#violence during middle ages

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Decoy [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 6.9k

summary: when you go after an unsub who catches students making out, the unit is called upon to resort to desperate measures. Or in other words, where you and Spencer become the decoy to catch a voyeur.

warnings: +16. Making out, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence, insinuation of smut, sexual tension

Do yourself a favor and imagine Spencer in these clothes during the case

You sighed, completely frustrated, while you looked for the thousandth time at the blackboard with some information from the profile that you had made for the criminal in this case.

You believed that the unsub was a Caucasian man between 30 and 35 years old, whose motive was to spy on and photograph university students who were escaping in their cars to make out at night, then force them to have sex in front of him and finally kill them cold-blooded. You imagined that he was a person with a mediocre job, that he felt insufficient, and that his voyeuristic behavior probably came from sexual frustration, something that could be corroborated by the violence that he inflicted on the genital area of the students whom he stalked using a knife, his mark on all homicides. You also believed that perhaps the rejection or abandonment of his last partner (preceded by a bad streak from his youth) due to his impotence had been the triggering event for all his repressed impulses to come to light.

All the psychological analysis was fine, it wasn't something you hadn't seen before, but the hard part of all this? Because he only threatened and killed people, he didn't rape them, at first it was almost impossible to tell who it was. He already had 20 victims in total and you weren't even close to catching him. In the last scene he had made the mistake of leaving a fingerprint and Garcia had been able to trace his true identity: Oliver Davis, a guy who fits the description perfectly. Unfortunately, this turned out to be useless because beyond the accusations of being a pervert, the man didn’t have much information that would give a clue to his whereabouts, you had even called the job that he had registered and all you had obtained was that he had several months without working there, which coincided with the beginning of the murders. After that Rossi suggested that he probably lived in a trailer (old, due to his lack of employment) where he developed the photographs and kept his trophies. That only made more sense when you thought that it would make it easier to transport or escape in case things got messy.

But words on paper and intelligent conclusions were of absolutely no use to you. You needed a plan to catch him.

"Do you have something, Reid?" Hotch had asked. You had already interviewed some students, you had set up guard duty to look for any suspicious behavior and you had even shared the photograph of the suspect in the media, but nothing had worked; The only thing left was to carry out the geographical profile to know the area in which he was attacking and thus be able to search for possible targets.

“I triangulated the locations we have of his previous homicides and I'm guessing he hits in this specific area,” he muttered, pointing to a space on the map he had on his blackboard with his middle finger. “Considering it's an area frequented by the age group due to its proximity to the universities and that it has several parks that the students told us they use to drink or go out as a couple”

"So what?" Morgan said from his spot. "We just wait until he kills someone else and hopefully we're near the scene to hear the screams?"

“Maybe we can ask the cops to patrol the area for the unsub's car,” JJ suggested.

“He's smart, there's a trailer park right here. It wouldn't be strange to find one on the streets as well.” Reid was visibly frustrated like everyone else and he ran a hand through his hair with some despair.

Your options were running out and frankly you couldn't think of anything else.

“And if we give him a target?” Emily murmured. Noticing that none of you said anything, she went on to explain her plan, “We ask police officers to send any young people they see around to home so we force our unsub to get close to who we want”

"And what are we going to do? Hire a couple of college kids to stalk them?”

“We can use our own team”

"Not to offend you, Prentiss, but we are no longer in the prime of youth"

"We don't, but Y/L/N and Reid do" when you heard your last name you were surprised, but when you heard your friend's you practically froze. First you looked at her and then at the doctor, whose gaze reflected the same stupefaction as you "You two are young, you might look like students"

"Are you saying you want to send us straight into the hands of a sexual predator?" you couldn't be offended, after all, those risks were part of the job, but you did feel somewhat reluctant about the idea.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“It doesn't sound so bad” Rossi murmured “It's a smart move”

“Besides, we would be watching around and we would intervene before that madman got close to you. Once we catch him, the photographs and personal items that he probably has in his trailer will be enough evidence, in addition to the fingerprint from the last crime scene” to your surprise, Derek was also pretty convinced of the plan that Emily had just devised.

"Reid, Y/L/N, would you guys be up for it?" Hotch exclaimed with his usual serious tone, looking at you and then at your partner.

Thinking objectively, the suggestion was very good. But thinking about it personally, you felt worried about the danger you two would be running into… oh, God. It wasn't until then that you realized that the plan to catch the suspect involved the two of you making out like a couple of hormonal college kids. 

You knew that the options that remained wouldn’t be as opportune as that and taking into account the temporary nature with which Oliver operated, in addition to the fact that he was already deteriorating as a murderer, it was most likely that he was already looking for new victims, so if you did that same night the chances of success were quite high. You were between a rock and a hard place and all you could do was look at him while the gazes of the rest of the room were divided between the two of you.

“I… I'll only do it if you say yes” you exclaimed in his direction, with a cautious voice and a fearful look. You knew your friend and you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable in any way, even though you knew that both you and he knew that your personal interests would take precedence against the possibility that another couple of victims would lose their lives if you refused. It was your job, you had to do it. 

"Are you sure you guys are going to catch him before something happens?" Spencer asked your boss. You thought that with his background the last thing he wanted was to end up kidnapped or seriously injured again, even though the truth was that he was caring just as much about himself as he was about you. He had seen the photographs and knew that women were the most affected by the murder weapon… he didn't even want to imagine something like this happening to you.

"Of course. You will have communication with us and if something goes wrong we will get you out of there immediately" Aaron answered and your friend sighed nervously and then looked for your approval. You nodded slightly and he delivered the verdict, to which everyone agreed.

He was still standing, but after that he slumped into the nearest chair as he listened to everyone brainstorming ideas for setting up the scene, distributing the crew, and what they would tell the local police to do to make the decoy effective.

At some point you lost the whole point of the conversation, to start thinking about what was implied by what you were about to do.

The feeling of attraction for your co-worker had been latent in you for a couple of years, but you had never confessed it to anyone to avoid creating tension in the team or suffering the humiliation of certain rejection. Also, you knew that a crush meant distractions from what was truly important and you had tried, in vain, to eliminate it completely. But even if it hadn't completely gone, you had known how to control it, only allowing yourself to look at him with loving eyes from time to time and avoiding being too confident with him during group drinking outings. You even limited physical contact, not because you didn't like it but because you knew your greed would demand more and more of you until it became inevitable to beg for his touch. But now all that good work holding you back was screwed because in a few hours you would have to be passionately making out with him.

Still with the internal crisis, you raised your head to look at him and realized that he too had been submerged in his own tide of thoughts, which you hoped would be more positive than yours. At some point Spencer felt you watching him and when his eyes met yours he gave you that tight-lipped smile that was strangely comforting, to which you responded with the same gesture. After that it didn't take long for everyone to leave the room to fulfill their respective tasks, but you stayed seated because you honestly didn't feel enough energy to move. Besides, you had nothing entrusted to you, you were the bait.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay with this?" Spencer asked you, once everyone else had left. He looked so tired of everything, but at the same time there was a kind tone in his voice about him that made you smile.

“It's just kissing, Spence. I think we'll be fine" you assured him, trying to swallow all your embarrassment and nerves "And you?"

"I agree. I just hope we get lucky today or we'll just have to keep trying” 

"Reid, I need you to tell the cops what area we'll be in," Hotch interrupted you from the door. "You still have time to regret it," he added, looking at the two of you.

You immediately denied and after that Spencer withdrew from there in the company of Aaron. When you were about to drop you exhaled, completely concerned about the last thing your partner had said.

We will just have to keep trying. You didn't know if the idea excited you, or terrified you.

As night fell, Spencer drove the old pickup truck the unit had managed to rent for the two of you to drive into the park, with you in the passenger seat and a six-pack of beer in the backseat.

Although you were sure that it would be cold, you had decided to wear shorts and a button-down shirt that you normally wore for work, but that you had adjusted to make it look more youthful. Spencer was wearing an outfit that Morgan had gotten for him from a department store, simple jeans with a rather baggy cotton shirt and some nice boots that you didn't know where he got from, since in Quantico you had never seen him wear anything like that.

Both of you had showered at the hotel (separately of course) and you had made sure to brush your teeth and put on a good amount of deodorant and perfume before getting in the car. You had paid special attention to your appearance, not because it was necessary, but because you wanted to look perfect for him. Even with all this, you were a nervous wreck next to him, not saying a word along the way and only soft music from the radio filling the air.

When you stopped, the two of you put your headphones on to the channel the team was supposed to be on, and Morgan answered in the affirmative.

"Remember, he doesn't have to see the communicator or your weapon," Rossi spoke, who was also in the van, along with Prentiss and Hotch. "García will be watching with the security cameras and he will warn us if the trailer is coming"

"And meanwhile what do we do?"

"Pretend to be a couple, sit on the tailgate and drink beer, laugh, I don't know"

“Did you ever run away like that in college?” you asked, directly at Reid.

“Do you remember that I was like 16 when I studied at the university, right? I wasn't even old enough to drive, much less a car" he muttered and you gave a short laugh "I guess you did"

“I was too busy being the best in the institution to even think about going out and making out with idiots,” you replied, proud of yourself for that. “I mean, it's not like you're an idiot, but they were. You're very smart," you rambled, still twiddling your fingers, "Hotch, you guys will tell us when we're going to start kissing, will you?"

“When the suspect approaches, yes”

"Okay, well... then we have to go out, huh?" you muttered to him as you reached for the beers and tried to open the door to get out. You turned, expecting to see Spencer do the same as you, but noticed that he had lingered in the car for a moment, checking himself in the mirror and applying his lips with chapstick.

My God, could that man make you more nervous?

When he finally caught up with you, you went to the back of the pickup, where you opened the tailgate to sit down with a little hop. Spencer was tall enough to keep up with you just by leaning over the edge, where you watched him cross his arms. You were silent for a few moments, listening to the sound of crickets and cars in the distance.

"Do you think it's a good idea to drink?"

"Only a little. I'm having a hard time thinking while sober, I don't want to ruin the little reasoning I have left” you exclaimed as a joke. Or maybe you weren't joking so much "Just empty a couple of cans and leave them on the floor so he'll think we're really drunk." Spencer was about to do what you said when you noticed an important detail and called him over to look at you "Come here, let me fix your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"You're very well combed, it's not the image we expect" you carefully took his hand until it was close enough to pass the other through all his golden locks, messing them up enough to give him that relaxed touch that he should have. He looked so handsome, but not in the style of a fancy FBI agent but just like a young intellectual who went to parties and smoked weed “Like this. Perfect"

“Do you think we have to think of some backstory?” he asked and you looked at him with a frown. “You know, something about us. What degree are we studying, what are our names…”

"This is not a play"

"It's rude to eavesdrop on conversations, Prentiss," you said visibly annoyed, although looking at your partner that expression softened "As you wish, Spencer. Although being honest, I would say that you study… literature”

"Really?" he exclaimed with slight enthusiasm. You knew that his mother had been a teacher in the subject and you wondered if he had ever considered it.

“Morgan wasn’t wrong to choose those clothes for you. It suits you” you complimented him and Morgan whistled from the other end of the line. You felt like you were having too much fun for the situation you were in, but you needed to talk about something else to put off the reminder of what you had come to do for as long as possible. “I think you would have that hopeless philosopher/romantic vibe who flirts by whispering memorized poetry in your ear.”

“I actually know some good ones”

"Sure you do" you smiled gently, suppressing the thought of him sighing close to your neck at Bécquer "I'd probably study science or something."

"The unattainable scientist with whom the captain of the soccer team has a secret crush, but she is completely unaware"

"Where did you get that? From a 90s movie?

Spencer's laugh was one of your favorite sounds and today that was precisely not helping your situation. You felt intoxicated by how handsome he looked, like you'd discovered a side to him that no one else had, and the thought of kissing him made you tremble a little with anticipation.

“Do you want to share a beer?” he murmured, carefully opening the can and offering it to you first. You knew your partner wasn't the most enthusiastic about doing anything that involved germs, so it made you feel good that he took the lead. You took a big gulp of the drink to gather something of value and when it was his turn to drink he kept looking at you intently, you would even say that he seemed entranced.

You had made sure you were in a strategic position, with enough light for the unsub to see you and quite lonely, except for the patrol cars and the van that had been positioned at a safe distance.

“How does voyeurism develop?” you asked quietly, with genuine interest, as you shifted a bit to get closer to him.

“Voyeurism usually begins in adolescence and since during that age it is usually seen with greater tolerance, there are people who continue with these behaviors until adulthood. When voyeurism is pathological, they spend considerable time looking for opportunities to watch, often at the expense of not fulfilling important responsibilities in their lives, and people reach orgasm by masturbating during or after watching. Although if you think about it a bit, everyone is a bit of a voyeur."

"Why you said so?"

“Many men and women enjoy viewing pornography, which can be classified as voyeuristic behavior. It's not a worrying thing, but it's interesting to think about it” he explained, with those expressions on his face that he had every time he shared knowledge with you. He liked that about you, that you were always willing to listen to his data and statistics even at the most inopportune moments.

"I'm still a little scared that Oliver is trying to do something to us."

“I have my gun. If he tries to do something to you, I'll use it" you knew that killing the unsub was always the last option Reid considered, so you widened your eyes a little to show your surprise "All lives are worth, but when that life has already taken so many and it puts you at risk, I would not doubt it. You have nothing to worry about” he assured you and your heart warmed a little at feeling so protected.

"Do you know if Oliver attacks at a specific time?"

"No, he doesn’t. Just as we can be here for ten minutes, we can also be here all night."

You exhaled loudly, before taking another gulp of beer.

“Drink some, boy. I feel kind of selfish around here."

"I am nervous"

"And why do you think I'm drinking?" you exclaimed wryly, still holding out the can to him, and when he finally agreed he drank a little more than you expected “Have you ever…” you started to say, but suddenly remembered that literally the whole team was listening to you. If the answer was embarrassing, you didn't want to hear Morgan and Emily taunting you all week, so you covered your microphone for a moment and spoke again, but so quietly that only he could hear you. "I suppose you kissed someone, did you?"

"Yes," he said quickly and you sighed with relief. It comforted you a little to know that it wasn't his first kiss, because you didn't want him to have such a bad memory “Do I look so inexperienced?"

"No, that's not what I meant" you smiled "You're handsome, I know you've probably kissed a couple of girls"

"You don't need to tell lies, you know I'll kiss you anyway"

"But it's not a lie. I really think you're handsome" you confessed, gathering all the courage in you, while you smiled at him in the most serene way possible "And if we weren't literally waiting for a murderer, you know I'd be happy to do this with you"

"Smooch me?"

"Having this bad date attempt, Reid," you hissed, flushing red, as you slammed your palm into his forehead with just a little bit of force. Spencer seemed quite pleased that he made you nervous, rather than the other way around, so he grinned, “Though I think we should have brought food. I'm starving,” you pouted, swinging your dangling legs back and forth.

"That's not a picnic, Y/N"

You hated for a second that everyone was so intent on the conversation. A part of you wanted a moment alone with the brunette, even if it was in the midst of such a strange situation.

You began to talk pleasantly about things completely unrelated to the case for a couple of minutes, staying where you were, until Hotch's interruption made you jump a bit in place.

"Garcia intercepted an approaching trailer, get ready” your heart immediately sped up and you noticed him tense beside you, too, probably with the same thought flooding his head.

"Okay, come closer," you exclaimed, trying not to panic, as you spread your legs a little to allow the man to step into the space between. He wasted no time and just as you wrapped your hands around his shoulders you heard the sound of another car pulling up.

"Is that our unsub?"

"It is"

You were about to turn your head to peek when Reid grabbed your cheek and stopped you.

"He's smart. If you look at him, he'll realize it” he reminded you with a serious voice. You were so worried about everything that you were forgetting about your training “Okay, so I… Is it okay if I put my hands here?” he asked with a different tone, nervously placing both hands on your waist. You had always admired the size and anatomy of those hands, but until now you had not had the pleasure of feeling them on your body in this way.

“Tonight everything you do is fine. I promise"

"It would be a good time to start, he'll see you" Emily reminded you and you could only sigh shakily.

You two were adults, why were you so scared about kissing?

"Close your eyes" Spencer whispered to you, masking his nerves better than you "I'll kiss you, just close them," he asked you and you did.

You felt his body lean against you a little until his chest almost touched yours and then his lips shakily pressed against yours. You would always remember your first kiss, which in essence was such a brief caress that you didn't even know if it could be counted as one, the one where he wordlessly asked your permission to explore your mouth. Still with your eyes closed, you pulled him by the neck towards you and started a new kiss, a little more confident and deep this time, allowing you to savor the beer mixed with strawberries and that strange flavor that each person has.

“We…” you started to say, once you separated “you have to do it slowly, what he wants is a show” you exclaimed. Spencer felt unable to say any words and your hands caressing him so deliciously wasn't helping at all “Slow,” you repeated.

You arched your back a little to get even closer and when you finally looked up you met his caramel eyes. You needed a moment to recover and you unconsciously licked your lips, as if you needed to pick up and savor his presence in your mouth again, something that didn’t go unnoticed by his attentive look at your movements. 

It didn't take long for you to give up, as beginning the third kiss you felt that you no longer had any control over your body, your heart, or your mind. And while it was true that neither of you were experts on the subject, you guys managed pretty well as the seconds ticked by. Spencer gasped as he simultaneously felt you pull the hair from his neck and caress his lips with the tip of your tongue, while you were taken by surprise when his hands left your waist and lowered to the height of your hip, where his thumbs gripped firmly on the clip of your shorts.

There was a kiss, then another and another; they became too many to count. You didn't want to touch him anywhere and at the same time you wanted to touch him completely, in the grip of the fantasy that this was real and not just a performance. And even if you were aware that it was all fake, that would probably only have encouraged you to enjoy something to the fullest that you knew would never come back. Amid everything you didn’t know which of the two situations would be worse.

The sound of your lips colliding became so obscene that you were embarrassed, but you had no plan to stop. Your hands slid gently down the length of his neck until you reached his chest and cupped the soft cotton of his garment in your fists to make sure he didn't move away from you. The heat of the moment just went up and up, but a voice on the intercom brought you back with a jolt.

“He started the trailer. He's going to go"

Spencer closed his eyes in frustration, and you sighed. From the position he was in it wasn’t possible to get around him without being seen, so keeping all his attention was on you and him.

Maybe you weren't doing it right? You wondered what the hell this man wanted to see if you were practically eating each other, but suddenly you remembered that his motivation was even more sexual than a couple of wet kisses. Maybe he was getting bored because he needed to see that you were about to… well, do it.

"Take off my shirt," you said immediately, still too close to his swollen lips and looking right into eyes that seemed to be pitch black.

"Take... what?"

"Take off my shirt" you repeated, with a tone that made the man shudder completely. With the hands that were still holding his shirt you pulled him to you and he held his breath “And kiss me better. Like you really want me"

But Spencer didn't need to pretend that he wanted you. 

He made you completely dizzy when he began to kiss you so hungrily and you managed to keep enough composure when you felt one of his warm hands travel under your blouse, limiting yourself to letting out sighs that were drowned against his lips. But what finally caused you to let out an indiscreet and unwelcome moan was when he pulled you by the hip until you were on the edge of the tailgate and you could feel the growing bulge in his pants pressing against you. Spencer had almost managed to suppress his, but in the end, you having your own situation down there didn't help one bit. 

His trembling fingers fussed with the buttons on your shirt until it ended up somewhere on the floor at incredible speed, leaving you half-naked before him and the collection of FBI agents standing around. You might have been embarrassed if your brain could connect two coherent thoughts, but you'd lost that from the moment Dr. Reid first dared to kiss you.

You carefully guided his hands to the beginning of the curve of your breasts and now you both sighed in unison, feeling goosebumps on every inch of your skin. You pushed yourself forward just for the satisfaction of hearing that guttural sound again and your prayers were immediately answered, for it was enough for him to feel the slightest friction and he would go crazy. It was inappropriate to need him like that, but you couldn't help it.

Holding your lower back, he leaned over you and at the same time pulled you towards him until your breasts collided with his chest. In that position, your neck was exposed and your partner’s hot lips didn't hesitate to go down there, while you sighed agitated just at the height of his ear. Spencer asked you, between each kiss, to look in the direction of the trailer to see if he was still there and as you could you answered yes, which was victory enough for both of you.

As he could, he maneuvered to lay you down carefully on the cold metal of the truck without stopping kissing your neck, and by inertia you wrapped both legs over his hip. When you were hidden by the panels of the pickup he finally looked at you.

"I hope it's enough to get his attention," he said, sounding as agitated as expected, and although the circumstances meant that you two would be taking a break you flatly refused, pulling him back to kiss him.

That kiss did take Spencer by surprise and it was perhaps the sincerest of the night. It wasn’t as passionate as the previous ones, but rather it was loaded with softness and you would even say that a hint of supplication. You were begging for him not to stop, for the night to get stuck in an infinite loop where the two of you could kiss for eternity. And suddenly you felt how he, who had been so tense the whole time, completely relaxed against you, as if he understood exactly what you wanted to say. His hands came to rest on the sides of your head to be able to kiss you more comfortably and you dared to take him by the waist with the same care that you were kissing him, feeling even above the cloth the softness of his skin. 

And then he broke up with you. You feared you had done something wrong due to the suddenness of the movement and your frightened eyes searched his gaze for a sign of the reason, without finding anything. He just looked at you with something you couldn't describe, but that made you feel butterflies fluttering all over your stomach... and he stayed like that for a few seconds: just looking at you, as if he wanted to memorize all your features.

You opened your mouth to say something, but your words were drowned in a new kiss, totally different from the previous ones. Spencer was taking time with him, trapping your lower lip between his and sucking on it gently, pressing himself a little more against your body, sighing heavily into your mouth.

Your hand was already running up his side to make its way to his cheek just as screams filled the silence and you hugged him reflexively. The screams had come from Morgan, who had already moved across the park to take down the unsub and was now wrestling with him to get the knife out of his hand. Spencer hesitated for a moment if he should come over to help, but he preferred to hold you better against his body to protect you and wait for Emily to place the handcuffs on the man under her partner's knee.

From a distance you saw that he only brought with him, in addition to the knife, his camera, and a small backpack with some other murderous instruments that they managed to confiscate without any problem.

"All clear, we've got him," Hotch spoke over the radio. As you exhaled in relief too many emotions washed over you, combined with the adrenaline coursing through your body and the arousal still flowing into your crotch.

"Are you okay?" Reid's gentle voice called to you, as he pulled away to check with his eyes that everything was in order. His hair was messy and his lips were so swollen that it was almost painful to look at the image without launching yourself to kiss him again "My God, your shirt..." he said, completely embarrassed, as he bent down to pick up the garment. You looked him up and down and blushed when you noticed how tight his pants were, feeling your stomach turn a little. When he got up, he took the opportunity to look at your chest covered only by the black lace bra and a big gulp of saliva went down his throat.

You thanked him quietly and put your shirt back on, feeling the sneaky glances Spencer was giving you, just before Hotch walked up to you.

"How are you?"

"Very good, excellent" you stammered.

You could perfectly feel your swollen lips, the light sheen of sweat on your face, the heat flowing from all the places Reid's fingers had been, and the abundant moisture between your crossed legs.

After Hotch congratulated you on your performance, the two of you walked as best you could toward the rest of the agents, who were already placing Oliver on patrol. Another group was analyzing the trailer and they managed to pull out enough evidence about the murders that would be very useful in prosecuting the man.

"All good?" Emily asked in your direction, once things had settled down and the rest of the team had gathered in a circle by the van. You and Spencer just nodded at the question.

“I honestly think I'm going to need therapy after what I heard,” Dave murmured, so serious that you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Don't you even dare make fun of this"

“No, we won't. I'm just saying you guys seemed to be enjoying it there."

"That's supposed to be the plan, right?" Spencer said nervously, finally daring to look at you and looking away almost immediately as he smoothed his hair back.

Once your boss said you could retire you escaped in a patrol car as fast as you could, wanting to get home so you could take a cold shower and soothe what wasn’t satisfied by the man. You could hardly sleep that night, still haunted by the ghost of the kisses you received from your gorgeous coworker, and the next morning you hoped that double coffee would do the trick. But apparently you weren't the only one who thought so, because at the same time that you arrived Spencer Reid crossed your path.

"Hey," he said, in that high-pitched voice that came out when someone caught him off guard, "How are you?" 

"Fine, and you?"

"Fine too"

You knew that the two of you wanted to talk about what happened, but it only took one of you to have the courage to speak first. At the same time your phones rang indicating a message and you mistakenly assumed that it was JJ contacting you to announce a case. What was your surprise when you opened the file and found a collection of photos from the night before. You knew from Spencer's face that he had received the same thing.

"Garcia did you… did she send you the same evidence?"

"That's right," he said nervously. You had to admit that if Oliver had one quality it was that of a photographer: you were sensual and perfectly captured the desire that had existed between you. Well, the one you had pretended to feel… right?

Spencer held his breath as he came to a picture of you topless in which his hand was practically on your breast, immediately remembering how that had felt. He just hoped his memories didn't affect him too much or it would be embarrassing enough to walk into the boardroom with a boner.

"They're good," you said to the air and he suppressed a laugh "But I can delete them if that makes you feel uncomfortable"

“No, no, I… I think I want to keep them too. After all, the bureau will have them in the files as evidence of the case, I prefer to have access too”

"I just hope she doesn't send them to anyone else, I wouldn't want to see my bra photos going around."

“I'll tell Garcia, don't worry,” Spencer murmured, rushing to type something on his phone.

While you waited for him to type you took another look, feeling your whole body heating up again at the memories. A part of you was grateful to have such material in your custody.

"I never thought of being the protagonist of an erotic photo session and here we are," you said ironically.

“Speaking of which…” Spencer started to say, “Not the erotic sessions by any means, don't think I'm planning on inviting you to one or that, because it would be super weird and inappropriate, but I was thinking if… huh…”

“Sell them online? I thought so too, but it depends on how much profit there is. Garcia can help us find the highest bidder and not get charged for tampering with evidence."

"What? No!" he said, completely shocked, and you laughed because you got the reaction you expected with your joke "Why would we do that?"

“Just kidding, Reid. Those photos are something I prefer to keep to myself" you clarified and your smile made him feel shy "Seriously, sorry for interrupting you. What did you want to tell me?"

"What…? huh, yes, right. It's just that this morning I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about how under normal circumstances you would have liked to have a bad date with me, right? and it just kept spinning in my head, so I was asking if you wanted to go for a drink sometime. Not like a date, of course, I'm not saying it is if you don't want to. I can just be like… well, go get a drink. As friends"

Yesterday Spencer had practically eaten your mouth and now he was nervous about asking you out. So adorable.

“You're not doing this just as compensation, are you? because you know that it is not necessary…”

“I do it because I want to. And I want to believe that… that I didn't misunderstand what happened yesterday."

You no longer even cared that it was unethical to date team members, or that if things went wrong, you would probably go into the worst of depressions. What mattered to you was that Spencer was interested in you, even if he had implied it, and that he was asking you out alone with him. Just the two of you, with fun and alcohol involved, without gossipy colleagues or mortal danger.

"Then I'd love to, Reid."

“Wow, excellent then” he smiled, feeling lucky that you agreed “I know a great bar near here, the atmosphere is generally calm, I like it because they don't play loud music. What day is right for you?"

“I'm available any day you want” you responded genuinely, grinning from ear to ear just being around him. That was the effect Reid had on you.

It was stupid to try to deny that you were still attracted to him, especially since now you had a taste of what he could do with you. You wanted to kiss him again, of course, but you were also anxious to earn that completely adoring look you'd received the night before.

“Today?”

"Yeah, why wait?" you responded, more excited than you wanted.

“Hey, I didn't ask you, but I wanted to know if I didn't go overboard with you last night. I mean… did something bother you?”

It was a smart move, you could see it clearly. It was obvious that Spencer cared about you, but you also picked up on his intentions to find out if you were interested in him too. Well, that's how it was from your perspective, because that probably would have been your motivation being in his place.

Even if it wasn't the case, you weren't going to miss the opportunity to take a little advantage of the situation.

"The kisses on the neck were something he definitely didn't expect, but they weren't unpleasant at all," you assured him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Did it feel good to you?"

"It did"

"So everything's perfect," you murmured, shrugging off the matter. But you both knew you couldn't see each other in the office and acted as if nothing had happened.

Something had happened. Those kisses had only fueled the tension that had always existed between you but that you wanted to ignore.

"Do you want to go after work, then?"

“Sounds good to me”

Spencer gave you one last smile and then went to prepare his usual cup of sugar with a dash of coffee. All day you were thinking about him and more than once he caught you looking at him, but you didn't even care.

So, at nightfall, with a few drinks on you and more courage in your body, you finally confessed that kissing was something you had wanted to do for a long time. You almost didn't believe it at first, coming from him, but when you finally accepted it, it wasn't hard at all to rush at him and kiss him feverishly. And this time there did not impede for you to give free rein to your desires, which led you to the soft mattress in your friend's house and kept you awake until a few hours before dawn.

[featherandferns]

risk (fic)

jj maybank x fem!kook!reader | partly inspired by this incredible scene

content warnings: sexual content; physical violence

word count: 18k.

blurb: after a hurricane, a Labrador shows up at JJ's house. After some posters go up around the country, JJ begrudgingly returns the dog to you on Figure Eight. Little did he know that his life was about to change forever.

This is actually insane.

JJ has no idea how everything went to shit faster than a penny falling from the top of the Empire State Building. It seems to be the crux of his life.

One minute Rafe is beating the shit out of JJ’s face, Kelce holding him tight in a headlock, with Pope being strangled to his right by Topper, and the next everyone is still like rock.

There you stand, holding up a gun, safety unlatched, with the aim set directly at the centre of Rafe’s forehead. He’s already called your bluff once. It’s a classic Mexican stand-off. Nobody knows what you’re going to do next, not even JJ. Hell, he’s not even sure if you know what you’ll do next.

And it’s crazy to think that all of this started because of a dog.

Two Months Earlier

It always sucks when JJ admits to himself that Kiara was right. She was right about most things, in fairness, but just this once – just for a change – he had hoped that she wasn’t.

The blonde-haired boy stands in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at a poster taped to a streetlamp. His teeth gnaw on his lower lip in thought as he tugs the poster free, as if gaining a closer look might change what he sees.

MISSING DOG

IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO 12 SILVER CANOE WAY, FIGURE EIGHT

REWARD AVAILABLE

The picture is an uncanny reflection of the dog currently sat by JJ’s feet. He’s panting in the sun, blissfully unaware of the curveball tossed at his temporary owner. As JJ looks from the black-and-white poster to the middle-aged dog, he has to begrudgingly admit to himself that Kiara was right. This dog wasn’t a stray. Instead, he was the pet of some bratty, spoilt Kook.

“Whose dog is that?” Kiara asks.

JJ follows her gaze to the labrador cosied up on the porch, soaking up the sun like it was his God-given right.

“Mine,” he says.

“Yours?”

“Yeah, he just showed up after the hurricane."

It was true. The morning after the hurricane, JJ ventured out of his house to assess the damage only to hear a rustling and whimper from under the porch. Getting down on his hands and knees, expecting to find some beaten racoon, JJ came face to face with a petrified, middle-aged labrador. No collar. His cream coat was covered in dirt and dust and a small cut near his eye told JJ he’d found his way to his house during the hurricane, likely seeking shelter. After he coaxed him out with some fresh fish, the dog seemed to take a liking to the seventeen-year-old. JJ took it as the dog distribution system shining the light on him but Kiara didn’t seem so sure.

“And you’re just gonna claim him?”

“He’s a stray,” JJ tells her.

She looks to the dog again, then back to JJ. Her face essentially says, ‘seriously, dude?’

“He is!”

“A dog that well-groomed and that well fed is not a stray, and you know it.”

JJ’s stomach twists. He’d thought the same thing once he’d given the dog a wipe down. A full stomach, trimmed fur, trained to do more than just sit…Strays don’t come like that in Kildare County. But JJ liked the company the dog brought. He’d always wanted one, ever since he was a kid, but his dad would never allow it. Waste of money and food, he’d say. But so far, JJ had managed to keep the dog’s existence on the downlow. He wasn’t very loud or yappy. In fact, he was as calm as sea turtle. JJ liked the bond that had so quickly grown between them. So, swallowing the faint feeling of guilt of keeping someone’s dog, he tells Kiara:

“Well, until someone puts a poster up, I’m sticking to my gut. He’s a stray and he belongs with me.”

It’s like the universe was calling his bluff or something.

JJ crumples the poster in his fist, litters it on the street, and gently tugs on the leash.

“Come on, boy,” he mutters.

The dog gets to its feet and follows JJ down the street, back to the Chateau. He seems rather drained from the brief walk around the cut. Curls up by the front door in a patch of shade, yawning before nestling his head between his large paws for a nap. JJ watches him from the kitchen as he sips on a cold cider. His mind is in battle between right and wrong (as it usually is) as he contemplates the poster.

Kiara nearly falls over the dog as she walks into the Chateau. Then, she shoots a deadly glare to JJ.

“You didn’t go to the vet, did you?”

“Who actually microchips their pets, anyway?”

“Most people, JJ. It’s a clever way to make sure you get your dog back if, let’s say, it runs off in a hurricane without a collar,” Kie returns.

JJ rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his drink. “I’ll take him tomorrow.”

“Actually, there’s no need,” Kiara says. She walks across the room to him and pulls something from her back pocket. As she unfolds the rectangle of paper, JJ comes face to face with the very poster that had been occupying his mind for the past half hour. She holds it out to him.

“See? This is someone’s dog.”

“That could be any dog,” JJ lies.

Kiara quirks a brow. JJ breaks easily, sighing.

“Look, can we just consider the possibility that this dog would be happier with me?” JJ argues. He ditches his cider and makes his way over to the animal. “I mean, he likes me, Kie. And he listens to me. And I like having him around.”

Lowering to his knees, he pets the dog awake from his slumber. He makes an adorable grumbling-whine as he rouses from his sleep. Looking over to Kiara, JJ must resemble an eight-year-old begging their parents for candy at the grocery store.

“I’ll take good care of him,” he promises.

Kiara sighs. Her icy exterior softens, features overcome with sympathy. She joins him and the dog on the floor, scratching at the pet’s back.

“I know you will, JJ,” she says. “But this is someone’s pet. And they clearly want him back. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Since when do I ever do the right thing?” JJ mumbles. He looks down to meet the chocolate brown eyes of his new best friend.

“Since today, hopefully.”

JJ holds the dog’s gaze. There’s such tenderness in his eyes, as the dog stares up at him. Makes JJ feel as though he is the most important thing on this earth. Dogs don’t care about money or mind: you treat them right and give them a good stick, and they’ll be happy forever. Unconditional love like that is rare to find in humans. It seems to JJ like it’s almost impossible, really. But then he thinks of the dog looking at a little girl or boy like that, and how (as spoilt as they may be) the child feels nothing but love for the dog in return. It seems cruel to take that away. He knows deep down what the right thing is. The moral thing.

“Tomorrow,” JJ quietly says. Looking up, meeting Kiara’s eyes, he nods reluctantly. “I’ll take him to the house tomorrow.”

She smiles smally, nodding to herself. Getting to her feet, she leaves JJ alone with the dog to enjoy the last few hours of time together. He ends up falling asleep on the pull-out couch with the dog, face buried in the scruff of his neck, as he unconsciously counts down the hours left until he gives him back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ stretches out the walk to the house for as long as possible. He lets the dog sniff at every scent and even tries to coax a million pee breaks out of him. He lingers by the sea, stroking the dog’s fur, and shares a hot dog as they pass a gas station. Eventually, they arrive at Figure Eight. The hurricane left the cell towers down on The Cut, so he didn’t bother with his phone. That leaves him to follow street signs until he’s making his way up Silver Canoe Way.

The houses are insane. Marvels of architecture and money. Bright green hedges trimmed into the most obscure shapes; useless statutes standing pretty in front gardens, protected by walls and security cameras. Fountains on almost every property, and a pool probably found in every back garden. Lucky sons of bitches.

House 12 is gorgeous: cream stone bricks and oak-style wood accents. There isn’t a gate, which is curious considering all the others down the road have one. JJ feels as though he’s trespassing as he makes his way up the driveway. There's not a single weed sprouting between paving slabs. There’re two cars in the driveway, each probably cost more than his life insurance pay-out. He imagines birds that dare shit on them get taxed: it’s the only way to explain their cleanliness. God, living like this and he can half understand why Kooks are as obnoxious as they are. What appear to be marble steps lead to a huge front door. The dog seems to know where he is, tugging excitedly on the leash as he guides JJ up the stairs.

JJ stands for a long moment. He looks down at the dog, takes in its wagging tail, and sighs. As he lifts his fist to rap against the door, it swings open. JJ is just as stunned as you. He doesn’t have time to apologise for startling you, because your eyes drop from JJ to the barking dog. You sink to the floor, mouth falling open, and willingly let your dog tackle you in a hug. His leash slips from JJ’s hold. You scruff the dog’s neck, press kisses all over his face, and giggle tearfully as your dog greets you after almost a week apart.

“Oh my God! Ranger! Oh my God!” you happily cry over and over again.

JJ immediately feels evil for even contemplating keeping your dog, Ranger, to himself.

The moment Ranger seems to gain some composure, you remember JJ’s existence. Looking up, you quickly wipe away your tears from under your eyes and clamber back to your feet.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’m so rude!” you laugh, sticking out a hand. He shakes it as you introduce yourself.

“JJ,” he replies.

There’s a moment of recognition that passes over your face but it’s gone as soon as it comes, like the flash of green at sunset on the horizon.

“Thank you so much,” you say. One of your hands reaches down to ruffle at Ranger’s neck. JJ takes in how happy he is, staring up at you, grinning and panting, tongue out with exertion. “Where did you find him?”

“He kinda found me,” JJ replies, scratching the back of his neck. “Showed up under my house just after the hurricane. Guessing he got spooked or something.”

“That’s what we think happened,” you say. “I woke up to find the backdoor open. He must have jumped and bolted; he frightens easy, you see. I felt awful when I realised he was gone.”

As JJ listens to you speak, he’s partly distracted. It’s hard to follow along to what you say when you’re standing gorgeous like the first day of June.

“Well, like I said, it’s no trouble,” JJ repeats.

You smile brighter than a brand-new penny, teeth pearly white and perfect aligned. JJ doubts you ever needed braces. Probably born with a set of veneers. It’s with that bitter thought that he reminds himself what he’s dealing with here. A kook who lives in nothing short of a mansion, who can’t even keep her dog inside during a hurricane.

“The, uh, poster said something about a reward…” JJ awkwardly mentions.

Your face dawns with realisation and he momentarily feels guilty, but then you’re nodding fervently. “Of course! God, I can’t believe I forgot!”

“I mean, I would have brought him back anyway,” JJ bold face lies.

“No, don’t be silly, it’s the least I owe.” You pull your door open. “Come in, please,” you say, heading into your home.

JJ falters in the doorway. It feels as though even stepping into your home might put him short of a few hundred bucks, just from breathing the air. He follows the route you took into the house, closing the door behind him. The minute he’s out of the entryway and in the main corridor, his eyes widen like he’s witnessing a supernova.

“Holy super kook,” he mutters, gaping at the interior.

Marble everything. Expensive obnoxious artwork that must only be interpretable once you reach a certain tax bracket. Framed photos of yourself and your family on the wall at various vacation spots: France, Italy, Mexico, China. There are others, too, of dance recitals. A shelf of trophies and awards. Ornaments and figurines standing on podiums like he’s in a museum. JJ’s terrified to walk, as if one step might send everything falling off the walls.

He finds himself blindly following you into the kitchen. It’s crystal clean and white. Granite counter tops beautifully cluttered with every appliance you can imagine. You head to the fridge.

“You want a drink?”

“Uh, sure. Water’s fine, thanks,” JJ replies.

You nod and grab a glass that probably costs JJ’s entire monthly wage. Then you go to your fridge (it has a touchscreen for Christ’s sake) and dispense ice cold water. Holding it out to him, you smile, sweet like buttercream.

JJ sips and watches as you reach for a bag that lies on the kitchen counter, retrieving a wallet. Holding out two fifties, you wait for him to take them. His eyes stare at the unwrinkled notes. JJ’s momentary pause makes you frown.

“Sorry, that’s a bit tight of me, isn’t it?” you say. You dip into the bottomless wallet and retrieve another fifty. “Is that enough?”

“Uh, I couldn’t…” He clears his throat and finally snaps out of his stupor. Taking the money, he passes two fifties back, saying, “I can’t take all of this.”

You shake your head and push the money back towards him.

“I insist. You brought my dog back! I should be giving you more,” you say.

JJ holds back his laugh.

More? It’s a fucking dog! You’re about to give him $150 for a Goddamn seven-year-old labrador? God, Kooks really do just think different.

He looks up from the money and takes you in, properly this time. JJ recognises you. Not from keggers or house parties – he’s seen you at neither of those things – but from church. He used to be subjected to Sunday school in a desperate bid to ‘send him on the right life path’, and he could remember seeing you there. You’d attend the service, sat safe in your father’s shadow. Even though JJ stopped going, he’d still see people heading in the direction of the county church if he were in the area. You were a regular. Dressed in the prettiest dresses, hair perfect and proper, jewellery to the nines, always sandwiched between your mother and father. You didn’t indulge in the debauchery that most teenagers on the island did. JJ would know if he’d spotted you at one of the many hangs; you had the kind of beauty that demanded to be seen, like a rare bird on the marsh. No, girls like you didn’t partake in those things. You spent time with your parents and a small circle of Church friends, probably just as sheltered and saintly as yourself, and was in bed before sunset and awake before sunrise.  

And yet, you never rubbed JJ the wrong way like all the other Kooks did. He didn’t know you from Adam – in fact, the first time he’d ever shared a word with you was today – but something about you…You seemed different. Genuine. Rich, no doubt, but not exactly snobbish.

An idea suddenly comes to JJ. It’s stupid, and rather out of character given his prejudices, but for some reason, it’s miles more appealing than $150. A part of him wonders where his sudden charity is coming from. Maybe it’s something about your personality and his underlying infatuation he’s had with you since Sunday school. Maybe it’s your dog and how doting he appears to be of you. Hell, maybe it’s because you’re pretty. JJ’s always been a sucker for pretty girls – Kook or not – and he’s always wanted the things that he can’t have.

All these thoughts race through his head at a hundred miles an hour, and there’s only half a minute that passes before JJ speaks.

“How ‘bout this?” he says. “I take a fifty, and you let me take you out.”

You blink once, then twice. “Take me out? Like…on a date?”

“Yeah,” JJ nods. The fact that your whole face didn’t immediately shrivel up like a prune at the suggestion gives JJ hope that he might have a chance. “What’d you say?”

There’s a moment where your eyes dip down to Ranger. He’s sat at your feet, watching the two of you interact with his tongue hanging out, mouth in a seeming smile. The second your eyes lock with your dog's, you look back to JJ with new-found confidence.

“Depends,” you say, correcting your posture, chin held high. “What did you have in mind?”

JJ’s never had to pitch a date to a girl before in his life. Usually he asks and they’re there: hook, line and sinker. His brain thinks hard and fast. “I can pick you up. Go for a drive, grab a bite maybe. Get to know one another,” he says.

You quirk a brow. “Is that all?”

Of course, you have standards. Hell, the guys that court you probably dine you at The Ritz and gift you a Rolex. JJ isn’t deterred though. Instead, he’s rather amused.

With a boyish grin, he says, “princess, I promise one date with me and I’ll change your life forever.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Bold statement to make, Maybank.”  

JJ takes note of how you know his last name and thinks back to when he introduced himself; that strange flash of recognition on your face. You know who he is and yet, you’re entertaining the idea of letting him take you out. Curiouser and curiouser.

JJ doesn’t beg or barter. Instead, he just stares you down, waiting for your response as you visibly contemplate his offer. There’s a hint of a smile on your face, the type that might come when you’re trying to suss someone out. It’s barely there but JJ’s sure he can see it. He knows that look all too well.

“When would this be?”

JJ’s painfully aware of how desperate he may sound as he says, “Tomorrow night?”

“I have ballet practice tomorrow.”

“Thursday then.”

“Piano recital.”

“Jesus, woman,” he can’t help but mutter. It makes you smile.

“I’m free Friday,” you offer.

And, holy shit, no way you’re actually agreeing to this. JJ hopes the shock doesn't show on his face.

“Friday works. The, uh, cell towers are down on The Cut so how ‘bout I just pick you up? Seven thirty sound good?”

“Sure.”

You speak in a manner that tries to give the impression that this whole conversation is rather mundane to you. That you have Pogues asking you out every other hour, almost like a nine-to-five job.

“But pick me up on the street outside, not in the driveway.”

JJ doesn’t question it. He’s not going to argue to your terms when he’s somehow landed a date with the hottest, goody-two-shoes kook in Kildare.

“Alright. On the street, Friday at seven thirty. Wear something pretty, yeah?”

Your brows quirk. “Any other demands?”

“Yeah. Give me a fair chance?” JJ wonders, half-joking.

Your eyes flit from JJ’s face, down his body, right to his toes, and back again. Smiling, sweet like cotton candy, you reply, “I think I can do that.”

His body goes ice cold. JJ nods, cementing the dates and times in his memory like he’s remembering nuclear launch codes.

“Then, I guess I’ll see you soon, princess."

“I guess so,” you say, returning the leftover fifties to your wallet. JJ pockets his fifty, gives one last pet to Ranger in farewell, and shows himself to the front door. As it shuts behind him, JJ leans against it. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Then, he laughs. He laughs and laughs, mouth upturned in an astounded smile, and shakes his head.

“No fucking way,” he mumbles to himself.

John B is not going to believe this. None of the Pogues are.

Rubbing at his face in disbelief, JJ repeats, “no fucking way” one last time before walking down the driveway. He spares one last glance at the house. Friday. Seven-thirty.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ has never been one to care all that much about his appearance. Half of his clothes have a hole in them somewhere, whether it be on the collar or in a pocket, and his hair is constantly tousled with salt-water from the sea. He isn’t unclean though. He showers and shaves and washes his clothes (though perhaps not as much as he should). He doesn’t think he’s bad looking, either. Lived experience shows that to be true, as he’s never struggled to land a date or hook-up. But there’s something about you, something about this particular meeting, that has him turfing through his chest of drawers.

He’s pretty sure he’s settled on an outfit. It’s ironic that it looks almost thrown together when JJ’s spent fifteen minutes obsessing over it. He washed his hair with shampoo and conditioner (that he stole from Kiara) and even used some hair wax to try and style it. Again, it probably looks the same as usual, but he feels better for it.

All the faffing leaves him running late. It’s closer to 7:45 than 7:30 by the time JJ pulls up your road on his bike. He’s aware of how loud the engine is in this area, rumbling as he slows to a stop. You’re stood in the sidewalk, arms crossed anxiously over your chest, glancing up and down the street. As JJ approaches, your eyes fall on him and a nervous smile sparks to life. JJ bullshits himself by labelling his hammering heart as adrenaline from riding a dirt bike on Figure Eight. You push some of your hair behind your ear as you walk up to meet him halfway. You’re practically glowing under the sunset sky, skin shiny with body butter like you’ve been bathed in glitter. He shuts off the engine and sits back in the seat.

“You’re late."

JJ cringes playfully. “My bad?”

“Mhm.”

You step over to him and linger by his bike. He quirks a brow. “You hopping on?”

As your eyes survey the vehicle, JJ starts to grin, smug. “You ever been on a bike before?”

“Course,” you say, almost too quickly. “Just…Not one like this.”

JJ offers out a hand and you hesitate for a second before taking it. Grasping your hand in his, you climb onto the back of his bike. Your summer dress rides up as you do and you nervously tug it down. Then, your arms gently loop around his waist. Laughing, JJ shakes his head. He tightens your grip on him.

“Gotta hold on tight or you’ll fly off,” JJ remarks.

“Promise not to do anything stupid?” you say, voice thick with nerves.

JJ starts up the engine. “Princess, I can’t promise anything like that,” he grins. Looking over his shoulder, meeting your terrified eyes, he softens his smile. “But I promise you’re safe.”

Your own smile battles through the queasy nervousness. JJ revs the engine and turns his head back to the road, and then he sets off. Your arms immediately latch tighter like a vice. It makes him laugh, and you mutter a meek ‘shut up’ in reply. Having you close like this; he can smell your perfume. It’s expensive, encapsulating you like you’ve been doused in it. Several bangle style bracelets lining your wrists press into his skin through his t-shirt, only slightly uncomfortable, and when he turns a corner, they shift and jangle melodically together.

Zipping down the roads of Figure Eight, JJ drags out the journey the same way he did walking Ranger back to your house. Gradually, mansions turn to shacks and quaint homes, and well-kept children’s parks into overgrown yards surrounded with chain-link fence.

He pulls down a dirt track, heading nearer to the marshland, and eventually comes to a stop. You catch your breath as he turns off the engine.

“Feeling alright?” he checks, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply.

You look a little windswept. Instinctively, JJ reaches out a hand to brush some hair from your face. Embarrassed, you help, calming down your hair and fixing your appearance. Then you use JJ’s shoulders as an anchor, climbing off his bike.

“So…You brought me out to middle of nowhere…” you say, looking around.

JJ kicks on the stand and pulls the keys form the ignition. “Scared?”

“Should I be?”

JJ chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on. I got something planned.”

He takes your hand, smiling to himself as you intertwine your fingers with his, and guides the two of you through the shrubs towards the water side. The P.M.S. Pogue sits moored in the marsh. A loan, if he helps John B clean out the chicken hut next week.

“Now, I know this probably ain’t like all the fancy yachts you and your folks have,” JJ starts, walking up to the boat side. “But I promise it runs like a dream.”

As he looks back to you, JJ’s eyes shamelessly sweep along your figure. The dress you’re wearing is pastel green adorned with dainty flowers of white and ivy. It ends just past the point of tortuous on your legs. You’re pretty as a vine and sweet like a grape, decorated with expensive jewellery. Pearl earrings and a Tiffany necklace. On your wrist, though, JJ finds a series of handmade friendship bracelets amongst your bangles. They’re made with shells and beads and tiny pendants of silver. Several rings sit pretty on your fingers.

Looking back to the boat, JJ pulls the ladder free with a grunt. It creaks from want of use: himself and the Pogues usually just climb inside or jump on from the jetty. “Ladies first,” he says, offering out a hand.

You look between his hand and the ladder, and then something deterministic overcomes your face as you place your hands on lip of the boat. With a huff, you use whatever upper body strength you have to climb up. JJ stands, taken aback, and his eyes falls to your bare legs. Your toes are pointed, calve muscles tense and strong, and he can almost picture you in pointe ballet slippers. Amused, JJ lets you clamber up into the boat. Sighing, you correct your dress and jewellery before looking down at him.

“Well? You coming?”

JJ gives a small laugh before nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

He climbs with significantly less difficulty than yourself, proudly flexing his muscles as he does, shameless in his peacocking. When he gets to his feet, he finds you staring. “Like what you see?”

Your face flushes. You try and play it off though. “Just checking if you needed a hand.”

JJ grins, playing along, and you roll your eyes and walk to the wheel of the boat. He follows, pulling the keys from his short pockets, and turns on the engine which sputters to life. You hold onto the side of the steering hold as JJ guides the two of you into the marsh.

“You wanna steer?” he asks once you’re in wider waters.

You wordlessly step up and take the wheel. It’s easy, guiding the boat along. JJ hovers behind you, testing the waters by placing a hand on your waist. You don’t shrug him off. Soon enough, JJ’s placing a hand back on the wheel and guiding you to a certain spot.

“I found this place a while ago,” he says over your shoulder as he steers. He can feel your gaze on him. It’s terrifying, having you so close to him. God, he hopes it doesn’t show. “Best stargazing spot in the whole county.”

He slows the engine to a shuddering stop and steps away to toss the anchor down. It’s silent out in the water, asides from sea birds and marsh-side insects. Fish that break to the surface for a split-second disturb the water every now and then. Crickets and distant hooting owls. It’s dark now, too. Everything painted in a dusky blue. JJ grabs the old blanket that he stole from the twinkie and lies it down on the nose of the boat.

“Here,” he calls.

You make your way over, accepting his hand as you step up. The two of you settle to lay side by side. JJ tucks his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow. You stare at the sky, eyes falling open at the endless expanse.

“Woah.”

“Pretty sick, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing quietly. “It’s awesome.”

JJ grins. Nailed it.

For a while, the two of you just stargaze. He can hear your breathing, steady and calm, and once more your perfume invades his senses. A bottle of the stuff probably cost more than his bike. That thought prompts him to break the silence. Sitting up, he looks down at you.

“Alright, I gotta ask,” he says.

You sit up on your elbows, curiosity piqued. It takes everything in JJ to keep his eyes trained on your face and not your chest.

“Why’d you agree to go out with me?”

You smile, somewhat amused. It’s like you’ve been waiting for him to ask. “Well, that’s an easy question.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Mhm,” you grin, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Christ, you’re angelic. “Ranger.”

“Your dog?”

“Yep.”

“What? You kooks manage to translate what they bark about or something? He give you some words of wisdom?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Sitting up fully, your bracelets chime together. “He liked you.”

“Yeah?” JJ says, brows tugging together in confusion.

“Ranger doesn’t trust easy. He’s a rescue and he practically chose me. The shelter people said he hadn’t let anyone near him since arriving, but with me, he came running over, like he knew me or something. He likes men even less. He won’t let my daddy within five yards of him without barking and cowering. He wouldn’t hurt you, but he gets scared and jumpy. But he seemed to like you. Seemed to trust you.”

“So, that made you agree to go out with me?” JJ checks.

Shrugging, you simply reply, “dogs are the best judge of character, after all.”

Humming in thought, JJ looks out to the marsh as he considers what you’ve said. It’s a little hilarious that a runaway dog is the reason that he’s got you here, alone, on the P.M.S. Pogue.

“My turn,” you say, seemingly initiating a game of twenty-one questions. JJ looks back to you. “Why’d you ask me out?”

“Pretty obvious. You’re fucking gorgeous,” JJ replies.

Whilst your smile turns to mush, you roll your eyes and act as if you’re unaffected by his words. “Seriously, though. I didn’t think I was your type.”

“Smoking hot girls? Nah, you’re pretty much my type to a T,” JJ goes on, charming smile in full view.

“What about Kiara?”

JJ gives a bemused smile. “What about Kie?”

“I know she hangs out with you guys. We’re pretty different people, me and her.”

It’s obvious that you’re far from low maintenance. You're proud of being a kook. You don’t shy away from it: happy to show off your money and beauty. JJ doesn’t get the sense that you’re haughty but it seems rather clear that you live your life to a certain standard.

JJ shrugs. “Guess that’s why I’m not dating her.”

“I know your reputation, you know. About all the girls you hook-up with and stuff.”

“Oh. You jealous or something?”

“No,” you say. Voice turning softer, you continue. “But I feel like I should to tell you that I’m not the kind of girl who has a lot of hook-ups. Or the kind who puts out on the first date.” When JJ doesn’t say anything, you feel the need to add, “just, before you get your hopes up.”

Pursing his lips, JJ nods slowly. He had a feeling that was going to be the case. You weren’t exactly known in the community for being particularly flirtatious. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known any guy to date you. From the way you spoke, careful with your words, and the way you acted, you were almost made of solid gold: pure through and through. So, having you take sex off the table for the foreseeable future didn’t exactly blind-side JJ. That to say, if you had offered it up, he would have jumped at the opportunity. God, he’s half sure he’d die if he ever saw you naked.

He could be a gentleman, though. He could. Something about you had JJ entranced outside of just the physical. So, if a hook-up wasn’t in the cards, maybe getting to know you might be all the better.

He’ll just have to learn to keep his eyes and his dick to himself.

Sighing, JJ lowers himself to lay down again. This time, he only tucks one arm behind his head. The other, he outstretches into your expanse of the blanket.

“Alright, princess. I think I can live with that,” he says.

Seemingly content with his reply, you lay back down, resting your head in the nook of his arm.

“It’s your turn,” you quietly say after a moment’s quiet.

“To do what?”

“Ask a question.”

JJ filters through the many in his mind, tucking the inappropriate ones away for a later date, and finally settles. “Alright. Was Ranger the only reason you agreed to go on a date with me?”

You let out a small tuneful hum of contemplation. “No. I wanted to see what you were like.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I’ve seen you around the island and heard the stories. I suppose I wanted to know for myself,” you say. “Plus, I always do what I’m supposed to do. I guess I wanted to do the opposite, for a change.”

“Rebelling against your dear old daddy with the derelict from the Cut?” JJ jokingly asks.

“Hmm. Something like that,” you say, playing along. You turn your head to the side and meet JJ's eyes. “You’re just a pawn in my game, Maybank.”

JJ’s too sucker-punched from that to come up with something witty in reply. There’s a foreign thump in his chest and a selcouth feeling in the back of his throat as you look at him. JJ swallows it away, returning his attention to the star-lit sky.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ revels in the miracle that he landed a second date with you as he fixes his hair in John B’s bathroom mirror. His best friend sits on the closed toilet lid, watching him.

“I can’t believe you’re seeing her again,” John B says for the millionth time.

JJ grins at his reflection. “I know.”

“I mean, what do you guys even talk about?” JB continues, face contorted in confusion.

JJ shrugs. “I don’t know. We just spent the other night talking about all sorts, really.”

“And you’re sure she isn’t being paid to go out with you?”

“Maybe the first time, but not this time, no,” JJ replies. He stops messing with his hair. Licks over his teeth, checking for trapped food, and dusts of his t-shirt. Looking to his friend, JJ asks, “how do I look?”

John B barely takes his appearance in before saying, “like she’s out of your league.”

“Come on, man,” JJ groans, shoving his best friend’s shoulder. He leaves the bathroom, John B hot on his tail. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah. That I’m macking on a kook and you ain’t,” JJ tells him. Opening the fridge, he tosses a beer to John B before taking one for himself. “I know you’ve had a thing for Sarah Cameron since we were kids.”

“No,” John B quickly says, shaking his head. “No, no, I do not have ‘a thing’ for Sarah Cameron.”

“JB, you’re a terrible liar,” JJ sighs. He takes a sip of his drink. Liquid confidence. Eyes glancing up to the clock hung on the chateau’s kitchen wall, he reckons he has about five minutes before he should leave for your house.

“So, seriously: what is this? Why this new flavour of the month?” John B grills.

JJ shrugs. “I dunno man. She’s just…She’s cute. And hot. And rich, and easy to talk to, and kinda funny, and, oh did I mention, rich as fuck. I don’t see any downsides, really.”

“Mhm, well, I do,” John B gladly counters. “She’s a kook.”

“Yeah, but she’s not like a kook kook. Kinda like how Kiara’s a kook,” JJ argues.

John B looks bewildered. “She is nothing like Kiara.”

“Alright, not in personality or looks or actual money, but in general kook-ness.”

“All I’m saying is that if you think this thing has a long shelf-life, you’re way more crazy than I thought you were,” John B says.

JJ doesn’t reply. Downing the rest of his can, he tosses it at the trash can (dismally misses) and heads for the front door. As he goes, he taps John B on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion.

“Nice to know you’re rooting for me, man,” he jovially says in farewell.

Then, he’s heading down the porch steps, climbing onto his bike, and setting sights for your house for the fourth time in his life.

Your house stands like a castle in the streets. JJ practically sees the driveway as a crocodile infested moat. He waits on the street at the foot of the driveway for you, arriving in time to see you make your way down the drive. You’re dressed in Levi shorts and a Tommy Hilfiger shirt, designer sandals on your decorated feet with anklets and toe rings. JJ sits back on his seat, engine running, and finds himself grinning as you smile at him. When did that start to happen?

“Not late this time, huh?” you playfully say.

“Learnt my lesson.”

You don’t hesitate as you climb on the back of his bike. You wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers splaying out across his chest over his t-shirt. JJ revs the engine.

“Ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

Grinning, JJ sets off down the street.

Once again, you’d left the plans in JJ’s hands. It was a little surreal to him, how trusting you were of him. Might be a place of concern, even. But, hey, JJ will take the win.

It’s still light when you get to the cliffside. From here, the view is incredible. An orange-pink sky that looks like it might taste of tangerine and peach hangs above a rolling sea. The view stretches on for miles, with the mainland off along the horizon.

JJ admires you as you stand in breeze, looking out at the view. You turn to face him.

“Why does every place I let you take me get more and more concerning every time?”

“We’re going cliff jumping,” is JJ’s reply.  

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your head. “That’s called suicide, JJ.”

