#because i burned an hour watching this girl fuck around and the attachment becomes annoyance after that long!

[bastardwhoisnamedrat]

why does ti west make films that are like an hour of "blokes who do fuck all" and thirty minutes of actual Things Happening.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

You know how we have pet costumes? Give Jacob one, make him a cute space cowboy😈😈😈

WE'RE BACK BABY

Please enjoy this little ficlet (that was actually my 3rd attempt to write a fluffy ficlet for this universe because all the other ones kept becoming future chapters lmao)

--

“This is humiliating. I look like sheriff Woody or something.”

“Aw, I was thinking more like John Wayne Gacy, you know?”

“The...the clown serial killer…?”

Angie pursed her lips. “Wait, who was the cowboy guy in all the old movies? Like, before Clint Eastwood and whatever.”

“That’s John Wayne. Not John Wayne Gacy,” Jacob tugged at the sleeves of his costume and readjusted his cowhide vest. “And I don’t feel anywhere near as cool as him right now.”

She rolled her eyes and crinkled her nose. “That’s because you’re not cool. You’re a grown man playing dress up with a kindergartener.”

“So are you.”

Angie straightened her Native American headpiece and threw one of her braided pigtails behind her. “Yeah, but I know it’s stupid, so therefore I’m doing it ironically which makes me cool.”

Jacob sighed heavily but didn’t argue further, instead tugging his cowboy hat down further to shield his face that burned with embarrassment. Being forced into having playdates with his captor’s coworker was nothing new. He had spent plenty of time being Mibao’s sole playmate aboard the ship, doing the best he could to keep the six year girl entertained and not too psychologically damaged. Being the youngest in a sibling group of only boys, he was a bit rusty when it came to knowing anything about kids. Thankfully, Mibao was more than happy to take him by the hand and show up all the “fun” things she used to either do back home or what she would now do with her “kitty”.

Today’s game of choice was dress up. Every day felt like dress up when it came to the girl’s ever expanding wardrobe; she was always dressed in an obnoxiously puffy and sparkling princess dress fashioned with ribbons and bows galore and always with a matching crown. Fine, no big deal, he could slap a tiara on his head and call it a day, he’d worn worse at the few fraternity parties he attended during college. Nope, not good enough. Mibao had a very specific game she wanted to play which involved him wearing a cowboy costume of all things. A very realistic and detailed cowboy costume, assless chaps and spurs and all. Again, he could...handle it for the most part. The only thing that really bothered him about it was all the coos and giggles he received from both his and Mibao’s captors when he finally came out in his new outfit.

And he knew for a fact they took many, many pictures of him.

It didn’t end there, Mibao still had more requests. Angie needed to join in as well and she was required to be an “indian princess” to partake. Naturally, she was more than happy to agree if it meant getting a break from the absolute nightmare of a captor she had been saddled with. So, now Jacob had to deal with the fact that she would have to watch him play pretend in this ridiculous getup. He could never catch a break with her, it seemed, she always had to catch him when he was in the middle of doing something cringe worthy. She didn’t even look half as uncomfortable as him and she was literally wearing half as much clothing.

Or maybe that was exactly why she was so comfortable as she sauntered up to him, making a finger pistol to tip his hat away from his face. “Cheer up, partner,” she teased. “I think it makes you look cute.”

“I think it makes me look like Owen Wilson from the museum movie,” Jacob replied, hoping the shadow of the brim hid his reddening cheeks.

“Oh my God, you are a tiny little twink cowboy, huh?”

“I’d rather be the gladiator guy.”

“You wish you could pull off being the gladiator guy.”

A rebuttal was on the tip of his tongue when Mibao made her appearance from behind the monitor where she had been changing. This time instead of her usual princess attire, she was dressed...pretty much the same, only this time she had a tiny pair or iridescent fairy wings attached to the back. What a fairy had to do with cowboys and indians, he hadn’t the faintest idea. She stopped when she saw the two of them and stuck out her tongue in childish disgust.

“Eww, stop kissing!” She scolded. “You can kiss the princess later, Jake, it’s time to play!”

Jacob had never been more grateful in his life that the creatures idly watching them couldn’t understand English because he just might have died if they heard. He could feel the heat radiating from his nape to his cheeks, putting his hands up in defense like it could keep Angie away from him.

“Wh-no! We weren’t, we weren’t kissing, Reagan, w-we-!”

Angie only cackled, her amusement stemming more from Jacob’s panicked response than the actual accusation of giving him a kiss. “Yeah, cowboy, you can kiss me later.” She winked and nudged him with her elbow as she walked past to where Mibao was waiting.

He groaned, tugging the hat down as far as it would go even if that meant obscuring his vision somewhat. That was totally fine, he didn’t want to look at anyone right now and he did not want to be perceived either. The child was leading them back over to her designated play area scattered with art supplies and stuffed toys for where they’ll play their game of make believe. Angie was already sitting on her knees by the time he shuffled over and beckoned him with a sly smile to come take a seat on the ground next to her. Jacob obliged, but refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his beet red face.

As soon as they were settled, Mibao immediately launched into the exposition of the scene they would be putting on, including their roles and superpowers (that only she had because she was a magical fairy queen). Jacob was only half listening; the kid usually forgot half of her own rules in the middle of playing anyways because she wanted to change the story and it wasn’t that hard to follow her game of make believe. Instead, he kept side-eying Angie, who was side-eying him back, and every time they made eye contact she would smile and bump his shoulder with hers.

This was going to be a long playdate.

--

The lab door slid open as Talan walked in, peeling off his bloodied gloves to dispose of them in Ylva’s waste bin. “I need my human back.”

“Aw, why? They’re all having a ball together!” Ylva frowned, gesturing to the miniature trio on her desk. Well, the smallest one and Talan’s pet seemed like they were having a good time, namely at the expense of the other human in a hat. They all seemed to stop at the interruption, his human fixing him with a sneer that he was tempted to match.

“What the fuck is it wearing?” He asked, ignoring all the little protests he got when he grabbed it and plucked the stupid looking feather thing of its head. “I thought you said it’s not nice to torment the humans.”

Edix scoffed at him, though his annoyance was more from Talan being in his general vicinity than anything. “It’s not torment. They were having fun.”

Talan did not look convinced in the slightest, his eyes sweeping over the pup who was pouting at him for taking away its playmate and the other who froze any time he breathed in its direction. Like owner, like pet, he assumed as it seemed to unconsciously inch closer to where Edix’s hand was resting for a better sense of security. Pathetic. At least his pet had a bit more self respect and wasn’t afraid to try and stab him in the hand with his own tools. Of course, it got a sharp flick to the stomach to knock it off, but he could appreciate the gumption.

Talan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, looks like a real party. So sad to have missed it.”

“Like you’ve ever been to a party to know what it looks like.”

“Says the one that only hangs out with plants.”

“Okay,” Ylva interjected, rising from her chair and scooping up her adorable little human. “You’re right, we should probably wrap this up, Mibao’s going to need a nap soon and she likes to fight her naps when she’s excited.”

That was all the excuse Talan needed to dip out without a formal goodbye, though it didn’t escape the corner of his eye how Edix’s human took a half step forward when he left, almost like it wanted to say something. Even if it did, he wouldn’t have cared. As quickly as he had intruded, Talan disappeared back down the main hall of the fauna department to return to his lab.

Edix stood up as well and tucked the data pad he had been keeping busy with under his arm to keep his hands free. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing how much closer his little pet was standing to him, even if it wasn’t by much, even though it was caused by Talan of all bastards. A win was a win in his book. The hand the human had been partly hiding behind curled easily around it to lift it up, immediately cradling it to his chest as usual. It squirmed for a moment but settled quick enough, a clear sign it was also ready to go back to the lab it was accustomed to. For a social species, the little one always seemed so drained after any playdate Ylva arranged for their pets. Fine by him, it usually meant his human was much more quiet and well behaved once it was back in the solitude of Edix’s company, making for an easier work day.

He used his finger to tilt back the wide brimmed hat it had been using to hide its sweet little face a majority of the playdate, earning him a surprised squeak. With the way its baby cheeks were turning an adorable shade of pink, Edix had a fairly good guess as to why it was trying to avoid everyone’s line of sight. Damn, he should have had Ylva take more pictures, this was way too cute for him. It reached up to quickly pull its shield back down and Edix let it with a laugh, cooing as he tugged at its little vest instead which only made it wriggle in distress. Overdramatic little thing.

“Can I keep this costume?” He asked as he followed behind Ylva who was preparing to put her own pup down for a nap. In reality, it meant she was going to have to play with it for at least another half an hour because, much like him, she was a sucker when it came to her human wanting to play. The difference being that Mibao wanted to do anything from coloring to singing to continuing its game of make believe while Edix’s pet always wanted to play chase.

