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not-neverland06 · 1 month

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How About a Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I just want to thank you all for the love, support, and wonderful messages you’ve been sending me because of this series. Summary: You’ll never survive if you don’t learn to depend on yourself. But this world is harsher and crueler than you’re prepared for. Still, you can’t let that hold you back, you need to try and live without Cooper.

He shot up at the sound of a gunshot. It echoed through the trees, closer than he was comfortable with. Instinctively, he reached out to shake her awake, prepared to tell her to grab her shit and run. His hand hit nothing but air and he sighed when he remembered the way she’d stalked off.

He threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards her. He couldn’t see much until he rounded the tree, her bag was gone and so was she. Another shot rang out through the forest. He sighed and made his way back towards the fire. He grabbed a lit stick and used it to illuminate the forest floor to get a better look at the footprints around the area.

As far as he could tell no one else had passed through here while he’d been sleeping. So where the fuck was she? Another shot went off followed by the sound of her scream. “Fuck,” he ripped the gun out of his holster and followed the tracks as best he could.

The closer he got, the more it sounded like two wild animals fighting. She was cussing up a storm, screaming at whoever was trying to grab her. He still hadn’t managed to get a good luck at where she was. It seemed darker in this section of the forest, like it was purposefully trying to keep him from her.

There was the thud of a body hitting the ground and then someone was running. He could hear them trampling through the undergrowth going right past him. Someone was whimpering in pain and he instantly thought of her on the ground bleeding out. Without much aim he shot in the general direction of whoever had run off, he heard a yelp but they didn’t stop.

“You alright sweetheart?” He heard more than saw anything as she scrambled to her feet and ran off into the forest. “It’s only me!” He gave her a minute to realize she’d run from the wrong person before he figured that she knew exactly who she was running from. She must have still been pissed at him for what he'd said earlier. Rolling his eyes he tracked her limping gait through the steps in the mud.

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you whimpered, teeth digging painfully into your lip while you peeled your clothes away from the wound on your side. You slowed down, unable to stay on your feet with how quickly the blood was oozing out of the hole near your ribs. You slumped over, letting yourself fall against a tree and stripped off the top half of your clothes.

Your fingers pressed weakly against the hole and you let out a choked sob. Dammit, hurt like a fucking bitch. With shaking hands you dug blindly through the bag at your side. You’d lost most of your supplies in the fight but you were hoping the stimpak Cooper had given you earlier was still in here.

You weren’t sure exactly how these worked but he’d told you it would heal nearly everything. Though, he’d said if a wound was bad enough even a stimpak couldn’t bring you back from the edge. You were praying that this would work, but after the past few days you didn’t have much faith in your luck.

The injector shook in your hands and you knew if you didn’t use it soon you weren’t going to make it. Taking in a deep breath you slid the needle into the skin, as close to the wound as you could get it. You could feel holes on your back and front, you were grateful at least that you didn’t have to worry about trying to dig a bullet out.

You pressed down and let yourself sink back against the tree as medicine rushed through you. You ripped the injector once it felt like you’d gotten everything.

With nothing to occupy them your hands fell limply to the ground. You needed to get up, try and reorient yourself and make it to Filly. But you were so tired. You barely noticed the way the wound continued to pulse, the slow dribble of blood leaking onto your hands. All you could see were the stars, so many more than you were used to.

With no one left to pollute them, they were boundless. You let out a weak sigh and your eyes drifted shut. You thought of Cooper before it all went black. The way he was before, the way you were before.

It was too dark to really track much but he was sure he was getting close. He could hear her whimpering in pain and figured she’d slow down soon enough. She shuffled around like a wounded animal, graceless and stumbling.

He tried and justified this to himself, he needed her to deal with Ma June. Honestly, though, he knew he didn’t. He could just give up, set up camp again and wait for morning to come. She’s the one who decided she didn’t need him anymore. No fucking reason to keep going after her. She’d dug her own grave, it was time to let her lie in it.

Still, he kept going. He ignored the nagging voice that pushed him to stop and turn back around. He pushed anything down that wasn’t useful in the moment.

She should stop soon, she was just putting herself in more danger by continuing on like this. But, he figured she was pissed off and just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of needing his help. She had always been stubborn to a fault, he guesses even that hasn’t changed.

Though, if she wanted to make it out here she was going to need tougher skin. It didn’t matter if what he said was true or not. You can’t afford attachments out here.

The sooner she learned that the better.

There was a loud cry of pain and then he heard the sound of her keeling over against a tree. He grinned, ready to pounce on the opportunity to get on her about being so fucking stupid. “See, this is why you shouldn’t run!” He called out.

Something lit up the path ahead and he ducked behind a tree instinctively. He peered around the trunk and marked the direction the torches were coming from. They weren’t close enough to be a problem, not yet at least. If he was lucky it would just be some travelers. He might even be able to get some supplies off of them. If he wasn’t, it would be raiders.

Seeing as she seemed to be his own personal jinx, he figured they only had a few minutes until the raiders were on them. She wouldn’t be much use to him bleeding out. He strode over to her curled up form, she had a hand wrapped around her stomach and in the dark he could barely make out the blue of her uniform. “Come on, let’s go.” He nudged her with his boot but she didn’t move. She didn’t even make a sound. “Come on,” he tried again, kicking harder this time while he watched the torchlight get closer.

Angry, he knelt down and rolled her over. But the face staring up at him wasn’t hers, it was some fucking raider. Must have been whoever she was fighting with. Shit, that meant he’d shot her. Cooper rubbed his forehead in irritation. Nothing could ever be easy with her could it?

Footsteps sounded closer and Cooper knew his time had run out. Whoever this woman on the ground belonged to had come to collect. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Cooper’s hand moved to his holster and he looked up at them, a grin on his face, “Gentlemen.”

“Grab her legs. Come on, hurry up, don’t have all day!” Hands wrapped around your ankles and you jolted awake. You kicked out, eyes blind to anything but the memory of the raiders from before. The old woman at your feet jumped away from your weak attack and frowned down at you.

“Well, shit, she’s alive.”

An old man walked out from behind you. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He crouched down, groaning as his knees cracked in protest. He leaned towards you and you flinched back, eyes wide as you watched him reach out to you. His hand hovered your face and you braced yourself for an attack. He only poked you, though, frowning when you winced away from the prodding of your bruises. “I’ll be damned, she is.”

The old woman sighed and threw a bag over her shoulders. You watched in horror as she tucked a pack of surgical tools into the pocket of her large skirt. Were these people about to carve into you?

What the fuck was wrong with this goddamn place?

The old man held out his arm and she limped over to him, taking it and walking away from you. You glanced around, still confused on what the hell was going on. “Hey!” You croaked. Your hand wrapped around your waist, prodding the wound. You were shocked to find it healed over, only a dull ache left in its place. “Hey!” You shouted again.

The woman turned around and glared at you. “What?” She screeched and you winced at the way it echoed through the trees.

“Where’s Filly?”

She shared a look with the old man and they both stared at you like you were crazy. “Right behind you,” they walked off without another word, seeming sorely disappointed that they hadn’t been able to dig into you.

You groped blindly through the dirt and grass around you until your fingers felt the handle of your bag. You curled your hand into a weak fist and tugged it towards you. You felt completely drained. But you couldn’t stay here, not unless you wanted to be turned into someone’s next meal.

You groaned and forced yourself to your feet, head swimming with pain and nausea. You zipped your suit back up and winced at how it stuck to your skin. Your blood still hadn’t dried completely, you looked down and grimaced at the crimson stains covering you. No wonder it hadn’t dried, it looked like someone had dunked a bucket of red paint over you. How the hell were you still standing?

You’re not sure what’s worse right now, that you’re not surprised you got shot or that you can’t figure out whether he shot you on purpose or not.

He’d made it clear what exactly you were to him. A hole to fill, as he’d so eloquently told you. And you’re pretty sure you’d made it clear that you weren’t interested in filling that role for him ever again. At least you hoped you did, last night was an adrenaline fueled blur and you weren’t positive you were remembering everything properly.

You can barely recall that raider jumping you, you just know you’d shot your gun off and made a run for it. The bullet hole hadn’t even caught up to you until you were about half a mile away. Maybe Cooper had shot you on purpose. It’s not like you contributed much and you doubted he really needed your help in Filly.

Made you wonder why he bothered keeping you around for as long as he did.

You could hear it now, Filly, you’re not sure how you didn’t before. You couldn’t see it yet, but you could hear people calling out their wares and haggling about prices. You hurried as much as you could, one leg dragging behind you slightly. You’re not sure when that got hurt, but you could barely work your right hip properly.

Little houses were popping up around you. They were sparse and resembled shacks more than anything, but it was just another sign that you’re one step closer to not having to worry about getting shot at every five minutes.

In front of one of the nicer homes was a clothesline. You slowly approached, eyes on the clean clothes that were beckoning you closer. You kept your hand on the handle of your gun just in case the owner of the home spotted you. What you really didn’t need was getting killed over a shirt.

You glanced around, not seeing anyone watching you. Your gaze went back to the clothes and you frowned. If there was one thing Cooper taught you it was that no one asked in this world, they took. You ripped the clothes off the line and ducked behind a tree to change.

Even with the blood still caked onto your skin, you felt cleaner than you had the whole time you’d been up here. Getting rid of that ridiculous suit was good for a few things. You’d blend in better with the people here in a tank top and ratty old brown pants. And you almost felt like you were getting rid of the memories attached to that suit.

It was as close as you could get without grating your skin off at least.

You dumped your old outfit behind the house and near their clothesline. A transaction of sorts. They could have your blood soaked clothes and you could have their clean ones. Not a fair trade, but better than anything else they’d find up here.

It didn’t take long to find the entrance to Filly, once you did you found yourself nearly cowering at the sight of all the people bustling through. Sure, it wasn’t a lot compared to California. But you’d been traveling with no one but Cooper for the past week through a barren desert. Not counting the raiders as human, you’d almost forgotten that other people existed.

A man jumped at you and shoved a skewer of meat in your face. “Dogmeat, get your dogmeat!” You grimaced and backed away from him. So, not as civilized as you’d hoped, but you’d take what you could get.

The biggest one nodded towards him, “Grab him.”

He grinned and shook his head, “I wouldn’t.”

The boy on the far left had his head blown off before he could even try and charge at him. He ripped the shotgun off his back and shot the other two in quick succession. He didn’t bother with them, seeing if they lived or died. He kicked at the woman at his feet again and she winced in pain.

“The woman you fought. Where is she?”

She shook her head and curled further into herself. He sighed and grabbed her chin, wrenching it up to his and letting her get a good look at his disfigured face. She tried to shrink away from him but he tsked and shook her so hard he could hear what few remaining teeth she had rattle.

“I don’t know,” she cried out, batting uselessly at his hands.

“I really think you do.”

He reached down, groping over her torso and digging his fingers into the bullet hole on her side. She cried out in agony, writhing like an animal caught in a snare. “Filly, she was heading for Filly!”

He grinned and dropped her to the ground, her head thudding loudly against the large tree root. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

She looked up at him in fear, “You’ll let me go?”

He tilted his head, looking her over and taking in the sight of blood on her clothes. “Well, you did attack my friend,” he lifted his gun and she cowered away from him. “I don’t take well to others damaging what’s mine.”

Her brain splattered against the trunk and he stepped over her twitching body to follow the light he noticed further down the forest. He didn’t often find himself exploring these woods at night, he figured he was close enough to Filly but he needed her to confirm it.

For a moment he lets himself doubt that she was really abandoning him in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d gotten up for a piss and been caught off guard. He dismisses the idea when he remembers that she’d taken her bag with her when she’d gone.

He doesn’t let himself linger on it too long, pissed off that it’s bothering him at all.

He’d seen the hope starting to form in her eyes when she’d look at him. She was getting a little loose with what she was calling him too. A little while longer together and he’s sure he’d be hearing his name again. Saying what he had was a favor to them both. Better to cut that off before anything came of it.

Stupid fucking girl, he shouldn’t even be thinking about this anymore. He shouldn’t be looking for her, either. The confirmation that she’d left him was enough. Their time together was done, it should have ended a long time ago. He’s pretty sure he liked it better when he just thought she was a two-timing slut.

Hate was easier than whatever the fuck this was.

He spotted smoke through the trees and then the raiders camp. They were laughing at something and ripping into a roast that looked suspiciously like a human leg. He pulled his gun out and snuck behind them. He just needed a distraction, he’d be over this once he helped himself to their meals and their bedrolls.

“What?”

“Caps,” the girl’s voice was distorted by whatever metal oddity she had connected to her throat. She glanced at you, completely uninterested once she’d realized you didn’t have any payment for her. Not that you really understood the payment required.

Who’d decided bottle caps were a good currency?

“Well, do you know where I could get them?” She nodded towards a building adjacent to her stall and you frowned.

The store she pointed to you clearly advertised, WE BUY TEETH. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Or,” you glanced at her with hope, “you go to that alley over there and get on your knees. You could probably get five caps off someone if you suck good enough.”

You glared at her and started walking away from her stall in anger. “I’d get more for my fucking teeth!” You shouted over your shoulder. She shrugged and went back to fiddling with the metal tools on her table.

You stood in the middle of the marketplace, desperately trying to figure out where you should go. You almost missed Cooper right now, he might be a dick but at least he understood how this place worked.

You felt an intense ache of betrayal and longing and immediately dismissed any thoughts of Cooper. He could go and get himself shot for all you cared. You loved him, and would have loved him no matter how he looked. It didn’t matter that he was changed, disfigured, you didn’t give a shit about any of that. You just wanted him. And all he cared about was having a pretty body warming his bed.

You would do this without him.

You glared against the bright sunlight, scanning each storefront and trying to find something that could help you. You’d already tried to talk to Ma June but she hadn’t been as pleasant as you had been hoping. She wasn’t looking for workers and apparently not charity cases either.

You didn’t think you were a charity case but apparently having all your fingers and teeth made you an outsider here. You needed to get out of this sun, you didn’t want these clothes to start stinking with sweat so soon. You were trying to keep them as clean as possible for as long as you could.

You spotted the bar and decided to try your luck there. Maybe you could be a waitress or something. If they still had whores they had to at least have servers here.

Right?

Maybe you were a fucking charity case. You shook off the thought and ducked inside. You were never going to get far on your own if you kept doubting yourself. You might be a bit naive to how this world works but you’re a fast learner, you’ll catch on soon enough.

You still wished someone was here to help you.

He sat down on a log, ripping a piece of meat off the skewer and sinking back into his seat. He ate his food and picked at his teeth, bored while he surveyed the damage he’d done to the camp. She wasn’t exactly a heavy conversationalist, but at least she was something.

It was startling just how quiet and still the night felt without her sitting across the fire with him. He loathed to admit it, but her company had at least provided him with some entertainment if nothing else. Now everything felt too quiet, too lonely.

He sighed and shook his head, this was stupid. Two hundred years he’s been on his own. A few nights with her wasn’t going to change who he was. It wasn’t going to fix him and magically turn him into her Prince Charming again.

Unbidden he thought of her face when he’d grabbed her from those raiders in the old neighborhood. It’s the first time anyone’s ever looked relieved to see him since he’d changed. He’d had to pry her off of him and even then she seemed like she barely wanted to let him go.

He hadn’t made anyone feel safe in a very long time and he worried a bit for her sanity if she thought he was trustworthy. He was only doing more harm trying to go after her. But something in him couldn’t let go. It was like the love you used to share had been warped alongside him.

He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting their hands on her. She was his to fuck with and torment, anyone else would push too much. He felt confident, despite tonight’s incident, that he knew how to poke her without going too far.

Once he was full he shoved a freshly killed raider off their bedroll and settled down to sleep. He figured he’d have better luck recognizing where he was once the sun came up.

The next morning he went through the raiders’ pockets and bags, lucky enough to find some Radaway among their junk. Maybe he was right, maybe she was a bad luck charm. Maybe he was being stupid last night, thinking about what they used to be. There’s no point in dwelling in the past, he can never go back to that and neither can she.

Still, he could leave her alone. Give her a chance to make it on her own without him there to torment her.

He considered it for about two seconds before he dismissed the thought. You’d both had a deal and she had rescinded on that deal. He didn’t take to kindly to people screwing him over, he’d just have to teach her not to fuck with him.

He tossed his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the raider’s camp. He had a better idea of where he was now. It wouldn’t be much further until he reached Filly and found her again. He was intent on making sure she stayed with him this time.

He’d leash her if he had to.

“There’s nothing I could do for a few caps?”

“I could think of something darlin’,” a man hollered at you from across the makeshift bar. The building was in pretty good shape, though the alcohol looked questionable. The owner seemed nice enough, a wrinkled old man whose hands shook too hard for him to pour a drink without spilling it.

“Don’t need any help.” The old man muttered under his breath, tottering over to the other side of the room to pour another cup. He ended up knocking it into the man’s lap and cussing as the alcohol poured across the floor.

“Right,” you muttered. You let your head fall in your hands, rubbing your face in frustration while you tried to think of what to do. You’d made a deal with yourself that if you couldn’t find work by the end of the day, you would sell your teeth.

You were hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but with the way your stomach was rumbling and how everyone seemed to keep turning you away it was seeming more and more likely. You slumped over the bar, trying to think of a solution or another idea.

You’d been propositioned by enough men to know you could make plenty of caps in the back alley behind the bar. But everytime you even remotely considered it, you felt yourself shrinking up. Your adrenaline would spike like you were readying yourself for a fight.

You figured it would be a while before you could even safely consider that. “You seem a might rundown, hun.”

You didn’t bother lifting your head. You knew it was the man who’d been staring at you since you walked in. You could smell him even with your head down. You did your best to ignore him but he didn’t seem to take too kindly to that.

“Hey,” he shoved at your shoulder and the impact was enough to force your head up. “Are you fucking deaf?”

”No,” you muttered through gritted teeth. Your hand hovered behind your back, itching for the gun tucked in your pants. “I’m not fucking interested.”

He lifted his hand and muttered, “Bitch,” a loud smack followed and echoed through the bar. Your head whipped to the side so hard you worried it might fly off. You clutched your cheek, spitting blood onto the wood of the counter.

Your hand was already on your gun when you heard the sound of a hammer being pulled back. “Oh,” you turned, shocked to find Cooper standing behind the man. His gun was leveled with the man’s face and he shook his head in disappointment. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

Men stood up from their tables and drew their guns, pointing all of them at Cooper. You’d seen the signs with the anti-ghoul symbols but you didn’t think they’d really follow through. Apparently it was the only law they obeyed around here.

Cooper smiled as the men cocked their guns, eyes alight with a challenge. Then they landed on you and he frowned again. He raised his hands in surrender and tucked his gun back in his holster. He darted forward and grabbed you. He yanked you into his chest and you stumbled over your feet, scowling at him. He leaned next to your ear, gravelly voice sending chills down your back, “We’re leaving.”

He didn’t leave you much choice, dragging you despite the way you tried to fight against him. “The lady stays,” the man who’d hit you ordered. His friends took a step forward, blocking Cooper from the exit. He chuckled and glanced over at the man.

“That was a mistake, friend.” Before you knew what was happening he was shoving you to the ground and shots were going off. Not willing to get shot again, you crawled on all fours towards the door. The sound of bullets whizzing over your head had you ducking every now and again, trying to protect yourself as much as you could.

You could hear Cooper taunting them, and after every remark another body would hit the floor. You yelped and jumped back when one fell in front of you. A bullet embedded itself in the floor beside you, the wood splintering and exploding upward, just barely missing your face.

You crawled over the dead bodies and threw yourself out the door, trying to outrun the sound of gunfire. But it was too late. The rest of Filly had heard the fight and those that were stupid enough to stay were starting to draw the fight out into the marketplace.

It was almost like a game, ducking under bullets and the spray of blood. Whatever Cooper was shooting them with was making them light up like the Fourth of July. By the time you’d managed to hide yourself behind a building, you looked like you’d been hosed down with blood. So much for keeping the clothes clean.

Your head thudded against the side of the building and you clenched your eyes shut, breathing heavily through your open mouth. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest. But you didn’t feel like you were going to have a heart attack this time, maybe you were starting to adapt to all this.

Feet scrambled across the sand and someone threw themselves down next to you. You tensed and opened your eyes, you didn’t relax much when you realized it was Cooper. He grinned at you and glanced over his shoulder, checking no one had seen him.

The other’s didn’t seem to care that the man that had started the fight was no longer a part of it. You’re pretty sure they just needed an excuse to shoot each other. Cooper popped his gun open and reloaded the chamber.

He glanced at your blood soaked form and scoffed, “You look like you’re doing well.”

You refused to look at him, “Yeah, no thanks to you.”

He didn’t take well to the way you were avoiding him. He darted forward, fingers digging into your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Sweetheart, who left who?”

You ripped your face out of his hand and glared at him. “Don’t try and pretend like you didn’t leave me a long time before I woke up. You wrote me off copper. You assumed the worst about me and you gave up.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something when a noise behind you interrupted him. He gave you a long look and got to his feet. “If you’re not here when I come back, I’ll shoot you. Understand me?”

You looked at him for a long moment, body tensed with rage before you nodded your head. “Understood.”

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#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard #the ghoul

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, violence, swords & firearms, abductions, hurt/comfort, torture references, nakedness, needles, gore, etc.

A/N: Alright, and that's a wrap on this mini-series. Biker/mechanic!Ghost is next on the list.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You hit the water and immediately push back to the surface, ignoring the burning of your open wounds.

“John!” Your high and panicked call can’t be heard above the yells to arms and the distressed wails. “What are you doing?!” Bodies get chucked from the side of the ship and all you can do is watch as they meet the water around you—skin cut open and eyes dead.

While the sea was numbing your pains, your heart was hurting enough for all of them; hands flailing to try and help keep you above the waves. But everything was so dark, only the light far above giving you a sliver of perception.

“John!” You scream again, eyes snapping back and forth along the ship. Your arms burned with heat.

“Go!” The words ring out and make you cringe, graveled and ragged—an order. But how could you? Vile grunts and skin meeting skin sound out, no more shirking blade edges or the boom of pistols. Fists meeting ribs, bared teeth.

“The Mermaid was wearing tags! He’s part of the King’s forces!” The leader. “If we can’t have the beast, we’ll have the coin from a turncoat!”

“Deserter!”

“Traitor!”

“Tie him to the post!”

Your ears twitch and pull at the horrible words, lungs near hyperventilating and black waves going red. If you weren’t able to ingest water, the way your head was slowly sinking would have left you sputtering and choking.

What will they do to him? Why can’t I help? It was the only part in your life where you regret having a tail, because now you can’t save John in the same way he saved you. Your eyes lock helplessly to the upper deck, far, far above. You can’t drag yourself up or even find the energy to stay above water.

Your strength was waning quickly—you needed to be tended to; healed. But it felt worse than a betrayal to see not even a glimpse of John’s brown hair or his large arms. To not feel the hold he kept on you. You wanted his lips and his flesh to be pressed into you, to venerate your image as he always did.

A Hierei that worships at the shrine that is you.

“Curse you,” you say aloud to the men above. The ones that tie your raging love to a post; you hear his low growls and biting expletives like blades in their own fashioned way, the sea garbling your words. “Curse your greed and your violence!”

But no one listens, and with a heavy and weighed heart, you have to let your dead muscles rest as they give out completely against your will. Sunking under the battling waves, you feel like dead weight; no different than the various bodies around you that John had dispatched.

You felt useless.

Above you was John, being tied up and taken—taken to a King that wants your species dead. You don’t want to leave, but the current is snatching you away like seaweed, limp and broken. Whatever John had done to your wounds, the fabric of his shirt was holding fast to your shredded flesh, but it didn’t stop the agony or the inner conflict.

He was right above you…why aren’t you strong enough to help?

Your eyes flutter, hair and arms floating.

Everything grows dark, but John never once leaves your mind. Perhaps the Fisherman was worshiping you, but you did the same unto him.

The eyepatched leader’s words loop in your brain, paired with storm-blue eyes. Gentle praises.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Your body sinks with the rest.

—

The sand under you is coarse and dry as your eyes barely open, chest rising and falling but shakily, stuttering in its course. Small noises groan in the back of your throat, fingers like stones beside your face.

Everything hurts, but something has woken you up. Noises. Muttered speaking.

“Now why would she have these?” There was a moment of clinking metal and a low huff.

You groan louder and curl into yourself more, only to stop when the tears in your flesh pull. Your lungs inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ,” the accented voice is smooth as it gets closer. “Easy, then, Ma’am. Shite, I was hoping you’d stay under a bit longer, I’m not bloody done yet.”

Forcing your eyes open, you hiss at the burn of morning light, laying on your stomach with…your brows tighten…were you wearing a tunic? A hand meets the back of your shoulder and you cry out, jerking.

“Woah!” More force is applied to keep you down but it only makes you struggle more. “Please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”

You stall at this revelation like a bird, panting. Muscles tight, you cautiously look over your shoulder to weakly stare at whoever this man was.

Brown eyes meet your own, and a dark-skinned complexion over an oval face. They blink at you with concern and hesitation, sparing only a nervous smirk and a chuckle. You stare widely, saying nothing.

“I…I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. Whoever got you,” this man trails off, glancing down at your tail. “Well, they did some proper damage.”

“Who are you?” Your voice is damaged from all the screaming you’d done, cracking and frail. You stifle a cough and survey the land with frantic snaps of your orbs. This wasn’t your cove.

Where were you? What had happened to the ship? To John? Your hand travels to your neck but lands on nothing. It’s like the world stops turning.

The necklace.

“My name’s Kyle, Miss, but I’m just as well off being called Gaz—” Your hand snaps to his shoulder, wrenching him down in a violent slam to the sand; with a shove of your ailing body, you cross an arm over his chest to pin him.

Brown eyes widen, and one hand easily raises in a placating manner. You don’t bother to look at the other, your head broken into bits of instances and images of horror.

“Where is it?” Your lips hiss out. You didn’t know you could make a sound like that.

Kyle, dressed in a fine outfit of a Bookkeeper, furrowed his brows at you. He didn’t look off-put by your brashness, or by the fact that you were of the Merfolk.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…I’m not following. Where’s what, exactly?” There was a glinting at his throat, and you snatched at it with a glare and snarl of ‘thief’ on your tongue.

A blade presses into your side and you freeze. Kyle stares up at you with a frown on his face, body tight. “I think you should let that go, Miss, yeah?”

The metal discs are the same as John's, but they hold a different name entirely.

“Kyle Garrick, Sergeant, 141st company under the King.”

“One Hundred and Forty-First?” You whisper in a hushed voice and the blade loosens from you. Mouth opening and closing, you forget for a moment what Kyle is. Your eyes go glossy with hope. “You know John?”

Eyelids blink at you in astonishment and all at once the knife is sheathed at his hip once more. Gaz gapes, his slight stubble shifting on his face as he talks slowly.

“Yes, I do…how do you know the Captain? No offense, but I didn’t peg him for the type to run off with…well…” he trails, chuckling. “Not run exactly, then, is it?”

You glower and push back, flinching at your aches but waste no time in speaking frantically to the man as your tail flaps. If he was on the same ship as John was, they certainly knew each other well; Kyle had to assist you.

“Please, you need to help me,” The man’s face goes serious and he pushes himself up, “—there’s been a terrible event. John has been taken, don’t you understand?” Your hands grasp at his collar, forgetting to ask about the missing necklace in your mounting hysteria. “They took him. They’re bringing him back to the King and it’s all my fault!”

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the fatigue, but your emotions spill from you in droves, silver tears falling like drips from a blacksmith's smelter to the beach of this foreign place. Your body feels unable to hold itself up—so much blood lost.

Gaz gains a sheen of panic at your state, gripping your shoulders lightly above the given tunic.

“Now, now, Ma’am, steady. You’ve lost a lot of blood, eh? We need to get you sorted.” But internally your words disturbed him. John had been taken? His Captain? And he had known a mermaid?

“I don’t need to be sorted,” you mock, shaking him, “I need my John back! And you’re going to help me.”

Kyle gazes around awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to comfort you as his upper half gets forced back and forth.

“First,” he stops you with a firm squeeze on your shoulders, “we’re getting you stitched and wrapped, Ma’am. If what you’re telling me is real,” Gaz pauses, glancing at the sea lapping at your tail, “then I need to get in contact with the others.”

Your body slightly sags, panting and shaking. While you should have asked who the others were, your adrenaline was too great to allow you to think above the fact that Kyle was going to help you. He had known John—that was enough for you to know he was a good person.

“Easy,” the man mutters, face pulled in concern. There’s a moment of tense silence before Gaz shifts a hand to the pocket inside of his tweed frock coat, slipping to the side of his green notch vest. He blinks his brown eyes at you before he lightly takes John’s necklace from the depths of his clothes. Kyle presents them as your shoulders loosen with a small sliver of comfort. “I believe you were looking for this, yeah?”

He spares a friendly, boyish, smile.

Your fingers brush his as you delicately take the metal up, fingertips weeping with torn flesh. Staring at them, you bring the item to your lips and kiss it gently after a moment of agony, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Oh, John,” you whisper, “you fool, what have you done?”

“I’ll be needing to move you, Ma’am,” Gaz clears his throat and looks back to the grass-coated road. The beach where you had washed up was near the bottom of a slight hill, and along with sand, there were a lot of pebbles. The wind was chilled. “I was just finishing up with a temporary binding when you woke. We can speak more when I get the larger wounds stitched.”

You see his gaze fall down you once more.

“I’d think there’s a lot to catch up on.” Shuffling John’s necklace over your head, you allow Kyle to take bandages from his Gladstone bag which he had brought down from the road with him. He says he found you on the beach unconscious not five minutes before you woke back up as he takes out John’s tunic strips before packing the wounds with fresh material.

“You stopped?” You ask quietly, body shaking. “Why?”

“Well, I left the same time that the Captain did,” he explains, looping fabric around your tail as you shudder and clench your teeth at the long cuts over your scales. Kyle spares you a glance before continuing. “Same reason too. The minute innocent beings were being hunted, everyone in the One Hundred and Forty-First deserted. They weren’t too happy with us, I’d imagine. I do what I can to help anyone, regardless of species.”

Gaz pulls back and finishes up, brushing his hands on his folded legs and sighing.

“We all separated and led our lives the best we could—got jobs, hid ourselves, the like.” While the story was fascinating, as John was rare to talk about the King or his service beyond a clenched jaw, you truly were suffering from blood loss.

Every moment it became harder to keep your upper-half vertical and your eyes open. Gaz’s words slurred in your eardrums as the sand under your hands got pushed back by pressure like a rock being dragged. Your head must have swayed, because the next moment you’re being lifted with a grunt and a steadying of feet.

“Can’t say I’ve ever carried a mermaid,” Kyle grumbles to himself, blinking down at your form as our head rests limply on his chest. “Certainly not one that knows Price of all people.”

You focus on your breathing as he ascends the hill, going slowly and holding your form tight so as not to drop you. While not John’s size by any means, the man was still strong in a more lean and lithe way where your Fisherman’s was upfront and bare with it.

You’re carried down the trodden path to a lone house on the upper hill above the water, small and quaint, it’s only a single square room.

Truly this event speaks to your luck—how on earth had you found perhaps one of the only men on the planet that knew John and sympathized with magical creatures?

Kyle sets you back on his bed softly, pillows pressed into indents of your head and cheek.

“Alright then,” he sighs, “let's get this figured out, yeah?”

You’re offered food and water, but all you care about is sleep. Your tail hangs off the end of the bed and your fins ache with torn skin. Without even looking at your scales, you know they’re damaged immensely. Most will be left with great scars.

Merfolk could be called vain in their lifetime, and the sentiment wasn’t entirely untrue. You were beings of elegance and beauty—ethereal lustfulness hardwired into your DNA. Image was important to you, and this loss was great.

But the loss of John hurt more than any torture someone could inflict on you; any wounds. You needed him back.

As Gaz prompted you to tell your story, which you did with failing consciousness, your hand traveled to your necklace to grasp it tightly. Lips quivering. When the first push of the man’s needle entered your hard flesh, you never even felt it.

—

You awoke for the second time, once more, to the sound of speaking.

“Well, he’s sure gotten up to it while we’ve been away! Fuckin’ bastard.” This accent didn’t belong to Gaz, and thus your eyelids pushed back with slight unease. Had John’s Sergeant sold you out? With a struggle, you blink back to reality only to find a pair of bright blue eyes stuck on you.

For a moment you startle, those shades so similar to John’s that for a moment you had forgotten what had transpired. Then the pain in your tail strikes up and you balk back sharply.

“Soap!” Gaz hisses, grabbing the large and built man away from the bed. “Get the hell away from her, would you? Christ, she’s been through enough without having to look at that face when she wakes up, Mate.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap, as he’d been introduced, was the epitome of a blacksmith—ash still on his square jaw and his large black apron tied at a stiff waist. His arms were as bulky as your head and while he was shorter than Gaz he made up for it in sheer muscle.

Blue eyes darken with annoyance before they swivel back to you, but they lighten just the same when they spot your fear-spiked expression.

“Sorry about that, Little Lady. Just curious, is all.” You swallow the saliva in your throat and turn to look at Gaz in question. “Not every day somethin’ like this happens.”

“Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” the man offers, rubbing at his neck apologetically. “Served with John and I. You can trust him.”

You blink and turn back to Johnny, and, sure enough, around his neck were the common silver discs that Gaz and John wore over the tunic and apron.

“A…” You try to remember what your Fisherman had told you about human customs. With a frown, you carefully extend a hand and hold it aloft while your tail rests and your other limb keeps you up. “A pleasure, Johnny.”

A wide grin meets your eyes and a hand is clapped into your own; shaking it firmly as yours remains limp.

“Ah, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” When his grip leaves you look down at the various stitches and thick wrappings around your body before thinning your lips and gazing back at Gaz. He stares and tilts his head when you lock eyes with him.

“Thank you, Garrick. I…I owe you a large debt.” He’s already shaking his chin at you.

“Negative, Ma’am,” Kyle denies. “The only thing we need to be focusing on is getting the Captain back. Simon should be along by the evening.”

“Sure the man’ll show?” Johnny raises a brow and stands to his full height, going over to the small table in the middle of the room and sitting down with a huff. He picks up a flagon and takes a sip of ale. “He’s far off cuttin’ stone.”

“I sent a rider out and said it was urgent. He should be getting it about now, yeah?”

“Well, hell, I’d sure hope so else we’re out of our favorite Ghost. Can’t have that.” You watch and stare at the ease these two converse with the other, years seem to bleed from their mouths like waves in water. They had it all figured out, and noticeably, they weren’t at all panicked.

“How are the both of you so calm?” You can’t help but ask. Brown and blue turn to furrow their brows at you.

“They took the bloody Captain. Only person worse than that to steal away would be Simon.” A chuckle. “I’m more worried about the bastards themselves than him.” And it was left at that.

At times throughout the day, Gaz would bring you bread to nibble on to help settle your stomach, water, and ale whenever you needed it. When the dryness of the air and the fireplace got too warm for you, Johnny would be the one to carry you down the hill to the water where you’d soak your wounds in the surf. In those moments you could finally take in the pure silence under the waves and let your anguish take hold.

But you always had to break the surface at some point, shimmy into the dry tunic that Soap offers with respectfully averted eyes, and let him carry you back with his bulky arms.

As it always did, the water let your wounds heal far faster than a man’s, though the aches were still intense.

John’s eyes would not leave you. His crown of stars or the lantern light on his face—the way he whisked you away from danger and put himself dead center into it. Keeping you to his large chest as he held aloft a sword in your honor.

“...I think he loves the beast!”

Oh, and you loved right back and you hadn’t told him.

It’s hours upon hours later when the door is shoved open as you sit up in the bed; tail limp and dim on the floor below. You look up in shock at the man whose frame nearly takes up the entire doorway, shoulders wide and thighs vast under work pants and a large tunic, cowl over his head and clasped with a brooch at his left pec. Under shined a deep brown gaze and pale brows, but his entire lower face was covered by cloth.

Intimidating, his visible expression was entirely blank. You wondered if perhaps a vampire had walked into this place without proper entry, but then you remembered the man Johnny and Gaz mentioned.

Simon. Ghost.

Well, he certainly fits the part, stone dust on his clothes and large boots stacked with scrapes. A Stonemason.

“There’s the man!” Johnny exclaims, raising his hand which has another cup of ale in it as he’d downed the other some time ago.

“Where’s Price?” Deep was Simon’s voice, and he spares you a glance but nothing more. Gaze falling down your tail with hidden flickers of intrigue and wafting back up to stop at John’s necklace. His brows pull in as he turns.

“Gone—taken to the King,” Gaz explains from where he leans against the fireplace, face serious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, walking in and closing the door behind him. “Where was he last?” It’s mildly amusing to you that he doesn’t seem bothered or even surprised by a mermaid in Gaz’s home.

“Just off Harpies Nest,” Johnny pipes in, itching at shaved sides of his scalp. “Where the old beasts used to fly from.”

