thing. "you're really something," he says making you snort. "i won't fall in love with you, i'm not that dumb," he states. you ignore the soft clench in your heart.

"are you sure you can resist all this, baby?" you flip your hair and wink at him. he rubs his ears to hide the redness, which was an unusual movement because his character never did that.

"positive, baby," he flirts back. it was your time to blush now. you clear your throat in embarrassment, "wanna see me cook?" you look at him hopefully, wanting to show off your skills. "i'll cook along too," he says.

he moves to his kitchen, the view to you was like as if you were on a video call. the screen showing you things in the game you wouldn't normally be able to see.

you hear a knock on your front door. "hey, lemme just check that and come back," you tell him before going to the door. your neighbour wanted some salad dressing. he was a fairly tall, good looking guy. he was married though, and he carried his ring around everywhere.

caleb watches the stranger waltz into your kitchen. his brows furrow in discontent. he didn't like the idea of you letting in another man into your house. he pinches himself and finally snaps out of it. 'you just met her properly for the first time, loser. control.'

the neighbour thankfully doesn't notice the animated but realistic man on your phone glaring at him. "thanks," the man smiles at you and leaves your house. "who was that?" caleb finally asks the question he was itching to ask. "my neighbour, he's making salad for his husband," you casually mention, unaware of the relief he felt. he was married, perfect.

you turn your back towards the camera and bend down to pick up a spoon that fell earlier. your ass on full display to him, well, not exactly, you had some shorts on. you didn't realize it, despite being an incredibly self-aware person. but caleb got the biggest loser boner ever.

he shifts in his place uncomfortably. "caleb, are you okay?" you ask with concern. "yes, great actually," he skillfully covers it up with a cough. "just getting used to not following a script."

this was gonna take a while.

[cutscutsscar]

prettier than the sunset

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Teacher Hwang Inho x gn!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: Age gap (25-17), mentions of sh, physical abuse, abusive father, grooming, mentions of killing, drunk father, bruises on reader, suicidal thoughts

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲/𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀: Yandere inho, oblivious and innocent reader, inho loves reader more than his deceased wife, reader loves kitties, suicidal reader, socially awkward and introvert reader, fluff, purest form of love, reader has a fear of men

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Inho catches a glimpse of you and the place of his wife in his heart falls too low, almost disappearing

𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗢𝗬!!>^<

𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥

↓

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗔 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬, 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘♥︎

You push your butt to the cold and hard school desk, the moment you move your leg the moment you feel the same stinging sensation as always. It hurt, really bad but you're used to feeling like this.. That fucking bastard seems like he make it his life mission to ruin yours, what a pathetic excuse of a man. You thought as you let out a tired sigh, you had no choice but to endure this hell of a world, but of course your thoughts, your alone time got interrupted by these stupid dimwits as they fill the room with their dumb snickering. It's ringing in your ears.. first you take a beating physically for apparently not making your bastard father breakfast even though you just woke up, then you take a beating mentally by these idiots. You grab your backpack as you unzip the zipper and reach out to your math book, the first class was math as always. Their laughing and snickering with their friends just continuously repeats in your head. As you were lost in thought the door swung open by the math teacher "Hwang Inho" the one who always seems to be staring at you with something weird in his gaze, does he wants to be friends or something?.. Whatever.. Thirty minutes pass like the wind that hits your face when you go outside, making everyone in the class stand up like kids with autism... They're itching to get out of this classroom as the door swings open and everyone runs out of the classroom..

Except you and the teacher of course, you look out from the window as you used all your luck in getting a seat besides the window, didn't you? You stared at the students in the schoolyard as you envy their freedom of movement.. you could never. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even notice your teachers mesmerized state as he stared.. your dark honey brown irises capturing his gaze, not daring to let it go.. the way your lips looked so sweet.. your skin was smooth as heck, you were the most beautiful thing he ever saw in his twenty-five years of life.. Your thoughts get interrupted again as the footsteps get louder each time. You turn your head only to find your teacher as he puts his hand on your school desk, his irises fixated on yours, he was pretty handsome close up to be honest.. His mouth opens as his deep voice echoes through the classroom

"Why aren't you out, Y/N?"

He asks, his tone lovingly gentle, as if he wouldn't hesitate to beat himself up if he was the slightest bit rude to you.

"Ohm uhm.. Am I supposed to be out..? I'm sorry.."

you say, your voice shaky as you force the words out of your throat. You were afraid of men as the scars your father left you with was too deep, ruining your your perspective on men.. even though you were afraid of Inho you couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of warmness with him, it reminded you of the times you spent with your father when alcohol wasn't his top priority.. but you're too innocent for this world.

Your teacher let's out a sigh as he mentally curses himself out for scaring you.. he opens his mouth to speak again, blurting out his words in the gentlest way possible.

"There's absolutely no need to apologize, I just asked that question because I was curious."

He says, a gentle, loving smile plastered on his face as he opens his mouth again to speak.

"Well, I'll be in the staffroom if you ever need anything just come to the staffroom and ask for me, okay?"

You couldn't help but feel the same fuzzy, warm feeling in your insides again, it felt like you were in the presence of someone who cherished your existence, which you haven't felt in years. A smile creeps into your face as you nod your head in agreement. The two of you smile at each other before the sounds of the bell ringing fills the classroom, every student fighting for their life to not get stomped by the others as there's a commotion in front of the classroom. After few minutes passed quickly everyone settled into their seats, whisperings were all over the place.

You were so fixated on your teacher that you didn't realize he could see the bruises on your wrist from the direction he was talking from, the realization hits you harder than your dad.. your thoughts were all over the place like a bottle of water that has been spilled out..

"what will happen now?.."

"is that why he was stealing glances at my wrist?..."

your mind helplessly wonders, trying to come up with a possibility. Five minutes was enough to melt your brain with all the possibilities you came up with that you don't even care anymore, maybe he would help you get out of this hellhole.. but what would you give in exchange?.. you thought.. you had nothing but a gorgeous face and countless scars, bruises all over your fragile, petite body.. who would want a girl with scars, a filthy girl?...

𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗣❥

School came to an end after countless hours that you lost track of, like everyday.. why did you even go to school anyway?.. you had no future other than being stuck in that pile of trash they call "home".. or you were gonna be hanging from the ceiling as the rope wraps around your neck, strangling you while you desperately try to take it off. Practically feeling the paining bruise on your neck as the memories of your father choking you started to occupy your mind..

"haaa..."

You let out a sigh, not bothering to think any longer as you pack up your belongings and stuff them in your backpack.. you get up from the cold, hard school desk.. the pain in your butt made you let out a groan.. thank god the sound you made was covered by the laughter in the class, the sounds of books closing, backpacks getting stuffed.

You stepped out of the classroom, the sounds of your classmates calming down as you make your way out of the hallways, your backpack loosely on your shoulder. You walk and walk, unknowing of the pouring rain, you didn't bring your umbrella either. You take your last step out of the school building before you get hit by the rain.. you quickly step back into the school building, rain drops dripping from your skirt. What were you gonna do now?.. you stare around helplessly.. if you were to go home soaked in rain you would definitely get a beating from your father for dirtying the floor with raindrops, staying at school?.. not possible. You'll just get locked in without any resources of energy for your body, so what were you gonna do now?.. you desperately try to think of a way as you stay where you are, frozen. As you were aimlessly lost in the thoughts you suddenly feel a presence behind you, and a black umbrella covering your head. It's your teacher Hwang Inho, he smiles gently at you as you let out a sigh of relief mixed with confusion.