Ylva smiled and shrugged. “Sure, I mean, it’s not like it’s going to fit the baby. It was printed for its measurements specifically, anyways.” Mibao was proving to be difficult in its refusal to relinquish the shiny wings Ylva had designed at its request, something that Ylva quickly made a game out of by setting her pup on the desk and letting it squeal and run while her hands chased after it. That would tire the kid out in no time. She looked back at his human and giggled. “I don’t think it likes it very much, though.”

Oh yeah, that was obvious from the get go, but it didn’t change the fact that it was way too precious for its own good in this type of outfit. Edix actually quite liked the contrast of the dark brown against its pale skin, even more given the fact that it matched the color of its doe eyes perfectly. It was much more appealing than that splotchy green jacket it was inexplicably attached to. He had a feeling it was going to try and strip out of this outfit as soon as it was back in Edix’s lab, provided he gave it its normal suit and jacket to change into. But...maybe he didn’t have to offer it its spare set of clothes right away. Maybe it would just have to hang around in its little boots and hat for a couple hours longer while he finished up his latest report that was just so important to get done. And maybe he would get constantly distracted by how cute it looked while it was definitely pouting at him for not taking off its costume that it took a little longer than usual to finish his work, which meant it spent even longer pouting under its hat.

Decisions, decisions.

Edix waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll learn to love it.”

“Oh, Eddie, don’t be mean to it,” Ylva laughed, not that seemed bothered by the idea of his pet keeping the outfit on for an extended period of time beyond the playdate. “But send pictures if you do.”

[stopeatingwhales]

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x) 

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised. 

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms. 

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,” 

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” 

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,” 

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet. 

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,” 

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

[dazed--xx]

Useless

Request: Can you do a one shot were you fight and he says something that really hurt you bc you were insecure about that and then you act kinda distant and idk can it fluff and angst pretty please 🥺 I love your blog 💜(tae)

Summary:  “Maybe I wanted to have some time to myself for a change? Did you ever think about that? Maybe I didn’t want some clingy leach attached to my hip at every second of the fucking day... I finally wanted to be able to fucking breathe. Like damn I can see why your parents didn’t want you... you're fucking useless....” The foul insults like venom. Useless... He thinks you're useless...

Member: Taehyung x Idol!reader

Word Count: 2,276

Genre: Angst, light smut, light fluff

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ABUSE

A/N: Shout out to the reader who requested my first Tae one shot, hope you enjoy. I got some big things planned to come out so i hope yall follow make sure you check out my masterlist for other stories 

(Not my gif)

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“Y/N!!” Tae shouts from the living room finally acknowledging my presence for the first time today. Waking me from a dead sleep, that falling feeling startling. “Y/N!!!” His voice booming. Sluggishly, WHAT TIME IS IT?? 1:54 am the alarm clock reads I scream into the pillow and make my wake to the living room. The bright light blinding, Tae on the couch with Jungkook. “Yes?” the annoyance in my tone evident. “We’re hungry can you make us something please?” THE FUCKING NERVE!!!! I roll my eyes “Did you speak to me for the last 16 hours?” confusion creeping onto his face at my passive aggressive attitude. Jungkook’s face contorts obviously uncomfortable. “I was just asking you to make us food, no need to be a bitch about it ill just order out” He snaps back “and by the way if you have something to fucking say then say it I don’t appreciate the off handed comments especially when you could have come to me as well and speak to me..” his eyes roll, Jungkook eyeing the door “WELL!.... this has been......fun. I'm gonna head out. Sorry Y/N didn’t mean to upset you” I smile at his friendliness. “Goodnight Jungkookie, I'll see you next time okay I'm sorry to make you feel uncomfortable.” I escort him out the door.  

Tae’s eyes fuming as I turn around. “Look what you fucking did! You made him leave all because of you’re stupid fucking attitude!” He shouts, throwing his controller on the ground smashing it. “You couldn’t just say you didn’t fucking feel like it instead of pushing my friend out the fucking door” fear creeping up in my body. Me and Tae have fought before but he’s never raised his voice like this. He’s never been THIS angry before. “Tae, I’m sorry but I was sleeping and-” “DOES IT LOOK LIKE I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING?” his terrifying voice booming. Tears sting my eyes all my anger from the day boiling over as the confession spews out of my mouth “NO YOU DON’T BECAUSE YOU NEVER FUCKING CARE ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK I DO TODAY WAS A CLEAR INDICATION OF THAT NO? YOU HAVE A FUCKING DAY OFF AND YOU LITERALLY SPEND IT IGNORING ME AND PLAYING YOUR STUPID ASS GAME. I ASK YOU TO TAKE A WALK WITH ME AND YOURE TOO TIRED. I ASK YOU TO TAKE A NAP WITH ME YOU WANT TO BE UP. SO, WHAT THE FUCK IS IT HUH? SO, WHEN I FINALLY, FINALLY FALL ASLEEP YOU WANT TO FUCKING WAKE ME UP TO ASK ME TO COOK FOR YOU AND JUNGKOOK?????????”  

“Maybe I wanted to have some time to myself for a change? Did you ever think about that? Maybe I didn’t want some clingy leach attached to my hip at every second of the fucking day... I finally wanted to be able to fucking breathe. Like damn I can see why your parents didn’t want you... you're fucking useless....” The foul insults like venom. Useless... He thinks you're useless...

*10 YEARS AGO,*

“Y/N! YOU RUINED IT! IT WAS MY FAVORITE AND YOU BROKE IT!!” My older sister shouts, as her hand harshly cracks along my cheek. Tears stream down my face, “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to...” I whimper. The mirror on the ground shattered like my heart, my sisters rough hand shoves me to my knees. Glass stabbing at my skin like a thousand knives, her hand in my hair. “CLEAN IT NOW!!!” Her shouting alerts my mother. “Y/S/N? What's going on?” My mother's soft voice asks as she comes into the room. “Tsk....Y/N what did you do now?” Annoyance in her tone, her eyes rolling. “She broke my mirror. She broke my favorite mirror....she's so useless mom why is she here she needs to go.” My sister whined.  

“Let her go, Y/N pick this up and come to my room...” the tone dark. Fear taking a hold of my chest. Whilst cleaning the mirror my sisters torture did not end glass penetrated my hand every time, she shoved me over as I held each shard with care. Dread fills me as the mirror is completely clean. Slowly, I trek to my mother's room my 12-year-old frame trembling as I stand in front of my mother's door heart beating threatening to burst out of my chest.  

“Y/N LETS GO NOW” my mother shouts from the other side of the door. The beating didn’t last too long the pain only temporary; the lecture lasted a lifetime the pain forever. “Why do you have to be so damn useless huh? It's like you enjoy ruining our lives, you never seem to do anything right and I'm so god damn tired of fucking covering for you. SO, you need to go, I don’t care where it is you go but it's not here. I want you out by tomorrow and don’t take none of that expensive shit that’s mine”. I was out within the hour, terrified of what may come if I lasted until tomorrow. Rushing out of the door at 3 am with all of my essential belongings in hand, with no destination in sight.  

Months go by living all around Seoul at parks, bus stations, motels when I get really lucky. Singing in the street to come up with a few dollars to eat. Some days I didn’t make enough and I would slip items in my clothes, becoming quite the “artist”.  One day, I’m singing in front of a small store front 2 gentlemen dressed lavishly listening intently phone recording as my verse comes to an end. Their eyes burning holes into me as a blush creeps up onto my face. The crowd disperses at the top of my hat a business card BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT. Confusion strikes me turning the card over. A small hand written note and address on the back ‘TOMORROW 2 PM’. My heart races WHAT????

*TRAINEE DAYS*

“Y/N-AH STOP BEING SO DAMN USELESS AND PLEASE HIT THE BEAT ON THE RIGHT COUNT!” My groups dance lead, Hye-un shouts. Fury in her eyes, “Seriously we probably would have debuted by now if you could do something right like you can't sing, you can't dance...what can you do huh?? Stand there? Remember you’re only here because Namjoon oppa felt bad for you.” her words cut like knives. “Namjoon oppa thinks I'm good..” I mutter weakly, under my breathe as tears slide down my face. Every girl laughs, “No, honestly no one does like come on, you can't see it, He felt bad for you idiot. You were homeless and needed a place to go.” Jisoo snaps. Her words breaking my heart, grabbing my bag and dashing toward the door. They won't get to see me cry...not like that... not for them.  