“Nah, not here,” he says, shaking his head. He grabs your hand and tries to coax you nearer to the edge so you can see the drop. “Water’s plenty deep and cliff’s plenty high. It’s fun.”

You catch on that he’s not joking. Laughing nervously, you shake your head and take several large steps back to safety. “No, no, no.”

“Come on! It’s fun!” JJ swears.

Your smile begins to fade and your head shakes faster. “No way. I don’t do…That. And I’ll ruin my hair. And what about my jewellery?”

“You can take off your jewellery,” JJ argues, walking towards you, “and your hair’ll look good either way.”

“Easy for you to say,” you snort, eyeing him up as your arms cross over your chest. “You’re a guy.”

“First of all: rude.”

JJ tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. Your eyes instinctively glance down at his chest. JJ doesn’t bother hiding his smirk.

“Second of all: live a little, princess.”

You scoff. “I live plenty, thank you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Really. Have you ever been to Paris? Seen the Eiffel tower? Been in the catacombs? Or gone to Italy and tasted wine fresh from a vineyard?”

JJ raises a brow, sarcastic as he says, “yeah, every Tuesday. Now come on.”

He grabs for your wrist, tugging you towards him. You don’t push him away as he lifts his fingers to the clasp of your necklace, only momentarily struggling to get it loose. He gently places it on top of his t-shirt, and soon your many rings follow. You lean down and take off your toe rings and anklets, and then your earrings. The handmade bracelets stay, though. Standing upright, you take a shaky breath.

“Look, you don’t have to,” JJ quietly says. He can see the fear clear as day on your face. But you shake your head, newly determined by his offer of an out. Clearly you don’t like having your bluff called.

JJ’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as you pull your shirt off. He doesn’t even have time to recover before your wriggling out of your shorts, stepping out of them and carelessly tossing them onto the pile of clothes and accessories like you got them from a bargain bin at a thrift store. Stepping out of your sandals, standing proud in matching Calvin Klein underwear, you grab his hand and interlock your fingers, guiding the two of you to the cliffside. As you pull him into motion, JJ comes out of his filthy thoughts, mouth dry.

You come to a sudden stop a safe three feet away from the edge. JJ’s done this too many times to count but the adrenaline that floods the system before the first jump shocks him every time like a cold plunge. You gnaw on your lower lip in trepidation. JJ squeezes your fingers, mutters your name, and captures your attention.

“You trust me?”

Your beautiful eyes dance across his face. JJ almost sees you go calm, like a baby soothed by its favourite nursery rhyme. It seems that his question, as simple as it is, made something click in your mind.

“Yeah,” you breathe, as if realising it in the moment. “I do.”

With that, JJ gives one last squeeze to your hand and a fleeting smile, and then he starts running towards the cliffside. You run too, only a step behind, and the two of you hurl yourselves off the edge at the same time. Your scream echoes in the wind as air rushes past JJ’s ears. He whoops on his way down. The two of you pummel down towards the water, your hand never leaving his until you reach the surface. His eyes press shut and he prepares for impact as he crashes into the depths. The water is cold but not icy – it cools his skin comfortably. Everything goes quiet in the water, mellowed out and muted. JJ pushes to the surface and takes a breath of air, shoving wet hair off his face. As he looks around, treading water in the currents, he feels the adrenaline rise once more when he can’t find you.

JJ starts calling out your name, looking left and right and left again. Just as he’s about to dive under, you break. He gasps out in relief.

The minute your eyes open, they land on him. Then, the biggest smile he’s ever seen comes over your face. It etches itself on his brain with permanent marker. JJ could be senile and decrepit and still remember that look on your face.

“That was amazing!” you scream, throwing your hands up, spraying water everywhere. “Oh my God! We have to do that again!”

JJ laughs, soaking in your joy.

It’s weird seeing you, wet and without all your dressings. It’s like seeing a priceless painting outside of its frame: it makes it somehow even more beautiful. The setting sun warms your wet skin as you throw your head back, eyes shut, grinning like a mad man. JJ wants to seal this moment in resin and place it on his mantle as a keepsake.

You make JJ climb up that cliff and jump into the ocean about five times over, until the sun has almost fully set and you can’t risk the dark. As it slowly inches down and down towards the horizon, you and JJ sit side by side on the grass. Your hand is so close to his, fingers reaching out like growing ivy, teasing at making contact. The moment the jumping was done, you’d returned all your jewellery to your body. It sparkles with the damp. As his eyes drift down from your profile to your figure, he picks up on those handmade bracelets again.

“What’s with the friendship bracelets?” JJ asks.

You look down at them then up at JJ. “I make them.”

“Why?”

Laughing, you shrug. “I don’t know. Why does anyone do anything?”

“Do you sell them?”

“No,” you say, messing with one. “I just enjoy doing it. I make them for my friends.”

“That’s sweet,” JJ hums, looking back out to the view.

“What about your shark tooth necklace? Someone make that for you?” you ask.

JJ glances down at it. “My ma. She used to collect shark teeth that washed up on the beach.”

“Well, she’s pretty talented,” you smile. “Maybe she can make one for me, one day.”

JJ swallows thickly, jaw ticking tight. “She, uh, ain't around anymore.”

“Oh…I'm sorry.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know.”

The awkward quiet that comes passes like a summer breeze. Sighing contentedly, the two of you watch as the world gets darker and darker, and the sun gets lower and lower.

“So, how are you finding it?”

“Finding what?” you ask.

JJ gestures to himself, to everything around him.  “This. Pogue-life. Rebelling against your dad. Not doing as you’re told.”

You laugh, shaking your head. JJ watches as you pull your knees up to your chest, sitting dainty as a robin balanced on a branch. Tucking some hair behind your ears, you look out to the horizon as if caught in a daydream. A solemn look threatens to cross your face as you say, “it’s making me realise just how much I’ve been missing out on.”

And that…JJ wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting one of your usual playful jabs, soaked in sarcasm. Not that. It makes you more human and less Kook. More real. More attainable, even, for JJ. It’s like with every minute he spends in your orbit, he gets closer and closer to you. But everyone knows the story of Icarus, and what happens when you fly too close to the sun.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the fourth date, JJ’s practically foaming at the mouth, feral from restraint.

He still hadn’t kissed you. Hadn’t had the opportunity. You’d kept teasing him with it, temporarily placing it on the table before taking it away. He knew he had to go about this carefully. One wrong move and he could screw up all his hard work and send you off running.

What surprised JJ more than most was the fact that feeling your body under him was one of the lowest ranking motivators to spend time with you. Don’t get it twisted – it was still a pretty bloody strong motivator – but JJ wanted to know you and be known by you. You were interesting and captivating, and caring and kind. You were funny and had this sweet sense of humour that glimmered through from time to time, like a kaleidoscope hanging from a window-frame. With every minute in your company, his prejudice of Kooks was dismantled piece by piece. One run in with Rafe or Topper and it would probably be rekindled ten-fold, but for now, JJ learnt to see past it. You were a little out of touch but you didn’t act like you were better than him. Then again, he hadn’t taken you to his house or the Chateau yet. He kept the dates on common ground, where he never felt out of his depths or wallowing within them.

You hit like a crisp, ice-cold beer on the hottest day of summer. More intoxicating than any blunt he’s ever smoked, or any line he’s ever snorted. Light like a feather in how you move, soft like rain and driven like fresh laid snow. You had hijacked nearly all of JJ’s thoughts, in one way or another, and it fucking terrified him.

“So, I went for white and pastel blue. I think they’re cute. What do you think?”

You hold your fingers out for JJ to inspect your nails. JJ couldn’t care less about nails – half the time, his are dirtied with mud and oil – but you care an awful lot, so he can pretend. To be honest, he had only been half-listening to your story. His eyes had been fixated on your lips, daydreaming about how they’d feed against his own, how soft they might be as he nips at them with his teeth, how wet they might be if he were to slip his dick between them…

“JJ?”

He blinks out of his gutter-brain and takes in your nails.

“They’re pretty. I like the, uh, sheen on them,” he says.

You practically become alight with the comment. It feels like another brownie point that he can tally. Bringing them to your gaze, you nod fervently. “Right? I’ve never gotten metallic powder on them but I think I like it.”

With that, you sigh and lay back on your towel. The two of you are at the beach and have been since two in the afternoon. It’s now nearly seven in the evening. JJ thinks you’re at your prettiest in the golden hour. It’s like God himself is shining a spotlight on you, highlighting every perfection of your features. The way your designer jewellery twinkles in the rays, the sun-kissed sheen of your cheeks, the ethereal-like glow of your eyes…It’s taking everything not to look at your body, proudly displayed in a bikini. It’s blue. It seems you like blue an awful lot.

JJ distracts himself from your figure and his tightening swim shorts by petting Ranger. He’d tagged along for the day and is currently napping in the sun. You’d brought plenty of water and dog snacks to keep him going. JJ had supplied the seltzers and bag of chips for the two of you. He’d noted how you’d been making one can last for about two hours. He wondered if you’d been tipsy before, or drunk even.

When he looks back to you, eyes sweeping up your sand-scattered stomach, he finds you threading the seashells you’d been collecting throughout the day on string. You’d brought a little kit with you in your bag and had spent the last three hours making jewellery on and off whilst talking to JJ. You lay in a sea of designer accessories – Ray Ban sunglasses, Dior lip-gloss, Clinique sunscreen – as you craft.

“That’s coming together nice,” he comments.

You glance up to meet his eyes, smiling. “It’s for you.”

“Me?”

“Mhm. Need to check if it fits, actually,” you mumble, shifting onto your knees.

JJ willingly holds out a wrist for you as you coil it around. It looks hilariously dainty on his built form. Seashells and blue and white and silver beads. Then he notices the small letters you’d interwoven into the design. JJ. His heart makes that awful, jarring tug again. JJ can’t decide he likes this effect you have on him.

“Perfect,” you say.

You tie it off and fasten it around his wrist. He shakes his arm out a little to check its fit. You’re right: it’s perfect.

The moment your eyes glance up from his arm, meeting his, JJ forgets all his manners. He takes your face in one hand and presses his lips to yours. You let out a gasp as he does, hands coming up to press at his shoulders, pushing him off.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, fingers flying up to your lips.  

His heart is loud in his ears, hammering like he’s thirteen and having his first kiss all over again. In the deafening beat of it, he dumbly replies, “kissing you?”

“Well, you can’t just kiss me,” you say, almost offended. “You have to ask first.”

“Alright…Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes are like raging storms as you stare at him. Anyone would have thought from your expression that he just asked to take you roughly in the streets. Trying to calm yourself with a drawn-out breath, you cock your head.

“Why should you?”

JJ frowns. “What?”

“Why should I let you kiss me?”

Now usually, JJ would be pissed. Annoyed and impatient, and would get up and leave and never look back. But for you, he can’t find it in him. No, it’s all offset by that same damn curiosity that got him here in the first place. You’re like an enigma. A blackhole. He wants desperately to know more, to understand, but is terrified of being sucked in completely. Terrified of what it might all mean.

So, JJ deliberates your question. “Cause you like me?”

“I do?” you ask, quirking your brows.

You must. You wouldn’t have stuck around for this long if you didn’t. Wouldn’t have handmade a bracelet. So, he nods, feeling his confidence grow like the swell of a wave.

“Yeah, you do. I think you like what I bring out of you.”

“Making a lot of assumptions here, Maybank,” you practically warn. But the anger is gone. Gives him hope that he’s on the right track. JJ tries and fails to bite back his smile.

“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s only cause I feel the same way.”

When you don’t speak, he takes it as a cue to continue. As he goes on, his heart shudders with the anxiety that vulnerability brings.

“I like the way I am around you. I like how you make me feel. I like talking to you, and I like hearing you talk. You just have this way of speaking that’s…It just makes everything feel like it’s good. Everything’ll be good.”

Something in what he’s said seems to take you aback. You blink a few times, lips parting as you sit, looking at him all the while. He hopes that if your thoughts are still set on the idea that he’s in this for nothing more than a lay, he’s just proved that wrong. He supposes with his reputation on the island amongst the youngsters, he can’t be all that surprised if that was what you had thought. But surely, after spending so many hours in your company, doing nothing asides from talking and innocently touching, you had seen past that. Didn’t you say that you wanted to get to know him, to see him for yourself?

“Do you mean that?” you quietly ask. It’s almost sad, the tone of your voice and the look on your face, like nobody’s ever said something like that to you before. JJ swallows the sick feeling that it brings.

He nods. “Yeah. I do.”

Slowly, a smile blossoms on your face like the first budding flower of spring. With a small, slight nod, you tell him, barely louder than a whisper, “you can kiss me now.”

JJ does so gladly. But he’s careful with it this time, makes it count. He sweeps one hand from your shoulder, up against your collarbones, until it cups your jaw gently. Tilting your head just-so, he leans forward and pauses just a breadth before your lips. And then, he kisses you. It’s soft and sweet and different to the usual blind-haze rush that JJ finds himself in when making out. The pacing to it makes it almost sensual. The feeling the kiss brings is alien to JJ; he can’t quite place a name to it.

One of your hands finds home on his jaw, exploring his skin, fingers looping into the hair on the back of his neck. When he coaxes your mouth open with his tongue, you sigh gently against his lips.

As the two of you kiss on the beach, that new-found sensation in JJ’s chest intensifies, and then it dawns upon him - this new feeling that your kiss brings. Different from lust and libido.

His eyes fly open. Stomach plummets through the sand.

JJ Maybank is falling in love with you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As the summer stretched on, JJ realised he’d spent most of June in your company, growing closer and closer. It felt natural now to have your hand intertwined with his. JJ can hardly remember a time when wasn’t talking to you, or talking about you, or thinking of you, or organising his days around meeting you. He knew what it meant, what all of it meant, and this impending feeling of something grew with every word passed and every kiss shared. It almost felt like he was watching a sand-timer. Seeing each grain slip by, counting down until the inevitable end, just like most things in his life did.

He'd introduced you to the Pogues upon everyone’s insistence, including your own. John B was still in disbelief that JJ had managed to keep you around for as long as he had. Pope, on the other hand, was practically suspicious of it. It was as if he needed the cold, hard evidence for proof that JJ wasn’t spinning yarns. Kiara had of course jumped at the opportunity to gloat about the ‘good karma’ she’d bestowed upon JJ, by encouraging him to return Ranger to you. When she’d met you, she’d be apprehensive. Distrusting of your Kook status, having known you more than the others from attending Kook Academy with you. But JJ was sure she’d warm up, bit by bit. It helped that you wanted to try new things. You wanted to try the whole Pogue lifestyle. You let JJ take you surfing and begged to try his bike out. You let John B teach you to fish and wrestled Pope on nights spent around the campfire. You’d share seltzers with Kiara and sang along whenever she played the uke. And, oh, of course you could sing. You’d had lessons, you see, as you had with practically every other extra circular on earth. Piano, violin, ballet, tap…Shit, it was like you were collecting Pokémon or something.  

In fact, it scared JJ how easy it was to pick up on the little details about you. It was like collecting stones on the beach: before you know it, your pockets are weighing you down, filled with tiny little pebbles. You were a fruity girl: cocktails and sangria and wine and seltzers – never beer. You weren’t a heavy drinker. Didn’t partake in shots apart from Cherry Bombs. You preferred sweet over salty; always took creamer and syrup in your coffee, in that order; rom coms from the nineties and noughties were your kryptonite, and you loathed fast and furious; skirts before shorts; Tiffany before Pandora; lip gloss over lip stick. God, the tingly sensation from plumping lip gloss was all too familiar to JJ now, from having it smear off your mouth to his.

After the kiss on the beach, mouths and hands had only continued to wander. It’s like JJ’s admission that this was more than just trying to score you for sex was the passcode to open you up. You weren’t prudish. In fact, when JJ met you, he was half certain that maybe you were a virgin. But no…now he found that very hard to believe.

Saying all that, it still felt bizarre to be seen out in public with you. It wasn’t a secret, had never been really, but JJ remained surprised at how willing you were to take his hand in public. To be seen with him by everyone in the County. It was like you wanted to show him off, parade him around like he was something special, like one of your many Prada purses. It almost made JJ want to question if you had ulterior motives.

“You wanna just split a portion of fries?” JJ asks, looking at The Wreck’s menu. You were there for lunch.

You hum in thought. “Maybe. I want mac and cheese though.”

“We can get that, too. I mean, you’re paying, right?”

You prod him under the table with your foot. He gives a playful laugh, grinning childishly. He’d started calling you his sugar mommy since you had to pay for gas when his card got declined. It softened the sting of embarrassment that came with being broke, especially when compared to you. I mean, even now, he sits in a thrifted t-shirt, the decal on the chest nearly faded with how much it had been worn and washed, whilst you’re in your new threads. Dior threads, for that matter.

“Hiya. You guys ready to order?” the waitress asks.

JJ glances up from the menu and shit. Shit shit shit. The minute his eyes meet hers, recognition dawns upon her. It’s weird seeing this girl – Lily, he thinks her name is – from this angle. Last time they’d seen each other, she’d been laying underneath him…

You’re thankfully blissfully unaware, eyes trained on the menu.

“JJ. Long time no see.”

With that, your head darts up. Great.

“Hey…Lily. How are you?”

At least luck is partly on his side: he got her name right. She places a hand on his waist. “Fine, thanks. Been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

“I’ve been busy,” JJ says.

“I bet. Remember a time when you were busy with other things…”

Her tone speaks volumes, as do her eyes as she surveys his body, smiling flirtatiously.

Suddenly, your hand is extending across the table, towards Lily. JJ looks to you to find a sickly, sweet smile on your face.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” you say, voice honied. She shakes your hand as you introduce yourself. “You know JJ?”

“We have a…history, of sorts,” Lily replies.

“Oh. Well, any friend of JJ’s is a friend of mine.”

Looking to JJ, there’s an emotion in your eyes that he’s never seen before. It’s terrifying and sexy as hell. Raising a hand, your fingers leisurely splay across the expanse of JJ’s shoulder, manicured nails digging-in only so. Not enough to cause damage but enough to make a point. Enough to mark your territory.

“Babe? Can you order for me?”

“Uh, course,” JJ says, clearing his throat.

Looking down at the menu, eyes not even fixating on any of the words, JJ reals of an order. Lily scribbles it down, takes the menus, and leaves without another word. The minute she’s out of sight, you drop the act, hand unlatching from his body. JJ raises his brows, holding back his laugh as he turns to you.

"What a bitch," you mutter. You wash away your words with a sip of your water.

“Didn’t take you as the jealous type.”

“Yeah, well, some girls need to learn when to shut their traps,” you lowly return. Sighing, you close your eyes and shake your head. “Sorry. That wasn’t very girls-girl of me.”

“Mm. If only your daddy could hear you now,” JJ adds, sighing disapprovingly.

You shoot him an unimpressed glare. JJ brings his glass to his lips, having a sip of his water.

“You sleep with her?”

JJ chokes and coughs. “Jesus. Straight shooter."

“Better not be talking about yourself there, Maybank.”

JJ laughs, putting his cup down. Looking to you, he shrugs. “Yeah. Like…three months ago, alright? It was before we met.”

“Mhm. You sleep with anyone since we met?” you wonder.

JJ can’t place your tone but something tells him that this question will make or break him. Thankfully, there isn’t even a need to lie. “No.”

“You swear?”

“Scout’s honour,” he says, lifting three fingers whilst simultaneously marking his heart with a cross.  “Shit, I don’t want you to claw my eyes out. Or any other girls, for that matter.”

You shove his shoulder gently, smile creeping back to your lips. “Shut up. Like I’d ever. The Bible frowns upon it.”

“What about ‘an eye for an eye’?”

“Ooh. Somebody went to Sunday School,” you tease.

“Yeah, just so I could gawk at you,” he smoothly returns, winking for good measure. With that, JJ knows he’s back in your good books.

When Lily brings the food over, she doesn’t try to strike up any conversation. Dare JJ say, she looks terrified to be within a foot of the table. JJ knew you had an edge but this is different. This possessiveness, this proprietorial energy that came over you…Fuck, he knows what’s the newest addition to his wank-bank.

The two of you eat, talking about what you should do tomorrow (because, of course, he’ll spend tomorrow with you) and then JJ desperately tries to give constructive feedback to your latest Pinterest board of hairstyle inspiration. He gets up to pay. It’ll probably cost half his wage but it’s worth it. I mean, this meal is pretty dismal compared to the feasts you’re used to, but you never complain. Saying that, it doesn’t go unnoticed that when it’s on your dime, you’re far more willing to get a lemonade and a dessert. When it’s JJ paying, you say you’re happy with tap water and splitting a side. It’s mildly mortifying.

Lily is stood at the counter. “Ready to pay?”

“Tell me the damage,” is JJ’s reply.

“Twenty dollars thirty,” she says, punching buttons on the register.

JJ’s stomach twists. Fuck, he hopes his card doesn’t decline. She holds out the machine for him and he swipes his card.

“How long has that been going on then?” Lily asks.

JJ follows her gaze to you. You’re sat at the table, reapplying Dior lip gloss with an Armani compact mirror. He’s half convinced that if anything bought from Target touched your skin you might implode.

“Bout a month,” he says.

“Hm. Never took her as one to venture out of Figure Eight.”

“Never took you as one to judge random people,” JJ counters, anger ticking with her unneeded commentary.

“I’m just saying. She’s a Kook, JJ.”

“Did it go through?” he asks, cutting the conversation short.

Lily sighs, looking down at the card machine. Nodding, she goes to get his receipt. But before she hands it over, she feels the need to add, “just…maybe ask yourself what she’s getting out of this? Girls like that…They’re sneaky. Just, watch your back.”

JJ takes the receipt hastily and walks off before he can’t bite his tongue any longer. As much as it pisses him off to hear someone who doesn’t even know you talk like that, there was a sincerity to Lily’s voice that speaks to JJ’s insecurities. Massages them. It certainly doesn’t help that the minute JJ arrives back at the table, you ask, “did you have enough?”

JJ hates how the rest of the day, that one interaction – that one moment – at the Wreck keeps him disconnected from you. Anytime you ask what’s wrong, it’s the same excuse: ‘I’m just tired, s’all.’ But whenever there’s a second for thought, Lily’s voice echoes around his head.

Ask yourself what she’s getting out of this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“How in the hell do you not get lost in this place?” JJ asks you as you wander through your house.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I grew up here.”

It’s laughable, the difference of JJ’s house to yours. He’s never taken you to his home; kept your dates and hangouts to the Chateau or the Twinkie, or anywhere but his house. He’s half-certain that you might just dip if you saw the state that he lives in. Plus, he can’t risk his dad showing up and meeting you. He’d hate you – the same way he hated most people – and again, you’d be gone in a second. In fact, as more time passes, JJ realises more and more that he’s got an eye on the door, waiting for you to walk through it without a second glance.

“You want some tea?” you ask. JJ shrugs his yes. He’s never tried it before but no time like the present, right?

You guide the two of you to the kitchen. As you pass by room after room, JJ nervously glances around. “So, uh…Your dad or mom home, or?”

“Relax, Maybank,” you grin. “They’re on a cruise. They don’t get back until Tuesday.”

“Oh, cool, cool. I mean, I ain't have been bothered if they were home.”

You bark out a laugh. Opening a kitchen cupboard, you talk as you retrieve two mugs. “Oh really? So you haven’t been avoiding my house like the plague because of my parents?”

JJ rolls his eyes. Busted. You go to heat up the water, grabbing two fruit tea bags and depositing them in each mug. JJ looks around the kitchen, searching for a certain dog. As if you can hear his thoughts, you say, “Ranger’s in the sunroom. If you call him, he’ll probably come.”

So, JJ does just that. Sure enough, Ranger trudges through the house and into the kitchen, tail wagging. He looks as if he’s just woken up from a nap. JJ grins, watching as his energy returns the moment he sets eyes on yourself and JJ, and the blonde-haired boy falls to his knees, arms outstretched. God, he missed this old fart of a dog.

“Why don’t you bring him along to the Chateau more?”

“Where would he ride? We always take your bike,” you laugh.

“Probably for the best, anyway. John B would definitely try and steal him,” JJ mumbles.

“Oh, and you wouldn’t?”

Insecurity picks at JJ like a scab. “What does that mean?”

You quirk a brow, unaware of the almost offence caused. “JJ, you would pick that dog over me in a heartbeat, if it came down to it.”

Of course. Of course you were talking about the dog, and not making some dig about his family reputation, or his sticky fingers. Shit, it’s like ever since that day at the Wreck, his insecurities had tripled in size and volume. Every time you looked at him, JJ wasn’t sure if you were passing judgement and he hated himself for it: for becoming so suspicious of you, when you’d done nothing to warrant it. But he couldn’t help it. It was like a reflex.

Once the tea is made and Ranger’s retired back in another sunny patch to sleep, the two of you head upstairs to your bedroom. JJ began to recount the story of the Grady White discovery and the Motel Room after the last hurricane’s end. He’s half certain that you don’t fully believe him.

“So, what did you find in the motel room?” you ask, pushing open your bedroom door.

“It was fucking crazy! Like a shit ton of money and this weird map. Oh, yeah, and…” JJ ditches his backpack by the foot of your bed and unzips it. Proud as a Superbowl jock, he presents the gun he stole. “This.”

Your mouth drops open. You place the two mugs of tea on your desk (on coasters, because of course) and reach out for it. JJ frowns and holds it out of your reach.

“Let me hold it.”

This reaction, out of all the reactions, was the one he expected the least. “No way.”

“Come on!”

“Nu-uh. You’ll shoot my dick off."

Rolling your eyes, you quip, “wouldn’t that be a gift for mankind? Come on!”

Sighing, he relents. Double checks the safety is on before passing the gun to you. You hold it like it’s a priceless artefact or a Louboutin heel (both as equal in value to yourself).

“It’s heavier than I thought,” you mumble, inspecting it.

Is it bad that JJ thinks you look unbelievably hot holding a gun right now? Probably. He can address that later in life when he eventually winds up in therapy.

“Yeah, these things are the shit,” JJ boasts, taking it back. He pretends to aim with it, gun pointed directly at one of your bears. At your scolding he puts it away again. “Anyway, now we got this dumb ass compass. JB thinks it’s got a clue in it, but I’m not so sure.”

JJ accepts the tea that you offer him as the two of you take perch on your bed, you at the foot and him at the head. You sit cross legged, nodding along to his tale, interested. JJ’s not entirely sure why he’s telling you this, especially when he was so adamant that the Pogues keep it on the down low, but something in him tells him that it’s okay for you to know. Useful, even, though he has no idea how. When he wraps up the story, he takes in your room. It’s just as he pictured it to be. Immaculately clean, psychopath level organised, decorated with brand after brand, China-white and pastel blue detailing every turn of the head. Looking back to you, he sniggers.

“You look like a witch right now.”

You take in the way you’re sitting and laugh, making a point to cradle your mug of tea between two hands. God, you’re adorable. The years of ballet have paid off: your back is straight as an arrow. The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you sip your tea. Outside, you can hear the sounds of nature pass by. There’s something understated and special about spending time with someone without feeling the need to fill the gaps. Just…existing. As JJ finishes his tea, you nod to his empty mug.

“Want me to read your tea leaves?” you ask.

JJ eyes you up, entertained. “No way you know how to do that.”

“Course I do. Here.”

You put your mug down on the windowsill and hold out a hand out for his. He passes you the empty mug and leans back against the cushioned headboard. Hell, if he had a bed like this, he’d never leave. You hum in deep contemplative thought as you look into the mug. Eyebrows knitting together, lips pursing, you study the scraps of tea leaves intently. JJ tries to stifle his laughs. It’s clearly a ploy. He can see right through the act.

“Ah, well…These are very good leaves,” you suddenly announce.

JJ plays along. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm. Yeah, yeah, I see a great fortune in your future,” you tell him. A glance up to his face, stupid grin on your lips, and then back to the mug. “Mhm. Yep, I see a…A boat.”

“Oh yeah? A Grady White by any chance?” JJ jests.

“Oh, no. This thing…It’s like the titanic. Big ship.”

“You have a way with words, princess.”

“And! A rainforest! And stones!”

“Alright, this tea’s gone to your head,” JJ laughs, reaching over for his mug.

You giggle as he takes it back, ditching it half-arsed on the bedside table so he can drag you to him by your forearms. Half tumbling forward, your hands ungainly catch yourself on his sturdy frame. You’re still laughing as he kisses you. JJ smiles against your mouth.

“I’m telling you,” you manage out through kisses and giggles. “You’re gonna be very fortunate in your future.”

“Mm, I’m fortunate now,” JJ replies, chasing your lips.

He uses a hand to hoist you further into his lap. You finally find purchase, a hand sliding along his neck, tantalisingly slow and smooth. As JJ’s lips creep along your jaw and inch down your neck, you lean your head, giving him more and more canvas to work with.

“I’m very lucky, you know,” you say, sounding short of breath.

JJ just hums. He continues his tapestry of love bites and kisses as you ramble on. He loves how soft it is with you; how there’s time for pause, for thought, for laughter. It’s the polar opposite to what he knows. Frenzied hands and sex in a timeframe. The patience of sex with you isn’t without heat, though. It isn’t like a married couple who can hardly remember what they liked about one another, chasing a high before drifting off to sleep. No, it’s like how people take time to pray. Like how musicians fawn over their music for hours, bit by bit, until perfection. So, JJ revels in your half-meaningful speech, slurred like you’re drunk despite being stone-cold sober, as he gently eases your cardigan off your shoulders.

“Every dance team I’ve been on, we’ve won…”

As JJ’s lips descend to your chest, you sigh. Fingers tightening just-so in his hair, spurring him on. One of his hands stays placed on your hip, a thumb rubbing circles on your exposed waist.

“Probably just ‘cause you’re a good dancer,” JJ mumbles against your skin.

“Not just that, though,” you muse. “I’m a good luck charm, I’m telling you. Nothing bad ever happens to the people around me. I’m lucky.”

Whatever you say, JJ thinks as he unhooks your bra. You help guide it off, sitting back against JJ’s thighs and lifting a perfectly manicured hand to his jaw. Your skin is soft like Mother of Pearl. Not a single cut or nick. Guiding his face up until his gaze meets yours, you lean down and press your lips to his. There’s no more laughter and no more silly stories. There’s no room in JJ’s brain to conjure anything other than thoughts of you. Your hair and your skin and your perfume and your nails and you. God, he wants to consume you. Breathe you in like vapour, soak you up like sunlight, feel you like the weather, all over him.

Nobody’s prettier than you.

Nobody prettier from this view, nestled between your thighs, almost suffocating as he swallows you up. More and more – insatiable. The distinct taste of you sits heavy on his tongue. It spurs him on like cocaine, energy unrelenting as he goes down on you. The sounds you make, the way you grab at him, grasp at the sheets, writhe and wriggle like it’s too much, like you can’t take it. But you can. Have before. Will again.

Your body bends to JJ’s will like water. You’re so trusting of him; have been ever since you met him. Let him take you how he wants, faithful in the pleasure he’ll give you. Usually JJ didn’t care much if girls thought him selfish in bed, but you? No, he needed you to give the mark of approval. He needed your praise, your validation, like his sex wouldn’t have meaning if you didn’t think it worthwhile. The way you fit around him; JJ swears to God it’s like you were made for him. He has you on your front, fucking you into the mountain of throw pillows that make up the head of your bed. He keeps your hips and ass angled upwards, holding you steady as he ruts into you over and over again. You’re a drooling, moaning mess underneath him. One of your hands is clenching and releasing the sheets much like your walls are to him. Having you like this – Christ, it makes JJ feel like a young God.

When you fall apart, it pushes JJ over the edge too, almost like a suicide pact. He’s not sure heroin could touch ecstasy quite like it. Drifting away on dopamine, JJ pulls out of you and flops onto his back, chest heaving. You shuffle atop of your sheets, curling up as you let the afterglow take over. JJ knows he should dote on you but he’s so tired and spent. After tying off and tossing the condom out in your bedroom trash, and tugging on his boxers, JJ lays back down on the bed beside you, flat on his back. One of your hands rests on his chest – damp with sweat. Just for a minute, JJ thinks. I’ll just close my eyes for one minute.

JJ tunes into the sensation of you stroking the bare skin of his back. It rouses him from sleep. Somehow, in his tiredness, he’d rolled over onto his front. Your sheets smell of fabric conditioner and safety. Goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets; a memory foam mattress that mimics what JJ might imagine falling asleep on a marshmallow to feel like.

“JJ?” You continue to run the side of your hand up and down his skin. "Are you awake?"

"No," he mumbles into the sheets.

“I want us to make this official.”

JJ groans sleepily. “Wha’dya mean?”

“I mean, I want us to put a label on this thing. I want to be your girlfriend, and I want you to be my boyfriend.”

It’s like the mattress has become a gaping wormhole and it’s sucking him in. That very thing that he was drawn to, entranced with, that very thing that he was learning and dreading to be true, every little insecurity and anxiety that had built and built since the second date…It’s all arriving at once, hitting him hard and fast like a meteor strike. 

JJ turns his head, looking up at you. You’re watching him patient, a giddy-type smile on your face, slightly disquieted with nerves.

“Well…How do you know that?”

Brows furrowing, your smile doesn’t move. Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know…I just know. I…I know it because I feel it.”

Those words do nothing to ease the panic that’s building up JJ’s body. He shuffles until he’s sat upright, staring you down like you’re something dangerous. For some reason, your innocent request feels like a trap to him. A con. A joke that he’ll be the unwilling punchline of if he agrees. And he realises what that impending feeling was, all this time. It was him waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Lucy’s point to come true and for the curtains to be pulled. To find out what the hell you wanted with him.

“You can’t just say things like that. That’s a really messed up thing to say to someone,” JJ mutters, moving away from you.

You’re frowning now, befuddled. “Why is it? It’s true, and it’s how I feel. I want to make us official. I want us to be together.”

“Well, you’re saying that now but what about if we do get together, and I meet your parents and your friends, and you realise how different we are but you feel like you’re stuck with me, and then all of it was for nothing.”

Face the picture of perplexed, your mouth contorts into something ugly. “Where is all of this coming from? What did you think we were doing? I mean, we’ve been fine this past month and I know that there’s something between us.”

“How do you?”

“Because I’m not stupid, JJ,” you sharply reply.

Good, JJ thinks. You’re getting angry. You’ll lose your temper and you’ll let something slip that you weren’t supposed to, and he can bolt without a muddied conscience. He moves away from the bed and starts grabbing his strewn-about clothes in a frenzy to bolt. 

“If there’s something between us, why haven’t I met any of your friends yet?”

You stare at him. He takes your hesitation as confirmation to his doubts. Pointing accusingly at you, he snarls, “because you’re embarrassed of me. You’re embarrassed to be seen with a Pogue-nobody from the Cut, in front of your Kook friends.”

“What is your obsession with me being a Kook!?” you exclaim. “Have you ever noticed how I never bring it up? How it’s always you, JJ, talking about it.”

“Well, I feel like I ought'a!”

“Why!?” you vociferate. 

“Because what the hell do you want with me anyway!? You’re going to mess around with me for the summer, and get your kicks, and rebel against dear-old daddy, and then ditch me for some Kook jackass, who you’ll marry and he’ll take you on ski trips and summer’s in the Hamptons, and send your snotty children to expensive summer camps, and then you’ll laugh with all your trust-fund friends about how you went slumming once too.”

With that narrative, you laugh in disbelief, mystified. “What kind of fucking story are you spinning?”

“One that’s based on nothing but the facts,” JJ shouts. He’s shaking and angry, but it’s just his panic in disguise. He saw a glimpse of happiness with you and instinctively wanted to smash it up, like a psychopath child and a harmless butterfly.  “I mean, you said it yourself - you wanted to do what you’re not supposed to do, for a change. Have a taste of rebellion and then go back to your rich-ass bubble wrap.”

JJ’s seen you possessive before. He’s seen you jealous, and scared, and snippy. But he’s never seen you angry. It’s horrifying. 

“Did it ever occur to you that all of that has nothing to do with you? Has nothing to do with you being a Pogue, or me being a Kook?” you yell. Hands flying up to your chest, holding on like your heart might fall out of your skeleton, your voice turns thick. “I was miserable JJ! I was never allowed to do anything; never allowed to go anywhere. I did what my parents told me to do. I went to bed by nine every night. I was wasting my time with all these fucking after-school extra-circulars which I don’t even care about! I hate ballet! I hate piano! Christ, I hate all of it! And my friends are fake as anything. They say one thing to my face, and come to my house for pool parties, and then bitch about me behind my back! They’re assholes, JJ! So, yeah, I didn’t want to waste my time introducing you to them because I don’t actually like them!”

His lips start to quiver uncomfortably as he watches you unravel. It’s like JJ was pulling and pulling on a spring, and now he has to stand and watch it snap.

Make-up free, hair still tousled from earlier, oversized t-shirt half hanging off your frame: there’s no Kook defining thing about you here. It’s just you - just as it always had been. 

JJ’s heart cracks as a tear falls down your cheek. With a shaky breath, in a quiet, defeated voice, you tell him, “I wanted to go out with you because I wanted to live. Because most of the time, I feel so useless and so alone that I wonder if I’m even here at all.” 

And hearing you say that finally allows the curtain to fall. Only, it revealed to JJ something entirely different to what he expected. To what he’d told himself time and time again. Seeing you cry on your bed because of him…JJ’s made some real big mistakes in his life, but this one surpasses them all. 

“So don’t put your shit on me because you’re the one that’s afraid,” you say, stealing yourself as you aggressively wipe your eyes. JJ’s narrow. It’s like poking a searing hot skewer into his most tender of wounds. 

“Afraid? What do I have to be afraid of?”

“You’re afraid of me! You’re afraid that I won’t love you back! You’re afraid of what all the shallow people in the County will think! You know what, JJ? I’m afraid too! But fuck it - I want to give a try!”

It feels as exposing as having you peel back his skin. JJ pulls on his t-shirt and shakes his head, turning for the bedroom door, mumbling something about ‘I’m not doing this right now.’ 

You dart from the bed and grab at his arm, stopping him. “No. No, you’re not leaving,” you blubber. 

JJ yanks out of your grip, turning around, lashing out like a stray animal approached all too quick. “What do you wanna know!” He yells. You recoil. “What? That I don’t have a great life? That I’m jealous of how you live compared to me! That I don’t want you to see how I really live because I’m ashamed shitless of it!”

You’re crying, hard, but JJ can’t find it in himself to stop. Why won’t he stop? The butterfly is dead, wings torn from the body, antenas shattered from the beating: but it’s like he doesn’t even want dust to remain. 

“That my dad beats the shit out of me, so I sleep at John B’s house!? That I’ll probably end up in a prison cell or an early grave!? You ain't wanna hear that shit! Don’t tell me you want to hear that shit!”

“I do want to hear that stuff! I do want to hear it!” you argue through your sobs. You lift your hands as if you might try and cup his face. “I just want to help you.”

He retracts from your almost-there hold. “Help me! What the fuck! What, do I got a fucking sign on my back that says Save Me?”

“No!”

“Do I look like I need that!?”

Reaching for him again, tears streaming, you wail, “no! God, I just want to be with you because I love you!” 

JJ grabs at your wrists, driving you away from him, driving you towards the door until your back presses against it, all the while yelling at you. Don’t bullshit me! Don’t fucking bullshit me! 

JJ’s never been lucky to have good things. He waits for his friends to get up and leave. Knows his dad will too, one day, just like his ma. He’ll end up alone, drunk, high, and not long after, dead. You? You’re just a glitch in his programming. A girl who saw a project - yeah, that’s it. A girl who saw a project, a thing to fix, and the moment you have will be the moment that you get bored, and leave him broken hearted and alone. JJ knows more than anyone: you’ve got to leave before you get left. 

But as you’re standing with your back against the wall, you don’t cower from him. Don’t wait for him to land a hit on you. Always so trusting. And seeing you, crying, sobbing, begging for him to listen to you, repeating that you love him over and over…JJ knows you’re not the malicious enemy he’s created in his mind. He knows you’re not. 

“I want you to tell me that you don’t love me." A shuddering breath, trying to calm your quivering voice. “Because, if you do, I won’t call you anymore. And I won’t be in your life…”

And JJ’s never been good at admitting when he’s wrong. Maybe he learnt it from his dad. Maybe it’s a defensive mechanism. Maybe it’s dumb, childish youth that he never outgrew. So, as you sob, waiting for him to say something - to say you love him - JJ feels his face turn to stone. Cold, emotionless stone.

“I don’t love you.”

He grabs the rest of his shit in one quick sweep and he leaves your bedroom before he has to see the long-lasting damage he once again inflicted on someone. Slams the door. Rushes down the stairs. Passes the barking Ranger, alarmed by all the yelling, and dresses as he stumbles to the front door. In the air of the driveway, he takes a gasping breath, cringing with melancholic agony. Panic rises in his chest like a fist is clenching around his heart, over and over. He raises a hand, rubbing at the uncomfortable pain. JJ knows this feeling well. Knows it from childhood and from adolescence. Knows it almost as much as he knows breathing. 

Heartbreak.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*

JJ distracted himself with drinking, smoking and treasure hunting. Indulged at night and diverted throughout the day to avoid any thoughts of you. He was lucky, in a way, that his friends were there to keep him busy. They only asked once why he wasn’t seeing you anymore, wondering why you were never around, and learnt their lesson never to ask again. He tried to hide behind the lie that he’d so easily told himself: that you were a spoilt-bitch Kook who would have ditched him soon anyway. But he remembers your voice and your face clear as day, begging for him to tell you that he loved you. He can picture all too easily your reaction the minute he stepped away from you, after telling the worst lie of his life. 

Throwing himself into work was a good distraction. It’s hard to think about you when he’s thinking about how heavy the motor is that he’s lugging, or how close he’s cutting it on time to deliver groceries with Pope. His hurt made him wreckless, like he deserved whatever bad thing might come. You were good karma for returning Ranger and his mistreatment was bound to be paid back to him by the universe. Maybe that was why he’d been so eager to exact revenge on Topper and Rafe. Their attack on Pope certainly made it easier for JJ to handle his hurt when he was reminded of how awful most Kooks are. It was almost possible to group you in with them, to help mitigate the sting of guilt that came whenever your name crossed his mind. Almost. 

But, like always, the consequences of his actions were bound to catch up to him. So, as JJ sits beside Pope and Kiara watching the outdoor movie play under the watchful gaze of Topper, Rafe and Kelce, he knows bad things are coming.

“JJ,” Pope says, nudging his leg. 

“What?”

“Gotta take a piss.”

JJ’s leg is quivering with building adrenaline. “Hold it.”

“I can’t hold it. I drank too much soda.”

“It’s too exposed, they’ll totally see us,” JJ argues. 

“I gotta go,” Pope insists. 

JJ purses his lips and glances back over his shoulder the same time Pope turns around. Their eyes land on the three pissed off Kooks, sat like mob bosses, biding their time. They might as well be smoking a pipe and stroking their one-eyed cat like some '50s Bond villain. 

“They’re blocking the bathrooms,” Pope observes. 

Yeah, no shit. JJ looks around, noticing the woodland behind the giant projection screen. “Alright, come here. I know where.” 

The two of them get to their feet, hunching over as they go to move. When Kiara asks where they’re going, JJ shrugs and tells her, ‘we gotta ring it out.’ With that, they venture to the screen and relieve themselves just behind it, out of view, into the shrubs. As they piss, Pope and JJ banter. JJ finishes first, zipping up his fly and turning around to keep watch. 

“You bring the peacemaker?” Pope asks, referring to JJ’s beloved gun. 

His stomach drops. “Oh, shit, I forgot it.”

“You forgot it?”

“Hurry up! Hurry up!”

“Dude, you had one job. That’s all I asked you to do, man,” Pope complains as he finishes up.  

“I know, let’s go,” JJ quickly replies. The moment he turns, JJ comes face to face with Rafe. Fuck. 

“What’s up Pogues?”

“What’s up, Rafe?” JJ casually replies, walking backwards with Pope as Rafe approaches steadfast. He won’t let on that he’s scared - learnt that from his dad. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

As Pope tries to make a run for it, Topper emerges, Kelce in tow. “Hey that was some nice work you did on my boat!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Pope fumbles.

JJ assesses the situation. Three on two. Pope isn’t the strongest fighter. No gun. Yeah, the odds are not stacked in their favour. 

“Not so burly without a gun now, are you?” Rafe taunts. 

JJ’s jaw ticks, his anger rising with his annoyance. The adrenaline is pumping and working its usual magic. Bring it on, pussy. I can take a few licks - it’s my birth-right. 

“Take one more step and I’ll rip that prepubescent face off,” JJ warns through clenched teeth. He watches as Topper approaches Pope leisurely. 

“Hey Pope, do you feel good about yourself, stealing shit? Is your mom proud of you? Is your dad proud of you?”

Pope slams his head into Topper’s upper chest and pride swills through JJ. “Attaboy! Attaboy!” He grabs his friend’s shoulder, lifting his clenched fist. “Now with your fist, see?”

With that, Rafe claims him. They begin to get in a dust-up. JJ takes the first few punches; each one that lands on his cheek brings searing hot pain that quickly vanishes with shock. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. He taps into the pit inside of him, deep and angry and bitter. His self-hatred, for all the shit he put you through, for all the shit his dad and mom pegged on him…Throws his own punches, then. Wrestles too. Blood begins to draw. Lips crack open. Eyebrows split. But then it’s two on one: Kelce grabbing at him, holding him steady so Rafe can just lay into him. JJ’s winded as Rafe’s fist meets his stomach. He collapses in Kelce’s hold as Rafe right hooks him. And every hit, JJ takes like it’s his earnt punishment. 

“Come on, Rafe,” JJ provokes through the agonising pain. “That all you got?”

“Let go of him Topper! You fascist asshole!” 

Kiara. She helps Pope first, hitting Topper with JJ’s backpack. At least, that’s what JJ sees through the double vision. The backpack. The gun. Topper grabs it off her and tosses it, and then JJ’s too busy getting the shit beaten out of him to see what follows. It’s all just noise. Blends almost cinematically with the sound of the old-timey movie playing. At some point, it even sounds like there’s a dog barking. Blood fills his mouth like he’s at some sadistic dentist surgery. Pain numbs his nerve endings and softens his muscles. Air becomes a rarity as he’s held in a headlock, half-strangled. 

“Let go of them right now!”

Everyone goes still. JJ only notices because he finally has a second to catch his breath, gasping as the arm around his throat loosens just slightly. He opens his eyes, desperate to get his vision steady, and…no fucking way. 

There you stand like some designer vigilante heroine. Hair perfect, as always, with not a strand out of place; jewellery to the nines; make-up enhancing your gorgeous features. In your hand, clasped between perfectly manicured nails, is JJ’s gun. It’s pointed directly at Rafe’s forehead. 

Rafe laughs. “What? That supposed to scare me or something?”

You grit your teeth, harden your stare, and remain stoic and strong in your stance. Rafe just quirks a brow, a sick smile twisting upwards. 

“Oh, what, you’re gonna be the hero here? Why don’t you just run back to your daddy and mind your own fucking business?”

“Let. Them. Go.”

JJ realises then that Ranger is standing by your side. He’s growling, looking feral like Cujo, salivating at the mouth, death-glare set on Kelce who still holds JJ in a headlock. Your command and Kelce might lose a leg. 

“What’s it to you?” Topper snaps. 

“They’re my friends.”

Okay, no, JJ must have fucking blacked out or something. In the brain damage caused by Rafe, he’s seeing things. You’re his own guardian angel that his dying brain has conjured - that is the only explanation. 

All of the Kooks laugh. “Your friends?”

“I won’t ask you again,” you darkly warn, not a spit of humour in your voice. 

Rafe whistles lowly. He mockingly raises his hands to his head in surrender. Shares a laugh with Topper and Kelce. It vanishes the minute you unclip the safety. 

“You wouldn’t,” Rafe tells you. 

Slowly, maleficently, the faintest shadow of a smirk forms on your lip-glossed mouth. “You really want to test that theory?”

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how JJ Maybank ended up in the most insane predicament of his life. Nobody knows what you’re going to do next: not JJ, and probably not even you. As JJ waits, his eyes dart down to Ranger. The very thing that started all of this. 

Rafe sniffs. He juts his head at Kelce. When Kelce finally lets JJ go, Topper does the same with Pope. Kiara helps Pope up. JJ leans over, hands on his knees, coughing and gasping in air. 

“You’re gonna regret this, you know that? Better keep a fucking eye out, princess,” Rafe warns you as he saunters away with his posse. If JJ wasn’t on the brink of passing out, he’d lay him out for even looking at you.

The minute the three Kooks round the screen, acting as if nothing even happened, you drop the gun on the backpack and race over to JJ. It’s hard not to flinch after his moments-before assault when you clutch his shoulders. He realises that you’re shaking. Hears in the quiver of your voice how shit-scared you are. 

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

No and no. 

“Do you need to sit down? What should I–”

No, definitely don’t sit down. 

“Come on - we need to go,” Kiara tells you. She has Pope’s weight on her.

You seem to copy, taking her guidance from her years of experience with hanging with the guys, and guide JJ away from the scene of the crime. You grab the backpack as you go, the gun shoved inside (safety now on). Ranger licks anxiously at JJ’s hand, whining in worry. 

“I’m alright, boy,” JJ lies to the dog in a slur.

swirling, becoming blacker and blacker with every step. His body is screaming for rest and reprieve. He vaguely overhears you tell Kie where you’re parked. Lets you half-drag him to your ride. The minute JJ’s helped into the backseat, safe in the smell of you, he blacks out. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing JJ notices when he wakes up is how much his head hurts. There’s a headache above his brows, similar to that which you get when hungover. It feels like his brain was a ping pong ball, rattled around in there for hours on end. Sniffing, he groans as he tries to sit up. There’s a hand pushing him back down to the bed gently. 

“Just lie still, for now,” you say softly. “No sudden movements, okay?” 

JJ groans again, eyes pressed shut. At the sensation of a straw pressing against his lips, he drinks. 

“Open your mouth,” you say after he swallows. JJ does as he’s told, in too much pain to argue. You give him a few pills - presumably painkillers - and help him chase them with water. “I’ll be right back.”

JJ must fall back asleep. When he comes to for the second time, the pain in his head is significantly lessened, as are all the general aches and pains of his body. He dreads the idea of looking in a mirror: he’s probably black and blue. Saying that, it’s not like it’s an unfamiliar state to him. Opening his eyes, he immediately recognises your bedroom. As if on cue, you walk through the door, a mug of what must be steaming hot tea in hand. When your eyes meet his, a relieved smile comes to your face. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he rasps. 

Making your way over, tea deposited on the bedside table, you take the seat next to him. Shit, no wonder he was sleeping so well. Your bed is like sponge cake. 

“How you feeling?”

“Like shit,” JJ grunts. You stifle a laugh. Shifting to sit up, his brows furrow as last night comes back to him, piece by piece. “Did I…Was I hallucinating, or did you save our ass?”

“Mmm, I might have maybe just saved your ass,” you innocently reply. 

Shaking his head, JJ rubs tiredly at his face. 

“I’m not even going to ask what Rafe and his gang of fairies were angry about.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the best idea,” JJ cringes. 

He finally braves holding your gaze. There’s a distance there - a reluctance to be fully present - and JJ knows it’s because of him. 

“That was really ballsy, what you did,” he tells you. 

“It's nothing,” you quietly reply. 

“You’re probably going to lose your Kook card now.”

“Never liked it that much in the first place,” you say with a half-smile. 

JJ silently laughs, shaking his head, mesmerised. He was so wrong about you. About all of it. “I was, uh...kind of a dick to you.”

“Yeah…”

“And…you were right,” he mumbles. 

Brows lifting slightly, a small, amused smile teases your lips. “What was that sorry?”

“You were right,” he repeats, no louder. 

Leaning in, a finger to your ear, you say, “one more time, I didn't quite catch it.”

“Fuck off,” JJ groans, shoving you away with hardly any force.

You snort out a laugh. The moment the humour passes, you look back to him. He feels as though he can hear your thoughts. Your anger and annoyance and insecurity and pain. He hears it all in the emotion swimming through your eyes. So, he nods.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, JJ,” you whisper. 

One of his hairs falls into his face. Before he can react, you’re leaning forward, brushing it out the way. JJ captures your wrist quickly, keeping you near, almost panicked that if you move even a millimetre away, he’ll lose you forever. In that same frenzy, desperate to have you close, he forces out the three words he’s never let himself say to anyone. Ever. 

“I love you.”

Face an exact replica of the one you made that day on the beach, you blink at him. Once, then twice. JJ nods again. 

“I just…I can’t…It doesn’t…”

“I know,” you say, forehead bumping against his own as you lean down. Then, in a whisper, you add, “I know. It’s okay.”

JJ sniffs, suddenly overcome with emotion, and nods against you. As his eyes press shut, you kiss him. It’s slightly salty with tears but no less welcome. He winces as your hand cups his jaw. Kisses you through your mumbled apology against his lips.

And as the two of you kiss, JJ realises that this was all it ever had to be. It was never that complicated, never that layered, because all that mattered was you. Wonderfully, princess-perfect, Kook-turned-Pogue you. 

[hedgehog-moss]

On the eve of planned nationwide demonstrations, I want to offer an overview of the ways the protests in France are being handled by the government so far (and if what you’ve heard is that this is over a 2 year increase in retirement age, please do take a minute to read this post to get a better idea of the context)

1. In Paris on March 21, a CRS (cop) threw a tear gas grenade in the air towards protesters (they’re supposed to throw them near the ground); the grenade landed and exploded on a protester’s head. (x)

2. Massive use of tear gas at every protest, on this vid from March 17 you can see the Place de la Concorde (largest public square in Paris) drowned in tear gas. (x)

3. In Paris on March 20, video of a CRS with a baton hitting protesters who are cowering against a wall (x)

4. CRS grabbing demonstrators in (illegal) chokeholds and dragging them by the neck (x)

5. In Strasbourg on March 21, police trapped about a hundred protesters in a narrow alleyway and tear gassed them from both ends of the alley so they couldn’t escape; an asthmatic person lost consciousness; people who lived there opened their doors and let the protesters enter their houses to get to safety. (x)

6. In Paris on March 20, a CRS shot a protester with an LBD riot gun (rubber bullets) and shouted at him “Pick up your balls now, fucker” (x) (an allusion to the several instances in recent years of protesters having testicle injuries from LBD guns - and non-protesters too, in 2015 a Muslim teenage boy lost a testicle after being shot by a cop with rubber bullets when he was shooting firecrackers in a park on July 14th / Bastille day). A few seconds later in the video another CRS tells the one who said that “careful there’s a camera”

7. In Paris on March 21, a group of 4 or 5 CRS who were dispersing demonstrators, threw a homeless man to the ground who had been shouting at them (hard to hear what he said, the first sentence is “How can you do this job?”), kicking him in the head while he was down and mocking him when he couldn’t get up, calling him a ‘fatso’ and ‘sack of shit’ (the woman you can hear at the end of the video is yelling at the CRS to help the guy get up and telling them “do you lack humanity to this point?”) (x)

8. That same day Macron gave a speech on TV in which he said “the crowd [= the protesters] has no legitimacy against the people, who express themselves through their elected representatives” even though he passed his reform without a vote from the elected representatives—and considering polls show the vast majority (>70%) of the country is against the reform, the “people” and the “crowd” are one and the same. Today (March 22) he gave another TV speech in which he compared what’s happening in France right now to the January 6 US capitol attack.

9. During today’s speech Macron also said “minimum-wage workers have never seen such an increase in purchasing power” which is a mad thing to say in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and he used the term ‘smicard’ in this sentence— the minimum wage in France is called the SMIC and smicard is a derogatory word for minimum-wage workers. He decried the “extreme, unregulated violence” of protesters but had nothing to say about the unregulated violence of his police forces, and instead stoked the fire with contemptuous language that angers people the day before a planned mass protest.

10. Hundreds of protesters (and even people who weren’t protesting but just nearby) have been arrested and taken into custody in “preventative arrests”; the vast majority were then released due to “absence of an offence.” Here’s a thread by a woman who was arrested in Paris along with 11 other women (one was a 17 year-old girl) for taking part in a peaceful protest. They spent 20 hours all in one cell, were only allowed to go to the toilet if they left the door open, were frisked and had their fingerprints and DNA samples taken. Also, in Nantes on March 14, four young women age 18-20 reported having been sexually assaulted by police during body searches while participating in a student protest.

And a thread by a 19-year-old Black student who spent 48 hours in custody last week along with 4 other people who were arrested in Paris as they were walking down the street. Lots of racist shit in this thread. He had already spent 14 hours in custody after a protest a couple of days before, and ended up being charged for refusing to have his DNA samples taken.

This article in Le Monde from yesterday (it’s in French and unfortunately paywalled) talks about people who took part in last week’s protests having been handcuffed and searched in their underwear then released free of charges the next day; a lawyer comments how this is clearly meant to discourage people from demonstrating. The article also mentions two 15 year old Austrian boys who were on a class trip to Paris and were rounded up with a group of demonstrators, so the Austrian embassy had to intervene. (Journalist mentions sarcastically “We don’t know if these high schoolers’ DNA samples were taken.”)

11. There are videos from various protests of journalists wearing the press armband being threatened, hit, or shoved to the ground by police. In Montpellier yesterday, a journalist took this photo as a CRS was pointing his rubber bullet gun at his head and another was running at him with his baton telling him “I don’t give a fuck about your press card” —the photographer managed to run away. (x)

This is all from the past ten days (and mostly from the past two days) and far from an exhaustive list, there's so much outrageous stuff happening (like the Minister of the Interior lying and saying participating in an undeclared demonstration is illegal, when it’s not) but it gives a good idea of what French democracy looks like under Macron. The above photo says it all really. And thank you to all the people who continue taking part in the protests and strikes.

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

[project-sonadow]

My [15M] rival [15/50M] has been weirdly aggressive towards me ever since he lost his memories for the second(?) time. Should I be worried about him trying to kill me again?

Summary

A post on r/relationship_advice by u/Chili_Dog1991

EDIT 1: Stop saying I'm Sonic I'm not.

EDIT 2: Okay I am Sonic. I don't see how that matters.

EDIT 3: Stop trying to figure out which of my rivals this is.

EDIT 4: Stop telling me to contact the police about his attempts to murder me or his age. It's complicated in regards to his age but he's essentially 15 and I can already defend myself way better than the police can in regards to his murder attempts. Also the police would probably try to arrest me too because they're either useless or make things actively worse.

EDIT 5: Stop DMing me to ask how murder attempts can be fun. I shouldn't have to explain this.

EDIT 6: Stop implying I'm a masochist.

EDIT 7: Stop implying I'm an adrenaline junkie. If I just wanted adrenaline I've got tons of other people who could give me that.

EDIT 8: To everyone who actually responded with advice, thank you. I attempted to talk to him about it, we fought again, and it turns out he's been acting aggressive because he doesn't know how to show affection so he just defaults to violence. We ended up holding hands after we physically couldn't fight anymore. It was a great night and I think we're together now.

EDIT 9: Which of you motherfuckers sent this to Tails.

ORIGINAL POST

Hi everyone, using a throwaway account to make this post because my little brother knows my main and the embarrassment would kill me if he ever saw this. 

So for context, I've known this guy for a while now, at least in the context of my life. I've got a pretty hectic life and I'm a traveler, so I've met a lot of people and he's one of the few that's been able to keep up with me. Our first meeting was during a bit of a stressful time because he kind of inadvertently framed me for thievery (we look kinda alike and the police are stupid, it's not his fault but I was pretty pissed at the time) and got me arrested, so we ended up fighting about it in the middle of the street. I'm used to fighting and pretty good at it, so it was a surprise when he turned out to be basically my equal at it, which is pretty rare even among my other rivals. He got the upper hand on me for long enough that the police were able to arrest me again. I was pretty mad but also impressed. Our second meeting was even more stressful because I had just got out of jail after being arrested for the second time, and I was still angry about it so we fought again. I was about to win but then it turned out we were both in danger along with some friends of mine so we both left as fast as we could. Both of these times I could tell he was taking the fight seriously, but I could also tell he wasn't trying to KILL ME kill me. Y'know?

Anyway, in our next meeting he was definitely trying to kill me. Outright said it to my face. I won that fight thankfully, and I'm not even angry about it because a lot of people have tried to kill me over the years and also he has some kind of goal I was getting in the way of, and he didn't even succeed. He ended up changing his mind about that goal though, and when we next saw each other we were on the same side trying to deal with a mutual threat. 

And it was at that point I kind of realized I was in love. I've never really wanted a relationship because I thought it would get in the way of my lifestyle, but with this guy specifically it wouldn't be a problem. I would have told him about it, but then I thought he died and I didn't see him for a while. I wasn't too broken up about it because we only knew each other for a couple days, but I was still sadder than I thought I would have been.