"Thank you, Mr Inho.."

You say as you bow your head as a way of thanking him, catching a glimpse of his gentle smile with a hint of something deeper buried inside.

"You're welcome."

He replies, his tone dripping with gentleness, as if he was afraid of being rude to you, seeing you as something so fragile and sensitive.

A while passes.. you have no idea where the two of you are aimlessly walking to, each step just making your anxiety worse. Your teacher has told you that he knew somewhere you could watch the sunset with, admire the way the bright sun fade as the moon takes its place. Your each step was getting closer to loosen up your strings and trust him as he continued to look at you with those gentle eyes.. he was a man you only knew from the school, sometimes had chats with, the one your insides felt fuzzy and warm with.. he was looking at you with such a lovely gaze, the gaze your father never bothered to spare one. You find your wall breaking, as if he was the one hammering it, you found enjoyment in chatting with him, hearing his deep and beautiful voice, letting the words stuck in your throat free.

Is this what they call.. "freedom"?..

Yes, it was freedom.. something you've never felt in a long time. Your smile just gets wider and wider as you keep chatting with him, wave of happiness washing you over.

Your gaze moved it's direction to the beautiful sky Infront of you, you had a better look at it from the place he brought you to.

"this is the place! beautiful, right?"

He asks, his tone filled with pride as a smug smile creeps into his face. His gaze stays locked in yours, mesmerizing by how gorgeous you looked with the lighting in your face, like a piece of art. He couldn't help but find the fascination in your eyes adorable, you were like an adorable little kitty he had to protect from the world at all costs.

"it's... Pretty"

You murmur, your gaze changing it's direction to the view Infront of you before Inho quickly makes his way to the two people bench before sitting on the left side, patting the empty space besides him as if gesturing you to sit next to him. You approach the bench and sit down next to him, admiring the view in your mind before you realize the disappearance of the pouring rain.

"The rain has stopped.. I didn't even realize.."

You unconsciously blurt out before you notice, a wave of embarrassment washing you over.. but it slowly disappears as your ears fills with Inho's laughter, making you you let out a chuckle too as the two of you admire the sunset.

His warm, big hand holding yours small and cold ones♡

You didn't even notice, did you?.. so lost in the moment, lost in the admiration of the sunset.. normally you would be lost in your negative thoughts with no one to reach out for a helping hand..

Except for Inho<3

After that day you never saw your father again, but life's been good!^^

𝗔/𝗻: Just wanted to write sum fluff before I focus on darker themes!

𝗧𝗜𝗣𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗗✦

[le-monchou]

october blues || cater diamond

october was the worst month of the year, in cater's opinion.

the days grew shorter, the nights colder, and the world felt quieter in a way that made him itch. nrc’s halls buzzed with excitement for the various festivals that would start and the term holidays, but the festive spirit barely reached him. it never did.

he sat alone on one of the dorm’s balconies, scrolling through his magicam feed. smiling faces, warm autumn hues, friends posing together- it all looked perfect. too perfect, and just as he thought that, his skin started to itch again. he sighed, lowering his phone. the chill bit at his skin, but it couldn’t touch the hollow ache in his chest.

“cater?” a soft voice broke through the shadows, and cater turned to see you standing in the doorway, concern etched into your beautiful face. “what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“just… getting some fresh air,” he said, his grin automatic. it doesn't cost much to smile. “you know me, always vibing.”

your eyes narrow- you didn’t buy it. stepping closer, you draped a blanket over his shoulders and sat beside him. “you don’t have to pretend, you know.”

the words hit him harder than they should’ve. his smile wavered, then crumbled. “it’s stupid,” he muttered, voice shaky. “october just… gets to me. i feel like everyone’s out there living their best life, and i’m—” he gestured vaguely.

“here,” you finished gently. you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “you don’t have to be okay all the time, cater. i’m here. you’re not alone.”

the weight in his chest didn’t vanish, but it lessened. and for the first time in a long time, in october, cater diamond didn’t feel quite so cold.

@reirei404 @twstnettle have some hurt/comfort that was supposed to be out in october but im weird like that || 293 words

[eempyreall]

♪ 444 𝑏𝑦 𝐴𝑠ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑦 𝑆𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑎 ♪

༺༺ Devour ༻༻

Oneshot ~ Bonten x Female Reader

Summary ~ You are devastated to learn that your soulmates are power-hungry monsters entrenched in an illegal industry. Despite knowing they only seek to consume your life source, no matter how fast you run, you can never escape fate.

Featuring ~ Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, Kokonoi Hajime, Kakucho, and the Haitani Brothers

Extra Notes: *Slight Language Barrier

*I didn’t mean to make this story as angsty as it is

This story should only be posted under eempyreall on my tumblr and ao3. Report if you see it posted under anyone else but me.

l apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Warning ~

You and the characters are 21+. Although I picture the reader as a black cis-gendered female, physical appearance will not be described at all.

Content within this story may not be realistic or factual.

I do not condone any of the behavior displayed within the story.

There may be dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit content, sexual content, non consensual and/or dubious consensual content, etc.

That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Your breathing is ragged as the platform of your shoes slam against the pavement. Liquid runs down your face as rain pours from the nightly firmament. You rub your eyes to clear the drops of water from your eyelashes so you can continue making your way through the crowd.

You’ve finally escaped your prison with nothing but the clothes on your back. You have no clue what to do other than run through this foreign city.

It was supposed to be a normal trip. An impulsive decision on your part. You decided to stay in Japan for a week just to take a break from your work life back home. Truly, you had grown bored of your everyday routine and decided to up and leave.

Your friend reprimanded you out of love, knowing you tend to act impulsive despite your overthinking tendencies. You ignored the small voice in the back of your mind and said, “Fuck it,” before buying your ticket, packing your bags, and disappearing.

What you hadn’t expected was to finally meet your soulmates.

It was a beautiful night in Tokyo. The lights of the city shimmered as busy people—tourists and natives alike—walked the streets. You strolled alone, leaving a random bar as you made your way through the crowd.

Suddenly, you feel a pull in your chest, eyes locking on the red ribbon that protrudes from the middle of your chest. You watch in awe as it spreads out in front of you, the soul tie flying through the air before splitting into seven strands.

“Seven?!” you breathe out in disbelief. You can’t fathom finding one soulmate, let alone seven.

You spent years bitter and lonely when you couldn’t find them. It was a normal occurrence to find your soulmate on your eighteenth birthday, as everyone else did in your town. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen for you.

Considering you never even felt a slight pull from your chest, it was concerning. You thought that maybe your mate had died tragically, or perhaps you were one of the unlucky individuals who could never find your mate.

You spent many nights crying yourself to sleep, as this occurrence was seen as something very tragic. You wanted to be loved. You wanted to be cared for, and you were tired of the loneliness consuming you. So when you finally felt the pull and saw the ties in a foreign setting, you didn’t hesitate to follow where they led you.