Running down the hallway, hunting for the farthest studio away from them to release my demons. THUD! “Oof DUDE WATCH WHERE YO-” The loud voice cut off “LOOK IM NOT IN THE FUCKING MOOD MOVE” I shout as I stand up to run past the stranger. “Damn... Okay... rude... are you okay though you look like you’re crying” He says as I wipe my eyes getting a clear view of the man that I've collided with. A blush instantly creeping on my face as the familiar face becomes recognizable and my head shoots down, Taehyung oppa. All the anger in me fades quickly as the god like man shifted. My voice is shaky, “IM SO SORRY, I wasn’t paying attention. I'm just having a rough morning. I should get going, I'm so sorry... I..Um...S-Sorry” He chuckles “Ha, you said that already...3 times in fact” a small giggle escapes my lips.

“So, I know you don’t know me or anything but I’m a great listener. Maybe you can tell me what's going on, it might help” He says sincerely. Hesitant, I look down “um....-” “Look, don’t worry if you don’t want to physically tell me give me your number you can text it to me then that way you and I don’t have to be face to face and it can help you to get more out that sound good?” I nod as he pulls out his phone and asks for mine. His number in my phone as Tae<3. A smile creeps up onto my face as he pulls me into a hug. My body melts into his like I've known him for years. “Okay so I'll talk to you later” A smile on his face as he walks off.  

Blushing, as realization dawns on me as I pull my phone out to text him.  

*PRESENT*  

From there I told Tae everything, my fears, my past, insecurities. Useless....that's all I’ve ever been. My sobs no longer able to be held back as they barrel their way through my chest. “F-fin-ne then Tae you won't have to worry about me being in your way anymore” I whisper as I turn around and walk into the bedroom Tae and I share. Locking the door behind me I curl up in bed and let the tears take over me. Mama never loved you, the girls never wanted you to debut with them, they made you go solo because of how useless the group thought you were, You're so fucking useless to Tae. I ruin fucking everything I'm sorry Tae. The tears putting you to sleep eventually.  

TAE’S POV  

FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!! FUCK! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO???????!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!!! The regret fills my mind as the bedroom door locks in my face. Her sobs filling the apartment, my heart cracking at the sound. Sitting outside of the door listening to the love of my life cry herself to sleep in our bedroom, alone, because of me. Baby I'm so sorry...you know I never would mean anything like that, but the words never come out.  

Nothing can physically come out as my heart pounds in my throat terrified of what tomorrow could bring. Would she leave? NO! Tae don’t think like that Y/N loves you and she’ll know you could never mean that...right? Tears streaming down my face at the thought. You fucked up...you fucking hurt her in one of the worst fucking ways possible. There's no way she's going to forgive you. Trudging back to the couch as I let the tears consume me.  

Y/N’S POV

The sun beaming in my eyes, burning, as I blink myself awake. Eyes sore, Tae’s words resting at the front of my mind. Making my way to the restroom, the second the door is open Tae is in front of me on his knees. “Baby, I’m an asshole okay but I love you and-and I'm sorry” He pleads as he wraps his arms around my waist head resting against my stomach. Disgust filling me, “Move, I have to use the restroom” Tae’s saddened figure retreats back to the living room defeated. Tears stream down my face as the hot water from the shower soaks me. My pain evident, Tae shuffling outside of the bathroom door every few minutes whispering to himself before disappearing back into the living room.  

Placing one of my tank tops and sweat pants on, I make my way out of the bathroom. Tae rushing behind me as I walk back into the bed room. The saddened puppy looks still on his face. His regret in his eyes, his face is puffy and red proof he’s been crying over his words. The sight weakening my angry state as he reaches for my face and looks into my eyes caressing my cheek. His gaze drifting to my lips, slowly leaning forward he brushes his lips against mine looking for some form of consent. My eyes close as he presses forward and kisses me with so much emotion, his tongue delving in to my mouth and tasting me. A slight moan released from his lips as he presses me against the bedroom door slamming it shut. He lifts my right leg over his waist pulling me closer, as lips slide down to my neck. The way his tongue attacks my neck, drawing a puddle in my panties, his member grinding against me hard as a rock. The need for more grows inside me as Tae pulls his lips off of my body as he whispers in my ear his voice shaky and terrified “I-I’m so s-sorry, I love you and you’re not useless. I didn’t mean it. I could never mean it, you’re perfect I swear. And I'm such an ass for saying something like that there’s no excuse for what I said but please, okay, I'm BEGGING you don’t leave me.”  

A tear slides down my face as he shakes, crying into my ear wrapping his arms around my waist. Tae’s sadness washing away any animosity toward him at his words. “Baby... you hurt me but I'd never leave you. You're all I have and I'm never giving you up” I hug him back. His smile against my neck. “I don’t deserve you.....I'm sorry” I nod and run my hands through his hair. “SO! Were you just being a tease or are you gonna finish what you started?” I ask seductively as I put Tae’s hand in my pants, a smirk creeps onto his face.  

“Oh, Kitten, I have so many plans for us today”  

[daesungfmd]

𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒓.

solo 6  /  wc: 1,921

moral of the story: hwang daesung is a menace. (tw: blood, needles mentioned in a brief anecdote in the context of piercings).

his intentions are cloudy, unreadable ―

he’s a boy who smiles so bright that it seems like he’s in a competition with the sun, talks circles around anyone who’ll listen, begging them to show some interest in the smaller parts of his life. but by the time he’s eight years old, teachers are already writing home about how disruptive he is in class, how he cuts them off mid-lesson to inquire about the color of their cheeks. (”he asked if my skin color is a result of high blood pressure,” one teacher writes, not quite angry, but far from amused. “he doesn’t seem to know how to keep his thoughts to himself”.)

it seems like he never learns, either.

his parents tell him not to answer the door if neither of them are home alone. it’s dangerous, they say, and he humors them by pretending to agree, though his personal belief is that the most dangerous thing in the apartment building is the landlord’s tendency to come looking for day-late rent first thing in the morning with un-brushed teeth. (”does our rent buy your toothpaste?” he asks one morning, in the middle of getting ready for school. the landlord doesn’t think it’s funny, and neither does daesung’s mom as she apologizes on his behalf, stalling while she comes up with some excuse as to why they can’t pay yet. but he sees the smile his dad’s trying to hide, and that makes the scolding that comes later feel worthwhile.)

he listens to the radio too loud while he does chores or pretends to do his homework, turns it up even louder when the lady from apartment 308 comes knocking at the door, undoubtedly to tell him to keep it down in there. there comes a day when he finally opens the door, ignoring every warning his parents had so persistently burned into his mind. before she can speak a single word, he takes the chance to say, “my dad told me you’re angry all the time ‘cause you’re going through a mid-life crisis. i thought you’d be older.” 

he watches her mouth open, close, open, then close again ― evidently, she doesn’t know what to say. when she speaks, her tone reeks of momentary defeat. “your dad told me that you’re eleven, so i thought you’d have learned how to be respectful by now. i guess we were both wrong.”

“i guess so.” the door shuts, locks. he turns the radio back on, louder.

as emotional intelligence puts roots in his brain, acts of blatant disrespect become less frequent but he’s still difficult to predict, impossible to control. a diagnosis of adhd at age 13 turns out to be half the explanation for his fluctuating energy levels, lack of impulse control and forgetfulness, but the consequences of these symptoms are still attributed to having no manners, no home training. condescension from teachers leads to an inherent disdain for a school system that doesn’t serve him, and it turns into hatred the first time his 8th grade homeroom teacher calls him out for the eyeliner he’s wearing.

“the girls aren’t allowed to wear makeup to school, so what made you believe that it would be okay for you to do so?” he asks right after attendance, staring 14-year old daesung in the eyes. he’s lost somewhere between not caring at all and being on high-alert from the embarrassment of the whole class turning to look at him, at his eyes.