He ended up coming back to life though, and he had lost his memories for the second time in his life (long story I'm not gonna get into) and he didn't really remember me anymore. I know from a mutual friend of ours that he remembered me well enough to be annoyed by my name, which made me irrationally happy, and I think he did end up getting his memories back, but when we first saw each other he definitely didn't know who I was. We fought again, it was a tie, and then we ended up teaming up to take down a mutual enemy again. 

Things have been a bit less chaotic since then. We've fought a couple more times but nothing serious, he's saved my life, I've saved his, you know how it goes. We haven't really talked about anything that happened, but that's fine because neither of us have ever been much for verbal communication and we understand each other just fine. I've tried getting over my crush on him, but that's never really worked because we see each other a lot due to our lifestyles and we have some mutual friends in common, and I like spending time with him anyways, even if we're just beating each other up most of the time.

Personality wise, he's basically my polar opposite, but we get on pretty well despite that. I think aside from my general attraction to danger and his ability to match me in a fight and a race that might be the main thing that draws me to him. I've got a lot of friends, but never one so different from me and yet so similar. He's just always been special to me.

But the main reason I'm making this post is because despite all we've been through, he still acts like we're enemies at worst and temporary allies at best. We fight almost every time we meet unless something less serious is going on, and he's pretty grumpy and mean to me all the time. I like this about him, but it does make me question if he even sees me as anything more than a rival, and I don't know how to ask him because we don't talk about weird emotional stuff. I also think that asking him directly could maybe lead to another murder attempt, which would be fun, but it's not what I'm looking for anymore. I don't mind all the fighting, but just once I'd like to kiss him on the mouth instead of punching his teeth in, y'know?

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

See No Evil

Pairing: John Price x F!reader

Synopsis: The flowers came every week -- Tuesday, two O’clock, two minutes after your break. The only problem was that you knew they weren’t coming from John.

Word Count: 17.5k

Warnings: Stalking, violence, intense gore, blood, abduction, angst, fluff, protective!John, not quite smut, swearing, stereotypical ‘Bad Guy’ character who gets his ass beat, minor character death

A/N: Finished this at 3am so forgive the absolute deterioration of the plot near the end.

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

The flowers came once a week – Tuesday, two o’clock, two minutes after your scheduled break. The Triple Twos your coworkers would joke, slapping you on the shoulder with wide smiles and questioning eyes as they continued by asking if John had done something to piss you off. That was the only excuse to spend so much money on flowers every single week; the man had to have done something absolutely unforgivable. 

You always found yourself fake chuckling at the accusations with a tense jaw and flickering eyes, looking to the empty corners and the glass front doors as the delivery man exits the building; whistling a tune. Choking down the bile in your throat.

The problem was that John hadn’t done anything wrong, and the tightening in your chest had told you that something more sinister was going on even if you didn’t know exactly what. Another part of you, the common civilian voice in the front of your mind, hissed that you were just being paranoid. 

But something was just off.

There was always a note that came with the gift, and it was always stuck on a cardholder; the metal shimmering in the white light. It was a stark contrast to the black paper trapped in it, keeping your eyes transfixed like a void in the earth. You could feel your heart drop every time your gaze locked onto it and the blood-red lettering, like the fibers were bleeding with every stab of a long-gone fountain pen. 

The flowers themselves made you pause the first time you had gotten them. Jess, the kind old woman who works the front desk, had come and gotten you herself, and that alone was unusual. Like a man wearing shorts during winter – not entirely uncommon, but still surprising when you saw it happen to say the least.

“Why,” Jess had muttered to you as you gave her a confused look as to why she was in your department in the middle of the day, “That John of yours is just the sweetest. The hydrangeas are the prettiest shade of blue, Dear. The man of yours was an absolute God-send. A pity I’m married – I would have tried to snatch him up!” 

“Flowers?” You frowned, running over thoughts about presentations and powerpoints you still had to get done by the end of the day. Already you were at the edge of your rope, “What are you talking about, Jess, I don’t think that John…”

Jess had already bounced ahead, quite limber for her old age, you had thought before you followed after; sucking in a deep sigh. Turning a corner with the clack of your work shoes, you saw a flash of color in the otherwise dull gray of the lobby, kissing the sides of your vision. 

“Woah,” Your eyes widened, taking in the sight in front of you as a hand lifted to your lips in shock. 

The arrangement was massive – bigger than any you had seen except for one other place.

The first official date you and John had gone on was at a fancy restaurant downtown with similar gargantuan bouquets – a really nice place with candles and red tablecloths.

Throughout the course of the night, both of you had gotten to know each other exceptionally well, but it wasn’t like the two of you were unfamiliar in the first place. If anyone would have asked, many of your coworkers would have told about how, months ago, you had first started gushing about the most handsome man you had ever seen leaving the local library once more. Through many fake threats and warnings that if you didn’t snag the brown-haired Brit soon, they would steal him from you, you shoved down the nervousness in your throat and went to the library on your days off.

It was a week before you gained the courage to even look in his direction, and when you did, you had already found him sneaking glances back. You had offered a friendly smile, albeit a nervous one, and had flushed when he had given you a twitch of his lips and a tilt of his head back.

For six weeks you had gone back, borrowing books you had no intention of reading just to have a chance to speak to him – and when you did, you had both become infatuated with each other. John had asked you about any history book recommendations and you had laughed and said you only read fiction; the man had looked offended, but slyly commented that he would have to change your opinion over dinner.

It was easy to admit that you had agreed right away, body fuzzy and warm.

But on that first official date, you had told him something that you never imagined would come up again when the waiter had put the first-course dish in front of you. Blue Hydrangeas and pure white Orchids. Your favorite flowers. 

“John sent these?” You had wondered aloud at the first vase of flora on the granite desk-top, blue and white immediately catching your eyes. Your chest had lightened with love. This was so kind of him. 

“Look,” Jess had squealed, placing her withered hands on her cheeks. It was almost like she was getting the gift instead of you. Your lips had quirked in amusement, “There’s a note too. Quick, read it to me! I want all the juicy details.”

That was when you realized something was wrong. 

Note? You had raised a brow, John left a note? 

Your boyfriend was many things – loyal, brave, an absolutely lovely person to hug because of those muscled bear arms, and hard-headed when it came to you walking nowhere near the edge of the road – but a note writer? No. 

If John wanted to tell you something he would tell you – whisper it into your skin as he leaves gentle kisses behind, mutter it into your hair as he brings you into a slow dance in his house’s living room. Smugly grunt it into the hot air as he leaves you sobbing from pleasure, his fingers curling inside of your heat. 

Your nose had twitched at the smell of the flowers, but your digits had gravitated to the black note card and its red writing. 

‘Thinking of you now, 

Long to be with you always,

Morning, noon, and night.’

The paper crinkled as you held the edge slightly tighter, but other than that no outward expression told anyone how confused you were. This wasn’t like John at all and your feet fidget a bit as you try and think if you had missed a massive date on the calendar to elicit such a break in character. But no, you tilted your head, there was nothing going on today.

How did John even order these? You had raised your free hand and brushed one of the white Orchid pedals, He’s out on deployment, not down the street standing in the floral shop.

Jess was gushing at your side, and a few other coworkers come by and say how happy they are for you. 

Maybe I’m just overthinking this – John can send flowers and notes whenever he wants. He’s my boyfriend. 

Looking over to your coworkers you agree to a comment about how attentive John is, “Yeah,” You force a laugh and shove down the swirling in your gut, “He’s really great – you have no idea…Did you know he makes the best waffles I’ve ever had? He even brings them to me in bed when he’s home!”

Then the whistling delivery man, named Don as you had found out the second week deep into this strange event, had become just as familiar as your coworkers. 

Which leaves us in the present. 

Tuesday, Two O’clock, two minutes into your scheduled break. The Triple Twos. 

You’re already waiting by the front desk, leaning back into it with the granite top digging into your back like a heavy hand. You try to stop the way your stomach twists when you hear Don whistling – Jess laughs to your left. 

“Like clockwork, Dear.”

You don’t answer, only tighten your lips into a line; tap your foot on the floor. Your arms crossed.

If you had the option to contact John this would have been easier – ask if he was responsible and finally put this to rest. But your Lover had told you right before the relationship was made official that his job was demanding and that it could even put you in situations that would be less than enjoyable. John had long hours, few breaks with stretches far in between where he would be able to see you. No contact when he was away overseas unless you were in a life-or-death situation – too many possible variables of who could be listening over the line if you called.

“It’d make me feel better if I know there’s no chance of anyone coming back to London to mess with my girl, eh?” He had said, pressing a scratchy kiss to your forehead as he was about to leave your apartment to gather his gear at his home. John would be away for months this time, you knew, “Put my mind at ease about it. But don’t you worry, Love. I’ll be back soon, yeah? We’ll watch that movie you wanted to see when I’m home.” 

Don opens the door, holding another damned vase with blue Hydrangeas and white Orchids sticking out of the top. Your eyes find the note all too quickly and your fingers tighten over your biceps.

“Hell,” The delivery man snorts at you, “I’m starting to think this guy is going to buy up all the Florists’ stock at this rate! The hell did he do? Cheat on you?” 

You roll your eyes, not replying to the comment and never doubting John’s loyalty to you in the slightest. Muttering a soulless ‘thanks’ before moving to help Don, you take the object from him with a grimace. The vase is like iron in your hand – heavy and cold to the touch akin to a corpse. Like death gripping at the slim vines of life, petals blooming through its fingers. 

“I still wish you’d tell me the name of the person who ordered them,” You utter, moving to drop the vase with a plunk on the front desk. It was like you were repulsed by even touching them.

Jess narrows her eyes, “What?” She comments, tone exasperated that you were bringing this up again, “Do you think someone else is going through all this effort? Come on, Dear, no one but John would send these. They’re your favorites!”

“See you next week!” Don calls behind his back, already sneaking out the door to continue his work. 

“I don’t know, Jess,” You run your hands over your face, pushing back the hair over your forehead with a groan, “Something just seems off about it. This isn’t like John – if it was I wouldn’t be making a big deal over it, I mean, why would I? I like flowers as much as the next person, but really? This is a bit much.” 

“So what I’m hearing in the man never gets you gifts?”

“No!” You snag the black paper note with your fingers, huffing, “The flowers aren’t the problem – It’s the damn note that throws me for a loop.”

“The note?”

“It’s a fucking Haiku – since when have I ever mentioned John writing poetry?” Your voice turns into a gruff imitation of what it once was, “The man is romantic, sure, but he definitely doesn’t take his time to write out poems. He writes so many reports he barely picks the pen back up after he throws it down.”

Jess hums. 

“Oh, maybe he’s just trying out a new pass time – perhaps he’ll come back to London as the next William Blake, hm?” The older woman waves her hands around, creating grand gestures as you watch with a blank face and a raised brow.

“Now that’s funny.”

John had hobbies – reading and cooking being two of them. The only time he wrote was when he was working on reports from an Op. and locked away in his office to make sure you never saw what he was getting red, tired, eyes over.

“There are some things that I never want you to see,” He had told you when you had asked what he was working on once. You had come to his house to visit, and he promised to go out with you when he was finished with a report to Laswell, “Images that have no right living in that beautiful brain of yours.” 

“Why should you have to see them, then?” You muttered, gazing into his eyes with concern. He put so much on himself, “Don’t they make you sick?”

“Yeah, lie of the century, that is,” He had smiled stiffly, dragging you into his arms as you melt. Your hands wrap around his tapered waist, sighing, “But it’s the mission. Someone has to get their hands dirty. And I’d rather it always be me than anyone else – least of all you, Love. I’ll be ready to go in half an hour, copy?”

“Well,” Jess sighs, typing something on her computer, “Is the note the same as the last four times?”

You blink, and look down at the tiny paper you had been strangling in your grip. Black and red – just as always. Freezing you look at the letters and numbers written in that fountain-pen script. It takes you a moment of realization before it feels like a knife hits you in the heart, breaking open your ribcage and splaying the bones into the light. 

Your lungs chill over, air stagnant and unmoving so that your breaths are reduced to gasps. The pulse inside of you increases so suddenly that your feet stumble and your skin vibrates as your veins work overtime. 

The red script burns the exact address of your apartment building into your retina. 

“Call the police.” 

—

“Hello, this is Kate Laswell,” The voice over your phone wafts into the lifeless air of John’s home, and your skin crawls as it bounces off the walls. It felt wrong to you – taking refuge in John’s place without telling him first. But going back to your apartment wasn’t an option, “...Hello?”

With a start, you realized you had forgotten to reply. Placing a finger on the drawn curtains to the front window, you peak outside with tense shoulders, eyes roving the empty street.

“H-hi, Kate, I know this is probably stepping over a line, a big one, but I found your office number in John’s house,” You give your name tersely and clear your throat before stating you were the man’s girlfriend. Laswell stays silent, letting you explain yourself even if she was overwhelmingly confused. You appreciated that immensely. If she were to start asking you questions you might start crying, “but I would be really appreciative if you could tell him – if John’s even working with you on this deployment, that is, that I have to stay in his home for a few days… o-or a week…possibly.” 

It didn’t take an expert to know that you were shaken, your voice cutting out at the wrong times as the phone picks up the static of your constant movement and fidgeting. Your eyes follow a white car as it drives down the street outside, pupils small and eyebrows drawn in. You drop the fabric and take a step back, sucking in a deep breath. 

Focus.

A pause over the line makes your heart beat faster as you begin to go and pace the front hallway. There’s a paranoia in your blood that oozes out into the lines of the hardwood and around your socked feet as you zip back and forth. 

Kate utters your name over the phone slowly. She doesn't ask why you’re in John’s house or why you're staying there, just gets to the root of the problem, “...Are you alright? Do you want me to mention anything else to-”

“No!” You gasp out, waving your free hand in front of you, “No, I don’t want to make him distracted. I just…” Your voice trails off, air getting harder to suck into your lungs.

A gentle sigh flows out over the call, and the sound of a body shuffling closer to the landline. Feet sliding over the floor.

“What’s going on, Dear?” 

You stop pacing. 

Laswell was a good deal older than you, you knew, and the tone she was taking reminded you of a mother who was trying to console a child; particularly one who had just hit their head after falling to the ground. Smooth, calm, and with a kind insistence. It made your chest tighten as you swallowed down saliva in your closed throat. Your eyes sting.

“I-” You rub a hand up to your cheeks, feeling the heat enter your clammy palms as a glassiness coats the back of your eyelids. Before you knew it, everything comes spilling out in a spew of hiccupped breaths and tears, “Something’s been happening at work for a while and the police are involved,” You try to steady your voice, “But…but they can’t do much because there’s no imminent threat to my safety. Yeah, well, the problem is that this fucking freak knows my address and I didn’t know where else to go.” 

Your story jumps around, telling of the flowers and the notes. You take no linear path and instead you have to go back steps and explain that you didn’t even know who was doing this. By the time you had finished, you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn to your chest and sniffling. Your clothes were ruffled from you constantly flattening them down, wrinkles like veins visible in the fabric.

Kate coughs over the line as you come to a sobbing stop, trying to muffle your panic with a hand to your mouth as you tilt the phone down parallel to your chin. Tears drip from your face one by one.

“I’m sure John won’t mind you staying in his house,” Laswell speaks slowly, trying to ease your nerves and stop the panicked breathing over the call, “I’ll call my contacts in your local police force, alright? We’ll get someone on this; just take a breath for me, okay?” 

“Please, don’t tell John,” You gasp, wiping away the waterworks with your hand, “It’ll make him worry too much.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” 

—

John had gotten a text from Laswell just as he had finished taking off his gear, the small bleep from his phone distracting him from the straps of his leg holsters. He blinks, furrowing his dark brows and looking at the black device as it sits on the bench. The changing room lights fizzle for a moment, and the bear of a man spares them a grunt. 

The Captain’s athletic shirt is neatly folded under the phone, the fabric creased and drowned with sweat and dirt. He walks over with only his cargo pants on, liking the way the chilled air felt on his flushed skin as the adrenaline from the latest step in the mission wore off. 

AC, he decided, was one of man's greatest inventions. His dog tags clink over each other around his neck as a trail of sweat dripped down his abs.

John’s fingers snatch the phone, one hand going to unbuckle his belt so he can take a shower and wash all the grime from his body. The lights bounce off his physique, biceps becoming more prominent as he brings the phone up, but before he looks at the screen the back of his hand travels to his forehead. He takes a moment to wipe at his slick skin before sighing and itching at his hairline. Bringing the phone down, John looks at the screen absentmindedly, preoccupied with the thoughts of warm water to ease his aches and the forming bruises over his skin. 

Laswell: “Get to my office. ASAP. It’s about your girl.”

John stops, his pants only held up by his tense hips; his free hand at the front zipper about to send the slider down the tiny metal teeth. He utters your name with a grunt of breath, eyebrows furrowing as a concerned frown overtakes his face. 

It takes half a moment for him to shuck his pants back up and grab his nasty shirt from the bench. John shoves his feet into his mud-slick boots without a second thought; he doesn't tie the laces, instead, he shoves them into the sides. Sending a reply with one hand, he’s rushing out the door in under fifteen seconds, heart taking off like a plane and pulse being re-set alight. His jaw clenches and his tags bounce as he thunders onwards. 

Price: “On my way.” 

His feet hammer the floor, sending small shockwaves over the ground as the man rampages on. John sprints past room after room and runs down multiple hallways before finally getting to where he needs to be with stiff limbs. He grasps the side of the open doorway with a heavy hand and all but swings himself into the next hallway before he skids to a stop at the first door on the right. An all-encompassing grip is slammed onto the metal handle, and he mercilessly twists before opening it with his other hand on the woodgrain; his shoulder ready to ram the barrier open if it happened to be locked. 

It wouldn’t have been, but John’s mind isn’t thinking straight. In his head, all he can do is come up with the worst possibilities. You, dead back in London, or severely injured due to a freak accident, maybe on life support with no hope of waking back up. There were too many options – John had simply seen too much, he knows that if the worst could happen, it will. But fuck nothing was ever meant to happen to you. Not you. Anyone but you.

You were supposed to be safe – always.

The Captain doesn’t bother to knock before the door is swung to the side. Your voice is the first thing that John hears, high-pitched and strained as you sob into the landline on Kate’s desk. Papers had once scattered the woman’s workspace, but all are pushed to the side as Laswell’s hands are clenched on the metal top; full attention on the hysterical lady a world away. 

Kate snaps her hardened eyes up to John watching as his chest heaves before bringing a finger to her lips. Her expression twists into a frown. 

Clenching his jaw, John feels his heart sputter at the sounds from the landline – what were you saying? His ears strain as he pushes the door closed with a muffled click, feet unconsciously carrying him to your voice like you were in the room with him. He wishes you were. John stops by the edge of the desk, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides before he crosses them over his chest; fingers digging into the meat of his arms. 

His feet shuffle and he picks up the sniffled words of ‘don’t know him’ and ‘figured out where I live.’ 

Laswell sends him a glance as John’s eyes widen, beginning to paint a picture for himself of what was going on. A heated rage flies through his bloodstream, lips pulling back in a snarl, but he stayed silent so he could let you speak.

Has her address? Where is she now?! 

“I’m sure John won’t mind you staying at his house,” Kate mutters calmly, slowly, and John is thankful that the woman was who you had decided to call – even if he felt bad that you didn’t think you could get in contact with him directly for something like this. 

I told her not to, He lays his hands on the table, leaning closer to the landline, and takes a deep calming breath to help his head from exploding, Bloody hell, I made her feel like she shouldn’t. 

John’s face steadily gains a red sheen of self-hatred under his beard and over his cheeks. He would have made time for you – found a secure line and waited for you to call. So why hadn’t he done that yet? He should have checked in.

The man brings a hand to his face, running it over his beard and pulling at the strands. There was just so much going on with the Task Force that it must have slipped his mind. Laswell continues from her seat at the desk chair, not oblivious to John’s state.

“I’ll call my contacts in your local police force, alright? We’ll get someone on this; just take a breath for me, okay?” John hears your static-filled voice let out a muffled whimper and he suppresses a flinch, breath getting caught in his throat. He never wants you to make a fearful noise like that again.

“Please, don’t tell John,” You gasp out and the two in the office pause – John becomes as still as a statue, his face pained and eyes widening – they hear you wiping away tears with a ruffle of fabric, “It’ll make him worry too much.”

Against his better judgment, the man lets a small, emotionless, quirk of his lips grace the tense atmosphere. 

She’s the one being stalked and she’s concerned about me worrying about her? Damn this woman. If only she knew how much I actually think about her when I’m away, regardless. I couldn’t not think about her well-being if I tried – halfway around the world and I can’t get it together.

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” Laswell speaks after a moment. John hears you suck in a quick breath and he takes a deep intake of air in turn, filling his chest and trying to ignore the scent of his own stench. God, he really needed a shower, but warm water was nowhere in the vicinity of what he was thinking about right now. Not anymore. 

You took precedent. Always.

“...John?” Your voice wavers out, thin and cautious. 

“I’m right here, Doll,” The Captain utters, speaking softly as Laswell grabs her personal phone from the top drawer of the desk and slinks away – going to make that call to her contact no doubt. She sends him a close-lipped smile, nods to the exit, and walks out of the room. John tilts his head in her direction as the door closes, “I heard the last half, alright? Don’t you worry about a thing, it’ll all be sorted. Stay at my place long as you need and don’t worry ‘bout making a mess,” He nods his head even if you can’t see him, body wanting to hold you to his chest, “Even have your favorite snacks in the pantry for you, Love. Stocked up a few months ago just in case you ended up staying over…lucky guess on my part, yeah?”

“The chocolate ones?” You snort wetly, and John smiles in contentment at the noise of your slowing breath. Hearing you calm down was making his own pulse return to normal. You were okay – for now at least – and that was enough to make the tension in the man’s shoulders subside; the clenching of his fists on the table loosen. But there was a special section of his heart that held the knowledge that someone had made you fearful for your life – left you crying and desperate to have protection from the unknown. And here John was, not able to even press a kiss to your head. He can’t help the sliver of self-resentment at the thought, “But I…I thought you hated those?”

“Hm,” John grunts, conceding just for you. He tries to push his anger aside and force out his teasing comment, just focus on her, “The bloody things grew on me. How can I hate something you love so much? Especially when you’re making fun of me for not liken’ ‘em.”

A content silence falls, with your body shuffling occasionally as your try and find your bearings again. The man knows your mind will come back to you if you just focus on him; just like his own would. John’s lips fall into a line. 

“Darling,” He whispers, but knows you can hear him by how you make a small noise in the back of your throat, “I need to ask you, how long has this been going on?”

John's ears pick up a sigh, “A little more than a month,” The Captain’s eyes close, head slightly turning down into his chest as his fingers drum the desktop, “I just…I thought it was you at first - even if It felt a little off, you understand? Then the most recent note had my apartment address on it and I-I panicked. I didn’t know where else to go except to your house. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” John firmly states, eyes flaring as he moves to sit in Laswell’s chair. A slight creak echoed out as he puts his weight on it, leaning forward intently, “Never apologize – this is some pathetic Muppet’s fault and will never, for one moment, be yours…Now, you stay at my home and lay low for a while. Did they give you time off from work? If not, I’ll send a call to your boss and–”

“You can’t just do that!” Your voice is coated with amusement, light laughter playing off your lips as you interrupt his methodical and soldier-like rant. John stifles a deep chuckle, closing his eyes and listening, “I already took a week off, I promise. I was just planning on staying here and letting things cool down...Just wanted to let you know first.” 

 John’s lips release a hum before he runs a hand over his beard and scratches the skin under the bristles. Dirt and flecks of ash fall to the floor, but he doesn’t notice.

“I’ll see if I can’t finish up here within the next few weeks. Come back to London early and help you figure all of this out. Look into it myself if I have to.” 

“You don’t have to do that, John. I know your work is important.” 

“You’re important, Love,” The man teases, “The Op. over here has run dry, the leads have gone for the moment and there’s no reason for Laswell to keep us here cleaning the empty rooms; I know for a fact I’m able to make sure you’re safe far better than anyone else back home. I can be back soon,” He growls, and his accent becomes thicker as he continues on in the ‘Captain Voice’ you had grown to love, “I’ll bloody make sure of it.” 

“How have things been, by the way?” You ask, steering the conversation away from you, worried about how his efforts had affected him. He sounded tired, “Everyone’s alright? No new injuries, I hope. I don’t know if I can deal with you coming back and having another gunshot wound right now – you know how I get when I’m doting over you.” 

“Hm,” John huffs, amused. He remembers how, when he had come back once with a shot to the thigh, you had practically restrained him to the bed as you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. You had cooked, cleaned, and even helped him into the bath as his humongous body had towered over you. But it wasn’t like he was complaining about the last one, “Nothing to twist your hair over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Only scrapes and bruises on my part. Should’ve seen the other guy.” 

Laswell enters the room silently as you giggle, heels not making a sound as she lowers her personal phone from her ear and closes the door behind her, “My contact is en route to your house, John. He’s going to check in and get a statement. With any luck, she’ll get a security detail to bring her to and from wherever she needs to go.” 

“You hear that, Love?” John shifts his narrowed eyes to the landline after nodding. 

“Yup,” You muttered, spirits now higher and the waver in your voice noticeably gone. There was no doubt that over the line you were calmer than you had been in probably over a month. John just had that effect on you, “I really can’t thank you enough, Laswell. And I’m so sorry for invading your privacy by calling you like that.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Anyone important to John is just as important to everyone over here. We take care of our own…The man that’s going to be coming to your door is named Mahdi Karim – black hair, tanned skin, and a cut just above his right eyebrow. Should be in a police uniform.” 

“I’ll be on the lookout. Thank you, Kate. Truly. If you ever find yourself in London, I make a great casserole – just ask John. My door’ll be open.”

Laswell smiles softly, wrinkles disappearing for a brief second, and John can’t stop the wave of love that sweeps his gaze. He stops a lovesick sigh just before it enters the air. 

“Be safe,” Kate tells you, “I’m sure John will be in touch with you soon and I’ll be sure to have a secure line ready to go.” Laswell nods before turning to John, “You were needed in building five for a debrief fifteen minutes ago. Gaz has been asking around for you…sorry, but you’ll have to make the goodbye quick.” 

John looks away, jerking his head into a firm nod and groaning out, “Affirm. Tell the Sergeant that I’ll be there in a minute for me, yeah?” 

“On it.”

“I’m sure Gaz is ripping the place apart for you, Love,” You laugh, and John’s eyes snap to the landline to give his attention back to you. Like a wave in an ocean, “Don’t keep him waiting. From what you tell me the boy can get into a startling degree of trouble when you’re not with him…something about falling out of a helicopter?” 

John feels his chest jerk with chuckles. What did he do to deserve you? Someone who could make him forget about the aches in his shoulder muscles from the stock of his M13 – forget about the layers of sweat, blood, and dirt seeping into his pores; death lives on him like a second skin. But, strangely, you either didn’t notice or didn’t care. That was the part that struck John every time you barreled into his chest when he came home – you stayed by his side so adamantly; waited every time he left and was over the moon when he returned. 

You love him, and he doesn’t think he deserves it. But like the selfish man he is, he’ll keep you at his side as long as he’s able, and love you back just the same. You were one in a million. And the thought of someone reducing you to something other than a god-send – to a mere object someone could prey on was enough to reduce the Captain to a feral rage. 

If I ever get my hands on the prick that made her feel like this, he’s as good as dead. Mark my fucken’ words – he’s dead.

“I’ll call you tonight, Love, you alright with that?” John clears his throat, grunting as he stands from the desk chair, “Around 0900 your time?”

“That’s nine O’clock, yeah?” You continue not waiting for him to answer, “...How late is that for you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still ‘gonna call.” 

You seemed to know that trying to sway him on this was pointless by the way you muffled an exasperated laugh, “Alright. Nine O’clock. I’ll answer.”

“You better,” John huffs, “Goodbye, Love. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, John. Be safe – Love you.”

“Love you, too. Be safe for me.” He whispers, letting you hang up the phone instead of him. Kate and he stand in silence for a moment before John growls, eyes suddenly burning. It was like his only tie to being civil was severed after your presence – even as limited as it was through a call – disappeared, “I want whoever’s doing this put in cuffs before I’m back in London, Laswell, yeah? Otherwise, it’ll be someone else's bloody problem to pick up the pieces I leave behind of whatever bastard is responsible for this.”

—

Mahdi Karim was perhaps the only person in London that listened to you. He had told you in a soft tone as the both of you sat in John’s dark living room that he would work on the case you had brought forward personally – with the influence of Kate Laswell giving him all the jurisdiction he needed. 

You had briefly wondered how far Laswell’s hand reached into the inner working of the city’s police force but had decided it was probably better if you never figured that out. For just one American CIA agent – she sure knew how to play the game to her favor. 

“I’ll make sure to have another officer with you when you need to leave the house – Mrs. Talley – whenever you need to go somewhere she’ll be just a call away.” Mr. Karim had told you as you fiddled with your fingers in your lap, “And I’ll be at the station working on leads. Kate told me that you had handwritten notes?”

��Yeah,” You cleared your throat, nodding as you stare out the window; the street lights come on outside with an automatic timer. Your lips flattened, whispering out, “They’re all in my work bag.” 

God, you wished John was here. He would have held you to his chest with a firm hand on the back of your head; all-encompassing and steady as his heart beat directly over your ear with a steady thum-thump, thum-thump. John’s heart was always something of a comfort to you. When he was with you, staying the night, you wanted to keep your head on his chest and feel the melody of his pulse lull you into a slumber – like your own personal lullaby. 

It reminded you he was here; alive, and in turn, it kept you steady. His gentle kisses to your hairline were just another perk along with his fingers carding through your locks. Whenever he did that you swore you turned to mush, just like a cat letting out vibrating purrs. There were so many things that John Price did that could calm you down without even trying – the way he slow danced with you when you put his vinyl records on, his fascination with old movies to the point his eyes would light up when he explained them to you, and the press of his gargantuan body laying on top of you. 

That last thought brought a smile to your lips. He was always worried he would crush you.

“You sure, Love?” He would ask when you smiled smugly from your position lying on the couch, “I’d hate to have my girl suffocate because she asked me to lay on top of her. You trying to get me arrested?”

“John,” You had laughed, “I’ll tell you if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel you. It’s like a weighted blanket – just more you shaped! Come on,” You whine playfully, arms outstretched and making grabby hands, “Please?”

The man huffed, smirking before shaking his head and sending you a warm glance. He stalks over to come and lay on top of you, his thin shirt letting you memorize the press of his abs and pecks sliding over your body; the dig of his biceps over the small of your back as they circle behind you. John lay in between your legs, forcing them open and around his fitted thighs before your limbs slip down his legs. Your hand had gravitated to his soft brown locks, messing them up lovingly with a chuckle and a soft smile. The Captain’s head was tilted up, beard itching your neck as his grip over your waist lightly squeezed over your shirt. You stared down at him with that look on your face – the one you reserved only for John. 

Against better judgment, you feel a heat enter your body at the heavy press of his pelvis slotted perfectly into you. And the way he was staring up at you, his large nose just by your chin…

A cheeky smile filters over your boyfriend’s bearded face as you caress his forehead with your thumb. John’s eyes crinkle. 

“This what you had in mind, Doll?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t enjoy this, Captain.” His eyes had sparked, narrowing as he paused a moment. 

A deep chuckle rattled against your body, and John tried to press you tighter into him; leaving you softly yelping in surprise, eyes widening, even though the glee stayed. The action was incredibly soft and left a deep yearning in your compressed lungs. As you sucked in small breaths, you found John’s dilated eyes watching you closely; like a deep blue river around a circular black rock. The gaze left a heat flowing to your face and neck – a pulsing in your lower body. You resisted the urge to roll your hips as your legs tighten around his own.

“Hm,” The man grunted, making your breath stutter for a moment. He felt it and smirked.

“Hm, what?” You ask breathlessly, John’s nose moving up your neck and tilting your head back. 

You open the skin to him readily; your skull falling back to the arm of the couch. Gasping, John’s lips pull apart, teeth grazing your pulse point before finding the one spot that makes you whimper. He lays open mouth kisses and swift nips, leaving the area red and pulsing causing your eyelids to flutter shut with pleasure. The heavy set of your boyfriend’s build makes the sparks that he leaves behind with his mouth increase tenfold. The man’s fingers dig into your waist, kneading the flesh.

You let out a breathless whimper as your hand trailed through his hair, pulling at the roots and leaving John grunting as they get messed up. Suddenly, with a sharp and confident bite to that perfect spot behind your ear, his hips lightly jump up into you; pelvis bones digging into the skin of your inner thighs as the fabric of your shorts hitch up. 

A breathly keen escapes your lips before you can bite onto your lips to stop it. Burning, your face moves closer to John’s as he licks the hickey he made and blows on it. You shiver as his lips pull in a smirk against your skin.

“This your plan all along, Pet? Get me to give you a good fuck?” John clicks his tongue, “Naughty girl. You know what you do to me – just had to bloody ask if you wanted me stretching you open.” 

His accent always became more pronounced when you both were horny; rutting against each other like animals. John sends another thrust up into you and your eyes roll back, eyelids snapping shut at the steadily growing feeling of wetness staining your panties. Fuck, you needed him – now.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. If you like me pressing into you so much, maybe I’ll take that cunt of yours right here, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucken’ hell I think I enjoy this just as much as you do.”

“Please…” You sigh, gasping as John grabs your hips and starts to force you to move in tandem with him; fingers digging into your bare flesh. Fuck that felt good – all his weight on you as your breath was forced to puff out when his chest bore down on you with every orchestrated pump of his pelvis.

“Please, what? Use your words now…Hm,” He angles deeper, and your nails dig into his back, sliding under his shirt and attacking his skin, “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? You’re trying so hard to get me in that cunt of yours, might have to hurry this up.”

“Please, C-captain.” Your face burns, words coming out muffled as his lips smash to yours and forces his tongue down your throat.

“...There’s a good fucken’ girl.” One of his large hands moves to your abdomen, just about big enough to span the entire area of your skin before traveling down slowly to enter your shorts. His callouses burn so perfectly.

Shaking your head, you realize Mr. Karim was waiting for you to give him the notes. Startling, you stand and send him an apologetic glance before rushing to the kitchen and grabbing your bag off the counter, rifling through it with a quick hand. 

Pulling out all of the black paper notes, you turn back to Karim and shuffle up to him, “Here.” 

Holding out the notes and trying not to look at them, the man takes them from you with a gentle pull. Mahdi gave you a pitying look.

“I’ll get these dusted for prints and try and see if we have any records of the handwriting in our database.” 

“Okay,” You mutter, nodding, “Do…you need me to come with?”

Mahdi shakes his head, hair moving around his head, “No. You’re free to stay here and get your bearings.” The man stands, his officer uniform’s badge glinting in the light from outside, “How about you order out? Get some food and take a nap, yeah? Leave the rest to me, Ma’am.” 

He makes his way over to the front door and you trail behind, flicking on the outside house light for him but leaving the interiors pointedly off.

“Stay safe. Lock the door after me, okay?” 

“Yeah,” You lock your fingers together in front of your stomach, “No problem. Drive carefully, Mr. Karim, and thank you for coming by.”

“Anytime you need something done and no one’s listening – come directly to me. Sleep tight.” With that, the officer opens the door and disappears, going to his car in the driveway. Closing the door immediately after his departure, you watch his vehicle take off into the dark night with a tight chest. 

Clicking the double locks and turning off the outside light, you suck in a deep breath before turning around and falling back to place your spine on the woodgrain. You slide to the floor, eyes turning glassy. 

Mahdi said to order out – not strain yourself. But you had no appetite, even if you hadn’t eaten lunch today. Your stomach was in twists, intestines clogged with bad thoughts and concern. Closing your eyes, you waited for John’s call tonight at nine, tension living like a weight over your shoulders and neck. 

You would have much preferred your boyfriend’s mass holding you down instead of this, but no matter how much you wished you knew he wasn’t coming back to you for a while. But you’re patient. You can wait. 

—

You still hadn’t gone back to work even after Jess had told you the flowers had stopped – about two and a half weeks later. The older woman had said over the phone that Don had come by the building to explain that no more requests for delivery were coming in, either. That had made you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Maybe this is coming to an end, You had thought while pulling John’s green comforter closer to your chin, fixing the position of the phone over your ear as Jess comments on the handsome officer that had come in and asked about you. 

You blinked, cocking a brow.

“I told him you were staying at your boyfriend's house – had to give him the street too – though I don’t know why he had to ask me, Dear. He seemed quite pushy too. Such a dreadful boy. It’s a good thing you found that John of yours, I–”

Your ears started ringing halfway through the word vomit, eyes stuck onto the ceiling as the whites show like snow in the corners of your orbs. The quivering of your lip was the only part of you that moved – frozen over with frost and piloting stiff limbs. The comforter was suddenly suffocating you. 

“Jess,” You calmly spit out, breath hitching as you interrupt. The woman pauses over the line, and she asks if you were alright. Ignoring her, your fingers turn numb, “Did he show you a badge?” 

“Why, yes, of course, he did – it was a silver…oh…oh my…”

Silence falls, a tense rope being tightened over your throat as you sit up slowly, pushing the covers off of you with a shaking hand.

“Police badges are gold.” Dropping the phone from your vibrating fingers onto the bed, you rush to the dresser, pulling on John’s gray sweatpants over your underwear and grabbing a stray t-shirt to sit on top of your thin tank top. Nearly tripping over your feet, you huff out uneven breaths as you hang up on a blabbering Jess, quickly finding Mahdi Karim’s contact information and slamming a finger onto the green call icon. 

It takes three rings before the man picks up, and hot adrenaline is lighting your nerves; telling you to run and hide. John’s scent – gunpowder, pine needles, and smoke – is ingrained in the clothes you wear and yet you can’t bring any comfort from it. Your bones weigh more than lead, one hand going to cover your mouth to stifle a ragged inhalation as Karim’s confused voice comes through the receiver. You jump into an explanation with a waving hand, and the man says he’ll be over himself in just fifteen minutes while another officer goes to your work to get a statement from Jess. 

He hangs up first.

Fifteen minutes, You think about calling John but don’t want to phone him on his flight. He had said he should be back today or tomorrow the last time you both had spoken – when he was boarding the C-17, the whirling of the large plane’s engines blocking out everything else besides his voice. Carrying yourself into the living room, you reach up and close all the curtains; double-check the door locks, and clutch your phone in your hand with white knuckles near your hip, I don’t even know how long this guy has had his head start on me. What if he’s already outside the door?

Licking your lips, your mind runs with scenarios – what if this deranged person broke down the door? Ripped the window off its frame and jumped in? Your eyes snapped to and fro as your feet shuffled back over the hardwood; trying to figure out if you should go wait for Mahdi somewhere not near the front of the house or stay to make sure no one suspicious was walking outside. 

You chose a middle ground, moving into the kitchen and pacing with your bare feet as the morning light streamed in from under the fabric barrier over the window. Fifteen minutes passed far too slowly. 

A knock sounded on the door, and you rushed to the entrance to sneak a look out the sidelight. Mahdi stood shuffling in his uniform, peering behind him and speaking into a radio on his vest with tight features. You open the door with a shaking grip and usher the man inside with fearful glances behind him. 

Mahdi takes a few steps inside, keeping the door open behind him and frantically grabbing you by the arm. His eyes are wild.

You yelp.

“We have to get you to a secure area – quickly.”

“B-but I–” You send a glance behind you, not entirely willing to leave John’s house and the familiar solace it brings. You only utter half a sentence, not even able to explain your hesitance, before a sound like a great boom echoes into the morning air. Some type of liquid splatters the side of your face, dripping down your forehead before falling off your chin and your eyes snap shut instinctually.

Only able to flinch with a slight yell, you turn back just in time to lock onto Mr. Karim’s face. Or lack thereof. 

Half of the man’s visage was gone – white skull visible to the naked eye as the eviscerated tendons of his jaw leave the orientation off; hanging off his face and only on the unmarred side. Mahdi’s brain matter was splattered over your face, and your eyes widen in horror at the realization that you can see what remains of the officer’s cerebrum in the now half-circle of his skull. His remaining eye was bulging like an egg – nearly popping out and bouncing on the floor.

All of this happened in only half a second – the gunshot, you getting bathed in perhaps more blood than you initially realized, and then the limp body of kind Mahdi Karim falling into you; dead. His weight hits your numb body, your eyes wide, and your mind a thousand miles away as your arms snap to steady him. Your phone falls to the floor, with a deep thump, and at this point, you don’t register the fact that the man’s dead in your arms until it’s too late.

His head hits your shoulder, and your ears twitch at the sound of a wet splat – something mushy hits the floor before you stumble a few steps backward. Baptized in blood. It coats you like a second skin. How could a human body hold so much blood?

“...Mahdi?” You whimper, ears ringing and body shaking so badly you feel the man slide off you. The corpse slams to the floor, vibrating the hardwood. 

Your hands are held outstretched, fingers clenching and unclenching in shock. You don’t notice the shadow running up to you before the man has you by the wrist. The phantom utters your name into the air just as you notice the neighbor across the street rush to her front window.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry – I’ve got you.” 

Reality comes to you in the thin moments between the realization that Karim’s body was bleeding all over John’s foyer and the knowledge that you were being dragged outside. For everything that was going on, you can’t help that your first coherent thought is ‘John’s going to have to replace the hardwood. That’s so expensive…I’ll have to pitch in.’

When your heels get skinned on the hard concrete is the exact moment you felt a shred of sanity come back and weave its way into your brain. 

“What the fuck?!” Screaming, your arm jerks back, eyes borderline feral as the adrenaline finally prompted you to consciousness. Looking up as the stranger's grip only tightens to a painful degree you stifle an enraged wail.

The man was familiar to you – not in a ‘this is my friend I've known for years’ type of way but more of a ‘this is a man I’ve seen in passing’ you think to yourself. 

It was the waiter. 

The fucking waiter from the restaurant you and John had gone to for your first official date. He had heard you talking about your favorite flowers while he poured you wine…

But that was upwards of a year and a half ago. Your skin crawled, feeling violated in such a way you had never experienced before.

As you feel your heart bursting through your chest, you bring your opposite hand up and clench it; trying to land a sucker punch to the bastard's smug face as he stares at you with dark eyes. Your fist grazes his cheek, bearly causing a reaction. 

His other hand holds a revolver, glinting in the light.

Before your shock-filled brain can attempt to understand what's exactly going on, the Waiter’s gun raises as your nails scratch at his face, peeling back skin and leaving red lines behind. As the butt of the weapon slams into your temple, the last words you hear are uttered right next to your ear – foreign lips whispering the sentences and making you want to throw up. Maybe you do, but you can’t be sure at that moment.

“I’ll take care of you, Orchid. Better than John Price ever could. Steady now. I’ve got you.”

Hands drag you by the arms, and you hear the opening of a rusty car door before you’re thrown into the back seat. Images swirl in your vision, and blood makes your skin taunt with gore. 

Your last thoughts are of John’s blue eyes.

—

The first sensation you feel is the tight bindings over your wrists and ankles. They weren't rough – and you instantly knew the restrictions didn’t have the fibers belonging to hard rope. Keeping your eyes closed as the pulse in your head pounds to a degree that leaves your hands shaking, you strain your ears. The wooden chair keeping you up leaves your neck limp; chin compressed into your collarbone.

To your left, your ears twitch at a noise. Classical music wafts like wind off walls you choose not to open your eyes and see. But based on the echos the room is small – not large enough to allow the tune to carry far. Your feet shuffle, and in the process your knee slams into a hard object that leaves you clenching your jaw to stop a yelp of pain. 

The jolt causes a reverb of wood sliding over the floor. Lightly peaking an eye open your blurry vision lands on the tall table in front of you – the stain is patchy, with paint flecks living on the legs as you look down. A morbid curiosity flows through you, and your horrified gaze jumps from one object to another; your chest palpitating. 

Everything in this room was worn down, old, and ancient. A radio sits to your left on a nightstand with one duck-taped leg; the momentary static that overtakes the eerily playing tune shows that the device was having trouble receiving the channel. 

Where am I? You ask yourself, looking at the table with a set of dust-layered plates and utensils. Two wine glasses glint in a single overhead light attached to a roof that comes to a sloping stop. This looked like a dingy attic room – the type where the Christmas decorations were shoved away to rot for a whole year and where young children were terrified to enter. Sniffing as your hands experimentally clench, you catch the scent of rotting wood and water damage. 

“...What the…?” Your lips grunt out, shaking your head to dispel the fog as you notice the blue silk bindings keeping you tied to a white-painted wooden chair. No one else was in here except for you, “What is this?”

Jerking your arms, your mind runs over the obscure facts that John would drop – either calling attention to the true crime shows you would watch in your free time or simply because of his extensive service career. 

Most people who are abducted are killed within a short amount of time from when they’re taken…three out of five women who are in this situation are sexually assaulted, abused, or exploited, You pull more heavily at your binds, feeling one on your left leg loosen as you let out a wavering sigh of achievement, Only 0.1% of people are abducted by strangers.

“Fucking hell,” You whimper as a pulse from your blood-stained temple leaves you light-headed, “Add me into that percentage, I guess.” Your thoughts border on hysterical, sweat coating your hands as a humorless chuckle shakes from your throat. You have to bite your lip to shut yourself up from divulging into loud barks of laughter.

The silk digging into your skin holds, and you don’t dare make any more noise than you already are. Looking around frantically, your flickering eyes land on the twin forks on the table; tantalizingly out of reach and mocking you. 

“Oh, screw you,” Growling, you throw your head back and try and look behind you, straining your neck to a point you start restricting your airways – maybe there was something of use? 

Nothing. Just a window covered in newspaper and the faint glow of a setting sun. You hadn’t even thought of the time. How long had you been unconscious? The blood staining you from head to toe was all dried and made your clothes hard and stiff; the wound at your temple had stopped bleeding. You licked your lips and couldn’t stop the sting in your eyes. 

Hours had passed. Precious hours. 

John has to be back in London by now, You reason, hoping against hope, He knows I’m gone and’ll be on it in no time. I have to hold out until then. 

Gasping at your lack of air, you turn your head back around and cough into your shoulder raggedly; sucking down breaths. Black dots fly over your vision in squiggly patterns. 

In that moment of trying to get your lungs to understand you weren't dying, a sound had started up from below your feet in this decrepit house. At first, you hadn’t noticed it – the thumps so muffled your mind had mistaken them for your own skipping heartbeat, but then there was muttering. 

Someone was speaking to themselves downstairs. Your body froze; becoming so still that not even your hair moved with the shallow puffs from your nostrils. It was like your nerves had turned to stone, and your ears strained to hear. 

“...hope she likes it…worked so hard to make it perfect…” Footsteps bounce off the wood as your eyes stay locked onto the door directly across the room. It wasn’t long before the handle started to jiggle. 

Keeping a scream locked in your throat, John’s voice comes to you from between the racing of your mind. 

He had been telling you about how he was captured by Russian Special Forces on one of his Black Ops. – totally alone and unable to contact his team.

“But I had to play their game,” John had muttered into your hairline; laying gentle kisses as you caressed a long scar up his abdomen and right peck. He grumbled his appreciation, shivering as your nails raked through his chest hair, “Make them think I was giving them what they wanted until I could loosen the rope.”

“That sounds stressful,” You had murmured, pressing your lips to his raised skin and feeling his mustache nuzzle your forehead with a delicate scrape, “How did you manage it, Love?”

“Well, I had years of practice under my belt.” John’s eyebrow rose with a smirk, “But they also knew what to expect from me right off the bloody bat – I just had to surprise ‘em; to keep them on their high horse. A little white lie is better than a punch to the gut, eh?”

The door opens, and a plan already starts to form before it closes with the click of a lock.

“Orchid!” You flinch, your body throwing itself back into the chair as your head snaps to face the entrance. The Waiter’s head of blonde hair was greasy with a product – slicked back and trimmed. Red marks are traveling down his face from your nails.

He was handsome, tall in a lanky sort of way, and in a suit; holding a handful of blue Hydrangeas and white Orchids. Even looking at the flowers causes your stomach to roll; bile to fill the base of your throat and burn to be expelled. 

You decided at that instant that you never wanted to see any type of flower again for the rest of your life. 

“You look stunning, My Love!” The man exclaims, rushing into the small space; placing the flowers down on the table delicately, and grabbing you by the cheeks. 

You let a small sob, trying to move farther back but his fingers only dig deeper and threaten to break skin. Something flashes over his dark gaze, irritating perhaps, or pleasure from seeing you finally in front of him? You don’t like either option.

Play the game; buy time.

But could you play it correctly with all the raging blood pumping through your veins? Hot sweat slithering down your spine like a snake? Would John find you before something horrible happened? 

“What’s the matter?” The Waiter asks you, caressing your cheek with one of his thumbs, “I’m sure I didn’t hit you so hard you forgot me? Right?” 

“O-of course not.” You choke out, voice hoarse. If your chest was any tighter it would implode on itself. 

The Waiters eyes brighten. 

“But,” The light overhead sways, and a slight pattering over the window hints at a coming rainstorm, “I think I must have forgotten your name – my head hurts really bad.” Stifling a yell, the man’s head rears back in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” He gasps, removing his hands and shuffling back a few steps. You move your wrists experimentally, but the silk was still tight over you, “I was just so concerned you might start screaming,” The bastard dares to laugh, a sultry bark of a sound – nothing like John’s deep grumble, “I’m Colby, there, now you must remember me.” 

Colby was speaking so normally it made you even more afraid of him, but you still made a smile flicker over your quivering lips.

“That’s right,” You say, “Colby. I remember.” 

He smiles with all teeth, but his eyes hold nothing inside of them; his dress shoes click over the floor as he shuffles to the opposite end of the table to the empty chair. Colby moves the plates and utensils. One is placed carefully in front of you and after a moment the position is fixed by his slender fingers like he had envisioned this moment millions of times over. 

“I’m making dinner downstairs – Honey Roasted Duck. One of your favorites. You told,” Colby grumbles, venom leaking into his tone. His digits tighten before they slam a fork down on your plate. Your legs jerk, knee once more slamming into the table leg and making you hiss in pain. Colby doesn’t notice, thankfully, “John Price when we met for the first time, but I always listened better than him. He’s never made you Honey Roasted Duck before.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You try and reason, body shaking violently; your leg starts to struggle as you attempt to loosen the already slack silk of your left leg, “But, uhm, how am I going to eat my favorite food if my hands are tied?” 

“I’m going to feed you myself. Don’t worry, my Love.” Colby looks up and shakes his head, locks flying. He sets the glasses down and takes a step back, looking at the scene with roving eyes. 

“Oh,” You swallow the saliva in your throat, “But I don’t want to be a burden. I just want to–”

“No!” Colby suddenly yells, eyes flashing and making you release a yelp in fear, “I’m going to help you – what don’t you understand about that?!” 

“Okay!” You appease, waving your hands up as far as their able. A panicked look crosses your face and your eyebrows draw in, “Okay, but c-could you at least loosen them a small bit, please – I promise you I want to stay with you but my arms are losing circulation. It’s hurting me, Colby.” 

Colby’s expression is hesitant, lips taking a downturn as the storm outside starts to pick up, the wind hitting the house and shaking the walls. Rain slaps the window like tiny bullets. 

You try not to think about Mahdi Karim – about his body laying in John’s foyer. But he had been so nice to you. Your head starts running, running over possibilities about the officer's life. What if he had a family? A spouse? Kids?

Fuck, Your throat tightens, and your nose scrunches right after. Tears burn the side of your vision and a slight sniffle enters the stale air. Everything becomes blurry in a vile vale of waterworks. The agony at your temple increases as you tilt your head up to the ceiling, don’t cry. 

“No, no, no, Orchid,” Colby pleads, “Don’t cry! I’m sorry it hurts but It’s for your own safety.” He rushes over grabbing onto your shoulders, digging his fingers into the meat of our skin over John’s bloodied shirt.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You scream, your voice echoing off the walls as you begin to struggle. You weren’t John. You couldn’t play this game, “You goddamn freak! You killed Mahdi! I’m-I’m covered in his blood!” 

A clammy hand snaps over your neck, restricting your airways. 

Your eyes bulge; body stiffening as your mouth gasps open like a fish. The grip is hard – firm – and you already mark the way your legs try and break out of the silk from under you in desperation. Your mid-section dances around, arms bounce, and hands splay.

Colby only stops when you feel your own saliva drip down the side of your mouth, and the struggle has left your body until dark dots nearly swallow you whole. 

His hands fall, and your head does as well. Wheezing and feeling the burning in your throat, above the ringing in your ears, you make out the man’s sobbing snarl.

“Why would you make me do that?! God, can’t you see I’m trying to make things work?! God this is all that John’s fault. He’s the one that got in the way!” He stomps out of the door, slamming it so loud that everything on the table either falls to its side or hits the floor. The click of a lock is heard a second later as you try and will away the burning in your lungs as lightning cracks outside.

Gasping and feeling your tears slap your sweatpants like a river, you whimper under your breath but find that speaking only makes your neck hurt ten times worse, “John.” 

You stay in that room for two days. No food. No water. Colby had all but disappeared except for his muttering from downstairs and his shuffling; the occasional shadow would stand in the hallway just behind your door. In all that time the storm hadn’t let up and from what you could tell there was a leak in the attic ceiling because the constant drip of water was sounding off from behind you.

Drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop. 

You don’t know when the idea first pops into your head – maybe it’s when Colby finally peaks inside on that second day near suppertime – but since seeing the broken pieces of the plate on the floor a grim silence had settled in your bones. 

Colby doesn’t linger and with a promise of coming to check in on you later and ‘make up’ the deep swelling bruises along your neck pulse. It felt like your entire throat was held under a knife that was slowly being rocked back and forth like a seesaw, peeling back the blackened skin until your tendons and nerves were open to the air. 

Swallowing a thick glob of saliva and mucus down your dry throat, your foot catches on one of the longer plate fragments which ends with a razor-sharp tip. You know the sharp edge bites into your flesh, piercing it as your toes angle it just right but silk was an easy fabric to rip if you got the right angle, and pain had now become secondary. 

Survival was all that mattered – not how, just that you made it out of this with your head screwed on. 

What would John think about all of this? You numbly wondered, hunger and thirst working their way through you as your foot tilts up, heel hitting the floor. With a tooth biting into your lip, you drag the fragment back and begin pinching it into the flesh of the front of your upper ankle – right where the top edge of the silk skins you. Struggling the last two days had given you nothing but weeping wrists and ankles; blisters that leak puss and stain the blue fabric a nasty yellow.

Sucking in a quick breath that leaves more tears gathering in your eye sockets, your lashes flutter over your cheeks just as you hear a small tear. You jerk your leg up, and the silk completely falls from you, ripped with the sound of a zipper playing like a melody in your ear.  

The plate piece clinks to the floor nearly soundlessly and the storm covers for you as a bewildered smile cracks your lips open. 

I did it! 

You look down, and with your free limb, you go to pull the knot on your other ankle, eventually just getting to a point where you pull so hard one of your toenails completely rips off. Not even noticing, your continue until the floor is pooling with your blood, nails having completely torn into the flesh of your restrained leg until, once more, the silk tears with a blue glint. 

Yes! 

Pushing yourself up, you stop yourself from passing out by focusing on the broken wine glass on the table, stumbling forward, and nearly falling right into the table in the process. A moment later your fingers are all cut to hell, having grasped the glass and moving the pieces in your hand until one the right size cuts your palm open. Panting like a dog and whimpering, you tilt your mangled hand and use the piece to cut away half of your remaining restraints. 

Just like that, You tell yourself, just like that. 

The chair clatters to the floor just as you free your last hand. 

Remaining frozen, stilled into shock, the house goes silent in an instant. No shuffling. No muttering. Stale air and a storm that rages outside. 

You take a breath…then two. 

Maybe he didn’t hear–!

Running footsteps are coming up the stairs. They slam into the wood, and an enraged shout spurs your leaking body into action. There was only one way out of the house from this level – one exit that Colby wouldn’t take even if you were stupid enough to. But what choice did you have? By the time the door was blasted off its hinges by a rampaging man with a revolver, your body was disappearing from the attic window – the one once covered by newspapers that you had spied the first time you woke up. The storm pounded, and for a moment you imagined you were a raindrop, falling from the clouds to hit the earth and shatter into a million invisible pieces. 

In essence that’s exactly what you did. You fell. You hit. You broke. 

But adrenaline is a powerful drug. 

As Colby stands awe-stricken in what remains of the window, not even able to aim his revolver. Your body jolts up from a three-story drop into a dead bush and peels out over the abandoned neighborhood; old houses falling apart and more broken down than the last. 

You pant and sob, knowing that many of your ribs were broken even if you had never experienced the sensation before, and push on with failing legs. Glass sticks from our skin like porcupine quills, leaving stains of gore behind you as our blood footprints are washed away by the rain. 

It’s completely dark out – not a single street light on or able to illuminate your flooded concrete path.

Slamming into the side of a house, you scream, knowing your arm shouldn't be hanging like that by your side but not there enough to care. Rain pelts your head, cleansing you of the blood and puss and everything else. 

Taking a confusing path through the alleyways and open backyards, your feet dig into the mushy grass until you zip around a corner. Running so fast and banking so suddenly you don’t have time to stop yourself before you’re slamming into a wall. The solid mass causes your body to reel back, a wet, strangled, gasp ripping from you. Your clothes only add to the weight of your limbs as you fall a weak outcry meeting the air. 

But before your body can slam into the ground a weight snaps to your wrist and a frantic voice meets the air. Not a wall, then.

“Holy fucken’ shit!” The masculine voice coated in surprise meets your ringing ears above the downpour, British in accent, “Ma’am?!” 

The world is blurry, but with your flickering eyes you can make out a dark face, a ball cap with the British flag embroidered on the front, and wide brown eyes set into a visage with light stubble. He wears gear that you had become familiar with – John wore something similar; a beige vest with packs and straps down his arms and legs. An M13 hangs over his chest, his other hand holding it steady by the side.

“Ma’am?! Are you alright?” The world snaps back into focus, a great snarl of wind ripping down the alleyway and ruffling your frame, “Can you tell me your name?”

Wait, You blinked sluggishly, Didn’t John show me a picture of his teammates? Why does this guy look familiar?

Your boyfriend had a single picture of him and all of his Task Force buddies put in his living room above the fireplace – when you had asked about who he worked with he had grabbed it and told you. It put you at ease to know that in the field he was surrounded by the impressive caliber that the sill image had shown. John had been all too happy to tell funny stories about incidents in the field; careful to leave all the bits that he didn’t want you to hear, out. 

“Kyle Garrick?” The words sound like nails on a chalkboard; eyes narrow on both sides, yours in fatigue and his in confusion. You shiver and shake before weakly trying to pull your hand away from him. His grip remains firm, but not enough to hurt. The soldier moves his gaze down your body, eyelids lifting. 

“Fuck.” After the exclamation, Kyle brings you into him, just as you feel your legs tremble and buckle. Collapsing into his chest and feeling your body press uncomfortably into his pouches as you let out a bleat in genuine agony that most would only hear in a movie. 

The man utters your name breathlessly into that air and you resist a sob that bubbles in your chest.

“Bloody hell, Sweetheart, you’re coming with me. I’ll get you out of here, just keep your eyes open a little longer.” Kyle’s arms travel down wrapping around the backs of your knees and lifting. You yell, eyes scrunching, as waves of heat travel down your spine, “I’ve got you.”

The sentiment was nice, and the man that John calls ‘Gaz’ is incredibly kind, but you don’t want his arms around you – you want your boyfriend’s. 

Where’s John?

Gaz huffs as he stares down at you, cataloging the bruises and cuts – the dislocated arm that hangs uselessly out of his hold. Your head is pressed into his neck, the Sergeant’s reliable body suddenly taking off at a quick pace through the alleyway, boots rushing over puddles and garbage with surety. 

Off farther down the street, enraged screaming echoes out and you force yourself deeper into Gaz’s grip. The man curses under his breath, taking a turn out into the road and booking it with his long legs. Over the pounding of his heart in your ear Kyle’s fingers dig into your clothes, keeping you tight against him. After a minute of jerkily bouncing in his hold, Gaz’s feet stomp up a set of old wooden stairs, causing your body to flinch up and down. He utters a soft apology and shoulders his way into an abandoned house.

The decaying door smacks the far wall as the man drags rainwater all the way into the front hallway.

“Ghost! We have a problem - A big one – where have the other two gone?” 

A voice wavers in from upstairs as Gaz sets you on your feet, guiding you by your shoulders to lean against the wall as he takes frantic glances outside. He shuts the door quickly; letting darkness once more descend in the sheltered area.