“God, I’m so stupid!” you exclaim as you recall the memory. The months you wasted being nothing but a fucking energy source caused tears to mix with the raindrops on your cheeks.

You feel broken and used. You never knew how awful your soulmates could make you feel. You should’ve known when you figured out who they were—what they stand for and their tainted morals.

“I—is this the real reason why you all accepted me? Am I truly nothing but a pawn to bring you more power?”

Your heart ached, your stomach heavy as you felt nausea build in the back of your throat at the statement Kokonoi just told you. You bring your fingers to your mouth, biting your nails as you await his response, your eyebrows furrowed.

“You are fulfilling an important role for Bonten. You can never leave.”

Your eyes widened as the platinum-haired male kept his arms behind his back, intently eyeing you with an unreadable gaze. You glare at him with anger as you step forward, his office lamp shining the only light into the dark room.

“It all makes sense now. Whenever I gave myself to any of you, I always felt pure weakness after. For days I couldn’t move after you took from me, and yet somehow you all were stronger than ever. You never even bothered to replenish me. You lied. You all lied to me!”

You fight the tears threatening to fall as you feel your face heat up with anger. The cold look Koko gives you really hurts. Where was the man with the content smile who asked you to give him a show when he had you try on new outfits? Where was the man who was a romantic? Had you really been deceived all this time?

“We did what we had to do. In order to receive your life source to the fullest, you must be happy with the circumstances, so we made you comfortable,” he said with impatience in his tone, stepping closer to you.

“You say it like it’s some sort of transaction,” you respond, disgust prominent in your expression and tone. You look at him with wide eyes, a scowl fixed on your face.

“It has always been a transaction, Y/n.”

You continue to run to nowhere, passing by citizens as you shove them out of your way, apologizing swiftly in the process. You knew that you had to at least find a place with a phone.

“I’ve been here for a while, Rin. Don’t you think I should learn more Japanese instead of you guys being my personal translators?”

The purple, mullet-haired man wraps an arm around your waist as he keeps you pinned to his lap, the rest of your legs lying on the seat of the sofa as he leans back in his seat. He ignored you while his lips grazed your neck, sucking the skin as he fed from you, the soul tie wrapped around your figures.

“Rin!” you exclaim as you try to catch his attention, pulling back from him slightly as he sighed, giving you a lazy smirk.

“You don’t need to learn any language. T’s not like you’re around anyone else anyway,” he responds before his hand meets the back of your head, forcing you into a heated kiss as you feel the drain of your energy. You obliged as you weakly kissed back, pathetically yearning for the touch as he was rarely affectionate aside from feeding. The soul tie tightens as the kiss deepens.

You grab your own scalp at the unwarranted flashback. God, you felt so stupid. It had been right in front of you the whole time and yet you missed it. Then again, maybe you hadn’t really missed anything at all. You just ignored that familiar voice in the back of your head. You blamed the unsettling feeling in your stomach on your own nerves and insecurity.

“I don’t want to see this shit anymore!” you scream at Sanzu, shoving his chest as you turn away from the limp body in front of you.

He snatches your wrists, pulling you closer to his chest with the maniacal grin growing on his expression. His enlarged pupils almost replace the blue in his irises.

“Yer gonna fucking kill him, Y/n.”

You preferred when Sanzu was sober.

Although he was still sadistic, he seemed much calmer and more collected. He was especially gentler when feeding from you in the bedroom, despite his erratic and rough behavior when he was high.

"No, I'm not! Let me go, you fucking asshole!" you yell, yanking your arms from his grip, only for him to twist you around and force you to face the kneeling man who was barely conscious.

You glare at the deep lacerations and bruises on the man’s skin as Sanzu forces you to hold the gun. His fingers are wrapped around your trembling hand as he aims the weapon at the male’s head.

Before you can react, he forces your finger to pull the trigger with his own. Your body jolts at the loud noise as the blood from the man splatters on your own legs. You begin to hyperventilate while eyeing the dead human, something you’ve never seen before.

The way the pieces of brain and blood have splattered on the floor — the way the man’s head dropped and his body limped. The dullness of his open eyes. The bullet split his skull open, the skin no longer concealing what’s beneath. His face was almost unrecognizable, split open in the top middle of his features.

Once Sanzu released his grip, you dropped to the floor, body shivering as the hairs on your arms stood straight. You couldn’t stop staring at the bloodied corpse in front of you. The smell made you sick.

Arms hugged you from behind as legs trapped you from both sides of your body.

“You killed that man in cold blood,” he chuckled, lips meeting your neck to begin sucking your energy. The red ribbon forms around both of your figures, locking you in place.

You finally reach a structure that looks inviting, with its lack of people and a bright light.

You rush to the entrance, pushing the door open swiftly. A black-haired man eyes you with concern, his hand gripping a broom.

“I need help!” The man seems to understand your distorted Japanese as he nods before walking toward you.

The palms of your hands cover your eyes as tears smear against your cheeks. Kakucho strokes the middle of your back as you both sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m tired of being trapped in here, Kakucho! I just feel like this is some sort of trick or something. Do mates really act like this over here? Everything is so much different back home. I feel like a prisoner who’s used for labor here. I can barely feel my arms and legs at times.”

He pulls you closer, causing you to straddle his thighs as he wraps his arms around your waist. You continue to cry on his shoulder before his hands rub up your torso, slightly pulling you back so you’d make eye contact.

“I want you to know that you’re important to us. Without you, we’d be weaker. We need you, Y/n,” he says before pulling you into a kiss, the soul tie returning as it traps you both together.

Your eyebrows furrow at his words. Although they were meant to sound sweet, there seemed to be a hidden meaning—or… was it really that hidden?

“I need a phone!” you exclaim, pointing at the device lying near the register. “I need to call someone! Please!”

He nods before handing you the phone.

“Thank you!” you respond before walking to the back of the store, erratically dialing your friend’s number.

“F—F/n! I need your help!”

You hadn’t been able to contact her for months, considering you weren’t allowed a phone. They told you it was because they couldn’t afford any leaks to their whereabouts, considering what they do for work.

“Y/n? Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I found my soulmates! But I’m in trouble! They aren’t who I thought they’d be, and they’ve been holding me captive for months! I—I need you to get me out of here! I have nothing! Please!”

You felt bad for bringing her into this, but you had nothing. No money, no phone, not even an extra pair of clothes. You didn’t have time to grab anything. You had to leave immediately or else you might have ended up killed.

After you stole Ran’s gun when he fell asleep, you immediately rushed to the guard who would be taking you to Mikey’s headquarters, contemplating your next move as you sat in the back seat. They hadn’t noticed the gun in your back pocket nor when you slowly pulled it out while eyeing the rearview mirror. Before they could even begin driving, you shot both men who sat in the front of the car, killing them accidentally considering you had a bad aim. You hadn’t had time to think about the fact you had just murdered two people.

“Y/n,” the voice sings behind you.

You freeze in your spot, eyes widened as your friend calls your name. Slowly, you turn to see Kazutora standing there, a grin on his face. You shakily snatch the gun from your pocket and aim it at his torso.