“i didn’t realize that the girls had anything to do with me,” he snaps, smart-ass tone contradicting the nervous cracking of his knuckles. “there’s nothing about makeup in the boys’ dress code. if it’s that big of a deal, maybe it should be updated. let me know when it is.”

it’s a terrible way to start off 8th grade year, results in a series of miniature battles between him and the teacher. back-talking that lands him in the hallway with a stack of textbooks held over his head, though they’re dropped on the ground as soon as he’s not being watched ― he takes time-outs as personal breaks, which is later called defiance though it seems like his teacher has no desire to take daesung’s behavioral issues to anyone higher in the chain. on the occasions that he has gate duty, he always calls daesung out, makes him wait ‘til the gates close, then marks him tardy and makes him run laps first thing in the morning.

fair enough.

daesung’s playing a slow game, though, and he eventually lets his teacher think that he’s won. he stops wearing the eyeliner until finals season comes, and then he packs it on heavy, aiming to be called out. the eyeliner isn’t the surprise, though ― it’s the needle and ring in his pocket, pulled out after he’s done scrubbing his makeup off in the sink.

it’s a move made in an act of immature rebellion, and he knows that the purchase hadn’t been the best use of his accumulated lunch money. even as he leans in closer to the mirror, gets the ring attached to the needle and takes aim, he thinks about how the how-to page he’d read had specifically said not to do this in a dingy bathroom, and here he is ―

what’s the worst that can happen?

one, two, oh, fuck. he’s not expecting the blood, and he’s certainly not expecting to have to push and prod the needle until it finally slips through, and he’s not prepared to have to tug at the ring to get it to come loose from the needle and sit presentably on his lip. by the time he’s done, his eyes are bloodshot from unshed tears. he spits one final time, splashes cold sink water against his teeth and against the piercing to wash away the remnants of red. 

it doesn’t turn out to be the power-move he expects it to be, because the school year comes to a close two weeks later and all he’s got to show for it is an infuriated mother, a handful of kids who think he’s lost his mind and a near-infected lip.

it seems to be the last of his raging rebellion ― anger dispels, mischief takes its place. he ends up a trainee under one of the biggest idol companies in the country, and no one fully understands ― not even the other trainees, given the all work and no play expectations shaken by his all play and no work mentality. it feels like all the company employees have his picture and name on some secret list because every time something goes wrong, he’s the first to be questioned. not that he doesn’t deserve it, though; he’s the boy who convinces in-house chefs that yes, he’s supposed to be given bigger portions than everyone else, it’s a health condition. he’s the boy who disrupts practice hours by connecting his phone to blue-tooth speakers. he’s the boy who hides from his responsibilities in narrow, dim corners. he’s the boy everyone expects to drop out, or be kicked out ―

not to be selected for a competition show.

it clears his assumptions that the company has some kind of personal vendetta against him, but it doesn’t make him take the situation more seriously in any way. during his first personal interview, he’s asked, “what do you think you bring to the competition?” and instead of giving an immediate answer, he plays dumb. he doesn’t know why he does it. it’s an impulse, maybe meant to draw time out, make things a little more complicated than they have to be.

“this is a competition?” he questions, and after slowly nodding along to an explanation that he’d already heard an abundance of times, his answer is, “i’m bringing the spirit. i’ll make it fun.”

as the show progresses, the clueless act strengthens ― he’s always asking why, why, why, like a kid on a mission to irritate their parents. criticism sets in, both from instructors and at-home viewers. he hardly cares.

by the time that debut comes, everyone’s made their minds up about him already.

he’s shameless. he’s dense. he’s dumb.

he supposes that they’re not wrong, though; there’s certainly something shameless in the way he interrupts and talks over others, on a constant mission to steal the spotlight. it’s too much, he’s told. he’s too much. a reputation that follows him around for years to come, even once he picks some locks and sneaks his way right into the public’s hearts. he’s annoying in an endearing way, and after a bit of trial and error, he learns just the right ways to draw laughter from crowds ― decides that if he can just make people laugh, they’ll learn to love him. if he can bring a little bit of happiness, then the inconveniences that come with his presence will always be forgiven.

it’s this inherent trust in his ability to be forgiven that he continues to push his luck, break rules, let reminders go in one ear and out the other ―

he’s told that dating is discouraged, but dating fans is completely banned. naturally, his first girlfriend is someone he met at a signing. when he gets caught―not by a manager, but by a close friend―his excuse is that he didn’t know because she never explicitly stated that she knew anything about impulse. (a blatant lie, if her profile picture of their logo is anything to go by).

he sweet-talks his manager into letting him use his card for dinner, promises to return it soon ― then goes clubbing instead and buys rounds for the pretty girl who keeps one hand on his knee, then on his shoulder, then around his shoulders; getting closer and closer, then leaving as soon as he stops paying. (i was hungry, he lies, and i wanted something expensive).

he’s reminded well in advance to be prepared for one of impulse’s trips abroad, then waits until twenty minutes before boarding to reveal that he doesn’t know where his passport is. watches chaos unfold, and pulls his passport out of his pocket with five minutes to spare. “i guess i didn’t stick my hand deep enough in my pocket,” he shrugs, howling with laughter during a sprint across the building, convinced that his group and manager’s annoyance with him won’t last. 

he’s called out for scratching his head too much, comes across a compilation while sneaking around on stan twitter. he can hear a manager’s voice in the back of his head, telling him he should never post anything that could cause a scandal or address any rumors without consulting the company first. naturally, he spends three hours perfecting an apology letter for having lice ― something that isn’t true, but causes a minor stir all the same.

before he knows it, he’s twenty-four and he’s still too much, always too much. it doesn’t matter how mellow he thinks he’s becoming, the reminders that he needs to grow up seem to be lurking around every corner. he nods along absently, but nothing seems to change, and he only reveals the mature side of him―the part that became an adult long before adulthood hit―in fleeting moments, or when he’s with his closest friends.

in any other situation, he remains hwang daesung, the jester. the menace. the prankster. the inconvenience. whatever nickname is bestowed upon him, he’ll accept; he has no interest in telling people what they should or shouldn’t think of him. 

he never has.

[kbstories]

Here’s the promised update to my Charles/Arthur (Charthur?) fic:

Only Lost The Night

Tags: Angst, Blood and Injury, Aftermath of Torture, Slow Burn

Major spoilers for Chapter 3, specifically the mission “Blessed Are the Peacemakers”.

>>Read on AO3

<<First Chapter

Three days.

Patrolling the edge of the woods, Charles' gaze turns northward, and not for the first time.

Three days ago, he stood guard at the very same spot, raising a hand in silent farewell to the group of three leaving camp: Dutch, easily recognizable by his snow-white Horse and booming voice; Micah, bowed low, handling the reins with too-rough hands; and Arthur, caught between the two and shoulders visibly tense, even from afar...

A glance of striking blue filled with concern and a grim nod, that's all Charles got before Arthur's brown mare had galloped past and they were out of sight. Hours later, the rumors of a possible truce between them and the O'Driscolls finally reached him, and when Charles' eyes met Javier's over the dwindling firelight, he only saw his own worry reflected.

This is a mistake.

The words went unsaid, as they often did as of late. Instead, Charles tossed and turned in his cot, and paced the perimeter for three days–

In the dead of night, only two had returned – and Charles gave up on sleep altogether.

*

“Dutch.”

Calm, collected, neutral. Charles' indifferent mask can be nigh-impossible to read if he wants to – Arthur has teased him about it countless times, ya ain't foolin' me, though, smile bright and usually weary eyes glinting with quiet pleasure – and yet, Dutch's jaw instantly clenches with annoyance.

“Not now, Mr. Smith”, he says, dismisses him with a pointed look, but Charles doesn't budge. He's faced down raging bison, snarling wolves, storms and blizzards and a dizzying variety of human cruelty only those remaining of his people could attest to; nothing Dutch van der Linde could throw at him could be worse, short of death, and maybe not even that.

Then again, something tells him Dutch knows that, too.

“I volunteer–“

“–for more patrols, yes, if you feel like running yourself ragged, be my guest, Mr.–“

“–to lead a search party”, Charles finishes icily, hands linking behind his back to hide how they clench to fists. “I'm the best tracker we have. And Arthur's horse is too well-bred to be worth shooting. She'll lead us right to them.”

Dutch's expression hasn't moved a single inch from the aloof-slash-assertive air he surrounds himself with, and his voice is too forcibly amicable to be anything but. He steps closer, placing a firm hand on Charles' shoulder.

“My dear Charles, I'm afraid you have jumped to conclusions. Yes, things got a bit heated – but Arthur knows what he's doing. He'll rejoin us when the dust has settled. Until then, I can assure you: He is safe.”

“Dutch...”

Fingers dig deeper, hard enough to hurt. The understanding smile on Dutch's lips turns forced.

“Enough, Charles. You have been with us a while now and put in commendable work. Arthur is a dear friend to you, so I'll let it pass this once. Don't make me regret it.”

Charles holds his gaze for a moment longer, nods, submits.

“Understood.”

Night falls, and Charles pulls himself silently into the saddle, leading Taima through the woods and out into the open with the silent presence of the moon as his only companion.

*

The rising sun casts dewy clarity over the planes lying ahead. Charles takes a deep breath, allowing himself a brief respite. The provisions he chews on go down without taste, merely fuel to keep his gears in motion for the difficult track ahead.

His mind doesn't, can't, rest. Not yet.

It's impossible not to be aware that Arthur has been gone half a week, now – and yes, maybe he is laying low and unharmed but Charles' gut feeling says otherwise, and in the long years he spent on his lonesome, his gut has never failed him.

Below him, Taima – finnicky at first from the rude awakening at an unusual time – finds a confident pace she can keep up for hours, exhaling in short bursts with every step. Charles rubs her favorite spot high on the crest of her mane.