“I’m guessing she’s the reason for that, then?” Everyone was anxious to act, even you. These men were close, and while circumstance had forced them away from one another the loyalties still lay.

“Affirmative. Price’s been in good company, seems.” A stale glare is sent his way and he chuckles and puts up his hands.

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask, looking at each in turn. Seeming to still hold that ingrained ranking that all men in the service do, Johnny and Gaz look to Simon. Brown eyes blink slowly, turning to look at you in a narrowed thought.

After a while, he speaks in a monotone.

“They’ll be bringing ‘em to the castle to stand trial. We’ve already lost a day’s time and there’ll be no ship that can sail as fast as we need it to.”

“By land?” Gaz wonders. Johnny’s shaking his head.

“How do you expect we get the Lady through that?” Eyes turn to your lack of legs. Body stiff, you huff and grit your teeth. If they thought you weren’t going along, that was foolish of them.

“I can swim to the docks,” you pause, “but you’ll have to tell me the way, for I do not know it.”

John had talked about docks—places ships went to rest. You’re sure you can make it, even like this. You had to.

Johnny stares before he chuckles twice, sharing a glance with the others and motioning to you. “I like ‘er.”

Gaz and Simon look at one another with a side-eye, before Kyle sighs and shakes his head. Simon hooks his thumbs into his pants and huffs out, “Sure you’re up for that?”

“I’m helping John.” Pushing, you meet those brown eyes head-on and steel yourself. “I need him back.”

There’s no further fight, and Ghost takes everything you say at face value. “Fine.”

And that was that.

—

The plan was so stupid you wondered if these men had gone brain-dead, but inside the castle dungeons, John had no way of knowing that.

He frowned deeply as his pounding skull tipped back to connect with the cobblestone wall, blood dried over the right side of his face. A growl on his lips as the chains keep his hands high above him and hanging as his backside stays seated on the floor. His limbs had long since gone numb, circulation cut out in an uncomfortable state of numbness.

But inside of him, there was a sense of accomplishment despite everything. He’d gotten you away from dirty hands—away from hooks. Away from danger.

John could die happy with that.

On the ship, before he’d been brought to the castle, the crew had tied him to the mainsail mast with a ragged rope that had skinned his flesh in just minutes of the rocking waves. They’d taken his vessel as well, and all of his belongings were confiscated in the docks. From there it had been amused jabs at his stomach with fists and knife-throwing practice.

John had cuts along the sides of his arms and the meat of his thighs—clothes shredded and torn from blades. His forehead had a long gash from the scalp to the temple, dried now but pulling with red aggression.

The fisherman hums under his breath and thinks only of you.

It was a fact that you had brought music into his life; a melody of waves and scales that could not be denied. Songs that sounded like sea-foam and a lapping of a tail across the water. When he’d seen you that day from behind the black rocks, John had lost a piece of himself to your wide eyes and tilted head. That spark of connection.

He had never been so thankful for choosing a new place to cast his nets, because he’d unwittingly caught the greatest creature he ever could have—one people have been running after for years.

You.

John’s lips pull in a tiny smile, eyes going soft. Above him his chains rattle and his arms flinch, wounds burning, but for the life of him, he can’t stop smiling. Wherever you were, he hoped you were safe and that he gave you the best chance of survival. He hoped you could forgive him.

Footsteps echo off the ground, and John looks over to the iron bars of his cell stiffly, mask re-falling to his stern face like a curtain. Two guards in armor clink down the hallway, expressions hidden by hoods and cloth. One produces a rusted key from his belt and slips it into the door, the metal rattling as it gets forced back and forth until the telltale click signifies the opening of the lock.

“Finally letting me out, then?” John speaks dryly, voice holding a rasp.

No one answers, and soon John’s chains are dropped and his arms seized. Yanked up, the fisherman grunts in pain as his legs drag behind him across the cobble—being taken somewhere. Probably, if John had to guess, the noose.

Desertion isn’t something you can get out of shy of a life sentence; to hell or to a cell was entirely up to the King. And the King wasn’t entirely fond of John and his One Hundred and Forty-First.

John was forced out into the open courtyard, a dichotomy of brightly flowering bushes and expensive finery to the platform placed in the very middle. The brunette's lips thinned at the sight of the large and imposing body made of wood and rope belonging to the gallows, a grim reaper of earthly material. There would be no great fight from him, no roar of a death rattle, just a kicking of his feet and tight wheezes, but no more.

He knows his final thoughts will be of you—what you’re doing right now, how you’ll live the rest of your life. John hopes you don’t cry for him.

The two guards shove him forward, and already a crowd has formed below the viewing platform for the monarch himself, who sits in all of his finery. Wyvern leather for his gloves, unicorn horn for a scepter, and…John’s eyes go tight, scales that make up a crown of opal and gold. Vibrant scales.

Unmistakingly Merfolk, anyone who’s met one of the species would know it. It has the same shine as the one John holds in the pouch on his belt; the fisherman clings to the fact that, against all of it, you were still with him in even a small sense. You’d be with him.

So John grits his teeth and glares up to the dias defiantly as the guards hold him under the noose, shoving his head to the side to grab the rope. He feels no fear.

“Fuckin’ watch it, Muppet,” the fisherman hisses, snapping his head to the side to stare into the glinting brown eyes from under the hood. He pauses, brows furrowing. “What…?”

As his hands are forced behind him, they’re not tied as the excited murmuring from the crowd begins, the King’s forward-leaning attention.

They’re given a knife.

John hides his surprise and looks over to the other guard as he fits the noose over his neck. Amused blue, and around his neck the glint of silver discs.

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re takin’ the piss,” the former Captain growls lowly. He knows those damned eyes, just as he knows his former Lieutenant’s.

MacTavish and Simon.

“Chin up, Captain,” Johnny jokes under his breath hidden by cloth. “Show’s about to start. Let’s give ‘em a proper scare, yeah.”

Blue eye glare, but they lack the venom. A barred-teeth smile grows. How had this happened? Johnny steps back and goes to his side, the wood under their feet creaking. The crowd falls silent, looking to the King for the verdict.

The King’s fingers raise and John memorizes his face in that instant…because it’s only then that he sees Gaz.

Gaz, who was on the upper terrace of the courtyard’s walls, holding a musket with the stock trained to his cheek; body still and ready—tutored to a perfectly motionless trance. There aren’t any guards to be seen near him. It’s a moment of pure silence, a ruling energy. The crowd is waiting for the King to verbalize an answer that he’s never able to give.

As the monarch’s lips open there is an eardrum-bursting boom that shatters the call for John’s doom and instead spells his own in his very castle from one of his former men. A poetic ending, John would say, but he’s unable to verbalize it as he’s suddenly falling through the gallows hatch as Simon reems on the handle.

“Knife!” It’s all the Ghost yells in warning.

With a rush of air, there’s a split second to cut the rope before it breaks his neck, and with a snapping motion, John perfects it in an instant—instinct as sharp as any blade that could be put into his hand. He hits the ground with a loud grunt of pain and struggles to sit up until Johnny and Simon jerk at him from where they’d jumped down as well. Not a second too soon, as lead balls from rival guns were already hitting the gallows.

Not all the guards were dead, then, and apparently, the three had known that would be a possibility.

John would have to scold them later.

“What in the hell is going on?!” The fisherman barks, but he’s being dragged before he shoves their hands off of him and follows to where they beeline into the fleeing crowd.

“What?” Johnny belts out laughter. “No ‘thank you?’ We just saved your neck!”

“Left!” Simon shouts, and although John’s body can’t take much more, they all dart into the cover of the castle walkways. “Make for the docks—the Sergeant’s meeting us there.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” John growls but quickly goes onto the most important topic. “She’s behind this, isn’t she?” Johnny’s smirk only confirms it.

“Proper girl you’ve got there, Gaz found her on the shore. Else we’d never have heard about it all before you were dead and gone.” John blinks at him. “Getting reckless without us, now?”

The former Captain ignores the remark. “Where is she?”

“Oi!” Ghost hisses, looking over his shoulder as the three hurry on as shouting rings from behind them. “Get your head in the game. Focus on not getting shot, yeah?”

Brown meets blue.

“You’ll see ‘er soon.” Simon ends, dead eyes shifting to a form that rampages through the hallway behind them. “Behind!” He calls loudly, and John ducks just as a knife is thrown with pinpoint accuracy. A sound of a body hitting the floor echoes over the distant screaming and calls of alarm.

The King is dead.

All of the men reach their destination by sheer luck and the knowledge of how to use a blade, cobblestone leading to open streets and back alleys. Finally, the wide stretch of sea was visible, and a shadow slinked out of a corner quickly.

“Hell,” Gaz blinks at them, “do you think I’ll ever be let back into the castle?”

Johnny pants a laugh. “You’ll be lucky to get into the province, ya sneaky Bastard. Fine fuckin’ shot.”

Simon looks at them. “Gaz, Johnny, get to it.”

They’re by the open water of the dock, long wooden walkways stretching out with ships shifting in the waves. John wonders if his boat is here in the back of his mind, but his eyes are already combing the waves greedily in search of you.

Were you here? Oh, he hoped you weren’t. You’d be placing yourself in the middle of a very real and present danger.

“Get to what?” John questions, looking at each man in turn. “What ‘ave you planned, eh? Seems I’ve missed the meeting where we decide to assassinate the bloody monarch in broad daylight.”

Gaz places a hand on his shoulder as he shimmies past. “Best to leave the heavy lifting to the ones who can stand fully, Captain.”

“Aye,” Johnny confirms. “You’ll want to be here more than anywhere, bet ya.”

Simon shares a look with the blacksmith and grabs John by one shoulder, leading him to the water as Johnny takes the other. The brunette blinks quickly in confusion and grunts an expletive.

“Get your hands off of me you pair of—!”

“Have fun!” Johnny and Simon both shove him into the water with a final push and dart off like wisps.

Water rushes into his ears, covering his head and soaking his clothes before it drags him under. John’s arms flailed to propel him back to the surface. A jolt later, his head is breaching the water with a venomous glare and a barked order on his lips to a vacant audience. The boys had already sprinted off to who knows where.

“Son of a…” John trials, weak legs kicking to keep him afloat. Something brushes his thigh as water drips from his nose, cleaning away the blood with a reddish tint to the liquid.

The fisherman startles, head snapping down just as your hands grasp at his abdomen, sliding up as you press your lips deeply into his in one swift motion. He gasps, grip instinctually moving to hold onto the small of your back.

You press into him tightly, pushing every emotion into the locking of your mouths with desperation and longing. Sighing deeply into the kiss, John melts into you as your tail brushes his legs, torn fins visible and shimmering stitches pulling at flesh. Scales glint somewhat brighter under the waves, water dripping along your shoulders and wetting your hair.

John brings you closer when he realizes it’s your form around him, eyes fluttering closed and fingers weaving behind the base of your skull. It’s as if the world stills for that quick and reverent second as if everything is right. The both of you break the kiss with soft eyes, and after a moment of staring your chest releases a chuckle; hands coming up to capture your fisherman’s cheeks, weaving through those beard hairs once more.

The brunette stares at you and lays his forehead into yours, not knowing what to say. A smile plays on his lips.

“...It seems my fisherman had more of a reckless side than I anticipated,” you speak for him, whispering into the air. Your eyes flicker over the cuts and bruises visible on his pale flesh and a flash of fear alights in your expression. “Oh, John…What have they done to you?”

“Just scratches,” the man reassures delicately. “It’s alright, Love. I’ll live.”

But you both know this conversation can’t happen here. With a few more pecks of kisses to his lips, you ask in an ethereal voice, “Do you trust me?”

Your hand is locked to his wrist, pulling him along the waters as your head tilts at him and tail sliding along his flesh.

John wastes no time. “Of course.”

Lips flicker to a small, loving, grin and then you drag him under the water.

—

“Do they hurt?” He asks you carefully, running a calloused hand along the tears in your fins you know will never heal fully. You sit on the rocks below Gaz’s home, the water still dripping off of both of your bodies.

Out farther in the water the three other men are sailing back in John’s fishing boat, a few minutes out. You blink down at him and move a hand to shift his jaw upward to you, humming.

“Not when you touch them like that,” confessing, you keep close to him, held tightly under the crook of his arm and breathing in that scent of rope and wood oil. You practically vibrate with comfort, all of your worries able to be put aside at last.

John looks down at you and chuckles, putting a deep kiss on your scalp and taking a deep inhale.

“Cheeky,” he teases. You smile.

“And yours?” Your voice speaks out in question as the water brushes your tail.

The man peels back to look down at you slowly. “Already better…I owe you, Sweetheart.”

Huffing, you shake your head, “You owe me nothing. The only reason you were there was because of me.”

John’s brows furrow, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head back to him. He stares into your eyes for a long while until your face starts to heat with emotion, blinking up at him innocently. His blues dart over the healing cuts and marks with hidden emotion.

“I’d do it again,” John whispers. “A million times over, you hear? I’d be a bloody fool not to.”

He kisses you as you both wait in the setting twilight for the others, bloody and beaten—more scar tissue than anything else—but still your John.

“Thank you,” he mutters into your lips, and then again when he nips at your flesh. The man plays with his necklace at your collarbone as he traces patterns in your scales and smirks when you shiver.

He wonders how he got so lucky when the others anchor the boat near the shore, hopping off and wading the rest of the way to the beach. John kisses your forehead and says he’d be right back.

You watch him with glinting eyes as he walks over to his men, taking each in a heartfelt handshake and conversing honestly. Your eyes blink at the care they display for one another and raise a hand when they peel off, back up to Gaz’s home to rest.

They reciprocate and disappear atop the hill.

What’s he doing? You ask as you watch John climb aboard his vessel and rummage around his fishing barrels, opening some and tossing the tops to the deck. Hands shifting along the rocks, you can’t hide the amusement or affection in your eyes at the sight of his ramping annoyance. What was he looking for?

Your fingers go up to play with his necklace and watch.

You can’t say you feel much heartache at the loss of your cove—even with the king dead, you were still hunted for your scales—though you had grown to see it in a new light. The place was only a home when John was there, and you knew wherever you went as long as he was there it would be alright.

The both of you wouldn’t let anything happen to one another.

John comes back carrying something tucked in cloth, a small parcel held in one hand and longer than it is wide. Your interest is immediately piqued, curiosity straining your eyes.

He holds it out to you with a mischievous glint and a smirk.

“Go on,” John motions. Blinking at him, your brows furrow as you carefully take the item from his hands, settling it in your lap before you shift the cloth away.

Your fingers go to cover your mouth, small gasp entering the air.

It was a golden box, engraved with movements that resemble lace and waves—shimmering in the low light.

“John,” you stutter, “what is…?”’

“Open it,” the man insists, kneeling down in front of you as if his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s the reason I was late that day.” John grunts, rubbing at the bottom of his beard and watching intently; crinkles beside his eyes.

You stare for a moment with burning tear ducts before you grasp ahold of the lid and open it after running a digit over the make.

Inside sits blue velvet and, strangely, your own scales, but atop that…the blinding gold of a pair of twin cuff bracelets—stones the same shade as your tail. It was perhaps the most elegant piece of jewelry you had ever seen.

For a solid minute you’re rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing as your tail hangs limp in the low tide. Chucking, John takes the pieces out and your ears twitch to the sound of your scales clacking together like glass.

“Why would you…” You can’t make sense of it.

John slips them over your wrists and you gape in wonder. They fit just perfectly.

You look up into your Fisherman’s face and feel tears drip down your chin. A hard hand comes to wipe them away as you laugh through a sniffle.

“Do you like them, then, Love?” He asks lowly, beard pulled back in a smile.

“Yes,” you say immediately, giggling. “How could I not? John, they’re lovely. Far too beautiful for me.”

The former Captain grunts and his brows pull in, frowning. “Now why would you say that?” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Can’t make me change my mind on that, eh?”

Your eyes bore into him, lips parted. After a moment your face feels like it’s on fire and you cover your cheeks.

John laughs loudly, grabbing your arms and lightly squeezing the flesh before taking your grip back down to your lap. You smile so widely you’re afraid your face might crack open.

“No need to hide,” he hums. “Let me see that face.”

“You’re good to me, John.” His face softens, wrinkles fall away, and his chest swells with pride. You kiss his lips and whisper, “I bare my soul to you.”

It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ but something far more precious.

The man’s face deepens with devotion, gruff figure more than easily leaning over yours as you’re carefully laid back to the tiny pebbles behind you—a hand behind your head and at the swell of what would be a hip.

In the darkening night, the sun shines its dying light across the waves just like the extending fingers of John’s firm grip; dragging you into him as sea-currents would. Wrapping you both in kelp and a salty grave. His voice is the grating of sand, the slide of a rope across a wooden deck.

“Then I’ll take care of it for as long as I live.”

Your fisherman damns you to a crypt of land and air, and you couldn’t worship it more. To live and to die beside him is to have existed just as you should have.

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macfrog · 1 year

Text

grilled cowboy like me chapter three

part iii of dbf!joel! parts i here and ii here. ask, dear readers, and you shall receive. i do just wanna also add a massive thank you to you guys for all the love on this series. every single like, reblog, reply, etc. means the world to me. i hope you enjoy this next chapter 💚 reader got joel quaking !!! 🥵

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel knows he shouldn't be looking at you the way he is, but you look so pretty on your knees; how can he say no?

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! oral (m receiving), praise kink, jealous/protective joel, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), consumption of alcohol, cursing

word count: 4.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You know what he means. He’s in a lot more trouble than you are if you both get caught; he’s your dad’s buddy. He isn’t supposed to be fooling around with his best friend’s daughter. You think over what you’ve gotta be doing to him – all the glances when no one’s looking, the touching, practically fucking begging for him to make you cum earlier. It’s no wonder he’s trying so hard to stop himself every time, no surprise he’s doing all he can not to give in to you. And right then, you realize – That’s exactly what you want him to do.

You spend a few more minutes up in your room before you follow Joel out the door and downstairs. You’re a little flustered, okay? Your dad’s best friend just had you literally wrapped around his fingers, and now you both gotta head off to a friendly neighborhood barbecue you’re supposed to be hosting. All smiles. All, Anyone need a refill? All, No, I haven’t just totally been fooling around with Joel Miller.

The house is empty and voices feed in from the backyard. You push aside the shades and step out onto the bright patio, where a few of your neighbors are sitting. Joel stands between Hank and Rita’s chairs, and you amble over to his side.

You sense his body tensing as soon as you reach him, your shoulder brushing off of his deliberately.

“Hello, my girl,” Rita calls, taking one of your wrists in her frail hands. “I sure am glad to see you back on home turf.”

You smile a little awkwardly, placing a hand on top of hers. “It’s nice to see you, too. How’ve you been?”

“Still livin’, honey, still livin’.”

She lets go of you when Hank takes her up in conversation, and your attention turns back to Joel.

“Busy, huh? Lotta people came.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, taking a step away from you and folding his arms. You eyes skim across the new distance between you both, noting it.

“Joel, your Sarah,” Rita swivels to face him, “she’s home soon, right?”

Joel nods. “The seventeenth.”

Hank gives a nod. “It’ll be a fine summer havin’ both you girls back home.”

Joel shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting around the patio. He spots Bill across the pool, by your dad’s work shed, and excuses himself. You track him as he makes off, and feel your face reddening.

Your dad’s head and shoulders materialize through the sliding door to the kitchen and he calls on you, beckoning you in. You hesitantly wander over, a cloud of shame forming over your head that you hope he can’t see.

“Bill’s beer,” he adds a Coors to a tray filled with glasses and bottles, “Marcia’s iced tea, a Coke for Sam…Joel– Shoot, we ain’t got Joel anythin’. Reckon he’ll touch Coors?”

You flinch at the mention of his name, and instantly try to recover it. “I wouldn’t know, why would I know that?”

Your dad’s hands lift like you’ve aimed a shotgun at him. “Alright, cranky, jeez. Go back to bed, get out the right side this time. Here.”

He lifts the tray and slowly passes it over the island to you, the glass trembling.

“…you remember, now? Bill – beer, Marcia – iced tea, Sam–”

“– Coke, yeah, I got it. Go take a Xanax, dad, your hair’s fallin’ out.”

“And ask Joel what he’s after!” he calls as you slip out of the sliding door.

Marcia sits beside her daughter, Lisa, on the pool loungers. You bend your knees and lower the tray for her to reach her drink.

“Thank you, honey.” She grins gratefully as she lifts it off the shaking tray and you return her smile, then continue on.

Bill is stood at the other end of the garden with Joel, arms crossed, both listening to some story Arthur Kennedy’s telling about a mechanic he works with. Arthur Kennedy always kinda scared you, was always loud and drunk. Your dad and Joel used to deliberately come up with excuses to keep you and Sarah away from him at parties.

This time is no different. You approach the group of men from Joel’s right side, dipping behind his back to stand between him and Bill, safely separated from the raving storyteller.

“He says he’d just oiled it, I said, Benny, that engine’s drier ‘n a nun’s nasty!”

He erupts into a roar of laughter despite the silence of his companions, and you nudge the tray against Bill’s arm.

“Oh, darlin’,” he says, turning to you and giving you an affectionate smile as he lifts the beer. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smile back. Bill can be gruff, a bit of a loner, but he’s always had a soft spot for you.

“How you doin’?” he asks, taking a swig.

You nod. “Good. Back workin’ at Sal’s, so…living the dream.”

You can feel Arthur’s stare on you like the hot sun. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, tray tucked under your elbow against your hip.

“I’ll bet,” Bill says. “He got you workin’ hard?”

“Not really. It’s a pretty quiet store. Uh, Dad wanted me to ask,” you turn to Joel, whose eyes are glued to the ground, “what you’re drinkin’?”

He shakes his head, palm hooked around the back of his neck. “I’ll get my own. Thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon Joelie,” Arthur taunts. You try to avoid looking him in the eye out of fear he’ll take you up on it, but he does it anyways. “Why don’t you just let this pretty little waitress of ours bring you a drink? Since she’s bein’ so sweet ‘n offerin’.”

Your eyes flit to Joel. His jaw is tense, his eyes dark as he stares down Arthur.

“You know what,” he says through his teeth, “I’ll take a Bud. C’mon, you’ll know where they are, right?”

“Wh– We didn’t get any–”

“Be in the fridge, I’ll bet.” He takes your arm and pulls you away from the duo, who resume conversation as you leave.

You’re hauled back into the kitchen so fast that you almost drop Sam’s soda.

“Joel, be careful!”

He lets go of your arm and watches Arthur from the kitchen window. “Scumbag,” he mutters.

“Do you suffer from short-term memory loss?” you ask, throwing the tray onto the counter. “Didn’t we have a whole argument in the store about me not gettin’ Bud?”

“Just had to get you away from him, talkin’ like that. Guy pisses me off,” Joel huffs.

“Who pisses you off?” your dad calls, appearing from the bathroom.

Joel shoots him a look. “Arthur Kennedy. What’s he doin’ here?”

“I couldn’t not invite him; I know he’s a dirtball. You stay away from him.” He points a finger at you.

“Very good,” Joel replies. “Great plan. Make it her problem to keep the pervert off her tail.”

“Pervert?” You scoff.

“You don’t hear him at Frank’s!” Joel rounds on you now, and you raise your eyebrows. “That waitress line wasn’t even half of it.”

Your dad chuckles, patting Joel’s shoulder as he passes. “I’ll keep an eye on it.” He wanders out to the patio.

Joel’s still full of rage. You watch him, not sure whether to move closer or let him calm down on his own.

“I think you’re probably overreacting a little. It was a creepy line, and I won’t be goin’ near him anyways, but it’s fine. I can dodge Arthur Kennedy.”

“Shouldn’t need to. Shouldn’t be put in that position.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of the kitchen counter, palms pressed flat to the surface, shoulders hunched, breathing deep. He looks like a wild bear, like he could rip Arthur Kennedy limb from limb if only he’d just stroll through the sliding door.

You decide to give him some time to cool off.

“I gotta get this Coke to Sam. You good?”

“I’ll be fine,” he snaps, and you take that as your cue to dip.

When you reappear into the sunlight, a pair of hands clamp down on your shoulders, making you jump.

“Hey, stranger!”

“Sam!” you cry, clutching your chest. “You almost gave me a damn heart attack. Here, idiot.”

You hand him the soda, and he tilts it in your direction, a thank-you in the form of a toast.

“I’ve been meaning to drop by Frank’s since I got home, come pay you a visit.”

“I’ll get you a drink on the house when you do.” Sam smiles, blonde fringe gleaming in the sun.

“So, how’s it going?” you ask.

“It’s…going.” He laughs. “Was just talking to Hank about college courses. Figured I might apply. This bartending life is not for me.”

“Do it. Come be a graduate with me. I got a degree, forty grand of debt, and absolutely no prospects!”

Sam laughs. “Nah, you got a brain, you’re gonna work somethin’ out.”

You both take seats by the pool to catch up. Sam’s a nice guy; he was in your circle of friends at school, and, like Anna, always stayed in Austin while you and the rest up and left.

Your dad always thought he had a thing for you, being that he was male and you two were close, and your dad’s an old-fashioned man who doesn’t believe any good can come from two people of opposite genders being friends. But Sam’s a sweet guy, and his being here pushes Joel’s sudden change in behavior a little further back in your mind.

“I’m working later on, so I’m only staying for an hour or so. My mom says hi, by the way.”

“Hi right back. Is she doing okay?”

“Fine! She’s fine. As fine as she can be, I think. Y’know, my dad leaving wasn’t too great. She took it pretty hard. But we’re settled into the new place, she’s doing good. Do you…Did you scratch yourself, or somethin’?”

He points underneath your hair to the side of your neck and your fingers run across the skin, wincing a little over a particular spot under your jaw. A memory flashes before your eyes as the sensitive skin tingles and your eyes instantly lock on the culprit: emerging from the kitchen door, beer in hand, dark eyes scanning the garden for you.

When you lock eyes, he makes a passive expression and wanders off in the opposite direction.

“Uh– No, that’s weird. Well, I had a nap earlier. I might have scratched myself in my sleep, y’know?”

Sam narrows his eyes. He’s twenty-three, dumbass, he’s not an idiot.

You smile sweetly at him and scrape together some reason to excuse yourself, dashing off to the bathroom to examine Joel’s handiwork.

It’s only a little red, probably more noticeable in the sunlight, but still, you grab some concealer and dab it over the mark. Feeling exhausted from running around and pretty pissed off with Joel, you march back outside and throw yourself into a chair beside Hank.

“Your dad knows how to cook a burger,” he tells you, holding a napkin to his mouth. “Delicious.”

“I’ll grab one in a bit. Not really hungry.”

You spend a little time chatting with Hank and Rita, answering their questions about college, telling anecdotes about work, asking about Anna’s makeup business.

“That girl,” Hank shakes his head, “there ain’t no tellin’ her. I’m just her ol’ uptight dad.”

All the while you periodically glance up, across the pool to Joel, and each time, he’s staring right back.

When you get up to grab some food, his eyes follow you. When Sam pulls you in for a hug to say goodbye, he’s watching. When Arthur stumbles over to sit across from Hank, Joel’s figure appears like an apparition at the side of him. Across the table, an appropriate distance away, but keeping an eye on you.

It fills you with equal parts thrill and frustration.

You find yourself laughing extra hard at Bill’s comments, leaning your head on Marcia’s shoulder, leaping to your feet anytime Hank wants a refill, or Rita asks you to light her cigarette. All to get to Joel. All so he has to watch you be unbothered by him for the entire night.

The garden is darker, porch light attracting moths and flies, but a small group of your neighbors sits congregated under blankets on the patio still. You’re talking about New York with Lisa when you notice Joel lean in to your dad across the table.

“I’m gonna head, early start tomorrow,” he says, getting up from his seat.

“You remember your gas tank, Joel,” your dad tells him, nodding over to the grilling station.

“Hey.” You feel a nudge on your shoulder and look up to find his brown eyes looking down into yours. “Give me a hand, would ya? Loadin’ this into the truck.”

“You got it out just fine on your own.”

He calls you by name, and you know from his stern expression he’s serious.

You stand, shaking the blanket from your shoulders, and follow him over to the barbecue. He detaches the tank and picks it up. You wrap your fingers around the handle beside Joel’s, but when the two of you waddle out the back gate, you can feel he has most of the weight.

You reach his truck, shrouded in darkness from the dusk. He hands you the keys from his back pocket and you drop the tailgate, then Joel hoists the tank up by himself and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“What’d you even need me for?”

“Been weird today. Wanted to check you were alright.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You groan. “Are you talking to me or not?”

“Of course I’m talkin’ to ya.”

“Then stop being an asshole, okay? I’m bored of asshole Joel. I want my Joel back.”

He looks at you almost solemnly.

“Look, if you don’t wanna talk about what happened upstairs, we don’t have to, but–”

“’s not that I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Then what is it?”

The floodlight over the garage switches on and your back gate clicks open. Your dad ushers Rita out, coat draped over her shoulders.

“Just walkin’ Rita home,” your dad calls.

“See ya, hon!”

You wave. “Bye, Rita.”

When you turn back, Joel’s making his way toward the truck door.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” you mutter under your breath, and silently storm back into the house.

You hear his truck pull away as you throw yourself down onto your bed. Fucking livid.

Alright, you agreed nothing happened. But then Joel went and started acting like something totally happened. If anyone had caught on to the way he was acting, they’d for sure know something was up.

The anger rolls around in your stomach; his avoiding you, the way he kicked off when Arthur made that comment, the way his eyes followed you around the garden afterward.

And worst of all, you fucking liked it. You liked him protecting you, didn’t you? You liked the way he couldn’t help himself, had to make sure you were out of reach of any danger. You liked peering over Sam’s shoulder to find his gaze frozen on you.

You sit up, hands either side of your hips on your mattress. You look down and notice what they’re resting on.

Joel’s flannel shirt.

You’re halfway out the door, shirt in your fist, before you even have time to breathe. You run into your dad in the driveway.

“Woah, woah, where we off to?”

“Joel forgot his shirt.”

“I’m sure he can do without it for a few days, kiddo.”

“I’ll just take it back to ‘im,” you call, hopping in your car before he has time to protest.

You’re at Joel’s in five minutes.

Knocking and waiting for him to answer might ruin the argumentative vibe you’re trying to set, so you fling his front door open and walk straight into his hallway.

The house sits in complete darkness, save for a small light flooding in from the room at the end of the hall. You wander up to it and find Joel sat at his kitchen table, staring down at some contract papers on the wood. Aside from the dull light over his head, the kitchen is dark, orange tinge on the walls from the streetlights outside.

He doesn’t flinch when your shoe scuffs his tile floor. Instead, he just flips the papers back over and sighs.

“Subtlety not in your nature, is it, kid?”

“You left this.” You throw the shirt onto the table.

His eyes scan over it. “Thought I told you to keep it.”

“Oh,” you sit down opposite him, “my mistake. I thought you meant keep it until you’d had your way with me. Thought once you’d dumped me I was to hand the flannel back.”

“Dumped you?” He raises his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to dump you. I didn’t mean for you to feel…dumped.”

“The most you talked to me all afternoon was to give me a grilling about Arthur Kennedy. All you did was stare at me, then ask me to help you carry a gas tank at the very end of the night.”

He scratches his beard, considering what you’re saying.

“I mean, I thought we agreed to act like it didn’t happen,” you continue, “I thought we were fine.”

“Fine? You think what we did was fine?”

You struggle to find words to reply. Sure, it was better than fine. And at the same time, it was a terrible idea.

“We…We were…We were just messing around.”

Joel almost laughs. “Messin’ around.”

“Yeah,” you protest. “I liked it, you looked like you liked it. What’s wrong with it?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. If we do this, if we’re ‘messin’ around’…what makes me any different to…to Arthur Kennedy? Hm? Just another creep on the street, hangin’ around and flirtin’ with girls far too young for ‘im?”

“The difference is I actually want you to do it, Joel.”

His expression drops. He stands up, shoving the chair back, and wanders off toward the kitchen counter.

You twist around to watch him. “I want this. And I’m twenty-three fucking years old, I can decide for myself. Arthur is, like, sixty years old, anyway. And he ain’t even a good sixty – he’s all grey, wrinkly skin, greasy hair like he doesn’t know how to work his own shower–”

“Alright, kid, we’re digressin’ here.” Joel waves his hand.

You snap back to reality and shake your head to clear it of Arthur Kennedy’s leathery skin. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s just not a good idea.”

“What’s not?” You stand.

“This. Us. You ‘n me.”

“And did you decide this before or after you fucked around with me in my bedroom?”

Joel sighs, shaking his head and turning away. He places one hand on his hip, the other to the bridge of his nose.

“I mean…” You throw your arms up, finally at breaking point. “What are you doing to me?”

Your tone forces him to turn back. When your expression matches it, he approaches you, gently cupping your face in both hands.

“I’m tryin’ to rein this in a little, baby. I’m tryna be the responsible one here. You know how hard it is not to give in to this? To you?”

You know what he means. He’s in a lot more trouble than you are if you both get caught; he’s your dad’s buddy. He isn’t supposed to be fooling around with his best friend’s daughter.

You think over what you’ve gotta be doing to him – all the glances when no one’s looking, the touching, practically fucking begging for him to make you cum earlier. It’s no wonder he’s trying so hard to stop himself every time, no surprise he’s doing all he can not to give in to you. And right then, you realize –

That’s exactly what you want him to do.

Your head falls limp in his grasp. “Then, stop trying.”

Joel’s eyes trace over your face; down the bridge of your nose, across your lips, over to where your jaw meets his rough hands. He’s tossing the thought of it over in his head like a penny. Only there’s no right answer.

Heads, you call it off, and lose any chance of ever knowing what this is between you guys. Tails, you fall down the rabbit hole; secret, clandestine, forbidden rabbit hole, and risk losing…well, everything.

Is it worth that risk? Just to feel him on you again? To feel his lips across yours, hungry, demanding, his hips grinding into you, his hands all over you, the way he looks at you as you cum for him…

Suddenly, like the realization hits him at the exact same time as it does you, Joel’s eyes darken.

Yeah. It’s fucking worth it.

His grip becomes rough, shifting from your jaw to around your throat. He pulls you toward him, lips connecting, and your hands press against his chest.

His grasp drops, squeezing your hips, before one hand leaves to settle between your legs. He just can’t get enough, can he?

“Uh-uh,” you mumble against his mouth, “you had your taste earlier. It’s my turn.”

You push him back against the counter. He’s staring at you with nothing but lust behind his eyes. Without a word, you sink down, knees hitting the cold tile.

“Baby…” Joel hums when your hands find his belt buckle. You smirk at his voice; you’re too good to be true to him. Like he can’t believe what’s about to happen.

You undo his belt and pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor with a clink. Then your fingers undo his jeans, almost tearing them apart by the zipper with your eagerness to see him.

As you pull the denim over his hips, you feel his hand softly rest on the crown of your head. A quick glance up tells you he’s watching every single thing you’re doing, lapping it up like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

You can see the bulge through his boxers; it’s big. Bigger than you imagined, even with your hand stuffed down your panties.

You place a gentle kiss to his thigh and pull the waistband of his underwear down, and his cock springs free. You gasp a little at the size of it, feeling your mouth watering at the sight of precum on his tip.

Your hands wrap around it, clutching his girth. You pump him a few times in your hands and he tips his head back, mouth agape. His free hand grips the counter, steadying himself.

His tip oozes more precum and you wrap your lips around it, sucking gently. Joel groans, audibly. The most audible you’ve heard him yet. It drives you insane.

You push your lips down his shaft, his cock filling up your mouth to your throat before you even reach the bottom. You push down as far as your throat will allow before releasing him with a pop, saliva mixed with Joel all over your lips.

“Good girl,” he’s mumbling, eyes still screwed shut, hand still knotting in your hair.

You drag your tongue along the underside of his dick, closing your eyes. All you can think is Joel, all you can taste, smell, and breathe is him. Completely dumb for this man, cock stretching your mouth so good.

When you take him in down to your throat again, he begins moving his hips; fucking your mouth. You steady yourself, hands on his upper thighs, and let him, trying not to lower your hand to your cunt to relieve the ache quickly growing there.

The sounds he’s making are enough to make you cum by themselves. He’s panting, moaning, breathing your name, groaning whenever your cheeks hollow and you suck until he’s so close he pulls you off.

“Wanna take my time, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You pull him back into your mouth. He tastes like sweat and salt and Joel. He tastes perfect.

When he bumps the back of your throat and you gag a little, you notice Joel’s head snap down to check on you. His grip on your hair loosens, and you softly gaze back at him, eyes blown with lust, to let him know you’re okay.

You drag your lips off of his head, a string of saliva still linking your mouth to his reddened tip. You’re panting now, half-turned on, half-tired from accommodating the size of him between your jaw.

Your palms wrap around his length again, pumping and twisting slowly while your tongue flicks over his head. He grits his teeth, both hands now against the countertop, knuckles whitening the longer you go on.

When you let go of him and dip your head down to take his whole cock in your throat, he lets out a deep groan.