“What you mean ‘we have a problem?’” Gaz brings a flashlight from his front pouch, coming up to you and grabbing you lightly by the chin. 

“Careful, Love,” He mutters, clicking the light on, “I just need to shine this in your eyes, yeah? Won’t take more than a second.”

You swallow and send a small twitch of your lips in approval but even that hurts. Your eyes squint when the man finally angles the flashlight right in front of his face, moving it back and forth from one of your orbs to another. It makes your eyes water, but you can’t tell if that’s from the heavy realization of what’s happened to you or if the light only agitates the sensitive makeup of your optics. 

“Sergeant?” That same voice flows from upstairs, and footsteps suddenly thunder from above. The sound makes you flinch back, snapping your head away from the light and locking to the staircase at the far end of the hallway. Gaz clears his throat ahead of you.

“It’s just Ghost – a-a friend. He’s here to help you.” Your lips thin but you nod carefully. 

A hulk of a man comes down to the ground floor, clothed in the same attire as Gaz beside a half-skull mask that covers his face. Under the covering, a black sheet sits over his head. You can only see Ghost’s eyes – blue and numb. Much colder than John’s…like ice rather than a Blue Bird’s underbelly. 

He stops for a moment and the two of you lock eyes. Shuffling, you look away first, gaze flickering to the side as Gaz stands to his full height. 

“Bloody hell,” Ghost monotones, “That her, then?” 

“Get the Captain and Soap on the radio, I need to stop the bleeding,” Gaz barks, grabbing you around your shoulders and practically dragging your body into the adjacent room – the living room, “Tell them I got her and that we need Medical Evac!” He sets you down on the couch and kneels on the floor; digging through his equipment and sending quick glances from under his cap at your rapidly deteriorating state.

You never registered Kyle’s sentence – already the veil at the edges of your vision is taking over. Your pain had begun to dim. In your mind, you knew that was bad but couldn’t, at that moment, care. The glass still sticks out of you, your bones still broken and arm dislocated; feet bleeding and neck more black and blue than any other color, but the euphoric feeling in your brain was enough to block it all out. Mahdi Karim’s life, at that moment, had never ended and you don’t wear the evidence in streaks down your face or on John’s clothes. 

“Hey,” Gaz lightly taps your forehead with a finger, making your eyes refocus for a moment before they blur again, “Hey, now,” He attempts to smile, forcing out a chuckle, “Come on, keep those eyes at me. I know I don’t look like John but I don’t think I’m that bad to stare at.” 

A pressure is settled on your ribs, and with a sharp inhalation, you pull back as bile fills your mouth. 

“Easy,” Kyle whispers, pushing the rag he holds deeper into a long cut over your side that weeps crimson. You blink down at it – you had never even noticed. Had you gotten that in the fall? 

“Tell me about how you met John.” Your eyebrows furrow, body beginning to slump forward as your hands shake violently in your lap; the clothes over your skin sticking to you uncomfortably. 

“Library,” You slur, voice gravely. Oh, that hurt.

“A library?” Gaz presses his hand tighter, smirking up at you, “Well, can’t say I’m too surprised. I’ve seen the man go through five books in a single Op. over in Egypt. Never understood that, to be honest. I can’t focus on one for more than an hour.”

Weak amusement filters over your expression.

“Garrick,” Ghost’s voice sharply enters the room, his presence making itself known as it lightly jogs into the room, “Mark’s near the kitchen window; coming around clockwise.”

“Shit,” Gaz hisses, about to stand up before Ghost stops him.

“I’ve got the curtains, keep pressure and make sure she doesn’t pass out.”

“Affirm.” 

Ghost rushes across the room, grabbing the moth-eaten fabric that was swinging uselessly over the living room and snapping it shut. His hands hold his Grau 5.56 Assault Rifle firmly as he angles his body on the wall next to the window. 

Watching his eyes flicker, his gaze once more finds yours. Blinking, both of your orbs stay locked for a minute or two until he looks away, going back to guarding the window. His feet move, legs angling themselves onto a ready stance.

Clenching your eyes shut, your lips pull down – pins and needles making your skin itch. 

A shadow moves from outside, leaving a melting outline that slithers past like a serpent. 

“Where the fuck are they,” Gaz snarls under his breath. Adrenaline was making the man’s hands vibrate over your side, and your eyes were becoming heavier. The hypnotizing sound of the rain puts you into a trance.

Your body slips forward. 

“No!” The man ahead of you harshly whispers – grabbing the limp form of your frame and rearranging you until you were on your side, body lying on the couch. His hands quickly return to your still-bleeding wound, setting his shoulders so he can bear more weight down on you. 

Your lips release a small exhale of air that wheezes from you and the squelching of a blood-soaked rag makes your eyelids flutter and skin wrinkle. 

“Gaz get the woman’s bloody eyes open.”

“I’m trying! Come on, Love…please–!” 

Gunshots ring out from outside, yells growing out over the thunder and lighting – a static sound enters the living room. At this point, the only part of you working property was your ears; in the thin bits of reality you could make out voices that leave your ears twitching in familiarity. 

“--outside! We’re coming in…Cover us!”

“Copy!” Ghost yells, rushing away from the window to thunder his way to the front door. 

The echo of running feet from outside suddenly became closer and the sharp ring of “MacTavish – Go!” 

That voice was so familiar, but why couldn’t you place it? 

Multiple feet storm inside, thumping over the floorboards, one continuing down the hallway as Ghost and the other stay to shut the door and stand watch.

“Where the hell is she!?”

“Here!” Gaz calls and a groan exits you at the loud voice so close to your sensitive ears. A heavy body can be felt moving rather than heard as it rampages closer. A shadow moves behind your eyelids just as a strong bout of wind makes the house’s windows rattle. There’s a pause, and then a slow breath inhaled.

A deep voice, layered with grit and dipped in urgency.

“How bad is it, Sergeant?” Your body tenses and with a flickering eyelid, you force your consciousness to come back to you. Opening your eyes halfway, the blurriness only peels back enough for you to notice a looming figure broader and more built than Gaz – a wet bucket hat sitting on top of a beard-covered face. Concerned blue eyes bore into you as the man knees down. 

“John?” Your voice wavers, a strangled tormented type of imitation of normal speech. Gaz’s hand leaves your side and your boyfriend replaces it. Your entire abdomen had lost feeling. Was this a dream?

“Garrick, where’s the fucking Evac?” John hisses, wild eyes falling from one open wound to another. His body orients itself next to you, free hand coming to grip your cold cheek. You breathe out a sigh of relief, familiar scared fingers and calloused palms wiping away rain, blood, and tears.

John was in the state he always was when he was on missions and a teammate was struck down – he had to be. If he thought about you too hard, or the blood that stains his grip, he would put you in even more danger; lose his edge. He would panic.

“Ghost contacted them, Sir. They’re ten minutes out – police are fifteen.” 

“We need to move.” The conversation continues, but you space out every once and a while, at least until the hand on your cheek shakes your head. 

“Love, I’m going to move you,” Your eyes refuse to stay open as John calls your name getting increasingly louder, “...Shit...!” 

Gaz’s voice warbles from across the room, “The Mark’s still out there – you sure we should make a move? We don’t have eyes on him, Captain.”

“What else do you bloody suggest I do, then, Sergeant? Let my girl bleed out? Not on my fucken’ life. We’re making for the Humvee. Guns hot…I’m going to need you on my six.” 

Arms go to wrap around you, dragging you to a warm chest that you go to limply and without protest. 

“Stay with me,” John’s breath hits your cheeks and you feel his breath stutter, his panic growing as your body grows colder in his grip, “please, stay with me.” 

But the Captain was an experienced man – praying for a future event was worthless to him. He had to act for it. 

So the man tightens his hold, hiking you farther into his sheltering grip with a brief and shaky kiss on your forehead that leaves your nose wrinkling.

“Muppets,” John barks, looking up and stalking out of the living room, “we’re making a run for it. Gear up.” 

Your boyfriend doesn’t know if he’s carrying your dead body in his arms, but as Ghost opens the front door and rushes out with his weapon at the ready, John doesn’t stop to think. Soap takes up a stance near his side, sending concerned glances at your non-responsive form, and Gaz settles on taking the rear. 

The street is silent besides the rain, and the entire Task Force rushes out with snapping eyes and tight chests. It was a dead silence – one where the air is quivering with tension.

John looks once more down at your face, pulling to memory the panic he had felt when he found Mahdi Karim’s body in his foyer. He had entered his house, gun drawn, when he had noticed the front door was open; a specific type of agony he had never felt before constricting his throat. 

Of course, he had relationships before you, but never had he felt this strongly before – never felt this level of anger and hatred for someone who had caused harm. 

You were so vastly important to him that it made him sick to think of you dead before him. 

Grunting, John increases his pace over the ground, now sprinting in complete distress.

“I promised you we would watch that movie, Love,” He whispers, rainwater weighing down his hat, “Go for a walk down in Green Park so you could see the baby birds.” A wet laugh bursts from his chest and he plays off the tears in his eyes as he clenches his jaw. John doesn’t care about the rain, or your blood staining his vest, not even the water in his boots. All that matters is getting you back to the Humvee; getting you immediate medical attention and making sure that the son of a bitch that did this is–

A shot rings into the night and John lets out a strangled shout. Burning pain erupts from his right shoulder. He falls, but conscious of the precious cargo in his arms, the man twists his body to shield you as he connects with the ground; water flies around as he lands in a puddle. John’s breath is momentarily expelled from his lungs.

“Contact! Contact!” Gaz screams.

“Steaming bloody Jesus!” Soap yells out, moving into a circle of John and your’s bodies, “Captain’s been hit!”

“I’ve got him! Johnny, Gaz, flush ‘em out!” 

John groans, cursing under his breath and drawing your body closer to him. 

Keep her safe, He thinks as he blinks away black dots, get her back home. 

“Come on,” Ghost’s shielded visage appears above him, gripping him by the uninjured shoulder and forcing him up. More shots ring out over the night, but far off in the distance sirens start to breach the night, “Now, you want to explain to your bird when she’s awake why you’ll be off on leave for a bloody month, or am I going to have to do it?”

John clenches his jaw to stop the waves of pain. Ghost offers to take you from him, but he snarls, forcing himself to his feet as his blood splashes over his clothes.

“Fuck off, Lieutenant.”

—

The beeping was becoming too annoying to ignore, like a fly buzzing around your head. With a groan, your eyelids flutter and it takes a few minutes for you to open them fully. Squinting, the dim white lights meet you and a small breeze from an open window makes goosebumps ripple up your arms. 

You first notice the fuzziness around your body – strong pain meds making you loopy and floating. Twitching your fingers, the mattress under you shifts as you do; you test the mobility of your limbs with gentle movements, a rotation of your ankles, which are all heavily bandaged, and a rolling of your shoulders. All actions spark a numb shiver of caution. 

It would be unwise to move. 

Lifting your now re-set arm and tilting your head down, the tight bandages around your neck make you pause. 

John was there, Your eyes widen; body messing up the cover over your lower body. The beeping of medical machines suddenly increases as you strain yourself to sit up. Just as you do, a voice from across the room causes you to halt, veins freezing under your skin; your heart skips a beat before you recognize the voice a second later.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Gaz whispers, “I just got him to fall asleep, you know.” Blinking, your gaze goes to the window across the hospital room there the tall man leans near the glass. He smiles lightly, and bags take shape under his dark eyes, “I’m sure you know how stubborn he can be. Especially about you. I’ve never seen him so damn restless.” 

Your brow furrows, not trusting your voice to speak your confusion. Gaz points, and you follow his gaze to an uncomfortable-looking chair mere inches from your bed. 

It’s made of wood and a small blue cushion, a hard backing that you could see someone getting a stiff neck over. But you focus on the man sitting there instead of the dented frame – the slumped build in a hospital gown and an IV in the left hand that’s held down by two pieces of medical tape. John’s face and neck are slack, small eyes shut as his chest rumbles with soft snores that put your heart at ease like listening to a cat purr. His skin was illuminated by the gentle glow of a new morning, but under his eyes, there was the heavy burden of black and blue bags. 

Had no one gotten any sleep beside me? How long have I been out?

“He wouldn’t let the nurses force him out,” Gaz mutters, but you don’t move your wet gaze from John, “Nearly punched the bloody Doctor, too – Laswell had to sort it out, or else he would have been discharged. Decking a Civvy isn’t a good look for a Captain, now is it?” 

The man shakes his head, releasing a highly amused chuckle, and walks to your opposite bedside; grabbing a glass of water he taps your shoulder and causes you to turn forward. Unwilling to stop looking at the ethereal image of your sleeping boyfriend, you keep him in the sides of your vision as Gaz brings the glass to your lips. You’d be unable to hold it – the nearly inch-thick gauze over your hands and wrists was incredibly restrictive. 

You gulp down the liquid thankfully and tap on Kyle’s wrist when you’ve had enough. He pulls back and your wipe the droplets from your chin before you delicately smile at the man as thanks. 

Gaz nods, placing the glass back on the table.  

“...The staff had to just about rip him off of you. They said you had to go into surgery for your ribs and he ‘bout lost his head. But he had lost so much blood himself that it was easy enough for Soap to drag him away.” 

Lost blood? Your head snaps his way so hard you sway lightly. 

“Woah, careful, Love,” Gaz holds out a hand and hovers it above your arm, but looks sheepish and spares a silent glance to John when your boyfriend grumbles in his sleep, “Yeah,” He scratches the back of his neck, “Cap. took a bullet to the right shoulder.”

You turn and look at John more carefully, landing on the afflicted side and spying the extra bulkiness under his garment. 

What do you mean he took a bullet?! 

John shifts and your eyes widen in horror when he flinches in pain. His chin had hit his shoulder, forcing his eyes to flutter open in retaliation.

“Sergeant,” He grumbles, the huskiness of his voice making your cheeks heat, “I told you not to let me fall asleep.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Gaz smirks, taking a step back and sending you a wink, “Must have spaced out.”

“Hm.” John shifts, moving and running a hand over his face and down his beard, scratching at the wire hairs and stifling a yawn. Your heart is in your throat as he blinks his eyes. Blue so momentarily being glimpsed in between flickers of dark eyelashes. You briefly hear the sound of receding feet and the door closing.

The sting of tears makes itself known to you.

“Gaz?” Your boyfriend questions, face squinting, and body shaking in a stretch, “Where did you–” He sees you sitting up and stops, eyes locking onto your own with shock. 

Your head tilts and a slow smile creases your face, making tears dribble down your cheeks. John sucks in a quick breath, immediately trying to stand, but you hold out a hand – stopping him. 

Just calm down, You want to tell him, Everything’s alright. You’re hurt too.

“Doll,” He breathes, hand coming to grasp the side of your face and keeping you there with a relieved smile. It looks like a weight had been lifted from his body, “There you are…How are you feeling? If there’s any pain just say and I’ll go grab the nurse – she’ll fix you right up, yeah?” 

You want to tell him that you love him, but settle on kissing his palm instead, feeling the heat of his skin on your own and wanting nothing more than to disappear into his hold. You don’t want the nurse, you want a hug. 

John’s eyes weave over your bandaged temple, and he runs a thumb over it as if his touch could make it better. If you had your voice you would say it did. Silence reigns for a few long moments.

“I thought he killed you, Sweetheart,” He whispers, vulnerable as his eyebrows turn in, and your hand comes up to run through his locks; dragging him closer until his face is slotted into your neck. Your heart breaks as John’s beard presses into the gauze, “I heard the glass from the attic window break, just about scared me half to death, that did,” John had never admitted to being scared before – not even when he was captured by the Russians. The realization has your heart skipping beats, nose going to press into the side of his head, and stifle a sob in his hair. Your vision was blurry, but not from the fatigue, “I saw so much blood but I searched and searched. I couldn’t find you. Then when Gaz had you in the living room, pressing that bloody towel to your side…You were so lifeless that I didn’t…I didn’t know if–”

“John,” You force out through gritted teeth, “Stop.” 

He was shaking just as badly as you were. You were both quite the pair, it would seem. Your Captain pulls back and begins pressing kisses to any skin available to him – your forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and finally your lips. You revel in the feeling of his soft kiss, leaving you breathless as he pours himself completely into you. 

You don’t know if you had ever met anyone as perfect as John Price before, and you would be content if you never did again.

He pulls back when you both feel your hearts slow and you look at him, eyes sliding over his face until they land on his right shoulder with a glint of guilt. But he notices. He always does.

“None of that, now,” John whispers, placing his forehead on yours and swiping your tears away. His tall frame blocks everything beside him and he smells of gunpowder, pine needles, and smoke, “You are so incredibly brave, you know that? You’re absolutely bloody brilliant, you are…but everything’s been taken care of – just leave the heavy lifting to the others for a little while. The only thing you need to do is rest for me, Love, can you do that?”

Your brow teasingly raises even as your heart bursts at the praise.

“Please.” You smile and point to his chest, poking right into the middle and huffing.

Only if you do too. 

John grunts and a chuckle makes his body rattle in the way only his could, “Won’t find me fighting you on that.” He disconnects your foreheads. 

You haven’t been sleeping, You brush the bags under his eyes, watching his eyelashes flutter, Oh, John…when will you stop being so stubborn? Your body was fighting with you to drag itself back to the mattress – lay down, it seems to say, go to sleep and rest. 

John’s heavy presence is like a weighted blanket, and although you knew there was much to talk about – when you were able – he gave off waves of comforting heat that made your muscles loosen. You seemed to have the same effect on John because he lays all of his body against the bed frame breathing deeply. 

“Wanted to be awake when you came too,” He whispers, and you smile, nuzzling into his neck, “Didn’t want you to be scared.”

I never could be, You think, not when you’re here. 

Getting an idea, you pull back and shake John’s head from side to side with your hands to get him to watch you. The man grumbles, opening his eyes with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, Love?”

Your body moves, and John’s tired eyes widen, “What are you–!” 

Scooting to the far side of the bed, you only release one grunt of uncomfortableness when you have to place weight on your reset arm. Around your middle, you feel the telltale pull of stitches and stop sooner rather than later. You pat the empty side and send John a look. 

“Alright,” He groans, “Just stop moving around.” 

John’s large body barely fits in the bed, leading you to mold into his side and him to wrap his arm around your shoulders. Wanting to show your disapproval as John clenches his jaw in pain as he moves his right side to give you more room, you slap his chest. 

“What else do you want me to do, woman?” He looks down at you, raising a brow and laying his hand on your arm; running a thump up and down, “Let you fall off? This was your bloody idea.”

You roll your eyes at his grumble, moving your head to rest on his peck. Already your eyes were drooping once more, and John presses his lips into the top of your head. A sigh rises his chest.

“Sleep, Love.” He whispers, beard getting caught in your hair as a deep rumble enters his body, “You’ll never have to worry about that Muppet ever again. Made sure of it.” 

Smiling, you fall asleep to the sound of his heart and the feeling of his large hands creating patterns along your arm; not long after he follows, small puffs of breath from his snores moving your locks as the morning light enters the room. 

Gaz would return not fifteen minutes later with two trays of hospital food, Soap tailing after and talking to Ghost about what Laswell was going to do with Colby. The Manchester man only slides his eyes down to the Scot from over his lower-face covering and hums; scratching at his neck.

“Laswell? I’d be more cornered with what Price is going to do with the bloke. Bastard’s not going to be able to hide in his cell when the man gets discharged. Kate knows it too.” 

Gaz peaked his head into the room and paused spying two softly embraced individuals holding each other as if they would disappear when their eyes would open. Light pays off your forms, and John grumbles in his sleep before shifting even closer to you and letting out a sigh. He had never looked so peaceful. 

Gaz smirks before letting the door silently slip shut. He turns back to the pair with the trays raising as his shoulders shrug comedically.

“Sleeping.”

“What?” Soap raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest, “Not ‘gonna wake ‘em up?”

“Do I look like I want to be eviscerated by a certain Captain, MacTavish? I’d quite like to keep my bloody neck, thank you.”

[moonit3]

a yandere suggestion (based off what I saw on Reddit)

Yandere king (maybe he could be obsessed?) x peasant

reddit has a yandere subreddit? didn’t expected that. but thinking now, that place has everything there.

THE MONARCH AND THE PAUPER

➥ warnings/notices: male yandere, gn! reader, violence, blood, age gap (both reader and the king are adult, but there is a line that refers the king being older), imprisonment, kidnapping, mentioned alcoholic drinks, children but nothing too much, future forced marriage, yandere being delusional and violent, reader gets chained, reader gets choked and then go unconscious, implied future punishments.

➥ yandere! king x pauper! gn reader

➥ synopsis: the lonely king falls in love with a masked person, now he is going to do anything to find them.

➥ a/n: got a little tired of writing smut, so i ended writing a more fairytale themed story compared to my previous works. also, i know it took some time to post it and there is no excuse for that, but please understand that i been spacing out more during the holiday season. but i plan to keep posting at least one time per week or two to keep working.

a long time ago, there was a seaside kingdom whose inhabitants adore it leader for his benevolence, intelligence and courage. the winds and waves of the territory were a synonym of richness of the people’s lifes, having the opportunity to see the ocean at its best and everyone couldn’t be happier for that.

to make things better to everyone, the king thrown a festival to celebrate the arrival of the spring. citizens of all social classes adventure themselves into the city, playing all the games of the fair, tasting the most delicious food and getting to spend time with their beloved ones.

and the king didn’t lose the opportunity to spend time alongside his people. he played numerous instruments to cheer the couple dancing, he gift expensive candies to the young children and of course, he had fun knowing more of his people and getting closer to them.

he meet many families and the smiles on their faces made the king feel happier, seeing how every citizen has someone to be part of the family. however his heart become cracked when the time for dance arrived and he soon realized there was no one to dance with him.

the vast majority were couple dancing in the middle of the city hall by the sweet melody playing in the background, there are children dancing together —but it would be embarrassing to ask little kids to dance with— so he keeps himself to the sidelines, watching the crowd have fun as he admires it from far away.

everyone enjoy their time dancing, except the king. he desperately wants to find a person to dance with him, so he prays for himself for the gods to send someone to be his partner for the next dance in order and luckily, one of the divinity hear his wishes.

before the musicians start playing the instruments, someone grab him into the dance floor and the person didn’t lose time to make him enter the rhythm of the song. their face hide behind a mask, but the king can sees the sweet smile on their face when they keep dancing and laughing with him.

“my majesty! have anyone told you are a great dancer?” his cheek goes red with their words, no one have told him that and no one ever hold his hands so intimately like this. “no? then i feel honored to be the first to tell you that.”

his heart beat faster whatever the mysterious person brought their body closer to his during the slow musics, smiling and even teasing the monarch. “oh my king, aren’t you the most handsome face of the entire kingdom?“ the redness of his cheek grown strong, reminding the masked person of a tomato, “you are adorable, my king! anyone would pay millions to see you like this~”

when the last song finished, the king and the masked person bowed to each other. a smile on the monarch’s face as he could tell his heart was stolen way prior the final note and he couldn’t let them go away before knowing their name. he grabbed their wrist before they could leave, they freeze when realizing the king looks stronger than its seems.

“my dear citizen,” his lips curves into a smile, pulling the masked person too close to him. feeling their uncontrolled breathing on his neck, perhaps they are the flustered type when someone flirts back. “as your king, you have to tell your name before leaving the festival. i demand you to show yourself to me.”

the king reached for the mask, wanting to remove away from the person, except the commoner managed to free themselves on the last second and fell into the ground as result. his eyes can see a small injury bleeding at their arm, feeling guilty, the king extended his hand to help them getting up. however, the person refused his aid and ran away into the darkness of the festival.

next morning, the news about the border closure made everyone shocked and scared, never in the hundreds years would the king close the gates of the territory. something must have happened to made the monarch panicked to do it, many people believe about a criminal on the loose while others suspect that a wild beast was sighted at the woods.

both options terrified the citizens and things didn’t help with the king refusing to tell them the real reason behind his choices, saying that’s a confidential matter. believing their leader, no one bet an eye when he preferred to keep it a secret and no one cared when a cloaked figure was brought to the castle by the guards.

being forced to be kneeling to the king isn’t something you expected for a normal day, not when you were hurting around the woods like you always do and now, you are handcuffed and the most powerful man of the nation stares down at you.

“do you know why are you here?” his voice echoed the throne room, making your body chill and hearing his footsteps getting closer to you doesn’t help either.

“i-i was caught hunting on the woods.” you stuttered. “even with the warning of the frontier getting closed, i disobeyed your orders—“ your words were abruptly cut off when the king slap across your face. his eyes showed no mercy by the tears coming out of you.

still crying, you were caught off guard by the king’s touch. feeling his harsh hands holding your cheeks didn’t comfortable, you can feel his touch mixed with frustration and regret when he clean your tears away. his grey eyes softened when your cheek before redder due to his aggression.

“you know that isn’t what i meant,” the frustration of his voice is evident. “the festival. you were the one who danced with me, isn’t that right?”

“i’m sorry, your majesty…” the handcuffs are too tightly wrapped around your wrists, it will leave a deep mark on you after it, but not as hurtful like the slap. “i was too drunk yesterday to remember anything from the festival.”

the memory of yesterday night is a distant one, clouded by the effect of the numerous bottles you drank to celebrate a friend’s birthday. the king’s frustration only grew, but this time with a hint of disbelief into it. his gaze bore into yours, observing of any trance of lies into your word.

“too drunk to remember?” his voice, now as a whisper, carried some disappointment.

with the room fallen into a suffocating silence, you could almost hear your the rhythmic of your own heart as the king approaches you slowly. your mind already thought of the worse, he will slap you once again, maybe sending you to the prison or just straight up killing you.

however, it’s didn’t happened nothing bad. the metallic click of the handcuffs falling into the ground brought you back to reality. amazed, your face slowed turn to see the king avoiding your gaze, this time his expression is unreadable, but you can feel that he has something in his mind.

“my king,“ even hesitantly, you create enough courage to speak up again, despite the perceptible urgency in your voice. “may i t-take my leave now?”

the lack of response from the king didn’t make you feel better, only deepening your fear when he seized your arm, forcing you to be pulled ayes from the throne room. with no chance of escaping from his grasp, you began crying to him, pleading to let you leave the castle and that you wouldn’t never returned. but despite that, all the yelling and pleading weren’t heard.

after dragging you deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, you find yourself trapped with the king inside his chamber. the strong winds coming inside the room are an indication that it’s to high to jump out and the only exit is now locked with the key hidden around the king’s neck.

dread settled into your heart when you felt the king’s lips on yours while shoving you into the bed. it last seconds, however it was more than enough to leave you breathless when you realize how his formerly cold eyes are now full of desire. along with his hands preventing you from getting up from the bed.

“let me go, you idiot!” this time, you attempt to put on a fight, a slap or something go defend yourself from his hands. luckily, you managed to hit some kicks on his stomach, but the king hasn’t move at all. “i will scream and show to the entire kingdom that you are a pervert!!”

the king doesn’t bothers with your threats, in fact, he is the one who ended yelling with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “why isn’t someone here to save you?” his laugh rang out loud in the chamber, making you silent with your eyes widened in fear. “see? that’s why the poor princesses are locked in the highest tower. so no one will hear them calling for help.”

his hands go over your skin, embracing it closer to his body and not letting you move away from his touch. feeling his arms wrapping around makes you tense, it makes you feel scared of what he is going to do. however, the king only pull you closer, too close to your taste, but you don’t dare to move away from him.

“my dear citizen,” hearing his voice so close to your ear feel awful, but you remain still, not wanting to see the worse of him. “do you know why i plan to lock you up here?”

you shake your head as a ‘no’.

“you have stolen my heart during at yesterday’s festival.” he is crazy. “during the numerous songs we danced together, i could feel that you have stolen a part of my heart with every touch of your at my skin. and with the smiles on your lips made me felt loved once again, you managed to make me feel younger.”

the words left you dumbstruck. a man, a figure with enough power to overcome wars, confessing to be in love with you—someone who is the lowest of today’s society. it’s weirdly, even stupid, to think that someone like him to reveal such feelings towards you regardless of knowing you for a day or so. hopefully, he is just drunk and speaking nonsense…

“that’s why i ask you for a small request, stay by my side forever.” he declared, completely unaware of your perplexed eyes. “we might not know much about each other, my dear. however, i’m confident to say that as times goes on, we will grown closer and get married soon. maybe even having children along the way.”

“marriage? you are insane!” your body moves on its own, creating resistance to fight against the king’s hands all over your body. “maybe delusional! but you aren’t a sane man. now, let me go!!”

one of your kicks strikes right into his stomach, giving you the opportunity to reach out for the key around his neck, pulling it away from him and hurting straight to the exit. unlocking the door was a successful and without a moment of hesitation, you began running away from the chamber.

your legs keep moving, searching for an exit away from the castle and your mind already thinks of a possibility of escaping the kingdom to avoid the king’s rage. however with halls all looking indistinguishable and the refusal of the servants to help you, it didn’t take much time to find yourself trapped inside the very same labyrinthine the king dragged you though.

and it didn’t take long for the king to find you again. this time angrier and violently, making you paralyzed in front of him. instantaneous, his hands met your neck and the pressure on it triggered your eyes to see black dots over your vision inducing your consciousness into sleep. the entire world went black because of him.

a sudden sensation awake you, drops of water falling into your skin. it’s helps you getting fully vigilant of the new place you are in, instead of the halls or even the king’s chamber, you are now locked inside a cell of the dungeons.

the dark walls full of spider’s web doesn’t help calming you down nor the chain wrapped your neck, making you regret your decision to fight against the king back then. maybe if you had stayed quiet and submissive like he wanted, you wouldn’t be in a place like this.

soon, the sounds of footsteps alerted you. and unsurprisingly, it’s the man himself standing in the other side.

“you will be spending some time here, to think about what you did wrong and what you shouldn’t have done back then.” you couldn’t help, but look at him with disgust. he speaks like you are an animal in need of discipline and he doesn’t stop. “I hope you understand that once you become more obedient, you will go back to stay with me at upstairs, where our wedding will happen during the next spring.”

“…have you lost your mind, my king?”

you expected him to yell or to potentially receiving another slap of him, nevertheless none of that occurred. instead, the king reached for the collar trapped around your neck and drawn you to cells bars, letting him hold your chin to stare up at him.

“you are the prettiest person i ever seen in my life, my dear [name].” yet again, you let him kiss your lips to avoid more conflict. “but we need to teach you some manner before i get to marry you, after all, none one would enjoy to the king to have an uneducated spouse. but don’t worry, we will have plenty of time together to teach you to become some worth of my love. from now on, you call me basil.”

a long time ago, there was a seaside kingdom whose inhabitants adore its leader and his spouse for their benevolence, intelligence, courage and simplicity. everyone admired how the highest person in the social hierarchy fell

In love with a pauper, someone who barely knew how to live.

their love become a tale to many people, sharing the story to those who came into the kingdom during many occasions and even telling relatives when traveling abroad. everyone knew about the sweet and magic story behind the king and the pauper.

every year since their wedding, the entire territory celebrates the most important holiday by gifting flowers to the king’s spouse and telling how happy everyone is to have someone like them next to their beloved leader. it’s adorable how they stay quiet and embarrassed when children tell them how much they are lucky to be married with a king, while the king himself laughs for their spouse’s shy behavior.

it’s rare when the former pauper comes out of the castle’s walls, staying there and taking care of the future heirs of the kingdom as part of their duty. the citizens admire how the spouse take the role of the main caretaker, instead of handling it to the maids as many leaders did, despite being someone who doesn’t have much experience in taking care of children, everyone knows they are doing their best.

and everyone knows how much the king loves his spouse, showing their feelings by giving them anything they wish in exchange for their eternal love. but none really knows what goes inside the castle’s wall when nobody is around the two of them

@moonit3 writings

[absurdthirst]

Stripped Down Love {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17.8k

Warnings: Age gap (everyone's legal), strip clubs, mentions of knowing someone when they were underage, lap dances, sex work, mentions of prostitution, derogatory language towards strippers, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, violence, accidental pregnancy

Comments: Javier comes back to Laredo and finds you, the adopted little sister of his ex-fiancée, working in the new strip club in town. Unable to stay away from you, Javi finds himself coming back to see you.

A/N: This story does contain mentions of age gaps and knowing Javier when you were a younger teenager. If this bothers you, please bypass.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Javier Peña MasterList ||

Javi rubs his cheek, tired of sitting in his pop’s house. Watching the old man snore as the news plays on the TV. Clinton gave some speech on the drug war and Javi wants to roll his eyes but he simply sighs and checks his watch. That’s it. He can’t sit here anymore. He has to go out. Laredo only has so many bars and Javi is well known in almost all of them. There’s one place he hasn’t ventured yet. It opened during the time he was in Colombia tracking down Cali and now, he’s intrigued. The flashing sign draws him in and after flashing his ID and paying the door fee, he walks inside and takes a seat. His dark eyes follow the girls who walk around in various stages of nudity. “Can I get you a drink, sugar?” One of them asks him and he nods, ordering a whiskey. 

“And now it’s time for our next dancer. Please welcome Margarita!” The announcement is loud and several men cheer, making Javi think this girl must be good if the regulars like her. He sips his whiskey as the music begins, eager to let loose and enjoy himself for a while.

The sudden flash of nerves that always attacks when you are announced floods your system but you smother them as the spotlight suddenly turns on, drawing the crowd's attention to where you are poised at the edge of the stage. The music you’ve picked out for this dance immediately starts blasting through the speakers and you focus on the beat as you rush towards the pole in the middle of the stage and jump on it, swinging around as you start your act. You try not to focus on the crowd, not even looking at them right now as you start to move to the beat and perform for them. 

Javi’s fingers twitch around the glass. Shit, the girl is gorgeous. No wonder everyone in here cheered. She’s swinging around the pole like it’s second nature and her body arches in a way that reminds him of when he makes a woman cum on his tongue. He licks his lips, imagining just that. 

She sways her hips and when she kneels on stage, that’s when Javi gets a good look at her. “Holy shit.” He whispers. He knows you. Lorraine’s kid sister. Well, adopted sister. Her parents kept trying for another kid but couldn’t, put their name on the adoption list and finally adopted you when Lorraine was in college, just before she met Javi. 

“Fuck.” He suddenly feels guilty, stomach churning as he continues to stare at you. You’re all grown up now. A fucking gorgeous woman. Men throw money on the stage when you finish your act but Javi continues to stare and that’s when you meet his gaze. 

Your eyes widen as you recognize the man you had a crush on when you were a teenager. Older, more rugged, and just as fucking sexy. You fumble to get the dollar bills, shoving them in your bra and you wink at Javi as you stand up and make your way backstage. “Holy shit.” You hiss to yourself, unable to believe he’s here. In the fucking strip club you work at. You have to talk to him. It’s been years and he might not even recognize you but you hope he still likes whiskey as you order one from the bar and carry it over to him. “Long time no see.” You say as you shift to stand in front of him, wearing lingerie that shows way too much skin.

Javi looks up into your eyes, trying to keep them focused on your face and not on the fantastic tits beneath your barely there scraps of lace. “It’s been, what? Twelve years?” He asks, finishing the rest of his whiskey and setting it down on the small table. “Looks like things have changed.” He doesn’t mean it in any negative way, everyone has to make a living and he won’t begrudge you that but he didn’t expect to see you here. He wonders what your sister and parents think of your profession, although he can’t expect it to be good. “How have you been?” 

You shrug, shifting to sit down beside him, “I’ve had better times. Worse times too.” You admit with a sigh. “This is for you.” You hand him the whiskey and his eyebrows raise. 

“Thanks.” He lifts the glass towards you, “can I get you one?” 

You shake your head, “I don’t drink during my shifts. Um, where to begin? I- I started working here to pay for my school. I'm trying to finish college.” 

Javier frowns, “didn’t you-?” 

You shake your head, “well, I was heading to college after high school but life went to shit. You went to Colombia and Lorraine lost her mind. Went into a spiral and our parents had to pay some big bucks to get her out of trouble and between that and the wedding that didn’t happen…I had to say bye bye to my college fund.” You wave at nothing, “and then I was mad because my future went down the drain because Lorraine pissed it away so I acted out. Got in with the wrong crowd, started treating Carol and George badly and George had enough. He threw me out. No money. Nada. I had to start from scratch at eighteen and so…I ended up here. Trying to get my life back on track after too many years of messing around.” You finish your story and look at Javier, “I heard you were back in town. Didn’t figure you’d end up here.”

“Shit.” Guilt settles in Javi’s gut and swirls around. If he hadn’t run away from the wedding, your life could have been far different. He doesn’t miss that you’ve called your adoptive parents by their names, assuming that you’ve not reconciled. “Yeah,” Javi takes a swallow of his fresh drink and looks back over at you. “Didn’t remember this being here the last time I was home.” He admits, looking around the club. 

“It opened about three years ago.” You tell him and Javi nods. They must have been building it when he was here for the week before he went to D.C. to be assigned to catching Cali. 

“Do you make good money here?” He asks, pulling out the stack of bills he had brought and peels a hundred dollar bill off to hand to you. It’s probably the least he could do, but it was a start.

You shake your head, pushing his money away. “I don’t want your money. I- I make good money here. Enough for a studio apartment and for me to pay for school. It’s not - George went mad when he found out I was here. Said I was ‘his adopted whore daughter’” You snort, “I always thought I was a good girl. Even now…I don’t - it’s just dancing and I-” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence when the club manager comes over. “Are you gonna sit there and chit chat all night, Margarita? Or are you actually gonna make me some money?” 

You want to roll your eyes at your boss, “sorry Javi. I gotta get back to work.” 

You stand up and your boss notices the way Javi’s eyes follow you, “unless you want a private dance with her?” Your boss suggests, raising his eyebrows at Javier.

Javi doesn’t like the way your boss talks to you, it’s not necessary and he’s had plenty of experience with women in the sex trade. “Yeah.” He nods, rocking his jaw slightly. “A private dance.” He agrees, knowing that it will shut your boss up and allow him to talk to you some more. “How do I get one of those?” He asks you, raising his brows questioningly.

You’re shocked he agrees to a private dance and your boss tells him how much it is, taking the money up front. You bite your lip as Javi peels off some bills from the roll and your boss jerks his chin at you, “go on then.” 

You take Javier’s hand, amazing at how big it is and how thick his fingers are. Entering a private room, you turn to the hifi. “You still like Led Zeppelin?” You ask, knowing Javier loved the 70s. Refused to get into hair spray rock during the 80s and said it was shit compared to the greats. “A Whole Lotta Love” starts to play and you walk over to Javier. 

“You don’t have to -” 

Javier holds his hands up and you shake your head, “they have cameras. If I don’t dance, I don’t get paid. I’ll go easy on you, Peña.” You promise, “tell me about Colombia. What have you been up to?” You ask, straddling his lap.

Javi exhales roughly as your thighs settle over his and it’s almost instinctive to grab them. This is you, the same fucking kid he had met when he was dating Lorraine. It’s wrong to think of you like a woman he wants to fuck. He had known you when you were sixteen and he was already a man. “It was ….rough.” He admits after a moment, swallowing slightly and trying not to fucking let his dick get hard. He loves beautiful women and you are fucking gorgeous all grown up. “Fucking politicians fucking everything up. Too many losses, too much fucking death.” He sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t want to hear about that shit.”

You want to make this worth the money. You want him to see you as a woman and not the mousy little teenager who had a massive crush on her sister’s boyfriend. It was wrong, so wrong, but you thought he was gorgeous and all man. When Lorraine faked the pregnancy and he ditched her at the altar, you hated that you were a little happy about it. You want him to see you as you are now so you grab his knees, arching your back to rock your hips to the music, grinding against him. “I do. Tell me. I know it was rough. I heard…rumors. I heard about you getting sent home before they caught Escobar.” You know it must’ve been a rough time for him, especially that moment. You grab onto his shoulders, shifting higher so your tits are in his face and you grab his hands, putting them on your hips. “It’s normal to touch.” You tell him, knowing your boss will be watching.

“Shit, they shouldn’t be touching you, sweetheart.” Javi hisses, shaking his head at the thought of every man out there putting his filthy hands on you. Not because you were some pure angel, but because you were getting paid to entertain them, not fuck them. They shouldn’t just get to touch your body unless you want them to.  He bites his lip, feeling himself start to harden and hating how disgusting that makes him. “Yeah.” He grunts out. “Fucked around with the wrong people, got burned.”

His fingers dig into your waist and your stomach twists. You decide to put your all into this, shifting off of his lap to spin around, bending over so he has an eyeful of your ass before you grab his knees and drop down between his legs, noticing the bulge in his tight jeans. You hate the thrill that runs through you, knowing it’s because you’re dancing and shaking your ass for him. You shift back onto his lap, back pressed against his chest and you grind back onto him. “Shit happens. It’s all par for the course. You did it though. You played your part, they got the bastard. And you got Cali from what I hear.”

“You kept up with my career?” Javi asks with a small smirk. You had probably learned it from the town gossip, Lorraine’s momma and daddy not able to completely smear his name through the mud despite their best efforts. Especially after he had become a ‘hero’, which he absolutely was not. “I got Cali, at the expense of my career. That’s why I’m here. Tired of the bullshit and just wanting a life where no one fucking shoots at me or I’m not chasing drug dealers across rooftops.”

You turn around, straddling him again and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, letting him smell your perfume. You always did that so the assholes would get caught out by their wives but you want Javi to remember how you smelt, how you felt on top of him. “So you came back to boring ol’ Laredo. Apart from your papa, what else is here?” You chuckle, rocking your hips to the beat of the song.

“Family.” Javi chokes slightly, digging his fingers into your hips harshly when you press your hot cunt against his cock. All you are wearing are those tiny fucking panties and he’s imagining you sitting on his dick right now while you moan his name. “Tías y tíos. My cousins.” He closes his eyes for a moment before he looks at you. “Why didn’t you leave? Start over somewhere else?”

You shake your head, biting your lip to smother your smirk that he’s affected by you. It’s clear in his dark gaze. “Couldn’t afford it. I have a piece of shit car and I think it would barely make it a hundred miles out of town. Was easier to stay.” You don’t mention that you always wondered if you’d reconcile with your adopted parents one day. That day hasn’t come yet, you doubt it ever will. “My ex…didn’t want to leave either until I started working here and he couldn’t handle it. Things didn’t end well so he, uh, he left.” You don’t mention the way he’d get jealous of you working at the club.

“Fucker.” Javi rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Let me guess, he got mad and accused you of fucking every guy who came in the place?” He’s seen a lot of men talk a big game and be unable to handle their woman using their body how they pleased. While Javi wouldn’t want his partner to sleep with anyone else, ironically enough, he had no problem with them dancing.

“Got it in one.” You chuckle softly, the song coming to an end. “The fact that his fist also used to get mad…well, I, uh, I learned real fast how to fight back and when I did, he decided to leave.” You admit, coming to a stop when the song ends, unable to meet his eyes. You know you sound like a lost cause, working in a strip club, an orphan who was beaten up by her ex and has no money. You’re like the poster child for a charity commercial.

“Pendejo.” Javi spits, hating the vulnerability on your face. He reaches into his pocket and hands you more money. “Doesn’t matter if you were fucking every guy here, you don’t deserve that.” He murmurs softly. “Some of the best women I knew in Colombia were hookers. Brave as shit, fierce. Nothing to be looked down on.”

You shift off of his lap, the money in hand. “This is too much.” You shake your head and Javi closes your hand around it. 

“Take it. Please.” He urges and you nod, unable to deny him. You heard the rumors of him sleeping around in Colombia too, the rumor mill still running during his absence, and you didn’t judge him, knowing it must’ve been lonely fighting a never ending war. 

“Thank you.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, shoving the money in your bra. “Do you want another drink?” You ask but he shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I have an early morning fixing the fence with my pa. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.” He stands up and tries to discreetly adjust himself but you see it. 

“Sure thing Peña. See you around.” You guide him back into the main dance area and feel your boss’s eyes on you. 

“Be good.” Javi urges and you wink at him, “always am.” He walks out, glancing back at you before he exits and you sigh, hoping he comes back or you see him around town.

****

The week passed with Javi constantly thinking about you. The few times he had gone into town, he had looked around for you, wanting to see you again. He wonders where you live, what your schedule is like outside of your working hours. Now that the weekend is here, he showers and changes into some clean clothes to head into town. “I’m gone, pop.” He sticks his head in the living room to find his dad kicked back in his old Lazy Boy with the soccer game turned on, the announcers yelling through the speakers. 

Chucho lifts up the Budweiser in his hands. “Have fun, mijo.” He grunts out. “If you can’t get out of jail, call me.” 

Javi rolls his eyes, snorting at the same speech his pop has given him since he started going out as a teenager. It was doubtful he would need to call his dad, professional courtesy and all between federal agencies and local law enforcement and the locals looked at Javi like he was untouchable despite handing in his badge. “Sure thing pop.” He knows his dad will be asleep in his chair until at least midnight before he finally goes back to his room.

The club is busy tonight, always is on the weekend, and you prepare for your next dance. You’ve been scanning the room for Javier ever since that night and it feels like he’s never going to come back. “Welcome to the stage, Margarita!” The crowd cheers and you adjust your bra before you make your way up on the stage, the song blaring as you shift to spin around the pole, starting your routine, and that’s when you see him. A couple of rows back, whiskey in hand, and his look electrifies you.

The entire week, Javi’s been talking to himself about how wrong his attraction is to you. But the second that he sees you, every point he had tried to bring up to himself dies away. You’re an adult, nearly thirty fuckin’ years old, and it wasn’t like he spent much time with you when he was dating Lorraine. He arches a brow at you and lifts his drink as you dance. He isn’t in the front row, throwing bills at the stage but he will pay you after you get done with your set. Groaning when he sees you turn around and bend over to give him a fantastic view of your ass.

You put more energy into this dance than anything else you’ve done all week. The feel of his eyes on you has you going all out and more money flies onto the stage and you finish with flair, going into the splits and you wink at Javi when he claps your performance. Standing up, you gather the money and make your way off stage and over to Javi. “Fancy seeing you here Peña.” You say as you set a whiskey down for him.

“Wanted a drink.” He jokes, like you aren’t aware that he has passed half a dozen bars to get to your club. “How’s your week been?” He asks, like he’s run into you in a grocery store and is asking about the weather. “Haven’t seen you around when I was in town.”

You shrug, “been busy with school. Nearly the end of the semester, so I’m trying to buckle down and get good grades. I’m nearly done with my degree.” You tell him, sitting down on the empty seat next to him. “I can’t be too long. Boss has been on my ass to get more money this weekend.”

Javi rolls his eyes and pats his lap. “Come here then.” He doesn’t want you to get in trouble and he’s talked about much more troubling things when a woman has been on his lap. “What are you going to school for?”

“Nursing. It’s good because I already have the outfit.” You joke, shifting to settle on his lap, and you lean back against him, enjoying the way he feels against you. “How was your week? You get that fence fixed on the ranch?” You ask, reaching up to push that piece of hair back, wanting to show your boss that you’re schmoozing a customer and not just chatting.

“That piece, yeah.” Javi instinctively leans in, brushing his nose along the length of your throat while you swivel your hips. “Then another section decided to fall on the northeast corner of the ranch.” He huffs, fully aware that they are fighting a never ending battle with nature. His hands settle on your hips again and he lets out a quiet groan. “You’re too good at this.” He huffs quietly. “Definitely didn’t learn it from your sister.”

You smirk, “no. She has always been a stick in the mud.” You snort, “heard from a few girls that her husband has been in here a few times.” You reach out to caress his chest, fingers dipping under the fabric of his shirt. “Do you want another dance? I- I’m not asking for the money. Just - it would be nice to be alone again.” You bite your lip, knowing you’re playing with fire but he’s too good to not want to get burned.

“If you want me to have a dance.” He knows he should decline, but staring into your eyes, he doesn’t want to. Yes, he knew you when you were a teenager, but you’re grown now. You’re calling the shots. “Do you want to give me a lap dance, conejita?” He has used that nickname when Lorraine complained about your unlimited energy. “Or should I just call you Rita?”

You chuckle, “you can call me whatever you want, baby.” You flirt playfully, shifting to stand up and you hold your hand out towards him. Guiding him to a private room, you turn to the stereo to put on some music and he sits down. You cup his cheeks, sliding your hands down his neck to his chest, loving the way his Adam’s apple bobs with the movement. “Lorraine was an idiot to try and trick you, to push you into marriage. She didn’t appreciate what she had.”

Javi grunts, remembering the absolute panic he had when she had told him that she was pregnant. Followed up by a stern lecture from his pop, Javi had done the right thing. He had proposed, swallowing down his suspicions that something wasn’t right. “She knew I wanted to leave.” Javi admits. “That I was planning on applying to the DEA.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “I knew something wasn’t right. I saw - she had a tampon and I didnt question it. It wasn’t my place.” You rock your hips on top of him, moving to the beat. “You deserved better. Lorraine has her rich husband and her 2.5 kids.” You roll your eyes, “she’s all set.”

Javi snorts, smirking at how put out you sound. “Careful, Rita.” He teases. “You sound jealous. You want the rich husband and 2.5 kids?” He asks, arching his brow at you playfully.

You shake your head, running your fingers through his hair as you continue to dance on him. “Hell no. Maybe the kids…one day. I- I want someone who loves me for me. Who makes me happy and supports me. Not monetarily but emotionally. Money can’t buy happiness. It can make life easier, but it can’t replace true emotion. You can’t buy love.” You realize how cliché you sound but it’s true. “What about you? Ready for a wife and kids?” You tease, grinding down onto his lap when you feel his cock hardening beneath you.

The truth is Javi has never been opposed to marriage, he just never found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He gives a small shrug. “Never found someone willing to put up with my shit for too long.” He huffs. “Least not someone I wanted to deal with their shit.” He modifies, very aware that Lorraine had been desperate to lock him down at the time. “What you do shouldn’t matter. Just as long as he takes care of you, physically and emotionally. Work is fucking work. It should stay there.”

You nod, “exactly. You get it.” You know he would take care of you physically. He’s so handsome, fucking sexy as hell, and you are struggling to keep professional. You never sleep with customers but Javi has you wanting to bend the rules. “For now, we will both just have fun.” You wink at him, the song rolling into another but you don’t get off of his lap, content to stay here all night. “You want an actual dance?” You ask, biting your lip, knowing you’ve just been moving for the camera, not really moving for him.

“If you give me an actual dance, I’ll embarrass myself, hermosa.” Javi admits, harder than a rock and it’s been a long time since he’s fucked anyone other than himself. Jerking off in the shower every few days doesn’t count but it’s what he’s done since his first few weeks back in Colombia the last time. Not even the blonde at the airport had managed to convince him to sneak into the women’s bathroom for a quickie.

“That’s okay. I want - I want to make this good for you. You’re paying money to listen to me chit chat. Let me - I want to show you what I can do.” You murmur, eyes flicking down to his lips and he licks them, causing your eyes to meet his. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and you shift off of his lap, playing a new song. You turn away from him, moving slowly to the intro, swaying your hips and you look over your shoulder at him as you smirk, wanting to affect him. When you turn around, you kneel down and run your hands from his ankles to his thighs, stopping just short of his pelvis, admiring the bulge there for a moment. You slowly straddle him again, grinding down onto his hard cock and you reach behind you to unclasp your bra.

“Shit.” Javi has tried to not stare at your tits but now you are practically shoving them in his face. Making him twitch against your grinding cunt and his fingers dig into your hips. Your arms wind around his neck and you press forward, making him groan when your tits press against his skin. All he has to do is open his mouth and he could lick you. Although the glittery body powder you’re wearing wouldn’t taste good. He wants to drag your mouth down to his and kiss you. Rip off the tiny bottom and pull his cock out so you can ride him. Instead, he slides a hand around you and squeezes your ass harshly.

You fucking love how it feels to have him touch you, his calloused hands squeezing your ass and you whimper when he drags you down onto his cock. The song continues to play and you try to keep the rhythm but Javi is too good, his hot breath on your skin has you tossing your head back, arching your back to thrust your chest into his face. “Fuck, Jav.” You pant, continuing to grind onto him.

His cock is throbbing and he knows that if you don’t quit grinding on him, he’s going to fucking blow a load in his jeans like a fucking teenager. “Jesus, you gotta stop.” He hisses, unable to resist leaning in and nipping the skin of your breast. He’s always been a biter and he wants so desperately to have you wearing the impression of his teeth. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum in my jeans.”

“Do it baby. It’s okay.” You promise breathlessly, wanting to moan at the feel of his teeth on your breast. “I want you to cum for me Javi.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss his neck, unable to resist him. You want to see and hear him cum, at least to give you something to dream about.

Javi groans, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer, making you grind down on him even more as he rocks his hips up. Filthy moans and a long growl pour into your ear as he closes his eyes, hot spurts of cum coating his cock as he cums in his pants with you grinding down on him.

You kiss his neck again, smiling against his skin at how gorgeous he sounded when he came. Your panties are soaking wet, imagining how he would’ve felt inside of you. “God, that was hot.” You confess, breathing him in, and you wish you could fuck him but he’s just here for a good time, not to take his ex’s sister home.

“Shit.” Javi pants, shaking his head. “I’ve not done that since I was in fucking college.” He admits, looking up at you when you pull back. “Now I gotta go shower again.” He’s not upset about it, doesn’t give a fuck, but he wishes he had been able to get you off. “You gonna think about that later tonight?”

“Absolutely I am.” You wink and you mean it. It was sexy as hell to be able to make him cum like that. You feel on top of the world, not dirty like other lap dances you’ve given where the guy does that. You sigh and lean in to kiss his chin, “you don’t have to pay. That was - I wanted to do that. It’s not - you aren’t paying for it.”

Javi frowns and shakes his head. “The fuck I’m not paying.” He insists. “You’re here to make money and I’m taking up your time.” He reaches up and grips your chin. “I am not getting freebies while I'm here, okay?” He knows that will get you in trouble and you have to support yourself and finish school. “Please?”

You stare at him, seeing the fierceness in his eyes. “How about a discount?” You tease and he offers you a warning look. “Fine. Full price if you insist, Peña.” You joke, slapping his chest and he grabs it, tangling your fingers together. You swallow harshly, looking into his eyes. It’s so tempting to kiss him but you won’t.

“You should take a break.” Javi murmurs softly. “Have something to drink.” He’s not thinking about liquor but he knows that you have to be thirsty after dancing. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another stack of bills. “Here, hermosa.”

You nod, “I’ll go to the break room now and get a drink and a snack. Are you gonna go home?” You ask and he nods, “gotta clean up my mess.” 

You chuckle, “you mean the mess I created?” You joke and he snorts, “exactly.” You hold your hand out towards him, “thank you for coming to see me.” You bite your lip, admiring the sheen on his forehead from his orgasm.

Javi nods and takes your hand to stand up. “Be careful, hermosa.” He murmurs seriously. “If you get any of these drunk assholes bothering you, don’t walk out to your car by yourself.” He knows you are smarter than that and have taken care of yourself for a long time but he worries. “If no one will walk you out you call me. You have Pop's home number?”

You nod, knowing Chucho has had the same phone number since 1965. Your heart flutters at his protectiveness and you try not to read too much into it. He’s just looking out for you. “Thanks Jav.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, “be careful too.” You know that he attracts trouble and you want him to be safe.

Javi makes his way out of the club, grimacing as he climbs into his truck. The bad thing about it is that despite him cumming in his pants, he still wants to fuck you. Sighing as he turns over the engine, he contemplates coming back tomorrow or waiting until next weekend.

****

You’re making your rounds when Javi comes into the club a few days later, making you smile and wink at him when you see him nod at you. You are finishing up with a customer who asked you to sit and talk. An older man, regular, who likes to just talk to you because you remind him of his ex wife. He doesn’t ask for more but pays you well for your time. You’re quick to get Javi a whiskey from the bar, making your way over to him and settling in his lap after you set the drink down. “Hey stranger.” You coo, kissing his cheek, “what you been up to?”

“Hey, Rita.” Javi winks at you and takes a sip of the drink you brought him. “I’ve been hauling fence posts and shoveling horse shit and trying to break the fuck bastard of a horse Pop decided to buy.” He grunts, thinking about how the bastard had tried to bite him when he was feeding him before he showered and came here. “Took a lot to not just shoot the damn thing.”

You snort, shaking your head at him, "I would've paid money to watch you try and tame a wild one." You giggle at the mental image of him cursing the horse, and you know he would curse his dad for buying it. "So you're here to relax, have a drink..." You tilt your head, knowing you wouldn't mind taking him for another dance. The nights since he came in his pants have been occupied with your hand between your legs, remembering how he sounded.

“To see you.” Javi murmurs, cutting his eyes back to you. He’s already resigned himself to the fact that he’s fucked. “For some reason I can’t stay away from this woman I’ve known since she was a high schooler.” He grunts, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s driving me crazy.”

"Yeah? You know...she has been watching the door every night, waiting for you to come back." You confess softly, eyes flicking down to his lips and back to those dark eyes that look ravenous. "you're driving her crazy too."

“Surprised that she’s not barring me from the club since I came in my jeans.” Javi flushes slightly and his hand strokes your thigh lightly. “Especially when she is dressed like this, looking like a fucking sexy angel.”

"I took that as a compliment." You hum, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair, pushing it back. "You like the outfit? I just got it. Picked it while thinking of you, that way you look at me." You admit, looking down at the white silk and lace, "Javi...I don't - my shift ends in an hour. I want to take you back to my place." You confess, sick of beating around the bush. You've debated telling him how you feel, worried he will tell you this is confined to the club and not beyond that.

“Fuck.” Javi groans and his hand tightens on your thigh. “Yes- fuck, I want to go home with you.” He nearly growls it, leaning in and biting your chin slightly. “Can I keep you occupied for the next hour so I can have you to myself?”

You smirk, "you want a private dance? We can drag it out. I don't want your money for the dance but we can talk in private and waste the time." You suggest, "I promise I won't make you cum in your pants again." You lean back to offer him an innocent pout.

Javi snorts and sends you a small grin. “Gotta make sure that your boss doesn’t get suspicious.” He murmurs, nodding and squeezing your thigh again. “Good thing there are cameras, or I’d just fuck you right there.” He finally acknowledges that he has every intention of sleeping with you and he doesn’t feel guilty about it. You obviously want him.

You whimper, unable to stop the noise making its way up your throat. “I wouldn’t argue with that. But I don’t want to rush. I’ve wanted you since you walked in here.” You admit, “you wanna come back to the room?” You ask, leaning in to run your nose along your jaw.

“Yeah.” Javi groans, knowing he’s going to have a hard time keeping his hands off of you now that you both know where you stand. “Believe me, I’m not going to cum in thirty seconds when I slide inside you.” He promises.

You shift off of his lap, “I hope not, Peña.” You tease, holding your hand out and he takes it. You guide him back to the private room, letting him sit down and you turn to the stereo. “What music do you want?” You ask and he smirks, “whatever you want hermosa.” His words make you smile and you lean down to pick something sensual. Not wanting to rush this. The music starts and you straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Fuck.” Javi groans, leaning in and dragging his nose along your throat, placing a tiny kiss against your pulse. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself this type of intimacy but it’s surprisingly easy with you. “I want to kiss you, but I’ll wait until no one is watching.” He murmurs quietly, not wanting to cause problems with your boss. “What do you want me to do, hermosa?”

You press your chest to his, getting even closer to him. “I want you to wreck me. I want you to fuck me so hard I have to take tomorrow off.” You tell him, nipping his jaw as the music plays and you wish you could just leave but your boss would kill you. “I want you.” You kiss his neck, “in my bed.”

Javi hisses and his hard cock twitches underneath you. “You want me to make to fuck you until you scream my name?” Javi rasps out, digging his hands into your hips. “Fuck you until we are both breathless and needing a cigarette?”

“God yes. Imagined it so many times. At night, with my hand between my thighs. Haven’t stopped thinking of you since the first night you came here.” You admit, grinding down on his hard bulge. Fuck, this hour is going to be a lifetime.

He chuckles quietly, fingers sliding under the edge of your skimpy bottoms. “Just like you used to when you were a teenager, huh?” He teases. “Lorraine used to say you had a thing for me, but I didn’t believe her.”

You bite your lip, “maybe I did. I, uh, I did have a thing for you. A big thing.” You admit and he smirks, “shut up.” You hit his chest and remember you’re supposed to be dancing on him. “I used to think you were the sexiest man in Laredo, hell, in Texas. Nothing like those boys in school.”

“That’s because I wasn’t a boy.” Javi grunts at you playfully. His hand covers your and he lifts a brow as he drags both of your hands down over his stomach and towards his belt buckle. “All man, hermosa.”

