#i can’t wrap my head around what i just read…. and i may sob too cause oh my lord.

[c4ndytr4p]

ooooo brent bristol when i catch you when i catch you brent. not you pullin that gege card (@yae-energy @paraccosm and @jogeto will know what im referring to) im crying, screaming, shaking, and getting ready to throw smthing

[rainba]

What's Rightfully Mine (Yan. Kairos! x GN! Reader)

A/N: OOuuuhh... I've read over this a billion times and I figure I may as well go ahead and upload it. ^^;;;;;;;;;;;; Matching artwork with the story...! Woohoo! (*´▽`*)

TWs: very graphic depictions of violence, disturbing yandere behaviors, mild gore, kidnapping, 18+ content....... Kairos being Kairos. Slight mention of virginity (but it's just Kairos' virginity) MDNI.

Wordcount: 2300~

((And thank you @x-v0id-x for reading over the fic for me before I posted it!!! ☆:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:☆ ))

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Kairos never meant for this to happen. 

He swears up and down that he never wanted to do it– he promises that he never intended to hurt anybody.

But he did anyway.

However… Can you blame him–?

You are Kairos’ one and only, his soulmate, his beloved, the reason he breathes, the reason he wakes up every morning, the reason why he’s still alive– you’re his everything! Was he supposed to just let you run off into the arms of another man without even attempting to fight back...?!

The way you looked at that filth– that disgusting, foul, no-good other man… It made Kairos sick to his stomach.

What even was that guy’s name...?

(####)? (######)? (######).

Yes, that’s his name, Kairos is sure of it.

It repeats itself in Kairos’ mind over and over again, piercing his skull like a blade that twists and twists until he’s left screaming for mercy at the top of his lungs.

“G-get out of my head! Get out! Get out get out get out! Leave me alone!”

Countless nights end in him violently waking up from the same nightmare– a nightmare where you and (######) run off together while he helplessly watches. And in the nightmare, you smile so brightly, but you’re only smiling at that bastard. It’s like Kairos is invisible as he desperately crawls towards you. He’s sobbing and begging for you not to leave him, but it’s as if you can’t hear him.

However, (######) can.

(######) spits on him, jeers at him, then laughs as he carries you far, far away.

In Kairos’ nightmares, the other man stomps on his neck as he spits out callous remarks.

“Nobody could ever love you.” He sneers.

“You’re nothing but a disgusting freak.”

Kairos knows he’s heard these things before– but he can’t remember who once told him that.

He feels so powerless when imagines you with (######) as he sleeps, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it when he’s awake– it’s a never-ending tragedy that haunts every second of every day. The bags under his eyes have grown horrifyingly darker. Kairos had to make this stop.

He was desperate.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he broke into that man’s house, sneaking in through the first-floor window and trudging down the darkened halls.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he crept into the shadowy bedroom with a silver blade placed firmly in his hands, his back pocket harboring a rag soaked in chloroform.

The two of you were sleeping together so peacefully– you and that disgusting bastard.

That man looked so carefree; his chest rising and falling at a perfectly even pace. His arms were wrapped so warmly around you, holding you close in a tender embrace. The blankets covered your lower halves, and the man’s face was buried in the back of your neck.

The scene was so peaceful. Way too peaceful…

With tear-stricken eyes, Kairos couldn’t help but wonder: “why can’t that be me?”

Why does this man get to live a happy and carefree life, but not him? Why does this man get to hold you tightly in his arms, and not him? Why… Why… 

Why does Kairos never get what he wants? 

This feeling– this god awful feeling that Kairos is constantly haunted by: envy.

Envy… The one emotion he’s all-too familiar with. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore– for once in his life, he wants to have something, and not just yearn for it.

In this moment, he knows that the only way to obtain happiness… 

Is simply to take it by force.

Kairos had to be fast– because if the man woke up before he could stun him, then he’d be quickly overpowered.

Before he focused on taking him out, Kairos tiptoed over to your side, his gaze softening for just a moment. He pulled out the rag from his back pocket and placed it gently under your nose, covering all your airways. He knew he had to wait a few minutes– he had to make sure that you won’t wake up any time soon. So, while he stood there, he lovingly petted your hair and left little kisses on your forehead. When he was certain that the chloroform settled in, his heart started to tighten in his chest.

Adrenaline struck him like lightning as he snuck around the side of the bed, his purple eyes locked in on his target. For the first time in his life, Kairos was no longer the victim.

Nervous sweat dribbled down the sides of his face as he held the blade up high, positioning the pointed end towards the man’s exposed throat. Kairos could have turned back– he could have easily put the knife away and let you both go free. But he loved you too badly. He needed you too badly.

This was it.

He jabbed the knife deep into the man’s neck, hoping that would prevent any screams.

And it worked.

(######) jolted awake in horror as his mind raced to figure out what was happening. He threw his hands onto the wound and tried so desperately to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. It was so, so futile. Gurgled sounds bounced off the walls as a bloody rampage ensued right beside you.

Seeing the red gushing out flipped a switch in Kairos’ mind. He doesn’t know why he lost control– he doesn’t know how it happened– but it did.

Kairos’ vision went black as he fully jumped on top of the bed, plunging the knife into (######)’s body over and over and over again.

Slash, slash, slash.

A horrifying symphony: the sound of flesh being sliced apart.

The man’s muffled cries were like music to Kairos’ ears.

He choked and he gagged, whimpered and wailed, but coherent words of pleas were unable to escape his mouth. Every time he tried to kick Kairos off, Kairos would stab him in his legs. Every time the man tried to push him off, Kairos would slash the palm of his hands. Kairos thought for sure that he’d be overpowered, but the adrenaline in his veins gave him strength that he never knew he had.

And there was blood.

Blood everywhere.

“M-mine, mine, mine… They’re mine...!” Kairos mumbled manically under his breath, his focus flipping back and forth between you and his victim. But– it wasn’t just Kairos that looked over at you. Your partner did as well.

His shimmering eyes stared at you longingly– so lovingly... Too lovingly.

It made Kairos’ blood boil.

Through gritted teeth, he spat out, “n-no, you don’t get to look at them...! Don’t look at them ever again!”

Then… Slash.

The silver knife plunged deep into his eyes– thick blood spewing out from the wound.

Kairos can barely remember what happened after that. All he knew was that, eventually, the man ceased to struggle.

His black hoodie was now soaked in blood- his quivering hands completely red. It dripped from his cheeks and onto the corpse beneath him– the entire world was spinning dizzyingly fast.

(######)’s body was painted in deep lacerations, and his face was disfigured to the point of him being unrecognizable. Something about it was so… So…

Exciting.

 It was done now. It was over.

There was nobody in this world who could take you away from him.

And the thought of that made him smile.

Kairos laughed– he laughed so joyously, laughed so carefree.

Kairos’ mind was an incoherent mess. A horrible, horrible mess.

And he doesn’t know why it happened– he doesn’t know how it happened– in one moment, he was attacking that man, but in the next…

“M-mine… Mine… You’re f-finally mine!”

His pale hands were shaking as they savagely tore away your thin clothing. Kairos pushed your ex-lover’s corpse onto the floor as he kissed your lips with the intensity of a starved animal.

Your lips were so much softer than he imagined– so much sweeter, too. He couldn’t contain his excitement anymore– after all, this night marks the beginnings of a new and wonderful life!! 

And now, he also just gave you his first kiss! 

The silver light of the moon was glowing on his face, illuminating the dark red blood that stained his skin. He was a monster– a selfish freak that craved your love more than anything else.

There really was no rhyme or reason to anything Kairos was doing. At that moment, he just wanted to feel good; he needed to feel your warmth.

In one second, he was desperately humping your leg while holding your hips in place. In the next, he was kissing your stomach and fervently licking your chest. He knows that you can’t feel it, but that’s beside the point– he uses this time as practice, so that when you are awake, you’ll be feeling nothing but bliss! And besides… You just taste so good; he can’t help himself.

Kairos kisses and bites at your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a faint trail of needy marks. Without thinking, he pulls out his cock and begins to jerk himself off. He parts his mouth and rambles to himself.

“I’ll… I’ll m-make sure nobody finds you! Nobody!”

Kairos sticks out his tongue and licks over your left nipple; he does it a few more times before fully sucking on it. The lewd act sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s so hot, so naughty, and ultimately entirely new to him. He’s never been so turned on before.

“W-we’ll live happily together, alone in my apartment! And you’ll be s-so happy!”

He speaks as if you can hear him– and deep down, he almost wishes that you could. Kairos crawls up further onto the bed and digs his knees into your shoulders, the shadow of his cock looming over your perfect face. It’s so close to you– so, so close– god, he still wishes you were awake right now. But he knows you’d fight him off if you knew what was going on.

“I’ll f-feed you every day, and– And I’ll learn how to cook for you! I– I can watch videos online… I promise I’ll learn… J-just for you!”

He strokes himself even faster, soft wet sounds echoing off the bloodied walls. Kairos lifts the chloroform rag away from your mouth but keeps it over your nose. He presses his tip against your lips as he keeps going, his precum slowly dribbling down your chin.

“W-we can make love every single night...! I’ll… I’ll make you feel so, so good… I…” A shiver runs up and down his spine as a whiney moan escapes him.

“M-my virginity… It’s… It’s all yours...! Ahh…” 

His eyes squeeze shut as a hot sting of pleasure surges through him.

“D-doesn’t that sound wonderful!? I’m all yours, my love!”

Kairos pushes his cock a little closer to your lips– but he does it a bit too aggressively, the tip of it scraping against your teeth. God, he would give anything for you to suck on it– even if only for a fraction of a second.

“Th-then we can have a family one day!! I’ll– I’ll get my job going, I… I’ll m-make more money! Lots of money! W-we can adopt… We can…”

With his one free hand, Kairos reaches down and begins to stroke your hair, leaving blood stains all throughout it. 

“J-just us two, only u-us two… Nobody… Else!” 

The pace of his hand quickens as his head starts to tilt backwards, his breathing growing out of control. His chest heaves as he erratically chases his high, yearning so badly to feel it hit him all at once.

He can’t help but imagine how wonderful the future will be– your all's future together. Then he imagines the way you’ll be all tied up in his bed, completely naked and vulnerable for him…

Just like you are now.

“F-fuck..!”

It’s all too much– Kairos’ cock twitches as he cums all over your face, some of it pouring into your mouth and on your cheeks. He squeezes as much of it out as he possibly can, craving to see you drenched in it. Throughout it all, you still sleep so peacefully… All thanks to the chloroform.

He can’t help but think that you look so cute when you’re knocked out and covered in his cum.

Ah… if only he could draw you in this state.

Even though he so badly wants to collapse by your side and cuddle you, he knows that he has to move. There is quite literally a dead body in the room and blood on his hands– he has to clean up.

And he also has to find a way to sneak your body to his broken-down car outside.

Very reluctantly, he kisses you on your forehead, smiling sweetly. “I’ll… I’ll be back, my love!”

After a while of stumbling, he finds himself entering the bathroom.

When he looks in the mirror, his eyes widen partially in horror. Kairos knew this side of himself existed deep within him… He knew there was a disgusting monster that laid dormant in his chest, but he had never before seen it come out so fiercely.

His pupils were small, his purple eyes hauntingly beautiful. And on top of that, he was grinning.

It was the first time he had genuinely smiled in weeks– maybe even months.

Kairos turned on the sink to wash off his face, but he only seemed to be making more of a mess. Blood streamed down the sides of the sink and pooled in the drain. Despite how macabre it all was, he just couldn’t stop smiling– because now he has everything he could ever want: you.

All to himself… Forever.

Until death do you part.

[certainlynotasimp]

OH MY GOD. THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN MY PILLOW BECAUSE OF YOUR NEW SUNNY FIC AGDGJAEGAJAVSG ITS SOSOSOS CUTE I CANT BREATHEHEHEHEHE. it got me thinking…sunny and miggy are perfect for the one bed trope 😭😭😭😭😭 just imagine miggy acting like it doesn’t effect him, sleeping in the same bad as sunny. i’m already giggling thinking about it. PLEASE WRITE A FIC ABOUT IT WHEN YOU HAVE THE TIME 😭🙏

As Warm As You.

Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader

A/N: OMG! Thank you so much for the love and the request! 💕🤍 I personally never read anything from this trope, but I think I made something that can satisfy your fluffy craving😅. But I added some Sunny lore, so maybe this will make up for my ignorance. I’m also sorry it’s kinda short.

A/N: I haven’t seen the movie yet, but this shouldn’t be harmed by it maybe. Also I would like to say that I am using Google Translate for the Spanish phrases I use, so if you are fluent in Mexican Spanish (I think that’s what you call phrases and sayings more common in Mexico.), please comment some criticism my way. Thank you!🤍

Warnings: Trauma, Nightmares, comfort, fluffy bits, One Bed, Miguel is a secret softie, No Use of YN ((Sunny is her nickname, not her name name)), Female pronouns, Google Translate Spanish, Established relationship?

——————-

“Ben?…Ben!”

The little spider’s scream cuts through the screeching sirens. The smog hung around the air as the dying flames stained the sky. Too many flames…Too many places to be at once.

The red staining the dark costume caused bile to build up as the search becomes more desperate.

I have to find him.

The dull pain from nails bending and breaking as the rumble falls around her shaking frame. The choked panting caused the Doctor to find his friend quite easily. His friend desperately searching for something. Someone.

Why can’t I find him?

The question is answered with a patch of dark hair appears under a pile of rumble, the tips stained in red. There was so much…why is there so much…

A howl of pain rings out of the young woman’s throat as she clings to the body, her mentor just steps behind her, helpless as to how he can help her.

No one can help her. Like how no one helped her Ben.

——

A faint flash of orange alerts the sleeping man out of his endless dream. He looks around and doesn’t notice anyone at first. Miguel sighs, his paranoia running wild as he almost thought an enemy broke into his apartment, not that it would be a first. As he lays back down to sleep, a slight drag against the floor brings the hairs on the back of his neck to life.

He may not have a spider-sense, but he certain knew when someone was watching him. His talons burrow at as the sound patters closer to his bed. With out hesitation, he lunges towards the noise, his hands catching the form of an invisible figure as he rams them into the wall. A yelp with a whiff of vanilla and lavender stops him from ripping the invisible person’s throat out.

“Cariño?…” Miguel whispers as he retracts his claws. A faint whimpering emerges from the solid unseen being in front of him as her body materializes in the moonlight. The lines of her spider suit glowing an ethereal green as her mask disintegrates, revealing her tear stained face.