“Keep goin’, baby, keep doin’ that,” he’s groaning, your head bobbing up and down. “Don’t fuckin’ stop.”

His hand falls to the back of your head and he applies a little pressure, fucking into you again.

When you begin to feel him jerk, you lean back, hands helping him to his high as you hold his head to your bottom lip.

Joel’s hand never leaves your head as his cock twitches, filling your throat and coating your tongue in warm, salty cum. He’s calling your name, breath heaving and hips shuddering.

His length slides out of your mouth. When his orgasm subsides, he watches you lick your lips and swallow his load, before tucking his softening dick under his boxers and pulling his jeans back up.

You watch in a distant haze of ecstasy as Joel does his pants up himself and takes your chin in his hand.

Breathing heavy, you look up at him, eyes hooded. Waiting for permission to stand.

“C’mere,” he whispers, and your tired legs hoist you back up to height.

He envelops you in his arms, placing a kiss to your forehead and letting you lean into his chest.

You let your eyes fall closed as you breathe each other in.

“So good to me,” Joel mumbles against your forehead, and you lazily smile.

You could let him carry you up to his bed and fall asleep right then and there, you think. That is, until you hear your phone vibrating on the table.

“Fuck,” you groan, and Joel releases you from his grasp.

“Just makin’ sure you ain’t dead,” your dad chirps down the line.

“I’m still at Joel’s,” you reply, “just leavin’.”

“Don’t you be keepin’ him, you hear?”

You pretend not to, and get him off the phone as quickly as possible. When you turn back around, Joel’s stood with a smirk on his face.

“Go on. Don’t want to make him suspicious.”

You skip over and place a kiss to his lips, and he runs a hand through your hair.

“Like I said, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Just messing around,” he says.

----------

As you approach the front door, you pause for a second and compose yourself. Glance in the window to check your reflection, take a deep breath. The last thing you need right now is your dad noticing something’s different.

He’s sitting in the recliner watching baseball highlights when you stumble in. He doesn’t turn to look at you as you dive straight for the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

“Hey there. Joel get his precious shirt back?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Just couldn’t be bothered with it lying around my room.”

He hums absentmindedly. You stand by the kitchen island chugging the water, avoiding conversation with him and looking for an excuse to dismiss yourself to bed.

“Hey,” he says after a bit, “did you find the burgers too…salty?”

You choke on your drink. “The– Too– What?”

“The burgers. Not sure if I over-seasoned ‘em. Were they salty?”

“No. They were fine. They were fine.”

Dizzy with adrenaline, you feign sleepiness and bid him goodnight. When you reach your room and collapse onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Your eyes scan over the text; your heart skips and you feel a flutter just south of your belly button.

Joel: You free Sunday?

----------

tag list: @yvonneeeee @brittmb115 @subconsciouscollapse (let me know if u wanna be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal #fic: cowboy like me

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tastesousweet · 5 months

Text

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (iii) - pt 1 pt 2

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : no one frustrates and confuses y/n more than matt

warnings : smoking weed, alcohol/drinking (i headcannon everyone 21+!), tension, sexually suggestive

mickey speaks : THIS IS LONG AS SHIT!!!! ngl im not obsessed w this part but u guys r the sweetest thank u for loving this story so far and for ur patience. part 4 definitely won't have as long of a wait.

THIS IS PART THREE GO READ THE FIRST TWO PARTS NEOWW

MATT hates hosting parties.

now that he and his brothers have hosted three of these "get together"s to promote the warehouse, he’s realized just how much attendees dont give a shit about respecting the space they're in. he found it to be a cool concept for sure: give out free tiny tats along with food and drinks for more exposure and networking. nick came up with it and it sounded perfectly easy way to build their brand and get to know people in LA.

except the first one was a complete mess, with chris constantly promoting the party (he mentioned it to almost everyone he talked to, encouraging them to bring friends along), frequent instagram posts dedicated to the event, and natural word of mouth the warehouse was suddenly overcrowded and trashed within the first hour of being open. matt barely got through that night without losing his temper or calling the cops to shut down his own party.

that’s not to say matt hates attending parties as severely as he hates to have his own. he’s more than willing to go out when he has a set time to leave and good enough company. he’s trained his anxiety to behave within those spaces so that he's not ruining his or anyone else's time. now it seems his anxiety only spikes when it comes to (what feels like) hundreds of people surrounding him in his space with no intentions of leaving until well into the morning. at that point he’d prefer to be at home, completely alone.

just as he does now that nick has dragged him out to a nearby liquor store to buy “goodies” for the event later today.

matt’s face carries his typical dry expression as nick stands next to him, hands resting on his hips, eyeing the various vodka bottles.

“nick, it’s alcohol not the fucking newspaper,” matt grumbles.

“i know that! i just don’t wanna choose the wrong one.” he defends.

“if they don’t like something i think we have more than enough to choose from at this point,” matt sarcastically nudges his arms that hold onto a wide selection of alcohol that nick has impetuously given him with quips of ‘okay, hold this one.’

“matt, i wouldn’t have brought you if i knew you’d be such a buzzkill, jesus.” nicks tsks.

“alright, don't say that like i was begging to come here, nick. i had no choice and-"

nick cuts him off swiftly, noticing a few girls have joined them in the aisle, “matt, move." nick guides him backwards with his hand, "you’re like, in the way.”

matt turns his head to see what exactly he was blocking, before turning back to nick and scowling, “‘m literally not in the way at all.”

“they might need to see all the options,” nick shrugs, going back to narrowing his options down while matt stands in slight annoyance, zoning out.

until he overhears the two girls call, “yeah it’s over here, y/n! come!”

and matt can’t help but turn and look (at an embarrassingly quick pace that he’d blame on his brain's pristine sound recognition and not that he wanted to see you, necessarily).

and sure enough your frame comes into view (clad in a sweatshirt and small pair of shorts), confirming that he did not mishear and you unfortunately were in fact the y/n called for. not wanting to deal with small talk, he immediately turns to nick, “the second one is best, nick. alright, let’s go.”

nick looks over to him, throwing his hands up loosely, “ohh, now you wanna be helpful whe-" he closes his mouth when he sees you over matt's shoulder, "did you know y/n's here?” his eyebrows draw together and he swiftly grabs a tall bottle of Absolut and places it in matt’s arms before walking around him (ignoring his hand’s poor attempt to hold nick back).

you’re too busy discussing which vodka tastes best with a few of your friends to notice nick walking up to you guys. you only look over once you hear a snap followed by a hushed “matt!”

you host a tender smile when you recognize the two tattooed boys, “nick? what are you doing here?” you glance from nick to matt who seems to be holding a full bar's worth of liquor while nick holds nothing but a tote bag and sunglasses he enjoys fidgeting with.

“y/n, i have a party i’m hosting tonight why would i not be here? now the real question is why are you here at 11:30 AM?” he jokes, squinting his eyes at you.

“same reason as you,” you shrug then realize you haven’t introduced your friends properly. “oh! and these are my friends; i texted you about bringing along, remi, erin, and andrea.” they each wave slightly as you gesture to them.

after an exchange of greetings and smiles (though you could tell matt’s was so phoney), nick backtracks, “okay but actually why are you here?”

“did you think i was joking? i’m getting drinks for your party!”

“i mean this in the kindest way possible: why?”

“i wasn’t gonna show up empty handed! it’s common courtesy to bring you guys something whether or not you ask.” you insist and matt fights the urge to roll his eyes.

he knows you have no mal-intent but god damn do you make yourself look so fucking pretentious.

“yeah, we’re trying to figure out what would be the best kind to bring right now,” erin chimes in.

nick immediately agrees, “oh my god, tell me about it. i was just struggling with that too!” and he turns to matt to validate, see! it’s not stupid to care about possibly buying the wrong thing!

matt just rolls his lips into his mouth, trying to give anyone a fucking clue that the conversation should be wrapping up by now.

“we’ll probably just end up getting pink whitney,” andrea reaches for the bottle on a nearby shelf.

matt can feel your eyes on him but he chooses to keep looking down at nick's ugg boots as if they’re the most interesting thing he’s seen.

you shift your eyes back to nick who’s still talking to andrea before you begin to speak, “well, i’m sure you guys are busy, you know, party planning.”

suprisingly, matt speaks up to agree with you, "yeah, you’re right actually. we are pretty busy."

nick cuts in with a shake of his head, “well, we’re actually not doing much before the party starts, honestly. we’ll probably just drop this off at the warehouse and set up a little, then go home, right matt?” nick shrugs to his brother who's eyes only widen with a look of question, “oh that's so true, matt!" he turns back to the girls with a smirk, "if you guys want you should come hang out with us now!”

matt wishes he currently had a free hand so that he could slap it over nicks mouth and drag him away before he sells his own kidney next.

"oh that's okay, we still have some stuff at home to do before we even think to get ready, but we'll be there tonight," you smile and look over to the girls who each agree.

"okay, we'll see you around then." matt tilts his head to the side encouraging nick to follow as he walks away.

"you have my insta so just dm me if you need anything. okay, bye! don’t forget swimsuits!" nick smiles and waves before rushing to catch up to matt who has already left the aisle.

౨ৎ

“i still can’t believe y/n was there, like what are the odds?!” nick giddily sighs and looks over to matt as the two walk out of the store.

“yeah, how fuckin’ weird," he murmurs, adjusting the brown bags in his hands to reach for the keys hanging from his belt loop. "small world, i guess.”

౨ৎ

“how the fuck are you so calm?” you ask in shock from behind the bat squishmellow you hold while sitting on nick’s baby pink couch, legs crossed.

“y/n, it’s like the teeniest, babiest tattoo ever,” andrea almost laughs as she takes another bite of a miniature rice krispy treat.

this “get together” at the warehouse has been a hit as far as you can tell. when you and your friends arrived it was already rowdy with people everywhere, music pounding, and bottles of alcohol scattered on the counters of a kitchenette (where you placed your own bottle of pink whitney, tied with a dainty white ribbon). you all found nick early on dancing in a crowd of people. he gave out hugs and easily convinced andrea and remi to let him tattoo them. after looking over the flash sheet nick made specifically for tonight, the girls decided to get matching cherry tattoos.

nick’s work area was so soft. he had bright hues of berry hugging his walls in the form of posters and paintings and faint creamsicle colored pillows to keep his couch company. when you all first walked in he explained how much he enjoys when clients bring in a friend so he had to make sure they had a comfy place to sit. you found nick so endearing in that since, he’s very caring and thoughtful despite his attitude at times (a far more understandable attitude than matt’s).

“it’s soo small,” nick adds, “i still think you two should get one,” he smirks looking over to you and erin huddled on the couch.

“hell no, i think i'm good for like another year," you shake your head and look over to erin while you gently run your fingers over your tattooed lower hip.

"yeah, absolutely not. i'm not even close to drunk enough to do that shit right now." she laughs.

౨ৎ

matt finds joint rolling to be the most satisfying part of smoking. the precision needed to perfectly fill, wrap, and burn makes him giddy in his own matt-kind-of-way.

after working on his last client (who wanted a somewhat abstract piece for the lowkey means of a “free tiny tats event”) and successfully sneaking through the crowd to grab a snack then sneaking back into his work area, he wanted nothing more than to get high alone.

he begins to gather his spare weed, grinder, and rolling papers from a spot tucked away in a drawer. he stops by his desk to turn his speaker back on, playing hushed kendrick lamar thorughout the space.

he taps his fingers along to the beat before sitting in a chair and displaying the items in front of him. he begins to grind the weed while humming, only to be interrupted fairly quickly.

"matttt!" chris peeks his grinning face through the curtain before taking it upon himself to walk in, "what are you doin' all alone in here?" matt pauses his movements with a sigh.

"no way you were rolling up and not planning to share? what the fuck?" chris pries in jest, rolling a chair over to sit in front of matt.

"dude, 'm so over this fuckin' party. i was planning to just smoke this and go nap on nick's couch or something." matt explains as he carefully lays the weed in the paper.

"you were barely even out there! got all your clients to text you whenever they got here." chris mumbles a scoff. "that is not the fuckin' point of this by the way, supposed to be meeting new people." chris rolls his eyes leaning himself so far into the chair that his back has practically met the seat.

"at least i'm doing something, you've only given like a tat or two all night," matt mumbles, slowly filling the white paper with weed.

because chris knows he's right he deflects the conversation to the reason he even came searching for matt in the first place. he clears his throat, playing with his fingers, "nick wants to take the girls up to the hot tub."

"thought we weren't allowing randoms up there anymore?" matt smirks at the memory of nick just hours before lecturing the both of them on what ground rules needed to be set so people don't demolish their shop for the fourth time now.

"obviously if they're with nick they're not just randoms." chris shakes his head, "pretty sure it's y/n and some friends she brought along. you remember that girl, right? she was-"

matt stops sealing the blunt to respond, "uh huh, i remember her."

chris lets out a breath, causing matt to finally look up and make eye contact with his brother (after spending their entire conversation too focused on rolling) in surprise at his pause in speaking.

"yeah, she's cool." chris yawns.

"i guess." matt says while finishing off the joint.

matt then lifts his hand up to give chris a view of his rolled joint. "stellar." chris smiles and matt hands it him, "swear you have a gift for this shit or somethin'." chris holds it in different angles near his face.

matt just shrugs and reaches for the tiny red lighter in his back pocket, "light that bitch up," he encourages chris.

"wait, no, let's save it for hot-tubbing."

"no? let's not? i didn't roll it for anyone but myself, let alone a group of barbies."

"be nice, matt."

"give me it, chris," matt rolls his eyes and signals with his fingers for chris to hand it over. “also who says i’m joining you guys in there?”

chris hands the joint back over to matt who’s immediately putting it in his mouth and bringing it towards the lighter’s flame, “nick wants the both of us up there, he thinks it’ll be fun.”

matt’s words come out quieter now that he’s speaking with smoke held in his lungs, “is he shit faced?” matt exhales the smoke as he speaks, “you know he thinks anything is ‘fun’ when he’s drunk.”

he takes another hit while chris explains, “no he’s actually really fuckin’ coherent, hasn’t had anything compared to me.” he smirks knowingly.

“not too much of this for you then,” matt exhales and passes the blunt over to chris. “so who’s gonna be hosting this party if we’re all on the roof?” matt asks squinting at him while playing with the soft edge of his graphic tee shirt.

chris’ face hides behind the smoke he releases, “we have dontae and claire working tonight too, they know how to deal with shit. i’m not too worried.”

“cool, so nick has contradicted himself twice already tonight, what happened to ‘one of us three should always be keeping an eye out’?” matt questions.

chris shakes his head, handing matt the smoked down joint, “literally how am i supposed to know why that kid thinks the way he does?”

matt licks his lips with a smile at his brothers comment then goes to hit the blunt once more.

“but i do know you need trunks on asap, brother.” chris lifts himself up, feeling a little looser now that he’s quite faded, and begins to dig through matt’s backpack in the corner of the room.

“why the fuck are my trunks just casually in my bag?”

“i put ‘em in there knowing you wouldn’t listen when we told you to pack them.”

“because i’m never getting in the pool at a party, that sounds terrible.”

“you think everything sounds terrible,” chris rolls his eyes throwing the plain black swimming trunks at matt’s chest.

౨ৎ

“‘kay so the game is just called, “i dare you…” but we’re gonna play it like drink or dare,” chris explains before taking another sip of his pepsi (he’s attempting to ‘sober up’ before playing a drinking game). “assuming the crowd knows what drink or dare is..?” chris looks around to everyone to confirm. there’s quite a lot of people in the spacious hot tub: you and your friends, the triplets, asha, and two of the triplets’ friends nathan and cameron.

when everyone nods in understanding chris explains something about the order to follow and how to discard any used cards, but you only loosely pay attention. instead, your eyes keep an unfaltering stare on matt who sits across from you with the shadows of his face highlighted light blue from the water below and a warm amber from the outdoor lighting above.

he wears his hair messy and his signature silver chain that reflects in the water harshly. you find yourself focusing on his tattooed hands (large in proportion to the joint he’s just finished rolling), and his pink tongue that has slipped out a number of times to lick at the joint and secure its shape.

he’s so into his own task he hasn’t even acknowledged your presence really. somehow that bothers you and attracts you to him at the same time. his face is so neutral as well, it’s not easy to find matt without a resting bitch face and an foul mood to match.

you feel andrea’s hand guide up your back, carrying water in its trail. you still continue in your curious trance until she leans down to your ear, “don’t start drooling now.”

you immediately look up towards her (as she’s sat on the ledge of the hot tub, cautious of her new arm tattoo). she barks out a laugh and you try not to laugh as well, punching the side of her leg instead.

“what did i miss? what are we giggling aboutt?!” nick excitedly asks as he climbs into the hot tub and sits in the empty spot to the left of you. you turn and greet him with a smile and he immediately hands you one of the many beer bottles he holds, “here, take one, pass it down.”

“oh it was nothing, thank you.” you reply when handed the final bottle.

nick nods before swatting at chris who still stands in the middle of the hot tub, “kid, you can sit down now, i think we all got it.”

chris looks over to nick, “you go first then, nick. i’ll queue up a few songs.” he shifts a floaty that holds a set of cards in it towards nick before taking a seat next to erin (you can overhear him introducing himself even though your attention is on nick as he draws).

“who’s the bright one who chose a game with cards to be done in water?” nick jokes finally looking at the card.

“i’m sure you can guess,” asha laughs next to him.

you watch as nick’s face welcomes a large grin upon reading his dare. “okay…i’m reading this out loud, right?”

“i thought ‘we all got it’?” chris jokes and watches nick deadpan, “yes, nick just say it.”

“this one’s easy, ‘i dare you to make one of the group members crack a smile in less than a minute.’” nick adjusts himself to face nathan, “nate look at me.”

“oh come on nick, nate laughs at everything when he’s drunk.” matt talks despite his lips closing over the joint he’s just about to light.

“i don’t!” nate says before looking over to cameron, who elbows his side, making nathan giggle and cover his face. “no! for real, try me nick.” he adjusts his expression to be serious but just as nick opens his mouth to speak nathan explodes in sudden laughter causing the rest of the group to laugh as well.

even matt laughs into his arm as he passes the joint to remi, next to him.

౨ৎ

as the group continued playing the dares leveled in dirty extremity. asha nibbled on cameron’s ear like a hamster, nathan texted a friend asking to have a threesome, cameron licked sugar off of andrea (who very much enjoyed it), until finally it was matt’s turn.

matt’s been far more sociable and charismatic this entire time spent in the hot tub than you’ve seen him before. but you can’t tell if it’s the weed and alcohol or even just the fact that he’s surrounded by a group with some of his close friends that’s bringing this out of him. you’re shocked the only nagging he’s done was to break up a small argument between his brothers and of course make fun of you, mouthing “you scared?” after you denied hitting the joint for a second time. you mouthed back “no” and rolled your eyes at him but his playful smirk never left.

matt hangs his head and stifles laughter after reading his card, “i dare you to bend over backwards and let the rest of the group spank you, chose who’s best.”

“oh my god!” chris’ laugh is higher in pitch now that he’s extremely high.

“guys i really don’t wanna,” he sighs.

“matt, don’t be lame! you’ll be the first one who’s drinking,” asha encourages.

“fuck this game,” he mumbles under his breath before adjusting himself to lean over the hot tub, everyone laughing at the sight. it was fun to see matt so unserious for once.

after taking turns to hit matt’s ass, he decided the fourth person’s was the best, per his dare’s request, and nathan celebrates with a throw of his hands in the air.

remi then performs a trust fall with the person she trusts least in the group, cameron (who she told there was no hard feelings since they’d only met today), making it now erin’s turn.

she blushes at her card before reading aloud, “i dare you to give a lap dance to the hottest person in the group.” she bites her lip in embarrassment but nonetheless leans over to chris and requests a song in his ear.

chris smiles and taps his phone as erin adjust herself to standing. “this is gonna be hard to do in water,” she messes with her hair.

“you’ll be fine!” you encourage with a smile.

“alright, you ready?” chris looks up to erin and she nods in response.

body party by ciara begins to play sensually through the nearby speaker gaining a few “oouuu”s from the group.

what you don’t expect is for erin to lean herself in front of matt. and matt definitely doesn’t expect this either, but he’s not too mad about it.

“oh shitttt,” cameron grins, he and nathan occupied in their own awkward-laughing fit while watching with wide eyes.

she moves slowly and hovers matt in a straddling position to “grind” on him. you take a heavy sip of your drink while watching in an attempt to hide your odd feeling about this. it was like watching a car crash. you watch as matt’s eyes gaze up and down her body, not daring to touch her but unashamed of his attraction.

asha laughs and whistles in support when erin turns around to give matt a view of her ass. nick dramatically ducks behind you yelling, “i actually can’t watch this! oh my god!”

you laugh and to mess with him whisper, “don't worry, it’s over now.”

nick looks back and immediately goes back to covering his eyes and laughing with you, “you bitch!”

you look back to matt who tilts his head back with wide eyes and lips puffing out in humor. and finally, after it feels like the two have dry humped for hours, erin stands back up and bows. matt claps with a wide smile, everyone else joining in.

when erin sits down you look up to andrea who just stifles a laugh with a sip of her drink. “well how the fuck am i gonna top that shit?!” chris exclaims while grabbing a card.

“real question is how the fuck will matt recover from that?” you joke causing matt to look over to you.

“oh don’t worry about me, sweetheart. i’m sure i’ll recover fine. chris,” he lifts his head gesturing for chris to begin his dare.

your tongue travels along your teeth to stop yourself from ruining a good time with your confusing feelings.

“i dare you to give a hickey to the person to your left.” chris bites his bottom lip and blinks slowly before looking over to andrea who just smiles and playfully flutters her fingers at him.

“you’re cool with this right, ‘m not tryna make you uncomfortable or any-”

“chris, shh.” andrea says.

“'kay, where do you want it?” he smiles.

“let’s make this fun,” she adjusts her bikini top and presses her manicured fingers along her right breast, “right here.”

nick is extra dramatic when it comes to watching chris suck harshly on his new friend’s tit, “okay, why the fuck did we choose this game?!” he turns away.

when chris is finished andrea shows it off to the group as proof and pushes chris’ cocky face away with a laugh, “nice job, stupid.”

afterwards, andrea gets a dare to expose her search history with the group, which she does without a problem.

it’s finally your turn to pick a card. “i dare you to lick whipped cream off a person of your choice.”

“oouu who’s it gonna beee?” nick nudges into your side.

you look around the hot tub, wanting to pick someone unpredictable, “ashaaa, you haven’t had much to do yet?” you look over to the girl who now has wide eyes and a growing smile.

“okay, yeah let’s do it,” she shrugs. “nate could you go get whipped cream, please?”

once nathan’s back you move closer to asha and decide to put whipped cream on her shoulder. “it tickles,” she giggles when you lick the entire dollop off of her easily.

you both laugh and you lick your lips as you head back to your seat.

౨ৎ

after another round it’s finally matt’s turn again, he draws a card that reads: give a kiss anywhere, on the person you’d “take home to mama.”

matt slowly stands and rubs his chin with a devious smile. “ummm,” he draws out, giving multiple looks at everyone before he walks over and hovers over you. you’re shocked by your body’s ease when his wet hand lifts to hold your face and his lips connect to yours. the kiss isn’t sloppy, but rather needy. you were just getting used to the taste of the bitter beer he’d just been drinking when he pulls away and steps back, unfazed.

you blink and wipe your fingers around your lips as matt wipes a hand over his eyes while laughing to himself.

“mom, would love y/n,” chris adds, calling back to the initial dare that led to that stomach turning kiss.

“'course she would, she’s a fucking saint.” matt sighs.

you squint your eyes and tilt your head, “i wouldn’t say that…”

“yeah, shit, my bad.” matt spreads his legs across from you, “forgot you have that little tattoo. i’m sure you’re not such a good girl anymore.”

you’re fucking annoyed now. you hate that he thinks you're inferior to him in any way. “hey where’s that ashtray, chris?” you ask, adjusting your seated position.

“uh, here,” he reaches behind him and places it on the same floaty as the cards, along with the lighter.

“you guys are cool to keep going,” you say and take the abandoned joint in your hand to relight it.

matt watches in spiteful anticipation.

“take it slow, and hold it” andrea explains to you in a whisper, knowing you’d never smoked in your life.

erin begins her dare to prank call a customer service line and dirty talk them when you take a hit of the joint.

matt eyes never leave your bothered figure as you inhale and cause the tip of the joint to light a bright red. he can tell you’re trying to prove a point which makes it more amusing to him when your eyes begin to water after you shakily exhale and attempt to hold back a cough.

“don’t hurt yourself.” matt quips under his breath.

౨ৎ

the group hadn’t realized just how long they’d been in the hot tub nor how drunk they all are until they struggled to get out and back to the main floor of the warehouse.

though, lots of giggles and piggyback rides helped them all stay together as they traveled back, cold and still damp. all partygoers were gone at that point, leaving the warehouse empty yet a mess.

nick (being the self-proclaimed good host he is) led the mass of drunk people to the bathrooms and brought extra graphic tee shirts and sweatpants to change into from the many boxes of merch sold in their tattoo shop. the boys had insisted that everyone just sleep at the warehouse due to their abundance of couches and chairs and their fear in sending anyone home in an uber at close to 3 AM.

matt is throwing pieces of trash in a large black trash bag when you step out from the bathroom near the colorful kitchenette of the warehouse.

he glances up when you approach slowly, feeling yourself sobered up quite a bit after peeing and washing your face.

“hey,” his voice is rough in tiredness.

“hey, do you have any water over here?” you ask politely, your lips taste salty when you lick over them.

“in the fridge,” he replies, crumbling wrappers and adding to his bag.

you notice how red and puffy his eyes truly are now that you’re this close to him and in better lighting. you walk past him to get to the fridge, almost completely empty after a long-lasting and full party.

“are you sleeping any time soon?” you ask, opening the water bottle.

“i don’t know.”

“i can always help you clean this if you need me to.”

“‘m good.” he analyzes a glass bottle to decide whether it’s worth keeping.

you nod your head, “cool.”

“you should probably sleep.” matt suggests looking over to you.

“i think i can decide that for myself, thanks.” you drink more of your water.

“you’re right i can only suggest. i’m suggesting you to go to sleep. and if you do stay up i'd suggest you don’t spend your time talking to me.”

you finish off your water and move closer to matt, placing it in the bag. “you truly know how to piss a girl off.”

“it’s my specialty.” he whispers and looks over your face now that you’re so close.

he’s so fucking hot that it genuinely upsets you at this point. you just back up and turn to go find the couch andrea’s decided to sleep on.

“goodnight, sunshine.” he calls after you, going back to his cleaning.

you're not too far away when you hear the bathroom door open and once again matt is greeting someone, only when you look over your shoulder you see erin approaching and matt leaning on the island counter with a smile.

you turn the corner with irritation. and you find yourself in the unfortunate position of having a problematic crush on matt while wanting nothing to do with him at all.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

#this got sillyyyyy #NEXT PART GETS SILLIERRRR #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #sturniolo triplets smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfic

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ahsxual · 6 months

Text

Dark Sins - II

Pairing: William Afton x Fem!Reader

Summary: After what happened, you tried so desperately to forget about William Afton, the man who couldn't leave your mind no matter how hard you tried it. But desire is a dark sin, a feeling that makes human beings do things against their will.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: minors don't interact + 18, guilt, office sex, cheating, choking, sassy reader, p in v sex (no protection), spanking, Dom!William x Sub!Reader, possessive William, daddy kink, spanking (one slap), softer William at the end, married William, age gap (reader is on her 20s, William is 50), cursing, student!reader

Word Count: 2,7k

Part I & Part III

A/N: Part II of Dark Sins was unexpectedly requested by you, so here I am posting it! I didn't expect so much support after not writing fics for 3 years (can you believe??), but I'm glad to be back! Ly guys <33 @fandom-maniac-anime here's your tag, hun! ^^

It's been weeks since that little "incident" with William and you couldn't managed to take the thought of fucking your boyfriend's dad out of your mind. You knew it was wrong, you knew it was filthy, but you couldn't forget about William's tongue and fingers inside of you, making you cum so hard until you saw stars. It sent shivers down your spine everytime you thought about it and it made you feel so guilty... Sure, Stu made some mistakes in your relationship, but nothing compares to what you did to him. You didn't know what to do: was it better to tell Stu the truth? No no, he would never forgive you and you would ruin his relationship with his stepfather, even tho it wasn't completely your fault... should you just broke up with him? That wasn't an option either, because you loved Stu dearly.

Your mind was a mess and you couldn't focus on anything. Not even your studies, which complicated things because you had an important exam in a couple of weeks. You were now in your room alone, reflecting on what you should do to make things feel right again. That's when you had an idea that could help you get in line again and distract you from your forbidden desires.

"Hey babe, can I talk to you?" you asked Stu, your boyfriend, when he answered your call.

"Sure baby, is everything alright?" you heard Stu becoming worried which was unlikely of him. Your heart started to beat faster when you thought about the possibility of him discovering your darkest secret, but you pushed it away quickly.

"Well... I was thinking of, you know, do something for me. Something I think that would be good for me." you could practically sense the confusion that Stu must have felt when you said those words.

"And... what's that?" you heard him chuckle on the phone, a typical reaction from Stu.

"I think I should get a job... like a part-time, so I can get some money and be more financially independent, you know?" you started chowing your nails nervously, before you heard a hysterical laugh from your boyfriend. Now it was your time to get confused. "Why are you laughing? I'm serious, Stu!"

"You, working? Come on babe, you must be joking! Why do you need a job? That's for desperate people. And you're not desperate." he laughed like what you just said was the best joke he had ever heard.

"What? Why do you say that? That's not true!" you felt a little bit offended by Stu's comment and immaturity. Stu was a rich and spoiled guy, of course he would think that way.

"My dad works with those people, Y/N. And even he thinks that those people are desperate just to gain a few bucks." when you heard the word "dad" come out of his mouth, you stopped breathing for a moment, making you cough. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." you lied. There was a silence between the two of you, since you weren't sure of what to say. You were lost on your thoughts, before you heard Stu speak again.

"Listen... if you really want to get a job or a part-time, fine. I'm sure my dad can help you with that." you felt trapped, like your heart was going to explode and your mind was screaming for you to refuse his help and forget the idea of getting a job with his dad's help. You didn't really need it, you just wanted to occupy your mind with important things and be as busy as you could, so your mind wouldn't be able to think about things that didn't matter.

"Yeah, I would really appreciate that." your mouth betrayed you, speaking for your lust instead of listening to your rational and morals.

"Fine, I'll talk to him then." he said with a smirk on his face and paused. You knew something was up since Stu always wanted something in return when he made you a favor that he doesn't agree in the first place. "Buuut, you need to do whatever I ask for two weeks! No matter what it is!" you rolled your eyes, knowing that he would ask something against your will.

"Sure babe, what is it?" you smiled at his excitement, even tho you felt suspicious about his request.

"Me and the boys want to spend a week out. At... Billy's house." your smile immediately fadded away when he mentioned Billy's name. You were worried about the strange and probably bad influence Billy had on Stu, but after what happened a few weeks ago, you knew you couldn't be mad at him. "Come on doll, you know I won't cause any trouble! You know me!" he laughed at his own words, which made you laugh as well.

"Yeah sure Stu, I totally believe what you just said! Not even you believe it!" you both laughed, until you decided to let him have fun without complaining. "When will you guys go out then?"

"Oh fuck, is that a yes??" you could feel Stu's enthusiasm.

"I mean, I don't want to be the nagging girlfriend who doesn't let her man go out with his friends." even tho you felt nervous about Stu spending a week away from you, specially in Billy's presence, you couldn't forbid him to do something he really wanted to.

"Nahh, don't worry about it. You're the best, babe. We'll go in two weeks after our last exam. And don't worry, I'll talk to my dad right now. He's downstairs." your stomach sank when you realized William was at Stu's house too. You haven't seen him since then, avoiding him as much as possible.

"Thanks, baby. I love you so much..." tears started forming in your eyes, guilt consuming you by each second. Maybe Stu being away and enjoy his time with the boys would be good for both of you, since Stu was a very clingy boyfriend. You didn't mind it at all... but it became incredibly difficult to show affection towards Stu and have sex with him after everything.

"Love you too, sweet cheeks." were his last words before he hung up.

..................................................................................

Two weeks had passed and you were saying your goodbyes to your boyfriend. You would definitely miss him. Now you were in your room, looking at William's business card deciding on either or not you should go to his office. After a few long minutes debating if you should make an appointment or not, you called the number when a kind, older woman answered.

"H-hey good afternoon, I wanted to make an appointment with Mr. Afton if it's possible?" you started sweating and shaking a little bit, a ridiculous reaction to such a simple act, you thought.

"Yeah, sure! We have a vacancy for an appointment in two hours, a client canceled half an hour ago his appointment. Do you want me to make a reservation for you, ma'am?" the lady asked, and if you thought you were nervous before, now you were panting.

"Yes, that would be great." you swallowed hard, your throat becoming extremely dry.

One hour and a half passed and you were now facing the mirror, trying to calm yourself down until you felt ready to leave your room. You were dressed in a pink skirt with a small, white top that defined your breasts. You felt pretty, yet you perfectly knew this outfit would be seen as provocative to your boyfriend's dad. Why were you doing this?? Why would want to get pretty for a man who's twice your age?? Those thoughts were pushed away when you gained the courage to leave your house and went straight to Mr. Afton's office.

"Come in." you heard that deep, masculine voice... the voice that you unconsciously dreamed of hearing again. You took a deep breath before coming in and closed the door. After a moment, you saw William staring at you in disbelief before a small smirk came to his face. "Well, I wasn't expecting such an... unexpected, yet very welcoming client to come".

"I just came looking for a job, Mr. Afton." you stuttered a little bit, William's big blue eyes staring at you intimidatingly.

"I'm sure you are... sit down." he chuckled and you frowned confused before sitting down like he told you to. He started reading your curriculum attentively like he was reading his favorite book, before he looked at you silently.

"So... what do you advice me, sir?" oh that nickname... always so obedient, his little girl. Yes, you read that right. For him, you were already his.

"Well, I have a... very interesting job option for you. I think you would love working there actually, and for a part-time, it should be all good." he smirked dangerously and you looked at him confused once again, waiting for his advice.

"What is it then?" you asked curiously, before he got up from his seat slowly to make you both coffee. You accepted, since you didn't want to be rude.

"A sex shop." he said it like it was so normal to him. You almost spitted your coffee and started coughing a little bit. "It's also near my house and I know the owner very well. He told me a while ago he needed a pretty employee to... you know, attract more costumers." you looked at him shocked and speechless. No words came out of your mouth and William enjoyed the effect he had on you. "Do you want the job or not?" this time he went serious and approached you, his hands interwained in front of you to show power over you.

"Isn't there any other option? I don't think Stu-"

"My son has nothing to do with this. It's your life, your choice. Don't waste my time Y/N, you have to take this seriously. Otherwise you can get your pretty ass up and leave." he shouted sternly and went back to work on other client's files, completely ignoring you.

"O-Ok, I'll do it!" you said impulsively since you felt trapped. You wonder how William knew so well the sex shop's owner like he said. Does he buy a lot of sex toys? Is he that kinky? He must be so experienced... your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a strong hand grabbing your neck before putting you on top of his desk, him standing between your spread legs. "W-what are you doing-"

"Shut up now, bunny. You're getting on my nerves and I don't like that one bit. You think I'm stupid? That I didn't notice how you dressed up to me like an innocent girl just to get a reaction from me, huh?" his grip on your neck tighten and it became harder to breath. "You're nothing but innocent, sweetie. And you're gonna prove to me right now how filthy you really are. The side no one knows about, but me. Not even Stu." his eyes were darker then before and you felt your core getting wetter. You knew he was right and the worse of it, you didn't feel guilty anymore. You've had already sinned, so now you just let yourself go and followed your deepest desires without anyone to stop you now.

"You know what?" you challenge him with your eyes and words, before you started rubbing yourself against his already hard cock, making him confused and frown for a moment, waiting for your response. "Maybe you're right. I'm a little dirty fucking whore who's desperate to be fucked by my boyfriend's father. I've been touching myself while thinking about you... and since what happened, the only way Stu could make me cum, was if I thought it was you fucking me instead." you tried to speak the best you could due to the lack of oxygen, but it was enough to drive William insane. He stared at you incredulously, admiring your honesty with such ease. He suddenly pulled you to him and kissed your neck roughly, leaving hickeys and love bites on its way. You gasped at his roughness and the fact he was marking you as his, so everyone else could see it.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. My son won't see the way I marked you, even tho I would like to see his face once he realizes you're mine now." he whispered seductively into your ear before bitting your earlobe. He continued his attacks on your neck while he unbuttoned his pants, taking his erected cock on his strong hand and started to touch himself. He then undressed your top and bra effortlessly, like he already did it so many times during his life, before putting one of your erected nipples in his mouth. He was sucking and biting the sensitive flesh, making you moan loudly. "Shh baby, you're on my work place, don't forget it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Afton. I'll try my best to be quiet." you promised breathlessly, pleasure consuming you at a dangerous rate.