“Stay away from me,” you hiss with a mix of anger and fear. You watch as the soul tie forms, connecting both of your chests, the red ribbon stretching in the space between you.

“Aww, are ya really gonna shoot me? That’s not very nice,” he chuckles with mock disappointment.

At that moment, you realize that you can’t shoot him.

Why don’t they ever say it back?

The lump in your throat burns as you drop the phone, staring at Kazutora with a crazed look on your face. His grin shifts into a frown as he watches your movements with caution, the ribbon vanishing.

Is this all I’m ever good for?

“Put the gun down, Y/n,” he says calmly.

You scream, your throat gurgling with blood as you try to snatch the scissors back from Ran’s grip, the bathroom floor covered in red as he forces you on your back.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” His smooth voice is filled with unease.

You tried to cut the soul ties by stabbing your own chest. You don’t know how you survived but the medic must’ve arrived in time, rushing you to Bonten’s underground hospital.

“I don’t want to go back,” your voice breaks as your breathing becomes erratic, bringing the gun to your head.

Your eyes shut tightly with your teeth clenching.

Why can’t you just let me go?

Before you can pull the trigger, a hand roughly knocks the gun out of your grasp before yanking you from behind. A hand on your jaw forces you to face them, your teary eyes fully exposed.

Your eyes widen at the crazed look Sanzu gives you, his grip on your jaw tightening roughly as you feel his hand tremble slightly.

Neither of you says a word as he glares down at you before roughly releasing you and snatching your wrist.

Before you can begin to struggle against his grip, a syringe is gently pressed into the skin of your neck. Your shocked gaze shifts to Kokonoi, who simply gives you a disappointed look before darkness engulfs your vision.

"If you try that again, I'll keep you chained to my bed for as long as you live," Mikey warns while you lie barely conscious on your bed.

You stare back into his dark eyes before he lowers himself, his lips pressing against your forehead.

[nanamis-bigtie]

this request was sent from an ageless blog but i really like to write this trope (and i really like kusakabe) so i decided to keep it despite deleting the original ask and enforcing my interaction boundaries. i hope it will find other fans to enjoy it!

cw: kusakabe x gn afab!reader, virgin reader, piv sex (or rather: attempt of it) | divider by saradika

Not a big deal, you thought. It's not like you haven't had anything in there at all. He's been really good at the prep too, his fingers driving you insane with how skilfully he's been maneuvering them inside you. He's almost made you come from it alone; you whined when he pulled them out, claiming that for the first night together he wants you to come on his dick.

But something suddenly is not right. No one's fault but your own nerves, that irritating voice at the back of your head whispering he's going to see past your lies once he puts it in. Well, you haven't really lied to Atsuya, but at your age almost everyone has it past them. It felt stupid to just admit he's your first.

You tense and it hurts. And he immediately stops.

"What's wrong?" He creases brows in concern. Lying on top of you, he breaths heavy, his cock throbs trapped between your hot bodies. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," you calm his concern. And sheepishly admit to everything, tensing the more with every new word.

"Wait, seriously—" Atsuya lifts himself on straight arms, letting you breathe comfortably under him. "Fuck. Fuck. I've done it all wrong. Lemme start again—"

"You're…not weirded out?" His reaction takes you aback so much your tension bursts like a soap bubble.

"Why?" He darts his eyes up at you from his new spot. He's moved down, his face at the level of your waist now.

"Am I…not too old for that?"

"I wish I were as old as you for my own start," he scoffs in that typical dry manner of his and kisses you right above your navel. "But there's no wrong age for that. Well, if you're an adult, that is."

Atsuya's gentle, ticklish kisses slowly wander south, until he's nuzzling into the soft mound over your sex, nose inching closer to your clit and soon rubbing against it.

You take a sharp, very pleased breath, and your legs open wide to fit his broad shoulders better.

"You have no idea—" he licks a taste of you, his eyes closing as he's savoring it— "how glad I am to be your first."

[theshipdiaries]

I can't go through losing another ship. I just can't. All I do is lose and honestly? It hurts me like someone I personally knew and loved died. I don't know why it hurts me this deeply. But it's crazy. I cried more when Klaus Mikaelson died than when my grandfather who I loved deeply died. To be fair he was 96 he WANTED TO DIE and literally stopped eating on purpose so he would die because he was bored out of his mind and all his friends had died and felt like he had no purpose anymore. It's not like you can have long term goals at his age. So we all saw it coming and I knew he wanted it and was happy so It brought me comfort.

BUT KLAUS MIKAELSON'S DEATH? Totally unexpected, felt like a huge betrayal. And it just sent me into a deep spiral and I'm still mourning him. Cried for 3 days locked in my room. Every once in a while I still cry. It's been 6 years AND I HATE IT. Because it's so stupid. HE IS NOT REAL. Just ink on a script and fake everything. And yet it hurts. It hurts so much. Losing Klaroline was like losing a part of myself. Something I had loved for so long, something I had invested so much time in, been obsessed with for so long.

And then sometimes karamel makes me cry. They were the representation of true love for me. True soft good love. What everyone deserves. And I cry at their loss. And the injustice of Kara ending up alone and sad. The message that if you are a woman you have to choose to either be strong and independent or be in love. And it was made explicitly clear that Kara wanted to get married and have a family. SHE LONGED FOR IT. But they didn't let her. They punished her for it. The same writers who forced the character to want it. But all the other male superheroes? They were applauded for it.

Most other ships don't make me cry but anger me deeply. Like bellarke and barchie and Hyde and Jackie. REYLO.

And now? I'm terrified for Kastle. I can't lose them too. I thought I was safe. The show was cancelled and there was never a resolution but it ended in both literally confessing their love. Karen begging him to choose her and telling him there is nothing he could do to change her feelings for him. That she would risk it all and run away with him. Him confessing that he doesn't want to feel this. He is not ready to feel this. Who is he without his war? He doesn't know. But he knows he loves her. She means everything to him. I was fine with that ending. Even with him REJECTING HER. Because it was made obvious that he loved her. But his arc wasn't over. He needed more time. And the writers had respect for the ship. Understood it.

But now? I have no idea what they might do. They might pretend they were never anything to each other. They might kill her off. They might betray all of us and destroy the characters completely. Just like with bellarke just like with Hyde and Jackie. Ignore everything stablished and stab us fans in the back. Treat us like we are stupid and undeserving of respect.

I CANT GO THROUGH THAT PAIN AGAIN. I know what it's like and it destroys something in me EACH TIME. Again, it's like someone I loved very deeply died. I don't know why. But it hurts. And I just don't know if I have it in me. I'm so scared. Terrified. More than for my future or for anything.

[sirhamburrger]

UNRAVEL (m. bachira x reader)

━☆ (detective x detective, for day two of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which you grow to love your case partner in all his unconventionality. ━☆ wc: 1272 || tags/cw: gn!reader, bachira is off the walla crazy, lover boy x no. 1 hater || event m.list ━☆ i'm lowkey very proud of this!! bit long but whatever

you absolutely hated meguru bachira. 

he had risen through the ranks of the organisation, making detective in just under five years. you, however, did not have as easy a time, so everything about him ended up grating on your nerves; his too-loud laugh, his tendency to skip over vital steps in the investigation process, and his penchant for inappropriate jokes at even more inappropriate timings, just to name a few.

you’ve always been serious about your job, focused, meticulous. and he was... well, a walking distraction. the way he’d spin around in his stupid swivel chair, mutter nonsense about "feeling the rhythm of the case," and throw out stupidly outlandish theories at task force meetings? it did nothing but made your blood boil.

but you’re stuck with him as your case partner now, and there’s nothing you can really do about it.

