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augustrambles · 1 year

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Could you do a platonic main four and male reader? Probably trying to convince you to join a scheme of theres when you’re hesitant to leave the house, even though you want to participate

a/n: ty 4 requesting!! woohoo male reader❗

male!reader x main four

warnings: underage drinking and use of drugs, smoking, he/him prns

currently, [name] was on videocall with his friends.

"i dont know about this, y'all know how bebe's parties are, you guys are probably going to end up wasted."

"c'mon [name], dont be a pussy like cartman is!"

"fuck you stupid jew!"

"mfm mphrhm hmprh mphr"

"well yeah, but what if i get caught?"

"[name], you are not going to get caught, fucks sake! we've done this more than once so stop being such a pussy, man up, and go with us, UNLESS you wanna be a loser."

"fuck you cartman, but fine ill go then"

"woohoo!"

"we can have a, quote on quote, sleepover at my place so your parents think you're at my house."

"yeah, that'll work"

"kay, talk to yall later."

the videocall ended and [name] placed his phone on the night desk. he was slightly worried about getting caught, but he decided to ignore the feeling.

"hey mom, i'm going to stay over at stan's house tonight, ok?" he said to his mother as she nodded. "alright hun! make sure to come back at nine tomorrow!" she yelled back as he let out a "mhm"

he left the house and began walking, scrolling on his phone. him and stan were sort of close, not neighbours, but on the same street, so it wasn't a long walk.

knock, the sound of one was heard. he waited for a few seconds until he was greeted by stanley. "hey man!" stan said, fistbumping [name]. "kyle's already here, kenny and cartman are on their way." he informed

"alright, that's fine." [name] said, he walked to kyle as they started a conversation, stan joining in aswell. it was around 8pm. "question, when's the party starting?" [name] asked

"i think at 9, cartman and kenny better hurry their asses." kyle replied, resulting laughs from the other two boys due to his remark. at that moment, a knock was heard. "i'll get it." stan reassured

he walked up and it was cartman and kenny, they came to the house together. "speak of the devil" kyle said as he and [name] walked up the door. the 5 boys now left stan's house walking to where the party was being held at, bebe's house

they made conversation, about diverse topics such as school drama, celebrities, and the small fight between cartman and kyle here and there. the usual, basically.

"hey, we're here" kenny said, pointing to the house who you could literally hear music blasting. it was quite obvious there was a party there. the boys went up the door, kyle knocking. it was opened by a half drunk bebe.

"hheeeyy.. weelccome! ccome inn." she said, obviously dozing off of whatever type of alcohol she was drinking. cartman and kyle went first, then kenny, then [name] and stan.

the party was absolutely wild, there was strong smells of alcohol, smoke and drugs. [name] went up to clyde and craig, seperating from the group. craig seemed to be drunk, but clyde was wasted. "dude!! you're here, hey!" clyde said, before being dragged away by some girls playing truth or dare.

[name] looked at craig. "i didnt know you drink" he said to him, craig shrugged. "i dont, im just drinking today for fun." he replied, taking a sip from his beer. "wheres tweek? didnt he come?" [name] asked.

"he did, but he got too shaky because of all the noise and left. i wanted to acompany him home, but then he said something along the lines 'no, i want you to have fun' so here i am."

"i dont think you were supposed to take that literally, but alright"

[name] then walked away from craig, going to his previous group of friends. stan and kenny were both drinking, not drunk, since they barely had a few sips, but i dont think it'll stay like that until the end of the night. cartman was eating chips, which nobody else was eating. kyle was just there, not drinking or eating, just there, probably finding something to do.

"hey dude, you want a sip?" stan offered, [name] seemed to be hesitant at first but nodded. stan gave him a can of beer, it tasted.. good? surprisingly.

the night passed and not much changed.

except that [name] was fucking drunk as hell.

"[name], a-are you sure you dont want water?" butters asked, clearly being concerned for the man's health being. "naaahh, im okayy, thfank you" he said, body almost falling over. he was walking towards kyle and stan, wanting to join the karaoke, but then he bumped into a familiar girl,

wendy testaburger.

they bumped into eachother, "ew. you fucking smell like a skunk" she said as the room went quiet for the first time that night. "well fuck you, you smell like a wet dog at gym every day but you dont see me saying shit. keep it to yourself" [name] responded, clearly offended.

"pfft- i know YOU arent talking. you smell like you pissed yourself since first grade" she remarked, getting a few ooh's by the crowd. "that may be the case, but at least people like me. wasnt your ex so tired of you he used chat gpt to talk to you? lmaoo"

stan looked to the wall, trying to stuff in his laugh as kyle was giggling for everyone to hear, with the others. "BAHAHAHHAHA" was cartman's loud ass laugh, of course, there was also laughs across the room.

"oh fuck you" she said, heading towards him. she had a grin on her face. "cmon wendy, you know im joking" he said, laughing. "yea yea, go ahead drink some more you whore" she rolled her eyes in a sarcastic way as [name] followed her.

they always had very offensive fights like the one that just happened right now, but they always giggled or laughed it off. seems like a toxic relationship, but hey, this is south park, what ISNT toxic..

stan walked to [name] who had just left wendy with bebe, "dude you're gonna get in trouble if you continue fighting like that with wendy" he said, the two boys walking over to their group of friends. "hey, calm down, me and wendy are super close, doubt she would beat me up like she did to someone in here.. cough cough cartman cough." [name] said, receiving a giggle from kenny, stan and kyle and a deathstare by cartman. "shut up (insert insult)"

"alright man, just warnin you." stan said, taking another sip of the drink in his hand. [name] went to serve himself another cup of his drink, leaving the others alone.

"hey kyle, what hour is it?" kenny looked at kyle, who was on his phone. kyle was mostly on his phone at that party, mostly there because of his friends. "its 11:43" he said, replying to kenny. kenny simply nodded, "its early" he said.

stan called kenny, "hey dude, isnt that one of the girls you slept with??" he pointed to a white girl with pink highlights. "oh shit, it is, imma be right back yall" he said, going to the girl without looking back. "hes defintely not gonna be right back.." cartman rolled his eyes, continuing to eat.

"where the hell did [name] go" kyle asked and stan responding with "he went to get a drink, pretty sure" he looked into the kitchen, not seeing anyone there. "yeah, but he isnt at the bar or the kitchen" kyle noted

"maybe if we're lucky he got kidnapped" "oh shut up fatass" kyle punched cartman on the arm. "hey! dont tell me to shut up you stupid jew" he 'hmph'-ed at the jew

"ehh, hes probably coming back soon anyway" stan said, deciding not to worry about it. "yo kyle, you wanna go karaoke again? theyre making a competition now" stan asked kyle and he nodded, putting his phone in his pocket. "hope you lose" cartman said.

. . .

"its 3:40, we should probably get going now" kyle said, as the party was already more empty than before and less chaotic, plus [name] had arrived, and they were all now waiting for kenny. "yeah, but i am NOT carrying nobody, ok?" cartman said, giving an side eye to a drunken passed out stan next to him.

"not like your fatass could anyway" kyle rolled his eyes. "oh shut the fuck up" cartman said. at that moment, kenny had arrived, zipping back his parka, and covering his head. "dude, i love girls"

kenny said, an insipirational moment. "wow, i wouldve never guessed." [name] said, rolling his eyes. "but we should for real get going now, i'll carry stan." he said. "no, its fine, ill carry him" kyle said, already picking the passed out boy already. [name] shrugged with a 'if-you-say-so' look on his face

they all started to walk back to stan's house, kenny mentioning how good that sex was, [name] talking about how they met someone there who gave them a bit of smoke, cartman complimenting the food and karaoke.

"dude, you cant say the n word in karaoke.." [name] said, looking at cartman seriously. "oh cmon, it was a song, i didnt mean it in that way."

"cartman, you were singing call me maybe."

. . . ( that was a reference btw )

stan was lying in his bed, still passed out, as the other boys were currently lying in their sleeping bed. "goodnight yall" [name] said as the others whispered goodnight aswell.

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arcadekitten · 5 months

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Okay I'm in the mood to ask a dumb question. Out of the cast in Semi Aquatic Circus (specifically the circus crew) from willing to go out to not interested at all, who is willing go out on a date? If you want to describe their perfect date as well.

I think the only one not interested Yoyo, I don't think he's worried about any of that stuff whether thats at the moment or indefinitely.

Most of the circus has a crush on Capella and if not its for one another!

Capella would probably love any date, being as she's been wanting to experience a "proper one" for a while.

I can see Savannah enjoying going for a simple walk and then getting something to eat.

Pogo would like to hang out by the beach/ocean, keep things very lighthearted and always crack jokes!

Clyde would ideally want to have a date in his hometown, where he could show his partner around on a little tour and proudly introduce them to all the townsfolk

I think Esmond is also someone down for anything, though he does have an appreciation of live performances (hence why he's been part of 2 already!)

Darwin probably likes something quiet. When people are with him they often feel the need to "fill up the empty space" with talking, but really he doesn't mind the lack of noise.

Vis would like having someone read a book to them--though they might doze off a bit during it, in a nice way.

Nana would LOVE to go kite-flying...but the thing about that is you have to wait for the perfect windy day to do it!

Bonus!: Furnando would love going to an expensive restaurant with you and then pretend to propose to you to potentially get a discount or even a free meal/dessert out of it

#semiaquatic circus #capella #yoyo #savannah #pogo gogo #clyde #esmond #darwin #vis #nana #furnando #ask

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carisi-dreams · 1 year

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I'm sorry about your new job. That sounds so stressful. Please feel no pressure for this but if you're up to it "Do you want me to carry you?" With either MC or Bonnie and Clyde? ❤️

mc!nick + Christmas coziness + a fun surprise?

A commercial blared suddenly and you startled back to full wakefulness. Christmas was days away and it felt like all of the advertisers were getting desperate in their attempts to sell people stuff they didn’t really need. You smothered a yawn and rubbed at your eye lazily. It was well past time for you to get into bed, but waiting on the couch for Nick had seemed like a good idea several hours ago. There was a strange unsettled feeling under your skin that was simultaneously energizing and nerve rattling. Nesting.

The movie came back on and even though you’d missed the beginning of this one, you still knew exactly what was going on. There was a small town Christmas tree farmer and a washed up former big city cop, so by the end they’d fall in love and save the local school library or whatever. Despite knowing how futile it was to wait up for Nick you pulled the blanket up over your shoulder and let a hand fall to your belly gently. It wasn’t until the next commercial break that you hear familiar footsteps on the porch with an accompanying jingle.

Nick eased the door open and the somber look on his face transformed into something soft when he saw that you were still awake.

“Hi honey,” he greeted you with a grin.

You smiled and reached out a hand to beckon him over.

“Hi,” you replied. “I missed you.”

Nick crossed the floor to perch on the edge of the couch next to your hip.

“That why you’re still out here and not in bed getting rest?” You craned your head up for a kiss and he obliged gently.

“Yes,” you admitted. “Plus, the bed is so far away.” You dragged out the vowels on the last part and his eyes crinkled in a grin even as he shook his head at you in what was supposed to be a scolding manner.

“You need your rest,” he said. His thumb caressed the high angle of your cheek as he let his hand rest on the side of your face.

“I’ve been dozing. How was…whatever you were doing?”

Something inscrutable passed over his face and then was gone by the time you blinked again. Some of the lightness had left his eyes, but his mouth still tried for levity.

“Not half as cozy and enjoyable as this scene.” He jerked his head towards the television. “How many Christmas movies have you watched tonight alone?”

“A lady doesn’t keep count,” you replied with a faux haughty sniff. A yawn escaped you just then, undercutting your attempts to be stern.

“Bed,” Nick said lightly as he reached for the remote. Switching off the television, he stood to give you space to get to your feet. When you blinked up at him innocently, he stifled a sigh and some of the lightness from before returned. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Oh, wow. What an idea.” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him. “If you think you can carry me with this extra weight…” Maybe you were laying it on thick, but he wasn’t the one growing a baby, so you figured it was his duty at this point.

“Don’t be ridiculous, woman.” Nick leaned down and scooped you up as easily as he always had. “These muscles aren’t just for show.”

Nick laughed and made for the hallway and you snuggled into his shoulder. You giggled and threaded your arms around his neck.

“Don’t I know it,” you teased. “Those muscles are what got me in trouble in the first place.”

#mc!nick #nick amaro x reader #reader a #svu fanfiction #mc!au #plus a fun reference to a nick/sonny fic that's on my ao3 #christmas #nick amaro

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internetho · 2 years

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Candy

A ficlet with pastra’s character Clyde from their series Dreams of an Insomniac :) It’s just an interaction between a random person and Clyde on Halloween. +Art at the bottom

— sits at the window by their front door dozing away when they hear a knock at the door. They look at the time, 23:28 (11:28 pm)

“What the- Who is up at this hour???”

They look out the window as another knock sounds.

A trick or treater? Oh.

There’s a person in an orange suit (onesie??)outside the door. The suit has little red stripes on the arms and legs along with horns and a tail.

The tail is moving. Thats kinda weird but whatever.

They’re holding a little candy bucket it doesn’t look that filled so…

— takes pity on them so they open the blinds and knock on the window to get the persons attention. The person turns and-

“what the fuck-“

— turns from the window “. -OKAY THAT DOESNT LOOK LIKE A PERSON maybe it’s just a stupidly realistic mask? No idea. Okay you gotta acknowledge them now you got their attention first.

— looks back and definitely didn’t let out a yelp at the person that was now pressed against the window. Okay.. It looked too familiar now

-orange striped costume

-long tail

-black mask with a smile?

-yellow eyes

wait a minute..

oh? THUNK “OH SHIT”

THE THING THAT WAS ON TV

— didn’t know what to do now and was now pretty sure the thing was getting impatient as more thunks sounded against the glass. OF COURSE who else would be outside at this time of night. The police won’t answer this late there’s nobody at the station — bets.

Oh, wait a minute.

It wasn’t staring at — but at the bucket of candy on the table beside them. — stared for a while. It just wants candy does it?

Alrighty then. — was looking to get rid of most of this somehow anyways.

— takes the bucket and walks to the front door. They look through the peephole and yup, sure enough, the Eastridge Demon was standing at the door.

Through the mail slot — managed to pour most of the candy through and looked back up to see if it took it. The candy was gone and so was the monster.

“Well… I’m going to bed”

—

Down the street, Clyde was down at his little candy bucket, now decently filled with sweets from the most recent house.

Huh, That was one of the only houses that gave them candy. Well, they’ll be coming back to that one next year then. They’ll check for good ones when they meet back up with Winfrey

And off they went back home.