With enough effort, he could convince himself this is just another hunt.

That's the thing about not being alone, though: Once you let people close, their presence grows familiar, and it is easy to forget how life was without them.

Charles scoffs. Right. There is no need to pretend this – his current predicament, the last three, no, four days, the past year – is a people-thing. Because it's not.

Keeping Dutch's gang at arm's length, not letting himself get too attached... It wasn't such a struggle until he started noticing how gentle Arthur handles new horses, even the skittish ones; how hands so adept at killing become nimble, almost graceful, provided little more than a pen and some scraps of paper; how the tension around his eyes eases with the first draw from a freshly-lit cigarette.

No. This is definitely an Arthur-thing, and Charles is powerless to stop it.

It was after the run-in with those bounty hunters weeks ago that Charles realized maybe... he doesn't have to. Now Arthur only has to manage to stay out of trouble and alive long enough for Charles to do something about it.

“C'mon”, he mumbles, letting Taima fall into a light canter. “Let's find that fool.”

Knowing where to start is the first crucial step of every hunt – fortunately, the only person seeing him sneak away was Javier, and from him Charles got the gist of what happened in low whispers. Dutch is gonna be pissed, he'd cautioned, shaking his head, bring him back or don't return at all, and Charles had given him a tight-lipped smile and said nothing.

The steep Heartland hills put Taima to work, and she's huffing and sweating by the time they reach the location Javier named. Charles dismounts stiffly, his thighs aching from riding and protesting all the more as he crouches down to inspect the ground.

Criss-crossing hoof prints, too many to tell them apart, relatively fresh. Good enough. He whistles for Taima to follow, and sets off.

*

Minutes blur into hours, and Charles has made his way further east when he finds Arthur's hat. He almost misses it, trampled and half-covered by dust and bits of grass as it is – for a moment, he just stares, heart twisting in his chest like a living thing.

Like the sky is blue and water is wet, Arthur always, always goes back for his hat.

“Fuck this”, Charles hisses. He's in the saddle and galloping ahead before he knows it, the reins in one hand and the hat pressed to his chest with the other. The tracks are easy to see, now: at least four, five horses passed through not too long ago, cutting straight through the landscape without regard.

Confidence, or recklessness? It doesn't matter; they'll regret it either way, and soon.

Up ahead, he can make out the Dakota River, glinting silver in the bright midday sun. A lone figure appears before it, outline hazy, almost hallucinatory in the heat. Charles squints, gathers Taima into a ball of tension beneath him, ready for anything–

Is that–?

“Arthur!”

They burst forth, the thundering of hooves and the beat of his heart mixing into one. Charles calls out again, cursing between clenched teeth because he's not reacting, why is he not–

“Morgan? Hey, say something you damn–“

The momentum carries them in a wide circle around the familiar brown mare and Charles holds his breath, catching sight of Arthur slumped over her neck and blood, lots of it, all over his back and the horse's shoulder, too.

Shit. Dyani looks ready to bolt, nostrils flared wide open and eyes near-frenzied with stress as she pants in loud bursts. Charles glances at her rider's precarious position, mind rushing a mile a minute – calm the horse, or grab Arthur first?

If he's alive, that is.

There's no time to panic; keeping the adrenaline pumping through his veins out of his voice, Charles soothes, “It's okay, Dyani”, pressing ever closer to grab the reins. The horse trembles in place, ears dancing from left to right. “Shh, girl, calm now. You're safe.”

He's got her by the second try, and coaxes Taima beside her, mindful not to squash Arthur in the process.

Please be alive.

With the horses' flanks touching, Charles reaches over and pulls, sliding back to drag Arthur's limp body into his own saddle. “Arthur?” – nothing, not even a groan or a strained breath, and blood readily soaks into his shirt as he holds him tight with an arm around his waist–

But there's a pulse too, beating weakly against his, and Charles clings to it with everything he's got, vowing never to let go.

*

The clear trickle turns red, then pink every time Charles wrings out the cloth.

Arthur lies on a hastily spread bedroll little ways up shore, on the first patch of dry grass Charles could find once he decided they're far enough away to risk a temporary camp. It's certainly not perfect – somewhat secluded from the main road by a line of bushes, it still leaves them wide open and vulnerable in many other aspects – but Charles'd rather fend off any trespassers than leave Arthur's wounds to fester uncontested.

Kneeling by his friend's side, Charles glances over the progress he's made. Dressed in worn, clean clothes he found in one of Arthur's saddlebags, days worth of blood, sweat and grime had given way to purple-green bruises in various stages of healing. Even now, with the worst of it tended to, Charles' lips thin to a tense line at the obvious signs of torture and malnourishment.

Fucking O'Driscolls.

Before, he'd been largely neutral towards this feud between Colm and Dutch – it happened long before his time in the gang, and wasn't as much of a problem then as it is now – but this happened on Charles' watch, and if Dutch isn't willing to avenge it...

Charles shakes his head. Nothing to be done about it, now.

The wound on Arthur's shoulder is his biggest concern; its edges are torn and only partly-cauterized, leaving it a welcome breeding ground for infection or worse. Having dealt with guns and the damage they can do all his life, Charles can imagine all-too-vividly what must've happened.

A bit further down and he'd be dead on the spot, goes through his mind, and not for the first time, he pauses to breathe.

The cloth leaks small rivulets down Arthur's discolored skin as Charles digs into the wound and twists, ignoring the weak moan coming from the downed man. Only when it turns into a soft plea that sounds sickeningly close to “stop” does Charles look up, caught utterly off guard by Arthur's feverish gaze on him.

“Charles...?”

Easing up on his shoulder, Charles leans into his field of view, cupping Arthur's flushed cheek with his not-bloodied hand. He tries not to think too much of the difference in body temperature.

“Yeah, it's me. Stay put, okay? You've been shot.”

Arthur blinks, slowly, resting his head against Charles' palm. “'s Dutch 'kay?”, he rasps, eyes closed and brows drawn tight against the pain. “Trap. 's a–”

“Dutch is fine”, assures Charles with a little too much force; calmer, he says: “Don't worry about anyone else, alright? Just... keep still, I'll get us out of here in no time.”

Arthur wheezes out, “'kay, boss”, and the trace of humor is so unexpected Charles laughs.

“Don't sass me, you crazy fool. I'm not the one who got himself captured, escaped, and rode dozens of miles while bleeding out.”

A wet chuckle. Arthur grimaces. “'s a talent, Charles. Stopped questionin' it long ago.”

“Doesn't stop me from worrying, though. Now shush, I'm almost done.”

The wound is as clean as it's going to get – Charles wraps it in generous amounts of gauze and hopes it'll hold for a few hours, at least. The horses should be good to go too, having spent the time grazing on every available tuft of grass around them.

Arthur has quieted down considerably, enough so that Charles thinks he's lost consciousness. When he buttons up his shirt, however, his lids flutter open again, squinting against the sun high in the sky.

Charles meets his questioning glance with a sympathetic wince. “We need to move. Want something for the pain?”

Arthur nods, too exhausted to speak. Carefully, Charles props him against his knee, holding him upright and letting him sip some whiskey within measured pauses. “Let's get this over with”, he mutters, whistling Taima over and trying not to aggravate any of Arthur's wounds as he manhandles him into the saddle.

Like before, he slides behind him, and with Dyani following dutifully, they set off up-stream.

Arthur falls into an uneasy sleep soon enough; Charles shifts to allow his head to rest against his shoulder. Listening to his rough panting, he tightens the steadying grip against his chest, gaze fixed on the far horizon.

>>Read on AO3

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU) Chapter 9

Hi friends! Heres Chapter 9! Got inspired by that post awhile back about Africa by Toto being played in the sewer and Penny jamming to it. Leech is a huge music connoisseur so I head cannon that she plays a lot of Guitar Hero with Freddy. Also theres slapstick/horror comedy in this one! The story is going to get more and more comedic from here because of the characters that are soon to be involved. Bonus points if anyone can guess which monster(s) I plan on bringing in next!

Warnings: Fluff, Horror, Alcohol

chapter 9

Africa

Pennywise climbed the basement stairs of the Neibolt House in annoyance. Leech hadn't come to see him yet today and as much as he hated to admit it her visits had become the highlight of his day especially when she had the weekend off to spend all her time with him. he had noticed that the more he was around her the more her scent changed, it was something that initially drew him to her in the first place. Her scent started out faintly sweet, but ever since they became intimate it was becoming overwhelming to him. A human would probably describe the scent similar to that of a freshly baked cake or pie being shoved right up against your nose. When he first noticed it, he had caught her looking at him while they had been both been casually chatting doing their chore wheel tasks. Something about her smell changed when she smiled at him. It got worse that night she got drunk while watching movies with the gang. Leech was sitting next to him on the couch and that sweet smell drifted into his nose when she reached over him for the popcorn in his lap. It would get stronger and stronger as their interactions increased Pennywise noticing that he could draw it out of her by doing certain things like putting his hand on her shoulder, or giving her certain looks.