“What are you doing?” His eyebrows furrow as he looks at her suspiciously, despite knowing that she was the only one he knows wouldn’t hurt him. His mind blurs his confusion and frustration as he steps back to allow her to recover from being slammed into the wall. Certainly there wasn’t a big enough emergency that the beloved residential ray of sunshine would leave her room at The Lobby to break into his dimension, and bedroom to come get him.

“You know better than to use the gizmo to…” His scolding comes to a halt when the young woman hugs his figure, burning her head into his firm chest.

His shirt becomes wet with her tears as she sobs. The realization hits him as she whimpers into his touch.

She had the dream again.

No. She had the memory again.

His arms wrapped around her short frame as he buried his nose into her hair. Her scent filled the hole of sorrow her cries burned into him. As he rubs her back, her cries eventually stopped as she pulls away from him, an apology already waiting on her lips.

“I’m sorry, Miggy…it was really bad this time…” She mutters as she tries wiping her tears away as she forces a shy smile.

She felt ashamed for bothering him. Miguel was a busy man and she could have just stayed in her room at The Lobby, but the screams were too much.

His screams were too much.

Miguel doesn’t respond as he heads over to his dresser, pulling open a drawer. His face remaining emotionless as he retrieves a sweatshirt that sparked her familiarity.

The old gray crew neck sweatshirt with a fraying collar and mysterious stains along the sleeves. The old golden initials of NYU were cracked and picked apart due to many trips in the wash and anxious tendencies. A faint blush appears as she remembers the first time she ever saw that sweatshirt, the memory being one of her favorite…it was the first time she felt so warm since that day…

Miguel attracts her attention again when he rolls up the fabric in his hands and forces the neck over her head. Her hair sticking awkwardly as she peers up at Miguel in awe at how caring he was despite his annoyed expression.

“Brazos arriba, Sunshine.” He whispers as he helps her arms through the sleeves. She blindly follows him like a student being instructed. The taller spider stands back as he raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“I appreciate that you enjoy the suit I made you, mi luz.” Miguel states with a slight teasing smile. “But you probably wanna be more comfortable for bed.”

“Oh yea…” The small spider blushes in embarrassment as she disintegrates her suit back into her gizmo device. A shiver travels up her spine as the cold air on her legs, leaving her almost exposed except for the old sweatshirt.

“Now then,” Miguel sighs as he walks back over to his bed and crawls back under the covers. “I have several meetings in the morning, so I need to sleep.”

The little spider shuffles in her spot for a few moments as Miguel closes his eyes, getting ready to sleep again. With a nail between her teeth, the girl heads for the door to go find the couch when Miguel clears his throat. She turns back to look at him when she sees the covers beside him pulled back. Miguel’s open eye glaring at her as he groans. “It would be a lot easier for me to leave in the morning if you are in here and not in my way.”

A warm smile forms on her face as she excitedly comes into his bed. Miguel’s front facing her as his burgundy gaze burns with false annoyance and exhaustion. Miguel sighs as he feels the smaller being’s weight snuggles into his broad chest as expected.

“Thank you, Miggy.” She whispers. Her eyes peering up at him with gratitude and an emotion that only shines for him, his own secret that he will die to keep to himself.

Miguel rolls his eyes as his eyes meet hers, his warm cheeks hidden by the darkness. “Go to sleep, Cariño. You’re gonna need it for training.”

She giggles as she wraps her arms around his waist like a teddy bear. “Sweet Dreams, mi bonita araña..” She mumbles as she closes her eyes. His warmth fills the coldness of her nightmares as sleep draws her to peaceful breaths. Miguel remains frozen for a few moments as he makes sure she is deep in REM sleep before his gaze softens.

His rapidly beating heart acts as her lullaby as he places a kiss on her crown.

“Sweet dreams, mi vida…” He whispers into her scalp as his arms loom around her, acting as her shield before he slips into a sweet slumber in his light’s embrace.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 10

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You still don’t know what to call the man. Captain? Rogers? He’s just the man to you. The stranger who doesn’t speak. 

He doesn’t linger. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some game. If he’s playing with you. His stoicism is just another weapon against you. As he leaves, you sit, stunned and lost. Alone. 

The front door of the cabin shuts you in but you don’t know that you would have the courage to let yourself out. The man found you once; unbidden and unexpected, you’re certain he could do it again and again and again. So, you wait until you’re certain the house is empty before you get up. 

You fix the nightgown and hug yourself as you peek through the open bedroom door. You emerge warily and glance through to the bathroom. The front room once jars you further. You forgot how cozy, how normal it seams. 

You wander around the frayed rug and inspect every piece of furniture. A draft runs through the room, blowing in around the door. There’s an iron basket of split logs next to the fireplace. There’s something yellow on top.

You go over and open the packet; inside, a lighter and a little booklet on how to start a fire. Hm. There’s a bag of kindling next to the wood as well. Maybe later. 

You set the packet back down and turn to face the other doorway. The one you’ve not yet ventured through. The kitchen is small but tidy. On the table, there’s a small crate. Within, sorted neatly, are similar silver packets to the one he handed you in the bedroom. They are labeled alongside a large bag of quick oats. 

The oats simply read, ‘Breakfast’. The writing is jagged but legible. Each packet is labeled decisively; Day 1 – Dinner, Day 2 – Lunch... On and on. You turn and face the fridge. The only thing on it is another note. ‘Drink Water. Not Tap.’ Got it. After the complete absence of communication, it’s nice to have at least a little directive. 

You retreat to the bedroom and check the empty packet. Yep, Day 1 – Lunch. Amid the chaos of your abduction and the desolation of this place, the pieces of order stick out sorely. It all feels so fractured. 

You go to the armoir and try to open it. The doors don’t budge. You back up and cross your arms again. You’re really starting to get cold. You should get the fire going before your fingers go completely numb. 

You strip the flannel blanket from the bed and wrap it around your shoulders. You go back into the living room and hep the extra layer at your waist as you sit on your knees and try to figure out the fireplace. After several splinters and some sparks from the lighter, you get a flame struck. 

You stay close and hold up your hands as it begins to lick. You settle down on your butt and hug yourself under the blanket. You watch the flames swirl and your vision blurs with little orbs of colour.  

The questions don’t matter. The answers won’t make a difference. Why are you here? Where is here? No, it’s useless. Just like from the first moment you saw him. You know now, it wasn’t the first time he saw you. 

You hang your head and let it pour out of you. The fear throttles you so you’re choking on your sobs. Your body wracks and your skull throbs. You don’t want to live like this but you’re too afraid to die. 

You wade up from the dregs of your grief and the room comes clear again. You’re on your side before the glowing embers. You sit up and put another piece of wood on the pile then get up. You stagger around to the bedroom, your feet moving without your mind’s intent. 

You go to the corner. You stare at the shelf. The pictures, the stolen parts of your existence, the shank of hair... is gone? You saw him put it there. Oh well. Good riddance. 

You shudder and squint over the images. There’s one from over a year ago. The last time you saw your family. You shake your head and back up. No. No. You didn’t know for that long. Well, how could you expect something like this? 

You sniffle and leave the room. You can’t stay in there. Not with that shrine? Altar? You don’t even know what. 

You take a stiff pillow from the couch and lower yourself in front of the fireplace again. You close your eyes but you don’t know if you’ll be able to sleep. There isn’t much else to do. 

Time skews into a haze. It’s dark, then light, and dark again. Your stomach gurgles but by the time you get the food warm, you’re too sick to eat more than a few bites. As the days wilt by, a stench roils from your body. 

The packets help you track the day, even as you miss some, you try to keep some order in your mind. On Day Four, you dare to try the faucet. The tub pours out steaming water. You adjust it before you sink in. It’s as close to peace as you’ve found. 

As the water stagnates around your body, you can’t help but think. When will he come back? Will he be back? You don’t think he’s out there having fun and frolicking. You could tell by his attire, by the marks of death on that shield. 

You let the water go cold then drain it. You pull the same nightgown on, even as it reeks. You just need something on. You reclaim the blanket and your perch before the fireplace. You wish you had something warm to drink. Coffee or tea. Nothing could ever make this place anything less than a prison, but you wouldn’t mind some comfort. 

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 28th

Day 28: Fucking Machine // Phone Sex // Impact Play

Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Hey baby.” There’s relief in Marcus’s tone, layered under the fatigue and the slight stress that he always hopes you can’t pick up on. Life is already stressful enough with the way that the Hero’s 1 network broadcasts any battles involving Heroics, and cuts the footage to make it seem more dramatic and intense than it was. Sensationalizing the already sensational news. 

”Hey.” You hear the stress, can see him with his shoulders rolled down and his eyes heavily lidded. He sounds worn out. “How are you?”

“Missing you.” You’re sure he’s already called Missy, the bracelet she wears allows him to talk to his daughter directly and it’s too late for her to be awake now. 

“I miss you too.” You always miss him when he’s gone, the bed lonely and cold without his overheated body pressing close to yours. He sounds like he need to go to sleep, but he’s not quickly telling you good night like he might have. 

“I really miss you.” Marcus repeats and you grin, snuggling down into the bed, his pillow at your head so you smell him. It doesn’t hurt you are also wearing one of his old t-shirts that has his scent completely embedded in the fibers no matter how many times it’s been washed. 

“Oh.” You hum. “I miss you too. Especially right now. All alone in this big bed.”

He groans quietly and you hear him shuffle. The rustle of sheets telling you that he’s already in the little bunk that he has on the Heroic’s plane. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” His voice is thicker already and you smile against the phone. “It’s been two days since you’ve been inside me, Marcus.”

He exhales roughly, and you can imagine the look on his face, the instant need that makes his eyes darken and focus. “Two days is too long.” He agrees. “But I had to leave.”

“I know.” You pout down the line and slide your hand into your panties. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish you were right here.” 

“What would you do?” He asks, his voice low and turning raspier by the word. 

“Suck your cock.” Marcus groans, making you hum in appreciation for the already needy pitch to his sounds. “Why don’t  you wrap your hand around that cock and pretend it’s my hand or my mouth.” 

“Already hard.” He admits shamelessly, the confession making you giggle as your own fingers circle your clit. 

“Yeah?” You tease him. “You need a nice, soft blowjob?” You groan when you press your fingers to your puffy bundle of nerves. “Or do you need something a little rougher?” What he needs from you always changes depending on how bad of a day he had. 

“Need you.” He pants slightly and you hear him spit, making you grin as your own fingers become more adventurous. Imagining that they are Marcus’s when he works you up to sobbing his name before he ever slides inside you. The man has a fucking talented set of fingers and they don’t even come close to his tongue. “Touching me.”

“Oh I would touch you.” You purr, snuggling deeper under the covers and sighing softly. “I would straddle you, kissing down your throat and behind your ear just like you love.” 

Marcus groans and you can hear him start to slowly pump his cock. Obviously needing it soft and slow today. The tender connection and touch. “Fucking love when you do that.” 

“I know you do, baby.” You hum. “Already stripped down and naked, begging you to touch me.” Your eyes close and you slip into the little mental fantasy that is building with your words. “Breasts pressed against your chest.” 

He hums again, encouraging you to keep talking. “Fuck.” 

“That’s later.” You giggle, breaking off with a moan when you press a bit harder and rub just the right spot. “You love when I rub my pussy against your cock, getting it nice and wet while we kiss.” You love it too. You always enjoy grinding against his cock, you can cum just like that if you do it long enough. “You want me to do that while you play with my tits?” 

“Yes.” Marcus is panting down the line, grunting every few seconds as he pumps his cock. “Want to suck on them.” He adds. “You love when I suck on them.” 

It’s your turn to pant, nipples aching just because he mentioned sucking on them. He loves to lavish them with attention until they ache so beautifully. “Yesssss baby, suck on them.” You encourage, sliding your fingers deeper until they catch at your entrance and you start to push them inside you. “Fuck Marcus.” 

“Are you fingering your little pussy, baby?” His tone is dirty, spearing into your stomach and you clench around your fingers. He always knows what you are doing by the sounds you are making. “Wishing they were mine? Yours don't get deep enough, do they?” 

They really don’t. You listen to his cock sliding in his hand, the slick sounds of it adding to the sexiness of this phone call. “No.” You admit breathlessly. “Yours are perfect inside me.” You moan, curling them inside you as you imagine how perfect Marcus’s fingers would be. He manages to fill you up with just two of them and they sink down to the knuckle with ease, curling up to press against your g-spot with devastating accuracy. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Marcus promises, panting out the words while he strokes his cock. “Then I’ll take you to bed.” 

“Baby.” Your breath catches, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy as you listen into him jerk off. “Want to ride you. Want to ride your cock.” 

“Fuck yes.” Marcus grunts. “I’ll play with your tits while you cream all over me.” He moans your name. “Then I’m going to flip you over and make you scream.” 

It’s gone from needy soft to needy desperate. Harder and slightly more vulgar. Exactly what you both need right now. Both of you moaning and whining through the phone as you touch yourselves. Encouraging each other to fall over the edge. 

“Want that.” You whimper, imagining riding him hard and fast while he begs for more. While you beg for more when he has you on your back and he’s drilling into you with his cock. “Want you. Love you so much.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” Marcus pants, his voice catching and he grunts again. “Gonna cum.” He hisses, right before he makes those beautiful sounds he always makes when he is falling apart. You can just see him, eyes closed and mouth dropped open, features twisted in pleasure. It's a gorgeous sight. 

His breath is heavy, heaving over the phone while you listen to him come down from his high. Your fingers are frozen, buried inside you where you had stopped moving them as you listened to him. You didn’t cum, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy yourself. “Fuck.” Marcus chuckles quietly after a moment, catching his breath and you hear him shuffle again as he reaches for a towel to wipe away his cum. “Now I want to hear you cum, baby.” He coos, eager to continue the phone call so that you can cum too.

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter16:  Feelings Revealed

PART 2 - WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Summary: After Arthur’s rejection, tensions run high between the two of you and decisions need to be made.

*As always, special thank you to my best-y @rivetingrosie4​ for beta-reading and all the helpful notes & encouragement. 

*Full disclosure: The line about “the moon and stars” further in the story is based on a meme I read. And I have images from @red-dead-simp​ and @regwishesshehadmagic​ in here. 

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*This stunning image comes from @red-dead-simp​

Tag List:  @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp​ @regwishesshehadmagic​

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know.

The ride back to camp from the overlook is terribly awkward. Your mind is blank and foggy and your body numb as you sit slightly slumped in Blue's saddle. You are reeling from the preceding events. You keep your horse moving at a quicker pace to stay ahead of Arthur's as you head home. Any time that you hear him approaching closer to you, your muscles tense up and you spur your heels into Blue's side to encourage him to go just a bit faster to maintain the distance between you. You can't even bring yourself to look at Arthur for fear of shattering into inconsolable pieces out of humiliation.  