#pastra #clyde pastra #dreamsofaninsomniac #lankmann #i wrote this in like a day #I’ve been rewatching the psa too many times #someone help please #my art

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aliterarydumpsterfire · 1 year

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Sticky Fingers and the Chase

Shadows had just begun to press a kiss over the clearing in the woods when Curtis McGowan crested the last ridge of Mica Mountain. From his rocky alpine outcrop he watched as those shadows advanced, interrupted only by a young wisp of smoke from the cabin chimney below. There was only one other who knew of his family’s abandoned refuge in the woods, unless it’d been claimed by squatters, but he doubted it. The gray mustang grazing downstream confirmed his suspicions.

Found you, Bethy Shaw. You’ve taken one too many liberties this time.

It didn’t take much to find her, but it was a relief to know his childhood ‘playmate’ hadn’t gone far. Wouldn’t be long now ‘til he recovered his gold and other effects. Then maybe he’d go down to Sante Fe and find some honest work-- something other than mining. He wasn’t about to fall for that racket again.

The miner swung down from his horse, cursing the ‘borrowed’ saddle that made him sorer than a California widow.

“Now just you wait here,” he told the horse as he tossed the reins on a low branch. Not that he particularly cared if the bay stayed put or not, since he was fixin to liberate another from down-valley in short order.

He cut a trail down the backside of the ridge, skirting the perimeter of the cabin until the only safe barrier was a cluster of boulders, and he veered around them. She’d expect him there. Instead he sallied to the far side of the cabin, where her horse stood dozing.

“Hey, Clyde,” he whispered, giving the old gelding a scratch behind the ears. The big gray looked awful long in the tooth these days, a far cry from the colt he’d caught on the plains when he couldn’t have been much older himself. “How’s she treatin you?”

Clyde only flicked an ear in response, as if his former owner were a fly. He and Clyde weren’t much friends these days. That was alright, nothin’ a spare apple wouldn’t fix. But the big brute only eyed Curtis suspiciously as the apple was held out.

“Suit yourself.” Curtis stowed it and crouched behind the firewood, stacked in neat towers below the cabin’s eave. He waited, listening, and he imagined she was on the other side of that wall, doin the same. Until the dull scrape of wood on packed-down clay proved him wrong. It cut through the cicada’s song, and with it Curtis dropped behind a low scrub.

Dim lantern light spilled over the clearing as Bethy Shaw stepped out of the cabin. Her shadow danced behind her, making wispy exaggerated sways of her hips across the pines. Every curve of her shape leapt in the lantern light. Curtis would have recognized every one even in the dark. Blindfolded. With his hands tied behind his back. Not that the two had any… intimate history. He just always wished they did. Their chance encounter a couple days back in Tucumcari made that hope a possibility, again, as long as he could persuade Bethy to return his goods and go on back home.

Except it was at that exact moment he caught the hard line that pointed westward from her hip like a compass into the twilight unknown, and he froze.

He’d know that sawed off barrel anywhere. Pa’s shotgun. His shotgun.

In the soup-thick night air another thing came to him as well. The sweet, earthy aroma of his lucky cigars. He groaned. A little too loudly.

Known for her keen hearing, of course, Bethy heard. Her clear, brusque voice cut through the night serenade.

“Curtis, you gullible sonofabitch, I know you’re out there. I’ll shoot ya full of your own bullets if you try me.”

After a long moment of stillness the cicadas started up again. She remained there, peering into the darkness as the nightsong swelled and the oil lamp flickered.

Curtis McGowan weren’t no yellerbelly. He gathered up his courage, waited until Bethy Shaw disappeared back into the cabin, and waited twenty more minutes just for good measure. Satisfied that would be enough time for his quarry to let her guard down, he tiptoed to the door. There he waited another five minutes at the pine doorframe. And finally burst into the cabin.

Several things hit Curtis McGowan all at once. The most unexpected of those things was the beautifully light but fragrant aroma of lavender and sage. Then there was the sight of Bethy Shaw, in a state of the most titillating undress, more real than any dream he’d ever had. The most predictable, and pressing thing, however, was the knotty end of a long pine bough, bark still intact, which slammed into his chest with considerable force.

He stumbled back, crying out, and was rewarded with another whack over his hands as they flew up to protect his face.

“Damn Bethy, it’s Curtis, not a goddamn Comanche!” he cried, struggling to shield himself from another blow.

“Don’t care who you are, if you’re hopin’ to get the bulge on me you’d better think again, Curtis McGowan!” She made to swing again.

Curtis backed up, empty palms raised. “Easy girl, easy! Have a care with that thing! Ain’t here to uhh--,” his eyes traveled down her front, taking in the sights, and bit back a smirk. “Get the bulge on ya.”

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but notice her state of relaxation. Aside from the gunbelt slung haphazardly over her shoulder, she had the look of a soiled dove hanging up her spurs for the day. Not that he’d say that aloud-- that would surely cost him. Instead, his eyes landed on the weapon he’d spied her with earlier.

“See you helped yourself to my pa’s shotgun too.”

She smiled wickedly and reached for it, blessedly putting the pine bough down. “Oh, this one? It was your pa’s, you say?” The shotgun swung in a high arc to level at him.

He gave a low whistle. “Didn’t take long for you to adjust to bandit life. You’ve got sticky fingers somethin awful, Bethy.”

She pulled a face. “It’s hard out here for a lady to make her way! Thought an old friend wouldn’t mind helpin a damsel in distress but I see I misjudged my old friend.”

Curtis wasn’t buying it. “I have a mind to pack you up on my mule and take you directly back home to tell your daddy what you done.”

That brought on a true flash of panic across her face. “You know my daddy would tan my hide if I went back home!”

From what he knew of Jacob Shaw, a tanned hide would be the most mild-mannered result of Bethy goin home, that was for sure. Curtis stole a glance back to her and smiled. As real casual-like as possible, he planted a palm on the rough-hewn table and leaned back. “Well hell, I s’pose I don’t have to mention it to your old man. Depends.”

Bethy lowered the gun, the hint of an upward twitch at the corners of her lips. “You tryin’ to make a bargain, Curtis?”

“You gonna make it worth my while?”

Wickedness flickered through her eyes. It stirred a weakness behind his knees. It was the same look she had in this dreams, ever since the town fair hay makin’ competition three years ago. She’d won a blue ribbon. He won a ‘friend’ he couldn’t shake, even if he wanted to. Not that he ever did. Bethy Shaw was like a shadow made of smoke, all wispy curves he knew by heart but never could catch. But maybe tonight…

It was with that secretive, mischievous glance that she finally put down Pa’s shotgun. She set it gently on the table behind him, and slipped her gunbelt back off to join it. With her blouse no longer under the heavy belt it draped and swung freely. Free enough to billow up when she moved a little too quickly, sidling up against him. It was then that his vantage, towering over her by a good head and a half, paid off.

“You’d think,” she mused aloud, “that any idiot would’ve figured out if a gal is lifting all your gear, you’ve got something she wants.”

Curt paused, unsure he caught her meaning. “Other than gold?”

He needed a drink, and a casual sweep of the cabin told him Beth indeed had helped herself to his whiskey, too.

“Other than gold”, she echoed, fingers inching towards his gunbelt. His mouth worked soundlessly, so transfixed was he upon her fingers. The buckle fell to the floor with a heavy clink. The weight of the thick leather belt leaving his hips made him wiggle ever so slightly, by instinct. Happy accident drove him to collide with hers.

“Other than gold.” Her murmur was husky, so low he had to lean forward to hear as she repeated again.

When he did she seized him, her fingers traveling up his arms, and then his shoulders, to tangle in his hair. He tried to not think about the heat flooding through him. Tried to tear his eyes away from her smooth, unblemished slopes of cleavage in stays that only barely served their purpose while unlaced.

He wanted to ask, “is it a kiss?”, but her lips were already on him, and he dared not tempt fate.

***

He woke to cardinals singing. For a moment he basked in the song, unable to discern if he was in a dream or a memory of times gone by. If only things were as simple as mornings of his childhood, in his father’s hunting cabin in the high ponderosas amid early birdsong and thick mountain fog. Dream or no, it was cozy all the same. He wanted to savor it, but a reminder tickled him to waking.

Gotta light a shuck out of here before Bethy wakes.

He made himself listen for a moment, and furtively sent a hand to Bethy beside him. But his fingers only met cold buffalo hide. Bethy was not there. Confused, he raised his head and rubbed his bleary eyes.

Pa’s shotgun was gone. His new saddleblanket, too. With cold realization, it hit him. Bethy was gone. His gold was gone.

“No. No no no no!” Curtis vaulted out of bed. “Aw, sheeit. Bethy!” In nothin but his long johns he dashed outside, checking for her horse.

But Bethy was long gone, and Clyde with her.

He should have expected as much. He wondered if it was true, that she was really sweet on him.

Maybe this is what folks called ‘hard to get’.

#aliteraldumpsterfire #western fiction #westernfiction

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creamecream · 4 years

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“Girl, you fell in love,

But you fell deeper in this pit,

While death rains from above,

So count your blessings, ‘cause this is it,

You’re not letting it go,

So what if I misbehave? it’s what everybody craves,

You already know, so come if you’re feeling brave and fancy yourself a mate,

You want it? I got it, see what you like?

We could have it all by the end of the night,

Your money and power, my sinful delight,”

“A hit of that heaven and hell,

A hell of a high,

I’m addicted to the madness, this hotel is my Atlantis,”

“We’re forever gonna have a fucking reason to sin,”

“Let me leave my soul to burn and I’ll be breathing it in,”

“I’m addicted to the feeling, getting higher than the ceiling,

And we’re never gonna want this fucking feeling to end,

Just concede and give in to your inner demons again,”

“I’m addicted to the sorrow,

When the buzz ends by tomorrow,

There’s another rush of poison flowing into my veins,

Giving me a dose of pleasure that resides by the pain,

I’m addicted, I’m dependent, looking awesome, feeling helpless,

And I know I’m raising cane by every highway in hell,

Maybe things won’t be so terrible inside this hotel,”

Bonnie belongs to @abyssnighthawk

#sisters sharing a light night anxiety smoke #and drinking themselves to pass out and they don't have to think #I'm thinking that they got split up in different rooms to sleep and they don't like that #they tried but bonnie had a nightmare and near tore her sister's door off it's hinges trying to get to her #and pretty much found clyde crying from a nightmare and they curl up together and cry themselves out #and indulge in some vices to dull the pain booze smoking etc.#(by that I mean pills but I didn't draw those)#clyde waiting until bonnie fell asleep holding her hand then she made sure the door was deadbolted #made sure a loaded gun was in her hand made sure windows and such were locked #and then returned to hold bonnie's hand and just kinda rested next to her #not fully falling asleep just kinda dozing so she could protect her sister #hazbin hotel #human au? before death? I don't know not sure #fan characters #clyde #bonnie #implied alcohol abuse #implied drug abuse #smoking #cigarettes

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thefloorisbalaclava · 3 years

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will we be getting something about Frankie and the bow you teased in previous neighbour fics or it will be left just a tease up to our imaginations? its okay if you aren't writing anything for it, you are so busy writing all the time! I was just curious 💕

I almost forgot about the bow thing!!! Sorry!!

[neighbor!frankie masterlist]

---

You had gotten through two movies before you began dozing off on Frankie’s shoulder. He let you sleep for awhile, loving how you curled yourself up and leaned against him. He kissed the top of your head a few times and it made you stir in your sleep and mumble.

Eventually, he had to move so he could wash the dishes so he carefully moved you so that your head rested against the armrest.

You woke up to find a blanket draped over you and Frankie nowhere to be found. The television was off and it was comfortably quiet. Suddenly, you heard a noise in the kitchen. When you looked up in that direction, Frankie walked out and smiled at you.

"Hey sleepyhead," he said, drying his hands with a towel.

"Hey...what did I miss?" You stretched and sat up.

"You missed It's a Wonderful Life," he said.

"Aw man...sorry." You rubbed your eyes. "I should head home."

"Wait!" he said a little too loudly then put a hand over his mouth. "Don't go...yet. I, uh, I have a surprise for you."

"Where’s Gabriela?" you asked.

"She's sleeping." He grinned knowingly. "Just wait...right there, okay? Gimme five minutes then meet me in the bedroom." He disappeared down the hall then reappeared to run over and give you a kiss. "Five minutes."

"Okay," you giggled. You could hear a lot of shuffling and him talking to himself before it went quiet. You were excited but you waited five minutes like he asked you to. "Alright," you whispered as you walked to the bedroom.

"Come in whenever you're ready," he said nervously.

"How'd you even know I was- OH! Frankie!" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened when you saw him lying there on the bed in nothing but a Santa hat and a large bow covering his penis.

"Told you I had something planned." He looked at you nervously when you wouldn't say anything. "W-What do you think? Is it too much? I'm sorry..."

You laughed and climbed onto the bed with him. "It's perfect. You're perfect." You kissed him softly. "So...Santa Frankie...what did you bring me?"

He looked down. "All you gotta do is remove the bow." He chuckled and you kissed him again.

"Haven't I gotten that gift already?" You brushed your lips against his.

"It's the gift that keeps on giving. Didn't you know that?" he said and you snorted.

"You are something else, Mr. Morales." You took off his Santa hat and ran your fingers through his hair. "You're...everything and I love you."

"I love you, too. I want you to know that you were my gift this year. You came into my life at a time when I didn't have much hope. You helped me learn to smile again, laugh again. Love again," he added, tears filling his eyes.

"Frankie..." All you could do was wrap your arms around him.

You held each other for awhile before making love, holding each other close the whole time. Afterwards, you laid there wearing his Santa hat and just talking. He looked over your shoulder at the clock he kept on his bedside table.

"Merry Christmas," he said with a smile.

"Merry Christmas. This is the first time I've spent Christmas with anyone in a very long time," you admitted.

"I have something for you," he said as he reached into the drawer. He turned to you and held out a little trinket with your name etched into it. "It's not much but...I made it myself. For someone who loves nature as much as I do."

"You made this?" You ran your fingers over the carving.

"Yeah. It's supposed to be a tree but I could use a little practice."

"It's perfect, Frankie. I love it." You kissed him then sat up. "Gotta go get yours. Uhhh..." You rolled out of bed then grabbed one of his shirts to throw over you before running to the living room to get the gift out of your coat pocket. You ran back and jumped onto the bed. "Here."

"For me?" His eyes lit up as he sat up and began unwrapping the gift. He opened the box and gasped, looking up at you. "This is an-"

"Aviator's watch. Yeah. It has GPS and multiple time zones. When Gabi leaves maybe you can set it so that you can see what time it is where she is so you'll always know..."

"Yeah," he said quietly, voice cracking. "Yeah." He looked at you and smiled. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." You picked up your gift again. "This is lovely. I didn't know you could do this. Wanna teach me sometime?" you joked.

"I dunno. My lessons can get pretty expensive," he said, putting his gift on the nightstand before turning back to you.

"What does it cost?"

"Kisses. Lots of them." He moved closer to you and you laughed.