“Fuck.” You pant, unable to resist squeezing him through his jeans. “I can’t wait, Javi. I need you. I- I’m gonna tell my boss I feel sick. I need - I’ll meet you outside, okay? I can’t wait any longer.” You tell him, shuffling off of his lap now that the song has ended. It’s barely been five minutes but you need him after dreaming after him for so long. “Come on baby.” You take his hand to drag him up.

There’s a small laugh that follows as he lets you pull him to his feet. He won’t pay you now because you are rushing towards the door, eager to go home. “Tell them that you feel like you are going to throw up. That you nearly threw up on me.” He suggests, knowing that the man wouldn’t want you throwing up on clients.

You snicker, “good idea, baby.” You guide him out of the room and you playfully pat his ass before you rush to find your manager. 

“What is it, Rita? You got the money from that dance?” He asks and you shake your head, covering your mouth. 

“No. I’m gonna - I feel like I’m gonna throw up. Nearly did on him.” You admit, gagging and covering your mouth again.

“Jesus Christ. I don’t want you puking on anyone. Don’t be fucking pregnant. Get your shit and go.” He orders and you nod, rushing to the locker room to change into your sweats and grab your purse, making your way out to the parking lot.

Javi takes one last drag off his cigarette and tosses it down to grind it under his boot. Grinning when he sees you rushing out the back door and he pushes off the side of his truck. “Rita.” He calls out, aware that the two of you are in public and he wouldn’t want anyone who doesn’t know you to find out your real name. He motions you over and looks around. “Where is your car?”

You point to the heap of shit that barely runs even after you’ve prayed for it to start. “You can follow me.” You tell him, knowing he will want to drive home directly from your place. “Come on baby, let’s go.” You urge and he smirks, winking as he opens his truck door. “See you there.” You promise and get into your car, sighing in relief when it starts. You pull out of the parking lot, keeping your eyes on the rear view mirror to watch Javi follow you to your apartment.

He’s fucking appalled that you drive this piece of shit. The damn thing looks like it’s barely clinging to life and one day it’s going to leave you on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Javi grunts to himself as he follows you, reminding himself to say something to you about it. It’s not safe. Your apartment is only ten minutes away from the club and he pulls in beside you, hopping out and walking up to the curb to wait for you.

You grab your purse and keys, making your way to his truck. You take his hand to guide him into your place. Taking your key, you guide him to your front door and he’s pressing against you. You fumble with the key to open the door and once it’s open, you spin around to press yourself against him. “Fuck me Javi.” You demand, cupping his cheeks.

Javi pushes you back through your door, both of you stumbling across the threshold and he slams the door behind him so he can gather you closer to him. “Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth, his hands grabbing your ass and pulling you against his cock.

You surge forward to press lips to his, desperate to kiss him. “I need you, baby.” You murmur, pecking his lips, before you deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth.

Javi grunts, rocking his hips forward and tangling his tongue with yours. He knows the basic layout of most apartments and he starts to walk you back towards the hallways. Wanting to get you into your bedroom and on your bed.

You let him guide you backwards towards your bed, pushing you down onto it, and you drag him down with you. “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.” You confess and kiss him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

He chuckles, dipping his head and nipping along your jaw and down your through. He loves kissing you, but he wants to do everything he imagined while you’ve been grinding on him. “Been thinking about this a lot, huh?” He teases, one hand sliding up and under your t-shirt to squeeze your tit over your bra before he dives under it too. “Fuck you’re so sexy.”

You whimper when he squeezes your breast, reaching down between you to pull your shirt over your head. “Fuck Javi.” You gasp when he surges down to wrap his lips around your nipple, biting down on it. “So fucking sexy.” He murmurs and you push his shirt off his shoulders, wanting to feel his skin.

It’s a race to get undressed, both of you pulling and tugging on the other’s clothes. Desperate to get naked and touch each other. Javi groans when you shove your hand into his jeans and gasps when you discover he’s not wearing any underwear. “Fuck.”

“Holy shit you’re thick.” You pant when his hands find their way into your sweatpants and he instantly rubs your clit. You squeeze him, “gotta - gotta finish getting undressed.” You tell him and he nods, shifting off of the bed, grabbing onto your sweats so he can pull them down your legs and off of you.

He peels the material down your legs and tosses it onto the floor, kicking off his boots so he can push his own jeans down. His cock bobs and dances as he kicks them off and he groans as he wraps his hand around himself. “Fuck baby, spread your legs. And you need to tell me now if you need me to wear a condom.”

You follow his order, spreading your legs for him, and you point to your side table. “I’m on birth control. I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone since my ex and that was a while ago. I got tested and I- I understand if you’re more comfortable wearing a condom because of my profession. They are in my nightstand.” You tell him, eyes focused on his hard cock, unable to believe how gorgeous he is.

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “I’m clean too and your profession doesn’t bother me, hermosa.” He murmurs, kneeling on the bed and caressing your ankle as he shuffles between your spread legs. “I’ve slept with prostitutes in Colombia, a lot of them. Respected every one of them.”  He leans down and drops a kiss on your knee before his hands slide up your thigh and between your legs.

His words make your heart swell and you admire his honesty. “I- I haven’t done this before. Slept with a customer. Believe it or not. I didn’t want the extra money like that. I’ve heard too many horror stories of girls that go home with customers.” You admit, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. “Fuck baby. You’re so thick, I need you inside of me now.”

He doesn’t care if you had done this with every customer you have, as long as you were careful of your safety. He shuffles closer and lets you drag his cock through your folds as he reaches up and pinches a nipple to make you gasp. Leaning down to kiss your lips as you line him up. “Fuck, hermosa.” He groans, pushing his hips forward when you let go of him in his eagerness to slide inside you.

You whimper when he starts to push inside of you, feeling the stretch already, and you close your eyes, tilting your head back into the pillow. “Fuck Javi. That feels- you feel so good.” You pant and he leans forward to kiss your chin. Your hands slide along his back, loving how muscular and strong he feels under your touch as he pushes deeper until he’s fully inside of you.

“Shit.” He hisses, closing his eyes as he rocks slowly, letting you feel without moving too much. Enjoying the way your walls flutter around him. “You feel so good, hermosa.” He groans, looking down at you and pulling you close as he spreads his knees apart to start thrusting. “So fucking good.”

It’s been such a build up to this moment, you are immediately on fire, but you savor how he feels inside of you. “Baby. Oh baby.” You murmur, knowing you’ve wanted this for so fucking long and he feels so good inside of you. You wrap your legs around him, pushing him deeper with your heels in his ass, loving how slow he’s going. “Wanted this since I saw you in the club.”

His elbow dips into the mattress near your shoulder and he grunts as he rolls his hips forward. “Fuck, me too.” He confesses, knowing that he shouldn’t but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “So fucking hot shaking your ass up there.” He huffs, kissing down your jaw and biting on your chin.

You are surprised he wants to fuck you like this but you won’t complain. You whimper and let me push deep inside of you, crossing your ankles behind him back to push him deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. You’re so - so thick.” You pant, knowing you’re going to feel him tomorrow. He grunts and you grip his neck, gasping when he tries to suck on your neck. “No marks.”

Javi huffs against your skin but he stops sucking. If you have bite marks or anything on your skin, you’ll get shit from your boss. He doesn’t want you to get in trouble or make less money because of him. He shifts to his knees and drags you upright. “Hold on to the bed.” He orders, keeping your upper body in his hold and he thrusts up into you. “Jesus.”

You follow his order, hands flying out to grab the headboard as his hands squeeze your tits, making you moan as he hits something spectacular inside of you in this position. “Oh fuck baby. I- shit. You’re - shit. You’re so fucking deep inside of me.” You pant, turning your head to press your lips to his.

Groaning, he kisses you back, instantly sliding his tongue into your mouth to tangle with yours. His fingers are digging into the muscles of your back as he keeps steadily filling you. Loving how your walls open for him to fit him like a glove. “Jesus, hermosa.” He hisses into your mouth, closing his eyes and sliding a hand down your back and around your body to cup your breast and squeeze.

You pant, loving how he feels inside of you. Pushing deep and you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on his locks. “Holy shit.” You moan, loving the way he twitches inside of you. “Shit baby.” You try to rock your hips to meet his, grinding down onto him while he squeezes your tit.

He huffs, letting go of your tit so he can rub your clit, lowering his head so he can draw your nipple into his mouth. Biting down on it before bathing it with his tongue, he suckles harshly. He loves the way you cry out and your fingers tangle into his hair to pull on it.

You shift to brace your feet on the bed, rocking against him to grind onto his cock. “Oh my God, baby. You’re gonna - I’m gonna -” You’re lost in how he feels, so deep inside of you and his fingers on your clit combined with his mouth around your nipple sends you over the edge, clamping down on his cock, you cry out and collapse forward against his chest.

Javi groans against your skin, loving how you clamp down around him and soak him with your juices. “Fuck.” He pants, rolling his hips up faster and holding onto you tighter as he chases his own high.

His arms slide under your thighs, lifting you up higher so he can thrust harder inside of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, crying out his name as he pushes you through your orgasm. “Fuck. Oh - oh - I need you to cum for me Javi. Please. Cum for me baby.” You beg, trying to grind against him but he has you in a tight grip.

Now is the time where Javi’s thrusts get more desperate. Moaning and grunting as he clenches his jaw and stares into your eyes. He feels himself getting closer. Every time you clench around him, you push him closer. “Fuck, fuck.” He grunts, leaning in and biting your bottom lip as he drives deep into your tight cunt and moans as he fills you up with hot ropes of cum.

You can’t take your eyes off of him, watching as he cums. His face twisted as he orgasm and you fucking love it. Eyes open as you watch him fill you with hot seed. “Javi. Oh baby. That’s it. Fill me up.” You murmur against his chin.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” Javi moans, angling his head and pressing his lips to yours for one last kiss. Breaking it off and leaning his head against your clavicle as he tries to catch his breath. “So good.” He huffs quietly.

You hum in agreement, running your fingers through his damp hair, and you love how his breath hits your chest. “Worth the wait.” You joke softly, caressing his neck while he calms down, his cock still inside of you. 

“Definitely worth the wait.” He hums in agreement and you sigh when he lays you down on the bed and pulls out of you, his cum dripping out of you and you spread your legs so he can see. Smirking slightly, he swipes his fingers through your folds and rubs your clit as he lays down beside you. “Fuck, now I need another cigarette.” He hums, knowing he won’t get up to get one right now. He’s relaxed and wants to stay right here. 

“I have some in my drawer.” You offer, making him raise a brow. He knows you don’t smoke so he wonders who the cigarettes are for. You shrug, “old habit. My ex used to like to smoke after sex.” You confess and you shift over him to grab the pack and lighter, placing the ashtray on the nightstand. “There you go.” You kiss his peck and he works on lighting a cigarette. “I like you Javi, always have. I, uh, I don’t just want to see you when you come to the club.” You admit, stroking his chest and down to his stomach.

Javi sucks on the cigarette and leans back, his hand dropping the lighter on your nightstand before it curls around your shoulder. Exhaling up towards the ceiling so he doesn’t blow it on you, he hums. “We can go to dinner tomorrow.” He offers, raising his brow as he looks down at you. “Sound good? Anywhere you want to go.”

“You want to be seen in public with me?” You joke, chuckling as you snuggle into his side. You know your ex had an issue with your job and you hope Javier, despite his assurances otherwise, that he doesn’t care about your job.

Javi snorts and shakes his head, taking another drag off the cigarette. "It should be that you don't want to be seen with me, hermosa." He teases, his fingers stroking up and down your back gently. "We could always go down to the steakhouse?" He asks. The steakhouse is pretty much the fanciest place in Laredo to have dinner and it was 'the' date spot for anyone who wanted people to know they were seeing one another.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised that he wants to take you there but you won’t deny that you want to be there with Javi. “I like the sound of that. Let’s do it baby. Steakhouse tomorrow night? I have the night off.” You admit, watching him blow out another cloud of smoke.

Javi nods. “I’ve got to work with pop in the morning, so I’ll pick you up later on?” He asks, knowing he doesn’t want you to drive that shit box car more than you have to. “Seven sound good or do you want to do it later?” He doesn’t know what you do on your days off and he doesn’t want to intrude if you have important things to take care of.

“Seven is good.” You hum, “gotta run errands tomorrow and hopefully get some sleep. I have a class too but I’ll be ready by seven.” You promise, “I, uh, I know it’s been a long time since you were with Lorraine but people will gossip and I- I don’t care. She doesn’t like me but I don’t want to cause issues for you.”

“You aren’t going to cause issues for me.” Javi flicks the ash in a tray on the opposite side of the bed and takes one last drag before he stubs it out. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks, unsure if you like men to sleep over. He wouldn’t mind staying, but it’s up to you.

You nod, “if you want. I’m way too comfortable right now to let you go.” You tease, swinging your leg over his hips to snuggle into his side before you pull your covers over you both. “Stay.” You order softly and he agrees, kissing your hair. It’s too easy with Javier. Far too easy.

****

The doorbell rings and you smooth down your dress, eager and hoping Javier likes you in the dress you’re wearing. It’s more coverage than anything he’s seen you in thus far and you hope he likes it. “Hey handsome.” You smirk when you open the door to him.

Javi hasn’t worn a suit since he quit the DEA but he’s glad he pulled one out of the closet. Even ironing the shirt. “Shit.” He huffs, leaning against the door and returning your smirk with one of his own. “I didn’t know I was having you for dinner.” You are fully covered and still his cock twitches in his pants and he thinks you’re gorgeous.

If you thought Javi in jeans was hot, Javi in a suit has you dripping already. “Dessert.” You correct him, “we are having steak for dinner and you can have me for dessert.” He chuckles and you step closer to cup his cheeks, kissing him. He woke you up with his tongue this morning and you have been thinking about him all day. His hands grip your waist and he slides his tongue into your mouth, tasting your lipgloss. “Let’s go baby before we forget about dinner and go straight to dessert.” You slap his chest and reach into your apartment for your purse, making quick work of locking the door.

Javi chuckles and guides you out into the parking lot and over to his truck. Trying to be a bit of a gentleman and opening the door for you. He can tell you’re surprised but he just smirks and watches you climb into the cab before he shuts the door and skirts around the hood to get behind the wheel. “Hope you’re hungry.” He teases as he starts the engine. “I’m giving up dessert to eat steak first.”

You giggle, feeling like a teenager all over again except now you’re a woman and Javier is a man and you’re going on a date. You drive through Laredo, watching him and admiring his profile while he concentrates on navigating to the restaurant. “Has anyone ever told you you have a fucking perfect nose?” You ask and he snorts. 

“Absolutely not. Never. Not. One. Not even my mother.” He reveals with amusement. 

“Well I think it’s perfect.” You hum, reaching out to trace your finger along the bridge.

He’s been hit on plenty of times, enough to know that he’s not ugly but he knows that his features aren’t perfect. Still, it makes him open his mouth and then close it, unsure of what to say to that. He finally looks over at you with a slightly disbelieving expression. “I think you need to have your eyes checked.” He jokes. “You’re the perfection in this truck.” That, he means, finding you stunningly beautiful and not in the way he finds you stunning when you’re at work. You would fit in at any swanky embassy party if he was still in Colombia - or ever attended them.

You fluster, biting your lip at the way he calls you perfection. You know your job has men looking at you like a piece of meat but right now, Javi is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. He pulls into the restaurant and you take his hand when he helps you out of his truck. You walk into the restaurant hand in hand and your heart is thumping with nerves and happiness.

The hostess smiles brightly, although he doesn’t miss the way her eyes slide up and down his body and the smile takes on a slightly warmer tone. “May I help you?” She asks him and Javi nods. “Reservations for Peña.” He looks over at you with a small smirk, having called earlier just to make sure that there was no way you weren’t going to eat here tonight. After confirming the reservation, the hostess asks the two of you to follow her and for once, Javi doesn’t watch a woman’s ass as her hips sway in front of him.

You love how Javier’s hand hovers against your lower back as he guides you to the table and you smile when he pulls your chair out for you. “What a gentleman.” You compliment him with a wink and he chuckles while he takes his seat. “You didn’t check out her ass?” You frown, reaching for his hand to check his pulse, “you feeling okay?” You tease, knowing he’s an infamous playboy in Laredo.

Javi snorts and pulls his hand away from you. “Behave.” He huffs at you even though he’s grinning. “I don’t have to imagine what your ass looks like, and I guarantee it’s better.” He doesn’t want you to think that he just wants sex with you. Of course he wants sex, but he doesn’t want to limit it to just sex. He’s tired of that and he likes you. You’re funny and smart.

Seated, you bite your lip as you look over the menu. The prices are set in small print and nothing is exactly cheap. Unsure of what to order considering that your ex had always complained when you wanted an actual meal. The waiter comes over and he orders a bottle of wine that sounds appealing.

“Don’t order a damn salad.” Javi huffs, watching you scour the menu for the cheapest options. He doesn’t want you to do that, he’s paying the tab so he wants you to enjoy yourself and order what you want to eat. “You work out all fucking night at your job, you need the calories.”

You stare at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Most men would be happy for you to order a salad. Say you even have to lose weight or keep your figure, but Javi wants you to eat what you want. You bite your lip, “the steak sounds good. With French fries.” You confess, looking up at him over your menu. “Then order that.” Javi insists and you nod, setting the menu down. “Thank you.” You reach out to squeeze his hand, not sure if he knows how much he just comforted you.

Javi nods and looks over at the waiter when he brings the wine over again. After pouring, he looks back at you, wanting you to order for yourself. He hates when pompous asses speak over their dates and order for them to seem like they are in charge. When you order your steak and fries, Javi orders a steak with a baked potato and seasonal vegetables. Once the waiter rushes off to put the order in with the kitchen, he picks up his wine glass. “To setting tongues on fire in this town.” He offers with a grin.

You giggle, clinking your glass against his, and you discreetly look around to see several sets of eyes on you. You take a sip, humming softly at the wine choice, and you set your glass down to look at your date. “You know that a lot of the men in here on dates with their wives have been in the club multiple times?” You snort, knowing that their wives are gossiping about you but have no clue their husbands tossed their money on stage to pay you.

“I don’t doubt it.” Javi huffs. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with enjoying a beautiful woman, when you're single. Yes, you’re gonna look when a woman walks down the street. Women do it too, but you don’t go seeking it out.” He gives a small shrug. “But I’m glad that are helping you get through school too, so fuck ‘em. Take their money.”

You smirk, loving his mentality and you nod in agreement, “exactly. Fuck ‘em.” You giggle and reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I would rather fuck you again though.” You tell him honestly, biting your lip, “I want you to come back to mine after this…if you want.”

“Up to you, hermosa.” Javi had hoped you would want to fuck again, but he’s not going to assume that you would invite him into your bed. He’s exchanged sex for money plenty of times, but the score was upfront and everyone knew what was going on. “If you want me in your bed, you just tell me the word and I’ll be there.”

You grin, “I want you in my bed tonight.” You say it clearly so there’s no confusion and Javi nods. The dinner is soon served and you dig in, groaning at how good the steak is. It’s been too long since you had a meal like this. “God that was good.” You sigh after the waiter takes your empty plate. “Dessert?” You ask Javi and his eyes dip down to your chest, “if you’re offering, hermosa.” 

You smirk, “oh I’m offering baby. You want actual dessert or you want me?”

His own smirk matches yours. “I doubt they would like it if I licked whipped cream off your cunt on the table.” He jokes huskily, eyes darkening as he leans in. “The question is if you want to eat something decadent here while you think about my tongue buried in your pretty pussy or if you want it first and then eating the dessert you got to go.”

You know you won’t be patient enough to wait through dessert. “Dessert to go. I don’t want to wait.” You confess, staring at him as the waiter comes over and Javier tells him to pack up one of each dessert to go and bring the check. “You ordered every dessert?” You ask breathlessly and he nods, “you’ll need your energy for tonight.” His words make your cunt clench and after he pays the check, you grab the bags of desserts and rush out from the restaurant. Once you’re in his truck, desserts secured, you reach for Javi to press your lips to his.

He chuckles against your lips, happy when you open up immediately for him. He curls his arm around your back and drags you across the bench seat to press up against him. Sliding his tongue into your mouth to groan when your own flutters eagerly against his. His other hand slides up your thigh but not dipping under your dress. After a long, steamy make out session, he pulls away panting. “We need to get back to your apartment.” He grunts, cock hard and already aching for you.

You huff, disappointed but you know you can’t fuck in a parking lot. He pulls out of the restaurant parking spot and makes his way along the road to your apartment. The radio is playing and you are feeling cheeky, deciding to reach out and squeeze him through his jeans. “Hermosa.” He warns with a low groan. “Javi.” You giggle, flicking the button on his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down.

Because he is in a suit, Javi actually wore boxers. You huff at the obstacle between you and his cock. Javi adjust his hands on the wheel, allowing you more room, sure that you are going to blow him in the fucking cab of his truck as he drives towards your house. “Fuck hermosa, you don’t have to-“ he groans when you reach into his boxers and wrap your fingers around him to pull his cock free. 

“I want to.” You whisper before you duck your head down to take him into your mouth and Javi hisses, his other hand slapping the back of the bench seat before he cups your head. “Oh fuck.”

You take him deeper, loving how he twitches inside of your mouth. You whimper around him, cunt dripping with anticipation of him inside of you and you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, working him deeper while you kneel on the bench in the cab of his truck.

“Fuck.” Javi moans, continuously taking his eyes off the road so he can watch you take his cock down your throat. “So fucking good.” He praises quietly. “So fucking good. Imagined you like this, so much while you were on my lap.”

You hum around him, widening your jaw to take him deeper down your throat until the hairs at the base of his cock are tickling your nose. He chokes, the truck swerving a little and you almost giggle around his length at his reaction. You want him to feel good, to want more of you. You want to please him.

“You’re gonna fuckin make me crash.” He groans, sliding his hand down your back to squeeze your ass. He doesn’t mind, just making sure that he keeps his eyes on the road and doesn’t close them. “So Fucking eager you have to suck my cock on the drive home. Can’t wait.” He teases, smacking your ass.

You moan when he smacks your ass, pulling off of his cock so you can look up at him, continuing to pump him with your hand. “Couldn’t resist you. Been thinking about you since you left my place. Wanting your cock again.” You admit before you take him back into your mouth, wanting him to cum before he arrives back at your place.

“Good.” Javi groans. “You’ll have me again now. Anytime you want me.” He promises quietly. He turns into your parking lot and rushes to find a parking spot closest to your building.

You want him to cum down your throat so you take him deep again, moaning around him. Your hand slides down to fondle his balls and you hollow your cheeks, closing your eyes as he kills the engine to his truck.

“Shit, shit.” Javi hisses, feeling his end coming and his entire body tenses. He taps your cheek just in case. “Gonna cum!” He gasps out, closing his eyes and letting out a low growl.

You don’t pull back, feeling his balls pull up in your hand and you moan when his cum hits the back of your throat. You love how he groans your name as he cums, making you whimper around him while you try to swallow every drop he gives you.

It takes almost a minute for him to stop cumming. Moaning your name again as he digs his fingers into your ass as he spurts the last drops into your mouth and gasps for air.

You swallow all of it, waiting until his cock stops twitching and you pull back, kissing the tip of his cock. You lick your lips and sit up to look at him, pleased with yourself for swallowing every drop and the wrecked look on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Javi pants. “You need to get in the fucking apartment.” He orders, grabbing your chin and pulling you towards him for a kiss.

You smile against his lips, fumbling for your purse and you reach for the door handle. “Come on then, Peña.” You order, getting out of the truck before he can open your door and you rush to your front door, struggling to find your keys and you eventually find them, opening your apartment just as Javi grabs your hips to guide you inside.

“I hope you’re ready to be in bed all night.” He hums, kicking the door behind him and barely taking his hands off of you so he can lock the door behind the two of you. “Because I’m not letting you leave it.”

****

Javi walks into the club, excited to see you and to watch you dance for him. Knowing that the other men are watching you but only he gets to take you home is thrilling. He finds a seat just as you’re about to start your set and he orders a whiskey. When you come on stage as Margarita, he smirks when you wink at him, shaking your ass in his direction, and he knows he will be biting it later, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make you squeal his name. 

When you get off of stage, you gather the money and quickly make your way to the floor, eager to see Javi. “Hey sweetheart. Come ‘ere.” You turn to see a man - not a local - reach for you and you barely have a second to react before he’s pulling you into his lap. “Wanna see those tits.” He grabs your top, pulling it down to display your tits to his hungry gaze before you can push him away.

Before he can slam his drink down, Javi is shooting up out of his chair. “Hey!” He growls, charging over to the asshole who has decided to drag you down into his lap without your permission. “What the fuck are you doing, pendejo? You ask before you fucking touch.” He slaps his hand off your top and twists the man’s wrist away from your body.

"She's a whore. It's all for sale. I just took it without paying first." The man snorts at Javi, "you wanna have her? Wait your turn, buddy. She has enough to go around for the right price." 

You hiss at the asshole, shifting off of his lap and you can't help it, you slap him. "I'm not a fucking whore." You growl, knowing you've never slept with any customer other than Javi. 

"Fuck you sweetheart, you are probably sucking the cock of everyone in here. This one just got jealous. Wants you to himself, huh?"

“Shut the fuck up!” Javi hisses, unable to control himself and pulls back to punch the asshole square on the jaw. The shock of the punch allows you to scramble off his lap and duck behind him. “She’s not a fucking whore, you puta.” He squares up to hit the man again but security rushes over to grab hold of Javi.

"Stop. Stop." You beg Jason, the security guy who is grabbing Javi. "He was defending me against this asshole. You should be kicking him out." You demand and your boss comes over. 

"What the fuck is going on?" He growls, "you just hit a fucking customer." He hisses at Javi, "and you slapped him." You try to explain what happened but your boss isn't having it. "You're fired." He growls at you and you clench your jaw. 

“Fine. I'm fucking over this shit hole place." You hiss, turning to Javi who is struggling still. "I'll meet you outside." You tell him, "he will leave." You tell Jason who nods and escorts Javi out of the club. You grab your things and change before you head out of the club, sick of the bullshit you have to endure. You see Javi pacing by his truck and you drop your things, wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him towards you for a kiss.

Javi pulls away from you after a quick and sloppily executed kiss. “I’m sorry, hermosa, I- he was grabbing you without your permission.” He growls, angry that you had been fired for being assaulted. “You got fired but I can’t say that I’m upset about it.” He tells you. “Not because you’re losing money, but that you don’t work for an asshole that will let his customers just do whatever they want to you. I should call the fucking sheriff.” He grumbles, looking at you guiltily.

You cup his cheeks, shaking your head. "It's okay baby. I couldn't - something was gonna happen eventually. I had to leave at some point because they wanted me to...to give extras and I refused." You confess, seeing him clench his jaw. "Leave it. I have been fired. It's done. Let's go. I want to go home."

Javi nods and guides you over to your car. Once again hating how big of a piece of shit it is. He’s spent hours under the fucking hood cursing when he had the extra time. He hadn’t been able to convince you to let him buy you a more reliable car, even going so far as to tell you that you could make payments to him if it made you feel better. “I’ll follow you, okay?”

You shake your head, “I’m done with the clubs. I don’t - I want to do something else. I don’t want to have to fend off assholes. I don’t want to tell them no every night because one night…one night they won’t take no for an answer and you might not be there. I can’t keep risking it.” You step under the hot water, letting him step in behind you. “I’ll find something else. Hopefully in another few months I’ll be finding a job with my damn degree.”

Javi hums and nods, reaching for your sponge thing and your body wash so he can wash the glitter, sweat and lotion off your body. “Then just don’t work.” He suggests. “I’ll make sure the bills get paid. Not like I am paying anything living with my pop.” He wants you to concentrate on finishing school and it’s been a struggle balancing things. “Just until you can get a job with your degree.”

You lean against him as his hands wash your body with the sponge. “I can’t ask that of you.” You shake your head, “I- I will find another job. I’ll be okay. I have some savings for the rest of school and I can manage the rent here. I’ll be okay.” You promise, leaning up to kiss his jaw. You know he wants to help but you’re proud and you don’t want him to think you’re with him because you want him to pay for everything. “I- I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you. It’s not like that at all. I- I love you.” You murmur, staring at his chest to avoid those dark eyes.

Javi freezes for a moment, watching you intently as you avoid his gaze. “I know you do, hermosa.” He murmurs quietly after a moment. “You know I love you too. That's why I want to help.”

You cup his cheek, bringing your gaze to his. “I know. I just - I want you to know that this isn’t just sex. I love you. I don’t want your money, I want you.” You murmur, loving how his hands caress you, washing you down, and you grab the body wash so you can wash him too.

“I know that.” Javi scoffs slightly. “You tried to give me free lap dances every night when I came in. Even though you know I’m coming home with you.” He doesn’t allow you to work for free, always paying you. He knows your bosses would have gotten on your ass for that if you did.

You chuckle, “I just wanted to grind on my boyfriend, that’s all.” You put a label on what you are and you pray that doesn’t scare him off but you have gone on dates, slept over at your place, and he’s brought you coffee and drinks. You’d consider it dating. “Now you get all the lap dances for free.”

“I don’t mind that.” He smirks as he looks down at you where you are washing his legs. “If you want, I’ll still tuck bills into your panties.” He jokes, knowing you would never let him do that at home. He winks at you to let you know that he was kidding.

“You can’t afford me, Peña.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, glad you are now both clean and you caress his chest, looking at him while the hot water hits your back. “Can you take me to bed? I want to feel you.” You reach down to wrap your fingers around his semi, wanting to have him inside of you.

Javi groans, just like he does every time that you touch him. “Fuck baby.” He huffs. “Get out and let’s get dried off.” He smirks, reaching out and squeezing your tit gently. “Want to make you feel good and forget all about tonight.”

You nod, getting out of the shower to grab two towels and you dry off, watching him in the mirror as he dries himself. When he walks back into your bedroom, you are laying on the bed waiting for him, “come on Peña and fuck me.” You order, spreading your legs. His display tonight has had you wet since leaving the club.

Javi chuckles and wraps his hand around his cock to pump it as he walks towards the bed. “Rub your clit baby, want to see you get even wetter.” He loves for you to touch yourself in front of him, finding it even more erotic than your dancing.

You follow his order, rubbing your clit, and you moan when you watch him jerk his cock, fully hard as his dark eyes trail over your body. “Fuck baby. You look so good.” You compliment him, loving the small tummy he has and his muscular arms.

“You look better.” He promises, greedily watching you. You huff but it’s true, you look like a fucking sexy goddess. “Always so sexy.” He kneels on the bed and shuffles forward. “Put me in, hermosa.”

You reach down to grip his cock, positioning him at your entrance. He pushes his hips forward and you shift your legs over his hips. He moves onto his elbows, pushing deeper inside of you and you reach up to caress his back. “I love you Jav.” You murmur, kissing his shoulder.

“Love you too.” Javi grunts, turning his head to press his lips to yours. He grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours. He rocks his hips slightly and groans at the way you tighten around him.

“Fuck baby.” You gasp against his lips, loving how he slowly rocks into you, making you whimper at how deep he gets. Squeezing his hand, you try to meet his thrusts, rocking your hips up into his. “Baby. Oh baby.” You moan, loving the way he stretches you and pulls you apart bit by bit.

“That’s it, baby.” Javi coos, rocking his hips a little faster as he pants. “So good. That tight pussy squeezing me so tight.” He moans, kissing down along your jaw and when he reaches your shoulder, he bites down hard enough to leave his teeth marks, able to mark you now that you aren’t working at the club.

You cry out with pleasure when he bites down on your shoulder, knowing it’s been hard for him to not mark you up when he’s a biter. You love that you can wear his mark now, show the world that you belong to Javier Peña. “Fuck. Do it again.” You beg, rocking your hips up to meet his faster pace. He’s intoxicating and you desperately want him to push you over the edge before he fills you up.

“Fuck, gonna bite all over you.” He promises thickly, his teeth digging into the top of your breast and he ducks his head down even further to bite your nipple. He doesn’t make that one too hard, instead he baths it with his tongue after he bites to soothe it. “Make you see my teeth marks every time you get dressed.”

“Goddamn. I - I really want that.” You admit, shifting beneath him and he hits just the right spot on his next thrust. “Fuck Javi. There. Right there.” You pant and he nods, rocking into you and focusing on that spot. Your neighbors must hate you. Screaming Javi’s name at all hours of the night but you couldn’t help it even if you tried. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Javi - oh!” You moan, clamping down on his cock when his pelvis presses against your clit just right.

Instantly, Javi groans, knowing that he won’t last. Not when you are like this. Sex has been incredible between the two of you, your orgasms becoming quicker and more intense with time. He moans out your name as he buries himself deep and fills you up. Shuddering over you and pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he does.

You pant, trying to catch your breath as his cock pulses inside of you. You run your fingers through his hair, loving having him on top of you, and you close your eyes, savoring how he feels, how he sounds. “Love you baby.” You sigh and he murmurs a “love you” into your skin. Lol

****

You are struggling today. The smell of bacon cooking has your stomach rolling and you can barely stand to ask for someone’s order. Deciding to take the night shifts at a diner until you finish school made the most sense, even if Javi had offered multiple times to pay for your apartment. You hadn’t given in, wanting to provide for yourself until you can work in your field. You breathe deeply, taking the order and once you’ve sent it to the kitchen, you rush into the bathroom to throw up. After washing your face and mouth, your eyes widen. “Shit.” You hiss, realizing that you’ve missed your period. You’ll get a test after work. Maybe you’re just exhausted studying for finals.

Javi hums to himself as he glances at the clock. You should be close to getting off work now and he would head up to the diner to wait for you so you can drive home together, you had asked him to not come in. Apparently unsure of getting fired if he hangs out there so Javi had just let himself into your apartment to wait for you. 

This shit is getting harder to do. Wait around for you. Or not take things further. For the first time in a long time, Javi didn’t like having space from you. Wanted to talk about moving in together. Maybe even move you out to the ranch. It would be good, you wouldn’t have to pay rent and Javi could sleep in the same bed as you every night.

You finish work, just barely managing it, and you have been nauseous the entire time, unable to even look at the food you’ve been serving. Your boss noticed and asked what’s wrong and after telling her you feel sick, she sent you home. Javi should be coming to pick you up soon and you are nervous. You’d walked to the nearest 24 hour pharmacy, the daylight breaking over the horizon and you bought the test, taking it in the bathroom. It was positive and you’re terrified. The future you worked so hard for hangs in the balance. You don’t think that Javi wants kids. He’s never mentioned it and you know that Lorraine faking her pregnancy must’ve terrified him. You walk back to the diner and stand outside to wait for Javi and that’s when you see her. Lorraine and her family are coming in for breakfast.

“If it isn’t the county whore.” Lorraine’s husband Randy rushes their two kids inside, not wanting the girls to speak to you. “What are you doing in a decent place?” She demands, curling her nose up at you. “Should you be letting those creeps shove dollar bills up your twat at the club?”

You roll your eyes at her words. You haven’t seen her for years and the irony of her showing up the morning you’ve just found out your pregnant isn’t lost on you. “At least they’d pay for me. You couldn’t get a dime.” You retort back, making her wrinkle her nose at you. “Well at least I’m not letting every Tom, Dick and Harry touch me for money.” She hisses and you roll your eyes at her before they widen when you see Javi’s truck pull into the parking lot.

Javi curses under his breath slightly but he doesn’t hesitate to step out of the cab. He shoves his hand through his hair and wonders how this is going to play out as he walks over to the two of you. Instead of pretending he’s not with you, he leans in and kisses your lips. “Hey, you ready?” He asks before he turns towards his ex fiancée. “Lorraine. Come to see your sister at work?” He asks, like it’s a friendly family reunion. He knows she doesn’t talk to you and he subtly slides his hand around your waist. “Too bad she just got off and needs to go home and sleep.”

Lorraine stares for several moments, eyes flicking between you and Javi and you brace yourself. Lorraine has never been able to cope with not getting what she wanted, even if that includes her ex fiancé from years ago. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Lorraine shrieks, “you’re fucking my little sister?” 

You shake your head, “adopted, remember?” You are bitter that she essentially ruined your life. 

“Jesus Christ Javier. I knew you were trying to fuck your way through the entire town but my sister? Oh my God. Did you…did you- when we-?” 

You scoff and roll your eyes, “I was seventeen. It was illegal. Javi never touched me then. He was with you.” You remind her but she shakes her head. 

“You always had that stupid crush on him but I figured it would fade. I never - ohhhh, you met her at the strip club, didn’t you? I heard about your affection for whores in Colombia. Guess you wanted to continue the tradition when you got back to Texas.” Lorraine chuckles and you shrink into Javi’s side. She’s always had this way of beating you down and making you feel worthless.

Javi narrows his eyes at Lorraine, he wants to lash out at her but she’s your sister. He doesn’t want to cause more issues than you already have with your family. “She doesn’t work at the club anymore.” He tells her simply. “And you should be proud of her, first and only one from your family to get a college degree.” Lorraine had dropped out in order to plan the wedding that had never happened. As far as he knows, she has never gone back.

Lorraine shakes her head, “a degree she paid for shaking her ass and getting her tits out.” 

You snort, “isn’t that what you did to get Randy? You should go inside to your family, Lorraine. It was…nice to see you.” You say despite your blood boiling at her. She fucked up her life, tried to force Javier to marry her, lied about her pregnancy, then went off the rails when Javi stood her up…yet you’re the bad guy. 

“Whatever. You deserve each other. I have a great husband and two beautiful girls.” She says defensively. 

“Exactly. Go inside and be with them.” Javier demands and Lorraine tilts her chin up and makes her way into the diner. 

“Shit.” You huff, turning to look at Javi once she’s inside. “I’m sorry about that. She’s the last person I expected to show up here. She was never a breakfast person.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Javi shakes his head and starts guiding you over to the truck. “She’s just pissed off that she didn’t get to stomp all over you and I’m not hiding away.” He squeezes your hip before he lets go so he can open the door for you to climb into the cab. “Forget about her. How was work?”

You sigh, remembering the test you have shoved in your purse. “It was…it wasn’t great today. All the food…it was making me nauseous.” You have no idea how to tell him, the pregnant test feeling like it weighs a ton in your purse.

“Are you sick?” Javi frowns slightly as he looks over at you, starting up the truck before he backs it out of the parking spot. “We can get you in the bed and I’ll run out to the drugstore. Just tell me what you need.” He wonders if you’ve gotten the virus that’s going around lately. Feeling bad because he had been thinking about fucking you before you went to sleep. Now that was off the table, but he doesn’t care as long as you get some rest.

You bite your lip, struggling to get the words out. “No Javi. I…I - I went and got a test after work. I, uh, it was positive. I’m pregnant.” You tell him, “I didn’t realize it but I skipped a period. I’m so sorry baby. I- shit - I fucked up. My birth control fucked up.” You choke, tears stinging in your eyes.

Javi’s eyes widen and his knuckles grip the steering wheel even tighter. Fear rushes through him, although there’s not an ounce of doubt in his mind. You had demonstrated how much disdain you had for what Lorraine pulled on him. “How- how far along are you?” He manages to choke out, wondering how you feel about it. You’re almost done with your degree and haven’t even had a chance to work in your field, you might not want the baby.

“Maybe 6-8 weeks. I don’t know. I gotta go to the doctor to be sure. I’m so sorry this happened. I didn’t - I swear to you I didn’t do this on purpose. It was an accident. I’m sorry baby.” You choke, tearing stinging in your eyes when you see how he grips the steering wheel.

“It’s- it’s not your fault.” Javi shakes his head, trying to shove down the fear of being a horrible dad. He knows he’s got a lot of shit baggage and could fuck a kid up. “What- uh, what do you want to do?” He asks, looking over at you.

You bite your lip, “I don’t know. I, uh, I live in a studio apartment. I’m about to graduate. I - we aren’t living together or married and I don’t want to force you into that. We didn’t - it’s completely unplanned and we are completely unprepared.” You try to be logical, wanting to point out the reasons why you shouldn’t have this baby.

Javi snorts softly. “I’m sure hundreds of people have babies they aren’t prepared for every year.” He tells you. He shakes his head, “hermosa, I was asking if you wanted to keep it or if you didn’t want the baby. We can work out all the details on everything else, we have at least 7 months.”

You swallow harshly, looking over at Javi. “What do you want?” You ask, imagining a life with Javi, your child running around and adoring their father as much as you do. Chucho being a grandfather and showing them around the ranch. It seems ideal. What you’ve always yearned for since you were a kid. “I want it.” You admit softly, “I want to keep our baby.”

“I was planning on asking you to move in.” Javi confesses. “Out to the ranch, give up your apartment and not have to pay rent or worry about that bill. Plus I’d get to sleep next to you every night.” 

You turn to look at him, “really?” You ask and he nods, reaching for your hand to kiss the back of it. “You wanted me to move in?” You ask breathlessly and he nods again. Your answering smile makes his heart jump and you kiss the back of his hand, “I would love that. Waking up in your arms, between your legs.” You wink suggestively, “I want to move in with you.”

Javi breathes out a laugh and nods. “Okay, yeah. Pop will love having you out at the ranch. Especially with you pregnant with his grandchild.” He promises you. He had talked to his dad about it last week, and gotten the older man’s approval.

You nod, unable to stop smiling. Excited and scared for what lies ahead. “I guess I better give my landlord notice.” You tell him and he nods, offering you a wink.

****

“Holy shit.” You pant, barely able to keep yourself upright but Javi wraps his arm around your chest, pulling you back against him as he pushes inside of you. “Fuck baby. So - so good.” Your bump sticks out and you turn your head to kiss his jaw.

“Look at you.” Javi’s other hand cradles your breast, not squeezes but just holding it since your tits are sensitive while you have been pregnant. “So fucking beautiful,” he groans, rocking his hips insistently. The need for you has just increased with you living here and starting to showing.

You moved in with Javi six months ago and your bump has made everyday things harder but Javi has been there every day. His cock pushes deep inside of you, giving you what you need, and you reach behind you to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Fuck baby. So good. Always so fucking good.” You pant and love how he makes sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself every time you have sex.

“You feel so good baby.” Javi coos, loving how your bump is getting bigger everyday. He’s seen the ultrasound scans and held your hand during the doctor’s appointments. Cried in the truck after hearing the heartbeat with you for the first time. His hand slides down over your bump to find your clit so he can make sure you cum. “You’re so sexy and I’m the only one who gets to see how sexy you are pregnant.”

“Only you baby. Only you.” You promise, moaning when he rubs your clit just right and his cock pushes deep inside of you. “God, I love you.” You pant, pushed closer to the edge and you whimper when he hits just right inside of you. “Fuck. You’re gonna make me - I’m - shit!” You gasp, tilting your head back onto his shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s it, hermosa. That’s it.” He hisses, gritting his teeth as he works you through your orgasm. “Fuck I love you.” His own hips start to stutter, pace faltering as he pushes towards his own release until he is grinding up into you and panting your name into your ear before biting down on your neck.

You love how he feels when he cums inside of you, his hands gentle when he relaxes and caresses your bump. “Your poor pa having to listen to us go at it all the time.” You giggle and shake your head, shifting to lay down and Javier curls around you, kissing your shoulder.

He snorts. “That man is dead to the world when he sleeps. Besides.” He curls his arm around you and strokes your burgeoning belly. “He’s already telling me I can’t let La Niña be an only child. She needs a hermano to protect her.” He hums, smiling at his father’s nickname for his coming grandchild.

You snort, “one baby at a time, Peña.” You smile and caress his forearm. “I haven’t got this one out yet. She’s kicking.” You hum, knowing he can feel it against his palm. She knows her daddy’s voice by now and you can’t believe you’re here in his arms. You spin around to face him, your bump pressed into his stomach. “I- I know you might say no and there’s - I don’t care if you say no because I understand but…will you marry me?” You ask him softly.

“Damnit.” Javi huffs quietly, frowning at you. “I was going to ask you when you were at your baby shower next week.” He grumbles at you, even though he’s not mad. Leaning in, he brushes his nose against yours and grins. “Where’s my engagement ring? You can’t ask someone to marry them without one.”

You giggle and nod. “I did.” It’s a simple silver band, but it will look good on his finger. “It’s in our closet, in my jewelry box.” 

“Oh my god, you actually bought me a ring.” He doesn’t know why but the idea of it makes him emotional and he sits up to reach for you. “You knew I would say yes, huh?” He teases.

You shrug, caressing your bump as he tugs you closer, “we are kind of tied together forever now. What’s making it official?” You giggle, reaching for the box. “I’ll even ask you properly.Javier Fernando Garcia Peña. Will you marry me?” You ask softly, wanting him to know you’re serious.

“Jesus Christ.” Javi shakes his head and leans in. “Of course I’m going to marry you.” He promises before he crushes his lips to yours. Your engagement ring is in the bedside drawer and he reaches behind him to open it so he can grab it while kissing you.

You press your lips to his, pulling back when he presses the box into your hand. You look down, opening the velvet box and your eyes widen, “baby. It’s - it’s beautiful.” You choke, caressing the diamond and you look up at him, “is this your mom’s ring?”

“It is.” Javi nods and bites his lip. His mother had never really cared for Lorraine and he had never given this ring to her but he wants you to wear it. “Can I put it on you? Since I’m going to marry you?” He grins at you happily.

You nod, letting him slide the ring onto your finger and you reach for the box by his knee, deciding to slide his ring onto his finger. “You’re not gonna ask me?” You tease, rubbing his ring with your finger and you admire your own ring. It’s perfect.

Javi huffs at you and picks up your hand, calling your name softly. “I love you. You’ve been here for me since getting back from Colombia and I know there is no one else I love or trust more in this world. I want to be by your side for everything life throws at you.” He murmurs softly. “Will you marry me? Tie me down? Lock me up and throw away the key?”

You smirk, “tie you down? Lock you up and throw away the key, huh? Didn’t know you were that kinky, Peña?” You tease, cupping his cheek with your free hand. “I love you. So much. I want to be your wife. I want to be beside you no matter what life throws at us. I want you. I want our family. I love you so much baby.” You murmur, rubbing his lower lip with your thumb.

“I love you too baby.” Javier promises you, leaning in and kissing you tenderly. “So much.”

****

“It’s okay baby, I have her.” Holding his baby girl is never a problem, grinning at the scrunched face that his one month old daughter is making. Even though he knows that’s her ‘pooping face’, he’s still enamored with her since holding your hand as you screamed and pushed her into the world. “You pick out better fruit than I do.” He trails along behind you as you wheel the shopping cart through the doors, bouncing her slightly in his arms and swaying as she continues to make faces and grunts. The diaper bag is on his shoulder and anyone who has ever known Javier Peña would be shocked at how naturally he had taken to fatherhood.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look as a father?” You ask him as you walk towards the fresh produce. 

Javier smirks, “only you. Every day.” 

You chuckle and shrug one shoulder, “only two more weeks until I’m cleared, baby.” You remind him and he nods, “oh I’m counting the days.” He promises, knowing you need him as much as he needs you but he wants you to be healthy and safe to do so. Maria fusses in his arms and he rocks her while you focus on picking out some fruit. Chucho likes bananas so you inspect them and put a bunch in the cart. 

For some reason, your instinct tells you to look up and when you do, your eyes meet Lorraine’s, her eyes flicking between you and Javier holding your baby. She narrows her eyes and walks over, “so you finally trapped him then?” She says, her eyes flicking down to your wedding rings. 

“No. I didn’t trap him. I’m not like you, Lorraine.” You sigh, honestly over the past. You are married, you have a daughter you adore and a husband that you love deeply and you don’t want to keep rehashing the past. “This is Maria. Your niece.” You announce, stepping closer to Javier so Lorraine can see the baby's face. 

She swallows harshly, regret in her eyes but neither you nor Javi have any malice towards her now. “If you want to come over and meet her properly, you’re welcome to.” Javi offers her and she shakes her head, “no. No. I, uh, I won’t intrude. Con-congratulations.” She stammers and fumbles to turn around and wheel her cart off in a hurry. 

You sigh, turning back towards Javier, “well, we tried.” You murmur and he nods, reaching out to rub your shoulder. 

“She will come around eventually. I want Maria to have a family that loves her, not resenting her. She still needs to meet Steve and Connie.” Javier says and you know he’s right. It’s been hard to have Maria without your adopted parents or sister but you know you’ll be able to do anything with Javi and Chucho by your side. 

“The funny thing is…I’ve forgiven her for everything because if she hadn’t fucked up, we would’ve never got together and had Maria.” You tell him and he nods, “exactly. We wouldn’t have our family. I love you.” Javi murmurs, not wanting to announce it to the entire produce section. 

You smile softly, reaching up to cup his cheek and you chuckle at the soft blush that appears, “I love you too. Come on, your dad wants that special bran cereal that always seems to sell out. Who the hell in this town eats bran cereal except your dad?” You snort and push the cart. 

Javi chuckles, following behind you with Maria in his arms and she snuggles into his chest, falling asleep. His eyes trace along your back and down to your ass and you stride through the grocery store and Javi thinks to himself, “I’ll follow her to the ends of the earth and back.”

[teyamloving12]

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫l

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Miles Quaritch x F!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content, large age gap, cursing, mentions of violence, implied sex, dub-con, abuse of authority, unprotected sex, etc.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: He was always watching. He saw you grow up into who you are now and only chuckled at the snarky remarks you made towards him.

He was vigilant, at least that what his mother would say when he was young. He was always wary of the people and things that dared to breathe around him. Maybe that is why he was held in high regard-- no, people didnt show him any regard or esteem. They were not at ease as a consequence of his barbaric tactics. The excruciating demands from his mouth when he bellowed commands to the inferior was immeasurable.

"𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞."

His lean muscles become tense whilst he caught a glimpse of the imbeciles that bowed before him. The little bastard of one of the recombinants would only amuse herself with the teddy bear that had a broken button as its eye in the corner of the meeting room.

His eyes would turn to then look at the little girl and she would express tenderness. A smile meritorious of millions, a piece of treasure that would glisten when polished. She was the ripest fruit upon the tree.

He softened for once in his life but he regained his composure and scoffed at the little, joyful creature. She is pathetic like her father. Always smiling and galavanting about the place. "No wonder Sully killed him", he said in a low-pitched tone. The fool left his little bastard after conjuring her up in her mother's womb. Is that what a man is? What whore of a woman opens her legs during war?

From a mere babe to a woman, he watched with keen eyes as you matured. He knew you despised his existence. He knew you picked up your father's soft and wimpish heart and mind. He felt a glare full of disgust from across the room. He only chuckled. Inadequate. You were pathetic, however, how could he resist that malevolent glow in your eyes?

The meeting room was packed like sardines and as loud as a clap of thunder. Shouts and cries of annoyance and protest echoed across the meeting room. Quaritch tilted his head at the sight of his team at each other's throats. "Jake Sully is a traitor that must be killed immediately", he roared. His ear-splitting voice boomed across the room.

"I beg to disagree", _____ said with an iron hand. "You come to their home demanding control and honor.", ______ started. Not a hint of apprehensiveness came from your tone. "This is their home and you came to disrespect it, therefore Sully chose the right path to leave rather than to stay.", _____ continued, fearing not the consequences that came after. "You got your mother's smart mouth huh?", Quaritch chuckled.

Though his hair was gray with white streaks on both sides of his head, his body was still muscular and strong. He had the ability to strike fear in anyone that he came across, young or old. "You are a fool to think that the Navi will give up their home for you. How confident do you have to be?", ______ clapped back at his supposingly insult.

No one in this world had the capability to wipe a petulant expression from his face. The Colonel's grin fell from his face. His eyes narrowed at the woman before him. "A fool, did you just call me a fool, little girl?", he focused your attention on his last two words. "I'm not your little girl.", _______ uttered. He then had the nerve to turn his back to you showing that your words had no significance to him.

He didn't care. He never did.

The little bastard that would play with her teddy bear has finally grown up. So grown, she had the effrontery and impudence to disrespect him. Quaritch faced you but his face was not of stone, almost as if he was laughing at your remark.

"When your whore of a mother decided to spread her legs in the middle of war, I gave her pity. She was lucky enough to give birth and she was lucky that I had not killed you.", he mouthed. You heard a few giggles from the recombinants in the room." This is the same place where you were raised, where you are fed. This is where you were grown and you will remember who you're talking to, little girl", he finished, emphasizing the last two words once more.

"Colonel or not, you will not dare to insult my mother like that.", _______ retorted. "The dead has no power, she's dead and so is your daddy. What will they do?", Quaritch snickered. The recombinants made comments on how your mother would have attacked him spiritually, earning a chuckle from Quaritch.

"Leave", he stated. The recombinants began to leave, confused by the sudden command. "You, stay", Quaritch demanded. You glared at the disgusting man that stood tall before you. "What do you want?", ______ mumbled. Quaritch grabbed you by your chin. "Do you hate me?", he asked with a smirk. After a moment of silence, your eyes met his. "More than ever", I responded. He scoffed at your remark. It was not what he had expected.

Out of rage and frustration, he pushed you back. Your figure collided with the edge of the meeting table causing immense, nerve-wrecking pain. "What the fuck is wrong with you?", ______ yelled, holding your side. "It's funny.", he deadpanned. "Funny how I wasted my resources on a bitch who claims she hates me.", He said, walking towards you. "Your glares won't kill me.", he added

Quaritch grabbed you by the nape of your neck. You attempted to defend yourself by slapping him across his face. He threw you on the meeting table with ease. Your breath hitched as you felt your back make contact with the stern, glass table. "You will learn that ungratefulness and disobedience come with a price.", he declared. Your glares were vicious until you heard it.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone...

Your heart dropped. "No", _____said, denying his advances. "You're still denying me, little girl", he cringed at your refusal. "You are abusing the authority that you have.", ______ exclaimed in fright. "Scream. Tell them. Tell them how you hate me.", Quaritch snickered. Tears streamed down your face, stopping at you chin. "You and I both know that this room is soundproof. They won't hear you", he whispered the last sentence.

The worst happened. You closed your eyes, praying to God in your head. You hoped you were just dreaming. Unfortunately, you were wide awake, living in a nightmare he had created. He towered over your frozen figure. "You had so much mouth just now.", Quaritch smirked. "Sometimes that nasty ass attitude hides your pretty face", he added. You closed your eyes, refusing to look at his bulging member.

The tip was rubbing against the soaked spot on your panties. Your head was spinning. On the verge to faint, Quaritch began to speak up. "Why are you wet if you hate me?". His forehead was dripping in sweat. His swollen cock was in his fist whilst he teased at the tip, spreading his precum on your underwear. Quaritch thought about you. He thought of how he would shot what makes him feel heavenly. He knew you learned fast and would care for him like he wanted.

"Do you still hate me?", he asked again. His cock twitched as he slid your panties aside revealing a soaked slit. Your eyes fluttered open instantly. He attempted to push him away but he was clearly stronger. The veins on his cock bulged like a beast. It was hungry and ready to strike. "I absolutely despise yo-ahhh", you were met with his cock half way inside yet you felt full.

He groaned. "Fuck. Should've done this earlier.", he muttered under his breath. Your pussy was squeezing him, tight enough to cut off blood flow to his lower body or maybe he was just too big. "Take it out!", you exclaimed throwing punches at his chiseled torso. Your command was a clearly a joke. He trailed his fingers to your clit and places them into your face to show you the truth. Your body wants it. It was obvious.

"Admit it little girl, you always wanted it", he declared. Did you? Did you really want it? "I-", you were caught up in your words and thoughts. You hated him, he was unjust and cruel. So why is your body betraying you at this moment?

“f-fuck—” Quaritch breathed, and his voice lets out a shaky call of your name. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he groaned. Quaritch bit his lip, fighting back a moan as he pushed himself slowly into you even more. Your back arched as you let out a shaky moan.

He grabbed your hips as he thrusted inside you with no mercy. “are you mine?”, Quaritch asks and the rough, deep tone is such a turn on for you. You hated yourself for moaning like a common slut for him, your colonel. The one you hated all your life.

“Don’t cover your mouth. No one can hear you. And even if they could, who do you think would help you, hmm?” Quaritch said. "I-I don't know" ______ whimpered. He quickened his actions further. You could feel your orgasm building deep within your core.

A lustful feeling, taking over every last rational thought your brain had left to offer. "P-please slow down." ______ begged. You whined in response, sparks of pleasure shooting from your dampened core. The unbearable sound of squelching filled the space around you. A small moan escaped from your lips.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t. But as the pleasure became so unbearable you became unsure. You felt yourself clench down on Quaritch's hard, throbbing cock. Your orgasm overtook your shaking body, ripples of pleasure coursed through you. You cried out from the aching pleasure. 

Although he hadn't finished, he pulled out. He stared at the face you had. He fucked you dumb. Now you will know your place. "Do you hate me?", he asked with a smirk. "Never~", you moaned, your pussy still sensitive from his cock.

Good little girl.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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

[Blood and Injury, Ghoul Trafficking, Minor Character Death]

[5.8k words]

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Chapter 7 "The Road"

“She asked you a question.” the tip of his gun bumps against the skull of the poor man in angry sovereignty. “Not nice t’ keep a lady waitin’.”

The man in question is a scrawny fellow with yellowish, vein-ridden eyes and greasy black hair just shy of his shoulders. A sunbaked, chewed-out lab coat adorns his shriveled form, hiding a multitude of self-inflicted scabs and prickles, but you’d caught a glimpse during his scuffle with Cooper. A self-proclaimed doctor who’d used his own flesh and blood in the name of science and study, he looked nothing short of deranged, but he’d survived until the ripe age of sixty-two and that was enough solid ground for you to trust his expertise.

You sat opposite of him, occupying a wide, crummy slab of concrete that had once been the roof of his laboratory. The entire building was waning, descended to a few walls surrounded by a rusting fence, but it offered enough shelter for most wastelanders to deem habitable. That’s why you’d stopped by, having endured your second month of surface exploration during what you’d learned was the middle of summer, you’d built higher tolerance for the hostile environment, but still couldn’t compare to Cooper. You’d needed respite, to catch your breath under a shade while greedily gulping down lukewarm spring water.

The doctor had heard your intrusion upon his sanctuary and had been more than hospitable, shoving grimy bottles full of murky substances of different consistencies in your face to get you to buy something. When he’d announced that he was a representative of the medicinal sphere another idea had popped into your head, one that required more talking and less buying diluted piss in a corked test tube labeled “Acne Remover”.

He could teach you medicine. The basics, at least, ways to patch up a wound using primitive things you had on hand, and you’d read such books before, but none of them touched on radioactivity nor explained what RadAway or stimpaks were.

The ghoul had been surprisingly agreeable, however, before you could discuss a plan, he’d taken to his ways and was already rasping threats while cracking his knuckles. You’d thrown your hands in the air with a displeased eye-roll as their tussle heated the dust off the floor.

It’s always violence with him…

“A stimpak? I can. Of course, I can.” the doc hacks and spits a mixture of blood and saliva to the side, then turns back to you with a wet snort. “It’s easy. Anyone can make a stimpak. Anyone. Who can’t? It’s so easy.”

“Great.” you nod, gripping your pencil with such force it’s shy from snapping. This was not what you’d had in mind by exchanging information – no guns or violence and absolutely no blood. But your fiendish companion had other ideas and beggars weren’t choosers. You lick your thumb and turn your notebook to a fresh page. “Please explain then. Slowly.”

The owlish look you receive has you eyeing Cooper with a lost frown, a plea for guidance because this man was clearly out of it with no intent on returning to normalcy.

He’s the heavy hand to your soft words as always.

“Talk.” he snarls and digs his boot in the doctor’s ribs, kicking him off his knees and onto his side. There’s no discussion, no bargaining, just a built-in cruelty and lack of patience.

“Jeez, you didn’t have to – ” you scrunch back in abhorrence, reaching for your face as if you were the one taking the beating.

“ – My notes.” a gargled sputter comes from the wheezing man. He laughs, rotting teeth proud on display as he knocks on the side of his head with such force you heard it from where you sat. “Head’s not good. Can’t remember anything. Gotta see my notes. It’s in the notes.” his spastic gaze is bouncing between you and the ghoul. “I can get 'em. Right there.” he’s jutting a finger up at his workstation where a gnawed-out leather bag rests. “Gonna get 'em. Tell you how. Okay? Gonna get up, gonna get 'em.”

He’s motioning for peace with palms spread wide as he slowly rises. The pistol follows him with cold-blooded precision as he wobbles to his desk. You turn halfway to watch as the notepad rests on your thigh, then tuck a wild strand of hair behind your ear.

He sifts through his belongings and it’s not much, but he’s sustained himself so far with the scarce scraps he’d managed to find. Meanwhile, your backpack was still brimming two months later because you had the trinkets to trade for food and water. You had a bodyguard for free and the luxury to indulge in hygienic habits most commoners didn’t see even on their deathbeds.