"hey, what do you think about this case? i'm sensing some kinda weird vibe here," bachira says mysteriously, a grin plastered across his face as he expertly spins his pen between his fingers. "maybe the suspect’s hiding in plain sight, right? you know, like a ninja!"

you stare at him, simultaneously annoyed and baffled. "a… a ninja? seriously?"

he tilts his head, the usual playful glint present in his eyes. "hey, don't knock it 'til you try it! you gotta think outside the box." he pauses, looking over at you with a grin that’s somehow both mischievous and... genuine? "you've got the serious part down, but if we don't play around a little, we're never gonna crack this."

you roll your eyes, but part of you can’t help but be intrigued. no one else on the team has been willing to entertain his unconventional methods, but somehow, his outlandish thoughts feel intuitive. right, almost. 

and despite how chaotic he is, things start to come together. as the days pass, you find yourself drawn to the rhythm of his mind. he’s got this way of looking at things from every angle, as though solving a case is a game he’s not willing to lose. you can’t deny that his unorthodox approach is starting to make sense, especially when the results speak for themselves. it’s like his chaos brings clarity to your logic.

it all comes pouring out one night, when you find yourself alone in the office with him after hours, when everyone else has already gone home. he’s unusually silent, like he knows you need the silence for clarity of mind. you thank him - in your head, of course, because you’d rather die than admit you appreciate him.

"you know," you say finally, breaking the silence, "i thought you'd be the death of me when we started this case."

he looks up, and a knowing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"but now you’re kinda starting to like me, huh? and that scares you?"

you make a face, refusing to admit it to him, but you both know the truth. it’s obvious you’ve warmed up to him, grown to appreciate his bizarre brilliance. because there’s something almost beautiful about the way he sees the world, and you think you might be seeing it, too.

"maybe," you say quietly, and though you don’t dare to say it aloud, a small part of you is slowly beginning to fall for him - not just for his methods, but for who you now know him to be. 

bachira grins toothily. "knew it."

“not the part about me being scared, though.” you glare at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. but there’s a warmth in your chest now, one that you think might have been missing before.

finally, after weeks of hard work, it all clicks. bachira’s wild theories, your steady persistence, and a little bit of luck - together, you had cracked the code and closed the case. it wasn’t the suspect’s usual behavior that had given them away, but something subtle, something hiding in plain sight, just as bachira had suggested from the beginning. a small detail, overlooked by everyone else, had been staring you in the face the whole time.

"told you," bachira says, flashing his signature confident grin as you both stare at the final piece of evidence, relief washing over you like a gentle coastal wave. "sometimes you just gotta let your natural instincts do the work."

you can’t suppress your smile even if you try. he’s right, irrevocably so. it hadn’t been about following the rules, or sticking to the traditional methods - it had been about seeing things differently. and, somehow, in the process, you’d come to appreciate his way of thinking. even if you didn’t fully identify with or understand it.

he plops down in the chair across from you when you get back from ego's office, completely unbothered by the chaos still lingering in the room. he looks over at you, a serious expression replacing his usual playfulness. you stare back, curious. 

"hey," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual. "ego called me into his office today."

“oh? what did he tell you?”

“he told me about your application.”

oh, crap.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter. the feeling of his rejection stings just as much as the tears welling up in your eyes. “i shouldn’t have sent it in without asking you first.”

“i mean…” his voice trails off, and he looks at you almost tenderly. “i didn’t know you wanted me as your permanent investigation partner. it’s honestly a huge compliment.”

you let out a watery chuckle. “are you serious? rin itoshi wants to partner up with you. rin freaking itoshi.”

“but you’re the best,” he insists.

you swipe at your eyes quickly. “way to let me down easy, i guess. thanks for being nice about it, though.”

“who said i was declining?”

“wait - really?” you perk up, eyes widening. “you want to be my investigation partner?”

he nods silently, and you notice his hand is almost brushing yours. he hesitates, reaching out to take your hand. in a decision that horrifies you, you don’t stop him.

“i want to be a lot more than that.”

and you think you might just swoon with how undeniably serious he looks in this moment, and maybe laugh a little too. you raise an eyebrow in mock surprise, feigning ignorance. "whatever do you mean?"

he leans in a little closer, clearly amused. "how about dinner? jist you and me. i think it’s time i take you out - somewhere nice, y’know. somewhere with no crime scenes, no paperwork, just... us."

you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. he’s for real, isn’t he? and despite all your stubbornness, your initial reluctance to admit any kind of admiration for him, you realized you want this. you want him.

"bachira," you murmur, your voice a little softer than even you expected, "is this you asking me out on a date?"

he gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as though he’s been wounded. "what? i’m heartbroken! i thought we were already dating!"

you roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. 

"fine, meguru. take me out to dinner. but only because you solved the case, genius."

he grins triumphantly, "yes!" and then, with a gleam in his eyes, he adds, "it’s a date then, detective. i’ll be on my very best behavior. maybe."

as you both stand, gathering your things, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your heart at what is to come. tonight, and in the days ahead. maybe things aren’t as black-and-white as you once thought. and maybe, just maybe, you’ve discovered something between the two of you - worth more than solving any case.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[httpwintersoldier]

『sweet little thing p.2 | b. barnes x reader』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's real long okay, it even has a third part! summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 1 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

"I don't think the text was for me, darlin', but for the record, it looks good."

Your widened eyes stared at the text until the screen of your phone locked again due to lack of activity.

You couldn't believe you had been so stupid as to send without checking the contact beforehand! You cursed your slippery fingers, and the fact that their names started with "J". Thankfully you didn't mention any names in the text, or else you'd probably have to drop out and move elsewhere...

Once the embarrassment had washed away ever so slightly, you let his words sink in - "but for the record, it looks good". You gripped your skirt and pressed your thighs together as you imagined the man leaning closely and whispering that in your ear, telling you just how good you looked.

Another dilemma popped into your mind - now that he knew you thought it was slutty, should you really go out in it!? On one hand, Bucky told you it looked good, but on the other you'd basically admitted to knowing too much showed in that outfit...

The sound of a car honking outside broke you from your trance, and you walked over to your bedroom's window to find your ride already waiting for you. You muttered a small "fuck" under your breath gathered all of your things and stuffed them in a bag before taking one last look at the mirror.

"Oh, whatever, can't get worse than it already is." You said to yourself, grabbed a large jersey and threw it on top of the cheerleader outfit you decided to wear.

You sprayed some perfume and left the house, with your heart wanting to find Bucky right away, and your mind wanting him to stay as far as possible.

You all rode in the same car in direction to Andy's house, which meant that at least you wouldn't be alone with Bucky yet again - that alone calmed you down quite a bit. The ride was loud and full of music, but you couldn't stop thinking about your little (big) mistake.