"Oh, I think we can set up a payment plan, hm?" You pressed your forehead to his.

"For you? Anything." He kissed you softly. "Merry Christmas."

---

frankie taglist: @fakenoods @oldstuffnewstuff @the-bird-suit @lestrange2703 @findhimfives @windfallss @limenlimon @66wookies @rach7 @surfsup666 @theghostwiththemost-babe @marshmallow--3 @mrschiltoncat @aplaceofpeace @josepedropascal @mitchi-c @panda-angela @jeeperky @allthingsnarcos @laymegentlytorest @stanfordscrush @fangirlingss @damerondjarin @darthdumbasss @helga1031 @triggerhappyflygirl @master-obi-wan-kenboneme @ladybeediva @heythere80sbaby

permanent taglist: @gallowsjoker @magicsuperheroes @feelmyroarrrr @the-dazzling-urbanite @phoenixhalliwell @liveloudwriteloud @tumblogbykarapaloma @jaime1110 @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @pascalz @blancatobarxoxo @dazedrhapsody @pascalisthepunkest @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @cryptkeepersoul @tiffdawg @freak-of-nature2002 @kingpascals @saltywintersoldat @theocatkov @babybelou @mandilflorian @aeryntheofficial @cyaredindjarin @winters-buck @the-feckless-wonder @loki-098 @arabellathorne @giselatropicana @dindisneydjarin @punkpascal @opheliaelysia @takens-world @huliabitch @stardelic @kandomeresbitch @havenforafrazzledmind @thisis-theway @stardust-galaxies @mrsparknuts @jedi-mando @frankiemorales @edencherries @lilkermit14 @virtualxjournality @ladytrashbird @thirstworldproblemss @emesispo @heresathreebee @tangledlove27 @marvgrrl @clydes-hole @hayley-the-comet @insoucianttt @witchyavenger @coaaster @starless-eyes-remain @wanderlustmags @wonderfulfluffer @lv7867 @lovelyasfcuk @pedropasscals @talesfromtheguild @pedroepascal @wigwitch @seasonschange-butpeopledont @theoria850 @roxypeanut @justanotherblonde23 @autumnleaves1991-blog @kenedyybrooklin @artsymaddie @dindjareen @silverfish-kingdom @heyitmelexie @gredandfeorgesgirl @mandaloriandindjarin @andriecastana @rosiefridayrogersunday @ssppoorrkk @amalie-buch @lucifer- @mstgsmy @randomness501 @max--phillips @darthadeline @youarenewformetoo @thehippiequilter @whovian-gurl @neverlandlibrarian @chibi-liz05 @dragons-of-the-usa @over300books @borderlinedindjarin

i hope everyone is where they want to be! let me know if you want to be changed around! join a taglist here!

#neighbor!frankie #frankie morales #headcanon

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no-whump-on-main · 3 years

Text

Apartment 307-7 (This is for Your Own Good)

this is for your own good-requested by @magpiewhump

TWs: Heavy chapter overall. Creepy, sadistic whumper, noncon nonsexual touching, branding, victim-blaming, passing thought of emeto but none actually shown, thoughts of death

Clyde started to worry about Elora when she still hadn’t woken back up at six p.m when he got back from work, over ten hours after she passed out due to him completely exhausting her magic. He walked in and checked on her the very moment after he put his things down on the kitchen counter, and there she was, still passed out, curled up on her side like a little terrified animal. He left, deciding to let her sleep some more-he was concerned, of course, but not terribly so. She did seem rather drained when he left. He would’ve loved to spend the evening with her, but he resolved to show a little sympathy and let her sleep. Still, he checked on her about every hour, only to find her still passed out in the exact same position every single time. He began to get irritated when she still wasn’t up around eleven-he just wanted to sleep, at that point, but he was worried she’d wake up at any moment and start causing a scene. Screaming, trying to escape, doing whatever it was she did-hell, he didn’t know. She was unpredictable.

He still didn’t even know what he thought about her. He was fascinated, of course, by her magic, by her mere life-that’s why he had to have her-but he still didn’t know how he felt about her as a person. She was awfully stubborn and had terrible language for a young woman, but she was beautiful, exquisitely so, especially when her eyes were watery with tears and she had that determined expression despite the fear he knew was crippling her.

God, he just wanted to break her. He wanted to study her first and foremost, of course, but as a side project of sorts, he wanted to see that iron resolution dissolve, just like that, because of him.

He decided to head to sleep, freshening up in his master bath before heading to sleep. His room was nothing special; it smelled like a mix of dirty bath mats and moth balls, and all it really had for furniture was a desk on the verge of collapsing, a mattress on the floor, and boxes that still hadn’t been unpacked despite him having moved in over a decade ago.

But that night, he went to sleep happy, unbothered by the chaos and dirty apartment and his seemingly menial life. Because he knew what to do. He had direction, for once. Elora brought him that. She was like a quest, a puzzle to solve, and he’d had a eureka moment. To break her, he’d have to teach her that she wasn’t her own anymore. That she was his, because clearly, she’d been struggling with the concept.

And he knew exactly how to do it.

When Elora woke up, she felt like she was having the worst hangover she'd ever experienced, multiplied by ten. She was dizzy, her mouth was dry, and a pounding headache had settled in the back of her skull, each throb feeling like a firework exploding inside her head.

It was pitch black, not a single ray of light coming in from the crack underneath the door, so she assumed that it was either the middle of the night or early morning. That meant she slept for, god-eighteen, twenty hours? That was probably half of why she felt like shit. Draining her body of all the energy it had like that was both excruciatingly painful and awfully exhausting. It was also decidedly horrible for her body-she was never supposed to work herself like that. Hell, she wasn’t sure how she even survived exerting that much.

At the very least, she had some time to herself. It was nice to be alone for a while, to recoup between sessions of vicious torture.

She sat back against the wall, staring up at the pitch black ceiling. Time was fuzzy, but she thought it was...Tuesday, now? So her mom certainly knew she was gone, and she had told the police, and they were looking for her.

She hoped. She just-she really, really hoped that someone was coming for her soon. Before anything worse happened, while she could still come back from it. While she could still come home alive, herself, shaken, but herself.

She ended up dozing off for a few minutes and waking up again a few times as the hours passed by, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She knew exactly when the sun was rising; the crack underneath the door slowly began to get less dark, going from black, to an inky gray, to a pale orange, and finally, to real yellow light. A little sliver of a sunrise. Even after just a couple of days, she missed the sun. The bathroom was windowless, and that alone made it suffocating. She’d do anything, pay any amount of money in the world, just to go outside, see a sunrise, and breathe. Just breathe, for a moment, just catch her breath.

As excited as she wanted to be about the taste of a sunrise, all she felt was dread. Every morning she’d been awake to see the pattern, so far, she’d noted that he came in just after sunrise.

So she only had a few minutes, then.

She just hoped that he would make the pain brief.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply when she heard his footsteps pattering down the hallway, exhaling when she heard the doorknob turn.

He flicked the light switch on and the sudden brightness hurt her eyes, so much so that she quickly wrenched them shut. And when he spoke, it felt like his voice was booming, much louder than it actually was. She wanted to cover her ears, but resisted the urge, much too scared to take out another sense and be so vulnerable to him.

He acknowledged her reactions with a hum, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Jeez, you’ve been out for a while. It’s about time you woke up. What’s the face for? You okay?”

Elora shook her head, replying bitterly. “Not supposed to use that much magic. Feels kinda like a really bad hangover.” He always smelled like cheap beer. Maybe he’d have some sympathy for that.

“Mh. You’ll be fine. We have things to do today.”

Elora opened her eyes, at that point, looking over at him despite the deep burning sensation in her eyes. He was holding something behind his back, out of her view.

“I-I’ll do what you want,” she said shakily. “Whatever magic shit. I don’t care. We can-h-how about we just act symbiotically, huh? I’ll do whatever you want and you just don’t hurt me. Easy deal on your end, really.”

The man scoffed. “Funnily enough, I actually don’t need anything from you today. Just for you to stay still and be a good girl. I’ve got something to teach you.”

Her throat felt like it was coated in honey. She wanted to spit back that the last thing she would ever do is be a good girl, but she couldn’t form words. It was hard to breathe properly. She knew she was panicking. What did he mean?

Casually, he revealed what was behind his back. It looked like a big pen, with a long cord on one tapered end and a thick, linear metal tip on the other. He plugged the cord into the wall and set it down. Dimly, Elora wondered where she’d seen a weird pen like that. She knew it seemed familiar, it was for crafts, but she couldn’t remember quite what it was for. She blinked, her panic slowing her thoughts-

Woodburning. It was used for woodburning.

Her mouth dropped open in shock, her eyes instantly tearful as she looked on in pure horror, knowing what was going to be done to her. Clyde basked in her terror, grinning as he watched realization and fear strike her.

She was frozen, shocked into silence, so he took the opportunity to speak first. “You seem to be having a hard time with the concept that you’re mine. And what better way to mark that something is yours other than putting your name on it? That’s how I get my coworkers to stop eating my tuna salad from the community fridge.” He stopped to laugh at his own joke. No one liked tuna salad but him. His coworkers would never touch it. Elora looked utterly terrified. He didn’t care a bit, and went on. “But of course, you don’t need to know who I am. You don’t need my name. All you need to worry your pretty little head about is being good for me, got it? So what better than to teach you than to just mark you as mine?”

As panicked as she was, Elora suddenly went into survival mode, no longer able to just stand there and wait to be hurt. “NO!” she screamed. “No, please, I c-can learn! Please, you don’t need to do that. I-I-I told you, I’ll do what you want today, please!”

The man grinned, wagging his pointer finger at her. “Uh-uh-uh. We’re past that, little lark. You already showed me that you don’t know who you belong to when you so rudely refused to do as I told you with the plant and adamantly denied to heal yourself up until I made you.”

He stepped towards her, and she screamed, scrambling back to the other side of the bathtub. It didn’t do much, of course; he was still able to grab her just as easily. She kept screeching, and she fought, she fought tooth and nail, scratching, kicking, trying to bite him, but nothing worked. She was already getting weaker by the day.. He managed to unlock her handcuffs and lift her out of the tub within a minute, completely stopping her desperate fight when he threw her down on the hard tile by the sink where the pen was plugged into an outlet, knocking the breath out of her. She sputtered and coughed, trying to roll on her side, but before she could, he stopped her, straddling her waist, pinning her legs down with his own, and both her arms with his left, pulled tightly across her chest, his elbow digging into her right arm, keeping it in place, and his hand holding down her left. With his right hand, he grabbed the woodburner, the cord just long enough to reach down to the floor.

He frowned as he looked down at her screaming, thrashing form, then put the burner down. For a moment, Elora thought she was free. She thought she was free, she thought he was safe, she thought he reconsidered, she thought he wouldn’t do it.

“Woops. Forgot a step. You’re too damn much of a fighter.” Instead of letting her go like she wished, he fumbled to unbutton all three buttons on the top of her polo shirt. She felt like vomiting the entire time his fingers brushed against the skin of her chest, undoing the buttons painfully slowly, one by one. She shivered, but the room felt hot.

He picked up the burner again. “This is for your own good,” he said, his voice gruff and firm. He pulled her unbuttoned shirt to his right and brought the hot metal tip down upon her left collarbone.

The agony was blinding. She saw pure white as she screamed, keening, much louder than she had been before. She dimly felt the pain move up against her skin as the woodburner stroked upwards, then down diagonally, then up again diagonally, then back down. It left a trail of searing, red-hot pain. M. Mine.

Three more letters to go, and she already felt more blinding pain than she thought was possible.

Clyde frowned at her screaming, briefly putting the woodburner to the side, exchanging the pain for a gentle touch, softly running his hand through her hair. She continued screaming and tried to wiggle away from his hand, yet he ignored her blatant discomfort.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Quiet, my darling, it’ll be over soon.”

His words were far from comforting, though her screams did stop for all but a moment. They continued when he brought the woodburner back to her skin, drawing out an I, three torturous burning strokes. She thought she might pass out, might vomit, might die, the pain was so bad.

“Halfway there,” he said gently, when he finished burning the I into her skin. His voice had become gentle, kind. She didn’t understand it. “Shh, you’re alright. I had to do this, you know. This is for you. To help you learn.”

She shook her head madly, tears falling down her face and onto the tile floor. “Stop,” she croaked, her voice breaking. “Please, stop.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic. Maybe this was too much for him, too. Or maybe it was all an act. Elora couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. We’re halfway done already. It would be strange to stop here, with half of a word, no?”

And with that, he went on, with just as much brutal carelessness for her pain.

N. She had been switching between staring up at the ceiling blankly and squeezing her eyes shut while he branded her, but she was looking up for this letter, watching the ceiling spin, watching black spots dot her vision, watching as she slipped in and out of consciousness for a few seconds at the time.

She couldn’t even say that she was getting used to it. It hurt just as much now, a minute later, as it had when he started.

The smell started to catch up with her halfway through the N. It was awful, the overwhelmingly sickening scent seeping in and filling her nostrils. She couldn’t escape it. She had to breathe, had to inhale the scent of her burning flesh. There was no choice.

Just as the last upward stroke of the N danced like fire across her skin, the man’s hand carded through her hair again, his fingers rubbing her scalp kindly.

“Almost done, honey. Almost done. You’re doing great.”

She didn’t even have the strength to shake her head. She wasn’t his honey, she wasn’t doing great, this wasn’t for her, it was for him, he was crazy-

Her screams began to die out, her throat burning and raw, begging for air. They turned to weak, sobs, her expression twisted with agony.

E. A stroke up, one to the side at the top of that, another sidestroke in the middle, another at the bottom. She started to feel like she was up on the ceiling, floating. She couldn’t handle this.

What she felt was more than pain. She didn’t know how to describe it. But it was much, much worse than any sort of pain she knew. The burning agony mixed with the scent of her charred flesh in the air, the sensation of the man’s weight on top of her, his hand in her hair, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt combined to create the the most horrific thing she’d ever felt.

It was a new kind of misery. Something much worse than she even knew existed.

She gasped for air as the man slowly eased off of her, her chest finally able to expand properly. He let her arms go first, as a trial. She didn’t make any attempt to retaliate, so he got off of her legs, too, and stood. She laid there, half disassociated. The pain was too much for her to bear. Even though the woodburner was no longer directly on her skin, it still hurt just as much as when the hot metal had been making direct contact with her collarbone. It was still pure, utter agony.

“Remember,” the man’s voice boomed. “This was for you. You chose this, with your actions.”

She didn’t shake her head no, but she didn’t agree, either. She stayed perfectly still, right where she was, sobbing. She just sobbed. That was all she could do.

“Ice,” she begged weakly, her voice hoarse from her screams.