For Arthur, the entire ride back is riddled with regret and second-guessing. He casts his gloomy eyes on your backside the entire way home, without so much as a glance back or sound from you. It causes his heart to break in two. And oh, how he wants to give the other half of it to you. But as he looks down at his gnarled hands and the worn metal of the guns that hang so naturally on his hips, he knows this is the way it has it be. He is going to keep you safe, whether you like it or not. You may hate him for it, but at least you'll be alive to do it.

When you hit the treeline of the camp, you push Blue just a bit faster and lead him to the far end of the hitching posts, determined to stay as far away from Arthur as you can for the time being. You quickly dismount, with the hair on the back of your neck standing up as you feel his eyes watching you, while keeping your back to the man. Once you have Blue settled in for the day, you make haste to head to your tent, walking briskly and keeping your head down. Your eyes stay focused along the soft grass at your feet, desperate to avoid any attention from anyone else in camp. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Karen calling your name, but you pretend not to hear her. You are not in the mood for visiting and carrying-on with your friends right now.

As soon as you reach your tent, your trembling fingers fumble to draw the sides down, a clear indication that you do not want to be disturbed. You can only hope that no one hears you sobbing quietly within the canvas. You are numb, totally and completely, as you fold your arms around yourself to keep from shaking. You cannot wrap your swimming mind around what has just happened. You poured your heart out to Arthur. You literally begged the man to be with you. And he rejected you. And worse yet, he basically severed himself from you in the process.

Arthur slowly climbs down from his own horse upon arrival, and silently watches you walk away and head to your tent. Regret coats his insides like water pouring over a river rock. But he doesn't have time to wallow too long. The man isn't even in camp for five minutes and Dutch is calling his name. He lets out a heavy groan, accompanied by a long sigh, at the sound of Dutch's voice carrying through the camp. Dutch is the last thing he wants to deal with right now.

Of course, Arthur's heavy footfalls and scowl are lost on Dutch as he approaches the older man's tent. Arthur is his guard dog; Dutch is used to seeing him angry and sullen. In fact, he almost prefers it. Dutch needs him this way. Arthur stands in front of Dutch's tent, his gaze unfocused and mind wandering as Dutch speaks to him. The man's deep voice sounds muffled in Arthur's ear as he half-halfheartedly pays attention to what is being said to him, his mind somewhere else entirely.

"Think you can handle that?" Dutch's words finally catch Arthur's attention, snapping him out of his listless thoughts.

Arthur lifts his eyes to meet Dutch's expectant gaze. "Whatever. Just make sure the tip is solid and I'll make it work."

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

Arthur takes advantage of the quick job Dutch sends him on the day that you have confessed your feelings for him. He smartly uses the opportunity to give you some breathing room and time to calm down a bit. After checking in with Dutch upon his return, he heads over to his tent to put away his things and takes a minute to breathe. Arthur stands with his thumbs hanging from his gun belt as he surveys the camp, checking the state of things. His body naturally falls into this stance whenever he stands still for a moment. And right now, he is more weary than he’s been in a long while.

His wandering eyes eventually find you working alone in your med-tent. Your hair is pulled back and out of your face so you can work, but a few tendrils of soft locks have escaped and dangle to frame your face. Your hands move slowly, practically dancing around the bowl that has enveloped your attention. Arthur takes in the heavenly sight of you, standing in a simple white blouse and green skirt set comfortably upon your hips, mulling over what he should do, as he nervously chews his plump bottom lip for a moment. Eventually, he decides to see how things feel between you two and tentatively makes his way over to your med-tent.

Arthur kneads his thumb into the palm of the opposite hand nervously while he waits for you to notice him standing there outside the tent.  He stands with an uneasy grin, fidgeting slightly. "Hey you.”

You briefly look up from the steaming bowl of herbs and boiling water that you are stirring, careful not to look him in the eye for too long. "What can I do for you, Arthur?" Your voice carries none of the usual excitement that he hears when you see him.

Arthur's face drops, disappointed with your short reply. He clears his throat to attempt to dislodge the knot there before trying to continue. "I was out earlier and found some of that yarrow and dandelion root you use all the time. Grabbed some for you." He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a bundle of the fragrant herbs. He carefully unwraps them from the white cotton rag he's kept them in and holds them out to you with his large hands. A hopeful look sits upon his brow as he cranes his neck a bit to see if this peace offering will get you to look at him.

"Thank you. You can set them down on the table there," you instruct softly, pointing to the end of the table with your wooden spoon. Usually you'd jump at the chance to take something from Arthur, seizing any opportunity to touch his hands and for your fingers to teasingly graze across each other’s. But not this time. And this deviation in your behavior isn’t lost on Arthur, either.

"I could take you out and show you where I found it, if you like? In case you need more?" He gingerly sets the bundle of plants down, watchful for your reaction.

“Actually, that bundle there will last me awhile. But thank you.” With a quick and awkward smile, you return your full attention to the steaming liquid in front of you.

“Sure” he murmurs, feeling crushed. Arthur stands there a moment longer, as there is usually some sort of chatter from you. You always try to utilize his attention as much as you can when you have it. But now, you venture nothing else for him. So he turns and walks away, his boots slow to move in the grass. He does not notice that you discreetly reach up to wipe a rogue tear that escapes and cascades down your cheek as he turns away.

And so it goes on this way for a few days. You speak to Arthur only when he speaks to you, and even then, it's simple exchanges. There's no more joking or banter between you. Gone are the stolen glances and discreet blushes when catching each other staring. You have no harshness towards him, of course. But you can't bring yourself to maintain the flirtatious nature of your relationship either. You are not mad at Arthur after your revelation at the overlook, nor are you mean to him. You simply treat him like anyone else. Which, as it turns out, is something that Arthur is not prepared for. He is used to your smiles and greetings just for him. He is used to being special to you. But now, Arthur is just like everyone else in the gang.

This change in the dynamic weighs heavily on Arthur. His feelings aside, he simply misses you. It's been a long time since Arthur has had someone he can talk to and confide in. For someone who is generally annoyed by other people, Arthur has found that he enjoys your specific company. Your conversations and activities together range from the profound and insightful to the delightfully mundane and ordinary. In fact, he has come to need your companionship to balance the negativity of his life. Your softness counteracts the harshness that he experiences every time he is away from you. He craves the blissful distraction that your honey-sweet voice offers him.

One afternoon, Arthur decides to make another attempt to talk about this precarious situation. He catches you by the laundry while you are hanging today's wash to dry. You notice him out of the corner of your eye making his way over to you and you can feel your stomach start to churn as you avert your eyes to the task at hand.

He stops just in front of you as his hand comes up to rub against his chin nervously. "Y/N? Can I talk to you a minute, please?"

With a blank stare, you say nothing in response. You slowly lower your hands from the clothes line, twirling the clothes pins in your hands in distraction.

"Look, I know you're not happy with me right now, and I understand that," he starts. "But I was hoping we could still be friendly and all." Arthur's sapphire eyes search yours, looking for some indication that you are willing to put this unpleasantness behind you both.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you hesitate before you answer him. "Did you change your mind?"

"No," he shakes his head, glancing down at his boots. "No, I can't go about that. But I want things to just go back to how they were between us." Arthur is a simple man, and he is also a creature of habit. He is used to your presence in his life and, more importantly, the impact that you have on it.

“It doesn’t work like that, Arthur." You furrow your brows at him, finally speaking more than a few words at a time. "I understand your reasoning, I suppose. I don’t agree with it, but I accept it." You pause, looking down as your eyes begin to flutter at the emotional wave that you are trying to halt in your gut before you continue. "You’re allowed to feel what you do about it. I suppose I can’t be angry with you for that." Rolling the smooth wooden clothespins between your fingertips and inhaling deeply through your nose, you lift your chin to catch his gaze again. "But don’t expect me to act like nothing happened, Arthur.”

"I just can’t go down that road again, (Y/N)," he says, gesturing with his palm out, imploring you to understand. "Besides, I just want you to have a normal life."

With a slight shake of your head, you look up into his face. "Arthur, I have no interest in a 'normal life'. And besides, my life has been anything but normal already."

His only response is an eye roll before looking off to the side in frustration, trying not to start a fight with you again. The movement causes a pang of annoyance to strike in your chest as your hand plants onto your hip.

"I don't need your constant protection, Arthur." Your statement comes across a little more harshly than you intend to when you notice he is trying not to look you in the eye.

It is a comment that makes him slowly turn his face back to you with a sarcastic scowl. "Oh, I beg to differ on that one." God, the condescension is almost tangible.

You let out a deep and disappointed sigh as you study him a moment. "Nevermind. You just don’t get it." Shaking your head and dismissing this whole conversation, you bend over and harshly snatch up the laundry basket at your feet. You maneuver around him to head back to the tents and leave him standing there.

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

By this point, you have become quiet and melancholy around camp. Everyone notices that you're not your usual bubbly self, as you seem to float through camp now, rather than be a part of it. Always observant, Abigail has had enough and pins you down to ask what the hell is going on with you.

"Why are you and Arthur so odd lately? Did something happen? Did you have a fight or something?" She eyes you suspiciously, handing you a cup of coffee while you and the girls take a break from chores and sit at one of the tables. The weather is still fairly warm today and everyone is bustling about to prepare for the oncoming colder months ahead.

You look over at Abigail with a woeful look as you accept the hot cup. "I told Arthur how I feel about him."

The girls all gasp in excitement, eager to finally talk about this thrilling topic. But your somber expression immediately halts their celebratory giggles.

"I don't understand, (Y/N), why aren't you more excited about this?" asks Tilly, leaning in closer to you from across the table to know more, astonishment draped across her cherub face.

You stare listlessly at the cup in your hands. "He turned me down. He said no."  

“He said what?!” Abigail’s eyes shoot wide before quickly screwing down in confusion.

“No! Why would he say that?” breathes Mary-Beth in hushed wonder, bringing her hand up to her mouth in shock. She exchanges a confused glance with Tilly before looking back to you, anxious for details.

You shrug softly with a sorrowful smile. “He doesn’t think he’s good enough for me, I guess.”

“Well, duh, of course he isn’t!” Karen blurts out with a wave of her hand before it slams down onto the table with a loud clap next to you. “But let’s be honest, there probably isn’t a man alive who is.”

“He’s entitled to his decision,” you quietly repeat the worn excuse you had given to Arthur already. “Besides, he’s been hurt before. I suppose I can’t blame him.”

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard," argues Karen, her pouty red lips frowning. "Do you want me to go talk some sense into him, honey? I’ll put my foot in his ass and set him straight.” Her doll-like eyes burn with intensity as she crosses her arms over her chest in a huff.

“No, no." You can’t help but smile at your friend's defense of you as the image of Karen taking on Arthur makes you chuckle a bit. "I can’t force him to be with me and I wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense, (Y/N),” Mary-Beth points out. “I mean, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. And when you two are dancin’ by the fire… I wish I had that.” Mary-Beth is so sweet and always the hopeless romantic of your circle. And while all of the girls have been pulling for you and Arthur to be together, it is always Mary-Beth who is the biggest supporter of it. When you had your hang-over confession of your crush on Arthur after your drunken night out with Karen, Mary-Beth told you that you and Arthur are like a real-life story out of one of her romance novels. At the time, you dismissed the silly notion as nothing more than a foolish daydream. But, still, it was a comment that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

With a dejected sigh, your chin lands into the palm of your hand. Your shoulders sink as you lean onto the table. "Well, doesn’t matter now, does it?"

There is an awkward stillness as this discussion settles amongst your little group. Frankly, the girls are speechless. But your quiet moment with the girls doesn't last too long before Ms. Grimshaw saunters over and disperses you all. As long as there is daylight, there is work to do, and she will make damn sure that it gets done. Dividing up the chores between you all, the matriarch ushers you and Abigail over to Pearson's wagon to start prepping vegetables for tonight's dinner. You grab yourself a cutting board and a bowl of potatoes and amble over to a small work table to start peeling.

Once she has Jack occupied, Abigail grabs a bowl of carrots for herself and sits down across the table from you. She watches you with a heartbroken and disappointed look as you set about your task. You and she have become quite close since you've come here to join the Van Der Linde gang. While she certainly cares for Arthur as her own family, she feels just awful for you. She knows how much you care for Arthur. It's so obvious in everything that you do. And she knows that you could make Arthur truly happy, too. 'Damn him,' Abigail thinks to herself. 'Why does he have to be so god-awful stubborn?'

"I’m sorry, (Y/N), really I am." Abigail's voice breaks the painful silence as the two of you work. You look up at her with the eyes of a puppy that's been kicked. "I don’t know what’s gotten into Arthur. I really thought he’d jump at the chance to call you his," she insists tenderly.

You nod in understanding, but honestly, the whole situation is becoming exhausting. You've tried so hard to come to terms with it, but it's becoming harder than you expected. “Maybe it was a mistake to come here," you admit softly, your voice slightly broken. "But back home in the east, I have nowhere to go, and I can’t go back to Rosewood." You reach into the bowl of potatoes again, your fingers working as you precariously drag the knife over the starchy vegetables. "But, I don’t want to be a problem here either, though. I’d leave here but I'm afraid to even do that." You cringe internally at how pathetic you sound, especially complaining to Abigail who has had her fair share of hardship in this world.

She observes you with a sympathetic click of her tongue being the only sound she is able to muster at the moment as you continue.

"You know," lifting your eyes back Abigail, "Arthur said I shouldn’t even be here. Suppose he’s right about that. As usual." You roll your eyes a bit. "I guess I just don’t belong anywhere."

Abigail reaches over the table and wraps her hand over top of yours. "Oh, (Y/N) please don’t say that. Of course you belong here." She affectionately squeezes your hand a bit more. "Don't listen to that fool. You're one of us now." Chuckling, she adds, "Whether you like it or not."

You finally stop peeling potatoes and give her a tired but appreciative smile. "It's times like this that I really miss my father, you know? At least we were misfits together.” Your face drops a bit at the memory of him. You and he came out west together to start a new life and, well, that is certainly what has happened. You have forged a new path for yourself with this gang of thieves and miscreants and found a new family within it.

But still, you miss your father terribly, as he was always your one true and unyielding ally in this world. There have been many moments where you have caught yourself in tears and heartache over his abrupt death. While the members of the Van Der Linde gang have been most gracious in welcoming you into their circle, that pang of sorrow still lingers like a fresh wound. And now in light of this situation with Arthur, it seems to have come back to the surface ten-fold as you're not sure what to do now. Your father was always such a kind and understanding man, very pragmatic. You’d give anything just to have his council again.