Your friends noticed, but as far as they were aware, you had a thing for Andy, so they just brushed it off as being nervous to be around him or something of the sort.

Fortunately, Andy was the one opening the door this time, and he greeted everyone with a big, adorable smile that would have made you fall to your knees just a couple weeks ago.

"Guys, I need your help carrying the beer cases, the ice and the thermal boxes. Y/N can you and Jas go to the garage and bring the boxes? There's four of them, they're empty so you should be alright bringing two each."

You and the other girl nodded, following his instructions as to how to get to the garage. Once you got there, however, the boxes were nowhere to be seen.

"Can you go ask him where they are, Jas? I'll keep looking."

Your friend nodded and turned around, leaving you alone to look for the boxes by yourself. You tried not to make too much of a mess while searching for them, but you had looked as hard as possible without moving anything, and yet you had no luck finding what you were looking for.

"What happened to that little number I saw?"

You jumped and shrieked at the deep voice behind you. When you turned around you saw those steel blue eyes looking down at you, with a little knowing smile.

There was no point in playing dumb, you both knew what he was talking about. His eyes flew down to your hands that played with the hem of your jersey.

You felt so small under his gaze... You had never felt like this with any other guy - sure, you had been shy before, but when it came to Bucky it was like the words were caught on your throat and your whole body caught on fire. Maybe it was because he was older, maybe it was the confidence and power in the way he conducted himself - the image of a man who wasn't, for once, all bark and no bite.

He stepped forward, reaching right beside you to claim the beer he had left open on the counter that you were leaning against.

"Decided against my advice?" He took a swing of his beer, the playful, devilish smile on his face spreading wider "Andy would've liked it."

He was teasing you. He knew you were embarrassed and he was using it against you, for amusement.

"Why? Did you like it?"

The both of you were shocked at the words that left your lips - you didn't know where those words came from and Mr. Barnes wasn't waiting for something so bold to come out of you.

He chuckled and his eyes suddenly seemed to be darker, but that darkness wasn't the lack of emotion you had seen that day at the store, it was a different type... there was something sensual about his gaze rather.

"Maybe I did."

The two of you heard footsteps heading towards you. Bucky stepped away from you and faced the door just as your friend came in.

"Andy said that his dad already- oh, hello Mr. Barnes!"

"Hi there. Can I help you?" He asked Jas.

Bucky acted as if nothing had happened, as if he and you had just been having a casual conversation, as if the air was thick and tense from the sexual tension burning between your bodies.

"Andy told me and Y/N to fetch the thermal boxes, but he didn't know you had brought them out already." She explained.

"I see. Well, have fun girls." He said, looking between you and her, as you walked towards the door to leave with your friend.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your mind, a little bit of revenge for what he had just done to you. You needed to act fast, so thinking twice about the idea was out of the question, you just... did it.

"Aren't you going to watch the game, Mr. Barnes?" You asked teasingly, turning back around to face him.

Bucky scoffed, knowing exactly what you were doing calling him 'Mr. Barnes'.

"Might stop by and watch it, why sweetheart?" The man asked, with a curious look, taking another sip of his beer, something he did often to hide his smirk.

You took off the jersey you were wearing over your outfit, revealing the cheerleader getup you had just talked about, and handed him the item of clothing.

"You don't have anything to support the team! I can lend you my jersey." You said, your voice honest and innocent, as if you didn't know exactly what your words and actions meant, as if there wasn't a second meaning to what you did.

Bucky wasn't exactly subtle in the way he looked at you. His eyes were eating you up, from top to bottom, slowly taking in the view in the flesh. Eventually, he reached for the jersey and took it.

"Thanks, sweetheart, I'll make sure to give it to you when the game is over."

You mumbled a "don't mention it" and walked back into the house with your friend, so you could help everyone set up for the game.

"Dude, his dad is a real DILF." Jas whispered as you two made it to the front porch.

"I know, right?" You smugly agreed.

Whistles and compliments echoed in the room when you pulled up with the cheerleader outfit after ditching the jersey. Andy's eyes in particular stayed the longest on your body, and you felt a little guilty for nor caring about what he thought - the feedback that you truly wanted had already been received.

Bucky had joined the group not long after the game started, and you didn't miss the way his eyes stole glances at you whenever possible.

The man himself didn't know what was wrong with him. He was nearly twice your age, he could be your dad, it was a very possible scenario since his actual kid was your classmate, but for some reason, ever since you had walked into his house with that pretty little skirt and those big, shy eyes, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you.

He knew he wasn't being subtle when eating you up with his eyes, but Bucky wanted you to know, to see what you did to him.

Both of you were aware of the painfully tense and erotic situation, as you'd spread your legs and cross them more often than not, giving Bucky a good view or your exposed skin, making him yearn for more.

"Shit, we need more chips." One of the guys complained.

"I can get them." You offered, since you weren't really interested in the game, and stood up, taking the two empty bowls with you.

It seemed to be impossible to ever be in that house without being left alone with James Barnes, but that time it wasn't accidental at all. As you were opening the chips and dumping them on one of the bowls, footsteps echoed behind you.

Suddenly, Bucky placed his hands on your waist and flipped you around, pressing you against the counter and trapping you between the furniture and his body.

"What are you doing, darlin'?" He asked, looking straight into your widened eyes.

"I-I'm refilling the chips..." You responded, pointing at the bowl behind you with your thumb.

"Fuck the chips, you know exactly what I mean, pretty girl." The man said, cutting right through your act, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you to him.

One of the corners of your lips twitched upwards, discarding the innocent façade.

"I'm doing just what you are doing."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N."

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine, it rolled off of his tongue in a manner that couldn't be described in any way other than sensual.

"And you aren't?"

He chuckled, licked his lips slowly and then brushed his hair back with his hand, out of frustration. Your naive side had him going insane with desperation, but your bold side had the man wishing to fuck the brat out of you.

"You know what?" He said, taking his hand and softly placing the pads of his fingers right above your knee "I'd love to bend you over this counter and fuck you with this little skirt still on."

His hand trailed up your leg, slowly lifting your bottoms, revealing your white panties with a pink bow in the front. Bucky smirked and chuckled, a small patch of wetness was clearly visible.

"But?..." You questioned, teasing him as you slid one of your thighs between his legs.

"Y/N! How are those chips coming along, dude?" One of the boys yelled from the living room, snapping the two of you into reality.

"Yeah- coming! One second." You responded.

"I guess we'll have to finish this later, Sergeant."

You didn't give him time to respond, as you grabbed the two bowls and walked back into the living room, the wet spot between your legs now larger than ever before, seemingly.

What Bucky was feeling was wrong. He stood there in the kitchen, thinking about you, thinking about how he towered over you and how you looked at him with those eyes that switched back and forth from innocent to fierce, to tease him, to lure him even further.

His pants were tight and his head was filled with thoughts of your body, leaving over and pressing against every surface of that house, with him inside of you.

It was torture, he couldn't handle it anymore, and he couldn't go back into the living room with such and obvious problem - and with the source of the problem sitting so close.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mr. Barnes going up the stairs, with a serious face and a quick pace. No one else seemed to notice, however, as they were too focused on the game.