The man chuckled. “Oh, no, sweetie, no can do. Don’t want you getting any sort of first aid. I need it to scar as much as possible. That was the whole point.” He chuckled. Another sob ripped from her throat, and he began to feel slightly guilty.

“Here. I can do something for you. He opened the bathroom door and left, the burning flesh scent thankfully beginning to waft out. Elora knew that she should have gotten up and ran for the door the moment he left. She knew that she was missing what was probably her only chance to escape.

But she couldn’t make herself do it. She couldn’t make herself move.

He was back a few moments later, with a pillow and a blanket from his bed. He lifted her head up and placed the pillow beneath beneath it, shielding it from the hard tile. He draped the blanket over her body, smoothing it down around her with care. She’d be disgusted by his falsified kindness if she weren’t so distracted by the pain.

“And I’ll let you stay uncuffed for a while. I’m sorry, Elora, I really am, but this was the only way. You and I both know that. I’ll have to call out of work, can’t trust you alone and unchained. But that’s fine. I’ll just stay right here until you’re feeling a little better.”

He slid down the wall and sat across from her. All he could see on her face was pure sorrow. She didn’t sleep, despite the pillow and blanket; she wasn’t tired. She just hurt. She lay there, limp, weak, and crying, the pillowcase soaking up her silent tears as she pressed her mouth into a tight, thin line.

Clyde stared at her for several minutes then sighed and lit a cigarette. They’d be here for a while.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

@badthingshappenbingo

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

Text

Seasons Change

A/n: This is a commission for someone who wanted to remain anonymous, I hope everyone enjoys! Special thanks to @lvupmushroom for killing me softly with the petname “heart”

Summary: Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.

Warnings: angst angst angst, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, some angsty breakup sex, a little possessiveness, happy ending tho!

Word Count: 6137

September 2018

“Talk to me,” Yoongi says, while you’re lying next to him, barely touching, just the slightest breadth of your hip against his, and you can see his chest heaving.

“What do you want to talk about?” You ask, and your heart beats faster.

There’s something wrong. Something big, and you don’t know what it is and you’re trying to avoid it, hope it isn’t real, but it’s looming closer and closer.

This had been the first time you’d been intimate in weeks, and that wasn’t unusual due to his schedule and yours. It’d been good, it was always good even when you were both exhausted and not giving it your all because you knew each other's bodies so well after all this time, but….

But: he didn’t kiss your lips like he usually does, latched on to your throat. But: he didn’t look into your eyes at all this time, focusing on your tits bouncing. But: you’d fucked hard and dirty hundreds of times but it’d never felt quite like this.

“Tell me something real. Something true.” Yoongi begs, voice low and hoarse.

He’s still got his eyes closed and you close yours too, hoping to block out that feeling.

“Something’s wrong,” you say, haltingly. “Something’s wrong and I don’t know if we can fix it.”

He’s quiet and the darkness makes your heartbeat sound in your ears and when he shifts to wrap his arms around you, you let out a breath that you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Tell me something real,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he says, right at the shell of your ear, and you’re waiting for him to say, “but it’s not enough” and he never does.

February 2018

You come home too early from work and catch Yoongi red-faced and cursing, holding a mangled flower in his hand, bits of stem and petals strewn across your bedroom.

You stifle a laugh. “Baby, what are you doing?”

“Your favorite flower has bullshit petals,” he cries, throwing it on the floor, and his face is all scrunched and frustrated and you can’t help it, peals of laughter pouring out of you.

“This is what I get for trying to be romantic,” he says dryly, but he’s smiling.

Once you catch your breath, you wrap your arms around his waist. “Baby,” you croon. “You should’ve used roses.”

“Lillies are your favorite,” he insists stubbornly, and you kiss him hard, laughing into his mouth when he stumbles backward onto the bed, onto the poor, mangled flowers.

He still has pieces of the flower in his hand when you ride him, rolling your hips slow and lazy, and he reaches up to push your hair behind your ear.

Later, you think of how he looked at you, of how bright with love his eyes were, mouth parted, wide open, like he was giving you all of him. Later, you wonder if it was a sign, all those mangled petals beneath your bodies while you used up the last of the love between you.

October 2018

You rub his back soothingly as he empties his stomach into the toilet bowl, your own head only a bit fuzzy. You’re not sure what happened, really, Namjoon’s Halloween party had been fairly low-key and your Bonnie and Clyde couples costumes had been a hit.

You’d flitted off to mingle like the social butterfly you were, ending up talking to a rather tipsy Namjoon about a book series you’d loaned him for an hour in the kitchen. You caught Yoongi’s gaze from the living room, him standing against the wall alone with a red cup in his hand, and he had given you a smile that you returned easily.

Everything had seemed fine until Jungkook had bounded up to you anxiously, big eyes glassy.

“Yoongi-hyung is sick, noona. He wanted me to get you.”

He’s already throwing up when you get there and you lock the door and settle behind him on the floor.

When he finishes and twists his head to look at you, his face is flushed, eyes wet. “Y/n,” he breathes, clutching at you as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks.

You smile, a little bewildered at how he’d gotten this drunk in the time you’d been talking to Namjoon.

“Baby, you okay?”

Yoongi makes this sound in the back of his throat, leans his back against your chest and your arms go around him, resting your hands gently above his belly.

He shakes his head, eyes closed, tears creeping from underneath his lids.

You hum softly. “You’re okay, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice gravelly and low.

You can’t help chuckling. “Don’t be sorry. I threw up all over your new leather jacket at Jimin’s birthday party earlier this month. I owe you.”

He opens his eyes, looking at you upside down. “You’d have been better off, yeah?” He mumbles, words slow and slurred.

You move a hand to his hair, brushing it off his forehead.

“What are you talking about, my silly boy?”

He doesn’t answer, just turns his face into your hand and you hum a little more, a piece of some song you barely remember.

You get him to his bed with Jungkook’s help, the younger man returning with a glass of water while you lie behind Yoongi, rubbing at the small of his back.

You get up to lead Jungkook to the door, assuring him everything will be fine, but Yoongi turns and grabs at your wrist, making this cute little whine with his eyes still closed. You smile down at him, heart swelling, and wait until he’s asleep before gently placing his arm back on the bed.

“I’m worried,” Jungkook says in a low tone, before you even get out of the bedroom.

“It’s okay, Kookie, he’ll be fine in the morning-”

Jungkook shuts the bedroom door softly behind him and turns to you with a serious look, which makes you smile a little because his face is flushed from alcohol.

“He wasn’t…. he’s not acting like himself. He was saying all these things-”

You manage to reassure him and check on Yoongi once more before going back to the party.

It ends up being you and Namjoon as the last ones standing, which isn’t unusual because you both talk more than drink, and you doze off on the couch with your head on his shoulder.

December 2017

You’d met Yoongi a few times, interning at Bighit, and the longer you work there, the more often you see him. He always has a gummy smile for you and you’d had a few impassioned conversations about music, and you often considered asking him to coffee or dinner, but….he was the Min Yoongi after all, and you’re still a nobody.

“Y/n?” You hear his voice after you come out of the gym one evening. You’re a little embarrassed, being barefaced and sweaty and tired, but you turn and smile nonetheless.

“Hi, Min Yoongi-ssi.”

He shakes his head. “Just Yoongi.”

Your eyes widen, a nervous giggle escaping your lips. “Okay, just Yoongi.”

He just looks at you for a moment and you wonder if you look worse than you think because he’s staring so hard.

“I like you,” he finally says, quietly.

You blink. “You…you like me?”

His face flushes pink but he doesn’t drop eye contact. He nods.

“I do. A lot. You’re pretty and kind and talented and….just go out with me, yeah?” He mumbles, shuffling his feet, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“Well, Just Yoongi. Who could say no?”

It starts just as simply as it ends, with only the middle making up your story.

March, 2019

You’re idly thinking about what to get Yoongi for his birthday, maybe buy some new lingerie, kickstart whatever rut you’ve been in, with him sitting next to you on his laptop, when he says it.

“I think we need a break.”

There’s no mistaking what he means, his tone, how he won’t look at you, how it suddenly seems like he’s sitting miles away instead of a few feet. He’s tense, curled in on himself, shoulders rounded.

You’re shocked, anyway, even though you’ve been feeling this bearing down on you like a train. But now when the tracks were rumbling under your feet, you’re frozen.

“Yoongi,” is all you can say, voice shaking, breath catching in your throat.

He doesn’t respond for a long moment, and when he does it’s like cold water being dumped on your head.

“You can move back into your old place, yeah?”

You sit there, shellshocked. “You…you want me to move out?”

He doesn’t respond, fingers tapping away on his keyboard like you’re not even there.

You feel something crack inside your chest. “Yoongi,” you say, and then again, louder. “Yoongi.”

When he still doesn’t answer you stand up and slam his laptop shut, narrowly missing his fingers.

Yoongi huffs out a breath but otherwise barely reacts, just looking up at you expectantly.

All the anger goes out of you in a rush.

“Yoongi,” you say again, his name feeling thick in your mouth. “Why?”

“It’s too much,” he says quickly, as if he’d rehearsed this, and fuck, what if he had? What if he’d been thinking about doing this for days? Weeks? Months? Your stomach rolls.

“It’s too much to keep up with, work and a relationship and…everything.”

He looks away from you again and you shake your head. You lean down to take his face in your hands and finally you hear his breath hitch, finally some reaction.

“Stop it. Stop acting like I’m nobody, we don’t do this. We’ve never done this. We don’t pretend to be hard around each other. It’s you and me, Yoongi. Look at me. Talk to me.”

“It’s too hard. I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? This is how you break up with me?”

You search his face and there’s nothing there. Nothing at all. He’d shut down before, so had you, after fights, and it’d been happening more and more but…

“I’m sorry,” he says again, flatly, and you let go of his face and abruptly go to start packing a bag, tears blurring your vision.

You keep waiting for him to come after you, waiting up until the point you get to the door, your stomach hurting from holding back sobs, and the air seems infinitely colder outside in the hallway when he doesn’t.

May 2019

Yoongi keeps it together for a whole two months until your promotion comes through.

After he’d snapped at Taehyung for asking where you were, the other boys had avoided the subject for the most part, apart from some sympathetic glances from Namjoon that made him want to either cry or punch the leader in the stomach. Probably both.

But your promotion and your mutual friends make it impossible to avoid you..

You were all any of his friends could talk about, suddenly, and who could blame them, really?

He’d seen you scribbling away in a notebook with one hand while mechanically eating a bagel with the other and felt such a pull in his gut, this kinship immediately.

But now there was this yawning hole where that feeling used to be, and he had no one to blame but himself.

It didn’t help that the maknae line we’re all gushing over you, talking about going over to your dorm for a party, all hushing immediately when he walked into the room.

He sends you flowers and a note, a simple: good job and it feels stupid and not enough but along with everything else he’s feeling, he’s fiercely proud of you.

Yoongi’s buried himself in work enough that he’s been mostly okay. The mornings were the hardest, waking up and reaching out for you, still sleeping on one side of the bed, everything coming back to him in a rush.

When he breaks, it’s not the selfies on your social media, pictures of you smiling at the camera, your sultry eyes seeming to stare right through him. He knows those are staged, had posted similar ones himself pretending to be okay

It’s a seemingly innocuous picture, nestled in amongst the others of Jimin’s flushed face and selfies of Taehyung and Jungkook, that Jimin sends in the group chat during the party.

You’re standing with Jungkook at your right, staring at you with big eyes, his crush on you ever apparent, but that’s never bothered Yoongi a bit. It isn’t even that you’re standing close to Namjoon, looking up at him.

It’s how the camera caught you mid laugh, mouth open, head thrown back, and you’d always been at your most beautiful laughing. Yoongi can’t remember the last time he’d seen it, maybe February with the ruined lilies.

The picture feels like a spear in his gut and he looks at it for a long time, transported right back to that fucking Halloween party.

He’d been worried for weeks, saw the look on your face when you read the mean comments some fans had left on a picture of Yoongi looking at you, seated a few seats from you at an award show.

You’d blown it off but you’d been low for days. You were always so bright and then suddenly you just seemed…dimmed.

Then at the Halloween party, sipping some foul hunch punch Jimin had poured him, Yoongi sees how happy you seem chatting with Namjoon and he’s never been jealous of the relationship you have with his leader before. The two of you have similar tastes in books and he’s often found you curled up on the couch with Namjoon reading to you and he’d always smiled, thought it cute.

But something about the way you were smiling at Namjoon that night…it made his thoughts turn dark.

He’s having those same thoughts now, only it’s worse, this deep, dark feeling rising in his chest. Namjoon would have known what to say when you seemed down about those comments. He would have known how to distract you or reassure you, would have been better at sheltering you, keeping the reporters from snapping pictures when you were out together.

If you’d met Namjoon first…. you’d have been happy.

His breathing feels liquid all of a sudden, catching in his chest and he’s already had two glasses of scotch but it’s not nearly enough to numb anything he’s feeling.

He keeps telling himself it’s the right thing when he feels it crash over him like a wave, keeps telling himself you’ll be happier but he hadn’t considered how much it would hurt when you were and the whole world seems darker and colder. He feels small and so fucking alone that he tosses his phone onto the couch and puts his head in his hands, trying to regulate his heartbeat.

His thoughts just keep spiraling and he pours himself a double scotch with shaking hands.

It could happen, now. You could be talking so passionately to Namjoon with that wide open smile and it’d be nothing for him to lean down and kiss you. Nothing for him to ask you to coffee, read you fucking poetry at the cafe. It’d be nothing for you to fall in love again.

That feeling rising in his chest seems to break open like some kind of vial of poison, spreading through his bone marrow until he’s just sitting on the couch and crying openly, limbs heavy, and he scrambles for his phone when the notification for the group chat goes off again.

It’s just more pictures of you looking proud and happy with all your friends and you’re so much brighter, like a candle just lit instead of the flickering one you’d been before and it should feel better. It should feel better because he’s made the right choice but instead it feels like all the world is wrong without you.

He gasps in a breath and he doesn’t think anything has ever hurt this much, not appendicitis, not his first heart ache, nothing.

By the time he can think enough to dial your number, it’s nearing daylight and he’s too drunk and sad for this and he’s half grateful and half bitterly disappointed when your voicemail picks up.

There’s so much he wants to say that he nearly chokes on it, wants to beg you to come home, beg you to tell him how to make you happy, so there’s a long pause.

“I wanted to say congratulations, heart.” The pet name tumbles out before he can stop it. “You look…you look so happy.” He can feel his voice about to break and he clears his throat. “I’m so proud of you.”

He hangs up before he starts to cry in earnest and curls up on the couch, praying the alcohol quiets his mind enough to let him slip into oblivion.

July 2019

Yoongi is so monumentally fucking stupid that he isn’t sure how he’s survived this long.