After the two of you are done helping Mr. Pearson with dinner, you head back to the privacy of your tent to nurse a throbbing headache, and Abigail wanders over to the fire with Jack in tow. While her boy plays with his wooden figurines at her feet, Abigail sits cross-legged on the ground with her chin in her hand, staring into the crackling flames with a contemplative scowl on her face. Soon enough, an all-too familiar raspy voice catches her attention.

"Oh boy, who's on your shit-list now?" jokes John as he playfully tugs on the few wisps of hair that hang from her loose bun and dance along the nape of her neck. He slowly lowers himself to sit next to her, leaning out onto his knees with his elbows. "I'm hopin' it ain't me." He bumps into her shoulder with a smirk.

She snorts in his direction. "No, for once, it's not you. It's that idiot brother of yours."

John listens to Abigail vent her frustrations out to him as she goes on for a good twenty minutes. (Honestly, it feels good to him to not be the target of her ire for a change.) And after hearing of what is going on between you two, John decides to talk to Arthur about it. He actually agrees with his woman for once and wants to see if he can nudge Arthur in the right direction. You and John may have gotten off on the wrong foot when you first came to join the gang, but since then, he has come to be quite fond of you. He appreciates the friendship you have provided for Abigail, and you’ve helped him to create a better relationship with her. And, as much as he and Arthur bicker, John has to admit that you are good for Arthur. Plus, if he doesn't talk to Arthur, Abigail certainly will. And John will try to spare his brother her wrath that he knows all too well himself.

John finds Arthur over by the horses, getting them fed and watered for the night before everyone settles in by the fires. He saunters over to Arthur, no announcement, no greeting. He just blurts out “Are you crazy?!"

Arthur halts in his movements, looking over his shoulder and giving John a confused look. "What in the hell are you goin' on about now, Marston?"

"You have a woman like (Y/N) throwing herself at you and you say 'no'?! Jesus, I don’t ever want to hear you talk about how stupid I am!” John plants his hands on his narrow hips as he scolds the man in front of him. Arthur just gives him another confused look. "Abigail told me," replies John. "Apparently (Y/N) is all upset and was talking to Abigail about it."

Arthur rolls his eyes to the sky. "Shit..."  

"And before you get all mad at (Y/N) for blabbin', Abigail had to drag it out of her," John says quickly. "She was wonderin' why (Y/N)'s been actin' funny the last few days. "

"Oh..." Arthur sighs. He tosses the horse brush that is in his hand into the bucket at his feet and shoves his fingertips into his eye sockets in frustration. Great. Now the whole damn camp is going to know his business. "It ain’t that easy, Marston." He offers John his feeble excuse with a dismissive wave of his arm towards his brother.

John rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Well, what’s so damn hard about it, Arthur? She likes you, you like her - and don't tell me that you don't!" he quickly points his finger at Arthur before the man can even deny it. "It don’t get much easier than that!"

"What if..." Arthur's hand waves haplessly in the air, his eyes scattering across the camp, as he tries to find the words. "What if I get her killed? Huh?" A long, depressed sigh escapes his chest as he turns to lean his burly arms out over top of Buck's backside as he thinks. "Or, what if she decides that she really doesn't like me after all?" His chin turns back over his shoulder to meet John's questioning gaze again. "What then?"

"Well, that's a real possibility. I mean, I've known you for years and I still don't like you," John snickers.

"Don't be an ass," Arthur snaps back.

John proudly places his hand over his chest. "I can honestly say that for once, between the two of us, Arthur, I am not the ass in this situation here."

“She deserves better than the likes of me,” Arthur continues, flipping his hand about wildly again to indicate himself and the camp. And as he hears his own words hanging in the air, Arthur knows he's trying to convince himself more than John right now. Deep down, he's desperately trying to justify the huge mistake he knows that he is making.

“Well, that goes without saying." John walks a few steps closer to Arthur, casually patting Buck's hind quarters as he speaks. "But I say, if you really want (Y/N) to be happy, then just give her what she wants. And for whatever reason, that’s you, jack-ass." He looks his brother in the eye, an impish grin on his thin lips. "(Y/N) is not dumb, Arthur. Did you ever stop to think that if someone like her fancies you, then you can’t be all that bad?”

Arthur thinks on this for a moment, stunned by this idea. He's never considered it from that perspective. His vividly colored eyes dart around as the notion rolls about in his head. "You know, Marston, you may not be all that dense, after all."

John simply snorts in response. "Well, ain't that hard, considering the company that I keep."

"I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from you of all people," Arthur mutters, as he draws his hand over his face in disbelief.

"I know, right?" John chuckles a bit as he slaps Arthur on the shoulder.

To Arthur's surprise, his talk with John actually makes him feel better. He decides to try to make things up to you, or to at least make the focused effort to go back to how things were before. But to his dismay, you resist his advances. You are trying to keep your distance from him at this point, avoiding him whenever you can, as you find that it's just too painful to be around him. You eat your meals in your tent, and you keep to yourself when you work. You are not unkind or rude to Arthur, using only simple one word answers when you have to talk to him. But there is no fondness or attachment with him as usual. The familiarity between the two of you has dwindled like a dying candle flame about to be swallowed in a bed of used wax.

You strategically place yourself the furthest away from Arthur whenever he is in camp, volunteering for any task that Ms. Grimshaw has available to keep yourself preoccupied. Grimshaw hates it when you girls are interrupted from whatever work she has dictated you to do. So you will use her iron-will to your advantage to shield yourself from Arthur if you can.

Aside from washing laundry all day, you run errands with Mr. Pearson, run scouts with Javier, and try to get out of camp altogether whenever you have the opportunity. You jump at the chance to go hunting with Charles any time he offers. In fact, you have come to rely on Charles quite a bit lately. Charles naturally has a calming presence about him and he has become a great comfort to you. He himself is also a bit of a loner and outsider in this group, and you have found a kindred spirit in him.

At one point you are in your tent cleaning up and turn to head out to find Charles. You are not paying attention, looking down as you shake out the jacket in your hands and you run right into Arthur, almost bouncing off of his chest. He has come to try to talk to you yet again, and corners you by your tent. He is standing in front of you with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt, as he usually does, but this time he has a slight scowl set upon his face, his eyes dark. If you didn't know him better, you'd be intimidated by his demeanor standing there.

You gasp, jumping slightly and placing a hand over your chest in surprise. "Jesus, Arthur! You scared the hell out of me!"  

“Figured I had to sneak up on you lest you run away from me again," he retorts, his voice carrying a tinge of annoyance to it. "What, are you trying to make me jealous by hangin' 'round with other men, now?”

You halt at his accusation, your face twisting up. "Excuse me?"

“You’ve been hangin' 'round with Charles quite a bit lately." His eyes level at you with a cold and mirthless stare.

"Have I?" Your reply is sarcastically innocent. You do not care for his insinuation in the slightest, and now it is you who is getting annoyed.

"Yeah, you have," Arthur pushes. "You won’t go out hunting with me, but you’ll go out with him.” He juts his thumb over his shoulder back at the camp behind him.

“I like Charles," you counter harshly. "He doesn’t talk much. I don’t have to worry about stupid shit coming out of his mouth.”

"Is that a fact?" His slow drawl is clearly an indication that he is not amused at your statement.

"Yes, it is. Is that a problem, Arthur?" You are not about to back down from him, no matter how much he towers over you as he steps even closer to you now while you glare up at him bitterly.

He waves his hand at you in irritation. "No. No, you do whatever you damn well want.” You can tell he is getting riled up now, as his eyes are flashing, and you can see his jaw clenching, even under his beard.

“Good, because I plan to," you snap at him again. "Besides, what am I supposed to do?" You toss the jacket that you are still holding onto your cot behind you before crossing your arms defensively over your chest. "And where’s this coming from, anyway, Arthur? I thought you wanted no part of that?"

He just stares at you, not really sure what to say to that. The argument is right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike its ugly head. He wants nothing more than to grab you and hold you tight, never letting you go; needing you to just stop lashing out at him for a damn second. But he can’t. He just…can’t. So instead, he stands there like a mountain; silent and not moving.

Anger begins to build in your chest, causing the brows above your beautiful eyes to crease. You can feel your heart beating painfully faster as the adrenaline courses through your body. And you can sense that your mouth is about to pour forth words that will be an unstoppable waterfall.

"First there’s the glances, the lingering touches, taking me out places, talking to me all the time," you start rambling, your composure quickly crumbling now that you are speaking to him again. "Then all of a sudden acting like I'm nothing to you-“

"Hey! I never said you were nothing to me!” he interrupts with a shout as he takes another step closer to you.

"- only to be jealous, now?!" Your voice squeaks as it hits the louder decibel.

“I ain’t jealous and I never promised you anything! You’re the one who made it complicated!” He points his large finger in your face, mere inches from your nose.

"Right, my error. My miserable error for giving a damn about you!" Your arms shoot straight at your sides as your voice continues to rise in anger, your eyes dangerously brimmed with tears that threaten to spill forth and betray your hard front.

You lower your head to your hands, driving your fingertips into your temples, desperately trying to keep your brain from exploding. "What are you doing, Arthur?"

"What?" he snaps defensively.

"What are you doing to me?!," you holler at him, lifting your face back to his. "You want me here, but you don’t want me here. You don’t want me, but you don’t want me with anyone else, either. You can’t keep stringing me like that! What is it that you want, Arthur?!"

"I don’t know what the hell I want!” His voice roars into your face, standing nose to nose with you now, so close that you can feel his hot breath across your cheeks.

"Well that’s obvious," you say flatly.

And as you fearlessly hold his stony gaze, it occurs to you that you're going to have to let this fantasy of yours die. You've tried so hard to make him see what’s in himself, and to see you; to get him to see that your heart is here for his taking and, more importantly, that he deserves to be loved in return.

But he’s a broken outlaw. And you're going to have to come to terms with that and let him go. The reality of this idea painfully nets over your heart as your gaze flutters before it drops from his angry eyes to his heaving chest and finally falls to the ground to his dusty boots.

Defeated, your shoulders drop. You shake your head as you turn away from him, not able to look upon his face anymore. "Just…get the hell out of my tent, Arthur." Your tone is quiet and broken now after all of the yelling. He's done it. He's won the argument and finally gotten what he's been pushing you for. You're done with your childish fantasy of making this fearsome outlaw a partner to you.

Arthur stands there staring at your back for a moment, the corner of his eyes stinging slightly. Rage electrifies and radiates throughout his whole body as his hands flex in and out of a fist at his sides. Finally, he turns and storms away from your tent. "God damn it!" he mutters harshly to himself. Why is it that everything he touches turns to shit?

From where he's been watching this whole exchange, Hosea quickly stands up from his chair, alarmed, as he watches Arthur stalk angrily away from your tent.

“Arthur!” Hosea calls out, his face clearly laced with concern. For an "angry Arthur" is a "dangerous Arthur" for sure.

"Not now, Hosea!" Arthur snaps, waving the older man off without so much as a glance in his direction as he stomps off.

Arthur is so infuriated right now, he's not really sure what to do. He's irrationally upset with you. He keeps replaying that day at the overlook when you revealed your affection for him. Why in the hell did you have to do that? It ruined everything. The two of you could have remained friends, and if he longed for you, he could just do it secretly as he's been doing since he's met you. But no, you had to push the idea and now the two of you are either hollering at each other or not speaking altogether. Why did you have to come here and be so nice to him? Why did you have to make him fall for you?

But he soon realizes how foolish he is being, chastising himself. It's not your fault, but his. He never should have let it get this far. He should have kept his distance from you from the start. He should have known he’d be weak-willed and defenseless against someone as good and pure as you.

Arthur stalks back to his tent and as he does, he looks up and sees Charles sitting outside of his own tent. He's sitting upon a log as a makeshift chair, his attention acutely fixated on the materials in his hands. Looks like he is making more arrows. 'Probably so he can take (Y/N) out hunting again,' Arthur sourly thinks to himself.

Arthur walks over to Charles, knowing he probably shouldn't right now. All of his reasoning argues that he should just stop and try to calm down. But unfortunately, Arthur is not thinking rationally at the moment. Charles casually lifts his head as he sees Arthur approach out of the corner of his eye.

"Arthur." Charles greets him with an air of caution, as he can see the tension on his friend's face. He could hear you and Arthur arguing just a few minutes ago. From where his tent is situated in camp, it is farther from yours, so Charles couldn't hear exactly what was said, only the volume and tone with which it was.

"Charles," Arthur coolly greets in return. "What you workin' on there? Hmm? More arrows to go huntin' with?" He cocks his head to the side as he coldly stares down at the items in Charles' hands.

"Yeah. I promised (Y/N) the next time we go out that we'd work on her bow skills. Been working with her on tracking lately. But she really wants to get a grasp on working with a bow."

Arthur looks on with disdain as Charles’ large fingertips delicately wrap the end of the arrow shaft with feathers.

"Oh, I'm sure she wants to get a grasp on somethin', alright," Arthur retorts bitterly.

Arthur's tone makes Charles hesitate. He looks back to Arthur and measures his words carefully. "You got a problem with me taking (Y/N) out hunting, Arthur?"

"Maybe I do."

Charles is not a violent man by nature, but he will stand his ground if need be. He has no designs to "steal" you from Arthur, if that is what the other man thinks he's doing. He has no intention of fighting over you, either. But Charles will fight for you if he has to. He puts the shafts and string in his lap down on the ground next to his feet. Arthur doesn’t move a muscle of his large frame as Charles slowly stands to square off and meets him at eye level.

“If you got a problem with (Y/N), Arthur, that’s between you two. She and I are only hunting together. That's all." Charles's voice is low and even. He doesn't want to provoke his good friend, but he also resents his tone. "Apparently, she's looking to get out of camp a lot lately, looking for some peace and quiet. And, she's a good shot, damn good shot, in fact. So she is welcome to hunt with me whenever she wants." Charles pauses, standing a little straighter, pushing his chest out a bit. "Besides, she’s my friend, too.”

Arthur cocks a knowing eyebrow at Charles. “Yeah, and we all know how friendships can go.”

“Mind yourself, Arthur,” warns Charles, pointing his finger at his chest and giving his friend a look that is more of disappointment than anger, before he sits back down and calmly resumes his work. He understands Arthur's frustration, and understands that he is not the target of the outlaw's anger. He also knows Arthur is better than this pettiness, too. But more importantly, Charles won't stand for anyone speaking badly about you, regardless of who it is.