"Good girl..." his low voice made your pussy pulsate into nothing, making you desperate for this older man's touch. "But for now on, call me daddy, understood?" he tried to remain serious and control himself, so he wouldn't cum before fucking you.

"Please daddy fuck me already, I can't wait anymore..." your desperation was palpable and it only made him even more proud of the power he had over you.

"You're mine now, bunny. Is that clear?" he said before pushing your drenched panties aside with his fingers and finally entered you. You both moaned loudly and you only prayed that no one heard you. "Fuck, you're so tight..." he pounded into you faster after giving you just a couple of seconds for you to adjust to his large size. You bite your lip until it hurted, so you wouldn't make too much noise, but it was becoming unbearable.

"Please daddy, I can't stay quiet!" he understood you needed help, so he put one hand on top of your mouth and nose and continued to fuck you hard.

"Say that you're mine... fucking say it!" he growled into your ear in a way that scared you, so you decided to give him want he wanted.

"I'm only yours daddy, I need to cum please!" you cried out pitiful pleads, meaning every word you said. He suddenly changed your positions, grabbing your body while he barely sat on the desk for support and pounded into you almost in the air. His strength surprised you and the new position touched your g spot just perfectly, making you cum within a few seconds. He knew you were about to cum, so he quickly grabbed his tie and put it into your mouth so it could muffle your moans.

"That's it babygirl, cum for daddy and make me proud. Prove to me I'm the only one who can pleasure you this good." he spanked you hard on your ass and that was all you needed to reach your limit. Your orgasm was intense and it made your legs tremble, which made your pussy squeeze William's cock as well. He came right after you, letting out a growling moan that turned you on so much, before he loaded his thick sperm inside you. He then turned around so he could sit on his chair with you on top of him, both of you trying to catch your breath. After a while you both stared at each other's eyes deeply, his now softer cock still buried in you and he didn't seem to care about the risks or if he would get you pregnant.

You knew all of this was extremely wrong... you knew he was much older than you and would never want anything serious with a young girl, specially when you were dating his own son. But the way he was looking at you right now told you something different. His eyes became softer now that he was looking at you, showing a bit of care and... love? No, it couldn't be. Stu told you that his mother and William weren't on good terms lately and probably didn't have sex anymore, but maybe that was something that made you believe William could possibly care about you and wanting to make you his. All those thoughts and theories were put aside when you impulsively grabbed William's face and kissed him. He reciprocated without any hesitation, his experienced and soft tongue tasting like coffee while his big hands pulled you closer and grabbed you like you would escape from him at any moment. The kiss wasn't rougher and primal like the sex you had. No. It was soft, slow and passionate... a kiss that you believed only people who were in love could do.

Your heart started to beat faster, desperate to feel and discover more about his softer side, and that made you realize something: was I falling in love with my boyfriend's father?

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stellar-skyy · 3 months

Note

Hiii congrats on 200!!

May I have hot honey & vanilla tea with lyney? Extra fluffy if you can 😌

“lyney! i have an order for lyney, a honey and vanilla tea!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: Lyney finds his partner crying, and reminds them they are loved. ii. CWS & NOTES: crying. reader has a bad day and lyney comforts them. lyney x gn!reader. hurt/comfort & fluff. established relationship. 1k words. iii. A/N: aly!! thank you for your order!! i think i bent the prompt a little bit, so this came out a bit more hurt/comfort than strictly fluff, but i hope you enjoy regardless!

Lyney slid his key into the lock, turning it with a click. The noise was loud in the quiet of the night, abruptly tearing through the silence. He paused, letting the night settle once more, before pushing the door open.

“[Name]! I’m back,” Lyney called, hooking his finger under the brim of his hat to tug it off his head. It was tossed unceremoniously onto the table, along with his gloves. His boots were next, stacked beside the door in a row with the rest of the shoes.

“Hello…?” He tried again, gently pushing open a door to peer into a deserted living room.

There wasn’t any sign of life in the room, but there were traces. The pillows were askew, scattered above a small dent in the couch where someone had left too quickly to smooth it back down. A mug rested on the side table—his mug, Lyney noted, not theirs—with the residue of a drink long gone still lingering at the bottom. There was a strange silence in the air, which unnerved him more than he would like to admit. At this time there was always something; distant beats of music coming from somewhere in the house, or the unintelligible sound of chatter from the television two rooms over, or even just quiet thumps and echoes that reminded him of another presence within the house.

“My dear, are you home?” Lyney called out again. The sound of his voice reverberated across the walls, with no answering call to meet him. His brow furrowed further, an uneasy feeling seizing him tightly. It wrapped itself around his lungs, squeezing tighter with every step out of the living room and through the hall.

A light glowed dimly from under the final door of the hallway, their shared bedroom. Straining his ears, he could hear a low, muffled sound from behind it. A smile graced his lips, coated in relief, and the tension slowly eased itself away from his chest, if only by a fraction. They were in the bedroom, it seemed; they had simply turned in early. There wasn’t a need to worry at all.

Still, Lyney was ill at ease. It was late in the night, far later than any reasonable person would be awake for, but they always waited for him on nights like these. Their face filled his thoughts in every step of the walk home, idle wonderings of whether they had made dinner yet, or how they were spending their evening.

Lyney gripped the doorhandle, swinging the door open with a touch too much force. The bedroom was dark, save for the light of a bedside lamp dimly illuminating a curled-up figure on the bed.

“Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you pulled a disappearing act on me! But of course, I’m the only magician here—” He cut himself off abruptly, as his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the room. Squinting, he could see the outline of their form grow sharper, smoothing out to show the details he had missed on his first glance.

A sheen glossed over their red and swollen eyes. The edge of the blanket was clutched in a hand so tight it was shaking. Their breaths were fractured, drawn sharply from their place under the sheets.

“Are you alright?” Lyney asked, keeping his tone light, in spite of the panic clouding his thoughts. His mind was buzzing, spinning in circles with constant questions of why. “Come on, you didn’t miss me that much, did you?” He tried to joke as he walked up to the side of the bed, grasping at any chance of easing the tension in the room.

A weak sob broke apart any feeble attempt at lightening the mood.

“Shh… I’m sorry, it’s okay, I’m here…” he whispered, settling a hand on their cheek. “You’re okay. I’m here. I love you.”

I love you. The words fell almost too easily, surprising himself. Love was always a distant emotion to him; felt, but rarely spoken aloud, for fear it would vanish the moment his lips formed the words. But he knew he loved them—so much, so much more than they would ever be able to see.

“I love you,” he said again, firmer—to convince himself as well as them. His hands shifted from their cheek and brushed along their arm with a feather-light touch, grasping their hands in his own. He brought them to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “Now what’s wrong? Did you have a bad day?”

A murmur; not quite affirmative, not quite refusing.

“You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to.” He reassured them, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on the side of his hand. “I’ll be ready when you do.”

Lyney let go of their hands for a moment to shrug off the outer layers of clothing, letting them fall into a pile on the carpet. He didn’t bother to properly change into his nightclothes; instead, he fell onto the bed, costume and all. The corseted portion of his outfit dug into his skin uncomfortably, but he barely noticed; he was too busy tugging them against his chest.

“I love you,” he said as he kissed their forehead, leaving his lips resting on their skin for a beat.

“I love you, so much.” He murmured as his fingers began to card through their hair, working out all of the tangles that had found themselves there.

“I love you, and whatever you’re going through, I am here for you.” He promised as he pulled them as close as they could, resting with their face in the crook of his neck and his arms draped loosely on their hips.

Their sobs soon evened out to low, shuddering breaths that left them shaking in his arms. Lyney was still, only daring to move his hand to trace circles across their back. Even with all his reassurance, they were yet to speak a single word. He continued to speak anyway, pressing his nose to their head and whispering into their hair, between gentle kisses to their face.

Each one was a promise, a lingering reminder that he was there. One to the bridge of their nose, one more to their forehead, two to each of their cheeks. They were peppered across their face, scattered like invisible stars in the smallest of skies.

He would wait there as long as he needed to, murmuring gentle words under his breath until they knew just how loved they truly were.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

#✒️ — writing #[ interstellar teashop ☆ﾟ. ]#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#—stellaronhvnters.#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #genshin lyney x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #lyney x gn reader #lyney fluff

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simp4wom3n · 1 year

Text

The Quiet One Pt III

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: After moving to New York with Tara to escape their past, y/n finds themselves desperate to keep her girlfriend safe, especially when a new killer is on the loose. ~ Word Count: 7.526k ~ Warnings: Scream VI spoilers, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, swearing (I think that's everything)

A/N: Hi!!! part 3 is finally here!! i'm sorry it took so long I have actually been so fkn busy its a lil painful I won't lie. This one also took a while to write so hopefully you guys like it - and yes there will be a pt 4 coming soon. <3

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

A packed frat party with dizzying lights and deafening music wasn't the typical place you chose to reflect, yet here you were, sitting on an old couch, drink in hand, dressed in a pirate costume with your fellow crewmate nowhere to be found.

Moving to New York was easily one of the better decisions you had ever made. Escaping the small town of Woodsboro that provided you with nothing but nightmares felt like a breath of fresh air. As a matter of fact, the only thing you were glad that Woodsboro gave you was Tara.

You had been dating since your shared 3-day nightmare over 6 months ago, and your relationship grew stronger every day. That was at least until something shifted. Something in the way Tara looked at you had changed. The usual squeal of happiness at the sight of you was replaced with an almost irritated sigh. Your presence becoming more of a burden for the girl than a blessing.

Sure, you were overprotective. How couldn't you be? She was quite literally all that you had left. Sam, Mindy, Chad. They were all there, but none of them knew you like Tara did. None of them loved you like Tara did.

After the two of you were Richie and Amber's 'pin cushions', you ultimately decided you were sick of being the loner that everybody could take advantage of. The small, insignificant girl that everyone laughed at and made fun of. The weak punching bag that gets stabbed and shot on repeat.

Instead of relishing every opportunity to be alone, you now practically hate to be alone, the horror of the attacks leaving deep and permanent wounds. You rarely distanced yourself from Tara. When being with her was impossible, going to the gym with Chad was your next best option.

Although you didn't see the point at first, you quickly realised that the extra muscle would not only help you regain the strength you'd lost due to your extensive wounds, but it would also improve your ability to protect Tara, or more specifically, beat the shit out of anyone who tried to touch her.

Unfortunately, your overbearing need to protect Tara landed you in this position. Painfully reminded of what should be by Mindy and Anika's cuddling less than a few metres away from you, you blankly stare at the array of drunk teens in front of you, singing and swaying to the music whilst probably eyeing up their next hook-up.

"You alright there, y/n?" Anika's sweet voice breaks you out of your drunken haze, your sour mood and distant stare evidently not as concealed as you thought. "Yeah, fine... I'm getting another drink" You chug the rest of your drink, the poorly mixed liquid burning the back of your throat as your face scrunches at the taste, before you push yourself up off the couch, not particularly interested in a drunk heart-to-heart conversation.

Stumbling your way through the crowd, mumbling "excuse me"s and "sorry"s to every person you bump into, you make your way towards the kitchen to steal what was left of the cheap liquor.

Your muffled apologies were cut off when a strong shoulder barged into you, almost knocking you off your feet. Your drunken gaze quickly turns towards the inconsiderate asshole who ran into you, your face scrunched in annoyance until your eyes catch a glimpse of a familiar bandana.

"Tara?" Her clearly intoxicated eyes met yours briefly as she was dragged through the crowds, her arm being pulled by a dude you presumed to be an egotistical frat boy. Every ounce of alcohol left your system as you sobered up instantly, your feet quickly following their trail despite having to shove past a few unhappy partygoers.

"Tara!" you exclaim as you catch up to them on the stairs, where Tara walks in front of the jackass, willingly leading herself into an inevitable death trap. Her head turns to face you, a look of disappointment on her face that you try to brush off. "She's good down here." You sarcastically smile at the boy, grabbing Taras's arm as you gently try to pull her back down the stairs.

"Come on, let's go" "No, y/n... It's fine, I want to" "Wha-" "See y/n... she wants to" The douchebag smirks as he firmly grabs ahold of Tara's other arm, forcibly dragging her up the stairs as she loses her footing. Her grunts of pain cause every last bit of your patience to evaporate as you run up the stairs after her.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" you yell violently, yanking him down the steps by the shirt. His back collides with the wall, forcing him to stumble before regaining his footing and charging towards you. "Get the fuck off of me!" he yells, but you hold your ground. "You want to go motherfucker? Ok." Tara's protests from behind you go unheard as you uppercut him hard in the chin, his head jerking backwards as he falls to the ground in agony, blood spilling from his lips.

"Touch her again, and I'll send you to the hospital next time", You threaten him, your eyes catching a glimpse of Sam appearing out of the crowd, a slight smirk on her lips at the scene in front of her - she loved the new you.

"Y/n?!" Your focus is stolen from your moment of victory as you turn around and are met with a furious Tara. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" She scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head before she carelessly pushed past you, her shoulder bumping into you.

"Dammit"

"Tara! Will you stop?" you called after her as she continued walking quickly away from you, the rest of the group following behind you. Was the punch a little overboard? Maybe, but at the end of the day, that dude had it coming.

"I cannot believe you did that.", she yelled at you, her tone laced with irritation. "That guy was a dick. He was going to take advantage of you!" "So?!". Your jaw dropped as she finally faced you, her face purely showing frustration. No sarcasm, no guilt, nothing. You couldn't believe what you had just heard. The thought of Tara consciously allowing herself to be dragged away by some guy that would undoubtedly take advantage of her, or worse, infuriated you.

"So?! What the fuck do you mean so?!" "Maybe I didn't care because at least I would finally get away from you!... I mean, look, y/n... you're looking out for me, I get that, I appreciate that, but you never leave me alone unless it is physically fucking impossible for you to be there... you have to let me go." Her harsh tone softened the more she spoke, perhaps realising the words that were falling from her mouth as she stared into your tear-ridden eyes.

"Let you go?" you grinned wryly as tears streamed down your cheeks. "How do you expect me to do that, Tara? I love you... You are literally all that I have left. You are all that I care about. I-I moved to fucking New York because of you, like... I-I can't."

Despite Tara's gaze softening at your cries, your heart cracked as you realised that you were hanging onto her by a thread. Uncontrollable sobs began to escape you as your hand attempted to keep them in. A mixture of embarrassment and guilt washed over you as you turned on your heels and ran off towards the apartment you, unfortunately, shared with the gorgeous girl you were running away from.

In times like these, you resented the fact that you shared a bedroom with Tara.

Before you ran away, you thought you saw a flash of guilt in Tara's eyes, a thought which helped somewhat soothe your racing thoughts as you verged on the edge of a breakdown.

She was right. She always was. You never left her alone, that was true, but you couldn't let her go. You just couldn't. It had been months since Dewey was brutally taken from you, and you still have nightmares about it. She knew that. She was the one who used to comfort you when you would wake up in a cold sweat, the pictures of Dewey lying dead on the floor fresh in your mind.

You used to think you had no love to give, but now it seemed you had too much.

The rest of the group had returned to the apartment shortly after you barged down the door with tears streaming down your face. You had taken cover in Sam's room, knowing that Tara would similarly seek the comfort of your shared bedroom once she got home.

When you heard the front door slam shut and the shuffling of footsteps outside the closed bedroom door, you shot to your feet as you checked over yourself in Sam's mirror, hoping to wipe away the remnants of your recent meltdown, the weight of Tara's words still pulling on you.

With one last deep breath, you turned the door handle slowly and softly, a slight creak escaping its worn hinges. When you poked your head around the corner, you noticed your bedroom light was on, and the door was wide open, which you took as a sign of Tara's presence.

Slowly padding softly across the wooden floor into the living room, you spot Mindy sitting on the couch as Chad and Sam move around the kitchen. Mindy's kind eyes land on your dishevelled figure as you sluggishly approach her, falling back into the sofa next to her with a distant look on your face.

"You alright there, matey?". Your brows furrowed slightly at Mindy's odd choice of wording before realising you were still in your pirate costume. You chuckled slightly as you wiped at your eyes, your head nodding subtly as you gave the girl a small smile.

You sat silently for a moment, the sound of cupboards opening and closing echoing from the kitchen as Chad appeared to be searching for something. "Go talk to her.". Your eyes shifted back to the girl sitting next to you, a knowing look on her face as she smiled at you gently. You glanced toward your bedroom, watching Quinn exit the room before Chad entered, closing the door behind him.

Your jaw clenched slightly as your gaze returned to Mindy, a hesitant look on your face. "I don't think that's a good idea." You spoke softly, knowing she was upset because you wouldn't leave her alone, so there was no point. "Oh, come on, you know you want to. Just go. Go, go, go." Mindy shooed you off the couch and towards your room, your eyes landing on the door as if you were about to enter your worst nightmare.

Your hesitancy to enter caused Quinn to beat you to it, opening the door suddenly, mumbling something about her phone. You stood back, waiting for her to leave so you could try and talk to Tara. Or at least that was your plan until you heard Quinrn say something that made your heart sink.

"Did I cockblock you?"

The rest of the conversation from the room didn't help as your eyes were welled with tears. What the fuck was Chad doing with Tara in your bedroom for Quinn to say that. You harshly bit your lip in an attempt to calm yourself, an attempt which failed miserably as Chad exited the room and saw you, his face immediately stricken with guilt.

"Fuck this"

Before he could put together some fake apology, you were already turning around and bolting towards the front door. Grabbing your jumper and keys from the nearby hooks, you slid your shoes on as you shakily undid the many locks keeping you trapped inside this godforsaken apartment.

Ignoring the worried look from Mindy, when you finally got the door open, you practically jumped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind you.

Sobs wracked your body as you ran down the decrepit stairs and out the door onto the dark street. You knew it was prime time for a Ghostface attack, but at this point, you were happy to be the live bait.

Dragging your heavy feet up the winding stairs, your energy has completely depleted after your last hour of wandering through New York's streets. You didn't even have the power to think coherently, your mind completely blank as you scaled the stairs towards your apartment.

After aimlessly staring at your feet as you trek towards your door, you only pick your head up once you reach the top of the staircase. The front door was wide open. An unfamiliar figure stood in the doorway watching the TV whilst what appeared to be your entire friend group watched with them.

Sniffling and wiping away the tear tracks from your cheeks as you stalked towards your door, you entered slowly and rounded the male figure, a person you now recognised as 'the hot guy next door'. You looked at him queryingly before your eyes scanned the rest of the room, everyone looking glaringly concerned.

When your gaze finally lands on the TV, your heart sinks as you read the headline. Another ghostface attack. "What the fuck is going on?" your voice causes everyone's heads to turn towards you, some of them unaware of your presence until now. Your posture shrunk even further as everyone glared at you - some were soft, whilst others were deadly.

"Where were you?" Tara asked, a mixture of anger and concern laced in her tone. You hesitated. You didn't feel like voicing to the whole room how you had walked around aimlessly whilst sobbing and attracting weird and worried stares from random people.

"Just on a walk. Needed some fresh air." Your voice was quiet as you spoke, your eyes never leaving Tara's. She noticed how red and puffy yours were, how tears had stained your cheeks despite your blatant attempt at hiding it.

"Impeccable timing", you heard Chad mutter quietly, probably thinking you wouldn't hear it. Your gaze shifted to him as you looked at him insulted. The fact that he was even insinuating that you could have had something to do with it made your blood boil.

"Pack a bag. We leave in ten." "Sam, wait, Sam!". Sam walked quickly into the kitchen, Tara hot on her tail. You were too focused on the idea that now, because of your sulking, everyone in this room no longer trusts you. Tara might not trust you.

With a blank stare, you drag yourself further into the living room before collapsing on the couch Tara had previously occupied. You instantly brought your knees to your chest and buried your head in them, tears beginning to resurface as it appeared the world hated you more than ever.

Surrounded by Tara's perfume, you tried and failed to wrap your head around the returning nightmare that was brewing. Not only were you losing your grip on your beloved girlfriend, but you were now likely about to face up against another psycho who wanted nothing more than to see your and your friends' bodies dead in the ground.

As Tara and Sam's argument migrated back into the living room whilst Quinn phoned her dad, the sound of Sam's phone ringing echoing through the room caused you to flinch, your body beginning to involuntarily shake.

When she hung up on the caller, you breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, your relief was short-lived, as you noticed Sam's face drop after she talked to Quinn's dad. She hung up the phone with a sorrowful yet determined look on her face, "I have to go to the station", she spoke as she moved to leave the apartment.

Before anyone could stop her, she was out the door, yet your eyes shifted towards Tara's sporadic movements as she searched for her jacket. "I'm going with her", she finally spoke after noticing everyone's questioning eyes.

As she reached the apartment door, she looked over her shoulder at you expectantly, almost anticipating that you would follow her. On any other day, you would, but at that moment, you selfishly decided that you were too hurt to follow after her.

After all, she didn't want your protection. Right?

You missed the look of disappointment on her face as you averted your eyes from her, instead choosing to focus on the TV. Clenching her jaw and nodding subtly, Tara turned back around and ran down the stairs after her sister.

You soon realised that letting her go was one of the worst decisions you had made to date.

They had been attacked. Of course, they had been attacked. The one time you let your emotions get the better of you, Tara almost ended up dead.

You knew the world hated you.

When you had gotten the call from Quinn's dad about the attack, you had never run so fast. You sprinted straight down to the station, desperate to see your girlfriend and make sure she was ok, even if she didn't want to see you.

When detective Bailey finally released them, you sat anxiously in an old and uncomfortable chair at the entrance to the station, your leg bouncing vigorously as your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused your head to whip upwards, your eyes landing on Tara and Sam, visible injuries nowhere to be found on either of them.

You got to your feet quickly, standing impossibly straight as the girls finally reached you. You took a second to scan Tara, double and even triple checking that she was ok. That she wasn't hurt.

You wouldn't forgive yourself if she was.

Releasing a shaky sigh of relief, you softly nodded, whispering, "I'm glad you're ok", before turning on your heels and heading towards the door. Tara's face scrunched slightly at your behaviour, unsure why your usually confident and over-the-top personality was so... dull?

She kept her gaze on you as she followed you out the door, only to be surrounded by a bunch of reporters. Microphones and cameras were shoved in your face, and questions were hurled left and right.

You had to fight the urge to put your arm around Tara's shoulders, your head and heart at war as you still failed to comprehend how Tara felt. Whether she still loved you or not. Whether she would welcome your touch or not. You had no idea.

With the end of the sea of paparazzi finally in sight, you were seconds away from escaping until a familiar voice filled your ears.

"Gale Weathers. Channel 4."

The three of you simultaneously spun around with shock and disgust on your faces. "Do you ladies think you're the reason the Ghostface killer has come to the big apple?". You scoffed at her words, earning a raised brow from the woman.

Sam humourlessly chuckled in disbelief before you watched her swing a punch at Gale. The crowd of press gasped as Gale somehow dodged the hit altogether, a smug smirk making its way onto her face. "Nice try, sweetie, but I've done this dance before."

Your want to wipe that smug smile off her face was satisfyingly fulfilled as Tara punched her straight in the face, knocking her back as another gasp filled the air. You couldn't help but smile as Gale turned around, her mouth agape while holding her cheek.

"Stay away from us.". Regardless of your current problems, you had never felt more in love with Tara as she walked away without another glance in Gale's direction. The smile still lingered on your lips as you moved to follow the girls away from the cameras. To your dissatisfaction, Gale followed.

Listening to Gale try to justify herself for writing about what happened in Woodsboro all those months ago just made you more infuriated. 'Those fuckers can die in anonymity' is what she had said.

Yet look at her now.

When Sam mentioned what Dewey would think, you immediately tensed up, your gaze dropping to your feet as you sucked in a breath. Knowing that any mention of Dewey's name triggered you, Tara's gaze momentarily lingered on you before she returned to the conversation.

You zoned out of the rest of said conversation, only picking your head back up when Sam and Tara started to walk away. You watched as they headed towards a taxi while you began to walk back to the apartment.

"Y/n? Where are you going?" Tara's soft voice caused you to turn back, her eyes questioning you as her brows frowned slightly. "I-I was just gonna walk home... you kn-" "Get in." Tara interjected, earning a surprised look from you. "I-" "Y/n, get in the damn taxi." "Ok."

Just like before, she still had complete control over you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't say no to her. You watched as the two sisters entered the taxi before you rounded the car and followed on the other side. With the three of you in the back seat and Tara in the dreaded middle seat, avoiding physical contact with Tara was impossible as your shoulders and thighs brushed against each other.

Nothing but the faint hum of the radio filled the backseat as the vehicle drove away from the station. This distance, or lack of it, between you and Tara, was both comfortable and unsettling. You hadn't taken your eyes away from her hand, conveniently situated on her thigh, barely inches from yours.

The need to grasp her hand grew too strong for you to resist, so you gently brushed her pinky finger with yours before proceeding to intertwine your fingers. You mentally sighed at the softness of her delicate hand as soon as it was within your grasp.

Holy shit, you had missed her touch.

With the back of her hand facing upwards, your fingers gently moving against her knuckles, you studied her scar, which had served as a daily reminder of what the two of you had gone through together.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there... I should've -" "It's ok." Your eyes finally met hers as she gave you a warm smile, reassuringly squeezing your hand. "But what if you got hurt?" "I didn't... that's all that matters." Your eyes had begun to water slightly, the guilt of letting her go resurfacing as you looked her dead in the eyes. She gently leaned in and kissed your cheek sweetly before allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder.

Maybe everything was going to be alright after all.

"Ok nerds, listen up."

Mindy's monologue. A staple of the so-called 'franchise' you were tied up in. The whole friend group gathered on the grounds of your college, preparing to hear the numerous rules that undoubtedly come with the new title of this fucked up nightmare you were all living.

"Rule one! Everything is bigger than last time."

Great. Already off to a fantastic start. As Mindy began to explain what that meant, you grew increasingly concerned, not for your own safety, but for Tara's.

"Rule two! Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite."

Even better. Now, It apparently made no difference whether you had gone through this once before or not. To be honest, the idea of a serial killer following the conventions of a movie was still absurd and utterly terrifying to you, knowing full well what kind of fucked up shit happens in horror movies.

"And Rule three, no one is safe."

If your heart wasn't already racing, it was now hammering out of your chest as the gravity of the situation became clear. Tara shifted next to you at Mindy's comments, evidently similarly disturbed by the new rules.

But what frightened you the most was what Mindy said next. "Any of us could go at any time... especially Sam and Tara.". You had never felt so sick. You could feel beads of sweat dripping down the back of your neck as you nervously turned towards your girlfriend, fear overtaking your features.

Her eyes met yours briefly with a matching look of concern as Mindy started listing out the suspects. You had to admit Mindy was really good at this whole monologue thing, naming all the apparent suspects and their motives with ease.

That was until she looked in your direction.

"And finally, y/n.". You looked at her with wide eyes before your head rapidly scanned everyone else to see if you were the only one who didn't expect this. "The jealous girlfriend of the Tara Carpenter... who is also now, apparently, jacked.". You shook your head in denial. There was no way this was happening.

"Mindy, w-what? How come I'm a suspect? I mean, I was there for Woodsboro like you guys were... w-why?" you said, gesturing to the so-called 'core four' completely confused. A sense of betrayal was beginning to rise within you as Mindy continued to look at you with an almost sympathetic smile.

"Never trust the love interest," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "And besides, you have literally nothing to lose." Your mouth fell open. You inhaled sharply to keep your tears at bay, the comment being a ridiculously low blow from someone who typically looked out for you. "No parents, no Dewey. Even before the Woodsboro attack, you had no friends."

"Mindy!?" you heard Tara protest from next to you, clearly upset by her words. You sat in silence for a moment, processing what Mindy had said, and as much as you hated to admit it, she was right.

"No... she's right," you spoke sadly as you nodded your head, "But that's also why it wouldn't be me. I love Tara. I couldn't do anything to hurt her... ever.". You could feel Tara's eyes on you as you stared at Mindy, practically begging her to believe you, not that it mattered, seeing you weren't the killer.

But as far as everyone else was concerned, it very well could be you.

You were still slightly shaken from the group conversation a few hours ago, the realisation that you had nothing to lose playing on your mind as you sat on the couch with Anika. The 'core four' were too busy laughing whilst preparing dinner in the kitchen, whilst you spoke drearily with Anika.

"Have you guys talked about it?" Anika spoke, referring to your fight with Tara the other night. She did her best to comfort and guide you through your suffocating thoughts, your heavy bags under your eyes speaking volumes after another sleepless night. "Not really, no." "Why not?" "I don't know... We haven't really had the time, but I'm also just scared to bring it up."

Despite your new tough(er) exterior, you were still just as soft on the inside as you were before your meek existence got flipped on its head. "Well, I know for a fact that she loves you, and you love her. Your Y/n and Tara, you'll power through." Anika speaks softly, a playful smile playing on her lips as your head bobs gently, letting her words soak in.

"Yeah, well. I sure hope so." You finally move your gaze away from the girl sitting across from you, your tired eyes now landing on the TV screen as the news plays. Just as you begin to relax and enjoy the rest of your night, a new headline flashes across the bottom of the screen, erasing any traces of joy from your face.

'Sam Carpenter Named as Prime Suspect'

"Um, guys?" you shouted from your seat, loud enough to reach the others in the kitchen, whilst leaning forward to grab the remote. Turning the volume up as you hear footsteps enter the room behind you, your face scrunched in confusion as a video of Sam plays whilst the reporter's words make her out to be a psycho.

You risk a glance behind you. Sam's expression was completely blank as the light from the TV flickered on her face. You felt bad for her. You truly did. You struggle to grasp the fact that your friends didn't entirely trust you, and here she was with the entirety of New York being told she was the killer.

You were so preoccupied with the idea that the news dared to make this a story that you didn't notice Tara's eyes shifting to you. Her gaze has been drawn to your worn face. Your ordinarily bright eyes were heavy and unfocused as you stared in bewilderment at the television. She felt terrible about what she said to you a few nights before, and her heart only broke when she discovered how much damage her words had caused.

When Sam hastily turned the TV off and left the room, Tara's eyes left your figure briefly as she watched her sister move to sit solemnly at the dining table. She sighed defeatedly, the effects of Ghostface on the two of you shining brighter than they ever had before. Tara spared you one last worried glance before she followed her sister out of the room.

Chad and Mindy ultimately followed the girls, leaving you and Anika in stunned silence. The air in the room became unusually silent, the old pleasant chat between the two of you suffocated by the apartment's new tension and terror.

You sunk deeper into the couch as you pulled your legs up to your chest, the thick air ultimately releasing slightly as the sound of laughter flowed through the living room from the dining area. Tara's laughter rang in your ears, a sound you had so desperately missed.

You thought you felt her stare on you earlier, but you were too terrified to face it, your conversation with Anika still fresh in your memory. You leant your head against your knees and slowly closed your eyes, the general sound of genuine joy filling your ears as your breathing slowed and your body relaxed for the first time in ages.

You take a moment, revelling in your newfound tranquillity, to think on the emotional rollercoaster you had been sentenced to ride. Tara's love for you had never been questioned, and it wasn't her you didn't trust the night you stormed out. You knew she'd never cheat on you (or so you hoped), but you were unable to avoid what was staring you in the face.

Both at the party and in the comfort of your own home, someone you trusted and some random frat boy had come disturbingly close to finally severing the thread on which you dangled from the end of. You were holding on to Tara with your life, completely and totally unwilling to let go.

You heard the laughter slowly die before a harmony of notifications dinged throughout the apartment. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as you and Anika exchanged a confused glance. Hesitantly pulling your phone out of your pocket, you blinked in numbed horror as a photo of Quinn being attacked by Ghostface opened on your screen.

With the previously unheard sound of groans and bangs filling the apartment, you and Anika bolt up from the couch as the others run into the room, eyes focused on Quinn's door. Tara runs towards the door, but you instinctively grab her arm and pull her back towards you.

The feeling of her skin on yours makes your heart skip a rapid beat. You attempted to hide how her touch had affected you as you stepped in front of her, happily offering yourself up to essentially be her meat shield.

Despite your scars burning at the thought, you would much rather be the one to get stabbed if it meant Tara would be ok.

The noises of a struggle ceased as you all stood frozen, your eyes locked on the bedroom door. The silence was deafening. Your dry lips parted in silent terror, unsure whether to breathe or to scream. A single drop of sweat slowly crept its way down your forehead, the suspense reaching an all-time high.

"Run."

You recoiled in horror as the door burst open, Quinn's mangled and bloodied body being thrown out. Anika let out a piercing scream as the body collided with her, taking her to the ground with it. You try to ignore the gruesome sight in front of you as you focus on helping Anika up off the floor.

"Y/n!" Your head whipped around at the sound of Tara's distressed scream. "Wait, Y/n! Come on!" You watched in horror as Chad dragged her out the front door, leaving the rest of you to try and fight off the killer that was standing in front of you.

"Shit. Tara!" When you had Anika back on her feet, you instantly tried to follow your girlfriend. If Chad were to have learnt anything from what you had gone through, you would think it would be to not split up. That is the number one rule in legitimately every horror movie.

"Rookie."

You made the fatal mistake of assuming they were foolish enough to allow another person to escape while scrambling towards the door in a rush to avoid the killer's gaze. The others in the room watched in horror as the masked assailant slashed their knife upward, slicing directly through your left eye.

A grotesque scream erupted from your chest as you fell back onto the floor. The left side of your face felt like it erupted in flames, a powerful throbbing, making it impossible for you to think as the world spun around you. With your good eye, you watched as a steady stream of blood poured out of your gaping wound, which spanned from your jaw and through your eyebrow.

The left side of your face was paralysed with pain unlike any you had felt before. You tried to apply pressure to it with your shaky hands, but the moment your cold fingers touched your split flesh, another broken scream escaped your lips as a wave of nausea washed over you.

Mindy and Anika's screams flew straight over your head as you kneeled on the floor, the taste of blood flooding your senses as the pool of blood underneath you grew wider by the second. You didn't notice Sam's arms hauling you up off the floor until her face came into your now-restricted field of vision.

"S-Sam," you sobbed, her eyes widening and her face turning pale as she saw your profusely bleeding wound. She didn't say anything as she carried your broken form into Quinn's blood-splattered room with Mindy and Anika. She let you go the moment you walked into the room, closing and locking the door behind her to keep Ghostface from following you.

The banging on the door shook the entire room as you worked hard to slow your breathing. As you stood up, the adrenaline in your system began to kick in, and the banging at the door ceased as Sam's troubled gaze met yours.

"Y/n! Bathroom door! Hurry!" Sam whispered desperately towards you as she maintained her iron grip on the bedroom door handle. Turning your head too hastily towards the door, your vision blurred from blood loss and genuine blood falling into your eye as you lurched towards it as swiftly as you could.

As you passed through the bathroom, your hands left bloody handprints on the walls, your journey delayed by the disgustingly disfigured body of one of Quinn's many lovers - you could never tell the difference. With tears dripping from one eye and blood from the other, you returned your focus to the open doorway.

As your eyes left the mangled body, the sight of the infamous Ghostface mask made you jump as yet another scream left your lips. Your reflexes were quick as you reached for the door, trying to close it before the killer got in, but in your weakened state, they easily pushed the door back open, knocking you back as you stumbled into Sam.

They took another swing at you, thankfully missing as Sam pulled you away before you lost another eye. The two of you quickly retreated into the bedroom before you successfully slammed the door shut. Mindy joined you in trying to keep the door shut by fiddling with the lock while Ghostface proceeded to kick it down.

The room shook violently as you and Sam pushed a dresser towards the door, hoping it would serve as a better barricade. Finally getting it in front of the door, you and Mindy stood firm as you continued to resist Ghostface's merciless attempts to tear the door down.

You could feel your adrenaline beginning to wear off as the paralysing pain returned to your face. Peering down, you noticed how your blood had stained a large amount of your skin a dark crimson colour. 'That's a lot of blood.'.

Scrunching your face in pain only caused another wave to hit you as you whimpered. "What are we gonna do, f-fuck." You whispered to yourself brokenly, closing your eye as you tried to ignore the fact you were being violently shaken by someone who wanted nothing more than to kill all of you.

With your only good eye shut, you failed to notice as Sam opened the window and pulled a ladder across from her boyfriend's apartment until she yelled, "You guys go first!". Your eye snapped open at her words as you took in what was happening.

You stayed silent as Mindy argued with Sam, eventually leading to Sam crossing the ladder first whilst you continued holding your makeshift barricade. Once Sam had crossed, Mindy looked towards you. "Go, Mindy.", you spoke assertively. She tried to argue with you, but you were having none of it. "Mindy, go! I've got the door. Just get across the fucking ladder!".

Despite your vision being impaired by your own warm blood, you watched with a ghost of a smile as Mindy and Anika exchanged a sweet kiss before Mindy climbed out the window. You suppose that was one positive about everything that was happening. As far as you knew, Tara was safe, and that was all you needed.