All he can think about when he wakes up in your bed with you face down and naked beside him, is how fucking stupid he is. For ever breaking you up in the first place. For going to Namjoon’s party after his friend had the good grace to warn him you’d be coming even though you’d moved away.

He hadn’t seen you in four months and it seemed simultaneously like four years and like four minutes when you hugged him and he breathes in your natural scent overlayed with something new and acrid, like men’s cologne, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“You look beautiful,” he says and it comes out low and breathy and he wants to melt into the floor when you smile at him, big and open.

“You look good too,” you say, and that’s a fucking lie. He looks like shit and he knows it.

He’s been a hermit for four months, working and barely eating, barely sleeping, fighting a mental breakdown every time he found anything that even remotely reminded him of you.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and he could kiss Taehyung when he offers him a cup of something alcoholic.

Yoongi tries to stay away from you at the party, he really does. But somehow he keeps ending up standing close to you, trailing from room to room, following you around like a lost puppy.

He doesn’t talk to you at first, but he keeps hearing snatches of conversation.

His skin prickles when he sees you talking to Namjoon in the kitchen in a horrible repeat of Halloween.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Namjoon asks, and Yoongi isn’t a violent person but he really, really wants to kick in his perfect teeth.

“Not really,” you respond demurely, and something stupid and jealous inside him snaps and he jerks forward into the kitchen.

He doesn’t know how it happens, exactly, but it all falls into place so easily. He asks about your promotion and your new city and then Jungkook comes barreling outside to puke with Taehyung trailing behind to help and Yoongi’s hand has instinctively gone to your lower back.

He doesn’t move it and a few minutes later he kisses you while you’re laughing at something he said and fifteen minutes after that he’s got you pressed against the elevator rail with his hand up your skirt.

He remembers kissing you and kissing you and kissing you until your lips are red and swollen and it still isn’t enough. He tries to memorize your skin via his fingertips, the taste of you on his tongue. His stupid fucking mouth starts running almost immediately.

“Missed you so much, heart. Love you so much.”

“You left me,” you say, clutching at him, and the raw look on your face makes him feel like his chest is splitting open.

He hurt you. He hurt you trying to protect you and now he was just making everything worse and…

Yoongi kisses you to silence his thoughts, doesn’t want to lose this moment in case it’s the last one.

He knows your body like he knows his own but it seems new to him now, your skin sunkissed and glowing, the curve of your hip bones just a bit sharper when he puts his mouth there.

When he’s inside you it’s like coming home and he drops down on his forearms, cups your face in his hands.

You arch your back, close your eyes and he kisses your eyelids, the salt on your eyelashes stinging his tongue.

“I love you I love you I love you,” he chants, like a mantra, like a prayer, and you make this broken whimper when you come, clenching tight around his cock, making his hips buck. He wants to keep fucking you even after he spills himself inside you but you're trembling, tears staining your cheeks and instead he rolls off you, draws you into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it's not nearly enough.

The way you dip your tongue into the hollow of his collarbone makes him shiver with memory, it'd always been your favorite spot to kiss and mark, and he's overwhelmed by the need to tell you he was wrong, to beg you to forgive him, but he feels your breath hot and even against his chest.

He barely sleeps, and when he watches you sleep, your face slack, lips parted, he hears your words over and over in his head: you left me.

He leaves you again, before you wake up, something hot and empty in his chest.

December, 2019

Things got better so slowly that you didn't notice exactly when you stopped crying yourself to sleep, when you started thinking about Yoongi only once a day, then once a week.

Now, you manage not to think of him unless you're reminded by something, despite the setback in May that had almost broken you completely.

You'd almost lost your new job, unable to get out of bed for days after you'd woken up alone with just the smell of him on your sheets, lingering like a ghost.

Now, you were doing well, even dating again, in a whole new city far away from where you'd had your heart smashed into pieces. You weren't even bitter when your mutual friends mentioned him, at least not much.

Still, though, your breath catches in your throat when you see he's sent you a text.

It's Yoongi, it says, as if you'd ever forget his number. I'm in your town for a couple of days...wanna have a coffee with me?

You stare at the text for a long time, your heard beating wildly, before you message back with a time and place.

He's already there when you walk in, and he looks devastatingly good in a brown trenchcoat, his hair natural again and swept back from his face a bit. He gives you his gummy smile when he sees you and half stands as you approach the table.

You feel your heart crack right down the middle.

"Hey," you say, and it feels dumb but it's all you can think.

He's looking at you with stars in his eyes, still smiling, and he reaches across the table to take your hand.

The air feels thin, you feel raw and vulnerable and anxious but you can't pull away when his thumb is rubbing circles on your palm.

"I missed you, heart," he says, eyes all earnest and shining and God, you'd thought you were done hoping, thought you were done hurting like this.

You smile and hope it isn't as weak as it feels. "What brings you here, Yoongi?"

Yoongi's thumb stops moving on your palm and he clears his throat. "Ah, just... visiting friends."

He looks away from you and you lean forward, a bit concerned. For all the heartache he put you through, some part of you still loves him, and he's never lied to you so blatantly before.

"What's going on with you, Yoongi?"

His cheeks are turning pink when he looks back at you.

"I came here to see you."

"Wh-why?" Your heart seizes in your chest and you take your hands from his.

He puffs out his cheeks and lets out a long breath. "I...wanted...I want to say I'm sorry. For everything. And that I still love you. And that I want you to come home."

He says it so simply, almost easily, as if it didn't make you feel as if you're about to have a panic attack.

"You left me," you say, voice small, and he winces.

"Heart-"

"Don't fucking call me that." You hiss, and hurt flashes in his eyes and it doesn't make you feel better, not even a little.

"You left me. You left me twice. And now you come here when we haven't talked in months and just expect me to-"

"I don't expect anything," he says quickly, his eyes wet, and you hate this, hate how much it still hurts because you thought you were better.

You're tired, suddenly, so tired your bones hurt.

"Yoongi, what…"

"I should never have left you. There's never been anyone else, heart. It's always been you and I didn't….I was worried that you weren't happy."

"You can't do this," you whisper. "Don't do this to me, Yoongi."

"I'm sorry," he says, almost in a whispers, and his eyes are wet and wide. "I'm so sorry, Y/n, I'd do anything-

"What if I'm seeing someone?" You blurt out, desperate to get some semblance of control over how vulnerable you feel.

Yoongi stiffens, hands clenching on the edge of the table. "Are you?"

His voice is calm but his face is anything but, bottom lip trembling.

"I am," you say, and it isn't exactly a lie, you've been seeing someone off and on, but it isn't serious.

Yoongi looks as if you'd hit him, and it should make you angry, as if you'd just be sitting around waiting for him to come back, but instead it just makes your heart ache.

You wait for him to shut down, to be angry and leave, but he doesn't move, clutching at the edge of the table like a lifeline.

"I should be happy for you," he says quietly, his voice strained and shaking. "But I...I just miss you so bad, heart." His voice cracks and you choke back a sob.

"I can't do this," you whisper, standing and abandoning your coffee untouched, leaving before you can look back and fall apart.

January 2020

Yoongi had been in your city for the better part of a month, unwilling to give up and go home.

He texts you every day, simply: I love you, heart. He doesn't want to pressure you, tries to stay calm but he's pacing his hotel room at night wondering if you're in someone else's arms.

It wasn't something he'd ever let himself think about, you moving on and finding someone else, but now…

Now all he can think about is a hand on the small of your back, lips pressed against your neck and it makes his whole body shake, makes him feel restless, as if he should be doing something, but short of throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman he doesn't know what he could do.

He drinks too much and writes these long paragraphs about how he'll never hurt you again, how he'll spend the rest of his life making up for it, but you never respond, he doesn't even get the read receipt. He sends you his hotel address, hopes you'll show up.

He's lying face down on the hotel bed, half drunk with his phone in his hand, when there's a knock on the door.

When he gets to the door, a little unsteady, he's so shocked that it's you that he stumbles backward a few steps.

"Heart….Y/n-"

Your eyes are puffy, as if you'd been crying, and the urge to pull you into his arms is so strong he sits down hard on the bed to stop himself.

"What happens if I say yes?" You ask after closing the door behind you.

Yoongi can't speak for a moment, hope clogging his throat. "Anything you want," he manages, regretting the last two drinks because he can't stop watching your mouth.

"What if I don't want to move back?"

Yoongi shifts on the bed, the hope rising in his chest making him anxious.

"I'll move here. I'll do anything you want, heart, I'll be anything you want, just-" his voice breaks and he reaches out to you. "Just please come back to me."

"You left me," you say again, and those three words are arrows in his heart.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, wiping tears from his face.

"In July," you continue, trembling all over. "In July, you said all those things and you left me alone. I would've come back then, Yoongi, it wouldn't have even been a question, so why?"

Yoongi hates himself so much he's choking on it, can barely breathe, but finally he inhales through his nostrils and out through his mouth to calm himself.

"I thought I'd hurt you too much and you'd never….we were drinking and I couldn't stand for you to look at me with regret….I was stupid and selfish and I'll never leave you again, never, never-"

His words cut off when you take a hesitant step forward.

"I don't know how to trust you," you say in a shaking voice, but your hand comes out to thread your fingers in his hair and Yoongi hums in the back of his throat at your touch.

"I'll earn it. We can go to counseling, I'll walk through fire to get you back, heart."

His hands hover over your hips, not quite touching you.

You're stroking his hair and looking down at him with all this emotion in your eyes and he wants it so bad, wants you so bad it hurts in his bones, but it has to be you, has to be your choice.

You dip your head and his heart stops beating until you press your mouth to his and he feels dizzy from the way you taste, your waist beneath his hands.

When you pull away he draws in a shaking breath, lips parted. "Heart….Y/n...does this mean…"

He can't say it, can't say it and have you say no, braces himself for you to say it was a goodbye kiss, heart clenching in his chest.

"I don't know how to trust you again," you whisper, and Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut.

He feels adrift for a moment before your lips graze his eyelids, and it all comes crashing down that it's over and he feels tears slip down his face.

"But I want to try," you finish, and wonder of all wonders, you climb into his lap, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck.

His arms go around your back and he's almost afraid to open his eyes, afraid that you'll disappear, that this is some dream caused by too little sleep and too much alcohol.

But you're still there, still smiling, still looking at him like you used to, and his heart feels so full it hurts.

Yoongi doesn't speak, just kisses along your collarbone, under the strap of your shirt.

He's still worried that this will all slip away somehow, can't believe his luck, and he mumbles against your skin.

"What about your boyfriend?"

You stiffen and he hates himself for asking, hates himself for ruining this moment with insecurity and jealousy.

"He wasn't my boyfriend," you confess. "Just….a friend."

Yoongi doesn't know why he can't shut up, why he keeps asking questions when he's gotten everything he's wanted for months now, but there's this buzzing underneath his skin, this rock in his gut.

He hums nervously in the back of his throat. "You said you were seeing someone."

He wishes he could sew his mouth shut when you huff out a frustrated breath.

"It doesn't matter," he says quickly, but it does, it does matter, he wants to know if someone else had touched you, kissed you while he'd been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling and crying himself to sleep.

"What do you want me to say, Yoongi? You want me to say I was sitting at home waiting for you to realize you fucked up?"

You sound angry and suddenly he's miserable and sorry and wants to take it all back.

He doesn't know how to, though, so he hides his face in your neck, hugs you tight.

"I love you," he says simply, and after a moment you start to relax, put your head on his shoulder.

"I'm tired," you whisper.

Yoongi makes a distressed sound in the back of his throat, shifts to lie you on the bed and pull the blankets around you, pulling you back into his arms.

He watches your face, thumbs tears from your cheeks, waits for you to talk instead of asking all the questions racing in his mind.

"I tried so hard to make things work without you," you say, voice tired and shaky. "I have this new job and there was this new guy and...I thought I was getting there, you know?"

There's a lump in his throat and he just nods.

"But when I saw you at that cafe….it was like the morning you left all over again and I just…." You whimper and rest your head on his chest and there's a bitter taste in his mouth with how much he hates himself for hurting you.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, heart," he mumbles, and it's not enough, so he kisses along your hairline, rubs his hands down your back, hoping you can feel how sorry he is through his touch.

You lift your head to look at him.

"I've learned a lot about myself since you broke up with me, and...I can live without you."

Yoongi nods. Of course you can. Of course you can be happy, start a new life that has nothing to do with him and you're going to realize you'd never needed him at all and leave his arms forever-

"But I don't want to. I don't want to live without you, Yoongi. Even if we have to do this long distance, even if...if you leave me again-"

"Never. Never," he insists emphatically. "You're my heart and I let you leave my chest once. I can't do it again. I won't."

Your breath catches in your chest and you tuck your head on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his waist.

You drift off in his arms and he watches you sleep, thinking that if he closes his eyes somehow you'll disappear, and it's weeks before he stops feeling that way.

He stays in the hotel room another week, figuring things out, and you spend several nights there.

He finds fading marks on your breasts and inner thighs and it's like a knife in his gut, but he doesn't ask, it's not his business who left them or what they meant to you, even if it makes his blood curdle to think about.

It doesn't matter if you're with him, if you can forgive him it doesn't matter, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

February 2020

It isn't easy, learning to trust Yoongi again. He's still hesitant when he touches you, afraid to say or do the wrong thing as if you'll blow up and leave.

Yoongi is nothing but sweet and accommodating when you talk about what to do, how you'll continue your relationship given your new job and location.

You hear the catch in his breath, the miserable look on his face when he sees the marks your ex lover had left on your body, but he doesn't ask a single question.

The last night he's in the hotel before his flight, he's extra clingy, clutching your hand and holding you close in the big hotel bed, kissing this spot on your shoulder over and over. You realize after a few moments it's one of the fading marks.

"It wasn't like it was with you," you say softly, and he stiffens.

"It doesn't matter," he mumbles.

"I didn't love him. Never loved anyone like I love you," you tell him, and the gummy smile he gives you makes warmth bloom in your chest.

It will take time to get back to where you were, and part of you is glad that you've taken a break, glad that you know that you could survive without him, but when you're lying in his arms on your visits or when he hugs you do tightly you can barely breathe when you meet him at the airport, you're so glad that you don't have to.

#yoongi x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts commission #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #yoongi angst #bts suga x reader

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chiseler · 3 years

Text

Public Enemy Number 1, No. 1

It was unexpected and unlikely at the time, and would be completely unthinkable today, but on April 7th, 1923, the venerable and dusty New York Times ran an editorial which opened:

Something Almost Heroical

It is getting very difficult to keep in mind the fact that Gerald Chapman is a thoroughly bad man, whose right place is in jail. The difficulty arises from the fact that in his battle with the law he shows qualities—courage, persistence, ingenuity and skill—which it is impossible not to admire. The result is that unless one is careful, one finds one’s self hoping that he isn’t caught...