Bearing a soft heart, you wanted to leave him at least a granola bar, a guaranteed meal with no strings attached so the upcoming night wouldn’t leave him convulsing in a corner from hunger. He was skin and bones at best, a walking skeleton with cracking, aged skin, and protuberant wild eyes, the kind that have seen too much.

But you knew better, rather he starve and struggle than you ending up facing the ghoul’s wrath for acting stupid again. There was no room for kindness here, there would be no praises, just you naively reaching out a helping hand and ultimately having it bitten.

God, you hated this mess of a world…

“Here! Here, here.” he exclaims through a scratchy throat and shows you a torn, brown folder stuffed with sheets of paper. He digs his nose into it, stubby, arthritis-ridden fingers roughly handling the pages like a manic man searching for the meaning of life between the words. “It’s here. Has to be. I wrote it, y’know. All by myself.”

A sharp whistle rings in your ears and your head snaps back to Cooper. He nudges his pistol toward the folder and cocks his head with a scowl.

“Take em.”

You’re taken aback. Your face falls and you glance at the madman behind you with a slack jaw – he’s pressed into his workstation, the folder held snugly to his chest and encased in his frail arms. His hair sways as he stiffly shakes his head with disbelief.

“No.” you breathe out, a voiced thought, then repeat with more authority. “No! I can’t take his notes, how will he work without them?” you’re gesturing towards him with pencil in hand and direness to your voice. “Look at him! He can’t even remember his own name. We can’t just – ”

“ – I ain’t sittin’ here all day just cuz you wanna play Broken Telephone with a con bastard.” he’s a harsh mentor, doesn’t bat an eye at the implication or the devastation his order might cause. The rim of his hat dips, painting menacing shadows over his already monstrous features. “Take the damn notes.”

There’s no equal ground for arguing and the doctor stands there, forced to watch as his life is put on an uneven scale. Either shot or left to wither away without his only source of income, he couldn’t even choose, he was left to be toiled between your hands and the ghoul’s.

You’re bubbling with righteousness, but that won’t do. There are many things your companion dislikes and for unexplained reasons, standing up to him while trying to do the right thing is one of them.

“Please.” the plea leaves your lips as a hiss. Your face is wrinkled with exertion as you attempt to stare Cooper down to a more agreeable state.

You’re grasping at straws, fighting not to drown in the reality of your actions being the cause of another person’s death. This was no raider, or cannibal, not a warped beast hunting you for supper. This was a fellow survivor, a struggling soul the wasteland hadn’t been as lenient towards. Beneath the delirium and madness, the jumbled words and soup of senseless thoughts, he was still human.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t.

“Was your idea, Sweetheart.” a derogatory coo, a sentence that rips up your act of chivalry. He’s almost smirking as he puts you down with just his gaze. “Gotta finish what you started. Now take the fuckin’ notes.”

Impatience nips at his command, only amplified when he sees you refuse to move. His weapon lowers and he takes a few strides with a searing grunt and bared fangs. He’s no gentleman; picks you up roughly by the arm and forces you to your feet as disapproval of your disobedience brings forth his crow’s feet. There is no grace when you’re non-consensually pushed toward your victim, no elegance guides your step to ease the mourning of the man you’re about to strip from any chance of long-term survival.

But you’re also meek with your gestures, approaching him delicately once your footing is set in stone, hesitantly until there is only a thin gap separating you.

His leg juts to the side with barely contained need to run and he once again winds up at gunpoint.

“Don’ be fuckin’ stupid now.” the ghoul spits as his chin dips, he’s peeking beneath his hat with eyes that could boil flesh off bone.

Regret drains the strength from your fingers when you pinch the bottom of the folder, left to weakly tug it out of his grip as he begrudgingly relents. Your vision is set low, trained on your feet, scorned by actions you couldn’t back away from. You take his prized possession and look away until not a blip of him poisons your vision, then after swallowing nothingness down a dry gullet you manage to mumble:

“I’m sorry.”

You skitter back to Cooper, each step hastening your pace until you’re in the sanctity of his proximity. You don’t falter to see his nod of approval, instead hiding behind him, the side of your head leaned between his shoulder blades. Pathetic, powerless, and made cruel, your brows twitch, pulling down the skin of your sweaty forehead as you clutch at the folder with a distant mind and quivering bottom lip.

You leap a thousand miles away, condemned to weigh the doctor's odds and spare your sanity the burden of his demise. There were always radroaches scuttling about, he could live off them. They weren’t your cup of tea but they were edible. If he was smart enough he could gather sand and pebbles, make a filter and cleanse his urine to a drinkable consistency. It wasn’t that hard, he could survive if he wanted to. Maybe he could…

Maybe –

The familiar click of a pistol rattles you out of the dreamlike state.

You tense.

“Wait.” your hand shoots out to lay over his wrist, applying a minute amount of pressure to stray the firearm. “We got what we needed, right? You don’t need to…Please?” your voice cracks and your beseeched eyes lift to face his. “Please.”

The doctor hasn’t moved, frozen solid and silent aside from the low, bizarre hums and attempts to cough out the gunk tickling his lungs. He was sick and mad, defenseless against a loaded gun, compliant with your inhumane deeds, hadn’t said a peep of protest. The least you could do was leave him be after ripping away the little dignity he’d had.

Your way is brutal though, leaving a helpless old man to be overcome by a death worse than a bullet to the head. But you weren’t one to make a tough decision in a dire situation, you didn’t have the guts to do what would be considered a mercy. His chances were null and shooting him now would save him a great amount of suffering. You could walk out and wait for the shot to ring out, turn a deaf ear to the shriek of oblivion.

But you weren’t doing what was best for him, you were doing what was least painful for you.

Masking your selfish spinelessness as a courageous act of standing up to your dominant half to spare a soul. This was no heroism, it was torture. You’d seen firsthand how sadistic fate was in this dystopian world you now called home, but what could you do when the sight of him had you near tears?

Cooper lowers his pistol with a disgruntled scoff and you release a shaky breath.

“Whatever you say…” he clasps his weapon back in place and flings both his bandolier and tato sack over his shoulder.

It was suspiciously easy, but you didn’t question his change of heart, instead keeping close to him after shooting the deranged doctor a last apologetic frown.

He’d been with you since you’d left the vault, acting as the spear to your shield, the one to take action while you sat back and prayed for the best. You were still as friendly and ready to lend a helping hand as when you’d met and if it hadn’t been for him you would have been long gone by now. The wasteland was working on remolding your antics, but it was a slow process in your case and until then it spelled hardships and disaster for both of you.

Actions have consequences, bad ones, good ones, all of them. He’s tried and failed to teach you so he decides a harsher lesson is in order, one that will stick. That’s why he ignores the shuffling behind him and keeps a heavy-lidded neutral expression.

Actions have consequences and yours is being swung straight towards your head.

The bits of gravel crunching beneath your boots keep your hearing busy enough to miss the vigorous grunts and noises being regurgitated some feet away from you. It’s inconceivable that the person to whom you showed mercy would do anything to cause you harm. His uncoordinated, rushed steps don’t even register until they’re thumping right behind you.

You’re a second too late to react before the empty glass bottle is shattered against the side of your head.

All you muster out is a choked gasp as the ground beneath you slips and you’re falling. The world spins with sickening speed yet your fall is delayed, like a swaying feather.

You don’t feel. You feel nothing below your neck.

Your stomach churns as everything is flipped upside down. The folder is snatched from the safety of your armpit. You’re numb when you collide with the dusty concrete, feel only a cushioned resistance from an impact that’s supposed to hurt.

The air is knocked out of your chest, you’re suffocating on dust. Cooper’s boots are doubled and swaying in your vision as they move. You squint to try and focus, but can’t manage much except to roll on your back and twitch when a shot is fired. A guttural scream, then silence.

The scarce clouds visible from beyond the hole in the ceiling are swimming. You want to reach out and touch them.

The sky always leaves you speechless.

“Why…? Why couldn’t you just let it go…?”

You sit up slowly, hunching over as your legs cross to keep you steady. The dull pulse blossoms into pain and you press a trembling palm against your head only to find it dampened by scarlet red. What you thought was snot tickling your cupid’s bow turns out to be blood once you wipe it off with your wrist to see.

Your breathing accelerates and you look to the ghoul before you succumb to a full-blown panic attack.

He’s bending down to retrieve the folder from a man now dead before approaching you with leisurely steps and placing it in your lap once he’s knelt in front of you.

You didn’t feel like crying before you were face to face, but now your eyes are brimming.

“Next time, you don’ fuckin’ stop me.” he speaks in a low tone, letting you weep. His image shakes and you try your hardest to focus, wiping at your eyes and blinking rapidly, all in vain. “When I speak, you listen. No talkin' back, no attitude. You wanna live, you do as I say when I say.” he checks you over carelessly, sees no glass stuck to your skin, only cuts, and deduces a potential concussion from your uncoordinated movements. “Hope you learned your fuckin’ lesson.”

Your downfall, your savior, your opposite, your everything.

He’s up and walking, and you’re given no time to tend to your wounds, not even to rip off some gauze and stuff it in your nose. You replace the notebook and pencil with a water bottle, cup a hand under it, and spare some water to then splash over your face and wash away a part of the bloody smears. A sip is forced down after a short struggle because your stomach refuses to welcome anything. With jelly legs, you rise, flail briefly because the act makes the world whirl and your brain feels like it’s pressing against the inside of your skull, a sickening sensation, seething and pulsing.

Your shoulder grinds against the walls to offer support for your off-course balance as you make your way out of the rundown building. There are no thoughts in your head, for once everything is still, a dark, blank canvas swallowing any image before it can even surface. There’s only a dull ache deep within your chest, mourning, partly for you, partly for the doctor.

Cooper is waiting for you outside with a cigarette pinched between his lips and kicking at the cracked soil.

High-pitched screeching deafens you as the sun’s rays nearly blind you on the spot. Your sensitive eyes are filling with more than tears of sadness, you’re snarling instinctively with a hand shielding your vision. It’s almost nauseating and leaves your knees weak.

Was it really always this bright?

The sun has no sympathy, it blasts scorching heat as if it knows exactly where your head is exposed and oozing, it targets you with viciousness because you’re battered and broken. You lift the stained folder, let it rest against your crown and give off enough shade to keep you from fainting.

With a pained expression, you follow after the ghoul once he takes a particularly long drag from his cigarette and turns on his heel.

A trail is left in your wake, blood, tears, sweat, all marking your path as you struggle not to trip over your feet. Each step is heavy and rattles both your teeth and your brain. It’s an alien sensation, not truly pain, it’s closer to pressure and it’s agony when combined with the rest of your unpleasant symptoms.

Your breaths echo in your ears, drowning out your footsteps because you’re heaving for air like a woman drowning. The world still swims albeit less so and sometimes it’s unbearable and you’re forced to cling to Cooper’s arm and squeeze your eyes shut as he guides you. All you want is to lie down somewhere soft and sleep, but there’s no building in sight, no trees, nothing.

You walk an endless road, hours of silent torment.

With enough distance and suffering, the day is finally coming to an end and everything is bathed in deep oranges and blaring pinks. The sunset is behind you, your shadow faces you and is as decrepit and tortured as you, you’re heading east, not that it matters. You can finally open your eyes fully without wincing and that’s one less discomfort to sulk over, but then another takes its place instantaneously.

Your backpack feels heavier than ever, it digs into your armpits and it would have been worse if you hadn’t sewn the ripped strap back in place, but it made no difference now. It weighed on your back, further ruined your posture.

You readjust it multiple times with a handful of irritated grunts.

“Ain’t nobody told you t’ stuff the whole fuckin’ vault in that thing.” finally he speaks after an eternity of wordless wandering. He’s eyeing you judgmentally while mouthing another cigarette. “Said to bring essentials.”

More fuel to the fire, more salt in the wound. He’s a relentless bastard when he wants to be.

You stop to rest your hands on your knees and catch your breath and you’re a pitiful sight, but that doesn’t stop you from glaring death at him. Too far gone, in too much pain and fear from failing to understand how much damage the blow to your head had caused, you’re a hair away from losing it completely.

“Nobody told you to bring that nasty attitude either, but here I am.” you snap back through gritted teeth. “Dealing with both.”

He pauses.

“Wha’d you say?” he’s tossing away the smoke and storming towards you, but you’re not your usual self – you don’t back down or shrink away or try to run. You’re staring him dead in the eyes with a nasty look. “Care t’ repeat, Missy? My hearin’s not what it used t’ be.” he’s taunting you while holding your face with one large hand, squishing your cheeks until your lips pucker.

“You’re an asshole.” you snarl with hatred; his roughness causes your nose to fill with blood again, a fresh batch that follows the edge of your curled back upper lip and dribbles down his glove. You look almost feral, you almost fit in with your environment, but your eyes are still soft despite everything.

“Only reason why you ain’t getting’ a beatin’s cuz you already got a concussion.” he jostles you harshly, always does when you’re stepping out of line, but he’s too late to deal punishments this time.

You’re past his demeaning attitude, you’re fed up with being flung like a ragdoll and tied up and blamed for existing because you attract bad attention and he has to waste bullets. You’re bleeding and bruised and hungry and out of patience for his teachings. It might be the concussion, might be something else, but you’re writhing.

You’ve had enough.

He was no hero. He was a fucking pest.

When he shakes you for the second time and pain stabs up your neck like a knife to the spine you shudder. The sound that leaves you is worse than your visage, a carnal bellow, a menacing reverberation that could rival that of a cornered animal.

You bite him.

You sink your teeth into the plush between his thumb and forefinger with enough force for your jaw to burn. You’re clinging to his wrist and when he forces you back your nails leave angry red lines over his skin, even through his coat. You take a wide stance to retain some balance and glare at him from behind a curtain of wild, sweat-drenched hair. Your nostrils flare wide and you spit out the grime you’d bitten off.

“Well I’ll be…” he sighs while tipping his hand slowly and looks over the blunt teeth marks adorning his glove. They glisten with a thick coat of saliva. A fowl grin cracks his somber features. “If you wanned t’ swap saliva, Darlin’, should’a just said so.”

He glides his tongue over the bitemark, then licks the blood clean off his fingers. He’s tasting you, he’s savoring you and your façade falls in repulsion.

That disgusting smile never leaves his chapped lips.

You’re on the verge of insanity, pushed to the brink from everything that’s happened in the past two months and today spelled your breaking point. You’re at your wit’s end and all he does is laugh at your misfortune without a drop of empathy. How can he enjoy your misery? What kind of sick man finds pleasure in another’s pain?

“What is wrong with you?!” you shriek as your hands ball, the folder you’d forgotten you still held, creases under the pressure. You land a fist against his chest, then another, and, of course, he doesn’t even flinch. “Why are you like this?!”

He holds your arms while stifling his cackles, softens your blows while you fuss, lost in your tantrum and throwing conniving insults his way while somehow avoiding any vulgarities. It would have been a comedic performance if your condition potentially worsening didn’t make him fret. He didn’t need you passing out in the middle of nowhere because you couldn’t control your frustration.

“Who did this to you?”

Who hadn’t? His darling wife had dug a knife in his back, taken his daughter away and left him to rot. He’d known the taste of betrayal and disloyalty before the bombs and now it was a free-for-all massacre. He’d not just lost everything, it had been ripped away from him. Every single person he’d known had either tried to kill him or left him stranded.

“Who hurt you so bad…”

But who were you to ask him such questions? Who were you to sink your claws so deep and stir him awake from his bitter slumber spanning over two centuries? Who were you to question his ways and fight to find better solutions? Who were you to mend wounds you’d not caused?

You were nothing.

You were everything.

“Easy.” he warns, paying no heed to your desperate laments, then releases one of your hands to snake an arm around your waist when your knees give out. “Easy now…Easy…”

You’re bawling into his collarbone, sobbing an ugly song, and staining his vest with heavy tears. Your fists uncurl once you’re done drumming at his chest and your fingers sink into the warmth beneath his coat. He’s a solemn golem, doesn’t react to your advances, he doesn’t see you as a threat.

“Why didn’t you just shoot me in the start…”

His heartbeat never changes, but you hear him swallow a lump. He watches over the top of your head as you succumb to periodic trembles and tire yourself out completely. A dainty and ethereal creature compared to him and even in your rage and unquenchable sorrow, both caused by him, you still cling to him.

You were similar in that regard. He had shown you the same mercy you’d shown to the doctor. Selfish spinelessness, lack of courage, weakness, twisted empathy. He was no hero, but you sure made him feel like one. A part of him was addicted to the goodness you carried and didn’t want to let you go. And he cared little for how fake or real it was, he just needed to have a taste once in a while, get a reminder that softer things yet thrive in the dark crooks of the apocalypse.

“Should’a stayed in Tillburry.” a rasp so low you could have mistaken it for a rustle in the wind.

He’s already locked eyes with you when you finally unfurl your face from his vest and look up. Newfound anger spells doom on your lips. It doesn’t suit you to be angry.

“I didn’t want to stay in Tillburry.” there’s spitfire in your voice as you talk down his feeble statement. A last soft punch to his chest to solidify your words as you continue. “I want to stay with you…”

“Y’ dunno what’d fuck you’re talkin’ about.” he gravels out a tender scold, his eyes dip to your frown, his mouth waters.

He inches closer, earning an inquisitive noise from you, but you don’t back away. You grip onto his coat and for once his heart is heavy as he lowers his head until the rim of his hat is brushing against your forehead. His breath hits you and it’s rich with the smell of cigarettes.

Your inhales are forced, brash and vocal, sucked in through parted lips as you take him in for the first time. Contrary to your beliefs, he had eyelashes, thick and dark and you wonder if he was brunette before he became a ghoul. His eyes were molten gold in the dying sunlight, prettier than yours would ever be, his cheekbones were high, accentuated by the lack of fat in his cheeks.

Once upon a time, he was a handsome man.

He’s pawing at your waist to keep you close, a precaution for the slim chance that your brain kicked back into function and you pulled away like you should. He had no right taking your first kiss, he had no right to anything of yours, but there was nobody present to stop him. A small guilty pleasure, a moment of indulgence, that’s all he wanted and he’d set you free.

You’re sweating, you’re shaking.

Were you really that scared of him?

“Coop – ”

“ – ‘S okay, Pumpkin. ‘S okay…” he coos in a hushed tone, tender and sugary. “I got you…Sweet thing…I’m here.”

A queer affection coming from a man who was anything but, your mind was hazy, you’d faint any second. Your stomach is bursting with fluttering butterflies as you give in to the needy hands kneading your sides.

What was this…

“ ‘M a bad man, I know…I know. Don’t deserve this.” he sees you searching for words, gives you a good squish and you’re so pliant under his fingers it makes him weak. “Is okay…Close those pretty eyes o’ yours.”

He’s so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, your nose is brushing against his cheek and his lips are ghosting over yours.

“Helloooo!”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

A caravan approaches, pulled by a pair of well-fed brahmin. A man is vigorously waving a hand your way, bearing a wide smile with mostly missing teeth.

You rush to straighten your dress once you’re abruptly released and pushed away. There’s danger dancing in Cooper’s stance as he mumbles an inaudible slew, his hand is at his holster and his shoulders become ridged. There’s a heat to your cheeks that you hope the sun masks and the medical folder is tucked in front of your chest as a barrier.

Judging by the ghoul’s reaction, this man, whoever he is, is trouble and you’re not mentally prepared to withstand another bloodbath.

He flings the reins, urging the brahmin to pick up the pace and the distance between your parties grows too short too quickly. You can only pray for a peaceful exchange. His cargo is large, rectangular and covered by a dark sheet bolted to the carriage on either side.

Once he’s close enough a distressful symphony reaches your ears and you step closer to Cooper out of habit. There’s the rattling of metal, a cacophony of pained moans and haggard groans, animalistic noises from a beast you’d yet to encounter.

Was he from a circus? What kind of animal made such sounds?

“Shut the hell up back there!” he slams his fist against the cargo, you guess it’s a cage of some sort, and the mystery animals fall silent. Then he stills the brahmin and flashes you a polite smile. “Evening, Miss.”

“Hello, Sir.” you nod and the firm hand on your hip tells you to be very careful with your next words.

He doesn’t even address Cooper despite him standing in front of you, just gives him a good full-body scan and averts his attention back to you. It’s strange, for once you’re not in his shadow, your gut warns of a dirty truth hidden behind that dark curtain, one which you didn’t want to delve into.

“Sorry to bother you this late an hour.” he plants an elbow against the backrest of his seat and turns to face you properly. “I was just wondering if you were selling.”

The wind picks up your hair, for a moment the world is still.

“Selling?” you cup a hand over your eyes to block out the dying red sun falling behind the distant horizon. Your brows lock in confusion because he certainly didn’t look like a merchant. “Selling what?”

“The ghoul.” he answers as if it’s the most obvious thing, then when you don’t answer immediately he decides to add a bit more honey to the mix. “Would pay good caps for that one.”

“The…WHAT?!”

Your blood runs cold. The moans you’d previously heard turn hauntingly grim and you try to look everywhere but the covered cage. The grip on your hip is bruising in strength; the only way to ease Cooper before he snaps is to step on his boot.

The bent stop sign a few feet down the road looks weak enough. You wonder if you can tear it out and bludgeon the man to death, then shake your head. He’s not a man, can’t be if your suspicions are true.

Because who would do such a thing…

“Stop.”

 It was impossible to entertain such thoughts. There exist so many words to describe the evil and grotesque and none of them come close to encompass such inhumane deeds.

“Sorry, Sir, not selling this one.” you muster out, shake off your horror and mask your malice with an awkward smile. You pat the ghoul’s shoulder like he’s a pet. “He’s a good mule, can’t imagine traveling without em.”

The words nearly make you gag while the man howls a throaty laugh.

“Sure looks like it. Real shame.” he sits back and grips the reins once more with a serene look as he stares into the sunset.

He doesn’t deserve to see such a sight, he doesn’t deserve to be so relaxed, he doesn’t deserve to live –

“ – Weeellp! If you change your mind, my establishment’s stationed in Pitfalls Valley. Big building, can’t miss it.” he gives you a playful wink and a click of his tongue before tugging at the reins “Have a good evening, Miss.”

The disturbance awakens the cage once more and the voices come back to life, despicable and anguished.

You can’t even process what had happened before you’re made to move.

“We gotta go.”

The gentle tug on your dress leads you away as you stare back unblinking. There’s a myriad of bony hands reaching from beneath the curtain, scraping at the bottom of the caravan, pulling at the metal bars, some of them are tiny.

Hate in its most primal state is an emotion you had never felt, not until today. You had never dreamed of killing someone until today. For once, you’re ready to watch a shootout, but it’s also one of those rare moments where Cooper prefers to walk away. You’re looking at him with pleading eyes and all he can offer is a bitter:

“It ain’t our problem.”

You’re no Mary Sue, you can’t charge into a battle and win, armed or not. You can’t be the hero those locked up ghouls need. You can’t do shit because this isn’t a fairytale. It’s life – cruel and cold, real and so unbelievably merciless, sick and twisted. There is no happy ending for anyone, there are no miracles.

All you can do is move along, stuff the memories in the depths of your subconscious and get over it because at least you’re still alive and free. It’s either wallow in despair or swallow it and survive. There is no joy, there is no love, no compassion, no humanity. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

You link your fingers with Cooper’s and squeeze.

“What kind of fucked up piece of shit sells ghouls…”

That cracks a smile from him. He closes his fingers over your hand until it disappears behind an aegis of leather.

“Well look at you startin’ t’ swear proper.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 8 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @lomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

@sgt-barnesveins

[youremyheaven]

Moon Dominance & Manipulation pt 2

TW: murder, rape, genocide, violence, assault, death etc etc

Here's part 1

In part 1, I spoke about the manipulative nature of Moon dominant people, in this post I will be exploring it further and providing more examples.

I think its interesting that the Moon dominant nakshatras, namely, Rohini, Hasta & Shravana are Manushya gana (Rohini) and Deva gana (Hasta & Shravana). It is very telling because even though these natives say and do terrible things, they enjoy squeaky-clean reputations and people usually perceive them as angels. If they were Rakshasa gana people would see through their bs more quickly.

Ariana Grande- Hasta Moon conjunct Jupiter

Ariana has said and done numerous problematic things over the years, from cheating scandals, blackfishing, donutgate, being extremely rude and arrogant, changing races every few years, to cringe ass over-sexualised lyrics, to being a homewrecker, Ariana is super duper messy YET she enjoys public and media support and is seen as America's sweetheart. Other people have lost their careers for less but Ari gets away with absolutely everything. She publicly admitted that Pete was her rebound guy (she was engaged to him) which is such a shitty thing to do to someone?? Like imagine if the genders were reversed lol

Ariana is a solid example of always seeming like the innocent person even though she's the messy one. Even with her latest album, its pretty obvious who cheated on who but she's been subtle enough with her music to make it seem like her ex cheated on her (she made him sign an NDA upon divorce which in itself is SOOO sketchy like what is she afraid of him revealing????) to imply things like that when you've put the other person in a position where they literally cannot speak for themselves is peak Moon dominant manipulation. She then posted a half assed story on IG asking fans to stop attacking "people in her life",,, its so apparent that she incited the whole thing in a super calculated manner and once she got what she wanted, she tries to pretend to be the good guy whose fans did all the terrible stuff🙄

Selena Gomez, Pushya Stellium, Mercury in Ashlesha atmakaraka (they both lie in Cancer which is Moon ruled)

I wouldn't have included rashi rulership but Selena is an exception. She's the queen of playing the victim and is second only to Meghan Markle. Selena sets her fans on different hate trains every other week. She's very wary of showing support to social causes. She worked with Woody Allen. She treated her best friend & kidney donor like shit, was a terrible gf to Justin Bieber, treated Demi like shit during a really tough period of Demi's life, can't sing at all yet, produced a whole TV show (13RW) that is extremely triggering for people with mental health issues and was advised by MANY to change things but she just didn't??? honestly, if you watch her documentary you can see how she's the most self-absorbed narcissistic person, every single thing has to be about her all the time.

Despite all this, Selena is almost universally loved.

Amy Dunne from Gone Girl is THE best example of a Moon-dominant person and the extent to which they'll go to ruin your life. Amy Dunne was played by Rosamund Pike who has Shravana Sun conjunct Mars

Amy had such a squeaky clean image that it was impossible to convince anybody that she was the sociopath who tried to fake her own death.

Leonardo DiCaprio- Hasta Moon

Leo is a creepy middle aged man who only dates women under 25, lives for the yacht life and spends his free time partying and doing drugs, all of which is fine but these are things that other Hollywood men come under fire for ALL the time, yet Leo is pretty much everyone's favourite, he's the environmentalist humanitarian even tho he's private jetting to his private island to party with models, even tho he's received flak in the last couple of years for dating women much younger than him, its still more of a running gag than anything serious. He hasn't suffered because of it in any way. His reputation is still intact.

John Lennon- Hasta Sun, Shravana Moon

John was a wife beating, child beating, abusive to multiple women, made fun of people with disabilities, pretended to be an anti establishment hippie even though he accepted an MBE from the Queen of England (he returned it years later in protest) and yet he is remembered as a counterculture icon and one of the most talented musicians ever. He was a violent abusive man who preached peace. Although he was a philanderer himself, he was obsessively jealous and possessive towards the women he became involved with. Lennon was an extremely wealthy man who lived a rich lifestyle, but he said that we should "imagine" a world with no possessions or greed. In short, he was a hypocrite. Yet he is still remembered fondly unlike sooo many other figures in history.

Amal Clooney, Shravana Sun conjunct Venus

speaking of hypocrisy, here's Mrs Clooney, the human rights lawyer who wears $34,000 worth of clothes while championing the poor. She attends gala and balls wearing clothes worth thousands of dollars to "raise money for charity" whilst being married to a man who has a net worth of $500 million. Like I'm sure he could just write a cheque?? The Clooneys throw a lot of charity balls/dinners/parties etc as well and its so funny to me because its obvious they're doing it to keep a certain image before the media, whilst also getting all glammed up and having fun, without doing anything tangible to actually help anybody. imagine your job is to represent refugees, unfairly imprisoned heads of state and advise the UN and you also split time between 5 different mansions all over USA and Europe in private jets lol yet Amal enjoys a good reputation for being a girlboss

Gwyneth Paltrow- Rohini Moon

Lady Goop is a nepo baby and has a net worth of $200 million yet she feels the need to make money off of people by selling bullshit wellness products like $55 sex oils, $400 meditation mats, mouth tape, vibrators, theraguns, vitamins, health supplements and god knows what else?? She's one of the many westerners who sell commercial spiritual nonsense to the masses but coming from someone as rich as she is?? like maa'm?? she promotes so much alternate medicine bullshit on her podcast as well, there is obviously real actually helpful alternate herbal treatments/medicine etc etc BUT that's not her focus she talks about getting rectal ozone therapy (not kidding) and shoving garlic in her ears to clear her chakras and spreads misinformation. there are plenty of people in america who can't access health care, imagine how you're endangering them by suggesting that rose quartz and mouth tapes and candles will cure you. She promotes a eating disordered diet as a "healthy one". all in all, she's sketchy but people just make fun of her and don't see her as someone manipulating innocent people into buying super expensive "alternate medicine" from Goop.

Helena Blavatsky- Hasta Moon & Venus

Helena is the co-founder of the Theosophical Society and was an international leader figure in the Theosophical community. She basically helped promote eastern spirituality and philosophy in the West except that she's lied about pretty much her whole life, so its hard to confirm literally anything about her. She died in 1891 so at the time when she was alive there was no way for others to prove whether or not she was lying, they just had to take her word for it. She lied about training with sages in Tibet and lied about her mystical experiences, plagiarised ancient eastern texts to write about her "spiritual discoveries" etc There's plenty of proof that she was nothing but a charlatan yet I find it interesting how she still has a devoted following and even in her lifetime enjoyed a good reputation as a mystic medium lmao

Ranbir Kapoor, Hasta Sun & Mercury, Shravana Moon & Rohini Rising

Ranbir gets a lot of hate as of late but for the most part he has enjoyed a really good reputation despite being a shitty person.

Jeane Dixon- Rohini rising

She was a psychic and astrologer who predicted the JFK assassination.

John Allen Paulos, a mathematician at Temple University, explored the tendency of Dixon and her fans to promote her few correct predictions while ignoring the larger number of incorrect predictions, naming this habit "the Jeane Dixon effect."

Many of Dixon's predictions proved erroneous, such as her claims that a dispute over the islands of Quemoy and Matsu would trigger the start of World War III in 1958, that American labor leader Walter Reuther would run for president of the United States in the 1964 presidential election, that the second child of Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau and his young wife Margaret would be a girl (it was a boy), and that the Soviets would be the first to put men on the Moon. (excerpt from her wiki)

basically she had no real powers but managed to convince others she did, her clients included Ronald and Nancy Reagan lol

Jordan Peterson, Hasta Moon , Rohini Mercury & Shravana Ketu

He is a good example of the worst type of Moon dominant man. He has said among other things:

That class conflict is a natural and eternal struggle for existence that no political or economic revolution could ameliorate. The individual must develop an aggressive, alpha-male attitude in order to climb the social ladder. Peterson is kind of obsessed with power (all Moon dominants are lol) acc to him only a strong will, exercising itself against a contingent and meaningless world — and against the weak — can one ever hope to flourish.

Jordan Peterson endorses the idea that some men are purposely denied sex by women and that conventionally attractive men are 'taking all the sex' from other 'deserving' men. As a result, he suggests that by assigning women to men and pressuring them to 'settle' and have sex with isolated men, they wouldn't be so "angry at God" and commit acts of mass violence and murder. This, as well as criticizing birth control and saying that women would be happier if they just "allow themselves to be transformed by nature into mothers," is dangerous rhetoric that reinforces patriarchal violence against women.

He's a manipulative asshole who propagates his sexist harmful chauvinistic views as pseudoscience or psychology ew

Freud- Rohini Moon, Hasta Mars

i couldn't make a post about Moon dominance and manipulation without mentioning the godfather of promoting his fucked up worldviews as science, Mr Sigmund Freud aka the most successful Moon manipulator who has caused permanent lasting damage to society

Sigmund believed that homosexuality in men is neurotic but not particularly problematic. Lesbianism, however, he considered a gateway to mental illness.

This (according to Sigmund) is because only men have moral sense. We all evolve from apes, so no human is born with it. But boys acquire morality through the castration complex—the fear that their fathers will emasculate them for their misbehavior.

Having nothing obvious to neuter, girls and women are essentially amoral, lying and conniving to get what they want. Girls must be guided through civilized life by a father, and a woman by a husband. And because they choose not to marry, lesbians remain loose cannons, fundamentally untrustworthy and unstable.

His daughter Anna was his closest intellectual and emotional companion. Yet she was a lesbian.

Freud taught that lesbianism is always the fault of the father and is curable by psychoanalysis.

Freud cautioned followers that analysis is an erotic relationship. Analyst and patient together must scrutinize the amorous feelings that flow between them. This being the case, by rules he asked his followers to honor, Freud could not attempt to cure his own daughter’s lesbianism.

 he also overgeneralized a lot of his “findings” such as the oedipus complex to apply to all people, which was harmful in the early stages of the formation of psychology. today most of his theories are disproven and widely considered problematic. Freud was obsessed with sex and made everything about sex (Moon men are sex addicts and every Moon man I've mentioned so far has a weird relationship with women)

he is credited with being the first psychologist to actually listen to women's problems but when he did listen to them, and many of them told them of their SA experiences, he changed the narrative to "women want to screw their daddies so they have these dreams/fantasies of sexual encounters in childhood" (the Electra/Oedipus Complex) to sell his books. He LIED basically, he manipulated the truth into something disgusting.

Freud is credited with making psychology a legitimate field and for it gaining attention worldwide but he literally manipulated, lie, overgeneralised and in general spewed a lot of toxic nonsense in order to get attention, like Gwyneth with Goop or Helena with Theosophy.

Sobhita Dhulipala- Rohini stellium

Sobhita like most others bought a brand new face for herself yet masquerades under the "im not like other girls, i read" nonsense, she talks about acting, art and self love like she's some committed thespian when girlie cannot act to save her life. she says she does not work out just cleans her house and does chores to stay fit :) bc she's not like other shallow actresses, she does her own chores :) compared to most other people on this list she's harmless but I find her super pick me and pretentious

Moon dominant people are very good at picking up on lies, and understanding human behaviour because they're liars themselves lol, it takes one to know one.

Azealia Banks- Rohini Sun

she's truly unhinged af and a very vile person but some of the people she's called out are also terrible people and tbh her insults are so poetic lmfao

dont get me wrong i think she's a terrible person but there is some truth to some of the things she says which is what i meant by how Moon dominant people understand human behaviour. also Moon dominant people are HATERS dont expect them to say anything nice about anyone lol

I had a friend who would deliberately compliment every other girl we were friends with (Rita is sooo pretty, Lily is so stunning etc etc) but would never say ANYTHING nice about me EVER and when others complimented me she'd act like she didn't hear it or something lmao (it was wild) and one day I straight up asked how come you never say anything nice to me and she said "oh I didn't know you needed compliments from me, I thought you got enough validation from others, I didn't know you were desperate for more" 😭😭😭😭LIKE GIRL WHATTT, honestly making these posts and exposing the dark nasty side of Moon dominant people is helping me heal from all the toxic abuse I endured at the hands of this shitty girl and some others ughhhh that's the reason why these posts have more personal anecdotes than any other post i've made lol

Oprah Winfrey, Shravana Sun & Venus

Her show was pure exploitation of peoples problems and also gave a platform to the equally exploitative Dr. Oz, the king of fake science, and Dr, Phil, the king of fake psychology.

It's a well known fact that she's friends with Harvey Weinstein & Jeffery Epstein despite being a "supporter" of the Me Too movement. Not to mention, she gave a platform to the phony Michael Jackson accusers from Leaving Neverland (do the research, they're liars) while turning a blind eye to the actual sexual predators of Hollywood, like Weinstein.

Her style of journalism seems to favour the shock value of a breaking news scandal rather than actually seeking the truth.

Several celebrities have come forward to talk about how poorly they were treated on the show. Oprah loves to relish in the misery of other ppl and ALWAYS makes others deeply uncomfortable with the straightup rude and hurtful questions she asks them.

Ellen DeGeneres, Shravana Sun & Venus

the fact that two of the most sociopathic TV hosts to ever grace television has identical placements is so telling. Ellen has been exposed in the last couple of years for being a terrible person to work with and treating her guests like shit. What I find even more interesting is the fact that the person who sort of initially exposed Ellen for being a manipulative liar is Dakota Johnson who has Hasta Sun & Mars, when I tell you that Moon dominant people deeply understand human behaviour and the psychology behind people acting the way they do, this is what I mean, it takes a Moon dominant to understand the manipulation of another one.

Kristen Bell, Hasta Moon

she probably has one of the most toxic marriages ever and yet speaks of it so glowingly and always talks about "how much work" it is to stay married like girl💀💀maybe exit the marriage then?? she has such a sweetheart image but she has admitted that she gives her children non-alcoholic beer, locks them in their room at night, makes them shower with her to "save water", talks to them about their father's addiction and their sex life??

"We make funny videos but we also go to couple's therapy because we disagree on 99.9 percent of issues," she said at the time. "There are days when I'm completely sick of him, and there are days when he is completely sick of me. But we've chosen to love one another and to be a team. We've learned how to communicate and argue in a really healthy, respectful way."- Kristen said this about her marriage like girlie nothing about it sounds healthy, if its this much work then it probably isn't love lol

Kate Winslet, Hasta Sun, Moon & Rising

Winslet has worked with predators like Woody Allen, Harvey Weinstein & Roman Polanski and after Me Too, she shifted her narrative as public opinion regarding these men, whose crimes and accusations have been well documented for decades, has thoroughly shifted to the point where associating with them is no longer good for her and would like to join the right side of history. She & Leo have partied on Jeffrey Epstein's private island as well and she's one the many signatories who signed a petition to free Roman Polanski ewww

This is one example of how image conscious Moon dominant people are, she has no moral compass and had no issue working with all these predators for decades but once it became apparent that she wouldn't benefit from associating with them anymore she's suddenly all "omg terrible men i wish id known better" lol what a liar

She also played a sociopathic Nazi in the movie The Reader

Josephine Baker, Rohini Sun

Josephine Baker was a dancer known for her banana skirt dancing. Later in life, she adopted 12 children from different ethnicities and spent the rest of her life raising them. She is remembered as an icon and for her activism but her children have come out to describe how abusive she was to them.

During her participation in the civil rights movement, Baker began to adopt children, forming a family which she often referred to as "The Rainbow Tribe". Baker wanted to prove that "children of different ethnicities and religions could still be brothers." She often took the children with her cross-country, and when they were at Château des Milandes, she arranged tours so visitors could walk the grounds and see how natural and happy the children were in "The Rainbow Tribe". Her estate featured hotels, a farm, rides, and the children singing and dancing for the audience. She charged an admission fee to visitors who entered and partook in the activities, which included watching the children play.

She created dramatic backstories for them, picking them with clear intent in mind: at one point, she wanted and planned to adopt a Jewish baby, but she settled for a French one. She also raised them in different religions in order to further her model for the world, taking two children from Algeria and raising one child as a Muslim and raising the other child as a Catholic. One member of the Tribe, Jean-Claude Baker, said: "She wanted a doll".

Baker forced Jarry to leave the château and live with his adoptive father, Jo Bouillon, in Argentina, at the age of 15, after discovering that he was gay. Moïse died of cancer in 1999, and Noël was diagnosed with schizophrenia and is in a psychiatric hospital as of 2009. Jean-Claude Baker, the unofficial addition to the Rainbow Tribe, committed suicide in 2015, aged 71.

Angelina Jolie, Rohini Sun

Jolie was clearly inspired by Josephine Baker. she adopted children from different ethnicities and even bought a Chateau in France to raise them in (just like Baker did). For many years Jolie received a lot of flak for her unconventional parenting, like frequently travelling, homeschooling all her kids and not giving them a bedtime or any kind of stable daily routine. I can't comment on it too much because there's not that much about their personal life on the internet but what I do find very interesting is how Jolie has always used the paparazzi to push a certain image and stay relevant. We know that paps only come when you call them, even Beyonce never gets papped, so its very much possible to live a lowkey life. Angelina gets papped absolutely all the time for the last 20yrs, it was especially bizarre because it was obvious that she was trying to shed the "homewrecker image" by always being photographed with her kids doing mom things and its a bit problematic to think that she's using her children as pap fodder to push an agenda. Again, I think Brad is an abusive person but he often spoke back in the day about his desire to keep the children out of the public eye but Angie had to shed her weird punk goth who kissed her brother and was addicted to bad men and drugs image so she tried to present herself as the kind humanitarian and loving mother, I'm not saying that she isn't those things, except that girlie will make sure the paps are around to photograph her doing these things like she called the paps to her daughter's first day of college bro likeeee

Here's a very old article about how smart she is at crafting her image. Again this is not in and of itself a bad thing but it's kind of bizarre to realise how image conscious people can be and how something that seems so "real" and "natural" is actually a well calculated move on their part.

Angelina also played the sociopath Lisa Rowe in the movie Girl, Interrupted. people often associate this character with her Revati Moon but i assure you this is all on her Rohini Sun

Russell Peters - Hasta Sun

Russell is really good at studying people, accents, mannerisms etc which is what makes him a really good comedian but he's also fckn rude and disgusting from time to time.

Honestly Moon dominant men always spew the most vile shit, they talk about people especially women in THE most disgusting way. actual psychopaths ew especially the cocky self assured way in which they say all this bullshit???

Errol Morris- Shravana Sun

he is a documentary filmmaker whose work focuses on the epistemology of the subject, he's obsessed with human nature and trying to understand why people do what they do, all of his docus focus on vvv unusual people, death row prisoners, defence secretary instrumental in the vietnam war, insurance frauds, a man who designs death machines, pet cemeteries etc Morris focuses on people who are questionable to say the least, he tries to humanize people perceived as evil or bad (Moon dominant af lol bc who else would be interested in the motives of bad ppl??)

This preoccupation with human nature is deeply tied to the nature of Lunar people. They have a need to understand "motivations" and what drives people to do what they do. There is an innate tendency to pathologize or pick apart behaviour. This isn't inherently a bad thing but it is something I have noticed among Lunar people.

James Randi- Rohini rising

He was a magician and skeptic who spent his life exposing other people and their paranormal and pseudoscientific claims.

Moon dominant people are skeptical of everything and the least likely to believe in anything, they're always looking for the truth because they deeply understand human ugliness and believe everybody else is like that (they see themselves reflected in others, which is to say that if they're capable of it, then so must others).

Roman Polanski- Hasta Rising

pedophile and child rapist Polanski has directed movies like Rosemary's Baby, Chinatown, The Palace, The Pianist etc,, all of his movies have heavy elements of deceit, lies, manipulation etc all of his characters are looking for the truth.

Claire had mentioned in her video about wealth as to how Rohini (Venus is domiciled in Taurus) (Moon exalts in Rohini) creates contentment and this leads to stagnation because dissatisfaction is what creates growth. If someone is content where they are they decay. I think this can be broadly applied to all 3 Moon naks because they have no other motives, nothing to dry them so they start rotting on the inside and doing terrible, horrible, evil things. Venus and Moon embodies the ugliness of humanity.

Josef Mengele- Hasta Moon

He was a Nazi doctor who conducted abhorrent and deadly medical experiments on the prisoners at Auschwitz and administered the gas to gas chambers. He was nicknamed "Angel of Death"

Lenin- Shravana Moon

if you're familiar with the history of the soviet union you will know that Lenin wasnt exactly a sweetheart

Heinrich Himmler-Hasta Sun, Shravana Rising and Ketu in Rohini

he was a prominent Nazi leader who is "credited" with "designing the Holocaust"

Edward Teller- Rohini Moon

This is the guy who betrayed Oppenheimer and is called "the father of the hydrogen bomb". he later expressed guilt over his involvement in the dropping of atom bombs over hiroshima and nagasaki

Henry Kissinger - Rohini Sun & mercury

he was a warmongering asshole who i hope is rotting in hell. he's one of the worst human beings to have ever existed due to the sheer scale and capacity of crimes he enabled and the millions of people who died as a result. i have extensively talked about how Moon dominant people lack empathy, they literally do not care about others, they are selfish to the point where its actually disgusting and pathetic and this guy is one of the worst examples

During the 1968 presidential election he was in the Johnson administration but wanted to get in good with Nixon. So he leaked information about peace talks with North Vietnam to Nixon. They then went on to use this information to sabotage the peace talks and in turn the election.

He committed treason to extend the Vietnam War, ultimately by seven years. That alone makes him a rare breed of terrible. But it’s also damning because it shows how he ultimately believe in anything other than that he deserves to be close to power. He was willing to play games with millions of human lives over a job. And he would have been in the Humphrey administration if Nixon lost, so it was just a job he wanted more. He didn’t care about fighting communism, the rule of law, patriotism, anything. His death toll alone puts him on a short list of the worst people to ever live, but most of the people on there did what they did for an ideology.

He’s also been described as “the Forrest Gump of war crimes.” He just shows up for no good reason in the history of so many atrocities. Often he ordered them, but he also installed dictators who would carry out genocides. There’s worse people in history, but none who have been involved in so many separate crimes.

just read anything about this vile shitty man and you will understand the kind of cruelty and apathy Moon dominant people are capable of.

moon dominant people are "good" with political & military strategy because they dont care about anybody's well being except their own lol

one time i spoke to a Moon dominant guy and he said that there's no such thing as altruism or selflessness and that everybody behaves in their self interest, i found that very cynical and disturbing and he said even people who do charity or appear to be kind are only doing it because they want others to see them that way and that really says more about the nature of Moon dominant people than anything else. he also said he loved attention of any kind and would do anything to trigger people just so they'd react and give him attention lol basically he admitted to having sociopathic tendencies. He was Rohini Moon. imagine being so morally bankrupt and soulless that you cant believe there's goodness in this world or that people are good with no agenda lol I feel bad for people who have to live life being that bitter, imagine rotting on the inside like that

Herman Kahn- Hasta Moon

He was a military strategist and developed the nuclear strategy of USA during the cold war. which is to say his entire job revolved around manipulation. He is quoted as saying:

"At the minimum, an adequate deterrent for the United States must provide an objective basis for a Soviet calculation that would persuade them that, no matter how skillful or ingenious they were, an attack on the United States would lead to a very high risk if not certainty of large-scale destruction to Soviet civil society and military forces." 💀💀💀(avg moon dominant man be like)

In Kahn’s book, the Doomsday Machine is an example of the sort of deterrent that appeals to the military mind but that is dangerously destabilizing. Since nations are not suicidal, its only use is to threaten.

ok thats it for now besties whewww

i am not claiming that all moon dominant people are terrible people so if you have these placements dont take it to heart. i do however think that the dark side of the moon dominant native is truly terrifying. all i wanted to do was shed light on that.

[suugarbabe]

Gotcha!! I am a sucker for how you write Enzo, and even more of a sucker for hurt/comfort or angst that ends in fluff. So to mix the two, my brain came up with this: Reader and Enzo have been together for a while, both are in love with eachother. The only thing is, R has never seen Enzo's "dark side", because the occasion never presented itself, until when Enzo beats up a guy for touching R and making her uncomfortable. R is shocked to say the least, or taken aback, but offers all the same to clean up Enzo's wounds, very lost in thought, because maybe usually violence scares her. Knowing Enzo he would realize this, and kind of spiral in a "did I scare you? Are you afraid of me? I would never hurt you" worries, while R was simply worried about Enzo's well being. So it ends with Reader comforting Enzo and vice versa, just a sweet bonding moment after a bit of a scare and angst. Feel free to change this or make it more dramatic💕💕💕💕💕

you couldn't shake the slimy feeling you had since this morning when Cormac tried to touch you. Well, he did touch you, smacked your ass really. And when you gave him the finger he called you a slag. You tried to ignore him, ignore the interaction. Enzo had tried to ask you what was wrong at lunch, but you told him you were just tired, that you'd had a tough divination class that morning. You could tell he wasn't buying it, but he also didn't push you.

when you were walking with Pansy on your way to the library, she had asked you again, and finally you told her. "What a fucking tosser! A right prick, he is," you had agreed with her words, telling her that you were going to go to the library for your free period. She said she would see you later and that you two could plan to hex him during dinner if you'd want.

You'd liked that idea, so when you saw Pansy sprinting towards you in the library, you were heavily confused. You stood up as she approached you, nearly out of breath. You urged her to tell you what was going on. She nodded, hands on her knees, "Enzo...in the court yard...Cormac...blood...s'getting real bad."

"Oh my god," you took off running, Pansy (reluctantly given that she had just sprinted to you) close behind. When you got to the court yard a small crowd had already formed. You pushed your way through until you got to the inner circle, your hand instantly going to cover your gape at the scene before you.

You always knew Enzo was a big man, he was not only tall, but broad as well. You just never realized how much broader he was than most the guys your age because from where you were standing, you couldn't even see Cormac with how Enzo was hunched over him, landing blow after blow.

You looked around the circle until you spotted the rest of Enzo's friends, storming up to them. You pointed at Blaise and Mattheo, "Stop him. You stop him right now before a professor comes out here."

Mattheo smirked, "No way, princess. This is Enzo's victim, he's not finished yet." You turned, now seeing a different angle of the fight. Cormac's face was bloody and swollen, one eye closed completely shut, the skin around it looking taught like a balloon.

You turned back to the both of them, "Mattheo Marvelo you stop this right. now. or I swear to Merlin I'll hex your dick to the size of a peanut for a month." With his middle name and the threat, Mattheo nodded at Blaise, both boys launching themselves toward Enzo, struggling slightly to pull him off.

Enzo was fighting back against them slightly, trying to swing towards Cormac again. He was so blind by rage he didn't even notice anyone around him. You couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't watch him fight anymore.

"Lorenzo, enough." Your voice was loud and stern. Enzo looked toward you, immediately catching your eyes and relaxing in the two other boys' hold. When you nodded they finally released him. You instructed the other boys to 'take care of this', motioning toward Cormac's beaten and moaning body.

You grabbed hold of Enzo's forearm, not wanting to fully grab his hand and get covered in someone else's blood. You led him down to the dungeons, down the hall of the boys dormitory and into the bathroom.

You pointed to the edge of the tub, "Sit." Enzo did so immediately, looking down at the ground like a child about to be scolded. You opened of of the cabinets, grabbing gauze and some healing potions that the boys kept on hand.

Walking back towards Enzo, you tapped the inside of one of his knees, signaling him to widen his legs so you could stand between them. You lifted his head with a finger under his chin. His had a small cut on his lower lip, "Looks like he got one good swing on you."

Enzo smirked, "Yeah, one's all he got the chance to get." You tsked at him, "You know I hate fighting, Enzo. You never fight, it's always the others."

Enzo's smirk turned to a frown, his lip splitting open slightly more, "I'm so sorry, angel, did I scare you? Are you afraid of me now? You know I would never hurt you, righ-"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips before patting the split in his lip with gauze and a healing potion.

"Why were you fighting him," you knew the answer, but you wanted to know how he knew. You grabbed one of his hands, waving your wand over the cuts that you can only assume were made from either Cormac's teeth or the harsh bridge of his nose coming into contact with Enzo's fists.

"Darling, my angel girl, he touched you, no, he smacked you, and called you names? What kind of protector would I be if I let shit like that slide. No way, that is never happening." You couldn't help but smile as you finished healing his other hand.

You cupped his cheek now, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, "My sweet Enzo bear, my big bad protector." Enzo placed his hands on either side of your hips, one hand going round to give you ass a playful squeeze.

You squealed, swatting at his hand with a giggle. Enzo smiled at the sound, pulling you closer still, "I will always be here to protect you, no matter what. I love you angel girl."

You smiled, "I love you too, Enzo," leaning in again to give him a proper kiss.

[oldshrewsburyian]

Hi! I have a question regarding the depiction of gender roles in ASOIAF and how they compare to that of the real medieval Europe, specifically high-to late medieval. I'm aware that the violence against women and misogyny depicted in the books are often justified by fans on the basis of "historical realism".

How does the depiction of traditional gender roles in Westeros such as limitations based on gender-what women can and can't do-and violence against women differ from the real middle ages?

Another question: Cersei is meant to be a deconstruction of the "evil queen archetype", and part of her character is learning at an early age that she has no agency because she's female and that her only value is her ability to bear children, and the only way she's able to get anything done in the books is by influencing men with sex or using underhanded magical means because she's barred from traditional routes of power.

However, does this reflect real medieval queen consorts and noble-women? I've read that the things Cersei does were the sort of nasty stereotypes that existed about women during the period seeking illegitimate power.

Okay, here goes, but I am going to immodestly observe that answering questions like this is usually part of the work I'm paid to do. And there's so much going on here.

To your final question first: no, it does not reflect reality. And also, uh, no. There are a lot of assumptions embedded in that phrase "seeking illegitimate power" (illegitimate how/why?) but anyway. The image of Cersei as sexually voracious and insatiable (and incestuous) may borrow from the charges against Anne Boleyn, but that case is 1) exceptional for a lot of reasons 2) not medieval. Evil Woman Wielding Power Via Sex + Magic is a medieval idea if you count Thomas Malory's Morgan le Fay, I guess? Which is not nothing! But a work of entertainment literature from 1485 ≠ generalized medieval stereotype.

The fact that real medieval queens, and queens-consort, and queens-regent, and noblewomen -- including those known as lords because that's what they were -- wielded power with no one freaking out about it is, in scholarly terms, old news. Joan Kelly's brilliant 1977 article, "Did Women Have A Renaissance?" (brilliantly summarized/contextualized here by Natalie Zemon Davis, thank you @jstor) points out some of the ways this was so. From at least the 1990s on, the work of other scholars, e.g. Bonnie Wheeler, Amy Livingstone, Fredric Cheyette, Miriam Shadis, has expanded our vision of this. And I'm going into this detail in order to illustrate how long this accurate work has been around, and thus available to work into undergraduate coursework, which is where I'm presuming most people have the closest access to up-to-date scholarship.

Three books in, I'm going to say that if Cersei is intended to be a deconstruction of the "evil queen archetype," uh. GRRM could have done better. I do think she's a fascinating character. But she's also, I think, very clearly a woman who would not be evil™ if women could get MBA degrees. Okay, well, she might be a bit evil™, but in a Narcissist With An MBA way. Anyway. In Westeros, she would be a lot less evil/angry if women could just wield power the way they did in the Actual Middle Ages!! FFS!

Taking your first question last: this is one of the things that frustrates me about ASOIAF because it is so far from historical reality that there is no simple answer to this. This question cannot be answered with a checklist, with items. Medieval misogyny existed. It was also very different from modern misogyny. I don't know why GRRM treats sadistic and often sexual/sexualized violence and abuse of women as normative. Women's legal recourse against marital abuse would require Fantasy Canon Law™, which as we have seen, he does not have. And the idea that most medieval people (canon law notwithstanding) were just a lot less uptight about sex than, say, the Victorians does not seem to have entered his head. Also ~traditional gender roles~ my left foot.

I'll close with one story about medieval misogyny. It comes from a miracle collection. A non-elite woman (artisan or peasant, we don't know) was raped by a stranger; "some man of high rank," according to the text. She was deeply traumatized. She was also, and this breaks my heart, "fearful lest her husband have hate for her because of this thing." But here's where it gets better: we know this in part because she told her neighbors! They functioned as a support system, and recommended that she seek healing at a saint's shrine (mental/emotional/physical health being seen as inseparable.) She stayed in that place for nine days, resting, and visiting the shrine, and talking with the friars who managed it. Gradually, her symptoms of trauma improved. She returned home. I don't know the rest of her story; I hope she was okay, and that her husband behaved decently. But the fact that she was treated with compassion both by her community of origin and the community to which she went for specialized help shows a reality very different from that of ASOIAF.

[queers-gambit]

Talk Shit, Get Hit

prompt: ( requested ) your high school bully picks the wrong day to taunt you and it's up to an equally hotheaded Billy to calm you down. call it irony.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader characters are ALL aged 18 years old

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.4k+

note: the reader is aggressive. the reader is violent. the reader’s hands are rated ‘E’ for Everyone.

warnings: you know the drill: author projects instead of going to therapy and uses personal experience as details. there's physical violence, aggressive reader, depiction of shitty home life / toxic family, (somewhat severe) abusive alcoholic parent, parental abandonment, cursing, bullying, Jason Carver's sister is the bully, injury and blood. cursing, threats, brief cigarette and illicit material use (marijuana / weed), i guess this is hurt and comfort, angst, we talk about Billy's abuse with Neil, too, and kinda abrupt ending.

PLEASE NOTE -

this fic will depict parental abuse, both emotional and physical. this fic will discuss an alcoholic parent. this fic will detail physical violence BY the reader.

DO NOT engage if any of these topics potentially trigger you. you will miss nothing if you decide to skip. author implores readers to value and prioritize their own comfort and mental health.

Of all the days Brittany Carver could've chosen, she picked the worst day imaginable to bully you - being akin to a ticking time bomb. To your immense surprise, she'd laid off that entire week, focused on the "big" cheerleading competition she was leading Hawkins High to victory in. It left her no energy to engage in her favorite past time of tormenting you; figuring that after 6 years of her brutal behavior, she had grown up and lost interest. You weren't someone who people bullied easily, but this thing with Brittany, it was some kind of twisted pissing contest; competition brewing in elementary school that boiled over during middle school and now lasted into high school.

However, God seemed to have a sick sense of humor because on the week your bully had temporarily forgotten your existence, things at home had escalated to a new height not previously known. It was true what they said: if it wasn't one thing, it was another.

The entire week, your mother had only been sober for - well - none of it. She was found morning, noon, and night slumped over in various locations around your home with different bottles of liquor in her grip. The house grew messier each day, a direct result of a checked-out parent refusing to do any chore and destructive little monsters that took form as your twin little brothers. You couldn't keep up, playing mother, sister, housewife, personal maid, and full-time student all at once; pushing your stress levels higher, making you bitter and short tempered. The times your mother was conscious, which was typically to find a new bottle of alcohol, she was a right nasty fuck.

Her bark matched her bite; not only yelling at you, belittling you, and gaslighting you - but also using physical aggression to "teach you a lesson" for being "disorderly" or "a waste of semen" - and yes, that is a direct quote. Her hands were dainty from malnourishment, bulging veins prominent, and despite your father abandoning the family ages go, she still wore her diamond wedding ring that left small cuts wherever she struck you. The times she wasn't sober enough to really "get" you, she put out cigarettes on your arms and thighs; leaving tiny, circular burn scars you coated in Neosporin. She’s been known to break a few wooden cooking spoons over your head, steal the money made from babysitting, even cashed-in your inheritance - pawning all of your dead grandmother’s jewelry. There were plenty of other examples, but dwelling on those instances wouldn't change the past or alter your future, so you stuffed them way deep down in your soul.

Naturally, you didn't say a Goddamn thing; under the impression that everyone had shitty family members they tolerated and that your home life was normal enough to not report to the police. You didn't know any better, you didn't know that your mother downing fifths of alcohol daily was cause for concern. You didn't know that abuse wasn't the standard - emotional or physical. It took years for you to learn that love wasn't supposed to hurt, that love wasn't supposed to scare you, that love wasn't selfish, that your mother didn't actually love you. It took years to convince yourself that you were worthy of love and acceptance, never receiving it from your mother - not knowing you could get it from anyone else.

And then, William fucking Hargrove - or Billy - breezed into your small hometown with a sweet denim-clad ass, golden, curly mullet, and a bad fucking attitude that rivaled your own.

It was a match made in heaven. Or hell.

You both suffered at the hands of your parental figures, turning abrasive and foul-mouthed as defense mechanisms. You and Billy developed hardened exteriors in an effort to protect your soft insides, and when you met officially, it was as if you two could see past that hard shell - straight through the bullshit. You recognized much of the same in one another - like looking in a mirror - and grew impossibly close in an incredibly short amount of time; grateful to have a second half who understood without ever needing explanation.

He just got you. Able to identify common threads between you. Billy understood you, having more empathy than you thought he could muster. He protected you. He loved you. He took care of you - and you did the exact same, considering you two were cut from the same cloth; wanting to assure him he was just as worthy of love as you.

Billy was known around Hawkins for being a womanizing jock with anger issues, and yet, when you finally agreed to go on a date with him, he never even looked at another girl twice. He felt as if dating his best friend, understanding that nobody else would truly understand him the way you do - so he did what he could to keep you.

He did his best to defend you, but there was only so many tangible things the star basketball player could protect you from. Gossip and petty cheerleaders, prime examples. Yet Billy still tried, even taking the liberty to confront Brittany's brother, Jason Carver, about leaving you alone. Unfortunately, it was as if Billy's concern spurred on the cheerleader's bullying, calling you pathetic for hiding behind a man and sending him to fight your battles. You told Billy to stay out of it, that you could handle the situation by yourself, that he would just make the situation much more sticky.