The banging at the door grew louder as Mindy cautiously climbed the ladder. Your frail body was being pushed around by the shaky door as you yelled furiously, "Mindy! "Please hurry!" When she finally made it to the other side, you groaned and turned your attention to Anika, who was bleeding out on the end of the bed.

"Anika, go.". Her wet eyes shot up to yours, looking at you as if you were insane. "Go, Anika. Please.". A few extra tears slipped from her eyes at your words, your complacency at being left alone to die hitting her harder than she expected. You gave her one final nod before she started climbing out the window.

Your grip on the door was slipping with each passing second, the constant banging and rattling eventually leading your feet to slip on the pool of blood that had accumulated beneath you - whose blood? Nobody knows. As you plummeted to the floor, the door shattered behind you, your gaze immediately moving to Anika, who was still less than halfway across the ladder.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." you mumbled desperately as you watched Ghostface finally stalk through the doorway with you in his sight. That was at least until he heard Anika's whimpers from outside the window, causing their masked face to follow her cries. Their head tilted menacingly as their path changed, no longer walking towards you but stalking up behind Anika.

You could hear her panicked cries from your place on the floor, and despite your natural relief that you weren't the chosen target, there was no way in hell you were letting them touch Anika.

You scramble to your feet as Ghostface stabs their knife into the window sill, grabbing the back of their robe and pulling them away from the window with every ounce of strength. As you swing your arm at them, missing their head and instead hitting the headboard, they stumble back into the bed with a grunt.

You didn't quite calculate how you would fight them, seeing you were basically blind, but that probably would have been a good idea.

"Dammit," you mutter worriedly as you trip backwards, your bruised knuckles doing no good as Ghostface stands back up and elbows you directly in your fresh, gaping wound. A hoarse scream escapes your throat as you collapse onto the ground in agony.

Your agonising screams could be heard across the ladder, forcing those on the other side to panic even more. When they saw Ghostface reappearing at the window, their shouts and pleading grew louder as they tried to urge Anika to come across.

Waves of pain shot through your entire body as you curled up on the floor, sobbing hysterically as you couldn't move no matter how hard you tried, absolutely paralysed by the pain.

As you tried to lift yourself off the floor, the sound of Anika's screams resonated in your ears, combined with the violent shaking of the ladder. At this stage, you were crying violently, knowing that if you didn't hurry up and get your shit together, Anika would be their next victim.

All because you couldn't handle the pain.

You leapt off the ground in a final fit of rage, lunging at Ghostface to throw them off-balance until they eventually backed away from the ladder.

It wasn't until now that you noticed the lack of Anika's screams.

Your face paled as you briefly looked out the window. Your blurry vision was met with a glaringly empty ladder and a completely distraught Mindy. Your lips began to quiver as your eyes met Mindy's, the tears that fell down her cheeks telling you everything you needed to know.

Your heartbreak quickly turned into pure rage at yourself and Ghostface.

Your breathing grew thin and ragged as you turned back to the tall black figure, your body shaking with rage. You could almost feel their arrogance from where you stood, evidently relishing seeing you distressed.

They ripped their knife from the window sill before tossing it playfully in their hand. You, on the other hand, remained unfazed, solely concerned with the idea that this mother fucker was going to suffer for what he had just done. You rapidly ducked as their knife swung towards your head before smashing your fist into their masked jaw, their shrouded form staggering backwards at the impact.

"You. Fucking. Asshole." You spoke as you continued to throw punches at them, your rage fuelling every last bit of energy you had left. Ghostface appeared to be taken aback by your sudden outburst, at a complete loss as to what to do with their knife remaining useless in their hand as they try to protect themselves from your furious blows.

With one final punch to the face, their body crashed into the wall behind them, as they fell unconscious. With tears falling consistently down your face, you gave the killer one last look as you stood up and backed away towards the window (you never trusted them to actually be unconscious). The others began yelling your name in relief and desperation when they saw you, assuming you were dead after single-handedly defeating the madman.

Their calls broke you out of your rage-filled trance as you sucked in a large breath before looking across the ladder towards them. The pain was beginning to resurface as you felt your knees start to buckle underneath you.

"Y/n! let's go, come on!" Sam called out to you, desperation laced in her voice. You climbed out the window with one last glance at the body before you. As Anika's body came into view, you felt yourself holding back a gag. The sight of her body, combined with your weakened state, almost made you pass out and share a similar fate.

Your gentle whimpers accompanied you as you carefully climbed the shaking ladder, Sam and Mindy's beautiful voices promising you that everything would be OK - you had no option but to trust them. As blood flows from your agonising wound onto the ladder's rungs, you crawl with as much focus as possible.

Closing in on Sam's boyfriend's window, the girls both reach their arms out to you as they grab onto you and pull you into the apartment. The three of you collapse to the ground in a heap, clutching each other tightly as if one of you might slip away if the others let go.

"Tara and Chad are on their way", you heard Sam's boyfriend say as you continued to sob into her shoulder, her hands carefully avoiding your face. You remained in that position as you felt your body begin to go numb as your blood and adrenaline continued seeping from your body.

Feeling your body go weak, Sam pulls your head back gently as she goes to help you lie down. Mindy and Sam gently place you on the floor, lying on your back, your bloodied and distraught face facing the empty ceiling.

"Holy shit, y/n!"

Your girlfriend's distraught voice did not affect you as your single eye started drifting shut slowly. As blackness starts to encroach, you catch a final glimpse of Tara as she appears next to you, her face stricken with worry as her hands hover near your disfigured face.

"Y/n!?"

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padfootagain · 2 months

Text

Only an Almost (III)

Chapter 3: By the Rules

Hello!! Here comes a new chapter! The Friends with Benefits is appearing in this one…

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2436

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Andrew had fucked up.

He hadn’t slept at all, how could he? That look on your face was printed on his irises, he could see nothing but that image whenever he closed his eyes. He had fucked up, he had lost you forever because he had gotten drunk and had leaned into some delusional thought for a moment…

What a fool. What a fucking idiot…

He hadn’t cried though. For now, his body was holding up on a mixture of anxiety, guilt, regret and hope. Perhaps you could forgive him. If he apologized properly, you would surely forgive him. He could lie about all this, pretend that he hadn’t meant it, that he was simply drunk and particularly lonely these days – both statements that were true – and that he had acted without thinking – also true. Yes, it would barely be a lie, after all! The only element that would be untrue was to pretend that he didn’t mean it, that he didn’t see you that way. That would be a blatant lie. Would you be able to read through him?

And anyway, should he lie to you like this? What had transpired last night… Andrew wasn’t sure that he could keep on living with such a secret weighing on his heart for much longer. Could he look at you without thinking about this stolen moment? About the feeling of your lips against his? About how you tasted?

He heaved a sigh, and reached for his phone anyway. Something had to be done, it didn’t matter what. Whether he would decide to be honest or to keep on hiding his feelings for you, a discussion needed to be had.

He typed his text, took a deep breath, and pressed ‘send’.

Morning Y/N

We should talk about last night, what about we meet up and get some coffee?

He silently cursed himself for the xx, but then again, he always put these or little hearts for you. The idiot of a romantic that he was. How cheesy…

His deprecating thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing in his hand. Your name appeared on the screen.

Yeah, I reckon we should…

5pm today? At the usual café?

Andrew heaved a relieved sigh as he typed a reply. At least, you were still willing to talk to him, it ought to be a good sign…

… right?

The coffeeshop wasn’t busy. After all, it was Thursday afternoon, and despite the warm and cozy feeling brought by the flowers on the tables, the books on the shelves and the quiet lights of the lamps, people were too busy with their work and their lives. Andrew couldn’t help but be grateful as he looked around at all the empty seats and lonely tables around him. There were but five more people in the establishment, which meant that if things didn’t go well, he wouldn’t be humiliated in front of an entire crowd.

He tried to be more hopeful. He had taken a decision: he wouldn’t pretend that what had happened was a mere fluke, that it didn’t mean anything. He would confess that he didn’t see you as a friend. And if you didn’t feel the same, then it was alright, of course. If you wanted to stop seeing him altogether, he would understand completely. And if you wanted the two of you to remain friends, then he was ready to make it work, somehow. For now, at least… Andrew wasn’t certain that he could keep on seeing you as a mere friend for long, it was becoming too painful for him. But on the other hand, he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. He would need time to adapt, either way.

He was fidgeting as he stared at the empty chair before him. He was aware of his terrible habit to be late at everything, but today was not the day to arrive after you. So, he had arrived early on purpose, just to be safe.

His leg was shaking with nerves, and he was roughly massaging his palm.

Would you even come? Perhaps you would chicken out? Perhaps you didn’t want to see him, after all, perhaps you had changed your mind? Perhaps…?

His thoughts fell silent as you entered the shop. They were replaced by butterflies and a sudden jump of his heart…

You greeted him with a shy smile, before taking the seat he was offering you.

“How are you? How was your day? You want a coffee? Or tea?”

“Tea, thanks, Andy.”

You were taking off your coat and getting settled while Andrew was gone to order you a drink. When he came back, you seemed just as nervous as he was, you were fidgeting with the sleeve of your jumper.

“There you go,” Andrew whispered as he handed you your cup of tea, voice gentle and warm.

“Thanks.”

“So, how was your day?”

“Good, grand,” you nodded as Andrew was sitting back down.

You exchanged some niceties for a few minutes, but Andrew wasn’t fooled. Your answers were short and you seemed just as anxious as he was. He opted for silence after a few minutes, letting you stir the conversation towards the main topic that you had to discuss.

“Andy, about last night…”

You bit down on your lower lip, eyes fleeing his gaze. His heart was racing, beating so fast it could have exploded.

He cleared his throat, starting to rub at his palms again.

“Yeah… last night, huh…”

“You… you kissed me.”

It was his turn to avert his eyes while you looked up at him. He nodded his head.

“Yeah… I did.”

“Why?”

He let out a dry chuckle. His gaze settled on a couple a few tables away, a large coffee before both of them. They were smiling, he was reaching for her hand. Andrew refrained his sudden urge to scream at them.

“Isn’t that obvious? Why do people kiss other people?” he asked back.

“You were drunk.”

“Not that drunk. And you didn’t push me away.”

“I was drunk.”

“Were you that drunk?”

“Andy, look at me.”

He bit hard on the inside of his cheek as he complied. He couldn’t refuse you anything, anyway…

His right hand rose to painfully rub at his collarbone, the skin quickly turning a bright shade of red.

“Why did you kiss me last night?”

He blinked a couple of times, noticed the way you swallowed too hard.

“Because I wanted to.”

Your lips parted a little.

“Because you… you’re attracted to me?” you asked, and Andrew could have laughed at your puzzled expression, you almost looked scared now.

Scared? Why would you be scared of him? He would do anything for you. God, Andrew could die for you if you asked…

And what was that question, even? Attracted to you? The understatement of the century…

“You can say that, yeah.”

You slowly nodded. He took the opportunity of a moment of silence to drink a long gulp of his coffee, and then another, the bitterness biting at his tongue in a way that made him think about something else than your eyes and the way your lips looked as you bit them again, how much he wanted to kiss your mouth…

“So… you want to have sex with me.”

Andrew choked, grabbing a napkin before he would spill anything, coughing as he put down the cup back on the wooden table.

“Sorry… that was a bit blunt,” you said, but he knew you weren’t sorry at all.

You let him cough, try to catch back his breathing.

“Way too blunt, as always,” he half-joked.

“Andy, I…”

You heaved a sigh, rubbing at your temples like you were focused on a math problem at school. Was that what his kiss was? A problem to be solved?

“Look, I… Andy, you know I care about you. A lot. You’re… you’re one of my closest friends.”

He nodded.

“But?”

“But I can’t handle a relationship right now. Whether it’s with you, or anyone else, I just… I’m trying to figure myself out, I have this new job, I… I can’t handle dating someone, right now.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he offered you a reassuring smile, and Andrew silently congratulated himself for hiding his disappointment so well. Or his heart breaking, to be fair…

“I can’t handle that…”

“I understand. It’s not the right time for you, I get it. It’s alright. It won’t happen again, you don’t have to worry.”

“But you… you’re attracted to me, right?”

He frowned, wondering why you were asking again.

“Like… if I told you that I wanted to sleep with you, you wouldn’t be against that, right? That’s why you kissed me last night?”

His heart was beating a thousand miles a minute. What was he supposed to answer to that? Pretend like he had never dreamt of making love to you all night? Lie and say that he didn’t mean it, that it was a mistake? Damn, that was the best kiss he had ever had…

“What am I supposed to answer that? You’ve just stated that you don’t want anything romantic to happen in your life at the moment. I’m not stupid, it’s alright. I understand, it won’t happen again.”

You heaved a sigh, your stare intense and yet he could see that you were looking for an answer in his soul, like you were scared as you spoke again.

“What if I want to have sex with you?”

His eyebrows shot upwards. He struggled to swallow, struggled to breathe as he shifted in his seat to lean forward, closer to you. He readjusted his glasses on his nose, and he noticed the way you stared, as if you liked what you saw.

“Do you? Want me like that?”

Damn, he was certain he was about to faint, how could a human hold their breath for so long? And this knot in his stomach, he was going to be sick at this rate…

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

He could hardly believe it. And yet he had witnessed the movement of your lips around those words, there was no doubt left to have. He nervously licked his lips, went back to rubbing at his collarbone as if he wanted to tore the flesh from it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or to laugh or simply to finally have a full intake of breath.

“I don’t follow,” he admitted, although it was more that his brain couldn’t possibly compute what you were stating.

“I want you. Physically, I mean. I want you.”

“But you don’t want a relationship.”

“No, I don’t. But you’re handsome, and I’m attracted to you too.”

And that’s when the realisation struck, and it acted like a cold shower, like the icy water hitting his skin when he dove in the ocean in winter. Same shock that took all the air out of his lungs. To be fair, he had not noticed before that he had any oxygen left in these organs of his. It was like… getting a punch in the guts.

“So… you want… just sex? Nothing more.”

It wasn’t really a question, something closer to a statement. He had hoped, for a second, that you felt the same. But you just wanted sex. And he wanted so, so much more…

“Yeah. I mean… like a… friends with benefits situation, you know? Like… we would still be the same, but… with the sex too.”

“But it wouldn’t mean a thing,” he protested, but you didn’t seem to read that feeling in his voice, considering your answer.

“No, it wouldn’t mean anything. Just… two pals who find each other attractive releasing some tension.”

Releasing some tension? Yoga was for releasing tension, not sleeping with the woman he was secretly desperately in love with?!

“What do you say? Would you like that?”

You were serious. He couldn’t believe you were serious… Couldn’t you see that Andrew was in love with you? Couldn’t you… couldn’t you feel it last night? In the way he held you, in the way he touched you, in the way he kissed you?

This was a bad idea. A terrible, terrible idea that would surely backfire and kill him in the end…

“I… I don’t know, to be honest. I’m not sure I want that.”

Slowly, you nodded, leaning further away from him, back against your chair, and he wanted to reach out to pull you closer again, even if you were still separated by the table.

“Okay. I’m sorry I asked that. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright. You only asked a question.”

“So… we forget about the kiss then?”

That was the only option, of course. The only reasonable way out of this mess.

Damn it.

“Actually… why not?”

It was your turn to raise a surprised eyebrow. Andrew struggled not to smile when you leaned closer again.

“Really?”

“But then… we need some rules. Cause… that could become… complicated…”

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“What?”

You nodded towards his shoulder, and he finally noticed that he had been rubbing at the skin too hard.

“Andy, relax, it’s just me. Stop it, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, resting his hands on the table only to start rubbing at his palms. He didn’t even know why he was apologizing.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me like that. We can remain friends.”

“I… I do want you, Y/N. That’s not the problem.”

“The problem?”

I’m not sure I’ll survive if I have you for a moment, and then you leave.

“Friends with benefits… that’s usually messy.”

“Not if we establish rules.”

“What rules?”

“Well, first, no kissing outside of the bedroom. Only for sex. Second, we don’t fall asleep together. Third rule, no one can know about this. And just… If we do this, it can’t be anything but sex. We can’t get attached like this. It’s just… it’s just sex, nothing more.”

Slowly, he nodded. It was a terrible idea. And yet, what else could he be to you? After that kiss last night, Andrew didn’t believe he could remain a mere friend to you for long. And if you couldn’t be in a relationship now, then this was the next best thing he could get. He could still have you, in a way. He could still be yours. And maybe one day, you would want more…

You offered him your open hand. Like signing a contract. Agreeing to a business offer.

“What do you say?”

Andrew raised his hand to meet yours.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #hozier series #series

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sheisjoeschateau · 5 months

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART III

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mega plot-driven smut ahead in this part of the story. you've been warned. MINORS, DNI. 18+

***

Despite everything, you and Steve both get through battling Vecna. You both grin and bear it. You both set aside your differences when the moment calls for it.

Just like you have before. Many times.

And in the midst of it all, you can't help but wonder about your uncle. How he's doing. If he's somewhere in his bunker still, hopefully drinking less (ideally, not at all) and keeping up his phone calls with Joyce. You'd told her to keep tabs on him, and you also told your uncle to keep tabs on her. They needed each other. You had the kids and the teens, but they needed each other. And sure, your uncle has you. Always. But you have to work, and babysit, and hang around a guy who hates your guts because the circumstances won't permit otherwise.

Eddie and Robin really stick up for you. They do. They really like you. Steve can’t stand it.

Even Nancy doesn’t mind you. Honestly, she’s scared of you more than anything. Steve doesn’t care.

The kids love you. Steve won’t make them hate you. He never would. But he won’t endorse their kind sentiments about you either.

More groups are formed, along with more plans. Scary, life-threatening plans.

You stay behind with Dustin and Eddie, knowing that Steve is quietly a basket case over the concept leaving Dustin alone without having him there to protect him from all this shit, the way he has before. With the demodogs, the Russians, and everything up to this point. That kid is his brother. His son.

It’s the only time that Steve tells you thank you.

And he sincerely means it.

By the grace of some unspeakable force, you manage to not only keep Dustin alive...but also Eddie. The bats have done their damage, and you've got some damage yourself. Though not nearly as bad as Eddie. You can withstand yours with adrenaline and the sheer need to protect one of your kids and get this metalhead back to the real world so that he can get proper medical attention.

When Steve and the girls all get back to the three of you there, after all the shit hits the fan - you, Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin all manage to get Eddie back across the gate and get him majorly patched up. Thanks to Dr. Owens.

You keep Eddie hidden at Murray's bunker. You're shocked to find it empty, your worry growing more every single minute. But Steve tries to assure you that your uncle is likely fine, probably just out to eat or something. However... even he knows that is not true. Murray does not go anywhere.

"Bauman," he's saying to you, softly. So softly. Softer than he's ever spoken to you once. "He's gonna be okay. I promise. We're here, alright?"

Two days later, Jonathan and his Cali crew all show up. Nancy and him are reunited.

And you watch Steve break.

He doesn’t let it show, not really. But you see it. Both you and Robin do. You let her comfort him. He needs his best friend, much more than he needs you. Especially in this situation. You are undoubtedly the last source of comfort for him in this specific instance.

You reunite with your Uncle Murray, who has returned with Joyce and — to your surprise — a very much alive Hopper. It’s a beautiful reunion, as you all hug tightly.

You all fucking lived, bitch.

Given the new flurry of debris-snow-shit in the air, you all end up having to take shelter.

Steve volunteers his house, given that his parents fled to their vacation home and he told them he wasn’t going. They ditch him, so he has the house all to himself. This time, he doesn’t have to be alone though. He has his real family.

You all move into the Harrington House. Lord knows it’s big enough. But it’s also really tight, for two people who can’t stand each other unless there’s a really ugly monster guy waltzing around that needs to be killed along with his multi-species army of little uglies.

Given the close quarters, on top of the fact that you all can’t leave the house much unless it’s for supplies, you and Steve have no choice but to coexist.

He still resents you, especially seeing Nancy and Jonathan are now getting along again and seem to be doing better. But it's much more subdued now, and you both find a way to talk. Which happens mainly because of you, initiating.

You learn more about Steve's home life, given the pictures everywhere throughout the house. They're all pretty stiff, lacking warmth. You figured that Steve was a pretty lonely trust fund baby, and being that you're a lonely child you can relate to the loneliness that comes with that. Not the trust fund part. Just the only-child-syndrome part, which you know perfectly well forces you to either become very well acquainted with yourself...or hate yourself even more. Steve clearing did not lean into becoming his own source of reliability and companionship, the way that you did. And it made you understand him better. It made you understand why he needed to be around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. He did not know how to be alone with himself.

"I think my dad and I don't even like the same beer," Steve scoffs, allowing himself a humorless chuckle. You don't laugh with him, instead giving him a soft look. An apology with your eyes.

"And my mom, she just...I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder why she never left him."

You let Steve reveal as little or as much as he wants to. It just depends on the day.

The two of you watch out for the kids. You both go with them to visit Max in the hospital. You even initiate finding a way to get her to stay there while in a coma, thanks to enlisting the help of your uncle to help enlist the help of Dr. Owens. The kids love you for that.

Steve doesn’t love you… But he appreciates you.

A lot. He's beginning to find appreciation for you, for a lot of things.

Your uncle clocks the very niche tension between the two of you, now that you’re all under the same roof and he’s given no choice but to.

And damn, it makes him curious. He is, after all, the witch doctor of love…

Nevertheless, Murray takes his time choosing when to strike.

As you and Steve both help nurse Eddie back to health, and read to Max in her coma (which leads to both of you just simply talking), and make the kids laugh together, and even make conversation with Nancy and Jonathan (…it’s very double date ish) Murray watches his niece — and mannnnnn, is he amuuuuuused.

One night, you and Steve stay up to share some drinks with the adults. It’s the first time that the two of you actually make each other really laugh, heartily. The drinks help.

That’s sort of Murray’s plan. Vodka is, after all, the holy grail.

Even Eddie joins, along with Robin. But Steve sits next to you. Not his best friend, or the new friend he’s made in the metalhead. Nope, he sits his perfect, hunky ass that makes all the ladies drool right next to little ole you.

And damn, do you both laugh.

Murray’s never seen you laugh that hard with anyone in his life. He wonders if you’ve ever laughed that way at all.

And the way that Harrington looks at you? Especially when you’re not looking… Holy shit.

And the way you look at him the same way... makes Murray grin ear to ear like a mischievous kid with the plan to wreak havoc.

Hopper and Joyce are so settled into their relationship, and Jonathan seems to be winning back the love of Nancy. Eddie and Robin are so single it hurts, but it's legendary too. And you? Steve? Well, you guys are mortal enemies. And yet somehow, sitting here in the Harrington's living room with glasses of chilled vodka, belly-laughing over anything -- you and Steve exude more chemistry than all of them combined.

So when everyone goes to bed, and Murray catches you alone, he grills you. Not like the others. Nah, you’re family. He’ll cut you some slack.

…not much, though.

It sobers you right up.

"Do not tell me for one second that you don't think he's gorgeous," your uncle is saying in a low voice. You're both standing in his bedroom, having fetched him a tall glass of water which turned out just be a way to fucking lure you into his witchdoctor trap.

"I love you Uncle Murray. I really do. But this theory? -- is not one of your other bullseye's."

"Face it, kiddo," your uncle is smirking. "Your uncle's never wrong. You're just never the one on the other end of his lectures when he's making astute observations. You're always contributing to it. But this time? You're the leading lady, darling."

"False."

"You like Steve."

"Murray...!"

"You like Steve..."

You try to tell your uncle that everything he is saying is nonsense. Steve hates you. He absolutely hates you. Loathes and despises you, and plans to do so until you’re all particles of dust.

“Plus, he is so fucking annoying and whiny and entitled and has zero self respect unless it’s up against someone who calls him out for his shit,” you tell your uncle, gesturing to yourself on the last part. “Steve Harrington is a cocky guy who would just rather suffer in his own misery than ever see or lean into being this...this incredible man that he's...capable of being, the role model he has become to those kids, who love him, they love the human most deserving of being put first —”

.................

…oh fuck.

The silence is deafening. Murray’s smirk and all-knowing glare only adds to your being aware of what you just said to him, and admitted to yourself, out loud.

“Oh…oh so we do love Steve.”

Your uncle’s words are the cherry on top of the cake you just baked, and didn’t know you had the ingredients to make.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, you and Steve both sit with Max.

"Wondering what she wrote in yours?"

Steve is nodding at the stack of letters on the bedside table. You all left them there, promising yourselves not to open them. Because she will wake up.

Lucas took it hard, Max dying. You'd been there to hold him, comfort him, along with Steve. You both watched him burst into tears numerous times, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, despite the fact that she was somehow still here. It broke both your hearts, but you both got through it with him. Together.

And while the other kids were taking it hard too...so fucking hard...it was Steve who carried the most guilt. Remorse, anguish and guilt.

"I failed my kid," Steve had told you at the hospital once. You looked at him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

"Steve, no you didn't."

His voice shook, eyes drowning in nightmarish thoughts. "I wasn't there for her. I wasn't -- wasn't..."

"You could never fail those kids. Not even if you tried."

He didn't believe you. But he wanted to. You had squeezed his hand that day, sitting in the waiting room. And to your surprise, not only did he let you...but he squeezed it back, letting your hands rest that way for an hour as you fell asleep in the seats before being woken up.

And now, sitting in one of his guest rooms while Max lay asleep in the coma still, you can see that guilt in him is spreading.

Steve is holding the letter that she gave to him, and you ask him if he’s wanting to read it.

Steve snorts. "God, you kidding? She'll wake up just to kill me before going right back to sleep."

You smirk, biting back a real laugh. “True.”

But Steve looks conflicted. He fiddles with the letter in his hands, wanting to tear it open. You know that he does.

“…want me to read it out loud to you instead? She can kill me in your place.”

Steve chuckles at that.

...but he doesn’t say no.

In fact, after biting his lip for a minute and thinking, he finds himself nodding. Yes. Please, read it to me, he’s thinking.

So you do.

You take the letter and read it to him. You read him the words that only a little sister could write to a big brother who she loves and wishes she will grow up to be like. You read him words that make him light up like a Christmas tree, yet cause him a painful ache deep within his bones. You read him a letter of love that no one ever took the time to write, let alone express, to him his entire life.

Steve fights tears. He bites them back, successfully. You’re the last person he ever wants to see him vulnerable. Hell, he can’t even see himself like that without judging his own self harshly. He can only imagine that you will, too.

He doesn’t know, though, that not only would you never judge him for that. But selfishly, you wish he would feel safe with you. Or God, someone at least. Just not Nancy. Someone who deserves him wholeheartedly.

"Steve," you speak softly.

He's staring into space, zoned out. But then, he finally looks over at you. He sees the kindness in him, and it almost takes his breath away. The way that you look at him...he just never thought you could...that you could --

"You're all of these things. Everything she wrote in this? You're all of it. And then some. You're the hero all those kids dream of being when they grow up. You're their favorite person. The one they trust, go to for everything. Even if you don't think that they do, they do."

He listens, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

"You are...a great person, Steve Harrington."

***

That night, there’s a knock on your door. You’ve been given the guest room upstairs with no bunk mate. Unlike most of the people in the house. But given that Joyce and Hopper are together now, and El sleeps in Max’s room to keep watch, the four younger boys share a room with Eddie, Nancy is with Jonathan, Erica sleeps at her own house and Robin shares Steve’s room since she splits her time here and at home — you and Murray got the solo rooms.

Steve is now grateful for those sleeping arrangements tonight.

Because when you open the door, he’s on the other side. He looks sad, conflicted and lost. Like his mind is racing at a million miles an hour, yet can’t think of anything to say. He’s tongue tied, just staring at you expectantly…

What is he expecting?

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Is it Max?”

Something about your question makes Steve brows pinch together. Like it’s suddenly confusing him even more. But he doesn’t speak.

You wait patiently. But truth be told, you are anxious as fuck. Because damn, he’s pretty. He is so stupid pretty. And fuck it’s annoying. His lips are just the right shape in a pout, and it’s really fucking annoy —

His lips are crashing into yours before you can even finish dissecting them.

Steve is kissing you like life depends on it. Gentle at first, but eager. Determined.

And when you both pulls back -- you don’t hesitate for more than a solid 2-3 seconds, your eyes shocked while his eyes silently ask, is this okay?

Your lips crashing back against his answers — yes.

Steve is a hurricane of both madness and all things serene in the ways that he touches your body. He explores your skin with his lips and hands, as if he has all the time in the world. The curve of your jaw and neck. The jut of your collarbones. The feel of your clavicle, which leads him to the shape of your tits and nipples. He cherishes your body, hungrily exploring it. It’s heated, hot and heavy. He licks a stripe down your abdomen to the waistband of your sweatpants. The way his brown irises look up at you, all round and doe eyed, makes the back of your throat groan with need. It’s not loud or brash, nor is it strained and quiet. It’s soft but certain. Steve melts at it, his fingers curling one by one around the band of your sweatpants, his eyes still asking — please?

You’re nodding without even having to hear a word out of him. And Steve pulls.

Euphoria is the feeling of Steve’s tongue exploring your folds. It’s the sound of him sighing into your portal in pure pleasure, and the way he sucks your clit with fervency yet flicks it with supple patience. His hands knead into your thighs, one of them reaching to squeeze your hips so that he can pull himself up to you and let you taste yourself on his tongue. He wraps an arm underneath your waist, hooking you to him, asking in the breathiest of whimpers, “Please let me, angel.”

He’s getting a fistful of your hair into one of his big hands, adoring the way that you squeak a yelp. You suck on his tongue, hard, and it’s enough to drive him mad. He pins himself against you, grinding. But you sit up, keeping your bodies glued together and now using your teeth to tug on his lip and paralyze him in pure ecstasy. You take the opportunity to slide your teeth and tongue down his jaw and neck, trailing pecks and kisses along the way, and the throaty whimper he lets out makes you see stars behind your hooded eyes as you drag your tongue down his chest. The wet stripe you’re leaving glides down to his toned abdomen’s bunny trail, and as you curl your fingers around his sweatpants, you pause… letting your lips press the most fluttery of kisses to each of his scars.

Steve can’t help the shudders, sighs and whimpers that escape his lips, along with your name. It’s raw, uncensored. He clutches your hand, which you extend up to him in a greedy grab as you slowly work his pants down with your other hand. You hook your fingers onto his chin, forcing him to let go of your hand in his and look down at you. He does, and it’s game over. You watch him and never break eye contact as you use both hands to push down his briefs…

…and thank God for that — because otherwise, you would see just what you’re up against as far as pleasuring him goes.

You feel the tip of his hard length tap your chin, and you scoot farther down into the mattress — on your knees like a perfect angel. Your tongue plays with its head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum, and Steve is shaking so hard he can’t stand it. He clenches his jaw, gritting out blissful curses through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

You take in the intense length of him, pleasuring him until he is touching the back of your throat and nearly gagging you senseless, and the mess he is up above you — it sends your mind into a tailspin. He has never looked so pretty, eyes squeezed shut except when he’s glancing back down at you with more fondness and adoration than you ever thought possible from not only a man who hates you…but any man at all.

And when Steve is just about to cum, he begins to beg. “P-please. Wait, please.”

His hands urgently cup your jaw, forcing you to look back up at him and cease your sickeningly perfect work. He pulls, and you follow. He drinks you in with his gaze, staring into your soul, as if he’s trying to figure you out. He stares and stares, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes searching yours like you are the most beautiful mystery he has ever needed to solve. He looks as though he might ask you something. Say something...

But he dives in to kiss you again before he lets himself.

His hand wraps around the bend of one of your knees, tugging it up so that he can hook your leg around his waist. Then he does it to the other. And before you know it, you’re straddling him.

“Fuck, Bauman, please,” Steve Harrington groans into your mouth. Then softer, murmuring against your lips as he kisses them endlessly, “please let me, please.”

And you know what he is asking. You know what he wants. You don’t have to even think twice. Lifting yourself up, lining him with your entrance, he stretches you out and the euphoric sting of it sucks the air right out of you. And Steve.

Steve is winded by the feeling of how tight your walls are, and by just how right it feels to be inside of you. You both fit. Like a perfect match.

At this point, you’re both a frenzy of fucking. You ride him – slow, hard, fast, all of it. Steve keens into your mouth, then your neck as he buries his face there — completely overwhelmed. You hold his head there, comfortingly and securely, and so fucking perfectly as your fingers tug at the ends of his perfect hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” your voice shakes in a breathy whisper, just for him. “Let it all go.”

And Steve does. His fingers dig into the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he presses the loud growl of his climax into your bare shoulder. He releases himself into you, hot and loaded, and you drip just as much onto him as he just shot into you.

As if that wasn’t enough to send you reeling — enough to make you see angels and devils and god — it’s the way that Steve shudders against you, catching his breath…and then pulls back to look at you…that renders you speechless.

His hairline leaks sweat, his face beaded with it. His eyelids are hooded, the dark brown irises dazed and daring to meet your gaze. His lips are parted perfectly — and the way he looks up at you with his tousled hair, somehow still perfect after it’s been pulled and messed with, is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Steve Harrington is so fucking beautiful. He’s an all-American boy, yet a Greek god.

The way that Steve gently brings your forehead to his, breathing against you, closing his eyes at the contact — you find yourself timidly nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. And you feel him smile against you, opening your eyes just enough to steal a peek — and that’s when you feel a deep ache in your heart and soul that might as well kill you.

Because now you realize. That is love.

Steve is love.

But you let it die inside of you tonight, not wanting to make this moment end any sooner than it has to. Instead, you let Steve entangle his limbs with yours, not daring to ask if he wants to stay. Because if you do, he’ll likely leave. He’ll realize that being in bed with you is the last place that he wants to be, and that he’s made a mistake. He’ll go back to hating you, more than he already does, and it will be the death of you. So instead, you just let it ride out however it’s supposed to.

You try not to count the minutes as Steve absentmindedly traces circles with his fingertips on your skin. Your hip bones, your shoulder blades, your spine. You tell yourself to forget that time and its limits exist as you stroke the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, your temple against his forearm, his outer arm draped over you. You tell yourself that this is it. This is heaven. This is eternity. You tell yourself even if you wake up and it’s just a dream, you’ll remember it for as long as you live. Because on the other side of death is this, and it will never end.

You let that ease your mind as he presses his lips to your forehead and you no longer fight sleep.

So when you do wake up…and find that Steve is still there…you’re shocked. But you stay that way until he wakes. He looks at you in awestruck wonder. Not confusion or regret. Just…wonder.

He props himself up on an elbow, still looking at you, deep in thought. All you can do is stare back, wishing you knew what the hell he was thinking but not daring to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this. You stay that way for a little while.

He finally breathes a sigh, whispering, “Kids will be up soon.”

You give him a soft smile and gentle nod. You can already see Dustin waking up to go knock down Steve’s door, and that’s…not gonna end well if he finds out that Steve is walking out of your room instead.

Steve contemplates god-knows-what for another long moment before pressing a quick kiss into your hairline as he rises.

You watch him stand and dress himself, your heart throbbing at the way he looks in the early morning light streaming through the windows. His body is god-like. Tall, lean and athletic. His skin has the most beautiful constellation of moles that put the entire galaxy of stars to shame. And you ache at the thought of never being able to touch them again.

He gives you a soft grin after he throws his t-shirt back on, and before you know it he’s gone.

You lay there staring at nothing, feeling yourself leak a couple of silent tears and wondering why. You find yourself afraid to get up and face whatever new reality lies ahead of you on the other side of that door.

***

thanks for reading :) comment to be added to my tag list for this series.

tags: @erastourvip @xprloki @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #dustin henderson #murray bauman #enemies to lovers trope #they're in love your honor #Murray is a schemer #sorry stancy

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jazeswhbhaven · 2 months

Text

Maybe I want Him to Bite...(Lucifer Selfie Card Prologue React III) *Spoilers*

You know the drill lovelies...back it up to part 2 if this is the first part you're seeing!! ->

From there you can be linked back to Part 1 if you haven't read that first either. If you've read both, yay you made it to the final part! Let's goooo (༎ຶꈊ༎ຶ╬)

Alright so let's see what' this goofy ahh bitch did...

We done broke all the rules up in here and I'm-

Good LORD he looks like that????

I was startled because I'm like oh no boo you gonna have to warn me before you pull a "jeff the killer, creepypasta, the rake, smile dog" on me. /j

LMAO I can hear this even though MC doesn't have a set voice.

And everyone else was silent asf like not saying a goddamn thing. Even Gamigin who's usually loud as fuck was saying nothing. LMAO

Yes MC, you did. All in order too like? XD Even though this is some shit I'd do personally, I would also be like "Oh damn I didn't die??"

And Lucifer was like "What are you talking about?" and MC was panicking trying to get an answer from the nobles being like hello????? but silently and Marbas and Morax hit em' with the-

"Ah so staring at him and touch his snake doesn't do anything. Got it."

This would have been me.