"I'm going to the bathroom, anyone need anything from the kitchen?" You lied, looking for an excuse to leave the room as quickly as possible without being suspicious.

You had just come back from the kitchen with the chips, so everyone shook their head or mumbled a "no", so you stood up and followed up the stairs, looking out for any noise to find out which door Bucky had gone into.

As you walked down the hallway, you could hear faint grunts that grew closer with each step. Eventually you found the door of what you assumed was his bedroom, and your whole body froze. There was only one door between you, and the thing that you had fantasized for so long.

"Fuck..." You heard him groan from the inside.

Your hand grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, as the heat between your legs was too much to bear. You opened the door, just enough to be able to see him sitting on the bed, back against the wall and head leaning back, as his hand stroked his cock.

"Are you enjoying the show?" He asked, continuously jerking his shaft as he lowered his head and looked straight at you, his hair falling beautifully over his face.

Your face was burning up and your heart was racing, but your nerves were nothing compared to the pure hunger and desperation you felt for the man. You stepped into the room, carefully, as if stepping into a wolf's cage, and closed the door behind you.

Bucky watched as you walked over to him, eyes shifting between his hand's movements and his face.

His free hand flew to your hip, slowly guiding you down until you were sitting on his lap, your wet, clothed pussy applying pressure on his cock.

You stared at each other's lips for a very long time. Bucky's hand cupped your cheek and, slowly but surely, brought you closer, until there was no space left between you.

What started out slowly very quickly progressed, and the second your lips connected, his hands were all over your body, gripping you ass and toying with the little skirt he loved so much. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it ever so often as his tongue got bolder.

The two of you pulled apart, your lips were swollen and your eyes were glazed, obviously displaying how much the two of you needed more.

His eyes fell to your lips and he kissed you softly once more before looking up at your eyes.

"We shouldn't do this..." His mouth said something, but the curious fingers that played with the waistband of your panties told you a completely different story.

"Why?" You asked softly, placing small, wet kisses on his neck, causing him to close his eyes and groan.

"My son... Fuck- Andy likes you." Bucky said finally, gripping you tightly as soon as those words left his mouth, as if he thought you'd slip away at the confession.

You kept on kissing his neck, as that confession didn't faze you - if it was something that you would've been over the moon about just a month ago, it was now irrelevant. Bucky came into your life and took over your mind completely, you felt as if every release would feel subpar, unless he was the one helping you reach it.

"You really wanna stop? Hm?" You asked teasingly, as your hips began grinding against his, your wet panties rubbing on his cock.

The conflict on his face was brief, as he eventually threw his head back and let out a low groan. The male gripped your ass cheeks and flipped the two of you over as he attacked your neck.

His hands expertly slid your underwear down your legs, and the male began kissing down your neck, your chest, and your stomach, until he reached your pussy. Bucky teased you for a second, kissing your inner thighs, but he was just as desperate to taste you as you were to feel him.

As his tongue begins licking your cunt and circling your clit, your right hand covers your mouth, while the other grips his hair.

"Aren't you a sweet little thing?..." He whispers, after tasting you.

You almost came at those words, the pure filth of the whole situation leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

The man's cock throbbed against the mattress, but he was too drunk in your taste to let go - Bucky wanted to taste as much of you as possible. His tongue slipped in and out of you as he took a break from teasing your clit, and he didn't stop until your back arched, as Bucky wanted to make you cum with his cock.

Bucky's lips met yours once more, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. That kiss was meant to muffle your sinful sounds as he slipped inside of you and slowly pushed himself fully into you. His girth stretched you out in the most satisfying way, and, somehow, the thing you had fantasized about for so long was even better than you had imagined.

He started out slowly, looking into your eyes as if testing the waters, and picked up the pace when he saw you were comfortable enough. Thankfully the TV was loud enough to drown out the echo from the skin slapping sounds, but they wouldn't drown out much more.

Bucky covered your mouth with his hand as his hips snapped against yours at a feral pace - he wanted to make you scream in a way that you wouldn't be heard.

"Want to be a whore? Hm? Parading yourself in front of me with those pretty little skirts thinking I wasn't gonna fuck the shit out of you?"

Your tits bounced to the rhythm of his thrusts, and you thanked for the hand covering your mouth, allowing you to be as mouthy and as loud as you wanted to.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you looking pretty like this, sweetheart." He said, between pants.

Bucky wouldn't last long, as your ever-tightening walls and the erotic look on your face rendered him weak, but thankfully you were also near your climax - he could tell from the way your back arched slightly more by the second.

"Wanna cum for me, baby?" Bucky questioned, removing his hand so you could answer.

"Y-yeah, please, Sir."

He chuckled and smirked at the nickname that, to your credit, did have a nice ring when you were begging under him.

One of Bucky's hands slid between your bodies and circled your clit, until your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your toes curled. You had to bite your lip harshly, to stop yourself from moaning out Bucky's name. The latter pulled out and buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning and panting as he climaxed, spilling all over your stomach.

Knock, knock.

"Hey dad did you see Y/N?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, she had a bit of an accident." Hinting that you had gotten your period "She was embarrassed and didn't want to tell everyone so I told her to just go home."

"Oh... Okay." Andy's voice seemed sad, and you heard

Bucky looked into your eyes before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"Guess you don't gotta go back down... Plenty of time for another round. Or two."

'minors do not interact' banner credit: @cafekitsune

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch. 

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday. 

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went. 

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy. 

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was. 

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over. 

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it. 

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted. 

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else. 

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.  

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then. 

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased. 

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten. 

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh. 

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went. 

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns. 

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out. 

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough. 

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice.  So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon. 

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.  

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips. 

 He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper. 

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison. 

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world. 

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought. 

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them. 

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this. 

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away. 

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him. 

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now. 

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it. 

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away. 

What has that shame ever done but made you worse? 

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled. 

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her. 

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose. 

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame. 

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

 If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh. 

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

 It’s always the ones you trust. 

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her. 

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it. 

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside. 

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always. 

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.” 

 Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt. 

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening.  His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it. 

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile. 

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…” 

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right. 

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves. 

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven. 

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born. 

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it. 

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp. 

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose. 

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself. 

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things. 

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door. 

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake. 

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left. 

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when… 

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be. 

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him. 

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door. 

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident. 

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense. 

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory. 

 And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back. 

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible. 

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again. 

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to. 

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought.  Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature. 

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him. 

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it. 

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

 He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him. 

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door. 

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.  

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl. 

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world. 

“Please, I-” 

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged. 

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

 But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her. 

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

[crow2222]

Two Darry x Paul fic wips I'll probably never finish 💔

———————————————

"Paul. Paul get up, you were gonna drive me home."

Darry shook his boyfriend's shoulder until the other smacked his hand away with a groan.

"That was yesterday. Leave me alone."

"If I come home and everyone's awake, I'm as good as dead."

Paul turned around in the bed then, rubbing his eyes open. "No shit? I thought they weren't strict."

"Well, not really." Darry pulled the covers off Paul, who weakly grabbed at them, before kicking it under the bedframe. "I mean it, I gotta get home- and I ain't walking, no way."