Arthur says nothing else, realizing that he is not getting anywhere with Charles. So to avoid ruining yet another relationship that he has come to rely on, Arthur smartly buttons his lips and walks off to sulk in the solitude of his tent.

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

This stunning image comes from @regwishesshehadmagic​

The morning following your fight, Arthur is awake before the sun. He watches with bleary eyes as the crisp morning sun begins to fracture into his tent between the opening in the canvas. Not being able to sleep all night, he drags himself to sit up on his cot with a groan, rubbing his hands through his disheveled hair.  Despite his overwhelming fatigue, he is so restless, he can’t stand it. Feeling as if he is on the edge of going crazy, Arthur quickly gets himself together and rides out of camp before anyone is aware. He doesn't know where he is going or what he is going to do, only that he has to get out of this godforsaken camp and clear his head.

He spends the next two days out in the woods, thinking about what to do and what he really wants. He is being torn apart by this rift between you and him, torn between what he wants and what he feels is right. Arthur sits among the trees, silent as a statue, while the forest life goes on about its merry way around him, and rolls his doubts and misgivings over and over again in his mind, along with what Micah had said. Torturing himself with angry and hurtful words, the man blames himself for allowing himself to be in this situation to begin with.

As the long day draws out into the night, Arthur still sits, legs stretched out before him as the small campfire illuminates the now-encroaching darkness. And of course, Arthur also thinks of you. He takes his journal out and reads over the entries. Refreshing his memory with thoughts of you, he relives the moments you've spent together. Each passage brings forth a plethora of emotions, each stronger than the last. Your image is scattered throughout the worn pages in various forms, from the details of your eyes and lips, to the graceful curve of your neck, visible when your hair is pulled up, to a full-body likeness of you standing with Jack on your hip. His rough fingers trace over the lines of your face as he sits in deep thought, a small smile involuntarily blooming across his features.

But most importantly, he thinks about what you said at the overlook. His eyes relax and stare unfocused into the dancing flames of his fire, and Arthur's chest tightens as he vividly remembers the look on your face when he declined your affections and sat there and did nothing as he watched your eyes rim with tears. Your voice still booms in his ears:  “What is it that you want, Arthur?!”

Arthur’s fingers move as if combing through mud as he pulls a cigarette out of his satchel and lights it. Pulling a long drag off of the end, he lets out an extended and tired sigh. What does he want?

He knows he’s lonely. He hates to admit it, but he is. Cold nights and empty beds; no warm arms waiting to welcome him home. But the fear of exposing himself to love again, only for it to end horribly, is terrifying, even to a fearsome, hard outlaw. Losing Eliza and Issac shattered his heart. And Mary’s rejection has left him bitter and angry. Over the years, Arthur has channeled his hurt and pain into an armor until he has become someone else altogether; a shell of what he once was, and he wasn’t all that great to begin with. He’s no good, like a rotten apple that’s fallen from the tree that no one wants to take. Arthur doesn’t think he has it in him to do it all over again. And now, he is in a position to be stuck between living his life and running from it.

But you are different. You are not as young and naive as Eliza was. Nor are you as self-serving as Mary. Though he cared for and loved both women, Arthur knew, even then, that he was doomed, for these women did not fit with his family and lifestyle. But with you, that burden is removed. Not only do you accept the gang, but you have embraced it. And you are someone who cares for him, not for what he does, but for who he is.

You are delightfully chaotic; quite the beautiful mess, in fact. Arthur finds you to be wonderfully out of place in his life, but maybe that is as it should be. Kind of like when you see the moon during the daytime. You’ve turned your broken into beautiful and made your strength look invincible. You have never asked Arthur for the moon and the stars, but only to lay in the damp grass at night with you to watch them. And to Arthur, this means more than anything. The way your nose wrinkles when you smile. The way your eyes light up when you see him. The way you snort sometimes when you laugh. The way you get impassioned when you speak of something that touches you. Even the way you walk away from the fire at night to head back to your tent. Arthur wants it all.

And it is then that Arthur is hit with a profound realization. His eyes open wide and the air is sucked out of his chest as if he's been thrown from his horse. Arthur loves you. He loves you. And, more importantly, he wants the two of you to be together. More than anything. But can he do that?

He knows it's not the safe path, and probably not what is best for you. But John is right: if this is what you both really want, why not do it? He finally comprehends that he’s spent so much time being strong for everyone else that he’s never allowed himself to be happy. Maybe that needs to change now.

With resolve in his veins, Arthur quickly packs up his makeshift camp, literally tripping over himself in his haste, and heads back home.

As Arthur comes down the path back to camp, his eyes immediately notice that your horse is gone. Disappointed, but not discouraged, Arthur thinks about his next move and decides to ask Abigail and Mary-Beth what to do. If he is going to fix this great divide between you and him, he is going to need help to do it, as so far, he clearly doesn't know what he's doing on his own. He needs to bring "the big guns," as they say. And fortunately, Arthur finds the very two people he needs sitting together at a table.

“Can I talk to you ladies a minute?" Arthur calls over as he walks with purpose in their direction with a very determined look upon his face. The two women halt their conversation upon hearing him, curious about what he could want.

Mary-Beth smiles up at him as Arthur gets close to their table. "Sure, Arthur. What do you need?" He sits down next to Mary-Beth, pausing to organize his thoughts before he just comes right out with it.

"(Y/N) told me how she feels about me. You know, that she likes me an’ all. And like a fool, I pushed her away.” His eyes dart back and forth from both of their faces before shamefully down at his own hands that fidget on the table. "I guess I underestimated how I’d feel about that."

Abigail sits up straighter as a huge smile begins to cross her lips. “Are you saying that you want to be with her then, Arthur?”

"The question was never if I wanted to," he says to Abigail. "But she won’t even speak to me now." He holds his hands up in defeat before letting them fall haplessly onto the table, and looks to the women with a pathetic face, pleading for help. "Every time I try, we end up yellin’, and I make it worse."

Abigail gives him a scolding look. "Well, Arthur, you wounded her pride and broke her heart. What do you expect?" 

“Maybe you need a grand gesture?” suggests Mary-Beth, gesturing with her arms in emphasis. Her eyes go wide with excitement, eager to help usher this new relationship into existence. "(Y/N) can be stubborn, for sure. So if she won't talk to you, Arthur, then make her listen. Maybe you need to show her how you feel?"

“If you’re going to do something, you may need to do it soon, Arthur," warns Abigail, tapping her finger on the table. She goes on to tell him that you feel as if you don’t belong and have been distancing yourself from the whole camp.

 "She's up and out before anyone else, and when she is in camp, she rarely leaves her tent now." This worries Arthur because what if you decide to leave? Then what? He’s scared to lose you even though you're not his to lose.

Arthur sits quietly, taking in all of this information. He tries to think of what he could possibly do while Abigail and Mary-Beth both stare at him, waiting for the answer. "Thank you, girls. I appreciate your help," he finally says. "Do me a favor though, and don't mention this to (Y/N), please? I don't know what I'm doin' just yet, and I don't want to disappoint her even more than I already have."

"Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say," Mary-Beth answers with a hopeful grin. “Good Luck!”

He then looks to Abigail, who just stares back obstinately.

"Abigail?"

"Ugh, OK fine! I won't say anything. But you had better do something, Arthur Morgan!" as she points her finger at him. "Or so help me-"

"OK, OK!" he holds up his hands in surrender as he stands up. "I don't need two women in camp after me. I'll take care of it." And he smiles to himself as he heads to his tent to plan.

After mulling over his options, Arthur decides to ride back to Rosewood where you came from to see if he can find anything of your father's there. If you are missing your family, as Abigail told him, Arthur is hoping to bring back some sort of remembrance of him for you. After a quick check-in with Dutch, Arthur immediately heads out of camp and on his way to Rosewood. It's a few days' ride, so he needs to get going so he can hurry and get back.

Meanwhile, back at camp, you notice Arthur has been gone intermittently since your revelation, and now he’s been gone for several days after your fight. Things seem to be going from bad to worse. Figuring he’s outright avoiding the camp itself because of you, you don’t know what to do. This is his family, his people. And if you're the one making things difficult, then you will need to be the one to leave. So, you start coming to terms with the idea that you will need to find a new place of your own.

This evening, as the sun starts to crawl back behind the mountains, you find yourself sitting outside of camp by yourself. You stare out into the watercolor-painted sky, thinking over where you'll go and what you'll do. The idea of leaving is terrifying. You'll have to start over yet again. You'll miss everyone in this camp who you have come to love so dearly. You’ll surely miss Abigail and Jack. And of course Hosea. You'll miss Arthur. 

You draw your knees up closer to your chin and wrap your arms around them as an overwhelming fatigue cascades over you. You are so lost in your own thoughts that you do not hear footsteps behind you.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?” You hear Charles' soft voice cut through your thoughts. When he didn't see you at dinner yet again tonight, he decided to come to check on you.

You hastily wipe away a few tears from your cheeks and try to smile for him. “Hi, Charles. What can I do for you?”

He cautiously approaches you as one does a wounded animal. His brows knit in concern when, even in the setting sunlight, he can see the red-rim of your wet eyes. "Arthur ain’t gonna be too happy if he finds out we’ve let you wander off by your lonesome.”

You scoff at that. "Oh, I highly doubt that," giving Charles a sad smile. "Although Arthur is the expert on what I shouldn’t be doing, it seems." You turn your attention back to the horizon, watching the last flecks of golden sunlight begin to fade for the day. "Besides, he won't have to worry about it much longer."

Charles freezes before nervously shifting his weight from hip to hip. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh…nothing. Forget I said anything." You wave off the comment as if it is nothing more than a rambling thought, but you still avoid his dark eyes.  

"(Y/N)…you OK?"

"Yeah…sure. I’ll be fine"

Charles steps closer to you, studying your face and countenance, not believing you for a second. "Listen (Y/N), I know you and Arthur are in a weird place right now-“

"Oh, Charles, I really don’t want to talk about Arthur. Really, I don’t,” you insist, shaking your head vehemently. Your eyes have a glassy sheen that causes Charles to cringe in pity for you.

“OK,” He’s silent for a moment. "Can I do anything for you?" His hand tentatively reaches out to you, not really sure what, if anything, he can do.

"No, sweet man, I’m OK. Thank you." You try to give him another smile for reassurance. "Go ahead back to everyone. I won't be out here much longer. I promise."

Charles hesitates a bit longer, before turning to head back to camp. "All right, if you're sure you're OK, then."

When you see him disappear amongst the tents again, you turn back to the horizon. The sun is gone now. The light has been snuffed out, leaving a cold and lonely atmosphere in its wake. The first few pin-pricks of starlight begin to emerge in the purple sky. You sigh deeply as your shoulders drop even more and your eyelids fall like stones. 

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," you whisper to yourself.  

A/N: *Oh my goodness, half-way there! More drama to come, but I promise, we’re getting there, and it’s definitely worth it (I hope anyway)

[luvrxbunny]

that night

pairing: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: The moment everything changed.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can get in her face, smoking (weed), drinking, lots of feelings (lmk if i forgot anything)

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: if you've already read my fic 'soft' then you've already read this

|| pt.1 || pt.2 || pt.3 || pt.4 ||

It started with you and Joel both high and drunk out on the porch and he looked so beautiful. There was a perpetual smile on his face, laughing and even giggling at almost everything you said, folding himself over and leaning his head on you whenever he thought something was particularly funny and you couldn't control yourself. The next time he leaned over you waited, watching, letting him calm back down but when he went to pull off of you, you pulled his head to yours. His breathing stopped short and it scared you until he groaned into your mouth. It was so many things, it was broken, grateful, desperate but savoring and you loved it. 

He placed his hand behind your head and held you in place as he pushed his lips further into yours. It almost hurt, the way he seemed to attempt to mold your face into one, but it was so perfect. When he pulled away you were out of breath, panting in his face as he did the same. You guys continued to exchange breaths as you scrutinized every aspect of his face.

Anxiety was clawing inside your stomach as you took him in, fearing that he may never let you ever again. His soft lips parted, and you watched his tongue slide into the indent on his bottom lip. You silently hoped he could taste your remnants on them as they froze, waiting for words to spill out. Only to be interrupted by Ellie slamming the front door open. 

“Can you guys fucking keep it down?! I have school, remember? You’re the one making me go!” She shouts at you both, directing the last part at Joel who was still staring at you. You were watching Ellie as she yelled but Joel’s silence brought your gaze back to him. I guess you shouldn’t have because you feel like that’s when it happened. You swear you could see him blocking himself off from you, like a door was shutting in his eyes. He apologized to Ellie and said it was getting late. 

Now, usually, Joel insists on you sleeping on the couch, too worried to let you go home so inebriated but that night he sent you away. It was like he broke your heart… shattered it and forced you to place the shards in your shoes as he pushed you away, pain shooting through your whole body with every step. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night, you thought things were over with Joel, and you’d lose touch with Ellie because it would be too painful to go over there. Your paradise was ruined, you couldn’t believe you had read the situation so wrong. You thought- worse case- he would tell you that you’re too young, that he just can’t be with you, for whatever reason. But the look in his eyes… the way he sent you home. It felt like he didn’t even care about you anymore. 

The next day you thought you had lost your mind. You were in a terrible headspace and decided to ditch your responsibilities. You were in bed, switching between sleeping and sobbing into your pillow. You felt horrible, you looked horrible and someone was knocking at your fucking door. They would not leave, no matter how much time passed, no matter how loud you groaned. So you wrapped your blanket around you and very angrily made your way to the door. 

“Who the fu-” Your sentence is cut short in complete and utter shock. It was Joel. 

You let the door swing open and walk back inside. You’re already climbing back into bed as you hear him shut the door behind him. “What do you want, Joel.”

 You’re lying down, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. In the corner of your eye, you can see him just standing there, his thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Your head almost turns as you hear him take a deep breath, wishing you could see the way his chest puffs up and stretches whatever shirt he’s wearing. But you don't. He’s not someone you should be admiring like this, he’s someone you cannot be admiring like this. 

“Oh my god don’t just stand there you know I fucking hate that.” Your voice is so irritated, so hurt and cold but he scoffs. Anger and embarrassment courses through you but you feel the bed dip anyway, it eases the feelings. You can feel him right beneath your feet. So close you almost want to straighten your legs a bit more, just so you can press against him. But you don’t. 