Because what do you mean?????? YOU HAD RULES AND WAS JUST THROWING MC OUT THERE WITHOUT CONFIRMATION????

This is why I have trust issues. Lol

So it turns out Lucifer was reacting the way he was out of being startled, not because he was going to end someone's life. But I think we all know what he looks like when he actually is out here in murder mode. The event was clear in that regard.

So Lucifer calms down the snake on his clothing, and MC comes up to also touch it out of curiosity. So this tells us, the snake doesn't really cause any harm per say...but I'm sure it does something more so give Lucifer the power to do something.

Snake boi

MC apologizes and well Lucifer doesn't really understand why for a moment (he does laugh at the action though mostly from amusement). But MC lets it be known that they are apologizing to the snake and him.

WAIT WAIT WAIT "Child of Adam?????" AYO? I need more lore about why he said that, which I can only guess why he said that. (and honestly, now I'm thinking of Adam from Hazbin Hotel lmao)

But I mean, this statement just shows he's a least learning to observe MC for their own personality. Not Solomon's.

MC is confused tho, but Lucifer is like "You're amusing"

ANd then????

HE BITE?????

HE BITEEE

h e

b i t e

Stop. Why is this so hot?

HES SO GODDAMN HOT????? BITE ME SOME MORE????!?!?!?!

SO AFTER HE BITES MC HE ORDERS THEM TO TOUCH HIM?

And this is where I was freaking out on that post. Because I had a headcanon I didn't share here, that because of Lucifer's power he could basically order you to do whatever and you'd have to carry that out.

i.e. If he said you aren't allowed to touch yourself ever unless I give you permission, that means no matter how horny you are you can't get off or do anything until he says so and that brings in a whole new kind of foreplay/dominance type thing where literally his word is to be followed. But at the same time....there could be loopholes if you're smart enough to figure them out and want to be a brat.

Whoever gets his card and unlocks the rest of the story?? I'll be waiting patiently.

Okay, so I'm gonna say that from this prologue alone, his selfie card is possibly the best selfie story out of the 5 kings. I was vibin' with Mammon's but this one rightchea? Phew. Mostly because I wanna see how Luci gets down and it already seems like his venom is some kind of aphrodisiac. Because sheesh MC was getting worked up and horny quite immediately from being bitten and you know what?

I wonder if you can extract the venom and have it applied to foods for the same effect...(Don't tell Bimet he'd capitalize on that shit)

But man. I told you all that once his card released I'd probably stop caring about Juno and transition over and well that happened. (still gonna do the reader fic though)

It's funny also that I did this prologue faster than I did his event which I STILL have yet to post about. lol

But as always lovelies, I thank you for sticking through my crazy reacts

-your lovely admin ♥( ˆ⌣ ˆԅ)

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb lucifer #whb paradise lost bois 🤍#whb gamigin #whb spoilers #L card spoilers #whb selfie cards #part three had a lot of gifs which is fine because lol

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, abduction, violence, intense gore, death, swords & firearms, angst, hurt/comfort, nakedness, etc.

A/N: Guys, whatever you do, don't imagine Price in a white tunic holding Mermaid you in one arm and weilding a sword in the other. I'm frothing at the mouth.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You sit on your black rocks once more, the darkening sky warning of an oncoming storm that you can feel seeping into your bones. In your loose grip, you fiddle with John’s necklace.

He’d given it to you only recently as a gift, seeing as you enjoyed the shininess of it so much, and you’d taken great pleasure in keeping it around your neck. Out of all of your treasures and trinkets, somehow these measly metal discs had become your favorite. The necklace is smooth under your caress, and you look down at it adoringly, eyes soft and lips curved with delicate affection.

The cove, as always, was quiet above the call of seagulls and the lapping of waves; the whispering ripples from your tail as it sways under the water. You had gotten content with this—the silence. Because you knew it would be filled by the low gravel of an accented voice soon enough; would be swept away by the chuckles you could wring from beard-hidden lips.

John was something to look forward to, and you loved the way he looked at you.

Water hits the top of your head.

Blinking out of your honeyed thoughts you look up to the crying sky as small slaps of droplets slide across your cheeks. Lashes flinch at every motion, and you glance back to the empty cove before lowering the necklace to your scaled lap.

Confusion slithers in like an eel to your heart as your eyes slide over the growing waves. The yawning mouth of the entrance sits abandoned of any small fishing ship.

For three, beautiful, sand-covered, months, John had never missed a day to come and see you. Rain or Sun.

A prick of a sharp fish's spine enters your brain. The rain comes down now in sheets. Lightning and thunder fight, and if you look close enough, the remnants of ancient lightning birds battle overhead with a flurry of black wings and their insatiable need for blood. Yet, still, your eyes stay frozen on the cove entrance as the water rises and rises.

With a thinning of your lips and the violent pushing from the torrent as it swallows your rocks, you clench your hands over John’s necklace and push off your perch with a shove of your palms.

Water encompasses you, scales dull, and fins limp as the general calmness from the encompassing water holds you in a constant sway. Your brows furrow.

Why wasn’t he here? You ask yourself, sinking among the seaweed and the schools of quick fish. Concern mingles with hurt. Do…do you think he’s alright?

Human ways were still confusing to you, even if John had been helping you understand them and giving little clam-shells of information. But they seemed…like violent folk. Angry and selfish, from what John had said about their wars and squabbles. The thought of your fisherman potentially being in danger on land was terrifying to you.

There wouldn’t be anything you could do if that happened.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of his necklace as you stare at the surface, back lightly hitting the bottom of the cove with a puff of sand. Crabs scatter as your tail twitches, your lungs sighing in their own special way.

John can take care of himself, you reason. He’s just a little late is all.

John’s never late. Your face creases, but you stuff the thought down, twisting on your side and bridging the piece of jewelry to your lip—kissing it once as sand digs into your skin. Holding the fisherman's property to your pounding heart, you close your eyes and wait as any lonely and loyal Merwoman would; tail held in close and the reverberations of a rabid downpour above you.

—

You wake up to the darkness of night. Blinking, you sigh to yourself and move a slow hand to rub at your eyes. After a moment of fatigued confusion as to why you weren’t in your cave, you realized why you had been out here in the first place.

John.

Arms pushing you up, your mind fights to wake itself, laced with algae and fatigue. How long have you been asleep? Has the storm stopped? Surely you hadn’t slept the entire day away. You pull the fisherman's necklace over your head as you stare at the sand below you. No fish were slipping past besides one that brushes your tail, which you found odd, but didn’t think much of it.

Shaking your head, you feel sluggish and put the necklace back on with a huff. You worry what John will think of you perhaps missing his late visit and smile slightly in humor.

The fish brushes your tail again.

Scales shimmering, you turn with an annoyed pull to your lips, fins scraping something hard and rough even as it’s saturated by the water of your cove. When you spot it, not only the rope but the shadow of the large hunting ship above you, your body drains of any life that had once lived in your lungs. It wasn’t nighttime.

Eyes widening at the loop that was parading around your tail, you don’t have time to move before it tightens with a force that leaves your mouth opening in a bubbled scream; ruthlessly jerking your body along the seafloor.

Desperately, your hands rip along the rocks and weeds of the bottom of the cove, getting torn and shredded in their soft nature as easily as paper. Your body smacks into every little object with a rattling to your bones that makes you sob. Red saturates the water as you’re manhandled in long and steady intervals back and up.

No amount of rampaging your tail does can break the rope, and with a last-ditch effort as the sandy floor gets farther and farther away, you twist around and tear at the woven cord with sharp nails. Adrenaline pumps, pupils tiny and panicked.

No! No, not like this! You can imagine the pain of it now—the hooks and the ripping of scales from your supple flesh. Even now the tiny ones under the dig of the vice are peeling away in long strings of red to disappear behind you as you’re thrust upward. They’re delicate, don’t these monsters understand? They’re beautiful and treasured and they’re destroying them!

You scream in pain at the pulling of your spine; a large creaking in your muscles.

But as you gain a small sense of feral hope when the rope begins to fray from your grip, the iron net squashes any belief of surviving.

It slams into you as John would cast his own for his prey—but this one is larger and full of cruel, curved, spikes. Is this what your parents endured? What the harpies had meant? The iron sinks far quicker than rope, and it traps you in a dome of hell before you can mutilate yourself out of the maw.

Oh, Gods, it was going to peel your skin away.

True fear pounded in your breast, and with a cry of John’s name from under the water, you watched with horror as the net descended onto you and your bloody wounds.

They drag you above waves and the first thing you do is thrash and wail so loud the seagulls shriek in surprise. There’s crimson staining the waters sloshing at you with combative ease, the violent storm from before now a light slapping at add to your fear. In the wake of open air, the curved spikes dig into your flesh as easily as a unicorn’s horn can penetrate a wyvern’s armor. Skin everywhere is assaulted and peeled to a tautness of bodily torture.

Oh, and your precious tail.

It hurt so badly, like nothing you had ever experienced before.

“John!” You scream as your body strikes the side of the large ship, voice cutting out and leaving a bawling yell behind. Your form was being pulled by steady hoists and barked orders.

All around you can hear laughing—joking. Loud exclamations of approval.

You’re sure they’ve dislocated your tail right at the joint, how could they not have? The ream of their strong arms and ruthless greed. Oh, your tail, your precious, beautiful tail.

Long streams of salty tears fly down your dripping face; arms pushing the spikes away from your neck and face with futile action. The net and rope were your earthly graves.

They slam you to the deck like a fish.

Jerking and slapping around, your arms hit the wood with a bird-paced heart. The iron rattles and keeps you down like a weight.

Brokenly gasping through loud cries, the sudden jeering faces from all around leave your fear all-consuming.

They were ugly—broken teeth and sun-destroyed skin. Eyes that bugged and scars that could be from either a sword or a Strix’s claws. More than likely it was from meager squabbles with crewmates. But you balk back nonetheless, terrified and bleeding profusely.

They were going to rip you to pieces.

Inside your chest, your lungs are rising and falling quickly, and the hands that glide along your form make you want to burn your skin off. They grip at you, yanking you around as your hair gets caught in the gaps between the iron. With nail and tooth your bite and claw, but how many were there? Ten? Twenty?

There’s uproar and more jokes as you fight back; body lifted and spikes torn out of skin as you arch your back and howl in agony. Their hands are not John’s. They don’t caress your smooth skin with reverence or holiness—this is cruelty. This is a sadistic pleasure.

“Isn’t it our lucky day, Lads?!” A high and grating voice bellows out, and finally free of the net, all you can do is cry and flip your tail uselessly along the polished wood as they throw you down. Your vision blacks and slowly comes back—hair matted and skin slick with more than water.

It hurts to breathe too much. Whimpering, your cheek presses itself into the deck as footsteps take someone closer.

“Holy God, would ya look at that down there, eh? A true maiden of the sea,” A thunderous belt of achievement from everyone leaves you flinching, eyes tight shut to try and focus on anything but the excruciating way your skin throbs and gushes blood. “Though we’d have gotten all of them by now!”

Haggard laughs and rotted smiles.

A hand snaps to wrench your face upward, and you yowl and grasp at your head as your delicate strands go tight.

“Now who’s the little beauty we have here?” Whoever this man was, he had no standing on John. On your Fisherman.

Loose skin and an age-rotted tunic, a belt at his waist holding a scabbard with a gold sword and twin pistols. He had only one eye—brown as a pile of mud—with a black eyepatch over the other.

Your fluttering lashes took in a cracked-lipped grin of approval; whether at your battered appearance or the nature of your species, you knew not. But you didn’t like the way he was glancing at your tail as if it was made of gold one bit.

“Lords above, did ya have to be so brash, Lads?” Spittle slaps your face and you fight again with the hands in your locks to get away. The man’s hold jerks your face back and forth until you stop with bile building in your throat. “Wrecked her silky skin, you did!”

Being thrown back, your skull slams the deck before you hurl your guts in a sputtering of air and crimson. Many laugh and kick at your already broken scales. You grit your teeth and refuse to cry out.

“Get ‘er tied up and in the Hold for storage. If the scales are good enough, we’ll peel ‘em tomorrow.”

“Peel?!” Your face whips into a twisted glare, and pain leads to fast anger; wrath, even. The men grow gradually silent at your outburst and the leader comes to a slow stop—his back to you. “How dare you?” You gasp out, hands pushing your body slightly backward until the agony makes you stop with a lip-bitten whine. “How dare you do this to me? What have I done to you and your men? You’re nothing but senseless cowards who shy at something that lives its life differently! Am I only a pile of coin for you?!”

Your blood runs over the deck and seeps into the grain. Staining it with your memory and presence like a ghost that’s not yet dead. Loose scales shimmer and drip red. They were damaged and dull—your flesh was mangled.

The leader turns back and smirks with blackened teeth. “More than a pile, Little Dearie. Far more. And if those hooks had been kinder, the King would have loved a beauty like you in his collection.” A look is slid down your body with a knowing chuckle.

He stalks off and you peel back your lips to say more, but a stained rag is shoved into your mouth instead, shutting up your rageful screeches and any hope of a peep of potent song despite not knowing these devils’ names.

By the time they chuck you in the Hold, body bouncing along the wood, and shut the hatch with a reverberation of wood, you had managed to rip someone’s ear clean off and break another’s arm; but there was only so much you could do. They had bound your hands behind you with a blow to your spine.

Curled up and longing for the sea, for John, you hold the only thing you have left.

Silver discs on a chain, the metal smooth and the only thing now shining. You feel it hit your breastbone and sob as the headache of blood loss begins to set in. Laughter echoes from above your dark prison.

—

John saw the blood in the water before he saw the scales being pushed back and forth on the beach. Caught in that gentle push and pull now that the storm had ceased beyond a light drizzle—bright and reflecting the misty sun; far more vibrant than a fish or a sea serpent. But the blood.

Christ, there was blood in the water.

Blue eyes stare blankly at the sea-foam at the shoreline, red and bubbling, John’s pupils small and the lashes held back even as a salty breeze hits them with a burn. At his sides, his hands slowly close into fists.

Jumping off the side of his ship, the man lands in thigh-deep water, gritting his teeth before he shoves his way to the sand and black rocks of land. He doesn’t know what drives his actions, or why he’s doing this, but with quick hands, he snatches up what scales he can find and keeps them in his palm; mind on fire.

Anyone could see the fury in John’s gaze—a growing hatred for what was just beyond sight. When he has all he’s able to carry, he wades back through the water and gets himself back atop his boat easily with one hand.

Walking quickly and soaked, he pushes aside a small cloth atop a barrel; seeing a gold box hidden under it. He opens it deftly, and while he puts the damaged and torn scales inside, John glances at the expensive and elegant twin cuff bracelets that sit in blue velvet.

When he had been away buying them for you, he should have already been here. Wasted time.

I left her here alone. Knowing what could happen if I did. A growl bounces under his beard, face going red with anger. The two of you had quickly become enraptured with each other—drunk off flesh and touch like non-sentient animals.

And something had taken place while he was away. You were gone, the fisherman knew. The water wasn’t as clear, the fish were terrified, and the blood alone proved this—the scales. This wasn’t an accident.

And it had something to do with that ship he’d seen on the horizon with his narrowed eyes not minutes prior. The Captain was slowly re-taking over the man.

“Fuck!” John curses, teeth bared as he spins and readies his sails. With violent pulls at the ropes, letting the mainsail shift down in a flurry of white sheets, he turns the vessel around in no time at all. It was as if Poseidon himself was pushing the ship forward to that small dot on the ocean line, far, far away.

Deadly purpose bled into his heart, and the early afternoon sun forced him onward with hellfire following at his heels. He re-wraps his gift in the meantime, only taking a single scale from inside and putting it in a small pouch on his belt before walking to another barrel and pausing. This one was older, more sun-bleached.

John deserted the service years ago, but not long enough to forget how the world of men can be. With a grunt on his thinned lips, the brunette rips the top off and grasps inside.

With an experienced hand out came a sheathed Cutlass, the leather of the handle worn and indented to his very grip. It found a place on his belt, and John wasted no time in making the Flintlock pistol follow.

A fisherman he may be, but in his blood John would always be a killer. He knew how to fight dirty and fight well—carve skin and not flinch at the sparks of gunpowder. There was no hesitation as to what he would do to get you back.

In his chest, there was a weight of rage and concern as he glared at the far-off Hunter’s ship.

“What the hell have you done to her?” He growls, beard back and eyes narrowed. His hands clenched and unclenched with loathing.

John’s thoughts go to the horror stories he’d heard about Merfolk and them getting caught in the open ocean, when he’d found you he had been surprised. He felt his heart beat faster when you were around, his blood would spike with love and affection.

It was strange, unheard of, but he can’t stop it now that it’s happened.

No one touched you with their cruel hands and lived.

John didn’t like it, but he hung far enough away from the Hunter’s ship so that the cover of night hid him. Dark stars hung at his head, tunic blowing in the chilled breeze when the waves took him close enough—all was silent. Asleep.

Lantern light slid along the waves, and with deft fingers, John anchored his ship with measured efficiency a small distance away. Looking over the side, the fisherman grunts under his breath and sets his shoulders. Without a single glance in hesitation, he slips silently off the deck into the water.

Immediately, John kicks his legs and resurfaces with a puff from his nostrils, whipping his head to the side to dispel water. Making no sound, the man swims the distance between vessels, hearing the creak of the still and bulky form of the Hunter’s ship ten times his own sitting above him.

“Fuckin’ bastards,” he grumbles to himself and thinks of your condition intensely. His heart hammers even in the clutches of the frigid waters. But beyond the insult, no other words needed to be spoken—the prior Captain was a man of action.

Violent Action.

John wades to the side of the wooden structure, the waves threatening to smash him tight into the hull and skin him against the barnacles, but he braces himself and grabs ahold of the knife at his belt, next to his cutlass. In his stupor to get to you quickly, he’d forgotten that his Flintlock would be completely useless now that it had been submerged in water.

Grunting and trying to remain as quiet as possible, the man sets his blade into the side of the ship into the thin slits available. In his free hand, he takes up his cutlass and does the same. In a feat of impressive upper-body strength that leaves his muscles bunching and tensing—veins visible from the side of his neck—John huffs breaths as he climbs the ship one panel at a time.

He groans and sends the blades back in at opposite intervals, the firm thunk-plunk, thunk-plunk, bouncing off the dark air as the moon shines bright. But no one awakens.

The Fisherman pulls himself up the side of the ship and swiftly ducts behind a pile of large crates on deck to gather himself, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“C’mon Sweetheart,” he mutters, “hold on just a little longer.” Duel wielding both weapons, narrowed eyes look across the open area—the stain of blood all along the wood. Glimmering in the low light catches John’s fiery gaze.

Scales. Your scales. Littering the deck and scattered all over.

If possible, the man becomes even more enraged, knuckles going white over his blades. The man stationed on deck was asleep across the way; leaning back and snoring. John locks eyes on him and hides back a vicious smirk. Quickly sneaking over and staying near the edge of the lantern’s lights, the ragged-looking man awakens to a blade at the base of his throat and a voice in his ear.

“The woman,” John speaks slowly and deeply, accent rolling out. The watchman tenses in his grip, but John grits his teeth and grits out, “Where the fuck is she?”

“W-woman?” Usually, the brunette could paint himself a patient man, like a flag fluttering in a breeze waiting for the next bout of heavy winds without care or concern. But this was different.

By God, if these pathetic fortune-seekers had hurt you even in the slightest bit…

John presses the blade harder to the man’s throat, thighs shifting in agitation, glaring at the far-off water beyond this stranger’s shoulder.

“The woman.” Blood falls down the blade edge, crimson. A tiny whimper. “The one that you stole away like an fucking animal.”

“The fish?” The tone was incredulous but with a snarl the voice continues, whispering pitifully out in fear over the night’s silence. “She’s in the Hold! I swear it, Sir, on God’s green earth I do—”

John slits the man’s throat and takes his leave before the body drops, blood spraying into the air with a garbled cry.

—

You don’t sleep so much as you fall unconscious from the lack of blood. Inside your head, your brain is fuzzy and light—everything swirling like a jewel’s many faces reflected onto a wall. The rocking of the Hunter’s ship, while something you should be used and accustomed to, made you sick at times until only the watery bile that fell from your lips hit the wood.

At some point, you’d given into the call of nothingness at the lack of seawater and the violent shivering of your shoulders. Your tail had gone completely numb.

Everyone knew that Merfolk needed the sea to survive—you couldn’t live without feeling its loose arms around you for long periods, pulling you in and filling your airways.

This was torture.

But whoever was ripping up cloth at your limp side was muttering you back into the darkness of the Hold.

“I’m right ‘ere, c’mon, Love. Open your bloody eyes.” Hands pressed to your face, tilting it and hissing before a thumb slid along the swollen skin of a cut. “I’ll rip them to pieces…mark my word. They’ll not live through this.”

It sounded like…

Gripping at your binds and gag, both items slipped away right before the larger cuts on your body were suddenly packed with strips of rough material. Occasional whispers of words and curses wafted out.

“...J-John?” Your voice is rough, shattered, but at the same time you manage to force open an eye.

Tight blue eyes meet yours immediately, and his voice softens to a painful degree as he addresses you. “That’s it, atta girl. Just keep focusing on my voice, then, yeah? Come back to me, Sweetheart.”

Tears well your ducts, lips quivering.

John was curled over you and had ripped up the bottom of his tunic to make strips of bandages to try and stop the bleeding. He came for you, gruff voice and large frame, all.

“How are you—” Your voice breaks into body-shaking coughs, but that doesn't deter the man. He carefully puts a hand forward and tilts you into his arms; head resting on his chest. Your ears twitch to the sound of his heartbeat, loud and fast. You cling to it like a lifeline as those calluses graze your skin once more.

How was he here?

“What have they fucking done?” John’s voice is dark and volatile, his hand stroking your matted hair. “What did they do?”

He’s not so much asking you as he’s asking himself. You breathe in a wheeze, not noticing the crimson staining John’s clothes—none of it his or yours in the slightest. The other men on the ship weren’t the Fisherman’s priority, only you; always you. But whoever had been in his path had met the unfortunate end of being on the opposite side of his blade.

When he’d found you like this….it was like his entire chest had fallen still. His eyes wide with horror and fear.

John had never felt something that visceral before, except when you hadn’t been in your cove.

“Oh, my Beauty.” Chapped lips press to your forehead, breathing you in as arms curl around you. “Let me bring you home.”

You shake and cry silently into his neck, weak hands coming to grasp at his neck.

“They’re going to take my tail.”

“No,” John’s answer is immediate and firm, pulling you closer until you might slip into his skin. “No, they’re not doing a damn thing to you. I promise, Love, not a single person will ever touch you again, you hear?”

You burrow into his neck, this fisherman’s flesh soft under your force. Hands keep you to him, and with another kiss on your cheek, they tighten and gently move you into the clutch of his arm.

John looks down at you with great distress, eyes flickering over every sign of abuse and hurt. The men whose throats he’d slit in their sleep deserved to be awake and see the blade descending for their neck, he thought.

“I’m going to lift you, Sweetheart, eh?” He grunts to push aside the hatred in his tone, not wanting to scare you. He gazes around the Hold and at the low ceiling—the insistent rocking from the waves just outside.

You suck down greedy breaths and nod slightly, shaking in his arms. John’s eyes crease in sorrow but has no option but to continue; the both of you can’t be here when the remaining men wake or discover the bodies.

Your Fisherman frowns but does what he’s able to both quickly and effectively lift you, your tail hanging limp and dripping blood from the fins. When you tense and whine, John shushes you quietly.

“Hush, now, it’s alright. It’ll all be over soon, I’ve got you. I’m taking you back home if it’s the last thing I damn-well do.” Your teeth grit with held-back pain, every movement was agony and to think made it worse.

Home? Home wasn’t safe anymore. Like taking a knife to the heart, the thought makes the torment all the worse.

John holds you in one arm, head under his ear and rubbing against his beard as his muscles strain to keep you right to him with his torn tunic and blood-freckled skin. In his free hand, he wields his Cutlass and exits the Hold slowly, eyes surveying the scene.

The scores of bodies were only a fraction of the men of this ship—only one side of the crew’s quarters that ascended up to the deck. John knew the anatomy of a ship well, certainly one like this.

His only question was why such an unsavory bunch was living on a King issued hunting vessel in perfect condition. Was the bastard hiring pirates for his extermination game?

“If I ever get my hands on him…” John shuts himself up as someone groans in their sleep from the far wall.

He glares in the general direction and puts his body between yours and the straight direction that he walks—sword parallel to the ground and knife at his belt as a backup. Ready and wound for a fight.

“You..you came for me?” You ask softly as John carries on, your blood leaving a crimson trail behind the two of you; your mind is loose to all except the way your Fisherman’s thumbs run circles in your rent scales, fingers gripping under your tail joint which aches and hurts. His bicep is curled at the small of your back.

John carries you like you weigh nothing.

“‘Course,” the brunette's eyes slide to yours, true honesty and firmness behind his words. You flutter your lashes at the fatigue in your body and his feet speed up, speaking into your scalp and nuzzling his beard into you. “No one messes with my girl.”

“I’m not a…girl, John,” you remind, softly.

The smirk on your head gives you strength, fear steadily draining like contaminated liquid.

“No,” he whispers, “no, not quite. You’re something far more lovely, aren’t you?”

Your heart swells, tears dripping down your cheeks once more before lips slide them away with brushes of a kiss. He carries you up the stairs quickly, sword at the ready.

Lantern light makes you squint, hands tightening around John’s neck.

He hums to you, a small melody that you can latch onto to help focus—it keeps your mind working as everything else falls away. John’s warm flesh and his lungs, the sound of his pulse.

He came for you. No man would do that besides him—no specimen of any species. No one except John.

Your Fisherman.

You’re halfway to freedom, feeling the sea air on your flesh and longing for the depths of untouchable waves. You peek from John’s neck and blink delicately, what little scales still intact shimmering, and fins aching for water.

“John,” he begins to pick up his pace, but still glances in attentive question. “I need to be in the water. I can’t go long without it.” You already felt a bit stronger by just being by the open sea. The man nods and you smile deeply, face twisted. You kiss his cheek deeply. “You have my thanks, Fisherman.”

His tight expression gradually loosens with care and love. “Doubted me, then?”

“Perhaps only a little,” he kisses your lips, cheeky smiles peeling his beard.

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, eh?” The man’s face is lit by lanterns, stars like a crown above his head that illuminate the small scars and the sheen of sweat like a portrait of a good man.

Perhaps humans were truly more magical than you had been taught to believe, for no mortal man would do this for anybody.

In the midst of him carrying you over to the edge of the ship, he’s only three feet from the drop when the familiar sound of a Flintlock hammer being clicked back hits his ears. You feel John lock up, and your eyebrows crease in confusion; not common to the model of metal and wood.

Looking over his shoulder, you strangle down a raspy gasp.

“John—”

“I know, Love.” He whispers, turning slowly with his sword at his hip. The stranger with the eyepatch has his weapon leveled with the brunette’s chest. “Easy, let me handle it. Keep focusing on me.”

“A thief in the night!” The leader calls, and alarm from below deck start to rise in question at the noise. John grits his teeth and his stance widens. “Thought to make off with my prize, did ya? I’ve not seen you before on this ship.”

“Hell,” John grits out, loudly now that he’s caught. You burrow deeper into him and he shields you, voice hot with rage. “Save me the fuckin’ monologue. She isn’t yours—to own or bloody take.”

As he speaks he points his cutlass in the leader’s general direction, holding it aloft with a strong and pale arm. The leader smirks, and soon the pound of rushing feet enter the deck—men holding weapons and clubs. You make a noise of tension and John tries to shift you farther into his grip even more.

Your tail hangs and brushes the deck, gaining some feeling back to it gradually.

The leader laughs. “What that creature is, Mate, is enough gold for a whole moon’s time in rum and pleasure.” His single eye falls on you as the crew gets closer, crowding in and yelling.

John shuffles back and snarls like a boar, pointing his sword’s tip from one chest to another.

“Keep your bastard eye off of ‘er, you prick. Find your score elsewhere. She’s coming with me.” So sure he sounds that you yourself believe it. Your chest swims with pride.

The crew closes in, but jumping at this stage was dangerous. The ones with firearms could aim in the water before you both could get away and John didn’t know if you could swim still. Your fins were torn and tail flinching with damaged nerves.

Eyepatch barks a vile laugh, “...I think he loves the beast!” John’s body winds even farther and your eyes slip to the side of his red face. He grunts stiffly, hair damp. Everyone follows in their amusement, mocking the two of you. “I knew that necklace around her neck meant something.” Your body stills and you glance down at John’s gifted silver. Blue eyes flash to the same, but as if suddenly realizing the nakedness of your top surrounded by such brutes, your Fisherman pushes on the back of your spine to shove your chest into his own with a panicked look. You grunt in surprise, but let him. “No greedy Mermaid would bother with a trinket like that! A piece of rubbish metal. It means something to her—and I’ll bet that something is you, Thief.”

Me, greedy? Your eyes narrowed into slits. If you knew his name, you’d sing his death song in an instant. Your Fisherman’s face goes stiff, knowing the predicament the two of you were in. There was no way he was giving you up.

But himself…

Tiny lids narrow on the arrogant leader.

“Do you trust me?” John whispers to you, suddenly, as all sides were surrounded and the water just as dangerous as the deck.

Face creasing, you say, confused and worried, “Of course.”

“...Then forgive me.”

He throws you from the side of the deck, and whirs to run his blade through the nearest man.

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Text

Less Talk | Part IV

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, brief violence, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking, SO MUCH PINING

Part I | Part II | Part III | Masterlist

“So?” Bradley asks, smirking up at Jake as he gulps down some orange juice with a slight cringe. “How was last night?”

Jake gives him an annoyed look, turning off the burner on the stove with a little more aggression than necessary. He lifts the lid off the egg poacher and grabs a plate in silence.

“That good, huh?” Bradley says.

Jake shakes his head crossly and lets out a disgruntled sigh, sliding a couple of eggs onto his plate. He holds up the poacher and looks at his roommate. “Want some?”

Bradley nods, rising from the table and walking into the kitchen. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me by being less irritating,” Jake says tersely.

Bradley snorts. “My, my,” he says, taking his breakfast back into the dining room. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Jake sets his plate down and looks at Bradley sourly. “What did I just say?”

“Alright, alright.” Bradley holds up his hands to indicate that he’s done riling him. “We won’t talk about it. We can pretend it never happened.”

Jake takes a bite out of his toast. “Nothing did happen.”

Bradley is watching Jake with a sympathetic grin. “Does that disappoint you?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Bradshaw. What’ll it take to get some peace and quiet around here? Between you and Y/N, I haven’t had a moment’s rest.”

Bradley eyes him patiently. “I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I’ll stop. But I’m here if you need to get something off your chest.”

Jake gives him a flat look. It bugs him when his friends demonstrate love and compassion, and Bradley Bradshaw is notorious for that shit. His genuine desire to help makes Jake uncomfortable as fuck. He prefers the ribbing any day of the week; at least he could respond in kind. “There’s nothing on my chest, Rooster,” he says harshly. “There’s nothing on my mind,” he continues. “Nothing going on anywhere.”

Bradley nods at him skeptically. “Okay.”

Jake sighs loudly, ensuring that Bradley is aware of just how irritated he is. “Except,” he says, pausing to take another bite of toast. “Your damn bestie is a fucking nuisance.”

“How so?” Bradley asks, trying to contain a grin.

Jake scoffs. “Well, for one thing,” he says. “She unplugged our fucking fan.”

Bradley’s eyebrows converge. “She what?”

“Yeah.” Jake nods. “And she called me a moron.”

Bradley makes a face. “She did not.”

Jake shrugs. “More or less. Whatever. She told me I ‘helped her’ yesterday, whatever the fuck that means.”

Bradley squints his eyes, smiling. “I think it means you helped her.”

Jake stares at him bitterly. “I’m not planning on being her friend,” he says.

Bradley shrugs. “You don’t have to be her friend.”

“I don’t like her.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “Okay.”

“Why are we even talking about her?” Jake lets out another frustrated sigh.

Bradley grimaces. “I don’t think I started it this time.”

Jake looks up at him, distressed at his escalating resentment toward you and Bradley and the damn grackles outside the kitchen window that just won’t shut the fuck up. He steadies his breathing. “Have you heard from her this morning?” he asks quietly. “Is she okay?”

Bradley nods at him calmly. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s okay.”

…

“Whose idea was this?” Jake asks, walking into the Hard Deck with a sullen expression. For an entire week, he’s been expending an unthinkable amount of energy just to keep you off his mind. He hasn’t, for a second, let himself think about your unbearable tendency to debate every single word that comes out of his mouth. Nor has he been ruminating on the way your eyes flash with excitement whenever you’ve constructed an irrefutable argument. He hasn’t thought about your smile, or the way you had wrapped your arms around his neck. He certainly doesn’t remember what you’d said to him, or your warm breath bathing his skin, or how the curve of your waist felt in his hands.

And now, apparently, he has to spend an entire evening with you because your boyfriend wants to get to know your friends. Jake isn’t your friend. What the fuck is he even doing here? Except trying desperately to not think about you.

“This is a big step for him,” Bradley says under his breath. “He’s never even wanted to meet her friends.”

Jake inhales deeply, trying to relieve some of the aggravation he feels. He sees that the rest of the squad is already settled near the back of the bar, and that you are standing by one of the pool tables, watching Mustang line up his shot. Jake holds back a grin because you look bored stiff and, just like that, he forgets all about his endeavor to keep you strictly off his mind.

Payback shoves a shot into each of their hands the moment they arrive but Jake glances over his shoulder to look at you. You’re already watching him so he gives you a polite nod, unsure how the two of you should interact now that you no longer blatantly hate each other’s guts. You approach Bradley to give him a hug and then hesitate when deciding how best to greet Jake. He gives you a sympathetic smile, which you return with noticeable relief.

“How are you?” Jake asks, pointedly eyeing Mustang, who hasn’t even looked up from his game.

“Great,” you respond, a little too cheerily. But Jake knows you better than to buy that shit. He gives you a skeptical sort of grimace and you end up shrugging with a soured expression. “I’m fine,” you amend your statement.

Jake nods. “That’s more like it.”

You snort. But just when Jake begins to relax into the comfortable routine of back-and-forth quips, Mustang straightens his back and saunters over to where the two of you are standing.

Jake lifts his gaze, looking at him lazily. “Mustang,” he says commandingly.

Your boyfriend furrows his brows as though he’s confused by the nickname, which Jake finds hilarious, because what an idiot. “Actually, it’s –”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake responds curtly. He turns to you with a tight smile. “Enjoy your evening,” he says, and then he walks away. He doesn’t check to see your reaction to his, admittedly, ill-mannered exit, but he’s not about to waste his time chatting up a man he absolutely loathes. Even if it’s what you might want.

But he doesn’t get far before he feels your fingers curl around his arm. He glances down as you try to yank him backward with your tiny hand, accomplishing nothing but drawing an amused smile from his lips.

“Yes?” he says, eyeing your hand before meeting your gaze.

“What the fuck was that?” you ask. “He just wanted to talk.”

Jake shrugs. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

Your grip on his arm tightens defiantly and you say, “You didn’t want to talk to me either, remember?”

Jake watches you with a smirk. “What makes you think that’s changed?”

You stare at him impassively, not in the least impressed with his jibe. You let go of his arm with a hard look. “My mistake,” you say coldly.

Jake raises his eyebrows in response to your irritation. “Why does it even matter to you that I talk to him?” he asks, glancing at Mustang who’s gone back to his game without a second thought. The only person Jake’s resistance seems to be bothering is you.

“Forget it,” you say moodily.

Jake watches you walk back to your boyfriend with a mixture of disappointment and jealousy. He grimaces when you lean your head onto Mustang’s shoulder and he shrugs you off to walk around the pool table and observe his opponent’s shot. Jake closes his eyes for a moment, imagining what he’d do if you were to rest your head on him. He’d probably be paralyzed with shock, for one.

“Cheers,” Bradley says, bringing his shot glass to the one Jake is still holding in his hand.

Jake nods. “Bottoms up.” He hisses as the vodka burns its way through his system.

…

Several drinks in, Jake is failing miserably at his self-imposed task of disregarding your existence. Every so often, he glances in your direction, incapable of ignoring you entirely. You’re wearing ripped shorts which fit loosely around your hips, and he makes every attempt to suppress the desire to strut right up to you and sink his hands – or his teeth – into the flesh that’s exposed whenever you lean into the table to aim.

And don’t even get him started on the utter mayhem that descends upon his body every time you bend over. Your perfect ass is not only a distraction but a downright detriment to his sanity, which he’s feeling slip away little by little with every successive turn you take. You have no clue how to hold a cue stick and you’ve yet to sink a ball, but watching you try is unquestionably riveting.

Mustang is no longer playing; he quit the minute you decided to participate. Jake notes that he hasn’t made a significant effort to socialize with your friends and is rather spending the bulk of his time conversing with a couple of women at a neighboring table.