He tried desperately to cope with the strange new feelings, he stopped eating for a bit and avoided her as much as possible. When Dracula finally confronted him he was a confused mess and he was even more confused when the elder vampire helped him realize that this new feeling was lust. After Chucky found out about his terrible affliction the two had begun bugging him non stop about it. Their “helping” him ending up feeding his obsession and he eventually gave in, fully accepting that he had feelings for this nearly human girl. These awful feelings are even worse now having started this…..complicated thing. He found himself with a whole new mess of emotions that he had no idea what to do with other than bury them deep and hope she didn't notice.

When usually he found her Leech would be listening to music or messing with her phone in her room where he'd promptly scare her before flopping down onto her bed to annoy her further. Today however he could hear her shouting passionately at Freddy in the living room, a hobby that they both shared.

“Your ass is mine Kruger I spent an entire week perfecting this solo.”

“Sweet cheeks you weren't even born when this song came out”

The two were in front of the old tv violently playing with fake guitars in their pjs. Leatherface was behind them gleefully hitting a toy drum-set and Dracula sat amused on an old chair.

“Does anyone want to explain this to me?”

“I don't quite know what it is but they have been at this for at least 12 hours now” the vampire exclaimed motioning for the clown to join.

“Have they even slept?”

“I do not think they have, my young apprentice hasn't even fed or bathed yet. Her determination to crush my roommate at this strange musical game is quite admirable.”

“Speaking of, Drac need refreshments!” Freddy called over his shoulder as the song Free Bird headed into its big solo.

“You cant do that! I haven't had anything to eat all day!”

“You’re just mad because you're all alone in this battle. THERES NO ONE TO SAVE YOU LEECH GIVE UP” Freddy shredded on the rock band controller aggressively

“Bite my nearly undead ass Freddy”

“I’m sure the clown does that plenty for you already bitch.”

Pennywise cleared his throat.

“Oh hey Pen, you wanna be a peach and get me some fuel.” Leech said glancing over her shoulder.

“Do I look like your servant? You're perfectly capable of getting it yourself you're just too lazy to go out and practice apparently.”

“OH HE BURNED YOU GOOD BLOODSUCKER”

“There are more pressing matters at hand Penny, asses need to be kicked right now”

“More pressing matters than not starving to death?”

“I’ll live”

“Barely. You look half dead, go sleep”

“Sleep is for the weak” she said turning to him with an absolutely feral look on her face.

“You're taking a break” the clown said as he scooped her up before she could protest. He carried her off to the bathroom where he turned on the shower and pushed her in still wearing her clothes.

“PENNYWISE what the hell!”

“Get clean.”

“But?

“No you can kick Freddy’s ass later” he crossed his arms and watched her expectantly.

“Um….. are you gong to leave?”

“Need to make sure you listen dear. Come now out of those wet clothes.” he said with a lusty tone, shit eating grin now forming on his face. Leech rolled her eyes and shut the curtain causing the clown to groan in disappointment. He nearly began to leave when the curtain reopened he turned back around quickly. Leech was now holding her wet clothing in a nice little ball and a drop of drool left the clowns lips at the sight.

“Hey Penny~” she said with a seductive voice

“Y-yes?”

“Hang these out to dry douchebag” she chucked the ball at his head wet clothes landing smack on his face before the curtain shut again.

“you torture me.”

“Its my favorite hobby.”

Pennywise growled in annoyance and left to find some extra hangers. He knew he kept some somewhere in his clown room where he kept a collection of circus memorabilia. When he opened the door and was greeted with a puff of dust causing him to scrunch his nose in annoyance it'd been a while since he was up here “I’ve been slacking off” he thought aloud to himself as he rummaged for hangers. After finding what he was looking for he decided to try to tidy the place up a bit grabbing a mix tape he had acquired from some poor soul standing outside his ex girlfriends window with a boombox. The clown never really liked the songs on the tape at first but lately they've been growing on him due to….certain circumstances. A few cheesy love songs had gone by and he was halfway done, Pennywise felt himself getting carried away with the current song playing singing along while dusting off an antique mannequin. He removed the clown wig from its head glancing fondly at it now as it was reminding him of a certain almost-vampire a few doors down. The clown found himself serenading it as if it was actually her, picking it up and beginning to dance to the song Africa by Toto. Freddy walked by the door just in time and froze to watch the scene unfold before him in amusement. “My darling little Leech you know I have grown quite fond of you” the clown growled into the mannequins cheek. Freddy had to bite down on his hat to keep quiet. “Whats that? You've fallen for me as well?” The clown dipped the mannequin down kissing its chest as the song came to an end. Freddy gave him a round of applause wiping away fake tears doing everything he could not to explode in laughter. “That was beautiful Jingles.”

Pennywise dropped the mannequin. “H-how long were you s-standing there for?”

“How long have you been in love?”

“I’m not in love. I don't love.”

“You just admitted it to your doll there jackass.”

“WAIT HE FINALLY SAID IT ALOUD?” came Chucky’s voice from down the hall

“NO I DID NOT AND SHUT UP PLEASE”

“This is great, I'm going to tell Dracula he's going to flip out.” Freddy began running for the stairs

“I wish those kids actually killed me in the 80s.” Pennywise mumbled

Just then a scream of terror could be heard from the bathroom followed by a series of curses of the clowns name. “PENNYWISEEEE”

Freddy and Chucky both came back out to look at him.

“What? I'm not doing anything?”

The three monsters eyes grew wide.

“oh no…. I'm not doing anything….”  The clown whispered

He bolted to the bathroom busting down the door “LEECH! What hap-” he slipped on a puddle of…. something and comically landed on his back. When he sat up she was covered in a weird black sludge that was shooting out of the shower head and bath tub faucet. The curtain had been yanked off and she was using it as a shield from the strange substance.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT” yelled Chucky

“Also, nice butterfly tattoo under your boobs there Leech” Freddy added

“Its a moth!” Penny said from the floor.

“CAN WE FOCUS ON THE GOO PLEASE?? PEN MAKE IT FUCKING STOP”

“I told you I'm not doing it!”

Leech flopped out of the antique bathtub still clutching the curtains to herself and scrambling backwards into Pennywise as the tub began to overflow.

“AH Leech! You’re getting it all over me!” he yelled .

“PEN STRANGE BLACK GOO IS EXPLODING FROM OUR BATHTUB AND SHOWER HEAD. YOU LIVE IN THE SEWER! STAINS SHOULD BE THE LEAST OF YOUR WORRIES.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR SINK CLOWN” came a scream from downstairs flowed by frantic stomping up the stairs from both Leatherface and Drac

All the boys plus Leech were now staring at the massacre that was the upstairs bathroom.

“JINGLES MAKE IT STOP” screamed Chucky

“I CANT I’M NOT DOING IT”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIFF WILL DO TO ME IF SHE COMES HOME AND FINDS ALL HER BATHROOM SHIT COVERED IN BLACK SLUDGE. I. WILL. DIE.”

Leech reached a trembling claw up to her head and pulled out what looks like a piece of scalp with long hair still attached to it her eyes began to grow wide in horror.

“IS THIS HAIR? WHY IS THERE HAIR IN IT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT” Leech turned around and grabbed Pennywise ruffles.

“DO NOT LET IT GET ON ME THIS IS AN ANTIQUE OUTFIT” shrieked Dracula

Leatherface was hooting and crying. He Began smashing a hole in the wall in panic. Chucky did his best to calm him but ended up being thrown down the hall screaming out in pain.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOUR HOUSE CLOWN” Freddy was shouting.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP AND STOP BEING AFRAID I CANT FUCKING THINK WITH ALL THIS FEAR IN THE ROOM”

“YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS??? WE ARE GOING TO DROWN IN BLACK GOO THAT HAS PIECES OF SCALP IN IT! I’M THE ONLY ONE HERE THAT CANT RESURRECT YET! IM GOING TO DIE PEN! IM GOING TO FUCKING DIE!” Leech started hyperventilating and twitching claws out now tearing at the fabric of Pennywise’s costume.

Everyone was frantically “trying” to do something to stop the sludge oozing out of the bathroom Freddy ran up to the shower with a towel in an attempt to plug it up, Dracula was backed up against the corner on the ceiling, Chucky was attempting to stand back up after being thrown like a rag doll and Leatherface was chucking anything he could at the bathroom (mostly hitting Freddy.)