Sadly, at least to those millions of Americans who’d found in Chapman a new folk hero, he was indeed caught and, worse, sentenced to the gallows. Even H.L. Mencken, in a 1926 American Mercury essay in which he unwaveringly defended the death penalty, had to pause and offer a tip of the hat to Chapman as a unique and admirable individual, a man of grace and character who’d undertaken his chosen profession with a splash of real style. He stops short of suggesting Chapman be spared the noose, but does quietly mourn the loss of such a charming rarity.

Chapman was a bank robber, burglar, bootlegger, safecracker and con man who spent two-thirds of his life either in stir or on the lam. He was also a darling of the press who became the first legitimate celebrity outlaw of the twentieth century, paving the way for the likes of John Dillinger, Al Capone, Bonnie and Clyde and Pretty Boy Floyd.

In the summer of 1887, Gerald Chapman was born George Chartres either in Brooklyn or on the Lower East Side of Manhattan (the details are a little sketchy). Like so many other youngsters in that particular time and place, he began practicing the criminal arts early, and pulled his first stint in jail when he was fourteen. From that point, he would spend most of his formative years in assorted jails and prisons around New York State.

In 1908, while serving a term for bank robbery in Sing-Sing, a 21-year-old Chapman was transferred to the more experimental Auburn State Prison, where he would essentially begin his graduate studies with the stylish bank robber, counterfeiter and con man George “Dutch” Anderson.

Born Ivan Dahl von Teler, Dutch Anderson came from a wealthy and respectable Danish family. He grew up knowing all the finer things in life, and attended universities in Heidelberg and the States, though he eventually dropped out of school in order, just for the thrill of it it seems, to pursue a life of crime. By the time he met chapman in Auburn, he was a seasoned professional who could sense in the unpolished street tough a youngster with smarts and a lot of potential. He would, in essence, play Henry Higgins to Chapman’s Eliza Doolittle, but in, y’know, criminal terms.

Of all the lessons Anderson taught Chapman at Auburn, the one that had the most impact on the fledgling crime boss was very simple. If Chapman could pass himself off as an educated, respectable and erudite gentleman of the highest order, it would help deflect any suspicion should some John Q. Public be looking to put the finger on a wanted criminal. Who would ever suspect some well-dressed, well-spoken gent of pulling off a cheap smash-and-grab?

Chapman took the advice to heart, and began reading voraciously to better help pull off that “educated” shtick. He also, with Anderson’s help, learned how to carry and present himself as a proper gentleman. To top it all off, he cultivated a British accent.

Both men were paroled in 1919, and promptly put Anderson’s teachings into practice. Noting that the passage of the 18th Amendment earlier that year offered a golden opportunity, they set up a bootlegging empire that operated out of New York, Florida and Ohio.

Another Auburn alumnus, seasoned wheel man Charles Loeber joined up with Chapman and Anderson in 1921. With Chapman posing as a wealthy British oil magnate, Anderson acting as his business partner, and getaway driver Loeber playing their chauffeur, the trio, along with overseeing their growing bootlegging operation, began pulling armed robberies and con jobs around New York.

Easily adjusting to his new role as Wealthy British Aristocrat, Chapman dressed to the nines and moved into a swank apartment in the swank Gramercy Park section of Manhattan, charming his neighbors with his impeccable manners and British accent. He became a familiar face at the city’s finest restaurants and nightclubs, as all the while he, Anderson and Loeber were plotting a big score.

After closely studying its route and schedule for several weeks, on October 24th, 1921, the trio used two cars to block off Leonard Street in Tribeca, forcing a US Post Office truck to stop. They pulled their guns, pistol-whipped the driver, and got away with $2.5 million in cash, bonds and jewelry. It was to date the biggest heist in U.S. history.

The cops didn’t have a thing to go on, leaving the trio free to move their operation upstate for a spell, where they continued to pull bank jobs, though on a much smaller scale.

Chapman’s luck ran out eight months later, however, when he offered to sell a batch of Argentine gold notes pilfered during the Leonard Street heist to a stock broker, unaware the stock broker was actually an undercover postal inspector.

He was taken into custody on July 3rd, 1922, and brought to police headquarters in Manhattan for questioning. His stature in the public imagination began to grow that afternoon, when The Count of Gramercy Park (as he would be dubbed in the press) made a break for it an escaped his interrogators. Chapman’s freedom lasted only a few minutes, however, as he was nabbed before he was able to find his way out of the building.

Anderson was arrested not long afterward, and both were found guilty of the postal truck heist and sentenced to twenty-five years in the federal pen in Atlanta.

In early March, 1923, Chapman—who had apparently picked up a few more skills along the way—escaped from the Atlanta prison, knocking out the power supply as he fled. Three days later in Eastern Georgia, he was shot four times as he attempted to evade a posse of 200 well-armed cops and locals. The wounds were not life threatening, so Chapman was returned to Atlanta General Hospital to recover before being slapped with a few new charges.

A week later, his bullet wounds sufficiently healed, Chapman escaped from the hospital, but was quickly recaptured and returned to his old cell.

After keeping a close watch on him for at least two or three days, on March 27th a couple guards were either dozing or taking a bathroom break, and Chapman escaped again, this time making a clean break of it.

It was during this stretch on the lam that Chapman’s legend really took hold, with newspapers—including the Times—building the myth of a new Jesse James. Along with “The Count of Gramercy Park,” various newspapers also dubbed him “The Gentleman Bandit” and “Gentleman Gerald.” Most notably, however, after being added to the feds’ 10 Most Wanted List, one clever reporter tagged Chapman “Public Enemy Number One.” It was the first time the phrase had been used, and in short order law enforcement agencies at every level would co-opt it as their own.

Nine months after Chapman escaped from Atlanta, Anderson followed suit, clearing the prison walls on December 30th. It’s assumed the old partners in crime teamed up yet again, but even if they didn’t, it hardly mattered. Without a shred of evidence, cops in half a dozen states accused Chapman and Anderson of pulling off every unsolved armed robbery on the books. Meanwhile, Chapman’s status only grew in the public consciousness. After all, he hadn’t hurt anybody—all he did was steal money, which he did in a gentlemanly way.

All that changed in October of 1924.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Chapman had been on a bit of a crime spree in Connecticut with a new associate, another rich kid turned bad named Walter Shean. As the pair was holding up a department store in New Britain on October 12th, they were surprised by five local police officers who burst in, guns drawn. In the brief shoot out that ensued, Chapman shot and killed Officer James Skelly before escaping.

The remaining cops arrested Shean, who, likely in order to avoid the gallows, quickly fingered Chapman as the triggerman. The funny thing is, though, that the cops didn’t believe him, and they didn’t believe him because they couldn’t imagine Public Enemy Number One bothering to spend any time in a dusty little burg like New Britain, Connecticut. And even if he had, there’s no way he could hang around town without being noticed. But in time other corroborating evidence materialized, and they put out an APB for Chapman.

Chapman, meanwhile, made his way to Muncie, Indiana, where he hid out on the farm of a man named Ben Hance for the next three months.

Apparently tired of sheltering a wanted fugitive who’d overstayed his welcome, on January 18th, 1925 Hance went to the cops and told them exactly where they could find Chapman.

When cops showed up at the farm, Chapman pulled a gun and began firing, but didn’t hit a thing. He was taken into custody and returned to Atlanta, where he still had most of that 25-year sentence waiting for him.

Now, historical accounts begin to diverge wildly here, at least as far as the timeline is concerned, but I’ll do my best to keep things straight.

Although the federal charges in Atlanta took precedence, Connecticut was understandably eager to try Chapman on capital murder charges, so in March of 1925 he was extradited to the Connecticut State Prison to await trial.

The trial got underway the last week of March, amid a courtroom packed with journalists from across the country and hundreds of citizens squeezing and craning to catch even a fleeting glimpse of the notorious Count of Gramercy Park.

Over the course of the six-day trial, both ben Hance and Walter Shean testified against Chapman, and a ballistics expert reported the bullets which killed Officer Skelly matched Chapman’s gun.

Chapman, in his own defense, insisted he’d never seen Hance or Shean before in his life. He also insisted he’d never stepped foot in New Britain. Most curiously, he claimed he wasn’t even this “Gerald Chapman” everyone kept talking about, that some terrible mix-up had occurred.

The jury apparently found Chapman’s claims that he was not, in fact, Gerald Chapman less than convincing, and on April 4th, 1925, after deliberating eleven hours, returned a guilty verdict, sentencing him to death by hanging.

Upon hearing the verdict, Chapman reportedly turned to his attorney and quipped, “Death itself isn’t dreadful, but hanging seems an awkward way of ending the adventure.”

As the appeals process began and until the very end, Chapman proclaimed his innocence, declaring repeatedly that what he wanted was “justice, not mercy.” The appeals made their way up to the Supreme Court, but were rejected one after another.

His lawyers, in a last ditch effort, argued Chapman was bound by Law to complete his sentence in Atlanta before he could be hanged. That would give them at least 23 years leeway to start working on a new round of appeals.

Word of the ploy reached Attorney General Harlan F. Stone, who mentioned it to President Calvin Coolidge. After some careful deliberation, Coolidge granted Chapman a pardon.

Well, sort of anyway—he pardoned Chapman for the Postal truck heist, which ended his term in Atlanta and freed up Connecticut to hang him whenever they pleased, the sooner the better.

Think about it. Coolidge and Attorney General Stone were fully aware how dangerous it was, especially during Prohibition, to have this celebrity outlaw grabbing all the headlines—I mean, you can’t have the press and the general public cheering on a bootlegger, bank robber and cop killer if you’re trying to maintain law and order, now can you? Better to eliminate him as quickly as possible.

On April 6th, 1926, a year after the verdict was handed down, Chapman was delivered to the Connecticut State Prison’s death house, where he was confronted with an unholy contraption known as the Upright Jerker.

As the name implies, the Upright Jerker was the flip side to the traditional gallows. It was, in fact, a barbaric and notoriously unreliable Rube Goldberg device. Instead of a six-foot drop through a trap door, the condemned man had the noose placed around his neck as he stood on the ground. Then several counterweights looped through a pulley were dropped from the top of the scaffolding, jerking him into the air. The argument, of course, was the sudden jerk skyward would snap the prisoner’s neck, resulting in an instantaneous death. Things, however, rarely worked as planned, and more often than not the condemned was left struggling and strangling to death for several minutes.

Although there is no record of how well the Upright Jerker did or didn’t work in Chapman’s case, by the end of the day America’s first Public Enemy Number one was dead, though the improbable novel Gerald Chapman had crafted around himself wasn’t quite over yet.

Now, depending on who’s doing the telling, either three months after Chapman was convicted (August of 1925) or eight months after he was executed (December of 1926) , Ben Hance and his wife were driving just outside out Muncie when they were forced off the road by another car. Two men—Dutch Anderson and Charlie “One Arm” Wolfe, emerged from the car and unloaded their .45s into the Hances. Anderson and Wolfe quickly split the scene, with both men going their separate ways.

Although both Hance and his wife were killed, some stories have it that Hance remained alive long enough to tell responding officers it was Dutch Anderson who had exacted retribution for Hance’s ratting out Chapman. Other stories have it Hance was already dead when cops arrived, but everyone simply jumped to the same logical conclusion. Walfe was taken into custody not long afterward and confirmed the story, and the hunt was on for Anderson.

Hoping to maintain a low profile and stay at least three or four steps ahead of the law, Anderson drifted around the Midwest for the next few months. Instead of robbing banks or setting up elaborate scams, he simply began passing counterfeit $20 bills. As seasoned a professional as he was, however, he made two mistakes. First, it had been a pretty sloppy counterfeit job, and the bills weren’t terribly convincing to anyone who was paying attention. And second, he spent a little too much time hitting stores in Muskegon, Michigan’s business district.

After word started to get around that someone was spreading funny money around the area, one sharp-eyed shopkeeper gave Anderson’s description to a passing beat cop, Charlie Hammond, who spotted a man fitting the description a few minutes later.

After trying to bluff his way out of Hammond’s sidewalk interrogation without much success, Anderson turned and ran, but made the mistake of ducking down a dead end alleyway. Hammond followed, and in the ensuing shootout, Hammond took a bullet to the lower belly, and Anderson was shot through the heart. Both men died.

Despite Coolidge’s best efforts to nip in in the bud, within five years, an American public long weary of Prohibition and now being battered by the Great Depression on top of it, were rooting for a new generation of bank robbers and bootleggers, and the high-class derring-do of Gerald Chapman, Public Enemy Number One, was largely forgotten.

by Jim Knipfel

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teddybear-yn · 5 years

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[first dates with cix]

byounggon

for byounggon I see a classic lunch and movie date

maybe because he’s the leader, but I see byounggon as taking the lead most of the time

he’s also the type to be super sweet and thoughtful and caring like its second nature

doesn't even notice how much it affects you

for one, he’ll casually be 5 minutes early and as you arrive and apologize profusely, he’ll be like

“No, I wanted to wait for you.” or “You’re worth waiting for.”

he says cheesy things but they don’t seem cheesy??

very calming and easygoing

as you’re eating lunch expect him to put lots of food on your plate

with his lil eye crinkle as he asks you to eat more

one time as you’re walking in a store after lunch, before the movie, he’ll casually grab your hand as you stroll though the aisles

there you are blushing furiously on your own, thinking it’s just you

but then you see his red ears and you think how cute it is that he’s as flustered as you

super gentlemanly

opens the door, walks on the side closer to the road, goes behind you when you walk up some stairs, and pays for everything

100% walks you home

as you two walk home, you being completely comfortable with him by now, he’ll ask when you’re free again. which leads to you having a second date, now much more comfortable if even possible

basically byounggon is so calm and collected where everything feels casual and simple, he acts as if he was already your boyfriend for years which only makes you blush once you notice and start thinking about it

seunghun

you and seunghun’s first date will simply be walking around myeondong shopping district

as you two meet by the cafe, even from afar you’ll see his giddy smile

he’ll be much more vocal by admitting he’s nervous too

but really he’s just excited and happy and says that so you won’t be too nervous

like walking a puppy, he’ll get distracted by every single thing

“Woah look at that shop it’s so pink!” “Let’s go try that out!”