Jake considers joining you for a game, maybe showing you how to position your bridge hand. Maybe standing right behind you as you bend forward to take your shot. Maybe bending down with you to help you aim.

He sucks in his cheeks uncomfortably; if the mere thought of teaching you to play pool is arousing him, he should probably stay as far away from that table as possible. He gulps down the rest of his drink and stands up anyway, watching you giggle as you pocket the cue ball. He cringes, bothered that he finds you all kinds of adorable when you’re laughing at yourself. You seem much happier when Mustang isn’t by your side, and yet, when Jake finally resolves to approach you, you set your pool cue down and glance around in search of your boyfriend. Jake lets out a heavy sigh and heads instead toward the dartboard where Payback and Fanboy are starting a fresh game.

Jake’s barely concentrating on the board, however, because he keeps glancing over his shoulder to watch your conversation with Mustang. The two of you seem agitated with one another which isn’t altogether surprising considering your less than agreeable nature. He smirks to himself, pleased at the apparent instability of your relationship.

Jake returns his attention to the dartboard, trying to focus on the matter at hand despite the ridiculous hold you seem to have on him. Except that, a few minutes into the game, he hears a commotion at the far end of the pub. He turns to see you aggressively skirting tables as you try to outrun Mustang, who is chasing after you. Instantly, Jake drops his darts on the nearest surface and starts in your direction through the crowd. When he closes in, he can see that you’re visibly shaken as Mustang seizes your wrist and pulls you toward him forcefully. You try to twist away in protest, but he only clings harder.

Jake grits his teeth as he pushes past the last patron standing in his way, and then he grabs Mustang’s forearm while simultaneously driving an elbow right into his jaw. Not a second later, Jake delivers another blow with the back of his elbow. Mustang pivots from the strike and Jake uses this momentum to hike Mustang's arm behind his back and bring his palm down on his spine, sending him, face first, into the ground.

Mustang scrambles to his feet the moment Jake releases his arm, staggering slightly. But Jake doesn’t wait for him to recuperate before shoving him backward into an empty table. In his weakened state, Mustang easily loses his balance and crashes into the table with a thunderous clatter.

A chorus of cries erupts in response to the brawl and Jake can hear you screaming for him to stop in the background. But he’s too far in it to stop now. He lifts Mustang off the table by his shirt and sends him flying backwards once again, this time with his fist.

That’s when Bradley appears, dragging Jake away. Jake runs a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily. His mind is somewhat foggy despite the overwhelming rage in his gut.

“He’s down, man,” Bradley says under his breath. “He’s down.”

Jake nods, steadying his breath. He turns to look at you and the moment he sees the tears streaming down your face, he’s struck with an awful sense of regret. You’re watching him lividly, shaking your head.

“Y/N,” Bradley starts, but you hold up a hand.

Without a word, you spin around and head for the exit. Jake goes after you, despite Bradley’s compelling arguments against it. He crashes through the door and sprints after you across the lot.

“Hey!” he yells. “Slow down!”

You whip your head around aggressively, coming to a halt. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cry.

Jake comes to a stop before you, slightly out of breath. Only, now that he’s here, he’s got nothing to say.

“What? No elaborate comeback? No stupid joke?” you ask in revulsion.

He watches you soberly. He can tell that you’re pissed at him, but it’s different from all the other times he’s upset you. This time, you aren’t looking for a sparring partner, you’re looking for a fight. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Your eyebrows twist in outrage. “What do you think?”

Jake exhales sharply. “I meant your hand.”

You blink in confusion. “I wasn’t the one who punched him, Jake.”

Jake gives you a flat look. “He grabbed you, Y/N,” he says, his panting amplified by the anger coursing through him at the mere memory of the event. He reaches for your hand and lifts it to eye level as you watch on with a slight cringe. He weaves his fingers through yours until your palms connect as he examines your wrist.

“Are you insane? He barely touched me!” you exclaim.

Jake meets your gaze sharply. He watches you gravely, his eyebrows creasing in slow motion. “Has he done worse?” His fingers tighten around your hand. If you respond with anything other than an emphatic ‘no’, he’ll be leaving the Hard Deck in a cop car, and Mustang in an ambulance – if he’s lucky.

You viciously rip your hand out of his grasp and start walking. “Mind your own business, Seresin,” you mutter.

Jake watches your back as you march away. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and curls them into fists, contending with the riot of emotions assailing his person while trying to keep his cool. “Stop walking,” he says firmly, wincing at the authoritative tone in his voice.

You freeze at his words, which takes him completely by surprise. He’s watching you cautiously as you turn back to face him, bracing himself for your wrath. But you simply glance up at him, silent and utterly unreadable.

Jake steps forward hesitantly. “Progressive contamination of aquatic ecosystems, I can’t get you to shut up about,” he says levelly. “But when it comes to something as important as –”

“Water pollution is important!” you protest.

Jake gives you a critical look. “Is he hurting you?”

You avert your gaze. “No,” you answer quietly.

Jake shakes his head and starts walking back toward the bar.

“Jake!” you call after him. “Stop.”

Jake slows his pace but only stops once you’ve caught up with him and put a hand on his arm to keep him from going any farther. He glances at you, ignoring the surge of heat generated by your touch that’s unequivocally clouding his judgement.

“I’m the only one doing the hurting,” you say guiltily. “And you, apparently.”

“What are you talking about?”

You sigh. “I just broke up with him.”

Jake stares at you, speechless.

“Which is why it was really shitty of you to beat him up,” you say, looking back at him pointedly.

He glances over your face in a mild stupor, still reeling from the news. He furrows his eyebrows, trying to snap himself out of the reverie, and retorts, “I barely touched him.”

Read Part 5

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2K notes · View notes

inthedoghousern · 5 months

Text

11:45

part III of just this once (I) and okay (II)

pairing: oscar piastri x driver!fem!reader

summary: all eyes are on you and oscar after the monaco paparazzi pictures, and the two of you haven't been in the same vicinity since that night. after weeks of avoiding it, you two confront one another and your feelings.

contains: some social media, swearing, angst, fluff, brief mention of sex.

3.8k words

a/n: was going to end this angsty but i only got 1 comment on my last post and it was someone who wanted another part... so this one is for you @andruuu28

f1gossipofficial

Liked by mclarenfan3744 and 88,402 others f1gossipofficial Oscar Piastri and Y/n Y/l/n spotted together after the Monaco Grand Prix.

View all 31,288 comments

The rumors were in full effect.

Your night with Oscar had taken social media by storm. The rumors were more than just you two being close friends, there was this notion going around that a potential romance was forming.

The whole thing annoyed you, it was a moment that shouldn't have been public in the first place, a moment you should’ve been smart enough to avoid.

It's been a few weeks now since Monaco, and you've done your best to keep the situation from growing even larger. No interaction with Oscar, denying any romance, reminding everyone that the two of you have known each other for years, that you're only colleagues and friends. Not everyone liked this response, especially since it's been clear that over the past few years, you and Oscar haven't really been friends, but rivals. But you stuck to the same explanation, and Oscar and McLaren gave the same one as well.

You're now sitting in a meeting with your PR team. Even though there have been multiple Grand Prixs since the photos started circulating, you were still getting questions about them. “If you're asked about it, don’t comment. If you feel the need to say anything, just remind them that you’ve known Oscar for years and you’re simply friends," your manager tells you. You nod in agreement.

You were used to having the spotlight all on you, but now you're having to deal with it being on you and Oscar together.

Your manager's advice had been to shut down the rumors and just focus on the races, it was the smartest move. But your mind couldn't help but drift to the memories of Oscar. You had known him for years and suddenly some pictures of one night in Monaco caused you two to be branded as more than friends by the public. It was all just so overwhelming. How being in the F1 world made every moment in your life a spectacle.

“Alright…” your PR manager moves on, “speaking of Piastri, you have a panel with him today, alongside Tsunoda and Sargeant. Some sort of young driver thing.”

Your heart drops a little, you'd been lucky enough up until this point that you hadn't had to do any media with him. You got to address the rumors, separately. The luck has run out.

The panel was intended to showcase the young drivers, but now it was more than just a panel to you. You were scared it would become the focus of all the rumors and discussions about you two.

Obviously no one knew that the rumors had backing, that you had actually slept together, no one except you and Oscar. But it still made you nervous that you would be together, that every word you speak to each other during this conference, every look, is going to be dissected by fans and media looking to find out if there really is anything happening.

The walk to the panel brought you past fans and media alike. For the most part, they were asking questions regarding the races in the upcoming days, but one reporter got brave and decided to bring the rumors up.

"We all know about you two dating, when are you gonna go public with this relationship?" His question was loud enough to draw the attention of other reporters and fans. You're still walking as he asks, and the reporter is in step with you.

“Hey look, the only people I’m in love with out here are the ones who keep my car going fast,” you put your hands up in a joking surrender. You hope your humor towards the situation would show your indifference, make them see how ridiculous all the talk is.

Your response was able to brush off the question without even really addressing the rumors. And it worked, he laughed at your joke and moved on, a few of the other reporters were even laughing at the joke, which made you feel a little bit better.

It was time to focus again because now you were nearing the panel and you still had to be focused on getting through it without all the attention being on you and Oscar.

You walk into the press room, journalists are sitting in their chairs, waiting for the proceedings to start. Out of the four of you, you're the first to arrive. One of the coordinators guides you to a seat and you put your mic on. You give a closed-lip smile and direct a nod at the room. Now it’s just time to wait for Oscar, Logan, and Yuki.

The room was filled with chatter, the journalists were eager to get some insight into the young drivers of the grid. But the chatter soon dies down and the room becomes quiet, the silence only intensifying as Oscar walks onto the stage, followed by Logan and then Yuki. Because you were the first one to arrive, you were seated on the far end, and the coordinator that sat you led Oscar right next to you. Great.

As the MC introduces you all and opens the floor for questions, the photographers get busy snapping pictures of the panel. Oscar is right beside you, the two of you next to each other in full sight of the cameras, but he's busy looking straight ahead. So are you.

He's trying to avoid eye contact with you, he doesn't want the cameras to catch on to how he wants to look at you.

A few questions come in from the journalists to each driver individually, Logan is asked a question, which he answers, and so does Yuki. You're asked a few about you're dynamic with Max, and Oscar is asked about his with Lando.

The panel continues to go around the room a few more times, when you, Logan, and Oscar are asked a question.

“So, you three have been racing together for quite a long time”, he starts, “when can we expect a podium with the three of you? Imagine a moment like that!” He says passionately. I smile at his question. It was true, that during those early days of you and Oscar racing, Logan was there as well. You all had even driven for Prema together for a year.

You answer first, “Logan when do you think…” you joke and lean forward to look at him. Your response is an obvious dig at him driving for Williams, a team that isn’t well-known for getting podiums. Even getting points. Logan gets the jab pretty fast.

Logan laughs and takes the bait, "Oh I can already feel a podium coming on this weekend," he jokes and everyone has a little laugh, including you and Oscar.

You lean back again and reach to grab Logan’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “No shade, Sargent,” you smile. While reaching back to grab Logan, your arm brushes against Oscar’s back.

Logan smiles back, he knows it was just a little joke and doesn't take it personally. Oscar, on the other hand, is sensitive to your touch and feels a spark go through him when you brush against him. He can feel his muscles and body tense up just a tiny bit, he masks it by joining in on the joke, turning and smiling at Logan as well.

As the panel wraps up, you both feel a sense of some relief. Things had gone rather smoothly and the reporters were satisfied. And no one asked any questions about the pictures of you in Monaco.

Oscar was just glad the session was over, now he could finish the rest of his press obligations and go back to the hotel. But as he looks around, he still sees you sitting there, looking away talking to someone on your team, and he is partially in disbelief that you just sat through an entire panel with him, acting like there was nothing wrong. Because for him, he can't stop thinking about you, during the whole panel he was focused only on you.

In contrast, you're focusing on the conversation with your team member, completely turned away from Oscar. “Okay, yeah sure,” you answer to one of your manager's questions. You put the mic on the table and stand up.

Oscar looks away as you stand up, he hopes he wasn’t staring for a noticeable amount of time. He takes his mic off as well, standing up and making his way to the McLaren team.

It was a brief moment of eye contact, but when your eyes met with his, you could feel the intensity of everything between you and Oscar all rush back into your chest. It was just a look, a look that said a thousand things. A look that told you and Oscar everything that had happened between you.

You're the first one to break eye contact, and you both walk away, exchanging no words, as each of you sticks closely with your teams on your way out of the room.

Just two people who've had a lot of tension between them who were now trying to pretend like none of it ever happened. But neither of you were good liars.

The next day, you go through practice sessions like normal. You do more interviews, debrief with the engineers. Nothing special. Just business as usual.

It's now later in the day and you're back at the hotel sitting on a couch, just scrolling on your phone, trying to let your mind relax. A few Red Bull employees had been sitting with you earlier, but they had all left to do their own thing at this point. You have been alone for a few minutes now, but you're suddenly disrupted by someone sitting next to you, his presence makes you tense up as you know who it is.

“Hey.” He says. “Hi.” You respond almost reluctantly.

Oscar could tell that you weren't really happy about him sitting down next to you, and he should leave, he shouldn't have even sat down, but he was going to stay for a little bit to at least attempt to have this conversation.

He sat in silence for a few moments after you responded, before finally saying, "How were your sessions today?”

“Pretty good,” I answer. “What about you?”

"Yeah, mine were fine too."

Very successful conversation. You both sit in silence again, and you look back at your phone.

"How long are we going to avoid the obvious?" Oscar finally says, getting to the reason he sat down next to you in the first place.

You put your phone down. “I don’t know…” you trail off. “But it seems like whatever we’re doing now has diverted the media off our trail," you half-joke. You dance around his question. You're scared to talk about it.

Oscar was tired of pretending, it was killing him to keep quiet and act as if nothing had happened. He didn't know how much longer he could take it.

"That's not what I meant, you know what I'm talking about..." he said softly, his eyes just looking straight into you, trying to get you to look at him.

You lean your head on the back of the couch. You don’t meet his eyes yet. “Oscar I already told you… it was one time… we shouldn’t have let it even happen.” You're not sure if you really mean that, but you do regret that it was a door that you allowed to open. A door that you don’t want to close, but you have to.

Oscar sighs, your excuses are falling on deaf ears right now.

"Sure, we shouldn't have let it happen, but it did. So why are we pretending like it didn't? This is ridiculous." He said, his voice not raising, but you could tell he was annoyed with you.

"Is this really what you're gonna say every time we're together like this? That it was just one time? Because I'm not satisfied with that answer anymore."

“Okay okay," you surrender. “Look if we need to just talk this out, for once and all, get it out of our systems, fine. You tell me what you need to say. But you know we can’t do it here.” You lift your head and finally look at him. If he wanted to talk, okay. But you had worked so hard to dispel the rumors, and having a heart-to-heart in this hotel lobby where anyone could catch a listen was counterproductive.

Oscar nods, he knows he can't really say anything in here either, too many ears, too many eyes. But he has been holding this in for a while, all of his emotions and thoughts building up over the past weeks.

He wanted to talk through it, even just a little. "Okay. Where then?”

One of your hotel rooms was the obvious answer. But there was no way you were even going to consider that, not after what you two had already done together. It was too dangerous, too much could happen between you two if you were allowed to have each other all to yourselves.

You think. “There’s a pool here right? I’ll find out when it closes.”

Sitting on the pool deck, outside, in public, seemed like a much safer location for you and Oscar’s impending conversation. Even if it was closed and no one was there, there was always the threat of someone showing up, passing by. Private enough to say what you needed to say, public enough to control yourselves. “I’ll text you when. Then just meet me there,” you tell him.

Oscar was surprised that you suggested a place that was even more public. But it was a good solution because you are right. If your conversation was in a closed-off room somewhere, then there was always the chance that one of you would let yourself get carried away again.

In a public space, with even the smallest probability of someone coming by, you two would be forced to keep your distance.

"Alright," Oscar says, standing up and leaving the lobby.

to: Oscar Piastri

11:45pm.

from: Oscar Piastri (1 new message)

11:45.

The time comes and you slip into the pool area, trying to be discreet considering that it’s closed. And because you're meeting Oscar. He’s already here sitting on the edge of the pool.

When you arrive, he looks straight at you, there is no need to try hiding anything right now. The whole situation was already obvious and you both knew what conversation was incoming, what it was going to be about.

You don’t say anything as you walk over. Neither does he. You sit down next to him and put your feet in the pool, he does the same and keeps his legs straight so he doesn't accidentally touch your legs. There is a small amount of space between you two and you both stay quiet.

“So…” you don’t know what to say. He seemed like he had something to get off of his chest in the lobby. You should just tell him to spit it out, but you don’t want to be hostile. Be mean. The whole situation is really fucking with your head already but you don’t want to make it seem like he’s the only one with feelings to express. Things to say. Just because you've been avoiding him, you've been better at acting like it didn’t happen, didn't mean you weren't constantly thinking about that night, thinking of him.

You can see he's not entirely sure where to start either. "Can we just skip all the bullshit and not pretend like we don't know what is going to be discussed in this conversation?" Oscar asked, just being blunt from the start. His eyes looking straight into yours, they were piercing, it showed to you that he was serious about discussing this right away.

You're taken aback by his response. You weren't expecting him to be so forward, maybe you should have.

“Fine.” You turn and look at him. He should be the one to speak his peace first. He’s the one who pushed for this meeting back in the lobby. But you're sick of avoiding the confrontation. You'll confess first.

“Oscar, I don’t regret Monaco. If I'm being honest with myself, I want it to happen again. But don’t you understand why I say it can’t happen again? You’ve been here, almost every step of my career. You know how hard it’s been for me. Not just in the car. And it’s stupid that it would be a big deal if we got together. Stupid that people are going to use it as a way to justify not taking me seriously. But you know it will happen. Just those pictures of us in Monaco were hell for me.” I pause and look forward. “And I don’t want to sneak around. Watch my back every time we are together.” You move your feet through the water.

Oscar listens to you with an intense look on his face.

“I understand. And you’re right, they’re always going to talk,” he responds. You look at him. “It’s inevitable. It’s not fair. But that’s how we’re living. I know you're concerned about your career and reputation, but you’re at the top. You’re a great driver. So fuck them," he says looking back at you.

You sit quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m sick of pretending like my feelings don’t exist, I don’t care if everyone talks about me and our relationship or rumors or whatever, I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.” The floodgates are open now.

“I want to try. If you’ve already made up your mind and you’re done with this, then cut me lose now.“

Your mind is working overtime. You're trying to process his words and process your reaction to them. You know he’s right. If you keep running from relationships because you're scared of what people think, you're going to be alone until you retire. But your mind still runs to headlines. *McLaren and Red Bull. Competitors or Lovers?*. It’s not just the fans, the media. What about your teams? There’s no way things won’t get uncomfortable.

Oscar can tell your mind is racing, it's hard to take everything in so suddenly. If something were to happen between the two of you, you were right, a lot would change.

But Oscar believed it was worth a shot.

“What happened between us was only one night. But usually when people feel how we’r– I’m feeling, they get to explore that...” Oscar cringes slightly at his words. He's saying exactly what he means, but it sounds so corny out loud.

“What I’m trying to say is that we could decide to actually spend more time together. Give us a shot. And it's a real possibility it just doesn’t work.” He looks up, trying to find the rest of the words to verbalize what he’s feeling. “But we can’t know that unless we try.”

He finishes his speech and looks away, his head lowered. The words were finally out there, there was no hiding from those feelings anymore.

You can't find any words. He cannot look at you. All you two can do is sit there, waiting for the other to make the next move.

You look at the side of his face. His freckles and moles you had once traced. His hair. It was messy again, maybe he was running his hands through it before you got here. You continue staring at him, just examining.

Eventually, you look back at the pool. You sit for a moment before moving your feet in the water, tapping Oscar's next to you.

He felt your foot lightly touch him in the water. He looks into the pool and he gives a small smile. His eyes travel to your leg, close to his now, and he pushes his lightly back into you.

You still aren’t looking at each other as your legs keep touching in the pool. And now you can feel his hand nearly touching yours, and you inch it closer. You feel his slight touch back as your pinkies are now intertwined.

It was so still and so quiet. All you could hear was the slight trickle of water, your legs and hands lightly touching, and the occasional small breeze that came by.

You don’t know how long it's been when you finally turn to Oscar. He’s still looking at the pool. Your heart is beating faster and faster and you've made your decision. Is it the right one? Is there even a right decision in this situation? You don’t know.

You move your hand away, your pinkies no longer intertwined.

Oscar felt you move away, feeling a tinge of pain, it seemed like you decided to leave.

He stays still, facing the pool.

You linger for a second before you begin to trace your fingers on his back and up along his neck.

He looks over at you when you do this. Now that he's facing you, you run your fingers through his hair and rest a hand on his face, your thumb caressing his cheek.

Oscar shudders slightly as your fingers go through his hair, it's such a tender and sweet gesture. His breathing started to slow, the tension that had built up this whole time and throughout this conversation was now subsiding. He can feel you gently touching his face and it feels so natural.

His hand now finds your face, lightly brushing a piece of hair behind your ear and then resting on the back of your neck. You turn your body more completely now, bringing one of your legs out of the pool, bent in between you two, while the other still floats.

Oscar feels your leg come out of the pool and is placed in between the two of you, the both of you are practically pressed together now.

You feel his hand caress the back of your neck, as he draws you closer to him. You lean closer too. No words have been exchanged but it’s clear you've both made your decision. It’s almost as if with your simple action of leaning closer, a secret agreement between the two of you was silently accepted.

Your heads are touching now, your legs pressed tight between the two of you. No words need to be spoken to prove it, something had happened and now it was time for you both to embrace it.

You kiss him. Finally.

He kisses you back.

Maybe this was the wrong decision. Maybe not. Either way, right now you and Oscar couldn't care less. All you wanted in this moment was him. All he wanted was you. The worries of being caught, the reactions of fans, your teams, and the media, and the fear that whatever this is would just be a fling, dissolved in the kiss. You were the only two people who mattered at this moment, the only ones who knew how you were feeling and what you had gone through just to be in each other's arms again.

And as Oscar pulls you closer and smiles into the kiss, you know for a fact that this is the best decision you've ever made.

f1gossipofficial

Liked by user4337 and 98,963 others f1gossipofficial McLaren's Oscar Piastri and Red Bull's Y/n Y/l/n spotted together again in the night leading up to the qualifying sessions of the Belgian Grand Prix.

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landonorris oh wow (deleted by author)

a/n: the end 😄 they are such idiots, how are you about to get caught AGAIN after your whole plan was to be incongnito!

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #op81

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livingemkayde · 11 months

Text

ch iii. diced

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter three of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. phone sex?? yeah…phone sex. graphic depictions of male and female masturbation. dom!joel makes a reappearance. too much tension for one story. love triangle forming formed. mild allusions to physical fighting but only verbal fighting with the brothers LOL. age gap, reader is 23 and joel is 35. Tommy is 30. (ages of all characters and plot do not follow canon strictly for the story’s sake). reader in her girl boss era (not sexually tho lol).

a/n: ooooooooo i love you guys and im glad youre liking the story. im really happy with the way this chapter came out. WIG. please enjoy!!

summary: tensions run high at a family dinner at the miller's house. tommy drops you off at home, but its joel who ends up being the one talking to you until you fall asleep.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“Fighting at the table. Thought you were a gentleman,” you chuckle, nervously. That right? Your breath hitches. “Yeah.” Not anymore? “Not too sure anymore.” ‘M sure I can convince you. “You can try.”

You like cooking.

You like the meticulous steps involved in following a recipe.

You like how when it’s done, you can share it with the people you love.

You stand at the kitchen counter, dicing an onion. Joel’s silent words ring in your mind as you stare down at the small little squares.

You find your cheeks reddening more with each tick of the minute hand. The boys will be home later from their long day with the electrician. You asked one of Sarah’s teammates to drop her off at the house since your car was out of commission.

The hours pass by, the chicken gets golden brown in the heat of the oven, salad gets tossed, potatoes get mashed.

The Millers file in, Sarah first — she slumps down on the couch as you try to get her to wash up and put on a fresh set of clothes before setting up camp in front of the TV.

She grumbles, but ultimately gives in, too tired to complain. You send her back to the couch after she’s done with a bowl of grapes and a cookie.

Tommy is next, surprisingly sans his brother at his side.

“Hey…” you greet him with confusion laced in your tone.

“Hey,” he gives you a hug, like always, and shuffles into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything about Joel which seems weird.

“Smells fuckin’ amazing ‘n here,” Tommy grumbles to himself, giving you a teasing squeeze on your hip while you pass to check on the chicken.

He sits down at the table, his hand rubbing over his forehead.

“Where’s Joel?” you inquire. Trying to keep your tone from sounding too interested.

“Dunno, dropped me off and said he needed to check on something,” he grovels.

You nod your head.

Strange.

“How was your day?” he asks, you just shrug.

“Tire’s fuck. ‘S alright though.”

He nods, his head comes back to his hands.

“Long day?” you ask, looking at him sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he groans, standing to sneak a taste at the potatoes with a small spoon in hand.

“Hey! Wait—” you attempt to stop his tricks, but he just laughs when you try to bat his hand away.

“Electrican was a fuckin’ dick ‘n the drywall shipment is late so…” he huffs out, leaning back against the kitchen counter. You settle against the other counter, across the kitchen — the two of you facing each other.

“‘M sorry,” you say and try to smile. These things happen with the brothers. The day's work seeping into dinner. You usually try to cheer up Tommy before he sits down with Sarah, but Joel is a different story. “Can you do anything about the guy?”

“Not really, he’s supposed to be the best,” he shrugs. You stalk over near him, moving to stir the potatoes again, but he plays with the tail ends of your apron, and surprisingly, pulls you into a hug.

You know it’s what he needs right now. A hug from a friend, and when the front door opens, you

hope everyone in the room understands it's nothing more than that.

Joel stands in the entryway. You can see him out of the corner of your eye. You can also see him hesitate in shrugging off his boots and flannel, taking in the scene unfolding before his eyes.

Tommy Miller slumped against the counter with you in his arms.

You pull away quickly.

“Hey Joel,” you say, your hand coming to rub the back of your neck.

“You makin’ dinner?” He asks, nodding his head at your greeting. You figure he’s pissed off about the day too, and seeing you with Tommy first thing when he opens the door certainly can’t help.

“Yeah, just some chicken,” you say to him as he moves to kiss Sarah’s head and makes his way towards you and Tommy.

“It’ll be ready soon,” you follow up with, he gives you a grunt in response, opening the fridge to get a beer.

Joel passes you, and just when you think he’s too pissed to save it, he gives you a look. The one that leaves you breathless, the same look he always does — but only for a fleeting second with Tommy still close to your side.

He leans down to your ear in passing, putting a steady hand on your low back that sends chills up your spine and whispers in a husky voice —

“Thanks for cookin’ darlin’.”

Jesus.

You try to hide your flush but a smile falls on your face — Tommy notices. You know he notices, he’s not stupid. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged breath.

You can’t think of anything besides, get the attention off you.

“Sarah?” you call from the kitchen, you see her eyes peek out from over the couch.

“Help me set the table, will you, doll?”

“Sure,” she calls back.

You move to grab the napkins and cutlery, but Tommy’s hands stop your movements. You look up to him at your side, he smiles at you.

“Let me help,” he says, taking the cloth out of your hand.

“Oh — okay. Thanks,” you say, brushing your hands off, setting up Sarah’s utensils instead.

You shrug off your apron. Joel watches you the whole time while leaning against the sink. When you meet his eye, he just raises his eyebrows at you, taking another sip of his beer.

You pull the chicken out of the oven, setting everything on the table.

“Come get it, guys,” you say, pulling out Sarah’s chair. She sits by Tommy, he ruffles her hair — her giggling echoing through the kitchen like always.

You sit across from them, Joel at the head of the small table. It's funny. Most days you have dinner at the house, it doesn’t feel as formal as this. Tommy and Joel sit on the couch sometimes, watching whatever is on the TV, you help Sarah with her food at the table.

But most days you have takeout or leftovers — not a meal you cooked.

“How was soccer today?” you ask Sarah as she spoons mashed potatoes into her mouth.

“It was so fun, Katie even got us matching bracelets,” she says, holding out her wrist, a clunky beaded bracelet hangs off it.

“Very cool,” you admire the colorful charms, the brothers pretend to be interested.

“Sorry I couldn’t pick you up, my tire popped,” you say to her. She gives you a confused look.

“How does that even happen?”

“You’re telling me, kid,” you smile at her, shaking your head. She laughs back.

“Speakin’ of that,” Joel cuts in, “Went by the shop to get a tire but they were closed. I'll take you tomorrow.”

“Oh — thanks, Joel,” you say, sipping on some water to hide your blush.

Tommy grumbles from across the table.

“What was that?” you ask, he looks at you, then Joel, a certain uneasiness falls over the table.

Some silence. He keeps looking at Joel with an emotion you can’t place.

“Told Joel I would take you,” he says after some time.

Fuck.

You sneak a glance at Joel. He looks at Tommy with a stiff stare. The room feels tense, other than Sarah picking at her salad.

“Oh — it’s,” you nervously chuckle. “It’s okay. Actually I can probably —”

“I gave her the tow,” Joel cuts you off. But he’s not talking to you, he’s talking to Tommy.

You watch the wordless scene unfolding in front of you in awe. Your brows push together in a silent plea to stop. But the boys don’t look at you. They don’t break from looking at each other.

“She called me,” Tommy says, the dinner in front of them abandoned.

“You didn't go.”

Fuck.

“It's really not a problem, I can—”

“I’ll help you change it,” Tommy cuts you off, glancing in your direction, then back to Joel.

“I can change a tire,” Joel snaps, his voice raising slightly.

You give them both a look, hoping to shut them up, but they don’t even glance your way.

“Once your car is fixed can you take me to the library again after soccer?” Sarah says over the silence.

You look back at her and try to make it seem like everything is okay.

“Of course!” you say, cringing at your nervous intonation, but she giggles and thanks you nonetheless.

“I know how to change a tire, but thanks for the offer,” you say, a nervous laugh breezing through your words. “Tommy, it’s okay that you couldn’t come —”

You’re cut off again. It seems like you’re not really in this conversation. And they’re not really arguing about the tire.

“I couldn’t go because you fucked it with the electrician,” Tommy bites back.

“Tommy,” you say in a stern voice, looking at Sarah, and back to Tommy, a scowl across your face. But he doesn’t look back.

It looks like Sarah is almost done with dinner anyways, her eyes trained towards the TV in the living room.

“You done kiddo?” you whisper to her. She snaps out of it and nods, you tell her to put her plates in the sink and slip her another cookie.

“Go pick out a book to read before bed.”

She leaves. The tension doesn’t.

“‘N why was the electrician mad?” Joel bites back when you join the table again.

“Jesus,” Tommy says, he pulls back from their staring first, running a rough hand through his hair.

“No, why was he mad?” Joel scowls. “Was it because you forgot to confirm for the drywall?”

“Joel,” you say, confused why he’s still letting this go on. Of course, he doesn’t look at you.

Tommy just scoffs, avoiding everyone’s gaze while staring down at the floor. You see his shoulders puffing.

A few more moments of unbearably tense silence. You don’t want to step in, this is obviously some stupid argument and you have no idea what you could possibly say to make it better. You’re partially scared, and halfway pissed because they’re fighting and cursing in front of Sarah — ruining the meal you spent the afternoon making.

“‘S what I thought,” Joel announces to the table.

Your eyes widen more if that’s possible.

Oh, fuck.

Tommy slams his fist on the table, standing, Joel gets to his feet too. You stand, moving around the table before any blows are actually thrown, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you say, your voice is a little hushed because of Sarah.

“I dunno,” Joel whispers, still looking at Tommy. “What are we doin’.” It's a question, but it doesn’t sound like one.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You guys will figure it out with the electrician,” you say, hesitant, you’re not sure if that will make the situation any better, but you’re trying your best.

“And I can take care of my own tire,” you let out a breathless laugh, trying to diffuse the tension.

Joel looks over to you at that, and his brows slightly unfurrow.

You look at Tommy, but he looks furious.

“Guys,” you say, looking between them, pleading with your voice.

The clock continues counting — seemingly without the three of you — suspended, or maybe frozen in time. It feels like hours, you all stand there. You can see Joel’s hand ball into a first. Even when the chicken goes cold, and the drinks get lukewarm, they stand. You’re beginning to worry nothing you can say will fix this. Their competitive nature has always been apparent, but this is something different. Like they’re talking to each other without words, and you won’t ever be able to understand their unspoken language.

“I’m gonna head out,” Tommy finally says, breaking first. You let out a sign, stepping back, holding a hand to your forehead.

“Thanks for cooking. I — do you need a ride?” Tommy says, grabbing his coat.

Fuck. It never stops, does it?

You look over at Joel for a split second when Tommy looks down to get his shoes.

Go.

He says with his eyes.

You wonder how many infinite laters can be braced on his silent eyes before it all spills out and buries you alive.

But he says it.

Later.

You nod, still a bit shaken up by the stalemate.

“Okay. Let me just clean up,” you say, grabbing at some dishes.

“I got it,” Joel cuts in, taking the dishes from your hands, nodding his head towards Tommy.

You mumble a quiet thanks and follow Tommy out the door.

It's silent when you get in the car, and when you pull out onto the street. You pick at the skin on your fingernails, a nervous sweat breaks out in your palms. Tommy is tense beside you. His knuckles on the steering wheel show white.

“I —” he huffs out a breath, already nearing your house. “‘M sorry.”

He sounds actually genuine. And you know he’s had a shit day.

“What was all that, Tommy?” you ask in a quiet voice.

“I don't know.” He shakes his head, rearing your house, and pulling up, putting the car in park.

“Work and then I —” he laughs a bit. “I fuckin’ told Joel I would take you so, I don't even know what he was —” he drops his head.

“I don't know. I'm sorry.”

You feel a bit bad.

“I appreciate the offers but I can do things on my own, T. You know that,” you say, bracing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I know. I — I just wanted to help,” he grovels.

“I know,” you echo, giving him a smile.

He smiles back.

“Haven't seen Joel that worked up in a while,” he says, shaking his head.

“Work’s getting to him, maybe. Just like it's getting to you,” you tease, poking his shoulder. You're a bit breathless from his brainless comment about Joel.

“Maybe. I dunno —” he huffs. “Anyways. Let me make it up to you.”

You raise your brows at his words.

“We'll take you out on friday? Bar?”

Your eyes widen.

As in — you and Joel in a bar again. Together.

And Tommy.

“Oh, um —” your phone buzzes in your hand, Joel’s name pops up and you try to hide it quickly. “Okay. Sure.”

“Drinks on me,” he winks, you pull off your seatbelt, giving him a fake appreciative look.

“$1 beers, wow thank you so much, Tommy,” you say, putting a hand to your chest.

“Shut up, you're lucky I offered,” he teases as you hop out of the truck.

“See you,” you wave.

“Get some sleep, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Goodnight,” you say back, closing the car door and walking inside.

Your heart picks up at the thought of going back to the bar you and Joel first met. You know the brothers frequent the place. To say you were nervous was an understatement. And Joel definitely doesn’t know about Tommy’s plans yet.

You haul yourself upstairs to your bedroom, you’re slipping on a big t-shirt from your dresser, and washing up when you hear your phone buzzing from your bed.

Your phone buzzes again, you pull it out from under your pillow, it's Joel.

But he's calling you.

You freeze with the phone in your hand.

Fuck.

Joel has never called you. Even when he gave you his number at the bar it was him asking for you to call him. His name flashing on your screen makes you squirm.

Joel M.

It’s the same from all those weeks ago. You never bothered to change it to his full last name — you remember when he put it in your phone and all his touches prior. You remember everything about that night.

You don't want it to go to voicemail so you take a deep breath, and answer the call. You put the phone up to your ear hesitantly, your breath a bit shaky.

“Hello?”

Where are you?

No preamble. No greeting.

“I’m home. I just got home,” you say, breathless.

‘Preciate you cookin’.

“Sure,” you breathe out, you’re a bit confused why he’s calling you just to say thanks.

He stays silent for a while.

‘M sorry. ‘Bout dinner.

Your long sigh crosses the line.

“Fighting at the table. Thought you were a gentleman,” you chuckle, nervously.

That right?

Your breath hitches.

“Yeah.”

Not anymore?

“Not too sure anymore.”

‘M sure I can convince you.

“You can try.”

You can hear his silken breath echo through the call. The static pierces through the ringing in your ears. You settle on your bed, laying on your back as you desperately try to imagine what he’s doing right now. The white ceiling above you maps out his face.

He clears his throat like he’s scared of continuing down that road.

Get home okay?

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you.

“Yes, Tommy is capable of things, you know.”

He doesn’t respond. You try to lighten the mood.

“Said you guys are gonna take me out on Friday,” he grunts. “Make it up to me or something.”

Is that what you want?

“Could be fun.”

Could be.

“I haven’t been out in a while.”