So he did. Billy backed off, letting you deal with the situation as best you deemed; offering his support in return, being a shoulder to cry on for the days your frustration peaked.

That entire week Brittany didn't bully you had been extraordinarily tiresome due to your mother's abuse, wanting to confide in Billy but refraining when you rationalized not bringing him into your bullshit. He had enough of his own. So, while, yes, it was a comfort to have him on your side, you never indulged Billy on the woes of your life. He was meant to be your escape, not your savior; the burden of shouldering your abuse while enduring his own feeling terribly unfair.

You kept quiet, even though you were silently begging for someone to save you. Yet you weren't a damsel, there was no Prince Charming, brave knight, chosen champion to slay the dragons terrorizing you.

However, your boyfriend was much more intuitive than you realized. You always prided yourself on your acting skills, convincing everyone around you that you were indifferent to your mother's temperament, even when showing up at school with a casted wrist, black eye, and split bottom lip. Turns out, parents in Hawkins gossiped much more than the kids, and soon, it felt like the entire town knew about your abusive alcoholic mother and runaway father. Nobody did anything to help you, they just tiptoed around the knowledge and stared at your injuries. Brittany Carver was the only person stupid enough to make the mistake of weaponizing your home situation.

It was a tepid spring afternoon, the sun peaking through the clouds and the first flowers sprouting from the thawing ground. The bell rang to dismiss for lunch, the hallways filled with mingling and milling students all grateful for the midday break. Some gathered in gaggles of friends, some headed directly for the cafeteria, and others, like you, utilized the time to exchange morning class books for afternoon materials. Your fractured wrist had long since healed, but there was a long, straight scar present as a result from the surgery you required; currently, a scabbing cut over your eyebrow, lips stinging from where the flesh split, with a collection of bruises turning different colors to represent various healing stages.

Today simply hadn't been your day.

After a week of constant alcohol-fueled battery, you felt your frustrations finally crescendo after being assigned 3 separate essays; doubling your stress, shortening your fuse, and creating heavy leaded dread as the minutes ticked by. Everyone else felt giddy for the spring-tastic weekend, wanting time to go faster so they could go home - but not you. You might've been the one teenager in the city - no, no, the county - no, wait! The state - WAIT, NO... The country, who didn't want to leave school. You didn't want the day to end and be forced out of your safety zone; anxiety twisting your stomach and prickling your skin at the thought of returning home.

Truthfully, you spent several nights a week at Billy's, being snuck in through his window; feeling unsafe in your own home and wanting to remain close without voicing your need for his proximity. You felt stronger with Billy, as if you could take on the world; as if your safety and wellbeing were (finally) a real priority. He took great pride in being that safe haven for you, thinking it a nice change of pace as he often never seized opportunities to prove himself compassionate and caring. Billy was known for being a brute, someone aggressive and commandeering; nobody associating "safety" with him - except you.

However, this wasn't one of those weekends you'd be able to sneak out, being forced into caring for your two wee brothers; them needing you, dependent on you, relying on the care and love you provide them.

As a result of your shitty week, you had been a right, foul bitch to those unfortunate enough to engage you. Being well aware of your attitude, you tried to avoid everyone, not wanting to lash out at innocent peers - labeling yourself a bitch because of your impeccable self-awareness. Though, no matter the labels you assigned, you simply couldn't rein your emotions into check given your anxiety over returning home overpowered your brain.

Knowing you'd be forced to defend yourself against your own mother set your teeth on edge, projecting your horrible mood onto anyone in your vicinity - making most keep their distance.

Keyword: most.

Much like her brother, captain of the basketball team, Jason Carver, Brittany Carver wasn't the brightest bulb of the bunch. She never picked up hints, she didn't bother reading the room or in-between any lines; she held little to no regard for those around her or their emotional state. Brittany just wanted to assert herself as Queen Bee and thought the best way to achieve that was by bullying those she deemed lesser then she. It gave her a power trip, made her feel swollen with importance, boosting her ego because in her mind, she'd rather be feared than loved.

Brittany was dressed in her pretty, pressed, and bright cheer uniform; her obnoxiously blonde hair tied in a high ponytail that swished dramatically with each step. She wore cherry flavored lip gloss, her make-up caked, skirt hiked higher than school regulation permitted because she suckled at the teat for attention - good or bad.

You heard the second bell ring and finished shoving books in your locker, trying to stuff notebooks in your bag when your locker was suddenly violently slammed shut. Flinching at the quick movement and aggressive bang, you glared at whoever dared interrupt you; a manicured hand flat on the metal to keep the locker closed.

"The fuck you want, Brittany?"

"Awh, someone's already got their panties in a twist," she mocked, two of her cronies giggling their support. "C'mon, babe, I was just stopping by to say hello - missed you this week!"

"Oh, for sure," you sneered in a sickly-sweet tone, "of course you missed me, your life is so much more boring without me in it, huh? Wow, seriously, Brittany, I'm flattered to be the main character in your life, too."

Her eyes rolled and one of the other cheerleaders at her flank, Jennifer, popped flavorless gum. "I'm surprised you still have this level of spunk and cheek to talk like that, would've thought Mommy Dearest beat it out of you by now - she hits you often enough, right? Doesn't she? Hmm, well, maybe she needs to hit you a little harder."

"Excuse me?" You snapped.

"You heard me!" She laughed. "Obviously your mom isn't teaching you any lessons since you still have this whole emo-attitude going on. But I can't say I blame her, you're such a bitch - I'd smack the shit outta you, too."

You nodded slowly, not realizing several students had paused themselves to watch the exchange; knowing this was a longtime coming and didn't want to miss the inevitable drama. Dropping your backpack, you asked, "You sure? You really wanna hit me?"

"Is it that hard to believe? I mean," she smirked, "your own mother does - of course, I do, too. Like, seriously, it's not a secret why she hits you - just look at you! No wonder she hates you, you're just a waste of space, resources, and money. Damn shame Billy doesn't see it yet, but don't worry, he will." She laughed again, "He'll get tired of reopening your lip every time you kiss. It's so pathetic and ugly, he'll start to crave what you can't offer. I mean, seriously, what guy with any self-respect wants to date a girl as broken as you?"

"Know what, Brittany?" You growled, balling your fists at your side. "I'll give you one free hit."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Yeah," your head nodded, "go ahead. One free, clean shot. Hit me if you want to so bad, but you'll only get just this one shot."

Her eyes rolled, "I don't need to, your mom's got that covered."

"Free hit, Brit," you taunted, gesturing, "c'mon, go 'head, lemme have it. Since I'm so insufferable, go right ahead - get your clean hit."

Jennifer and Jasmine shared strange looks, the latter nudging, "Just do it, Brittany, shut this stupid bitch the hell up."

"Yeah, Brittany, shut me the hell up."

She looked to her little goons with a smirk, shrugged and handing over her backpack. When Brittany turned again, she dramatically wound her arm back and used her full strength to swing her fist into your cheek; only making your head turn a fraction from impact. You hummed and nodded, the cheerleader laughing with her girls as if she had "shown you" - but her amusement died when she noticed you barely reacted.

You smirked, cracking your neck, "My turn!"

Your knuckle cracked the bridge of the cheerleader's nose - sick sound of a snap ringing in your ears and jolting the girl's head backwards; momentum forcing her to stumble. Brittany shrieked in pain, holding her nose, unable to defend herself as you launched your attack; first slamming her back into the lockers before jabbing your fist into any vulnerable spot you could.

Similar to the movies, you held Brittany by her hair to keep her in place; wailing your punches repeatedly, each hit making Britt bang into the lockers. Jennifer and Jasmine tried to pull you away but both earned their own punches or elbows to the face for the interference. You focused on Brittany, instantly curating a flock of students all eager to watch.

"FIIIIIIGHT!"

"GIRL FIGHT!"

"BEAT HER ASS, Y/N!"

Brittany sobbed as blood dribbled down her front, staining her pretty uniform, but you were just getting started. The hallway turned noisy, a circle forming around you four as all three cheerleaders were staved off; you running on pure anger, adrenaline, and overflowing frustration that encouraged your foot to kick Britt's gut. You'd never admit it, but Brittany's mocking had hurt you past words, made you feel vulnerable, disarmed, as if you were damaged, undeserving goods. With each punch or kick or stomp, you remembered a different instance of your mother's abuse, seeing her face instead of Brittany's; spurring you on with unrestrained force.

In the parking lot, Billy was leaning on his car with a few teammates from the basketball team and enjoying a hearty nicotine-filled break. Though they'd never label it as such, the boys exchanged idle gossip; listening to Conrad Jones detail his latest conquest, sneering about how "easy" Kennedy Stephens was. They were interrupted when Kyle Lambert sprinted up to them, sneakers skidding over asphalt, panting dramatically, "Billy! Billy! Y-You gotta come see this, man! You gotta help!"

"What?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"I-It's your girl - it's Y/N!"

He pushed off his car that was supporting his weight, demanding, "What about her?"

"You gotta come quick, man, you gotta see this! It's fucking wild! Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine tried jumping her - "

Billy was surging across the carpark instantly, tossing his cigarette away before yanking the school doors open. He was instantly greeted by the chaotic sight and sounds of a fight, peers gathered in a large circle; screaming their support and hollering encouragement.

"Billy! Oh, thank God!!" Chrissy Cunningham cried, waving him closer. "You have to help! You have to do something, it's 3-on-1!"

He didn't acknowledge the strawberry blonde, just started instantly shoving through the crowd to reach the edge of the fight. It wasn't the sight he was anticipating - fearing the worst, now pleasantly surprised (and a little turned on).

Blood was splattered on the linoleum floors, a single streak smeared on the lockers. Jennifer was left on the ground with her back against the metal, sporting a busted lip as Jasmine was trying to coax her to her feet - sporting a ruddy face and disheveled look. Left in the center, to the entertainment of the crowd, was you on top of Brittany Carver, heaving your fist time and again into her face.

"Shit," he breathed, intending to step forward to stop the fight but needing to shove Tommy H. out of his way when he stepped forward.

"C'mon, man! It's a girl fight! Don't break it up!" Tommy begged, but Billy bullied through.

"All right, that's enough," he grunted, wrapping his arms around your middle and heaving you up and back a step - needing to engage his core and arms when you wriggled in an effort to free yourself. "Hey, hey, hey - "

"Lemme go! This bitch needs put in the ground!"

"Jesus Christ, when did you get this strong?" He grunted, your feet slipping on blood but still being restrained by your boyfriend's impressive strength.

"Talk your shit again, bitch!" You barked at Brittany, who was sobbing in pain and curling into herself. "Lemme hear you say another Goddamn word, you'll need more than another nose job! Fake ass, plastic bitch!"

Jason joined the center and knelt at his sister's side, helping her sit up, glaring at you and Billy. Your boyfriend grit his teeth when Jason snarled, "You need to muzzle your bitch, Billy!"

"I'll fuck you up for talkin' about her like that, Carver, don't provoke me. Watch yourself," Billy snapped in warning, successfully managing to get you behind him.

However, you dodged around him with only enough time to spit hatefully on Brittany, warning, "You wanna talk shit, you'll get hit! Don't let me hear you again - don't you ever dare say another word about my mama! I'll put you in the ground, bitch, fucking try me! I dare you! Try me again, say shit about my mama, and see what the fuck I do!"

"All right, all right, you made your point," Billy stiffly told you, pulling you away by force to avoid you actually killing Brittany. He got a look at her injuries, thinking there must've been more than a broken nose from the way her uniform was stained and her entire face bloodied. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here, come with me - c'mon, baby, you can't touch her anymore, you made your point, you'll end up killin' her or some shit," he panted, shoving through the crowd and effectively ending the fight.

Billy didn't let go of your form until finally outside - letting you rip yourself away as your blood boiled, adrenaline making you much stronger. He watched you pace; huffing, puffing, seething, all but gnashing your teeth hatefully. "That fucking bitch had it coming, Bee, it was self defense!" You finally explained.

"Oh, yeah, princess, totally looked like it," he scoffed, blocking the doors in case you tried to go back. He lit another cigarette.

"It was, you condescending asshole!" You snapped, eyes ablaze and anger tangible. "She approached me, she ran her mouth, and she hit me first!"

"Well," he sighed, "whatever the reason, it's not worth jail time for beating her to death."

"Might be."

"Ain't nothing worth throwing your life away," he offered you the cigarette, but you refused. "Why don't you just tell me what happened? What'd she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Billy."

"I think it matters when she looks like she's gonna need a blood transfusion to replenish what she's lost."

"Whatever - let it be a lesson that you shouldn't throw stones if you're scared of a boulder."

Billy sighed, smoke blown from his mouth, "C'mon, doll, tell me what happened?"

"Doesn't matter, it's done, it's over, it's in the past."

"Baby, I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"You can't help, period, Billy! There's nothing you can do!"

"Well, you're not even letting me try!"

"'Cause it's redundant!"

"Obviously not when you look like a raging bull!"

Your eyes rolled, head shaking, "I handled it."

"I saw," he scoffed. "So, 3-on-1? How'd that happen?"

"I told you, they approached me."

"Well, I'm gonna need a little more to go on. C'mon, pretty girl, the fuck just happened? You know you can get suspended!" This made you freeze, muscles clamming up, looking purely petrified as if the thought hadn't occurred to you. "I know you don't want that, but if you talk to me, maybe I can help lessen whatever punishment."

"Oh, whatever, like I care about being punished," you snipped, hands twisting together - telling Billy you were beginning to get anxious.

"I think you do, it'd put you in the house with your mom alone," he trailed, pushing away from the doors to approach you like a baby deer. "C'mon, I know you don't wanna get suspended, so just tell me what happened."

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it from your little basketball buddies."

"I don't fucking care!" He snapped with the cigarette trapped and bobbing between his lips, making you look at him in mild shock. "There's gonna be a hundred different rumors, whole fuckin' school watched you beat the shit outta those girls - but I only care about what you have to say."

"There's no point - "

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he growled, snatching the cig between his knuckles, "I just saw three bitches on the ground, all injured, beaten up, bleeding - so stop being so Goddamn stubborn and just tell me! I'm tryna help you!"

"You pulled me off of her, you've helped plenty."

"I'd like to understand how this happened."

"It won't change anything."

"No, it won't, but you have a side to the story. Tell me what went wrong? What happened?"

You sighed, no longer pacing, planting both hands on your hips. Your head shook as Billy tossed the filtered cigarette butt aside, muttering when he exhaled the last of the smoke, "It seems so stupid now."

"Hey," he soothed, crowding into your space and taking one of your hands in his. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it wasn't stupid. You're forgetting, I know well enough to understand you wouldn't throw a punch unless absolutely necessary. Whatever got you riled up like that ain't stupid, sweetheart."

Like a glazed donut, your eyes turned glassy. Billy frowned and took your other hand off your hip, forcing your attention on him. "I swear, I didn't start it," you whispered.

"Only matters that you finished it," he smirked. "Tell me, what the fuck was all that?"

You sighed deeply, offering meekly, "Guess they had it comin'..."

"I know they did," Billy chuckled. "Nobody's that stupid to provoke you, except Brittany."

"I was at my locker... They approached and slammed it shut."

"Right, okay..."

"There were words exchanged, but Brittany, she - " You paused, swallowing thickly, "she started talkin' shit about my mom, about, you know, what she does..."

Billy understood instantly. "You fuckin' serious?" He growled, seeing you nod and fill him in on what was said - unable to look him in the eye as you relived your anger. By the end, you were trembling in emotion and adrenaline loss, Billy sighing deeply and yanking you into his chest for a tight embrace. "All right, yeah," he mumbled, "should've put them bitches in the ground."

"And now," you sniffled, "I'm gonna get suspended, forced to stay home with Ma all next week."

"We'll get you outta it."

"Can't, the school doesn't tolerate fighting on school grounds."

"You said she swung first?"

"Technically, yes. I might've - allegedly - prompted her into it."

"It's still selfdefense, toots, no matter what you or anyone said - if she swung first and hit you, you were only defending yourself."

You shrugged, resting on his chest, "You see the damage? Admin won't care who swung first - not when they're beat to shit."

"Yeah, there's my li'l hothead," he smirked, chuckling slightly before pecking the top of your head. "But you gotta admit, it's impressive how you took on all three."

"I guess, doesn't exactly feel like an accomplishment."

"Nah, princess, seriously," he pulled you back to look at him again, "that's fuckin' hot. I mean, they approached you and still got their asses handed to 'em. That's straight skill."

"Or just a lot of anger with nowhere to go," you frowned. "Think I should go find admin?"

"Nah, they'll probably find you - "

The doors opened and your name was called, the principal's secretary waving you to her. "Fuck," you whispered, releasing Billy.

"I'll come with you," he promised, lacing your fingers together when he took your hand. Billy had to admit, it was a little weird being in the principal's office but not being the one in trouble; waiting without patience in a fraying chair, picking at the exposed stuffing with his leg bouncing. He'd been there 45 minutes, skipping the last half of classes, just waiting as you were behind a closed door with the principal, vice principal, and the disciplinary officer.

He looked up when the school nurse lead Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine inside - glaring at them but admiring the scattering of cuts and bruises with dried blood on their precious uniforms. A few minutes later, you were exiting the office with a passive and neutral expression settled on your face. Your lip curled only slightly when you clocked the cheerleaders - hating how smug they all looked - approaching Billy instantly.

"You all right?" He checked, standing and adjusting his jeans.

"Mhm," you nodded, keeping your voice low as the principal called the three cheerleaders into his office. You waited until the door was closed, then informed with a smirk, "I'm not suspended."

"No?"

"Nope," you confirmed. "Apparently, they asked a couple other kids what happened and my story matches theirs. I was minding my business, they came up to me, they started mouthing off, and Brittany was the one who hit me first. So," you shrugged, "guess your idea of selfdefense held strong."

"See? That's good, huh?"

"Yeah," you sighed, nodding absently, "but he said the girls were gonna lose their spot on the cheer squad for this. Listen, I don't think I feel like goin' back to class - kinda just wanna take a nap."

Billy hiked up his jean jacket sleeve, consulting his watch for a moment. "Wanna head to mine? Neil's got the evening shift and Susan has bridge club for a few more hours - we'd be alone."

Your eyes rolled, "No offense, Bee, I don't feel like fucking right now."

"I'm not sayin' that, I'm sayin' let's go nap at mine," he chuckled, picking up your backpack that you forgot about. "We can come back to get your brothers but you know you're not gonna rest if you go home."

You gulped, sighing sadly, "Yeah, well, about that..."

"Something else happen?"

"Apparently... The school has an obligation to call the police if a student reports abuse."

"You reported your mom?"

"Not on purpose," you rushed in defense, "just that... I had to explain what Brittany said to me - so I had to admit what Ma did - or does."

Billy frowned, "Jesus."

"Yeah, so... Maybe going home isn't the smartest idea right now. I wouldn't wanna be there when they conduct their wellness check."

"You wanna stay at mine?" He offered.

"What about Neil?"

"He's a lot nicer with you around," he admitted. "Won't care too much if you stay the night. Plus Max has that club thing after school, then she's going to the arcade; so, she won't need a ride, we can just go."

"You know what? Sure, all right, I'll come to yours," you accepted, your lover boy whisking you away without a second thought. "Thank you, baby."

Your hands were stiff, and when you looked at them, noted split skin and stained blood as a reminder of your aggression... Wondering why the fuck people pushed you to these limits and acted surprised when you reacted? If they wanted a punching bag, they picked the wrong one - but you were willing to remind them.

When you got to the Hargrove residence, you were silent as the grave; stewing in your anger that rolled off you in projected waves. Billy was terribly disarmed, unsure how to properly comfort you - wondering how he would want to be comforted, realizing he'd want to be alone, not subject to anyone's bullshit advice. So, he did what he knew and after handing you a bag of frozen peas for your split knuckles, comfortably stripped and crashed in bed with the window cracked and a rolled joint between his fingers.

You rested on his bare chest, sighing deeply while watching the end of the spliff come to life in a smoldering ember. Billy took the first inhale to make sure it was lit and instantly handed it to you, his arm snug around you and the silence hanging in the air like the swirls of stale, exhaled smoke.

"I'm sorry it got to this point, pretty girl," He offered awkwardly, his other arm bending to prop under his head. Both of you stared off aimlessly, stereo filling the space dully in the background.

"Not your fault," You inhaled and held your breath, handing him the joint. He casually flicked the end in an ashtray resting on the window sill.

"No, but I could've done more."

You chuckled, smoke seeping through your lips and teeth, "Oh, yeah? How? You gonna beat up three girls?"

"Nah but I could beat the shit outta Jason."

"What good would that do?"

"If he didn't want a weekly black eye, Jason would control his sister."

"It's always about control with you, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying," he handed the joint back, lungs pinched to hold the smoke, "I could protect you."

"You already do, baby."

"Let me do more, princess."

"You can't fight every battle for me."

"You could let me try."

"You'd be fighting on two fronts," you frowned, exhaling slowly. "Can't fight for me when you're defending yourself against Neil."

"Might be easier to deal with your shit than my own," he chuckled without humor, accepting the spliff. "Look, I know you don't want me involved, but that's kinda what a boyfriend's supposed to do, right? Protect their woman?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Never had a boyfriend before?"

"Nobody was worth dating until you. Nobody could understand me the way you do so effortlessly."

"'Cause we're one and the same, baby girl. You don't have to do everything by yourself," he inhaled, handing the spliff over again, "don't always have t'be strong."

"Ain't no other choice."

"You could let me in more..."

"You're one to talk."

He sighed, smoke billowing. "You're right. Can't expect you to open up if I don't, so why don't we both try to let the other in more? Yeah, I get it, the shit we deal with ain't pretty but at least we understand each other, right? We're the best for each other to lean on."

"I don't wanna drag you into my bullshit, baby."

"I want you to drag me in, princess. I wanna help you."

You sighed, "Well, Brittany and her cronies are getting suspended and kicked off the cheer squad - they'll be looking for reason to take it out on me."

"Say the word, baby, and I'll beat Jason black-and-blue."

"You're so romantic."

"Only for you - so don't tell anyone. I got a reputation to protect."

You both snickered as the weed you indulged in took effect, lulling you two into a state of ease. Your knuckles had stopped burning, resting your injured hand under the frozen peas, reminding yourself to remain grateful in this turbulent period of life because now, you had someone on your team. Someone who wanted to help carry your baggage. Someone without alternate motives. Someone who was willing to withstand the storm in the hope of feeling the warmth of the sun again.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: As We Were, As We Are

Plot: Y/n and Joel work to avoid each other in Jackson, until they’re forced together in their most vulnerable state.

Word Count: 13.9k (longest chapter yet)

Warnings: tlou ep.6 spoilers, canon-typical violence, implied smut, suggestive dialogue, blood, guns/knives, wounds, language, ptsd, anxiety, death of a child, (16+)

A/N: Oh, boy…this is the chapter it’s all been leading up to. Every question will be answered. This is the first part of the series I’ve been genuinely nervous to release because it’s so important, and I hope it lives up to all your expectations.

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist unless your age/range is specified in your bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

I hope y’all enjoy this one, I definitely had the most fun writing it ❤️

—————

December, 2023. Jackson, Wyoming.

For as small of a place as the Jackson commune was, it was very easy for Joel and Y/n to avoid each other.

Soon after she returned from the bar with Tommy, Maria announced that it was the town’s movie night and she was going to take Ellie. While Y/n would have rather stayed at the house and hid herself away, she knew the best place to hide from Joel was anywhere a crowd was present.

Inside the mess hall, they’d organized the benches to create rows of seats for the kids. Ellie was seated in the middle, looking back every once in a while to Y/n, who was stood with Maria and Tommy.

After their conversation, Tommy hadn’t pressed Y/n anymore on the subject of Joel. He had observed them from the night they’d met to the minute he’d left the triage clinic. With his bird’s-eye-view of their relationship, he could tell that the torch they’d carried for one another burned still, purely from the passion in their voices when they spoke about each other. The way their eyes came alive when the other’s name was mentioned.

Y/n had allowed herself to switch off, mindlessly watching the movie. The overwhelming rush of emotions she’d felt from both the domestic beauty of Jackson and the reminder that she could never have it had exhausted her. When Ellie would look back, needing reassurance she was still there, all Y/n felt capable of was a tiny nod. There was nothing left in her to give.

At some point during the film, Tommy reached over to tap Y/n on the shoulder and nodded towards the door. With him being the only person she fully trusted, she followed him out without question.

They walked through the light snowfall in silence, Y/n was under the impression he was trying to get her some fresh air. Even the snowflakes, in all their puritan beauty, couldn’t lift her mood. They just felt cold and annoying on her face.

Tommy guided them back to his and Maria’s house, unlocking the door. “WaIt here a minute.”

Y/n nodded, if it were possible, she never wanted to step foot in the house again.

Tommy disappeared for thirty seconds before emerging with a pair of winter boots in hand. Y/n was beginning to grow curious, but not enough to break her vow of silence.

They resumed their path down the middle of town, the lights strung from rooftop to rooftop combined with the decorated pine tree gave it a true Christmas feel. Tommy led them towards a building Y/n had yet to go into, a cobbler’s workshop.

“You pulled me out to help fix your boots?” Y/n asked as they climbed the steps.

Tommy didn’t answer, only opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. Y/n walked in, her eyes trailing the walls before they fell on the center of the room.

Where Joel was sat.

Joel had done a stellar job of not just avoiding Y/n, but his brother, Maria and Ellie. After his last episode, he hadn’t wanted to be around anyone. His busted boot had brought him to the workshop, he’d been pulling at the sole for nearly thirty minutes with no success. With each fruitless tug, his frustrations grew, and so did his tears. It was the meaningless failures in life that brought the deepest ones to the surface.

Y/n and Joel’s eyes met across the room, realization hitting Y/n as to why Tommy had brought her out. She turned to glare at him, seeing no remorse at all on his face.

“The guys said I might find you here,” Tommy said, brushing past Y/n to Joel and handing him the pair of boots, “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Y/n ran her palm across her forehead in both frustration and anxiety, turning on her heel and reaching for the doorknob.

“Hang on,” Tommy called, stopping her from moving any further, “Before you storm out of here…” he looked to Joel, “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I don’t even believe it…I know you’re happy for me, it’s just…complicated for you. And I’m sorry.”

Tommy turned his gaze to Y/n, “And you. I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you, back at the bar, and bringin’ all that up wasn’t my best move.”

Y/n’s hand hovered over the knob, debating whether to run or stay. She didn’t have an explanation for the pull to remain, considering Joel was ten feet away from her, but she listened to it.

Joel didn’t have to question what ‘all that’ Tommy was referring to. If he’d brought it up to him him, he’d surely have brought it up with Y/n. Just knowing they’d talked about it hurt.

“So are you two gonna let me off the hook, or what?” Tommy asked, smiling the same way he had each time Y/n or Joel had bailed him out of jail.

Joel wished with everything in him that Y/n wasn’t in the room. Not with what he was about to say.

“This ride to the university…” he began, “Is it a suicide mission?”

Tommy’s brows lowered, “No. It’s dangerous, but it’s nothin’ you can’t handle. Just prepare and do what you do.”

“You’ve had people go that way and come back?” Joel continued.

“All of ‘em,” Tommy answered, “What is this?”

Joel couldn’t find it in himself to meet Y/n’s eyes. He felt the absence of her gaze, but his drifted in her direction, landing near her boots.

“She’s immune.”

Y/n instinctively tensed up, the two words they’d all swore not to speak suddenly hanging in the air.

“What?” Tommy said in shock.

“Ellie,” Joel replied, “She got infected but she didn’t get sick.”

Tommy flinched, naturally, making Y/n slide her body in front of the door.

“It’s true,” she said, “Fireflies found her up in Boston, she’d just been bit. We brought her in, quarantined her, tested her…” Y/n couldn’t bring herself to look at Joel, only at the floor under his feet, “Then it happened again. I saw it with my own two eyes…that was three months ago.”

A beat of silence added to the tension of the moment.

“She’s immune,” Joel pushed, his voice low and pleading.

Tommy looked between his brother and his almost-sister-in-law, thinking about the stark contrast between the last time it had been the three of them. He crossed the room, reluctantly coming to sit across from Joel.

Y/n, with her hands at her side and her eyes looking anywhere but at Joel, moved to where Tommy had been standing. It was too late to leave now…

“From the beginning,” Tommy requested of them both.

For reasons she couldn’t understand, Y/n’s eyes began to water before Joel even started to speak.

“It was Marlene,” he explained, “She hired us to smuggle her to some Fireflies. It went bad. Tess got bit. She made me swear to take the kid. It was her dyin’ wish,” Joel’s voice wavered slightly, “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Y/n sunk her teeth down into her bottom lip, that hadn’t been Tess’ final request.

“We made it as far as K.C and then…”

Joel paused, the memories of Kansas City were ones he tried not to look back on, for so many reasons.

“You know, she saved my life there,” he continued, “From another kid.” He intentionally left Y/n out of the story, just addressing the memory of her almost dying overwhelmed him.

“Five years ago, I would have destroyed him,” Joel went on, “But she had to shoot him to save me. 14 years old. Because I was too slow and too fuckin’ deaf to hear him comin’.”

Y/n looked down at the worktable below her, her eyes misting over. It was so easy for Joel to pretend like she hadn’t been there, it almost hurt.

“And I saw…” Joel paused, Henry’s two fatal bullets ringing in his good ear, “I saw a man kill his own brother, to save her, while I just watched.”

Curling her fist against the table, Y/n bit down on her lip until she tasted blood.

“And today, I thought that dog was gonna tear her apart because it smelled somethin’ on her. And all I did was stand there,” Joel’s pace had quickened, “I couldn’t…move. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just…”

Joel, in that moment, wished for a thousand miles of space between him and Y/n. He wished she remained in Jackson and he was back in Boston.

“I was so afraid,” his voice finally cracked.

Two silent tears danced down Y/n’s cheeks like a sprinkle of rain before a thunderstorm.

“You think I can still handle these things, but…” Joel’s voice regained its strength as he watched Tommy take in what he said, “I’m not who I was. I’m weak.”

With all the force inside her, Y/n still couldn’t bear to look at Joel. She couldn’t handle watching him fall apart.

“Lately, there are these moments where the fear comes up outta nowhere and…” Joel took a quivering breath, well aware he was addressing two people, “My heart…feels like it’s stopped.”

The long overdue explanation didn’t feel like a victory to Y/n, it felt hollow. It was coming at the expense of so much.

“And I have dreams,” Joel went on, “Every night.”

“What kinda dreams?” Tommy asked, it was the first time he’d dared to speak.

“I don’t know,” Joel’s tone became breathless with emotion, “I just know that when I wake up…”

Joel paused, trying to gather the strength he’d lacked twenty years ago.

“I’ve lost something.”

There was no longer any story to tell.

This was Joel’s admission of guilt.

“I’m failin’ in my sleep,” Joel cried, “That’s all I do.”

A river now streamed down Y/n’s face, they were addressing all that had happened between them without actually talking about it.

“It’s all I’ve ever done,” Joel whimpered, the faces of the three most important women in his life flashing through his mind, “Is fail her.”

Y/n’s cheeks were red from holding in her screaming sobs.

“Again and again…” Joel trailed off, feeling the weight of Y/n’s pain without seeing it.

“You want me to take her,” Tommy stated, he knew what was coming before they got there.

Y/n’s eyes finally found the courage to fly to Joel, her lips parting in shock.

“I’m just gonna get her killed,” Joel trembled, the fears he’d had to live with the last three months were beating him into cowering, “I know it. I know it.”

Of all the things he’d said concerning the piece of his heart standing across from him, none had hurt Joel as much as the one floating on his tongue, clutching to his throat…begging not to be released.

“I have to leave her.”

In that moment, Y/n was no longer in the shop. She wasn’t in Jackson. Her knees were sitting in dirt, wind whipping at her shirt, her screams echoing off the triage clinic walls…Joel was abandoning her all over again.

She must have gasped or sniffled, because Tommy turned around to look at her. Joel’s tearful gaze finally came up to meet hers, her heartbroken stare piercing his chest. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, the anger that had died out three months ago filling her eyes once again. Except this time, there was so much sadness behind it, Joel’s tears started up again.

Y/n couldn’t stand to hear another word, her own opinion not mattering in the already-made decision. Desperate for Joel not to witness another one of her tears, she went straight for the door, throwing it open and letting it swing shut behind her.

Her mouth hung open, trying to force the winter air in and out her lungs as her head spun. He was doing it, he was leaving her as if she hadn’t ever meant anything to him.

A crunch of snow under another pair of footprints drew her attention to her left. Ellie was moving so fast away from the door, Y/n barely recognized it as her.

“Ellie,” Y/n called, the girl was marching back through town, “Ellie!”

“So he’s just gonna leave us here?” Ellie asked, her voice raised to compensate for the distance between them.

Y/n couldn’t form an answer, she couldn’t defend Joel’s actions.

“You have to talk him out of it,” Ellie said, bitterness seeping into her tone.

“I can’t,” Y/n said, letting the cold freeze what was left of her tears.

“Yes, you can,” Ellie was sounding more and more like the child she should have been, on the verge of losing something important to her.

“Ellie, I can’t,” Y/n practically shouted, the girl was too fast for her, “I can’t make him do anything, you know that.”

Ellie spun around, her face red from the cold air and her anger. “You have to,” she yelled, “He can’t…” her voice nearly caught, “He can’t fucking do that to us.”

Y/n had concealed so much of her history from Ellie, it wasn’t anything she needed to know. The girl looked at Joel like he was everything, she couldn’t shatter the illusion.

With nothing but tears to give as a reply, Y/n watched Ellie storm back off through the snow. She waited, giving the girl a wide berth before heading in the same direction.

When they got inside, Ellie stomped up the stairs, leaving Y/n standing aimlessly in the middle of the living room. She felt so small, so fragile, it was a vulnerability she hadn’t felt in twenty years that only came with someone owning a part of your heart. It was permission she hadn’t realized she’d given to Joel to break her all over again.

Somehow, quite blearily, Y/n made it up the stairs. She stood in the hallway, her eyes drifting between doors. Two options lay in front of her. She could a) knock on Ellie’s door and try to console her or b) go into her room and sleep off the pain till morning.

Despite the twenty years of independence she’d had, Y/n had never felt like she had full autonomy. She was owned by her past, haunted by the choices that she’d been forced to make and the ones that had been made for her. There was a piece of her mind beating her into submission, counting on the trauma to make her cower from facing the truth.

There was a third option, and she strode towards it without hesitation.

—————————

“You’re right. You’re not my daughter, and I sure as hell ain’t your dad.”

The words struck Ellie like a blow to the chest.

“Now, come dawn,” Joel finished, “We’re goin’ our separate ways.”

He left her there, knowing there were tears pooling in her eyes, knowing she felt abandoned. He knew all of it, and he still slammed the door shut. He was the only one who could see that it truly was the only option where she kept her life.

Joel glanced down the hall, spotting the bathroom, a closet and a closed door, no doubt a bedroom. He didn’t dare go near it, he couldn’t face the demons that lay behind it. Instead, he made his way to the bedroom at the end of the hallway, nudging the door open…

Y/n was sitting on the bed.

Joel froze.

Her elbows rested on her knees, her hands were clasped together. She stared ahead at the carpet, her stare boring into the beige threads with a fire that was intended for the man standing across from her.

Joel had been running from her all day, it seemed like they both had. If Y/n had thought this was her room and had been caught off guard, she’d have jumped, rushing to leave or forcing Joel out. Her stillness told him that this was intentional.

“I want the truth,” Y/n was the first of them to speak, “About that day.”

Joel had made one of the biggest choices in her life for her and it had ruined the last twenty years. If this was the last time she would ever see him, she was taking what she wanted before leaving.

“I need to hear it,” she continued, her voice thick from crying. She finally dragged her gaze up to him, shooting daggers, “I need to hear you say it.”

Joel’s muscles had locked up, every inch of him suddenly running painfully cold. There was no escaping what she wanted to hear, nor did he have to strength to keep it buried any more. The words lay trapped in his chest, rotting between his lungs.

Joel reached behind him and shut the door, not wanting Ellie to hear what was surely to come. He walked towards the bed hesitantly, the first step sending Y/n across the room. Distance was necessary for such an intimate conversation.

Y/n watched him walk, his posture was more drooped than usual. She’d heard Ellie yelling through the walls, no doubt reading him the riot act for his plans. And whatever Joel had responded with was, undoubtably, worse.

Joel took Y/n’s spot on the edge of the bed, sighing to himself and trying gathering his mind. Were they really doing this?

He paused a good long while before beginning his confession.

“After it…” Joel paused, unable to call on the tragedy by name, “After it happened, I couldn’t…see. I-I couldn’t…breathe. Nothin’ made sense any more,” Joel’s eyes were brave enough to look up at Y/n, “Nothin’.”

Y/n kept her arms crossed over her chest, protecting herself the last way she knew how from the ghosts of the past.

Joel clasped his hands in his lap, as if to pray for forgiveness that wasn’t his to have. There was nothing that could soften the blow he was about to strike.

“Somehow, in my mind, when you told me…” Joel referred to another nameless point in time, “What you told me…I knew it was true.”

There it was.

“You’d never lied to me before,” Joel admitted, tears threatening to reveal all his cards, “You wouldn’t’ve chosen then to start.”

He’d known. He’d known the whole time. And he’d still tried to make her feel like a liar.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” Joel struggled, his chest trembling as he tried to hold himself still, “The pain was just…I couldn’t handle it.”

With Ellie in the room over, Y/n bit down on her lip to stop whatever violent reaction threatened to escape her mouth.

“So instead, you decided to blow up my life,” she said, nodding.

Joel felt breathless, staring into the same weeping eyes he had twenty years ago, watching her fall apart. Except this time, it was controlled. She wouldn’t let herself break until he broke first.

Y/n couldn’t hold back the river in her eyes any longer, the festering resentment building in her like a hurricane.

“Do you have any idea what I went through after you left?!”

The force of her voice startled Joel, but he didn’t flinch. He deserved every bit of her hate, and he would take it all.

Y/n took a rattling breath, the volume of her tone dropping to a hiss, “Do you have any idea what I had to do?”

—————————

October 1st, 2003. St. Louis, Missouri.

By some miracle, Y/n made it home.

After Joel had abandoned her and she’d cried herself nearly into dehydration, she stood up, brushed the dirt off her knees…and walked away. Her apartment complex was near the clinic and she’d snuck back without coming across any army or Infected.

She promptly packed up her backpack, shoving as many dry goods in as she could. She filled water bottles, rolled a change of clothes, a flashlight, a blanket, and a hammer. She didn’t have any intention of hurting anyone, but she was going to be prepared.

The problem was that her car was parked at Joel’s house.

Unhappily, Y/n had snuck into the neighborhood through the trees, the army was still stationed on the highway directly in front of the entrance. When she arrived, cutting through the shared lawn between the Millers and the Adlers, she kept her eyes down. She didn’t think she could handle the sight. She climbed into her car, which was blissfully still there, and started it up.

It took everything in her not to look up at the house, or go inside to say a goodbye.

To avoid the army, she drove her car through the space between the houses, cutting back through the forest and getting onto a side. She couldn’t save Sarah, Joel had left her for dead, but she was determined to find her family.

It had taken a full day of driving, carefully avoiding the army’s various stations, and when her car had run out of gas, two days on foot. But she’d made it, alive and as well as she could be.

Y/n’s parents owned a plot of land that they’d built her childhood home on. The nearest neighbor was a mile away, giving them a decent chance at survival by isolation. Her sister lived five miles away, her brother twenty minutes, but she knew they’d huddle together in such an emergency.

When her weak limbs and weary eyes reached the property, she huffed a tearful breath. The world may have been falling apart around her, but she was home. The sight gave her a new boost of energy and she quickened her steps across the grass.

“Mom,” she called the closer she got, “Dad!”

Y/n hurried up the front porch steps, finding the door slightly ajar. There had never been a moment in their house where the door hadn’t been locked. Her hand hesitated over the knob, afraid of what she might find.

She didn’t really have a choice.

Y/n cautiously stepped inside, “Mom! Dad!”

Her voice bounced off the hallway, echoing into the house. There was no answer.

“Annie,” she called for her sister, then her brother, “Jason!”

She walked down the hallway, finding the tables and knicknacks that decorated it to be as meticulously straightened as ever. It all looked normal.

“Guys,” Y/n shouted, growing more anxious, “It’s me!”

Through the hall was the kitchen, the counters were covered in dry good wrappers and bags. Clearly they were here, the power had been cut and that would have been their only option for food.

Y/n’s breaths grew quicker, “Guys!”

There was a clatter from upstairs, Y/n spun around to face the staircase. Her worst fear was that someone had broken in, killed her family and was stealing any valuables they could. It was a miracle her apartment had been intact.

Another large thud, followed by a low growl.

She wasn’t even thinking about the other possibility.

A humanistic screech sounded through the house before a blurry body threw itself down the stairs, launching itself towards Y/n.

It was her father.

“Dad!”

As her father’s hand swung at her, she swerved out of the way, the rush of air brushing her face. She stumbled backwards into the living room, blidnly reaching for the edges of furniture to topple in her dad’s path. Undeterred, growling and snarling at his own daughter, he climbed over them effortlessly.

“Dad,” Y/n yelled with tears in her eyes, “Daddy, stop! It’s me!

A snarl and another swipe was all she received.

Until the second growl came.

From the other side of the stairs, Y/n’s mother emerged with the same possessed look in her eye as her husband.

“Mama,” Y/n cried, “It’s me! Stop!”

Her mother ran down the hall, her steps wide and clunky. Y/n’s father was heading towards her too, his movements slower than his wife’s.

There was no time to think her decision over.

Y/n reached for her grandmother’s vase, sitting on the end table by the front door and swung it around, smashing it into her mother’s head.

Her mother let out a scream, one of anger rather than pain, and stumbled back a few steps. Y/n shoved the end table at her father, ramming it into his stomach and causing him to drop to the floor. It gave her time to cut across into the home office, sliding under her mother’s arm as it reached for her.

“Mama,” Y/n cried, her tears were long past restraint, “Mama, it’s me…please.”

Her mother stalked forward, too far gone to recognize her daughter.

“Mama,” Y/n pleaded, “Please don’t!”

Y/n was out of time and out of options.

It was either take action or become one of them.

Y/n yanked the hammer out of the open slit in her backpack and slammed it into the side of her mother’s head.

The woman dropped the floor.

Y/n could barely register what she’d done before her father’s growls neared. She looked up to see him, quickly encroaching on her. She waited until her was close enough before jumping to the side, letting him slam into his bookcase and bludgeoning him with the hammer.

Y/n bolted out the glass doors, sprinting towards the stairs and screaming for her siblings, “Jason! Annie!”

More growling came from one of their childhood bedrooms.

Acting purely on adrenaline, Y/n bolted in the opposite direction of the sound, heading for the master bedroom. She ran for the closet, clearing the top shelf of her father’s side to reach his fireproof safe. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the code, the growling getting closer to the room.

The safe door opened, offering her her father’s hand gun as a blood soaked salvation.

A sickeningly shriek filled the bedroom, the lean body of Jason entering and sniffing Y/n out like a hunter would its prey.

Y/n couldn’t afford to think, but she felt the full weight of her decision as she took off the safety and landed a bullet in her big brother’s head.

She stood over his lifeless body, her breath caught somewhere between her heart and her lungs. From behind her, there was more manic growling.

Y/n spun around to find not only her sister, racing towards her, but her parents dragging themselves up the last steps on the staircase.

“No,” she whispered, “No, Annie, stop. Please!”

Her sister screamed, her eyes completely blackened and her nostrils flared in blind rage.

Y/n fired a shot with a shaking hand, causing the the bullet to hit a decorative plate on the wall, ricocheting back across the room and hitting her in the shoulder.

She couldn’t feel the pain.

She couldn’t feel anything.

Because the next three shots she didn’t miss.

When it was over, Y/n couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare at the destruction she’d caused. And in her numbness, she didn’t hear the small footsteps, the heaving breaths coming for her…

Her little nephew, Matty, let out a vicious cry as he lunged for his aunt.

“Matty!” Y/n cried, the boy clinging to her leg and unhinging his jaw, “No!”

Y/n reached down, prying him off her leg and holding him in the air, his little legs flailing and his hands clawing for Y/n’s throat.

“Matty, stop,” Y/n screamed through her tears, her pain rising to match the demonic one of her nephew.

She threw him down on the bed and bolted for the stairs, the gun still in her palm. She knew that the next thirty seconds would decide who she would be in this new world, and whether her soul would retire to heaven or hell.

Her nephew flew down the stairs after her.

Y/n stumbled on the last step, landing on her knees and sliding across the blood slicked hardwood.

Matty shrieked.

Y/n raised her gun.

—————————

December 2023. Jackson, Wyoming.

The soft glow of the lamplight couldn’t help the darkness that filled the bedroom.

Joel’s lips were parted, in horror and in sorrow.

The entire expanse of Y/n’s cheeks were painted with her tears. Not a day had gone by since her tragic homecoming where she wasn’t haunted by her decisions. But the last three months, particularly after Henry and Sam’s tragic endings, it lived at the forefront of her mind again.

“I needed you there,” Y/n whispered angrily, incapable of making any louder a sound, “I needed you there to…”

To save her? To commit the atrocious sin for her? To hold her afterwards and tell her she was still a good person?

“You left me there,” Y/n whimpered, “To die.”

Joel felt the weight of the words, each one slicing through his heart the way he deserved. He deserved so much more.

The worst part, was that in all of Y/n’s twenty years she’d spent wanting to hurt Joel, with the opportunity in front of her, she couldn’t…because she understood. She understood what grief that powerful could do to a person. When she had made the choice to end her family’s lives, she lost herself. She couldn’t make sense of a single part of her mind, her heart, what was left of her soul…and twenty years later, Joel’s delusions were perfectly clear to her.

Despite all her efforts, she couldn’t hate his decision. Only the ramifications.

Joel felt like his entire body was made of led, unable to move so much as a finger. Only his eyes seemed to work properly as they rolled tears down his cheeks.

He had abandoned her in a state of unawareness and had doomed her to a life as broken as his. He had condemned her soul the minute he’d walked away from her. The reason for all her pain was him.

The emotions balled inside Y/n, gathering more and more pressure until she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Screw understanding, she had to get it all out.

“She chose me, Joel,” Y/n cried, “She fucking chose me! And you fucking stole that from me,” she pointed at him, “You tried to take her memory away from me like it was nothing. Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“Because,” Joel’s body shot up off the bed, turning to face Y/n, his voice possessed a strength that only came in desparate sadness, “We were so close! We were so damn close,” he drew a shaking breath and ran his hand through his hair.

Y/n stood as still as she could, nearly relieved that Joel was finally being honest with her, but heartbroken all the same.

Joel had kept so many secrets over the years, from Tess, from Tommy…it was the nature of survival. Keeping your cards close to your chest. But he couldn’t take the physical pain, the sick feeling in his stomach, that came with hiding one in particular.

He lowered his voice, his own pain softening the edges of his tone. “Did you know I was gonna buy you a ring? That weekend?” Joel asked, feeling stupid for posing it as question, “‘Course you didn’t. That’s why I was workin’ all those extra shifts,” he pointed a finger in the distance between them, “I was goin’ to get it the next morning…”

That was it. There was no more pain for either of them to feel. This was the great, whopping, life-stealing heartbreak that would steal the last of them.

“We were so close,” Joel whispered, his lip quivering as he bit back his sobs, “And we lost it all. And I couldn’t handle it…” his voice cracked with his final admission, “And there hasn’t been a day on this godforsaken planet that I haven’t regretted it.”

There was ten feet and two decades of space between them, but their minds were back in Austin on that last night, before tragedy struck. The glow of the TV flickered across their eyes, the soft sounds of Sarah’s breaths against Joel’s legs filled their ears, the phantom weight of Y/n’s head on Joel’s shoulder nudged him. It was the start of the future they were never meant to have.

Y/n stopped any attempt to slow her tears, instead allowing soft sniffles to escape her. She pressed a hand to one side of her face, digging her palm into her cheek. Sarah had chosen her as her mother, Joel had chosen her as his wife. They had been on the verge of…everything she’d ever wanted for them.

Joel watched her process his confession, still tied to her soul enough to feel the pain wash over her as if it was his own, because it was. He had felt the gaping hole of her at his side for two decades, knowing he was the one who caused the vacancy. Regardless of whether he ever saw Y/n again, he would carry that scar for the rest of his miserable life…

Y/n fought to draw a breath deep enough to keep her from losing consciousness. She met Joel’s eyes, wet and bloodshot and with all the strength she could summon.

“We did lose everything,” she agreed, the pressure of the lump in her throat forcing the words out of her, “But we didn’t have to lose each other.”

In the three months they’d worked together, risking their lives for Ellie and each other, they’d fought any and all feelings towards one another that didn’t pair well with Joel’s dishonesty or Y/n’s fury. They’d raged just as hard against their past as they had the violence of those against them. And now, with the truth exposed and nowhere left to hide…they felt it all.

Three months spent carefully considering every move they made towards one another, every word thought over with such consideration…they’d been so committed to keeping up their great divide.

There was nothing left to fight.

Only to feel.

Beautifully in sync with one another, Joel and Y/n surged towards one another, colliding in a kiss that could have stretched twenty years and back.

Joel’s arms wrapped around Y/n’s body, one around her waist and one sliding around her back, anchoring her to him. There was a duality to the way he held her; unbridled passion pressing his fingers deep into her skin, his pained adoration reining in the intensity of the touch, as if he was holding fine china. He practically melted as his hands roamed her, letting the full force of his feelings overwhelm him.

Y/n’s body trembled against Joel, her hands holding his wet cheeks as their lips frantically moved together, clashing and submitting to one another so perfectly. When close became not close enough, she wrapped her arms around Joel’s neck, leaving no space between them. She wept into their kiss, euphoria putting every inch of her at ease. She could feel nothing but him and him alone.

As their touches intensified, their lips digging for more and more of each other, Joel maneuvered them backwards. He blindly guided them until Y/n’s knees hit the edge of the bed, the two of them falling back onto it, never breaking from one another.

They spent their night falling apart and putting each other back together. Twenty years and three months of yearning was spilled out into the darkness of the early morning hours, both Joel and Y/n pouring all the love they’d ever felt for one another into each kiss.

—————————

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, the clouded sunlight waking her up before anyone could knock on her door.

She could feel the absence of Joel without reaching across the sheets.

Sinking her teeth into her kiss-swollen lip, she shut her eyes and drew a slow breath. The night was never going to change either of their plans, it had been a funeral for all they’d never mourned. Neither of them could have afforded for it to be anything else.

It was a comfortable numbness to settle back into, longing for Joel against the reality of their world.

Y/n dressed in the new clothes Maria had left for her in her room, returning to Joel’s bedroom only to make the bed. It was the least she could do.

While she was tucking the quilt in, a knock on the door drew her focus. It was Tommy. Despite the years of separation, they could still read each other like the siblings they’d almost been. Tommy’s sad eyes registered Y/n’s unusually quiet demeanor and he knew that she was feeling the loss of his brother timelessly, just as she would have in 2003.

“Ellie up?” Y/n asked, finishing up with the blanket.

“I think,” Tommy replied, “Haven’t checked on her yet.”

Y/n settled the pillows back under the headboard, smoothing down a crumbled edge of the quilt and stood up straight. She was making the rest of the journey without Joel, but she was still going to hold her head high.

“Gimme a minute with her,” Y/n said, squeezing past Tommy in the doorway, determined not to look back at the room. She crossed the hall to Ellie’s door, gently knocking.

“Come in.”

The second Y/n walked in the room, she knew that Ellie had been expecting Joel in a new state of mind. There was barely concealed disappointment in the young girl’s eyes. Y/n smoothed her hands over her jeans and came to sit next to her in the bay window. Before they took one more step in their journey together, Y/n needed to make something clear.

“I know you didn’t sign up for any of this,” she began, “I know it’s been hard. You’ve seen things that no one should ever see, let alone someone your age,” Y/n paused, this was as honest as she’d ever been with Ellie, “And I know you’ve lost…so much.”

Ellie’s eyes shifted in Y/n’s direction before darting back forward.

“And it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me any of it,” Y/n carefully reached out and placed her hand over Ellie’s, “But I’m not walking out on you.”

Ellie looked up finally, watching the words fall off of Y/n’s lips.

“I’m with you until you tell me to stop,” Y/n continued, giving a small smile, “Even then...”

The side of Ellie’s mouth barely quirked upwards, that was enough for Y/n to know she had taken the words to heart. Since the beginning of their journey, it had been her and Ellie above all else.

Tommy knocked on the door, poking his head in. “Ready?”

Y/n looked to Ellie to decide, waiting until the girl stood to rise with her. Tommy handed Y/n her backpack which she promptly slung over her shoulders. She was thankful, at least, that Tommy was finishing out the rest of the trip with them.

The three of them filed out of the house, it had snowed heavier at some point in the night, creating an even thicker blanket.

“Stables,” Tommy said, beginning to guide them in the direction.

“Hang on,” Y/n said, cutting across the street in a move that surprised herself, “I’ll be right back.”

She climbed the steps to Tommy’s house, opening the unlocked door and entering. She bypassed the living room entirely, making her way through until she found the kitchen, where Maria was seated with a cup of coffee.

Maria’s fingers traced the handle of the mug, staring down at the liquid, “Are you here to tell me my husband will be fine and I shouldn’t worry?”

“No,” Y/n shook her head, “I mean, he will be, but…no. I came to say thank you.”

Maria dragged her gaze up to Y/n, she’d given enough to warrant wondering what exactly she was being thanked for.

“For…” Y/n exhaled, dancing carefully around the memory of the woman holding her as she wept, “For-“

Maria held up a knowing hand, her voice gaining a softer edge, “You’re welcome.”

Y/n hesitantly smiled, the woman had allowed her to grieve in a way nobody else ever had. A simple thanks seemed too simple, but it was all she had to offer. She turned on her heel to leave and let her have her morning.

“Hang on,” Maria called her back, rising from the table and heading down the hall. She returned with Y/n’s rifle and handgun, extending them out to their rightful owner. As Y/n reached for them, she pulled them back.

“You make sure my baby has a father,” Maria demanded, her eyes pleading with Y/n.

“With my life,” Y/n promised, it was one of the truest things she’d ever said.

Maria handed her the weapons, watching Y/n sling the rifle over her back and holster the handgun. She would never trust her brother-in-law, but she wanted to trust the sister-in-law she could have had.

Y/n exited the house, making her way back to Tommy and Ellie as quick as she could without slipping. Upon seeing the returned firearms, Ellie held up her own pistol, somehow mysteriously returned to her. One look to Tommy’s averted gaze told Y/n all she needed to know.

The three of them strode past the animal pens and into the stables, the same melancholy cloud hanging over them. Y/n was ready to take her night spent with the man she loved and tuck it away in her mind as nothing more than a beautiful moment in time.

When she turned towards one of the stalls, she hadn’t expected to see him standing in front of her.

Joel had made a lot of mistakes in his life, a lot. Most of them spanning over the last two decades, but many had come before. The one that kept him up at night, the one he saw in his dreams, the one that would haunt him every hour of every day would forever be leaving Y/n. Not just because he’d lost the love of his life, but because he’d made the decision for her. He’d played with her life in a way that made her still standing and breathing a damn miracle. Somewhere between leaving the warmth of her body in bed and saddling his horse, he’d realized he couldn’t take that away from her or Ellie.

“You came here to say goodbye or something?” Ellie asked.

“No,” Joel replied, still fiddling with one of the saddle straps, “I came here to steal one of these horses and go.”

“I woulda gave you one,” Tommy said.

“I know,” Joel turned to them, addressing everyone but Y/n, “Anyway…that was thirty minutes ago and I guess…” he stepped forward, finally letting his eyes fall on the woman before Ellie, “You deserve a choice.”

Everything at war inside Y/n settled at Joel’s words.

“I still think you’d be better off with Tommy-“ Joel began.

Ellie had heard enough, shoving the bag of food Tommy had packed them into Joel’s chest, “Let’s go,” she looked back to Y/n as she moved towards the horse, “Say yes.”

Y/n nearly smiled at Ellie’s bossiness, her and Joel’s eyes meeting softly. She hadn’t expected him there, but the change in heart, in the way he was handling the situation was even more unexpected and more welcome. She gave a reserved nod, allowing her cheeks to tug her lips upwards.

Joel could never go make up for what he’d done to Y/n. But whatever time they had left together was going to be spent trying.

Y/n turned to Tommy, “We’re gonna need another horse.”

Tommy nodded, unlatching another stall’s lock, leading one of the horses out and handing the reins to Y/n. “Maybe don’t tell Maria about this…” he smirked.

Y/n nodded, “Gotcha.”

The four of them exited the stables and finished readying the horses. Joel and Y/n both helped Ellie onto the one Joel would ride.

“Hold onto both,” Joel instructed, handing Ellie the reins.

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie nodded, her mood had already perked up.

Y/n and Joel came to Tommy, the three of them standing in a triangle. It was the first moment the three of them had shared since the night before.

“General direction?” Joel asked.

“Head southeast till you hit I-25,” Tommy answered, “It’s right off the interstate, shouldn’t be hard to miss.”

There was a brief pause before Tommy spoke up again, “Promise me y’all are gonna stick together.”

Joel gazed over at Y/n, feeling the history between each of Tommy’s words. Under the cover of night, it would have cut right through him. Now, it was a guarantee he could give both of them.

“I promise,” Joel said, his eyes never leaving Y/n’s. It was the first time she’d smiled at him in a long time, and he felt a new surge of strength through him.

Tommy pulled Joel in first, embracing him with a prayer that this wouldn’t be the last time he laid eyes on his brother. He tugged Y/n into his chest after, wishing the same. He couldn’t regain them only to lose them.

Y/n relaxed in Tommy’s arms, wishing they could stay in the safety of Jackson just a little longer. Twenty years of struggle, a little relief, and then back out into the jaw of danger.

“There’s a place for you here,” Tommy said, keeping a hand on Y/n’s shoulder and looking to Joel, “All of you.”

“Countin’ on it,” Joel said, earning a l eyebrow raise from Y/n. He didn’t feel like explaining his answer any further.

Joel glanced at Tommy’s rifle hitched to his shoulder, “Could I borrow that?”

“Yeah,” Tommy reached for the gun.

“”Cause Maria took mine, you know?” Joel added.

Tommy smiled, “I already said yes, Joel.”

Y/n chuckled, she hadn’t missed Joel scanning the firearms on her person.

“Adios, big brother,” Tommy said, taking one last long look at Joel.

Reluctantly, Y/n and Joel rounded their horses. As Y/n slipped one foot into her stir-up and prepared to swing her leg over, two familiar hands fell on her hips, helping to lift her. When she looked down, Joel was standing below her, his eyes tracing the curve of her calf he was holding. Y/n’s skin tingled under his touch.

They weren’t going to analyze it to death, but things had changed.

Joel saddled his own horse, Ellie wrapping her arms around his body, and the three of them rode through town. Tommy followed them to the gate, a few of the residents opening it up for them. With a final shared look between the three of them, Joel and Y/n led their horses out of Jackson’s borders, parting with Tommy.

Y/n’s chest tightened as soon as the gates slammed shut, they’d had a few wonderful hours of sanctuary. Back in the throes of losing their lives, she wanted to run back.

Joel could sense her anxiety, it was so similar to how he was feeling. If the stakes weren’t so high, he would have never left. He took one foot out of his stirrups and nudged Y/n’s boot with his, dragging her eyes to him. He gave a small nod to let her know he was there, for the first time in twenty years, he was with her in any and all ways she needed him.

—————————

It took them a solid day of travel, with sneaky glances and reserved smiles, for Joel and Y/n to start talking.

Closer to sunset, Joel decided to cave and teach Ellie how to shoot with the rifle. She’d practically fallen off the horse in her rush to get on the ground.

“Wide right,” Joel instructed, after Ellie had missed her fourth shot, “You’re flinchin’.”

“The target’s too small,” she complained.

Y/n watched them from beside her horse, sneaking in a quick bite of food. Ellie and Joel were on their knees with the rifle resting on a log. Their closeness and the way Joel was guiding her through her shots wasn’t lost on Y/n and for the first time, she didn’t think it was lost on Joel either.

“I made it bigger than I should’ve,” he told Ellie, “Eject the cartridge.”

Ellie did as she was told, “And I am not flinching.”

“Mm-hmm,” Joel humored her.

“The rifle just sucks.”