“SHUT UP ALL OF YOU” Pennywise roared rising to his feet, a door materialized behind the clown and he disappeared into it slamming it shut.

“YOU FUCKER! YOU CANT LEAVE ME PEN. DONT YOU DARE ABANDON ME. GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE IM NAKED AND AFRAID AND I FUCKING NEED YOU RIGHT NOW! PENNYWISE THE DANCING CLOWN GET YOUR PASTY RUFFLED BUTT BACK HERE AND STOP THIS BLACK SLUDGE.” Leech was pounding at the wall were the door had appeared still on the floor making big black hand prints on the wall.

Suddenly everything stopped. The boys and Leech all were frozen and panting in fear and confusion. The door reappeared and Pennywise walked out sludge splattered on his costume. “Did ANY ONE here think to turn the fucking water off? No? Just Pennywise? WOW imagine that! I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO FUCKING DIDNT FREAK OUT AND MAKE THE SITUATION WORSE!!! WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT???? NOW EVERYONE GET OUT SO I CAN FUCKING FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT WITHOUT HAVING YOU SCREAMING BANSHEES TAINTING THE AIR WITH YOUR PANIC AND FEAR!” The usual yellow of the clown’s eyes were almost completely red. He was livid. Not only were his fangs and claws on full display he seemed to be even taller than before looming over everyone in the room. It was truly terrifying to behold. The gang went silent.

“C-can I at least p-put some clothes on?” Leech asked still covering herself with the shower curtain

“OUT.”

“Leaving!” she and everyone else scrambled for the door slamming it behind them.

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

Poor Penny he’s having a hard time. I totally head cannon that Pen is a secret plumbing expert since he lives in the sewers. Next chapter is going to have terrifying monster hate fucking so get hype for that friends! 

[obiwan824]

Friends with Benefits- Fedya Dolokhov x Reader

A/N: I can’t believe this is finished! This got me through my writer’s block, every time I was stuck on another piece I’d come to this one- if a scene seems out of place or written differently than the others, it’s because I wrote 3 scenes and one line before I wrote the actual thing. This has become my baby, and I’m kind of surprised it’s finished, so. This has a lot of adult themes and it’s the closest to NSFW I’ll ever get (next to the deleted smut we don’t speak of), so there are warnings and a read more. Enjoy! :) Also, this is kind of bad and hard to understand, so I’ll edit tomorrow

Warnings: Sex, cheating, long author’s notes because I like to put my thoughts into everything I do, affairs, lots of pining, kissing, making out, I’m doing these warnings without rereading the story but I think there might be descriptions of like right before sex, duels, shooting, death, naked people? I’ll update these when I have the strength to reread the whole thing in the morning. 

 He met her first at a ball. It was a soft, quiet evening, but the party was rambunctious. Off to the side, in a room where nobody could find her, the quiet girl, one so shy and secluded from the rest of the company that very few noticed when she slipped away, sat, simply reading a book and enjoying the silence that came with it.

Fedya Dolokhov was one of the few who noticed her disappearance. He had noticed her from the start- she was smart, no doubt, and so different from the other women. She didn’t vie for his attention, didn’t melt when he threw a glance her way.

And she was enchanting. Fedya had never seen someone who’s beauty captured him in such a way. So when she left, her quiet footsteps so soft and silent against the noise of the ball, he had to resist going after her.

And yet, here he was, outside the door of the study, simply studying her. He leaned against the doorway in a confident, cocky manner that screamed Fedya. Only a few minutes after he arrived, she looked up, a look of annoyance present on her face.

“How long will you be watching me, Fedya?”

A smirk came to his lips. He stood up straighter, crossing his arms, putting on a show for her- that was part of his act, he realized. Everything he did, it was so planned and stiff. He could hardly show her the real him- what would she think of it? “Fedya?”

Y/N never lowered her gaze. “I do not think formalities are in order, Fedya. Care to join me?”

God, each look- it was bewitching- he couldn’t resist her. He grinned. “Of course.” Dolokhov strode over to her in his cocky manner, as if he were showing off. She seemed unaffected, only looking back down at her novel. As he sat next to her, she finally let out a sound.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.” Her voice was even quieter now that he was next to her. “You don’t have to act like you’re confident and smug all the time. Just be yourself. I don’t care.”

Fedya’s mouth dropped open, but he hid it with his hand. A small smile came to his face against his will. “You’re smart, you know that?” It sounded stupid now that he’d said it, he bit his lip in embarrassment.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” she replied, looking into his eyes. “Brilliance such as ours will never truly be appreciated.”

…

He saw her again a year later. Each moment apart from her burned like fire in his skin, he felt some sort of need to be near her. He amused himself with other women, but they weren’t the same. They were loud and longing for attention and none of them nearly as intelligent or beautiful as her.

Fedya spent much of his time away from Pierre’s home, whether it be for work or to spend time with Anatole. He’d found some sort of comfort in Helene- she was gorgeous in a different way, and she was clever. For now, that was enough.

He was home alone, then, counting down the minutes until Helene returned. Moving in with the woman he was having an affair with and her husband probably wasn’t the best idea, in hindsight, but he did enjoy the convenience of it.

When Fedya heard a knock on the door, he moved swiftly, assuming he was only moments away from finding solstice in Helene yet again. He grew flustered when he saw Y/N on his doorstep.

“Y/N!”

“Fedya.” She studied him for a moment, looked him up and down, and nodded. She took his hand, stepping into the house and closing the door behind her, and led him to his bedroom. She perched on his bed, setting him down next to her. “Fedya-”

“How did you find me?” he asked suddenly. “And why?”

“Fedya,” Y/N said again. He was growing nervous, and she knew it- and he knew why she had come, deep down. He had been told thousands of times. “Fedya, I’m married.”

He knew it, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He looked away. “Of course.”

“He hurts me, though.” she looked away, choking up a bit. “I don’t love him. And he doesn’t love me.”

Dolokhov looked at her in a new way- how could she be so calming and peaceful when she was so broken inside? “I’m sorry.” He felt something close to love for her, a certain affection and wanting he rarely felt with women.

“But-” she stopped and looked in his eyes. She let out a breath. “Fuck, Dolokhov, I need you- let’s do this, shall we?”

Fedya’s mouth fell open, his eyes widened, he, despite himself, blushed. “What?”

She placed a hand on his knee, her eyes never leaving his. “No attachments, no commitments, no love-” she bit her lip. “Absolutely no love. But you need this and I want this, so let’s do it- friends with benefits?”

“Friends with benefits,” he agreed, taking her hand off of his knee and shaking it playfully. She laughed a bit, a sound he treasured, and got up. She brushed herself off and walked out the door with one look over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you later.”

…

‘Later’ was only a week after the event. She didn’t bother to knock, only throwing open his door and confidently striding into the house. Hearing her footsteps, he wondered who could be home- Helene was staying with her brother for a few weeks, and Pierre was supposed to be out for a few more hours.

Fedya looked up just as Y/N entered the study. She threw off her coat, laying it carelessly on the ground, and strode over to him as if it were her own room. Dolokhov, knowing full well her intentions, considered moving out of Pierre’s study and into his bedroom, but watching her, he could hardly stop it now. He put down his novel, marking the page with a crude, rushed mark, and looked at her with interest.

“Are you ready?” her voice was lower than before, huskier and rougher. He nodded quickly, quickly dwindling down to putty in her hands, coming unraveled. He was at her mercy, now, and he knew it. With a last bout of strength, he leaned forward and pulled her towards him, setting her down on his lap with a sweet affection that was completely unknown to him.

Gently she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He held her tightly in his lap, struggling to breathe. Her lips moved against his in a careful, soft manner, she held back. The kiss was lacking passion and desperation, but they made up for it in need and affection. Her lips tasted like sugar or fruit or something good against his, and he drank it up, needing more of her. She tangled her fingers in his hair and he pressed his hands firmly against her back, keeping Y/N sturdy. She broke from him to breathe and leaned forward to whisper in his hair.

“I need you.”

Fedya didn’t need her to say it twice.

…

She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. This was an affair, a simple friends-with-benefits sort of arrangement. She couldn’t help but think to herself, then why did this feel so good?

The feeling of his soft lips pressed on her neck, the tiniest scratch of his beard against her smooth skin that made her giggle, the bit of pressure he put on her waist when he kissed her, holding her as if she were so fragile she needed protection, and the rough way he would desperately grip her hips when they were in bed, the sounds of his heavy breathing into her hair or the quiet moans he would let out every so often- it was all enchanting, and, god, it felt so, so good.

This was lust, was it not? The feeling of wanting someone against you, wanting someone to hold you, wanting someone to kiss you and worship you and adore you- the feeling of wanting Fedya to love you- was it not simply lust?