Yeah?

“Mhm. You guys are a full time job.”

When was the last time you went out?

You freeze. He knows the last time. You both know the last time you went out to the bar downtown. You’re sure of that fact, and that he hears your breath get heavy through the phone.

You think about being indirect. Beating around the bush. Teasing. Say something snarky like you know the last time but it’s getting a bit old, and there’s no hiding things now.

“When I met you,” you settle for. You hear his own breath through the line.

He stays silent, obviously a bit shocked by your sudden bluntness. You try to keep it lighthearted, even though the notion is anything but.

“Might have to go shopping if we’re goin’ out,” you laugh.

Nah, could just wear the skirt from last time.

Jesus.

“You remember?” you gulp.

‘Course I do.

You try to laugh, but it comes out strangled.

“Didn’t know you thought about me so much, Miller.”

I always think about you.

Jesus, fuck.

So much for being light hearted.

Maybe this is the later he kept telling you, but it doesn’t feel like it. To you, later, meant hey, let's talk about whatever this is, later and not, let's flirt with each other over the phone, later. You keep trying to picture him. There’s no way he’s sitting in the living room or in the kitchen with you on the phone like this. Right?

Your fingers find the soft cotton hidden under your too-big shirt. You play with the hem of your underwear absentmindedly.

You hear him shuffling a bit.

“Where are you?”

My bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

Sittin’ down.

“Where?”

Jesus.

“What?”

What are you tryin’ to get at?

“I just wanna know what you’re doing.”

I’m —

He hesitates for the first time all night.

I’m on my bed. What are you doin’?

“I’m laying in bed.”

He sucks in a breath.

“That all you’re doin’?”

There it is. The point of no return, the final tipping point, the flood gates opening, and never, ever shutting again — at least for tonight. For now, at this moment — whatever happens after this is up in the air. But you don’t think about that right now. All you can think about is how the drawl in his voice somehow compels you to sneak past the hem of your underwear.

“Maybe. Why’d you call me?”

Wanted to apologize.

“That’s it?”

Maybe.

He echoes your previous statement. You smile. The rising heat between your legs comes to a breaking point. So you bite the bullet.

“Joel,” you say, his breaths are a bit husky. You know he can hear the small whimper in your voice.

What do you need, angel?

“Can I? Please?”

Yes, fuck — yes. Askin’ so nicely f’me.

You let out a puff of air through stiff lips. Your fingers find your swollen clit, sinking down towards your entrance to collect the growing wetness there. You strangle out moans and something sounding like Joel’s name.

You’re about to push two fingers inside yourself, when his voice cuts through the phone.

Only one.

It’s like he can read your mind.

“Joel —” you whisper, a plea, but he cuts you off.

C’mon be good for me, baby.

You grovel, and your cheeks heat at how easily you comply, not really putting up any fight. You can’t. Not when he sounds like that, close to your ear, his words of praise pushing you closer to the edge as you sink your middle finger inside and gasp at the intrusion.

Feel good?

You can hear him shuffling, a small groan sounds from the other side of the line. You know what he’s doing, and it pushes you even further, maybe even becoming more bold.

“Joel — need more,” you whine. You can hear him working himself. Your finger does nothing to stretch yourself out. Not when you think about the night at the bar, and how the sweet sting of his cock made you see stars.

One more — slow.

You groan as you slip another finger inside. The wetness from your entrance ruins your underwear, and threatens to spill out onto your bedding as well.

You whine nonsense to him. You’re worked up, have been too distracted the last few weeks to touch yourself or seek anyone out. You didn’t even want to knowing you would see Joel the next day. He was enough to keep you going. But you’re just a woman. And you have needs.

Feel good, baby? Tell me how it feels.

You pump your wrist faster, your orgasm nearing. You desperately rut against the palm of your hand, your shirt riding up. His words from the other side of the line spur you on further.

“‘S good, Joel. Feels so — good.”

Fuck, say my name again.

Your eyes open slightly at that, the plea mirroring when he had you up against the wall in the bar. His name. He always wants you to say his name.

“Joel —” you whine. “Wish it was you.”

I know, baby, I know.

“Please.”

You know we can’t.

“God — fuck,” you whimper to him. The mixture of your own fingers crooking just right inside you threatens to push you into a white hot orgasm. You don’t know where the next thing you say comes from. Or if you’d ever let another guy do this with you. But it feels right in the moment. And the sound of him working himself faster tells you he’s close too.

“Can I cum? Please?” you whisper.

You swear you can hear his hand stutter. The groan he lets out at your words is closer to a growl.

Jesus, fuck — such an angel. You know that right?

“Joel,” you continue, too blissed out to acknowledge his praise. It shoots right down to the spot you keep working on instead.

Not yet — know you’ll be a good girl and wait f’me.

You do, wait for him. Your fingers slow down a fraction, staving you off your fast approaching orgasm. You can hear him work himself, the thought of him finishing into his palm makes it that much harder for you to hold off.

Fuck baby — goddamn —

“Joel, please?” you whine when he starts to calm down his breathing. You’re teetering right on the edge. The only thing keeping you from falling is the thought of his praise.

Alright — fuck — let me hear you, baby.

You come hard around your fingers, biting into your lip hard in favor of screaming. Your back arches off the bed, the phone threatens to slip from your hand, you can barely hear Joel’s praise in the back of your head. It’s almost like he’s really here, whispering into your neck while you climax.

You expect your post orgasmic haze to send you into a spiral about a certain brother and the fact that technically you just got off on the phone with your boss. But it doesn’t, you fall back into the mattress, spent. Joel’s words ring through your ears, whispering praises.

He tells you to get some rest.

You do.

chapter iv. tacit

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. (for this series, i took the liberty of adding you to the taglist if you commented that you wanted more parts on chaser. you can let me know if you want to be taken off) kisses!

@sofiparallel @jasminedragoon @rainbowcosmicchaos @akah565

@going-to-californiaxx @gintheginger @dizzyforyou @defnotashifter @missgurrl @pedropascalissofine @daddy-din @earthtogrogu @rooney-verse @ratoonstown @purplemechanics @suzmagine @skysmiller @untamedheart81 @pedritosdarling @lovely-ateez @pluzo @hellaradd @josephine1837 @spongebobspooploop @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @noisynightmarepoetry @tsunamistorm123

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pennyellee · 1 year

Text

CHAPTER II - sponsalia

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, mention of drugs, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, sexual tension

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 6,7K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER III

sponsalia (n.) engagement

The heavy rain casts a hazy veil over the world around her and the sound of them reminds her of the storm that rages within. The last memory is coming through the light once she opens her eyes and sees, now, familiar surroundings. Lost and trapped. She wishes this to be only a mere nightmare she will wake up from. Her voice sore and barely audible, she whispers into the quiet room illuminated by the fire from the fireplace, “Why did you let this happen, my lord?” Knowing deep down that her question will remain unanswered, she longs for just one response—

“A twist of fate, perhaps, my little dove.”

She does not dare to turn herself to the voice, never before feeling such overwhelming fear. Her heart aches with sadness and is reigned by fear and perhaps a tinge of disappointment at her inability to escape and flee the spars of this world.

“No courage now? You displayed enough when you injured one of my men,” he chuckles with a sly grin, thoroughly intrigued by the woman lying in his bed.

“Is he alright?” She rises from the bed, unaware that every word she utters draws him even deeper.

“Are you concerned for his well-being or worried that this sin will lead you to hell?” He arches an eyebrow, curiously expecting her answer.

Lowering her gaze to her trembling hands, she stammers, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just needed to get away.”

‘A pure soul,’ he contemplates silently. This very woman might just be his endgame. He is determined but wishes to interrogate more. Seizing the opportunity when her guard momentarily falters, he taunts.

“Get away from me? Or was there something else, darling?” He knows he knows it all and a lot more, yet he is so intrigued to hear it from her.

“Can I leave?”

“No, —” he said quickly “—I asked you a question.”

“Why can’t I leave?” Y/N asked again, more determined to get a real answer once she started to feel an epiphany about her situation.

“Why would you want to leave?” he counters.

And for once, she started to think strongly about what awaits her once she leaves. Apart from her oppressive home, where punishment or death looms, she has nowhere else to go. Y/N failed to get away.

“Are you from the Yakuza?” she mutters, finally realising he never disclosed his identity.

“Min Yoongi,” he simply uttered his name, knowing it will answer her question. Her pupils are dilated, and her breathing gets shallow.

“Will you answer my question…. Y/N?”

Her heart races, desperately trying to regain control of her breath, but her mind remains scattered. Min. His name echoes in her mind. He stands before her, the man her father would never make peace with. It always comes down to two choices — either they strike a deal or engage in a bloody war, murdering each other’s men. Here he is, right in front of her. She has fallen into the arms of the enemy. Not only will her father punish her for running away, but now she also faces another punishment for being caught by an enemy.

“It seems there is a lot on your mind now, darling. Let me alleviate some of your burdens,” he says standing up from the low armchair by the fireplace, walking towards the bed. Her instincts urge her to retreat, her eyes welling up with tears of sorrow and fear.

“Don’t be afraid of me. If you play your cards right and obey, I promise nothing will happen to you, my love,” he murmurs, using a term of endearment that catches her attention.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe and calm down,” he whispers soothingly.

She locks eyes with him, drawn into their depths, a place where few dare to venture. Nobody dares to look directly into the leader’s eyes. She, even in this state, does so.

“Your father can’t punish you no more. You can find the freedom you seek by my side,” he says, his gaze fixed on her, memorizing every detail.

“What do you mean?” She asks with a newfound venom in her voice.

“You think I would allow your old man to marry you off to Yamamoto’s retarded excuse of a son and assure Tokyo’s alliance with Hong Kong?” He laughs.

“Heaven sent you to me, my love.” he continues, a sickly chuckle escaping his lips.

“And if you’re wondering how it benefits me to have you here, darling, I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

She realises that if she refuses to marry the yakuza boy, the alliance will crumble, and her father will lose leverage against Seoul and the Mins who reign here. Y/N didn’t plan to marry a Yakuza man nonetheless, but she for sure never planned to stay in the middle of the chess board.

“I must admit, I found it admirable that you’ve managed to run away from China, through Luen’s north side, to our territory in the south, very brave,” he points out, acknowledging her efforts. “—and get to Jeju, right to Chan-yeol—” he says.

“You made it so easy for me. Thank you for that.” There is a hint of pleasure in his voice when he continues to speak.

“I bet your Sire didn’t expect that at all,” he grins. “You have a fire in you, my dear, —” he focuses back on her, “—and I cannot wait to tame you,” his voice shifting from casual to intimidating.

“You will make a fine wife,” Yoongi states.

“I’ll be no one’s wife. You must think me a fool if you believe I’ll marry you or anyone else from your circus,” she spits out defiantly. He stares at her silently.

“Careful,” he finally warns, surprising her with his calm demeanour. To get or inherit the position of leader, one must possess the patience of steel and a wise, calculating mind. All this and more, is embodied in the young leader, Min.

“I have my ways to persuade you that I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll realise that along the way,” he says, seemingly playing with her mind. ’Lord, please, you must have mistaken me for someone else,’ she silently prays.

“Care to elaborate?” she dares to ask.

“Your little cousin and her husband, and their little adorable son —” he trails off.

“You wouldn’t,” she quickly interrupts him.

“Oh, I would, darling. And even more. What about your sister, hmm? Isn’t she turning eighteen soon? My right-hand man is ready to take a wife...” he taunts.

“You cannot play with lives! Not with mine or others —” she snaps.

“Yes, I can, my little butterfly—” he says, gripping her chin forcefully and bringing her closer to his face, locking eyes with her.

“People follow me and worship me as if I were a god. My wife won’t be excluded. Or do you wish for bloodshed and potential homicide?” he mocks.

“Be grateful I saved you from that imbecile you were supposed to marry,” he adds, releasing her chin as she immediately rubs the numb spot with teary eyes.

“After all, you’ve just become a peace offering, my dear. God has a plan, and we shall obey the lord,” he asserts. She raises her eyes back to him, the tension between them palpable, amplified by the continuing rain outside, playing its role in the orchestra of her sorrow.

“You don’t have a choice, darling,” he declares, his words stinging her soul as they hang in the air.

“Either you stay under my protection, be a good girl, marry me, and obey, or I’ll deal with your clan brutally,” he states, rising from the bed and walking toward the door.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to negotiate the terms with your old man.”

“Get more rest.” He looked at her for the last time and closed the door behind him. A click of the lock follows. Only now, she allowed herself to cry out loud.

’You said that if I’ll help myself, lord will help me too.’ She cried, desperately. Run away from the oppressed life of a future mafia wife, just to get even closer to marriage and marital duties, autonomy out of reach.

The overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear of an uncertain future weighs heavily on her. Would it be easier to go back home, and get beaten up and punished? Or would it be easier to stay and accept she will never get away from this life?

There is something she sees in his eyes, but she cannot figure out what it is. She’s exhausted from the run, from all the thinking and future battles she will have to participate in. Her eyes are slowly closing, and her consciousness is failing her again.

“Good morning, Buin,” a voice called out, causing her to squint her eyes from the sudden stream of light entering the room. Grumbling, she pulled the blanket up higher to shield herself.

“Doctor Kim will pay you a visit today, Buin.” the voice continued, and her eyes snapped open. Reality set in, and she realized this wasn’t just a bad dream — she wasn’t home.

“A doctor?” She said, successfully ignoring how she called her the lady of the house.

“Sajangnim requested that we draw you a bath so you can relax and clean yourself,” the little lady replied with a big smile, clearly infatuated with her “Sajangnim”. Rolling her eyes at the maid’s innocence, she welcomed the suggestion of a bath. This westernised hanok must have a bathing room hidden somewhere in its wooden maze. Accepting the white hanfu offered to her, she eagerly anticipated the chance to have her long hair washed. It had become a tangled mess after days of neglect. Maybe she would finally be able to wear her hair down, something she had never been allowed to do before. Her scalp was always sore from the numerous hairpins and clips used to hold her hair in the complicated styles she despised. And perhaps, she could even cut her hair.

“We’re here, Buin,” the maid interrupted her thoughts, leading her to a wooden door that swung open. The sight of a bathroom in a house, a luxury reserved for urban dwellers, reflected the wealth of the syndicate.

She entered the room, and the maid closed the door from inside. The water was already in the large wooden bathtub, steaming hot, beckoning her to submerge herself. It was spacious enough for her to float on the surface if she wanted to. The maid prepared her soaps and other hygiene products. She will clean herself as she graciously declined her help.

“Sajangnim said that if you were to resist his hospitality and commands he gave us, he shall come and help you himself.” The girl said with no emotion in her voice. She memorised it by heart.

“You can tell Sajangnim to stay put,” she muttered in response.

“Buin—” the girl attempted again but Y/N waved her off. She didn’t want to treat the poor girl in this mean manner, but she desired an alone time.

“Please…just wait outside.” Y/N pleaded. Reluctantly, the girl obliged, but she was certain she would report back to her master in a heartbeat. Besides, Y/N had nowhere to escape within the confines of this room.

She shed the lightweight hanfu and slowly lowered herself into the steaming water, feeling her muscles gradually relax. At least for a moment, her mind started to ease the running thoughts, calming the storm down.

Until she heard his voice. Her body immediately tensed up. She strained to listen to the conversation — or rather, the series of commands directed at the poor gal.

“Doctor Kim has arrived, make sure she is ready in the master bedroom in fifteen minutes. Tell the staff to prepare lunch for us in the garden after.” His voice was gone after this, and a soft knock followed.

“Buin—” the maid’s voice called softly, and by that time, Y/N was already hurriedly putting the hanfu back on.

“I’m coming,” she sighed.

She stopped the servant girl once she wanted to put her hair up in a bun. Now back in the room, sitting in a closet the devil managed to obtain for her as if he knew she will come. It was full of beautiful qipao’s but also some Korean hanboks and even some traditional Chinese beizis if she wanted to get more comfortable presumably. Among them, she noticed some lingerie, which internally made her nauseous with anxiety. Her hair was longer than she remembered, as she rarely wore it down.

“I suggest you keep the hanfu while Doctor Kim is here and then we shall clothe you in a dress.” To say she was scared and nervous about what this Doctor Kim will want to see or do was understandable.

“Here she is!” A loud and cheery voice echoed in the bedroom. “You caused quite a commotion, sweetie. I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” said the handsome man who entered the room with a leather suitcase and white coat.

“Doctor Kim, I presume,” She assumed. He was undeniably attractive, much like his Kkangpae. But she wouldn’t admit that for some time.

“For you, sweetie, it’s Seokjin. We’re going to be family, after all,” he smiled, attempting to put her at ease. He couldn’t help but notice her guarded demeanour. She scoffed at his proclamation, as expected.

“So,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s talk about you and your health, darling,” he said while searching for an empty file with her name.

“I want you to know that I won’t tell him a damn thing unless it’s necessary, you can trust me,” he stated.

“Except whether or not I’m a virgin, right?” she retorted in a cocky voice, mocking the messed-up mafia system.

“If you want to start with that, you can lie down, and I’ll check,” he sassed back with a smirk. Something told her they would only be friends for a very brief moment as long as she remained in this place.

“So, are you?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What if I’m not?” she tilted her head to the side. He chuckled.

“I see your point, but that wouldn’t free you from the engagement. He would simply have the man who touched you slaughtered to show his power,” he explained. She straightened herself, taking a deep breath.

“And even though I have to check anyway, it’s not just about your chastity,” he said. She did know, but that didn’t mean she would be comfortable spreading her legs for a stranger.

“Let’s leave that until the very end, shall we?” he smiled at her.

“Have you consumed any contaminated water while you were on the run?” he surprised her with the question.

“No, I don’t think so...” she stammered.

“Besides hurting Hoseok-ssi, did you fight with anyone else and get injured?” So that was the man’s name.

“Is he okay?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“He’s fine, but you should apologise once you meet him. He meant no harm,” he replied. Well, she hadn’t meant any harm either; she just wanted to escape the scene quickly. She nodded in agreement.

“When was the last time you were sick, honey.”

“Sometime last year.” He hummed in response.

“Do you have a family history of any medical conditions or diseases?” he continued with the examination.

“None that I’m aware of,” she shrugged.

“Any reproductive problems in your family?” he asked more seriously.

And here it comes—reducing her to merely a vessel, even before marriage. Just in time, the devil appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. “Not on my side,” he interjected.

She didn’t want to give him a glance, but her body failed her. His black hair was tucked behind his ears, a scar shining in its glory on his face. He smiled. And for a moment, she got lost in his eyes again. He’s having an impact on her, and he knows.

“Y/N?” Seokjin called her name to get her attention back to him.

“No, not in my lineage,” her gaze fell again as she listened to what he was asking her.

“Do you smoke?” He asked with curiosity in his voice.

“Uhm, no.” She answered honestly. Y/N had been around cigarettes a lot, but she had never smoked one herself.

“Very good, do not start. It’s not worth it,” he gave his younger brother from another mother a side-eye, and the younger one just rolled his eyes in response. It made her chuckle a little, hoping they wouldn’t hear it. He did but didn’t say a word. Yoongi wanted her to be comfortable around him.

“Alcohol?” he asked while jotting down her previous answers.

“Occasionally?” she questioned herself, as she couldn’t remember the last time, she had a drink.

“Hmm,” he hummed again and wrote it down.

“Do you have any problems with your monthly bleeding?” Seokjin looked into her eyes and glanced at his brother.

“No…” she said awkwardly, gulping down.

“When was the last time you ate?” He looked into her eyes, and she realised she couldn’t recall, nor did she feel hungry until now. Was it the adrenaline?

“I think it was the morning I left Shenyang, five days ago,” she replied.

“You went from Shenyang to Incheon in 5 days?!” He raised his voice which caused him a mean look from his leader.

“How are you not exhausted to death?!” He continued.

“I had some intense drugged sleep. Thank you for your concern, though,” she answered honestly.

“She needs to eat, but she has to do so carefully to avoid upsetting her stomach. Don’t let her overstuff herself,” he instructed his companion. She was starting to feel ravenous; she hadn’t eavesdropped on their conversation, but rather, she was lost in her thoughts, preparing for what would come next.

“Beautiful, I need you to lie down for Seokjin now,” he snapped her out of it.

“What?” with him inside the room?

“It’s not necessary. I can tell him what he needs to know without that,” she protested.

“It’s a rule we follow, dove. We don’t want you to—” she cut him off.

“You just want to know if someone have fucked me before or not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care,” she spat out. He seemed taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. This is the fire he wanted to desperately extinguish, at least towards him. Jin looked very much shocked but also amused when he glanced at his friend that was startled by this petite Chinese woman.

“I need to check for other reasons as well,” Seokjin said, clasping his hands together.

“Why can’t you just retrieve my medical file?”

“You have a medical file?” He asked, surprised. It was very rare for someone to have a medical file, especially at times after the war, apart from when a young one went to study. An entrance examination was always needed.

“Yes. Send a letter to my college.” She said, not realising she slipped a piece of valuable information out.

“College?” Yoongi asked, clearly shocked. Seokjin wasn’t looking much less surprised than him. She gave them questioning looks, knowing full well why they were so astonished.

“W-What did u study?” Jin stammered the question out. She wasn’t meant to inherit her father’s empire, but she was destined for an arranged marriage to another powerful family. Higher education wasn’t supposed to be part of her life. However, this would explain why she hadn’t been married off at eighteen. They had sent her away to study.

“Nursing.” She shrugged as if her words carried no weight.

“My, my,” said Jin, stroking his chin.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. As of now, a big no,” she looked at her abductor, confused.

“As of now is good with me!” he clapped his hands together.

“Now, please leave, brother. I don’t think she’ll ever comply if you’re here. I’ll bring her to the garden afterwards,” Yoongi wanted to object, but when he saw the pleading distress in her eyes, he nodded and left his bedroom.

The young leader was proud that she hadn’t tried to run away or throw a tantrum yet. He didn’t want to resort to violence or coercion.

Stone pathways meandered through the garden, inviting one to explore its every corner. She was absorbing her surroundings with a teacup in her small hands. The air was fragrant with the scent of autumn. The wind was a bit chilling as the end of October was nearing. Snow will fall soon. A small pavilion she found herself sitting in beside a koi fishpond that sparkled in the sunlight, felt too peaceful.

“You look absolutely stunning,” said he, his gaze fixed upon her petite figure draped in a flowery pink qipao, her hair elegantly tucked behind her ears. She radiated a natural beauty, untouched by face powders or lipsticks. He loved this vision, an embodiment of purity and innocence. Little did he know, beneath her facade of grace, lay a sharp tongue that defied even the will of God.

She sipped her tea; Y/N ate a little bit of rice and seaweed soup to drive off her hunger. As she admired the garden’s serenity, she found herself drawn not only to its peacefulness but also to the possibility of escape it presented. Perhaps she could run back to Incheon and board a ship that would carry her far away from this place.

“You should know that ‘pretty’ is just a word, and your compliments and pet names won’t win me over. Use my name,” she scoffed, challenging his attempts to woo her.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll stop,” he was determined to break through her defences.

Y/N shot him a piercing stare, a skill she had acquired swiftly. She pondered the enigma of the man before her, wondering how in God’s name she could resist his charm.

“I appreciate that you haven’t attempted to escape yet,” he murmured, sipping his tea. Y/N was no fool; she knew that throwing a fit every second she was held captive would only lead to further confinement. For now, she decided to falsely embrace the last moments of autumn in this beautiful garden, she already scanned in her mind.

“I won’t be very keen on you if you’ll try to,” he warned, his tone shifting unexpectedly. Did he seek to intimidate her, or was he afraid she would succeed in slipping away?

“You seem eager to ask me questions,” said she with cockiness in her voice. Acting tough would make it harder for him to break her will. Not like she counted on a prolonged stay.

“I do,” he hummed in agreement. “But are you willing to answer them, my sweet?” Her eyes rolled at the nickname, accompanied by a scoff. He sighed.

“I’ll answer anything you want, and you’ll answer mine. Deal?” he proposed, a smile playing on his lips.

“That’s quite the cliché, you know,” she declared, placing her cup down just as he eagerly reached to refill it.

“But if it gets you to talk to me, darling, I’ll graciously accept the cliché,” he replied smoothly.

“I know what you want to ask,” she interjected. He was curious about how she managed to study for years without being married off.

“My aunt was very dear to my father. She persuaded him,” she confessed, her words carrying a burden that still weighed on her mind.

“Naturally, my father had intended to marry me off instead of allowing me to pursue my studies. It was still on the table. However, the last war, as you surely recall, brought forth injured, disabled, and dead.”

“I had just turned eighteen. So, my aunt negotiated that I would study nursing in Shenyang instead and be useful to the clan this way. My father saw the merit in her argument and delayed my marriage to whatever his name is—” She explained, her nonchalant tone contrasting with the mention of the man she was meant to marry and the affection she held for her late aunt.

“But my aunt passed away recently and there was no reason for my father to let me stay in Shenyang after I ended my studies. I became more useful to him if I married that boy, as your clan sent a warning. He needed the allyship.” She sighed.

“So I ran the moment we buried my aunt and I was sent back to Shenyang to get my diploma and return.” He listened attentively, aware that her trust was not easily won, and that loyalty would be crucial in their future together. She was still cautious around him, and he wanted her to open up to him even more. It would be a lot easier for her to trust him. But he knew better than that. Trust is earned, and it goes both ways.

“You never met him?” he inquired, referring to her failed engagement.

“No. I don’t think I even remember his name. Father always called him Yamamoto, never by his first name,” she replied. He knew his name well, having encountered him during negotiations for a deal in the past. Officially, Korea remained under Japanese rule, but within the underworld, clans were locked in fierce conflict. Yoongi, longing for peace, knew that Wang’s treaty pact with the Yamamoto clan was a significant obstacle. However, with Y/N’s presence here, the plans could be easily altered. According to the plan.

The cold young leader is not only aiming for her father’s empire and making peace for his clan, he longed for a woman like her. It was about time the leader of the clan took a wife to secure the lineage. Although there was a male heir in her family, who could potentially pose an obstacle, he was still too young to step into the role. Y/N, as the eldest heir, a female, would become an integral part of Yoongi’s plans to secure the future of their clans.

“You crave the throne, don’t you?” she asked, cocking her head and chin defiantly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him.

“I want you too.” She chuckled at his response.

“I’m merely a convenient excuse, am I not?” Y/N smiled too sweetly.

“You’ll kill m—” he rose from his chair, not even letting her finish. Grabbing her by her shoulders in a steel grip with a penetrating gaze.

The fragile cup slipped from her trembling hands and shattered on the floor. A nearby maid prepared to clean up the shattered shards. “Leave us!” he barked at the startled girl; his voice filled with anger. Y/N’s eyes widened. He was even more aggressive and intimidating than before.

“I could—” his voice seething with fury, “— I could gather man and slaughter your entire clan, keeping you as a trophy, a symbol of my power.” The threat hung in the air, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Fear was coursing through her, yet she resisted letting it control her.

“Matter of fact—” he continued, his grip tightening on her shoulders, eliciting a whimper of pain from her, “—you will be a symbol of the magnitude my power has, no matter if your father and family remain alive. So, it’s on you. The fate of your kin rests in your hands. Their survival hinges on your decisions and how well you’ll cooperate.” He tightened his grip again, eliciting another whimper of pain from her.

“But I will never dispose of you,” he growled through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of possessiveness and frustration. Gathering her courage, she managed to speak again, her voice trembling but filled with resolve.

“You cannot manipulate me like this. Do you think I’ll fall for this fucked up scheme? I have spent my entire life under the orders of others, forbidden from making choices for myself! And you have the audacity to use my innocence thinking I will willingly crawl into your bed and love you like a devoted lover.” Venom in her voice and the desperate tone made him fall for her even more.

“I’ve only recently met you, so spare me your attempts to deceive me that you’re being my saviour.” Y/N has enough fire to still conquer and fight him back. “I refuse to be a passive participant in this game.” She shall not take it lying down.

“I’m giving you a choice—” he asserted, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone “—either you’ll walk down the aisle to me or there will be bloodshed. I won’t send you back to your father nor will I relinquish you easily.” His eyes locked onto hers, and she could see the darkness consuming his pupils when anger consumed him.

“Call it love, obsession, or whatever you please, but no matter what imbecile attempts you make to fight or flee, we will inevitably end up together nonetheless,” he declared with conviction. Was this the fate God had laid out for her? Her faith wavered, and if he didn’t assist soon, she shall forbid him altogether.

“You just want to fuck m—” he cut her off abruptly, his voice low and seductive.

“I can either fuck you hard or I can make love to you,” said he, whilst setting her left arm free and sliding his to her thigh, caressing it sweetly.

Breathing started to become harder for Y/N. Unfamiliar sensations welled up in her lower belly whilst his touch was sending shivers through her body. Was this attraction? Excitement? Mother told her this is how love is supposed to feel. Butterflies in her stomach. But she certainly wasn’t in love with her captor.

He sensed her confusion and distress, leaving her to fall back to the chair. Finally letting her breathe freely. Yoongi sat back in his chair, collecting himself and the three-piece suit he wears today.

“Loss of words, innit?” He chuckled.

He was filled with pride, an overwhelming sense of it, knowing the impact he had on her. She dusted her thighs and straightened her dress.

“Remember, it’s your call. Either you’ll go willingly or with coercion,” her gaze piercing through him for change.

“I’m still waiting to hear back from your father, but before we proceed, I need to go over some rules I expect you to follow before and after we’re wed,” he said, picking up his cup of tea again.

“I know the rules. Just because I went to study doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared to be the wife of any higher-profile mafia member,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“What’s so funny, care to share?” She asked her sass back.

“Not those kinds of rules. I know you’re prepared for that. But entertain me, baby. What do you think I’ll ask of you?” he said, grinning mischievously, his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’ll hand me the household finances after, not like I already agreed, I see no ring yet —”

“—not interfere in business affairs, maintain a low profile to avoid unnecessary attention, and be nothing more than a pretty face, spread your legs and pop out heirs.” He listened to her, amused. She is vaccinated with these dynamics as her mother underwent the same and taught her to do so. However, to Yoongi’s unluckiness, she inherited her whim and flame too.

“You don’t need to manage the household; we have people for that. But if you wish to change anything in the budget, you of course can, sweetling,” he responded, surprising her with his contradictory words.

“I don’t want you to be just a pretty face because you have to. Your fire will be beneficial for me once in a while. If I ever tell you to sit still and look pretty, it would be a matter of life and death, a means to protect you, —”

“—See? I can be very good.” He said, sipping his cold tea, leaving it in his mouth to warm a little while he is thinking. He found great joy in evoking emotions from her.

“You can involve yourself in the business as much as you desire, but I doubt you’ll want to engage in those activities. For your safety, I would sleep better if you were always by my side once we’re engaged and married shortly after.” He stressed out the last word.

“Once we’ll be engaged and wed, your loyalty to your father will transfer to me, and me only” he emphasised his voice firm.

“I won’t force you to be intimate with me after the wedding night, although I’m sure you’ll come to desire it,” he said with a sickly grin, causing her stomach to churn. She needed a moment to process everything he told her by far.

“I saw how you reacted to me earlier. You will enjoy our time in the bedroom, surely.” He spoke as if it wasn’t taboo.

“I-” she stammered and hesitated. He stunned her. Broke down to her core, and he wanted to dig even further.

“I’m aware.” He replied to her unspoken utterance.

She leaned into her chair further, feeling so small suddenly, so inexperienced. Y/N remembers a boy with black hair and green eyes who she had a crush on. He kissed her one night under a cherry blossom tree in their garden. Her father got to know, and she never saw him since.

“All of this comes with one rule: obedience. You will obey as a good girl, and everyone will be happy,” he declared firmly.

“But disobedience won’t be tolerated,” he added, his tone unwavering.

“I want our marriage to be right, as it should be. I won’t force you to be intimate with me. I mean it,” he tried to assure her.

“—Apart from the wedding night, which speaking of, I still didn’t say, ’Yes, I will’.” He laughed and got up from his chair. Her choices and chances were limited. Even if she would manage to escape, he would go on a killing spree till he would get her back. Min Yoongi was very much interested and devoted to marrying this young female.

He knelt on one knee in front of her. A scenery one could perceive as a loving couple is ready to pursue a life journey together. She hadn’t expected him to propose before her father’s agreement, let alone in such a proper manner. Y/N knew better, she just wanted to tease him back.

This wasn’t how mafia members typically behaved, especially the Kkangpae, who never bowed or knelt to anyone. A sign of respect and reverence. Is she to be fooled again? Was he trying to earn her trust with this pretentious act or is he truly showing her respect? Countless questions stormed her mind, causing her inner turmoil. A thunder and lightning bolt within.

He pulled out a velvet little box from his inside pocket and slowly opened it before her shocked figure. The ring glistened in the light. She hates to admit it, but it was marvellous. The delicate band, crafted from shimmering gold, was embellished with intricate filigree that snaked its way around the band in a dance of beauty. Sapphire, shining atop the band surrounded by smaller diamonds, a starry night sky, each one a glimmering testament to the masterful skill of the jeweller. The ring must be older than she or him.

“Miss Wang—” said he, staring into her soul and making her look away from the ring. “—You would honour me if you shall decide to spend, thou life by my side. I promise to protect you and respect you if you have me.”

Confusion would be the correct term, as just moments ago, he held her in a punishing grip, issuing threats. She mustered the courage to ask him once more. “Why?”

He smiled at her so widely. This smile was different. “Please don’t give me any sweet bullshit or I swear—” he interrupted her.

“All you think is my reason — is my reason. I’m not going to lie to you. Just know…this is God’s will, and God presented you to me as a life companion. You can put your fear aside and stand up to me. You’re a challenge I’m determined to embrace, and God knows I’ll do my best to make you mine,” he explained, his tone serious and earnest.

Would God allow him to do anything to conquer her and this world? His words resonated deep within her soul, stirring something within her. Will Father punish her once he will arrive here if he is even coming here? He has to. She knows. If she will get engaged, he will have to come and give him his blessing.

Mother. She wanted to desperately hide in her mother’s arms. Is she ready to confine herself to someone else than her mother, sister, or aunt? Her poor aunt must be restless in her grave. She wanted only the best for her. A different life than the one of someone’s wife; at least that’s what she believed.

“So, what will it be? Shall I send my man to gear up or—” She didn’t let him finish. Y/N didn’t want anyone else to die or get hurt because she wanted her freedom so selfishly. She questioned her faith and wondered if this was truly the path that had been laid out for her.

Is this her path?

“I will.”

It must be.

He smiled brightly. He is one step closer to orchestrating in her heart. It’s her verdict whether it will be an easier or difficult and rocky path. He took the ring out of its box, reaching for her left hand. Sliding the ring on her finger.

Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on her skin. He didn’t break eye contact the whole time, which made her uneasy. Y/N didn’t expect the leader to close the distance between them and lean to her, still holding her hand. Her breath picked its pace, and her lips parted a little; she gasped when he was getting too close. Y/N felt so stiff and frozen. Almost brushing his lips with hers—

“Sajangnim—?” A voice echoed. Unwillingly and frustrated, he turned his head to the staff member of the household. Y/N turned her head in the opposite direction, her chest heaving rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.

“What?!” he barked; his anger evident.

“Mr Wang is on the telephone.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“How long will she be out?” Asked the leader, pacing front and back in his office. It had only been a few minutes since the son of his late father’s captain of the front force had brought her back to their territory. She appeared serene as he carried her into his room and gently laid her on the bed. Although he had a maid ready to change her clothes, he couldn’t resist the urge to do it himself.

“Hopefully she’ll sleep most of the evening and night,” Chan-yeol replied.

“I see,” answered the leader, trying to mask his concern. He realised how much he yearned for her presence.

“Everything will work out right, Kkangpae?” Chan-yeol asked, seeking reassurance.

“Of course. How is your wife, Chan-yeol?” Yoongi replied confidently. He vividly recalls her disparagement of this plan, as if her opinion mattered to him. She had shown a protective instinct towards her, much like her mother had. It stirred conflicting emotions within him.

“She won’t be a problem, I promise.” His voice was laced with a hint of fear. It was only natural to be afraid of someone like Yoongi.

The plan was for her to reach Jeju Island, and stumbling upon the warehouse was a mere coincidence—a twist of fate that strengthened Yoongi’s belief in their union. The way she looked into his eyes made him breathless.

His heart burned for her even more than ever before.

to be continued

author’s note: yall I have to say I didn't expect that much of love for my baby. Thank you all beautiful creatures! Feels very surreal. Thank you for all the love, reblogs and comments. I love you, I see you. I hope you enjoyed the first and second chapter and will look forward to the next one ♥ Stay tuned for the preview of chapter III soonish ♥

Also I tried to add everyone who asked to the tag list, and if you want to be in too or you ain't tagged properly, comment or dm ♥

Shout out to Bex the queen @chaoticpuff17 for beta reading this chapter and shout out to all her bombastically good fics!! ♥ ily♥

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

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