“Okay, then don’t curse… Y'know I hate that.” His voice is painfully normal… like nothing happened… like he didn't break you. You want to laugh- or cry- at the absurdity. The thought that last night meant nothing to him, so little that he’s over here asking you things like ‘don’t curse’. Who does he think he is? That he can treat me like this and then ask such dumb things of me? No. Fuck him. 

“Fuck you, Joel. You’re a dick, get out.” He’s silent for a moment. You hoped and prayed that he had given up but to no avail. 

“No, honey. I’m supposed to find out why you’re not out workin’.” You scoff at him and dig yourself deeper into the blankets. “Ar- are ya sick or somethin’?” At this you turn to him, looking him dead in the eyes, asking ‘Are you fucking serious?’ but he can’t hold your gaze. Oh! So he does remember! You laugh humorlessly and fall back into bed where you lie in silence, for quite some time. Until his hand comes up to your ankle, resting so gently you know he’s holding it up. He’s probably still thinking over whether he should do it or not, unaware that he’s already touching you. 

“Can- Well, I- I- I know that- fuck.” He’s so angry when he says it, frustrated with himself for never having the right words. He never knows the right thing to say, or how to convey how he feels. He’s so scared of losing you right now, but he doesn’t know how to tell you in a way that will have you asking no questions. He can’t have you asking him anything because he knows you’ll ask him some things that he’s nowhere near ready to answer. “Can you just- Can you please.” 

You waited for him to say more, expecting it, but that was the end of the sentence. He wanted you to ‘just please’. The way he says it though, you look over at him and he’s gazing into you, his eyes so piercing that you almost feel uncomfortable. It feels like he’s prying into you, willing you to open up for him to express himself without having to actually express himself. 

You sit up and glare back at him, softer than before but still hot with rage. “Please, what.” He shakes his head and looks away from you, into his lap instead as his hand fully settles on your ankle. He keeps huffing out breaths, like he’s going to say something but then decides against it. You’re almost irritated with the sound until he takes a breath and follows it with words. 

“You- I need for yesterday to have not happened.” Fuck him. You hadn’t even gotten over the first rejection, the lack of care he showed and now here he was rejecting you again. “You must- You gotta understand why it can’t happen. Why we-” You were trying not to tremble as he rubbed his hand over his face, trying to stay calm in the face of the extreme stress the whole situation was putting on him. Tears were welling in your eyes as he spoke, despite you squeezing them shut to avoid this exact issue. But it hurt just as much as it did last night, maybe more. “We just can’t. Not- I need for things to go back to normal… f- for now at least…”

You’re breathing froze, eyes snapping open to look at him who was still looking in his lap. His hand left your ankle to meet his other fidgeting one as you both sat in silence. You could see him peeking at you from the corner of his eye as subtly as he could as you thought over his words. You felt like you were on a game show. Do you double down or just take what you have?

‘I need for yesterday to have not happened’

‘I need for things to go back to normal’

His words hurt.

‘F-for now at least’

But those words… made it worth it. 

You didn’t want to push him. You know how hard it must’ve been for him to even express the little bit he did. And the thought of him noticing you weren’t around and coming to check on you was making its way through your cloud of hate. 

“Y-you sent me away…” Your voice isn’t hard anymore. It isn't soft either, it was just weak. You can see Joel grimace at it, turning away from you so you couldn’t see him. “Wh- You- you always let me stay but- you just-” You stop talking, if you kept going you would’ve started sobbing again. 

“I couldn’t let you stay, honey. The- I didn’t- I don’t have enough self-control for something like that to happen an’... I’m leaving you in the guest room? No. I would’ve- had to have- I… No, I-” He breathes out in annoyance again and you yearn to comfort him. He always gets too frustrated with himself, making it even harder for him to clear his head enough to say what he wants. But you don’t. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave you there. I would’ve had to do somethin’ and I- I don't think that’s a good idea.”

You’re not completely satisfied with the answer, you have more questions now than you did before but you managed to collect one piece of information. Joel wants you. It wasn’t a flat-out rejection more like a, ‘let's put a pin in that’ and you have enough faith in him to believe he wouldn’t string you along. So you sniffle, put your big boy pants on as you wipe your tears, and tap Joel on the shoulder, turning his gaze to you. You take a deep breath and speak.

“Yesterday’s events are forgotten.” You say it with a light smile but you’re betrayed by one stray tear as it rushes down your face. Joel’s expression crumbles at it, in so much pain, so heartbroken at the thought that he had caused it. Despite his feelings, he nods at you and gets up. “Get ready. You’re in the fields today, darlin’.” He hits the door frame with a grateful smile before walking away to let you get changed. Leaving you in your hopeful sadness.

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist! or send me some motivation here!

[herlondonboy]

Dear Reader

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x platonic!reader / Enid Sinclair x platonic!reader / Larissa Weems x platonic!reader / Eugene Otinger x platonic!reader

Summary: To whom it may concern, I’m sorry.

Warnings: suicide, suicide notes, grief, guilt, self hate, kinda graphic? sad, spelling mistakes. part 2 of 7:3 (read here), but can be read as a solo fic. (Tagging: @natashamaximoff69 @lxtins @hizzygizzy @justarandomweeblol @donnabenevientosbitch @capryuk @dksjskx @maryannecrimsworth @nitchxhdc @x666hours @allisonsblog

Word Count: 1.3k

“No!” Wednesday exclaimed as she ran up the hill at an unnatural speed.

She had gotten the vision too late. She saw whilst she was beekeeping with Eugene and Enid, you were supposed to be coming down, but they had gotten started because you were usually late. Enid had caught her when she suddenly collapsed and shook. She saw you emotionlessly tying a noose by your tree. Then you were placing four envelopes underneath a rock that read “E W E y/i”

“Wednesday?” Enid asked in concern when the shorter girl gasped awake.

“y/n.” Wednesday said softly before jumping up. She took off the beekeeping uniform and rushed out. “y/n’s in danger. Get Weems.” She called out behind her.

She watched from afar as you stood onto the stool and wrapped the rope around your neck. Wednesday called out for you, but she was too far away. Her legs ached as she tripped over her feet. She groaned and pushed herself back up. Enid and Eugene had just got to Larissa and she immediately shot up into action.

You strained to kick the stool away and Wednesday watched in horror as you struggled until there was no fight left in you.

It looked like you were sleeping, she hoped that you were sleeping, she hoped that you were sleeping.

Wednesday made it to the tree and, with shaky, sweaty, she untied the rope from the trunk. She let you down slowly and once you were lying on the ground, she rushed over to you. She took the rope from around your neck and placed your head onto her lap and checked your pulse. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt. You looked so peaceful.

She was alone like that, cradling your head in her lap for what felt like hours. Guilt ridden by your death. She should’ve been there for you. All three of them should’ve been there for you. Why didn’t you tell them that you were hurting? Why?

“Wednesday?” Weems asked, approaching slowly.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop them. I’m- I’m sorry.” Weems kneeled next to Wednesday over your body. She sobbed for you, her child.

Enid, who was walking in front of Eugene saw the rope on the branch and the shake of the principal’s shoulders and stopped. She turned to Eugene with a fake smile. “Uh, I think that they have it sorted. y/n will be alright, I’m sure. Let’s go… keep the bees.” Enid said, spinning Eugene around and he smiled at her.

Some alone time with his crush would surely do him some good, right?

-

Dear Enid,

You were the first person that could ever tolerate me. You gave me the gift of friendship and because of you, I found another reason to live. I’m not saying that you’re not enough, or that you weren’t enough, because you are. I’m so incredibly sorry. I hope you don’t cry over me, I don’t deserve your tears. If you saw my body at the tree, I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to take my life in our spot, but it was the one place where I felt comfortable.

I could’ve taken pills, I could’ve drowned myself in a bathtub, I couldn’t cut myself and watched myself bleed, but I chose to ruin our spot. I’m sorry if you won’t ever come here again. I’m sorry I’m the reason you can’t sleep at night. I’m sorry that your worries meant nothing in the end.

My favourite thing about spending time with you was when you’d talk about that boy, Ajax. I loved hearing the things he did, waving or smiling at you. The date, how he stoned himself by accident. I’m sure Wednesday won’t mind if you started biting her ear off two times more than usual. Between you and me, I think she might have a little crush on you.

There were so many words I wanted to say to you, but I just couldn’t.It's so tough to talk when you desire to madder yourself. That's overhead and farther to everything else, and it's not a mental complaint-it's a physical thing, like it's physically difficult to begin your mouth and make the words approach out. They don' t approach out composed and in conjunction with your brain the way ordinary individuals's words do; they approach out in chunks, as though from a crushed-ice dispenser; you stumble on them as they accumulate behind your lower lip. So you just stay quiet, you know?

My sincerest apologies,

y/n <3

P.S. you can have my rainbow sweater, I know how much you like it.

-

Dear Wednesday,

I assume that you had some psychic vision and saw me tying the noose and all and I apologise for that. Don’t beat yourself up for not getting to me in time, Wednesday.

We didn’t talk much, but I feel as though I know everything about you. I know how you would do anything to protect the people you love, like dropping piranhas into a swimming pool full of guys. I also now how you’d make Thing travel to my bedroom on a night to drop off riddle that always ended the same way. “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right?” I should’ve told you. Maybe if I did you would’ve stopped me and talked me out of it. I apologise for lying to you, day in and day out. I just didn’t want you or anyone else to worry. I don’t want you to you blame yourself if you didn’t get to me in time, wat ily this is in no way your fault.

I’d say don’t cry, but knowing you, you won’t, anyway. :,).

I don’t really know what else to say to you other than, thank you for being you. Thank you for being a friend. Gracias por enseñarme a amar.

Kindest regards,

Your y/n

-

Dear Eugene,

Hi, buddy! I’m sorry that I’m missing your birthday this year, that’s very insensitive of me. I told you that we would go to Jericho for the whole day and miss all of our lessons doing just nothing. I’m sure Enid and Wednesday wouldn’t mind doing that with you if you asked.

You were like my brother, in fact, no. You were my brother. Your opinion means the most for me. I know you’ll cry, but I will always be with you. And between you and me, I think Enid has a little crush on you too, you know? I’m telling you, Eugene, make a move.

And, hey! A little joke for you: did you hear about that old Italian chef?

Lots of love,

y/n <3

P.S. He pasta-way! Too soon?

-

Dear Larissa Weems,

Last night I sat in your office and watch and you work. You looked so peaceful when I didn’t speak. I’m sorry if I bother you. Thank you for taking me in and giving me a home and family even when I felt as though I didn’t deserve it. It’s proving that I don’t though, isn’t it. You were an amazing mother, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be an amazing child.

I loved how on Saturdays we’d drive down to the Weathervane and you’d listen to me being me for hours alone. I’m sorry that I kept on hurting you, I never meant to. I know apologies won’t take back my actions and somehow I’ve said more in these notes than I have since that night.

Tonight the thoughts were about how to end things, with a heavy emphasis on the how. The process of suicide isn't exactly easy. It takes preparation, scheduling, and a certain level-headedness to kill yourself. A person has to be ready for it. They have to make the necessary plans, take the necessary steps. And, most importantly, he has to not only feel like dying, but also like killing. And the two feelings couldn't be more different.

I love you times more than all the stars in the world combined,

Your dearest, y/n.

[smilesstyless]

Birthday show with surprises

Summary: it’s Harry’s birthday show and you find out you’re pregnant. Harry is starting a conversation with you

Pairing: singer!harry x fem!reader

Wordcount: 793

Trigger warnings: a bit angst at the end

Inspired by this

You are nervous you got the results of your pregnancy test back and today was also Harry’s birthday and you’re supposed to go.

You slowly open the letter and look at the results. You couldn’t believe what stands there. You’re pregnant. She can’t believe that.

You spend too much money on this ticket, you can’t stay home. Y/n is still shocked, she cried a bit and then she made a sign, I found out I’m pregnant.

Harry is looking through the crowd, he was asking if everyone is okay and the crowd said no. He was making sure everyone was having a good time.

Harry is looking through the crowd, he was asking if everyone is okay and the crowd said no. He was making sure everyone was having a good time.

He already sang a few songs like cinema, keep driving, and canyon moon. then he got back to reading the signs. He looked at the crowd, some of them said, shaved for Harry or sing grape juice but he didn’t care about them. His eyes stopped at your sign.

“You found out today?” Harry asks you.

“Yes, I’m three months pregnant,” you say a bit shyly. Today is Harry’s day and you make it about yourself but Harry doesn’t think like that he thinks it’s wonderful.

“Three months, congrats. Are you excited? Are you terrified? It’s gonna be fine,” he smiles friendly at her.

“I am terrified, I’m on my own,” she looks at Harry. She still is shocked he’s talking to her.

“Is it the first one? I know you will be a great mum,” he smiles. “I wish you luck,” he added.

“I can tell from looking from the window of my soul into the window of your soul,” Harry first points at his eyes and then he points at y/n her eyes. “Through those beautiful windows, that you’re gonna be great you seem like a great person. You’re gonna be great,” you blush at the statement from Harry, that your eyes are beautiful. She’s still shocked that Harry talked to her. The crowd is cheering.

During the rest of the show Harry checked on you a few times, he makes sure everything is alright. “I wish I could hug you,” He saw her crying and said it right after Matilda.

•••

One of the security guards stopped her, “H wants to talk to you,” she follows the guards backstage. She stands in front of Harry’s dressing room. She was about to knock, he opens the door. He isn’t wearing a shirt, just the pants from earlier. He lets her go inside.

“May I hug you?” She nodded her head. Harry wraps his arms around her body. He puts his hands into fits and touches her back. His hug is warm and comforting.

“You will do great, don’t be scared,” he whispers into her neck.

“I’m alone, I have nobody,” she sobs. Harry noticed she started crying. He slowly rocked them both back and forth. Y/n hides her face in his chest.

“You’re not alone,” he coos.

“I am, you wouldn’t understand. So many people support you and I have nobody’s support with the baby,” she sobs out.

“You have mine,” y/n looks up at Harry who is smiling at the thought of babysitting them. "I can babysit," he smiled.

“You don’t mean that, you are famous,” she mumbles to herself. She can’t even afford some things a baby needs, like a crib.

“And that doesn’t mean I’m no human. I care about so much and let me care about you,” he wipes her tears away.

“H, we are celebrating. Are you coming out?” Mitch asked.

“One minute,” he says.

“What’s your name? I forgot to ask you earlier,” he puts a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s y/n,” she smiled shyly. “I need to go home now,” she told Harry. He lets go of the hug and grabs himself a sweater and some sweatpants, he puts the sparkly pants off and the gray sweatpants on.

“I’ll bring you to the car,” he offers her his hand.