he’ll just be super energetic to the point where it’s contagious

you’ll find yourself having so much fun and smiling so much where tiur cheeks hurt

despite the puppy moments he’ll have times proving how much of a boyfriend/husband material he is though

like as you guys spot an ice cream truck, you tell him to go ahead as you spot a trash bin on the other side of the road for this piece of trash that was in your purse

as you then start crossing back to him, maybe getting distracted by his beaming smile as he held two ice cream cones like a child, you don’t notice the biker approaching fast

making a full 180, he yanks you out of the way, glaring at the biker

then he makes another 180 as he stares at you in concern, asking if you’re okay

day goes one with him and you happily walking hand in hand, swinging your arms with every step

so to sum it up, your first date with seunghun will be nothing but happy memories as his energy just radiates with everything you guys do

yonghee

for yonghee, he’ll want to take you to this outdoor art festival

like byounggon, yonghee is calm and collected

but unlike byounggon he’s a bit more shy cause he baby

yonghee proves for a fact that he is a prince on your first date though

he’ll be an absolute gentleman and 100% boyfriend material

the soft voice, small smiles, listening intently at you

his stares are the kind that don’t make you uncomfortable, in fact it’s what helps you relax and loosen up

his shy demeanor though somewhat brings out the boldness in you

you grab his hand first, not wanting to lose him in the crowd

and despite him being a bit surprised he’ll give you the same small smile that does nothing but play with your heart

yonghee does overthink a little bit though

you’ll catch him staring at this piece of art you called cute thinking if he should buy it for you, but then the other voice in his head is telling him not to because he doesn’t want you to feel burdened

eventually, you grab his arm and give him a bright smile, wiping all the worries away

he gets a kiss in the cheek for buying it for you

yonghee is just trying his best to make this date perfect that he doesn’t even notice how spoiled and smitten you are by him

jinyoung

ah this cheeky boy

movie and dinner with him will both the most exhausting yet fulfilling thing ever

first of all, he teases the person he’s interested in A LOT

“Oh you’re 5 nanoseconds late.” at first all his teasings will only fluster you, you haven’t loosened up yet

but the more he teases the more you do loosen up and eventually you two will be going back and forth bickering and teasing

like bonnie and clyde though it'll be you two against the world

“That movie honestly wasn’t really good.” you both agree on, chatting loudly amongst each other how the director could have done a better job, while other couples stare at you two

when time comes for dinner, you two have a blast trying to guess what other people are ordering

“Ooh how bout him?” you point at this guy in a full turquoise suit paired with a patterned purple tie

“Hmm tough, maybe that weird exotic appetizers plate?”

like the others he still is a gentleman though and boy do you not let him off with it

sneakily he’ll pay for your guys’ dinner and then you’ll tease him for it, which ends up with him teasing you back (by teasing it sometimes, most times, falls into flirting)

“Ooh somebody’s got money~”

“Only for you, babe.”

really, your first date with jinyoung does not seem like the first at all

you two talk a lot, whether it be making fun of others, teasing each other, debating, or discussing, there’s never a silent moment which helps you two get closer so much faster

hyunsuk

this boi was a tricky one

i know he’s quite self confident like jinyoung but not sure whether he would be the same towards girls

after watching a bunch of his crack though i concluded

he would invite you to go to this seasonal fair with him as soon as you mention you haven’t tried it yet

thinking that the fair would take the whole day, he doesn’t plan anything else

until said fair ends up being the most boring thing ever

hyunsuk takes this positively and ends up dragging you everywhere though

“I know this really fun escape room!” “Ahh the lamp skewers here are the best!” “This cafe makes you look like you’re in a cartoon!!”

you better be in comfy shoes cause you’ll be going all over seoul

like byounggon, hyunsuk is collected enough to take the lead but he's also thoughtful and makes sure to ask you as well, watches your body language a lot more than you would expect

he’ll never push too much when he notices you don’t want to!

the day doesn't end until it ends

“Let’s go to the beach.”

“Hyunsuk, it’s 9pm.”

“So? The last bus isn’t until 12!”

what you don’t know is that going to the beach is the one thing he actually planned

after remembering how you ranted to him about not being to go the beach at all during summer he wanted to make sure he’d take you to one

so as the waves quietly splash in the dark, nothing but the lamps a few meters away lighting you two, he grabs your hand as you two walk the shoreline

your first date with hyunsuk was definitely exhausting but at the same time exhilarating

he helps you not to overthink and go with the flow

hyunsuk just wanted to make every second of the day was fun and not boring

which he succeeds in, proven by you ending up dozing off on his shoulder on the bus back

this brings a huge sense of pride in him which eventually pushes him to ask you on another date

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k-renne · 5 years

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Okay since I’m in a better mood today, I’m gonna make up for the Clyde angst I made you guys endure yesterday - also I’m on mobile so I’m sorry for no readmore. Skip this one for lots of gratuitous filthy sm*t @thecurlycaptain @adamsnackdriver @babbushka

Clyde couldn’t wait till the day he got out of this place, you had been visiting him as much as the prison would let you in the past few weeks and the tension between you was getting unbearable to say the least. He hated not being able to touch you, the guards screaming at him even if he just brushed his foot against yours.

“Baby this is gonna drive me crazy, I just wanna hold your hand for a few seconds they wouldn’t even notice-“ Clyde grumbled. He had taken to calling you a whole bunch of pet names lately, like a lovesick puppy for you, finally resuming his relationship with you after a foolish breakup.

“Clyde, don’t you dare I know you won’t be able to stop yourself, I see that look in your eye. You’ve only got a week left honey and then you can hold my hand as much as you want.”

Clyde huffed, leaning forward to whisper to you. “Sweetheart, we’re not even gonna have time for hand holding with the list of things I’m gonna do to ya. I got a lot of makin’ up for lost time to do...” He spoke lowly.

It made your cheeks feel hot, “I know, it’s been a while for both of us.” You crossed your legs, fighting arousal. Clyde was staring you down with a fiery intensity that made you want to burst into flames.

“Damn right is has, darlin’ I’m so fuckin ho-“

“Times up Logan!” The guard cut him off, and you were the least it grateful for it, knowing just what he was gonna say. You could only imagine how pent up he was, you remembered what it was like before this, how much he needed it.

Clyde groaned, pouting as he was taken away. You blew him a kiss and he grinned, though he knew it was gonna be bugging him later alone at night. That desire was getting harder and harder to push away, just being close to you and not being able to touch you was torturous.

As soon as he got the family shit over with once he got out of prison, he had plans for you, like fucking you every which way until Sunday. He just had a week left now and he was ready to jump out of his skin and go all caveman on you.

Mellie picked him up from prison because you couldn’t get work off for that day, and Clyde was on edge. “You’ll see her soon Clyde, I know you’ve been itching to do the wild thing with her, but don’t be too rough.”

“Mellie! Don’t bring it up,” Clyde complained.

“Alright but you’ve got this funny look in your eye, just don’t scare her off with.”

“I won’t,” He shakes his head.

You open Mellie’s door to see Clyde dozing on the couch with an empty beer bottle on the table, a fancy metal arm in an opened box. You read a note on the counter from Mellie saying “I went to run some errands to give y’all some ‘private time’ please don’t make too much of a mess.”

Clyde was still fast asleep when you walked over to him, his eyes beginning to flutter open as you straddled his lap. “Wake up handsome,” you said softly, cupping his face. His brown eyes snapped open to meet yours, confused until his gaze turned into soft admiration.

“You’re really here, with me. After everything,” Clyde murmured. He felt like he was still dreaming.

“I told you Clyde, I’m still in love with you. I could feel something was wrong, I know you didn’t really want to break up with me. But, I’ll interrogate you and your brother who I know is involved later.”

Clyde groaned, “I’m so sorry baby, I hate thinkin’ I hurt ya like that. Please lemme make it up to you,” Clyde nuzzled against your cheek, his beard scratching your skin. He held you against him in his lap, pressing you close against his broad chest. He could feel the heat between your legs as you spread your soft thighs across his, and it made him hungry. “Fuck I missed ya,” He curses.

“I missed you too Clyde,” You relaxed into his hold, cozying up against his chest. But you knew the relaxing wouldn’t last long, Clyde cursed a lot more when he was in that type of mood.

His lips met the skin of your neck with a sudden urgency, sucking and kissing, leaving all sorts of little marks. He groaned as his tongue swiped against your skin, the sweet taste of his dreams. Remembering something he closed the curtain near the couch, giving you some privacy as he began to kiss you on the lips.

God he just missed the sounds of it, the sounds of your lips against his, your sweet hums or approval and moans when he grabbed your ass. He was getting hard now, and increasingly desperate as his hips moved with a mind of their own. “Ah can feel it, I can feel how warm your sweet pussy is behind your panties. Baby I’ve been dreamin’ of it for so long, givin’ your pussy the fuckin’ it deserves and feeling it drool on my cock,” Clyde moaned.

You squirmed in his lap, the friction of his pants rubbing against your panties and making you wetter, all on top of the arousal of his filthy words. You wore a skirt today, and it was making things heat up real fast. Testing Clyde’s reaction you rocked your hips against his hardness. He grunted and brought his hand to to stop you, squeezing between your legs and covering your clothed pussy with his hand. “None of that today darlin’, I won’t last long...it’s been so fuckin’ long. Your gonna make me cum in my shorts like some horny teenager.”

But just holding you like this, feeling the moisture and heat against his fingers, it was making him go crazy and it made him ache. “Ah fuck it,” He frees his cock, flushed red and dribbling precum at the tip. “Need to be inside ya baby, please I need your sweet pussy,” Clyde pleaded breathlessly, his hand squeezing hard around his cock.

You nodded, filled with so much need you could barely speak. It would be tight but you could feel that ache to be filled, and you wanted to give him just what he wanted. His cock was a beauty too, just looking at the dark hair that lead to that monster made your mouth water. Soon Clyde was pressing himself against your entrance, shivering as he felt your push against the head of his cock. His eyes glazed over as he sank into you, watching his length disappear inside of your heat.

He was panting already, just adjusting for a moment as you sat fully on his cock, legs spread across his strong thighs. With a hand on your lower back he began thrusting up into you, using his thighs and hips to make you bounce up on his cock. You held onto him as he fucked into you, rubbing against your walls with just enough stimulation to your clit from being so close to drive you crazy. He hunched over to press his lips against your shoulder, your cheeks, anywhere he could leave his mark.

It was a few minutes of a frantic pace when Clyde first came inside you, pausing as hot jets of cum splashed against your walls, continuing to thrust as he came in waves. He was completely in control and just the thought of him using your pussy to chase his release like this had your mind in a fog of arousal.

“Gonna-I need more from ya, more pussy,” Clyde murmured hotly against your ear. “Gotta lot more cum for ya sweetheart, been storin’ up just for your sweet pussy. Can’t let it go to waste.” He went on. Before continuing his pursuit he surprised you be sneaking his hand to your clit, rubbing fast and hard until you were almost gonna cum, then leaving you right there on the edge.

He took you to the bed after that, making sure that any cum that leaked out got carefully fucked back inside with a few thick fingers. Clyde growled as he took of your shirt, frantically undressing you and then himself so he could feel your bare skin against his. “Ah fuck sweetheart you’re so fuckin’ pretty, love seein’ ya naked n’all sexy for me.”

He kissed and groped your tits, humming as your nipples hardened against his tongue. “Don’t worry baby, imma make ya cum soon enough, I just need my fill s’all. It’s been too long since I’ve fucked this pussy.”

With renewed vigor Clyde slid inside you, fucking you savagely as he pounded hard and fast. It filled the guest room with all sorts of filthy noises, skin against skin as he worked up a sweat. “I love ya so much, you’re such a good girl aren’t ya baby? Lettin’ me take ya and just lovin’ it, I can feel ya squeezin’ me nice and tight.” Clyde panted. “Gonna reward ya for bein’ so good, mmm,” Clyde closed his eyes in pleasure as he felt more of your slick coat his cock.

It was heaven, and he didn’t know how he even managed to think about leaving it. Good pussy was enough to make Clyde happy in life, and yours was the best, the person that came along with it even better. He just loved you so much, loved expressing it. He missed your touch and the feeling of you, watching his cock slide inside you and all the cute faces you make when you’re turned on.

“Clyde-ah I think I’m gonna cum,” You looked up at him, feeling an orgasm start to come over you.

“Oh baby it’d be my pleasure to let your sweet pussy cum on my cock, go on sweetheart cum for me.” Clyde encourages you, looking deep into your eyes. He grinned when you cried out for him, fucking you vigorously as his own orgasm wasn’t far behind.

“Now I hope ya don’t mind if I finish inside-I just don’t wanna leave, it’s so warm and nice.”

His politeness made you laugh, and you spread your legs wider. Pulling him down to kiss his cheek, you ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” You smirked at him.

Clyde huffed, pressing his nose against your skin as he continued to thrust. Not long now, he could feel it coming. “Just so beautiful, I’m never gonna love anyone like you,” Clyde sighed.

He pressed his chest against yours, his thrusts getting sloppy as he cane inside you. It felt so warm and full with all his cum, making you feel content, loved and horny. “You’re the sweetest fool I’ve ever met,” You smile up at him.

Clyde softly laughed, “And a lucky one at that.”

#filth #ummm this is a whole mess #clyde logan x reader

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sachigram · 4 years

Text

Infinity, With Coffee Rings Chapter 4:

((click here to read on ao3!!!))

Tweek's used to not sleeping through the night. People in his life have always blamed the caffeine, but the thing is, Tweek can't remember ever sleeping soundly, even before his dad handed him his first mug of coffee, bitter and black. Tweek's always found something else to do at night besides sleeping, since everyone around him is unconscious. It's his “me time”, the only time of the entire day no one expects anything of him.

What Tweek isn't used to is being held. Not just being touched in general, which he also isn't used to, though the various hugs from his old childhood friends are piling up lately. Craig is holding him, is holding him tightly, and Tweek should feel trapped, but he doesn't. He feels warm, not just from the heat of Craig's body next to his, but also inside, like how he feels when he sips at his hot coffee. Tweek's never liked iced coffee for this reason. It doesn't have the same effect.

Craig shifts behind him, snorting a little, his breath ruffling Tweek's hair. Tweek wonders what he's dreaming about, if he dreams. Tweek doesn't dream often, but that's probably because he doesn't stay asleep often enough to activate the REM cycle. Sighing softly, Tweek closes his eyes and wills himself to drift off, but it doesn't work. His mind is still racing.

Craig's face is buried in his hair. Tweek worries how he might smell, but he showered today before Craig showed up randomly, and Tweek guesses shampoo is probably the best thing for hair to smell like, right? He shifts a bit in Craig's grasp, his arm going to sleep under him. Carefully, he maneuvers himself to roll until he's on his back, Craig's arm still over him, Craig's face still burrowed into his hair. The last thing Tweek wants is to wake Craig up. He's had a week, and Tweek hasn't done anything worth mentioning. Tweek probably should have told Craig how shitty he is at sleeping before they went to bed, right? But surely Craig knew already? They message at all hours, and Craig is always the first to stop responding because he falls asleep. Then he'll wake up and Tweek will wait for his messages, responding instantly when he receives them. It's a routine now, one he looks forward to. It'll be hard to not constantly check his phone in the morning, even with Craig right beside him, in real life.