“Okay, give it,” Joel said, reaching for the gun.

Ellie gladly handed it over and switched spots with him, “It doesn’t aim right.”

“Mm-hmm,” Joel adjusted his position.

“You’ll see,” Ellie insisted.

Y/n dusted the crumbs off her hands and came to watch, “How can you tell it’s busted if you’ve used it?”

Ellie gestured to the target Joel and Y/n had made her, “‘Cause I should’ve been able to fucking hit that!”

“Ah,” Y/n smiled, “So you’re just that good? Never touched a rifle in your life, but you’ve got the raw talent.”

Ellie flipped Y/n off, settling in beside Joel with a pair of binoculars to spot the target. Y/n moved to stand a few inches away from Joel.

“A deep breath in, slow breath out,” Joel recited, he was ultra aware of Y/n’s presence beside him, “You squeeze the trigger like you love it. Gentle…steady…” he purposefully paused, unable to help himself, “Nice and slow.”

An involuntary heat creeped up Y/n’s neck and landed in her cheeks.

“You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?” Ellie smirked.

When Joel glared up at Ellie and stopped to see Y/n’s reaction after, she kept her eyes dead ahead on the target. The small smile gracing her lips told Joel enough.

“It isn’t gonna work,” Ellie insisted, looking through the lenses of the binoculars, “It doesn’t aim right.”

Joel took a flawless shot, the bullet cutting through the middle of their target.

Ellie’s jaw dropped, “You dick.”

Proud of himself, Joel casually shrugged it off.

“Okay, okay,” Y/n nudged Joel’s leg with her foot, “Now that the amateurs have had their turn…”

Joel let go of the gun and scooted to the side, allowing Y/n the space to kneel down against the log. Even under the circumstances, teaching a fourteen year old how to defend herself in the worst case scenario, with the wind brushing through her air and her brow knit in concentration, Joel couldn’t help but admire Y/n’s beauty.

They had yet to talk about what had happened between them on their last night in Jackson. He didn’t know where they stood, what she was feeling, or the smartest way to go about finding out. Coming back to her and Ellie had been pure emotion. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to leave them, he couldn’t.

“Hang on,” Joel held up a hand before Y/n took a shot, moving in closer to her, “Posture’s wrong.”

“My posture’s fine,” Y/n said plainly.

Joel decided to test the waters, stretching an arm out around Y/n’s body and sliding his trigger finger over his. His other hand reached forward to envelop hers against the body of the rifle.

Y/n tried to conceal her smirk as Joel wrapped himself around her, her skin felt like it was buzzing and crackling under the pressure of his body.

“Eighth of an inch could be the difference between life and death,” Joel defended his actions, his lips nearly brushing Y/n’s ear.

“Mmm,” Y/n hummed, sucking on her bottom lip and trying to pull it straight.

Carefully, Joel rotated her body a barely imperceptible amount. Through his gloves, he could feel the way Y/n’s pulse sped up under his touch and decided he’d made the right call.

“You gotta think through every move,” Joel said, the depth of his voice rumbling against Y/n’s back, “Don’t rush through it.”

Y/n lined her eye up with the viewfinder, deciding to join in on Joel’s game. “There’s not always enough time. Sometimes you gotta be fast,” she paused, “And firm.”

Joel felt his own heart rate pick up, the adrenaline of their banter sending him back to the night before. But Y/n still hadn’t succeeded in catching him off guard.

“Nobody’s shootin’ back,” Joel said, readjusting his grip on her hands, “You can take your time.”

Attempting to take a steady breath, Y/n fired her shot, the bullet lodging itself a millimeter apart from Joel’s.

Y/n pulled away from the viewfinder, turning her head towards Joel only to find him waiting for her.

“I think I could’ve done that on my own,” she purred.

Joel’s eyes were locked on her lips, nearly admitting defeat and giving into the tension they’d created. “Guess we’ll never know,” he replied huskily.

“Nice and slow, huh?” Ellie interrupted the moment, smirking at them, “Fuckin’ disgusting.”

Y/n smiled as Joel’s head dropped a little, sliding the gun back into his hands and getting to her feet.

“Come on, Cowgirl Jane,” she pulled on Ellie’s shoulders, steering the girl back to the horses, “Saddle up.”

Joel watched the two of them walk back to the horses, his eyes focusing on Y/n’s silhouette as she tugged Ellie’s body into hers. For months, all he could think of was what could have been, what almost had been. He’d never stopped to think that he had something so similar to what he’d lost in front of him the whole time.

—————————

They camped for the night under a rock formation, similar to the one they’d slept at the night before making it to Jackson. Ellie was tired enough to call it a night earlier than usual, leaving Joel and Y/n to themselves…for the first time since their conversation.

They sat across the fire from one another, unable to tear their gazes away for more than maybe five seconds. It had been like that all day, they couldn’t keep their eyes off one another. If a stranger took one look at them, they would never guess they’d been running from each other just 24 hours prior.

“You warm enough?” Joel asked, scanning the layers she had on.

“Mm-hmm,” Y/n nodded, heating her hands by the fire.

Joel settled back against his rock, watching the light of the flames dance across her face. It was the same shade of orange as the bedroom lamp had been.

“It’s rude to stare, Miller,” Y/n remarked, feeling the heat of his deep brown eyes on her.

“‘M not starin’,” Joel replied, a lovestruck smile pulling at his mouth.

“Really?” Y/n chortled, finally meeting his gaze, “Then what’re you doin’?”

It had been three months of avoiding looking at her too long, Joel wanted to take his time and admire every inch of her face for as long as she deserved to be admired, “Somethin’ else.”

Y/n felt the blood rush to her cheeks again, Joel could wield sentiment just as expertly as a gun. It was so tempting to just watch him watch her all night.

But they had to face the music at some point.

“Listen,” Joel started, his gaze darting to his hands in his lap, “About last night…”

“Yeah…” Y/n nodded, hugging one of her knees to her chest.

“I, uh…” Joel looked earnestly back up at her, “I didn’t plan that or anything.”

Y/n nearly laughed, “I didn’t think you did. And for the record, that’s not why I was in your room.”

Joel nodded, never in a million years could either of them have guessed how the night would have ended.

“Do you…” he paused, fearing the answer he knew he might get, “Regret it?”

Y/n knew she was well within her rights to resent Joel, in one way or another. But the thing was, she was tired of holding a grudge against him, of pretending like he wasn’t still engrained in her soul. What happened between them had been unexpected, unplanned and…beautiful.

“Y’know,” Y/n began, “I really tried to hate you at the beginning of all this. I mean, there was a part of me that definitely did but…I never could’ve made good on any of those promises to kill you…” she inhaled, “I’ve spent twenty years just…wanting to scream every time I thought about you. And then at some point, one of the many times I ran that day back in my mind…I understood. Why you did it.”

Joel’s amusement was sucked right out of him, a somber expression capturing his face again.

“It made sense,” Y/n nodded, watching the fire instead of Joel, “‘Cause after I…” she stopped short of the horrific memory, “After I did what I did…I broke. I mean, I shattered on the floor and I never found all the pieces…

“You’re still you,” Joel interjected, unable to help himself.

“Joel…” Y/n smiled sadly at him, “I’m not the same. Neither are you. I don’t think you can go through something like what we went through and not come out different…,” Y/n sighed, “And it’s not fair of me to keep blaming you for what I did after you left.”

The last thing Joel was going to let her do was try and make him feel better about what he’d done to her, “Y/n, I-“

“No,” Y/n readjusted herself against the rock, “Stop. I can be upset you left me, I can be sad about it…but I can’t blame you for the choices I made. They were mine to make and…” she sniffled, “I have to live with them.”

“So, no…” Y/n sighed, “I don’t regret it. Any of it.”

Joel shifted, so unsettled by how the air was shifting. He couldn’t handle the way Y/n was treating him. It wasn’t what he deserved.

“Just…please hate me,” he asked of her, his throat forming a lump, “In some way, just…just a little.”

Y/n knew what self-loathing looked like, she practiced it every minute of every day. She’d never felt something stronger than the way she despised herself, and she didn’t want Joel to drown in the same whirlpool.

Picking herself off the ground, she walked around the fire, nudging Joel’s legs flat against the dirt. She lowered herself onto his lap, rendering him still and speechless.

Joel’s breath caught in his chest as Y/n sat atop him, her gaze travelling across his face and her hand coming up to cup his cheek. He nearly flinched at the softness of her touch, here he was begging for her vitriol, and she was bathing him in honey.

“We don’t always get what we want, Joel,” she whispered, her words crossing the small, small distance between them.

Joel could do nothing but tremble at the sentiment, underlying feelings rising to the sentence’s surface and embracing him. None of it was fair, what he’d put her through, what she’d gone through after, and what had put them there in the first place. He knew he didn’t deserve Y/n anymore, if he ever had, but…he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to love her again with the full force that came with twenty years of missing a person.

It all came down to whether or not he would let himself.

And the way her fingers grazed his cheek and her tender gaze flipped his stomach practically threw him into her arms.

Joel leaned forward, pressing his lips to Y/n’s in a passionate, yet slow kiss. She caught his face in her palms, allowing him to drag her closer till their chests were pressed together. It hadn’t taken long for their bodies to remember the feel of one another. Joel inhaled deeply, breathing Y/n in like she was his life support, and she was. He would forever live and die by her.

When they broke, muscle memory brought their foreheads together. The crackling of the fire and their quickened breaths were the soundtrack to their intimate moment. Y/n couldn’t help the tears welling in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Joel’s hands sliding up her back, one coming to cup the back of her neck.

Y/n shook her head, biting back a smile as her eyes travelled Joel’s face. “I just never thought I’d see you again…” she whispered, her thumb gliding over Joel’s beard.

Joel turned into her palm, pressing apologetic kisses to the skin. The same thought had echoed through his mind for two decades.

“You still gotta give me hell,” he said in between kisses, “Make me pay for what I put you through.”

Y/n smiled, her skin tingling at his touch, “Stop.”

Joel’s lips travelled to her wrist, “Fire a warnin’ shot every once in a while, just to keep me on my toes.”

“Shut up,” Y/n laughed softly, pulling his chin up to gain access to his lips.

Under the midnight Wyoming sky, they let themselves fall for each other all over again. It would never be exactly as it had been, they were different people, but the core flame remained the same. Joel and Y/n had travelled for twenty years only to find their way back to one another. In every kiss, every touch, there was forgiveness. There was redemption. Above all, there was love that nothing, not even Cordyceps could lay waste to.

When their kisses began to slow, exhaustion hitting them both, Joel pulled back. “Get some sleep,” he brushed a strand of hair from Y/n’s face, “I got first watch.”

“You don’t fucking wake me up,” Y/n smiled, “Ever.”

“No, I don’t,” Joel ran his hands slowly up and down her back. He had a hard time dragging her from peace to the cold reality they spent their waking hours in.

Y/n rolled her eyes and rolled off of Joel’s lap, crossing the fire to retrieve her sleeping bag. Joel watched her every move in daze, fully consumed by his love for her once again.

She dropped her bag at Joel’s side, pointing to him decisively before sliding in, “Wake me up.”

“Okay,” Joel smiled, humoring her. They both knew he wouldn’t.

Y/n settled in next to him, resting one hand on his thigh. She knew they were too vulnerable to ask him to lay next to her, but she needed some piece of him to fall asleep.

Joel sat there, holding his rifle for the first time with a smile on his face. He had ended up right where he’d tried so hard not to be, exposed by his instinctual need to love someone. He glanced down at Y/n and further away at Ellie. He couldn’t say that he regretted falling captive to either of them.

—————————

The next few days went by in a blur of snow-coated landscapes and trees that all looked identical.

Perhaps the most beautiful part of Joel and Y/n’s reunion was the freedom it allowed them. They didn’t have to hide any more behind their shields, they didn’t have to try and find fault in each other. They were unshackled from their grudge and it didn’t just serve them.

“So the way they ran stuff in Jackson,” Ellie asked on their second day of travel, “Was that how things used to be?”

“No,” Joel answered as he guided their horse, “The country was too big for that. Back then, there were basically two main ways of lookin’ at things. Some people wanted to own everything. And some people didn’t want anyone to own anything at all.”

“Most people didn’t even care about the actual issues,” Y/n added, remembering sitting through mind-numbing debates amongst friends at dinner parties or candidates on a tv screen, “They just wanted to argue.”

“So which one were you guys?” Ellie asked.

“Neither,” Joel answered for both him and Y/n, “We just did our jobs.”

“Which was…” Ellie tried to recall the details they’d told them earlier, “Building?”

“That’s right. Houses, stores, that kind of thing. We were called contractors,” Joel replied, nodding to Y/n, “She used to sell me all my supplies.”

“Oh,” Ellie smirked and pumped an eyebrow at Y/n, “That makes sense…you hooked him up.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “You live in the fucking gutter, child.”

Ellie snickered, before lowering her voice, “‘The Contractor.’ That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, we were cool,” Joel breathed, deciding rewriting an insignificant piece of history wouldn’t stunt Ellie’s growth, “Everybody loved contractors.”

Y/n nearly snorted, turning her face so Joel could maintain his reputation in Ellie’s eyes but earned a light kick from him to the shin. When she looked back, Ellie was resting her face against Joel’s back and Joel was beaming. The lover’s eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them that this was the happiest either of them had been since…

Y/n thought to the plastic butterfly that had survived the last three months in her backpack. Joel still didn’t know it was there.

Each night that they camped, Y/n drifted a little closer to Joel until the second after they’d start their fire, she’d settle right into his arms. Ellie continually took the piss out of them, making a suggestive remark or serenading them with an off-key rendition of an old ballad. Y/n would laugh and throw something at her, Joel would watch them both and try to conceal just how much they were bringing him back to life.

When Joel would stand watch, Y/n would be right by his side, unable to be apart from him even in sleep. On the nights where he’d let her take the second shift, desperate for a moment’s rest, he’d lay his head on her leg. Twenty years of separation were driving them together with a force neither of them could fight.

Each day, Joel and Y/n explained a little more about their lives or how the world had worked to Ellie. She absorbed it all as best she could, but it was naturally difficult to imagine a world different than the only one she’d known.

“Okay, so if you mess up your fourth down,” Ellie recited what Joel had explained to her, “Then you give the ball to the other team?”

“Right,” Joel confirmed, “It’s called a turnover.”

“Turnover,” Ellie tested out the word, “But if you make it to ten yards, then you’re back to first down?”

“Yep,” Joel nodded.

“So, basically just moving in one direction.”

“Basically,” Joel replied, “But violent.”

“Oh, well,” Ellie nodded, “There’s that.”

Y/n guided her horse alongside them, “Do you remember that Cowboys game we went to?”

It was the first time either of them had brought up one of the lighter periods of their past. “Tommy’s birthday?” Joel recalled, “Yeah, they barely pulled through.”

“We made it up on the big screen,” Y/n remembered, a smile coming to her face.

“And Tommy was so fuckin’ wasted, he started dancin’,” Joel continued the memory.

Y/n grinned, “We had to pour him into the car, let him sleep it off on the couch.”

Joel chortled under his breath, for the first time feeling like he could look back on the happier parts of his life without feeling guilt. Y/n represented both the best and worst times he’d gone through, the hope and the fall of all his dreams. The light she was bringing back into his space was illuminating all their history, and they couldn’t sustain themselves anymore on grief.

He wrapped the reins around one fist and reached over to Y/n’s horse, pulling her hand into his. She looked across to him, smiling warmly and tightening her fingers around his.

Ellie groaned, making a convincing gag sound.

“Would you rather us try and kill each other all day?” Y/n asked as Joel scoffed.

“That was easier to stomach,” Ellie remarked, though it didn’t really bother her all that much. She liked Joel and Y/n getting along.

They came up on the I-25, just as Tommy had directed them. The city’s outline acted as a homing beacon.

“Well, how ‘bout that?” Joel said, “Made it in five days.”

“Easy days,” Ellie added, “I don’t know what Tommy was so afraid of.”

“Still time to find out,” Joel commented, he was happy, but he couldn’t be delusional.

Ellie lowered her voice and threw on a bad Southern drawl, “‘Still time to find out.’”

Joel glared back at her before she switched to a strained, creepy whisper, “‘The Contractorrrr.’”

Y/n and Ellie shared a laugh, Joel rolled his eyes and dropped Y/n’s hand, causing them to laugh harder. The sound warmed his chest.

They rode another hour before making it to the outskirts of the university.

“Wow,” Y/n muttered, taking in the corroded architecture.

“I know,” Joel agreed, having not stepped foot on a campus since tours in his junior year of high school, “Been a while.”

“‘Home of the Big Horns,’” Ellie read off the sign, “What does that mean?”

“Team mascot,” Joel explained, “It’s a kind of sheep.”

“Oh, see?” Ellie said, “One step closer to your dream. Don’t see any Fireflies though.”

“They’re gonna be further in,” Y/n said, nudging her horse forward to lead them. It had been three months since she’d actually thought of herself as a Firefly. Being with Joel, taking care of Ellie had made her feel like her old self. To put on her other identity felt…unnatural.

They rode through the dormitory section of campus, of all the abandoned buildings she’d seen over the years, Y/n was sure this was the strangest.

“So these places,” Ellie started, “People would live here and like, what? Go to classes and stuff?”

“Yup,” Joel answered,

“Even though they were adults,” Ellie struggled. FEDRA recruited straight out of high school. College was, truly, an alien concept to her.

“Sort of adults,” Joel clarified, “I think it was just as much about partyin’ and findin’ themselves as anythin’ else.”

“Hey, hey,” Y/n spoke up, “Some of us were studious.”

Joel smiled, “Alright. And figurin’ out what they wanted to do with their lives.”

“What they wanted to do with their lives,” Ellie repeated, chuckling to herself.

“It didn’t always go that way,” Y/n added, “I mean, I went for four years, got a degree and it stayed on a wall. I never used it. Ended up in a hardware store.”

“So why go?” Ellie asked.

Y/n shrugged, “Like he said, you try to find yourself at that age…” she hesitated to continue, “I didn’t find myself till much later in life.”

Joel knew exactly what she was referring to, transporting himself somewhere between their first date and their last kiss.

“So I’ve been thinkin’,” he spoke up.

“Mm-hmm?” Ellie hummed.

“I don’t want a sheep ranch, actually. I mean, if the deal is I can do anything?”

Ellie looked over his shoulder up at him, “That’s the deal.”

“Well…” Joel was about to reveal the very last secret he’d been keeping, “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a singer.”

“Shut up,” Ellie laughed.

Joel looked back at her, “Why is that funny?”

“You gotta sing something now,” Ellie said.

“No.”

“Oh, you can’t just drop that on her and run,” Y/n grinned, “C’mon, hit us with a little Patsy Cline.”

“Yeah, c’mon, man,” Ellie joined in, “I’m not gonna laugh.”

“You’re already laughin’,” Joel pointed out.

“Yeah, okay, true,” Ellie replied, it was just too funny to think about dark, brooding Joel belting out an 80’s pop song or a 90’s grunge anthem, “Well, you’re singin’ for us later. I’m gonna save the fuckin’ world, man. It’s the least you can do for me.”

“I can’t top that,” Y/n smiled, “But I’ll make your life a complete hell if I don’t get to hear that voice again.”

Joel smirked, looking between the two women who could make him do just about anything, “Fair enough.”

Y/n and Joel drove their horses deeper into campus, coming up on what would have once been considered the quad. Now, there were wild animals freely roaming the frozen grass.

“Are those monkeys?” Ellie excitedly asked.

“Must be from the old labs,” Joel considered.

Ellie laughed as they chased each other away, “Look at them go.”

“First time seein’ a monkey?” Joel asked.

“First time seein’ a monkey.”

Y/n was a few feet ahead of them, scanning for her west coast counterparts. Spray painted on some signage, she spotted the Firefly symbol.

“Hey,” she called back to Joel, who was already coming to her side, “Look.”

Ellie sighed, “Here we go…”

Joel and Y/n kept their rifles against their chests as they followed the path, Y/n continued to ride ahead of them to handle any of the talking.

“Guard stations,” Ellie observed.

“Empty,” Y/n added, a twinge of suspicion lacing through her stomach.

“Uh…” Ellie dragged out the non-verbal question.

“Yeah,” Joel confirmed.

“Gun?”

It was foolish to think that their happiness would last the whole way to the base without a hint of trouble. “Yeah,” Joel sighed.

Y/n slid off her horse first, tucking her reins with Joels between a tree and its branch. The two of them shared a look, tender yet hardened as they removed their gloves to handle their guns better.

“Stick behind us,” Y/n ordered Ellie, who already knew the drill.

Joel and Y/n walked side by side, their pistols unholstered, as they entered the main building. The inside was utter destruction, everything from medical equipment to vials and medication bottles strewn across the floor.

“There were definitely doctors here,” Ellie said, picking up a small box from one of the carts left standing.

Joel picked up a file, flipping the manilla folder open and finding a piece of yellow pad paper.

“This is a packing list,” he explained, “Somethin’ you make before moving.”

He turned it to Y/n, who examined the contents of the list. Marlene had moved the Firefly base in Boston a few times before they’d found their home, their lists were nearly identical to this one.

“They just left?” Ellie asked.

There was a metallic clang from somewhere on a floor above them, all of their muscles tensing at the sound.

“Maybe not all of ‘em,” Ellie looked to Joel and Y/n.

The three of them carefully climbed the stairs, following the noise to the third floor. Joel managed to get ahead of Y/n, making himself a human shield. The same mess that littered the ground floor was scattered down the hall. Something, or someone, had cause the Fireflies to leave in a hurry.

Pausing outside the room in which the sound was coming from, Joel held up a hand to Ellie. Y/n scrunched down, sneaking past the doors and coming to stand on the other side. She and Joel shared an affirmative nod, drawing their guns and slowly entering the room.

Where the monkeys revealed themselves as the noisy culprits.

“Jeez,” Y/n breathed.

“Well,” Joel sighed, “At least it ain’t Clickers.”

“Yeah, no Fireflies either,” Ellie began to roam the room, “Maybe in all that research, they turned into fuckin’ monkeys.”

Y/n put her hands to her hips, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. She wracked her brain for anything, any piece of information about the base out west. An emergency evacuation plan, a second meeting place…

“You got anything?” Joel asked, seemingly telepathic.

“Nothing,” Y/n replied, scrunching her eyes shut, “I’ve never been privy to all of Marlene’s secrets.”

The two of them began to examine the room, Y/n was drawn to a cork-board with papers pinned to it. There was a map of the country in the middle with thumbtacks leading a path all the way to Salt Lake City.

“Hey,” Y/n called for Joel and Ellie.

“That’s where they went?” Ellie pointed her gun towards Utah.

“All the pins lead there,” Joel observed, “Maybe gettin’ ahead of the weather…better facilities? I don’t know.”

Y/n shook her head, “I mean, I don’t remember there being a base out there but-“

A set of unfamiliar voices interrupted her thought.

Joel and Y/n hurried to the window, barely peeking out enough to spot a group of raiders outside.

“Out the back,” Joel ordered, the three of them quickly rushing out the room.

They filed down the stairs and out the back entrance of the lab, taking shelter behind old sandbags as they listened for the raiding party. When all they heard was silence, Joel led them to the next point of safety.

“Ready?”

Y/n and Ellie nodded, guns drawn and ready to make their grand escape.

The three of them ran across the distance to where they’d left their horses. Joel and Y/n quickly holstered their rifles while Ellie tried to keep their animals calm.

“Joel! Y/n!”

Ellie’s cry caused them to spin around, one of the raiders had snuck up on them. He swung a lead pipe around, Joel pulling Y/n out of the way just in time before it collided with her skull. Y/n reached for her rifle again, ramming it in their attacker’s stomach, causing him to stumble. Joel took the opportunity to lunge at him, slamming him up against the tree. He took a shiner to the chin before flipping the raider in his grip and cutting off his airways with a chokehold.

“Get her,” Joel grunted to Y/n as the man struggled against him.

Y/n ran to Ellie, who had her gun aimed with a shaking hand, and pulled her back from the danger.

Joel waited until the raider was too weak to fight back before snapping his neck with a sickening crack and dropping him to the ground. He turned around to Y/n and Ellie, his chest rising and falling in heaves.

They were both staring at his abdomen in horror.

He looked down in confusion, a knife sticking out of him.

The world seemed to stop, for all of them, as realization hit in different ways. Joel grabbed hold of the dagger’s handle, pulling it out of him with a grunt. His blood began to pour out of him.

Y/n’s slackened jaw trembled, watching it all unfold as Joel’s eyes flew up to hers.

“Joel,” Ellie cried, the only one of them still thinking clearly and spotting the other raiders coming up on them, “Get on the horse.”

Joel managed to take a few steps forward while Y/n rushed to her own horse. He mounted his horse, letting out a blood-curdling cry of pain that, despite all their instincts, neither of them could stop to care for.

“El,” Y/n called as she mounted her own animal, “Go!”

Joel and Ellie began to ride off with Y/n not far behind, she was trying to manage the horse and shoot. Most of her shots landed at the ground around the raider’s feet.

Ellie took a few shots as well, “Get back!”

One fatal bullet hit one of the men, a warning to the others that may try to follow them.

Looking back for a split second, Y/n made a shot that cut through one of the raider’s legs. She spun back around to urge her horse forward.

“Joel,” Y/n shouted, “Ride.”

Through the shock that was beginning to hit his system, Joel could still understand her. He nudged the horse forward, their speed picking up and creating a wider berth between them and the men chasing after them.

It took them twenty minutes of riding until they were sure they’d lost them.

“They’re not following us,” Ellie said, looking to their rear, “I think we’re safe.”

Y/n looked over at Joel, his eyes were glazed over as he hunched over the reins of the horse.

“Joel,” she called, as if she could warn him of what his body had already set in motion.

He slipped from his horse before Ellie or Y/n could do a thing.

“Joel,” the girl cried, “No, no, no, no, shit!”

He fell to the snow with a grunt, his vision going black, the last thing is ears registered being-

“Joel!”

Y/n rushed off her horse, beating Ellie to his body and kneeling over it. His skin had turned three shades paler than his usual glow, Y/n felt his deathly cold cheeks and began to cry.

“No, no, no,” she mumbled, tapping his face firmly, “Joel, wake up.”

“Joel?” Ellie called him, kneeling on his other side, “Joel?”

Y/n was sane enough to examine his wound, blood spilling out of it at an uncontrollable rate.

“Shit,” she whimpered, “Ellie, his hands.”

Ellie covered Joel’s hands and pressed down on the hole in an attempt to stop the flow.

“Joel, open your eyes,” Ellie ordered, leaning over his face, “Open your eyes. Joel, you gotta get up.”

Panic mounted in Y/n quicker than it ever had, her mind flashing back to Outbreak Day, the last time she’d felt the life slip from someone she loved.

“No,” she begged, her tears falling onto Joel’s cheeks and rolling down his own face, “Joel, come on. Please, wake up.”

“We can’t fuckin’ do this without you,” Ellie began to choke on her own cries, “We don’t know where the fuck we’re going, what the fuck we’re gonna do…”

They needed him.

Ellie let out one more heartbreaking croak of his name, “Joel.”

Y/n pressed her forehead to his as if she could will her life into him. She couldn’t go twenty years missing him, get him back only to have him ripped from her.

“Joel, please,” she whined, “Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me.”

They sat in the snow, begging him to do something he couldn’t.

Y/n fought against the fears bubbling in her throat, ready to swallow her. She had to think clearly and quickly if they had any chance of saving him.

She wrenched her backpack off her body, frantically pulling at her jacket until it was off her too. “Ellie,” she sniffled, “Lift his shoulders.”

Ellie crawled above Joel’s head and strained to lift him, Y/n forced and shimmied her coat underneath him, yanking it until it was around his lwoer back. She pulled the sleeves around to his front, lined them up with the wound and tied a tight knot. A makeshift tourniquet.

“We gotta get him on the horse,” Y/n thought out loud, trying to think of the best way to move him, “Bring one of ‘em down.”

Ellie ran to retrieve Y/n’s horse, leading it back to the dip in the land they were on. Y/n brushed a hand over Joel’s cheek again, praying he stayed unconscious for the next part.

“I’m gonna get him to his feet,” Y/n instructed through her tears, “You’re gonna keep the horse steady, then you’re gonna help me get him on, okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie nodded, just as emotional as Y/n.

“Okay,” Y/n wrapped one of Joel’s arms around her shoulders and hoisted him to a seated position, “C’mon, honey. Come on.”

Joel’s head lolled backwards, his lips were turning blue. It was better to try and keep him awake.

“Joel,” Y/n said into his ear, loudly, “Joel, c’mon, stay awake for me.”

She got to her feet, calling on a supernatural strength she didn’t know she possessed and getting Joel upright, only for his knees to go out. Ellie was quick to take hold of his other side, doing her best to keep him up. She and Y/n strained ahead to their horse, until it was time to lift him.

Y/n mounted the animal first, they’d gotten Joel leaned up against it and Ellie was keeping him steady. “I’m gonna pull, you’re gonna push, okay?”

Ellie nodded.

“Go,” Y/n ordered, pulling Joel by his armpits up onto the horse with her. He let out a muffled groan as they did, a sad, but good sign. Ellie strained as she helped to lift him the rest of the way.

“I got you,” Y/n lowered him onto her back, the full weight of him pressing into her, “I got you.”

Joel’s head fell forward against Y/n’s shoulder, knowing even through his haze that it was a safe place to be.

“Where do we go?” Ellie asked, having grabbed Y/n’s backpack and mounted her horse.

Y/n looked at the area around them, hopelessly clueless as to what their next move was. Joel wouldn’t make the five day ride back to Jackson, and they couldn’t go back to the university. It was uncharted waters, whichever way they went.

“We find somewhere we can hide,” Y/n decided, on the verge of hyperventilating, “Anywhere.”

“We passed that neighborhood on the way,” the girl recalled.

“Yeah,” Y/n tugged Joel’s arms around her waist, “Yeah, let’s try there.”

The two women urged their horses forward, somewhere between a sprint and a trot, cutting through the woods beside them to head back to their original route. Y/n clutched Joel’s hands, interlocking her fingers with his, determined not to let him die in her arms.

She wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

—————————

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[written-in-flowers]

Be the Light: Pt. 3 (SeongjoongxFem!reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!reader | Side pairing(s): Ateez x Fem!reader.

Word Count: 6k

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

AU: historical!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @tunaasan @lelaleleb @sevngmin148 @meljoongiee @puppyminnnie @sunasmoke22 @kyourixr @yoongiigolden @lynnsqueendom @atinycafe @soocore @ethereally-lyann @blackbutterfly133 @ddaeing @pearltinyy @raviollirin

Huge thanks to my lovely beta reader @daesukiii 💕💕

Part 2 < | > Part 4

***

The palace temple was built by the first King of Hanseong, one of Sookmyung’s ancestors, many years ago. Walking through the temple’s zen garden, a small pond area guarded by stone statues of gods, Hongjoong and Seonghwa did not meet anyone during their walk. Hardly anyone visited the palace temple anymore, and since Sookmyung did not care about it, the area became overgrown by wildlife and dense foliage. Both men struggled to find the path at times, and once or twice one of them ran into garden snakes. But, eventually they saw the stone and wood structure in the middle of a clearing. Hongjoong saw a stone buddha statue eroded by age and weather in front of several kneeling cushions on the ground. The place overall carried a tranquil silence that he worried might break at the slightest sound. He’d expected they’d be alone, but he’d been wrong. 

Sitting in her usual wheelchair, Queen Mother Jisoo sat with her hands folded over her lap and head bowed in prayer. On a cushion beside her was Chaewon, her handmaiden. This sudden appearance of Sookmyung’s mother raised their suspicions. The small offerings placed in front of the statue implied she visited often, and she appeared entirely at peace. Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa, and saw the caution in his eyes. They walked slowly and quietly behind the two women, taking their own cushions and sitting in silence. Hongjoong wondered how long the pair planned to be here. What if their contact backs away because he saw Jisoo and Chaewon? Then, he’d never learn of their plan. He’d considered leaving and waiting in the bushes before another figure joined them. 

Senior Advisor Choi Wonshik. He came unaccompanied this time, in his usual official robes and gat. A quick glance to them with a bow was returned before he took a cushion beside Hongjoong. Another person to scare off his contact. Hongjoong had given Seonghwa a look before Jisoo spoke first. 

“What do you pray for, Hongjoong?” 

Jisoo’s voice broke the garden’s tranquil silence, as soothing as the water falling into the pond nearby. Hongjoong and Seonghwa looked at one another, then at Wonshik, who smiled serenely with his head bowed. Chaewon showed a similar expression, not looking over at him or anyone else. He thought about what he could possibly say to Sookmyung’s mother. It’d be wrong to tell her ‘your daughter’s downfall’ out loud and to her face.

“For home,” Seonghwa said from beside him.

Hongjoong whipped his head over to him, but Jisoo spoke first. “As do all of us,” she beckoned Chaewon to stand, and the woman moved to turn her chair around and face them. The lines around her mouth and her eyes showed signs of a woman who’d laughed and lived well. Her eyes, while similar to Sookmyung, did not hold viciousness but rather warmth. 

She smiled at them both, “This country is my home. I spent many years of my life dedicated to leaving it better than when I first came into power. I pray for its safety and wellbeing every morning, afternoon, and night. I pray that the crops will be fruitful this harvest, and that we will never see another war or famine again. My prayers are the only thing left to me since my daughter was crowned queen.”

“It is the only thing many of us have left,” added Wonshik. “I pray for strength,” he told them, “And for patience. I pray that one day the dignity of The Crown is restored, and that when people see our banners, they do not cower in fear but instead feel comforted.”

“I pray for the good health of the people,” said Chaewon, “And for the protection of my daughter, YN.”

“As we should,” said Wonshik.

Suddenly everything made sense. He looked over at Chaewon, then Wonshik, then at Jisoo.

“We may speak plainly,” Jisoo declared. “I told the guards to leave this place, and this temple has been banned since Sookmyung became queen. This means you can remove those ridiculous veils and let me see your handsome faces."

Tentatively, Hongjoong and Seonghwa removed their veils and Jisoo beamed brightly at them. She examined Seonghwa first, clearly admiring his jawline and wide eyes. Hongjoong saw her nod her head in approval. 

"Just as handsome as you are intelligent," she concluded. "One might have thought you'd been sculpted by gods if they saw you." 

Seonghwa bowed his head appreciatively. She did the same with Hongjoong, studying his features closely. His cheeks blushed being observed like a painting or statue sold at auction. He looked over to Wonshik, who appeared to be doing the same from where he sat. But, it was Chaewon who spoke.

"He looks like a true prince, doesn't he, Your Majesty?" She grinned fondly. 

"No, not a prince," Jisoo said. She met his eyes when she said, "A king." 

Her words left him speechless. He eyed her closely, searching for a lie in her face. This woman is Sookmyung’s mother; her being part of a resistance against her sounded too good to be true. Hongjoong never knew Jisoo to scold or criticize her daughter. More often than not, she remained neutral and kept to herself in the palace. Seeing The Queen Mother was rarer than seeing a concubine. He couldn’t imagine her wanting to depose her own child. When she moved away, he spoke. 

“What did we meet here for?” he asked her, “To talk of prayers? Changbin’s message mentioned another heir.”

“How can that be?” Seonghwa asked after him. 

“Sookmyung has a twin sister.”

The news shocked the two men. “A twin?” Hongjoong furrowed his brow, “Where? How? If there is someone walking around with Sookmyung’s face, then they would’ve been found before now.” 

“I married King Siwon when I was nineteen-years-old,” she started. “Being the King, Siwon had a multitude of responsibilities. I only had one: to produce heirs for the throne. I’m sad to say it was the only thing I could not do. Siwon and I spent five years of our marriage trying for a child, and failing. Every pregnancy I did have never carried to term or came out ill and died or was a stillborn,” Hongjoong saw the discomfort in her face speaking about it. “I felt like a failure. I loved Siwon, and I knew how much he wanted a child, and I’d disappointed him. Those snakes at court began whispering that perhaps I was barren or I had a disease preventing me from having a healthy child. I had to do something. I knew if I failed to produce an heir, they might demand an annulment and Siwon and I would be separated forever.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I prayed,” she answered. “I prayed right here in this temple. Chaewon was there,” she lifted a hand which Chaewon took in her own, “And she prayed with me. I prayed for fertility, for a healthy child, and to bring honor to my family. The next time Siwon and I made love, a month later I was declared pregnant. I spent most of my pregnancy bed ridden, since I feared the slightest movement might make me lose the child inside me. The physicians checked on me night and day, giving me herbal teas and acupuncture treatments for the baby. It was a painful experience, but Siwon said the result would be worth the struggle.” She then said, “Then, on the fourteenth night on the eighth moon twenty-four years ago, I finally gave birth to my child. She came into the world crying and screaming, and by all accounts was perfectly healthy. I’d done my duty to my family, and I’d finally gotten the one thing I’d always wanted: a child.

“But then, I felt another pain and the physician said I was going into labor again. Out came a second girl, quieter than the first and whimpering softly, but also completely healthy. Siwon saw the crisis before anyone else did. He said he’d seen dynasties be torn apart by a succession dispute…” she paused, gulping thickly as she said, “And said one of the girls would have to go.”

“What? That’s awful,” said Seonghwa softly. “He forced you to part from your own child to avoid a war over the throne?”

“That’s what he believed he was doing,” she replied. Chaewon put both her hands on Jisoo’s shoulders, and the queen touched one of them still. “I knew he was right. My own family went through a similar struggle when my father died, and I did not wish to see my children be torn apart because of a silly chair. I told my husband I understood his reasoning, but I did not wish to be fully separated from my child. I begged him to let the girl remain in the palace; I told him we can pass her off as somebody’s else’s child, and nobody would have to know outside of a select few. The girls looked nothing alike, so it wasn’t as if anyone would suspect.” 

Hongjoong sensed the end of this story, and he couldn’t believe it at all. 

“Then, I turned to my closest friend,” she smiled up at Chaewon, “Who’d held my hand throughout my labors and been there every step of the way. She’d suffered similar fertility issues with her husband, who couldn’t produce enough sperm to give her a child. I offered the younger of the two to her,” she looked back at them, “And she’d live as Chaewon and Hyungshik’s daughter instead.”

“YN…” your name escaped his lips softly. “No, that’s…YN and Sookmyung could not be any different from one another. Firstly, their appearances alone are vastly different, and their demeanors…YN, she’s…She’s too sweet to have shared a womb with a monster like Sookmyung. How would you have kept this from other servants? Gossip spreads in this place like wildfire. If Queen Jisoo had two twins, people would have known in seconds.” 

“And if Chaewon didn’t have a child one day, was never pregnant, and suddenly produced one,” added Seonghwa, “Might raise suspicions.” 

“I told people my husband and I adopted a baby from the city orphanage,” Chaewon said. 

“And the only people in the birthing room that night were myself, the king, the physician, Chaewon and Wonshik,” Jisoo replied. “Everyone involved was sworn to secrecy. Physician Yoon passed away some years after the twins’ birth, so it was one less person. Han YN became Park YN, and she has lived as Chaewon and Hyungshik’s adopted daughter ever since. I demanded that YN and Sookmyung live side-by-side like sisters, being companions as children before YN became her handmaiden.” 

“It was His Majesty’s wish that YN be educated alongside Sookmyung,” said Wonshik. “I think when Sookmyung’s nature began to show, he started regretting his decision to separate the twins. I suggested he reveal his deception to the people, and claim YN as his daughter, but he refused. He was too proud to admit he’d made a mistake, and too optimistic that Sookmyung’s wild behavior was a phase she’d grown out of in adulthood.”

“He also feared what Sookmyung might do if she found out she had a sister,” Jisoo admitted to them. “You two saw what she’d done to those who had claims to the throne, no matter how distant. I knew telling her would put YN’s life in danger.”

“Then why are you bringing this to light now?” asked Hongjoong, appalled by their confessions. “Sookmyung is the queen. She is the most powerful person in the country. She has men who will torture and kill people at the first word, and will not hesitate to do it herself. She’ll kill YN and get away with it,” he couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. “We can’t let anyone else know. If Sookmyung should ever think YN is-”

“-Sookmyung needs to be stopped,” Jisoo cut him off firmly. “I love my daughter. I have loved her despite her faults and wrongdoings. I did my best to raise her to be a proper lady of the realm, and prepare her for her ascension. But, I must accept the truth: my daughter is not the person I’d hoped she’d become.”

“She never was,” said Wonshik. “Ever since her girlhood, Queen Sookmyung has been vicious, manipulative, aggressive and cruel. You cannot deny this, Your Majesty,” he told her, “I told your husband that naming Sookmyung his heir would be a mistake.”

“Then who would he have named? His incompetent brother? His people-pleasing sister?” she snapped at him. “I don’t know if you remember, Senior Advisor, but my daughter had most of my husband’s family killed during the war. There are so few claimants left, and they’d be too frightened to challenge Sookmyung.” She turned back to Hongjoong, “YN is our only hope at saving this kingdom from open warfare.”

“Warfare? Do you believe the rebels are strong enough to engage?” asked Seonghwa, sitting back on his haunches and putting a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “From what I’ve always understood the rebel forces to be ill equipped and nothing more than commoners with pitchforks?”

“And that is the exact image we want Sookmyung to have,” Wonshik told him. “I can assure you that the rebels are more than farmers and fishermen. Her Majesty and I have managed to rally some supporters from the other cities. Daegu, Jeonju, and Pyongyang have all given their support to our cause, and minor lords in Gangwon-do and Jeju-do gave theirs as well. I have close friends here at court who will be on YN's side when we finally usurp Sookmyung.” 

“It will not be an easy transition, Senior Advisor,” said Seonghwa. “The people only know Sookmyung; they do not know YN. If they hear she is a twin, they may assume she shares Sookmyung’s behaviors. I don’t know if you’re aware, sir, but Sookmyung forces YN to participate in the torture and abuse a majority of the time. It’s a strange intimacy the both of them have. They might believe she’s the same or worse.”

“Which is why we must show them that YN is tender-hearted and gentle,” he replied. “Have her go into the city, meet her people and speak to them face-to-face. Reinstate the protection laws and charities Sookmyung banned or removed. She can repair damages done across the kingdom and lower taxation and those ridiculous tributes Sookmyung demands. The people will see that she is vastly different from their previous queen.”

“And she’ll have something Sookmyung has not had in the eight years of her reign,” said Jisoo. “The thing her advisors have hounded her about for years.”

“What?”

“A husband,” she eyed Hongjoong when she said this. “Not only a husband, but a husband who’d been a prince of Wonju, the rebel base and rallying point of the rebellion.”

“Should peace be restored, I’d return to Wonju to rule,” said Hongjoong. “My whole family is dead. There’d be nobody to take my place.”

“That is not entirely true, young prince,” Wonshik said. “There is your cousin, Jeongin.”

“Jeongin?” He lifted an eyebrow. Hongjoong remember his youngest cousin, and said, “He was killed by Sookmyung’s guards the day they sacked the city.”

“No, he wasn’t,” he said. “Wonju loyalists managed to smuggle him out right as the fighting began. He has been living in the countryside ever since. The people in charge of him have been preparing him to be your steward in Wonju. You would be here with YN, ruling at her side, while giving him control of Wonju in your place.” When he saw Hongjoong’s hesitation, he added, “Jeongin is the same kind, caring boy you remember. He would make a great steward.”

“And it’d rebuild the alliance Wonju and Hanseong once had,” said Jisoo. “I don’t believe Wonju’s bannermen would agree to any ties with Hanseong without a marriage pact. Even if you have not been in Wonju, the people there still stand with you, Hongjoong. You are their king. You can be my daughter’s king consort, be at her side and guide her.” She then grinned slyly, "Unless you do not want her?” 

"Of course I do," he blurted out without thinking. "I mean, I do like her. I think YN could be a good queen with the right counsel, but Sookmyung…" 

Hongjoong did not want to imagine what horrors she'd have in store for you. Sookmyung held you very close to her heart. Should she believe you're conspiring against her, she'll see it as the deepest of betrayals. Hongjoong refused to let her dangle you from a ceiling or shove you in a horrific box. He'd kill her before he let that happen. 

"What are your plans for Sookmyung?" Seonghwa asked when Hongjoong failed to respond. 

"She will be arrested and put on trial," said Wonshik 

"On what charges?"

"Crimes she committed during the war," he explained. "The murder and torture of prisoners of war,  purposefully attacking civilian towns and taking hostages are only a few named."

"You cannot arrest a queen."

"You can if she has been deposed," he corrected him. "If the council decides Sookmyung is unfit as queen, she will be replaced by YN, therefore removing her titles. Up until now, most of the officials feared retaliation from her for speaking out, but I have convinced the Head Advisors to join me."

"Is she not supposed to be there when the ruling is made? That is part of the law."

"Smart boy," Wonshik smiled at him, "But there is a loophole in this law."

"Is there?"

"The ruling monarch does not have to be present for every council meeting," he said, "And Sookmyung never comes to any of them. We always come to decisions on our own, and present them to her for approval."

"And this ruling can be made during one of these meetings," concluded Seonghwa. "She will not go quietly, you know. She will try to flee."

"We have no doubt about that," he replied. "Do not worry. I have many things in place to make sure she is detained."

"And when is this supposed to happen?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight? So soon? Why?"

"Because it is crucial we do it as soon as possible," he said. “Her Majesty will set up a place for Sookmyung to be, we will wait until she is unsuspecting, and then confront her. We will have supporters around us to step in if need be.” 

"The only person we are waiting on is you, Your Grace," Jisoo said to him gently. "Will you accept my daughter’s hand in marriage and be her king consort? Help us reunite the kingdoms and restore peace?" 

His eyes began to sting. Nobody had called him 'Your Grace' in a very long time. He didn't think he'd ever be called that again. Thinking deeply, Naeun came to mind. If he refused, everything she suffered would be for nothing. He remembered her lifeless body laying on the hard straw, broken bones protruding from her skin and her eye swollen shut. She died with the hope that one day her home will be as she remembered. Hongjoong then thought of you. As your king consort, he could be around you whenever he liked. He could speak to you, laugh with you, kiss and hold you the way he dreamed. You would be his, and you could restore the kingdom together. 

"Yes," he nodded. "Yes, I will."

For home.

****

"-He kept crying all the way back," she huffed. "I thought, being a man, that he'd have a higher tolerance for it."

You knelt at Sookmyung’s side by the low dining table. The afternoon light shone in through the open windows, their borders creating shapes on the floors. Along with it came a cool spring breeze that kissed your warm cheeks. You hated it when Sookmyung recounted her nights in the dungeon. It sickened your stomach, and only brought on more haunting visions. You laddled egg soup into a bowl for her, stirred it around a few times, then placed it in front of her. 

“You’re a woman and you have a stronger stomach than him,” she said, spooning soup into her mouth. 

“I am sure Hongjoong was only overwhelmed by experiencing so much so quickly,” you told her. You sliced toasted bread, putting a small pot of honey and jaw in front of her. “You should have started small, perhaps The Box or The Bull. You know, an act he doesn’t see but hears instead. It lets his mind fill in the blank spaces.” 

“Hm,” she mused, sipping more soup from her bowl, “I suppose you’re right. I may have been a bit hasty in my excitement to show him the chamber. I thought…” she hesitated, “I thought he might understand. I thought he’d enjoy it the way we do.” She pondered over her soup, pushing the strings of egg with her spoon. “I was wrong.” You saw her fingers grip the spoon tightly, her eyes narrowed at the bowl as it’d wronged her.

“Things like the dungeon take a bit of getting used to,” you told her. “I am sure with time, he will come to enjoy it with you.” 

You sat back on your legs and watched her eat. Your own stomach growled quietly, and rumbled in your gut the longer you lingered on the food. The porridge you’d eaten this morning had since been digested, and left you hungry again. You did not know what plans Sookmyung had for the day, since she never concerned herself with the day-to-day work of a queen. The advisors usually held meetings in the morning, then approached her with their decisions some time in the day. Having started her day late, you’re sure they’ll wait until much later to discuss any rulings they’ve made. A part of you believed the council made decisions and put them into action without Sookmyungs’s knowledge sometimes. It is not as if she cared anyway.

“You’re the only person I can share my chambers with,” she said. “You’re the only one who understands.”

Unfortunately, she was right. While Sookmyung’s ‘experiments’ and ‘delights’ haunted your dreams and churned your stomach, you’d begun to understand why she must hurt others. It made sense when you thought about it. Relishing in the pain of others gave her a gratification she couldn’t find anywhere else. Hurting them, controlling when the pain began and ended simulated a power reserved for gods, and not men. You often stood by as she forcibly shoved a man into a box full of venomous scorpions and spiders, and saw the glee in her face. You’d see her carve a man’s face off to place maggots on the red flesh, then stand to watch him writhe in agony. It was abhorrent to anyone else. It was fun for Sookmyung. The fact that her treasured flower did not revel in the torture with her must’ve upset her deeply. Hongjoong having cried at whatever befell the assassin angered Sookmyung. Watching her stir her soup around before eating it, you worried she might decide she no longer wants Hongjoong.

He may end up in The Box next. 

“Will you take him back there?” you asked her, pouring milk into a cup for her to drink.

“I wanted to, but the assassin died in the night,” she scoffed. She ate another piece of kimchi, chewing on the fermented vegetable before saying, “You should have seen her, YN. I think you would have admired her resistance.”

“Did she reveal any information to you?”

“No,” she shook her head, “Those rebel bastards should start finding smarter people. The guards say they found her climbing over the garden wall, waiting in the trees by the corner. You’d think an assassin might be smarter than that.”

“Hubris,” you said, “That was her mistake.”

She grinned, “And stupidity. What made her think she could ever possibly put her knife to my throat?”

“Pride or desperation. One of the two, I suspect.” 

Sookmyung then changed to another topic, a smirk lifting a corner of her mouth, “You never answered me last night.”

“Your Majesty?” you dug your nails into your skirt. Another test was coming, you knew it.

“I asked if San was your type.”

“I told you he was not, Your Majesty.”

Your cheeks burned recalling the previous night. You are certain Sookmyung had no intention of letting you lay with one of her flowers. She only wanted to embarrass you further in front of people. Like with her victims, she controlled your life. She’d also control any lover you took up. She’d kill them if she didn’t approve.

“YN, I cannot find you a proper husband unless you tell me,” she said irritably. She then sneered, “Or, maybe, you don’t like men at all.”

“Wha-what?” your eyes widened at the implication, and you shook your head. “Your Majesty, I assure you I do prefer me-”

“-There is nothing wrong with liking the same sex, YN. There are places all over the world where women couple with women,” she cupped your chin so you looked at her. Her thumb traced your bottom lip line as she said, “I sometimes wish I’d been the boy my father had wanted. Then, this marriage situation could be easily solved.” She moved away from her bowl to sit closer to you. You shivered as her fingers pushed stray strands of hair away, “I could marry the prettiest, loveliest woman I know, and make her mine.” When you looked away in embarrassment, she cackled, “Such a flustered little virgin. There is so much you do not know.”

“Your Majesty…”

“It’s sweet.”

The sound of footsteps made you jump away from her, but she stayed in place. A knock on the door made her grunt frustratedly.

“Go see who it is, YN,” she said, “Then tell them to leave. We have places to be later, and I need to get dressed.”

You were all too eager to go. You are not a naive child. You know women can be romantic with other women; there is nothing wrong with that. You’d seen Sookmyung nude many times over the course of your servitude, and you wouldn’t say she was ugly by any means. Any true naive person would think she is a goddess with her slender curves and hips. The only problem for you was that said woman is sadistically evil. You reached the door, and slid it open to reveal your mother and Queen Jisoo.

“Your Majesty,” you said, heat rising in your cheeks again as you bowed, “Good afternoon. What brings you here?”

“My daughter,” she replied stiffly. “Is she finally awake?”

“She is,” you nodded, “But she has a busy schedule ahead of her, so she must be getting dressed now.”

“Psh, as if that will stop me,” she replied. “Chaewon, wheel me in.” 

With a beckoning gesture over her shoulder, your mother wheeled Jisoo into the room where Sookmyung sat on cushions by the low breakfast table. You trailed behind, not meeting her eyes, and remaining silent.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” Sookmyung said with a false grin, “I hope you’re feeling better. YN was just telling me you hadn’t eaten much yesterday.” A lie that Queen Jisoo did not believe for a second.

“I am, darling daughter,” she said, “But my health is not why I’ve come here. I am here to tell you that you are to clear your afternoon schedule today.”

“Why is that?”

“I have invited lords from Daegu, Jeonju, and Pyongyang as well as sons of your bannermen to our banquet pavilion today. It is about time you stopped fiddling with those poor concubines of yours and settled down with a husband.”

Sookmyung glared at her, “I do not want a husband.”

“I’m afraid that your wishes are no longer a concern to anyone. You are a queen, and a queen must have a king.”

“I do not want a king.”

“Why? Because then you’d have to actually share your power with someone? Because there will finally be someone restraining these ghastly, deviant urges of yours?” her mother accused. “I have made excuses for your behavior for years and years, Sookmyung. When people at court called you improper and promiscuous, I told them you shared your father’s fiery passion. When they said your conquest brought nothing but poverty to your people, I said that you united the kingdoms under one rule and brought forth strength to our armies. Even when you rebuilt the dungeons, to toy and defile people you deemed criminals, I told them that you were passionate about justice.” You heard the frustration rising in her voice, and flaring in her dark eyes. “People have begun to talk, Sookmyung. They say that one day soon, you’ll become pregnant with an illegitimate child and bring shame to our throne.”

“Who cares?” Sookmyung groaned, “Any child I bare would have my blood. Why would that make them unworthy?”

“Because a bastard has never sat on our throne-”

“-I don’t want them, so why does this matter?”

Jisoo sighed, “Sookmyung, I understand your hesitancy to marry. I had my reservations when my mother approached me, but I made it work. I did my duty to my country and my family.” Her eyes shifted over to you, sad and full of regret. It struck you as strange. “But, in order for our family to continue, you must produce a legitimate child. A child of royal, noble blood.”

“I hate children,” she spat, glaring back at her mother, “They’re whiny, snotty, and annoying.”

“You’ll feel differently when you have a child of your own.”

Sookmyung then gave her mother a grin that unsettled you. It was the same mischievous smile she’d given when she misbehaved. She stood up from her seat, and said, “But, what if I have found true love at last, Mother? What if I have found someone I wish to spend my life with?”

“You-You have? Who?” the queen asked, shocked.

Sookmyung moved over to you, standing behind you with arms around your waist. She placed her head on your shoulder as she said, “YN.”

Jisoo scoffed, “Oh please, Sookmyung. You cannot marry YN; she is a woman.”

“Women marry women all the time, Mother, when they marry the same husband,” she said. “YN and I can marry the same man and he can give her children instead.”

“As true as that may be, our clan has never indulged in such practices,” she said. “Besides, any child YN has will be considered…” she searched for the words, “Hers. Not yours. You are the queen, so it is your children who should-”

“-I am aware of how succession works, Mother!” Sookmyung snapped, her voice pinching your eardrum. “I have told you explicitly time and time again that I do not wish to have children or to marry. YN is perfect for it. If I marry her, her children will also be considered my children.”

“Should you marry a woman, it cannot be YN,” her mother said.

“Why not?”

“She is your handmaiden, love. She is not…” she paused again, “She is not suitable for you. She is not of noble blood.”

“Psh, wow,” Sookmyung snorted, “I thought I could be cruel. Did you hear that, Chaewon? My mother thinks your daughter is unworthy of me.”

“My daughter is a servant, Your Majesty,” your mother told her. “She’ll be marrying someone of her station like a stableboy or a blacksmith. A woman of your rank, Your Majesty, should be marrying a fine lord or a prince.”

“There are no princes left, you fool,” Sookmyung sniped at her.

“There would be if you hadn’t slain them all,” interjected Jisoo. “Enough of this foolishness. You will come to the pavilion today and greet your suitors. I give you until the end of the day to make a decision. If you do not choose one, I will choose one for you,” she said sternly.

“You wouldn’t-”

“-I would,” she cut her off. “This childish behavior of yours is coming to an end. You have been a queen for eight years, and have not even considered any suitors for yourself, so I must do it for you. I am giving one chance. If not, consider yourself lucky that you have not been dethroned.”

“You bitch!”

Sookmyung grabbed a small ceramic vase and flung it in the queen’s direction. Jisoo shielded her face in time to avoid any serious damage, but you still saw the disbelief in her eyes.

“I hate you!” Sookmyung grabbed another object, this time a small dish, which was dodged when your mother pulled Jisoo away. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” 

“Your Majesty, please!” 

You managed to grab her wrist in time to stop her from taking up a third object, which gave your mother time to wheel Jisoo away. “You can throw tantrums all you want,” Jisoo called from nearby, “You will get married or live to regret it.”

“What did you say, you-”

You kept Sookmyung from following her mother out by the waist. “Your Majesty,” you called over her grunting and growling, “Please enough. You will only make things worse for yourself.”

“For myself?” she twisted out of your grasp and turned on you, “I am the queen, you idiot! What sort of consequences could I face? What can that old, useless woman do to me?”

“I-I don’t know-”

“-You never know anything,” she hissed. “Just as stupid as you look. I am the queen. Nobody can touch me. Nobody can make me do anything I don’t want to do. I don’t have to marry anyone. I don’t have to have children. I don’t have to do anything that those stupid, old men in the council want me to do.”

“They only have the country’s best interest at heart,” you explained, keeping your hands together to stop them shaking. “They’re not doing it to hurt you or make you unhappy. Having a child would ensure your family name and legacy continues onward,” you took a moment to think, then said, “How can you make sure your dungeons and practices remain in place if somebody else takes up the throne? With a child of your own, you can make sure they share the same beliefs as you about crime and punishment.”

“I hate children,” she gruffed. 

“You don’t have to like them. You don’t even have to take care of them; you can have a wet nurse look after them for you. You only have to have them.”

“I don’t want to marry any of those men.”

“I’m afraid it must be one of them.”

Sookmyung’s palm collided with your cheek sharply. The pain burned on your skin, but you did not dare flinch or wince in front of her. “You do not get to tell me what I can and can’t do,” she snarled. “I do. I am the queen." She smacked you again, “Say it. Say I am the queen.”

“You are the queen,” you squeaked.

“And you are my slave.”

“And I am your slave.”

Sookmyung smacked your other cheek, then grabbed you by the collar of your jacket. “I should throw you in that chamber. I think you’d remember who you are after a few days in there.”

Your eyes stayed on hers, and you trembled in her grasp. She could do it. You knew she could. For the briefest moment, you saw yourself laying nude in The Box, screaming and clawing at the wooden door as insects and arachnids crawled all over you.

“But no,” she released you and stepped away, “You’re not hard-headed like the other idiots around here. Dress me, and then we can meet these stupid suitors.”

“You…You will meet them then?”

“Might as well,” she shrugged. “Maybe we can find a husband we both like.”

“Both of us? Your Majesty,” you followed her to the bedroom, “None of those men would want to marry me. I am a servant.”

“You’re my servant,” she noted. “If they marry me, they’re marrying you too.” She held her arms behind her back so you may untie and remove her robe for her.

You gingerly touched your left cheek, and felt a small welt where her ring struck you. It pinched when you touched it. “What about your flowers? If you marry, you may not be allowed to have them.”

“I’m never giving them up,” she said, “Not for anyone. I worked too hard to obtain them.”

“Your husband may not like that and dismiss them from the palace. As king consort, he’d be allowed that right.” You’ll admit, you liked the idea of her flowers being set free. They’d all be able to live the lives they’ve always wanted freely and happily. 

“I’d kill my flowers before I let anyone else take them from me,” she said. “Grab the red and gold dress.” 

“Shall I call in the others?”

“No. I can’t stand them.”

“As you wish.”

“Because I am the queen.”

“Because you are the queen,” you repeated, giving a nod of your head before disappearing into the nearby closet. 

In the privacy of the walk-in closet, you pretended to search the shelves for the appropriate box. Sookmyung kept all her hanboks in boxes with their descriptions on the side. You already knew where her regal dress was, but did not reach for the box. Your back pressed into the opposite shelf and you took deep, silent breaths. Heart pounding in your chest, you tried your best to calm it before Sookmyung heard you. Like a feral animal, she grew tense the second she sensed fear. You hated this feeling, but it came regardless. You hated that your life was at her mercy. 

One mistake, one false word, and she’d throw you into a torture cell.

***

A/N: The conspirators have finally met!! I am so happy you guys are enjoying this fic so far. I know it's complex and elaborate, but I really love historical dramas and period pieces, so I wanted to write one for ateez. Please, as always, feel free to like, reblog, and comment <3

Also, sorry if some tags aren't tagging. Idk why.