“But your party—” she mumbles. She grabs Harry’s hand and he interlocks his fingers with hers. “Can wait, first I need to bring you safely to your car,” he says.

Outside are a few cars left, Harry pulled his hood up, he doesn’t want to be seen.

Y/n and Harry arrive at the car, she opens it and slides in the driver's seat, and Harry opens the door to the passenger's side.

“Enter your number, and I’ll call you okay?” He’s kind of scared she will give it away. “Don’t give this number to anyone else. I’ve never done this before,” he admits.

“I won’t,” Harry gets out of the car and was about to close the door. “I wish you a happy rest birthday,” Harry’s smile brightens.

“Thanks, get home safely,” he added.

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

May Writing Challenge Day 19!

Pairing: Regulus Black x Muggle Born Male Reader Summary: Regulus' letter. Words: 656/200 Warnings: ANGST, Canon compliant(After Reggie's death) Notes: ooh this ones got a little kick. The lack of proper paragraphs is intentional.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

To my lover,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know none of this is your fault. I have been heading down this dark path for a long time and there was nothing anyone could do to stop me. I face death in hopes that one day we can meet again and you will know that all I have done was out of love for you.

R.A.B.

You read his words through a wall of tears, your breathing grows rapid and heavy as you sob. You clutch his letter to your chest and wail at the dark sky, unable to hold it in any longer. This was the end of the world, it felt like nothing existed anymore save for the water stained parchment in your trembling hands. He was dead, your Reggie was gone and he'd never come back. He’d never get a funeral, He’d never get a grave, and Merlin knows his dreadful mother would never let a mudblood step foot in the Black Estate. Memories were all you had and even those were too dreadful to think. Echoes of your last words to him ring through your mind and you sob harder, you had been so angry, so sad, so terrified of losing him you pushed him away and now he was gone.

--

“It’s not like I can just leave.” His words are sharp like knives pushed into your heart, “That's what you want, right? You want me to leave?” Your words get stuck in your throat and you stand there grappling feeling like an absolute moron. You had to say something, you needed to convince him to stop this but he’s right. There isn't anything either of you can do now, not with him this far in. “I’m leaving tonight, to get this over with for good.” Your gaze snaps up to his face, his expression is firm and grave, your breath stutters as you hold yourself back from sobbing. “You can't be serious Reg.”

---

“You can’t be serious Reg!” You laugh as you unfold the locket engraved with your initials and his. You don’t look up in time to see the softness in his gaze or the smile threatening the corners of his lips and when you do look up you pull him into your arms faster than either of you can get a look at each other, “This is the best Christmas ever.” You whisper into the crook of his neck.

---

Your eyes flutter open as the sun filters in through the gap in the curtains, you nose pressed into the crook of Regulus’ neck, his scent bringing a calm that nearly puts you right back to sleep. You don’t close your eyes because he's still sleeping, you pull back carefully from his neck to look down at his sleeping face. He looks so peaceful, so undisturbed by the world around you.

---

As you sit leant against a pillar in the astronomy tower you stare up at Regulus’ constellation. Your mind dark and twisting your memories into thoughts of how he might look now, where he might be now. You’ve long since stopped crying, now holding the locket in the palm of your hand feeling the worst sort of emptiness. It feels like someone cut a hole in your chest and now you have nothing to fill it back up as your heart bleeds. Regulus’ constellation above you shines like he's still here, watching you from above. Soft footsteps sound from behind you but you can't find it in yourself to care if you’re caught. Sirius sits beside you silently, you look over at him but can’t find any words to say. Not that you needed too, he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. You gasp for air that feels like it never comes and sob into his shoulder holding onto him tightly.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: I know i really should be taking a break from posting for the weekend but i couldnt help myself

[avocado-writing]

Hi!

I love your good omens stories! They’re so good and leave me wanting more.

Anyway, may I request Aziraphale and Crowley comforting their s/o who can’t sleep because of stress and they find them crying?

Please and thank you!

notes: a short and fluffy one! hope you enjoy it, and I’m so glad you enjoy reading my work! ☺️

pairing: crowley x reader x aziraphale

rating: T

You’re so fucking tired. 

It’s eating away at you, ravenous. Every inch of your body aches for sleep. Every inch of your mind won’t allow it. Instead it runs in circles inside your head, its pacing keeping you awake and miserable. 

You’ve tried counting sheep, you’ve tried meditating, you’ve tried just willing your body to do it. It’s not working. None of it is working. You’re just so stressed, obsessing about everything weighing down on you. Impossible to shake it off.

Next to you, Crowley and Aziraphale are absolutely conked out. Dead to the world. You envy their angelic ability to just tell themselves it’s time for sleep. They don’t go through this maddening insomnia; no, that’s an entirely human thing. 

That’s just for you. 

Exhausted, you sit up. As quietly as you can you sling your legs over the side of the bed to be able to rest your elbows on your thighs. You cover your face with your hands and feel frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks, hot and humiliating. 

“Darling?”

You look over your shoulder to where Aziraphale has stirred. He blinks up at you in confusion, brow furrowing when he spots the fact that you’re sobbing. 

“Oh, my dear, what’s the matter?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m just being silly.”

You try to speak quietly, but it’s enough to make Crowley wake too. You’re met with two pairs of worried eyes and it makes you feel awful. 

“I can’t sleep, that’s it. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll go and make myself a cup of tea or something—”

You go to stand, but a hand wraps gently around your arm and tugs you backward. You land in the middle of the bed, and feel your partners fold themselves around you. 

Your breath catches in your throat from the unexpected intimacy of it, having resigned yourself to watching small-hours telly until your body finally gave up. Instead Aziraphale strokes up and down your arm with feather-light touches and Crowley begins to hum a comforting tune under his breath. 

“Oh,” you whisper. At once, synchronised but with no discussion between them, they both reach in to press a kiss to either of your cheeks. 

“We’ve got you,” Crowley whispers. 

You finally feel your body begin to relax, and your eyelids grow heavy. Wrapped in their embrace is the best way to sleep. 

-

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker @ilyatan @civil-groupie @foolishprincipalitee

[ravencoloredroses]

Changes

Nyx x Reader

Summary: Feysand have just passed away, leaving Nyx and Reader to figure out what to do.

Warnings: Mention of death

Word Count: 1,253

A/N: I’m probably gonna make a part 2 of this…. let me know if you would want one! Thanks for reading! let me know what you think!! <3

————————————————————

Death is inevitable. Even for immortals. It may not happen for hundreds of years, but eventually we all die.

Despite that, I had always hoped my family would live happily, forever. Hope does nothing though. Nothing can change the fact that Rhysand and Feyre are dead.

Just 2 hours ago, they were leaving for a mission, now their bodies are laying side by side on a table.

I understand why they decided to both leave this world together. I wouldn’t want to live without Nyx, so I don’t blame them for anything.

I look down at my mate, now High Lord, to see his eyes bloodshot and full of tears while his mind is thinking of a million different things at once. He’s grieving for his parents, he will be for a while, but he has to rule now, take charge and be what this Court needs. He won’t get to properly deal with this massive loss.

“Y/N?” Nyx whispers. I sit down on the floor beside him and pull him into a hug. “What are we supposed to do?” He sobs into my shoulder. I don’t have an answer for him, no matter how much I wish I did, so I just sit there and sob with him.

Feyre and Rhysand were like parents to me. I remember the first time Nyx introduced me to them, I was so nervous that they wouldn’t like me, but from the moment I walked in the door, they welcomed me into their life with open arms. When Nyx and I had officially mated, they were just as excited as we were, if not more.

“Nyx? Y/N?” Amren says from behind us. We look up to see that her red eyes are slightly puffy. “We have to make an announcement soon. Meet us in the dining room.” Nyx sighs deeply and gives a nod to Amren who disappears back out into the hallway.

Nyx pulls me in for a soft, gentle kiss. “I love you.” He says against my lips. “Please don’t ever leave me.” My hands wrap around his neck as my fingers weave into his jet black hair.

“I love you too. I will always be here.” I say and lean my head against his shoulder. We sit like this for a while, just embracing each other, before Nyx moves to stand us up. He grabs onto my hand and brings it up to kiss my knuckles, then we walk into the dining room together.

Sitting around the table is our family, Cassian, Nesta, Azriel, Mor, Elain and Amren. They left two spots open for me and Nyx to sit at the head of the table. We take our seats while Amren begins to speak.

“Okay. We have to make a public announcement. I’ve already started writing, but I wanted to run it by everyone first.” She opens a notebook and reads what she wrote.

“It is with great sadness that we announce the deaths of High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, Rhysand and Feyre. Their heirs, Nyx and Y/N, have taken over their duties and will be the Night Court’s new High Lord and High Lady. Thank you for your patience during this time of grieving.”

I reach over to grab the notebook to read it for myself, because I’m sure I didn’t hear her say that I was High Lady. “Y/N? What is it?” Nyx asks, squeezing my leg under the table.

I look up at him in disbelief. “I can’t be High Lady.”

“What? Why not?” I turn and see the confused faces of my family.

“I just can’t. They won’t take me seriously, I’m not even from the Night Court. I don’t have magic like you all do. I’m just… me.”

“Y/N, you don’t need magic to be High Lady. You are a natural leader, make them take you seriously.” Nesta says from across the table and everyone nods in agreement.

“I- I don’t know guys.” Nyx looks at me for a while, his bright blue eyes evaluating mine.

“How long do we have before we have to make the announcement?” He faces the rest of the table.

“I can only delay it for one more hour.” Amren responds. Nyx stand up from the table and gentle pulls me to join him.

“We’ll be right back.” He says as he winnows us to our bedroom.

“Talk to me, my love.” He pushes my hair behind my ear and lets his hand linger on my cheek. “What are you thinking?”

I take a deep breath. “I want to be there for you, Nyx, I always will be, but I don’t think I can be your High Lady.” My tears are beginning to fall again. We sit down on the bed and he pulls me into his lap.

“Is it because you feel you’re not ready?” Nyx asks, running a soothing hand over my back. I nod against his chest. “I’m not ready either, darling. I thought when this happened I would be more prepared, but I’m not. No amount of preparation would change that. I need you by my side as we both go through this.” I look up and see the seriousness in his eyes. “Please, Y/N. You’ve always been there for me, let me be here for you.”

“You really think I could be High Lady?”

“I know you can. My parents talked about it all the time.”

“W-What?” I search his face for a tell that he’s lying, but I find nothing.

“They had what they called ‘Transition Trials’ where they planned out what would happen after they passed. Your name was brought up everytime. There was no doubt in their minds that you would become my High Lady. They believed in you.” It takes a minute for what he just said to sink in. The plan was always for me to be High Lady. Why didn’t they tell me?

“They thought there was more time. They did plan to speak with you about it, but never got around to it, I guess.” Nyx answers my unspoken question.

“Okay.” I say after thinking about it for a minute.

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll be High Lady.” Nyx begins to smile. “But.” His smile disappears. “I want to start training with you in the mornings.” He begins to protest, but I cut him off. “How am I supposed to serve and protect our Court if I can’t protect myself?”

He takes a moment to think. “Fine. But we are starting with defensive training only. I don’t need you running around kicking my ass just yet.” He cracks a smile that I match instantly.

“Deal.” I begin to stand, but Nyx stops me by grabbing my waist.

“Wait. One more thing.” He slowly moves forward to kiss me. When our lips finally touch, I feel a burning sensation on my left arm.

“Ow!” I yelp and look down. My breath gets caught in my throat when I realize what I’m staring at.

“It’s a bond tattoo. We both have one since we both made the deal.” Nyx shows me his arm that matches mine perfectly.

“What deal?” I ask as I examine our new tattoos.

“That you will be my High Lady.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I love you so much, Y/N.” He places a kiss to my hair line.

“I love you too, Nyx.” I smile up at him.

“We should go.” He says after a while of just staring at each other. “We don’t want to keep our subjects waiting, do we?”

I pull him back down into a kiss. “Actually, I think they can wait for a little longer.”

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hey, I am 4 months clean of self harm, and I know it may not seem very big, but it's very huge for me. I recently read your post with Academy Au! Obanai and the reader being his favorite student and I was wondering if I can request the same au with Obanai finding out the reader self harms and helps her to get clean?

If not please ignore, and I am so sorry if I requested something you do not do

Omfg. I’m so sorry! No, it’s so big! I’m so glad that you’re okay now, darling! I will always do this for representation of the ones who have suffered. Please keep it up, darling. I am sending you all my loves!

Iguro Obanai- Sheathed Blade

Obanai always suspected something was off with the way you purposefully hid your wrists and arms from him. Even in the hottest weathers, you refused to take off your uniform jacket and he could actively see you suffering the effects of the heat. Obanai was curious on what was going on but he didn’t want to pry into your personal life

Rather, you be his favourite student or not. One that he helps with his subject Chemistry the most and he grown to truly appreciate your upbeat, sweet personality. Such respect and competence is very rare for his classes and he wants to help you graduate to the greatest of his ability

Obanai, out of pure respect for you, decided to try his best to ignore your arm-covering habits in assumption that you had some uncomfortable scars from your childhood you didn’t want to show. He could relate to that concept and view so he just went under that image without asking you

However… that would change permanently when you approached him during lunch

On the near end of the lunch hour, you knocked gently on the chemistry lab’s closed doors where Obanai examined through the big piles of tests for his three classes. The man flinched in irritation whilst Kaburamaru curled around from laying his cold scaly head on Obanai’s warm fluffy black hair. The snake’s bright red eyes glared at the door, making out your shape as Obanai followed his dear friend’s

Obanai recognises that stiletto, that hairstyle from anywhere as he slowly rises from his chair and approaches the door with a rather bland expression. That expression shifted to extreme concern when he heard your voice… not speaking. No. Crying. He practically tore the door open to meet your eyes. Your hands covering your face as you sobbed through your palm’s skin

Obanai didn’t hesitate to bring you into his classroom as he knew well he was the only teacher who would hear you out at this time with every other being pre-occupied with their own duties or others being far too cruel. Obanai was your favourite after all and you trusted him, all the leaps and bounds he took to make sure you would get a good grade in both chemistry and every other of the Academy’s subjects

He was the only adult you could turn to for help with your problem… your horrible problem

As soon as the door shut, you wrapped your arms around Obanai’s waist and cried heavily into his stomach. It felt strange, like a brick wall but you didn’t really care, you just wanted comfort as you felt immense guilt and anguish for your actions flood in. You can’t take this anymore… you need help and you knew it. You just couldn’t help yourself with your habits

Cutting

Obanai didn’t even hesitate to hug you back as his arms comfortable wrap around you, a hand climbing up your back to stroke through your hair before he spoke in a soft, comforting tone. “Dokusha… what’s wrong?”