She had felt lust before, she thought to herself. She had seen men in the streets whom she had to take a second glance at, there had been men whom she had pulled inches from her lips by his collar, men whom she had whispered to, come with me, and men whom she had pressed her body against in a way that he fell under her spell instantly- this was lust. Fedya was more than that. She wanted him for more than just one night, she wanted to wake up with him beside her, for his arms to be wrapped safely around her, his face buried snugly into her shoulder, for the band on her finger to not belong to the man she came home to every night, but him- it was love.

But she didn’t have more than a night. This is what she had.

…

He had gone away for work, not planning to return for weeks. Time away from her was hardly what he wanted, leaving her with the bad man she was wed to- yet he moved on with the knowledge that he could see her again as soon as he came home.

As he rode in the troika, on his way home, his thoughts were consumed with her.

She didn’t realize how utterly enchanting she was. Each sway of her hips, each little smile, sent a blaze of fire into his heart. She had no idea how each brush of a hand against his arm or the tiniest touch of her lips against his skin intoxicated him. That was the beauty of Y/N, and he wished that she could see it more than anything.

He grew jumpy as they grew closer to Moscow. He bit his lip, chewing on it nervously, his leg bounced up and down, his fingers fidgeted with a bit of cloth on his shirt. His fingers traced the intricate beading, playing with spare strings, and for once, he let himself think of what could happen- if he only told her how much he loved her, if he were brave enough to admit it-

Fedya looked out the window, cleaning all thoughts of Y/N out of his mind. He couldn’t dwell on what could be for too long, or he might do something stupid.

…

He had only been home 2 weeks before he could no longer resist seeing her.

Each touch set him on fire, each look made her melt. They were stripped bare but there was something between them. They wanted to be closer, desperately needed to get rid of any barriers keeping them apart.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she breathed into his shoulder as he grasped at her hips, hoping for any sort of leverage.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Fedya agreed quietly, barely making out the words before a gasp fell from his lips. He adjusted his hands around her waist, pressed one sweet kiss to her neck, and she was gone.

“I need you,” she whispered, letting out the sweetest sound. That was all it took. In one movement, he broke the barrier.

…

She had her head on his bare chest, her hair messily splayed about. His fingers trailed through the strands absentmindedly and she drummed her fingers on his free hand, playing some sort of rhythm that he couldn’t follow. In a moment of bravery, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Y/N grew the tiniest bit flustered, a smile coming to her lips.

“I love you,” he wanted to say. He wanted to kiss her again, not a passionate, needy kiss, but a sweet, loving one. He stayed silent and still, watching her with a fond look as she began to play with the blanket.

“I should go,” she whispered, making no move to leave. His arm came around her waist, holding her in place.

“Don’t go.”

She smiled. “Okay.” And that was that.

…

It had been three years since he had met her, two years since the start of their affair, and neither of them were making any move to stop it. At least two times a week she’d sneak into Pierre’s home to meet him or they’d find themselves in a secluded spot, some places riskier than others, but all of them private.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” Fedya asked one night. It was quiet and dark and there was a sense of peace in the air- Y/N’s husband was away, and Pierre and Helene had gone to a party. They had at least a few more moments to lie together. “How much longer do we have to lie and deceive and act like we don’t care for each other?”

“Leave it,” Y/N said sharply, look away. He squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Fedya took her hand and pressed it to his lips, not quite in a kiss.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I-” she bit her lip and looked down. “You know.”

Fedya smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

…

Fedya wondered how he would handle himself around her if others were watching. How he would react to the little loving glances she so often threw his way, the way she bit down on her bottom lip, knowing it drove him crazy, the little touches that could be mistaken for an accident or a sign of friendship, and some so light that others wouldn’t know at all.

She drove him crazy,  and he hated her for it. She had no idea what effect she had on him.

“Fedya.”

Her voice was so sweet, pure and innocent, the very sound of it ripping a hole through his heart when he thought of how that beautiful voice could never whisper a good morning to him in the early hours of the day, how those lips could never utter a compliment in public, how she would never tell him that she loved him.

Dolokhov turned around against his will, and there she was- beautiful, gorgeous, words could not describe the absolute beauty radiating from her very being. She played with a strand of hair, anxiety present in her eyes, and she shifted from side to side. Her eyes had lost that playful sparkle he had grown to love, the mischievous glint that was visible for only a second before she did unspeakable things to him.

Her eyes were dull, now, her beauty somewhat dimmed by the grim mood that had fallen over them.

“He’s here,” Dolokhov murmured, and looking into her eyes, he knew it was true. “Your husband.” His voice was rough and raw, it sounded as if he had not spoken in days. The words were bitter on his tongue, he had to choke them out. “Does he know?”

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “He knows.” The confirmation sent him over the edge. He wanted to yell at her, to ask her what on Earth had possessed her to tell the awful man, but, watching the tears fall down her cheeks, he stayed silent. He walked over to her, no longer caring about the consequences. He cupped her cheek gently, his touch so tender that she leaned into it, drinking up the attention almost greedily. Seeing the love in her eyes, he knew, for once he was certain, that she adored him almost as much as he worshiped her.

“I love you.” Although his voice was quiet, it was clear and confident, no longer tentative, no longer unsure or afraid. Because Dolokhov was not afraid, not anymore, to love.

Y/N bit her lip. It didn’t set him on fire, it didn’t make him want to take her home and take her- it made the tears fall from his eyes only faster. “I love you, Fedya. I so, so love you- and when he comes-”

He pulled her close against him, closing his eyes to keep the tears out of her vision. “He won’t come. Love, let’s not think about him- it’s over now, isn’t it?”

“Don’t say that,” Y/N pleaded, but she couldn’t get the words out. She let out a strangled cry, some sort of sob, and dropped to her knees, Dolokhov clutching at her to keep her up.

Fedya kept her close to him for a moment, wiping away her tears and fixing her hair, before pulling away. The door burst open, the familiar face of Y/N’s husband entering.  

“You’re the man my wife is having an affair with,” he said, his voice so gruff and rough even Dolokhov shuddered. He walked over to Y/N, putting his arm around her in a way that must have hurt her. She grimaced, quickly plastering on a fake look of neutrality to cover it.  “Tell me, Y/N, is he better than me?” He pushed her to the ground. She let out a soft cry, tears coming to her eyes instantly.

“Leave her alone.” Dolokhov surprised himself with how deep and sturdy his voice came out.

Y/N looked away, closing her eyes. “Leave him out of it. It was my idea. Fedya did nothing.”

She could barely look as her husband strode over to Fedya, grasping him by the collar. Dolokhov did nothing, letting the angry man do his work. He slapped Fedya across the face and pushed him to the floor, kicking him away with his boot. Fedya let out a quiet groan while Y/N sobbed.

“Leave him alone!” she repeated. Y/N’s husband kicked Fedya more times, pushing him against the wall and looking down into his eyes.

“I challenge you.”

Y/N screamed his name, but his eyes were cold and uncaring. Dolokhov looked into them nervously. He swallowed hard.

“I accept.”

“Fedya,” Y/N begged, but Dolokhov stood up and brushed himself off carefully. She silently begged him to stay, but he could only give her a look of pity before leaving the house.

…

“Stay safe.” she kept a few steps away, never daring to get as close as she’d like. “Please.”

He resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss her, just in case it was the last time. “I will.”

She watched from off to the side, staying by Anatole and Helene, her newfound friends. She couldn’t help but hope that her husband would be killed, but more than anything, she prayed Dolokhov would survive.

She watched as Fedya slowly prepared his gun, aimed, and, with one last look back at Y/N, fired.

…

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Y/N slowly woke up, shifting in his arms. She looked up in Dolokhov’s eyes, smiling when she saw them. “Morning.”

Fedya pressed a kiss to the top of her head, closed his eyes, and settled back down, tightening his grip around her waist. She smiled, snuggling into his chest.

Her husband had died, and while she would always feel guilty, she couldn’t help but love the state her life was in. Only a year since the duel and her marriage with Fedya, she no longer felt afraid or like she had to hide things. Instead, she only felt love and joy.

“I love you,” she said quietly. Each time one of them said it, they felt the freedom and sudden feeling of liberty. After so many years of being unable to see it, it felt liberating.

“I love you, too,” he said, just as softly. Then he smiled. “You know what, we don’t need to hide it anymore!” He sat up a bit and began to shout. “I love you! I love you! Y/N Y/L/N, every morsel of me adores you!”

Y/N smacked his chest lightly. “Fedya!” She settled back down on his chest. “Five more minutes of sleep?”

He laughed and held her close against him. “Five more minutes.”