The stars on the ceiling are losing their glow, but Tweek can still barely make out Ursa Major and Minor, but if he didn't know he was looking at it, he wouldn't be able to tell Orion apart from any of the other stars. He and his dad arranged the plastic stars like this when Tweek was small, and it's a good memory, one of the few Tweek has of his parents. His dad was more lively back then, full of motivation. Now both his parents are just as drugged as Tweek is, if not more so, though for different reasons.

The room starts to lighten as the sun slowly rises, signaling a new day and the end of another night Tweek didn't sleep through. He sighs again to himself, knowing soon enough his mom will poke her head in to see if he's awake to open the coffee shop. Tweek wonders if Craig being here will deter her, but he assumes it probably won't. He's nothing if not free labor to his parents. He's never had a real job, and with his mounting list of mental disorders, he probably never will.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, his mother opens the door, looking him over. Tweek pretends to be asleep, nestled close to Craig, wondering if it'll bother her. Neither of his parents are homophobic, as far as he knows, but they've never actually discussed it openly. Tweek has never liked a girl before, and doesn't think he ever will, but it seems to be the least of his issues.

After a beat of silent scrutiny, the door slips shut, and Tweek is relieved she didn't press him to open. He doesn't mind working, but he'd much rather spend time with Craig while he's around.

“You still awake?” Craig asks quietly, but it's enough to send Tweek jolting out of his skin. Craig looks at him sleepily, a frown on his face. “Sun's up.”

“I don't really, uh. Sleep? I'll pass out for like an hour later, it's cool. Did I wake you up?” Tweek says hurriedly, rolling so he's facing Craig.

“No.” Craig yawns, tightening his grip on Tweek's side and yanking him closer. “'S still early as fuck. Try to sleep again.”

“I should probably get up. Open the shop, let you sleep,” Tweek mutters. Craig makes a disapproving noise.

“What you should do is sleep, you jittery brat. Just for a while.”

Tweek isn't sure that's true, seeing as how he's been trying to sleep this entire time, but he also really doesn't want to get up and leave Craig alone, so he decides it's worth a shot. He timidly presses his face to Craig's chest, breathing him in, and it's all the permission he needs to move closer when Craig tugs him forward gently.

“Clingy,” Craig says.

“Shut the fuck up and let me sleep,” Tweek replies, and Craig snorts in delight.

***

Tweek manages to doze off until it's Craig gently waking him by getting out of bed. Tweek looks up at him half-asleep and surprised he feels groggy at all, like he could sleep longer if he tried. Craig looks much more alert, like he's been awake a while. His eyes soften as he looks down at Tweek.

“Sorry. I gotta go to the bathroom so bad. I've just been holding it since you were snoring so soundly.”

“I don't snore,” Tweek says, but he isn't sure.

“You can sleep longer if you want. I was thinking I'd shower before we go meet Clyde,” Craig says, and Tweek shakes his head, but makes no effort to get up. He inches towards the side of the bed Craig vacated, burying his face in Craig's pillow.

“'S colder without you,” Tweek murmurs, already falling back asleep, but he hums softly at Craig's hand petting through his hair.

About an hour later, they're entering a diner where Clyde is waiting for them, and beside him is—

“Token?” Tweek asks, and he jumps when Craig is hurriedly leaving his side and all but jumping in the booth into Token's arms.

“Hey, guys,” Token says warmly, laughing as Craig's long limbs wrap around him. “It's surreal to see you two attached at the hip again. Takes me back to elementary school.”

“They're obsessed with each other,” Clyde inputs, and Tweek feels himself blushing as he scoots into his booth, his eyes on the table.

“Shut up, Clyde,” Craig says. “I'm having a moment with our sexy friend, here.”

“Bitch, you haven't hugged me yet,” Clyde says, poking Craig in the side, and Craig stretches forward to drape himself in both Clyde and Token's laps, his shoes poking out into the walkway.

“How have you been, Tweek?” Token asks.

“Um, good? I mean, good! I've been...good,” Tweek says. He's feeling almost drugged from being woken from such a deep sleep, and seeing Token caught him off guard. Tweek doesn't remember feeling strongly about many people in his life, but he's always admired and respected Token, and now that he's looking back, he thinks Token might have been one of his first and only crushes.

“Good,” Token says back with a smile, and Tweek glances at him before looking back at the table.

“What's with you? Higher than usual today, Tweek?” Clyde asks, and Tweek glares at him.

“I don't know,” Tweek shoots back, “balder than usual today, Clyde?”

Clyde gapes at him while Craig cackles and Token puts a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

“Fuck you, man!” Clyde huffs.

“Well, fuck you back, then.”

“See, that's how Tweek operates,” Craig says as he shimmies himself out of the other booth before joining Tweek in theirs. “He makes you think he's this shy, cute little thing, and then he goes for the eyes.”

“It's just that I'm not high! That's mean!” Tweek defends.

“I have cancer. You're mean!” Clyde counters.

“We're all mean,” Craig says with a shrug.

“Speak for yourselves.” Token chuckles, looking at his menu, and Tweek does the same, avoiding Clyde's pout, though he's sure Craig is making faces at Clyde across the table.

When the waitress arrives, Tweek immediately orders coffee, and everyone else orders breakfast, but Tweek still hasn't decided on what he wants, or if he's even hungry. Craig frowns at him while Tweek sips his coffee, and Clyde snorts.

“You better eat something, Tweek, or your boyfriend might have a heart attack.”

“Fuck off, Clyde,” Craig says flippantly, still looking at Tweek. “Are there not any vegetarian options here? We can go somewhere else.”

Tweek looks at Craig, surprised and touched by his thoughtfulness.

“No, it's fine! I can have eggs. I just haven't decided if I'm super hungry yet. I'm still half-asleep.”

“How can you have eggs if you're a vegetarian?” Clyde asks.

“I'm an ovo-lacto vegetarian.”

“A what?”

“I got a huge veggie omelet if you want some of mine,” Token offers. “I'm not super hungry either, but as long as I don't have to fight you for the bacon, I'll share.”

Tweek laughs fondly, feeling accepted, as he always has with them. Even snooty Clyde doesn't mind his presence as much as he pretends to. He's like that with all of them. Tweek used to think he was being bullied until he realized he's always given back just as good as he's gotten, and he's always appreciated being included by them, especially while rumors about him and the things wrong with him circulated around their town.

“Thanks,” Tweek says softly.

“Well, I got french toast, and you can't have any of it,” Clyde says with a smile, and Tweek laughs again.

“Yeah, I know your addiction to sugar, Clyde. I won't ask you for your vice.”

When the food arrives, surprisingly, Clyde is shoving a fork in Tweek's face, instructing him to try it, and Tweek does, missing the delighted look Craig is giving them. They all end up sharing with Tweek, who has to ask the waitress for an extra plate to avoid being fed from each of their forks.

“So, how'd Clyde sweet talk you into coming back, Token?” Craig asks as he pushes his pancakes towards Tweek, who is already pretty full.

“I was planning on coming soon anyway. Clyde's been threatening to blackmail me if I didn't come back to see him during his treatments. Then you guys said Tweek was back, and I was intrigued.”

“What blackmail could Clyde possibly have on you?” Craig asks with a snort.

“I have dirt on all of you except Tweek,” Clyde says. “It's only a matter of time before I find out some stuff on him.”

“I don't have any stuff,” Tweek says.

“That's what someone who has stuff says,” Clyde counters.

“So anyway, I missed you guys,” Token says. “Especially you, Tweek, what have you been up to?”

Tweek blushes again. He doesn't have any lingering feelings from his long ago crush on Token, but he does still ogle at how genuine and warm Token is. Weird things have always happened in South Park, and all of them are a little desensitized, but Token has always given off non-judgmental vibes, and Tweek has always admired him for it.

“Oh, uh. Moving back has been weird. But like, a good weird? Everyone changed so much. Even Cartman gave me a weird one-armed hug thing. I kind of shoved him off, but it just made him laugh. I think when we were kids he would have punched me for shoving him.”

Token makes a face. “Don't hang out with Cartman, Tweek.”

“That's what I said,” Craig agrees.

“I'm not! I work for the public, guys, I can't control who I sell coffee to.”

“Why not? Your parents own the store. Just hang up a sign banning Stan and his band of pricks,” Craig says.

“I don't have any hard feelings towards any of them. Sometimes they made growing up here fun.” Tweek shrugs when they looks at him incredulously. “They reminded me sometimes that even with all the bizarre stuff going on that I was just a kid. Their schemes were distracting. Plus, they hunted underpants gnomes with me when even you guys wouldn't listen. Cartman pretended to beat one up with a stick while Kyle made gnome voices at him. It was fun.”

“That does sound fun,” Token says while Craig and Clyde make sour expressions at each other.

Tweek orders more coffee and physically fights away Craig's fork when Craig tries to get him to eat more.

“Anything cool on the agenda today?” Clyde asks.

“Cool? In South Park?” Craig asks.

“Fuck you, I mean because we're all back together.”

“We should get drunk,” Craig says.

“Tweek can't drink,” Clyde reminds him, and Craig looks mildly guilty about it before Tweek laughs.

“I don't want to drink anyway. You guys can. I'll make sure we all get back safely.”

“It's been a while since we partied together,” Token says, and Tweek's heart clenches. He missed all the partying with them, off somewhere else while they all grew up. Tweek doesn't think he would have partied anyway, but being around them would have made up for his sobriety.

“We could get some weed,” Craig says. “You can have that. You ever smoked, Tweek?”

“No.”

“I have a prescription, actually,” Clyde says, laughing to himself at the thought. “It's crazy, we used to have to buy from McCormick behind the school, and now doctors just give it to me because chemo sucks.”

“I better make sure I don't have to work tonight before we make all these plans,” Tweek says, not knowing what to say to Clyde. He knows Clyde doesn't want pity, even if Clyde acts like a baby a lot. This is serious, and none of them say anything, but Token does put a friendly hand on Clyde's shoulder.

“Even if you do work, the shop closes at ten. So we can still hang after,” Clyde tells Tweek.

“You work all day, every day,” Craig adds. “You should be able to have a full day for your friends.”

Tweek feels a warmth spread through him at the reminder that they're his friends. He's never been good at talking to people or relating to them. South Park is a small town, and in a lot of ways, they all hate South Park for that reason. But at the same time, they've forged unbreakable bonds for that very reason, growing up together in such a small place.

“I'll talk to them and see,” Tweek says softly.

They make plans to meet up later when Craig drops Tweek off back at the shop. Tweek watches them drive off, immediately wanting to be back in the warm car, shooting the shit with them. Instead, he turns around and trudges into the heat of the coffee shop, where his dad is leaning on the counter.

“Well, there he is,” Tweek's dad says. “Your mother and I didn't know where you scampered off to.”

“Craig's in town. I thought— I thought Mom would tell you.”

“Ah, young Craig Tucker,” his dad says in that way that makes Tweek wonder if he's practicing to be a radio show host, like a detached voice-over. “I hope you didn't bring home anymore pets.”

“I didn't.” Tweek goes to put on an apron, but he pauses when he notices his mother appear from the back room. She never works in the shop anymore, and it makes his teeth clench in a way he doesn't understand to see her here.

“We were busy this morning,” she tells him. The underlying message is “where were you, you bad child, making your parents work so hard all alone.”

Tweek swipes a card and logs into the register, counting the amount of sales they did. It's not much at all. Not even enough to qualify as steady, let alone busy.

“Seems like you managed,” he murmurs.

“I just wish we'd have a notice when Craig is and isn't going to be here. We could plan the schedule accordingly,” his dad says.

“You don't make schedules. We just work around each other, which usually means I'm the one opening and closing,” Tweek says. His parents stare at him, and he feels himself flushing under their gaze. “I just— I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be problematic or anything, I just really missed my friends, okay? And Token is back in town too, it's not just Craig. And Clyde is going through chemo. Is it so bad I want to hang out with them for a bit?”

“Of course not, Tweek,” his mom says, walking to him and smoothing his hair down. “We'd just like for you to let us know what you're up to. We worry about you.”

“Well, don't,” Tweek says stubbornly, then he smiles when his mom gives him a look. “I get what you're saying. Is it okay if I go out tonight after closing the shop?”

“Again?”

Tweek bites at his lip. They're chapped, he notes. He should get some balm later, lest his friends think it furthers their suspicions that he can't take care of himself.

“Yes. Again.”

“Would you be home in time to open up tomorrow?” his dad asks.

“I think so,” Tweek says nervously, not sure what he's so nervous about.

“Don't stay out all night, darling,” his mom says as she makes her way to the door. “Your medications cause drowsiness.”

“My medications don't work, Mom,” he reminds her, but she doesn't listen to him.

As soon as Tweek finds himself alone behind the register, he's gripping the counter and breathing hard. What's this even about? Why is he like this? He didn't do anything wrong, right? So why does he feel like he's in trouble for something?

“Shit, fuck, f-fuck,” he mutters, trying some breathing exercises. He jumps in alarm when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It's Craig, of course.

So are we down for tonight? Just got Clyde's prescription filled

Tweek takes a deep breath before responding.

Yeah we're good.

He pauses before adding.

I think I just got guilt tripped but I'm not sure.

Guilt tripped? Craig sends instantly.

Yeah like they said they were busy as shit but weren't and kind of just acted like I never do anything to help them even though I'm closing tonight and apparently opening tomorrow morning so.

Tweek sends it before he can think better of it. Then he backtracks, immediately feeling guilty.

It's just unusual for them. Most of the time they act like I'm not around so having their attention at all is kind of surreal.

When Craig doesn't reply for a few minutes, Tweek thinks he fucked up. He unloaded too much on Craig, who is probably reading this all to Token and Clyde, and they're laughing at how an adult man is scared of his parents. Is scared the right word? Is he scared of them? They don't hurt him. Shit. He doesn't know. He never knows how he feels.

His phone vibrates.

I don't like your parents. They do a lot to make you feel like an invalid and it's bullshit.

Tweek shakes his head because that's not true. His parents just know he can't fit into normal society and they've made a safe haven for him. There are reasons for all their rules.

They mean well. Anyway I'll be done around 10.

The bell dings, signaling a customer, and he puts his phone away, getting to work and ignoring the things Craig said. It's not the first time he's heard it. One of his psychiatrists in the past said the same thing, and Tweek wondered if his parents liked him better for being mentally ill, for thinking they had to take care of him and getting recognition from the town for doing so.

But that was a long time ago. If anything, he's proven to them repeatedly that he can't live alone, and another job outside of this place wouldn't cater to his schedule so well. Where else would he be able to shirk off responsibilities and hang out with his friends all morning? It's a miracle he's taking care of himself and Espresso so well. Maybe keeping the guinea pig alive is all the victory he can expect, and that's okay. If they recognize his progress, even if it's just that much, it'll be encouragement enough.

He knows by now to accept what comes, as it's as good as he's going to get.

#infinity with coffee rings #creek #tweek tweak #craig tucker #hey look guys i wrote something #validation now pls

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