Even from behind that surgical-like mask, you could just feel his affectionate smile for you. He felt a strange daughter-like bond to you, he wanted to protect you so anytime the students of his class tried to call you a ‘teachers’ pet’

He lashed out at those pairs of useless blood sacks with not a single thought to make sure you could continue to work in safety. You deserve respect and care, no matter what. “I-I-I-Iguro-sama… I-I need help! P-please! Help! H-help me!” You sobbed and hiccuped through your words, your poor bright eyes faint and the puffy redness cracked his heart apart

“Talk to me… I’m here”

“I-Iguro-sama… I-I need help…”

You whispered back on a helpless voice as you untangled your arms with a pained flinch and hesitantly revealed your wrists once you pulled the double-layers of your skin. Obanai’s heterochromia of turquoise and yellow widened in horror at what he saw… he should have pried into your problem sooner, how could he wait for so long?!

Cuts… so many cuts down your skin. Bleeding cuts at your arteries… the blood stained your uniform sleeves a bit… no bullies would do this. You did this… you’re harming yourself?!

Obanai didn’t dare to touch your wrists as you continued to cry helplessly. The amount of courage you had to reveal yourself to him; he was so proud and so happy that you showed him, he must help you under every circumstance as he smiles softly at you, his mask hid that gesture but his gorgeous mismatched eyes sparkled with a needed comforting warmth that crashed over you

Obanai gently took your smaller hands in his, making sure your eyes met his. Your vision was blurry and full of tears as he spoke in such a gentle voice and so carefully, as to not make you feel any more further shame in yourself. Kaburamaru hissed and slithered towards your face through a smoothed wave in the air, the snowy white serpent wanted more than anything to lick your face to comfort you

And needless to say that after this little event. Obanai did and he almost sacrificed his job to make sure you would recover, brought you to the attention of Lady Amane, spent hours talking with your parents, rearranged a therapist for you and had you stay inside his classroom for the whole day. Just so he could watch over you and protect you further

“Don’t worry, Dokusha… I will get you help, I promise you’re not alone. I will protect you but please… give me the blade you used”

[boydiisaster]

May I request a teen! Male!reader who just lost his dad x any obey me characters (platonic ofc) I recently found out my dad passed away in a very brutal way and he didn't get to know I'm trans either :(

loss

reader: teenage, male, he/him pronouns

tw/cw: death, suicide implications, cussing

author's note: i'm so sorry to hear that anon! i hope things get better for you soon, and that this story helps, even just a little bit

lucifer

There's a sudden shift in the air before you tell Lucifer the news. He sensed it as soon as you found out; a profound feeling of grief overwhelmed him. Tears began to trickle down his cheeks, and he raised a gloved hand to make sure he was truly crying. This was strange, unprompted, out of the blue. Lucifer didn't know why he was crying, why there felt like a hole was in his chest, but then he remembered. Of course, how could he forget?

His pact with you made his and your emotions almost completely connected. He was usually very good at controlling your shared emotions, though. Whenever you felt angry, he could control his urge to scream. When you were happy, he'd control the want to shake his arms and squeal. When you were nervous, he'd control his instinct to shift and fiddle with something on his person. Why couldn't he control this, too?

"My dear boy," he murmurs, wiping away some stray tears that slip down his face. The sight before Lucifer breaks his heart. You're standing in his now open doorway, your form shaking with silent sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around your phone, its screen still illuminated with the text from your [mom/other dad/guardian]. This didn't feel real. You couldn't believe it; you didn't want to believe it.

"I'm sorry," you cry. Your words are barely recognizable between the loud sobs that escape your throat. "I'm so sorry, Lucifer, for coming to you like this. I just, I didn't know who else to tell this to."

Lucifer places a hand on your shoulder. Your phone clatters to the ground as you rush over to hug him. You throw your arms around his waist, bury your face in his chest and scream. It's partially muffled by Lucifer's clothes, but he still catches how defeated it was; how broken and filled with anguish it sounded. All Lucifer can do is hug you back tightly, lovingly, and hope that you understand his intention: to comfort you. To say “It’ll be okay” without disrupting your grieving.

Lucifer begins to rock you side to side, as if he’s holding a baby in his arms. “My dear boy,” he repeats.

All you can do is wail in response, causing the Avatar of Pride to hug you tighter.

asmodeus

The Avatar of Lust thought himself very good at reading people. He’d know exactly what the other person wanted to hear, and he’d say it, even though he probably didn’t mean it. Asmo would spew out compliment after compliment just to get what he wanted, and he never thought it bad. He didn’t know what to say in a situation like this, though.

“MC?” Asmo gently cups your tear-stained cheeks, a remorseful expression adorning his pretty face. He tilts his head to the side, confused. “What’s wrong, my sweet boy?”

You stare up at the demon. He’s blurry. Everything in your vision is blurry. You can barely breath from how badly you were panicking. You would have passed out if it wasn’t for Asmo walking in on your breakdown.

“Asmo,” you whimper. More tears slip down your face and land on Asmo’s thighs, soaking the fabric. He’s kneeling in front of you, his knees between your own.

“Asmo, I...” You sob, closing your eyes. The demon holds your head up while the rest of you goes limp in his grasp. “My dad,” you choke out. “My dad, he....”

“Oh MC,” Asmo whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “I don’t... I can’t talk. I-I just....”

“Then don’t talk,” Asmo leans back, taking you with him. He holds you close in his grasp as you rest between his thighs. You lay your forehead against the Lust Avatar’s chest and cry. You shake with sobs as Asmo just hums a small, soothing tune.

“Sweet boy,” he whispers. He doesn’t know what to say to help you. He wants to try, but he knows words won’t solve anything.

Oh god what he wouldn’t give to be able to take away all of your pain with just a few words. You were still just a kid in his eyes. A child exposed to something so awful, something even he doesn’t like to think about: mortality.

“MC,” he hums. “Deep breaths.”

You breathe in deeply, then shakily exhale. You laugh, and Asmo never knew a laugh could sound so defeated. “I’m ruining your clothes.”

“I don’t care.” Asmo holds you tighter against him. “You need someone now more than ever, I’m not going to leave just to change into something less expensive.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. A tiny smile manages to grace your lips before you’re back to crying, and Asmo goes back to rocking you side to side, humming as he does.

barbatos

There’s a small knock at the castle door as the Demon Prince’s butler finishes up around the throne room. Barbatos looks up, then outside at the moon that’s high up in the grim Devildom sky. He blinks, then slowly makes his way over to answer the door.

“Who could it be at this hour,” he thinks aloud to himself.

The doors are heavy; anyone not used to the weight would have trouble opening them, but Barbatos shows no signs of struggling. He pulls open the doors with ease and is greeted with a curious sight: you. You, clutching something close to your chest. You, with a blank, emotionless look on your face. You, with no light in your once bright eyes.

"MC?" Barbatos furrows his brow. "It's late, dear. Come inside."

You don't respond. You can't respond. Your voice dies in your throat the second you even think about talking. You nod your head, taking a small step forward. Then, you shake your head furiously. You're so exhausted. You haven't the energy to do anything after the news. It took all your strength to run up here in search of Barbatos. Your body is tired, and your mind is drained. All you want is to ask your question, but hell, you can't even move anymore.

"MC." Barbatos gently grabs your shoulders. He tilts your head upwards to look into your dim eyes and you watch as a brief look of sorrow washes over him.

"Oh MC," he whispers. "Darling boy, I'm so sorry."

You look away, but even that begins to take an immense amount of energy.

"MC, I can't.... You know I can't." Barbatos pulls you close. "When rescuing you from mortality, I broke a lot of rules. I can't do that again."

You go limp in his grasp. Your father's gift that he gave you before you came to the Devildom clatters against the stone steps of Diavolo's castle. You close your eyes as Barbatos holds you tightly in his arms.

"Then can you send me to him?" You finally speak. Your voice is barely above a whisper. "If not I might do it myself. Barbatos, I... I don't know what to do."

"Life is precious, MC." Barbatos's voice is stern, almost angry. It makes you shut your eyes tighter. "Your father wouldn't want that. He'd want to see you flourish."

You don't respond. Barbatos feels like there's a hole in the pit of his stomach. He feels as if he himself has just lost something. He supposes that he did, in a way. He lost whatever part of you that you just lost. Thinking that, he hugs you tighter. So tight that it's almost painful. He's cold, you notice, and you're so warm to him.

His dear boy. His child that he'd do anything for. He can't help but feel guilty about that. He wouldn't do anything for you, he realizes, for he won't even bring your father back, even though he knows it will help you.

"I'm sorry, MC." He repeats.

You say nothing back, but the way you nudge his chin with your head tells him everything.

"I'm so sorry."

[six-white-venus]

hey stranger, would you listen to my sorrows for a little while? would you indulge this poor son of a gun sobbing on the side of the road about the same ol’ things, the same ol’ sitch would you listen to me, just this once?

can i tell you how it feels to sell a home? for money, of all things? well, firstly you close your eyes, count to 10, hoping  to wake up to your god-awful britney spears’ alarm but spoiler alert: you don’t. you  never do. you open your eyes to see the very same tragedy unfold only now in monochrome

it feels like this: you see the garden you waddled in through  when you were 8 and there’s a pause, an ache in your chest. the voice in your head says rewind and who are you to deny its wish?

grandpa is walking around watering the plants, admiring the palm-sized sunsets and lovely nights that bloom under his watch. i’ve known god for quite a while, my friend and let me tell you how he looks- he is 70, 76, 80 and 82 i’ve held god in my own arms and he has held me  in his he smells like baby powder and brushes his lips against my hair oh so gently. i’ve seen god, looking over with such fondness at a line of ants I am safe. I am safe. I am safe

it feels like walking inside the living room and being robbed of all your breath by some lousy scoundrel because this can’t be happening, right? (but it is. it is happening) this is not fair (is it ever?)

this is where my uncle ran  and ran to reach me,  eyes wild and petrified, when  i once forgot how to breathe underwater  (i was taking a head bath then. i’m not taking one now but mama,  i think i need you here. i think  i forgot how not to drown again)

oh, you’re still here? listening to silly old me and my silly old wounds wrapped in pretty words and poetry to hide the scabs and rot from your prying eyes? funny, because everyone and everything always seems to have  somewhere to run off to. i remember it all, as i stand there

i am twelve and nothing feels real when i see my grandpa’s sharp eyes submerged in fog god used to sit next to me and  read out english channel names  and laugh quietly. he used to  correct me on the pronunciation of the word  ‘thalai-anai’ and make sure grandma  never skipped a meal.  i’m twelve and he looks at me and doesn’t see me he looks at me and tries to remember my name

reality fades into white noise.

pockets empty and wallets filled with holes larger than the ones in my heart, i watch them pack up all our things i see cardboard boxes standing tall  in the kitchen and  the dining table is masked with a dusty white cloth and it is wrong, so wrong and I try not to look like my world is spinning a little too fast for my liking.

will there ever be someone else who will utter the words ‘goodbye’  and ‘i love you’ to these walls  like i have?

(i wonder: what is the price tag this world will slap on love?)

this house,  it has seen me stitch my wounds with  trembling hands and wipe my tears of happiness with my shirt sleeve. these gardens still wait for my grandpa  and say hello to him through  the whispering wind this house is not just a house it is home, it is love.

but my dear stranger, there’s also else something  i forgot to tell you: just like how we claimed  every inch of this place to be ours,  this place has left its traces all over me i may have to say goodbye to this house now,  but it will always live within me so with all my awkward grief and salt-stained smiles and open arms i say,

goodbye and welcome home, old friend

[rayd3nnn]

Hi Ray🩶

I really loved your birthday fic. Like really fucking loved it.

I was wondering if I could ask for a no comfort angst with Ant or Rain?

My 21st is coming up first week of November and it will be another birthday in silence. As it was for the last 3 years so it just seems fitting. I'll probably just toast a drink to myself and have carrotcake again.

I will trade fucking anything for a slice of carrotcake. Including my soul.

No comfort you Say?…indeed I may. Happy early birthday, may this year be better <3. This is your birthday present from me :)). @cheekytofu

Character: Rain

Pairings?: none

Warnings: angst, no comfort, crying, self conscious Rain, insecurity, accidental self harm, self doubt.

Below the cut if you may <3

I’m so sorry it’s so short!!!!

“What’s wrong with me..?”

Tour was finally over, everyone was back in the Abbey working for the ministry. The Ghouls were relaxing after their long months of travel, and everything was full of energy…except for Rain.

Rain was in his assigned room within the Ghouls Den, not joining in with any of the festivities for after tour. Instead, he sat on his bed scrolling through social media…watching videos of past tours he was part of, and the one that had just recently passed. Judging himself on all the mistakes he’d thought he’d made.

His tail laid limply behind him, on the bed sheets. Usually his tail would be thumping with excitement after tour..he didn’t know what was so different this time. He kept watching videos, edits, reading people comments and harsh criticism, compliments, and even hate. Why was he doing this? He’d never done this before so why is he doing it now? The longer he kept scrolling and looking, the more time had passed.

He didn’t realize the time until he looked at the time on his phone, 4:33AM. He’d been scrolling since 9:15PM. How didn’t he realize how long he’d been awake? This isn’t normal…

“Fucking can’t do anything right now huh?” Rain muttered to himself, before he dropped his phone onto the bed sheets as tears welled into his eyes. “What’s wrong with me..?” He asked himself with a voice crack as tears finally began to fall out of his beautiful blue ocean eyes. He silently cried softly, although the soft cries turned into body wracking, shaking silent sobs. He leaned forwards and places his head onto his bed sheets incase he gets too loud, he didn’t wanna burden his packmates with some…he didn’t even know what to call it.

“You can’t do anything right.”

“Your a bass player and you can’t do that right either?”

“Can’t even go to sleep at a normal time.”

“Your not worth it.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Rains thoughts kept spiraling, and so did his cries. The longer Rain cried, the less he remembered from that night. Rain zoned out into his thoughts, not comprehending anything until he felt a sharp pain in his palms. He looked down, and noticed he’d never retracted his claws, and that they had pierced into his hands.

“Damnit..” Rain muttered through cries. He felt so exhausted, so drained. He didn’t wanna get up to clean his hands. He simply grabbed a tissue from his beside and wiped off the blood, grabbing a small rags that were also on his bedside and wrapping them around his palms.

Rain cried himself to sleep that morning, and nobody knew a thing.