"Okay, okay! Let me find my pants at least, God."

Darry took one last glance at Paul’s bare ass before walking off to Paul's very own car. He'd wished for his own long before his dirty shoes could've even reached the pedals with his toes, but his family could barely afford the one truck they got now.

He wasn't dumb, but maybe a dreamer. A wisher? Darry wasn't quite sure how to describe himself, and that applied to everything.

The car roared to life as the two of them jumped in at the same time. Despite the rushing Darry had done, he was nervous for Paul to be behind the wheel. Was he even aware that he was awake?

Not that Darry had a lot of time to think about that, as the were speeding down the road in record time.

Christmas came and went as per usual, the decorations left behind even into the next year shining bright on the perfectly manicured lawns of the Soc neighbours.

These holidays always felt like it was Darry's. It was his time to shine, even if winter was his least favourite season. Christmas was his. And Paul's. Seeing how his birthday was only a bit before Christmas itself.

Candy canes, stupid sweaters, presents, elves and Santa. Theirs to take and kick down in town. Each cardboard stand and figure, every single one destroyed or stolen for their own pure selfish sake.

Darry suddenly looked down, he was wearing Paul's sweater instead of his own, and when he turned to look over at Paul, low and behold was his sweater. He looked good in it. It's hard to pick up clothes from the ground in the middle of the night with no light.

Maybe this little mix up wouldn't hurt anybody.

Not any more than last night did, laughter bouncing off the walls in Paul's room as the two of them grew tired. They ended up holding each other under the covers, Paul nuzzling up to Darry's chest, adding a pressure down on him that helped sleep come easily.

Darry tugged at the front of the sweater and sniffed, only to find that he can't. Like how you walk into your own home and never notice the smell of it, unlike the times you visit others.

"I don't think you're sweaty enough to make that fresh sweater smell just yet Dar."

———————————————

Wip no2

———————————————

Paul twirled the little brown strand of hair that stuck out.

He tugged on it gently when it's fully wrapped around his finger, prompting Darry to open his eyes. The man, in turn, is met with a gorgeous sight - his boyfriend laying down next to him, with the morning light from behind him casting a holy glow to his golden curls and lion-like arms.

That's all that was beautiful in his life in that moment, because in the next, he sat straight up like an arrow and started coughing up his lungs from whatever lingered in them during the night.

Paul must've sat up too, for the pounding that struck Darry in the back, which sent him into an even worse coughing fit that even turned into gags by the end of it.

"Shoot, you got something for that cough of yours somewhere?"

Paul wrapped an arm around Darry to keep him upright, who had vaguely registered that he had been swaying.

"Maybe. I'll be fine don't worry, it's my house afterall." He didn't want to mention how he didn't want Paul running around, messing up his organisation and all. Not like he had much of an organised system in the first place.

"No bother at all. Stay in bed, and I'll find something." And he did leave, after a peck on the cheek and a tuck back under the sheets.

[catboymoments]

Dude I really love your post canon Kazuichi design AND personality like bro gets a recheck for his actions AND figures out he's queer!!!

Question abt Kazuichi btw how would he react and act towards Sonia after everything? Like would he apologize? Would he just leave her alone and not say anything? And same question with Sonia :3

(Also your art is making me feel like I'm not sickly anymore and it makes me happy :3!! Here's a lil seal btw for you <3)

CUTE SEAL!!! Okay so. I feel like postcanon when they wake up they all realize that there’s a lot more going on that’s way beyond like. Crushes or trying to win someone’s affection, so as survivors I feel like Sonia and Souda kind of… keep their distance but start over as “coworkers” if that makes sense ? Like while they’re trying to wake everyone up and figure out what they’re doing on jabberwock. However Souda does explicitly apologize to Sonia pretty early on for being a stupid teenage boy and being weird about her and she really appreciates it and it makes their relationship as friends mature a little :’) and they get to know each other Normal Style

I have so many thoughts about the jabberwock guys it’s unreal

[namjoonscoffeeshop]

Wishing It Weren't True|Drabble

A part of DEEP series ✧ Pairing: Yoongi x reader ✧ warning(s): explicit language ✧ word count: 462 ✧ Song: No One Noticed, The Marias a/n: I want to apologize for being gone for so long, I needed some time to myself. After trying to write again I instead decided to release a drabble of yoongi's pov, there has been many people trying to understand him and some believe he doesn't love her. these results of confused thoughts is exactly what I wanted, I wanted him to be a confusing character someone who got under your skin making you angry/frustrated/annoyed and also made butterflies in your tummy appear. enjoy! sorry for any misspelled words. I didn't proofread it. also, good luck to everyone who will try to get tickets to see hobi tmr. index | askme!

"then that's all I want, I don't want our friendship anymore just sex, that's all you like or am I wrong!" He leans against the headrest of the sofa, your words stabbing at his conscious,  cursing himself for everything that happened after, how could he have not controlled himself "you should've left asshole not...shit!" pulling out he box of cigarettes from his pocket. 

"is this what you want? you want me to find you only when I need my dick wet?"  

"why did I talk to her like that" placing the box down on the table he lays down instead. He fell asleep on the couch that day, and the next day, and the next. until the first day of classes came. looking at his phone there were messages from everyone but her. 

he sat quietly as he reaccessed everything that happened, there was something that bothered him. you not denying his claims, and telling him that you misspoke and didn't just want him for sex.

y/n didn't make it easy for him to ignore her, ditching class and especially with him, let's not forget how she had him in her apartment without him knowing. yoongi's blood boiled as he thought of all the bad things that could've happened, how vulnerable and stupid she is to trust him again. 

Yoongi tried everything to get her to just forget about jihye and what had happened but she was stubborn. He understood why she was angry, he just didn't understand why she couldn't move on from it. 

it was nothing to him. 

Yoongi began to wish it wasn't true, what she said to him that day. but the routine then began, at first he would keep his distance from her, but she'd appear at his door step and they'd have sex. he'd go over to try and talk to her but it always ended up the same way. 

at one point they went two days without seeing one another and the mere absences of her brought him to her door step. just wanting to see her, catching a glimpse of her was enough for him. 

if all she truly wanted was his body then he didn't mind, he'd do anything for her. 

At her place she'd get up and leave after the deed, and he'd wait to hear the water start in the shower to leave. if there was one thing he didn't want her to feel was that he just like her only wanted the sex. at his place she'd stick around, waiting for him to kick her out but he didn't. he'd lay in bed with her, twirling his finger on a strand of her hair or they'd lay in each others arms until someone fell asleep. usually it was him. 

After a while their relationship had returned to normal, sort of. at least they weren't going at it like rabbits every time they were alone in a enclosed place. they could have a conversation.  

@baechugff @thetaehyungstan @yoongibaybee @gimeow @pjmsneverland @eissenheimer @taetaechim7 @acquiescence804 @seoullove96 @waitaminswife @keshiadeija @gaby-93 @amarawayne @ykkjm @ot72025 @joonie1213 @vonvi-blog

[thiccsaucy]

Now I’m trying to beat the sleepy little guy allegations….

[claitea]

i've had these scenarios written down since volo's debut in pokemon masters and i just really wanted to scribble them down and finally release them

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.